Nonetheless, all of these issues combined come to one inescapable fact: the current online environment in this country is not sustainable. This government will not allow the continuation of a system that allows criminals to engage in illegal activity without consequence. Therefore…”
McCoy paused, looking up at his counterpart on the opposing bench, and then briefly to the camera suspended from the public gallery opposite. Adrenaline pumped through him as he prepared to deliver his coup d’etat.
“
In eighteen months time, from January 1
st
, access to the internet will be banned in the UK. In its place we will create UKCitizensNet, a network for the people of this country, and which will be the information tool of the future. And, in order to reward UK enterprise, the contract to run UKCitizensNet will only be available to UK companies who will build the infrastructure, tools and software able to deliver UKCitizensNet to every household, every computer and every mobile device. UKCitizensNet, the ‘people’s network’, will be a crime-free online system. Enhancing this country, not threatening it.”
As wave after wave of spontaneous applause echoed from the backbenches, McCoy provided more details of how UKCitizensNet would be delivered to the country. On the opposing bench the newly-elected leader of the opposition, Nathan Drew, made copious notes on his papers. Around him, his colleagues attempted to jeer and heckle McCoy’s online vision of the future. But each time were drowned out by the huge majority of government MPs.
Following the disastrous election result, ending with the humiliating resignation speech of his predecessor, the party had attempted to regroup. Out of the defeat the party had quickly elected its new leader, a task which he relished and had actively coveted.
But as he sat opposite the baying, gloating, victorious rabble of MPs now in power, the sheer size of his task was all too clear. How they could compete against a parliamentary majority of 196? His only option was to look for weaknesses in the government’s policy, exploit them, and hope that voters found his new policies as persuasive as McCoy’s had been.
Sadly, when a government is in rapid decline, as his party had been, jingoistic sentiment and national pride, is an easy drum to bang. And so it had proved.
Finally, as McCoy finished his speech, resuming his place on the front bench, the Speaker rose from her seat, looking instinctively in his direction.
“
Nathan Drew,” Margaret Appleton bellowed across the chamber, as he rose quickly from his seat.
Despite the fact that McCoy’s pledge to ban access to the internet had been quite explicit in his election campaign, until they heard the speech no-one in the party really knew just how far his planned reforms would go. And no-one had expected quite what was being proposed. It was fortunate he’d always been a quick thinker, with an articulate tongue to match. Officer’s training at the Sandhurst Royal Military Academy and a rapid rise to the rank of Major had honed his natural leadership skills. Only an injury on active duty in the Balkans had pensioned him out of the army early, bringing him into the political scene. And as a decorated war hero and gifted orator, his talents had quickly propelled him up his party.
“
Madame Speaker, we have all listened to the national pride my right honourable friend has in this country. However, I’m sure all my colleagues would join me in expressing their surprise that he actually intends to deliver on a manifesto pledge. In his time in opposition his record of changing his mind over votes in the house to suit his own agendas was almost second to none.”
Once more the sounds of the opposition party jeering were quickly drowned out by a cacophonous din from McCoy’s MPs as they all waved copies of his speech in the air in a sign of unquestioning loyalty.
“
However, I feel I should be the one to point out the obvious flaw in what the Prime Minister is proposing. In banning access to the internet, and barring non-UK companies from bidding for its replacement, many companies will inevitably re-evaluate their priorities on these shores. This will only result in mass redundancies for the workforce he claims to want to protect, nevermind the contravention of countless trade and labour laws. How can wholesale unemployment in the largest market sector in the country, and isolation from the rest of the online world be for the good of either the people or the country as a whole?”
Rising from his seat, a knowing sneer already forming across his ageing, sagging features, McCoy addressed his rival.
“
Madame Speaker, first let me congratulate my right honourable friend on his new appointment. It’s not a job that I’d relish currently.”
A ripple of laughter crossed the government benches as opposition party MPs squirmed as one in their seats.
“
However, I fear he may have already demonstrated he is out of his depth on this issue. As I have explained, safeguarding the political and social future of this country is at the heart of this overdue change. Let me be quite clear when I say anyone currently working for a company that loses business as a result of this reward to UK enterprise will be eligible for parachute redundancy payments and placed on a preferential register for a job within the UKCitizensNet infrastructure once it is built. No-one will be disadvantaged by these reforms. UKCitizensNet will benefit everyone.”
For the next hour McCoy fielded question after question, from opposition MPs and from his own backbenchers as more details of UKCitizensNet were revealed. In the main lobby of parliament journalists hastily scribbled down every word that was said in the chamber, pulling out quotes, talking to cameras, filing copy, broadcasting back to their studios just what UKCitizensNet would mean.
Finally, as the parliamentary session ended McCoy, accompanied by his two security staff exited the house, stealing away from waiting reporters, but having time to shake the hands of his delighted party members, revelling in their collective glory.
Slipping back into his temporary office, McCoy returned to the window, gazing out on the Thames. He would have a few moments to himself before returning to No. 10 to review the media coverage and the responses to his speech. From there it would be a case of coordinating responses to likely questions and arranging interviews with his Director of Communications.
