Offspring

by Stan Mason

  ‘In order to ensure our plans become effective,’ he concluded, ‘it’s necessary to appoint men and women to various official posts. Never forget the way ahead is through commitment. Some of you here tonight who have that commitment may stand to merit promotion within the organisation. I sincerely hope this to be so. Finally, now that you have a general understanding of our plans and ideals, let me stress we’re not drifting with a utopian ideal. It is a programme designed for immediate use, but a great deal of patience is required. I welcome all of you to International Three Thousand! Thank you for being so attentive!’

  He sat down and a few people began to applaud until everyone in the hall joined in to show their appreciation. When the noise died down, Kirk stood up again.

  ‘May I take this opportunity to introduce Conrad Hayle, the Minister of Justice for the south-east region.’ He sat down, stretching out his legs, extending his jackboots under the table.

  As Hayle rose, one of the bully-boys handed him a sheet of paper and he glanced at it briefly. ‘I have here a letter of recommendation for a recruit attending this evening to which I put my own signature.’ He stared at the sea of faces and my heart missed a beat before it began to thump quickly in my chest and loudly in my ears. They had discovered the forged document and I was in deep trouble! I recalled the premonition I had earlier that the evening would fall apart at the seams. This was the moment to face the truth. The exits all seemed so far away, while the gangways were well served with ex-boxers and wrestlers to keep the peace. There was no means by which I could escape. For a moment I felt the same terror experienced by Albert Henley at the end of the trial. Coincidentally, it would be the same Minister of Justice so it was likely he would mete out identical punishment. In my mind’s eye, I envisaged Ted Flanders staring at my photograph on the front page in the next edition of the newspaper, face down in the water somewhere in the vicinity of the Surrey Commercial Docks.

  ‘Mr. Savage!’ he called out authoritatively. ‘Would you raise your hand to identify where you are?’

  I lifted my arm slowly, waiting to be surrounded by men with broken noses and cauliflower ears menacing me with their fists. Instead, Hayle looked at me and smiled.

  ‘I’m glad you could make it, Mr. Savage.’ A gleam of recognition appeared in his eyes. ‘Yes. You were at the meeting here yesterday, weren’t you? Well, as a new-comer, why don’t you come up on the stage and give us your views of the intentions and aims of our cause? We like to hear opinions from the grass roots.’

  I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or not. It became abundantly clear that within the span of twenty seconds I had made an astounding leap from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. For some reason unknown to me, Hayle didn’t reveal that the letter of recommendation was a forgery. I got to my feet and climbed the steps to the stage wondering what on earth I was going to say to the audience. I knew no more than the rest. Perhaps that was the answer! Hayle was going to play with me like a cat toying with a mouse and then disclose the fact I was an infiltrator, bringing the house down about my ears.

  ‘Good evening,’ I began hesitantly, feeling extremely nervous and uncomfortable. ‘I thank the Minister of Justice for allowing me to speak to you although, like yourselves, I have only just been initiated.’ I paused for what seemed to be an eternity, then an idea formed in my mind and I followed it through. ‘Apart from all the advantages offered by a United States of Europe, the idea of accountability by human-beings is a very important factor. For example, most of us work very hard and we have to support large numbers of idlers who have no intention of making any kind of contribution to society. That’s unfair! Equally, there are many families who decide to emigrate from poor countries to those most prosperous in order to feed off their success. They’ve never contributed to their new place of residence in the past but are only too eager to accept money, housing, benefits and the like, which their own native nation wouldn’t give them. And they don’t even have to work here. Why should they under the present system? They don’t have to! But we have to! Because we’re the workers who pay for their welfare... yet they are strangers, foreigners! That too is unfair! I would like to see a united nation where everyone is accountable... where people can take out only what they put in. And if we all have to carry identity cards to counter illegal immigration or reduce crime, well so be it! I’ll be the first one in line to get one. Anyone who doesn’t work for the new society shouldn’t be granted any benefits. Why should they? The administration of criminal justice was outlined earlier but I would go further on the issue of drugs. I believe the new administration should deal harshly with both drug addicts and drug traffickers. Society would do well to be rid of both elements once and for all. Do you agree?’ There was a vacuum of silence so I repeated the question more vehemently. ‘Do you agree?’ About thirty per cent of the audience assented, some fairly enthusiastically. ‘Come now, my fellow recruits!’ I urged persistently. ‘You can do much better than that! I ask you for the last time. Do you agree!’

  There was a resounding chorus which echoed all round the hall, ending with applause as I moved to descend from the stage. My performance was sound but I still felt as if I walked a tight-rope with a long distance to cover before reaching safety.

