On The Flip of A Coin (10/?) [And New Labour Surprise]
Title: On The Flip of A Coin (10/?) [And New Labour Surprise]
Fandom: HIGNFY
Pairing: Ian/Paul
Notes: Sorry it took so long. IRL, and such. Still, here we go again... :D
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-----
Two minutes later.
Richard had gone completely white, his eyes flicking across the floor, as if searching for some kind of meaning from the worn carpet.
Ian looked at him carefully as Richard thought. He wasn’t sure how to act, or whether to start the conversation before Richard did. Angus wasn’t paying attention, seemingly in a similar state of shock.
“Fuck,” Richard swore.
Ian jumped, more at the meaning than the word. Richard’s voice had wavered, the betrayal affecting his tone as well as his expression. Richard swore again, and stormed out of the room, not speaking one word to Angus or Ian. Angus followed him with his eyes as he left, cautiously nervous.
Richard’s feet slammed on the stairs, every crack of wood making Ian flinch. Angus swallowed oddly.
"This is really bad, Ian," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Angus coughed into a fist, darting his gaze away. Ian bit the side of his mouth, unsure of how to reply. Everything seemed to be falling apart in front of their very eyes, and Angus was taking it to his heart, just as Richard had.
"Cataclysmically bad," Angus elaborated, looking at the doorway. "Richard must be killing himself."
Angus muttered the last sentence, Ian just catching the words. Seconds later, both pairs of eyes darted upwards as they heard the crashing of a door and swearing and two loud voices.
It was eerily reminiscing of the BBC, and Ian felt a cold shiver cascade down the back of his neck.
Ian looked across at Angus, who hadn't looked back down. He was staring intently at the ceiling as if it was in danger of collapse.
Ian opened his mouth carefully, trying to form his words before saying them.
"We're not going to get Paul, are we?" Ian asked.
Angus gritted his teeth as he looked back across, his eyes blazing. Any nervousness had evaporated suddenly, and being replaced by anger. Ian half-wished he hadn’t said anything.
"You really have a one-track mind, Hislop," Angus spat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I think there's more at stake here than Paul."
Ian felt anger rise up into his throat, but resisted the challenge. He knew he couldn't even comprehend the betrayal that must be swimming inside Angus’ veins.
Ian had never felt real betrayal before. Largely, he supposed, because he had never trusted anyone. Especially inside the government. Regardless of the blue rosette they united under, every politician was working for themselves and themselves alone.
Betrayal didn't exist when everyone you knew was a liar. It was dirty, gritting and powerfully lonely, but it kept your head above water.
Despite Angus’ emotions, Ian knew he couldn’t let it go. It had been at least five hours, maybe more depending on how long he had slept, since the fire, and Ian didn't think he wait any longer before getting back. The need to see Paul had overridden any other, and there was only way that Ian could see out of this situation.
"Have you ever thought that maybe getting to Paul, and getting back, would be better for us?" Ian hissed, his voice a little lower. "At least in that reality we're not on the run."
"There might not be anything to get back too," Angus snarled back. "How do we know they even got out from that fire?"
Ian fumed, gritting his teeth together. It was a low blow, one he didn't expect from even Angus. Ian didn’t like being reminded of that... possibility, no matter how often he would think about it. Paul had to be alive. The alternative just wasn’t an option. Ian would have never considered himself headstrong, but on this issue he would not back down, even to his own thoughts.
Ian snapped easily under the pressure.
"That's a very callous move, Angus," Ian replied, his voice dark. "Even from you."
"It's about time you realised how serious this is," Angus retaliated. "We can't afford to spend time trying to get back there when there are people in trouble here."
"Paul is more important," Ian said, firmly.
"Only to you!" Angus replied exasperatedly, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
"You'd do anything for your children," Ian said slowly, knowing it would catch Angus' attention.
Angus swallowed, but didn’t let his eyes leave their mark.
