Chapter 5

My train was very, very late. Then, it stopped for another train outside Hemel Hempstead. Leaves blown on to the tracks kept it from getting enough traction to start moving again; seemed a far-fetched excuse with all the wind; how could the leaves possibly stay on the track? Anyway, another engine finally came out from somewhere and jerked us up to starting speed. We arrived at Euston almost an hour late. I trotted up from Westminster tube station into a stiff gale and turned down Parliament Street. I hurried past the Cenotaph. The wreaths were wired down against the wind. I glanced through the gates of Downing Street, briefly wondering if She was really in today. At Number 17, Whitehall, I pushed open the massive oak doors to the Cabinet Offices. A porter had to help me push the doors open against the wind. 'Professor Turner,' I announced breathlessly to the civilian guard seated at the desk and handed him my pass.

The guard trailed his finger carefully down the list. 'Ah, right, sir, here you are,' he said. 'If you'll just sign here, sir.' He slid the book towards me and handed me a pen. I noticed names from all the big papers. Just the right sort of audience. The guard gave me a typed name tag. 'Room 100, sir,' he said. 'Right at the top of the stairs, sir.'

'Thank you,' I said. I skipped up the dark walnut staircase, two steps at a time, straightening my tie. A pert trim, white-bloused girl in a uniform of black shoes, stockings, skirt and tie was posted outside Room 100. I could hear soft droning noises from inside. They'd started without me, drat it. I supposed it couldn't have been helped. The girl peered at my tag. 'Oh, yes, Professor Turner,' she whispered. She ran her finger down a list and ticked it. She passed a bulky, sealed HMSO envelope to me. 'Would you please sit right in the back, sir?' she whispered.

'The back?' I asked quietly. I'd have thought the lead author would have been up in the front row, if not actually sitting up front, beside the Minister. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes, sir, the back,' she replied politely. 'That's what the note says on my list, sir,' she added apologetically.

I guessed they'd bring me forward for the questions, more dramatic that way. I nodded at her and slipped into the long, high-ceiling room. About fifty people were in the audience. A few curious faces turned towards me. An idle photographer sparked his camera at me. Arthur turned around in his front row seat and fixed me with a bleak stare. I smiled weakly at him. I thought he should have realised that anyone could be late these days, things as they were.

I looked up to the head of the room. A long table had been placed across the room and Sir Anthony addressed the audience from behind a low podium on the table. To his right sat the Minister, looking totally smug, as usual. To my utter surprise, however, on Sir Anthony's left sat John Hall. He glanced guiltily at me, or so I interpreted it later. I glided to the back of the room and sat on an empty chair.

I slid my thumbnail under the flap of the light brown official envelope and broke the seal. A thin, bright green HMSO paperback slid out into my hand. The glossy cover showed a bright yellow cartoon sun in an eggshell blue sky shining on a twee little cartoon robin. That wouldn't have been my choice of cover, I thought, but fair game. I opened the book hastily and folded back the cover. The spine cracked. The title page read:

Cabinet Office
Advisory Committee on the Environment

The Environment and Global Warming:

No Cause for Alarm

Professor Sir Anthony Bonod FRS
(Chairman, ACOE)
Head Government Scientist

Dr J Hall
Director of Research and Development
British Chemicals and Oils plc


London
Her Majesty's Stationary Office

I blinked my eyes in disbelief and frowned. The title was The Environment and Global Warming: No Cause for Alarm. That hadn't been my title. My title had been Cause for Alarm. Had there been a misprint? Something like that would be no bloody joke at all. Heads would be rolling down there at Her Majesty's Stationary Office, I thought.

I leafed hastily through the book. Where the hell was my name, anyway? About three quarters of my original text was still intact. In this copy, though, anything even slightly alarming had been replaced or dropped. I had carefully documented all the issues with separate pro and con sub-headings. Only the pro topics had been left in but without the header. There was just no message in the book at all now. It was a complete load of twaddle. A bloody capon. No wonder they didn't think there was any cause for alarm. I was totally, absolutely stunned. Even in The City, I'd never seen anything quite as incredibly impudent as this. And these sneaking bastards hadn't said a word to me. Not a fucking peep. I looked up to the head of the room and listened for the first time.

