“Still seems crazy to me, you know? That they would all forget so easily?”
“Hey, this is your world, kid. Opinions change like the weather, and once social media gets rolling, your generation just seem to roll on with it.”
“Well I didn’t forget. There must be others too. If we can find out what’s happening and who’s behind it, then we can shape the view back the other way.”
“Really?” She sighed.
“Of course. I have faith in us.”
“Well let’s see where that gets you.”
She pulled out a magazine that she’d taken from below. The publication was in Swedish but she didn’t need to read it in order to understand it.
The front page had a large photograph of Cynthia Arrow, a beaming smile adorning her face. Simon Clermont, the UK prime minister, stood next to her and they were shaking hands.
“What the…?” Link exclaimed as he took the magazine and stared at the image.
“Yeah, that’s where your faith gets you.”
“But… but we can prove that she’d behind this, right? We prove it, the people will see it and…”
“And then what? You really think this all fits back together again? We’re a puzzle, Link, a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. There’s no going back to the way things were, not again.”
“Then what are we doing here? I mean, why are any of you even bothering?”
“I guess it’s what they do, what we do. In the end, what else is there?”
“I don’t believe that. I can’t,” Link said, shaking his head viciously. “We’re the good guys here. No matter what that woman says, we’re the good guys.”
“Is there really any such thing anymore? Was there ever?”
“Jesus Christ, yes! I saw what they did back in the day. I read the accounts: the battles, the war against SOUL, the lives they saved. All I ever wanted to be growing up was a Queen’s Guard soldier; they were my heroes – still are!”
“What the hell do you know?” Jamie-Lyn yelled back as the wind buffeted them, and the waves crashed against the side of the boat, rocking it from side to side. “Those accounts you read, the stories, the tales of heroes and derring-do, it’s all bullshit, Link. It’s propaganda bullshit. Hell, I wrote half of them. War is bloody and it’s ugly, kid. It’s violent, and most of the time, there’s no honour on the battlefield, just pain and death.”
“You think I don’t know that? I was a soldier. I am a soldier.”
“Then you should know better. The government was pushing a narrative, something for the public to swallow and follow, all the stories, the action figures, kids growing up with posters on their walls – it was a sanitised version of the truth. They used the team for their own dirty work and sold an image. Hell, I sold the image. Why don’t you ask Jesus about his father? I’m sure the old man passed down plenty of dirt.”
“Look, I’m not an idiot. I get that war is hell, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t good guys, that there isn’t a right and wrong side. Men like Six-Shooter knew which side to stand on and where to draw the line.”
“You really think that Marshall and Crimson are so different?”
“Yes, I have to. Don’t you?”
“Honestly, I don’t know anymore. I saw more than I ever wanted to, Link, more than anyone should. I was there at Havencrest. I heard what went down and I saw the aftermath. Their intentions may have been right, but in the end, the dead don’t care about good intentions, and I don’t know if we ever did more good than harm.”
“That’s a pretty depressing way to be looking at it,” Link replied sadly.
“Well in my experience it’s a pretty depressing life,” Jamie-Lyn finished as she went back to staring out to sea, leaving the younger man to turn and walk away.
----------
Simon Clermont sat in his home office. He was slumped in a plush leather recliner. His tie was loosened and his expensive suit looked stained and creased – battleworn from a hard day’s campaigning.
The last time he had felt this level of sheer exhaustion was back on the farm as a young teenager when his father was trying to make a man out of him – long hard days that had started before the sun rose and ended long after it had set, with him crawling into bed aching in every muscle. He knew that his father would not see his current job in the same light as working the land, but the effort was just as all-consuming.
He had been demanding hourly updates from Dennison, and to the man’s credit, he had delivered them without complaint despite the fact that very little changed between reports.
The decision to try and rebrand the Clermont campaign as practically an independent runner seemed to be bearing small fruit, or at least the sprouting seeds that would one day become fruit.
The people seemed at least partially willing to try and view him as a separate entity from his party: a reformer, a redeemer, a man not stained with the sins of the past. It was a long hard road but he was walking it.
His alignment with Cynthia Arrow had been a risk, he knew that going in, but Dennison had assured him that it was a necessary one, an essential one, and to the man’s credit again, he appeared to be correct.
The polls were showing an acceptance for the woman’s reintroduction into British society. Rosemary Williams was now being seen as an enemy of the country, one who’d been responsible for the creation of a religious war designed to keep herself in power and to deprive the people of their democracy. The vilification of the Queen’s Guard was now seen as further proof of a corruption of power, the past deeds of the once heroes now seemingly long forgotten.
“Are you ever going to bed?”
He turned to see his wife Gloria standing in the doorway with fretfulness etched across her face.
