REAPER WORE THE BLUE slacks and the blue shirt with epaulettes and carried the flying jacket. Might as well get into the role for the General’s sake. They met at breakfast and Purcell, who was already at the dining table and had almost finished, nodded his approval.
‘Fourteen hundred hours,’ he said.
As he left, Harry and Judith Finlay entered. They exchanged good mornings with Reaper and served themselves with bacon and eggs. Adams brought a fresh pot of coffee for Reaper and a pot of tea for the couple.
The resemblance with Prince Harry was striking although Reaper noticed small differences in attitude and expression. He wore jeans and an open necked white shirt. The young woman was more relaxed than she had been the previous evening. She wore jeans and a Union Jack t-shirt. Adams made a discreet withdrawal and they ate in silence until most of the food was gone.
Harry glanced across the table and said, ‘You must have questions.’
Reaper smiled. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’
‘You know, the pair of you really do look the part.’
‘Good casting,’ the young man said. Then he glanced at the young woman and briefly covered her hand with his and said, ‘Sorry.’
They shared an intimate look of friendship and mutual reliance.
‘We are alone in here?’ Reaper asked.
‘No one bothers to eavesdrop anymore,’ he said. ‘If they ever did, I’ve got over my paranoia.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I’m not the man I thought I was.’
‘So who are you?’
‘Harry Kaplan. That’s with a K.’
‘An actor?’
‘And celebrity look-alike. I was quite a good actor. I went to LAMDA – the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. I did good stage work, a few parts on TV. Casualty, EastEnders. But my looks got in the way. Someone noticed a resemblance and I dressed up for a party. A woman from an agency saw me and, before I knew it, I’d signed up. Acting parts were few and far between and it paid the bills. I only intended doing it for a short while until something else came along, but nothing did. The look-alike stuff killed other work.’
‘Were you good as Harry?’
‘I was an actor. I perfected it. The work rolled in. It was not particularly satisfying but, let’s face it, it could have been a role for life.’
‘Family?’
‘I’m an only child and my parents died years ago. No wife, no serious girlfriend. I was too busy having a good time. I thought, fuck it. If I can’t win an Oscar, I’ll take all the royal perks I can get.’
‘The General said he found you in Chelsea. Is that where you were living?’
‘Found me? He makes it sound like he discovered Elvis. No, I’d gone to Chelsea for an end of the world party. That’s what they called it. End Of The World in big letters. By then, you didn’t need a crystal ball to know this was as bad as it was ever going to get.
‘The party lasted a week. People kept coming and going. Then mainly going. People died, but there were so many drugs you couldn’t be sure what of. I know at the end I slept for two days. When I came round, three of us were still alive and there were four bodies in the bedrooms. The apartment was in Sloane Square and pretty swish. It belonged to Lola Wright, the daughter of a millionaire. She was one of the bodies. She overdosed rather than get flu and have a runny nose. Well, that’s what she said, but we were all saying pretty stupid things at the time.
‘Anyway, the bodies were an inconvenience. And one of the others started sneezing and the third chap wandered off into the night, so I went flat hunting in the same building. Got a nice one, first floor. It was for sale. There was a brochure in the kitchen. Seven million quid they wanted for it and I just walked in. Lola had a spare key. I took all the remaining booze and drugs with me.
‘I’d gone to the party as Harry, of course, wearing the Dress uniform of the Blues and Royals. You know: the one he went to the wedding in. Those were the only clothes I had. I nipped out, at one stage, looking for a hardware store to get a camping stove. Fat chance in Sloane Square. Anyway, somebody saw me and shouted. They thought I really was Harry. I legged it back to the flat.
‘I was an actor, so I knew how to look after myself. When the power went, I lived on walnut oaties, plum pickle, truffles, strawberry shortbread, and a dozen boxes of cheese and onion crisps. Lola had a thing for Fortnum and Mason’s hampers and cheese and onion. I tell you, Beluga caviar and Krug champagne can get a bit boring after a while.’
Reaper said, ‘And then the General arrived?’
‘Somebody told him Prince Harry was living near Sloane Square. The General was in uniform. Had soldiers – what looked like an armoured convoy. I thought, at last, someone in charge. He had a megaphone. Announced himself. Invited people to come forward. Especially any officers from the armed forces, which was about as close as he got to asking for Harry by name. I thought what he offered had to be better than the chaos that was going to happen. I’d heard windows being smashed, screams in the night, that sort of thing. So I decided to go out. That’s when we met.’ He nodded to the young woman. ‘I hadn’t known it, but Judy was living in the same apartment block. We met in the foyer.’
