A Reminder Of How Things Could Have Been

Broadcast by the BBC in October last year.

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No One Mentions The Losses Do They

Ships Becalmed on a Rock Coast

The following is a comment left by Apogee on this post. I thought it worth posting in case anyone missed it.

'Hi SR. Al Gore again. How I wish that I had thought of that scam, I'd be rich.

This will never work because to work it needs a means of storing electric power in BULK INDUSTRIAL QUANTITIES. There IS NO large Industrial Storage means for electricity, about the largest batteries commonly used are for BACKUP POWER for telephone exchanges, and they can cover the area of a tennis court,and that's for a couple of hours until they get the diesel generators on line.

Why do you think commerce is in steam or diesel powered ships, because of reliability and you can drive a much bigger ship. Ever seen a 50000 ton sail powered cargo ship? and you won't. Wind power is inherently unreliable, read about the old clipper ships, look at the life on them for the crews,it was hard. And that was the best that could be done with wind power. As soon as the wind stopped, you stopped.

Handbook of Homemade Power. Get a copy from the library or buy a copy, read it fully and you will understand why alternative power can be used for a farm or even a big property, but look at the amount of power your house uses, and then tell me how you would power it by alternatives, and then scale it up to power a small town and tell me how THAT would work. And cost. And remember that all large scale storage is direct current and all your houses use alternating current. Any one with ideas I would like to hear, because I think before long we may need some!

I am not going into the losses on transmission lines, typically 30% on a long line, but would you run your car if it lost that, remember you car loses at least 10 % when you use air conditioning and another 10 % with an automatic gearbox. No one mentions losses, do they.'

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The Gadarenes Of Finance - Guest Post

The Gadarenes of Finance.

“we are a people possessed

like the madman of the Gadarenes

our souls howl with contempt

as greedy lips consume us

our “democracy”

silences the wise

our “prosperity”

impoverishes the meek

our “freedom”

imprisons the beloved

devoured by the Legion.”

Martin Gadaran

The People Business

Intro:

This exercise is about us. All of us, the Homo sapiens that dominate this planet we call earth and the world we manufacture in order to pass our time on it.

As a species we are dominant. We have conquered land, sea and sky, beginning to probe into the universe and in most cases can choose either to decimate or manage every other species on earth from whale to virus - though the latter causes us the greater problems. Animal, vegetable or mineral we regard as resources dormant until we uncover their latent potentials, which are then ours for exploitation.

We are not unique in our exploitation. Viruses exploit anything that suits them in the animal and vegetable world, whales exploit the food of the oceans, plants the nutrients of sun, soil and rains, and minerals the geophysics created by change through the ages. However it is only our specie that can reason and understand these things. And even if we don’t understand, we know that there are others in our species that do and if the need arises, we can study their understanding and learn from them.

Even in this team learning approach we are not unique, though other species may use the suckling bribe in order in order to establish its practice. Nor are we unique in our flaws, the propensity to kill or intimate anger or violence is used through most if not all of the species. Even our ability to reason is not unique; a dog learns tricks or performs duties because it associates it with - probably in some, to it, mysterious way – a duty or game pleasing to its master. That’s still reasoning.

So in the natural sense we have no specifically unique qualities. We can’t dive like a whale, run at the speed of a cheetah or fly like a bird but by the development of our brain and its ability to construct abstract thought we can beat the abilities of the natural species in all these ventures. Now abstract thought isn’t inventiveness. Man didn’t invent fire; he witnessed it through some natural occurrence. Just as he noticed a round rock was easier to roll than a square one. The abstract was in seeing how both of these could be used to advantage.

This was the time when Homo sapiens began to exploit his nature; the foundation of civilization and the gestation of the People Business.

What won’t be included in this discourse are masses of dates, statistics, graphs or formula. Whether this genesis of abstract thought happened one hundred thousand, fifty or thirty thousand years ago is totally irrelevant.

As is recorded history; which in itself is a product of abstract thought – perhaps a fairly advanced thought, since the need was seen to hold an account of the past in order to explain the present and to try and shape the future – but in essence its only a sophistication of folk lore, tribal squabbles, a record of animal movement and numbers and the time to reap and sow. And as a record of account in The People Business it has proved to be flawed through the abilities to apply the same abstract capabilities to its construction, interpretation and exploitation.

So, dismissing all the yesterdays as irrelevant, how do we handle our day and hopefully our tomorrows, in what, by the sheer chance of birth, is the business we are thrust in to.

I suppose the first thing we must recognise is that ‘The People Business’ has a hierarchy. A hierarchy created sometimes by the same chances awarded by birth, at others by the environment we find ourselves in and the values that environment regards as our potential usefulness as a resource in the business.

Taking the above as a given surely we have to ask a question as to the purpose and objectives of this business that only death or imbecility (at times not even that) excuses us from participating in.

But before we do we have to consider how we are capable of asking it. Nature created this earth and every form of life that’s ever been on it and, while we may be capable of exploiting the elements of nature we are a long way off, if ever, of being able to claim dominion over them. Nature is by its nature a dictator. Perhaps generally benign, avuncular, acquiescent it never the less has no care whether we as a species choose to continue to thrive on its planet or be wiped out by nature itself or by self destruction. This is the irrevocable ‘given’ without which the gestation of ‘T he People Business’ would never have been formed and must be the primary factor on which the scales of values and solvency of the business is measured.

The role of Nature accepted, we then have to ask; whether in the affairs of humanity, any concept, system, practice or ideology which doesn’t improve the wellbeing, contentment, security and advancement of the majority of the species and its survival, has any claim to legitimacy or continuance by establishment or custom?

If the answer is no – we have gazillions of problems to sort out.

If the answer is yes – then life for most will continue to be a vale of tears waiting for a death date.

While I believe the answer to the question as posed would result in an overwhelming majority of No’s over the Yes’s, it leads us to ponder on what we actually mean by concepts such as wellbeing, contentment, security, advancement and how we tie these in with the species survival.

This is a problem that has exercised the minds of philosophers and thinkers throughout the ages. At the basic level they have divided it into two camps, called one Determinism, and the other Free Will. Again at the basic level Determinists maintain every happening in life or nature is preordained and humanity has no more control over its outcome than a rock can change into a horse; therefore humanity has no capacity for exercising or claiming the ability of true Free Will. We could call this the God camp.

Advocates of Free Will argue; we have to have free will because we have the ability to make choices. That while we may feel anger enough to kill in some circumstance, we choose not to and choose instead to adopt reason and apply restraint.

Throughout the ages these arguments have developed and formed sects then sub sects; some with a tentative toe in the other camp while others firmly straddle both while rejecting some of each, and so on. Candidly much of the argument is esoteric, often to the level of vanity, and could be summed up as an argument over whether a static ball bearing is downside up or upside down.

Yet the paradox of this hypothesis is not only how little consideration we give to it in our daily lives, it is the scale in which we use it to form our values, morality and our place in society. To clarify, I’ll give you an example – Scientists generally consider themselves free thinkers. While that may well be a true and honest belief, much of their work as scientist is to un-cover and understand inherent qualities and potentials in whatever subject or substance they’re working on. Whether their work proves true or false or they trip over the discovery of the millennium is entirely determined by the inherent qualities that have always existed in that subject or substance. So as individuals they practice free will, or think they do; but in work they’re controlled and measured by determinism.

Confused? Well aren’t we all, and that includes those who are devoting their lives to defining the solution. But take some heart, generally these people are looking for truth with no malicious intent or goal of global dominance; perhaps a little glory and personal comfort from a prize or two and again generally, they’re a pretty egalitarian lot who want to serve humanity.

So in order to define the purpose(s) of The People Business we have to accept another irrevocable truth.

1. God – is not an excuse.
2. gods – are not an excuse.

And beliefs are doubts that can only be truly dispelled by truths.

So the question facing us today is whether the beliefs being thrust on us by the Gaderenes of finance and their armies of acolytes does improve or offer any legitimate purpose to the life of our species or is it merely an element of control engineered as bulwarks of beliefs against blindingly obvious, and eventually, irrevocable truths?

Some time ago, in a forgotten article based on the financial meltdown and Browns stupid response to it, I posited the question – “Were governments acting as Human Resource Managers for the Global Conglomerates?”

At the time I was advocating the Banks should be resourced in order to meet their retail and genuine business functions – but all other activities should be placed in moratorium until such time as these have been forensically analysed and a true value awarded.

A few commentators agreed, but most got carried away on the lexicon of acronyms and the vanity of their ability, or belief, that they understood the complexities and labyrinthine formulas used in the alchemy’s of this most infinitely plastic of all commodities. In fact ‘plastic’ is too constricting – this commodity is the virtuoso of versatility. It can be used to buy or sell without ever having to be accounted for, it can lever its value up or down without ever having to produce a product or supply a service. Of late even the little it had to produce in order to prove its existence has been reduced to pieces of plastic for the minions or the production of digital zero digits for its acolytes - all together not a bad ‘miracle’ for these modern day Gadarenes to bring about.