“Soon,” he answered as he reached back. She moved in to take his hand.
“You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate,” she said, concerned. “You need your strength. This campaign is going to be rough and you need to be at your best to win it.”
“I know, I know,” he replied, giving her hand a small squeeze.
“That man should be taking better care of you.”
He knew that she meant Dennison. While she respected the aide’s abilities, she had never liked him on a personal level and Clermont couldn’t remember the last time his wife had used the man’s name.
“I’m okay, dear, really. I’ll be up in a little while, I promise.”
She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek before retreating again.
He watched her leave. She was a good woman, a good wife and mother, and a good political ally. He trusted her opinion more than anyone else’s – other than Dennison’s, of course.
For the first time in their 25-year friendship and 15-year marriage, he’d had to keep something from her and it had killed him to do so. He had wanted her input and her thoughts, but Dennison had somehow convinced him to keep it a secret.
Now, as he sat here with a potentially far-reaching and monumental decision to be made without his sounding board, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the right thing.
His private residence was really private in name only. In reality, his personal quarters were on the third floor of Number 10 Downing Street, one known throughout the world.
There was a maximum of 170 staff working on the premises, covering all areas from domestic to elected officials.
His security was provided by the SO1 unit who handled his personal protection. They were highly trained and well-armed men and women scattered throughout the building, including two outside his door at this very minute.
While it was common to form a close personal bond with his protection detail, his particular bond with Kenneth Moye was a little too personal and highly dangerous for a man in his position.
While Gloria had been the perfect woman to have by his side when he’d started out on his political journey – a confidante, an ally, a friend, a wife and mother – it didn’t change the fact that he was gay.
He’d spent years hiding – from his own true nature, from an old-fashioned northern father who would have disowned him, from a farming community 15 years ago that would have shunned him, and from an electing public that were not ready for an openly gay candidate.
Times had changed since then of course, but he still felt that there was a glass ceiling as far as tolerance went when it came to electing a leader of a country, and by now, he was in too deep to step out of the shadows.
Gloria obviously knew of his proclivities; he had never hidden it from her, and she had been happy with their arrangement. Their marriage had been a happy and successful one, and he had never felt that he was really living a lie until the day he’d met Ken.
The SO1 officer had been assigned to him almost 2 years ago now, and it had become quickly and dangerously apparent to Clermont that his life should have been vastly different. He had a sudden realisation of what he’d been missing for all of these years, and it broke his heart.
Their relationship had yet to progress to the physical, save for the occasional meaningful slight touch, but their connection was an intimate one. They had shared many a long conversation in his private office late at night, two connected souls who had instantly known that they had been searching for each other.
The door to his private office was tapped upon lightly from the outside and Clermont knew who it was without having to see.
“Come in, Ken,” he called out softly, so as not to alert Gloria. He would rather die than ever hurt the woman that he loved, albeit not in the way that husbands should love their wives.
Ken entered looking sheepish, awkward and, as far as Clermont was concerned, adorable.
“How’s it going?” the SO1 officer asked as he loitered in the doorway.
“It’s hard to tell,” Clermont admitted honestly. “I’ve got half the rainforest here, and I’m still none the wiser,” he said, pointing to the mountain of paperwork strewn about his desk.
“The people will see the truth, Simon; they always do in the end.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Clermont thought but didn’t say as it was getting harder and harder to tell exactly what the truth was these days.
Ken crossed the room and laid a hand on Clermont’s shoulder; as usual, even the most casual of contacts made his body tingle.
“Not here,” he said quickly as he roughly brushed the other man’s hand away, knowing that if he wasn’t strong right in this moment, then he’d break the solemn vow to himself that he would never cheat on Gloria under her own roof.
“Sorry,” Ken replied uncomfortably.
“No, I am, Ken. Look, this whole thing…, it’s…”
“Complicated?”
“Just a little.” Ken breathed and they both shared a small laugh which went a long way to momentarily breaking the tension.
“I don’t get to… I don’t get to have what I want,” Clermont started sadly.
“You don’t get to be happy?”
“No,” Clermont admitted. “No, I don’t. I have greater responsibilities than my own happiness, Ken. You know that. We both do.”
“That’s bullshit, Simon,” Ken said forcefully. “You do deserve to be happy, everyone does, but especially you. You’re the one who’s given his life to public service, to your country. You've sacrificed who you are to serve the people. Hell, if anyone deserves a little bit of happiness, then it’s certainly you!”
“Maybe, but not yet, not now.”
“Then when?”
“I… I don’t know, but I won’t hurt Gloria. I won’t do it, Ken. I don’t care about anything else more than I care about that.”
“She loves you, Simon. She’d only want you to be happy, I know she would.”
