‘They’re liars,’ shouted the President into the phone. ‘Liars! Tell them, no way.’
The President hung up. The President gestured to Len Glover. Len came over. The President whispered in Len’s ear. Len walked over to Paul. Len whispered to Paul. Paul nodded. Paul got up. Paul left the room.
Alice picked up the phone again. Click-click. Put her hand over the phone again. She said, ‘President. It’s Yorkshire again.’
The President took the phone back. He said, ‘Comrade, I don’t care if their whole bloody plant goes up. They’re not having another single piece of coal from us. Not one. Not while they continue to ride roughshod over every agreement we come to.’
Joan picked up the other phone. Click-click. Joan said, ‘President. Kent —’
The President put down one phone. He picked up the other. He said, ‘Comrade?’
The dogs in the back of the car. The Mechanic takes the A1 down to Leeds. He pulls into the car park. He leaves the dogs in the back. He walks across to the transport café—
Paul Dixon is already here. The table facing the door and the car park.
The Mechanic sits down opposite Dixon.
‘Nice work, Dave,’ says Dixon. ‘People are very pleased with you.’
The Mechanic says, ‘Always nice to be appreciated, Sergeant.’
Paul Dixon puts an envelope on the table. He pushes it over to the Mechanic.
The Mechanic opens it. He smiles. ‘Very nice to be appreciated, Sergeant.’
‘Lot more where that came from,’ says Dixon. ‘Way things are going.’
The Mechanic smiles again. He says, ‘Good. I need the money.’
‘Not planning to retire to the sun again, I hope?’ asks Dixon.
The Mechanic looks up from the envelope —
Paul Dixon is staring at him. The dogs barking in the car —
‘No,’ the Mechanic says. ‘Home is where the heart is.’
Neil Fontaine lies in the dark with the curtains open. Neil Fontaine thinks about alchemy; the transmutation of base metal into gold –
He looks at his watch. He taps it. It is five-thirty in the morning –
The telephone rings.
Neil Fontaine picks it up. He listens –
‘There’s been an explosion. Major slip in one of the furnaces.’
Neil Fontaine hangs up. He looks at his watch again. Taps it. He makes two calls. Hangs up again. He takes his blazer from the wardrobe. Puts it on. He checks the windows. The corridor. He leaves the room –
Leaves Jennifer sleeping in his bed, the living and the dead.
He takes the stairs. Goes outside. He hails a cab to the garage. Gets the Mercedes. He drives to Claridge’s. Picks up the Jew.
They head North. The fast lane. The Jew on the phone.
Neil Fontaine comes off the M1 at Junction 33. Heads down Sheffield Parkway. He goes round Poplar Way. Onto Orgreave Road. Down Highfield Lane –
They are here —
Orgreave.
They park. The Jew gets out of the Mercedes. His binoculars round his neck.
Neil Fontaine leads the Jew to a concrete-roofed bus shelter. Neil Fontaine helps the Jew up. They stand on top of the bus shelter. The Jew looks through his binoculars. The Jew sweeps the landscape. The Jew can see Catcliffe and Treeton. Handsworth and Orgreave. The Jew can see the cornfields and the slag heaps. The fences and the trees. The Jew can see the River Rother and the Sheffield-Retford railway. The roadways and the motorway –
The Jew can see a white Range Rover approaching.
Neil Fontaine helps the Jew down. They walk over to meet the Range Rover.
South Yorkshire Brass gets out. Handshakes. Smiles. Nods.
The Jew leads the way. They inspect the apron where the convoys will line up. They walk across the road to the old chemical factory. This is the base of their operations. Their command post. They climb dirty stairs up to the third floor. The ladder to the roof. They walk out into the sunlight. The Jew hands the Brass his binoculars –
The Brass surveys the scene. He lowers the binoculars. He bites his lip. He says, ‘What if they succeed? If we can’t keep the place open? Like Saltley?’
The Jew looks at the Brass. He asks, ‘Do you want to be the next Derek Capper?’
The Brass shakes his head.
The Jew gestures at the empty fields. The Jew points at the road. The Jew says, ‘Look at this place. You can open it. You can close it. Your decision. Your discretion –
‘Just make sure you have enough men –
‘The right men, too. Real men. Hard men. Not dilettantes.’
The Brass nods. The Brass says, ‘Thank you.’
‘She is counting on you,’ says the Jew. ‘The nation is.’
The Brass shakes the Jew’s hand. He hands back the binoculars. He leaves.
The Jew watches the white Range Rover through his binoculars. He lowers them. He is smiling. He is laughing. He turns to Neil –
‘Well done,’ says the Jew. ‘Well done indeed, Neil.’
Here. He. Goes —
The Mechanic through the automatic doors. Hits the alarms. Chaos —
Up the supermarket aisles to the office. Through the office door —
The secretary stands up. ‘No! Please God, no —’
Punch to the security guard. He goes down —
Slap for the secretary. Down and she’s out —
Kick to the guard and he stays down –
The Mechanic drags the manager across his desk by his hair —
Puts his face to the safe and shouts, ‘Open it!’
Manager hesitates. Hit with the handle of the pistol. The manager opens it —
The Mechanic kicks his legs from under him. Manager falls flat on his face —
‘Stay that way,’ the Mechanic tells him. ‘And live.’
The Mechanic fills the bag. Just the cash. Takes the money and he runs –
Down supermarket aisles. Through automatic doors. The chaos and he’s gone —
Just. Like. That.
There had been calls all night. There had been talks all night. There had been deals. Concessions. Favours. Kent lifted the picket. The word went out. The talks were back on. Calls were made. Plans. Strategies. Meetings about the meeting. Talks about the talks. Face to faces about the face to face. Everyone was here –
Everyone was going to be there –
The entire National Executive. Their entire staff. Fifty people.
The President addressed his troops. The President laid it out. The President said, ‘Listen to them; let them have their say. Then they will listen to us; let us have our say. But there can be no negotiation. Because there can be no closures. No redundancies –
‘So there is nothing to negotiate. Nothing!’
Everyone cheered. Everyone applauded. Everyone followed the President –
Ten cabs to Hobart House.
Terry paid the drivers, all ten of them.
They pushed through the press. They went inside. Straight upstairs –
The Mausoleum.
Room 16, Hobart House, Victoria:
Bright lights, smoke and mirrors —
The orange anti-terrorist curtains still drawn. The matching carpet and the wall-length mirrors. The tables round the edge of the room. In the middle –