Unfortunately there are another couple of adjectives beginning with V that we have to apply: the miracle like the substance it’s based on is without virtue – both are in essence ‘virtual’ and who has ever been troubled by a ‘virtual’ conscience?

The Gadarenes want to impose their virtual world on us, not because they believe it will lead to a better world – they know it won’t. But they slaver over the possibilities of global domination.

How’s that for an ambition based on an armoury of smoke, mirrors and propaganda? And could it be done without the contrivance of our politicians and governments?

(Extract from : The People Business)

John Souter

07/10/11

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Steve Jobs 1955 - 2011

R.I.P.

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Trains, Planes, Automobiles And iPads

Tomorrow, far too early, I'm off abroad for a few days. No not to Norway, although the distance is similar, but to deepest England.

I won't bore you describing the hours of endless fun I've had in my efforts to travel by train - although I thought four changes were excessive and the price for the privilege of rail travel extortionate.  Flying didn't appeal either because I'm weary hanging around airports and flight prices were much higher than I expected.  Not everyone can book a flight three months in advance especially when arrangements involve friends coming to house-sit (the modern term for a free holiday).

So I intend to travel by car and produce my own carbon emissions for which I will accept full responsibility. Another benefit of car travel is I can pack as many pairs of shoes as I like.

My iPad will be accompanying me but I'm leaving the Windows laptop behind, mainly because I've forgotten how to use it. Unfortunately Blogger hasn't yet produced an iPad app which mimics its computer software but I should manage to publish a few posts if the app works as advertised.

My co-author Oldrightie will be hovering around to ensure all is well. Please be kind to him. I will be available by email.

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Safer than a very safe thing

A contribution by TediousTantrums

I’m sure I’ve already admitted to being a petrol head. I like cars and motorbikes, I like driving and I used to drive something like 40,000 miles a year.

You may well have noted the announcement by our friendly (only to each other) Westminster Government that they are going to consult on raising the speed limit on motorways? 80 MPH is their aim and reducing the limits around schools to 20 MPH plus other tweaks and the like.

The usual suspects will soon be on TV saying what a bad idea this is. People will die. The Earth will spontaneously combust. Babies’ brains will be pickled and small children will drop like flies with asthma. They will want slower speeds, cars done away with, electric cars and bicycles. Yawn.

The development of vehicles has been incredible over the past ten years. The NCAP safety testing has made them safer than ever. You may not be able to see out of your NCAP vehicle, as the pillars are thicker though. If you have an older car and you hit or are hit by an NCAP car it will hurt. They are like tanks in comparison to older cars. They don’t hurt pedestrians as much when they bang into them and they don’t pollute as much either. So they are safer.

Roads have improved although they have also become pitted and holed. Barriers are more plentiful and more thought has gone into engineering the safer roads. Then we have those joys of motoring the speed cameras or should I say cash generators. If these cameras are placed sensibly at genuine accident black spots they work well. The vast majority of cameras aren’t at black spots though they are in places where it’s easy to speed. Sometimes that’s a good idea sometimes not (I mean the camera as a deterrent obviously).

I looked on the Department for Transport website (if you’ve walked past their offices you may be slightly puzzled as to why there is a Mini showroom on the ground floor at one end. I know I was. Product placement?). The latest accident figures make interesting reading, here is an extract for 2010 –

“The number of people killed in road accidents reported to the police fell by 17 per cent from 2222 in 2009 to 1850 in 2010. Now wait for it, wait for it – This is the lowest figure since national records began since 1928.”

Two interesting points there. One is the “reported to the police.” This implies that the figures could be much higher because not all have been reported. I’m pretty sure no one is keeping the death of a loved one in a traffic accident quiet. It may be that they died within a period of time following the accident but the figures in detail show the numbers that did.

The second is that this is a record. I may have missed this being the main evening news item. I don’t recall newspaper headlines shouting about it. In fact I can’t recall any mention of this at all, even in the motoring press or on Top Gear. This is amazing and fabulous news. Our roads are so safe now that they are the safest they have ever been. How many cars were on the road in 1926? Very few and how many of them could you out run with one leg was in a stookie? Almost them all. Why is no one shouting about this?

There are millions of cars making billions of journeys annually. It is safer than a very safe thing to drive on the roads. Again I quote “the overall casualty rate for accidents reported to the police per billion vehicle miles fell to 677 per billion vehicle miles.” That’s billions, not millions or hundreds of thousands. Billions.

1850 people were killed. That’s a big figure. But out of 60 million souls in the UK? Obviously if you knew or were related to any one of them it’s not going to be a positive experience, least of all for them. However, I’m quite sure there will be another website which will detail the number of deaths of people who fell out of their slippers, tripped on their pyjama cord or plugged them selves into the mains by mistake and the numbers will be much, much, much bigger.

Let us have the 80 MPH limit or even push the boat out and give us 90 MPH sections? I’ll never refer to that nice Mr Cameron as Call Me Dave again if he does this. Nah! I’m not going to stop!

Last thought. If motoring accidents are dropping so significantly why are motoring insurance costs not dropping accordingly?  

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A Disappointing Scene

Last week it was disappointing to see Alex Salmond welcome to Scotland the former US vice-president, in his capacity as the world's climate change guru.

Obviously environmental issues need to be discussed, but to invite Al Gore to talk at the Scottish low-carbon investment conference merely shows the Scottish government need to progress with their environmental policies rather than listen to a somewhat discredited Yesterday's Man.

There's little doubt Mr Gore has become a multi-millionaire on the back of the carbon scam and he continues to produce his false science to the world.  Thank goodness there are those who are prepared to examine his claims with a fine toothed comb. (The link is a lengthy read but very worthwhile).

How I wish the Scottish government would withdraw from the carbon scam, stop filling our lovely countryside with giant turbines which produce little long-term employment and begin to use our expertise in the renewables field for the benefit of the people.  The only 'benefit' bestowed on us at present are ever increasing utility bills - and we are the only oil producing country in Europe.

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Useless Legislation Is Bad Legislation

Are the Scottish government over-legislating alcohol?  Whilst I agree Scots have a problem with alcohol, what good has the latest Alcohol Bill made towards controlling Scotland's consumption?

Last week's legislation ruled that major retailers could not make multi-offers such as three bottles of wine for £10 or two cans of beer/lager for the price of one.

The supermarkets, having been well warned in advance of the legislation, were prepared and now offer wine - which would be part of an offer of £10 for three bottles - for £3.33 per bottle.  Tesco have also informed their customers that bulk deals were available if they ordered online because their wines are despatched from England and thus avoid Scottish law.

Dr Evelyn Gillan, chief executive of Alcohol Focus Scotland, is narked with the big retailers because she feels they should be more 'responsible'.  It could be she's angry because the law she's lobbied for has backfired, but of course she wouldn't admit that.  Why shouldn't retailers use their wits to usurp poor legislation?

The new legislation may make a slight difference to those who would prefer to buy one bottle of wine at a time, but it will make no difference to those who want to drink to the extent that they put their health at risk.

I tend to agree with Richard Dodd, the spokesman for the Scottish Retail Consortium who said:

Tackling irresponsible drinking should not be about legislation, it should be about changing the culture and attitudes to alcohol,” he said.

“If the intention was to push up the overall price of alcohol then this legislation does not do that.”

What is the point in more laws about alcohol when our police forces don't enforce the current laws?  Instead of carting drunks off to local A & Es in ambulances, it may do more good for them - and society in the longer term - if they spent a night or two in the cells sobering up.  Their sentence could then include a proper contribution to the community rather than a fine (which few pay) or a community service order which is ineffectual.  Let's start spending money in a more efficient manner rather than continuing down the road of the last 20 years' procedures.

The alcohol problem requires to be tackle from the bottom up not from the top (retailers) down. Why do Scots drink so much is the problem, not the price of alcohol.  As long as we ignore the reasons then the problem will never be resolved.

What is also desperately needed in Scotland is a community service programme which works. So few do at present and nothing is done about it.  Yes, an effective programme would require a larger financial input, but we're currently spending millions on programmes which are useless with much of the blame being on the organisations which supervise them.

Legislating for the sake of being seen to be doing 'something' isn't good for the country, or the government. Bad legislation shows political weakness not strength.

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A User-Friendly Civil Servant

Sir Peter Housden (pictured) began his career as a comprehensive school teacher in Shropshire and worked as an education officer in three county authorities before being appointed Director of Education in Nottinghamshire in 1991.

From Nottingham he moved to London where he rose through the ranks to become Permanent Secretary at the Department for Communities and Local Government.