'And so,' throbbed Sir Anthony in an impressive low pitched voice I'd never heard him use before, 'British industry can be seen to have taken an enviable and farsighted lead in reducing industrial pollution levels during the past decade, solely through market driven forces. British research and innovation has demonstrated a track record of world stature. British local and national government have become seen as world leaders in environmental enhancement. British consumers have been market leaders in demanding high value, environmentally responsible products while at the same time observing practical conservation within the home. British volunteer groups have sparked the world's conscience on wildlife conservation matters. We have much in the environmental field of which to be justifiably proud.' He whipped off his glasses and made a jaunty wave with them. 'And so, ladies and gentlemen, the committee can only applaud the outstanding record of all sectors of the British economy in its environmental endeavours. Britain can truly be said to have been seen to have "beaten its derelict waste grounds into pleasant leisure areas".' Even that treacherous old shit could not suppress a sarcastic twitch at that unbelievably fatuous phrase.

Sir Anthony lifted his meaty head and slipped his glasses back on. He smiled benignly at the audience. 'Clamorous alarms have been raised about the supposed deterioration of our climate. There is, however, a distinct lack of clear consensus within the scientific community about unambiguous evidence heralding climactic change,' he rumbled. 'This can only lead our committee to accept and support the widely held and responsible scientific view that the conjunction of weather incidents over the past decade can be explained simply as a series of freak occurrences. Taken by themselves, each of these exceptional incidents, admittedly sensational when taken out of context, remain individually within the established range of normal weather pattern variations and cycles of the past several hundred years. It is quite clear, nevertheless, that it would be only prudent to continue to encourage careful and accurate scientific observation of these phenomena. The committee recommends that private industry should act to further encourage and support the reputable meteorological sciences within UK universities and research establishments.' Oh, great, I thought, private industry should fund it; what else?

Sir Anthony gestured dismissively. 'A great deal has been said over the years about the greenhouse theory. There is simply no evidence of historical correlation between levels of the so-called greenhouse gases and global warming trends. In the extremely unlikely event that there should ever prove to be even the slightest substance to this theory,' he read smoothly, 'Learned scientific opinion appears to be clearly on the side of there being a general climactic improvement as a consequence. The chief beneficiaries of a warmer climate would be British agriculture, the UK holiday industry and the British public in general. As the old saying goes, "It is an ill wind turns none to good". Indeed, our committee can envision significant business opportunities for British firms and research organisations during this period of temperature enhancement and global concern over the environment. We have both outlined these opportunities and have recommended enabling policies for the government to adopt in order to encourage British business to pursue these worldwide opportunities advantageously.'

Sir Anthony frowned seriously. 'We feel, however, that there has been an enormous amount of quite unnecessary public anxiety and upset generated over irresponsible presentation of environmental issues. Quite natural public concern and interest has been artificially stimulated by alarmist and sensationalist reporting within some sectors of the media,' Sir Anthony regarded the reporters coolly over the top of his glasses. 'There is clear evidence, furthermore, that the public is being cold-bloodedly manipulated by propaganda emanating from small groups of self-interested, radical political and environmental hyper-activists. There are even suggestions that some these groups are the witting or unwitting pawns of global terrorism.' Sir Anthony took a sip of water and looked steadily at the Minister. 'It is our recommendation that the Government, in the public interest, take immediate, active and effective steps to control the dissemination of irresponsible, inaccurate or misguided environmental information.' The audience buzzed angrily and my jaw went slack. They were just about going to make it illegal to talk about the weather!

Sir Anthony fixed the audience with a sincere gaze. 'And so, in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, the massive body of carefully collected and documented evidence has led the scientific experts of the Advisory Committee on the Environment to conclude that there simply is no sound scientific evidence to connect rare and random weather incidents with alarmist theories about global warming trends and general climatic deterioration. There simply is no cause for public alarm. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.' Sir Anthony beamed and sat down. I could have sworn that the old bastard smirked at me as he finished.

The Secretary stood and glanced at his watch. 'We have allowed ten minutes for questions before drinks and buffet lunch,' he piped. 'Are there any ... '

I gave no one else the slightest possible chance to ask a question. I bolted up out of my chair. 'This report is a travesty!' I bellowed furiously. I waved the book dramatically over my head. The reporters rotated eagerly in their seats. Strobe flashes blinded me for a second.

The Minister gasped like a landed carp. The Secretary angrily signalled the PUS, who hurried from the room. Sir Anthony smiled and stood. 'Ladies and gentlemen of the press,' he boomed dryly, 'May I introduce Professor Richard Allen Turner of the University of Cymru.' He emphasised the word "University" and smirked broadly.

I shouted over Sir Anthony's voice. 'Cosmetic conservation measures are not enough! The earth simply cannot continue to take shock after shock after shock without some effect. We are killing our planet.' Reporters scribbled wildly. A sound crew moved forward and a video camera homed in.

