George Shaw was confined to hospital for two weeks prior to discharging himself against doctor's orders, and then returned to his seat of power in Portcullis house, before even going home. In his huge stately office, George Shaw, who acted with Bullit's authority, ordered several of those present at the cabinet meeting, to present themselves to his inquest, and explain where necessary, the actions that day.

George looked to shed light on events, before he rounded-up any suspects he believed involved in the plot to assassinate Field Marshal Bullit. And although George always maintained the rest of us were irrelevant, superfluous to the revolutions continuation, I knew, the moment I heard of his actions, the inquisition would run deeper than that.

George Shaw used Bullit as an excuse to attempt to justify his own ruthless revenge, and endorse a touch of blood-letting against those who might threaten his future within the party's hierarchy.

In George Shaw's eyes, the list of accused grew daily; he saw conspiracy around every corner and tree stump, and was offered a chance to vindicate his belief by executing those he disliked. All of those present at the explosion were summoned, with the exception of Melch, who died - and those still in hospital.

George Shaw sat behind his huge desk, and silently examined the faces of the suspects. He searched each face diligently, and looked for some ember of information to point him in the right direction: not that he needed it. I could have told him instantly who planted the bloody bomb; it didn't take a genius to fathom, that if Captain Fields had an urgent phone call, quickly followed by General Lee leaving the room, they were the two most likely candidates. And as neither arrived at his office, everyone knew the culprits.

But Shaw's cathartic personality, which hid a deep, spurious and wicked side enjoyed the drama. George, enjoyed preying on other peoples' emotion, and fears, just to satisfy a sadistic tendency that lurked deep inside him. It was all an evil game.

"One, or more of you are responsible for this act!" He stated, and viewed them each individually with suspicion. "I don't need to tell you what's going to happen, unless the Secretariat receives a full list of names." He added, his tone threatening. He issued them all with a small notepad and pencil.

"Just jot down the names of those individuals you believe responsible for this heinous act gentlemen, and the Secretariat will take care of it from there."

Shaw was a bastard who inherently knew, all of those gathered in his office would nominate Captain Fields as the prime suspect in the witch-hunt. And I guess most of us might when faced with the Secretariat, George Shaw and his interrogation cells at Belmarsh prison. I didn't blame them.

Shaw collected the details, stacked them together without examination, like an efficient school teacher, and then thanked them cordially for their time. Once his office was clear, he sat behind his big desk and studied the notes extensively, before telephoning Bullit for a warrant to arrest both Captain Fields and General Lee. Bullit, issued the dictum before he set off for a winter break at his personal castle 'The Eagle's Nest' in Scotland, and told George Shaw he didn't care how the problem was resolved, just as long as it was resolved by the time he returned. The Field Marshal, also instructed Shaw not to damage the prisoners before his return, as he had special plans for them.

George Shaw arrived with twenty members of his Secretariat at General Lee's large Georgian house, which was offset in extensive grounds and located within the Wiltshire countryside, at 7am, just as it was getting light.

Lee's, detached house sat in twelve acres of the most prestigious rolling landscape England had to offer. The immediate area lay blanketed in a thick carpet of crystalised frost, and the house remained in darkness as Shaw, with members of his Secretariat made their way down the gravel drive, their feet scrunching up to the front door, as other officers, their breath misting in the cold continued around to the back, to try and gain entry there. Only General Lee's black Labrador made a noise inside, as he barked at the intrusion.

George Shaw pounded the front door with his leather clad, gloved fist, and when no answer was forthcoming, he stood aside, and ordered the door be removed by force. Two large men in black uniforms used a steel battering-ram to take it from its hinges, and then moved to oneside to allow The Angel of Death access to the premises. Lee's, large black dog guarded the hall. He stood barking, but not attacking. Shaw drew his pistol, raised it and fired! The dog poleaxed, the body shivered and life quickly evaporated, as a large puddle of blood expanded out over the grey marble floor. Shaw continued his advance, his pistol still in hand. He stepped effortlessly over the dog, and checked the first room. There was nothing, except a morose stillness, and lethargic tick from an aged grandfather clock farther down the hall. Shaw, became increasingly impatient as he systematically checked each room, and believing General Lee fled the country, George Shaw's anger grew.

But Lee hadn't fled the country. Lee, did the honourable thing. He retired to the library with a large glass of malt whiskey, revolver and single bullet.

