The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London) Page 2

  Mack watched as some of the crowd, particularly those with young children in tow, backed off, putting distance between themselves and the police station. At the same time, Tegz and Hatchet, like a lot of other young men in the vicinity, pushed their way forward through the crowd. Sumo Dave did likewise, his iPhone still raised over his head.

  But Mack held back. He didn’t want a better look at the riot police than the one he already had. The atmosphere had taken a nasty turn, which meant this was as good a time as any to do a runner.

  After all, these people weren’t his people.

  He turned around and squeezed past the protestors standing behind him. And behind those protestors were more people standing on the sidelines, those who had gathered for the sake of having something to do. Too many people, not enough air. Too loud, too much. For a second, Mack almost missed Edinburgh - a place that he couldn’t have gotten away from any faster. But at least there was something comforting in the old familiar, unlike the streets of Tottenham, which were at that moment as unfamiliar and as dangerous to him as the jungle.

  His thoughts turned to Princes Street Gardens on a Saturday afternoon. To standing in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle, near the Gothic Spire of the Scott Monument. The maroon and white buses, driving past The Old Waverley Hotel.

  Christ, you sound like a Tour Guide.

  Behind him, a furious roar erupted within the crowd. Mack’s heart was beating furiously as he turned around slowly, not sure he wanted to see what was going on behind him.

  What he saw was the riot police trying to push the crowd further back from the police station. In turn, the crowd were letting them know what they thought about their roughhouse tactics. There was furious hollering of obscenities and much posturing on the part of the younger males in particular. Others continued with the endless booing and jeering.

  Mack watched from a distance. Real fucking riots, holy shit. He wanted out of there, but at the same time something kept him from running away. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Fascinating and horrifying all at once – the sudden loss of control, like looking through the gaps of civilisation.

  And so as the riot police pushed back the crowd, Mack stood perfectly still, feeling the hatred around him growing, as if fuelled by the aggression of the authorities.

  The first missile was a rock.

  It was hurled at police lines with tremendous force. And then came the second and the third in quick succession.

  A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night.

  The riot police thrust their shields out and pushed forwards, moving away from the police station and into the crowd. The protestors did their best to stand their ground, refusing to be pushed back.

  Mack watched as more people fled the scene, realising that the peaceful protest was now over. They grabbed hold of their children and held them close, pulling them away from the police station and further along Tottenham High Road.

  Mostly, it was crowds of young men facing off against the police now. More missiles were hurled, but these were no longer aimed solely at the riot police themselves. The police station itself had become a target, as were police cars that had the misfortune to be parked nearby.

  Mack heard a high-pitched crack, like the sound of glass being smashed. He looked around but couldn’t see where it had come from. At the same time, several police vans were pulling up at the side of the police station. Reinforcements. Side doors were flung open and police in riot gear, both to the north and south of the police station, jumped out and quickly went to work. Instructions were yelled out. The voices of the police and protestors were now intermingled in one guttural roar.

  Mack looked at his phone. It was 8.44pm. Time to get the hell out of here.

  As he turned to run, a hideous wailing sound cut through him. Mack turned to his right, where the scream had come from, and saw a wall of riot police moving towards a section of protestors who were bouncing about furiously like caged animals at feeding time. But as the police closed in on them, many protestors ran away. In fact, nearly all of them did except one young woman – the screamer – who was perhaps no more than a teenage girl. Despite the onslaught of the riot police, this girl alone stood her ground and didn’t back off, even when they ploughed into her at full force.

  “Fucking hell!” Mack said.

  Other witnesses started hurling obscenities at the police.

  “It’s a girl,” someone said. “It’s a fucking girl, look how you’re dealing with her, it’s a fucking girl you cunts!”

  One angry young black man pumped a clenched fist in the air. He was lifted up onto the shoulders of his friends and yelled a battle cry into the night.

  “GET DEM!”

  Mack’s head swirled. Where were the others? Sumo Dave, Hatchet and Tegz? Were they in that tangled mess of protestors and police up ahead?

  He turned around, looking for a way out. Further ahead on the High Road, about one hundred and fifty metres from the police station, he saw a large crowd descending upon the scene. Where were all these people coming from? More than likely, the trouble had drawn most of them out of their holes, like a predator hearing the cries of a wounded animal. This was their Saturday night action. And they were ready.

  As Mack looked on, two parked police cars came under attack from the crowd. Several youths with cloths or bandanas covering their faces, ran up to the vehicles, smashed the windows, and threw at least two Molotov cocktails inside. In a matter of seconds, the streets were drenched in a thick orange glow as the cars were engulfed in flames. But it didn’t end there. Mack watched, his mouth hanging open, as the crowds began to push both the blazing vehicles onto the High Road, establishing a barrier between themselves and the riot police who were trying to force them back.

  Mack took temporary refuge in a bus shelter on the other side of the street. There were about ten other people crammed under the shelter, watching events unfold from a distance. Mack tucked himself in at the edge of the shelter, still watching as the crowd numbers, swelling with every passing minute, advanced towards the police lines.

