The workmen turned off the vehicle engines and stood in a huddle away from the site, smoking and drinking coffee. A gentle rain began to patter down and the protestors pulled out raincoats and umbrellas, the colorful arcs echoing the multihued ribbons on the gates. Some shared their shelter and soon people were chattering in groups, the tension broken for now. But Jamie watched the foreman on the phone, wary of who he was speaking to. She knew all too well how the upper echelons of power could skirt round regulations.
A couple of guys from a local independent cafe brought down a tray of red velvet cake and took orders for hot drinks. They had elegantly waxed mustaches and wore black and white striped aprons, part of their funky branding. Jamie couldn't help but smile – only in London could protestors get a hand-delivered double shot vanilla latte.
A young man with a guitar began to sing. At first the protestors and workmen watched him with bemused expressions, but as he sang more bawdy songs, they began to laugh. He played tunes that people knew and some protestors began to sing along. Even a couple of the workmen joined in, and for a moment, Jamie wondered if this might be resolved peaceably, that somehow, the community could save this plot.
Then two white vans turned into Redcross Way, parking next to one of the bulldozers.
The doors slid open and five big men emerged from each.
They were all dressed in security uniforms, impeccably dressed, but Jamie didn't think they would mind getting a little messed up. In fact, they looked like they would welcome it. If she had still been in the police, she wouldn't be scared of this lot. There was a hierarchy of authority and the police trumped security, but here, these men held the higher ground and she saw how much they relished it.
The young man stopped playing his guitar and went to stand against the fence, his hands wound protectively around his instrument. Around her, Jamie sensed the unease of the protestors.
She reached for her phone, turning towards the gate, and quickly called the local police station, reporting trouble. Then she texted Missinghall, advising him to get people down here. It was all she could think of to do.
The rain began to fall harder now, spattering the dirt of the graveyard into murky puddles. The foreman stepped towards the gates, a swagger in his step now he had security backup. He held a golf umbrella above his head with the words of the company emblazoned on it.
Vera Causa.
O and Magda walked forward to represent the protestors, ready to go into verbal battle again.
"We have the correct permits," the foreman said, his voice icy calm now. He thrust the appropriate paperwork at them. "You all need to leave immediately so we can start our work. If you don't, you'll be removed by security."
The big men walked down the line of protestors, their eyes fixing on each face, the promise of violence in their posture and clenched fists. They didn't touch anyone but their message was clear.
Jamie watched one tower over an old lady in a moth-eaten fur coat, a remnant of Southwark's past. She lifted her chin at him in defiance and clutched the railings even harder at his sneer. The people of Southwark were indeed a hardy bunch and Jamie wondered where the woman's strength came from.
"We're exercising our right to protest peaceably," O said, her voice strong. Magda stood at her side, her face stony. "You can't use force to remove us. We've called the press and we'll report our story and stop this development."
The foreman shrugged and signaled to the workmen.
Two of them got back into the bulldozers and started the engines, revving them hard. The other workmen began to gather their equipment, ready to move into the graveyard.
The protestors looked at each other, shaking their heads, not knowing what to do.
"Hold still," Magda shouted above the din. "They're trying to intimidate us. They won't touch us."
As the rain hammered down, the security men spread themselves down the line opposite those huddled against the fence. At a signal from their leader, they took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Chapter 27
Jamie saw the menace in their eyes, but she didn't believe they would be able to touch the protestors. They were relying on brute intimidation, waiting for the crowd to crack. And it looked like it was beginning to work.
One middle-aged man stepped away from the fence, raising his hands in surrender.
"I'm sorry, O," he called out as he walked away. "I didn't sign up for this."
His defection caused a wave in the group and more began to drop away, heads down against the rain as they retreated. But a core group remained, clustering in front of the main gate, their resolve hardening.
The foreman's phone rang. He answered it and smiled.
He signaled to the head of security and Jamie didn't like what she saw in his eyes. They couldn't touch the protestors – unless someone was protecting them, unless someone would be able to spin this story and stop the police from getting here or preventing charges. It had to be Dale Cameron.
The security men surged forward at the signal and pulled the protestors forcibly from the gates, dragging them kicking and screaming, pushing and shoving hard enough to hurt but not injure too much.
One woman ended up face down in the mud still clutching ribbons from the gate. A security guard stepped on her hand and she screamed. The man smiled and pressed his boot harder.
Jamie moved to help and the man turned to grab her, his meaty fist high. She ducked under and used a knife hand to jab into his throat. He gasped, clutching his neck, his eyes surprised at her retaliation.
Jamie bent to help the woman up, then turned to see two more of the security men walking towards her.
"Feisty little thing, aren't you," one of the men said.
"I'm a former police officer," Jamie snarled at them, standing her ground. "You're all in a lot of trouble for this."
The men laughed. They lunged at the same time and Jamie realized this was no time to fight. There was no way she could come out of this well. Not here, not against these men. She put up her hands and took a step back but the men were already fired up.
They bundled her to the floor, dragging her hands up behind her back, grinding her face into the muddy tarmac.
"Now you stay down," the man whispered, forcing her hands up higher until Jamie felt her shoulders crunch. She let out a whimper and the man relaxed his grip, clearly delighted by her acquiescence.
A roar came from one of the bulldozers. It began to move towards the gates, revving its engine to scare the last protestors out of the way.
It was moving too fast for such a small area, but the man driving was encouraged by the cheers of his co-workers. The rain obscured his vision, hammering down on his windshield as he drove inexorably towards the gates.
Suddenly, Jamie saw O twist out of the grip of one of the security guards and run towards the gates. Magda turned too late to grab her and for a split second, Jamie saw O standing in front of the bulldozer, her body the final obstacle. But the bulldozer didn't stop.
The crunch of metal against gates.
The thud of the vehicle against a body.
Magda's scream.
It all came at once.
The man holding Jamie down released her and she sprang up, running towards the front of the bulldozer. The other workmen were shouting now and the vehicle reversed away. Jamie caught a glimpse of the driver's stricken face. This had all gone too far.