The Eradication of Hate - Chapter 9

Bomb damage. Charred roofs. Twisted pylons. Wreckage stacked up parallel to the railway tracks. The edge of the platform shattered. Broken masonry piled into a corner. Algae-powered dump trucks scooping it all up.

None of the passengers survived that fucking mess.

Gare Maritime de Dieppe, ninety-seven years after the Second World War. It looked like the blitzkrieg had happened yesterday.

Drake rubbed his eyes.

'Non-domestic terrorism, Mr Drake. Apparently the German government sold nerve gas to the American's. Allah's latest martyr's got angry and chose to destroy a coastal railway station with links to the UK to teach the German's a lesson.' Copperson popped a pill and steered the conversation back to point A. ‘The moment of truth has arrived. How say you?’

Drake closed the book and tapped the cover. ‘Is this part of the infamous Eradication of Hate?'

'The manuscript has been hidden in various locations throughout the UK but yes, it's a part of the book.'

'You're re-writing history.'

'I'm uncovering the truth, something anyone could've done had Ashrafian not terminated the Internet.'

Drake recalled a passage: "2020: Security and anti-terrorism sited as reason for temporary shut-down of Internet. Temporary shut-down of Internet lasts 35 days. Internet restricted on re-launch with no international access."

A headline taped to the page: "INTRANET! Corporate anxiety. Exports hit."

More on the same subject: "2020: Increase in entertainment based websites, celebrity blogs and free pornography. Shopping sites increased in size and numbers. Bargain prices everywhere!"

'How much of it's made up and how much is fact?'

'That's a disappointing statement, Mr Drake. I was hoping you'd have more faith.'

'Answer the question.'

'Every statement has been closely scrutinised and researched. Don't forget, the UK's the only European country without the Internet and the only European country that runs a TV game show called Conspiracy Cutdown, a show where people such as myself are publicly ridiculed in order to consign them to obscurity.' Copperson dug a newspaper cutting from his pocket and handed it to Drake. The headline screamed:

PACIFICATION AT 70%

“While much is made of England's authoritarian attitude towards Internet access, a majority of south-east Asian governments have similar controls and, rather than relaxing restrictions on Internet use, many are moving towards tighter regulation. There is direct censorship to block political dissent. National Party software developers are building strong firewalls to prevent dissidents from accessing critical content on the Internet. They are learning how to prevent people from using the Internet to criticise the government. Instead of being a potent tool for empowering the people, the Internet will be in the hands of an authoritative, repressive government."

Drake, thoughtful: 'If I say no, you’re just gonna let me walk away, right?’

‘That was the deal.’

‘And if I say yes?’

‘If you say yes, I’ll still allow you to walk away but I’ll expect you to answer the call when I make it.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I’d sooner keep that to myself for now, but you’ll find out eventually.’

Drake opened the book at a marked page. ‘I’m intrigued by your involvement at the Zodiac. When were you contacted?’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘But you say it was a set-up.’

‘It was.’

‘So who told you?’

‘I didn’t catch his name. He was bleeding heavily and pleading for his life when I took the gun from him. I remember thinking how strange it all was because suicide bombers rarely plead for their lives.’

‘One of the terrorists told you?’

‘He wasn’t a terrorist, Mr Drake, he was an employee of the National Police. Perhaps you knew him?’

Drake closed the book.

Copperson elaborated. ‘He asked me to get him a doctor but I couldn’t because I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I looked for Christian Turner.’

Drakes memory rolled: Christian Turner, war veteran, security guard – The Hero of the Zodiac Shopping Mall.

‘What do you mean you weren’t supposed to be there?’

‘I mean dead men don’t go shopping, Mr Drake. I was on the run, MIA. I hadn’t adopted my new personality at the time.’

Drake smiled. ‘I thought Copperson was an odd name.’

‘My father was a policeman, Mr Drake. It just sprang to mind.’

‘So what happened in the Mall?’

