09.00. The meeting has
broken up and everyone has been sent away with instructions. The only real hope
at the moment is the cyclist and there has been no information from the
interrogation other than he is a Turkish national. This news rather threw a
spanner in their thinking in that neither the country nor any of its groups
featured on their long list never mind the shortlisted two. The Minister is
calculating the best time to let those above him know what’s happened. He
wanted to call with an answer so perhaps he will wait another half hour he
thinks.
09.05. Tea and toast
made Tracey-Rebecca sits down and lifts her laptop onto her knees. It’s a heavy
old model and she curses Police pay for not allowing her to upgrade. She lifts open
the lid and boots up hearing the clunky whirring that signals the start of the
slow process that will eventually bring light to the screen. Taking a chunk from
her toast she looks away knowing it’s not only watched kettles that slows
things. After a sip of tea the screen is dimly awake and she reaches out for
the metal object, clicks off its top and puts the memory stick into a USB port.
As she does the battery dies. She laughs out loud and takes another bite.
09.10. The old man’s
breathing is heavy and wheezes as he asks what exactly has happened. “It’s hard
to piece together yet but from what we can tell he was successful in getting
the package on the train much earlier than anticipated so had to get off before
the ‘meet up’ point. We managed to liaise and get a light helicopter to pick
him up but that was,” the young man pauses, “destroyed.” The old man takes
another sip of water and whispers, “enemy action?” “Our man on the scene thinks
so because these were the vans that were on the scene.” He shows the image on
his phone to a pair of blue eyes that, whilst watery and bloodshot, still have
an iciness that can chill.
09.15. As we leave the
train Faith immediately marches towards one of the exits keeping her head to
the ground as she walks. I mimic her attitude and begin to think I am really
not suited to this game anymore, if I ever truly was. She scans the street and
walks towards Primark. This is clearly not the time to raise ethical concerns
over manufacturing I think, which makes me smile for the first time in what
feels like a week. I have been up for over 9 hours already and I won’t see
sleep any time soon. I suddenly realise I am thirsty and hungry. I feel like a
little kid next to her.
09.20. She finishes
her toast and checks that the battery on the computer is charging. The battery
on her mobile needs charging too. She plugs that in and moves through to the
bedroom. She throws her clothes onto the bed and goes into the bathroom and
stares at her face and thinks how drawn and tired she looks. It makes her want
to take a shower but that will only wake her up and she must sleep before her
next shift. She walks to her bed, lifts back the duvet and lies down. Within
moments she is gently snoring.
09.25. The old man has
fallen into a sleep. ‘It must be the drugs’ the younger man thinks. It is sad
to see such a man in this decline. In his heyday he was physically and mentally
strong. Indeed, up until two months ago, he could spread fear with a look. He
had built his empire on that unique partnership of intimidation and
encouragement. Now all that was under threat and he was in no real shape to
respond. The younger man feels the passing of power and finds he has sat more upright
in his chair.
09.30. The door to the
office opens and he nervously steps into the room. The Minister is standing by
the window staring out as though lost in thought. A slight cough captures his
attention. He turns and looks to the door, “Yes?”. The man coughs again and
speaks. “There’s a call on the red phone. It seems they have heard about
something and want to speak to you straight away. Shall I patch them through?”
The Minister mutters yes and goes back to his desk. He had hoped to beat them
to the call but he has had no updates. This is not a call he is going to enjoy.
09.35. We are now
complete with wide brimmed hats on our heads and a complete change of clothes in
bags each. Faith crosses the road and takes us back to the station. “Get
changed in the toilets and meet me outside in 5 minutes. If there’s a bin dump
your own clothes in there.” She runs down the stairs and disappears into the
ladies. I look around for the Gents making sure not to raise my gaze to high.
Having located it I find it will cost 50p to get in. An old man next to me
mutters his disapproval “Spend a penny eh? That’s fifty pees.” He laughs at his
own joke whilst I wait for a cubicle to become empty and squeeze in. I have
never changed in anywhere so disgusting.
09.40. It all seems to
happen at once although actually he registered it milliseconds before. He lost
control over the screen arrow from his mouse which means his computers and
programme are now being run from the main office. Within the moment of his
realising this he hears his front door compromised and suddenly his room is
filled with the ‘black suits’. It has been a recurring dream since childhood
but now it’s happening - he is in an intimidating situation dressed in his
pyjamas and he knows this is going to be worse than his ‘going to school’ nightmares.
09.45. The Minister
hangs up the phone and shakes involuntarily. It is very clear that if this
situation is not recovered they expect him to fall on his sword. His attempts
to deflect attention onto the CRISIS committee members has cut no ice and they
only have him in their sights. He presses the phone and speaks “We need to
reconvene the CRISIS committee at 10.30 prompt. Remind them I want solutions
and make sure no entries in anyone’s diaries.”
09.50. The cyclist can
tell them no more. It is clear that he either knows nothing or is so good he
will never break. The injections have merely reinforced his confusion and lost
what little English he had. The leader picks up the phone to relay the news and
also that the fingerprints of the mobile phone in his bag are just Agent Hope’s.
He listens to the voice on the other end and then turns to the man holding the
syringe. He nods once.
09.55. There is no
point resisting. They have shut down all his computers and boxed them. They
have been transported downstairs and he can only presume into a waiting van.
They have rifled the shelves, wardrobes cupboards and have found nothing. Well
they couldn’t as he has nothing to hide. Apart from falling asleep he has done
nothing wrong. He just wishes he had got rid of the magazines. It’s funny, he
knows he is in for hell but the embarrassment of the magazines is dominating.
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