Joshua wasted no time in handing Fernandes the memory stick which he had detached from his bunch of keys. Joshua was stuttering and particularly nervous knowing what he was asking of his boss.
“I'm not sure if you want this, it's a poisoned chalice. There's enough there to cause a sensation but also to get us killed in a blink of an eye. I'd understand completely if you didn’t accept it.”
Fernandes looked at the small, seemingly insignificant piece of hardware in his grasp and pondered over the importance of its contents.
“Lit a fire up my arse you did. Woke me up. Remembered a time when the 'truth' meant something, back in the day when I was still young and ambitious like you. Old I am now, old and bloody tired of it all. This damn company is all I have left and I’ll not stand by and let it become the vehicle for corruption.”
Joshua nodded and felt a tingle of excitement run through his body. It was thrilling to see his boss regain his purpose and desire to report the news as it once was.
“How do you propose to get it past Jameson and into print?”
Fernandes looked at his watch and new that time was of the essence.
“Leave that to me. Once it's down on the floor, then the fun begins. Get it wrapped and on the pallet, that's another thing, get it on the trucks and it's done.”
Joshua knew that just sending the file to the factory floor wasn’t going to cut it. Such a high profile and visible story would buy attention and Jameson had his cronies out on every department.
“I'll drop the article in deep, leave the front page as is. Sounds like you're already up to your neck in it. Better get down to the factory floor and silence Jameson's lot. If you want this story out you'll have to get your hands dirty.”
Joshua nodded but was terrified at the prospect. Breaking a conspiracy by being clever and eloquent was within his character, violence, no matter on how justly apportioned was not something he had considered.
Joshua trotted tentatively down the stairs and made a beeline for his bicycle once more. The printers were situated in Wapping having recently taken over the old and the now defunct News International property. Joshua knew that it was a good two miles and would take ten minutes weaving through dense traffic if he were to put his skates on. He needed to be at the printers before the final proof was mailed through and who knows, deal with any possible issues that may arise from there onwards.
Joshua ditched his suit jacket halfway along the journey just outside Billingsgate Market, he was working up quite a sweat as he leapt off curbs and diced with possible death as he defied traffic lights and avoided errant taxi drivers. Fortunately, Joshua was a fit man and twice as determined. He made good time reaching the printers in just under nine minutes. He dismounted and threw his bike down, combing his fingers through his hair, he tried to pacify his pounding heart and regain the look of a man who was casually making a routine visit.
Hurriedly signing in at the reception, he knew the receptionist appeared ill at ease as his appearance seemed a little out of the ordinary. Joshua's shaking hands did not go hand in hand with the relaxed smile and fleeting small talk.
“Actually, Mr Fernandes has sent me down here for an impromptu inspection...” He muttered hoping to wipe the look of concern from the receptionists features. Instead the very thought of it seemed to bring only more concern from the nervous temp.
“Oh, well, I'm sure everything will be in order.” She stuttered.
“Oh, I know it will. Don't worry.” He said in response attempting to calm himself down at the same time.
“Hi-viz jackets are just on the left. Keep to the blue walkways.” She said suddenly realising her health and safety obligations as Joshua nodded and headed off on to the production line floor.
Looking around the gargantuan warehouse, Joshua did not know where to even begin. His look of utter helplessness was not a good look and attention was soon drawn to him in the shape of a foreman who wore the distinctive white shirt of some responsibility.
“Joshua Regan I presume.” The burly, moustached man inquired as Joshua stood like a rabbit in headlights.
“Possibly?” The reporter stumbled then realised that it was a daft answer.
“Mr Fernandes rang personally to let me know you were on your way and that I should show you around and take you anywhere you want to go.”
Joshua whooped up a lungful of musty air with relief.
“Err, I'm here to oversee the production of the late run. It's a special run. I've been told to report any delays and make inquiries as to causes both mechanical and human. I need optimum efficiency today, I need those lorries loaded and gone by nine.”
The foreman pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.
“If Mr Fernandes wants it done then it'll be done you can be assured of that.” The foreman turned and marched away to bark out some instructions to some workers who were obviously dawdling on their way back from a rest period.
“Is there anywhere you'd like to go.” The foreman called out as he walked back towards Joshua under the din of the machinery whirring.
“Yes, I'd like to have a proof copy as soon as it is printed and I’d also like to know where in the factory the government representatives are at this point in time.”
“Oh of course, I'll get a copy to you to approve before we run the lot if you like, we obviously to a short test run first.”
“Thank you, and the government reps?”