George Shaw found Robert Lee behind his leather bound, gilt edged writing desk an empty glass on top and Lee himself slumped in a bottle green Chesterfield armchair, with a revolver held limply in his right hand, with a single gunshot wound to his right temple. Shaw went berserk. He moved across the room at pace and pistol-whipped Lee hard in the face. Lee's rigor-mortised corpse fell rigid to the left and Shaw kicked and screamed at it, using every obscenity he could find.

General Lee had spoilt Shaw's fun by taking his own life, and when George finally finished kicking the corpse as it lay lifeless on the floor, he loaded his side arm and pumped a magazine of bullets into the body and proved he was as callous to the dead as he was to the living.

Captain Fields, fled. He pecked his personel belongings, and left the moment it was obvious Bullit wasn't dead, and like a lot of conspirators throughout history, his journey was limited.

Fields was arrested by the Secretariat at Liverpool as he tried to board a fishing boat bound for Ireland, for a reason known only to himself. He chose the most occupied area of Britain to try and make good his escape - and I never quite understood why? Of all the places he could have chosen why choose Liverpool and the embarkation points for Camp 51? It was notorious for Secretariat officers.

later I came to believe Fields either wanted to be caught, and have a swift end put to the unfortunate incident, or he used a paradoxical application of, take the obvious and reverse it. In other words, he might have believed the last place they'd look for him would-be right under their noses. And if that was the case he was most certainly wrong.

Captain Fields was taken to Belmarsh prison from Liverpool by a special police escort, and once there, housed in a black dungeon already covered in other prisoners faeces.

Captain Fields was initially beaten by his guards and by the time The Angel of Death arrived at Belmarsh prison to interrogate him early next morning, Fields had also tried to hang himself with a makeshift noose.

Unlike Emma Preston there was to be no intervening period for Fields, as the revolutionary council needed that unhappy period brought to a rapid conclusion. They wanted to stamp down hard on other dissenters and set an example to any other militery officars who might harbour ambitions of traeson.

Captain Fields was a young junior officer, a Sandhurst graduate, only twenty four years old who originally spent his early years with the Royal Artillery, before having his excellent academic skills recognised, and then receiving a promotion to General Lee's personal administration office as Adjutant.

Fields was six foot two, blond hair, blue eyes, with an exceptional sporting talent on the rugby field. But that all came to an abrupt end, as four warders of the Secretariat's elite pretorian division dragged him to an interview cell where Shaw, The Angel of Death awaited his pleasure.

Fields was flung violently through the door, slipped, and landed clumsily at George Shaw's feet. He slowly looked-up, over Shaw's knee high black boots, over Shaw's tight suit trousers - higher to his black tunic; and higher still, to the face of a vicious superior who peered down arrogantly upon him. Shaw's peaked cap covered his eyes, and his leather clad hands strangled each other in turn.

George Shaw, whispered nastily: "Nice of you to join us, Captain, we'll try not to detain you too long."

Fields scrambled to his feet, stood bolt up-right, and saluted. Shaw, slapped his face. He yelled as he did so: "Don't you dare insult me, you traitor."

The Angel of Death circled Fields, as his junior officers lined themselves by a naked wall, ready to offer their assistance, in a bare room of cold concrete, that was only lit by a single central bulb, if they were so required. Captain Fields shook uncontrollably as he waited his fate, and sensing his unease with the situation, George Shaw made him sweat all the more.

"Who told you to plant the bomb, Captain?" He whispered.

Fields, barked his answer like a raw recruit on the parade ground for the first time: "The news of the attempt on our beloved Field Marshal's life was as much a shock to me, as it was to everyone else, Sir!"

"Really?" Mumbled Shaw, surprised, as his pacing ceased. "Then what d'you think I should do with the perpetrators when I eventually catch them, Mr Fields? What punishment might befit such an evil crime?" He added, as he looked to Fields for contributions.

"Firing squad, Sir!"

"Too simple, Captain. Think of something more brutal, something that will make the villain of that crime feel a lot more pain, strip them of their dignity; and prevent others committing the same wicked act in future?" Said Shaw, with a whisper, as he lifted to the balls of his feet, and leant in close to Fields' ear. He relaxed and waited for an answer. Fields swallowed hard, as Shaw rasped:

"The Field Marshal wants them hung, drawn and quartered. A fitting punishment, Captain?"

"Too good for them, Sir."