Why am I telling you about someone you've possibly never heard of? Sir Peter was appointed as Permanent Secretary to the Scottish Government in June 2010 and is being accused of having 'gone native' by Scottish Unionist parties. The Unionists are so incensed by Sir Peter's support of the SNP government that they are lodging complaints with Sir Gus O'Donnell, the Westminster cabinet secretary and the UK's most senior civil servant.

What are Sir Peter's offences? He sends weekly updates to more than 5,000 Scottish government civil servants on the work he is undertaking and personal musings, but some have become concerned that the briefings have 'crossed the line' into politics.  As well as recommending his colleagues see a play that deals with the English army's shaky attempts to impose order in Scotland, in a memo sent just after the SNP's historic win in May, he said:

“And now we go to it.

“This will be a remarkable period in Scotland's history as we embark on a journey toward constitutional reform with the near-term strengthening of the Scotland Bill and a referendum in the second half of the parliament.

“It's remarkable how the terms of this debate have changed irrevocably in just three weeks. Calman and the status quo now seem lost in the mists of time.”

To further inflame the Unionists, Sir John Elvidge, who stood down as Permanent Secretary last year, has written a glowing article in praise of the nationalists, suggesting that he helped Alex Salmond stay in power and contributed to his 'political success'. But there's more.  Sir John had the temerity to mention that 'senior civil servants were "sceptical" about the previous Labour/Libdem administration'.

Also from Sir John's personal musings, we learn that the SNP government allow special advisers to take part in Cabinet discussions on government policy.  What a revelation!  Senior civil servants doing their job and supporting the government of the day.

It is common knowledge in Scotland that the SNP are governing efficiently and effectively and the people will be pleased to note that our elected representatives are making the best possible use of our civil servants' talents.

Somehow I feel Sir Gus will answer the unionists in two words - 'grow up'. It's refreshing to hear the opinions of mandarins who, many would say, run the country. As for Sir Peter's weekly updates - I want one too.

source

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Will Dave Admit His Choice For Scottish Leader?

click to enlarge

The last of the unionist party conferences will be over by the middle of the week and once the Sundays have filled their pages with excruciatingly boring prose, perhaps the Westminster coalition will find the time to attend their respective offices and undertake some work on behalf of their constituents and the country.

But Call Me Dave won't have to look too far for a problem now that Guido has highlighted the fact that he supports Ruth Davidson in the Scottish Tory leadership election and is content to permit  the tory head of media, who has to be neutral in the contest, to attend a meeting at Ms Davidson's home with her campaign strategists.

It would appear to be a fierce fight within the Scottish Tory campaign and Murdo appears to have some very sharp eyed and eared supporters.

I wonder if the BBC will show the hustings which are set to take place this afternoon?  They could be interesting enough to entertain the most fervent independence supporter while they wait for Scotland's conference at the end of the month.

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The Pale Horse Chapter 2 (by Eoin Taylor)

Chapter 2

To the man rich in wealth, the world’s a comedy:

To the man rich in truth, a tragedy.

THE BUFFER ZONE.

Middle England, Middle World

May 2020

. Mary gave a sigh as Dick eased the Rover off the Chester bypass onto the A41. Last lap, a few more miles and they'd be home. They’d taken a chance on the trip; but ‘chance’ featured in everything and two months coasting round the Hebrides was hardly on a par for risk with cruising in the Caribbean. But Dick still selected remote anchorages or secure marinas in preference to the small fishing harbours they’d known and loved. ‘Insecurity’, the perpetual wart of chance, defiling place and defining time. Not that anything had happened; just that the Very pistol and flares were always close to hand. Not primarily to attract attention, but to repel the unwanted and when solitude had to be carefully assessed instead of simply accepted. Perhaps the only real difference between the trip and home had been they were moving targets.

A cool box shifting amongst the mountain of luggage set off a squawking falsetto that had her teeth on edge.

'See to that will you girl.’ Seems it had got to Dick as well.

'No, I'm enjoying it. I've only undone my seat belt so I can give our rearguard the come on.'

'Sure, but while you're at it see if you can shut the damn thing up. Its too Bartok for my ears.' Dick grinned as Mary's trim rump twisted between the seats and began to jerk with the effort of lugging the box clear. He watched her right foot searching for grip, then her gasp of effort gained a couple of seconds of silence before the squawk was back, only different, lower.

Mary gave a sigh of exasperation. 'Sod it! Why can’t you pack as neatly as you did going? Soon as I ease off it'll start again.'

Searching in the console and finding the logbook Dick let his hand slide the book up a leg and over her rump. 'Here girl, see if you can slip that in between.' His hand capered back the same route before Mary, with another gasp and major grunt collapsed back in her seat.

'Back are we Captain? Sleeps the sleep of the snoring dead through rapping halyards, bonking dinghies, squeaking fenders and squawking gulls, but back on land doth silence demand. You know, you've hardly uttered a word since we picked up this lot at Abersoch.' The ‘lot’ referred to by Mary were the cars to their front and rear containing the hired guns. A ‘security’ demanded by their insurers unless travelling in convoys or M ways. For Dick, their presence always seeming to emphasise rather than diminish the threat of being waylaid.

Reaching for Mary’s hand, Dick gave it a squeeze. 'Boats and gulls are meant to squeak and rap, it's natural; that wasn't. Though the bonking wasn't bad.'

'Well hold on to the memory; there’ll be plenty to occupy us in the garden after two months of neglect.'

Half hoping there would be, Dick didn’t want to admit it. 'Aw, c'mon girl, hardly neglect. I’ve squared young Steve up till the end of the month in case we decided to extend the break. You wait, the grass will be like a putting green and maybe he’ll have done some weeding.’

Mary chuckled. 'Now you have worried me. Steve doesn't know a bramble from a rambler.'

'Not fair girl. Granted you don't see them nowadays, but ramblers wore anoraks, great clumping boots, funny hats and took great springy strides as they yodelled along. Come to think of it, year’s back I sort of pictured them as reincarnated garden gnomes'

'Wit's never been your forte, Carter.'

Dick smiled. 'There's many a falsehood hidden by jest.'

'Who's joking?'

As soon as they’d introduced themselves at Abersoch Dick had decided the one thing he didn’t want was for their escorts to see how exposed they were at the Keep, so approaching the Broxton roundabout Dick flashed his lights twice and indicated he was turning into the service station. He’d a reason for calling there, but would use filling up as an excuse to get rid of them at the same time. He gave a snort of amusement when their point car shot ahead and its two occupants slouched out in a parody of the best Hollywood covering positions.

Mary had her mind on something else. 'Dick, couldn't we collect Orson?'

'You mean now?'

'It'll only take a couple of hours.'

'Oh yes and call in at Bob’s while were at it. And Bob will let us go without a couple of snifters, along with how the holiday went. And where're you going to put him? An excited Rottweiler's a lot of dog in your lap.'

Mary ran her hand cajolingly up his thigh. 'I've had worse. Admittedly not for a long time and probably not as excited. Go on, I'm dying to see him.'

Pulling up at the pumps, Dick shook his head. 'Sorry girl, it’s not on. For one thing I promised our escort they'd be heading back to the peninsula by six, the rates double if they have to travel in the dark. I thought I'd just check with Dan to see if everything's all right at the homestead then let this lot go. Penny to a pound Bob will have Orson across in the chopper first thing in the morning.'

”Back home” normalcy clicked in another notch for Mary as she watched one hundred and fifty kilos of security blubber squeeze out from the trailing green and white chequered car and oscillate towards Dick. Mightn't be action man but definitely a shield she mused: instantly regretting her bitchiness and atoning by concentrating on a tabby lazing on one of the redundant pumps supinely defying the need for bath or shower. A hen pheasant marched her brood from the hedge through the shell of a car as though inspecting its mods and cons as a potential roost. While swallows launching from their nests beneath the eaves captured abundant quarry with easy acrobatics. The wildlife were basking in plenty; seemingly confident everything was going their way, which, she mused, mightn’t be far from the truth.

The pump stopping broke her daydream, and she still hadn't selected the tactics to keep the pressure on Dick. Through the rear-view mirror she saw him disinterestedly nodding as senior guard Evan's podgy finger prodded down the billing on the assignment release. Dick gave a final nod at the total before she heard him asking Evan to ’Hold on.’

Watching Dick make his way over to the pay grill, he’d just lowered his head to the speaker when Evan moved and blocked Dick from sight and sound though Dick’s question wasn't exactly on target.

'Dan, I believe you have something for me?'

'Mr Carter is it? Thank God for that.' The voice’s gender threw Dick.

'Sorry, is it Sue? Thought I’d be talking to Dan; is he about?'

'He's in Chester. His wife’s- my sister, Sue’s been rushed in to hospital.'

Dick took a moment to sort out the genealogy. Nothing serious I hope?'

'No. Well yes. It's the baby, she's threatening to lose it.'

Dick hadn't known, and even if he had, would still have struggled with clichés. 'Look, give me a minute to get rid of this lot. Then, if you’ll open the door, I’ll get that noise stopped and we can talk normally.'