'Some of you may well remember Dirty Dick Turner from The City!' cried Sir Anthony. 'The "Oil Stripper Scandal", I believe it was called at the time!' The cameras zoomed away from me and back to Sir Anthony. He sneered, 'Professor Turner obviously thinks this is one of his famous shareholders' meetings. Ho, ho, ho!'

I glared at the old swine and shouted. 'We have plundered our planet, we have slaughtered its species and virtually buried our world in our own waste! If our policies do not change immediately, the earth, as we know it, cannot survive another fifty years! If the earth dies, man will die! Catastrophe is imminent!' I paused for a quick breath and spoke more quietly. 'The weather already is beginning deteriorate, as anyone can see. Sea levels are rising far more rapidly than anyone expected. Action can only be effective on a global scale.'

'Professor Turner may be angry because his evidence to the committee was refuted!' roared Sir Anthony. 'He was torn to shreds by the committee members! They made a fool of him!'

'What the hell are you talking about, you bloody old imbecile?' I shouted furiously. 'Evidence - I wrote most of that stupid report with your name on it. All you did was cut its balls off!' The reporters all grinned and scribbled.

Sir Anthony mimed shock. 'Whatever can you be talking about, Professor?' he asked quietly. 'You were invited to only one meeting. You complained because there was no vegetarian lunch. Don't you remember, Professor? Obviously, you presumed that our invitation meant a great deal more than it did.'

'That won't work, you bloody old toad!' I shouted angrily. 'I've got notes, drafts, letters, everything!' I dramatically ripped the book in two, as best as I could, and flung it on the floor. I faced the press. 'It's all a pack of lies, dammit! It's a stinking whitewash! I can tell you that we're all in very serious trouble. The climate's changing and we don't know what to do about it, not a clue!'

Sir Anthony looked totally unworried. 'All right, Professor, please do calm down,' he said amiably. 'Go ahead, Professor. Come on up here. You are most cordially welcome to present your evidence to the press.' He beckoned me forward with his hands. 'Come on.'

'I haven't got it with me now!' I shouted. 'It's at home, dammit!'

'Oh dear, left it at home, dog ate it, perhaps?' clucked Sir Anthony sympathetically. 'Well, I suppose that you wouldn't have it with you, would you?' Two burly, white shirted guards appeared at the door, followed by the PUS. 'Perhaps you would like to go on home and collect your evidence for us. These men will help you out, Professor.' He gave his most reptilian smile. You could almost hear the scales slithering.

The heavy men stood beside me and grasped my arms firmly. The camera strobing became almost continuous. The men lifted me until my toes just barely contacted the floor and swiftly glided me out of the room. The PUS collected my raincoat and bag.

'We're murdering our earth!' I bawled, a bit wildly now, hysterical really. No wonder, my diaphragm was all jammed up by those two blasted gorillas, making me giddy. 'We're killing ourselves! The government's covering it up!' The camera crew moved right up close. Sir Anthony shot me a thinly veiled look of triumph. The men hustled me through the doorway. The trim girl looked pityingly at me as she closed the doors firmly. The men carried me down the corridor and into a small office. They let me go and stepped out of the office. They closed the door with a firm click.

Panting from anger and excitement, I wiggled the wrinkles out of my jacket and smoothed down my tie. The door opened and a pale hand slid my bag and coat into the room. The door closed firmly again. I sat on the edge of an old bleached blond pine government desktop and straightened my tie. Now I could think of a thousand witty and crushing things to say, if I hadn't lost my rag utterly. I had to admit that the old boy was far from being as toothless old boffin that he looked. His had been a great improvisation. Sir Anthony could have graced any pack of liars.

There was a brisk tap on the door and a nondescript middle aged man in a grey pinstriped suit slipped into the room. He smiled thinly at me and offered his hand solemnly. 'My name is Peters, Professor Turner,' he murmured. 'I'm with the, umm, Home Office.' He was totally grey: grey cotton wool hair, broad grey striped shirt, grey ill-fitting suit and those ghastly grey loafers with the pleats on the tops of the toes. Even his shit was probably grey. In spite of the greyness, he had a really, really intimidating presence. I reluctantly shook his hand. It was like gripping a freshly killed frog across the body. 'Please do be seated, Professor,' he said, indicating a chair. I sat. He pulled up a chair and sat across from me. 'Would you care for a cup of tea?' he asked.

'No, thank you,' I replied sharply. Looking carefully at Peters, I couldn't see how I'd thought he'd been nondescript. He was simply ghastly looking, not a bit nondescript. He was barrel shaped and strangely round-backed. He had a broad sloping forehead and a fleshy nose. Worst of all, the skin on his hands was curiously loose. It swelled and lapped over his watch strap. The overall effect of Peters was that of an alien wearing a human's skin, fitted by an inferior tailor.

