Four Degrees More (2 page)

The Mirror: Environment Minister reveals green plans

GreenWatch website: Four degrees more

It turned out that Bethany Morris-Steward was WHOOP’s chief activist. The green queen. She looked like a university student. Perhaps she was. Dressed in denim, she was
thin with tangled, brown hair and glasses. She spoke quickly and passionately about the environment, like she was in a rush. She reminded me of a clock that had been wound up too much. Her hands were whizzing round to get rid of all that stored-up energy.

Unable to keep still, Beth paced up and down.

‘Some people see us as eco-bullies. That’s rubbish. The power and transport industries are the bullies around here. They’re the ones doing the damage. Cars and planes. Oil, coal and gas.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, because I thought I should say something.

She gazed at me for a few seconds and then nodded. ‘You ought to join us. We need all the recruits we can get. On top of that, if you care –
really
care about the planet – you’ll be able to do much more with WHOOP
behind you. We’re a big organisation now.’ She barely hesitated. ‘You know the Drax Power Station up north? Its chimney chucks out the same amount of carbon dioxide as a quarter of the traffic on the country’s roads. It was on the news last week. That was our people who chained themselves to the conveyor belt. Two more climbed a cooling tower. High profile stuff. You can be in on that sort of action.’

‘I’m no good with heights.’

Her sharp face formed a smile for the first time.

‘I think we can find something nearer the ground for the Cooler. Once, we blocked the M11 with a sit-down protest across all six lanes.’

In a way, she reminded me of Mum. It would be good to belong to her family of rebels.

‘What are you doing about the oil refinery?’

She flicked her hair behind her ears for the hundredth time.

‘First, let me say it’s not just about shouting the message in people’s faces. It’s not just about picketing electrical shops, car makers and airports. We’re fighting quietly behind the scenes as well.’ She picked up a newspaper from the table and pointed at the headline about the Government bringing in some eco-friendly policies. ‘See? A Minister’s suddenly cleaned up his act.’

‘Has that got anything to do with you?’

Beth laughed.

‘He hasn’t really come over to our way of thinking. Politicians are moved by pressure, not principles. And this one’s under pressure because we know a dirty secret
about his private life. Something that would kill his career. We told him we’d splash it all over the internet unless he forced our agenda through parliament.’

‘You mean, he’s gone green because you’re blackmailing him?’

She nodded.

‘The heat he’s feeling is nothing to do with global warming, but it’s working, so …’ Beth shrugged. ‘The end justifies the means.’

‘I like it. Good trick.’ Then I tried my luck again. ‘And what about the oil refinery?’

‘I could quote a lot of frightening facts. Just one will do. The oil that the planet used in the whole of 1950 would only last six weeks now. Half of it goes into transport.’ She shook her head. ‘Ridiculous. It’s got to stop. If our minister under
pressure doesn’t deliver, we’re going to show him how serious we are.’

‘By doing what?’

Beth paused. ‘Let’s talk again in a few days, Leyton. Give everyone time to think. Then let’s see how you feel about joining in. If we can build up a bit of trust, maybe –’ She grinned instead of finishing what she was saying.

I logged on to the GreenWatch website to see what all these frightening facts were. It made pretty grim reading. One page showed what’s likely to happen if we let the planet’s temperature go up by another four degrees. Four degrees doesn’t sound like much, but it’d make a lot more bedrooms fall into the sea.

Southern Europe, the Amazon rainforest and western USA are deserts. A third of the 
world’s land does not have enough fresh water to support human life. Forest fires are out of control. Summer temperatures in southern England are over 40°C. Heatstroke kills tens of thousands of people. Millions of people are starving. Tens of millions are forced to move into already overcrowded countries that still have water and food.

The West Antarctic and Greenland ice sheets are melting. Sea levels are metres higher and rising. Low-lying islands in the Pacific Ocean, like the Maldives, are drowned. Eventually, central London, Miami, Manhattan, Bangkok, Shanghai and Mumbai will be flooded. Half of the world’s population will have to move to higher ground. Coastal erosion threatens 2 million people in the UK.

Extreme floods in Bangladesh, the west coast of India, Vietnam, Florida, and northern Egypt.

Mosquitoes have spread and threaten 80 
million more people with malaria.

The strength of wind in destructive storms has increased by about 20 per cent. Super-hurricanes threaten the major cities of Hong Kong, Tokyo, Shanghai, Brisbane and New York.

In the long-term, four degrees more will melt all polar ice, and sea levels will rise over 50 metres. The UK would be a scattering of islands and Oxford would be on the coast.

Looking over my shoulder, Keir grunted.

‘Laying it on thick, aren’t they?’

‘Even if it’s only half right …’

‘Come on. Anyone can say crazy things. In the next five years, Ipswich will win the Premiership.’ He shook his head. ‘Ain’t going to happen.’

‘But this is science.’

‘It’s a bunch of people spouting stuff to scare you.’