He turned to find Evan surrounding him. 'We can go then, can we sir? Cos' that total depends whether you tip cash or credit; it's to do with the vat.'

Dick nodded, signed for the total as it was, and handed Evans two hundreds.

Evan looked at the notes. ‘There are four of us, sir?'

Dick managed to keep his voice even. 'Thank you Mr Evan, it’s called a tip not a ransom.’

With a cursory nod to Dick and a half wave to his colleagues to say their duty was over, Evan started backing towards his car. 'Always a pleasure sir. I've cousin lives in Abersoch, does a bit of fishing. I'll get him to keep an eye on your boat. What's the name again?'

Looking impressed Dick decided Greenchecks boss should get the benefit of the Evans’ interest and described Ken’s yacht. 'Syncopation, red hull, white boot line.' Then watched the name and description being silently repeated and digested

'Right. Pleasure sir.' Evan used his bulk to mask the tip being slid into his pocket. Their yacht was Whisperwind, white hull and blue boot line. He'd ring Ken Noonan and warn him of the Evan’s family’s possible initiative. Turning towards Mary he waved, indicated he’d be another minute then pushed the inner security door open. It was gloomier inside than Dan normally kept it and Sue's sister seemed intent in keeping a nervous distance between them. Knowing the dog had got to her he tried to keep it light.

'Thanks, tell Dan how much we appreciate the favour, and if we can help he's not to hesitate. Now let me get Orson out of your hair. By the way, when was he delivered?' He bit the word short, realising its relevance to the trouble Sue and Dan were experiencing. The sister didn't seem to notice.

'Around lunchtime I think. Dan got in a panic, arranged for me to be collected and look after this lot while he went in with Sue. Bloody fool never told me about the dog till he came to his senses and rang me from the hospital. Just as well, I'd be witless by now if he hadn't.'

Dick laughed, 'He's a big soft lump. Honestly wouldn't do you any harm.'

'If you say so I'll believe you. But I'll just stay behind here until he's out of the way.'

Neither of them noticed the cool box's resumed chatter as Dick swung out of the forecourt for the short drive home. He’d to hold his left arm rigid against the dash to keep some driving room while Mary struggled to control Orson's attempts to lick any flesh his tongue could reach; both were happy to have the boss back.

Tracy Cox, Sue's sister, didn't enjoy the silence once they’d gone. There wasn't much now that she did enjoy in a life controlled by meters and the juggling to keep one and two half bodies together with ends that never met. Rent, water, gas and electricity were constant threats, even when supply wasn't. Growth was malicious; wear and tear crimes of grievous torment. Watching the convoy pulling up she'd hoped it would be a celebrity. Somebody from one of the soaps; something to brighten her day, a chink of glitz. She'd been disappointed at not recognising the bloke and, between the limited scope of the pay slit and heavily tinted glass of the vehicle got only a vague outline of the woman. Anyway, she wasn't interested in women and generally blokes weren't interested in her, so “that” as a subject for consideration was fucked, drawn and quartered. Even Carter, though he'd been a gent and kept his eyes and smile on her, couldn't help the flicker escaping when she'd let him in.

The doctor had called it nervous eczema. No, he'd called it something else; then sort of explained it as that. He'd prescribed ointment that highlighted the skin and its ruptured craters in an oily clingy sheen till she'd run out of health credits. Then she'd been reduced to the harpy lore of old Jean. Dabbing her face nightly with her morning's piss had done nothing for her pussing pits or her self-esteem and even less for her pissing marriage. Mind you “piss, puss and pits” probably summed up Dave as well. The night before he’d left he'd doggie'd her. She'd let his rhythm settle; placidly accepting he was probably getting her best profile, and she wasn’t being swamped by his breath. She’d murmured. 'You like it this way Dave?' His rhythm hadn't altered. 'It's all right, 'cept there's nobody to talk to.' She’d tried to heave him out. Too late he'd come, then, next day, gone. Leaving her with the existing half, and another to come. And what totally pissed her off was she knew. Knew in the time it took from his first wild thrust to the terminal suck it was a BINGO. Nine months, no remission, and now she was six years into her life sentence with no hope of remission.

The clatter of the shutters and the shout of “Shop” reminded her of why she was where she was. 'What pump and how much?'

'Four and fifty's worth.'

Hardly worth moving for. Processing the card she set the controls for the amount of fuel to flow. Shit! she'd forgotten to give the bloke the envelope. Carter? Hadn't he been some sort of M.P. or something? She wasn't sure but there was something; maybe he was somebody worth knowing. Problem was Dan had stressed not to forget it. Turning the envelope she saw it wasn't sealed. Sliding out the single sheet she struggled with the writing then concentrated on the printed address and phone numbers on top. She hesitated wondering whether to tell Dan and let him sort it out, or ring the number on the note. Finally, she picked up the phone.

Dick said nothing when they turned off the lane on to the drive. The tractor and mower were parked off to the right and obviously he’d have to have words with young Steve but, for the moment, Mary seemed too engrossed with Orson to notice. Slowing for the cattle grid his eyes ranged down the drive to where it curved round the shoulder of the knoll that screened the house.

'What time is it?' Mary asked.

Obviously his silent prayer hadn’t worked. Too early and he’d be landed with sorting out Steve tonight. Dick spoke through a yawn that didn't fool the dog. 'Back of six; though it feels like ten. Why?'

'Shouldn't the sprinklers be on?'

'Steve's probably turned them off so the grass will be dry when he cuts it tomorrow.'

'By the look of it he hasn't bothered for some time.'

'Well no use worrying about it now I'll get him over tomorrow and sort it out.'

Mary put her hand on his arm. '’Stop and let Orson race us home.'

Rottweilers aren't built for speed but Orson liked to be waiting when they pulled up at the door. If they pulled ahead he would sulk, flopping down in the middle of the drive until they’d stopped and let him regain the lead. Then he’d make a point of lifting his leg over a wheel to reconfirm the family pecking order. He was lolloping round the bend now, encouraged by Mary's shouts against the threat of the blaring horn. Dick slowed to a crawl to let him get to the door with some breath and dignity. 'Next dog's a greyhound. At least we'll be home quicker.' he grumbled

'Don't complain, you starte... Jesus. No!'

Flooring the accelerator was pure reaction. Hearing the first 'Crack' Dick was half convinced it was somebody shooting in the copse? The 'crump' right after couldn't have come from any place other than the house and said there was more than one. A second 'crack' when they’d careened round and up onto the gravel was muted by the screaming engine but he’d seen enough of the bloke by the door to know who the shot was aimed at. He saw something else, and knew instantly what Mary's reaction would be. Grabbing her arm he threw the wheel hard over. Engine screaming, wheels spitting gravel they were airborne before crashing down with an almighty whump near the bottom of the embankment. Taking no chances he flicked into four wheel drive, ripped behind the shelter of the knoll and was half way to the gates before sweeping back round.

Rage had Mary squirming to get out of Dick’s grip, her free arm swinging at him, her words spitting out. 'Let me go. The stupid bastards have shot him.'

Without taking his eyes of the space between the knoll and them, Dick captured her flailing arm and pulled her to him. 'Mary, did you see any car or van up there?’

'What the hell's that got to do with it? The bloody cretins have shot Orson. We need to get him to the vet - Now.’

'Mary, that wasn't the security guys being trigger happy.'

'Sod whoever it was, I’m going to get to Orson.'

Keeping her arms pinned Dick forced her to look at him. 'Mary, that wasn't a mistake. They meant it. They meant to fire at us.' Then gently shaking her to underline his conviction 'They're warning us off.' Feeling Mary’s anger collapse to despair Dick searched for the mobile.

'What are you doing?'

'Getting the police.'

Mary, her head sunk against his shoulder, shook it. 'It'll be too late by the time they arrive. Let me talk to them. See if they'll let us take him, then ring.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Well dammit, do something.'

Reasons chattered in frantic bites through Dick’s brain, actions kaleidoscoped as scenarios. None were reassuring or inviting; or even made sense. But there was one indisputable bloody fact; doing nothing was not an option; because if he did nothing Mary would. Easing her back to her seat he swung the Rover round to face the entrance. 'All right, I'll go. But only if you promise to do exactly as you're told.'

'Maybe they'll be less jumpy if they see a woman.'

Dick wasn’t so convinced that he wanted to argue the point. The confusion pounding his brain spat out as rage. 'Enough for Christ’s sake. Either you agree or we go back to Dan's and wait for the police.' Biting off his rant Dick tried to balance sense and action. 'Christ sake Mary, we don't know who or what we're dealing with. It’ll be bad enough watching out for them and worrying about my skin and Orson without having to worry about what you’re up to. Now will you promise?' Mary's nod said she did though Dick wasn’t convinced. 'Right.' Dick found it difficult to sound confident when he was still hunting for logic and that could easily mutate to ridicule. 'First, you keep the engine running, in drive and facing the entrance. The luggage will give you some protection. Anybody other than me comes down that drive, go like a bat out hell to Dan's and contact the police. You do not get out of the car, even if I'm crawling back. If nobody else is about, back up to me. Keep the luggage between you and the house at all times. Unless you can see me and there’s nothing serious happening, after ten minutes get the hell out of here. No questions, no hesitating, no heroics. Get to Dan's, and let Bob know what's happening after you've contacted the police. Now girl, do you promise me on everything we mean to one another to do exactly that?'

