The Prometheus Effect (26 page)

Joshua looked on with trepidation, he wanted to join in the venting of anger and frustration but he was also cautious. He knew he could not afford to tangle with anyone and arouse further suspicion. In secret silence he begged Mitchell to halt his protest, he envisaged only hardship for the bolshy reporter if he were to continue.

Mitchell was dragged from the room to the disgust of many who shared his views. Mr Fernandes who was sat front and centre looked on in quiet contemplation as he saw the beginning of the end of his newspaper and to freedom of speech itself. Much to Joshua's surprise, the big ruddy cheeked man calmly took his seat and continued to listen to the last rights being delivered to his empire. Joshua felt a great sense of sorrow for the usually bold and verbose man who now seemed very small and fragile.

Joshua knew that under the new management, his role would soon become redundant. Time was now not on his side. Action was necessary if he was to make use of the tools at his disposal, action that could enlighten the nation and wake them up from their ignorant slumber.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Cambridge Heath Road, Bethnal Green, London

January 3
^rd
2021

Joshua sat at his desk, his eyes burning, a cup of cold coffee at his side. The bright monitor lit a darkened room and a driven writer was hard at work. The television was on in the background, the sound down low. The noise of a passing train was regular and the steady flow of traffic outside lit up his room periodically with their headlights.

Joshua did not feel that this was a fruitless task despite there being no obvious outlet for his work. He had begun to compile every aspect of his previous research and all he had learned over the past months into some kind of presentable product. He nervously tapped in the information into a desktop publisher, being sure to not only having the Internet modem disabled but also the cable unplugged from his computer. He knew that if this information was discovered or fell into the wrong hands, he would soon disappear without trace.

As far as his planned distribution of this epic piece, he had no clear idea as yet. The paper now seemed too difficult but local distribution was limited and a public show of defiance would lead to the inevitable arrest. Knowing that he could not write the piece without implicating Roger Coffey, he continued anyway. Coffey was no doubt in enough trouble as it was in the States and any further evidence to support his rebellion would surely not count for much. Without scientific proof of the Prometheus effect, sceptics might try and discount Coffey’s theory but the point of his writing was not to crack the conspiracy single handed, it was just to apply a little stress in the machine that maybe one day would lead to a build up of fatigue and result in the dismantling of the plot. The fact that Joshua had no kind of evidence to suggest who was ultimately behind the show or what organisation they represented also mattered little. What mattered was to sow the seed of doubt into the public’s minds and invite them to question what they had come to believe as a savage reality.

Joshua knew that time was a precious commodity. That morning, the government assigned team of players moved in and set up their stall in the Messenger's offices. Headed up by a tall wiry Gene Hackman look-alike named Jameson, his ominous presence signalled an end to banter in the office and introduced a new era of process and rigidity. Joshua sensed it would only be a matter of days before he was hauled in front of a panel and given his P45. Not only was he the type of journalist they did not want at the paper, he would no doubt also be on a list of potential troublemakers and quickly shown the door. If he could somehow take advantage of the turmoil in the office and discover a loop hole in the process, perhaps there was a small chance that he could take the chance of putting his own two pence in and strike whilst the iron was hot. It would be a very risky undertaking that could have dire consequences but perhaps it was worth the gamble at this point.

Joshua leaned back and stretched his taut back muscles. He swung around on his chair and peered out of the window into the dark night sky. The television's light pulsated with the strobing effect of camera flashes and it drew his attention to the screen where it seemed that the usual dirge of nondescript and repetitive news stories had been temporarily set aside for some light relief.

The government had seemingly surpassed themselves this time in their self adulation and propaganda. Joshua sniffed with contempt as it appeared that some kind of award ceremony was taking place to honour those who had fallen foul of the vile aliens and for those who had fought valiantly against the foe and lived to tell the tale. Joshua leaned back and grabbed the remote control. Increasing the volume, Joshua's interest was captured by the production which was being beamed live from an undisclosed location in the heart of London. In Joshua's memory, this was possibly the first live television event to be screened since the red dawn itself. Joshua surmised that live television was perhaps too unpredictable and open to error when conducting a mass cover up. The fact that the government had relaxed its own procedure for this glittering event showed its confidence and its desire to rally the public behind their 'heroes'.

Joshua watched with interest as it's host, none other than Beck Stein, a television personality who had had a string of successful chat shows presented the occasion. His unflappable style and smarmy charm seemed to suit the cheesy, patriotic fluff that spewed forth. His manner was upbeat when required but suitably sombre when necessary. A theatre appeared well stocked with an obliging audience who clapped merrily on command and pictured for perhaps the first time since the beginning, a calm relaxed Prime Minister who sat quaffing a glass of sparkling wine in a velvet red seat.

Joshua pulled his chair closer as the compère announced the arrival on stage of a number of brave military personnel who had been decorated for their services to their country and their planet. One by one they took to the stage to be honoured by a committee of elderly suited men of no particular designation. A warm hand shake and a medal pinned to their chest, they were not given the opportunity to speak but all seemed to accept their prize with a subdued glee. A well spoken narrator offered more details on each of the awards as Stein stepped back to applaud with his veneered teeth glimmering in the spotlights.

