What had started out as an angry outburst was quickly developing into a full-on row. Now it was Dick’s turn for an outburst.
‘Face it Susan, there’s no more proof now about a weapon than when I first arrived. It’s all conjecture and hearsay. In fact, I’m beginning to think there’s actually no weapon. That’s right, it’s all a big lie. A myth perpetuated by Taylor to reinforce his position as leader’.
‘That’s absolutely ridiculous, and you know it!’, shouted Susan.
‘Is it?’, asked Dick, before launching into his best impersonation of Taylor, which to be honest was not that good, being far too camp.
‘Look at me everyone, I’m Taylor the resistance leader’, Dick mimicked. ‘No one questions my authority because I‘m so tall and well-spoken and smoke a pipe. I’ve got the most important job here, co-ordinating the plans to locate the secret weapon. The weapon? You didn’t know about it? That’s because it’s a secret. Top-secret? No, make that ‘above top-secret’. It’s so secret that no one has heard anything about it — not even the fucking Party’.
Susan slapped Dick’s face hard. ‘A few minutes ago’, she said, ‘I came in and saw you sitting here, illuminated by the glow of the fire. I felt extremely aroused and thought we might make love later. Well you and your arrogant sense of self-importance have managed to turn me completely off that particular thought!’
‘I can’t believe you’re throwing away the chance to have sex with me!’ Dick responded.
‘You’re absolutely unbelievable!’ Susan continued her rant. ‘Again, you only think about yourself! You may have a large penis but I know one thing that’s bigger. Your ego! Believe me, Mr. Longg I’ll still have sex tonight, but just not with you!’
Dick was hurt. Not only had his self-esteem been damaged, but he’d also just thrown away the chance of a quick lay. He dealt with situations like this in the best way he knew.
‘Well you’re crap in bed anyway!’
Susan shot him a steely glare and stormed out at the precise moment that Edward, Taylor and Alice walked into the lounge. Standing next to them in the doorway she turned to face Dick and shouted, ‘Well your penis curves to the left!’.
Dick hoped that was the end of her outrage but he was wrong.
‘Bendy cock!’, Susan yelled before slamming the door behind her.
Dick made his excuses to Taylor and his colleagues and also left the lounge. Insulting him was one thing, but insulting his penis was quite another. And anyway, it was only a very slight curvature and totally within normal medical limits.
Jack’s final victim had been terminated the previous evening near to Aldgate. The killing was as sensational and gruesome as his previous murders. This particular harlot was found sliced from neck to navel, wearing her intestines wrapped around her neck like a scarf, albeit a scarf that was slimy and very smelly. Given the large number of victims and the duration of this campaign Dick was extremely satisfied to see that the story still made front page news. The media and public still retained an active interest in the crimes, although this now caused a dilemma; how to maintain this interest now all the harlots had been terminated. This was an issue that Dick had anticipated. Rather than have Jack killed by an upstanding member of the public as he’d previously contemplated, Dick made arrangements to have him taken out of the field and returned ‘to base’. Party technicians had wanted to scrap him but Dick was insistent that Jack be powered-down and just kept in storage. After all, who knew if his skills would be required in the future.
With Jack out of action Dick had to ensure that the public were reminded from time to time about the dangers of prostitution, in the sense that if you were a harlot you were firstly, a morally-defective deviant and secondly, you were very likely to be murdered in a grisly fashion without your consent. Dick needed to affect this in a way that required little input from him personally but which created the same level of publicity. A decommissioned Jack posed no problems. The media would still report future, more sporadic murders – but of course, they’d all be faked. There would be no killer and no victims – just realistic reports and photographs that would be distributed to the media through the normal news channels. Even eyewitness accounts would be faked. The police officers and the witnesses, in fact anyone involved in the reports, would be fictitious.
For the media trying to investigate the crimes, trying to locate these people would be so time-consuming and wrapped-up in red tape that they wouldn’t bother. The easiest option was to take the story as provided and run it. Dick knew this would work because in his experience most journalists were lazy hacks who just wanted stories delivered to them on a plate; chasing them was just too damn hard. He was sure this work ethic, or lack of it, was ingrained in all journalists’ DNA so it would likely exist in the future as well. And he was right. (Naturally, what Dick thought of journalists excluded book reviewers who, as everyone knows, are a breed apart; hard-working, discerning, conscientious, diligent, objective professionals who are as good-looking as they are intelligent).
Dick prepared a large number of these reports of future killings with all the relevant supporting information and devised a schedule to drip-feed these stories into the media over a long period of time. He didn’t worry that the stories might eventually be relegated to the second half of the newspapers or the part of broadcast news that began, ‘And finally…’ He, and of course, the Party just wanted the murders to be reported on a regular basis.
It had been another long day in the office when Dick finally finished his summarising report on Project Gladstone and handed it to Vera. As usual, they were the last two people remaining. Vera took the folder, flicked through it then put it down on her desk, tears welling-up in her eyes. As she dabbed them with a delicate lace handkerchief more sobs came. Dick looked up. More sobs. Then more still. Soon Vera was trembling. Dick didn’t know what to do. He was used to women crying tears of joy but these sorts of tears just made him feel very awkward. Instinctively he put his arms around Vera and cradled her head on his chest, pleased the roles weren’t reversed otherwise he’d surely suffocate.
‘I’m so pleased that Jack’s been a success’, Vera said between sobs. ‘And I’m so sad too’.
‘Sad? Why?’ Dick asked, patting Vera’s ample back.
‘Because of this’. Vera took the handkerchief away from her face and pulled back slightly from Dick so she could retrieve an open envelope from her desk. She reburied her face in his chest and more tears came. Dick kept one arm around her and with the other, took the envelope from her and shook loose its contents, a brief, very official-looking letter. By now Vera was crying so much her whole body was shaking and this made the letter extremely difficult to read. A few keys words caught Dick’s eye, but these were the only words he needed to see: ‘appointment’, ‘Ruling’, ‘Council’ and ‘forthwith’. He liked all these words, particularly the last one. He’d been desperately hoping for this new appointment ever since the Leader first mentioned it but wasn’t sure if it was an empty promise or a genuine opportunity. Now it was real, and far, far sooner than he had hoped.
Dick saw himself putting each foot on the rungs of achievement as he climbed the ladder of success. That was in the very near future. In the very near present he had to calm Vera down so he could go home, leaving the office and her, forever. He gently pushed Vera away so he could see her face. Her eyes were red raw, tears had completely smeared her blusher and there was a stream of grey green mucous seeping out of one nostril.