The Silent Vulcan Page 6

  "Good morning, Sister Mary," said Carol brightly. "Is everything okay?"

  "Is that Carol?"

  "It certainly is. Who do you want to speak to, sister?"

  "Well... I'm not sure."

  Carol was alarmed. The elderly nun sounded ill. "Do you need a doctor?"

  "No...I'm fine... Or am I?"

  "I'll put you straight through to the hospital."

  "No. No -- I'm okay. Really," Sister Mary insisted, her voice suddenly regaining its strength. "I think I need someone in Government House. Carol -- you won't believe this, but the Wall has gone."

  Chapter 11.

  PENTWORTH'S ENTIRE POLICE committee consisted of Bob Harding, David Weir, and Mike Malone, with Diana Sheldon taking the minutes. A protracted hammering session by carpenters led to them abandoning their room in Government House in favour of the more agreeable atmosphere of an outdoor committee room in the form of a table under a parasol outside the Crown. It was 10:30am and Market Square was in full bustle. A pub lacks the formality of a committee room therefore the members reverted to first names. A waiter brought their drinks which David paid for because he was voted the bloated plutocrat landowner.

  "I didn't think you drank on duty, Mike," said Diana reprovingly.

  Malone looked indignant. "I have a strict rule to always drink less on duty."

  "Having made him chief of police," said David Weir. "I daresay we can allow him one small abuse of power."

  Malone grinned. He admired David Weir despite an occasional pang of jealousy because of the young farmer's relationship with Ellen Duncan. It was, Ellen had once told Malone, a very on-off relationship.

  "Quite remarkable," said Bob Harding reading some reports that Malone had supplied. "Last month's crime figures down sixty per cent over the same period last year before the Wall."

  "And some crimes, such as public order offences, now virtually non-existent," said Malone, downing most of his drink in one swallow. He was becoming addicted to the locally-brewed malt. He noticed two people enter the square from the direction of Pentworth House. There was nothing unusual about them other than that they were eating hamburgers. Meat and bread were strictly rationed.

  "Having nearly 250 police officers on the payroll probably has something to do with that," Diana commented.

  Malone smiled. "Don't forget, Diana, that many of them are also postmen, countryside wardens, social workers, food inspectors, agricultural hygiene inspectors etcetera. I never did like the old system of over-specialization and job specifications. Those that the community pays to be up and about in the community should also have wider responsibilities to the community. It makes for efficient use of our limited manpower, and it provides people with more interesting and rewarding jobs. And we have full employment."

  The four were silent for a few moments. Malone watched another couple cross the square, also eating hamburgers. A passer-by spoke to them. One of the hamburger eaters pointed in the direction of Pentworth House.

  "Nearly all our pre-Wall social problems stemmed from one thing," Malone continued. "The reluctance of society to employ people and to spend money on its own infrastructure. We sacked thousands of customs officers, police officers, tax inspectors, immigration officers. The British set out to destroy their bureaucracy because they believed that it was a Bad Thing. They forgot that a bureaucracy is society's means of getting through a great deal of routine business in an expedient manner. Worse, the process involved the wholesale dumping of an entire stratum of experienced middle-management. Men and women with the skills to see trouble looming and deal with problems before they became serious. Capable people shunted into early retirement, or driven to it because their supporting bureaucracy had been taken away from them and their work loads became intolerable; people whose only sin was to climb a little too high up the salary ladder. As a result all manner of services started spinning out of control. Health, education, the police, public transport. And even big business suffered and hitherto well-run major corporations suddenly found themselves running up debts they couldn't control and worse, didn't have the management skills to control."

  "Marconi," Harding commented.

  "To name one major mess," said Malone. "The joke is that little money was saved in the long run because large numbers were sucked into the new slamming stable door industries of regulation and inquiry. At the same time, fraudsters and con merchants had a field day because the Treasury pressurized police forces into disbanding fraud squads."

