by Mark Leigh
‘Mr. Brunel’, a serious voice intoned over the phone, ‘This is Jonathan Claygate from Party headquarters. Your presence is requested tomorrow afternoon at 1600 hours’.
Dick’s default response was to feel guilty and panic. He looked up and saw Vera sitting on her platform, head raised up from a massive pile of papers, smiling at him. She winked and Dick knew that this was the call he’d been waiting for. He was going to Party HQ to be congratulated in person. Maybe he’d be given a promotion. Now his skills had been recognised, the sky was the limit. A sub-section under-manager? No, he was better than that. A department deputy head? What about ‘Head Assistant to the Deputy Leader?’ Or ‘Deputy Head Assistant to the Leader?’ He liked the sound of that. In fact, he thought he’d be happy with any position with ‘Leader’ in the title. Well not a title involving the words ‘Syphy Leader’ or ‘Pooh Pants Leader’, obviously.
‘Mr. Brunel? Mr. Brunel? Hello…’ Dick was shaken back to reality by the impatient voice still emanating from the receiver.
‘Hello Mr. Claygate. Sorry about that. I’ll be delighted to be there tomorrow’.
‘Good. Be ready in your reception at fifteen forty where a ministerial hovercar will pick you up. Goodbye’.
With that, Mr. Claygate was gone. Dick put the phone down, still in a state of shock. He looked up at Vera who smiled and winked at him once more. Dick smiled back. He wasn’t certain which high-ranking Party official he was going to meet but just to be summoned to Party headquarters was enough at this moment. Dick couldn’t wait to tell Taylor about this invitation. This was his chance to infiltrate the Party hierarchy, discover their plans and fulfil his mission. He didn’t give a shit about this young upstart David ‘I simulated sex with a statue of Queen Victoria’ Parnell. He might join the Resistance and impress them with his stupid party connections via his even stupider canal building-related career but what he wouldn’t be doing was travelling in a chauffeur driven car to Party HQ. Dick just knew Alice would be suitably impressed.
CHAPTER 24
As journeys go, the one to the Party HQ was very uneventful. Dick tried to strike up a conversation with the young driver but only succeeded in establishing that he was being driven by a Grade III chauffeur who was only permitted to drive and not talk to passengers. Well, that’s not strictly true, he could obviously talk to passengers to tell them this — and also explain the differences in the party driver hierarchy. Grade II chauffeurs were allowed to respond to passengers but not instigate conversation, while if you achieved the heady heights of Grade I you could converse freely with passengers on journeys longer than 10 miles or a half hour in duration (whichever was shorter), as long as you showed due deference. The New Victorian class system was alive and well in the front of this hovercar as it sped westwards through London. After about fifteen minutes the Party HQ came into sight, an austere tower block on the south bank of the Thames. Dick had travelled past it many times, always wondering what went on behind its faceless exterior. Now, he hoped, he was going to find out.
- - o O o - -
It took a lot to impress Dick but the glazed triple height atrium and thirty-foot fir trees growing within it with squirrels leaping from bough to bough almost did the trick. Looking around at this grand entrance Dick could easily see where the population’s taxes were being spent. He scanned the trees again. There were squirrels everywhere he looked. He scanned the lobby and the only thing more numerous than the squirrels were armed guards. Those who weren’t positioned at security stations were on patrol, and those who weren’t on patrol were milling about, getting ready to go on patrol. Dick guessed that the security here was tighter than the pussy of a Mother Superior (Dick had never had sex with a Mother Superior, although he once got a blow job from a novice nun who it turned out, struggled more with his zip than with her faith).