Ken moved to him again and this time placed both hands on his shoulder and gripped him there powerfully, his words and actions indicating the depth of feelings. Clermont tried to twist away but Ken held him there firmly.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Simon, nothing at all. There never has been! It doesn’t matter what your father would have said or anyone else for that matter. I know that you love me, Simon. We love each other, and there can never be anything wrong with love.”
Ken leaned in and kissed him the way that Clermont had always dreamt of being kissed. He responded back, hard with passion in the moment, but the image of Gloria flashed through his mind as well as his surroundings and he broke the lip contact quickly, but Ken still held his shoulders.
“Get your hands off me,” Clermont responded coldly as he stopped struggling, his power now coming from his voice.
Ken took his hands away and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
“I think that you should leave.”
“Of course. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“You misunderstand me, Ken. I think that you should leave my employ.”
“Oh, Simon, don’t do this. Look, I didn’t mean to push you. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have rushed you, it wasn’t fair; you’re not ready.”
“We’re done here. Please leave,” Clermont said, his voice icy.
They stared at each other, locked in the moment, and Clermont felt multiple emotions rushing through his mind at once. He was torn between his duty and his love for the man in front of him. His wife was upstairs, and despite any suspicions she might have had, it would still break her heart if he was unfaithful rather than be honest and break her heart with a divorce.
Ken stared at him with his big brown eyes, and Clermont opened his mouth without knowing what he was going to say or do, but the decision was taken out of his hands.
Ken’s radio suddenly burst into life as startled voices were yelling in anger and fear.
“Stay there!” Ken ordered before swiftly moving back towards the door, his hand already reaching for the Glock inside his jacket.
“KEN!” Clermont yelled before the man left.
He turned and paused for a moment in the now open doorway. Clermont had no words just a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I…,” was all he could muster with a slow confused shake of his head.
“It’s okay.” Ken momentarily smiled back. “It’ll all be okay.” Then he was gone.
Clermont stood, still caught in the moment and not quite knowing what was happening. He stood in the darkened room for what seemed like an age but in reality was only for a few seconds before he was suddenly aware that he was not alone any more.
“What’s going on?” Gloria asked from behind.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” he added quickly, seeing her worried expression.
They both listened for any further noise but there was none.
“Is it an exercise of some kind?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” He nodded for her sake, but he knew that whatever this was, it was no mere drill.
Dull echo thuds seemed to come from beneath their feet from the bowels of the building.
“What was that?” Gloria asked again, her voice rising in pitch and now fear.
He turned to tell her that he didn’t know, but again, his words were stopped at source as this time the unmistakable sound of gunfire from closer by made them both jump.
The door burst open again, and Clermont instinctively stepped in front of his wife. A man and woman came staggering in, and Clermont recognised them instantly as SO1 officers; their presence was welcomed but not the undisguised fear in their eyes.
Both the officers had their guns drawn and the woman appeared to have dark stains on her trousers.
“SIR, THIS WAY!” the man ordered.
He didn’t wait for compliance, instead grabbing hold of Clermont’s arm and dragging him back through the residence while the female officer did the same for Gloria.
Clermont found himself being forced through his apartment. He tried to demand answers, but the protection officer wasn’t listening. Instead, he was simply executing his mission and getting the leader of the country to safety.
&n
bsp; “SIMON!” Gloria called out, now in sheer panic mode.
“It’s okay,” he yelled back over his shoulder as his leg slammed painfully into a coffee table, the officer dragging him paying little attention to niceties. “It’s all okay, my dear; just keep moving.”
The officer at his arm shoved him roughly into a bookcase in the library and Clermont’s head spun with the violent impact. The other man finally released his grip while he started to fiddle with some of the books on the shelf.
“What are we doing here?” Clermont hissed as he tried to rub some feeling back into his already swelling knee from the table impact.
“Getting you to safety, sir,” the female officer responded as her colleague worked frantically, looking for something on the shelf.
The woman stepped forwards and shoved the man aside. “DOOR!” she yelled at him. He retreated to the library door to stand guard while she carefully ran her fingers along the shelf before pulling out two books and exposing a sophisticated keypad behind.
She turned to Clermont who looked at the pad, but as he opened his mouth to ask if there was something he needed to do, she had already grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand onto the pad, almost breaking a finger in the process.
The pad read his biometrics as a green luminous line ran down the screen, and with a loud click, a door opened inside the bookcase.
“I didn’t even know this was here!” Clermont exclaimed as he leaned in.
“Inside!” the woman barked.
“Gloria,” Clermont shouted back to his wife, determined to get her to safety first.
The library doors suddenly exploded inwards. One of the heavy wooden double doors struck the male officer with such force that he was slammed into the wall by the side of the entrance and squashed with a wet splat.
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