The foreman raised his lip as if condemning them in his mind then looked up to an office whose glass frontage overlooked the shop floor.
“His name is Walker. Crusty fucker if you pardon my language, Sir? I'll obviously be providing him with a proof as well, we can't print with his say so.”
“Not today.” Joshua said sternly.
“Oh?” The foreman replied, baffled at the change of protocol which was so rigidly enforced prior.
“No, Mr Walker will be having a chat. If you need any confirmation of this, contact Mr Fernandes.”
“Oh, God no, your word is fine for me Mr Regan.”
Joshua walked on leaving the foreman behind him to scurry about picking up the usual inspection black marks such as uncut binding loops and discarded paper.
Joshua began the climb to Walkers office. His mind was full of confusion, regret, desperation and pent up aggression. Fernandes had fulfilled his end of the deal, now Joshua had to do his part too, no matter how distasteful. Looking for a possible weapon on his approach, he passed a workbench and a box full of assorted tools. Just the kind of thing which would leave a nasty taste in the foreman’s' mouth but perfectly situated for Joshua, who picked up a fairly hefty adjustable wrench.
Flexing the steel tool in his right hand as he peered through the open doorway to see his prey, he saw a frail, elderly gentleman sitting at his desk eating a sandwich and reading a magazine. Walker's appearance was certainly not as he expected and there was something cruel and savage about striking an old man with no warning. However, the closer Joshua got to him, the more he envisaged him to be the face of the conspiracy, one of the elitist organisation that saw fit to imprison his friend, kill his brother in law and cause terror and suffering to millions of innocent people around the globe.
Joshua entered the well lit office and Walker turned around, his cheeks hamster-like with a large bolus of sandwich not quite ready to swallow.
“Can I help?”
Joshua stood motionless. The question was a good one. Could he? Maybe he was not the callous foe he made him out to be, perhaps he was just a minion, an individual carried along on the wave, just a civil servant doing his job rightly or wrongly?
“Yes. Has the final copy come through yet?”
Walker chewed a little more and swallowed. He peered over his shoulder at the monitor.
“Yes, it looks like it.”
“Can I take a look?” Joshua asked knowing the reaction would be in the negative.
“What? Who are you?”
Joshua decided it was time to
play his hand.
“Now listen to me you fucking old fool, open the proof and let me take a look. Then, when I tell you to, you're going to approve it and send it down to the shop floor.”
Joshua's voice was gritty and aggressive clearly taking Walker by surprise.
“No, I can't do that, just who the hell are you. I'm calling Jameson, how dare...”
There was an almighty thud and Walker went sprawling to the floor, curling up at the base of his office chair.
“I did ask nicely.” Joshua said as his shaking hand dropped the wrench.
Swiftly moving to the computer, the reporter did not even look down to see what damage he had caused to Walker's cranium or if he had indeed killed him outright with the blow. He opened up the mail which had been sent down by Fernandes' personal mail account and briefly checked the contents. Opening the PDF, Joshua could see his article beginning on page five and continuing for the next five pages. He closed the file and then studied the system, struggling to comprehend how he could not enter the copy onto the factory software which seemed completely discrete from the email system. Joshua thumped the desk with both fists as he realised that he had no clue and was thwarted at the final hurdle. It was then that a noise at the door caused him to jump and look around. Standing watching over him and regarding the fallen government officer was the foreman, his moustache twitching.
“My God, man!” He whispered as he surveyed his surroundings.
“Look, I don't have time to explain. I need to send this final proof to print. I need to do it now.”
Joshua made no attempt to justify his radical actions or his use of extreme violence but for some unknown reason, the foreman leapt forward and pointed to an icon on the computer desktop. Joshua, surprised at his willingness to conform to his wishes gladly accepted any aid offered. It seemed that under the most severe circumstances, people in authority seem to command respect and determine the actions of even the most confident and independent of people.
“This isn’t going to get me fired is it?” The husky foreman inquired as he made the appropriate keystrokes to send the file downstairs to the machines.
Joshua remained silent, he hoped that was the least of the foreman's problems.
“There.” The foreman said standing up straight and looking down at Walker who lie motionless with blood streaming.
“What are you going to do about him?”
He asked looking at Joshua who only now looked down upon his victim.
“Nothing...until the papers are on the lorries. I don't know why you've helped me but you've done your country a massive service. This file is about truth, it's time the people were told.”
The foreman looked at Joshua quizzically.
“I only helped because I thought it was part of the inspection.”