The quandary was Mary's now. 'What are you going to do? You haven't anything to protect yourself.'

Dick shrugged. 'Better they see I'm unarmed and not a threat. Ill climb to the top of the knoll on the blind side. When I get there I'll raise my hands and start down to the house. If things get nasty I'll roll down, over the drive and down the embankment. Once I'm on the drive I should be blind to them again.' Cupping her face he kissed her brow. 'Don't worry. If it comes to that I reckon you'll just about catch me up by the cattle grid. But keep in four wheel drive because I'll have shit myself and the drive could be slippery.'

'Maybe we should just go?'

'Bugger that, it’s our home. I want Orson seen to and I want to know who the hell they are.' Reaching for the door handle he tried to reassure her. 'Believe me hitting a moving target isn't nearly as easy as they make it look on the box. No, don't get out just scramble over.’ Mary’s look told Dick exactly how much she believed him and forced him to acknowledge the bullshit was probably more for his benefit as hers.

Keeping below the ridgeline of the knoll, Dick gave Mary one last wave. He'd modified the plan slightly, though calling it a plan was dignifying a gut reaction caused by an earlier reaction to the heart. He'd left a message for Bob telling him not to collect Orson. Instead he asked the kennels to drop Orson off at Dan’s; thinking it would save Bob the bother and be a surprise for Mary. Christ he'd done that right enough and, now he was at the ridge, the "moving target" quip had the substance of a fart. Waving and getting no reaction he inched forward until he had the front upper windows in sight. A second heave gave him the ground floor and front entrance; one more and he had the black and tan of Orson's coat. He searched for any sign of movement from him and seeing none found some hope in that he couldn’t see any blood either. Dragging his eyes from Orson he saw the bastard with the rifle being joined by two more. Bastard pointed out where he wanted them to cover before beckoning Dick down to him.

Too much had happened in too little time for Dick to have anything other than hazy expectations. He'd pictured louts of either gender. Greasy, unwashed, wallowing in odours dredged from the sump of humanity, welcoming him with inane comments like, “You didn’t expect that you cunt.” The bastard, his pate fringed by hair whiter than Dicks, looked towards the window of one of the guest bedrooms and mimed something before breaking the shotgun and nestling it in the crook of his arm, waited. Relaxed, in neutral, controlled; sport jacketed and flannelled; the host in his manor calmly prepared for a confrontation with a belligerent trespasser. He watched till Dick was about six metres from him with Orson a passive boundary mid way between. 'All right, that's close enough.'

'I'm not armed. Just let me see to my dog.' Dick walked on, keeping his eyes on Baldy’s. 'My dog…. My home.' He saw Baldy twist to the side to look again at the upper window and give a slight nod.

'We're sorry about the dog. Thought it was loose and we've got children here. The noise you were making didn't help either.'

By this time Dick was by Orson and had confirmed what he already knew. ‘Bastards!’ Baldy shrugged, not complacently, just factually. So Dick stated what to him was obvious. ‘Get the hell out of my house.’

'No.'

That ‘No’ changed everything. Till now the event had the fog of confusion to blur its acts and omissions. A ridiculous situation had developed into a stupid tragedy. Now positions had to be clarified, possessions re-claimed and the sanity called normalcy restored. 'What? For Christ sake - THIS IS MY FUCKING HOME.' Shrieked out, the words became nothing but bluster. Quietening Dick tried again. 'You understand, this is my home. I own it. You realise what the police will do when they get here?'

Baldy sighed as though surprised reason had any purpose in the situation. 'Since you say it's your home you must be Carter. Well Mr Carter, let me tell you we've already had a visit from the police, more than a month back. The result of which is the reason for that over there.'

Turning in the direction he'd pointed, Dick saw in the middle of the west lawn by the rose bed a strip of fresh earth. A freshly painted wooden cross marking its significance. 'That's my youngest son buried there. Not your fault and probably mine more than anybody's. We thought the place was deserted. Knew it wasn't of course as soon as we checked it out properly. Kept an eye on it for ten days from the copse; saw the security patrols come round twice a day and a young bloke turned up a few times to cut the grass.

'The security firm weren’t a problem, they never are. I got their number from the index in your study. They were sorry to hear you had cut the holiday short; other than that they were more interested in getting a cancellation charge covered. Got to admit I was quite generous with your money but the quicker they lost interest the better for us.

The lad was more of a problem. He contacted some friend of yours who came over with a right bee in his bonnet. Eventually he seemed to see sense. Asked if he could negotiate for some of your personal stuff. We told him there was no need; he could pick up whatever he wanted. Barring the bare necessities. We needed beds, things like that.'

'Bloody reasonable of you.' Dick watched the sarcasm strike a nerve

'Maybe so, Mr Carter, but it was a Trojan horse your friend sold us. The van was full of police…. What's that?'

Knowing exactly who it was Dick dropped the bravado. 'It's my wife; I told her if I wasn't back in ten minutes to get out of it. Please, she isn't armed. Neither of us are carrying weapons.'

Baldy gave a dismissive snort. 'You’re either a brave man or a fool, Mr Carter, or more’n likely rich enough to have somebody else do the dirty work. Beckon her up. Unless you have lied, when I'd advise you to stop her now.' Turning towards his man by the door Baldy said a few words to him. Seconds later Dick heard the kitchen door bang and saw another bloke sprint across the gravel and climb to the crest of the knoll. Watching Dick take all this in, Baldy said, ' I won't tell you how many we are, but she's well covered.'

Nodding Dick turned and waved Mary up.

'Have you called the police?' Baldy asked

Shaking his head Dick realised he might have cut out all the heroics by simply phoning the house from the car. But that would have been weird -“Hello; have you shot my dog? And would you mind vacating the premises?”- Yes Mary would have gone for that, and Orson deserved more. It was the start of the inquest, the weighing of logic and hindsight. Anyway they could have simply chosen not to answer. 'No we didn't want to delay in case we could still do something for Orson.'

Acknowledging the logic, Baldy prodded the air twice in the general direction of the entrance. Dick saw his mate on the knoll turn his attention from the car and twist round to cover the entrance. 'Now tell Mrs Carter she’s to get out and turn slowly round with her arms straight out.'

Dick wasn't quick enough. As soon as she'd pulled to a halt, Mary was kneeling by Orson. His head cradled in her lap, her body rocking while her keening sobs seemed to plead for comfort for both their souls. Kneeling beside her, Dick felt grief swell through his rage. Now wasn't the time to argue, they’d other priorities. He tried clearing his throat to find a passage for words, and couldn't. He wasn't going to beg or plead and they could sodden well think what they liked about the tears. Rising he reached in to the Rover and started throwing bags and squawking bloody cool boxes until he considered he’d cleared enough space.

'What are you doing Carter?’

The physical effort gave Dick back his voice. 'The phone, in the house, is it still working?'

'No reason for it not to be; until you cancel or the bill isn't paid.'

Impudent bastard, 'In that case we're leaving. I'm not arguing or pleading with you. Just realise you’ve not won. I'll see you in hell first.' Dick kept his head down, Mary’s grief bringing out the anger and frustration in him. Holding her shoulder he gently eased her to one side before bracing himself to lift Orson.

In any normal circumstance Dick wouldn’t have attempted, let alone managed to stagger the few feet to the tailgate and lay Orson down with some semblance of dignity. He was easing his back straight when he realised two men were approaching. 'What the fuck do you want?'

It was Baldy who answered. 'They were only going to help; we didn't think you would manage.'

'Well I have, so they can fuck off.' Dick glowered at the two who, with a glance at Baldy shrugged and turned to join him.

'Mr Carter,' it was Baldy again. 'Believe it or not we are sorry about the dog; this was his home and if you want him buried here we would like to help.’

'Mary?'

Mary had heard. Though confused by the situation and the people they were dealing with asked, 'Who are they Dick?'

Dick had no answer to that. 'Don't bother with that for now, girl. What about Orson?' letting the question hang while she gently stroked her tears into Orson’s fur.

'Please.' Was whispered out.

Dick struggled for volume. 'We'll take you up on that.'

'Where?'

Dick pointed to the rose bed. 'Our dogs and a few cats are buried there. There's space next to where your...' letting the words trail off when he realised what he was proposing. 'Sorry, I didn't mean…'

Baldy stopped him. 'That's all right Carter. There's worse things can happen to a man than to have a dog buried by him.'