"They're all I have left," Angus spoke lowly, as if he was trying to prevent himself from wringing Ian's neck.
"And so is he."
Ian's voice wavered as he stared dead into Angus' eyes. Angus didn't move for a second, his own eyes flicking as he tried to work out whether Ian was lying. Ian didn't flinch.
Angus rolled his eyes away from Ian's, leaving the argument in hiatus. Ian unclenched his jaw, and flicked a hand down the lapels of his suit. Ian knew it was futile to argue, and Paul - either of them - would never be on the top of Angus' list of people to care about.
Ian wasn't one hundred percent sure Angus cared about him much, either. But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was getting back. Ian wasn't going to let that go without a good fight.
There was a large bang on the stairs, as the three men ran down. One of them - the blur indicated to Ian that it was probably Tony - went straight for the door. It slammed open, the noise sharp in Ian's ears.
He hadn’t thought about Tony. What Ian had realised from the few short moments they had been together, was that he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Ian knew Tony was his main ally in getting Paul out, and hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Richard stuck his head around the door frame, his eyes still wide, but seemingly calmer.
"Come on, then!" he badgered.
Angus raised an eyebrow. Ian walked cautiously towards the departing Richard, watching him pull a dirty leather jacket on from the trash covered floor.
"Where are we going?" he asked, as Phil quickly bustled past him to follow Tony out of the door, shouting his name.
Angus pushed his hands back into his pockets, carefully following Ian's heels. Ian caught his eyes, which Angus quickly darted away, looking down at the floor.
"Where do we usually go when things get crap?" Richard asked, sticking both his arms into the sleeves. "Pub, of course."
Ian could tell Richard was faking his light-hearted voice, but didn’t care. Everything was uncertain now, and if Richard wanted to hide his emotions with false bravado, Ian wasn’t going to spend time comforting him.
Ian had too much to think about.
-----
Thirty minutes later
Ian had been checking every single window, door and person carefully as they walked down the street in close succession. Tony had run far ahead, Phil managing to catch up and stop him from running with a quick yank on his jacket. Ian couldn’t see from this distance, but it looked as if Phil was comforting his friend. Ian half-wished he had someone to comfort him.
Ian held his head sharply down, trying to ferociously ignore everything. He coughed in the cold, the harsh wind whipping around the layers of dark flats. There were piles of snow in corners of the street, as if the weather had tried in vain to bathe the broken streets in cooling ice, but giving up halfway through. Ian dug his hands into his trouser pockets, breathing out wisps of steam. He tried to think through the icy cold, desperately trying to gather his thoughts together.
There was something... unsettling about everything. Ian had thought the sense of confusion and betrayal he was experiencing had come through some kind of empathy for Angus. But there was something else.
Ian gritted his teeth. There was something in hidden in his mind, some kind of misfiled information which was relevant. Ian bit down, thinking desperately.
Ian's mind cut out of its downward spiral as the familiar door of The Purple Rooster came into view at the end of the street. Ian silently breathed out, glad to get out of the cold and the watching eyes. Tony ran in first, pushing the door open, Phil on his tails and Richard following a few minutes behind. When they reached the door, Angus opened it with a flat palm, standing aside so Ian could step in. Ian nodded a thank you, and walked inside.
Ian wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. The room was bare. The dancing and warm light which he had experienced barely two days ago was gone, a mist of darkness and cold feeling its way around the stacked chairs. There were abandoned drinks on tables, bags lying on the floor in odd piles... It was as if humanity had been simply sucked out of the room, leaving just a bare shell.
Angus closed the door behind him, cautiously looking around. Ian stared at the blank bar, the cracks in the wood flooring suddenly twice as noticeable. The floorboards creaked as Angus stepped beside him, breathing out.
"Where is everyone?" Ian asked, his voice echoing around the empty room.
"Richard called ahead," Angus explained. "They've probably... gone."