Dick had his fingerprints and voice scanned and then re-scanned. Then he was frisked and only then was he allowed into the elevator that whisked him to the twenty-second level. The elevator came to a gentle stop, far gentler than the elevator in the Ministry of Information. The doors glided silently open and Dick was met by an anonymous Party member who escorted him into a high-ceilinged antechamber. Dick’s escort told him that someone would collect him in ten minutes and in the meantime he should make himself comfortable. There was little to entertain Dick. On a small console table were the de rigueur copies of the Bible and the Party manifesto, and adorning the walls, a selection of framed posters from recent campaigns run by the Ministry of Information, including one Dick himself had devised about the perils of syphilis. He wondered if he should point this out when he met whoever it was he was going to meet — but thought better of it. He was sure that the Party knew more about him than he knew about himself, and to be boastful about his work, would be considered distasteful and a sign, no doubt, of ill-breeding.
Dick had learned soon after starting work that the Party ran everything like clockwork, which was quite appropriate given their Victorian influences. In this society, being promised a wait of ten minutes meant ten minutes and not eighteen, fifteen or even eleven minutes. And so it was exactly ten minutes later when the opposite door to the antechamber was opened by another anonymous Party member who ushered Dick through into what turned out to be another ante-chamber. In effect this made the first room, the one containing the framed posters, an ‘ante-antechamber’ not an ‘antechamber’. (If you want to be really picky you can change this in biro where relevant. If you don’t want to do this in case it ruins your book, well fair enough. It won’t spoil your reading pleasure). Anyhow, in the real ante-chamber Dick was scanned and frisked again although this seemed rather pointless as all he could have concealed since his first frisking and this latest one were the Bible and Party Manifesto, neither of which would make effective weapons, even if you dropped them on someone’s foot.
The same Party member then ushered Dick through yet another set of heavy double doors into another room. Don’t worry though. This wasn’t yet another antechamber, requiring you to make yet more amendments in biro. No, this was a Grand Room. Dick’s polished brogues sank sensuously into deep pile blue woollen carpet. Concealed pelmet lighting painted a warm glow on the vaulted ceiling. The focal point of this room was a long polished walnut burr table surrounded by twelve sumptuously upholstered chairs that complemented the colour of the carpet. The door closed almost silently behind Dick leaving him alone to contemplate the splendour of his environment; more surroundings seemingly at odds with the austerity preached by the Party. A matching set of double doors were set into the opposite wall and in one corner of the room was an elegant inlaid mahogany drinks cabinet. Dick was peering through the small inset glass panels when he was startled by a sudden deep, rich voice.
‘I know what you’re thinking’.
Dick turned around and froze. ‘Fuck me’, he thought, thankful he hadn’t actually said it aloud. Facing him was the Leader. Not the Deputy Leader or the Assistant Leader. Or even the Assistant to the Deputy Leader, but the actual Leader himself. He hadn’t heard him enter the room but there he was, standing just feet away from him accompanied by an older, elegant-looking grey-haired man. The Leader was tall, well-groomed with an air of sophistication about him and he strode towards Dick, smiling.
‘You’re thinking how can a Party which promotes such a sober, stern, serious image and an almost puritanical approach to governance, surround itself with such luxury, such ostentation?’
The Leader was quite right, That was exactly what Dick had been thinking about. But when he saw the Leader this close and in the flesh for the first time, this thought was immediately replaced by another. The new thought was how familiar the Leader looked.
‘Is everything all right Mr. Brunel?’, the Leader enquired. ‘You look somewhat perturbed’.
‘Y-yes sir. Thank you sir. I… You surprised me when you entered’.
The Leader and Dick faced each other. The Leader offered his hand and Dick grasped it. This time it
was the Leader’s turn to look ever so slightly surprised.
‘We haven’t met have we Mr. Brunel?’
‘N-no, sir’, Dick said nervously.
‘Of course not’, replied the Leader, holding Dick’s hand very firmly, still looking intently at him. ‘It must be the photograph in your file. I’ve seen it many times. It must be that’.
‘Yes sir. Probably’.
‘Good, good!’, the Leader finished shaking Dick’s hand and motioned to his companion to come over.
‘Mr, Brunel, this is Carter my faithful manservant and bodyguard’.
Carter nodded at Dick who graciously nodded back.
‘Whiskey?’ asked the Leader.
‘Yes please,’ replied Dick.