Judith said, ‘I was peeping through a window. I still wasn’t sure what to do. I was a bit paranoid myself after being on my own. I hadn’t a clue Harry was in the building. He gave me quite a shock when he came down the stairs. For a minute, I thought it really was him. The other Harry, I mean. I’d met him a few times. Nightclubs, events. Our social circles overlapped. Harry, this Harry, introduced himself. Very much the gentleman. “Hello, I’m Harry.” And we shook hands. And I said, “But you’re not, are you?” And he said something like, “If we pretend I am, it might help.” He gave a cheeky grin and held out his hand and I took it. I thought, this is bizarre. The world is ending and I’m holding hands with Prince Harry. So I told him my name and we went outside.’
Harry said, ‘The General believed us. It was Barstow who didn’t. Later, when he realised the truth, the General was a bit cross.’
‘A bit cross?’ Judith said. ‘I thought he was going to shoot us.’
‘Then he realised it didn’t matter. The rumour had started and all that mattered was that others believed it. We thought it was a bit of fun, at first.’ He paused and looked sideways at Judith. ‘Actually, that’s not true. At first, we just wanted safety. Then we thought it was an easy way to be looked after. Then we realised what he was doing. He was using the name of Harry to give him legitimacy. He was ruling in Harry’s name. By then, we were trapped. Nothing we could do. We had to play along.’
‘Had to?’ Reaper said.
Judith took Harry’s hand on the table in a show of solidarity.
‘Had to, Mr Watson,’ she said. ‘The General pretends to be civilised, even though he’s a madman. Barstow has no pretences. It was made clear what would happen if Harry was unwilling to go along with the role. I would be the first victim. Barstow didn’t use euphemisms. I was to be raped. First by the Beast himself, and then his men. He was blunt. He looked as if he rather hoped Harry would be awkward.’
The threat had been so stark that Reaper did not know what to say.
Harry said, ‘Do you know about the work camps, Mr Watson? About the General’s unspoken policy of racial purity? About the brothels? Of how people can disappear? Of course, it’s all wrapped up in platitudes about the public good. About building for the future. The new Albion.’
‘We have no way out,’ said Judith. ‘But do you want to be a part of all this? You still have a chance to escape.’
Reaper smiled. ‘Sadly, I don’t think I have. I do believe I have made myself as indispensable as you. The General is unlikely to let me walk away. We appear to be prisoners together.’
* * *
Reaper was served with a lunch of sandwiches and coffee and, at two o’clock, he made his way to the hall to join the tour. Harry looked every inch a prince in the khaki service dress uniform of the Blues and Royals. A Sam Browne belt and a blue lanyard on his left shoulder, the distinguishing hat with the broad red stripe and a swagger stick under one arm.
‘I have uniforms for all occasions,’ he said in a stage whisper, when he saw Reaper’s nod of appreciation, when they met in the hall.
‘I’m sure they suit you,’ Reaper said. He himself was dressed as Flying Officer Watson. ‘This one does.’
‘Much better than civvies, I agree.’ The voice seemed more authentic than earlier. He was back in the role. ‘Most people never look past the costume. You dress like the Demon King and people believe you are the Demon King. Dress as a prince, and they believe that, too.’
‘You’ve played pantomime?’
Harry gave him a hard stare. ‘This is pantomime.’
The General came down the stairs and joined them and they went outside where a Hummer was waiting. It was a vehicle with an open top. Two sets of seats, and a truck bed at the back in which two guards, sub-machineguns hanging around their necks, already stood holding a roll bar. Reaper was directed to sit alongside the driver and the General and Harry climbed into the rear seats. The clouds had broken and were now a patchwork across the blue sky.
‘Don’t forget, Harry,’ the General said. ‘Be gracious.’
There were no checkpoints on the road into Banbury, but when they passed military personnel Harry raised a regal hand. The soldiers saluted in return. The suburbs were deserted. They entered The People’s Park, where the gate was manned by soldiers who came swiftly to attention. The car followed narrow tarmac pathways through the trees and they stopped at the head of an open space that was packed with people, sitting around in groups on the grass, having a picnic. Harry was on his feet again and waving before the car stopped and people stood up and cheered. Not full-blooded cheers, but a throaty welcome augmented by a round of applause.
A dozen Black and Tans were lined up and, as the Hummer stopped, a sergeant called them to attention. They climbed out of the car and the General led the way to a flatbed truck where a Captain with regular army insignia waited. Salutes were exchanged.