Ian nodded slowly. He hadn't thought how far a leak would reach. Everyone who had been dancing and singing barely two days ago, were probably fleeing for their lives or for the lives of their families now. Ian couldn't help but feel this was his fault. All of it.
He quietly looked down at the floor, which was already gathering a layer of dust. If only he could remember what he had forgotten. If only he had been more lax on the media laws.
If only... If only.
Ian couldn't be sure whether he was simply experiencing the results of a misplaced ego, or whether his part in all this was more active than he had thought.
"Ian?"
Ian looked up, shaking his head slightly. Angus had cocked an eyebrow.
"Are you alright?" Angus asked, with more curiosity than actual concern.
"Yes. Er, where are they?" Ian asked, realising that Richard, Phil and Tony were no longer in the room and wanting to change tact to stop his thoughts.
"In the back," Angus explained, pointing to behind the bar and at a brown door.
Ian nodded, trying to shove the nameless nagging to the back of his mind, and walked towards the door. Angus followed him, walking through the lift-up section of the bar. Ian noticed, with casual distaste, that Angus had grabbed a bottle of bourbon from below the bar as he passed, slipping it into his coat pocket.
The room behind was thick with smoke, and also very dark. It took Ian a few moments of blinking to get his eyes to adjust, only a dull red lamp in the corner supplying any light at all.
"Y'right, Angus? Who's the new boy?"
Ian frowned slightly as he noticed there were at least nine people packed into the relatively small room, most of them sitting on chairs, and a few on a large and scuffed pool table in the middle.
Ian recognised one of them as the blonde haired man from earlier, who had obviously left the flat after he had fallen asleep. The rest of them, apart from Phil, Richard and Tony, were looking oddly at him.
Ian recognised the barman, who was propped up on top of a stack of barrels, moments before the barman recognised him.
"I know him," the barman said, looking carefully at Ian. "He was in my pub about two days ago. Waiting for Paul, right?"
Ian nodded slowly, wondering how much was safe to reveal.
"Yeah, he's Paul's new bloke," Angus elaborated.
Ian gritted his teeth and Angus, furrowing his brow. Angus shrugged, detached from the situation. Ian, with little regret, realised Angus' exclamation had managed to quell any strange looks he had been receiving.
Ian wondered, with a little regret, how many men had been given his illustrious new title of 'Paul's new bloke.'
"So, what are we doing now?" someone female asked.
Ian slipped towards and empty chair, sitting in a corner. Angus remained standing, closing the door and leaning on the wood.
There was a gentle flicker in the light bulb, and Ian noticed Richard, who had sat quietly in the corner beside it, looking intently at the dull light. Ian could only imagine what Richard was thinking about. He had probably lost friends before, and now... now it looked like he was going to lose the rest.
"Getting out, I hope," someone else replied. "There's nothing we can do now, surely?"
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Ian suddenly had the unwelcome feeling that he was back in the House of Commons. Tony suddenly stood up, and Ian restrained himself from adding ‘the right honourable’ before his name in his mind.
"Oh, shut up Marcus," Tony insulted, the man ignoring Tony's interjection as if it were expected. "You can't give up now it's getting a little tough."
"Some of us have families to think of," Marcus replied, chewing on a cigarette but not lighting it.
"I'm one of them," Angus reminded the room, "but I'm still staying."
"You managed to get them out," someone added. "Some of us don't have the money - or the connections - to do that now."
"It doesn't matter about that."
Everyone craned their eyes over to Richard, who was still staring at the light. Richard waited for a while, holding the audience in his grasp. Eventually, he looked away, back across the room, surveying his friends. Ian watched him closely.
"I'm sure no one here would judge anyone for leaving,” Richard continued, “but we need to know who'll stay."
"Why?" the barman asked, running a hand through greying hair. "Oh! Richard, I do believe you have a plan."
"Shut it, Nick," Richard warned as the room started to 'ooh'. "It's not a plan," he explained, "we just... we need to do one more thing."
