The Shaking

Chapter Thirty Four

Whitehall. 06.45.

Approaching the checkpoint on foot with their hands raised above their heads, Gail Burton and her crew had to show their press passes and driving licences to the stern faced troops at the Outer Cordon before they were allowed through. The soldiers were on edge for good reason, concerned the crowds of survivors gathered in Hyde Park might became restive to the point where merely grumbling about the haphazard scraps of aid doled out to them was no longer enough and collectively take it upon themselves to march the short distance to the Whitehall government enclave where food, clean water, as well as electricity were still in abundance.

Once past the line of threatening light amoured vehicles with their weapons pointed toward the likely source of trouble, Burton walked up the gentle incline of Constitution Hill toward Buckingham Palace, itself screened by another barricade. She wondered how the army had managed to assemble all the men and materiel here so quickly; they must have had them on permanent standby in the nearby Wellington Barracks for eventualities such as this. Their ceremonial uniforms, drills, and horses put aside for the moment, the reason for the guards' presence was laid starkly bare; to preserve at any cost this island of privilege in an ocean of need, even if that meant going to war against their own desperate fellow citizens.

At least Gail felt safe within this bubble of relative tranquility: When the mob's anger had flashed over at Speakers' Corner earlier this morning and the retreating police fired shots over their heads Burton had feared for her life. Hustled into an escaping police truck her invitation to interview the deputy PM had come over the police radio net, a bizarre interjection amid the frantic calls for back-up. From what she was able to gather from the other messages the forces of law and order were losing the battle to contain the unrest in Hyde Park; the attractions of the high class shops and hotels nearby proving too great a temptation to the rabble. No doubt her C24 van had already fallen victim to the disorder. Without it, and the mobile signal lacking in this area, she was incommunicado.

Gail had been informed her interview with Stuart Pullman would take place near Mountbatten Green. When she arrived there an aide, incongruously wearing an army helmet with his suit, was waiting for her. "Just in case an aftershock were to dislodge something." he explained. "I'll let them know you're here." he continued, reaching for a compact radio.

A short time after his call the Deputy Prime Minister, surrounded by a ring of heavily armed bodyguards walked into view and greeted her. Like a wax mannequin in Madame Tussaud's he seemed smaller in real life than he did on screen.

"I'm sorry but I'll only be able to give you a short time." he said "As you can imagine we're extremely busy dealing with the effects of this disaster, but we wanted everyone to know we're making our best efforts to mitigate it and get back to normal as quickly as possible."

"Thanks for talking to us." Burton replied. "Let's get ourselves set up." Pullman's minders spread out into a wider semicircle out of camera shot while Stuart took up position with the government buildings behind him. He's a canny sod, the presenter thought, choosing his spot with the government buildings behind him showing signs of minor damage. It was a subtly cunning message: Look, we've suffered as well, so we're all in this together...

"Can we go live with this?" Gail asked Pullman.

"If you can get a connection you're welcome to, but the government networks are reserved for emergency communications." he replied.

Burton looked over to her cameraman, who on checking the comlink display shook his head. That's strange, given that this is likely to be one of the most connected places in the country. Perhaps he's worried about making a faux-pas live on air, or wants to confiscate the footage if it reflects badly on the government. Still, we have to manage as best we can...