Edge of Revelation

by David John West

  A muted drumbeat had started from nowhere and echoed down the street. Almost inaudible, it nonetheless resonated in the gut as the hulking guard approached Charlotte. David produced his phone and took a photo. In the flash the guard curled his lips into an ugly grimace and snarled, “No photos, gimme that phone!” He reached past Charlotte towards David’s phone and as he did so Charlotte took possession of the little finger of his reaching hand and turned it up against the knuckle to the very edge of snapping it from his hand. The ex-army man fell to his knees, his entire body dominated by the exquisite angle and pain of his little finger held at the point of breaking. The fish-face guard rose slowly to his feet confronted by the strange tableau before him, his partner on his knees in anguish, disabled by a young girl.

  “Very last chance now,” Charlotte said in her normal voice. “We are coming in this house whatever you think or do, best leave and don’t look back.”

  Fish face sauntered down the steps ominously. “I don’t think so luv, you are both done here.” He said as he moved down the short path towards them. David snapped another photo that further enraged the approaching guard but also illuminated something else. Behind the girl and her dad two large men in outsized blue suits and sunglasses had appeared magically out of the gloom.

  “I am truly sorry it came to this, boys, but we are going in now. You may be ex-army but have you never heard of the Italian Special Forces? They will deal with you now,” Charlotte said as Rafaello and Umberto moved silently past David and Charlotte, chopping down on the kneeling white guard Charlotte held by his little finger, rendering him senseless on the ground. Fish face was conscious of the weird drumbeat building as the Italians closed on him. In a short exchange of blows he was struck to his head and chest and he too fell at their feet.

  Charlotte and David walked past the Cavallos of Dawn and the crumpled guards and ascended the steps to the big red door. “The guards inside will be armed, David. Just keep taking photos and don’t be concerned, you are protected by the force field in your ripallo watch.”

  Charlotte opened the door and walked inside. David followed, Rafaello and Umberto bringing up the rear. Two young men in casual clothes lounged against the walls of the hallway. At the entry of the strange group they reached inside their jackets for concealed pistols but they were swiftly overwhelmed as Charlotte launched herself at them. Rafaello and Umberto threw them out of the door down the steps. To either side of the hall were reception rooms tastefully decorated in olive green retaining their original Victorian fireplaces and tiles. A bloated familiar figure from politics lounged on a creaking chaise longue in his underwear. He was wearing billowing cream undershorts and an old-fashioned vest. Actual garters suspended black socks. He still wore his Oxford brogues. Two small boys were draped across his huge frame, both dressed only in junior underpants. The famous minor party Member of Parliament who frequented this establishment started spluttering and pushing the boys away but his sheer bulk prevented him rising as David photographed him. The Pantucci brothers helped him up, incapacitated him and threw him down the steps into the front garden with the fallen guards. Meanwhile Charlotte sent a prearranged signal to the ship Maria and her calls were relayed out to the police and security forces that a possible terrorist incident was under way in Hammersmith. The emergency forces would be scrambled immediately and would arrive within minutes.

  In the second reception room across the hall two senior judges lolled in big armchairs in silk paisley pyjama bottoms. There was a high-ranking police officer, more lords and a Cabinet minister. They were served old whiskies and brandies by young girls. More boys fed sweetmeats to these pillars of the establishment and were fondled in return. A bishop joined the group from the doorway into the rear kitchen and froze as he saw the avenging group move through the room disabling the old revellers and propelling them through the front door to the street where they sprawled in the growing pile of disgraced establishment figures. David photographed the old men, recognising some, knowing others must be senior members of London society caught in flagrante by the Gayan raid in this house of horrors. The bishop came to his senses when the flash of the camera caught his features in ugly contortion and he raced through the house raising the alarm. The kitchen was the busiest room in the house; David got the feeling he was lucky to be arriving early in the evening before things got going and the scenes unravelling before him would be much more depraved. Charlotte and the Pantucci brothers moved expertly through the room, leaving the underage victims to one side but dragging the elderly perpetrators through the hall and out into the street, uncaring of their state of disarray. Their flapping protestations were ignored and they were felled to grovel about the small garden in the streetlights.

  The Gayans gained the stairs and David followed from the rear. Armed guards appeared at the higher landing and started firing pistols down the stairs. The visceral beat of the Gayan war music pumped up towards the guards. David stopped taking photos and dropped to the ground as the bullets met the repelling forces of the Ripallos and pinged away to bury in the walls and ceiling, breaking glass-framed prints on the stairway walls. The guards on the landing looked down at their pistols in disbelief as their assailants continued up towards them, unaffected by their gunfire. Once the Gayans reached the guards they dispatched them in a flurry of blows and body-shape manoeuvres too fast to distinguish. The inert bodies of the guards were pitched out into the street with the rest.