Four of them dug the grave. The bed was easy to dig, free and friable with none of the clay they must have struggled with for the grave only feet away. It had been an ornamental pond full of venerable carp and goldfish that would have made a fishmonger’s eyes water. Dick had it filled in after their toddling nephew Rab had used it a couple of times for impromptu swimming lessons. The last rose was being heeled back when he was reminded. 'The phone, Mr Carter?'

Dick found himself trying to weigh up the man. Grey intelligent eyes, showing concern but holding the sheen of determination. Age? Probably around the same as his. Difficult to be more precise when you have only the one impression to go on and, if stress can age, he could be looking like an eighty year old to Baldy. But yes, around the fifties – sixties. Later, when they were trying to make sense of it all, Dick described his features as determined; Mary said they were brutal. Shorter than Dick and stockier, his bulk showing none of the wobbly overhangs or crevasses of soft fat. Confident in his control in the – what you see is what you get - idiom. Different time, different circumstance? Who knows? 'Mister…?' Dick asked, inviting a response.

Baldy shook his head. 'Knowing my name isn't necessary.'

Dick kept trying. 'You can't reasonably expect me to accept this situation. This is our property, our home. We've been sailing for a couple of months, but this is our base, home, our permanent residence. I mean we don't just use it for a few months then move on. Dammit man, it's been our home for twenty odd years and we're very fond of it. We’ve every right to be fond of it we’ve fucking paid for it. You’re not screwing the mortgage company or the bank you’re screwing us.’ A thought struck him. ‘Have I done some harm to you in business? Because if I have I wasn’t aware of it and I’m fairly certain I’ve never met you.’

Baldy almost smiled. ‘There’s no vendetta between us.’

‘Well that’s good to know. So there’s nothing personal this’s merely a matter of squatting?’ Checking Mary was still by the grave Dick lowered his voice. ‘So what will it cost us to get you to leave?’

Baldy merely shook his head. ‘You’re way off the mark if you think we’re in this to force you to buy us out.’

Dick tried another tack 'You said you have women and children here. Surely you won't put them at risk? Not after what happened to your son. Or is that it? You're hoping we believe you, and use only the soft options. Maybe there are no women or children?’

“Think what you like, but for us there are no soft options. Leastways none that matter. You know this house Mr Carter, its size; how solidly it's built, the security measures you have installed and the ground it commands. How many people can it hold comfortably? And how well it can be defended. As to the women and children, if you look to your left you will see one of my daughter’s waiting with coffee, should you or Mrs Carter want some.'

Dick refused the offer. It was time to get out and the situation was too bizarre for coffee and biscuits. He started loading the stuff back in the car. 'We're leaving. You say you have considered your position; we need to consider ours. Somehow or other, God knows why, you strike me as a reasonable man. I really don't want this madness to create any more carnage, to people or my property, so I'll tell you why I asked about the phones. Whatever I, we, decide to do I'll ring and tell you. There will be no tricks, I’ll hold nothing back but once that's done, whatever happens will be entirely your responsibility. I hope you consider your position very carefully.' Then hesitating Dick added. 'I just don't see how you can expect to win man?'

Reaching into his jacket pocket Baldy pulled an envelope from it.' We don't expect to win Mr Carter. Who does nowadays?' Offering the envelope to Dick he added, 'I've had time during your absence to compose this. It may help to explain and for you to understand the lengths we are prepared to go to.’

'Chopper!!!!'

All eyes turned to the watcher on the knoll then to the direction he was pointing. Hustling the gravediggers inside Baldy barked at Dick. 'Who is it? Who have you contacted?'

'Nobody. I told you.' Dick turned his eyes quizzing Mary who shook her head. 'We've contacted nobody.'

Dick watched a nerve work on Baldy’s' cheek while he decided whether to believe them or not. They all turned towards the chopper’s sound as it veered south, staying constant in volume and out of sight. Suddenly it broke cover over the copse and dived towards them.

'It's my brother Bob,' Dick shouted over the din and, without thinking, waved to show they were all right.

'If he’s the one who brought the police, I don't want him near here.' Baldy seemed to weigh up his options. 'Mrs Carter, drive to the entrance block it off and get him to land. Your husband stays with me until I'm convinced your friend has no more tricks up his sleeve.'

'How?' queried Mary.

'Never mind ‘how’. Needs must when the devil drives and I'm the devil you've got to worry about for now. Move Madam, and once he lands make sure you keep clear of the vehicles and where you can both be seen. One more thing, has your friend a phone in that thing?'

Dick shrugged. 'Probably, I don't know for sure.'

'If it has will it be in your index?'

'Probably, can't remember ever using it. We could try his mobile.'

'Right, Mrs Carter, as soon as your husband and I are in the house your car phone will ring. Let it ring until your friend has landed and you have his number. If he has a phone in the cab and his mobile I want you to take the mobile and throw it as far as you can. I'll be watching through binoculars, then and only then will you answer the car phone and give us his number. We’ll use one of the other house lines to tie it up. Have you got that?' Baldy hesitated, ‘Thinking about it, what about your own mobiles?'

Dick pointed to one of the bags he'd thrown out. 'One's in there, dead as a dodo, other's in the glove box.'

'Baldy nodded. 'We'll have that as well. Now Mrs Carter, time to go.'

Throwing the mobile to him, Mary asked, 'What happens when we've done all this?'

''You wait, Mrs Carter. Wait and hope there's nobody else concerned for your well being. Now go.' Laying his hand lightly on Dick’s arm he led him towards his home.

For Dick, it was when he was led through his own front door that he appreciated just how much had been stolen from them. He'd expected, been looking forward to, the house having that sleepy mausoleum smell. As though it had a shrink-wrapped membrane sealing in the memories it had accommodated. He realised how much he'd been looking forward to the smell of that first pot of coffee; the raising of a couple of the security shutters and the opening of the original internal wood shutters to let in a few hours of light before sealing up again for the night. Setting a match to the wood burner purely for effect then settling down with a dram and thanking it for being a nice home to come back to. Now it felt angry with them for allowing its integrity to be compromised. The rape victim subsequently forced into cohabiting with the rapists. But perhaps not, when he caught sight of the plastic trikes and pedal cars scattered round the entrance hall.

One thing he did appreciate was Baldy’s decision to allow Mary to go and control Bob; he could just as easily have kept Mary as the more vulnerable hostage. Odd that; gallant even?'

Escorted to his study and finding it just as he'd left it, Dick dialled the car phone, handing the handset to Baldy when it started to ring. From the window the north gateposts could just be made out. Bob was in clear sight, hovering midway between it and the house. While they watched, the Rover swung across the gateposts blocking the drive. Baldy, once he'd heard the dialling tone, had taken Dicks telescope from its stand and was using it to sweep the sky and surrounding vista, giving a nod of approval when he saw where she'd parked. 'Competent woman your wife, Mr Carter.'

Dick was concentrating on Mary's diminutive figure as Bob slowly edged towards her. 'C'mon Bob. C'mon.' Giving a sigh of relief when the chopper settled and Mary signed, by drawing the edge of her hand across her throat, for Bob to shut it down. He wondered if the sign had more significance for him.

Baldy grunted. 'She's on her way back to the car.' Handing Dick the scope he waited till the phone was answered. Scribbling down the number, he reminded Mary to keep her line open before switching to the second house line entering the number and getting the ring tone. 'Good, what are they doing now?'

'They’re standing between the chopper and the car.' Handing the scope back Dick asked, 'So, what happens now?'

'We wait. You might like to take this opportunity of using your bathroom. Freshen up a bit; collect some clothes for you and Mrs Carter. Collect anything that's special, that sort of thing. You'll find everything in your suite is as you left it.'

'What do you expect me to say. Thank you?'

Baldy gave a half smile. 'No Mr Carter. I'm just telling you how things are; seems only sensible to make the best of it.'

Closing the study door to the suite’s inner hall, Dick went to their dressing room and tentatively tried the door leading to the gallery. It was locked, which probably meant the door directly from the bedroom was as well, leaving the study the only way out. Grabbing a bag he threw a couple of shirts, casual trousers and underwear into it then struggled to find much the same for Mary. No way was he going to cram clothes into suitcases and give the bald cuss the impression of preparation for a long absence. In the bathroom he started to swill his face, thought better of it, stripped and showered. Within fifteen minutes he was back in the study, but not before he’d checked the safe in his bedroom and transferred its contents into the bag under the clothes.

Meanwhile Baldy had helped himself from the Tantalus. Lifting his glass he invited Dick to join him. 'Excellent whisky. You can tell it's aged. Long time since I've tasted any as smooth.'

