Chapter 22 in the serialisation of the book 'Insurrection' 4th book in the 'Corpalism' series

22

The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven't changed in 70 or 80 years. Your body changes, but you don't change at all.
Doris Lessing

"It's been a long time, Margo," said Mackie, leaning back and appraising her under bushy eyebrows.

They were ensconced in a booth at the back of the pub, in a semi lit corner, affording a modicum of privacy. Both had contrived to sit with their backs to the wall, whilst still managing to maintain a professional distance from one another. Mags had forgotten quite how much space Mackie occupied, not as bulky as he was once yet he was still an imposing figure. She was glad she'd taken the trouble and dressed for the assignation, pulling out all the stops in her favourite royal blue shirtwaister that made the best of what nature had given her and what superb foundation under-garments helped her maintain.

Mags ducked her head in acknowledgment, strangely affected by the use of her proper name; she’d dropped Margo fifteen years ago, when she'd moved into Eden Hall, along with her previous persona, "Twenty five years and 3 months, give or take a few days."

"You’ve been counting," he said, with a familiar raise of the eyebrows, a tease.

"Not at all,” she replied pertly, “I checked before I came out."

He allowed the lie to stand, "Do you miss it?"

"Always."

"Moi aussi," he said after a brief pause.

She ignored the French, he did that to disconcert people, “Do you keep in touch with the others?"

"All dead." His response was succinct. She was surprised, they were all similarly aged so she had expected a few others to be still clinging to life. "Strains of the job," he murmured, seeing she wanted more, the lie slipping easily off his tongue, “weigh more heavily on some than others."

"I see," she said, a little concerned that maybe all their deaths hadn't been of quite natural causes, "nothing untoward in their departing, I hope."

He lifted his brows again, and tilted his head on one side, waiting until she broke her gaze, then, "And how are things with you?"

"Fine, I’m fine, and how about you, Mackie and erm... Rose?"

"You know perfectly well her name was Ruth," said Mackie.

"Ruth, that's it," said Mags, "how is she?"

"No idea," said Mackie, "left me years ago, took the children and emigrated; Australia, married a sheep farmer from what I could gather."

"Really?" said Mags, "A sheep farmer. Do they have sheep farmers down there still?"

"Apparemment," he replied, subject closed. "Did you want a sandwich or something?"

"Actually, if you don’t mind, they do a lovely Ploughman's here," said Mags.

"Ploughman's it is then," said Mackie strolling off to the bar, then the toilet.

Whilst he was gone Mags made a quick search of his coat, finding nothing.

Mackie returned with more drinks, "The food will be along shortly." He glanced at his coat. "Did you find anything of any use?"

She sipped her drink, "No, but then you knew I wouldn't."

"So now, tell me Margo, what is it that you've dragged me all the way down here for?"

"I think I'm going to need your help."

"In what regard?"

"Well, I have some friends down here, where I live...."

"The 'Eden Hall Retirement Village'," said Mackie, emphasising the village part of the title.

"Yes," answered Mags, not bothering to ask how he knew, "I've grown rather fond of them...."

"D'entre eux?” His face was a study in nonchalance, “Or of someone in particular?"

"Of them," she said firmly. Mackie was a dear old friend, once somewhat more than that, but she would never trust him with details of a personal nature, you just never knew how things would be interpreted or which side of the fence he actually sat on.

Mackie nodded and sipped his drink, the food arrived and they waited whilst the waitress sorted the table out to accommodate the over-large plates.

"Anyway," said Mags, idly watching the retreating back and wondering at the skill and indefatigable nature required to be on your feet all day and keep smiling, "as I say, I've become quite attached to my friends," she bit off a piece of cheese, chewed slowly, "the thing is, they've become a little, how can I say this, disillusioned, with the state of the country at the minute."

"I think everyone is a little disillusioned," said Mackie, wincing as the acidity of the onion found his ulcer, “but to be honest Margo, I don't really see that's a reason to....."

"Of course not," said Mags, interrupting him, "you don't think I've brought you out of hiding and all the way down here just because a few old folk have become disillusioned, do you?"

He waited in silence, the expression one of controlled patience.

"That's the cause of the problem," said Mags, "but it's not the reason I need your help."

There was a silence whilst she worked on a way to phrase it.

"Well, there's just no other way to say this, basically, they've decided that the state has failed them and they have to go to war to clean up the streets."
Mackie stared at her; she was pleased to have been able to surprise him. "To drive the foreigners out, they intend to go to war."

Mackie shook his head, then tried to hide his smirk behind a slice of French bread but it wasn't possible.
He started to laugh.

"Mackie," said Mags, "I'm serious."

"Of course you are,” he managed, still laughing.

