But when at five he left the bank and returned to the police station it was to discover that
Wilt's account seemed yet again to correspond, however implausibly, with the facts.
'A siege?' he said to the desk sergeant. 'A siege at Willington Road? At Wilt's house?'
'Proof of the pudding's in there, sir,' said the sergeant indicating an office. Flint crossed
to the window and glanced in.
Like some monolith to maternity Eva Wilt sat motionless on a chair staring into space, her
mind evidently absent and with her children in the house in Willington Road. Flint turned away
and for the umpteenth time wondered what it was about this woman and her apparently insignificant
husband that had brought them together and by some strange fusion of incompatibility had turned
them into a catalyst for disaster. It was a recurring enigma, this marriage between a woman whom
Wilt had once described as a centrifugal force and a man whose imagination fostered bestial
fantasies involving murder, rape, and those bizarre dreams that had come to light during the
hours of his interrogation. Since Flint's own marriage was as conventionally happy as he could
wish, the Wilts' was less a marriage in his eyes than some rather sinister symbiotic arrangement
of almost vegetable origin, like mistletoe growing on an oak tree. There was certainly a
vegetable-looking quality about Mrs Wilt sitting there in silence in the office and Inspector
Flint shook his head sadly.
'Poor woman's in shock,' he said, and hurried away to discover for himself what was actually
happening at Willington Road.
But as usual his diagnosis was wrong. Eva was not in a state of shock. She had long since
realized that it was pointless telling the policewomen who were sitting with her that she wanted
to go home, and now her mind was calmly and rather menacingly working on practical things. Out
there in the gathering darkness her children were at the mercy of murderers and Henry was
probably dead. Nothing was going to stop her from joining the quads and saving them. Beyond that
goal she had not looked, but a brooding violence seeped through her.
'Perhaps you would like some friend to come and sit with you,' one of the policewomen
suggested. 'Or we could come with you to a friend's house.'
But Eva shook her head. She didn't want sympathy. She had her own reserves of strength to cope
with her misery. In the end a social worker arrived from the welfare hostel.
'We've got a nice warm room for you,' she said with an extruded cheerfulness that had served
in the past to irritate a number of battered wives, 'and you needn't worry about nighties and
toothbrushes and things like that. Everything you want will be provided for you.'
'It won't,' thought Eva but she thanked the policewomen and followed the social worker out to
her car and sat docilely beside her as they drove away. And all the time the woman chattered on,
asking questions about the quads and how old they were and saying how difficult it must be
bringing up four girls at the same time as if the continually repeated assumption that nothing
extraordinary had happened would somehow recreate the happy, humdrum world Eva had seen
disintegrate round her that afternoon. Eva hardly heard her. The trite words were so grotesquely
at odds with the instincts moving within her that they merely added anger to her terrible
resolve. No silly woman who didn't have children could know what it meant to have them threatened
and she wasn't going to be lulled into a passive acceptance of the situation.
At the corner of Dill Road and Persimmon Street she caught sight of a billboard outside a
newsagent's shop. TERRORIST SIEGE LATEST.
'I want a newspaper,' said Eva abruptly and the woman pulled to the kerb.
'It won't tell you anything you don't know already,' she said.
'I know that. I just want to see what they're saying,' said Eva and opened the door of the
car. But the woman stopped her.
'You just sit here and I'll get one for you. Would you like a magazine too?'
'Just the paper.'
And with the sad thought that even in terrible tragedies some people found solace by seeing
their names in print the social worker crossed the pavement to the shop and went in. Three
minutes later she came out and had opened the car door before she realized that the seat beside
her was empty, Eva Wilt had disappeared into the night.
By the time Inspector Flint had made his way past the road blocks in Farrington Avenue and
with the help of an SGS man had clambered across several gardens to the Communications Centre he
had begun to have doubts about his theory that the whole business was yet another hoax on Wilt's
part. If it was it had gone too far this time. The armoured car in the road and the spotlights
that had been set up round Number 9 indicated how seriously the Anti-Terrorist Squad and Special
Ground Services were taking the siege. In the conservatory at the back of Mrs de Frackas' house
men were assembling strange looking equipment.