  Harding tossed a report on the table. "I sometimes think Mike relishes the mess we're in because it gives him a chance to practice his brand of social engineering.

  "I question that we are in mess," Malone replied. "Despite having to use horse-drawn vehicles for half the transport fleet, we actually have a better public transport system now than we had before the Wall. All villages have a twice daily service to and from Pentworth. It may be slow, but it's reliable. Pentworth now has its own hospital, two children's clinics, and more than enough doctors and nurses because we're wrinkled them out of retirement. Street crime is now virtually non-existent, and no motor traffic other than the odd methane-powered bus now and that means that Pentworth town centre is actually a pleasant place to sit in the sun, drinking, and talking to friends."

  "The CO2 levels are stable," Harding commented, who rarely suffered from asthma attacks these days.

  "We must be the first society to introduce draconian measures to protect the atmosphere," said Diana.

  "The operative word is `our'," said David. "We perceive it as our atmosphere because the affect on themselves and neighbours of anyone lighting a bonfire is immediate -- they choke."

  Malone observed, "According to Radio Pentworth's poll, clean air and organically grown food are major reasons why fifteen per cent of the population like the new life and hope the Wall remains."

  "How much attention should we pay to an unstructured survey?" David asked.

  "Quite a lot," said Harding. "My Suzi is very pro-Wall."

  "You will marry a teenage rebel," said David, grinning. "Wasn't she arrested during some anti-globalization demos last year?"

  "My wife is not a teenager," said Harding sternly. "The rebel I don't deny."

  "It's not only Suzi's age group who are pro-Wall," said Malone. "There's a sizeable percentage of older people who like the simplicity and the community spirit of the new life. I suspect that Diana is one."

  They all looked speculatively at the town clerk.

  Diana refused to be drawn. "We're still on Item 6 on the agenda," she reminded them. "Are you agreed that the new police manning levels should be recommended to the full council?"

  "Blame the chairman for waffling," said David.

  Harding was aggrieved. "I never waffle. Mike does enough for all of us." He turned to David Weir. "So how's the work going on that showman's engine?" Malone groaned. "Now you've started him off."

  A youth clutching a hamburger sat at a nearby table and started eating.

  "Where did he get that?" Diana Sheldon wondered.

  Before Malone could reply there was a distant howl of feedback from a public address system followed by the unmistakable rich tones of Adrian Roscoe's voice booming across the town.

  "Testing... Testing... One... Two... Three..."

  Harding looked startled. "Now what's that idiot doing?"

  "Three guesses," Malone answered, his face grim as he rose. He signalled to two nearby morris police, reached for his PMR radio and changed his mind. "Do something for me, Diana. Phone the nick and tell them from me: `Wildfire. Papa Hotel'. They'll know exactly what to do. Got that?"

  She repeated the message.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Harding.

  "Arrest Adrian Roscoe," Malone replied.

  Chapter 12.

  MALONE STRODE QUICKLY towards Pentworth House with David Weir and Bob Harding, and the two morris police officers in tow. They picked up two more police officers on the way, their iron-tipped staffs rang o
n the road. An assortment of housewives with prams and pushchairs, shop assistants and children sensed trouble and brought up the rear.

  "My beloved people of Pentworth!" said Roscoe's amplified voice. "Children of God! Your needless suffering is continuing on the say so of a Satan-inspired minority who persist in harbouring abominations in our midst! The Wall is the word of our everlasting God made real! It is His retribution for our sins and it will continue so long as we continue to thwart his divine will by allowing abominations in our midst to live!"

  Malone held back from entering the high gateway of Pentworth House. He could see all he wanted to see through the open gates and he had no intention of being out-decibelled in a verbal contest with Adrian Roscoe.

