The Nationalist by Campbell Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

know. I think Monte was a big turning point for him. He never really forgave the army – blamed the top brass for killing his good pal he said; poor bastard.”
    “But you said you thought he was kidding; what about?”
    “He said he was going to get them back. He was angry that everything he endured, and after all the death and destruction, that Britain didn’t really bounce back. He got angry when people would talk about war movies and heroes. He said people didn’t really understand. The only real winners to him were the US, Germany, and of course his beloved Russia.”
    “He was a communist?”
    “After a fashion; he was a lost warrior, a loner – someone who didn’t know how to find peace.”
    “Why would he do a thing like this?”
    “I wish I knew, Constable. He always said that should it be his last breath he would do something to show the country what it needed to do to be great again; to give people a wake-up call. I don’t think he still believed in communism anymore. He was more of a nationalist.”
    After they left, James Wright wasn’t sure what to think. He looked back out at the central courtyard, watching as the officers disappeared from view.
     
     
     

11
     
     
     
    Norrie Smith received his summons to St Andrews House at eleven o’clock on the night of the blast. That creepy bastard, Craig McAlmont – the spin doctor, had phoned to say he was needed at 9:30am for ‘operational reasons.’ Norrie explained that he didn’t have time; that the investigation was at too critical a point to leave without a leader for half a day. He had been told not to worry, and that his presence was ‘required.’
    Norrie lived alone in a large flat in Pollokshields. His wife had died, his son had moved out. Tonight he paced from room to room. What do they want? He knew he wasn’t exactly a favourite at the Scottish Government. The move to create a national police force had been done in the name of reducing costs, but the reality meant more pressure for those at the top of the chain to get things right first time; the role had become more political. Norrie had always been more interested in doing the job than greasing palms. He had ended up in the interim role solely because he headed up the largest police area. He knew he wasn’t being seen as a long term fixture. But still, if the investigation went well who was to say what might happen? Norrie picked up the phone to Arbogast.
    “John?”
    “Speaking.”
    “It’s Norrie. I’ve been called to meet the First Minister tomorrow. I have a feeling it might be bad news.”
    “Meaning fewer resources? I would have thought Glasgow would have been a priority right now?”
    “Fewer resources; yes you might be right...”
    “Sir?”
    “Listen John, you’ve been a good ally to me these last few years. A public face to showcase what we can do; but I think the landscape may be about to change. I think they may be about to move me aside; I think the Chief Constable appointment is imminent.”
    “They’d be mad to make a change right now, in the middle of all this. Where’s the sense?”
    “It would be seen as a bold decision. Under the circumstances I think the Irish chap will be a shoe-in for this.”
    “Graeme Donald?”
    “He’s got experience.”
    “I—”
    “—I know, John, but don’t do anything daft. I understand your other half may have some knowledge of this.”
    Arbogast stayed silent. He wasn’t sure who knew Rose had gone to Belfast, let alone having met with Donald. “You don’t need to say anything, John, but anything you can tell me will help me prepare for tomorrow morning. Think it over. Phone me back if you can.”
    The line went dead. Arbogast held the receiver of the old phone in his hand for a long while before returning it to the cradle of the Bakelite casing. The movement hit the internal bell leaving a gentle ‘ting’ to break the silence. The note hung over the flat for some time.
    “Who was that?” Rose called out