'Parabolic listening devices. PLDs for short,' explained a technician. 'Once we've installed
them we'll be able to hear a cockroach fart in any room in the house.'
'Really? I had no idea cockroaches farted,' said Flint. 'One lives and learns.'
'We'll learn what those bastards are saying and just where they are.'
Flint went through the conservatory into the drawing-room and found the Superintendent and the
Major listening to the adviser on International Terrorist Ideology who was discussing the
tapes.
'If you want my opinion,' said Professor Maerlis gratuitously, 'I would have to say that the
People's Alternative Army represents a sub-fraction or splinter group of the original cadre known
as the People's Army Group. I think I would go so far.'
Flint took a seat in a corner and was pleased to note that the Superintendent and Major seemed
to share his bewilderment.
'Are you saying that they're actually part of the same group?' asked the Superintendent
'Specifically, no,' said the Professor, 'I can only surmise from the inherent contradictions
expressed in their communiqués that there is a strong difference of opinion as to the tactical
approach while at the same time the two groups share the same underlying ideological assumptions.
Owing, however, to the molecular structure of terrorist organizations the actual identification
of a member of one group by another member of another group or sub-faction of the same group
remains extremely problematical.'
The whole fucking situation is extremely problematical, come to that,' said the
Superintendent. 'So far we've had two communiqués from what sounds like a partially castrated
German, one from an asthmatic Irishman, demands from a Mexican for a jumbo jet and six million
quid, a counter-demand from the Kraut for seven millions, not to mention a stream of abuse from
an Arab and everyone accusing everyone else of being a CIA agent working for Israel and who's
fighting for whose freedom.'
'Beats me how they can begin to talk about freedom when they're holding innocent children and
an old lady hostage and threatening to kill them,' said the Major.
'There I must disagree with you,' said the Professor. 'In terms of Neo-Hegelian post-Marxist
political philosophy the freedom of the individual can only reside within the parameters of a
collectively free society. The People's Army Groups regard themselves as in the forefront of
total freedom and equality and as such are not bound to observe the moral norms which restrict
the actions of lackeys of imperialist, fascist and neo-colonialist oppression.'
'Listen, old boy,' said the Major angrily removing his Afro wig, 'just whose side are you on
anyway?'
'I am merely stating the theory. If you want a more precise analysis...' began the Professor
nervously, only to be interrupted by the Head of the Psychological Warfare team who had been
working on the voiceprints.
'From our analysis of the stress factors revealed in these tape recordings we are of the
opinion that the group holding Fräulein Schautz are emotionally more disturbed than the two other
terrorists,' he announced, 'and frankly I think we should concentrate on reducing their anxiety
level.'
'Are you saying the Schautz woman is likely to be shot?' asked the Superintendent.
The psychologist nodded. 'It's rather baffling actually. We've hit something rather odd with
that lot, a variation from the normal pattern of speech reactions and I must admit I think she's
the one who's most likely to get it in the neck.'
'No skin off my nose if she does,' said the Major, 'she's had it coming to her.'
'There'll be skin off everyone's nose if that happens,' said the Superintendent. 'My
instructions are to keep this thing cool and if they start killing their hostages all hell will
be let loose.'
'Yes,' said the Professor, 'a very interesting dialectical situation. You must understand that
the theory of terrorism as a progressive force in world history demands the exacerbation of class
warfare and the polarizing of political opinion. Now in terms of simple effectiveness we must say
that the advantage lies with People's Army Group Four and not with the People's Alternative
Army.'
'Say that again,' said the Major.
The Professor obliged. 'Put quite simply it is politically better to kill these children than
eliminate Fräulein Schautz.'
'That may be your opinion,' said the Major, his fingers twitching on the butt of his revolver,
'but if you know what's good for you you won't express it round here again.'