  The scene in the courtyard in front of the mansion was exactly as the police officer had expected. The big mobile canteen that Roscoe used to employ in the days when he visited London and south coast towns to round up homeless recruits to his Bodian Brethren sect was parked in the centre of the courtyard. Two assistants, who had been serving hamburgers to an eager queue, had closed their counter temporarily while their master was speaking, and the shroud that kept direct light off the vehicle's rear-projection video screen was folding down into the closed position, much to the disappointment of some television-starved children who had been watching a Tom and Jerry cartoon. The combination of free movies and hamburgers had had the desired effect: Adrian Roscoe had a sizeable audience.

  Looking like an underfed biblical father figure in his spotless white gown, he was standing on top of the vehicle, steadying himself against a huge speaker, he began addressing his gathering of about 200. Some of them were shaven-headed heavies -- private security men that Roscoe had hired to cover a party he had thrown in Pentworth House on the night that the Wall had appeared. Their continuing allegiance to Roscoe and their acceptance of Nelson Faraday as their boss owed more to their passion for the Bodian Brethren's plentiful supply of girl sentinels rather than any interest in Adrian Roscoe's message.

  Their master was wearing a headset radio-microphone which left his bandaged hands free for the sweeping gestures that were an important part of what was a skilled act. The combination of Adrian Roscoe's ice-chip, unblinking blue eyes, whose gaze seemed to alight on everyone in turn, his resonate voice, repetitive rhetoric, half-truths and whole lies, and theatrical body language made for a compelling performance, but it was his voice alone that commanded attention and carried authority.

  "Ask yourself this! Why should you be made to suffer for the sins of others? Why should you be made to endure separation from loved ones and from the rest of the world? Why should you suffer the deprivation and hardship of a world without gas, electricity, or television? Why should you have to suffer the indignities of food rationing? Of your children going hungry? Of forced labour? Of having to live your lives burdened with heartless laws, forever looking over your shoulder because you're being forced to live in what has become a police state. Why? I'll you why, my friends. Because the fat cats who've taken over Pentworth Council care nothing for your suffering so long as they can go on forcing you, the people, the children of God, to be their tools while they continue to profane his word by harbouring abominations!"

  "He never blinks," said Harding. "Quite remarkable."

  Malone made no reply but noted with some disquiet that at least 30 members of the public in addition to Roscoe's sentinels contributed to the roar of approval that greeting his words each time he paused. There were a few catcalls and whistles but the dissenters were in a minority.

  "What are you planning to do?" David asked. "Just walk up and arrest him? If so, mind if I watch?"

  "Well I don't plan to get into an argument with a man with a microphone. Not yet."

  A convoy of four white Commer vans converged on Pentworth House and stopped short of the gates in response to Malone's signal. The high wall around the mansion hid the vehicles from the crowd in the courtyard. The rear doors were thrown open and some fifty morris police in riot gear piled out. Their equipment consisted of a mixture of makeshift shields, motorcycle crash helmets, cricket face guards, batons and staffs. But they were all big, determined-looking men, hardened by working the fields. Malone was pleased to see that four of them were dressed in the leather jackets and jeans favoured by Roscoe's security heavies. His contingency plans were being followed to the letter.

  "In fighting these apostles of hell, I, like all of us have paid a price!" Roscoe's voice boomed from the speaker cabinet. He held his arms aloft in a gesture of supplication to reveal that his arms were bandaged to the elbows. "Like you, my friends, I too, have suffered. This is what they did to me! But am I daunted? No! Have they deflected me from my determination to fight! No! With the strength of God and your strength, I will fight on, just as we all must fight on to ensure that the word of God triumphs over the forces of evil that think they have us by the throat! But our souls remain free! I will fight! You will fight! And together we shall win!"

  More applause mixed with sporadic booing.

  Watched anxiously by Harding and David Weir, Malone conferred briefly with his men. The four dressed as Roscoe's security men slipped into the courtyard just as a burst of cheering greeted Roscoe's latest diatribe about the damnation that was in store for those who harboured witches and permitted them to follow the evil practices of Satanism and black magic.

  The driver of the lead Commer pulled away from the kerb and stopped halfway through the gates. The rest of Malone's men filed past the van and into the courtyard. They formed a disciplined, hard-faced line. Some sentinels who had tried to close the gates as the police vehicle nosed in were advised by the morris police that such a move would incur their displeasure.

