Free The Day Aberystwyth Stood Still by Malcolm Pryce

this avenue of approach appears the least problematic.’
    ‘You’d be helping your country,’ said the chaplain.
    ‘My country can go to hell and so can you.’
    The hands grabbed me again and slammed me against the wall before returning me to my seat. This time I sat hunched forward, in pain, without the strength to right myself. There was silence for a while and then the mandarin said, ‘It makes no difference to us. We can arrange for your mangled corpse to be found in the wreck of a stolen car, wrapped round a tree somewhere. We will do it tonight. It makes no difference to us.’
    I pulled myself up. ‘Please don’t.’
    The chaplain smiled as if he hadn’t noticed what they did to me. ‘Raspiwtin is looking for someone. When he finds this someone, you tell us. That’s all you have to do.’
    ‘Just tell you?’
    ‘Then you walk away a free man. There will be no repercussions. No one has been hurt yet, just think of that. It really is an excellent time to walk away from the table.’
    ‘Who is the man he is looking for?’
    ‘You don’t need to know that,’ said the brass hat.
    ‘How will I know when he finds him?’
    ‘You don’t need to know –’
    The mandarin raised a hand to silence him. ‘Of course, it’s Iestyn Probert. There is no need to pretend. We know Raspiwtin has you looking for him. He believes some nonsense about Iestyn having a rendezvous with some aliens from a UFO. All you have to do is let us know if you find him. That way you don’t crash into a tree.’
    ‘I thought they hanged him.’
    ‘Well, they obviously didn’t make a very good job of it, did they now,’ said the brass hat.
    ‘There is nothing to deliberate about,’ said the mandarin. ‘The arrangement is so obviously to your advantage that you can’t be stupid enough to turn it down.’
    The army chaplain took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the desk.
    ‘This is a number you can call if you need to contact us. Just call and hang up, we’ll find you.’
    I stared at the slip of paper, not making a move.
    ‘It’s just a number,’ said the chaplain, ‘it won’t bite.’
    I paused and regarded him. ‘I knew an RAF pilot, once,’ I said. ‘He served during the Second World War; he said the chaplain told them God approved of their bombing, but woe betide them if they slept with the girls in the town.’
    He forced a chuckle, trying to be my friend. ‘I’ve heard that story, too. It’s very funny.’
    ‘I always find it strange seeing a man who works for Jesus dressed as a soldier.’
    ‘Oh yes, why’s that?’
    ‘Jesus was a subversive. Are you?’
    ‘I like to think so –’
    The mandarin slapped the table and made an impatient gesture to the men behind me.
    ‘We didn’t come here to discuss theology. The interview is over.’
    I picked up the scrap of paper. The hands reached out again and lifted me to my feet.
    ‘You’ll be dropped back at your caravan,’ said the mandarin. ‘It’s a crap caravan where you live a life of squalid desperation. But I understand it’s all you’ve got. If you don’t want to lose it, I advise you to take the proceedings of this evening very seriously.’

Chapter 7
     
    Calamity and I sat stiff-backed on a bottle-green chesterfield next to a Georgian window overlooking Laura Place. It wasn’t much of a ‘Place’ really, any smaller and it would have been called Laura Mews. But it possessed an air of modest affluence. It was the sort of square where you might expect to come across a film crew and a horse and carriage clip-clopping across the cobbles; just the sort of address, in fact, to which country doctors retired. We stared at a mantelpiece crowded with knick-knacks – framed photos, china figurines, a Toby jug holding letters from abroad, a brass shell case acting the part of a vase for dried flowers, a brass bowl containing hairpins, matches and a bottle of eye ointment.
    ‘I’m not sure I’d like to be treated by a doctor