Joshua was about to lose interest and resume his writing when the host began to talk about the civilians role in the war against 'terror from space' as it was dubbed. Stein began to extol the virtues of all those who had been previously marginalised and denounced as frauds but had now become vindicated in light of the new threat. Jimmy Stock sprang to Joshua's mind and he wondered if he was now watching this with mixed feelings and confusion. Joshua's question was soon answered almost as if the director had read his mind. Panning across the front row of the audience, an array of characters, old and young, wizened and fresh faced all sat nervously shuffling on their seats and blushing. As the camera panned across, Joshua's heart thumped in his chest as a man with an extraordinary likeness to Jimmy sat at the end looking pensive and psyched.

“
Oh Christ, Jimmy what are you doing?” Joshua called out to the television set.

One by one, the civilians were all called to the stage to receive their award, a medallion on a ribbon presented to them by the Prime Minister Deacon himself. Joshua was suddenly in turmoil. He did not know what to expect next. Had Jimmy accepted the award and disregarded the reporters heartfelt efforts to enlighten him, or, had he accepted the offer of an audience with the country's leader for other less peaceful purposes. As Jimmy stepped up to the stage Joshua placed his hands to his cheeks.

“
No, no, no.” Joshua muttered expecting the worst.

When Jimmy Stock's name was called there was an unnatural delay which had not been present with the other presentations. The narrator made light of the non appearance only for the edgy looking taxi driver to step into the camera shot and put an end to the awkward moment. Instead of walking past Stein and towards the Prime minister, Jimmy paused and stepped over to whisper something in the comedians ear. Beck Stein looked instantly stressed and glanced over to the Prime Minister who appeared disinterested as he spoke to the young female who stood beside him. Jimmy turned to the audience and the camera which was trained closely on his face and leaned over to the microphone which was fastened to an Autocue system. Holding up a hand to silence the audience, it was clear that he wanted to address the public and immediately there was a sense that something was wrong.

“
I want to say something...” He mumbled, clearly not having used a microphone before, he was almost inaudible. As a worried presenter gestured to the stage manager, Jimmy spoke again knowing his impromptu speech would easily be cut off if he were seen to be causing trouble. Looking over to the Prime Minister he held his hand up and waved.

“
Don't worry, I'm not a Conservative.” He jested causing the audience to laugh including Deacon who grinned.

“
Do you know I've had an incredible experience. An experience that I would not wish on my worst enemy...”

Jimmy sounded agitated but the audience and director obviously felt that he was about to deliver a shot in the arm for the flagging hearts and minds of the country.

“
My whole life has changed since the day I was abducted from my home. I was tortured, molested and subjected to pain that no human should ever be allowed to...”

Jimmy choked up just remembering the horror.

“
I sometime wonder why? Why me? Well, I came to the conclusion that it was because maybe I was special, maybe I had a purpose, maybe I had a destiny to fulfil instead of being some worthless taxi driver...”

The camera panned to Deacon's face who looked mildly embarrassed by Jimmy's outpouring of emotion.

“
...and of course today I realise that I was just one of many who had been used and abused by the most despicable, and terrible of enemies. All of these people were picked because they were like me, just normal people who accepted what came to them and didn't know or care about the whys and the wherefores...”

Jimmy covered his mouth, he had the irresistible feeling that Jimmy Stock was dictating his own epitaph.

“
...except I’m different.”

The audience was clearly confused and some even applauded at Jimmy's passionate rant. There was hurried movement around the stage and Joshua watched Steins eyes which frantically looked across to the stage exit.

“
I've got something to tell you all and it's God's own truth...”

Jimmy raised his voice and Joshua took a deep sharp inhalation of breath.

“
...The alien invasion is a fraud, I was wrong, I was tortured by humans and it's all a fucking lie!”

Jimmy screamed out so loud that the microphone distorted and the audience drew breath in horror. Instantly several dark figures seemed to pounce on to the stage with the intention of removing Jimmy before he could utter another word but Jimmy had other ideas and his swansong would not be ended so easily or with such a anti-climatic end. Two loud cracks were suddenly heard as the director in his absolute confusion and haste managed to press any possible button in order to divert the outgoing feed. The camera view flashed around and the screen finally went black as screams and more shots were heard and for a heart stopping few seconds, the millions watching at home would have to make up their own minds how the affair came to a conclusion. The audio cut out and silence ensued for at least twenty seconds before some quick witted broadcast assistant pushed a button to begin one of the tired but regularly shown public safety films.

Joshua sat still, numbed by what he had just seen. The safety film played out before him, the irony was great as the presentation seemed poorly timed after what had transpired. Joshua knew Jimmy was dead. There could have been no other conclusion. He kicked himself for allowing Jimmy to take things into his own hands but the more he thought about it, the more he should have maybe seen it coming. Jimmy's life had little meaning, if he had not tried to at least make the best of his situation then it would have been a life wasted. Despite his grief for a good and noble man, Joshua could not help but punch the air in some kind of bizarre delight. It was the first moment of realisation for the people of Britain, a small but significant hint of doubt had been implanted into their brains.

Joshua walked over to the sideboard where he had an unopened bottle of cognac which he had been given as a gift several years ago. He had hoped to use it to celebrate a special occasion but now it seemed a fitting time to break the seal and drink to Jimmy's life and hope that in death, he had truly made a difference.