rip the roof off if he wants to but I want a line through to that flat and fast. That's the only way we're going to find out exactly what Wilt's playing at.'
'Will do,' said the Major, and began issuing fresh instructions.
'He's playing politics now, sir,' said the operator. 'Makes Marx sound like a right-winger. Want to hear?'
'I suppose I'd better,' said Flint miserably, and the loudspeaker was switched on. Through the crackle Wilt could be heard expounding violently.
'We must annihilate the capitalist system lock stock and barrel. There must be no hesitation in exterminating the last vestiges of the ruling class and instilling a proletarian consciousness into the minds of the workers. This can best be achieved by exposing the fascistic nature of pseudo-democracy through the praxis of terror against the police and the lumpen executives of international finance. Only by demonstrating the fundamental antithesis between...'
'Christ, he sounds like a bloody textbook,' said Flint with unintentional accuracy. 'We've got a pocket Mao in the attic. Right, get these tapes through to the Idiot Brigade. Perhaps they can tell us what a lumpen executive is.'
'Helicopter's on its way,' said the Major. 'The telephone's fitted with a micro-television camera. If all goes well we'll soon see what's going on up there.'
'As if I wanted to,' said Flint and retreated to the safety of the downstairs toilet.
Five minutes later the helicopter swirled across the orchard at the bottom of the garden, poised for a moment over Number 9, and a field telephone swung through the balcony window into the flat. As the pilot lifted the machine away a trail of wire spun out behind it like the thread of a mechanical spider.
Flint emerged from the toilet to find that Chinanda was back on the phone.
'Wants to know why we haven't cleared the water, sir,' said the operator.
Inspector Flint sat down with a sigh and took the call. 'Now listen, Miguel,' he began, imitating the friendly approach of the Superintendent, 'you may not believe this '
A stream of abuse indicated all too clearly that the terrorist didn't.
'All right, I accept all that,' said Flint when the epithets dried up. 'But what I'm saying is that we aren't in the attic. We haven't put anything in the water.'
'Then why are you supplying them with weapons by helicopter?'
'That wasn't a weapon. It happened to be a telephone so we can talk to them...Yes, I daresay it doesn't sound likely. I'm the first to agree...No, we haven't. If anyone has it's the...'
'People's Alternative Army,' prompted the sergeant,
'The People's Alternative Army,' repeated Flint. 'They must have put something in the water, Miguel...What?...You don't like being called Miguel...Well as a matter of fact I don't particularly like being called fuzzpig...Yes, I heard you. I heard you the first time. And if you'll get off the line I'll talk to the bastards up there.'
And Flint slammed down the phone. 'All right, now get me through to the attic. And make it snappy. Time's running out.'
It was to run out for a further quarter of an hour. The sudden reappearance of the helicopter just when the Wilt alternative had switched from sex to politics had thrown Wilt's tactics out of joint. Having softened his victim up on the physical level he had begun confusing her still more by quoting the egregious Bilger at his most Marcusian. It hadn't been too difficult, and in any case Wilt had speculated on the injustice of human existence over many years. His dealings with Plasterers Four had taught him that he belonged to a relatively privileged society. Plasterers earned more than he did, and Printers were positively rich, but allowing for these discrepancies it was still true that he had been born into an affluent country with a favoured climate and sophisticated political institutions developed over the centuries. Above all an industrial society. The vast majority of mankind lived in abject poverty, were riddled with curable disease which went uncured, were subject to despotic governments and lived in terror and in danger of
