And the World Changes - A M Kirk (books to read fiction txt) 📗
- Author: A M Kirk
Book online «And the World Changes - A M Kirk (books to read fiction txt) 📗». Author A M Kirk
me how it is you know what the League’s intentions are. In fact, you’ll have to start talking big-time – “
“I know: General Miller’s on the way. Do this for me and I’ll tell you everything.”
Roberts nodded and picked up his mobile. After a moment he said, “There’s only a small police station in Touch. It’s only manned part-time. I’ll have to go through Stirling. This’ll take a minute.”
He was connected to someone in authority and the arrangements were made. A patrol car would call by the Jenkins’ house as soon as possible, and the Detective Inspector would call ahead to alert the family. The time was five thirty-five. Roberts turned his attention back to Mark and raised his eyebrows in expectation.
Mark leaned forward and put his hands flat on the small table he had been dining from.
At that moment, voices and footsteps could be heard in the corridor. The footsteps, heavy leather on a linoleum floor, approached the door and stopped.
Captain Lucas opened the door for his boss and General Aaron Miller entered the room. Lucas closed the door behind Miller. He positioned himself by the door, and another two soldiers stood on guard outside in the corridor.
Miller looked exactly as Mark had seen him in his dream at the hotel. This confirmation of the truth of his visions was still enough to startle Mark, but it also gave him renewed confidence about his interpretation of what he was going through.
“I’m Aaron Miller, Mark,” said the General in a kindly tone, coming forward with an open hand that Mark shook. “ I’ve heard a lot about you, Mark, and I think we’ve got a lot to talk about. May I sit down?”
And so Mark met one of the few men in the world who knew as much as he did about the Soros.
20 Carrie
The sky began to cloud over a little as late afternoon eased into early evening. Carrie sat despondently cross-legged on the single bed in her room, her mobile phone obstinately uncommunicative in her lap. “Give me a ring, that’s all!” she muttered at it for the tenth time that day. “Where are you?”
She flopped back, legs still crossed, on her bed and linked her fingers behind her head. She could hear her parents arguing with raised voices downstairs in the kitchen.
“I’ve told you before, you cook Greek food and I won’t eat it! I can’t stand all that foreign fancy muck!” Her mother (Bitter) was in fine conservative mode.
“Well for God’s sake, Ann, just try it!” her father (Gin) replied in exasperation. “Your taste buds are stuck in a goddam rut. Give them an adventure, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’ve told you I don’t know how many times! Why do you keep doing this? What do you gain by it?”
“Look, why don’t you just have a nice little martini and chill…”
Carrie suspected her father dreamed up his culinary experiments – which usually backfired in some awesomely catastrophic fashion – specifically to irritate Bitter. If so, that aspect of his plan usually achieved outstanding success.
She flung herself off the bed and paced impatiently in front of what she called her “wall of shelves”. Carrie’s vast collection of old CDs and books were housed there, and one shelf even held some very old and fuzzy-sounding cassette tapes. The reading material showed eclectic tastes: Tolkien, Potter, Milne among the older items; some histories of music; Campbell’s latest techno-thriller, some Harris travelogues and the complete collection of Warrender. The book she had been trying to read fell to the floor – an old one: Orwell’s 1984 , recently serialised on ITV9 –but she hardly noticed it.
The quarrel entered a new phase:
“I never had all these things when I was a boy, you know (“Yes, you keep reminding us!”) - I grew up in the miner’s strike with next to nothing (“Yes, Martin, you’ve told us.”) – so if I want to give my family the kind of things I never had as a boy, can you blame me for that? (“Sob wail, boo-hoo”) Oh, you’re insufferable, you… you… insufferable cow! Now I know who Carrie gets it from!”
The hall phone downstairs buzzed its little Rolling Stones tune. Carrie’s parents were great fans of the Stones. Here comes my nineteenth nervous breakdown…
Her father answered it. Carrie had sharp hearing, but she leapt from the bed and opened her door wide for more effective eavesdropping.
“Speaking… Yes. What? Say that again? Well I… Yes, I can hardly believe it! You mean… But my daughter… she’s only… Yes. Yes. Yes. I – we’ll do that, certainly. Bye.” He replaced the receiver on its charger. Carrie heard his footsteps recede on the parquet flooring. He went into the kitchen where Carrie’s mother (Bitter) was, she guessed, slicing a lemon for her third aperitif.
There was some subdued conversation, then Gin called upstairs. “Carrie, come here, will you!”
Her parents waited for her in the lounge. Gin was standing, her mother sitting on the sofa, her face a story of grave concern. Her father looked nervous and – the perception flashed into Carrie’s mind – afraid. She had never considered her parents ever fell prey to emotions like fear. Such a concept was alien to their comfortable life.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” began her father.
