CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: A Nation or One Man?
James Connor stood in the House of Representatives.
“…and so, Mr Speaker,” he said, “I move that the Death Sentence Bill be read.”
Perseverance! Perseverance.
“Right Honourable Prime Minister,” the Speaker said, “you have used your authority to present this same bill twice already, though Parliament has voted and discarded it twice before.”
“I understand that, Mr Speaker.”
“You understand that I will not give you a fourth chance?”
“Understood.”
“Very well.” The Speaker turned his face to the entire House. “The question is that the motion be agreed to. Those in favour say, ‘Aye.’” Again, Connor’s faithful MPs complied with ‘Aye.’ “Those against say, ‘No.’” And, again, a barrage of ‘Noes’.
“The Noes have it,” the Speaker said, once again. “The Death Sentence Bill will not be read – and will not be presented again for at least twelve months.”
Swallowing, Connor held the Speaker’s resolute gaze – and sat down. Across from him, Clarkson’s eyes were rejoicing. The Speaker moved on to other business of the day – Connor barely heard it. He had failed. Joshua Davidson would not be removed.
The Speaker eventually drew the session to a close. Connor silently gathered his papers, stood, and moved out of the Chamber. Clarkson was happily alongside him.
“The people have spoken,” he said, and Connor smiled grimly.
“The people have spoken.”
He made his way steadily through the Foyer, and on, into the Beehive. The people had spoken – but what if they should choose Davidson? What if they should choose to override their own state? Clarkson was afraid of him, wasn’t he? Even he, with his communistic ideals – what would he do with a king?
Connor made his way to the lift, and rose up to the ninth floor. The people had spoken – by supporting Joshua, and forcing the police to stay back; by prevailing with a no death sentence mentality. But did the people really know what they were doing? Did they? How could they possibly know what the consequences might be of their short-sightedness?
The lift doors opened. He walked along the corridor. Parliament had tossed out his bill, like the hot potato that it was. He felt a little humiliated, but what leader could persevere without handling a little humiliation along the way? What surprised him now, as he approached his office, was that he also felt relieved. The decision was out of his hands. The people had decided – their representatives had decided. That option was over.
He entered his office and went for his desk, dumping his folder and reaching for the photo of Pam and Rachel. Now the relief filled him entirely. At least she would be safe! At least his political process would not touch her.
He replaced the photo on the desk, turned, and lowered himself into his chair.
Mark Blake was standing in front him.
“What the hell…” Connor jerked in surprise, and then rose to his feet, stretching out his hand. “Mark!” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Mark shook his hand curtly, and then leant forward over his desk. “Connor,” he said, “we need to talk.”
Surprised, Connor stared at his face. He looked strange! As if he had suddenly aged ten years – taut lines across his cheeks and forehead, and his eyes! Something strange in his eyes.
Mark straightened, strode to Connor’s door, and briskly shut it. Connor instinctively looked around himself, identifying the security button’s location. Mark felt a little dangerous – almost capable of pulling out a weapon. Connor had never seen him like this before.
The dark eyes were intense, now, on Connor.
“Joshua Davidson‘s power is growing,” he said, and Connor grimaced.
“I know,” he said. “But I can’t seem to do much about it.”
“What do you mean you can’t do much about it?” Mark said. “You’re the Prime Minister, aren’t you? You have ultimate power.”
Connor frowned at him – that didn’t sound like Mark at all.
“I don’t really have ultimate power,” he said. “You know that, Mark! I’m the servant of the people.”
“Bullshit.”
Now Connor’s skin pricked. This wasn’t Mark! Not the Mark he knew.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked, and now Mark’s fists slammed on the desk.
“Deal with him!” he demanded. “Get rid of him!”
“I don’t know how…”
“What are you, Connor – weak? Full of talk, but impotent in the outworking? You have all the power of New Zealand at your fingertips – are you too frightened to use it?”
Connor flushed hard, as Mark continued. “‘Democracy is for the rich,’ you say, and then you go pandering to that idiot Clarkson! The people are trampling all over you! Soon Joshua will be right here in Wellington – soon his power will be infiltrating the Beehive itself. Soon there will be no Parliament: he will make it all obsolete. What are you going to do? Just stand back, and let it happen?”
