Part 37 (2/2)
”That's not far from the”
”Or you could clean up your act and mount a little counteroffensive, all from inside these walls, with no one to observe.”
Philip was very still. His smile began slowly, like the shoot of a new plant.
”What kind of counteroffensive? These are security guys, not an army.”
”I mean your kind of warfare. The kind with accountants and lawyers, balance sheets and contracts. Alliances and plots with employees, a.s.sociates, clients, suppliers. Whoever.”
Now the smile grew.
”I'll need to work round the clock,” said Broomhall. ”Talk to people very privately, all sorts of people, especially key shareholders.”
”The kind of thing a distraught, drunken father couldn't manage?”
”Exactly that kind of thing.”
”Good,” said Josh. ”Then we're getting there. That's your part settled.”
”My part?”
”I can't let you have all the fun.”
”Your job is to guard Richard.”
”His street friends call him Richie. I wonder if it'll stick.”
”Street friends?””One of whom is in hospital now, badly injured, because she wanted to protect him.”
”My G.o.d, just how did you find him?”
”He'd moved into a squat, joined a community, and believe it or not they look out for each other. He did have some nights sleeping rough, but after that he was pretty well looked after.”
Philip shook his head, as if trying to shuffle information by physical movement. ”You'll call me? So I can talk to him?”
”Yes. From a friend's place, where he's safe.”
”Thank you.”
”You're very”
”But you haven't told me what you're up to. I can save my companies from Tyndall, and by G.o.d I will.”
”And what about Billy Church, our wonderful prime minister?”
”The PM? The government supports Tyndall, because Zebediah's been around a long time and knows everybody. I happen to believe that most civil servants are honest, and some goodly percentage of politicians. But between Tyndall and Church's cronies, an awful lot of dirty work gets buried away. More than you'd imagine.”
Ever since Yukiko had shown those pictures of Knifefight Challenge, and Josh had thought about the blatant manipulation of public sentiment, the coincidental timing of the Knife Edge Knife Edge final and the general election, with Billy Church linked to the sporting event... ever since then, a part of him had been searching for a target, someone or something to take down, some way to destroy the corruption that appalled him. final and the general election, with Billy Church linked to the sporting event... ever since then, a part of him had been searching for a target, someone or something to take down, some way to destroy the corruption that appalled him.
”So there's your answer.”
”What do you mean?” said Philip.”You're going to save your companies from the Tyndalls. I'm going to save everyone else.”
”How can you possibly do that?”
Josh felt his mouth pull back, his voice go soft.
”Violently.”
[ TWENTY-FOUR ].
At night St Thomas's looked bleak. Some twenty minutes before visiting hours were due to end, Josh wheeled into the car park, and found a s.p.a.ce. A few drops of rain spotted the tarmac and his clothes as he crossed the open s.p.a.ce. Inside, the receptionists were helpful, and told him he needed Springfield Ward. After he had ascended two floors, a nurse pointed him in the direction he needed. When he reached Springfield, Suzanne and Richard were still there. She was at the foot of the bed, while Richard stood at the side, gazing at Opal's bandaged face.
”Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. ”How's everything?”
Suzanne probably saw how tightness spread through him. How he had to struggle to look at the girl in the bed.
”Opal was talking earlier.”
Right now the girl's eyes were shut, bruised purple. Tubes and bandages were everywhere. No twitch of movement from her hands. Yet somehow from the rise and fall of her chest, from the colour of her skin she transmitted a sense of impending animation, a potential for health and aliveness. Not like Sophie, whose form held absence, not promise.
”She was talking coherently?”
”Yes. And she can wiggle her fingers. Oh... Look.”
Richard had reached forward to hold Opal's hand. He remained there, not even blinking, his face intent as though trying to force telepathic healing into her.
Josh reached for Suzanne's fingers, and gently squeezed.
”Did you talk to the doctors?”
”Yes, and read the notes.” Suzanne pointed at a screen on the end of the beds. ”See that little abbreviation? SBA?”
”In the comment field.” Free-format text. Hardly the best way to enter codes.
”Private notation among the medics. Should Be Alright. As opposed to BAP, b.l.o.o.d.y Awkward Patient, or WOO, Waste of Oxygen.”
”You are joking.”
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