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Savage. Well done!’ commended Hayle, as I resumed my seat. ‘Well done!’

  He bumbled on about law and justice in the new society but I didn’t hear a word. My hands were still shaking in the fear of being unmasked as an infiltrator. I took a deep breath as my heart beat even more loudly, drumming away in my ears. This assignment was getting completely out of hand. I was now appearing as a model recruit for the organisation I intended to expose. I noticed the young woman beside me smiling sweetly, and I tried to put on a pleasant face under duress. It was a difficult task, however, because my fate was in the lap of the Gods!

  The meeting ended forty minutes later and I turned to smile at her having, by then, secured full control of my fears and nerves.

  ‘What’s your first name?’ she asked amiably.

  ‘James, but most people call me Jimmy,’ I replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘One day you may become famous in International Three Thousand. I want to be able to say I sat next to you and listened to your first speech.’

  I shrugged my shoulders, looking at her with a wry expression on my face. ‘I don’t think I’m destined to become famous,’ I told her candidly.

  ‘You’re too modest!’ she countered. ‘By the way, I’m Tania.’

  At that moment I noticed Hayle walking swiftly in my direction. This was the moment the axe would fall. Instead, he took my hand and pumped it vigorously. ‘That was a fine contribution, Mr. Savage,’ he commended. ‘A fine contribution.’

  I prayed to heaven he didn’t ask me where we had met before or how I came to be in possession of the letter of recommendation. To my astonishment, nothing was further from his mind.

  ‘Tell me,’ he went on. ‘What sort of work do you do?’

  ‘I was in the armed forces for a while and returned to take up an appointment in a ban,’ I lied

  ‘I see. What rank did you obtain in the forces?’ He seemed relaxed and amiably inquisitive.

  ‘I was only a corporal.’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘Hm,’ he mused. ‘A corporal. It seems to be a popular rank for those who wish to achieve power in movements such as our own.’

  I laughed by way of reflex action. He was clearly referring to Adolf Hitler who had been a corporal in the World War One, and I recalled that Mussolini, another fascist, held the same rank at one time. I also remembered seeing a photograph in the files of the newspaper of an angry mob dragging the corpse of Il Duce through the streets of an Italian city at the end of the war with hatred.

  ‘We’ll be holding another meeting shortly... more of a party, with food, drink and entertainment. It’s designe
d for key people in our movement. I’d like you to come along.’ He stared briefly at Tania. ‘Why don’t you bring your friend as well.’ He produced a business-card from his pocket. ‘Ring me in a few days’ time and I’ll let you have further details.’

  I took the card but before I had a chance to reply he turned and charged towards one of the exits. I glanced at it and turned to Tania with a brief smile touching the corners of my mouth. ‘Well,’ I laughed, ‘it appears to me we’ve been tagged together. How do you feel about that?’

  Her eyes seemed to dance with humour. ‘If you treat me as a friend over the next seven days,’ she replied sagely. ‘I’ll tell you in a week!’

  I stared at the heart-shaped locket which hung around her neck. ‘May I see that?’ I asked. She obliged me by opening it to allow me to gaze at a tiny photograph of a man and a woman. ‘Your parents?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, they were a handsome couple.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy look and, as she spoke of them in the past tense, I resisted the temptation to enquire further.

  We left the Assembly Hall to walk towards the Tower of London and I hailed a passing taxi. Ten minutes later we were installed in one of my favourite restaurants. It was a relationship forced on both of us although, if the truth were known, we were both happy with our fate. We enjoyed the meal but it became noticeable that, having spent the best part of the evening listening to plans which planted the seeds of revolution, neither of us mentioned the movement or any of the people involved. It was as though neither of us had attended the meeting... it had never happened. And that fact really troubled me because I was unable to understand the reason for its total exclusion from our discussion the whole evening. From experience, I knew instinctively, as Shakespeare had put it in Hamlet, there was something rotten in the State of Denmark!

  Chapter Seven

  I could have cheerfully strangled Ted Flanders when I returned to my office the following day. Admittedly I was often absent form the building because my enquiries took me to a distant part of the country or to some remote spot at the far end of the world. On this occasion, I came to collect the information. I had requested. As I passed the window of the editor’s office, he emerged swiftly like a boxer coming out of his corner at the start of the bell in the first round of a contest. He had removed his jacket, both his shirt-sleeves were rolled up, his tie hung like an inverted noose around his neck, while the butt end of an old Havana cigar rested uneasily on his lips.

  ‘My humble apologies,’ he called out, bursting with sarcasm. ‘Had I know that the Prodigal Son was going to return today I’d have rolled out the thick red carpet!’

