Sockpuppet: Book One in the Martingale Cycle (54 page)

Is this for Leo, or for herself? She doesn’t know.

Nineteen

J-R rode the back seat of Perce’s silent-running car to Westminster. How had he ended here, in the plush interior of a mogul’s Mercedes? Beside him, Perce twisted his upper body to gaze through the rear windscreen. J-R turned, too, and together they watched Dani’s messages flick across the giant screens. When they could no longer make out the words, Perce faced front and dropped back into the seat’s deep padding. The interior was uniformly cream: unblemished, tight upholstery. Pine scent.

‘Danielle’s pulling up gold there. Glad Sam’s getting the brunt, and not me. Hell hath no fury, right?’

As J-R untwisted into his seat, his raincoat belt became caught underneath him. He tugged on it as Perce kept talking.

‘Tell me that isn’t going to kill Terasoft. Could there be a better time to hit the Party with our counter-offer? I tell you, J-R, it was in the stars you’d walk in this morning. Karen still thinks she’s meeting me to squeeze me out of the contract.
Huh!
Fat chance of that.’

The belt pinched J-R’s middle. He lifted his backside from the leather to loosen the restraint, but this only pulled his bonds tighter. The buckle must be caught.

‘All very well broadcasting your message up there,’ he said. ‘That’s getting you TV and it’ll bring in tomorrow’s nationals. And I’ve given your press office solid lines. But the word of protesters? Posted on your own screens? Not credible. You’ll need to feed the media an independent voice. A credible industry source.’

He reached beneath the flesh of his bottom and wrestled the buckle, which had somehow hooked itself around the recessed metal clasp of the seatbelt. Perce seemed unaware of this struggle.

‘Good. Good,’ he said. ‘We’ll get GiveMeData to speak up.’

‘GiveMeData? The – ah – independent lobby group?’ J-R gave a nervy laugh as he dug behind himself.

‘Ha! Come on, you know astroturf when you see it. They’re us.’

The buckle gave against J-R’s tugging. His hand shot sideways with the force of the pull, slapping the side of Perce’s thigh. Perce looked down in puzzlement.

‘But,’ said J-R, ‘GiveMeData makes submissions to government. They presented to the Commons subcommittee last month. There are – laws about that?’

Perce returned a short lunatic laugh.

Why
was
J-R here? Perce had insisted he come along to Party HQ – no, not insisted: assumed. And here he was. With Perce there was no drawn-out process of review, amendment and counter-correction. Here, one thought of a thing, then one did it. No steps in between. Already J-R had been able to land a blow on the obnoxious Terasoft. True, Perce was obnoxious too: but people like him were makers, creators of value. He offered a narrow corridor of possibility that others could follow, or be shut out for good.

It had taken J-R no more than thirty seconds to persuade him to share the fabricated ‘Pig-gate’ evidence with the Party. Perce had turned to Dani, who had handed over a stack of electronics that Perce passed in turn to J-R. Perce would tell Karen Arbiter about the false data trails created by Terasoft’s stooges and would let himself be judged. The slate-clearing evidence was currently at J-R’s feet.

Was it now his lot to be the conscience the man beside him so clearly needed? Could he do more good staying the arm of the one who wielded the weapons, than in making the laws that failed to govern him?

The car slid to a gentle halt. Perce unclipped his seatbelt with a smoothness that mocked J-R’s fumbling.

‘Here we are.’

J-R bent to peer through the tinted glass. The windows of Party HQ raised metal eyebrows at him. The driver opened Perce’s door; he was already halfway out when he turned to J-R.

‘You are coming?’

To be seen here with Perce, bolting the stable door so firmly? All J-R could do was follow the current of events. He picked up the case of hard disks from the footwell, taking care not to bash the condensed trust of a million citizens on his way out of the car.