‘It’s working,’ I replied. ‘And you know what makes me angry? Grown-ups. When we do something wrong, they always say, “You made that mess, so you clear it up.” Talk about two-faced! They’re the ones who are messing the Earth up, so they should clear it up but, no, they won’t. They won’t even give up their four-by-fours. It’s not fair. They’re old. They’re not going to live much more, but we will. It’s our planet. And it’s knackered. Thanks very much for handing over a clapped-out world.’

‘So, what are you going to do about it?’

I didn’t answer. But, like Beth said, it’s got to stop. We do have only one planet. I’ve got to ram the point home by stopping the oil refinery. It’s the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

The London Paper: Environment Minister in shock resignation

The Sun: Green plans on backburner

‘Huh. The green spell didn’t last long,’ Beth muttered when she saw the news. The politician she was blackmailing had quit his job, so her plans to force the Government
to fix the environment lay in ruins.

‘You know what’s happened, don’t you?’ Robin said angrily.

Beth nodded as she screwed up the newspaper and threw it aside.

‘It’s not hard to guess. I smell LOP in action.’

It’s like they were talking in code.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

Beth wrapped her hair around her fingers.

‘It’s a fair bet the League of Oil Producers – a pressure group that denies global warming – knew the minister’s grubby little secret as well. Like us, they’ve threatened to reveal all, I imagine.’ Beth shook her head. ‘If he tried to push green laws through, LOP would leak his private life to the press. If he didn’t, we’d talk instead. He’d lose either way, so he’s got out quick. Anyway,’ she
said, ‘it means LOP is playing rough. So we’ve got to do the same. It’s time to show everybody the damage the oil industry does. It’s our duty to clean up a dirty industry.’

I’d skipped school. After all, saving the planet was more important than a few GCSEs. I was ready and willing for action. I said, ‘Totally agree.’

The green queen nodded. ‘You’re like me. You let your anger show. You let it all out.’

‘Better out than in, my mum always says.’

Beth smiled in a serious sort of way.

‘Robin bottles it all up until it gets too much. Then he explodes. Anyway, if we’re going to get our message across, we’ve got to hit the refinery hard. Maximum impact.’

At that moment, revenge for my bedroom and fixing the planet seemed very close.

‘Good idea.’

Beth gazed at me for a few seconds, as if making her mind up about me, and then said, ‘All right, Leyton. I think I know you well enough.’

She hardly knew me at all, but I was pleased that she was about to let me in on her plan of action.

‘Here’s what we do.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. ‘We’re going to have a massive protest outside the oil refinery. I’ll get all our people involved, so we’ll make ourselves a really big nuisance.’

‘And you want me to join in?’ I asked.

Beth shook her head.

‘No. We’ll keep the police and security guards busy by storming the gates, but the real action will be happening quietly inside.
That’s
where you come in.’

‘Oh?’

‘I bet it feels good,’ she said, nudging my arm. ‘You’re the most important part of the whole thing.’

I should have asked, ‘Why me?’, but I was blinded by anger over my old bedroom and everything that went with it, so I said, ‘Great!’ It felt fantastic to be part of a group instead of a one-person campaign. A bit like having a proper family again.

‘We’ll just be the distraction. You’ll do the sabotage. You’ll be the green champion.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

Going over to the table, she unfolded a large plan of the factory.

‘See these three containers in the middle? They’re the main storage tanks for the refined oil.’ She stabbed her finger at them. ‘That’s what you attack. The heart of the business.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘If they went up in flames … Think of a fantastic firework display and multiply it thousands and thousands of times. That’s one impressive show.’

I stared at her, but couldn’t speak.

‘We’ve got a device,’ she said. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes to show you how to set it up.’

‘A device?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean a bomb?’

‘Just something that’ll burst the tanks. Imagine it. The factory supplies a huge amount of oil and petrol. Knock it out and this country’s ability to pump out carbon dioxide will take a massive hit. Utterly enormous. It’d take an age to recover.’

‘But a bomb –’ I took a deep breath. ‘Won’t people get hurt?’

‘At night, there’s hardly anyone on site.’
She paused and looked into my face. ‘Let me ask you this. What would you do if your best mate was locked in a room that was filling with water? Would you go and find the key and get him out straight away, or wait to see if it developed into an emergency and then fetch the key when it’s too late?’

‘No-brainer. I’d go straight away, but –’ She was talking in riddles again.

‘We could wait for the climate to get out of hand and wish we’d done something before it was too late,’ Beth said, ‘or we could act now. We need you to do this, Leyton, because you’re not known to the police. We are. We’re watched. Is the Cooler with us?’

‘All right. Count me in. But … I just don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘It’ll be okay. Trust me. You go and work with Robin on the device.’

The night was warm and sticky. Or was it just me? I had the device – as Beth and Robin called it – in a haversack. I was damp where it pressed heavily against my skin, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. But the night air was muggy anyway. I was feeling the effects of global warming, as well as carrying the bomb.

