‘The powers-that-be have decided that, from a PR point of view, we cannot be seen to be a part of anything that involves a violent physical attack.’
‘But it was her fault,’ said Corrine. ‘You saw the video yourself.’
‘Legislation following the murder of MPs in the past means any physical attack on them, no matter how lightly or badly they are injured, is seen as an Act of Terror. So as far as we are concerned, this has nothing to do with the FFA. We didn’t sanction it, there was nobody from our group present.’
‘Then Nathan has put himself at risk for nothing?’ Corrine continued. Ferdi didn’t respond. ‘Well at least can you tell us how he is? Do you have an update? I called the hospital but—’
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ interrupted Ferdi.
‘I used a burner phone.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t know who’s listening.’
Corrine’s eyes began to well and, needing a moment to herself, she exited the bar and made her way back to the kitchen area.
The role of her region’s faction was to target self-righteous politicians who lent their support to the Act while hiding secrets of their own. Two years earlier, Parliament had amended legislation that meant their MPs Audites didn’t record them, citing ‘matters of national security’. They received the same benefits of Upmarrying but didn’t answer to anyone until the FFA decided that wasn’t fair. It took them to task for extra-marital affairs, corruption, and undeclared business interests through online exposés, harassment at public events and even mass protests outside their homes. It became Corrine’s role to help coordinate the events.
And when the shocking behaviours of her own local MP, Eleanor Harrison – one of the most fervent supporters of the Act – were brought to her attention, she was desperate to hold her to account.
A voice startled her and she turned to see Ferdi at the door. ‘You okay, Corrine?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have become emotional.’
‘It’s understandable but please remember: you’re not to blame for what happened to Nathan. Harrison is the guilty party, not you.’
‘Thank you. But I still feel responsible. It’s making me question if I should stay in the group.’
‘Look, if you really want to check up on him, I might know someone who can help.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They used to be part of the Hacking Collective.’
‘That group who took over those driverless cars a few years ago?’ She recalled with distaste how the terrorist group had held to ransom eight drivers in autonomous vehicles and encouraged the public to vote who they would like to survive. One by one, those who didn’t get the votes were blown up inside their cars. ‘Aren’t we already treading a fine legal line as it is without their involvement?’
‘We are so far over that line that it’s barely visible. But if it gives you peace, you might want to give them a call. However, only you can decide if it’ll be enough to make you stay with us. And I sincerely hope you do.’
At that moment, Corrine couldn’t be sure that it would, or if anything could bring her peace right now.
ACT 2
23
Arthur
The enormous steel construction cast a shadow overArthur the moment he passed through the gates and entered the grounds. It was not what he had expected to see when he’d called ahead to make an appointment.
He had served in the Old Northampton branch of this fire station for most of his working life, having joined at twenty-two and remaining there until his retirement a decade ago at sixty-five. The drill tower he’d frequently ascended was a brick building with internal stairs, gaps for windows, doors and a flat roof. He and his team had spent many an hour running up and down it, practising different techniques. This construction, however, was a metal contraption, silver in colour and with corrugated sections. ‘Another change, June,’ he said wistfully.
At least the station was familiar. His late wife had also remained here for much of her career. And for some time, she had been the only woman. The role that gave June the most satisfaction was recruiting other young women and helping to instil in them the same dedication and determination that fuelled her. The maternal instinct she demonstrated towards them was a reminder to Arthur of how cruel it was that she’d been cheated out of motherhood.
As he recalled how hard she had taken their infertility diagnosis, Arthur slipped his hand into his pocket and fumbled with the bronze chip she had been presented with for her first twelve months of sobriety. She had wanted him to have it as a thank you for his unwavering support. He had treasured it for decades.
‘Arthur!’
An enthusiastic voice returned him to the present. He turned and smiled politely at a man he didn’t recognize. There was a pink raised scar on the side of his head, which had robbed him of a clump of hair.
‘You probably don’t remember me,’ he said, offering his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur apologized. ‘My memory isn’t what it used to be.’
‘Mohammed Varma,’ he continued. ‘You helped train me back in the day.’
