The Prometheus Effect (29 page)

“
Well, with all respect Sir, I feel that it's somewhat inevitable anyway. I don't believe there is any room for a journalist like me whilst the paper is governed by Jameson and his cronies.”

Fernandes laughed.

“
Well, that's something you did work out for yourself. Have to suck it up you will and make yourself useful. Ride the waves until the storm dies out.”

Joshua took another deep breath.

“
Speaking of the storm, it is my opinion that this is a spell of bad weather that isn't going to go away any time soon. In fact I have rather a unique perspective on the matter and have acquired information that might prove significant on levels that cannot even be imagined.”

Fernandes turned the corners of his mouth down.

“
Found a scoop have you son? If I were you I’d save it for a rainy day because you're not going to get it into print any time soon.”

“
No Mr Fernandes, It's something which won't wait. Something that could have major consequences across the country, something that has to be shared amongst the people.”

“
And you think the public have an appetite for such things do you?”

Joshua was surprised at Fernandes' lack of interest at his tantalising offering. A paper man through and through, where had Fernandes' hunger gone, where was the spirit of free speech? Perhaps it was not pertinent to share his knowledge with Fernandes? What if his boss was incredibly part of the insidious plot?

“
Sir, I'm taking extraordinary risks coming in here today and speaking to you like this, but it is my belief that I have information which if printed and distributed may possibly send a shock wave across the country and maybe the world. What I am trying to ask is...”

“
The impossible.” Fernandes cut across the young reporter sharply.

“
What you fail to understand Regan, is that I no longer have the final say around here anymore. The final copy is approved by Jameson and then sent to the production floor. It didn't matter if you uncovered the King has a penchant for sadomasochist orgies and had candid shots of him in his rubber suit and gimp mask. The fact is, that the show's over...”

“
Bloody hell man, it's not, it's just that you've given up, conceded the match and long before time might I say. To hell with Jameson, Sir! I need your help to make a difference and you're possibly the only one who can...”

Joshua raised his voice at Fernandes who rose up like a puffer fish about to claim his superiority through sheer size. Even Miss Penny in the reception took a sharp inhalation of breath as he heard Joshua lose his rag.

“
Now you just listen here...” Fernandes was about to deliver a parting shot just before his employee was ordered to clear his desk but Joshua did not even give him the opportunity.

“
No, bollocks to you Sir if you won't grow a pair. This isn’t a game and my life is at stake with every minute that passes whilst I have this knowledge. Either you will help me or you won't, either way I have to do this. At the end of the day it comes down to the question whether the Messenger is capable of delivering liberation to the people of our country or not. We are at war, Sir and it is not with little green men.”

Joshua stormed out of the office not daring to look back or even turning to see the horrified look on Miss Penny's face on his exit. Slumping down at his own desk, he expected to be pursued at any moment or the phone to ring to receive his marching orders. A minute passed and he waited, breathing hard. A few more reporters ambled in but apart from the usual office banter, it was almost as if his transgression had not come to any event. Perhaps Fernandes had died of a heart attack through the shock of someone standing up to him? Perhaps even he might have been shamed into considering Joshua's plea?

Jameson and his assorted minions appeared at the office entrance from the elevator, their briefcases all matching government issue. The atmosphere was instantly tense as they strode through the room with an air of obnoxious authority. To Joshua's horror, on his way past Jameson stopped and turned to speak to the sweating, nervous reporter.

“
Haven't seen you before have I?” He boomed. Joshua shook his head. He had previously had a habit of making himself scarce in his presence.

“
What's your role here?” He continued his inquisition. Joshua had dreaded this part. He knew full well that his skill set was the last thing Jameson wanted to see at this institution.

“
Showbiz correspondent.” A voice came from the distance much to Joshua's continuing amazement. Fernandes was stood behind Jameson, his face resembled the great bulldog inspired Churchill look. It was one of resilience and bravery.

“
I told you Regan if that story isn’t on my desk by Friday then it's not happening, do you understand me? Fucking celebrity crap. Good for sales though, good for the common people of our great country!” Fernandes shook the hall with his resonant reprimand.

“
If I were you son I’d get out there and start wearing some leather off those soles. You won't get nothing lazing around here!”

Joshua raised his eyebrows and jumped up from his seat. Clutching his case he acknowledged the on looking Jameson and hastily ambled from his desk to the elevator. With his finger shaking as he pressed the call button for the lift, Joshua grinned as he turned back to see Fernandes' eyes burning a hole in his back. Friday...this was one deadline he could not afford to miss at any cost.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Fleming Island, Florida

January 4
^th
2021

Coffey drove down the narrow lane, his lights dipped. Creeping forward, he was thankful for the satellite navigation system which was provided by his CIA colleagues. It was after one in the morning and he had driven it seemed, all day. That afternoon he had made the four hour journey up to Jacksonville from Tampa but had had to deviate from the usual interstate 75 route due to checkpoints. The journey had stretched into more like five and a half hours and for every minute he was out on the roads, he felt insecure and vulnerable to recognition or capture.

