Heaven's Door Read online

  “If this seems a rather clinical – even cynical – approach, we have been advised at every stage of the process by a team of psychologists. They assure us that this will be less stressful for the prisoners themselves. When I say less stressful, of course, I am speaking in relative terms – this, I am afraid, will be a very traumatic experience for them and any physiological advantage to be gained, for the sake of all parties, must not be ignored.

  “Also, and perhaps more obviously, it will provide the maximum amount of daylight for them to acclimatise to their new surroundings, as much as will be possible in such extreme circumstances, and to familiarise themselves with the facilities on Alpha. And similarly, it is for this reason that we have chosen to place them on board at this time of year – the earliest opportunity, in fact – with daylight increasing and the weather improving from this point onwards.”

  Tom sat down as the same person rose to her feet.

  “And once they are on board, we simply leave them there to get on with it?”

  There were groans and loud sighs from the government benches and some head shaking on the Opposition side. This time Tom rose much more slowly and with some drama. Before he answered the question he turned to the government benches shaking his head with overstated exasperation. Turning to the front, he looked across at Marian Dunnett, Member of Parliament for Easterby and Bexham.

  “Mr Speaker, we have heard on many, many, occasions the Right Honourable Member’s concerns over the issue of expulsion. Given the importance and volume of business we have to get through today, I wonder whether this is the appropriate time – if indeed there is an appropriate time – to hear a re-run of those oft-stated views. I have outlined in detail on numerous occasions the facilities, which are in place to service the residents of the platform – the accommodation, leisure facilities, medical support, etc.

  “For example, as you know each prisoner has had a chip surgically – and painlessly – implanted in his chest close to the heart. Each chip contains a micro-transmitter, which will send information in a continuous stream, via the main transmitter on the satellite platform, to the Exile Data Centre in Lochshore, where the monitoring team will check a range of health indicators and respond accordingly. These transmissions can also be used to identify the person’s exact location on the platform.

  “There are many more examples I could give, but the simple answer to your question is – no, we do not just leave them to get on with it. And I trust that addresses your only query on the issue and hope that it is not, as has previously been the case, the wedge used to keep open the door for the customary flood.”

  The murmur of amusement from the government side was this time drowned by a burst of protests born of simple loyalty from the Opposition benches. Tom raised his arm in a plea for quiet and went on.

  “Mr Speaker, I repeat, I will answer all questions put to me – this is not a day for evading issues. If the Opposition feels that the House’s time is best served by an impromptu review of the rationale and morality of the NJR – and this element of it in particular – then so be it.”

  He sat down.

  Ellen Gormley got to her feet before Marian Dunnett had time to respond. Ellen was a petite, almost fragile-looking woman in her mid forties, whose appearance belied a toughness and determination which had seen her re-elected unopposed as her Party leader after their election defeat. She had a pleasant face, but with penetrating steel grey eyes which she turned on the Home Secretary.

  “Mr Speaker, I know we are all aware of the significance of today in terms of what has been hailed as a new era for this country. And we are also mindful that this new beginning comes at a cost. That cost includes the way we have chosen, as a free democracy, to address the issue of the small problematic minority of now lost souls. If any members on either side of this House have – and choose to articulate – continuing concerns in the light of today’s events, then we should allow them that freedom and view their thoughts with tolerance, rather than ridicule and impatience. As we stand together, as separate parties or, as has been the case in many instances recently, as a united House, it is incumbent on us also to reflect inwardly as free-thinking individuals with conscience and compassion.”

  The Leader of the Opposition sat down as members on both sides of the Chamber stood to show their appreciation of her remarks. Tom rose to his feet.

  “Mr Speaker, I thank the Right Honourable Lady for so succinctly capturing the mood of the House, and I stand admonished by her words. It is quite proper that we are conciliatory in our reaction to diverse viewpoints in such poignant circumstances, but can I just restate this government’s intentions so there is no mistake. Let me compare the matter of expulsion in principle to the widespread use of speed cameras on our roads. The ultimate objective of these cameras is to stop people speeding. It is not to catch people speeding. Otherwise, we would not warn people where these cameras are; we would not allow the AA and Bartholomew’s to print road atlases showing the location of all cameras across the UK. And I believe it is easy to adopt that simple principle in these circumstances. The reason for the new powers of arrest and detainment; the purpose of the new sentencing options; the existence of Platform Alpha – these are not there so we can banish large numbers of people from our society. They are there to stop people behaving in such a way as to make that necessary.

  “If the absolute ideal was a realistic goal, our target would be to have zero Life Exiles, zero offenders in deferred centres for assessment – indeed zero people in detention at all. But this is the real world, and we can only strive to minimise the numbers who have to be treated in this way. I think that is a goal we can all embrace.”

  There was general approval of the point, on both sides of the House. Tom continued.

  “I do feel, however, that by focusing too much on that point – important though it is – we risk missing the opportunity to rejoice on behalf of the many whose lives have changed so much for the better as a result of the brave steps we have taken on their behalf. Mr Speaker, might I humbly suggest that, in the interest of expediency in the limited time available, we move on from this one aspect of the report, to the other items covered.”

