Electronic Gags (8 page)

When
it was time to sing, the church choir played an instrumental of a popular hymn.
Children under fifteen sang the hymn and adults clapped hands. Sarah Owen saw
this as a good opportunity to show off. She was the only adult in the
congregation who could afford to sing and she was going to let everyone know
that. She sang with a high voice, though she knew she couldn’t sing well. She
didn’t mind the discord. She was showing all the losers in the church that she
was rich.  When the minister preached, Sarah Owen was the only one who
interjected with shouts of “hallelujah” and “amen.” She had never enjoyed
church like this.

“It’s
time for the closing prayer,” Reverend Andrews said when he finished his
sermon. “Can anyone please say the closing prayer?”

“Let’s
pray,” Sarah Owen shouted, glad of another opportunity to flaunt her wealth.
She went on to say the longest prayer in the history of the church.

“I
hate Sarah Owen,” Freddie couldn’t resist telling his mother on the way home.

“Everyone
hates her,” Melissa said. “Of all the people in church today, she was the only
one glad to wear a NAST.”

“She
looks like she is stinking rich,” Kyle said. “When I sell my video games I will
show her that she is not the only one who can make money.”

“Mom
and Kyle, I will see you later,” Freddie said. “I have to see someone.”

Melissa
and Kyle waved at Freddie and he waved back. He turned right and went to Michael’s
home. He was desperate for news about Michael.

He
opened the gate and looked round the yard, remembering how he and Michael
played here when they were boys. Freddie and Michael were so different that Freddie
sometimes wondered what drew them so close. Freddie was quiet and cautious
whilst Michael was vocal and rash. Now Freddie knew what drew them together.
Both Freddie and Michael were raised by single mothers and when they were small
boys, they helped each other fix household appliances for their mothers, mow
the lawn and do all the work that men of the neighborhood did for their wives.
Their mothers had no husbands and the two boys vowed to do everything they
could for them. When they finished the work, Freddie and Michael would sit
outside, talking about what they would do for their moms when they grew up.

Freddie
wiped tears from his eyes, rang the doorbell and sighed, summoning the courage
to face Michael’s mother. She opened the door and her face hardened when she
saw him. She had aged a lot since he last saw her. There were bags under her
eyes, the lines on her face we deeper and she had stopped dying her hair,
revealing its grayness.

“How
are you Miss Wright?”

Her
lips moved but no word passed through them. He could see she was dying to say
something but was worried about airtime.

“I
just want to ask about Michael.” He took a ten lucre note from his wallet.
“Here is some money to replace the airtime you will waste speaking with me.”

She
didn’t move an inch.

“Please
Miss Wright, take the money and speak with me,” he begged. “For old time’s
sake.”

She
grabbed the money and winced when President Ward’s face smiled at her from the
banknote. “What do you want, Freddie?”

“Is
Michael still alive?”

“That
is none of your business.”

“Miss
Wright, he is my best friend,” Freddie protested.

“He
was your friend, at least that’s what he thought.”

“Miss
Wright, I didn’t betr―”

“Did
the CIB send you to investigate me?”

“Please
Miss Wright, you are hurting me,” he pleaded. “Michael is like my brother. I
didn’t―”

“Go
away, Freddie,” she thundered. “Don’t come back!”

“Miss―”

“I
said go away!”

More
angry than sad, Freddie went away.

*
* * * *

Freddie
and his mother left for the wildlife refuge just before ten on Monday. The bus
stopped after travelling for only two hours of the six-hour journey to the District
Ten where the Brandon Ward Wildlife Refuge was located.

“Why
did he stop here?” asked the old woman in front of Freddie. “If the driver
wants us to refresh, he should stop in District Four.”

“Perhaps
the bus has broken down,” answered her husband.

“Ladies
and gentlemen,” the driver said over the intercom, “the time is now two minutes
to twelve and at twelve we sing the national anthem.”

All
vehicles on the road had stopped. At twelve everyone stood at attention and
sang
God Bless the Ten Districts of America
. At four past twelve, the
driver started the bus and continued with the journey.

*
* * * *

Professor
Reed was a happy man. Things had turned out much better than he expected.
Although he was still the Education Minister, his role as NASP’s administrator
gave him control of sections of the Ministry of State Security, Ministry of
Defense, Ministry of interior and Ministry of Information. Apart from President
Ward, Senior Minister Christopher Ward, and Vice President Butler, only Reed
had such inter-ministerial control.

“Darling,”
he told his wife at the breakfast table, “you should have seen Collins’s face
when I told him to make arrangements for me to get fifty CIB agents for my
electronic gag program.” He laughed. “Who would have thought that Collins, the Minister
of State Security and the secretary-general of the National Party would one day
take orders from me?”

“Your
career is rising, darling.” Mrs Reed returned his smile. “But you must be
careful not to step on too many toes on your way up.”

“Don’t
worry darling… I will be careful. If the supreme leader is on my side, who can
harm me?” He sipped his coffee. “President Ward invited me to the National
Security Committee.” He giggled. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.”

“In
the past, the president, the vice president, the president’s brother and the
ministers of Defense, State Security and Interior where the only civilians who
attended the National Security Committee. The president saw it fit to invite me
to his weekly meeting with his security chiefs.” He giggled. “Collins and Campbell
will turn green with envy when they see me.”

“That’s
great, darling,” Mrs Reed said, rewarding him with another helping. “Just be
wary of those who hate your rise.”

“I
will be alert, honey.” He looked at his watch. “Seven twenty-three. I have to
go. I don’t want to be late for my first National Security Committee.”