"One last go to take them all out?" a woman asked.
"Not exactly," Richard continued, badgering a cigarette from someone and placing it in his mouth.
Richard stood up, hands on his hips. Everyone’s eyes followed his movements as he walked across to Angus, standing beside him.
"It's got just one goal. Paul Martin’s been caught. I called you all last night, and I don’t want anyone here to think we’d abandon a fellow friend just because of something as trivial as this. We need to get Paul out while we still have the chance."
There was silence as people thought.
Ian was surprised. He had thought that Richard would have dropped Paul as soon as the task had become too complicated, the fact that there was no one to trust completely killing any chance of a decent, closed and correct operation.
Although, Ian realised, was any operation including a bunch of satirists, ex-producers and possible comedians likely to be 'decent, closed or correct' even in the most able situation? Ian had forgotten, again, that he wasn't in government. The disappointment of realising you were the only one fighting your corner, usually a common feeling when in cabinet, wouldn't apply here.
From the murmuring which had suddenly been reborn, some people nodding, and smiling, Ian suddenly felt so glad he had got out when he had. Maybe there was still a chance for this to go right.
"So,” Richard asked to the crowd, clapping his hands together. “Who's in for a messy, rubbish and crap last push?"
"I'm in," Nick replied, along a few other affirmative murmurs. "What'll you need?"
"I need a police car," Richard started, counting the items on his fingers, "four sets of police uniforms, a landline, a mobile with a SIM, five people who know what they're doing electronic wise, the equipment for a minor distraction, and a clear working area."
Three people quickly exited, started to talk to each other as they left, disguising some excitement. Angus moved to let them through, pulling a mobile out of his trouser pocket.
He threw it at Richard, who caught it between two flat palms. Nick jumped down from the barrels, motioning to four other people, two of them the blonde man and Marcus, to leave with him.
"We'll raid Paul's flat, then," Nick concluded, running a hand through his grey hair. "He should have some uniforms. And we'll call by his station for the car."
Richard nodded as they left, quickly plugging numbers into his mobile.
Ian’s pulse started to race. Things were happening. There was no time for debate, no time for work, only time for action. Ian thought he had preferred the former, but there was something about the excitement in everyone’s voices, the feelings of fight instead of flight, which were strangely invigorating.
As the room filed out, Phil and Tony followed silently. Ian noted, with some reservation, that Tony's eyes were strangely dark, even in the low light. He was looking at the floor, and running a hand up one of his arms. Ian swallowed as he past, brushing gently against him in the small room.
The door shut, and Richard clambered up onto the pool table, sitting squarely in the middle. Ian felt more comfortable now he was alone with only Angus and Richard. Angus threw some matches at Richard, who grunted thankfully as he lit his cigarette, holding the mobile to his ear by his shoulder.
"Cheers," Richard replied, then caught eyes with Ian. "We're going to need you, you know."
Ian furrowed his brow.
"I can't do anything," Ian replied, confused "If you think I've got any connections left, you would be surely mistaken."
Richard shook his head firmly, switching the mobile to his hand now his cigarette was lit.
"You'll have everything we need," Richard concluded, then looked away. "Hello? Se - Oh, you heard... yes... yes, I know... no - listen - we still need to do one more thing... yeah, and we need you... no... no... No! Listen... look, I know it's Griff, and I know it's Rory, and... look! Sessions, you bloody well better come over, or I'll out you to Thatcher herself... yes I will... YES I WILL. Bring Rory, will you...? Okay, cheers..."
Richard slammed the phone down, taking a deep drag. Noticing Ian's concerned and confused expression, Richard smiled.
"Don't worry," Richard said, breathing smoke out. "He’ll come. He can never resist a drama."
Ian nodded slowly, Richard’s reply making no sense, and sat down in a nearby chair. Angus remained standing, stretching slowly. Richard moved across the pool table, leaning his legs over the side. Ian wrinkled his nose at Richard's dirty boots, and looked upwards.