"This is not funny, Mackie." Mags assumed her school mistress face.

"They intend to go to war," said Mackie, struggling to swallow his laughter, "your old codger friends intend to go to war."

"Yes," said Mags, evenly.

"With whom exactly do they intend to go to war?" asked Mackie.

"Well, that's just it," said Mags, "they intend to attack the Muslim community."

Mackie was dabbing the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief, "How?" he asked, "A bunch of old men?"

"They were all in the military," stated Mags, keeping quiet on the subject of the women for now, "well, most of them, and they all have some form of expertise."

"Expertise?" He’d stopped laughing now, "Most of them are older than me, for Christ’s sake. How can they expect to do anything?"

"They've had military training," said Mags. She'd noticed he seemed to have quite a bit of background information and wondered for how long he had been keeping tabs on her.

"But that was years ago, Margo," said Mackie, "how can they possibly hope to get in and out of any target area at their age?"

Mags bit a piece of cucumber, "Think about it, Mackie, after all you were meant to be the brains of the outfit."

"Look Margo, we go back a long way, you and me, and in some ways, I owe you, I don't deny that... but this doesn't concern me, it barely concerns you, if you're honest."

She held her nerve, waited him out, eyes on his, putting everything she had into the look. He fidgeted and she knew she had him; it would still take time but he was hooked, he just didn't know it yet.

"Besides which," he continued, "I have absolutely no idea how they intend to get close enough to their targets and then get out again...." he paused, frowned, "unless... they don't intend to get out again."

"Mackie," said Mags, patting her mouth with her napkin, "they're old, as you said, we're old, and the rest of our lot are already dead. We're dying just sitting here; in fact one of us might drop dead whilst we're sitting here."

Mackie cast a quick glance down at his drink. She could see his mind working, sifting through the possibilities.

"Don't be melodramatic," said Mags, "no-one's poisoned your drink.” She smiled then, a ghost of the old Margo lighting her face, “Although it’s good to know you still think me capable.”

He moved his hand across the table, covering hers for a moment and looked into her eyes, searching for motive and understanding.

“Mackie, trust me, it’s as simple as it sounds. They're old and they’re angry and they’re ex-soldiers. They’re sick of watching Muslims blowing themselves up in civilian areas and well, what’s good for the goose...."

"They're going to blow themselves up in a Muslim community?"

"No, not that, but they do intend to go on the rampage to drive the foreigners out. Enough to make a political statement and one of the statements is that they're not too old to do something about this mess."

"I see."

"Good," said Mags, relaxing, "so you'll help me."

"Help you dissuade them, you mean?"

"No," said Mags, disappointment etching new lines, "of course not, what makes you think that? I just said I need your help."

"What help?" he sat back from her, crossing one leg over the other, forcing her to lean towards him to keep the conversation going.

"We both know that the country's in a mess."

"Everyone knows that, Margo."

"Yes, but we know why," said Mags, "at least you do. I only have a rough idea, but you were at the top so you know the bigger picture."

"Margo." He was shaking his head, looked ready to up and leave.

"Come on, Mackie, admit it, they've got a point and they have the right to fight back."

"Are you crazy?” his voice was a hiss of irritation. “Fight back? Against whom?"

"Now you’re getting to it."

"Look Mags," he stopped, took a breath, then continued, "there is no-one to fight back against. It's just something that is happening and it can't be stopped. Call it what you will, social evolution, progress, it cannot be stopped."

"Can't it?" said Mags, not in the least convinced, "Are you really saying it is natural social evolution that has brought us to this point."

"Yes." He was getting drawn in despite himself; he’d always enjoyed sparring with her and age hadn’t softened her mettle.

"I don't think so and I know you know so,"

"What on earth does that mean, Margo?" said Mackie.

"Look Mackie, I'm not stupid, I know that we little soldiers just go around doing as we're bid, that we live in a lower physical world to the powers that be, the ones who control everything...."

"Oh don't give me that," said Mackie, "please, don't go all Illuminati on me."

"It's not the Illuminati is it, or the Masons, I mean you can call them whatever, it's always just a trick anyway, to give them a name I mean, we both know that there are those who hold all the power, those who control everything, those who rule the planet and then there's the rest of us, the ones who do as we were meant to do."

"Margo," said Mackie, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "I think you've been reading too many of the wrong books."

"No need for books, Mackie. You don’t think I didn't know what was going on all those years? That the things we were doing were designed to have the outcomes that emerged."

Mackie sipped his drink, his eyes watchful under beetling brows, "This is not a good idea, Margo."

"Oh, look Mackie, I told you, I like my friends, if this is going to result in a negative outcome for me, well I'm old and yes I've had a good life...”

