Benjamin Stone
The
sun makes it all shine like a new pin. And the day began like most days in the
village. Already people were promenading around the pool and fountain in the
Piazza, whilst others were enjoying themselves in a game of Croquet on the
village green. Citizens all dressed in bright coloured attire, striped capes,
straw boaters, piped blazers, some went about carrying open umbrellas acting as
parasols against the sun. Cyclists peddled their bicycles this way and that, a
man riding a tricycle rang his bicycle bell when pedestrians got in his way.
“Good morning, good morning one and
all” began a cheery female voice over the public address system “congratulations
on yet another day. It’s another day of sunshine and blue sky, although there
is a danger of intermittent showers later in the day. Here is a special
announcement, the local Town Council, and remember it’s your local Town
Council, has announced a great new sandcastle competition which is just three weeks
today.”
There
was a sudden disturbance of the violent kind. Two men had started an argument,
about nothing at all. They grappled with one another, punches were thrown
resulting in a split lip and a bleeding nose. One got the other in a deadly
Dervish death grip that struggling against it sent the two men ending up in the
fish pond.
Suddenly there was the sound of a siren, and
a light blue Jeep was quick on the scene. Two men in grey overalls, white
helmets and white gloves and boots jumped out brandishing white truncheons,
leaned over the low stone wall, and hauled the two men out of the water. They
were quickly bundled into the back of the jeep and driven away.
No.4 had been watching the scene from
a nearby bench “What will happen to them?” he asked one of the citizens
watching the scene.
“They’ll be given treatment” No.90
told him.
“At the hospital.”
“No, in the Therapy Zone” No.90 said sternly.
The Therapy Zone is a cold dank place, with
no mod-cons although there is running water! Candles light the interior of the
cave, where a hermit has lived since the war. A figure dressed in robe and cowl
sits at a table filling three opium pipes. Suddenly there is a commotion
outside and two men are dragged into the cave and pushed onto the floor.
“Be calm friends, be calm” the hermit said to
the two men as the security men left.
“Where are we?” asked No.50.
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“We are all friends here” a man in a straw
boater said “this is the Therapy Zone. Come, smoke a pipe, and the village will
look a different place” said the hermit.
“What smoke that filthy muck, not on
your life!” said No.52.
“You are both troubled, here I can take
your troubles away, for a few hours at least” was the hermits offer.
50 and 50b looked at each other, the
one tipping the other the wink, they got up and made a dash for the opening of
the cave and the night beyond. Just as they reached the mouth of the cave, a
steel door slid shut, effectively cutting the two men off from the outside. The
hermit stood facing them, an opium pipe in both hands.
“You were brought here for a reason,
smoke a pipe or not, you are going nowhere, this is the Therapy Zone, where I
shall bring out your worst fears.”
It was a chilly, grey Wednesday
morning, and just after breakfast it began to rain. It was the kind of morning
that one wished to remain indoors behind a comfortable desk. But go out into
the damp and cold he must, because an appointment had been made and must be
kept.
A short walk in the chill air was a
bracing one for Benjamin Stone as he made his way along to the bus stop to
catch the C15 which would take him into the city. He only had to stand waiting
for a couple of minutes before a green and cream single-decker bus appeared out
of the gloom. He stuck out a hand, the orange indicator flashing the bus pulled
over and came to a stop, the door opened and he stepped aboard. Paid his fare,
took his ticket, and a seat about half-way along the bus. He glanced at his
watch it said
The bus began to slow down, and
pulled up at a bus stop, no-one got aboard. The driver closed the electrically
operated door, and the bus went on its way. It travelled a mile or so, then
stopped at another bus stop, the door opened. Looking out of the window he saw
a woman and child standing there. The woman waved her hand, the door closed
once more and the driver steered the bus back into the traffic, cars, vans,
other busses all heading in and out of the city. The bus stopped again, a tall
man in a long raincoat, and wide brimmed brown hat got onto the bus.
“Do you know the way?” the man asked.
The bus driver muttered something
incomprehensible, took the man’s fare and dispensed a ticket.
The man had a smile on his face and
walked along the bus as the
25
door
closed. The driver glanced in his mirror, engaged first gear, released the
clutch while pressing down on the accelerator, and turning the steering the bus
merged once more with the traffic. The sudden movement of the bus momentarily
sent the man off balance forcing him to grasp hold of a leather strap hanging
down from the roof. After steadying himself the man in the wide brimmed hat
walked passed the seated Benjamin Stone, who looked at the tall man from the
corner of his eye, who sat in the seat behind him.
Leaning forward in his seat the tall
man said quietly “Do you know the way?”
