casualties.
‘This afternoon, we passed sentence on the man whose provocative, ill-judged remarks provoked that government action, the American speculator Malachi Zorn. His warnings against so-called eco-terrorism were intended solely to inflame public opinion and influence financial markets so that he could profit. Gaia could not allow such obscenity to go unpunished. Accordingly, speculator Zorn was attacked this afternoon. Our only regret is that he somehow managed to survive. Other enemies of the planet will receive less mercy.
‘We are the Forces of Gaia. And we will defend the sanctity of this planet to the death.’
The man stopped speaking. He and the two silent figures on either side of him remained rock still. Then a voice from off-camera said, ‘Cut!’
The speaker pulled off his black balaclava to reveal the face of SBS Company Sergeant Major Mike ‘Snoopy’ Schultz. ‘What total fucking bollocks,’ he said, shaking his head in disgust. ‘I couldn’t hardly read half of it. What kind of a twat believes shit like that?’
‘The kind that bombs oil refineries,’ said Carver, who’d thrown away his balaclava and was scruffing his fingers through his hair.
‘The real Forces of bloody Gaia can count themselves lucky I never got to them. They were shot, right?’
‘That’s what I heard.’
‘Yeah, well I wouldn’t have been that quick about it. Ah, fuck it! At least we got Zorn, eh?’
‘Something like that…’
Schultz looked at Carver. ‘What are you saying, boss? We did get that fucker, didn’t we?’
Carver said nothing. Schultz looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and mounting anger. ‘Don’t say you were bullshitting me. You were never a bullshitter. Don’t start now. Seriously, boss. Don’t take the piss with me.’
‘I’m not taking the piss. It’s just that there were… complications. Things weren’t what they seemed.’
‘And you’re not going to tell me any more than that?’
‘Not now. Not yet. But I’ll promise you this: Malachi Zorn will get what’s coming to him. You have my word on that.’
‘You sound like a fucking politician, boss.’
Carver felt the sense of betrayal behind Schultz’s insult. ‘I’m anything but that,’ he said. ‘Listen, you and Cripps did a great job with the Krakatoa. You’ll probably get a medal for saving that woman at the refinery. I know how tough it is for you, losing Tyrrell. I know you want payback. But there’s nothing more you can do right now. So return to your unit. Get on with the day job. And take it from me, Malachi Zorn will not get away with what he’s done. All right?’
Schultz gave a reluctant nod of acceptance. ‘Yeah, fair enough, I s’pose.’
‘Good. Then I’ll buy you a beer before you go.’
Within an hour of being released on Twitter and YouTube, the Forces of Gaia statement had received more than three million hits and been picked up by all the major global news networks and agencies. Among the millions who watched it with interest was Malachi Zorn.
‘Very interesting,’ he said to Razzaq. ‘The British government knows who carried out the Rosconway attack. They know that I’ve been using a double. They must have made the connection between us and the Forces of Gaia. But they’re deliberately obscuring it. You know what that means?’
‘No, but I think you’re going to tell me.’
‘It means they’re not interested in due process. If they had any intention of getting me inside a courtroom they’d be getting all the evidence they could to put me next to those dumb bastards in Wales. But I don’t think they have that evidence. And even if they did, I don’t think they ever want to see me in a witness box. Which can only mean one thing…’
‘Which I am able to deduce also,’ said Razzaq.
‘Precisely. They want me dead.’
‘My conclusion, also.’
‘Well, they’re in for a helluva disappointment.’
83
Thursday, 30 June
Parkview Hospital
The media were informed that Malachi Zorn had rested well overnight. He was not yet well enough to give a full-scale press conference. He would, however, consent to a brief one-on-one interview with an ITN reporter, on condition that the resulting material was made freely available to any news outlet that wanted it. The lucky woman who got the job was sent on her way to what she and her jealous colleagues all considered a potentially career- making encounter, with suggestions for questions ringing in her ears.
No one thought of asking Zorn, ‘How much are you being paid to do this?’ If they had, they might have caught Michael Abraham Drinkwater enough by surprise that he would have blurted out the truth: ‘One million dollars.’ He had sensed the Brits’ desperation, stuck to his guns, and insisted on receiving the second half of the money Zorn was due to pay him. In the end, Young had been forced to give in. And so Drinkwater had gone back into character again.
The interview took place in Drinkwater’s room. He spoke from his bed, sitting up, with a pile of pillows behind his back. To add to the drama of the occasion, a bandage had been wound round his head and he was wearing dark glasses to shield him from the glare of the TV lights. There were bruises, cuts and swellings on the left-hand side of his face. They had been put there by a make-up artist.
‘When the car was first attacked, it stopped very suddenly and I was thrown forward and hit my face against the seats in front,’ Drinkwater explained, as the interview began, using lines given to him in advance by Cameron Young’s top writers. ‘Guess I should have worn a seat belt, huh?’
He managed a weak, battered smile. ‘But you know, it might have saved me. I was right on the floor of the car, between the front and rear seats. So I was sheltered from the rest of the attack.’
‘Have you seen the statement released last night by the Forces of Gaia, the terrorists who claimed responsibility for the attack on you yesterday and for Tuesday’s atrocity at the Rosconway oil refinery?’
‘Uh, no… no I haven’t. But I heard about that. My doc told me about it.’
‘Do you have any message for those terrorists?’
‘Well, I guess I wish they hadn’t tried to shoot the messenger! And I hope that the police can arrest them, and that justice can take its course. But really I’m not the issue here, and nor are these terrorists. The important thing is that decent, hard-working people died on Tuesday, and they deserve to be remembered. Their sacrifice must be honoured. Their deaths must not be in vain. We need to take the whole issue of energy security much more seriously. I’ve been saying this for a long time, and it’s just terrible, to be honest, to be proved right in this way.’
The reporter put on her most soulful expression and nodded thoughtfully. ‘So how did it feel when some people suggested that you had been behind the refinery attack?’
‘Well, you know, it wasn’t easy hearing that. I lost a very dear friend in Nicholas Orwell at Rosconway. And it was a miracle that I didn’t die yesterday afternoon. You can take it from me, I didn’t order anything. I’m a trader. I make deals. I don’t kill people.’
‘Well, speaking of deals, you were planning to launch your Zorn Global fund here in London tomorrow with a gala reception in the City of London. Will that be going ahead now?’
‘Absolutely. I’m alive. I’m in one piece. And I will not give the terrorists the satisfaction of beating me. I’ll be there…’ Drinkwater leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And I’ll tell you what, maybe I can fix you an invitation, too!’
Cameron Young was watching on a live feed to his office at 10 Downing Street. ‘Cheeky beggar!’ he said, to no one in particular. Still, there was no harm in a little humour. If they got through the next couple of days with the markets steady, Zorn Global’s investors happy, and the real Zorn satisfactorily dealt with, that million dollars would