Purcell said, ‘How’s it gone?’
‘Fine, sir. Even the weather brightened up.’
The General and Harry climbed steps to get on the back of the truck. Reaper hesitated but was ushered upwards by the Captain who followed on his heels. The General went forward to a microphone on a stand.
The muttering of the people died. Purcell raised his hands as if for silence, but silence had already fallen. The people knew their place. Reaper guessed there were perhaps 2,000 men, women and children present. He also noticed two large white vans with side doors open, a catering truck and tables on which were tea urns. It appeared the picnic had been provided.
‘Well, even the weather brightened up!’ the General started his address with an attempt to be jocular, and Reaper stole a glance at the Captain who had provided the line, as the crowd attempted a polite response of amusement.
‘In fact, other things are looking up as well. The road we have chosen is hard but it is fair. We have security in our numbers, unlike the poor souls beyond our boundaries who are still prey to the vultures of banditry and rape.’ He said the last word almost as a whisper as if he did not want to offend children present. Now his voice became strident again: ‘We are getting stronger! We have cemented our ties with the Royal Navy at Portsmouth and we will soon expand our frontiers to the north and take within our protection peaceful groups who want nothing more than the chance to prosper. And prosper we will!’
He paused and looked out at his subjects. When he continued, it was reflectively, sharing his thoughts with friends.
‘Do you remember before the terrible scourge happened? We had family life then. We had a caring society. We looked after one another. In adversity, neighbour stood shoulder to shoulder with neighbour. It had always been so. Our ancestors did so when they faced the Blitz, for Britons were slow to anger but resolute when roused to action. But even back then, we had the disaffected. Those who wanted something for nothing. The underclass of society that believed the rest of us owed them a living. The urban filth that polluted our streets, caused mayhem and violence and made ordinary citizens prisoners in their own home. They ran riot in our streets and our courts were soft and our police had their hands tied.’
Murmurs in the crowd suggested that people agreed.
‘Today, those vermin still pollute our land. But we do not have our hands tied. We do not have judges passing soft sentences on violent criminals. We lock them up and keep them away from honest folk. We make them work for the public good. Because no one in this society is owed a living. We all have to work to survive. Shoulder to shoulder for a better tomorrow – and we will have a better tomorrow. I promise that we will all reap the benefits, sooner rather than later, because we are moving forward.’
He looked round and nodded to Reaper, then waved for him to approach.
‘One way forward is through our latest recruit. Tom Watson heard about us from the other side of the country and sought us out because he wanted to be part of Redemption. Like many have done. Like you did, yourselves. So what makes Tom so special?’
Purcell squeezed him round the shoulders, a manly expression of welcome or pride in a new specimen.
‘Tom is a pilot. Yes, that’s right, a pilot. He is also a qualified instructor. Of course, we have had a pilot with us all along.’ He released Reaper and indicated Harry with his other hand. ‘But it was not reasonable to risk Prince Harry at the controls of an aircraft that might not be fully serviceable. But now Harry has volunteered to help Tom train pilots. He will be, you might say, Ground Control to Major Tom!’
Purcell risked a chuckle at his joke and, after a pause at the implausibility of the General knowing anything about the music of David Bowie, the laughter started and once it got going it was difficult to stop. Was this the first time his audience had seen the human side of General Purcell? The General let it roll across the park before he held up his hands for silence.
‘That’s enough from me. Enough for you to know we are going in the right direction. With our New Army, Prince Harry and Major Tom.’
This time his raised arms invited applause, which he duly received. As he backed away, the Captain approached him with congratulations and a muttered request.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He looked at Harry. ‘Time to be gracious again, Harry. Draw the numbers.’
Harry looked at Reaper, gave a minute shrug of the shoulders and mouthed the word pantomime before walking forward to where the Captain had now placed a large box on a folding table.
‘And this,’ said Harry into the microphone, ‘is what you really came for’ which brought another appreciative and warmer round of laughter from the crowd. People sat and took notice. Harry plunged his hand into the box and pulled out a slip. ‘Blue region…’ he said. ‘One Six Seven.’ He drew five numbers in all.
Duty done and back in the Hummer, Reaper said, ‘What was that?’
‘The draw,’ Purcell said. ‘It happens once a week. A winner from each of the five residential regions gets a hamper. A touch of luxury and whimsy. It’s well received.’
Reaper remembered he and Sandra had been told about it. What next? Gladiators? Bread and circuses? He must remember not to suggest it. Especially to Barstow.