Twenty

Dani flexes sore fingers and whispers with Gray on the rebooted Parley. The TV news is up on Sean’s plasma, showing a pierced and dreadlocked girl. She’s familiar.
WINTER GREEN
,
says the caption.

¶Nightshade

is that a name or a paint colour?

¶thegrays

:D

FRIEND OF DEAD PROTESTER LEO SANDBERG
,
says the subtitle. The girl flinches from the reporter’s mic. Behind her, a ramshackle camp nestles by a glass-and-steel wall, a giant
A
etched into the glass.

¶Nightshade

girl is thin enough to snap

¶thegrays

Ooh, mee-ow!

The girl’s eyes are raised like a Virgin Mary to the screens that overwhelm the camp.

‘
If what they
’
re saying up there is true
,’ she says in a sorry rush, ‘
Then this guy Sam Corgan
–
or Corrigan? He killed Leo. No doubt.
’

There’s a scuffle off camera as the reporter creams himself at this statement.

‘
You blame Terasoft for your partner
’
s death?
’

¶Nightshade

its like J-R said: you start with the personal story

then widen it

‘
Totally
,’
says the girl. ‘
I totally blame them. They shopped him to the police. He only ever did good but they twisted it and turned the police on him and now he
’
s
–
he
’
s
–’

So much Dani can see and understand now. Being in the swill of events makes you wiser.

‘
Terasoft did this?
’
the reporter says again.

¶thegrays

Christ, give it a rest, mate.

But the girl wants to give as badly as the reporter wants to take.

‘
Terasoft killed him. No doubt. They killed Leo.
’

And back to studio. Dani nods at the screen.

¶Nightshade

i tell you gray

perce isnt perfect but terasoft is like DO BE EVIL

Cut to general views of the tents as the newsreader talks through all that’s happened this week: at least as much as these guys know. He says the protesters are moving their shit to Terasoft.

¶thegrays

I guess. I’m having trouble adapting.

¶Nightshade

*you* are?

¶thegrays

ROFL

Point.

So what’s Perce offered you?

¶Nightshade

a fuckload of money my friend

and oh hey he wants to talk to you too

says youve skills much

¶thegrays

I like the man already.

Terry’s phone starts trilling its head off. Dani checks the screen. It’s an 07-something: who? Nobody has Terry’s number. She’s three days old. Only Gray and one other person know it. And she’s already talking to Gray.

Shit.

¶Nightshade

g2g, sorry

¶thegrays

OKCU

She swipes to answer.

‘Hello, Sam.’

Twenty-one

‘And here I was,’ says J-R, ‘thinking you cared about her.’

‘
Cared?
’ hissed Krish. ‘Do you really want me to lay out her bad choices for you?’

Krish tugged J-R into a meeting room, away from Karen, Sean, and the staffers milling about in the reception area. He leaned his back against the closed door.

‘Try not to be a naïve prick, J-R. There was never any doubt where this would end.’

Through the glass partition, J-R saw Sean vanish into the main office along with Karen’s entourage.

‘Do you know why I sent you on the Parley stint?’ said Krish. ‘So you didn’t go down with her. I’m a big boy and I can take it but you have bugger all alliances out in the Party. You’re a one-horse guy and your horse just fell at Beecher’s Brook.’

J-R swallowed down hard.

‘Seeing her out there. Without lines. She was extraordinary.’

Krish nodded, long and slow.

‘Have you spoken to her?’ he asked. ‘They have her up on first for a debrief.’

‘Not yet.’

‘She’ll be leaving.’

‘I know.’

Neither of them made any move to go. Time passed at the exhausted crawl of a party in government.

‘She doesn’t blame you,’ said Krish. ‘Me – she blames.’

Through the glass, Bethany’s police escort returned to the reception area, slapped his palms together and spoke to the ponytailed intern at the desk. She replied and the policeman let out an open, straightforward laugh.

‘Does it bother you?’ asked Krish.

‘Bethany? Of course.’

‘Naw. Me chucking you in feet first with zero briefing.’