  Suddenly a police helicopter appeared, circling above the scene. It hovered for a while, before shining a spotlight down onto the crowds on the High Road. Somebody tried to speak through a loudspeaker, but the muffled voice was lost in the racket that was being made on the ground.

  Mack watched as a gang of masked figures broke away from the main crowd and started kicking in the front windows of a solicitor’s office close to the police station. Behind them, others waited, their hands ready to launch Molotov cocktails through the broken glass.

  Moments later, the building was up in flames, just as the two police cars were on the road.

  At the sight of the solicitor’s office in flames, the crowd roared its approval and encouraged by this success, they pushed back against the oncoming riot police.

  The flames in the solicitor’s office spread quickly to nearby flats and shops. This must have taken even the protestors by surprise because Mack noticed that people in masks were screaming at the top of their voices to anyone still inside those buildings to get out.

  “GET OUT! GET OUT OF YOUR FUCKING HOUSE!”

  More police vans arrived, swelling their numbers in response to the energy of the crowd. The police cordon moved forward, a blur of helmets and shields, intent on reclaiming the streets. With a hard push, they forced the crowd back further down the High Road, away from the besieged police station. Now they were winning. But even as the crowd were being forced onto the back foot, missiles - stones, rocks, Molotov cocktails – whatever was available, continued to be thrown at the police lines. And more fires were appearing on the High Road at every second. One nasty looking blaze was lit in a rubbish pile outside a nearby community centre and it caught on quickly to its surroundings.

  Mack heard the sound of sirens blaring, coming closer, and the screech of tyres on the road. The first fire engines were arriving on the scene. Mack watched as the firemen leapt out of the vehicle, quick
ly unrolled their hoses and set about extinguishing the flames.

  Nobody on the streets tried to stop them.

  Mack remained in the bus shelter throughout, but he didn’t feel in any danger. Civilians were under no threat from either the crowd or police. But that didn’t mean they could ignore the rapid spread of fire and the roaming missiles, which were still flying overhead.

  He looked around.

  There was no sign of Sumo Dave, Tegz and Hatchet. Either they’d gotten out or they were in there, mixing it up with the protestors and police.

  Not long after the first fire engines had arrived, came the TV news crews. The large vans raced along the High Road and from a distance, Mack saw the huge letters printed on the side of the vans: CBC NEWS. SKAM NEWS. These were the big boys and amongst the first on the scene. Many more would follow.

  The police continued to push the protestors further back. And even though the crowds were being overwhelmed in the battle for position on the High Road, they cheered all the way throughout, as if this was one giant carnival or celebration. Amongst the faces of the young men - black, white and brown - there was a look of sheer rapture on their faces. There was no fear of recriminations. No fear of what the law could do to them. In fact, the law couldn’t touch them - not tonight, not ever or so it felt in that moment. This alone made it the greatest night of their lives.

  Mack left the bus shelter and walked quickly north along the High Road, where there was little sign of trouble. On his way, he turned back for one last look at the action behind him. The riot police were getting the better of the crowd. At last, they were pushing the defiant mob backwards, seemingly at will.

  Mack turned away. The noise in his ears faded slightly.

  It was over now. The crowd would disperse and a few arrests would be made and at best, the story would merit a day or two in the news headlines.

  And in the aftermath, everyone would forget about Mark Duggan.

  Chapter 2

  7th August 2011

  * * *

  www.NewsLeak.com

  * * *

  Riots have broken out after a man was shot dead three days ago in Tottenham, London.

  Mark Duggan, 29, was shot by police on Thursday as he travelled in a minicab over the Ferry Lane Bridge. Police had been pursuing Mr Duggan as part of a covert operation and after the minicab was pulled over, officers approached the car intent on making an arrest. For reasons that have not yet been confirmed, marksmen opened fire and Duggan was shot dead. The shooting enraged the local community and two days later, several hundred people from Duggan’s home on the Broadwater Farm Estate, marched to Tottenham Police Station seeking an explanation for the controversial circumstances surrounding his death.

  A vigil outside the police station began peacefully but trouble has since escalated and violent outbreaks have been reported across the city. The outbreaks have seen buildings and vehicles set alight, including a double-decker bus, one police van and at least two patrol cars. Shops were also being looted as police in riot gear arrived on the scene.

  One local, who declined to give her name said: “The man they shot – he dropped his gun, but they shot him anyway. That’s why we’re out here tonight. We’re not going anywhere. Not until we have justice.”

  Chapter 3

  8th August 2011

  * * *

  The CBC News at Six

  * * *

  TV VOICEOVER: It’s six o’clock and now it’s time for the news with Sophie Wallace.

  * * *

  Cue the staple news theme. As the music blares out of millions of TV screens across the country, we are shown multiple images of inner-city riots and this is followed by an aerial view of a large building on fire.