Carter opened the well-stocked cabinet and carefully poured two generous straight whiskies from an elegant lead-crystal decanter.
‘To Jack and to success’, the Leader toasted. ‘Your success’.
Dick gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Thank you, sir’.
‘I’ve been following your progress with great interest, Mr. Brunel. It was only down to my full diary that it’s taken so long for us to meet. I’ve been impressed with your abilities so far. Very impressed’.
Dick felt uncomfortable. He was still shocked from the combination of having an audience with the actual Leader and having all this praise heaped upon him. But there was also the weird feeling that he’d seen the Leader somewhere else. Then it struck him — and Dick felt very stupid. Very stupid indeed. As stupid as someone who had the nickname ‘Shit-For-Brains’. It was obvious. He’d recognised the Leader from all his inspirational early morning announcements and speeches.
Gesturing around the room the Leader spoke. ‘Now, let me explain, or as some less charitable people might say, justify, these grand surroundings hidden from public gaze’.
The ever-attentive Carter refilled both their glasses. The leader continued. ‘You see, Mr. Brunel, I govern in a slightly different way from my predecessors. Of course, it’s vital that we continue to promote the beliefs and values of the original New Victorians. That is essential to the well-being of the population and the prosperity of our great nation. But I also feel that those in a position of power should be able to enjoy certain, shall we say, guilty pleasures as an antidote to the pressures of governing and as a means of relaxation’.
‘Work hard, play harder?’, offered Dick, summarising his own life philosophy.
The Leader beamed. ‘Precisely, Mr. Brunel. Precisely’. He chinked glasses with Dick again. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’.
‘Not my Jack’, added Dick.
The Leader smiled and put a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder. ‘I like the cut of your cloth Mr. Brunel. You are a like-minded fellow, and someone I feel who could be a real asset to the Party in the future’.
‘I hope so, sir. I am dedicated to furthering the cause of The Party and feel I have a lot to offer’, Dick replied with a cringing degree of obsequiousness.
‘Good. We could always do with more men like you. You would be a useful addition to my Ruling Council’.
‘Ruling Council?’ Dick enquired, slightly shaken at hearing that such a body existed, let alone being invited to join it. ‘I didn’t know there was one. I thought you alone made all decisions’.
‘I do. Well, as far as the public is concerned I do. It’s important that they see me and me alone as the ultimate power. It’s all to do with the cult of personality, you know’.
Dick nodded, not sure what this cult was, whether he was expected to join it, or whether it had any initiation rites like human sacrifice or chanting or dancing naked in a forest and if it did, he hoped it would be a warm night and he could keep his shoes on in case he got pine needles stuck in his feet.
‘But governing this fine nation is such a lonely task’, the Leader continued, ‘And a never-ending one. For these reasons I surround myself with a tight-knit, utterly loyal and dedicated team of advisors. We meet weekly to review policy decisions and discuss their impact. Sometimes I act on their advice. Other times I choose to ignore it. The difficulty arises when I receive conflicting recommendations but as Leader I have the ultimate say’.
‘Making no decision is worse than making a bad decision’, Dick offered, as if he was quoting from a Christmas cracker motto.
The leader turned to his manservant. ‘See Carter, more witty truths cascade from the lips of this very talented individual’. He consulted an expensive-looking pocket watch. ‘Unfortunately however, I now have to go. I am to attend the dedication of a new bridge’.
‘A road opening ceremony, sir’, Carter corrected him.
‘Oh yes. See Mr. Brunel. So many things to do, but mere trivialities really. The Council has far more important, more fundamental and some might even say, more influential issues to consider. You’d be amazed what the Party is planning’.
With that tantalising piece of news the Leader smiled, shook Dick’s hand firmly again and grasped his shoulder looking him squarely in the face once more. ‘Vera knows about this meeting but with everything we do here, discretion is of paramount importance. I’m sure we’ll continue our discussion about the Council but do not repeat a word of our meeting to anyone’.