Long time since I've met anybody as smooth Dick thought, while helping himself to a couple of fingers. Smooth didn't quite fit. Cocksure? No. Arrogant, abrasive, dominating? No, each of these was a weakness. It came back to determined, resolute to the point of flint. Good name for him that. Hard, but possibly a bit flaky, edgy if approached the wrong way. There again, what did he know? Could be they were dealing with a fully qualified, certificated, diploma holding psycho. Didn't bear thinking about so he fought to keep his thoughts to the minimum shit depth. 'It's the Ardbeg. Should be a couple of cases down in the cellar.'

Flint nodded. 'They're still there, merely complimenting your taste.'

Dick sighed inwardly, what the hell could you do with this man? 'I 'm impressed by your strange notions of honesty and integrity. What would impress me more would be if you were to show some compassion and let me get back to my wife. I would like to get to wherever we decide before its dark.'

Flint’s tone became almost conversational. 'Give it another ten minutes. You did remember my letter when you changed?'

Dick indicated his hip pocket. 'Got it here. You'll understand if I don't want to digest it at the moment.'

'Of course, but you've seen the condition of the house and your suite in particular. Nothing’s been abused and nothing will be. You have to understand this's purely a matter of survival.'

This was getting too credible, too fucking negotiable. 'I don't think we'll take up that offer.' Dick tried to stay chilled but lost it. 'You're ripping us off good time. You don't look or act like an idiot; in fact you seem so sane I'm beginning to think you're mad. Completely bloody bonkers. Well, just let me make it clear. I'm not accepting this. Nor do I accept your care of my home as a reason to be considerate. Not even for a bloody reference as a tenant.'

Flint swung to face him. 'You could be right about the madness, I've touched it and I’m not ashamed of it. You might be surprised how subtle, how deceptively conventional its tentacles are Carter and nobody's immune to it. No, if I were mad you would have known it by now and at a cost far greater than all of this. I think it's time you went, before this conversation sinks to a depth neither of us wants. Goodnight Mr Carter. You know your way out and believe it or not, we really are sorry about the dog.'

Relief didn't strike Dick until he was in the lee of the knoll with Bob driving towards him.

'You all right?'

Dick just nodded and slumped in the seat.

'What the hell does he think he's up to?' Bob asked

'God knows Bob, unless he's recreating Alice's Wonderland.'

Bob grimaced. 'You're coming back to the farm. Jon and his lads will be here any minute to drive back with you.'

'Take Mary with you Bob, it'll be quicker.' Picking up the car phone Dick called in, ‘Hello, you there? It's Carter.'

'Yes Mr Carter.'

'Arrangements have been made for some friends to escort us to our temporary residence. I’ll stay in sight till they arrive. There will be no funny business.'

'Thank you. Look forward to hearing from you.' Breaking the connection Dick rubbed both hands over his face.

Bob asked, 'Did he tell you about the cock up with the police?'

'Not now Bob; leave it for later.' Then, rubbing the back of his neck Dick asked, ' Bob, Alice in Wonderland, how does it end?'

'Don't know, Dick, never read it.'

‘Maybe we should.' Because he knew, Baldy – Flint, whatever the bastard was called, had a point.

**************************************

Deek: Salford, May 2020.

The Sunk Estate

'Fuck you!' Deek slammed the Gensho Gamestar down on his thigh, throwing his torso back and straightening his legs so the blankets muffled its zany victory tones.

He was a reluctant pacifist. Eight year olds never want to be anything they can't see a need for. Eight year old boys want to win. Some might think its their right to win - few can accept their only right is to lose. Life has to teach them that.

He waited till the scroll of honours, the top scores, the one he would never join, had gone. Then the tone changed and once more he was ready to weave, duck, bounce, vault and plunge through an invasion of gorbly androids while his trigger finger, the real android zapper, could be stuck up his arse for all the use it was. That didn't stop him pounding the attack button in the hope of a response from the screen.

He'd known the button didn't work when he'd done the swap with Ging. It hadn't mattered then because the air pistol hadn't worked either. Not since he'd dropped it when the fuzz parked below and the bastards had looked up. Looked straight at him before heading for the entrance.

He'd never scored with it, leastwise, not that he'd seen. No bodies had sprawled on the path or crawled out of sight clutching torn flesh. A couple of times he'd seen people sort of swipe their necks or shoulders but he reckoned, way off target for him to claim. He'd got a pigeon. It had landed on the window ledge of his mother's bedroom. It had been a real lucky shot, because any position other than down had to be judged with the arm bent through the slot of the open window. He'd hit it bang on the centre of its coo-cooing chest, watched it tumble off, recover, then flap up and past him. So even when it worked, it didn't.

He'd waited for the lift, then added time for the stairs till, peering through the nets in his mothers bedroom, he'd watched the fuzz leave as empty handed as they came. Next time he'd skedadle to Gunge upstairs. There were worse moves than having to keep your eyes on the carpet and hands in your pockets for an hour imagining every surface in his flat covered in snot. Instead he'd snatched some string from a drawer, wound it round the pistol and hung it from the window only to hear it slither free. It must've caught the wall or ledge on the way down. When he found it sunk in the mud between the path and the sidewalk, one side of its plastic handle was smashed. He'd cleaned it then found the trigger had jammed and asked his dad to fix it. Old Man Awkright had glanced it over, wiggled the trigger a couple of time and thrown it back at him. 'It's knackered. Bloody well learn to look after your toys. Money down the drain's what that is.'

Money hadn’t come into it; Deek had hoisted it from a bloke fishing on the canal bank. Ging's father had fixed it, had carved new handles in wood for him. It was a pity he couldn't fix the fucking Gensho. Deek knew he was kidding himself, if Ging’s father had fixed it he wouldn’t have it.

Banal life sounds filtered through without distracting him. The living room door opening let a droll quizmaster's voice try a sneak attack, instantly recognised, easily repelled. Less easy, though just as quickly recognised, was his grandfather’s pissing slosh accompanied by gurgling hawks and slucking gobs. That had him squirming round so his back was to the sound. 'Shit!' He'd lost again, just that millisecond of distraction. He waited for the click of the door latch then for his grandfather to tiptoe over to Rosie, lifting her covers well off for a gander before tucking her in.

`You sleeping Deek?'

'Yes Granddad.'

Buggered the old fucker.

***********************************

MOVERS and SHAKERS.

MOSCOW. 2020

'Mr President, President Mair of the United States of America.'

Formality dispensed, Anna gave both men a half smile as she closed the door behind her and made her way through the matching phalanxes of bodyguards. Boys and their toyboy's she thought

Both of Alexei's hands cupped the one extended to him. 'Tired Jim?'

'No, not so much tired Alex as flat brained. I think Liu has just about run out of dimension to dement. Between him and the foreign secretary Li Chin, not only had they my interpreter rattled but they had their own was struggling as well. Half the time the poor guy looked as though he was searching for divine interpretation if not intervention. My guy admitted the two of them had sort of hammed it up. Seemingly Liu and LiChin were switching dialects and often they were on entirely different issues and seemingly oblivious to the confusion they were causing.’

’Double act or for real?’

Jim shrugged. ‘My man reckons they’re so crinkled they’re ready to shred. Crunch is, Chan's definitely pulling their strings. Just choosing his time before replacing them.'

'How does he see it?'

'Now you would have to be a fly that can read the runes in his craphouse to really know that. The impression he wanted me to have was one of interest but not commitment. He regards our WREC initiative as a blind. Our Star-Screen as untested techno blackmail and our consumer junkie empires’ last desperate fling to maintain dominance before his comes online to take over. Considers India too fragmented and unstable and Brazil too far behind to be in contention' Easing out of his jacket Jim slipped it over the back of Alexei's desk chair. 'As far as WREC’s concerned, wants to know what’s in it for him, and I’m damned if I know if the 'him' is personal or China.'

Easing back on the lounger opposite Alexei, Jim mused on his butt's ability to adapt to more profiles than his brain seemed capable of. 'I'd say he'll be in the driving seat within the next eighteen months. Unless Liu or LiChin have some magic elixir, he'll have them out to grass, or under it.'

'Nature or nurture?'

‘Not our problem. Just as he didn't want to dwell on his or anybody's population and poverty problems; and reckons they have every right to go on playing catch-up credits on carbon controls. Then got straight into the fundamentalists being our self-inflicted wound; said we got our incitement to returns ratios wrong. See’s it as a minor threat and major profit to them. How would we compensate China for cutting their supply off, etcetera?

My impression, candidly, is both his timescale and attitude’s pure bluff. He knows the strength of his hand as far as the markets are concerned and is as aware as we are that none of the carbon targets are going to be met whether China plays ball or not. So he's quite happy to be seen as the evil empire playing both ends towards his middle until such time as quote, "We let him in on the game we're playing." And, how, when, and if, we intend to play it." end quote. Coincidence or not?'

Alexei grimaced. 'Let's hope not, Jim. Otherwise, whether he’s right about India and Brazil or not, it’s what the world believes and without China we haven’t the leverage.’