A posse of researchers hastened past and jostled out onto the street. A week ago that would have been him.

‘No. That combination is pretty much what I’ve come to expect.’

‘OK, good, so.’

What were J-R’s lines now, and on whose behalf?

‘Well –’ he attempted.

‘Aye.’ Krish had reached some conclusion. ‘So is it congratulations I should give you?’

‘As in, am I going to be Sean Perce’s mouthpiece?’

‘You’ve played this brilliantly for him, already. Terasoft are squarely fucked if you keep up the momentum. D’y’know, I felt not a little proud to see you roll up with your boy Sean. I give it ninety-five per cent we’ll sign with you as planned. Andrew is fucking livid.’

J-R tugged at his earlobe.

‘I’m – not sure. There are things I need to consider.’

Mark, for instance. What on earth would Mark say? Would he care? Were they even speaking?

‘Well, no rush, OK?’ said Krish. ‘There’s plenty here if you do come back. But it’d be back to the pumps, you ken? You’d need to catch the apron strings of another minister. You want my view? Go for it. Perce. When things are moving this fast you’ve best to be in the eye of the storm.’

‘Indeed,’ nodded J-R. ‘The trick lies in knowing where that is.’

Twenty-two

‘Peter? Hello?

‘Oh, thank God, you – oh, so you saw it.

‘Thank you, babe, yes, it was totally off the cuff. Not
quite
what they wanted me to say.

‘Ha ha! Yeah, that’s right.’

Bethany glanced at the frosted partition. There was movement outside. She needed to remember this was Party HQ. She was still in the wind-down, couldn’t be herself just yet. She tuned back in to the over-gentle voice of her husband.

‘Well, I’m – oh, God, I don’t know, Petey. Too soon, too soon. Ask me later.

‘Yeah, like three years later!

‘Actually, do you know, I think I
am
OK, weirdly. I’m looking forward to, you know.
Spending more time with my family.
If you’ll have me.’

Holy hell, she was actually tearing up, from that dumb joke. Come on, girl, hold it together.

‘Yeah, of course. But now I really should go. Business to sort here.

‘Half hour tops.

‘No, I’ll have to get a cab. No ministerial car any more, remember?

‘Yeah, that’s something else I have to start getting used to!

‘Yeah, totally. You too, babes.

‘Yes. Yes, I actually think it could be. And listen, babes,
thank you.
No, really, darling. I mean it.

‘Yes, we will most certainly “have that talk”. Good. OK. You too.
Bisous.
Bye. Bye.’

She clicked off the phone and took three draughts of air. Not long now. Keep it real. And it’s –
fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou
.

OK, better. She balled fists into her eye sockets to push out any hint of emotion, shook herself by the lapels and left the little meeting room, walking straight into Sean, all grin and sleek silk tie. His eyes hit hers dead on, then slid back to Karen, who regarded Bethany for a moment then walked her visitor on towards the big glass doors at the end of the hallway, guiding him with a hand in the small of his back. A scuttle of Karen’s lackeys swallowed Sean. He didn’t look back.

Bethany remained a moment in the vacated passageway, waiting for him to reappear. Suffice to say, he did not.

A passing staffer caught her eye through the glass door, with a look inherited from Karen. Prick. Bethany directed a merry smile his way then swung on her heels towards the clear green promise of the Emergency Exit signs.

Twenty-three

‘I’m listening,’ says Dani.

On the news screen, the TakeBackID encampment is breaking up. The fun is over. Dani offs the TV. Sam’s voice crackles from the Bluetooth earpiece as she packs her bag.

‘If you want a sorry,’ he says, ‘forget it. But I’ll go as far as, well played.’

‘I’ll go as far as, kiss my taint.’

Her swears ring false. They were her trademark thing. Did they always come across so childish? So pointless?

‘Well, I see you’ve grown and developed in your time of trial,’ says Sam.