  He could be a real pain in the thigh but, as an employee of a national newspaper, it was important to display some element of tolerance and a certain amount of deafness to sarcasm and innuendo. ‘Good morning, Ted!’ I greeted cheerfully. ‘You look as though you slept the night on the couch in your office.’

  ‘How can I sleep with incompetent staff and a newspaper to run...when they don’t communicate on major assignments?’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I can’t understand why I haven’t suffered a heart attack. Come inside, I want to talk to you!.

  I followed him into his office closing the door behind me. Whenever Ted became quiet it was time for concern. I sat down watching him closely.

  ‘Okay,’ he began. ‘What have you got to tell me?’

  It was the first time I had seen him so press for news in the early stages of an assignment. ‘Hell, Ted!’ I riposted. ‘What’s it been? A few day? Is the paper that short of news?’

  ‘I can feel that we’re on something big,’ he ventured, with an odd expression on his face. ‘Alternatively it could be a bummer.’

  ‘It’s big all right,’ I divulged, wondering whether I ought to reveal any information at this juncture. If I let the story slip, Barnaby might recover in the next few weeks and the assignment may be transferred to him. If it turned out to be a scoop, I wanted to be the man awarded the shield from the Press Association as the Reporter of the Year. ‘My apartment’s been wrecked and there have been attempts on my life,’ I told him. His eyes opened wide and he absorbed the information. ‘When you see my report, it won’t need a Sherlock Holmes to realise that something big in happening. What did the Research Section find out for me?’

  He looked genuinely sad and troubled. He looked at the folder in front of him. ‘Who’s Henry Jacobs?’ he asked.

  ‘Some kind of big-wig in State Security.’ I checked that the door was close before continuing. ‘Between you, me, and these four walls, I don’t want you to repeat this to a living soul. I met Jacobs at the House of Commons with a small select committee n the presence of the Prime Minister.’

  There was a long silence and he sat quite still as though frozen to the chair. ‘Are you kidding me? Is what you’re saying true?’

  ‘Look Ted,’ I sighed impatiently. ‘A lot of water’s passing under the bridge. It’s complicated. Why do you think I’m not telling the truth?’

  He opened a desk drawer and took out an old cigar which had seen better days and he lit it puffing smoke to the ceiling. ‘I checked up on State Security and on Henry Jacobs. Neither of them exist.’

  ‘Well you know what they’re like in MI5 and MI6. All cloaked in secrecy.’

  ‘So there’s no agency called State Security and you saw the Prime Minister!’ He said it in the form of a challenge.

  ‘Come on, Ted!’ I remonstrated. ‘I wasn’t duped. No one’s going to impersonate someone as high up as him.’ I drew in a deep breath. It was possible that the man was a ringer. They did that in the last war with both Churchill’s and Montgomery’s doubles. It opened up much wider issues involving treason, conspiracy, breaches of security and lots more. No...it was too much to accept!

  ‘You’d better tell me all about it,’ he demanded.

  ’I think I’ve already told you enough,’ I returned, regretting that I’d said anything at all.

  He puffed at his cigar thoughtfully, the dry leaves curling up at the edges. ’You don’t understand,’ he snarled. I’m not asking you, I’m ordering you!’

  His outburst was more like the old Ted Flanders which made me feel completely at home. I realised that there was a time for reticence or silence and this should have been it. I’d been a fool not to keep my mouth shut! ‘I was abducted by a man called Gates who took me to the House of Commons,’ I blurted. ‘I met a group of people there, including Henry Jacobs, Then the Prime Minister came and asked me to carry out an assignment. I suggest that Research Department look deeper into the subject. There must be a State Security Department somewhere!’

  Flanders ignored my request and stared down at the folder again. ‘What’s Die Stunde?’

  ‘It means ‘the hour’ in German. Has Research dug anything up about it?’

  He shrugged his shoulders aimlessly. ‘Nothing, he uttered. ‘They couldn’t find anything.’

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as if asking for help from a higher authority. ‘I think you need to recruit better staff for the Research Department. There must be something!’

  ‘Their qualified all right,’ he snapped. ‘I want to know your sources.’

  I groaned inwardly because I knew that he wouldn’t believe me. ‘It was the brother of the Israeli agent who was killed in my apartment. He was killed later after someone had rigging his car with a bomb in the cemetery.’

  I couldn’t blame him thinking that either I had lost my mind or that I had entered the realm of fiction. He chewed on his cigar before continuing. ‘I think you might need a holiday, Savage. You’re overworking. I can see that now.’

  ‘Look, Ted,’ I went on. It’s best I keep it all under wraps for the moment. You’ll learn all about it in due course. I don’t suppose anyone’s heard of a Harry Kirk.’