"So," Richard started, looking down with a smile. "Let's see what we have to work with."
-----
Ten minutes later.
After a quick introduction for Ian to the two new men, they had got to work. Ian rubbed his head, the stress and smoke in such a confined space getting to his mind. He stood in a corner, as Richard and the two men, identified as John and Rory, sat beside him.
Someone had brought in a landline phone, and hastily fiddled with it until they managed to get a weak, yet alive, dial tone. Ian knew how hard it was to get landlines to work, and wasn't surprised when the girl who had brought it in was praised immensely. The entire system had fallen into disrepair when BT had folded, and no one had the money to fix the system, everyone relying on mobiles or internal phones, the latter helping immensely for the plan.
The smoke and the dull lighting were almost painful. Ian shut his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It didn't work. There was still that... that thing. It infuriated him. There was something he knew, but didn't know, and something was telling him it was really, really important.
"Ready?"
Ian snapped open his eyes, looking forward. His thoughts could wait.
John had picked up one of the landlines, and dialled a number. He breathed heavily as he held it loosely. Rory and Richard looked at him carefully, John staring into space.
"Hello? Yes, could I speak to Mrs Beckett, please?"
Ian's ears honed in on his accent, completely changed from the one John had been speaking with earlier. It was perfect for a civil servant, a nasally whine just darting close to being a parody. There was just a slight bouncing on the 'please' which gave the indication that John's accent was fake in any way.
John seemed to realise his slight gaff, pulling on his collar nervously. Richard patted him carefully on his shoulder, John catching his eye with a sarcastic smile before returning to the conversation.
"Mrs Beckett? Yes, it's David Hamilton here, secretary to Mr. Brown. Could he possibly talk to you regarding the movement of a certain prisoner?"
There was silence, and John fiddled with the cord of the phone. Ian stayed deathly still, knowing any little problem now would ruin the whole affair.
"... Yes, thank you, minister. I will connect you with him shortly."
John put his hand over the phone, breathing out a sigh of relief. Richard carefully passed the phone over to Rory, who shook himself. Ian guessed he was getting into a new role, and hoped Rory's impression was good enough.
"Yes, Margret?"
It was perfect. Ian was stunned. Rory played the part well, causing John and Richard to stifle a laugh. Ian couldn't figure out how Rory could have done it, not just because it was pitch perfect, but because politicians were hardly in the public eye. The only explanation was that they must have had someone in the commons taping speeches for these two men to copy later.
Ian was amazed. It was ingenious to think what talents these people really had.
"Yes, it's Gordon here. I'm afraid I've completely lost the plot regarding this whole prisoner affair. Just for the records, could you possibly tell me where exactly a prisoner... ahem..." Rory lent away, faking that he was shuffling papers, "ah, yes, a Paul Martin is being held?"
They all held their breath, waiting for a reply.
"...yes, I have called Boris, but I'm afraid he's mislaid the information in his... well, mind, if you can call it that."
Ian gritted his teeth. John hit Rory on his side for deviating from the script. Rory mouthed a 'hey!' and scrunched up his face. Richard rolled his eyes, mouthing 'comedians' to himself.
Ian rubbed the bridge of his nose with a finger, resigning himself to the fact that the plan was probably lost.
Conversely to Ian's thoughts, it seemed Margret had taken the joke at face value. Ian heard her voice chatting down the landline, and Rory nodded.
"Transferred? Oh, to where...? Oh, he's in transit? Being moved in about an hour? ...No, that's fine, Margret, thank you very much."
Rory slammed the phone down, and smiled at Richard. Richard waited for Rory to reply, shaking a hand.
"...Well?" Richard asked, after a while.
"Being moved in an hour. Apparently because of the two escapees."
Richard smiled broadly.
"Perfect," Richard replied, ecstatic. "That's absolutely perfect! We can catch them while he's being transferred, so they'll be no need for breaking into the prison or out!"