"You don't say!" replied Shaw, even more surprised. "Then you suggest what we should do to them, and as a personal favour to you, Captain, I'll employ your method when I execute them. So you tell me a more acceptable death than the one I just mentioned, the one you thought 'too good for them'?"

George Shaw's uncompromising depravity excelled himself on that particular inquiry, for he knew Field Marshal Bullit would expect to hear of something so profane, something so degrading it might scare the devil. And reaching the very depths of human fear, Captain Fields offered beheading as an acceptable solution. But it wasn't acceptable to George Shaw. Far from it.

"Decapitation," mumbled Shaw, as he started to circle Fields again. "It's interesting," he conceded, "but not messy enough. You see, Captain, being hung, drawn and quartered already contains decapitation as its final act, only you've chosen to sequestrate the opening of the stomach, the removal of the intestines, and the amputation of the genitalia. All the fun!" He said, perversely. "So, do you think my way, or your way is a more fitting punishment for those convicted of the wicked crime against the Field Marshal?"

"Your's, Sir."

"Mine, Sir."

"The perpetrators deserve no less, Sir!"

"Indeed, Captain, indeed. But first we have to establish exactly who they are, how many were involved; who planted the bomb which caused so much damage, and so much anxiety to our beloved leader. Can you help me?"

"In what respect, Sir?" Bluffed Fields.

"In the respect, Captain, of making a statement telling me who ordered you to plant the bomb. You see, I might think it was just you and General Lee, who has already, selfishly shot himself, and left you with this infernal problem. But then again, someone needed to make a telephone call to you, didn't they? So we have at least three of you involved, not two. So why don't you explain who was on the other end of your urgent telephone call, Captain," enticed Shaw.

"It was only barracks, Sir. An NCO, I believe."

"Try again," whispered Shaw, his breath warm in Fields' ear.

"I really can't recall, Sir."

"Take a seat," ordered Shaw. His eyes pointed to a small wooden framed chair, that was quickly positioned by one of his acolytes, and nervously, Fields seated himself, sat rigidly up-right and stretched his arms so his hands placed on his knees and offered his body support, to stop it shaking.

"My problem is this," said Shaw, as he bent over and came vis-a-vis with Fields. "The Field Marshal has told me, explicitly, not to damage you: he wants that pleasure for himself, therefore, I have the unenviable task of extracting information, without causing any physical injury to you. You care to make another suggestion, Captain, on how I might like to proceed?'

"I don't know, Sir."

"You don't know, Sir. Why not try!" Barked Shaw, frustrated.

"Constructive interrogation as laid down by UN convention, respect for the individual's human rights, a steady process of attrition." Offered Fields.

"But you don't have any human rights," said Shaw, malignly. "They were removed Captain, when the revolutionary council took power: remember!"

"Of course, Sir."

"Then I'll have to search for other methodology. What d'you think, Jones?" Asked Shaw, of a Sergeant who stood by the door, ensuring Fields didn't make a bolt for it. Not that Fields had anywhere to go if he did, it was just habitual of the Secretariat to guard their prisoners jealously, and guarantee no one spoilt their pleasure.

"Electric cattle prod to the bollocks, Sir," Said the Sergeant.

"It's most certainly an idea," agreed Shaw, as he removed his silver cigarette case, extracted a tipped cigarette, and then lit it from a gold lighter personally given to him by Bullit, in gratitude to Shaw for cleansing the undesirables. "You see this?" Asked Shaw, as he held the lighter between his forefinger and thumb, "It was a present from the Field Marshal. Read the inscription," he said.

Fields reached out, and took the lighter between his trembling fingers, turned it sideways so artificial light highlighted an engraving, and mumbled nervously: "'With deepest respect, Field Marshal Bullit',"

"'Deepest respect, Fields, from our beloved leader. A man you tried to kill; a man who saved our country from the clutches of Europe; a man who has so unselfishly served his country in both peace time, and during conflict. A man who has eliminated the infestation that poisoned our streets; and reduced crime to practically zero. Our leader made sacrifice after sacrifice to demonstrate his requited love of our land, and you, with your cohorts sought to extinguish that beautiful flame for your own vicious ends."

George Shaw snatched his lighter back, placed it in his pocket, as he breathed increasingly angry, as he dragged his cigarette, frustrated at not being allowed to unleash his normal violence against Fields. But Shaw had other methods to make people talk, methods that plumb the depth's of depravity. George Shaw's wickedness knew no boundaries.

"Bring them in," he ordered of his subordinates.