Carrie sat on the sofa beside her mother, who took her hand protectively. Carrie could not recall such parental concern before. “What’s going on, dad?”
“It’s about that boy, Mark – “
Instantly terror crossed Carrie’s face. She tried to repeat the name, but her mouth dried up and she found she could not speak.
“No – don’t be alarmed. I’ve not heard that he’s dead or even hurt. But he is in a lot of trouble. That was the police on the phone. He’s ‘helping the police with their enquiries’, the officer said but he seems to be all right, from what I gathered. Some bad people are after Mark, it seems, for some reason. Now, darling, don’t be upset.”
Her father sat beside her, and both parents placed shielding arms round their daughter’s shoulders and squeezed lovingly and reassuringly, but such gestures, Carrie could not help feeling, were long unfamiliar to them.
“The policeman on the phone said that they were concerned that the people trying to harm Mark might come after… you. Now, listen. It’s going to be all right, Carrie. They’re sending someone round as a kind of guard as soon as possible. We’re just to sit tight. Someone will come to make sure we’re all right. We will be protected. Do you understand?”
As Carrie nodded the doorbell sounded, a plain bell-ring.
“Ann, that might be the police now. You stay with Carrie,” said her father.
Ann nodded and hugged her daughter more tightly. “Be careful, Martin. Check out the window first.”
Martin looked out of the lounge window into the street. Some children were playing on skate-boards; the More family opposite were setting up a barbecue; and a Jeep with a flashing blue light was parked in the street by the driveway. Martin glanced to the side and saw a tall, fit-looking figure waiting patiently by the front porch. He had some kind of small wallet in his left hand – obviously an identity card – and when he saw Mr Jenkins at the lounge window he held the wallet up. Martin judged it safe enough to open the door but he kept it chained.
“I’m a plain clothes officer, Mr Jenkins. “ The man passed his identification through the gap in the door. “Please check my ID. I quite understand your concern. If you want to check further you can call the number on the badge and DI Logan will confirm my physical description.”
But Martin was reassured, and declined to call to check further. He did not, after all, want to seem like a paranoid fool. “That’s all right. Come in.”
Martin brought the policeman into the lounge. “Ann – this is Detective Sergeant Cooper.”
“Please – call me Al,” said the policeman with a warm smile.
“This is my wife, Ann, and my daughter, Carrie.”
The policeman’s eyes rested on Carrie for a moment. “Pleased to meet you all, and I only wish it could have been in different circumstances. Well, if you’re ready, we’ll be off.”
Martin frowned. “What do you mean?”
The officer looked puzzled. “You mean they didn’t make it clear? Oh, I’m sorry. You were supposed to be told to come into protective custody. I’m to take you to Stirling HQ where you’ll be totally safe. Your safety is our prime concern, obviously.”
“Yes, I accept that,” said Martin, “but – “
“Oh don’t argue, Martin,” chided his wife. “The police will know best. Will we need to get some things together?”
The policeman nodded. “Yes – just a few overnight things.”
“I’ll see to it,” said Carrie’s mother. “Martin – will you switch off the cooker? Just throw that stuff in the bin… or fridge… for later. Carrie, come and get your things. Come on.”
“Yes, mum.”
Carrie did not trust this policeman. There was just something about him… She wondered if Mark’s hunches felt anything like this – a sensation of something just not being right accompanied by rising unease. She filled a little samsonite bag with pants and toiletries, and slipped her mobile into her jeans pocket.
Her mother met her in the upstairs landing and they descended together to find the policeman standing by the open door.
“Where’s dad?”
The policeman gestured towards the kitchen. “He’s just finishing up in there. He’ll be out in a minute. We’ll just get safely into the car.” He reached out take their bags as they reached the bottom step. “On you go, Carrie, I’ll just hurry your father along.”
“No, that’s not necessary, Mrs Jenkins, really – let’s just get to the car. He’ll catch us up in a sec. Come on, we’re short on time.”
Carrie somehow found herself being escorted down the driveway while her mother followed. The policeman carried both bags in one hand. Carrie spotted Alicia Wotherspoon coming down the street carrying a viola case, heading for her house next door to Carrie’s. Alicia returning from a music lesson, she vaguely thought. Alicia was also a fan of eighties music. Carrie gave her a wave, then asked the policeman, “What did you say your name was?”
“Cooper.” He opened the passenger door for Carrie. “You get to ride in front.”
“Carrie, Mr Cooper, I’ll just run back and make sure Martin turns on the burglar alarm. You know what he’s like, darling. Two seconds!” Before the policeman could reply, Ann was hurrying back up the drive and had entered the house.
