Graham looked up; the face looked familiar.
‘Good morning Mr Theakston,’
‘Morning mate.’
‘My name is Joshua.’
‘Morning Joshua.’ Graham carried on eating his breakfast and returned to the paper, but couldn’t concentrate, Joshua was staring at him.
‘Would I be right in saying you want something?’ Graham asked.
‘After you’ve finished your breakfast.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Graham folding the paper, ‘you’re one of James’s mates aren’t you?’
‘I work for him.’
‘Look, I had nothing to do with that editorial.’
‘Mr Obuya wishes to speak with you.’
‘Yes, but that wasn’t me it was Bradley.’
‘I know nothing about any Bradley, I just know that Mr Obuya wishes to speak with you.’
Graham wondered about making a run for it, but then noticed that Joshua hadn’t come alone, another of James’s sidekicks was standing near the door. He might make it into King George Street, and being White might have got some help from a passing policeman, if there happened to be one about. It wasn’t going to happen. ‘Do you want a coffee or something?’
‘No, we will leave as soon as you are finished,’ replied Joshua curtly.
Over by the counter, there was only Aristotle’s assistant who was unlikely to be interested in laying down his life to save a customer.
‘We will? Where are we going?’
‘I told you, to meet Mr Obuya.’
‘Any chance of going by my house? I haven’t had a change of clothes for three days.’
‘In the Valley that is not a problem.’
‘Maybe not, but I’d feel more comfortable.’
‘We must leave now.’
He left a couple of shillings on the table and they left. Joshua opened the door for Graham to get in the back of James’s old Morris then joined him while the other man drove and they headed out to the Valley. Any other morning, he might have attempted an escape, opened the car door and rolled out onto the pavement, making a dash for freedom, but despite breakfast he was exhausted and realised he wouldn’t get far. The car kept to back routes, avoiding the incoming commuters and any police that might be about. The further they travelled, the rougher the road got and the more shambolic the town became, until they arrived outside James’s neat little house.
‘Graham, my brother, welcome.’
Graham got out of the car and nervously took James’s hand.
James put an arm over his shoulder. ‘Come, I will organise some tea.’
‘Look, the editorial, I didn’t write it, it wasn’t me.’
‘Don’t worry about that, it is nothing, no it is more than nothing, it is a triumph.’
‘What do you mean? Bradley labelled you as a would be megalomaniac, someone who would run the country into the ground for his own ends, destroying everything as he went.’
‘That’s not important. I believe the saying is that any publicity is good publicity? We all know there are those that will be against me; they will always be against an official, organised union and will never accept me as a union leader or anything else, but that attack will be seen by others as endorsing me as an enemy of those people. They know who that editorial is written for, and they will support me because of that. Having your piece next to it will only help that endorsement. No, I am very happy with your newspaper.’
James lowered himself into his large floral settee, ‘Well, I’ll pass on your gratitude to Bradley,’ Graham said, relieved that he was going to live to see another day. ‘Though I’m not sure how he’ll receive it.’
‘I don’t see Bradley as an enemy, merely as the opposition in a game. When the game is over and we’ve won, I’ll be happy to shake his hand. I believe you’ve been to see Henry Ngai, is that true?’
‘God no, the man’s crazy, I’ve been to see Brother Sebastian, the monk who looked after him when he was young.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He told me about Ngai’s early life, but didn’t seem to know what he was doing now. The piece will try to analyse why he’s become a dangerous looney.’
‘Tell me, did you see any young men there?’
‘No, apparently they aren’t too keen on going to mass.’
‘That was not always the case. Perhaps when you write your piece, you should ask yourself why.’
‘Are you trying to tell me they’ve all gone off with Ngai?’
‘Where else would they be?’
‘I don’t know, in a bar somewhere?’
‘Perhaps.’ James smiled at Graham.
‘You know where they are don’t you?’
‘I have my sources. Ngai is a lot stronger than Government House would have you believe, a lot stronger. If it comes to a full scale war, do you think the British will take him on?’
‘They’ll have no choice. Though if the fighting does escalate, at some stage they’ll have to decide how much they’re prepared to spend in terms of men and money. If the cost is too high, they’ll attempt a civilised handover and pretend that was the plan all along. It’s how these things work.’
James nodded his head in agreement. ‘I have more work for you and your newspaper.’
‘You do? I didn’t realise I was working for you.’
‘You don’t, just look on this as a news briefing. I’m going to call a general strike.’
‘That will go down well with the establishment. What are your demands?’
James passed over a single sheet of paper, a list. Graham glanced down it. ‘Nothing too unexpected, except you haven’t asked the government to stand down and hand you the keys to the State House.’
‘That would be a little premature don’t you think?’
‘So mate, you’re flexing your muscles to see how much support you have?’
‘I know how much support I have, and I know that I need to increase it. At the moment I can bring out the workers in most of the factories, and in the hospitals and utilities. What I need is increased support in the rural areas.’
‘I wasn’t aware they read the Standard in the rural areas, I wasn’t even aware they could read.’
