Читать книгу Galactic Keegan - Scott Innes - Страница 15

I paced up and down, my mind working overtime. How had I managed to get myself into this mess?

General Leigh told me he’d make sure I got ‘one of the finest suites’ in the Mark Aspinall Prison at the far end of the base (named after one of the most fearsome barristers in the Alliance who had famously prosecuted the Great Betrayer himself, Richard Madeley, in absentia the previous summer for crimes against humanity) but it turned out that by this he simply meant the toilet might flush now and then. The running water from the tap was barely more than a trickle and the mattress was stained with… well, I tried not to think about it.

‘Hello?’ I called through the bars of my cell door, the iron cool against my face. ‘Lunch is meant to be at one and it’s now twenty past! You’re treating me like a prisoner here. It’s not on.’

But of course, I was a prisoner. Worse than that, in the eyes of Leigh and his soldiers – no doubt by now, four days down the line from my arrest – and to the wider Compound, I was the evil turncoat spy who had been turfing over military secrets to the L’zuhl.

My heart sank at the prospect of my lads seeing the front page of the Compound Chronicle. BELOVED FOOTBALL MANAGER ACCUSED OF SPYING would no doubt be the headline plastered everywhere. The fact that Gerry had not come in to visit was worrying me. Oh, sure, I could well expect it of Gillian – she was no doubt thrilled to discover that someone had taken me out of the equation, putting a stop to my pleas for greater investment in the playing squad. But Gerry? Surely he wouldn’t just accept the accusation at face value like that? His support was all I had to cling on to as I spent my days staring hopelessly at the four grey stone walls around me. The only indication that anyone else had ever been held here before me (aside from the stain on the mattress) was a few bits of graffiti on the wall – one read ‘Eff Palangonia!’ Except it didn’t say ‘Eff’. I mean, what kind of sick mind writes something like that? What if a kid had seen it? Well, all right, probably unlikely, but still. The idea of my being kept in a ten-foot cell like the sort of dangerous deviant who’d write something so disgusting made my stomach turn. I led my country to an international tournament for goodness’ sake! And we’d ultimately finished a respectable third. In Group A. Look, let’s not get bogged down in that, it was ages ago. The other bit of graffiti was about the General himself, referring to him as a ‘L’zuhl shagger’ which at least made me smirk slightly despite my disapproval of the act and, frankly, the language.

‘Hey!’ I shouted into the empty corridor beyond my cell. ‘I’m starving!’

No response. What was this, a bank holiday? I sat down on the bed and rested my chin in my hands. Obviously it wasn’t enough for Leigh to destroy my football club, oh no – he also had to ruin me as well.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t put two and two together?’ he had taunted as his two goons dragged me aggressively down the steps from the top of the Compound walls. ‘It was painfully transparent! I put the Compound in lockdown so we can hunt for a spy, and then, suddenly, Kevin Keegan cannot wait to leave! How very convenient.’

Certainly didn’t feel that convenient to me as I sat there, bored rigid, in my cell for four days, being fed nothing but beans on toast thrice daily (though at least for the evening meal they gave me those beans with the little sausages in). In a way, this was all Gerry’s fault. Look, I’m not one to pass the buck, I’ll own all my mistakes, but if he hadn’t planted the seed of our moving on and taking Moyesie’s job, I’d never have ended up in this situation. I’d have probably fought harder for Palangonia FC, too. Thanks a bunch, Gerry.

Suddenly, a wave of despair washed over me. Why hadn’t I fought harder? I’d mouthed off to Gillian and complained in the loudest terms but I hadn’t really done anything. I’d just accepted Gerry’s suggestion that we might have a better time of it elsewhere. I’d taken the easy way out – and that is not the Kevin Keegan way. Palangonia FC was mine. And I had to stand up for it.

‘Oi,’ came a voice from outside – I hadn’t even heard the masked guard approach.

‘Oh, finally,’ I grumbled, getting to my feet, arms outstretched. But the guard held no tray of beans.

‘Forgotten something, son?’ I asked, eyebrow raised.

‘Come with me,’ he said darkly. ‘You’re to be interrogated. The General wants answers.’

‘So do I,’ I said, and waited for the cell door to slide open.

*

The interrogation room was every bit as dingy as my cell – I was baffled as to why, given that Fort Emmeline had only been built little more than a year ago. They had plenty of opportunity to give the place a bit of character, a colourful paint job, a skylight – a conservatory would have been ideal to catch the sunshine from the twin suns setting in the late afternoon. Instead, it was grey brickwork and a cold stone floor, with a wooden table in the middle of the room and a mirror on the wall. I initially assumed, on walking inside, that this was the obligatory two-way thing for people to watch the interrogation but actually, it was more likely to be pure vanity from Leigh. And sure enough, he was already sitting there at the side of the table facing the mirror. Pathetic.

‘Keegan,’ he said gruffly without getting off his arse. ‘Take a seat. You look well.’

‘I look how I feel,’ I snapped, sitting down opposite the General. Beside him, a young woman in a smart suit was scribbling on a sheet of paper. There was an empty seat next to me.

