Fear of the Fathers (50 page)

“Drink!” the mad woman commanded.

What followed was a series of cries and wails interspersed with blunt orders to drink. Patricia was so overwhelmed with joy at the sound of her daughter's voice that it hardly seemed to matter she was being bullied.

When Patricia's turn came, the first thing she did was to comfort Jenny. “It's alright sweetheart, Mummy's here,” she said. “Just be brave and everything will be fine.”

“Shut it!” Annie shouted. “Just drink the water.”

Patricia sipped and then glugged as Annie put the bottle to her mouth. Until then she hadn't realized how dehydrated she was. The bottle was taken away all too soon.

“More!” Patricia gasped.

“That's plenty for now,” Annie said, coldly. “You're not going to die. Well, not yet anyway.”

“What do you want!?” screamed Patricia. “What do you want from us!?”

The only answer she received was the material being shoved back into her mouth and taped in. The footsteps went back up the stairs and the door shut. Patricia prayed that her husband would come home soon.

The drive took over six hours. By the time they reached their destination night was falling, and everybody was tired and stiff and hungry. Stratton got out of the jeep and paced around, enjoying the freedom to stretch his limbs and clear his head of the constant drone of the engine.

They had come to a halt outside a large wooden hut that backed onto thick jungle. A glorious scent of spices wafted from within inducing a mass salivation.

“Something smells good,” said Stratton to Jimi.

“Yes. I thought that we should all have one last decent meal before we head into the jungle. Our friend Massa has been here doing the cooking.”

The hut was one room with a stove in the middle and mattresses spread round the perimeter. Next to the stove was a rustic table with eight chairs. A diesel generator provided ample lighting. Jimi explained that it was the last hospitable place before the expanse of uncharted territory that lay before them. He used it as a base camp when taking tourists on mini-safaris into the shallow jungle.

Massa was an imposing sort with broad shoulders and a huge girth. He had a fat friendly face with a light, neatly-trimmed beard. As they walked in he was stooped over a cooking pot, tasting his curry with a wooden spoon.

“Good evening,” he said cheerily, turning to greet the guests. “I hope you are all hungry.”

“I'll say,” said Oggi, his stomach having returned to some sort of normality. “It smells terrific.”

They dumped their packs on separate mattresses and sat down at the table. Jimi went to the fridge in the corner and brought everyone out a beer. “Enjoy it,” he said. “Because for the next two weeks it's going to be water, water, and more water.”

Massa dished up bowls of curried chicken and passed them down. They helped themselves from a mound of chapattis in the centre of the table.

“This is unbelievable,” said Jennings. “Better than any curry I've had before.”

“Of course,” said Jimi. “You are in India now, not London. This is the real thing.”

Stratton began by eating ravenously, but halfway through the meal, without warning, he cramped up and doubled over holding his stomach.

“Are you okay?” asked Jimi. “I hope the food hasn't disagreed with you.”

“No, the food's great,” said Stratton, getting out of his seat. “I just need some fresh air.” He walked slowly out of the hut.

“What was that all about?” asked Jennings. “Is he alright?”

“He's been like that for a couple of weeks now,” said Oggi. “Cramping up at odd moments. His energy flow switching on and off. Hasn't he mentioned it?”

“Yeah, he did once. Well, he said something about losing his power. But I didn't take too much notice of it because he said it was probably only temporary.”

“It may very well be,” said Oggi. “But it's been going on long enough for my liking.”

Once Stella had eaten her fill she followed Stratton outside. She found him sitting down on a thick log ten yards from the hut, his head bowed in thought. Titan lay at his feet. The air was moist with heat and filled with the sound of insects.

“I thought I'd come and see how you were,” she said, parking herself next to him on the makeshift bench.

He looked up and smiled, his face lit by the glow from the hut. “Thanks,” he said. “But you needn't have bothered. I just needed some air.”

“So you say. But I think there's something really wrong with you. You haven't been yourself at all. We've hardly seen you for the last couple of weeks. Come on, you can talk to me.”

“There's really nothing to tell,” he said gently, holding her hand in his. “There's just a lot of stuff I have to figure out for myself. Whatever's happening, it's my problem, there's nothing you or anyone else can do for me.”

“It's easy for you to say, but it won't stop me worrying. I love you Stratton – I can't help but worry about you.”

He squeezed her hand tenderly. “I know,” he said. “But you've got to try and take a step back. We've got a long way to go yet and everybody needs to have their wits about them. Once we enter the jungle you're going to have to leave sentiment behind.”

“Is the wildlife that dangerous then?” she asked.

“Yes, it is dangerous, but it's not my main concern. I'm more worried about human beings than anything else.”

“But hardly anyone knows we're here do they?” said Stella.

“Enough people know,” said Stratton. “I can't trust anyone fully apart from you guys, and maybe Cronin. That's why I brought you along Stella – because I trust you and you can handle yourself. I don't know what's going to happen once we hit the jungle, but I can almost guarantee that somewhere along the line someone is going to try and get their hands on the box. We've just got to be ready. So I'm asking you, please stop worrying about me and concentrate on the job in hand.”

“No problem,” she said, straightening herself up. “But just remember I'm here for you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.” He got up and held out his hand. “Come on, let's go back inside and join the others. I feel a lot better now, and I could do with another helping of that fantastic curry.”