'Umm, well, I understand that there was some, ah, difficulty between you and the environmental committee, Professor,' said Peters in a soft rumbling voice.

'There certainly was,' I replied angrily, 'I wrote that book. They took it those ... those bloody swine and perverted it, totally.'

Peters put up his hands. 'Ah well, I'm not really all that interested in the committee's political wrangles, Professor,' he said. 'My area of interest, my speciality, is, umm, internal security.' He scrutinised me over his glasses.

'Oh,' I said. My stomach did a little twitch and double somersault.

'Ah, I'm told that you might be in, umm, possession of some of our Cabinet Office documents, sir,' said Peters in a near whisper.

'Those documents were given to me,' I protested. 'I was a member of the committee. I've got a letter from the Secretary inviting me to the committee. I was asked to write the report by the chairman.'

'Ah, well, sir,' said Peters with a friendly little smile, 'I don't think anyone has alleged that the documents were obtained unlawfully by you, sir.' He shot me a significant glance. 'Yet,' he added with a little pucker of his lips.

'So you want the documents back?' I asked. I knew from the way he'd said "sir" that he'd been, if he wasn't still, a policeman. I smiled at him.

'Umm, yes, sir, that would do nicely,' Peters replied without so much as a glimmer of humour. Perhaps he had passed that one by accident, somehow. 'I suspect that returning the document might very well help avoid a great deal of, umm, trouble for you, in the long run, Professor.'

'And what if I refuse?' I demanded, rather stroppily.

Peters looked surprised that I might ask such a silly question. 'Oh, umm,' Peters grunted softly, 'Well, I don't really think that would be very sensible at all, Professor. Not at all sensible, sir.' He took off his glasses and polished them briskly with the end of his tie.

'Why the hell not?' I demanded.

'Ah well, first of all, sir, Cabinet Office committees are covered by the, umm, Official Secrets Act, as you know,' he breathed. 'More recently, the Prevention of Terrorism Act. There could be a great deal of bother, sir. Ah, possibly even criminal prosecution, actually.' He rolled his big brown cow eyes toward me. 'Umm, a very dim view is taken about information leaks these days, sir, you must be aware. A very dim view indeed.'

I sat there glumly for a minute. 'I didn't sign anything,' I said, 'No Secrets Act, no contract, nothing.'

Peters cocked an eyebrow at me. 'Umm, are you absolutely sure that all your expense claims are square, Professor? Totally squeaky clean, sir? Got all your receipts for the last seven years, sir? No funny business with your income tax, sir? Your dog never fouls the footpath, sir?' he asked heavily.

'Of course, dammit!' I shouted, unclear myself for a second whether I meant "Of course not" or "it's a fair cop". I cleared my throat. 'My affairs are completely in order,' I stated, as firmly as possible.

Peters ghosted a sly smile. 'You would be entirely likely to say that, sir.' He slipped his glasses back on and thumbed open a manila portfolio. 'Now, it just so happens, Professor,' he said, 'That I have a, umm, warrant here to search your home and business premises, if I should need it.' He held up an official looking piece of paper. 'That sort of thing, umm, uniformed police crashing all over your place and all that, sir, might be awfully unpleasant for your family and colleagues. It would be terribly embarrassing all the way around, don't you think, sir?'

'Yes,' I said quietly, 'I suppose that it would.' My shoulders sagged.

'Anyway, those documents won't really do you any good at all, Professor,' Peters said brightly.

'Why's that?' I asked.

'The media wouldn't touch them with a bargepole, sir. Couldn't; we've been D-Noticing all this unpleasantness about the weather for a good long while,' Peters said brightly. 'No real point in the public getting all worked up and upset for nothing, is there now, sir? It's in everyone's interest.'

I knew they had me in a corner, the bastards. Trapped rats don't always bite. 'All right, dammit,' I snapped glumly. 'I'll send you the bloody papers when I get back home.'

'Well, actually, Professor,' said Peters, 'I've got a car ready to take us to Wales. I'd really like to, umm, collect those documents myself, right away. Save you having to post them and all that sort of bother.'

'You mean you want to snoop through all my stuff,' I snapped.

'Oh, I really think it's probably very much in your own, umm, best interests, Professor, that I make sure that everything's been returned to us as soon as possible,' Peters agreed smoothly. He stood. 'Now, if you'd like to collect your things, sir, we can set off right away. I'd guess it's going to take us quite a while to get there in this wind. And do you think I could trouble you for your pass, sir?' he asked politely.