They drove through town, past occasional groups of off-duty military, some of whom may have been inebriated. Harry waved, and they waved back. The Hummer stopped outside a handsome old building that sat at the junction of two streets. Opposite was a Debenhams store and the entrance to what had been a shopping mall. Two Land Rovers and a military half-track were parked outside.
‘Military HQ,’ Purcell said.
‘For the Tans, as well?’ Reaper asked.
‘The Black Berets,’ the General corrected, ‘are based at Baystoke.’
Colonel Maidstone hurried from an office to greet them. He saluted smartly to both the General and Harry, and shook Reaper’s hand.
‘Welcome to the hub,’ he said. ‘Tea?’
‘How lovely,’ the General said, without enthusiasm.
It was a routine call, designed to show off Harry. Soon they were back in the Hummer and crossing a bridge over the railway. At the far end was a checkpoint where soldiers pulled aside a barrier, stood to attention and saluted.
‘Civilian areas,’ the General said.
Scattered groups lined the route, that went through an estate of semi-detached houses, as if they had been chivvied from their homes.
Harry smiled and gave his royal wave. Some waved back, others stared, a few cheered half-heartedly and, towards the end of the brief trip, as they neared a Holiday Inn, there was a single female cry of: ‘Harry!’ that was almost a plea. They exited the residential area through another checkpoint at a bridge that crossed the M40 motorway. The road back to Baystoke was through countryside.
* * *
As the Hummer stopped outside the front door of the hall, they could hear a disturbance within. Raised voices, cursing and something crashed. The General’s face was grim and he marched briskly towards the front door, but Harry got there before him.
Adams was on the landing of the grand staircase. A silver tray lay at the foot of the stairs, smashed china on the steps. Adams was frightened but trying to retain his decorum as he backed down the stairs. Above him on the landing was Barstow. No tunic and shirt unfastened. He was shouting: mainly threats about what he was going to do to the General’s batman.
Harry ran up the stairs, past Adams, onto the landing and past Barstow, bouncing off his shoulder as the military man deliberately barged him into the wall. Harry didn’t stop but hurried on towards the suite of rooms used by himself and Judith Finlay.
The General stopped in the middle of the hall, feet apart, hands behind his back holding his swagger stick. His neck was stiff with fury.
‘Adams? What’s going on?’
The servant regained his composure and courage and stood to attention at the foot of the stairs.
Barstow screamed from the landing, ‘That twat burnt me. I’ll flay his fucking hide.’
The General hardly raised his voice but it seemed to fill the hall.
‘I asked Adams, Colonel Barstow. I would be obliged if you dressed yourself as befits an officer and a gentleman, and remain silent. Adams?’
‘Sir. I took afternoon tea to Miss Finlay. The Colonel was in her rooms. Miss Finlay asked me to stay and serve tea. The Colonel asked me to leave. In fact, he took my arm to guide me towards the door and the tray inadvertently tilted and he was unfortunately splashed with hot water. I immediately offered to bring cold water to bathe the affected area but he insisted on helping me leave and, in so doing, sir, the tray became dislodged and fell down the stairs.’
‘The twat splashed me on purpose. He’s on a charge.’
‘Colonel?’ Again Purcell’s voice carried without being raised. ‘Perhaps you will join me in my office? When you are properly attired. Adams? Perhaps you could bring me a gin and tonic?’ He turned and walked away along a corridor as Harry burst back onto the landing. He threw a jacket at Barstow and shouted: ‘You bastard!’ as he ran into him, pushing with both hands. It caught Barstow off balance and he staggered back to the head of the stairs. The man they called the Beast grabbed a handrail. His whole body seemed to bristle with rage. Harry was still shouting. ‘You come near her again and I’ll…’
‘You’ll what?’ The words were spat like venom. And then Barstow had his hands round Harry’s throat. ‘You’ll what? You sad little prick.’
Reaper ran up the stairs and got between them. He tried to prise Barstow’s fingers apart but they were like steel.
‘Now is not the time,’ he muttered urgently at the Colonel. ‘There’s too much to lose. Don’t waste it. Leave it till later.’
The fingers slackened and Harry began to breath again. Down below, Adams was still watching and Reaper nodded to him that everything was okay, even though it wasn’t. Adams went off to prepare a gin and tonic and Barstow turned away and appeared to be re-bottling his anger. Just for a moment he had let it out and it had been a fearsome sight. He snatched up the jacket from the floor and walked to the stairs. He paused and looked back.