Joshua laughed momentarily and then sat back on his chair, quiet and thoughtful. He may well have succeeded in his quest but what now? Until this moment he had not really ever contemplated how he was ever going to survive this. Once the trucks were on their way, his part was played but vengeance would soon catch up with him as it had on his American friend. Joshua took a moment to ponder what had become of his Floridian accomplice. He hoped that he was alive and well and enjoying freedom or what was left of it.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
On the early afternoon of the fourth of January 2021, 163,000 printed copies of The Messenger were distributed to newsagents nationally. Initially circulated around the south east region and Greater London, the distribution had increased by the end of the month to over two million copies spread far and wide across the Isles and haemorrhaging into international regions too. Joshua's first and last print run had not been repeated by the printing presses of Wapping but his paper had been photocopied, faxed and pinned to notice boards countrywide. The recycled yellow paper had been analysed, denounced, berated and hailed at the same time. It had become the most talked about document in the history of the British Isles since perhaps the Magna Carta.
Initially sceptical, the more people read and digested the article the more it struck a chord with the cynics and the believers in equal measure. As the toppling effect of a million unanswered and vehement questions were being asked of those that chose to take power in the most deceptive of manners, as much speculation also appeared as to the whereabouts of the brave reporter who had taken measures to reveal all in the most sensational scoop in media history. Joshua Regan's disappearance was as much a mystery to the general public as it was the government agencies that sought to find him and discredit him. Doing nothing but aiding the cause of the new and vociferous opposition, the untimely and suspicious death of newspaper mogul Maxwell Fernandes served only to propagate the desire for full transparency and stoke the burning fires of truth.
During the month of February, mass demonstrations, marches and campaigns were established for the acquisition of the truth behind the alien wars. The mantle began to slip, and no matter how many 'independent inquiries' were banded around with the hope of deflecting and misguiding, eventually the use of military force to quell the swelling ranks of angry people was the last card to be played before the carefully conceived construction fell about its foundations, its shock wave felt across the world. Bordering on civil war, the people chose to take back the power of their country and expose those who had sought to falsify and deceive. The military crumbled under the massive pressure of uncertainty, the people joined together as one to unify under the banner of freedom. It was ironic, the peoples power to join together in force with a common goal was not so far from the ideology as envisaged by those who had so carefully designed the whole charade. The community of Britain rallied and sought to expose those who had terrorised them and murdered their loved ones. There were killings and arrests, familiar people with household names were exposed, the surrealism of the situation often seemed more than fantasy.
In the early weeks of March, the full extent of the conspiracy began to rear its ugly head when the newly freed press reported the deaths of tens of thousands of 'traitors' who had been captured prior or during the Censure. The names were so numerous, there was not enough paper to print them on. When the full list was finally compiled later in the year, the name of Sarah Palmer was printed in clear type, her age and place of birth accompanying it. There was no memorial to celebrate her life, the names were too numerous, the data sheet just too large.
By the time the uprisings had begun to spread to surrounding European countries and across the Atlantic, the British public had already established an interim government and had restored civil liberties such as freedom of travel and a restored Internet. The latter sped up the transfer of good information and research carried out by interested parties began to discover the origins and motivations of this secretive and powerful organisation. The freedom of data quickly exposed members in other countries and the effect of the surge of doubt caused an explosion of awareness almost as profound as the Prometheus effect itself.
EPILOGUE
A deserted beach, Florida
September 9th 2021
Roger Coffey stood at the shoreline, the waves kissing his brown leather boots. He looked down to his Bulldog and smiled at the persistent look of disgruntlement etched upon its wrinkled features. It would appear that Buzz did not like the cool water lapping at his paws and refused to move another inch closer to the expanse of water, no matter how azure and inviting it was. Roger looked up at the cloudless blue sky and smiled as the hot sun beat down upon his scarred but intact brow.
He picked up a smooth flat stone and threw it from his hip, skimming the object a number of times before it fell and was submerged by the water.
“You've made a small ripple there.”
A voice said from behind him. Buzz trotted over to the stranger and sniffed his ankles. It was a slim dark hair man, an English man.
“If you make a small ripple then it will get bigger then who knows what may happen?”
Coffey paused as if to say something then
stopped himself, the voice was familiar but then again he didn’t know many English people. In fact only one stuck in his mind, someone with whom he never formally met, someone who he believed to be dead.
Coffey approached the smaller man. His clean shaven, muscular physique bronzed after a hot Floridian summer.
“And when the stone has made it's ripple it falls below the surface of the water, never to be seen again.” The English man was poetic, eloquent and smiling.
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