Dick really wanted to say something like, ‘What, not even to Taylor?’. But he didn’t. Instead he said, ‘I won’t sir. You can trust my discretion’.
With that, the doors opened and a different Party official escorted Dick out, through the ante ante-chamber, back through the ante-chamber and all the way back to the lobby where another car was waiting to take him back to the Ministry.
Back in the Grand Room the Leader turned to Carter.
‘We must watch Mr. Brunel closely. Something still bothers me about him, but I’m not sure what it is. I have that feeling again. There’s that same disturbance in the Fabric’.
Carter smirked inwardly then answered. ‘Sir, if you have doubts about him then why take the risk of even considering appointing him to the Council?’
‘Because, Carter’, the Leader explained, ‘I believe in the old adage ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer’’. He paused for a moment. ‘And possible enemies of the state, even closer still’.
CHAPTER 25
The Resistance’s first contact with David Parnell was made very subtly. It had already been established that he lived alone in a South London terraced house so a small envelope posted through his door late one night wouldn’t attract any unnecessary attention from an inquisitive partner. The envelope contained two things: a fresh red carnation and a note that said Parnell been identified as a possible member of the Resistance, and that if he was interested in learning more then he should wear the flower as a buttonhole when he left for work the next morning. Taylor’s biggest concern was that Parnell wouldn’t believe the note was genuine. If he really thought he was being set up by the Party to check his loyalty then he would probably just ignore the note completely and therefore end any chance of meeting with the Resistance. On the other hand, if Parnell believed the note was genuine, then this was his first opportunity to meet fellow dissenters. In Taylor’s experience, most wannabe Resistance members were so anti-Party that they were willing to take such a risk and disregard any doubts about the authenticity of the note.
The Resistance knew David left his house for work at about seven o’clock so Edward had been waiting covertly outside since half six. Wearing a dark grey raincoat and carrying an old battered leather briefcase, David left the house on time and passed right in front of Edward without even knowing it. No flower. Edward’s heart sank. He called Taylor and delivered his coded message of disappointment, then set off for work himself, following David to the station. Less than a minute later David suddenly stopped then turned round and set off back home at a quick pace. Edward was puzzled and decided to follow David from a discrete distance, observing him unlock the front door and go back inside. A few moments later he reappeared carrying a smaller holdall, something he’d
obviously forgotten. He passed Edward for a second time, this time walking even more briskly so he didn’t miss his train. As he rushed by, Edward caught sight of a flash of red; the carnation that had been hurriedly pinned to his lapel. Edward reached for his phone again. This time he had good news to relay.
- - o O o - -
From that initial contact the recruitment process was fast. Several blindfolded visits by David Parnell to the resistance HQ for lengthy interviews indicated that with his Party contacts, he would be an ideal asset for the Resistance. It was during one of these interviews that Susan caught Dick alone in the lounge, sipping a glass of brandy and staring blankly into the fire.
‘What’s wrong?’, she asked.
‘Nothing’, Dick said.
‘Nothing as in ‘I’m not jealous about the potential new recruit?’
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Dick knew Susan had shared Alice’s uncannily accurate insight. What is it about women?, he thought. Did they share some form of hive mind with collective intuition?
‘Potential new recruit?, He’s almost a fully-fledged resistance member isn’t he?’, Dick asked, still staring into the dancing flames.
‘Not yet’, Susan told him. ‘His recruitment has been fast-tracked but there’s still some final security checks and double checks to be carried out before he’s admitted here and his blindfold comes off’.
Dick grunted his disapproval. Susan crouched down next to him and gently turned his head to face hers.
‘Look, as far as defeating the Party goes you’re still our best bet. No resistance member has met the Leader before. He seems to have taken a shine to you. The invitation to join the Party as an advisor is unbelievable!’
‘So if I’m your best bet why is Taylor so hung up on hiring the newbie?’. Without waiting for Susan to respond Dick revealed the answer. ‘It’s because he feels guilty for failing to identify Benjamin as a subversive. Worse than that, deep down he feels responsible in some way for his death’.