‘You are fucking lucky,’ he said, enunciating each word. Then he looked at Reaper and added, ‘Later,’ as if he blamed him for stopping his strangulation of the pretend prince. At last, he stomped downstairs, kicking the tray across the hall with a clang.
‘Are you okay?’ Reaper asked and Harry nodded, although he held his neck.
‘He tried …’
It was Reaper’s turn to nod. ‘Is Judith all right?’
‘Adams stopped it. Hot water in his groin.’
‘Brave bloke.’
‘He has the General’s protection.’
‘I don’t think that would be much help if Barstow really loses it. And he will do, one day.’
Harry practised breathing for a few seconds and looked up at Reaper and said, ‘He’s marked you down, too, you know? You can see it. He’ll kill you.’
Reaper smiled and said, ‘Not if I kill him first.’
* * *
Adams served Reaper with dinner in his room.
‘I believe your conduct today was above and beyond,’ Reaper said.
‘It was an accident, sir.’
‘A perfectly-timed accident. Harry told me. Judith didn’t ask for tea.’
They exchanged a non-committal look.
‘Miss Judith is a nice lady,’ Adams said.
‘She is. And she’s grateful.’ Reaper paused. ‘It was a brave act.’ He raised a hand as Adams was about to object. ‘A brave accident. Will there be any repercussions?’
‘No immediate repercussions, sir. The Colonel accepted it was an accident.’
‘There could be danger in the future?’
‘There will undoubtedly be danger in the future, sir.’
Reaper couldn’t fully understand Adams. He seemed devoted to the General because he offered order in a devastated world. He accepted work camps. He accepted the need for Barstow and his Black and Tan gangsters. Yet he had stood up to the Beast when a young woman was threatened.
‘Will you give a message to the general for me?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Tell him my leg is much improved. Tomorrow, if it is convenient to him, we could take a trip and collect my other aircraft.’ He smiled. ‘It might cheer him up.’
‘I’m sure it will, sir.’
* * *
The General was in buoyant mood at breakfast.
‘I’ve sent Colonel Barstow to inspect the mine at Coventry and then to our oil depot at Kingsbury in Warwickshire. The travel will do him good. Captain Beaumont and Sergeant Logan of the Black Berets will accompany you with a platoon. Captain Beaumont will fly back with you. The airfield at Hinton is in good order. It’s a concrete strip and I’ve had it checked and weeds and undergrowth removed.’ He passed over a map. ‘I hope that is all in order?’
‘You’ve covered everything, General.’
‘Good.’ The General had dined early and now stood up from the table. ‘Then I’ll see you off in ten minutes.’
‘I’ll be there.’
As Purcell left, Harry and Judith came in, followed by Adams with a pot of tea. He put it on the table and Judith touched his arm and they exchanged a glance. She nodded her gratitude. He smiled and left the room.
The young couple were subdued and not hungry. Reaper was. He carried on eating.
‘So you’re off,’ Harry said.
‘That’s the plan.’
‘You could just fly away in the other direction.’
‘That’s not their plan. Captain Beaumont is flying with me.’
He was aware of the time and didn’t want to keep the General waiting. He finished quickly and drank coffee.
‘You two okay?’ he asked.
Harry nodded.
Judith said, in a voice of resignation, ‘It will happen again.’
Harry took her hand on the table but he didn’t dispute the possibility.
‘Hey,’ Reaper said, getting to his feet. ‘Look on the bright side. You never know what tomorrow might bring.’
He put on the flying jacket and took a step towards the door, which opened before he got there. Sergeant Logan, his bearded interrogator, entered together with a soldier wearing the black beret of the Tans. Logan looked at the soldier and back at Reaper.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure, sergeant.’
Logan swung a beefy fist that Reaper was too surprised to avoid. The blow knocked him onto the polished floor. ‘You don’t seem so tough,’ Logan said.
‘What the hell is going on?’ said Harry, pushing his chair back as he got to his feet.
‘Didn’t you know?’ Logan said. ‘You’ve been having breakfast with the famous Reaper.’
‘Reaper?’ said Harry.
‘Oh my God,’ said Judith.
Reaper was aware of the General striding towards him.
‘I had high hopes of you,’ he said.
And then he kicked him in the side with one of the black shoes to which Adams undoubtedly gave a high polish every morning. No more Mr Niceguy, then.
‘Still, not everything is lost. We have one of our major enemies and we will be able to demonstrate to the people that the Grim Reaper is no folk hero. He is just a man who is susceptible to pain and, eventually, death. When we hang you in the People’s Park next Sunday.’