He closed the passenger door and walked round to the driver’s side. He put the bags into the back seat space. He got in and turned the key in the ignition.
“What did you say your first name was?” asked Carrie.
“Al.” The policeman glanced past
“I know: General Miller’s on the way. Do this for me and I’ll tell you everything.”
Roberts nodded and picked up his mobile. After a moment he said, “There’s only a small police station in Touch. It’s only manned part-time. I’ll have to go through Stirling. This’ll take a minute.”
He was connected to someone in authority and the arrangements were made. A patrol car would call by the Jenkins’ house as soon as possible, and the Detective Inspector would call ahead to alert the family. The time was five thirty-five. Roberts turned his attention back to Mark and raised his eyebrows in expectation.
Mark leaned forward and put his hands flat on the small table he had been dining from.
At that moment, voices and footsteps could be heard in the corridor. The footsteps, heavy leather on a linoleum floor, approached the door and stopped.
Captain Lucas opened the door for his boss and General Aaron Miller entered the room. Lucas closed the door behind Miller. He positioned himself by the door, and another two soldiers stood on guard outside in the corridor.
Miller looked exactly as Mark had seen him in his dream at the hotel. This confirmation of the truth of his visions was still enough to startle Mark, but it also gave him renewed confidence about his interpretation of what he was going through.
“I’m Aaron Miller, Mark,” said the General in a kindly tone, coming forward with an open hand that Mark shook. “ I’ve heard a lot about you, Mark, and I think we’ve got a lot to talk about. May I sit down?”
And so Mark met one of the few men in the world who knew as much as he did about the Soros.
20 Carrie
The sky began to cloud over a little as late afternoon eased into early evening. Carrie sat despondently cross-legged on the single bed in her room, her mobile phone obstinately uncommunicative in her lap. “Give me a ring, that’s all!” she muttered at it for the tenth time that day. “Where are you?”
She flopped back, legs still crossed, on her bed and linked her fingers behind her head. She could hear her parents arguing with raised voices downstairs in the kitchen.
“I’ve told you before, you cook Greek food and I won’t eat it! I can’t stand all that foreign fancy muck!” Her mother (Bitter) was in fine conservative mode.
“Well for God’s sake, Ann, just try it!” her father (Gin) replied in exasperation. “Your taste buds are stuck in a goddam rut. Give them an adventure, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’ve told you I don’t know how many times! Why do you keep doing this? What do you gain by it?”
“Look, why don’t you just have a nice little martini and chill…”
Carrie suspected her father dreamed up his culinary experiments – which usually backfired in some awesomely catastrophic fashion – specifically to irritate Bitter. If so, that aspect of his plan usually achieved outstanding success.
She flung herself off the bed and paced impatiently in front of what she called her “wall of shelves”. Carrie’s vast collection of old CDs and books were housed there, and one shelf even held some very old and fuzzy-sounding cassette tapes. The reading material showed eclectic tastes: Tolkien, Potter, Milne among the older items; some histories of music; Campbell’s latest techno-thriller, some Harris travelogues and the complete collection of Warrender. The book she had been trying to read fell to the floor – an old one: Orwell’s 1984 , recently serialised on ITV9 –but she hardly noticed it.
The quarrel entered a new phase:
“I never had all these things when I was a boy, you know (“Yes, you keep reminding us!”) - I grew up in the miner’s strike with next to nothing (“Yes, Martin, you’ve told us.”) – so if I want to give my family the kind of things I never had as a boy, can you blame me for that? (“Sob wail, boo-hoo”) Oh, you’re insufferable, you… you… insufferable cow! Now I know who Carrie gets it from!”
The hall phone downstairs buzzed its little Rolling Stones tune. Carrie’s parents were great fans of the Stones. Here comes my nineteenth nervous breakdown…
Her father answered it. Carrie had sharp hearing, but she leapt from the bed and opened her door wide for more effective eavesdropping.
“Speaking… Yes. What? Say that again? Well I… Yes, I can hardly believe it! You mean… But my daughter… she’s only… Yes. Yes. Yes. I – we’ll do that, certainly. Bye.” He replaced the receiver on its charger. Carrie heard his footsteps recede on the parquet flooring. He went into the kitchen where Carrie’s mother (Bitter) was, she guessed, slicing a lemon for her third aperitif.
There was some subdued conversation, then Gin called upstairs. “Carrie, come here, will you!”
Her parents waited for her in the lounge. Gin was standing, her mother sitting on the sofa, her face a story of grave concern. Her father looked nervous and – the perception flashed into Carrie’s mind – afraid. She had never considered her parents ever fell prey to emotions like fear. Such a concept was alien to their comfortable life.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” began her father.
Carrie sat on the sofa beside her mother, who took her hand protectively. Carrie could not recall such parental concern before. “What’s going on, dad?”
