The Good: A page turning thriller where politics meets future technology in a bid to control human behaviour

by Carl Andrew

  She’d lost track of time and was sure her mum would be shouting down for her any minute to come up for her tea. She wanted to use the last few minutes of playtime to continue feeling the majesty of motion.

  She’d got the bike for her birthday from her mum’s friend Uncle Brian and had pretty much ridden it every spare moment she had since then. Dad was gone and Uncle Brian made mum happy so, as long as he keeps buying such amazing gifts, she didn’t mind.

  The girl turned 180 degrees at the far end of the garages by the fence and started to make her way through another lap of her own private playground. As she neared the entrance to the road she noticed her lace was untied.

  She stopped, put the stand down on her bike and moved on to rectify her open lace. Under, over, under, over. She repeated in her head what her mum had taught her…

  Then suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a third shoe appear. It was bigger than hers and she looked up…

  A group of six older girls were standing there, two were holding her bike and one was towering over her, camera phone ready to capture the scene.

  The little girl rose to her feet only to receive a punch to her face. She fell instantly and the group starting kicking her with a hatred and fury she’d never experienced before.

  The kicks continued on and on. It felt like they were never going to stop. Why…. was all the girl could think… Why are they doing this?

  Huddled on the ground in a sort of ball shape for protection the girl’s body became limp as the ferocious attack started to subside……

  The gang of girls dispersed taking the little girls bike as a sort of vile trophy, laughing as they vacated the scene.

  “Did you get it?” asked one of the girls to the other as they strode away…

  “Yep, I caught all the action. Reckon we’ll get a whole lot of shares when I upload this later…”

  A few minutes passed before a woman appeared on the balcony overlooking the garage area.

  “Jessica. Jessica,” she called, scouring the vista before her as she repeated the little girl’s name. Her eyes moved to the left and focused on a huddle on the ground… at that moment her calls became shrieks…

  “JESSICA, NO, PLEASE, NO,” she cried out as she stared at the lifeless form. She ran down the stairs phone in hand already dialling for help.

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  Leon made his way back from the political gathering that saw David Lawson victorious in Chester.

  It had been some performance and even he, as the ultimate cynic, couldn’t help but be impressed.

  He walked about three blocks when he heard screaming sirens and saw an ambulance pursued by three police cars speed around the corner.

  His journalist instincts kicked in and he followed the noise until he came to an apartment complex.

  A gathered crowd guided him as his curiosity took over. He jostled for position to get a view of what must have been a girl of only five or six being carried into an ambulance by concerned paramedics.

  A police woman was trying to calm a twenty something lady who Leon assumed was the mother of the child.

  “What happened?” he asked an older man to his right.

  “Don’t know, one minute the kid was playing by the garages on her bike, next minute she’s barely breathing after taking a battering. The bike has gone so could have been a robbery,” he responded.

  “No, a lady over there said something about a gang of girls, about fourteen years old or so beating the girl up for no reason,” said a woman in front.

  “Terrible business,” she concluded.

  “Absolutely,” nodded Leon in agreement.

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  Finsbury Park, North London

  On the train on the way back to London, Leon got his laptop out and started recording the day’s events. He crafted a blog that perfectly encapsulated the headline he’d chosen.

  Lawson wins Chester as Six year old taken to hospital

  David Lawson confidently spoke to a captive audience today in Chester, impressing on them the importance of tackling anti-social behaviour.

  This couldn’t have been timelier as, just a few streets away, a young girl aged just six was violently attacked minutes from her house by a gang of teenage girls.

  As the Prime Ministerial challenger spoke about ‘reclaiming these streets and taking back our towns’ to rapturous applause; violence once again stained those same streets.

  It was almost the most unfortunate but poetic way to underline the need for change.

  While the Lawson campaign safely won over the voters of Chester, a mother waits in a hospital hoping her young daughter survives.

  As usual, please comment below or share your thoughts via our email thedaytoday@blognews.co.uk.

  He proofed his blog post and attached a couple of images from the David Lawson rally. He then opened the website ‘State of Hate’ which had become popular for videos and photos of gang related violence over the last year or so.

  The Government had been trying to ban the website but no owner could be tracked. It used the Tor network to cloak the site administrators in secrecy and proved almost impossible to find whoever was responsible. So, it remained out there spreading the vile imagery of the violence infecting the streets of Britain.

  On a daily basis, new images and videos were uploaded. Each could be liked, shared or commented on just like Facebook. It was kind of like a social network for the scum of society and was growing in popularity all the time.

  Leon clicked through the sickening posts and found the one he knew would be there, the one showing the video of the girl getting beaten up. He linked his blog post to the video and published it to ‘The Day Today’.