The interrogation cell door opened, and a Sergeant called to an outside warder, and within seconds the room filled with civilians. Two Corporals placed several wooden seats about five feet opposite Captain Fields; so his chair faced them. The civilians which Shaw insisted be brought to him were Fields' family: his mother, father, three sisters and two aunts, one uncle and two of his eldest sister's children, one aged six, the other four, whose angelic faces treated it like some childish game. They were alive with nervous smiles, and furtive looks. But it wasn't a game, it was all part of the Secretariat's callous behaviour, and designed to undermine the individual prisoner, and gain access to the information they wanted. Captain Fields, was about to relinquish everything he knew of the conspiracy to assassinate Field Marshal Bullit.

"David," said Fields' mother emotional, as she reached over and brushed his cheek with her fingers. Tears rolled the length of her face, and the emotional wrench placed on Captain Fields, became a catalyst for the forthcoming events.

"You've made your mother cry," said Shaw. "Who next, your father?"

"You animal," scolded Fields, with bitter, resentful, twisted lips.

George Shaw, moved behind the line of seated civilians, whose faces were stained in uncertainty. Because they knew, like everyone else did in the country, violence and death were all part of the Secretariat's techniques, just like they part of the Gestapo's technique in Nazi Germany during the war.

Shaw pulled his Gloch pistol, engaged the firing mechanism, and reminded Fields, that although Field Marshal Bullit forbid him hurting the prisoner, he never mentioned anything about the prisoners' family.

"Which one do you want me to shoot?" He asked - generously allowing Fields the opportunity to determine which of his family was executed first. Shaw, placed his pistol against the nape of Fields' father's neck, from behind, stood at arms length, cocked the hammer and prepared himself to kill him first, if Fields failed to supply the desired information he wanted.

"I'll give you ten seconds Captain to tell me who planted the bomb, or I'll shoot each person in turn."

The cries and begging of his sisters, the shivering of his fathers body and the children's natural association with fear, made Captain Fields weaken.

"10, 9, 8," counted Shaw, ruthlessly. "7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2,"

"Alright! Alright!" Blurted Fields defeated, desperate to save his family's life. He knew, like the rest of them did, that Shaw's promise was no idle bluff. When The Angel of Death placed his pistol to the back of Captain Fields' father's neck and threatened to shoot him, he meant it. Shaw, would have squeezed the trigger without a second thought and sent Fields senior to meet his maker.

"Get them out, get them out," barked Shaw in reference to Fields' family, as Fields broke down in tears, and apologised to his parents, his sisters - and family.

Two Corporals ushered the civilians from the cell, to a waiting area where Shaw ordered their detention in case Fields changed his mind.

Once they were gone, Shaw opened his briefcase, and extracted several sheets of paper and looked to add names on the top of each page. Each piece of paper was an individual warrant that Shaw could use to arrest people as and when he saw fit. Fields, wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, and began to name names.

And his admission would almost certainly send anyone named by him to their death: and only some extraordinary contributory circumstances might save an officer denounced by Captain Fields. George Shaw dragged a small table across the room, positioned it in front of Fields, and seated himself comfortably behind it, and then enthusiastically primed a pen in preparation for Fields' full confession.

"Now, Captain, names?"

"General Lee devised the plot. Lee, insisted the Field Marshal a madman, out of control, and determined to plunge our country into a third world war, possibly a nuclear one. I heard him discuss it with General Davis, from the 5th Airborne Division. Davis knew a contact with the Royal Engineers, a Colonel Fletcher; he and Major, Kevin Shark produced a blueprint for the bomb. They used supplies taken from the ordnance stores at Aldershot. I transfered the bomb to our meeting at the Palace, set the detonator and then left the room when I received a telephone call."

"Who else was involved?" Demanded Shaw.

"No one..."

"Don't mess me about, Captain: Harry Chambers, was he involved?"

"I've never spoken to the Party Chairman, except for official business?"

"You're a liar!" shouted Shaw, once the niceties were over. "Harry Chambers was the ring leader, wasn't he?"

"No."

"Wasn't he?"

"No."

"You want me to bring your family back in here, Fields, line them up, and shoot them individually before your eyes. Harry Chambers plotted it all, didn't he?" Shouted Shaw.

"Yes. General Chambers instigated the action." Confessed Fields, falsely.

"With Michael Kline?"

"No."

"With Michael Kline?"

"Yes, if the General says so."

