Free The Rocks Below by Nigel Bird Page B

shirt and a pair of neatly ironed trousers that Rose had chosen for him from Dougal’s wardrobe.  
         Beneath them was pandemonium.  
          “ What the heck is going on?”  Dougal asked.  
         Hashtag just laughed. It was even more comical than he’d pictured.  
         At the bottom of the steps to the beach, an old woman carrying a laptop bag and a briefcase was shouting at a young soldier who was blocking her way and refusing to let her past.  
         A couple of TV cameramen were taking pictures of the scene, standing by the yellow and black tape tied to metal posts that blocked off the area around the boulder.  
         At the boulder, there was a chain of people Hashtag knew to be the surfers and protestors that he’d managed to contact during the night. They’d circled the rock, separated from the danger of the tentacles by a makeshift barrier of surfboards and garden fencing and assorted clothes.  
         The protestors had managed to roll the boulder on to a huge square of fishing net and had handcuffed themselves around it so that there wasn’t going to be any action until someone had managed to either open the cuffs or cut through them.  
         There were groups of soldiers milling around, too, all dressed in khaki-green camouflage gear, black boots and berets. They were having conversations around their tool-boxes and cases. Clearly, whatever they were carrying, bolt cutters weren’t among their typical items of equipment.  
         A couple of policemen had turned up for good measure – Hashtag had done his job and told his bosses there’d be a major protest at Dunbar’s beach, just like they employed him to do. The only thing he’d bent the truth on was the timing and they’d arrived an hour too late to do anything about anything.  
          “ I take it you’re behind this mess,” Dougal asked Hashtag.  
          “ I told you, it’s the human race is to blame.”  
          “ But this mess here.”  
          “ I might have had something to do with it.”  
          “ So what exactly are we watching?”  
         Hashtag looked out to sea and up into the air and pointed at a black spot that was clearly heading their way.  “That’s the icing on the cake. The Greenpeace helicopter. It’s been at it all morning, taking the boulders out and dropping them into the water where they belong. The ones here I had them save till last, just to make sure that we got to see some action. The cameras are nothing to do with me, but it’s great that they’re here. They can frame the event for posterity. If we’re really lucky, they’ll get some great shots of the ‘Frack Off’ artwork we put there, too. Help spread the good word.”  
         Dougal didn’t bother to say anything. Some things it was better to leave be and this very much looked like it was one of them.  
         The helicopter approached with amazing speed, filling the air with a deafening drone. Dougal wished he had his wife’s earplugs to hand.  
         As the huge, metal flier hovered over the boulder it lowered a winch and the protesters rallied into action, battling against the turbulence of the helicopter blades as they did so.  
         First they unlocked their bracelets and then got to work attaching the net to the hook that dangled from the sky.  
         The soldiers were under orders to stand their ground - there was no point getting involved and making a spectacle of themselves in front of the world’s TV audiences.  
         The police stood on as observers, too, unsure of what they could actually achieve.  
         The cameramen took pictures of the whole thing.  
         Jenny Wilson had taken to hitting the soldier who was stopping her from getting on the beach with her briefcase. The soldier protected his head with his arms and let her beat away.  
         One of the TV crew pointed his camera in her direction.