'I was talking only in terms of political polarization,' said the Professor nervously. 'Only a
very small minority will be perturbed if Fräulein Schautz dies but the effect of liquidating four
small children, and coterminously conceived female siblings at that, would be considerable.'
'Thank you. Professor,' said the Superintendent hastily. And before the Major could decipher
this sinister pronouncement he had ushered the adviser on Terrorist Ideologies out of the
room.
'It's blasted eggheads like him who've ruined this country,' said the Major. 'To hear him talk
you'd think there were two sides to every damned question.'
'Which is exactly the opposite of what we're getting on the voiceprints,' said the
psychologist. 'Our analysis seems to indicate that there's only one spokesman for the People's
Alternative Army.'
'One man? said the Superintendent incredulously. 'Didn't sound like one man to me. More like
half-a-dozen insane ventriloquists.'
'Precisely. Which is why we think you should try to lower the anxiety level of that group. We
may well be dealing with a split personality. I'll play the tapes again and perhaps you'll see
what I mean.'
'Must you? Oh well...'
But the sergeant had switched the recorder on and once again the cluttered drawing-room echoed
to guttural snarls and whimpers of Wilt's communiqués. In a dark corner Inspector Flint who had
been on the point of dozing off suddenly sprang to his feet.
'I knew it,' he shouted triumphantly, 'I knew it. I just knew it had to be and by God it
is!'
'Had to be what?' asked the Superintendent.
'Henry Fucking Wilt who was behind this foul-up. And there's the proof on those tapes.'
'Are you sure, Inspector?
'I'm more than that. I'm positive. I'd know that little sod's voice if he imitated an Eskimo
in labour.'
I don't think we have to go that far,' said the psychological adviser. 'Are you telling us you
know the man we've just heard?'
'Know him?' said Flint. 'Of course I know the bastard. I ought to after what he did for me.
And now he's having you lot on.'
'I must say I find it hard to believe,' said the Superintendent. 'A more inoffensive little
man you couldn't wish to meet.'
'I could,' said Flint with feeling.
'But he had to be drugged up to the eyeballs before we could get him to go back in,' said the
Major.
'Drugged? What with?' said the psychologist.
'No idea. Some concoction our medic brews up for blighters with a streak of yellow. Works
wonders with the bomb-disposal chappies.'
Well it wouldn't appear to have worked quite so well in this case,' said the psychologist
nervously, 'but it certainly accounts for the remarkable readings we've been getting. We could
well have a case of chemically induced schizophrenia on our hands.'
'I wouldn't bother too much about the "chemically induced" if I were you,' said Flint. 'Wilt's
a nutter anyway. I'll give a hundred to one he set this thing up from the start.'
'You can't seriously be suggesting that Mr Wilt deliberately went out of his way to put his
own children in the hands of a bunch of international terrorists,' said the Superintendent. 'When
I discussed the matter with him he seemed genuinely astonished and disturbed.'
'What Wilt seems and what Wilt is are two entirely separate things. I can tell you this much
though. Any man who can dress an inflatable doll up in his wife's clothes and ditch the thing at
the bottom of a pile hole under thirty tons of quick-set concrete isn't '
'Excuse me, sir,' interrupted the sergeant, 'message just come through from the station that
Mrs Wilt has flown the coop.'
The four men looked at him in despair 'She's what?' said the Superintendent. 'Escaped from
custody, sir. Nobody seems to know where she is.'
'It fits,' said Flint, 'it fits and no mistake.'
'Fits? What fits for Chrissake?' asked the Superintendent, who was beginning to feel
distinctly peculiar himself.
'The pattern, sir. Next thing we'll hear is that she was last seen on a motor cruiser going
down the river, only she won't be.'
The Superintendent stared at him dementedly. 'And you call that a pattern? Oh, my God.'
'Well, it's the sort of thing Wilt would come up with, believe me. That little bugger can
think up more ways of taking a perfectly sane and sensible situation and turning it into a raving
nightmare than any villain I've ever met.'