  * * *

  SOPHIE WALLACE: (Reading over intro). Tonight, London is burning. In scenes reminiscent of the Blitz, multiple buildings across the capital are set alight. Rioters have attacked police in Hackney, East London, and the violence has also spread south to Lewisham and Peckham where shops and cars have been set on fire. And these were the scenes in Birmingham today (the images cut to a gang of masked youths smashing local shop windows with baseball bats) as the violence spread outside the capital for the first time.

  * * *

  (Cuts to a stern looking image of the Home Secretary at a press conference. Cameras flash incessantly as she addresses a flock of reporters)

  * * *

  HOME SECRETARY: Make no mistake about it. There is no excuse for this kind of behaviour. There is no excuse for violence and no excuse for thuggery. And I assure you that those responsible for the looting in London and elsewhere will be made to face the consequences of their actions.

  * * *

  (Cuts back to scenes of rioting)

  * * *

  SOPHIE WALLACE: (Voiceover continued) And in the last hour it has been confirmed that the Prime Minister will be cutting short his Mediterranean holiday and flying home to attend to the crisis.

  * * *

  The camera cuts to Sophie Wallace sitting at the news desk. Wallace – in her early forties - is the CBC’s most popular anchor. Today her shoulder length blonde hair is loose, resting on the shoulders of a light brown jacket. The expression on her face is grim.

  * * *

  SOPHIE WALLACE: Good evening and welcome to the CBC News. It’s six o’clock and I’m Sophie Wallace. Serious violence has broken out on the streets of the capital for the third night in a row. The latest trouble broke out late this afternoon on the streets of Hackney in East London, before spreading further south to Lewisham, Peckham and more recently, Croydon. In Peckham, clothes stores were being looted while others looked on, many filming events as they happened on their mobile phones. In Croydon, at least two double decker buses have been burned and a large furniture store has been ablaze for at least an hour now, as emergency services struggle to cope with the crisis. For our first report this evening, we go to Dick Ronson in Hackney, where the latest wave of violence began this afternoon when police were attacked by rioters with rocks and missiles.

  * * *

  The camera cuts to Dick Ronson. Dick – a longstanding CBC reporter - is bald-headed except for two thick shocks of black hair on the sides. He’s standing in a narrow inner city street, staring at the camera through a pair of thick-framed spectacles. Fresh disturbances are visible in the background – youths running amok, smoke, and the sound of sirens.

  * * *

  DICK RONSON: Yes Sophie, I’m standing here in the danger zone, amidst a level of crisis not seen in the capital since the days of World War Two. Yes, not since 1945 has the great city of London seemed so vulnerable. Here in Hackney, the disturbances started in the late afternoon as police - who promised to have more officers on the streets after last night - faced off against a massive gathering of rioters who proceeded to throw missiles and bricks into police lines. The Acting Commissioner of the Police, Nigel Whitburn, has tonight made a heartfelt appeal to the public asking for help.

  * * *

  Cuts to a shot of Acting Commissioner of the Met Police standing on podium. Camera lights flashing.

  * * *

  ACTING COMMISSIONER: We have thousands of police officers on duty but we must request the public’s help on this matter. I urge parents to contact their children and ask them where they’ve been and what they’re doing. And I would also say that there are far too many spectators out there getting in the way of police operations, many of them filming on mobile phones. This is a nuisance and an obstacle to important police business. Please, parents, spectators and anyone else who can, help us to clear the streets so that my police officers can best deal with the criminality that we’re witnessing today. We can fix this. But we need your help.

  * * *

  The camera cuts back to Dick Ronson. Standing beside him now is a twenty-something Asian man, smiling happily into the camera - in stark contrast to Ronson’s grim countenance.

  * * *

  DICK RONSON: I’m here now with a young man
, Sayaar Laham, a young international student living here in London. Sayaar, you’ve been on the streets like many amateur filmmakers today, filming some of these shocking scenes.

  * * *

  SAYAAR LAHAM: (Smiling) I was, yes.

  * * *

  From behind Ronson and Sayaar, shouts of ‘alcohol, let’s get alcohol’ can be heard in the background where a gang of youths sit atop a white transit van.

  * * *

  DICK RONSON: Tell me Sayaar, with all these random acts of violence and the looting of people’s businesses going on, have you ever seen such a shocking disregard for human life?

  * * *

  SAYAAR LAHAM: Yes. Actually I have.

  * * *

  DICK RONSON: I’m sorry Sayaar, you said yes? Do you understand what I’m saying?

  * * *

  SAYAAR LAHAM: Yes I do. I come from Pakistan. I’m used to this.

  * * *

  DICK RONSON: You’re used to this? To this?

  * * *

  SAYAAR LAHAM: (Smiling) Oh yes. Ahh my beloved Karachi. I’m quite used to this - gunshots, rioting, cars burning and the smell of fear. How can I not be reminded of my beloved Pakistan?

  * * *