‘Well, you brought this on yourself,’ Leigh said.

‘You honestly cannot believe that,’ I said, shaking my head in exasperation. ‘I’m a pure football man, not a secret agent.’

‘Perhaps we should hold fire until we begin,’ the woman said, looking up. She wasn’t wearing a military uniform but looked very officious. I had a bad feeling about this.

‘Mr Keegan’s lawyer isn’t here yet,’ she went on. ‘This spy business is big, General – we want to make sure we play things by the book.’

‘Right you are,’ Leigh agreed, sitting back in his seat and knitting his hands together over his stomach like he was relaxing in a lawn chair. Honestly, I have never felt the urge to slap another human being as much as I did in that moment. He oozed smarm – that’s a trait I simply cannot abide. I remember years back there was that Swedish boy, Zlatan Ibrahimović. Hell of a player. But one day I heard him remark during an interview that he was unquestionably ‘the greatest living Swede’. I mean, I had to laugh. Did you write ‘The Winner Takes It All’ then, son? Nope. Next.

Still, though. A lawyer? For me? I didn’t even know I had one. Back on Earth, I’d always represented myself whenever I was involved in legal proceedings – like when I took Cineworld to court after I paid full whack for a ticket and yet the film only lasted three minutes. (They won on some weird technicality, claiming it was only a trailer before the main feature. Aye, right.)

‘Who’s my lawyer?’ I asked – and then right on cue, the door opened behind me and a portly man in a Hawaiian shirt and combat shorts bustled in, a sheaf of folders under one hairy arm. He had long hair at the back but was bald at the front – he looked like a sweaty Terry Nutkins. The only good thing I could say about him was that he was brave enough to wear socks and sandals together, a sartorial combo that society had wrongly shunned but for which I remained a proud standard-bearer. No one needs to see your manky toes, thank you very much.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ the horrendous-looking man said in a thick southern-US accent. He had a whistle in his nose when he exhaled which I could already tell was going to drive me absolutely potty.

‘Please don’t say you’re my—’

‘Your lawyer,’ the man said, extending his hand to shake mine as he sat beside me, scattering his folders and paperwork all over the floor as he did so. ‘Bill Attick.’

With a heavy sigh, I shook his pudgy, clammy hand and glanced across the table at General Leigh. I knew that smirk would be on his face before I even saw it.

‘Shall we crack on?’ Attick suggested amiably. ‘I can’t imagine this’ll take too long.’

‘I never hired you,’ I said, trying not to let my distaste at this poor state of affairs show. ‘I don’t even have a lawyer.’

‘I was employed by one…’ Attick consulted his notes, squinting, ‘Gerald Francis. You know him?’

‘Aye,’ I grumbled. ‘Wish I didn’t. He hasn’t been in to see me once.’

‘Oh, he’s tried,’ Leigh said. ‘Tried to scale the gates to the base at one point. We had to taser him.’

‘Christ – is he okay?’

‘That’s when he contacted me,’ Attick explained. ‘The General is free to prohibit visitors to his prisoners but cannot rebuff an Alliance-appointed lawyer.’

‘Bully for you,’ I said miserably.

‘Shall we begin?’ suggested the woman, who had been sitting quietly all the while. ‘As Mr Attick observed, this oughtn’t take long.’

‘Open and shut case,’ Leigh said.

‘My name is Helen Brody; I’m the appointed litigator for the Compound command force, of which the General is leader. Mr Keegan, you are here today, a prisoner, on suspicion of espionage. Is there anything you’d like to say?’

‘No comment,’ Attick muttered in my direction.

‘I’ve plenty I’d like to say,’ I blustered. ‘First off, can you turn up the air con in here? It’s boiling. Secondly, I’m not a spy. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I may hate this toad of a man sitting here with me—’

‘I’m doing my best,’ Attick said, wounded.

‘I mean the General,’ I sighed. ‘I may detest that oaf with every fibre of my being for what he’s done to my beloved football club, but I would never put my hatred for him over my love for my species. For my home planet. For all mankind. I’m a patriot. You ask anyone – ask Brian Laws, ask Les Reed, Robbie Martínez. They’ll tell you.’

‘That’s a very impassioned argument,’ Brody said coolly. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that no sooner was the General’s lockdown announced, you immediately sought to leave the Compound. You, whose loyalty to his football club is known far and wide.’

‘Purely circumstantial,’ Attick said. ‘I really hope that’s not the best you’ve got.’

‘It’s more than just circumstance,’ Brody went on. ‘There is no justifiable reason why someone as committed to his role here on Palangonia as Mr Keegan would attempt to flee as soon as the news broke that there was a spy in our midst. And there’s also the question of his behaviour. Mr Keegan has been personally abusive in his language to the General on numerous occasions.’

‘Have I heck,’ I snorted, waving a hand dismissively. ‘Give me one example.’

‘You referred to him as a toad not one minute ago,’ Brody replied.

‘That was a one-time thing,’ I insisted.

‘You then went on to call him an oaf. Again, this was barely a minute ago.’

‘Figure of speech,’ I mumbled and then fell silent. Best to know when you’re beaten.

