Power

by Joe Craig

  Eva and Mitchell were left stunned. By the time Eva shook off her fear and looked at Mitchell again, William Lee had disappeared, deep into the NJ7 tunnel system.

  “He’s trying to take power,” she whispered, half to herself.

  “So is Miss Bennett,” Mitchell replied.

  “Don’t sound so upset about it, Mitchell dear.” And there was Miss Bennett, behind them, leaning casually against the wall of the tunnel. “If Ian Coates isn’t well enough to run the country, then wouldn’t you rather that I did it?”

  Eva and Mitchell whipped round to face her.

  “But you’re the one who poisoned him!” Mitchell shouted. Eva was thrilled by the strength in his voice. He was either being very brave, or very stupid. “And Eva nearly got killed for it! Now Lee wants her to steal your secrets!”

  Miss Bennett bowed her head dramatically. “I know,” she said. “You don’t think you can have a shouting match right outside my office without me hearing, do you?” She raised an eyebrow. “That man has revealed himself to be a bit of an idiot, hasn’t he?” She paused for a thought that obviously pleased her, judging by the smile on her face. “And Mitchell,” she said, turning serious, “you obey orders from me, not William Lee. The only person above me is the Prime Minister, while he’s still alive. So don’t try to kill Eva again. It’s just not nice.”

  Eva didn’t know how to respond. If Miss Bennett had heard their conversation with Lee, she must have also heard Mitchell’s attack. Was she ever going to intervene, Eva wondered.

  “What about Lee?” Mitchell asked forcefully. “Should I…”

  “Don’t worry about him.” Miss Bennett waved away Mitchell’s concern. “If he wants to tell anybody he’s taking over as Prime Minister, he’ll have to use journalists, who’ll have to use the press, the Internet or the TV. Unfortunately for him, those are three of my toys, and I’m not sharing.”

  “But he’ll find some way, won’t he?”

  “And that is where luck is on our side.” Miss Bennett stepped forwards and reached out for Eva. Eva couldn’t help flinching. She realised she was still shaking from Mitchell’s attack and the shock of their encounter with William Lee. But Miss Bennett gave a soft smile, as if she understood, and Eva couldn’t help leaning towards her.

  Miss Bennett placed one arm gently round Eva’s shoulders. With her other hand, she tidied Eva’s hair. She removed the green hairclip she’d put in place earlier that evening, all the time keeping her face close to Eva’s, smiling like a kindly school teacher. After a few seconds she drew herself upright again and fiddled briefly with the hairclip.

  “Before William Lee can say anything to anybody,” she explained, “there’s probably something the British public should see.”

  Suddenly Miss Bennett pulled out her mobile phone and inserted one end of the hairclip into a slot at its base. She held the phone up so they could all see the screen. First it flickered, then, to Eva’s amazement, it showed an image of the corridor they were standing in, and William Lee. Miss Bennett squeezed something on the hairclip and the image started moving. A thin sound came with it, from the speaker in the phone.

  “I’m taking power,” said William Lee on the screen. Eva couldn’t believe it. The hairclip contained a hidden camera and recording device.

  “I’m taking power and nobody can stop me!” Lee ranted, before Miss Bennett stopped the playback. Her face was deadly serious.

  “With a little editing,” she muttered, “we’ll make him the most hated man in Britain.”

  17 PUPPET SHOW

  Mitchell and Eva waited until Miss Bennett’s footsteps faded away. Eva could picture her stalking the NJ7 labyrinth. This was her world, and her presence seemed to hang in the air even now that she was gone. Eva marvelled at the woman’s perfect manipulation of everybody around her and mentally ticked off Miss Bennett’s latest achievements. She’d poisoned the Prime Minister, putting him in a critical condition in the hospital. Then she’d leaked the video of the PM to destabilise the country and turn his popularity into hatred. Now she was about to pull the rug from under her closest rival, William Lee.

  She has everyone on strings, Eva thought to herself. We’re her puppets. And soon she would be in a position to take over as Prime Minister.