  Within a few minutes he was already receiving comments complaining about the violence as well as those thanking him for uncovering what was really happening on the streets.

  Before he knew it, the train pulled into Euston Station. Twenty minutes later, he was walking through his front door.

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  Houses of Parliament, London

  The door clicked open with a minimum of fuss. He was dressed all in black to avoid detection and like a shadow he made his way across the forecourt to the diplomatic car.

  His keys fitted perfectly into the lock, just as promised when he’d been given his instructions by ‘The Boss’.

  He didn’t want to use the button for fear of making too much noise. Sometimes, the good old keyhole is just what you need, he thought to himself.

  He started the car and drove it to the main entrance. He punched in the code and the main door opened allowing him to head off into the night.

  Just as it closed shut, the security guard burst through the internal door. He looked at the now vacant space and checked the log on his laptop. Nothing had been booked out but someone had taken a car.

  He pulled out his mobile and made a call….

  “Bill, something’s happened. One of the SO1 cars has gone and there’s nothing logged,” he said with a growing sense of concern.

  “Harry, take a breath, it’s probably one of the ministers on a late night rendezvous to the other lady. You know what it’s like,” said the reassuring voice on the other end of the line.

  “I know but they usually at least whisper in your ear that they’re going to take one off the books but no one’s mentioned it to me.”

  “Just give it an hour, if it’s not back, call me again ok?”

  “Sure, thanks Bill. I’ll do that.”

  The car made its way out of central London en route to the northern suburbs of the city. The driver was focused, he had a special mission and he knew it was important to get it just right.

  He drove for about 15 minutes and it was noticeable how the built up city suddenly softened a little to more residential surrounds. The GPS on his phone directed him left, and then lef
t again until he came to a small boutique block of apartments.

  He made sure no one saw him as he got out of the car and made his way around to an alleyway at the side of the block. The window was just above him as he hurled the rock through it before making a hasty exit.

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  Finsbury Park, North London

  Leon walked out of the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand. It had been a long day and his blog post had received a huge response. Some people were sickened by the video link and others were grateful he had the guts to share the real story.

  Several Ministers had criticised ‘The Day Today’ blog as being biased towards David Lawson and ‘simply a tool of propaganda’, but it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. His readers knew he had no political alignments and that was all he cared about.

  He sipped his tea and flicked through the channels on his TV when… SMASH…. the window caved inwards with some force. He spilt his tea all over his shirt and jumped up like he’d received an electric shock.

  In the split second between imagination and reality he thought he was going to get shot for some reason. It was then when clarity revisited him that he noticed the rock on the floor. He picked it up and found a note taped to the side.

  He opened it and read the words “Stop spreading your filthy lies or next time it will be more than a rock and your window smashed in.”

  He rushed to the window and could just make out a private number plate on a black car. With his knowledge of political affairs, he knew instantly it was an SO1 or Special Protection Command car.

  Special Protection Command was the security detail commissioned to protect diplomats and members of Parliament including the Prime Minister.

  As he punched the number in to emergency services he couldn’t help thinking that it felt a little odd that someone with the training received by the highly skilled members of SO1 would make the simple mistake of enabling the car to be visible from his window. There are plenty of obscured places to conceal the car in his street.

  He reported the incident but didn’t reveal the whole story. He needed a report filed for insurance purposes but he wasn’t about to tell the police that one of their own was the perpetrator.

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  Houses of Parliament, London

  Harry checked his watch every few minutes until the hour passed. He went down to the garage and, to his relief; the car was back where it belonged.

  Just as Bill predicted he thought to himself, just a minister out with his security detail visiting a special friend. He didn’t bother reporting the incident. He knew better than to draw attention to an early morning’s misgivings.

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  10 Downing Street, London

  David was working late, getting up to speed on the campaign progress report and proofreading his upcoming speeches when Vanessa walked in.

  “How’s it all going?” She asked.

  “Good, things are really moving along,” he replied before looking at her inquisitively. “Have we got this?” He asked referring to the election.

  “I think so,” she said. “We’re so close.”

  Breaking the mood, David’s phone rang. He looked at the number, held his hand up to Vanessa signalling to give him a moment and turned around to face the window.

  Vanessa could just make out a muffled voice on the other end of the phone but the words were difficult to decipher.

  When the call ended, David appeared pleased but she didn’t want to pry on what was obviously a private conversation. Although to her, it all felt a little odd.

  Chapter 3:

  Early October, London Hilton – Lawson Election Party

  The six weeks that led up to the General Election was a tapestry of promises, lies, recriminations and put downs as both sides that had a realistic chance of winning campaigned to capture the nations favour.