Sweat pricked on Connor’s face – he felt Mark’s stare penetrating into him.
“I’ve tried,” he said, “and I have failed.”
“You mean the bill for the Death Sentence?” Mark said, laughing. “That’s child’s play.”
“The political process…”
“Who cares about the political process?” Mark said. “Soon there will be no politics at all! Only rule! Only slavery!”
Connor swallowed hard, but persevered.
“We are a democracy!” he said. “Freedom! Freedom of speech! Public choice!” He still believed in it! Even now.
“The people have spoken, Mark – I’m not going to get in the way! New Zealand doesn’t believe in the Death Sentence – they have chosen! So be it.”
“So be it,” Mark spat, now pressing his face close into Connor’s. “No Death Sentence. But that doesn’t mean no death.”
Connor’s body stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“You want due process?” Mark said. “I’ll give you due process. This isn’t a case of criminal law: this is much bigger than that. We are at war. Not a war of physical weapons, but a war for the minds and hearts of all the people. This man Joshua isn’t a criminal: he is an enemy of the state.”
At this, Connor looked away. Mark was talking his language now, and he knew it: this had been the very threat Connor had feared all along.
“If Joshua Davidson is allowed to continue, our whole nation will fall. One man, Connor! One man. Isn’t it better that one man die, than an entire nation perish?” [18]
Connor closed his eyes as Mark continued. “He is a religious extremist,” Mark said. “He must be contained.”
“We live in a free society,” Connor whispered. “Freedom of religion for all. If I kill him, our society has already fallen.”
His body was shaking.
“If you don’t kill him, you won’t even have a society anymore!” Mark said. “Joshua Davidson will conquer Parliament: who knows how many already follow him? Those who resist will fight – there will be civil war. We’ll be thrust back into the Dark Ages – and the entire world will be watching, seeing the utter incompetence of your leadership: to not carry out the one act of execution required before it was too late!”
Now Connor sat heavily down on his chair, staring at the photo of Rachel.
“You know what you must do,” Mark said.
“The Army,” Connor said.
“You are their superior officer,” Mark said. “They answer directly to you.”
Connor swallowed. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Even with all your intel?”
Connor grimaced. “He doesn’t use electronics. And he tends to disappear, just when you get a location on him. Crowds of people, and then, gone.”
Now Mark was silent. Connor glanced up at him, and was surprised to see Mark in sudden conflict – his face twisting in some kind of struggle.
�
��Mark…?”
The conflict settled – the hard dark gaze returned. “I know how to find him.”
“How?”
“Rau Petera follows him: he’s a priest. And…there’s another who will help you. In secret, not in public: you must do it in secret. No one must know.”
“Who?” Nervously Connor avoided looking at Rachel.
“Tristan Blake.”
Connor stared at him again – now surely Mark had gone mad.
“Your son?” he cried. “You would incriminate your own son?”
“Whatever it takes,” Mark said coldly, “to deal with the enemy.”
“But Mark…”
“He is ex-Army,” Mark said. “He’s there with Davidson. He’ll know how to get the job done. Privately, Connor! No links! No civil war. A whole nation of suspects.”
“Mark…”
“It’s an easy solution.”
“‘Easy’”
“He will handle it discreetly, Connor! It will be just another job to him.”
Connor frowned. Tristan Blake? Connor still remembered his face – the shadow of memories, as he recounted what had taken place in the Middle East. Where was he now – following Joshua? Seriously?
“Why would he execute him?” Connor asked, and Mark’s eyes now were black.
“Because you will order him to do it.”
Grief filled Connor, now: unexpected, deep, gripping grief. Did he want to execute this man? He did not. He seemed innocent! Good, even! Good. But the rising movement he was causing was indeed a threat: an intolerable threat.
Should he do it? Should he execute his powers as head of the state?
He swallowed, fleetingly closed his eyes, and then made a decision.
“All right,” he said, “find Tristan. Start the ball rolling.”
A New Kind of Zeal Page 26