But it was all for a good cause. It wasn’t as if I was a terrorist, suicide bomber or anything. I was only going to wreck some storage tanks, oil and a business. No people were in the firing line. It was the right thing to do.

Without a sound, I crouched down in that circle of darkness and folded back the wire. The hole in the fence reminded me of a dog kennel. I took my backpack off and
carefully pushed it through first. Then I crawled into the oil refinery. Standing up in enemy territory, I strapped the bag on to my back again and looked around. So far, no problem. I pointed the tiny torch at my wrist and switched it on for a second. Nearly quarter past midnight. It wouldn’t be long now. I just needed to wait a few minutes.

I’d memorised the map. I knew where I had to go. Across an access road and slightly to the right. There, I’d see a large overhead pipe and I could follow it to get to the centre of the factory. It would be like following an artery to the heart of a body.

My new friends were going to kick up a fuss near the main gates at twelve fifteen, but I didn’t know exactly what would happen. The siren took me by surprise. I dived to the ground, hoping I hadn’t been
seen or set it off. It was very loud. Everyone on the housing estate would be waking up and cursing the factory for being so close.

The siren screamed into the stillness and I could see lights coming on. People in uniform were rushing around. They were a long way away and they weren’t coming in my direction. Beth must have started the riot. Hopefully the WHOOP protesters had attracted the attention of every guard in the grounds. The siren was the starting pistol for my mission.

I got up again and ran, crouching a bit, towards the pipe. The device clunked against my back, reminding me it was there, reminding me how important I was to the group and to the Earth.

The place stank like a big, dirty machine. I turned left and went along under the pipeline. I was on a tarmac track between
two low buildings. There were no lights on, so I couldn’t see what happened inside. Coming up to a much bigger road, I slipped on an oily patch but managed to keep on my feet. I felt like a little kid, looking left and right and left again before crossing. But I wasn’t looking for cars and lorries. There weren’t any. I was looking for security guards or anything that might give me away. There were all sorts of strange pieces of equipment down one side, but I didn’t see any danger so I dashed across the road.

I had to hope that, if I’d been caught on CCTV, no one was watching the pictures. I had to hope that everyone was dealing with the green queen and her rebels.

I jumped in shock when the siren stopped. The sudden silence surprised me. Someone must have turned it off, because it
had done its job. It must have alerted all the security staff and maybe the police.

The track continued. There were three pipes above me now and one at ground level. There was also the constant hum of machinery – or perhaps it was the noise of oil churning through the pipelines.

I gasped when I saw a torchlight bobbing ahead of me. Before the beam came in my direction, I swerved off the track and flattened myself in the gap between two cabins. I could feel my blood pounding through my arteries, my own heart on the point of exploding. I held my breath.

It wasn’t long before I could hear footsteps. Next, I saw the torchlight sweeping from one side of the pathway to the other, searching. Then came the guard in a dark-blue uniform. It was a woman, and I was lucky because she wasn’t really
paying attention. She had a phone pressed to one ear.

‘Yes. I’m down H8, near Distillation Unit 4. No. There’s nothing.’ She listened to the reply and then said, ‘Sounds like you need all the back-up you can get. Okay. I’m on my way.’ She set off at a sprint.

I let out my breath and my heart rate slowed a little. I came out from my hiding place a minute later, hoping that the woman was the last guard to be called to Beth’s noisy demonstration.

With long, empty buildings on both sides and large pipes above, the path reminded me of a cave or tunnel. There was a light at the end. In the distance, the track led to a monster floodlit roundabout. In the centre were the three storage tanks and they rose up into the night sky like tower blocks. I hurried towards my target.

Far away, there was the sound of shouting, banging and whistling. The activists were putting it all on for me. They were the defence and I was the striker up front. We all belonged to the same team. I was part of something big, and even if everything went wrong, I knew I wasn’t alone. Lots of people were on my side.

By the time I reached the ring road around the tall containers, sweat was pouring down my back. A petrol tanker and several vans were parked in front of me, and beyond them were the towers of oil, soon to be the most powerful fireworks the country had ever seen. But right now, the place was quiet and still.

There was no way of hiding. I’d have to dash across, put the device at the base of one of the giant containers, set its timer, and hope that I wasn’t spotted. When the
first tank exploded, it would tear holes in the other two and the whole lot would go up in flames. I’d have ten minutes to get away. No problem.

Taking a deep breath, I sprinted for the gap between the petrol tanker and the works van parked behind it. A quick look around. A decision. I made for the closest storage tank. Kneeling beside it, I yanked my haversack off, ignoring the clammy shirt stuck horribly to my back.

This was it. This was what the Cooler did. Just as Robin had shown me, I turned the timer to the ten-minute mark. I didn’t hang around. I just looked up once. The dull metallic tank was enormous, like a great big fat rocket, full of fuel waiting to be launched.

The clock was ticking. The countdown had begun.