Chapter 1. Nathan

Nathan Poulson strode purposefully along the High Street. His bearing, close-cropped haircut, highly polished shoes, smartly ironed shirt, neatly pressed grey trousers and blazer, complete with regimental badge and tie, marking him out as a former soldier.

As he passed an Asian food store, he turned his face away from the repellent invasion of what used to be a traditional English area. Smelling the stink of curry and other spices emanating from the open doorway, he spat in the gutter, then held his breath as he walked by.

He was heading for the Nelson’s Arms and a meeting with Peter Holmes the leader of ‘Action 4 England’, an organisation dedicated to the repatriation of all foreigners, especially non-white races. In his own mind, the jury was still out on whether that should include Celts and Irish. Some, of course, regarded him as racist. He considered himself to be a true patriot.

Entering the pub, he took the stairs two at a time up to the room A4E had borrowed for the afternoon. He was proud of his fitness and worked on it with six–mile runs most days – none of this 10-kilometre business for him.

He knocked on the door before opening it and walked briskly to the front of the desk behind which Holmes was sitting. Coming to attention he stood waiting for his commander to acknowledge him. He focused his eyes on the flag suspended on the wall behind his leader. It featured the red cross of St George on a white field. In the centre was a white circle outlined in red with A4E, the initials of Action 4 England, also in red within the circle. The left-hand upright of the 4 was vertical so that the upper left-hand quarter of the digit resembled a swastika.

“Nathan, thank you for coming so promptly. I have an important task for you.”

“Sir!” Poulson responded, conditioned by his fifteen years in the army.

“Relax, Nathan. Pull up a chair.”

Poulson picked up an upright chair from its place by the wall and placed it three feet away from the centre of Holmes’ desk then sat down, straightening the creases of his trousers as he did so. He placed his hands palms down on each knee.

“Who do you think are the main enemies of true English Patriots, Nathan?”

“Immigrants, sir. Coming here and forcing their rules and culture, if you can call it that, on our people, sir.”

“Wrong, Nathan. Oh, they are our enemies but they’re not the main ones.”

“Sir?” questioned Poulson.

“No, Nathan. The real enemies are the traitors within our own communities who don’t acknowledge the threats posed to our way of life. Those who know the threat exists but are too wishy-washy to do anything about it. They’re the real threat.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right, of course.”

“The question is, how far are we prepared to go to deal with those traitors? How far are YOU personally prepared to go?”

Poulson leapt to his feet and stood rigidly to attention in front of Holmes.

“I’ll do whatever is necessary, sir,” he said firmly.

“You were in the army, weren’t you?”

“Yes sir. Rank of corporal, sir.”

“I believe you were in Iraq and Afghanistan? So, you’ll have seen action?”

“Yes sir. Three tours.”

He didn’t mention that he’d been a clerk in Regimental Headquarters and the only time he’d shot a rifle had been on the range. He’d still been in theatre and had the medals to show for it.

“If I asked you to do something that resulted in the death of some of the traitors, how would you react?”

“You only have to give the order, sir.”

“I thought that would be your answer. I’ve been watching you, Nathan. I’ve seen how committed you are to the cause. This is your opportunity to serve your country far more than you ever did in the army.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are going to attack delegates travelling to the Tory party conference in Manchester. You’ll be dressed as an Arab so that it looks like a terrorist attack. That should anger many of the delegates at the conference and force their leaders to take a harder line on immigration. I gather you speak some Arabic?”

“Yes sir, enough to get by. Won’t the presence of an Arab make the other passengers suspicious?”

“Very perceptive of you, Nathan. That’s why you’ll be disguised as a westernised Arab – as though you’re a representative of one of the Arab states attending the conference to do business with defence industry exhibitors.”

Poulson nodded his head.

“I see, sir.”

“You’ll join the 10.20 train at Euston. You’ll have a reservation, in the name of Nasrallah Abedi, in one of the first-class coaches amongst the delegates. The name means ‘Victory of God’ – which will fit in with a terrorist attack.”

“Very clever, sir.”

“You’ll join as soon as the train is ready and put your suitcase in the rack with the pockets facing outwards. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

“Five minutes after the train leaves Stoke on Trent station, you’ll get out of your seat, leaving your raincoat and hat and go to the luggage rack where you’ll appear to put something into the front pocket of your suitcase. In fact, you will activate the timer on the bomb. You’ll then leave the coach and go through into the standard-class accommodation. As you’ve left your raincoat, it’s unlikely anyone will think anything of it. If they do, they’ll assume you are going to the toilet or the buffet car.”

Holmes paused to light a cigarette.

“Leave the train at Macclesfield from one of the standard-class coaches. In case the staff at Macclesfield wonder why you’re leaving the train before your destination; we’ll provide both first-class tickets from Euston to Manchester and standard-class tickets from Stoke to Macclesfield. Don’t mix them up.”

“No, sir.”

“The bomb will be timed to explode a few minutes after leaving Macclesfield. You’ll be met outside the station and brought back to London. Any questions?”

“Where do I get the disguise and the suitcase, sir?”

Holmes picked up the phone and instructed his deputy, Tommy James, to join him.

“Tommy, I’ve briefed Nathan, take him round to the flat and get him sorted,” Holmes ordered. “Then, meet me at the office.”

When the two of them met an hour later, Tommy accepted the cigar that Holmes offered him.

“It’s a pity we’ve got to lose Poulson, he’s been a good reliable man,” he remarked.

“True, but this is a vital job and, let’s face it, he’d be quite a risk afterwards if he was questioned.”

Tommy blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

“I know. And I realise we need to make sure the bomb goes off and timers aren’t always reliable. There’s no alternative but to have Poulson set it off when he thinks he’s just activating the timer. With luck, it’ll look like a premature detonation. Not going to be much of him left to sort through after the explosion.”