Although the other four men were pleased, quickly shaking hands and departing as friends, Ian wasn't. Something wasn't right. Although he had never been Home Secretary, or Minister for Justice, Ian thought he knew how that segment of the government would have worked.
The last thing that would have been done was to move the prisoner. What should have happened, in Ian's opinion, was for security to be tripled around Paul, and movements inside the prison to be slowed to a halt.
Ian couldn't help but shake the feeling this was all somehow related to the bit of information he couldn't remember. Ian gritted his teeth.
"Ian?"
Angus looked oddly at him, and Ian tried to look pleased, not wanting to alert them with information which might not be true anyway. Richard, John and Rory were laughing to each other as they left, Angus waiting for Ian.
"So," Ian said, waiting patiently. "What are we doing now?"
"Now?" Angus replied, raising an eyebrow. "Now, Hislop, you get your first steps into the wonderful world of acting."
Those words shouldn't have made Ian so nervous.
But they did.
-----
Thirty minutes later.
Ian itched at the black uniform which was wrapped around him uncomfortably. Nick had managed to 'find' a few uniforms around the police station as they were 'finding' the car. Ian pulled his hat down a little further, worried that the winter wind would whip it away.
Angus was leaning on the wall, peeking around a corner to the main road. Richard had given the instructions clearly. They were to wait inside a little side street until Tony and Phil, dressed as the other two police officers, had blocked the transport vehicle with the acquired police car. Then, two people, who Richard had only named as 'Gyles' people' would attack the back of the van, get Paul out, and Ian and Angus would escort him back to the pub, under the guise of returning an escaped prisoner to the prison.
Ian had decided to follow the plan to the letter, until the final part. Instead, he would quickly grab Angus' hand and join a circle, jumping back into the other reality before anyone knew what was going on.
Ian had hated lying to Richard, but had still kept quiet throughout the debriefing. Ian hadn't even explained it to Angus, convinced that he wouldn't go along with it. Although Ian did, on some level, understand Angus’ need to be in the same reality as his children and wife, Ian couldn’t let that stop him. He convinced himself that his method would be better. Once they returned to the other reality, they could catch a plane the US and jump back from there, making it easier to escape.
The wind tried to take Ian’s hat again, and he pushed it further down. He looked across at Angus, who was still staring intently. Ian peeked around him.
The road was still deserted, but Gyles had convinced Richard that the route would have to take them down this particular street. Ian wasn’t utterly sure that it would, his knowledge giving himself the opinion that any government vehicle would stick to main roads as a priority, but Ian couldn’t be sure.
There was still that nagging thought in his mind, running around like an escaped rodent. Ian wished he could remember what it was, and groaned quietly to himself.
Angus looked back at him, dressed smartly in his uniform. Ian half thought it suited him, which was an odd thought at this moment in time.
"Are you alright, Ian?" Angus asked, quickly checking back to make sure nothing had passed by.
"As fine as I can be in this situation, thank you," Ian replied, a little bitterly.
"Sorry that running around like this is a bit above you," Angus said, condescending as always.
"It's not that. God knows I'm completely used to looking like an idiot now. This whole situation just seems a bit... produced."
"In what way?" Angus replied, not looking away from the road.
"It's almost as if Richard is producing this like a television show."
"He's a producer, what do you expect?"
"It would be fine if the script wasn't so flawed," Ian retorted. "I mean, police uniforms? Really."
"Again, I'm sorry our half-baked ideas aren't up to your standard."
"Why do you have to be constantly on the defensive, Deayton?" Ian asked, squaring his gaze.
"Why do you have to be constantly on the attack, Hislop?" Angus retorted.
Ian remained quiet for a minute, the distant sounds of sirens adding to the ambiance of the situation. Angus remained focused on the task in hand. Ian stared at the wall in front of him, leaning on the wall opposite. He breathed out, knocking his head lightly on the bricks behind him. He closed his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order.