"This is crazy, Margo," said Mackie, "can you hear yourself?"

“I can understand if you're still in the game, or that somehow you feel conscience bound to defend them or perhaps you're really one of them, what do I know?...”

“Get a grip of yourself, Margo, you’re rambling and it’s past being entertaining.”

She had tears in her eyes now, “All I want from you is that you help me guide my friends onto the right targets, so we don't punish the wrong people."

"But we're old Margo, we're old and past it."

"But that doesn't mean we don't care, does it? It doesn't mean we don't still love England, does it?"

"England?" He was grinning now, she’d reached him somehow.

"Oh, I’m sorry, of course, you're Scottish… well, that’s another thing, breaking up Britain, that's part of their plan too, isn't it, to weaken us, make it so that the British race is no longer a challenge, but a challenge to who?"

"To whom," he said, under his breath, "look Margo, you have to know what you're asking. You’ll be killed …all of you...they'll..."

"I thought I made it clear, dear Mackie, we're old and we're ready to die, so what difference does it make?"

"Put like that, none I guess, but you've got to understand, things aren't as simple as they were in our day."

"I gather that," she'd softened her tone, the gentleness adding to the intimacy, "but I also know we fought for a cause, we did what we did for
Britain and the Empire, but what are they fighting for now? What's the game now, Mack?"

"I need to think for a bit," said Mackie.

"No, that's the last thing you need to do."

Mackie raised his eyebrows, head tilted back, eyes taking on an amused glint. For a second she saw the man he used to be in that gesture, the man she had once loved and who had once loved her.

"If you think, you'll find reasons not to help, you'll find some form of justification in their actions, you'll avoid your true emotions, your true feelings."

"Oh no, not feelings, Margo," sighed Mackie.

"Why do you think any of us got in the game in the first place? Do you think it was the life? Do you think we yearned for the cloak and dagger world? No, we did it for our love of our country, for the love of our nation, out of loyalty, out of national pride....."

"And that's how they used you Margo," said Mackie, "and the others, because you allowed your emotions to rule your minds. If you'd thought about what was going on for just one minute then you'd have seen where it was all leading."

"Well, we didn't, did we," said Mags, "and you’re to blame for that, aren't you, you and people like you who sold us the lie that everything we did was for country when in reality we were no longer playing a national game but were serving the new global aristocracy in their clamour for more and more wealth and power."

"I see you've had time to think things through a little," said Mackie.

"What's the benefit of hindsight if you can't do something with it?"

"Maybe I don't want to change things," said Mackie, "maybe I like the way things are turning out."

"If I believed that to be true I wouldn't have reached out to you," said Mags, "I know you were as idealistic as the rest of us when you started out, I was there remember, besides, I think I got to know you quite well."

He raised his glass, "Here's to that," he smiled.

"I need you to help me explain to my friends what's really going on, who the enemy really is." said Mags.

"And you think they'll believe me," said Mackie.

"We'll they're more likely to believe you than me," said Mags.

"Oh, like that is it?" said Mackie.

"I've been lying low these past years," said Mags, "as far as they're concerned all I do is volunteer, do good works and make Angel cake."

"Angel cake? What the hell is Angel cake?"

Mags ignored the question, "I need you to explain the global nature of our problem and we need a strategy that might have a chance of winning."

"Then you're mad," said Mackie, "for one thing most people can't begin to understand let alone believe the size of the conspiracy and as for a strategy that can defeat them, well, it's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because they'll just adapt it to take advantage of whatever else happens, don't you get it Margo, you can't stop them, you only slow them down or deflect them a bit but you can never stop them achieving their goal."

"I disagree," said Mags, "and the Mackie I knew would never accept defeat before he'd even played a stroke."

"For one thing this isn't cricket and for another, what on earth makes you think I agree with you? I could still be with them, I could be sitting on a nice big fat cheque for all you know."

"You could," said Mags, "but then I still remember what you said to me when I first joined."

"Really?"

"You said to me, 'If we don't, who will?'"

"Great," said Mackie, "not exactly original, or overly powerful."

"No, but at the time it was, at the time when we were facing nuclear threat from the communists or backdoor betrayal by our so called allies, it was powerful then, to me."

He sipped his drink, "So is this what this is? A question of 'if we don't who will?'" He knocked back the rest, "You know, Margo," he said, his mind made up, "I'm pleased we had this chat."

Mags bit into her tomato.

"Very pleased," said Mackie, "I miss the game but it would be fun to see someone upset their plans, even if only for a short time, yes, that would be fun."

"So you'll help me?"

"I'll be in touch," said Mackie, "but don't expect too much."

Cheers

Arun







More from the 'Corpalism' series















Compendium editions