  “Er, listen, Eva…” It was Mitchell, stumbling over his words. Eva was so distracted that she’d almost forgotten he was there— but not that he’d been going to kill her. “I’m…you know…sorry about…”

  “It’s OK,” said Eva bluntly. “It’s not you.” She was awash with a mixture of pity and anger. If Jimmy could fight against his assassin instincts, surely Mitchell should be able to as well.

  “Yeah,” said Mitchell, a deep frown on his face. “So, like, this is mad. Do you think Miss Bennett is going to take over? What’s going to happen to us?”

  Eva was about to answer that she had no idea, but suddenly a thought struck her. “Ian Coates is still alive, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “I think so,” said Mitchell. “But last I heard he wasn’t exactly—”

  “Who’s protecting him?” Eva’s heart was pounding again and she felt a rush of urgency.

  “Well, apparently there are people in the streets who are, like, chanting about him, or something, so they’re keeping his location a secret and he’s got guards from the army and NJ7.”

  “But who’s protecting him from NJ7?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Eva didn’t need to explain. In a moment, Mitchell’s face changed. He’d realised it too—Miss Bennett must have chosen which NJ7 agents were guarding the Prime Minister. If they were loyal to her personally, and not to the Government, then as soon as she had undermined William Lee, she could quietly order her team to do away with Ian Coates.

  “We have to get to Coates,” gasped Mitchell. “Miss Bennett’s agents will kill him.”

  Eva had come to the same conclusion, but something was bothering her. How had she suddenly found herself in this position? She was considering trying to save the life of a man she thought was an enemy.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Mitchell, reading her expression. Eva quickly forced a smile, but it was obviously fake. “We have to help him,” Mitchell insisted. “It’s our duty.”

  “But…” Eva hesitated, but in the end couldn’t hold herself back. “That man is evil.”

  “He’s the Prime Minister,” Mitchell replied immediately. “I want to be loyal to Miss Bennett too, but she said it herself—the Prime Minister is above her. I serve him. Maybe Miss Bennett will be Prime Minister one day, when Ian Coates decides…”

  “When he decides?” Eva was aghast. “What’s the difference between Miss Bennett taking power like this and the way Ian Coates took power? He wasn’t elected, was he?”

  “Elected?!” Mitchell was struggling to keep his voice down. “Who wants a Prime Minister that’s been elected? This is a Neo-democracy! You think ordinary people know more about running a country than Miss Bennett? Voting went out with the dark ages.”

  Eva wanted to take Mitchell by the collar and shake him. Didn’t he understand what he was saying? Couldn’t he see what the results of this Neo-democracy were? The Prime Minister had bombed his own people! She wanted to scream it into Mitchell’s face. Then she finally realised that none of this mattered. She was faced with a simple choice: Ian Coates or Miss Bennett. Who would she rather have running the country? In a way, she thought to herself, this was her time to vote.

  “You’re right,” she said at last. “We have to get to him before Miss Bennett puts that video on TV. Once she makes sure she’s the only possible person who can take over, she’ll kill him.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying!” Mitchell groaned. “Now how do we know where he is?”

  “What do you mean, ‘how do we know’?” scoffed Eva. “We work in the Secret Service, you idiot! And I’m the one who types up Miss Bennett’s notes. Come with me.”

  The noise around Jimmy was punctuated
by screams. People buffeted against each other violently. Jimmy couldn’t see over them, but he could hear the pounding of the police riot shields and he caught sight of cricket bats and broken bottles. Where had they come from? Suddenly the whole mass of people surged to one side, as if a few at the edges had charged at the police, or been pushed back. There was no way of telling which. Then came more screams and Jimmy was nearly thrown to the ground. He just managed to regain his balance, but others around him weren’t so lucky.

  An old woman toppled in front of him, hitting the pavement hard. Jimmy reached out to help her up, but she pushed him away, struggled to her feet on her own, then immediately carried on shouting at the top of her voice. Even in the dim light Jimmy could see the bulging veins in her neck, taut with fury. Somebody pushed a broken snooker cue into her hand. She thrust it upwards like a tribal spear.

