London's Falling by David Byerlee

Author:David Byerlee [Byerlee, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2012-09-17T08:38:54+00:00

Chapter 27

'We'll see each other soon right?' she asked as she took another sip of tea. The Thames looked as muddy as ever and the impotent twin smoke stacks of the Tate Modern loomed large. Scattered crowds of tourists could be seen swarming across the brightly shining pedestrian bridge as it swayed in the wind. London seemed well and at peace, even as the greatest political storm was brewing.

'As soon as I can. It's been hectic, no doubt about it.' Michael was feeling comfortable in her presence again, even if things could never be the same. For want of a family she would have to do, yet like actual family members, it wasn't always easy.

'But you'll always find time for me?' Cheri moved closer and pouted girlishly. 'Won't you?'

He bent to kiss her on the forehead and replied, 'You know you don't have to ask that question.'

'Don't I just. It's been wonderful.' He waited for her minicab to pull up and then turned to go back to the tube station at Camden. As he did, two men arrived, one at either side of him. An older man with a bald pate and a somewhat younger one, both in suits and unsmiling.

'We'd like you to accompany us to our offices, Mr Prescott.'

'Under what charge?' he asked only half in jest. It occurred to him he might well be the victim of a practical joke.

Managing a thin smile the man with the waistcoat suit replied, 'I'm Officer Rod Connors, Special Branch liaison with the Home Office Immigration Division. This is Officer Steven Jenkins in assist.'

There was no attempt to shake hands and he found himself being accompanied to the kerbside with restrained officiousness. There was no doubt they were prepared to use force, even if Michael elected to go quietly. Never knew who might be watching and it wouldn't do to cause a scene, Michael had his image to protect.

They had their own car, an unmarked Toyota, and he kept up his silence while enduring the ride through balmy summer London streets.

He decided to stay quiet until he saw his legal people. The short trip was almost ghostly in that vacuum of sound.

Once inside a marbled public building at Knightsbridge he was escorted to a heavily wood-panelled office lined with bookshelves. Hardly a holding cell. There was an old worldliness to the place that he found the opposite of comforting, it somehow had the smell of the Colonial Office and lost empire.

'Ah, Mr Prescott, allow me to introduce myself. I'm the Assistant Head Inspector for immigration Affairs, Walter

Silkwood. Please sit down.'

They shook hands only after Michael put his forward. It was becoming that kind of meeting.

'What can I do for you, Mr Silkwood?' he asked calmly, although inwardly frantic.

'Well, no point in beating around the bush or dilly dallying, is there, Mr Prescott? We have been watching you for some

time.'

'Watching me?' he said.

Silkwood glared at him. 'Mr Prescott, we are the government. The Home Office, in fact and you are a guest of this country.

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