  The Speaker smiled benignly. “My thanks to the Home Secretary for his generous advice on how to manage the House during this sitting, and – on this occasion – I concur with his suggestion.”

  *

  As the session neared its end, Andrew rose to his feet.

  “Mr Speaker, I thank my Right Honourable colleague, the Home Secretary, for his excellent report on the New Justice Regime, but much more so for his enormous contribution towards our achieving it. History will judge this period with the all-knowing benefit of hindsight, but I believe it will recognise not only the political giants who brought it about, but also the unprecedented maturity of this House in performing as a unit to make it work.

  “Before we finish, Mr Speaker, I have one item to add; an item which I believe we should debate at the House’s next scheduled sitting on this matter on Monday, following the Justice Committee’s meeting on Friday.”

  *

  “Right, all eyes on the screen, please.”

  The detective inspector addressed the fifteen people leaning against walls and slouching on chairs in the major incident team room. Most were clutching polystyrene cups and a few were gnawing at bacon rolls and hot-dogs they’d picked up at the mobile kiosk on their way in for the afternoon briefing.

  The DI loaded a disk into the laptop on the table in front of him and the ceiling-mounted projector threw an image onto the large white board on the end wall of the room.

  “CCTV footage from Delaware” he said, as the grainy picture showed a countdown from five to zero. He clicked on the screen to pause the show. “This is an edited extract from around one hundred and twenty hours from each of two cameras. The extract only lasts about fifteen minutes, but if you watch the timeline in the bottom right hand corner you’ll see that it spans a period of five days star
ting just over two weeks ago. I’ll talk you through it as we go.”

  He started the show, and the picture burst into life.

  “That’s our guy there,” said the DI, pointing at the screen. “Watch carefully.”

  *

  Calum sat in the monitoring area with his deputy, Gally McPherson, and the two observers. He had his back to the window and was trying to ignore the messages from his stomach telling him the weather was deteriorating. He called Douglas on the intercom.

  “Where are we now? Are we still on schedule?”

  “Just rounding Barra Head into open Atlantic. About to change course for final destination. No problems.”

  “Does that mean we are on schedule?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He turned to the others.

  “He said, no problems.”

  “We heard,” said Gally. “It depends how you define problems.” He nodded towards the screens.

  The guards were serving the final meal of the day and it was clear that the simmering tension was growing. Bars were being rattled and abuse yelled at the officers. Calum checked his watch.

  “We’ve got all the bad guys back at full throttle,” he said. “The shots will have worn off by now. Shit!”

  As he spoke, one of the prisoners was seen to kick his food tray back into the aisle. Another appeared to spit at one of the guards, setting off a chain reaction. Several on the starboard side unzipped their trousers and urinated into the gangway, aiming for the guards near by.

  Calum jumped to his feet. “Stay here, Gally. I need to get down there. You know what to do.” Gally nodded.

  By the time he got down to the prison deck, a full riot was in progress. TV monitors were being ripped off the walls, fold-out tables pulled from their brackets and benches from their supports. The cabins were designed so that none of these items could fit through the bars to be used as weapons against the officers and this seemed to fuel the anger and frustration.

  The prisoners next turned their attention to the chemical toilets, many half full with prisoners’ excrement, vomit and urine. They emptied them under the doors or through the bars into the gangways. Some pulled their wash-hand basins from the walls, fracturing the inlet pipes and sending water spouting into the air and across the cabins. On the starboard side, the prisoners were making a concerted assault on their line of cabins, holding onto the bars and swinging in unison back and forth, eventually dislodging the line from its rails.

  The guards ran up and down the gangways between the lines of cabins, shouting threats and appealing for calm, but helpless to influence the prisoners’ actions. There was a genuine risk that some of the rioters might succeed in damaging the cabin doors to such an extent as to make them insecure.

  Calum unclipped a small loud hailer from his belt.

  “All officers leave the deck!” he shouted above the cacophony of yelling and screaming.

  The guards gathered at an assembly point at the top of the stairs.

  “Right,” said Calum. “Geordie and Greg …” He turned to two of his biggest colleagues, both a couple of inches taller and wider than himself. “Come with me, lads.”

  *

  The two observers stared at the screens as the three officers burst back onto the prison deck and headed straight for one of the main protagonists on the starboard side.

  “Want to get out, do you?” Calum yelled, loud enough to ensure as many as possible could hear above the din.

  “Just open that fucking door, and see what happens,” the prisoner yelled back

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. It’s your lucky day – you can go home. How about that? Just one problem – you’re going to have to swim for it. I’m sure a hard bastard like you won’t mind that. Get him out, lads!”

  Lawrence and Mike watched in disbelief as Calum unlocked the door and slid it open with a metallic crash. The two huge men rushed into the cabin, yelling loudly.

  “Come here, you twat!”

  “You’re dead, you little fucker!”

