Sockpuppet: Book One in the Martingale Cycle

by Matthew Blakstad

  ‘Listen to me, Dani.’

  He puts a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off.

  ‘Hey, yo! Nobody here is my fucking dad, all right? The monkey speaks for herself.’

  ‘So speak,’ says Perce.

  She swings the camera to stay on him. Pemberton steps out of shot.

  ‘Two days. In two days you take away everything I have and you blow up everyone I am. What are you going to do to put it right?’

  Her voice cracks on the hazy recording. This will go viral big time.

  ‘Whatever I have to. We look after our own here. I’ll see you right.’

  ‘I’m not your own. I don’t work for Parley any more.’

  ‘No. You work directly for me now.’

  She lowers the phone.

  ‘How can I work for you when you hound me out? When you peddle lies about me to some cocksucker hack? When you bust my accounts and invade my life?’

  ‘I did that? What a shit I am. What if I didn’t?’

  ‘You did. You sent my data to that journalist.’

  ‘Really? You saw this happen?’

  Doubt. Again. She shakes her head as if she can cast it out of her hair, holds the phone back up. Perce flips from jovial to dead, cold serious.

  ‘Who told you I did all that, Dani?’

  The blue eyes bore into the megapixels. She doesn’t want to answer.

  ‘Sam Corrigan,’ she says.

  It’s Pemberton who jumps to attention.

  ‘Corrigan?’ he asks. ‘The Terasoft PR man?’

  Dani’s camera turns on him. He puts up a protective hand.

  ‘The. What?’ she says.

  Twelve

  Bethany replaced the cup on its bone china saucer.

  ‘So this is pleasant,’ she said, ‘but what’s it to be? Hemlock and a hot bath, or drawn and quartered in Parliament Square?’

  The room cringed for several seconds before anyone spoke. Even Krish wouldn’t look her in the eye. Karen broke the silence.

  ‘None of us are finding this easy, Beth.’

  Oh, really, Karen, that’s interesting; because you look like you just came in your starchy knickers.

  ‘But it’s terrific to hear you keep up your distinctive brand of humour,’ said the PM.

  Oh, yes: happy, happy Bethany, toujours gai! The PM came over from the window to sit by her on the sofa. Simon had care and concern down pat: it might have been what swung him the election – it certainly wasn’t his grasp of economic policy. He was painfully credible; even when you knew what horse-dung it was. She let him give her arm two slow, affectionate pats before she withdrew it with a compressed smile.

  She’d only been in his office once before, when she was handed the ministry job. Now here she was again. Big office, nicely done out, unlike the rest of Number Ten, which was all heritage-generic. But this office had edge. Pop-art prints, metal-frame furniture; an outsize chrome anglepoise doing service as a standard lamp. The First Lady’s touch: Helen was determined to be The Fresh Eye in Whitehall.

  ‘It’s not what we would have wanted,’ the PM said.

  Unthinking, she patted his hand back. His puckered face had the glow of a spanked backside; it made you want to comfort him. Women of child-bearing age all seemed to feel this. Core demographic.

  Karen, smiling over them, nodded and made the tiny pushing motions of a matchmaker. Oh, Christ, Karen, are you traffic-managing the PM’s every move?

  ‘So, Bethany. Here’s the position,’ said Simon.

  Cough. What is this? What more could he have to break to her at this moment? She looked to Karen for a clue – saw a sympathetic smile dance across her face. Karen’s sympathy equated to a friendly nip from a black mamba. Across the room, Krish stood toying with Simon’s desk furniture. She had an urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  Simon stood and returned to the window, suddenly gripped by the view of Horseguards.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘I am of course keen you should have the opportunity to bow out gracefully –’

  Keen. Should. Not guaranteed. Still something Bethany had to do, but what?

  ‘– so we’re prepared to let you choose this course.’

  We. Not I. How we change in office. Simon, let us hope the world doesn’t figure out how deeply ordinary you are: at least for the next three years.

  ‘Using this statement,’ he continued. ‘Karen?’