His target in Jacksonville, Annie Sacker nee Letterman. Annie was the sister of Adam Letterman, the CIA operative who seemed to hold some kind of key to the whole drama but was annoyingly aloof both for the government agencies that sought him out and for Coffey who was after him for a very different reason.

Coffey was now headed towards a smallholding somewhere near Fleming Island which was several miles south of Jacksonville. The very fact that he was here could be labelled as a success of sorts. Letterman’s sister had been surprisingly forthcoming with information to the outlawed astronaut although it was not an easy encounter for anyone concerned.

Annie Sacker was a woman in her late forties, her husband had perished in a road accident not so many years back and her part in the tragic events was written all over her face and her body. Paralysed and wheelchair bound, Coffey could instantly tell that she had persecuted herself for many years and took the blame over her husband's death. As Chuck and Bradley had intimated, she had already been visited by numerous CIA agents earlier in the week who began on convivial terms then quickly became more aggressive, tearing through her house and property leaving no stone unturned in the search for her younger brother.

Coffey's arrival, although unexpected did not seem shocking to Annie. 'There are always two sides to every story' she often said with a charming wisdom. She invited the fugitive into her home despite his uncouth appearance and dubious reason for his presence. Coffey had trodden carefully. He was in no position to be giving away too much too soon. He did not yet know whether Letterman could be trusted or not. The fact that he was wanted even more than Coffey drew certain conclusions about the amount of potentially harmful knowledge accrued, but it was not wise to jump to conclusions.

The more Coffey spoke with Annie, the more relaxed he had felt in her presence and her confidence as he shared some of the details of his previous months ordeal. Annie was obviously a woman of some intellect but Coffey also detected a dreamer; at times she spoke and digressed at such a tangent, he had struggled to keep up. The mention that her brother might have discovered some kind of global conspiracy seemed to invigorate her. She obviously idolised her sibling and Coffey could tell that their relationship was not one separated by states but most likely by miles. Coffey quickly felt that she knew at least in part where her brother had taken refuge and had made an effort to convince her that he too was in the same situation and that together, perhaps they could work something out to ensure each other's safety.

It did not take more than an hour for Annie to confide in Coffey, what she had not in the bland suited agents as they rapped on her door. Writing an address on a scrap of paper she simply handed the note to Coffey with a timid smile and a assurance that he would do everything in his power to restore her brothers credibility and freedom. On leaving Annie, Coffey pondered on Bradley's description of the woman who stood before him. It was incredible to see how the strength and confidence of an individual could be stripped away so easily by tragedy.

On approaching the dark building which stood on its own at the end of the track, Coffey did not quite know how to play this. It was clear that Letterman would be armed and trained in lethal force. Scared, isolated, even the most passive introductions could prove difficult. In who was Letterman’s' allegiance placed? Was he simply a simple soul in the wrong place at the wrong time or was there some deeper to uncover here?

In order to provoke as little suspicion or tension as possible, Coffey took the more unusual angle of driving up to the cottage at normal speed with his lights on and beeping his horn loudly as if to announce to the neighbourhood that he had arrived. It seemed a little odd but he figured that creeping up on the house in the dark would have ended with unfortunate circumstances. The house was lit inside but the drapes were drawn tightly shut, only the dim glow of the inner lighting escaped. Coffey stepped out of the car casually and raised his hands above his head briefly to show that he was not holding anything or packing any kind of heat. There was no obvious signs that he was being watched but if Letterman was here, then he was almost certainly hanging on Coffey's every movement.

Coffey stepped up the small flight of steps to the porch and rapped on the wooden door three times.

“
Hello? Delivery for Letterman.” Coffey boldly voiced. The absurdity of his statement evident. It was nearly two in the morning.

“
No one of that name here. Wrong address.” A muffled voice from inside bellowed. Coffey smiled.

“
Yeah, it's true, it's a telegram from the Whitehouse.” Coffey almost enjoyed the coy game.

“
Oh yeah? What does it say?” Came the reply after a long pause.

“
It says to congratulate your hard work, you've won a free shuttle flight to watch the Prometheus effect first hand. Space sickness pills included in flight.”

There was a very long pause in which Coffey thought he might have played it a little more tactfully. There was a clunk from the door and it inch ajar allowing a stream of light to escape.

“
Don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Who are you?” The voice was now clearer but no more steady or relaxed.

“
Look, I'm a friend. If I wasn't you know you'd already be dead. Let's just say that I'm someone with some kind of empathy for your ongoing day to day issues. Someone you need to talk to and vice versa.”

The door opened fully. A young lean and tanned looking man stood there in a pair of faded jeans and a silk shirt.

“
Jesus, I know you?” Letterman said as he studied Coffey's face closely.

“
As many have said before, we're the ones that steal the limelight and get the kudos. I think you'd better invite me in.”

Coffey sat at a pine dining table with accompanying chair set. The small cottage was rustic and homely but it was clear that it was not Letterman’s home.

“
How did you find me?” The coy young man asked as he paced around the room with a shot glass of Bourbon in hand.