  David Lawson soared upwards with opinion poll after opinion poll as the result quickly seemed to be a foregone conclusion. With every speech he gave and each rally he attended, his popularity increased tenfold.

  The Prime Minister could only criticise his opponent for making shallow promises with no real policies.

  The reality was that David Lawson had not revealed the extent of any policies. He himself knew that, due to his meteoric rise up the leadership ladder within the Party, his team was vastly underprepared but even an underprepared opposition could give this bumbling Government a run for its money.

  What was happening on the streets was not a lie. It was not a fake situation or a movie being filmed on a Hollywood movie set. It was real life and it was impacting pretty much every single person in Britain. The mood of the nation was enough of a wave for David Lawson to ride on, the policies could wait until he settled in at No. 10.

  Regardless of that, Vanessa Lim, who was Chief Advisor to David Lawson, was feverishly working up the manifesto with the shadow cabinet. David was out fronting the public while she was pulling the strings internally, getting the ship into order.

  Vanessa was a second generation Britain whose family had come over from China in the 1970’s following her father’s receipt of a scholarship to study at the London School of Economics. The scholarship was awarded by the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office who actively encouraged the Chinese elite to study in Britain after the Cultural Revolution.

  She was born and bred in the UK and had only visited China on a handful of occasions. Attractive and intellectual, she frightened most of the people she came across in the Party because of her laser focused ambition coupled with the guile akin to the most accomplished of diplomats.

  David had spotted these qualities when she interned with him about five years before. No sooner was she out of the door following the completion of her internship, than she was back again in full time employment.

  Rumours abound that the suave early 40’s single politician was in a romantic entanglement with his beautiful protégé but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. They had to have a mutual respect to achieve what they both wanted and their relationship had stayed strictly plutonic throughout.

  That’s not to say that Vanessa didn’t enjoy herself. She had a private life that was very private and usually included a well to do young man for no longer than a couple of months at a time.

  Where she was at in her life, she couldn’t afford to let anyone get too close but she also had needs to satisfy like everyone else.

  Vanessa was putting the final touches to David’s manifesto and with each speech, she’d prepared him to reveal a little more of what the Party was going to do. The one solution they didn’t have, the one solution that no one had, was how to tackle the violence on the streets.

  Nothing new and innovative was forthcoming and they found themselves reverting back to ideas and plans similar to the tried and tested ‘zero tolerance’ policy of Giuliani’s 1990’s New York.

  All the while, Vanessa had her scouts out looking for the best of what science and academia had to offer. Names were provided and research drawn up but nothing quite hit the mark.

  No resolution was apparent although there were some very interesting options including a gifted scientist called Dr Jennifer Hopwood whose work was based around the controversial area of brainwave patterning referred to as ‘mind control’ by disbelievers in the media.

  Vanessa remembered David taking her to see Jennifer speak at a conference when she first started. It was a positive that David already knew she existed. She marked Dr Hopwood’s file for further consideration.

  Vanessa became almost lost in her work and couldn’t believe it when Election Day finally arrived. The morning was spent campaigning for those last minute votes but they needn’t have bothered really.

  It would have taken a miracle for David Lawson not to storm into power.

  By the evening, the champagne corks were
popping at a relatively early hour as a new Prime Minister was elected by an incredible margin of 380 to 195 seats.

  Vanessa handed David his speech as he took to the stage to usher in a new era for British politics.

  “First of all I want to thank you, the people of Britain for wanting to make this change, for wanting to make Britain great again. We have a lot of work ahead of us. It’s work that we have to take on together.”

  Applause radiated through the auditorium and cheers followed closely behind.

  “There will be plenty of hurdles ahead and I know that I’ll need to count on you as much as you’ll need to count on me to do the right thing for all the people of this proud land.”

  “Tomorrow, when we take our first steps into this ‘new Britain’ we’ll create, I promise you this; you will have your town centres back.”

  Defiance reigned supreme among the collected populous who could finally see a glint of light at the end of what was for them a very long tunnel. They were the orchestra with David as the master conductor and they were playing to his tune with every inflection and intonation.

  “You will have your parks, your bus shelters, your shopping centres and your footpaths back…. We will rid these streets of the filth that has infected them and I say this to you all, we will continue to advance… forward together.”

  As the campaign slogan echoed through the speaker systems up and down the country, a new positivity came over Britain and people started to get the hope back into their eyes. You could see it, eyes bright and sparkling but almost embarrassed to be so due to an uncertainty of the feeling that was largely unknown having been unapparent for so long.