  Karen extruded a paper from her sharp leather file and placed it in Simon’s hand. He passed it to Bethany. She read and after a count of ten her heart, which had remained so still, began to pound.

  ‘What? What? This is a joke.’ She read from the paper: ‘– but when it became clear to me how he had exploited my deeply regrettable indiscretion to manipulate a key government programme, my position became untenable. Oh, fuck, Simon! Your condition for a graceful exit is I wash my dirty linen in public? Drop my lover in the shit?’

  Oh, my. They didn’t like that word, lover. Shit is fine. Fuck fine. Often Cunt, in here. But lover?

  ‘Would it help if I also say he raped me? Take one for Queen and country?’

  ‘Bethany!’ Simon Patterson, angry? Will wonders, etcetera. ‘Don’t tell me you’re feeling any loyalty to Sean after—’

  A twitch of Karen’s hand was enough to silence him. All right. Let’s ask the organ grinder. Bethany turned an eyebrow on Karen.

  ‘Do the maths,’ Karen said. ‘It’s not just you who’s had a bad week. It’s been a disaster for Mondan and for any government with a flagship programme still allied to them. Thank heavens you haven’t signed yet. We’re going to move the blame. We’ll do it cleanly and we’ll do it quickly.’

  She moved round the desk and sat behind it. Sat at the PM’s desk! Krish hurried to put down the paperweight he’d been fiddling with.

  ‘Ha!’ fake-laughed Karen. ‘Did you not notice how heavily Krish here was being lobbied in the last few days? By Mr Perce himself, no less?’ Karen treated them to one of her pauses, during which Bethany struggled not to look at Krish. Then Karen added: ‘As was I.’

  Bethany couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Excuse me? Sean has been calling you?’

  It was like being cheated on: and with that frosty cow?

  ‘Believe me, Mr Perce will reach at anything when he’s in a corner. Seems he’s read the runes rather better than you, Beth. He tried to get to Simon, even. He knew he was toast but he knew you were – toastier.’

  Bethany laughed at that fatuous coinage. But it was the flat bark of a grounded seal. She turned to Krish.

  ‘This is nonsense, right, Krish?’

  His look was steady but gave her nothing back.

  ‘You’ve known about this whole thing?’

  Still he looked at her. There was a strain about his eyes: a hint of apology or suppressed laughter? Bethany had stepped into a zone between authority and ridicule. Nowhere left to stand: one must simply make the best. All that remained was Elyse’s mantra.

  Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

  Yes, that was in fact a little better.

  The PM, framed by the high sash window, signalled expectant apology. She walked past the functionaries at the desk and spoke directly to him.

  ‘So may I get this clear?’

  A nod. Like any salesman, Simon knew not to push his prospect too hard: give her space and she’ll lead herself to the close.

  ‘I grab Sean by the lapels and jump off a cliff? And in return I go honour unstained. That is roughly it?’

  Simon shrugged with a wan smile. She held up a finger: she wasn’t done yet.

  ‘With the possibility of return?’

  ‘Beth. You have a great career ahead of you. This is a speed bump.’

  That was as much as she’d get. Nothing to gain by pushing the point. At least this way the mood music would be tolerable.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But for what? To make way for what? With Sean out, who gets to play with all our data? We – you – can’t drop Di
gital Citizen. The opposition would have us for a pre-breakfast snack. You’d need another solution in place, ready to –’

  The penny had been dropping slowly. Now it landed and began to roll about the floor.

  ‘Ah.’ Bethany gave a sharp little smile. ‘Of course.’

  Terasoft.

  Thirteen

  yo gray

  is sams machine

  still up?

  Gray mobile:

  Yeah, why?

  can you get to his mails?

  Gray mobile:

  wtf, Dan? Why?

  Hello, by the way?

  dont tell me you didnt hack his

  mail account x months ago

  Gray mobile:

  Maybe. So what? What’s this about?

  The hack’s any minute. My finger’s

  hovering over the Enter key.