  Has everybody gone crazy? Jimmy thought. He had never felt the accumulated rage of so many people. It was as if the whole country was crammed into that small space. The swell of the crowd took him in so many different directions he had to concentrate hard to remember which way he wanted to go. Then the whispers started.

  Beneath the shouts and the clatter of protesters clashing with police, Jimmy picked up a breathless current of murmurs. “He’s dead,” Jimmy heard. “Coates is dead.”

  Jimmy stopped and squeezed against the people around him to turn, trying to see the person who had said it, but it was impossible to tell. Then came another voice from behind him. “Ian Coates is already dead…”

  Immediately, Jimmy felt the sting of tears. His physical response shocked him. Should he care if Ian Coates was dead? The man had lied to him, betrayed him and tried to have him killed. But still the tears ran down Jimmy’s face and he felt a burning in his chest. It’s just shock, he told himself. Stay calm. Still, he had to know if it was true. He tugged on the coat of the man next to him.

  “What’s happening?” Jimmy shouted. He could barely hear his own voice over the din. “Is Ian Coates…?”

  Hearing the name, the man looked down at him. There was pure hatred in his eyes. He let out a horrible cry that hit Jimmy harder than any weapon. The words weren’t clear, but Jimmy was sure he heard “kill”.

  This is no good, Jimmy told himself, trying to push away his panic and keep his breathing steady. I have to know the truth. Without the right information, he felt completely powerless. A thousand thoughts were rushing through his head. If Ian Coates was really dead, would the threat of a riot go away, or would people carry on until their anger burned out? Then he thought that perhaps the police were telling people Ian Coates was dead in an effort to keep a lid on the violence. If that was the case, it wasn’t working.

  Jimmy scrambled for his phone again. There had to be a way of finding out what was going on. As soon as he flipped it open, he saw that network coverage had returned. He quickly accessed the TV function. If the phone network was back up, maybe the Corporation was broadcasting something on TV as well.

  He was right: at first the small screen was filled with the Union Jack again, but after a few seconds it faded out. In its place was a news studio—perhaps even the very one Viggo and Saffron had taken hostage. But that didn’t matter now.

  Jimmy held the phone close to his face to make out what the newsreader was saying above the noise of the crowd. Before he could catch a word, the image switched to a room that looked like one of the offices in Downing Street. The camera zoomed in on a figure standing in front of a desk. The screen on Jimmy’s phone was too small to make out who it was at first, but then he recognised the person and felt a chill hit his heart.

  He didn’t even notice that all around him the noise was dying down. Within seconds, there was awed silence. At last Jimmy was pulled out of his shock and looked up. He dodged from side to side to try to see why everybody had stopped. He followed the gaze of the people next to him and found himself looking up at the very top of one of the buildings overlooking Piccadilly Circus. The largest advertising hoarding was broadcasting the same image that had just appeared on Jimmy’s phone.

  “Good evening, everybody,” boomed a voice. Jimmy imagined it echoing through the whole of London—and the whole of Britain. “I’m the Director of the Secret Service.”

  Jimmy stared up at the face of the woman who had once been posted undercover as his form teacher. Now, to Jimmy, she represented everything that was rotten in the world.

  “I’m known as Miss Bennett,” she announced slowly. A gentle smile drifted on to her face, filling the screen. It was the only light in London and nobody could take their eyes off it, least of all Jimmy.

  “For a long time,” she said, “my identity has been hidden. But in the last hour some new intelligence has been uncovered that I judged of the utmost importance for national security. You must all see it. That is why I have asked the Corporation to broadcast this on every channel, and your local police and fire services have been working quickly to put up big screens all over the country.”

  The footage cut away from Miss Bennett to show the crowds gathered round giant screens in Trafalgar Square, Charlotte Square Gardens in Edinburgh, Grey’s Monument in Newcastle and a handful of other locations across Britain. Each of them looked more packed with people than the last. There was even a brief shot of Piccadilly Circus. Jimmy craned his neck to find the TV cameras, but could only make out the tops of police vans which had surrounded the crowd, with giant loudspeakers mounted on top of them. They were blasting out Miss Bennett’s voice.