  On the first second and third floors the seven bedrooms were in the early stages of use. Pillars of the establishment were disrobing or naked with their young victims. Several guards and women watched and served their customers drink and drugs. The patrons were clearly accustomed to disporting themselves in any manner they fancied in this establishment. This night was quite different though as three avenging angels whirled through the whole house dispatching evil doers and carting them bodily out to the street. Mixing with the Gayan anthems now were the sirens of arriving emergency vehicles and black helicopters with their quietly competent complement of special forces. David kept taking photos, conscious his phone contained the shocked images of several ministers and lords, plus a Cabinet minister, a mayor and at least one bishop.

  The street outside was becoming a wall of vehicles with flashing blue lights, dark-suited armed figures were trying to make sense of the piled bodies outside the house. Two helicopters hovered overhead spilling their forces down ropes fast as oil drops on a hanging string. The media were also catching on; almost as fast to an incident as the special forces that attracted them, they too would soon jostle behind the emergency vehicles on the street. The Gayans and David realised their job was done when there was no more resistance on offer throughout the house. Blue emergency lights raked lines around curtained windows and the occasional red laser of a gun sight pried through a chink of curtain to the exterior. David was reassured of his safety from gunfire now but was baffled as to what would happen to them now. The house was surrounded by elite forces. Maybe the Gayans expected him to somehow take control of the situation?

  “Now we go,” Rafaello stated simply. They were descending the stairs from the upper floors. The main bedroom on the first floor had a large semicircular balcony over the roof of the kitchen extension into the lawn at the rear of the property. The Cavallos led the way through the French doors onto the balcony, David and Charlotte following. At the front edge of the balcony an illuminated ramp led up into a bright spacious interior, contrasting with trees and garden darkness on all sides. Their spaceship Maria hung there awaiting their return, projecting tree shapes and night shadows in all directions, except for the brightly lit ramp into the ship for the Gayans and David. There were security forces at work to the rear of the property now and in all the neighbouring gardens. Shouts went up for the group on the balcony to stop and surrender. There seemed no escape for the dark figures on the roof of the kitchen but none of the special forces could see into the welcoming interior they were ap
proaching. They merely saw three man shapes and a girl on a balcony stepping towards the edge where they would fall from the kitchen roof to the garden below. The group ignored the shouts and disappeared into Maria’s loading bay and the ramp had closed. Confused special forces fired a few warning shots. Maria was fully cloaked and projected garden images and dark skies to become completely invisible. The shots deflected wildly and the strange martial music faded. Baffled special forces were left with the suspicion that something large was moving up and away from the troops on the ground, silent as an owl on the wing.

  In the street there was a melee of police and security forces, with news media competing for attention in shrill voices. Some establishment figures ejected onto the street were attempting to command with decorum, but they were stripped bare of authority as well as clothing. The media film crews were in a frenzy filming the famous faces and calling to them in turn as each was recognised. Meanwhile a steady stream of disoriented and clearly shocked young boys and girls issued from the ugly maw of the red door that led to the den of vice exposed by the Gayan raid.

  Maria travelled east towards London’s city centre then hung stationary over the Thames between the big wheel of the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament about level with the hub of the Eye. Traffic was solid over Westminster Bridge and jammed around Parliament Square as most people streamed from their evening’s work and entertainment and made their way home. Maria served refreshments for four as they lounged in comfortable ship’s chairs to debate the night’s events and next actions. The three Gayans were completely relaxed after all the excitement; this was clearly a fairly normal evening’s work for them. David on the other hand was unused to military-style assaults in the capital city of his home country and the information and photographic evidence he had collected was political dynamite.

  “So David, a part of what we need to change is to keep the leadership of the human race reasonably honest. Dangerous people get attracted to power in all its forms and when they rise to control the levers of authority then the whole of society can be corrupted. So every now and again we have to cut out the infected parts to let the right people come through to run things properly. The reason you need to see this now is firstly that you can take the Prime Minister through this so that the high-ranking criminals we exposed tonight don’t get away with it in the usual kind of establishment cover-up. And secondly this is a taste of the kind of action that will be necessary on a broad scale across the major countries when they are confronted with the laws governing reasonable behaviour across the galaxy.”

  “So I have to explain what happened to the PM?”

  “Yes, she needs to understand that these people have to be prosecuted now they have been exposed. She must resist the temptation to hush it all up to protect the people from losing confidence in the authorities. There is no excuse for this kind of criminality and all will need to be removed in the very near future. Consider this a kind of lesson, an example so that others who corrupt in prominent positions will know that they will not be tolerated. The Prime Minister, and all other leaders, must know this is essential. You must explain all this to her, first thing tomorrow.”

  “I don’t just see the Prime Minister when it suits me, you know,” David replied.

  “When you tell her that tonight’s action came from us, and explain you have photos that can prove it, that will convince her she will need to take clear action. She will want to see you before doing anything else.”

  “But what if she orders me to get rid of the pictures and forget the whole thing.”