  Dani checks the time on her phone. Twenty-five to twelve. She’d forgotten the video hack. The denial of service attack. She looks from Perce to Pemberton, who flank her as she marches down the service corridor. In twenty-five minutes, Gray will loose the bot attack and take control of the giant screens around 404 City. Pushing Sam’s messages to a lazy, eager world. Fucking Perce over. An hour ago, that’s all Dani wanted. Now she doesn’t know.

  just do it, gray – check his mails

  from this morning

  and last night

  search for me and Perce and

  Terasoft – youll know it when

  you read it

  Perce holds a door open for her as she thumb-types. It’s weird reverting to text messages: she misses Parley.

  There’s a long pause, then Gray replies.

  Gray mobile:

  OK.

  A voice cuts in from the real.

  ‘There she is. It’s her.’

  ‘Holy – Ms Farr! Stop please!’

  Dani looks up. Who’s this? Her fan club?

  They’re at the bottom of 404 City’s central atrium, two storeys below ground. Across a wide graph-paper floor two men approach. Déjà vu to another morning, another office, hard men in casual clothes. Dani freezes. Everywhere is screens. On them all, a CGI mobile phone spins and explodes in light. Behind the men, in the centre of the floor, is a roped-off area. Within the yellow tape is a plastic tent, like for roadworks but silver white.

  The police are almost on them. Dani’s backpack dangles from her hand. Can she shed it? Perce takes a step to position himself in front of the bag: interesting. He grins at the cops like a serial killer flagged down by State Troopers.

  ‘Officers. Good morning. My colleagues and I are in something of a hurry. May I be of assistance?’

  The cops look right past him, to Dani. Life’s been moving so fast these last days she’s had no time to pause and reflect. She’s: what is she? An outlaw. There’s assault, kidnap, credit card fraud, resisting arrest – is that right?

  Two laminate ID cards complete the action replay of Tuesday morning.

  ‘It’s Ms Farr we need to speak to, Mr Perce. We have information placing her here.’

  Perce is about to reply but Dani cuts him off.

  ‘Information? From who?’

  ‘Does it matter, Ms Farr? It would seem to be accurate.’

  ‘Nobody knows I’m here.’

  ‘I’d have to contest that.’

  He’s enjoying this. Who knows she’s here? It’s obvious. She turns on Perce.

  ‘I fucking knew it.’

  ‘No, Dani,’ he hisses, pushing himself close. ‘Watch me. I’m getting you out of this.’

  He smells of expensive wanker juice.

  ‘After you fucked with me like this?’ she whispers back. ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘Three words, Dani. We. Have. Lawyers.’

  His spit hits her cheek. She wipes it with her wrist. The policemen are watching as though it’s a sitcom.

  ‘Tell me, Ms Farr,’ says the first one, ‘what’s in your bag?’

  ‘Um – my knickers? You want them?’

  She reaches for the zip. Something flashes in the policeman’s face. He shoves past Perce and grabs her arm. She pulls away with Terry’s strength.

  ‘The bag, Ms Farr!’

  She holds it behind her like a playground bully.

  come and get it, bitch, says terry

  ‘Give me the bag,’ says the cop.

  Pemberton steps in as he grapples for her arm.

  ‘Officer? I’m from the office of Bethany Lehrer. By what authority—’

  ‘Sir, your friend here has—’

  Perce cuts in over everyone.

  ‘Ms Farr,’ he says, ‘is a senior colleague. I have agreed with your superiors the terms of your presence here. Which did not include apprehending my staff.’

  The policeman steps back a fraction, breathless.

  ‘Sir, Ms Farr is suspected of serious offences and possession of an offensive item.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Offensive. Does he mean –?

  ‘I am not obliged to disclose that information.’

  Perce inhales deeply through his nostrils, sets his head back until he’s glaring down the full extent of his nose. His hair flashes black in the shout of daylight from above.

  ‘You may have no obligation, officer, but unless you have entered these premises under warrant –?’ Stone-face response. ‘Right. In which case you’re here on the terms I agreed and you’ll want to explain your actions.’

  This is new. All Dani would have had to offer here is swearing and scratching; and where has that got her? A barely scraped freedom. Perce is warping reality to a place where they’re in the position of strength: just by saying so. The two cops exchange information through a look.

