The Passengers(102)
To his left and right and beyond the black iron railings separating the steps from the pavement, protesters were held back by police officers. More were across the road and penned in behind temporary metal barricades. They were hurling abuse at him but he couldn’t make out the specifics of their chants. He noted they weren’t holding aloft the placards they’d brought with them most mornings. Slogans such as ‘MP – Murderer of Parliament’ or images of his face upon Adolf Hitler’s body were commonplace and their creativity quietly amused him. But today, they hadn’t been prepared for a ‘not guilty’ verdict. The only person who had was Jack.
Photographers snapped frantically as dozens of journalists thrust recording devices towards him and fired questions over one another. But Jack’s lips were sealed as he surveyed the vermin who had tried to crucify him in a trial by media. In the eyes of the law, he was an innocent man and, from this day forward, they had best remind themselves of the fact or he wouldn’t hesitate to take legal action.
Jack’s barrister, Barnaby Skuse, stepped in front of him before giving him a nod. Jack reciprocated, indicating he was ready. Barnaby was dressed in a tailored suit and not the black gown and white horsehair wig Jack had grown accustomed to seeing him in inside the courtroom. He swept his grey fringe across his forehead and held a piece of A4 paper in his hands. Above typed words was Jack’s family crest of arms: a shield containing a dragon, a sword and a clenched fist. Only Jack knew that no such crest had existed before he created it.
Barnaby cleared his throat before he began to speak in a rich, stentorian tone. ‘I have a statement to make on behalf of my client Mr Jack Larsson,’ he said. ‘Today, justice has been served. A jury has concluded there is no proof alleged “social cleansing” ever took place or that Mr Larsson was involved in any illegal activity. Any evidence put forward to the contrary by the prosecution was based on tampered or fabricated software developed by the organisation known as the Hacking Collective. While Mr Larsson has accepted that discussions did take place on prioritising certain occupations in the event of potentially fatal accidents, he does not believe any such software was activated or that any member of the Government past or present sanctioned it. What viewers heard him deliberating about on camera was nothing more than speculative and hypothetical. Mr Larsson would like to thank the jurors for having the common sense to support him. He will now be taking some time to consider his options but looks forward to making his return to central Government as an innocent man. He will not be making any further comments. Thank you.’
As Mr Skuse folded up the paper and slipped it inside his jacket pocket, Jack took a moment to savour his victory and the attention of the cameras. They were soon drowned out by journalists competing to try and get just one soundbite from the MP himself. But Jack had no intention of adding to his brief’s statement and allowed the smile he had suppressed for so long to spread across his face. He knew his triumph was being broadcast live on every news channel and news website. And tomorrow his victory would be the headline of all the daily newspapers.
He waited for his team of bodyguards to clear a path through the journalists as three Land Rovers with blacked-out windows pulled up against the kerb with military precision. Jack climbed into the rear of the central vehicle along with one other bodyguard who sat by the driver. His other security operatives entered the cars in front and behind before all three sped away along the road, leaving the chaos in the distance.
Inside the car, Jack remained silent, waiting for the adrenaline rush to dissolve. He glanced out from the window as he travelled along Embankment and passed the Palace of Westminster where so much of his working life had been spent. His mind drifted back to his first day there as an MP, fraught with nerves and full of the best of intentions. His only motivation was to represent the constituents who had voted him as their representative.
But somewhere along the line, his need to do good for the working classes was replaced by greed and ambition. His hunger for the same wealth as the ruling classes who surrounded him made him lose sight of everything else. Instead of fighting against them, he became one of them. On many an occasion over the years, a niggling voice in the back of his mind questioned whether casting aside his principles had been worth it. And each time the answer was yes, it had been.
The car travelled through Richmond and Twickenham before Jack saw his first road sign for Heathrow Airport. The terms of his bail conditions meant that for the last two years, he had been forbidden from leaving the country. Now, he was eagerly anticipating the solitude of a private booth in British Airway’s First-Class lounge before his fourteen-hour flight. Jack’s flight to China was scheduled for later that evening so he had plenty of time to kill. He had already booked his massage, manicure and haircut long before the jury reached its verdict. After a week in the Far East, he would fly to an exclusive resort in the Maldives then the Seychelles, which would allow plenty of time to formulate his next move.
A vibrating from the phone in his pocket caught his attention and he slipped an ear pod inside his ear.
‘Mr Larsson, may I have your secure line code please?’ an assertive female voice began.
‘Certainly,’ Jack replied and read out a memorised list of numbers and letters.
‘Thank you. I have the deputy Prime Minister on the line for you. Please hold.’
While he waited, Jack pressed a button on his door and a glass partition rose, making the rear of the vehicle completely soundproof. Then he took a swig of whiskey from a hipflask stored inside the armrest. Suddenly the voice of Diane Cline appeared.