Body Politic Read Online Free Page A

looked at me suspiciously. “How do you know about those?” Five years ago the Council sealed the border around what used to be Midlothian and laid into the remaining heavily armed criminals who had plagued the city since independence. Those guys were led by a ruthless bastard who called himself Howlin’ Wolf, after the blues singer. There was some evidence that the Ear, Nose and Throat Man was one of the gang. The high casualty rate among guard personnel had led the Information Directorate to suppress all the facts, despite the success of the mission.
    â€œYou were involved, weren’t you?” I said, waiting for him to nod. “How do I know about the operations?” I wondered if I would manage to shock an auxiliary. “I ran them.”
    â€œShit!” he gasped, taking his eyes off the road long enough to make me nervous. “You’re Bell 03.”
    The sound of my old barracks number was definitely not sweet music to my ears. “Used to be Bell 03,” I corrected.
    â€œThey still talk about you in the directorate,” Davie said. He was more excited than any auxiliary I’d ever seen. “If it hadn’t been for you . . .”
    â€œFewer people would have died,” I said, looking away. “That’s all in the past. I don’t want to talk about it.” I wished I hadn’t encouraged him. The stump of my forefinger was tingling and my gut felt like something with a sharp beak had just hatched in it.
    The Land-Rover turned sharply into Mound Place and I caught a glimpse of the city from the high point; the blaze of illumination through the fog in the tourist area at the centre was like a weird version of the northern lights, but the suburbs where the ordinary people live had been cast into the outer darkness.
    Davie pulled up outside the mock-Gothic façade of the Assembly Hall. The Church of Scotland used to hold its annual gathering here. It was typical of the Council’s desire to replace religion with its own philosophy that it chose this location rather than the former City Chambers or Parliament House. They probably had too many associations with democracy. Banners were draped around the blackened walls proclaiming the Council’s ideals; “Education, Employment and Health”, “Edinburgh – Independent and Proud” and “The City Provides”. Deep down I still felt some admiration for them. Then, beyond the flagpoles, I saw the memorial stones inscribed with the barracks numbers of auxiliaries who had died for the cause. Caro’s name survived only in my mind.
    â€œYou all right?” The guardsman sounded strangely concerned. “Know your way?”
    â€œI’ve been before the Council often enough, my friend. Thanks for the lift.”
    â€œDon’t mention it. I’ll be waiting to take you back.” A grin split his face. “If they leave you in one piece.”
    I nodded wearily, remembering that Council meetings were more rigorous than City Guard physical training sessions, though at least they didn’t take place at half past five in the morning. Then I felt the envelope in my pocket. What the hell was it all about? I raced up the steps three at a time.
    Council members sat round a great horseshoe table in the main hall. I always used to find the setting a bit theatrical, but I could just remember the building’s use as a venue in the Festival before independence. I sat down between the ends of the horseshoe, suddenly very aware of my dirty fatigues in the bright lights that were directed at me. I screwed up my eyes and saw the guardians. Behind them was the large bust of Plato that was the only concession to art in the austere chamber.
    â€œCitizen Dalrymple.” The deputy senior guardian’s voice hadn’t changed in the five years since I last heard it. She must have been over seventy by now. When I was a kid, she was a frequent visitor to my parents’ house.