  “It has become obvious,” she continued, her face back on camera, “that the shocking video shown on Corporation One earlier this evening was a fake.” There were a few murmurs from people in the crowd, but other people quickly hushed them, eager not to miss a single word of Miss Bennett’s address.

  “That’s right,” she confirmed. “It was a fake. Ian Coates did not order the destruction of the tower block on Walnut Tree Walk. That would have been…” She paused and let out a tiny laugh. “…psychotic. No, the man in that film was an impersonator—an actor who is now in custody and is co-operating fully with our investigation. It has become clear that he was being employed by this man…”

  The camera pulled out again, and as it did, Miss Bennett added, “Let me warn you that this new evidence may be disturbing to some viewers.”

  The screen faded to black. Then came a view of a dark tunnel, dominated by a huge man shaped like a telegraph pole. Jimmy recognised him from the news bulletin he’d seen at the hospital. After a few seconds, Jimmy remembered his name: William Lee.

  “I’m taking power!” Lee ranted on the screen. The footage was grainy and a bit jerky, but his voice was perfectly clear. “I’m taking power and nobody can stop me! Get me Miss Bennett’s secrets so I can wipe out the British. Now!”

  The crowd erupted into howls. Some of them hurled things towards the big screen, but they landed dangerously among the other people. Then there was a sudden hush again as Miss Bennett returned to the screen. Her expression was serene, but commanding. The enormousness of the image, and the fact that it was so far above Jimmy’s head, seemed to give Miss Bennett an added allure.

  “You probably recognised that man,” she said. “That was William Lee, who we believed until this evening was a loyal member of Ian Coates’ Government. The video he created was part of a plot by him to seize power from the Prime Minister. William Lee is now missing, believed to be on the run.”

  Jimmy could almost feel the words sinking into his consciousness, being spun through a rapid-fire analysis by the programming in his head.

  “So it is my duty at this time,” Miss Bennett went on, “to call upon each and every one of you to remain calm. We share your anger and distress at the tragic attack on Walnut Tree Walk. But Ian Coates was not to blame.” Her eyes glowed even brighter, staring right into the camera, as if she could see into the hearts of every person in that crowd.

  “I have asked the Corporation to broadcast a special programme of ligh
t entertainment for you, and to allow you all to access the Internet as usual. So please feel safe to return home. I will be making another address in one hour, when I will be able to update you on the recovery of our much loved Prime Minister, Ian Coates. I’m sure he is in all of our thoughts and prayers at this difficult time.”

  Jimmy could feel the threat of the crowd dissolving into the night. He could see everybody’s shoulders drooping. Their hunger for a fight was fading.

  “Finally,” declared Miss Bennett, “I would like to reassure you that if any tragedy should occur, and for any reason Ian Coates is unable to resume his rightful position at the head of Government, then William Lee will certainly not be the one to take over.” A few people shouted their approval. “That honour is one that I, myself, will be forced to reluctantly accept.” Again, there were yells of “yeah”—a few more this time.

  “Thank you for your patience, people of Britain, and, for now, goodnight.”

  18 VISITING HOUR

  The screen faded to black, then was suddenly replaced by an advert for Marmite. One by one, the other neon displays flickered into life, like a multicoloured sunrise. The crowd was silent. It was as if they were waking up from a nightmare. A few people stared at the makeshift weapons in their hands and scratched their heads, puzzled about why they were clutching cricket bats and broken bottles. When the streetlights came back on, the police started controlling the flow of people away from Piccadilly Circus. The pace was steady—almost dreamlike.

  Jimmy was as stunned as everybody else—but for different reasons. He couldn’t believe Miss Bennett’s performance had convinced so many people. He picked up snippets of murmured conversations. People were confused, even shocked. Not many were praising Miss Bennett, but nobody was as angry as before. She’s better than ever, Jimmy thought to himself with horror. Not just a teacher—a headmistress.