“We believe the attack was that of a ‘Lone Wolf’.”

I have never claimed to be able to tell the future. I would be laughed off any stage or singletoweb-site for even hinting at such powers. But it is indeed a strange coincidence to state that I foresaw the responses of both European and British politicians to the murderous depredations of Muslim ‘Jihadi’ terrorists on the streets of European Capital cities; within the pages of a novel which I wrote a few years ago.

 

 

The television news had moved straight to saturation coverage of firstly the bombing which had, it had been confirmed, killed the Home Secretary, the constituency M.P., four members of his team, the three Asian founders of the Harmony centre, fifty-nine children and forty-two parents; a further fifteen were in either intensive care or on critical life support. Pictures were also coming in of the eight confirmed bombed coaches, complete with the extra carnage wrought by the other vehicles caught up either in the blasts, or the collisions following the buses’ fiery fate.

One set of pictures caught Charlie’s eye; they were of the only coach and passengers where the bomb had not detonated properly. The pictures caught the blood on the hands and clothing of around ten men who had beaten the failed bomber into a bloody pulp in the bus, before they had been pulled away by police. All the men were smiling broadly, and three of the ten were Asian.

The hero visits a friend who is both a Peer, and an active politician, to seek counsel after seeing the inertia of his own Government after a huge terror attack across both the motorways of England, and a community centre in Salford.

The Earl’s chair moved slowly beside Charlie as he strolled on the terrace beside the huge frontage of the mansion, as he waited for his political protégé to make his mind up as to what he was going to say.

Finally, the tall politician swung around and asked, “Harven, do you believe that this bunch in Downing Street are capable of trying to brush these Muslim atrocities under the carpet? Are they capable of deciding not to go all out for bloody revenge?”

The old face smiled sadly back at his visitor, “Not only are they capable, Charlie, they might find it politically expedient to just conclude that these killers were just acting on their own. They might publicise that, instead of having a guiding hand at some high level in one of the Islamic nations. You are after all speaking of political minds; surely you must have known that this bunch, just like the ones before them, are in this for themselves first, and the good of the Nation comes fairly well back in the queue.”

“But Harven, those fanatics killed over five hundred people, mainly British. Doesn’t that register with them? What could be holding them back?”

The elderly peer swung his head around to gaze straight at the big politician’s eyes, “Charlie, because I’m old, and people long since decided that I can keep my mouth closed, they tell me whispers, theories, sometimes facts but more often guesses; sometimes they tell me State Secrets so that I in turn can advise them which path to follow, or not as the case may be. You are young, very young, and unversed in the ways of political expediency; so what I about to tell you may influence your planning, your actions and your statements. I have it on what can only be described as ‘good authority’ that while the planning and backup for the two sets of suicide attacks was carried out by fundamentalist mullahs and preachers in Afghanistan and Pakistan, the funding and ultimate authority was in fact Saudi Arabian. Not only Saudi Arabian, but very closely linked to one of the junior and distant members of their Royal Family; who of course rule the Kingdom with the help and willing fists of the Wahabbi sect of the Islamic religion, and the preachers and mosques of that Kingdom. Wahabbi Preachers and mullahs, cousins incidentally of whom took over the mosque in Manchester where the Salford bombing was spearheaded from.”

I would refrain from further comment, except to point towards the existence of an as-yet unpublished Government report on the funding of Radical Ideology in the UK; a report which might never, ever, see the light of day because of the embarrassing conclusion it arrives at; embarrassing from the viewpoint of the source of the funding.

 

It is a puzzlement!

I commenced reading my Saturday Telegraph, and turned the page over to page eight, but immediately was faced with a full page 9 advert featuring Omega watches, one of which is being worn by some bloke named Eddie Redmayne.

 

Am I supposed to be impressed by this bloke’s choice in watches? Is he a horologist? Can he fix a watch; or does he just ‘look good’ with some expensive hardware strapped to his wrist? Has he always worn an Omega, or was it just borrowed for the occassion? Is he an expert in watchmaking, or is it just that, because he is, presumably, a celebrity, we should all show our adoration for the calling, and either save up and buy one, or else add to the National Debt Crisis by slapping down some plastic, together with the words, ‘That’ll do nicely!”

 

Should I immediately dash out to Durham City centre, and buy one?

 

But the most pressing question is, naturally, without reverting to Google, or even Bing: who the hell is Eddie Redmayne: and why am I supposed to either recognise the name, or even to know this?