  The prisoner, suddenly wide-eyed and trembling, crouched down against the back wall, hands covering his head. He was no more than medium height and slightly built. The officers towered over him; one reached down and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him to his feet.

  “Hey, you can’t do this, you bastards. Fuck off and leave me alone! Get the fuck away from me!”

  They cuffed him roughly as he screamed, with one wrist secured to each of Calum’s two men. Other prisoners started shouting at the guards. Calum turned to them as they dragged the squealing man up the steps towards the upper deck.

  “Who’s going to find out?” he yelled through the loud hailer. “What’re you going to do, write to your MP? But, don’t worry, we’re not going to throw him overboard on his own.” He pointed to one of the other prisoners. “You’re going with him!”

  Calum followed the others up the steps, disappearing from the monitor screens.

  “Really, I can’t just stand by and …” Lawrence got to his feet and turned towards the door. Gally was standing with his back to it blocking the doorway. Calum’s deputy was slightly bigger than his boss with a barrel chest and immense shoulders and upper arms. His face showed the scars of conflict collected over years of working with the hardest and most violent criminals north of Hadrian’s Wall.

  “That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” he sad, quietly.

  “But he can’t just …”

  “He can do what he likes,” said Gally. “He’s in charge, after all.”

  “Yes, but I represent …”

  “The Home Office, yes, I know. But aren’t you here – let’s see if I’ve got this right – ‘only to observe and absorb – nothing else’?”

  Lawrence raised his eyebrows.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Same way you know about this.” He nodded towards the screens. “I saw it on the tele.”

  *

  Five minutes later, Calum and his two officers burst noisily through the metal door back onto the prison deck. It was completely silent.

  *

  Tom said goodnight to Reggie Greyburn, the Chancellor, and Gerald Portman and left the Members’ Lounge, checking his watch as he stepped out into New Palace Yard. Paul Webster opened the rear door of the silver BMW.

  “Nine-thirty,” he said. “Christ, Paul, where has the day gone?”

  “Don’t know, sir,” his Special Branch driver replied. “But did it go well?”

  “It certainly did, Paul, thank you.”

  Tom sat back, with just the slightest sense of anti-climax and checked his mobile for any messages. There were plenty, but he scanned through the list of names to pick out any from Grace Goody. There was just one.

  “Who’s a clever boy, then? I’m very proud of you.”

  Tom smiled and texted back.

  “Go on, I bet you say that to all attractive, charismatic MPs.”

  The reply came immediately.

  “I don’t know any.”

  Tom laughed out loud as he responded.

  “Well thanks a lot! Speak tomorrow. Night.”

  “Night.”

  He lay back in the seat and started to check the rest of the texts. There was one from his wife, which he certainly did not expect. His first thought was that it must be some sort of emergency – Jack or Katey, perhaps. But when he opened it the content was much more surprising than anything he might have guessed.

  “Saw you make your speech today. Surprised how it affected me. Must talk asap. Mags x.”

  Tom read the text several times, confused by the ‘x’ at the end; a symbol which seemed to him totally incongruous in the context of their current relationship. He lay across the back seat with a sigh and drifted off to sleep. He was awakened twenty minutes later by the opening of the nearside rear door. It was a couple of seconds before he realised where he was.

  “Thank you, Paul,” he said, handing him his brief case and turning in his seat t
o sit for a further few seconds, his feet out of the car, collecting his thoughts. The text from Mags came back to him and he looked across to the porch door just as it opened and his wife stepped out and down the steps to the driveway. Tom got out of the car.

  “What time tomorrow, sir?” asked Paul, handing back his briefcase.

  “Early, I’m afraid,” said Tom, his eyes on Mags as she walked towards him. “Press conference at eight followed by one-on-one with the lovely Sylvie. Let’s make it six-thirty again. No rest for the wicked, eh?”

  “No, sir,” said Paul, with a chuckle. “They won’t be getting any rest – there’s a storm out in the Atlantic. Goodnight, sir.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Mags moved very close to him. Without speaking, she reached up and kissed him – on the cheek, not the lips, but a tender, affectionate kiss. She turned, took his hand, and led him up the steps and through the outer porch into the house. The hall was large and high, with a wide staircase rising to a half-way landing. There were heavy oak doors off it to a number of rooms and a couple of wing chairs on either side of the entrance with small round-topped side tables next to them. Mags took his case from him, placing it on one of the tables.

  “I got your text,” said Tom.

  Mags wrapped her arms around his neck. She placed her mouth against his, kissing him softly at first but with increasing firmness. They did not break away from each other when the kiss ended, but stood for a full minute, pressed together in their embrace.

  “Mags, I …”

  “Shall we have a drink?” she said, finally, in a whisper. “And then I’ve got a speech to make.”

  She led him by the hand into the front sitting room, and then walked over to the drinks cabinet.

  “JD?” she asked.

  “Talisker, please,” he said, sitting at one end of the sofa, ignoring his favourite chair near the window, except to throw his jacket onto it.