‘Most of them can’t, but news travels very quickly, even in the countryside. You must know this. I need ordinary men and women, the unemployed, the workers in the field, in the shops, even the Whites and Asians, to come out in support. For that I need publicity.’
‘And you’ll do that by taking on the Government? The first thing that will happen when your workers start marching is a ban on marches.’
‘Which we will ignore.’
‘Then, they’ll send in the troops; they’ve been preparing for this or something like it.’
‘We will go up against them and our support will increase.’
‘There’ll be rioting and people will get killed.’
‘That will create martyrs, and our support will increase further.’
‘You’re prepared to escalate the protest into a civil war?’
‘It wouldn’t be a civil war; it would be a war against occupation, but that is not our aim.’
‘And what about Ngai, are you going to take him on as well?’
‘That is why you are important. The people must be persuaded that firstly; change is inevitable, there will be a black government running this country, and that secondly; of the options available, my government would be the one to provide stability and continuity. When we have control, we want to be able to work with the British and not against them. They must be persuaded of this, but they must also be persuaded that I am the only serious option to the dictatorship of a dangerous man.’
‘So you want to ally yourself with the British, against Ngai?’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Not yet you can’t, but when the crunch comes.’
James shook his head. ‘No, not even when the crunch comes. There can be no deals with the British whilst the
y are still our Imperial masters, unless of course, it involves their capitulation, then I can work with them. When is your piece on Ngai going in the paper?’
‘As soon as I’ve written it and Bradley’s approved it.’
‘After you’ve done that, you will prepare a piece on the strike, using the demands I’ve given you as it’s core. Make clear that it will be a peaceful protest; we’re not at war and don’t want war with the British. We want to cooperate with them, as long as they can accept that a change of power is inevitable.’
‘When are planning on holding it?’
‘Soon, I’ll get more information to you shortly.’
Five
‘I don’t care what you think,’ Bradley said, throwing down the piece on Ngai that Graham had spent the rest of the morning writing. ‘You’re paid to report, not think. Do you believe that painting Henry Ngai as some poor innocent who’s been betrayed by society is going to resonate with my readers? I want you to tell them how he’s a psychopathic lunatic who’s got twenty of his own men killed and achieved nothing in the process.’
‘I haven’t portrayed him as an innocent, I portrayed him as a gifted child who needed access to better education when he was young, and he has achieved something.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot, they killed a dog.’
‘Before the attack, you’d never heard of him, now you have.’
‘So?’
‘If you’ve heard of him, so have a few million Blacks. In that attack he achieved more publicity than any advertising campaign this paper has ever run. All I’ve done is explain his actions in terms of his upbringing and I have said that he’s dangerous.’
Bradley slammed his fist on the table, ‘This is the Standard not the Socialist Worker. I don’t care how he got where he is, I just want you to tell people where he is now.’
‘Turn him into some sort of bogeyman to frighten the Whites and become a hero for the Blacks?’
‘You’re not going to turn anyone into a hero, you’re going to paint him as a dangerous idiot who couldn’t run a piss up in a brewery and certainly couldn’t run an army. The white Memsahibs are all going to sleep well at night, because you’re going to tell them that the man isn’t dangerous, just crazy.’
‘Maybe I should interview Colonel Harding to get his opinion.’
‘Maybe you should, but for a follow up article. Now go and rewrite it and I want more on the priest, a bit about the subversive education he gave Ngai. He isn’t a communist is he?’ Bradley said, hopefully.
‘Not as far as I know, but I’m not stabbing him in the back, I like him.’
‘I don’t bloody care if you’re in love with him, if the good Father is responsible for Ngai, then I want it in print.’
‘He’s a Brother not a Father, and what? You want him to see him lynched by all the God fearing white folks? He’s genuinely a good man, just screwed up a bit, he needs support for what he does, not undermining.’
Bradley stared at Graham across his desk; Graham standing up to him was a new experience. Finally he tore up the copy Graham had presented to him. ‘Just go away and write it again, you’ve got two hours. Leave the Brother out for now, but should the situation get any worse I want him taken down along with the Pope and the Catholic Church if necessary.’
‘Should appeal to your solid core, Anglican readership.’
‘Get out.’
‘Yes, Mr Bradley. I wonder, would you mind if I went home first and had a change of clothes, maybe a couple of hours sleep?’
‘I would mind. After you’ve finished, edit that sports copy from the wire, I want a thousand words on last Saturday’s matches.’
‘A thousand words? But they’ll have only sent us a couple of hundred at the most.’
‘So make it up, you know who scored the goals, just add the build up, use your imagination.’
‘Yes, Mr Bradley.’
‘And I want more dribbling, footballers should dribble more, makes for an exciting game, down the wing, past a couple of defenders and then a cross for the centre forward to head it in.’
‘Yes Mr Bradley, more dribbling.’
*****
Graham got away from the office just after sundown. Exhausted and desperate for ten minutes in the bath and a change of clothes, he headed home guided by instinct, but hadn’t got fifty yards before a car pulled alongside.
‘This is becoming a habit.’
‘The Colonel wishes to see you,’ Abdul said.