‘This still doesn’t add up to enough,’ Attick said. ‘It’ll never stand up in court. You have not a sniff of proof that my client, Mr Coogan, was—’

‘It’s bloody Keegan, come on,’ I said, exasperated.

‘—was in any way connected to this spy business. What I’m seeing here is two people with a vendetta against one another and the fact that it’s come to this sorry situation should be a cause for embarrassment on both sides.’

I felt suddenly heartened by Attick’s defence of my position. Brody seemed momentarily lost for words.

‘Do you realise quite how much of a march the L’zuhl have on the Alliance at this moment in time?’ Leigh said testily, leaning forward across the table. ‘They’re one step ahead of us with everything we do at the moment – and it’s all thanks to this damned spy.’

He glanced at me. I shrugged. Not my problem.

‘At the Battle of Fallak, they knew exactly what numbers we would be bringing and they outmatched us. We were vanquished and had to fall back. Laika was en route to the Alliance headquarters at The Oracle for a meeting of the Assembly and there was a L’zuhl assassin already in wait. Fortunately, she survived with only a grazed paw.’

I hadn’t heard about that. Even I knew that the loss of Laika would have been an enormous blow to any prospect of victory against the L’zuhl. She had been the first dog in space back in the 1950s and, after floating away into the vast darkness of the cosmos, had developed super-intelligence and an unnaturally long life. (That old chestnut.) Now, she was one of the most respected figures in the galaxy, a noted academic and decorated politician, and her guidance and leadership at the highest levels of the Alliance was crucial. It’s like when Sir Al finally retired after twenty-six years at Manchester United: lightning simply does not strike twice. Unless you’re Dave Seaman playing golf – he was struck sixteen times in one afternoon and still bought a round at the club bar afterwards. The man’s a diamond, he really is.

‘I didn’t know that about Laika,’ I said, a slightly tremulous note to my voice. ‘I’m glad she’s okay.’

‘Sure you are,’ Leigh sneered.

‘Let’s try to keep this civil,’ Brody interjected.

‘General, this still does nothing to implicate my client – these are a number of unfortunate incidents at which Mr Coogan was not even present.’

‘You want proof?’ Leigh said, suddenly looking a little rattled. ‘Did you not hear what happened just last night in the Adelphi Six sector? The Alliance moved a fifth of its arsenal there in order to use the Frelf wormhole to transport them over to The Oracle – and as soon as they arrived at Adelphi, they found a L’zuhl battalion awaiting them. Thousands upon thousands of lives were lost in the ensuing dog-fight. Mr Keegan, the spy, fed this information to them. There is no way they would have known about our strategy otherwise. This decision was made by me, at a meeting held within these four walls of the Compound just this Tuesday. By foul means, Keegan evidently infiltrated the room and passed on our plans to his paymasters.’

‘Absolute hogwash, that,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Nowt to do with me whatsoever. You’re better than this, son.’

‘How is that proof?’ Attick asked again.

‘I know it in my bones,’ Leigh said. ‘Keegan is the spy. And I’m going to keep him rotting in that cell until I find some incontrovertible evidence. And believe me, I will find it.’

‘Well, if that’s where we’re at, that’s where we’re at,’ Attick said, folding his paperwork away and tucking his pen into the top pocket of his ridiculous shirt.

‘What, so I can go then?’ I asked. ‘I mean, he has no proof, after all.’

‘Go?’ Attick frowned. ‘Why, of course not. General Leigh is calling the shots here. Until you’re ruled out as a suspect, if indeed you ever are, you’re here at his pleasure. I can’t do anything about that.’

‘This is a travesty!’ I cried. ‘I’ve seen some injustices in my time but this takes the bloody cake!’

Leigh gave me a cold look and stood up alongside Brody.

‘It won’t be so bad, I’m sure,’ Attick said, placing a meaty, sympathetic hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ve just got to keep a positive attitude.’

‘And in the meantime, you’ll try to find proof that I’m not the spy, yeah?’ I asked hopefully.

‘What?’ He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘No, of course not. I only do this part time; I’m back at the day job this afternoon. I make birdhouses.’

I deflated like a football after an Al Shearer piledriver.

‘All the best, Mr Coogan,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow’s Friday – you’ve managed almost a working week inside already. The months and… well, yes, most probably years will fly by.’

I felt like crying right there in the interrogation room. Leigh had won. He’d destroyed Palangonia FC and now he’d broken Kevin Keegan too. I couldn’t face a fifth day inside. If the L’zuhl really were on the warpath as the General claimed, I didn’t want my fate to be sitting in a cell watching mankind crumble to nothing around me. Hearing that many thousands of lives had been lost the night before was horrifying, even without the responsibility being laid at my feet. Christ, what would my lads think of me when I copped the blame for that? I mean, it’s not like I could even— Wait one damn minute!

‘Attick!’ I cried, and my idiot lawyer/birdhouse maker paused in the doorway and looked back at me.

‘You okay?’ he asked, sounding concerned.

‘Okay?’ I asked. ‘I’m better than okay, son. I’m a free man. Get the General back here right now!’