"No Fields, you say so! You tell me Michael Kline was one of them that plotted to kill our beloved Field Marshal; he wanted to deny the people of our beautiful land the greatest leader they've ever had. Tell me, Fields how Kline and Chambers acted as conspirators in that dastardly plot?"

Captain Fields named myself, as well as Harry Chambers in the attempt to assassinate Field Marshal Bullit, not that I knew that as I lay convalescing in my hospital bed. But I don't particularly blame him, in his position I might have named anyone George Shaw wanted me to name if it saved Jackie, my Mother and my father, whoever the hell he was? (My mother always insisted when I pressed her on the subject, he was a mistake, a drunken one night stand many years ago which she didn't like to talk about, through embarrassment I suppose, and so now the topic wasn't mentioned at all.)

Shaw shouted: "How long had you been plotting this evil act?"

"About a year, a year and a half maybe." Said Fields, quickly.

"Who else was involved?"

"No one, that's it."

"Liar! You didn't bring the bomb into the Palace, your bag, like everyone else's was searched. I've checked the records. So who working at the Palace smuggled it in for you?"

"I took it in myself, in pieces, and assembled it in the toilets."

"Get his family back in here?" Insisted Shaw, ordering his subordinate to fetch them. Shaw's calculation paid off, as he knew it would: Fields blurted:

"Alright; Menson! The Field Marshal's private butler carried the device."

"What others?"

"There wasn't any others."

"This is the last time I'm going to warn you, Captain," growled Shaw, and pointed at him with his pen. "If you don't give me the full list of those involved, I'm going to shoot your family. There won't be any more bargaining, this is your last chance, and don't tell me that's it, because I know it takes more than these few dogs to carry out such a vicious act, now who else?" Yelled Shaw.

"Colonel Parry, 22nd Logistical group. Captain Platt The House Hold division and Major Banks, The Royal Green Jackets. That's it, I swear."

George Shaw, placed the names given to him by Fields on individual sheets of paper, and then offered each peice of paper in turn to Fields to sign, which he did, and in doing so, he signed each man's death warrant, including mine.

George Shaw, ordered Fields to be removed. And kept his word to him that his family would be released unharmed. Even Shaw wasn't that wicked to have killed them out of spite.

Fields lifted tiredly from his seat, his fate sealed, his life now worthless. He asked George Shaw, as he hesitated in the doorway, with a Secretariat officer secured on either arm, what form his execution might take, and expected to be beheaded, as was the custom with revolutionary council policy? But Shaw reiterated, with an arrogant smile, that the Field Marshal wanted something special for them all.

"You'll find out in good time, Captain," he said, and instructed the guards to take Fields away; to keep a close eye on him so he couldn't commit suicide. And once George Shaw finished, he tidied his paperwork, and returned to London for a meeting with Field Marshal Bullit, when the Field Marshal eventually returned from his human cloning programme in Scotland.

Against my better judgement, Bullit pushed ahead with a project most people might find vile. He sought, throughout the United Kingdom, one hundred women to start with, all tall, shapely, blonde, and blue eyed. And offered each of them £100,000 pounds of tax payer's money to carry his child, once they were artificially inseminated with his semen.

When born, those children, I don't know how many, were removed from their natural mother, and brought-up in a secure unit to Bullit's ruthlessly high standards and never again allowed contact with mater.

George Shaw waited at Buckingham Palace for further orders, and when Bullit arrived back from Scotland, some four days later, Shaw immediately offered the good news; the prisoner, Captain Fields had named the suspects involved in the bomb plot to kill him; and all he needed was Bullit's authority to execute them.

But the Field Marshal never organised himself that way, he had other things on his mind, and those responsible for the assassination attempt could wait until he decided what form the execution should take. Bullit still mourned the loss of Max his dog, and no amount of persuasion from George Shaw would alter his erratic agenda. Bullit insisted the revolution needed good news, not bad, and so decided, without consultation, my wedding should be it: and he'd personally make the arrangements.

At the time, I wanted a quiet ceremony in a registry office for close family and friends, but Bullit expected a national celebration, with all the pomp and pageantry the revolution could muster. It was to be an event to remember, and the traitors could be ruthlessly executed afterwards. Little did Bullit know, nor would anyone tell him, I was one of the accused. George Shaw saw the delay as a golden opportunity. The Angel of Death planned to wait until Field Marshal Bullit was out of the way on military manoeuvres, before he arrested me, and attempted a quick execution.