“It’s about that boy, Mark – “
Instantly terror crossed Carrie’s face. She tried to repeat the name, but her mouth dried up and she found she could not speak.
“No – don’t be alarmed. I’ve not heard that he’s dead or even hurt. But he is in a lot of trouble. That was the police on the phone. He’s ‘helping the police with their enquiries’, the officer said but he seems to be all right, from what I gathered. Some bad people are after Mark, it seems, for some reason. Now, darling, don’t be upset.”
Her father sat beside her, and both parents placed shielding arms round their daughter’s shoulders and squeezed lovingly and reassuringly, but such gestures, Carrie could not help feeling, were long unfamiliar to them.
“The policeman on the phone said that they were concerned that the people trying to harm Mark might come after… you. Now, listen. It’s going to be all right, Carrie. They’re sending someone round as a kind of guard as soon as possible. We’re just to sit tight. Someone will come to make sure we’re all right. We will be protected. Do you understand?”
As Carrie nodded the doorbell sounded, a plain bell-ring.
“Ann, that might be the police now. You stay with Carrie,” said her father.
Ann nodded and hugged her daughter more tightly. “Be careful, Martin. Check out the window first.”
Martin looked out of the lounge window into the street. Some children were playing on skate-boards; the More family opposite were setting up a barbecue; and a Jeep with a flashing blue light was parked in the street by the driveway. Martin glanced to the side and saw a tall, fit-looking figure waiting patiently by the front porch. He had some kind of small wallet in his left hand – obviously an identity card – and when he saw Mr Jenkins at the lounge window he held the wallet up. Martin judged it safe enough to open the door but he kept it chained.
“I’m a plain clothes officer, Mr Jenkins. “ The man passed his identification through the gap in the door. “Please check my ID. I quite understand your concern. If you want to check further you can call the number on the badge and DI Logan will confirm my physical description.”
But Martin was reassured, and declined to call to check further. He did not, after all, want to seem like a paranoid fool. “That’s all right. Come in.”
Martin brought the policeman into the lounge. “Ann – this is Detective Sergeant Cooper.”
“Please – call me Al,” said the policeman with a warm smile.
“This is my wife, Ann, and my daughter, Carrie.”
The policeman’s eyes rested on Carrie for a moment. “Pleased to meet you all, and I only wish it could have been in different circumstances. Well, if you’re ready, we’ll be off.”
Martin frowned. “What do you mean?”
The officer looked puzzled. “You mean they didn’t make it clear? Oh, I’m sorry. You were supposed to be told to come into protective custody. I’m to take you to Stirling HQ where you’ll be totally safe. Your safety is our prime concern, obviously.”
“Yes, I accept that,” said Martin, “but – “
“Oh don’t argue, Martin,” chided his wife. “The police will know best. Will we need to get some things together?”
The policeman nodded. “Yes – just a few overnight things.”
“I’ll see to it,” said Carrie’s mother. “Martin – will you switch off the cooker? Just throw that stuff in the bin… or fridge… for later. Carrie, come and get your things. Come on.”
“Yes, mum.”
Carrie did not trust this policeman. There was just something about him… She wondered if Mark’s hunches felt anything like this – a sensation of something just not being right accompanied by rising unease. She filled a little samsonite bag with pants and toiletries, and slipped her mobile into her jeans pocket.
Her mother met her in the upstairs landing and they descended together to find the policeman standing by the open door.
“Where’s dad?”
The policeman gestured towards the kitchen. “He’s just finishing up in there. He’ll be out in a minute. We’ll just get safely into the car.” He reached out take their bags as they reached the bottom step. “On you go, Carrie, I’ll just hurry your father along.”
“No, that’s not necessary, Mrs Jenkins, really – let’s just get to the car. He’ll catch us up in a sec. Come on, we’re short on time.”
Carrie somehow found herself being escorted down the driveway while her mother followed. The policeman carried both bags in one hand. Carrie spotted Alicia Wotherspoon coming down the street carrying a viola case, heading for her house next door to Carrie’s. Alicia returning from a music lesson, she vaguely thought. Alicia was also a fan of eighties music. Carrie gave her a wave, then asked the policeman, “What did you say your name was?”
“Cooper.” He opened the passenger door for Carrie. “You get to ride in front.”
“Carrie, Mr Cooper, I’ll just run back and make sure Martin turns on the burglar alarm. You know what he’s like, darling. Two seconds!” Before the policeman could reply, Ann was hurrying back up the drive and had entered the house.
He closed the passenger door and walked round to the driver’s side. He put the bags into the back seat space. He got in and turned the key in the ignition.
“What did you say your first name was?” asked Carrie.
“Al.” The policeman glanced past
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