‘Turner did what he could to stop the bleeding. He gave the man some water and he began to talk – not much, but enough to give us a clue. The man was part of a black-ops team, a very small part. He was there to sweep up, to murder as many innocents as possible and to get out again. He hadn’t anticipated someone like Turner being in the Mall. He told us they had a back-up team to bring the bodies in when the smoke cleared, four dead POW’s, but because of Turner they didn’t need them. He didn’t say much more. We went through his pockets but they were empty. Apart from a cheap wristwatch he had nothing personal on him, nothing to trace his identity with. Standard procedure I believe.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Turner’s a friend of mine. I was living in his storeroom waiting for my new identity. I’d only been there a day when the attack happened. Right place at the right time, Mr Drake.’

‘Depends which side of the money you’re on.’

‘Or which side of the truth.’

The train came to a stop. Announcements ensued. Doors rolled open.

Copperson said: ‘You’ll be taken to the coast. A fishing vessel is sailing for England tonight, you'll be on board. Whatever happens after that is entirely up to you.’

‘You’ll be in touch either way?’

Copperson nodded.

‘Why me?’

Bones leaned forward. ‘I’m not a fan of yours, Drake, you’re too damn smooth for my liking, but we know your record and we know what you can do.’

‘If you know my record you know I’m loyal.’

‘I know you’ll warn your people to move Ashrafian.’

'Why would I? The National Police won't move him unless there's proof of an attempt on his life.'

Bones gestured towards Copperson. 'He just asked you to kill him. Sounds like proof to me.'

'I don't think my superiors would like it if I told them I sat on a train having a cosy chat with the man I was supposed to be bringing back in chains. And I don't think they'd allow me within a hundred miles of Ashrafian or any other member of the Cabinet for that matter. In fact they'd probably throw me in jail and shut down my bank account.'

Copperson chuckled. 'He has a point, Bones. We appear to have hamstrung Mr Drake.'

The comedian said, 'Maybe.' He was far from happy.

Drake looked at Copperson. 'You haven't answered my question. Why me?'

'You possess unique talents, Mr Drake. You found me with very little effort and organised a hit within a few short days.'

'A failed hit.'

'True, but you didn't pick the team, your superiors did.'

‘Did I tell you that?’

‘You didn’t have to. Your reputation?’

Drake smiled. ‘You’re not ready to hit Ashrafian yet, are you.'

Copperson smiled back. 'We have a few things to organise first. Timing is very important if we want to gain the support of the masses. Certain people have to be detained before the deed is done.'

'Bosch?'

'Perhaps.'

Bones stood up. Venemous. 'Why don't you just give him the whole fucking plan? Give him the proof he needs to blow the whole fucking deal and get everybody killed.'

Copperson raised his voice. 'Sit down, Carmine.'

The twitchy woman jumped. She looked about ready to give birth.

Bones sat down.

Drake looked at the black man. 'Your man here needs somebody who can do the job and at the moment I’m the best available option. I’m not going to blow the whistle, Carmine, because I haven’t made up my mind who I’m going to be working for.’

Copperson said, ‘The seeds of doubt?’

‘You could say that. I’ll be doing some research of my own before I do anything for either side.’

'The pen is mightier than the sword.'

'So is the National Police database, if you know where to look.'

'How long will your research take?'

'A half hour at most, but I'm still a long way from a terminal.'

‘I’ll give you three days.’

‘It’ll take longer to plan the Ashrafian deal.’

‘I have something else in mind first.’

‘Another job?’

‘A loyalty test.’

‘You’re leaving yourself wide open, Copperson…’

‘Call me John.’

A remark dipped in honey. Drake ignored it. ‘I could have the technical people disassemble your image, they’re good at their job, they’d have a positive ID within hours.’

‘But you won’t, not until you’re sure of the path you intend to take.’

‘I have a lot of thinking to do.’

‘Indeed you do, and when you’ve decided in our favour – which you will – I’ll save your technical people the trouble and tell you myself who I am.’

Drake smiled. Copperson, or whoever he was, had a gift of some kind. He was either an excellent con man or a man who knew he was right. Right about Ashrafian; right about the war; right about the Zodiac and right about the railway bombings. Drake had a lot of thinking to do, and a lot of soul searching. Or did he? In the end it didn’t really matter whose side he was on, the rewards were still the same - luxuries and death, the only things that mattered to the mercenary he’d become.

Luxuries and death.