What was it that he needed to remember? Ian tried to visualise himself in the past, where he thought he had been told, or seen, what he needed. The first thing that came to mind was Paul, somewhat naturally, and Ian snorted and smiled to himself. Then his mind started to wander, remembering the fire and... that thing that happened in the fire.
Ian squirmed slightly, still not comfortable with the images of flames and the feeling of water. The image moved on, to Paul lying down in the dressing room, Ian carefully brushing his thick hair out of his eyes. Ian smiled again, and his mind caught on something.
In reality, there was a screech of brakes, and Angus swore.
"Time to go, Ian," Angus warned.
Ian didn't respond, feeling closer to what he needed to remember than ever. There was a television set, beaming out the rehearsal studio. Ian could remember looking at it and snorting at a few jokes, before returning his gaze to that annoyingly pretentious magazine that his counterpart seemed to think was made out of pure gold.
There was shouting, which barely caught onto the sides of Ian's train of thought, now getting so close to the answer that he couldn't let go. Was it something in the magazine? Was it something on the show?
Was it both?
Then, Ian got it. His heart sunk four inches and his mouth went bone dry. He snapped his eyes open, the words ringing in his ears and eyes.
"And, taking over for Ian Hislop this week is an ex-Conservative politician who once said of Margret Thatcher 'I find nothing sexier than a woman in power'. Well, I guess I should be very cautious tonight. Please welcome, Gyles Brandreth!”
"Gyles Brandryth, well known Conservative and Media personality is showing us yet another side of him this week with his controversial panning of the Forth Runway at Heathrow. The controversy being this is exactly the way we expected him to vote. So why is the media picking up on only his opinions? Well, it certainly couldn't have anything to do with his connections to the Director General..."
Everything suddenly slotted into place, Ian shaking with the thought.
It was Gyles.
He was the mole.
He was a conservative sympathiser. That was how they got Griff - they were using Gyles' men to transport him. That was how they knew about Jeremy and Rik - Gyles was one of the top leaders - it would have been easy for him to find their names.
Gyles had played everyone.
Including them.
Ian swore and grabbed the back of Angus' jacket. He wrenched him backwards, Angus yelling with complaint until he caught the seriousness in Ian's eyes. Angus went silent. Ian ran forward, looking around the corner, and felt his stomach flip.
The two men - the ones Richard had 'hired' from Gyles - along with the content of what seemed like half of internal investigations who had poured from the back of the van, had grabbed both Tony and Phil and had slammed them onto the bonnet of their car. Phil yelled out in pain, Ian wincing at the brutality. Tony remained mute, gritting his teeth. Ian knew Tony was simply not giving them the satifaction of watching him hurt. They clipped handcuffs onto them, not bothering with reading any rights, and kicking them to the ground with steel-capped boots.
"There should be two more!" one shouted, causing Ian to flinch.
The officers started to look around, Tony protesting that they were the only ones, and recieving a boot into his back for his troubles.
"Shit!" Ian swore.
"What do we do now?" Angus hissed, already backing away.
Ian thought quickly and knew, with absolute certainty, there was only one way out of this.
"We go," Ian said, quickly. "Now. And we get Paul out on our own."
It took a full two seconds for Angus to say anything, the sounds of footsteps getting ever closer. Ian knew they only had minutes left before internal investigations pounced.
"Now?" Angus asked, his voice firm.
"Now," Ian affirmed, with more confidence than he thought possible.
=====
Right, so the telegraph says that the New New Labour Leader, when Brown finally buggers off, will be either Miliband, Purnell or... Balls.
Yeah.
Can someone please tell Ed Balls that his name is too... *ahem*... unsuitable for Prime-Minister-ship? Could we really elect a Prime Minister Balls?
...
Actually, it would be hilarious.
I, FOR ONE, WILL VOTE FOR THE BALLS.