Meltwater
Authors: Michael Ridpath
Michael Ridpath
spent eight years as a bond trader in the City before giving up his job to write full-time. He lives in north London with his wife and three children. Visit his website at
www.michaelridpath.com
.
First published in hardback, trade paperback and eBook
in Great Britain in 2012 by Corvus Books,
an imprint of Grove Atlantic Ltd.
Copyright © Michael Ridpath, 2012. All rights reserved.
The moral right of Michael Ridpath to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-0-85789-644-5 (hardback)
ISBN: 978-0-85789-645-2 (trade paperback)
ISBN: 978-0-85789-682-7 (eBook)
Printed in Great Britain.
Corvus
An imprint of Grove Atlantic Ltd
Ormond House
26-27 Boswell Street
London WC1N 3JZ
for Mary
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday 10 April 2010
D
EATH CAME FRAME
by frame, in grainy black and white.
Erika stared at the screen of her laptop. It showed the tatty rectangular roofs of a poor Middle Eastern city. In the centre of the screen a white box hovered over a truck upon which the letters ‘UN’ could clearly be seen as it manoeuvred down a narrow side street. A burst of rapid speech in a language Erika didn’t understand zipped through her earphones. The truck came to a halt and about half a dozen people dropped out of the back. Another burst of chatter, more urgent this time. And then one word.
Esh!
There was silence for a second and then little spurts of dust erupted around the feet of the group and the figures crumpled.
Esh!
More spurts. The bodies were motionless on the ground now as bullets slammed into them.
Chatter. A laugh. Erika wanted to close her eyes, look away, look anywhere but at the screen, but she couldn’t. She had to watch. Someone had taken enormous risks so that she could see this.
The perspective changed as the helicopter circled for a better look. The shaky rectangle grew wider as the camera zoomed.
One of the bodies began to move. Miraculously a figure climbed to his feet and, stooping, shuffled towards the shelter of a building, a leg dragging in the dust. Climbed to her feet. The figure had long fair hair, light grey in the image.
A curse. Chatter.
Esh!
The spurts of dust danced around the flailing body for several seconds, a period as long as the first two bursts combined. Then the body was still. The white frame lingered over it as radio reports were passed back and forth in the impenetrable language. The helicopter must be hovering, waiting, explaining. After a minute Erika could bear it no longer.
She clicked ‘Pause’ and turned away from the screen. Outside, the last of the daffodils nodded through the railings of the London square in front of the hotel, dingy yellow in the light of the streetlamps. It was five a.m. and still dark. She turned to check the bed where the renowned Greek-American professor of strategic studies she had met the night before was lying. Asleep. Definitely asleep.
The previous evening she had taken part in a public debate on the subject ‘Information Has a Right to Freedom’ at the Royal Geographic Society. There were three speakers on each side: she, of course, had been in favour of the motion. It had been one of her best performances. The Greek-American strategic studies professor had put up a good fight, but the audience had overwhelmingly agreed with her. So had he in the end. After dinner and a few drinks back at his hotel.
She had still been feeling the glow of victory four hours later when she crept out of bed to open up her laptop and check her e-mails.
The glow was gone. It was replaced with horror and disgust.
And anger.
These were supposed to be her people.
She turned back to her laptop and pulled up Jabber, the encrypted instant-messaging service. They were all online, waiting for her response.
Erika:
hi guys.
Nico:
hi erika.
Apex:
hi.
Dieter:
hi.
If she had to guess Dieter was up late and Nico up early. As for Apex, who knew? He never seemed to sleep. A bit like Erika herself.
Erika:
have you seen it?
‘
yes’
came the response, from all three.
Erika:
is that woman who i think it is?
Dieter:
it’s tamara wilton. for sure.
Apex:
it’s her. the date on the video tallies with the day she was killed. jan 14 2009.
Erika:
i know it’s war but i can’t believe people do that kind of thing. it makes me sick to my stomach.
Nico:
wait till you hear what they are saying. do you understand hebrew?
Erika:
i’m not that kind of jew.
As she wrote those words, Erika wondered exactly what kind of Jew she was. That was something she would have to figure out pretty soon.
did you get a translation?
Nico:
i sent it to an israeli volunteer. she is sending me back a full transcript. i’ll pass it on as soon as i get it.
Dieter:
please tell me you didn’t send it to israel!
Nico:
yeah, but through tor.
Apex:
nico, you have to leave that kind of thing to us! anything going into israel is vulnerable.
Erika:
cut it out guys. nico, did the volunteer give you any idea what the israelis are saying?
’
Nico:
yeah. the controller tells the helicopter that some hamas fighters have just fired an anti-tank missile and jumped into a un truck. the helicopter finds the truck and asks for permission to engage. it’s given. then you see the shooting.
Erika:
what about tamara wilton? can’t they see she’s a woman?
Nico:
just as they are firing, the controller tells the helicopter they’ve found the truck with the anti-tank unit. it’s a different truck. the pilot sees the woman moving and tells the gunner to shoot her. they can tell she is a woman. the gunner questions this, but the pilot says they don’t want witnesses, and besides, the united nations are a bunch of interfering bastards. then in the chatter afterwards the helicopter tells the controller that the people getting out of the truck were armed and one of them escaped with an anti-tank missile launcher.
Erika:
but no one escaped!
Nico:
precisely.
Erika:
i remember this. it was supposed to have been investigated by the israeli authorities. i’m pretty sure they cleared the soldiers of any blame.
Dieter:
how can they have done that! these guys are murderers. it’s that simple.
Erika:
and that’s what we will tell the world. we’ll ream them with this.
The screen was still as the four of them digested what Nico had said. Behind Erika the professor of strategic studies grunted and rolled over in the hotel bed. Disturbed by her furious tapping on the keyboard, perhaps.
Nico:
what do we do?