passed. Could the man have been thinking of his son, Mitchell wondered? Nobody was allowed to mention the fact that for eleven years Ian and Jimmy Coates had lived happily as part of the same family.
“Now we need people like Mitchell more than ever,” the PM declared. “We have a new danger.”
Let me out of here, Mitchell screamed silently. He longed for a mission, or at least to get back to his simple, disciplined and anonymous life in the underground bunkers of NJ7. It was almost as if the sunlight filtering through the lace curtains carried poison into his skin.
At last the Prime Minister took his eyes off Mitchell. “I’ve asked William Lee to brief you all,” he announced, with a dismissive wave towards the man on Mitchell’s right.
“Thank you, Prime Minister.” Slowly, the man stood up —and up and up. He was by far the tallest man anybody in the room had ever seen. Mitchell had started to get used to it over the last few days, but clearly several members of the Cabinet were overwhelmed. William Lee towered above them, his shadow running the entire length of the tabletop. Mitchell would have described the man’s face as Indian, but he knew that didn’t quite capture the unique character of his features: long, thin nose; eyes like black olives.
“Jimmy Coates is alive,” Lee began. “He’s in Britain and he’s spreading misinformation about the Government. Miss Bennett, the file.” He turned and looked down at the person on Mitchell’s left: the Head of NJ7, the most frightening and beautiful woman Mitchell had ever known. He was barely able to gather the courage to turn and look at her now.
She nodded to Lee with a delicate smile and tossed a manila folder into the centre of the table. Its contents spilled across the lacquer— printouts of web pages, stills of Jimmy’s video message, photos of the break-in at the newspaper office in Hailsham, along with reams of other documents and reports.
Mitchell’s eyes remained on Miss Bennett. Apart from Mitchell, she was the youngest person in the room. Mitchell guessed she must have been in her late thirties, but with such glowing skin and bright red lipstick she often seemed younger. She looked as she always did—her back straight, her mouth in a knowing half-smile, her chestnut hair pulled back tightly and held in place by a green clip. Yet Mitchell was suspicious. She wouldn’t normally have co-operated so readily with William Lee. Mitchell wondered whether at that very moment her assistants were delving into Lee’s past in another effort to undermine his position.
Technically, William Lee was nothing more than Director of Special Security for the Prime Minister, but he had quickly won Coates’ trust and established himself at the heart of the Government. When he spoke, he had all the authority of a world leader.
“Lies spread fast,” he said. “We’re following protocol, which means Miss Bennett has an NJ7 team working with the Corporation as we speak, to shut down any websites that carry his messages and limit the damage. But these lies seem to be spreading more quickly than any we’ve encountered from any opposition before. We traced the initial breach of information security to the office of a local newspaper in Hailsham. The editor and staff are in custody. They’re sharing what they know.”
Mitchell couldn’t help shuddering. He didn’t need to see the pictures in the manila folder. He knew what Lee meant by “sharing what they know”. He’d seen the stale bloodstains on the floors of NJ7 interview rooms.
Suddenly Lee was interrupted by a heavy sigh from Miss Bennett. Everybody looked to her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, in a way that made it obvious she wasn’t sorry at all. “But shouldn’t you tell everybody exactly what this boy’s saying that’s so dangerous?”
Lee responded calmly. “Fine. He’s saying that the Government’s reasons for going to war with France are based on a lie. He claims we weren’t attacked by the French.”
“And were we?” Miss Bennett’s smile broadened, but her eyes glinted like blades.
“Were we what?”
“Were we attacked by the French? Or were we wrong?”
“Wrong?” Lee snapped. “The evidence was presented, discussed and agreed upon. You were there, and you agreed with the Prime Minister’s decision.”
“I agreed on the basis of the evidence,” Miss Bennett replied. “If it turns out that evidence was misleading, and we have new evidence…”
“The decision to attack France has already been taken,” Lee interrupted, “and now we must follow through.”
Mitchell tried to shrink into his chair. He was stuck in the middle of the argument. Even though he was secretly delighted that Miss Bennett knew exactly how to infuriate William Lee, he hated having the eyes of the room aimed in his direction again. In desperation he looked to the Prime Minister, hoping he’d put a stop to the discussion. But Coates was staring into the middle distance, his head swaying slightly from side to side. Was he OK, Mitchell wondered?”
“Tell me,” Miss Bennett was saying, “have you considered why Jimmy Coates’s message is spreading more quickly than anti-Government messages have in the past?”
Lee wasn’t phased by the question. “I’m sure your team at the Information Division knows much more than I could about which messages people choose to disperse over the Internet.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “It seems to me that people will forward any old rubbish. They send all their friends personality quizzes, ridiculous jokes and pictures of monkeys dressed as penguins.”
“I haven’t seen that picture,” Miss Bennett cut in. “I think I’d like to. Mitchell, make sure I see the penguin-monkey that Mr Lee knows so much about. I don’t want to be left behind.” Mitchell squirmed. “And find out about ‘jokes’ as well. I might like them.”
“Miss Bennett!” William Lee couldn’t help raising his voice now, and looked around the room for support. Mitchell knew that only the Prime Minister would have dared tell Miss Bennett to be quiet and right now he looked far away, concentrating on something else.
“No need to shout,” purred Miss Bennett. “All I’m saying is that it looks like people are responding to the boy’s message. Maybe they believe him, and maybe they want to believe him.”
Mitchell was amazed. He’d seen Miss Bennett argue with William Lee before, but never in front of so many other people.
“A message doesn’t spread itself, does it?” she went on. “It takes members of the public to—”
“Members of the public?” roared Ian Coates, suddenly bursting into life as if he’d just woken up from a nightmare. Everybody was startled. “Since when did we take the advice of strangers in the street on how to run the country?”
Mitchell watched the faces of Miss Bennett and William Lee. They were both dumbfounded by Ian Coates’ outburst. But as the PM went on, Mitchell noticed a change in his voice. It was thin and frail, like the voice of a man thirty years older.
“Members of the public?!” Coates repeated, even more indignant. “The system of Neo-democracy protects the British people from the ignorance of the general population.” His eyes bulged with rage and his temples were throbbing. Mitchell found he couldn’t look away from the beads of sweat glistening in the furrows on the man’s forehead. “The vital decisions are taken by experts,” Coates was saying. “By us. Nobody in Britain should live with the responsibility