A
servant opened the garage for Reed and he drove out. The armed policemen
guarding Reed’s house saluted as the minister drove through the gate. Like all Cabinet
ministers, Professor Reed had three armed policemen guarding his house.

He
drove through the quiet streets of the posh Brandon Ward Subdistrict, named
after the supreme leader. After about fifteen minutes, he came into the Brandon
Ward Avenue that led to the First Building, the supreme leader’s residence.

A
CIB agent with a clean-shaven head ushered Professor Reed into the First
Building. Beautifully designed and surrounded with green lawns and beautiful
gardens, the First Building looked like a five-star hotel. It was rumored that
there was a network of bunkers under the building. The CIB agent ushered
Professor Reed into a boardroom. The professor thought he was the first to
arrive for the meeting and was surprised to see all the security chiefs
present, exchanging pleasantries as they waited for their commander-in-chief.

On
the chair closest to the unoccupied chairs of the civilian members of the National
Security Committee was General Robinson, the commander of the armed forces. The
general was a black man who was as big and tall as he was handsome, and he was
imposing in his green army service uniform. Next to General Robinson was Air
Marshal Gardner, the air force commander, another tall black man, spotting blue
service uniform. President Brandon Ward had many faults, but racism and lookism
weren’t among them. He had put many blacks and Hispanics in top positions in
the government and in the security forces. The supreme leader didn’t care about
race and looks, he cared about loyalty and efficiency. Next to the Air Marshal
was Police Commissioner Hunt, dressed in light green service uniform. On the
other side of the table was General Palmer, the army commander, wearing green service
uniform; Admiral Cox, the navy commander, wearing white service uniform; Director-General
Sullivan, the head of the CIB, wearing a suit that made him look like a
businessman; and Retired Colonel Carter, the head of the prison services, also
wearing a suit. The men sitting at this table had ordered the arrest, torture
and killing of thousands of people.

The
security chiefs looked at Professor Reed as if he was a fly that had landed on
their food. The professor was the Minister of Education and as far as they were
concerned, the National Security Committee was out of bounce for him.

“Good
morning dear patriots,” Professor Reed said.

“Reed,
what a surprise,” General Robinson said with unconcealed disgust. “I didn’t
know you were now in the National Security Committee.”

Reed
knew he had to play it safe with the security chiefs. He had to win these
powerful men to his side if he wanted to achieve his political ambitions.
“General Robinson, you flatter me,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I
was only summoned here to brief you, esteemed members of the National Security
Committee, about NASP.”

That
seemed to soften the general. “Take a seat, Patriot Reed,” he said.

“Thank
you, general,” the professor said, sitting next to Retired Colonel Carter.
“Good morning to you all, esteemed security chiefs.”

“Good
morning, Patriot Reed,” chorused the security chiefs.

“You
have been very busy of late, Patriot Reed,” Sullivan, the CIB chief, said with
a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Quite
busy, director-general.”

The
director-general admired Professor Reed’s ingenuity. The electronic gags would
make intelligence work easier for the CIB. He knew he had to keep an eye on Professor
Reed. He had met Reed several times during the past three weeks as the
professor set up NASP. As he watched Reed enjoying his new role at the CIB headquarters,
the director-general began to suspect that the professor had ambitions to take
over the leadership of the CIB.

“I
hope to finish my work with NASP as soon as possible,” Professor Reed added, aware
of the director-general’s jealousies. “It’s affecting my work in my ministry.”

“You
are right, Patriot Reed,” said Admiral Cox. “Leave the guns to us. Go back to
your ministry and teach our children numbers and letters.”

“I
will do that Patriot Cox.” Professor Reed smiled at the admiral. “You have my
word on that.”

All
the security chiefs saluted when the Minister of Defense, Retired General
Sanders entered. The Defense Minister was the second in the chain of command. He
was commander of the TDA’s armed forces for fifteen years before President Ward
drafted him into the Cabinet after the death of the incumbent Minister of
Defense. “It seems we have a new man in the NSC,” he said, looking at Professor
Reed.

“Are
you talking about me, general?” Professor Reed said, smiling at the Defense
Minister. “I’m only here to brief you, esteemed members of the NSC about NASP.”

“Oh
NASP, that little project of yours,” the Defense Minister said as he took his
seat.

The
ministers of Interior and State Security entered.

“Reed,
what the hell are you doing here?” Campbell demanded.

“We
won’t be discussing the alphabet or the number line,” mocked Collins.

“Maybe
the professor wants to take us back to school,” General Palmer, the army
commander, said with a laugh.

“You
didn’t answer me,” Campbell rasped. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Professor
Reed smiled at the Minister of Interior. “Patriot Campbell, I am here on the
orders of the supreme leader.”

Collins
and Campbell angrily took their seats.

Everyone
rose from their seats and the security chiefs saluted when President Brandon Ward,
Vice President Butler and Senior Minister Christopher Ward, the three members
of the High Council, entered.

“You
may sit down,” President Ward said.

Everyone
sat down except the president’s bodyguard.

“Let’s
get on with business, patriots. Professor Reed, the inventor of NASP is here
with us today. Patriots, NASP is part and parcel of our security system and you
are going to cross-examine the professor about his invention and help us
improve it.”

Director-General
Sullivan raised a hand.

“Yes
Director-General,” President Ward said.

“Thank
you, Patriot President.” The director-general cleared his throat and
straightened his jacket. “What happens when a citizen travels outside the
country? Will citizens go out of the Ten Districts of America with electronic
gags?”