  ‘I don’t know whether you’re aware,’ says the first one, ‘but yesterday your valued colleague allegedly apprehended a government minister. Evaded questioning by officers. Is suspected of purloining an item of police property.’

  An item. Dani was right.

  ‘Suspected,’ says Perce. ‘Alleged. You have evidence of this?’

  ‘We have strong grounds, sir.’

  ‘I happen to know you’ve cleared her of the sic_girl leaks. Your colleague told me so last night.’

  Huh? This is new.

  ‘You aren’t hearing me, sir. Yesterday afternoon an officer was injured in the line of duty. Followed by a fatality here. We would hope for your cooperation.’

  They want to search her bag. The DigiCitz drives are in there, covered in the data trails that will prove Mondan covered up half a dozen malicious hacks. Sam wants the police to get their hands on them because when they find the data, it’ll stiff Perce and stymie his grab on the nation’s data.

  So that’s what Sam wants – but what does Dani want?

  Perce draws breath for another volley of words. Dani puts her hand on his arm and holds out the bag.

  ‘Here,’ she says.

  The cop tries to read her face. She gives him a fuck-off grin. He reaches slowly and snatches the bag. She flips up her hands, like whoooah! okaaay!

  The two cops march the bag to the taped-off area. Dani, Perce and Pemberton follow. The tape’s strung in a square at the centre of the open space, beside a rest zone with a drinks machine and yet more screens. These ones strumming through rolling news on volume setting zero.

  The place is sick with coppers. The main policeman, the snide one, places the bag on a table in the seating area. He puts on see-through plastic gloves. So does his friend. There’s stuff on the table already, bagged. The procedurals she loves to watch have nosed up into her reality.

  The policeman starts unloading the backpack. He passes each item to his colleague who lays it on the table. Wallet. Keys. Kindle. Phone chargers. Dirty T-shirt. Hard drives. Underwear (clean). More hard drives. Underwear (used). More hard drives. No sign of any interest in the drives. The policeman keeps rooting in the bag and passing items. Perce’s face inexpressive as a low-res photo.

  Wash bag
. Power adaptors. Elyse’s book.

  There it is. Bethany’s dog-eared edition, with the explosive message in the front. Dani has kept it close the whole time, guarding it like a childhood treasure. Perce reaches down and picks it up – the police glance his way but don’t try to stop him. They don’t realise it’s an object of power. Perce turns the book in his hands, looks at the inscription inside and throws an appraising look at Dani.

  The policeman ferrets in the bottom of the bag. He’s not looking at the drives stacked in plain view on the table. Why isn’t he interested in the drives? She knows why. An item of police property. Taking a leaf from Perce’s book she braves it.

  ‘What are you still looking for? My knickers are right there, yo. You prefer the ones I’ve worn? Here.’

  She holds them up. Sniffs them.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she moans.

  The policeman ignores her, shakes out the bag. Four or five coins drop and dance on the tabletop. He slaps the bag down.

  ‘Where is it, Ms Farr?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘I fucking don’t.’

  ‘Don’t swear at me or I’ll have you in the back of a paddy with a bag on your head in thirty seconds. Valued colleague or not. An item of police property.’

  He does. He means the gun. They thought she’d be carrying the gun.

  That means she’s won.

  Leo had first pulled out the gun in the service lift at the conference hotel. Only seconds had passed since the lift doors shut on the baffled face of the minister. Dani reeled from the sight of it, pressing against the aluminium wall. She’d only just met the guy and here he was doing Usual Suspects moves with a loaded sidearm.

  ‘Fucking hell, kid!’ she said.

  ‘No, dude, look,’ he said, ‘this is some cool shit.’

  He spun the metal beast. Dani took a sharp breath: minutes earlier it had gone off and nearly fucked her in the ears. That policeman had been lying maybe-dead on the concrete floor. The kid must have scooped up his gun while Dani was reeling from the noise.

  ‘Put it away, kid.’

  ‘I mean, chill. I thought you were some crazy Occupy girl. Don’t you want the fucking juice?’