  Malone spotted Nelson Faraday's scowling face. Roscoe's lieutenant was watching the scene from an upstairs window in Pentworth House. He saw the van and the new arrivals and spoke briefly into a Motorola Handie-Com radio. Roscoe was alerted. He turned to face the main gate and pointed an accusing finger. "And here they are! The apostles of oppression and Satan are with us even as I speak!"

  Malone waited beside the police van, holding the microphone that the driver had passed to him. There was a sudden commotion around the mobile canteen. The speaker cabinet in front of Roscoe rocked and was dragged off the top of the vehicle by its cable. It crashed down onto the cobbles. There was were yells and curses from the melee.

  "This is the police!" Malone's amplified voice echoed around the courtyard. "You are required to leave immediately. The show is over. Disperse in an orderly manner or you are liable to be arrested."

  Several morris police had left the line and had words with mothers with children. They saw the line of morris police and needed no second invitation. They gathered up their charges, converged on the main gate, and pushed hurriedly past the van. By singling out those likely to leave anyway, Malone's men had ensured that the exodus would be infectious. Others joined the mass of people filing out of the courtyard leaving about 150 sentinels and Roscoe's security men. They seemed bewildered by the rapidity of events but that had not affected their resolution.

  Even without his public address system, Roscoe's voice had enough power to heard all over the courtyard. But his pleas for everyone to stand firm against their oppressors were drowned by Malone repeating his warning. His blue eyes blazed hatred at the police officer.

  "You are to come down from that vehicle now," Malone commanded.

  Roscoe gave a defiant gesture and seemed relieved to see Nelson Faraday leave the house. He was dressed in his customary black leather outfit, cavalier boots, and cloak. The sullen expression was also part of the ensemble. He was speaking to his men as a horse-drawn haywain entered the courtyard through the arch that led to the estate's farm. It was loaded with a mixture of about twenty teenagers of both sexes. They jumped down from the wagon and were handed an assortment of agricultural tools --spades and hoes. Some even had pitchforks. They swelled the numbers gathered around the mobile canteen, chattering exc
itedly until silenced by Faraday. Now that Roscoe's army had a leader, they were better organised. Some helped Roscoe down from the roof of the mobile canteen. The rest regarded Malone's silent line of morris police with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation.

  Malone quickly summed up the odds. The police force consisted of 50 men whereas Roscoe was surrounded by nearly 200 of his faithful, all fired with the passion of their master's compelling zealotry and prepared to do bloody battle. Bloodshed was the one thing that Malone wanted to avoid but he was prepared for it if necessary. This was a confrontation that he couldn't afford to let Roscoe win.

  "Mr Roscoe. You are under arrest and will accompany me now." Malone followed with a formal caution, all delivered over the police van's public address.

  On a word from Faraday, his army spread out, forming a barrier between the police line and their leader. They advanced as one until the wicked tines of several levelled pitchforks were within three metres of Malone's men. Roscoe pushed through his line and confronted Malone. He folded his arms as best as his bandages permitted. His demeanour one of supreme confidence.

  "What's the charge, Mr Malone?"

  "Public preaching for starters, contrary to your amnesty conditions," said Malone curtly. He was about to take the offered handcuffs from the driver but realised that he could hardly handcuff a man whose wrists and arms were heavily bandaged.

  "This is private property," said Roscoe, smiling, but the deadly blue eyes boring into the police officer were icy. "Your so-called amnesty," he almost spat the word out, "said nothing about our spreading the message of the Divine Johann Bode on our own property."

  "Public preaching is just the beginning," said Malone cheerfully, returning Faraday's scowl with a bland smile. "There's a whole string of public order offenses plus contravention of emergency by-laws relating to unlicensed food preparation and distribution. In fact it will be a lot less work if we make out a charge sheet listing what you're not being charged with."