But as he watched the traffic from the office window, aware people in their cars, in front of the television, and, ironically, listening via the internet, would have been tuned to his address, he knew it didn’t matter what the media said. He’d been elected on the back of his pledge to end the crimes associated with the current internet. And now he’d delivered on his promise. In 18 months time there would no longer be an internet in the UK. And with the implementation of UKCitizensNet, the CODEX proposal Miles Winston had submitted to him could come into place.
Turning as the door to the office opened Miles Winston stood in the doorway, smiling broadly as he waddled into the room. His oversized belly, trapped in an uncomfortably tight shirt, wobbled slightly as he walked.
“
Prime Minister, that was masterful,” he declared, facing his leader across the table.
McCoy nodded in acknowledgement, knowing how well he’d handled the debate, parrying away all of the awkward questions, answering the obvious ones easily.
His gaze dropped to his papers on the table and he pulled the CODEX file from its plastic wallet. Winston waited expectantly as he briefly perused their contents once more.
“
I want this CODEX project fully operational before the end of the day. Is that clear?”
Winston nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket for his mobile phone.
McCoy’s gaze had once again stopped on the list of three names contained in the report.
“
Are your sources absolutely sure these are the right people?”
Winston nodded knowingly, wiping a bead of perspiration from his brow, a result of his exertions of climbing the stairs to reach McCoy’s temporary office.
“
Absolutely, the preliminary CODEX team has done all the background checks. These are the appropriate initial targets.”
McCoy half-smiled, placing the report down on the desk, before returning to his appreciation of the river.
“
Well, you’d better ensure your team starts the necessary preparatory work then, hadn’t you?”
Winston nodded as McCoy turned to face him once more, aware that he hadn’t finished speaking.
Taking one final glance at the report, McCoy looked Winston squarely in the face.
“
Get me Sebastian Tate.”
Michael knew he’d been burgled the moment he opened his front door. The doors to the kitchen and lounge at the end of the long hallway were always shut when he went out. This afternoon they were threateningly open. An untidy mass of papers marked a trail out of the lounge. Rushing into the kitchen he failed to notice the kitchen drawer that had been roughly pulled from its unit and which lay on the floor. Treading on the side of the drawer Michael slid, thudding painfully onto his backside. His right elbow caught a glancing blow on the front of the dishwasher.
He was sitting in a scattered line of glass. Cursing angrily he looked at his gashed hands. In front of him he could see a hole in the backdoor pane, just above the door handle where entry had been forced.
Gingerly standing up, and running his bloodied hand under the tap, Michael surveyed his kitchen properly for the first time. His breathing becoming more rapid and constrained as images of Colette bound to the bed came flooding back. The last time his house been broken into was that fateful day. Splashing cold water onto his face he pushed the images to the back of his mind. He was alone now. There was no one else here.
The kitchen and conservatory were a mess. Drawers and cupboards were left gaping open. Crockery and saucepans had been shoved aside, smashed in search of that one valuable item. A piece of jewellery or cash that might have been hidden somewhere.
The filing cabinet in the conservatory lay on its side amidst a sea of papers. Years of bank statements, mortgage details and insurance policies that had been neatly filed, covered every inch of floor space.
The lounge and dining room were no better. The coffee table, which had a small shelf storing the most recent mail, was on its side. And the glass top had cracked even further than before. Running against the longest wall was a pine sideboard that had been roughly searched. Ornaments, Colette’s ornaments, were littered on the carpet. Drawers and cupboards hung redundantly open. And yet more papers, books and magazines were scattered throughout the rooms.
Michael’s gaze dropped to the glass cabinet below his eCitTV unit, its doors half open. His DVD recorder was missing. And so far, it was the only thing he could say with any certainty that had been taken.
Scowling, he took a step forward, kicking a pile of papers at his feet, watching as they cascaded into the far wall. He shook his head at the extent of the mess and the intrusion into his house.
All for a DVD recorder.
There were some twisted people out there, he thought angrily, looking at Colette’s discarded ornaments. But then he’d known that for some time.
Leaning down to pick up some of the ornaments that had been swept off the sideboard he couldn’t help but remember what the crackpot in Kingston had told him.
“
They’re almost certainly watching you. If they think you know anything about UKCitizensNet and its development, they’ll be watching you.”
Michael frowned as the words reverberated around his head. He’d been so angry after their meeting. The man had said so much. Yet he couldn’t prove a word of it. He’d had his hopes raised of catching Colette and Clare’s killer only to have it dashed with not a shred of tangible proof. At the time he’d thought the whole thing was preposterous paranoia.
Yet, a nagging doubt about the anti-net activists not just smashing up Colette and David Langley’s computers had persuaded him to take a simple precaution. His real intention in doing so had been to prove the anonymous man wrong. So, he’d decided to put Colette’s file back in the postal box for temporary safekeeping.
He shook his head and frowned.
The man couldn’t have been right in his twisted theories. Could he?
Picking up a cracked crystal ornament from the carpet he heard a firm knock on his front door. For a moment his pulse raced as paranoia gripped him. Was he being watched as the man had predicted?
Taking a deep breath he walked into the hallway. A silhouette of a man loomed in the frosted door panes.
Slowly opening the door his paranoia receded as he recognised Jack Wilson, a recently retired accountant who lived opposite.
“
Sorry to bother you Mike,” Jack said in a strong Geordie accent. “It’s just that several of us in the street have had our houses broken into. I was wondering whether you might have seen anyone suspicious hanging around?”