The Prime Minister walked out of No.10 with his head held high. He smiled and waved at the gathering of pressmen and paparazzi, and made a few choice comments that neither denied nor confirmed their suspicions. Stone and Davis whisked him along to the car, pushing aside any media stragglers that dared to get in their way.

A story had broken that morning suggesting that a leadership challenge was being mounted by one of Jonathan Ayres' own cabinet. The newsmen were claiming that Brian Carrick, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was plotting to overthrow his friend and mentor. Ayres had been attempting to get hold of Carrick for the last hour, but with no success.

Once inside the car Ayres breathed a sigh of relief and quickly went to his phone, dialling Carrick's mobile number one more time. Yet again it went straight to voicemail, and yet again he left a polite but urgent message.

“He's still not answering then?” said Mrs Ayres.

“No, he's bloody well not. I can't believe this – not after all that's happened in the last few weeks. I mean, what a time to stick the knife in! After all I've done for him as well. What a bloody Judas!”

“Calm down darling,” she said. “You don't know for sure that anything's going on yet.”

“Of course I do,” said Ayres. “If there wasn't any substance to it he would have phoned me as soon as the story broke. It's been nearly an hour and a half now, and he still hasn't returned any of my calls. I just don't know what I've done to deserve this. I mean, it's not like I'm unpopular with the public. We're not losing voters left, right and centre. Are we?”

“No, you're not sweetheart. If anything I'd say you were more popular than ever. I reckon the public has real sympathy for you. But you always knew what Brian was like. He's ambitious, and right now he doesn't see a friend that needs support – he sees a Prime Minister weakened by circumstance and ready for the slaying. Even you must admit that your decision making hasn't been that great lately.”

Ayres sighed. “I guess it hasn't,” he said. “But that doesn't give Brian the right to attempt some cack-handed
coup d'état
. I gave him the Chancellor's job to crush rebellions against me, not instigate them.” Just then his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and answered. “Hello Brian…”

After a couple of minutes, during which he sat and listened with the occasional “I see” thrown in, he put the phone down.

“Well?” said his wife. “What's going on?”

“He's calling for a leadership election. He says that the cabinet are right behind him.”

“What!? Why?”

“He says that they can no longer put up with a part-time leader. He says that my mind is no longer fully on the job and that the country needs someone strong to see it through what he calls ‘difficult economic times'. Basically they don't think I'm up to the job anymore.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I always do,” said Ayres. “Stand and fight ‘til the battle's won.”

Stone and Davis gave each other a raised eyebrow. Then Stone's mobile started to ring. He picked up and listened in silence, his face growing visibly whiter by the second. He rang off and stared into space.

Beneath a dark green roof smattered with specks of blue Jennings hacked his way through the dense undergrowth watching for movement. Although Jimi had insisted that any snake would be scared away by the tramp of their heavy feet, Jennings was still wary. It wasn't as if he'd ever even encountered one before, but he'd seen enough movies to know they were sneaky and slimy and deadly. So, whatever Jimi's protestations, he was going to be on guard at all times – well, when he wasn't scanning the trees for giant spiders.

They had left the hut at first light and initially it had been fairly easy going with ready-made paths scything through light forest. But as the day had gone on the jungle had closed in and wrapped itself around them in a stifling cloak of darkness. Jennings had lost complete track of time and didn't know whether it was noon or early evening. What he did know was that his stomach was rumbling and if he didn't eat soon then he was going to collapse. Drinking water was keeping him on his feet, but he needed something solid if he was going to go any further.

“Are you hungry?” he asked Oggi, who was directly in front.

“Fucking starving,” moaned Oggi. “I don't know how these buggers expect us to go on with nothing but water inside us. I haven't even got time to reach into my rucksack for a snack the speed they're keeping us at. If we don't stop soon I'm going to say something.”

Tali, who was rearguard, overheard them and said, “Do not worry, we will be stopping for some lunch soon. Another half an hour through this and we will reach a clearing where we can sit and eat.”

The knowledge of impending sustenance spurred Jennings' energy, and his slashing took on a renewed vigour. He tried to blank out the thought that he had at least another two weeks of jungle misery ahead.

After slightly longer than the estimated thirty minutes they finally arrived at a clearing. Everyone, bar Jimi and Tali, was exhausted. They each found a tree and slumped against it. Jennings drank half of his remaining water and poured the rest over his head.

“No! No!” shouted Tali. “You must not waste the water! It is for drinking not bathing.”

“Sorry,” said Jennings. “But I'm boiling over here. We've got more haven't we?”

“Yes, but we must ration it. It is quite far to the next safe stream.”

Jimi seemed quite unflustered by the long march and, if anything, had been energized by it. While the others sat head-in-knees, he and his brother collected wood and lit a small fire to boil water for the ration packs.

“Don't you two get tired?” asked Oggi.

“Of course,” said Jimi. “But we are used to the heat remember. We were brought up in the jungle. After a couple of weeks you will perhaps acclimatize.”

“Thank you,” said Oggi. “That's a great comfort.” He sipped from his canteen and mopped his brow.

If Jennings and Oggi were weakened by the withering weather, then Stratton was positively poleaxed. He lay against a tree with closed eyes and shallow breath. His face was pale and sweat teemed down his brow. Titan sat next to him licking his hand. Stella lifted herself up and went to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking hold of his other hand.

He opened his eyes and smiled. “Yeah, of course, I'll be fine. I'm just not used to the heat, that's all. Isn't anyone else tired?”