‘You’ll give me a lift back afterwards?’ Graham asked without response, getting into the back. ‘So mate, had a good day?’ he continued. Abdul looked at him in the mirror but remained silent.
The car drove up to an old house in the grounds of the State House. Red bricks and leaded windows, a selection of old roses growing in neat beds along the front, it should have been in the Home Counties. The row of flowers only broken by a path leading up to the front door, an askari to either side. As the car approached, one came forward to open the door and Graham was led through to an office at the back. The Colonel was sitting behind an imposing mahogany desk to one side of the room; behind him, the Queen gazed serenely from her portrait, towards a display of rifles and handguns mounted on the opposite wall.
‘Thank you for dropping by Mr Theakston. How are you?’
‘Knackered, I spent last night writing up football matches and got hardly any sleep; didn’t get home and haven’t had a change of clothes for three days. In this heat I’m starting to feel like the bottom of a well-rotted compost heap. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Do all those work?’ Graham asked, indicating the arsenal on the wall.
‘Of course, there would be little point if they didn’t. Please, sit down. As you’re tired, perhaps I could offer you a cup of tea rather than a whiskey.’ He didn’t wait for a reply and rang a small brass bell. ‘I was wondering how you were getting on.’
‘Getting on with what?’
‘You’ve been to see Brother Sebastian. How is he?’
‘Fine, a gentleman in the old fashioned sense of the word, despite the cut of his cloth.’
‘Yes, he’s a good man. Is he still in contact with Henry Ngai?’
‘It didn’t come up in conversation, but I don’t think so.’
‘Good, good, I’d hate him to get mixed up in all that business. There was another attack yesterday, we’re trying to keep it quiet for now, but there will be a statement coming out tomorrow.’ He handed Graham a copy.
`Then why are you telling me now?’
‘Whether I like it or not, your paper has become the main source of information for many of the people living here; some of them are starting to get nervous.’
‘By people you mean Whites?’
‘And anyone else who can read English. This isn’t going to be a racial struggle. You’d be surprised at the sympathy amongst some of the Whites for majority rule.’
‘Probably not at the Racing Club.’
‘Probably not, but few of them are important. The industrialists and farmers are important; they’re the future of this country, not the retired majors. If there is to be a transition then it must be peaceful. The core of the country, the industry and farming must suffer as little damage as possible.’
‘Better keep Mountbatten out of the way then.’
The colonel paused. ‘I am well aware where your sympathies lie, but I think we can agree that the less bloodletting there is, the better.’
A smartly dressed servant knocked and entered. ‘Excellent, tea, I’ll be mother. Perhaps you’d care for a Rich Tea biscuit?’
Graham took one and dunked it into his cup, probably not quite the done thing this close to the State House, but etiquette had never been his forte.
‘How is your brother-in-law?’ Harding continued.
‘Fine, as far as I know.’
‘You see I’m under a lot of pressure to have him arrested.’
Graham stopped eating his bisc
uit mid-munch. ‘What for?’
‘Dropping a cigarette butt on the pavement, insulting the Queen, eating a biscuit with his mouth open. It really doesn’t matter that much.’
‘And will you?’
‘I will eventually have to bow to pressure from my betters, but I dare say I can put it off for a couple of days; let’s say Thursday lunchtime? By which time, of course, he might well be on the other side of the country. Still that’s not your problem is it? If you see him around be sure to give him my regards.’
Graham looked for a hint of sarcasm, but Harding’s face was expressionless.
‘Thank you for coming round, I’m glad we had our little chat. I’m sure Abdul will be pleased to drop you off anywhere within reason.’ Harding got up and led Graham to the door. ‘I look forward to reading your piece about Brother Sebastian.’
Outside, Abdul was standing patiently by the car.
‘Home please, driver,’ said Graham with a grin, ‘but drop me off a couple of blocks away. I don’t want anyone worrying about the company I’ve been keeping.’ Abdul didn’t respond but did as directed.
*****
‘Welcome home dear boy, and how was Brother Sebastian?’ Jonathan asked, as Graham entered the Stardust bathed, dressed and refreshed.
‘Fine, nice bloke.’
Jonathan handed him a pint. ‘You seem a little more distracted than normal.’
‘I’ve hardly had any sleep, and just had rather an odd conversation with the Colonel.’
‘You appear to be in one piece; I assume violence wasn’t involved?’
‘Nothing like that, in fact we had tea and biscuits.’
‘How very civilised, there’s a whole side to you I didn’t know existed. What did he have to say?’
‘He wanted to know how Brother Sebastian was. Did you know the Colonel provides some of his funding?’
Jonathan shook his head, ‘no, I never took him for a philanthropist, quite the opposite. Did he tell you that?’
‘Brother Sebastian did. The Colonel also told me to warn James of his imminent arrest.’
‘Our Colonel moves in strange ways; so are you going to?’
‘Warn him? Of course. Look, keep it under your hat that I’ve been seeing the Colonel, particularly with Amani. Cheers.’ He took a long draught of the beer, put it down with a satisfied lick of the lips, and let his eyes sweep the room. ‘Same old crowd then. That guy in the corner always seems to be here; what does he do?’