‘I feel like I’m about to.’
‘We should check the boot,’ she said. ‘See if Louisa bought a new monkey wrench.’ And when Lech raised his eyebrows, said, ‘You never know.’
At the third time of trying, the dump bin went through the window, and the resulting scatter of glass was accompanied by a roar of approval from the Yellow Vests, as if the windowpane had been all that was hemming them in. En masse they swept onto the road, causing traffic, which had been grumpily processing past, to come to a halt; a line of buses and taxis, taxis and buses, soon blocked both Oxford and Regent streets, while cycle-drawn hansoms took to the pavements. From a distance it might have seemed like a celebration in progress – Victory Over Europe Day, perhaps – but in the immediate area, a violent undercurrent was palpable. One broken window wasn’t such a mess, in the scheme of things. But it seemed like a start.
Oddly, a TV crew had been in place throughout, though Yellow Vest gatherings were barely newsworthy these days; were just another street hazard, like wobbly paving slabs or charity muggers. But Channel Go had sent a van earlier in the evening, and its crew were on the street, filming the commotion. From the cab window Judd watched them weaving through the crowd with interest, not least because one of them had just the kind of legs he admired: long, and attached to a woman.
Noise rose and fell, like a wave breaking over silt.
‘Meter’s still ticking, guv,’ the driver said.
‘I’m immensely glad that you reminded me of that. But it’s of no importance, I assure you.’
‘Your money.’
‘And soon to be yours.’
This promise gladdened the driver’s heart, or at least loosened his tongue. ‘Interested in these jokers, are you? The Yellow Vests?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Yeah, no, I say jokers, but they’ve got a point. It’s the voice of the people, you get down to it. I mean, it’s been a joke, hannit? These last few years? A flippin’ circus. It gets you wondering, who are the government to tell us what to do?’
‘A strikingly acute question. And now, I have a favour to ask.’
‘Anything you say, guv.’
‘Stop talking. And step outside for five minutes. I’m about to take a meeting.’
Which commenced twenty seconds later, when Desmond Flint joined him.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked, climbing into the cab.
‘I know,’ Judd beamed. ‘Almost as if your people had a mind of their own.’
‘I mean – this wasn’t … A peaceful gathering. That was my instruction.’ He closed the door. ‘But this, this … The police are lining up on Oxford Street. This’ll make us look like criminals.’
‘As so often happens when laws are broken,’ said Judd. ‘But do stop worrying. Here.’
He handed Flint a silver flask. Flint took it, uncomprehending.
Judd said, ‘The Home Secretary is unlikely to order the police to move in without the PM’s say-so. And since he has a way of being hard to find when decisions are called for, we have a little time.’
‘This was deliberate. A troublemaker. None of my doing. This is the work of one of those, what did you call them? An Asian something?’
‘Victoria’s Secret Agents,’ said Judd.
‘… What?’
‘Just my little joke.
‘And you said they’d been dealt with. That you’d persuaded MI5 to withdraw them. But now this happens. And there are TV crews, for God’s sake!’
Judd said, ‘Take a drink. Calm your nerves.’
Flint looked at the flask, then raised it to his mouth. Swallowed and said, ‘And you’re making jokes. I thought you were going to be my political saviour. Just earlier today you said that. And here we are now, and my movement, the movement I started, looks minutes away from building a bonfire in the middle of fucking London! And what have you done in the meantime?’
‘Well,’ Judd said, ‘I arranged for someone to throw a bin through a window.’ He held a hand up to forestall interruption. ‘And I know what you’re going to say. That can’t have taken more than a phone call. But you have to know who to call. That’s where the expertise comes in.’
‘… You are out of your bloody tree, mate! You are mad as a box of Frenchmen!’
‘And the same person I called to borrow a bin chucker from arranged for the first of those TV crews to be here. Channel Go. I think I mentioned them earlier. Now, be a good chap, take another belt of that rather special brandy, and run a comb or something through your hair. Because it would be best if you made your play before they do light actual bonfires. The optics would be a little, what shall I say? Reminiscent of darker times?’
‘… What you on about?’
‘Channel Go isn’t here to film a riot, Desmond. It’s here to film you.’
‘… Me?’
Judd nodded in the direction of the increasingly restless mob. ‘Oh yes. You wanted an opportunity to shine, didn’t you? Well, that’s what I’m giving you.’ He leaned across to open the door of the cab. ‘Your destiny awaits. You can thank me later. Here, take this. Oh, and leave the brandy. There’s a good chap.’