'He knows Alex. I said nothing about the meeting in Reykjavik. We know he's picked up the traffic through the satellite. He was waiting for me to give him the invite and I think it kinda threw him when I didn’t. Thought it might hurry him along on sounding you out and be more conciliatory when he does.'

Alexei pulled a napkin from the coffee tray and wiped his glasses. 'Makes sense. Meantime we should entice our fundamentalist friends back into the headlines and keep that pot simmering.’

‘Christ Alex fundamentalism! When did idiocy become fashionable?’

Alexei chuckled ‘Idiocy has always been fashionable it’s only its tools that change.’

Slipping his glasses back on, Alexei tapped the file lying between them. 'Cuirakin's read this outline of yours and, like me, is enthusiastic. We’ve highlighted some points that you might like to discuss.'

'Go ahead.'

'The cost, how accurate is it and what effect will it have on the financial markets? And, could it leave an audit trail? That’s Andrei’s question not mine.’

Jim Mair chuckled, 'It’s a gesture Alex. A vague cost for a visionary future. We simply took the costs of our Star Screen programme, including the over runs for the past 10 years and doubled them. Which probably makes it as accurate and probably more real than the values pumped out by the markets daily and probably about as auditable. Nothing has ever been figured this big. We don't think the accuracy, even the amount, will be the issue since initially at least most of it will be circulating in our control. Robbing Peter to pay Peter via Paul as it were, with everybody that matters getting their cut and nobody that matters losing, and all of it government backed. Who’s to lose, it’s a winner all the way especially when it’s exactly what the conglomerates wants to believe.'

Alexei smiled. ‘I think we will have more of a problem here with the government backing angle. Anyway Cuirakin suggests you double its projected costs when it's presented to Nakao and Gnauk. And Chan if he's there in July. Make it stratospheric, difficult to envision. You know as well as I do costs are peripheral to the political gains. Use it to underline the issue of the single world currency. It will give everybody plenty to argue over and help keep their eyes on their financial heaven and off the earthly ball.

As to the waste problem, Cuirakin’s come up with this.' He slid a sheet of paper across. 'Ostensibly they're underground nuclear waste dumps, similar to those developed by the U.K but bigger. He suggests one for every seven reactors, making ten in all. Each would be the minimum of one kilometre below the surface and with storage chambers of around three kilometres by one and a half and about one hundred meters high. It will give us a sound reason to do a lot more surveys and a good argument for gaining access to the South African mines.'

Glancing at the bottom line, Jim felt himself shiver as he read, "Deduct approx. 33% for access, handling and racking, capacity left 500." 'I take it that's millions?'

Alexei nodded. 'Should imagine so, otherwise it won't cover the parameters we need.'

'That's an awful lot of storage. Especially if we're not scheduling the reactors to be built until these are complete.'

Alexei shrugged 'Have they any choice Jim?' Cushion it by the price we're prepared to pay for the privilege. We have to sell them on the nuclear energy front, even if it means building a couple. Anyway, if they’re worried we're trying to dump the world's nuclear waste on them we’ll take them on a tour round Russia. They'd soon realise we would need a lot more than these merely to bury our mistakes at Blagoveshensk.'

Or Chernobyl, thought Jim, saying nothing, knowing the blame game could go on forever to little purpose. Besides he knew how much Blagoveshchesk had cost Alexei in terms of family and was surprised by his second suggestion. 'You're proposing we drop the highways and concentrate more on rail. Could have a problem with that. The auto lobby's still a force to be reckoned with, more so now quotas, size and type restriction are strangling them. Paving a continent would have their mouths watering, tracking it will have them squealing foul. Not only that but our friends in the rising Yen won't like it. Nakao more'n any of us is controlled by industry.'

'’Then cover both road and rail in your proposal Jim. What are we selling? The illusion that we are all willing to commit ourselves to vast costs for their benefit initially and subsequently the worlds. It’s the only continent where we can get a large element of control without grinding them into submission by war. Where we have the chance to create viable lifestyles and infrastructures and where the population have enough patience ground into them to give us the chance to succeed.' Alexei laughed as his friend's smile slowly edged into a grin.

'Sorry, didn't mean to preach to the preacher, just helps sometimes to stick with the effect and not think about the cost or the cause. Fact is Cuirakin feels rail will be more efficient for the storage factor, the eventual logistics more controllable.'

Wishing his mind's graphics wouldn't mortify his conscience, Jim struggled to keep his thoughts on the now. 'No, you’re right we’ll stick with the eco base otherwise it could look as though we’re undermining our own principles. In fact Stannought’s is proposing that all of the conglomerates that tender should submit a full carbon-audit of their projects. Too high and they either modify or drop out. That could cost you Alex.'

'Now isn't that a surprise coming from our esteemed colleague? Doesn't matter that our oil and gas distribution grids are state of the art. Next to Norway we have the best steelworks and they have only an eighth of our capacity. So Robert once again has crawled into his self preserving mould and dropped himself into his self serving shit.'

'True. Problem is Alex, he never seems to be aware of it nor have any sense of smell.'

'But he's wonderfully predictable.'

Jim chuckled while thinking, yeh, but you don’t have to live with him. ‘All right let's keep looking at the wood. I've settled on Shultz to front for me.'

Alexei’s eyebrow rose in query. 'But isn't he a republican?'

'Thanks Alex. He's also got sound contacts as an ex-secretary of state and a director of the I.M.F. and first and foremost he’s a pragmatist. He's not looking for political office and has the integrity, once convinced, to keep his commitment to the big target. He's respected and liked by Christiani and I’ve the feeling he frightens Stannought. Choosing him to front the WREC initiative gives it a cross party caucus. I take it Cuirakin is to be your man?'

'No, I want for him to stay out of WREC. Maybe behind the scenes, in reserve so to speak. Says he’s too old and tired to be in the cut and thrust. He says it confuses him; but as an advisor he feels relaxed and capable of seeing the wider picture. Besides there's no political capital to be gained by Russia being seen in a driving seat and my people want to see some gilt in their own lives before they'll be interested in world order. We'll show our commitment with troops and technicians as part of the control and monitoring force. Show our gratitude for the contracts and increase the measure of stability here through them. Cuirakin and Shultz are already well known to each other, so if you can find a way to explain Cuirakin's role to Shultz and convince him of the need for it to be understated I’ll be grateful. The last thing we need is for our friends to think it's them and us. I’ll only feel safe when we know it's us and them.'

'I'll leave working out that one till I'm on my way home.'

Alex nodded. 'I'll be there at the crucial time. Now as to Shultz, you know how I worry about egos being our weakest point. Rumour has it he has a strange predilection?'

Jim handed him a second flimsy. 'The fact it's only a rumour shows how careful he is. He's reasonably generous to his ex and she has enough sense not to roll him. Candidly we’re not even sure if she knows.'

Glancing through the data, Alexei pondered on what a similar exercise might reveal about him. Probably two lines would cover it. Interests limited to fly fishing, Bach, Beethoven and Irish whiskey. Single-mindedly boring. If they included Natasha under mistress he could honestly cross it out and update it as friend.

Waiting for a reaction and getting none, Jim shrugged. ‘That second report was gathered by the person who’s agreed to control the black ops on our side. The agreement was reached on the understanding of their identity being known only to me, a condition I’ve agreed to. What I can tell you is the person is in a unique position to have the services we’ll require carried out. For the sake of brevity we have agreed on the name Stygian. I’ll leave it to you to mesh that in with your own system.’

Seeing the look of concern in his friend’s eyes, Alexei smiled. ‘I know you don’t like that side of things Jim but clichés apart, we have to keep our appetites for the omelette even if we have to cook it in a black non-stick pan.’

‘Alex, the end justifying the means is history’s biggest lie.’

The buzz from the speaker on the desk had Anna quietly informing them it was time. Thanking her, Alexei handed Jim his jacket. 'Then my friend, both Shultz and your Stygian have my blessing. Give my love to Moira and tell her I'm looking forward to the next time she knocks our heads into shape. Now we need to be in place at the negotiating table for the official paparazzi and we do want Mr Chan to note the absence of Georgy Yusov. Perhaps we will learn just how much he misses his friend.'

As they were leaving Alexei felt Jim grip his arm. ‘Alex, do you ever have doubts on this? Got to admit I do but I’ve got Moira to talk it over with. Who have you got? Andrei? Anna?’

Alexei smiled, ‘Anna knows nothing of GAME. Andrei I discuss strategies with but never the morality of it, we mutually decided to skirt round that. So I suppose you could say in moments of doubt I argue with myself and up to now the I has always won.

Jim nodded, ‘Good to know you do have them.’

The stopover was presented as a low-key courtesy visit with minor trade implications. There was no ceremony of farewell at the airport. Shuttle diplomacy, even between of heads of state, are, like sleeping dogs, best let lie until there's something, fact or fiction, for them to bark about.

The prologue is here and the first chapter here.

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