  “Well if she sees it that way then she would be part of the problem and not the solution. After Enlightenment you can’t have leaders who think they are above the law like kings and bishops of the Middle Ages, taxing the people and being above the law themselves. Future leaders will have to govern for the people, in the interests of the people in the same way as their peers across the inhabited planets. You see how unwelcome your leaders would be on civilised worlds if they didn’t uphold basic standards of decency in their home world?”

  “I can see that but what if she thinks this is a dangerous intrusion into the way our society works?”

  “Well if it comes to that you can say from us that she would not be the one we would want to lead this country. She cannot uphold flagrant breaches of decency in the face of public exposure without looking like one of those corrupt leaders herself. And besides we don’t just rely on your photos, David. We have tonight’s events recorded too so if she commands you to destroy your evidence then we could release ours at any time.” Charlotte indicated the ship with a wave of her arm. “Maria – if you will?” The side wall of the ship suddenly started a slide show of all David’s photographs, then moved into a very professional video of the whole night’s events edited so professionally it appeared like a scene from a Hollywood action movie. “You shared your photos with Maria as soon as you came on board with a recording device, David, and as you can see they are very amateurish compared to what Maria can achieve with our own recording technology.

  “Let’s face facts,” Charlotte continued. “There are only two ways to view these recordings. Either you welcome them as shining a light on the most diabolical crimes by leaders in trusted positions of authority or you see them as political blackmail because you want to uphold the forces of darkness at the top of your society. You must explain this new situation to the Prime Minister and she must choose her position. The awful behaviour of these people cannot be swept under the carpet any longer. These recordings show the truth in all its awful detail such that it can’t be ignored.”

  “You are right of course. There is no excuse for what we saw tonight and what must have been going on there for ages. People have known about this kind of thing for ever. Even made jokes of it but it’s way beyond that now. The PM has to act with total conviction in the face of this evidence. That is a good thing,” David’s voice tailed away almost as if he were convincing himself rather than his Gayan companions.

  *

  David walked back to his Westminster flat from Maria’s usual landing point for him by Westminster Pier onto Embankment. He tried to get to sleep soon after arriving home but the tension of the evening’s mission merged into his plans for the following morning and what he would say to the Prime Minister. Various conversations played out in his mind depending on how dramatic he made his introduction and explanations. In the end he decided just to call and tell the story as it had played out and trust that the Prime Minister would make the right analysis and decisions. Just as he thought he would stay awake the whole night through thinking about the meeting he woke to sunlight streaming through his curtains and the realisation that he had ultimately fallen sound asleep.

  His first thought was to phone 10 Downing Street and make arrangements to see the Prime Minister. He called the direct office number the PM had given him and it rang for a long time. Just as he was thinking of hanging up and ringing again the phone was answered and a terse voice said, “Hello, Tim Danes speaking, what do you want?”

  David recognised the name of one of the Prime Minister’s personal aides and wondered again about why she seemed to trust these people. “David Harrier calling, I would like to speak to the Prime Minister, please.”

  You and half the country, and all the media,” Danes replied. “The Prime Minister is overrun this morning, can’t talk to anybody.”

  “I think she will wish to speak with me,” David tried to assert some authority in the face of such a rude response.

  “Have you actually switched on your TV set this morning yet?” Danes enquired. “If not I suggest you do and don’t call back.” The phone went quiet as Danes rang off.

  David moved to his lounge and turned on the television. The news reports were full of the ‘terror incident’ in Hammersmith overnight. The overriding theme of the film reports was confusion. Lots of video footage of armoured anti-terrorist troops arrivi
ng by helicopter, gunfire, frightened people running about, strange footage of high-ranking establishment figures in varying states of undress. News anchors were speculating on the motives and methods of the terror group, none of which seemed to have been apprehended at the scene that just led to further anxiety about where the terrorists could be now and what their next plans may be.

  David took his mobile phone again and this time called the personal mobile number the PM had given him at their first meeting. Once again the phone rang for a long period before a thin voice said, “Yes, what is it?”

  “David Harrier here, Prime Minister. I have seen the news and can tell you that our Cambridge friends were behind it and I was actually there myself.”

  “You were there, David? What on earth was it all about?”

  “I can explain, Prime Minister. We need to meet to talk about it. Can I meet with you in fifteen minutes?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, I will make sure security will be expecting you, but there are a lot of people coming and going and a media scrum at the gates to Downing Street.”

  “I will be as discreet as possible, I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

  There was indeed a mass of media in turmoil straining against the Downing Street gates, which were firmly closed against them. David joined a couple of other office workers going through the crowd. Several reporters turned to scrutinise his face in the hope of discovering an important arrival but he kept his head lowered like the other administrators starting work for the day. The media mob passed him over quickly when they spotted a ministerial car arriving and they shouted ridiculous questions in the direction of the car and the junior minister who was not listening to them. Meanwhile David’s ID was checked off against a list of authorised workers for that day and he was ushered through into the relative peace of the short street that was the seat of governmental power in the United Kingdom.