Benjamin Stone, a man of medium
height, dark brown hair, 34 years of age, an altogether unremarkable man, looking
out of the window at the buildings as they passed by, was taken aback for a
moment at hearing the quiet voice in his ear. He turned his head slightly, he
didn’t turn round because he had no desire to see the man’s face underneath
that wide brimmed hat.
“I don’t know what you mean” he said
almost clandestine, as though he didn’t want to bus driver to see him in his
mirror speaking to the man sat behind him.
“Do you know the way?” the man asked
once more.
“The way, the way to where?” Benjamin
asked in reply.
“If you don’t know the way………” the
man began.
“But surely the way lies ahead”
Benjamin suggested.
“You’re on your way to work.”
“Yes.”
“You have a black leather document
case, I have one like that” the man said and held up an identical one “Would
you like to make a swap?”
“Swap?” Benjamin asked turning his
head a little more to see the black leather document case.
“Mine for yours” the man suggested.
“Why should I want to do that?”
“Because you know the way” the man
said with a smile.
“But I don’t know you, you could be
just anyone. You sit there and calmly ask me to swap my case for yours. What’s
in it anyway?” he asked turning and looking at the face under the hat.
The man had a narrow face, with sharp
features, “hatchet faced,” with a grim expression.
“What day is it?” the hatchet faced
man asked.
“Wednesday.”
“Then they’re spam” the man replied,
his grim expression suddenly replaced by a broad grin.
“Spam?” Benjamin asked.
The man tapped his black document
case and said “Spam sandwiches.”
“I don’t like spam.”
26
“What’s in yours?” the man asked from below
the brim of his hat.
“Blueprints!”
The hatchet faced man had his chin on
the back of Stone’s seat, his eyes looking down at the zipped black document
case on the seat.
“Now why did I say that?” Stone asked
himself trying not to betray his thoughts then said “I think this is my stop”
easing himself out of his seat, he picked up his document case and pushed the
bell for the bus to stop.
The bus didn’t stop! In fact the bus
had failed to stop at any bus stop remaining on the route. The driver had been
keeping his two passengers under observation in his mirror.
Stone rang the bell again, and again,
and once more “I say driver I want to get off.”
The bus driver made no response.
He walked to the front of the bus and
told the driver in no uncertain terms to stop the bus and let him off. The
driver simply ignored his request. But then the bus stopped in traffic at a set
of traffic lights. This was his chance, and he took it, pressing the emergency
button he waited for the door to open…..it didn’t! He pressed the button
repeatedly.
“Open this door” Stone demanded of the
driver.
The bus driver turned his head, and
nodded to the back of the bus.
“I’m afraid he won’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because I told him not to!” the
hatchet faced man replied “Not until you have exchanged document cases” and to
help emphasize the point he produced a gun from his coat pocket “nerve gas.”
Benjamin Stone looked startled “You’re
going to kill me?”
“Not unless you force me. This is a
nerve gas gun” the hatchet man explained.
“One squirt you’re paralyzed, two
squirts you’re…….dead, or you could simply exchange document cases. Which is it
to be?”
The hatchet faced man pressed the stop bell, and the bus pulled smartly
to the side of the road at the next bus stop. He walked smartly to the front of
the bus and nodded to the driver, who opened the door and let his passenger off.
“This is H48 to control” the bus
driver said into a small radio transmitter “the plans for the electronic
defence system have been acquired; the courier is on his way now.”
The green and cream bus pulled
smartly into the road and went on its way.
“So it was you No.52 who let your bag get
swiped!” No.90 said.
“It wasn’t my fault. I simply got on the
wrong bus.”
“You should have taken a taxi” was
the suggestion.
“I realised that a long time ago.”
“And so they sent you here. What did
they do, put you in charge of
27
the
secret files?!”
“You’re mocking me” 52 said
accusingly.
“My privilege, do you know what
happened to those plans after you lost them?”
“No, how could I?” 52 protested.
“Shall I tell you?”
“You’re going to anyway, so just get
on with it.”
“They were brought here to the
village, but we need the electronic engineer who put the plans together.”
“Too bad” No.52 said with a wry
smile.
“We need the inventor of this defence
system. Tell me where he is, and I’ll put a good word in for you with Number
2.”
No.52 thought for a moment.
“If you don’t tell me openly, I’ll
simply take what I want to know.”
“He’s at the research establishment
at Stavely” 52 admitted.
No.90 shook his head.
“Well that’s where I was to return
the plans” 52 admitted.
“You do not know where he is, this
electronic’s expert?”
Reluctantly 52 shook his head, he
knew what was coming.
“Don’t tell him!” No.50 shouted.
“Shut up, I’ll get to you in a
minute.”
“You know what you are don’t you Benjamin.”
Benjamin Stone stood looking at the
floor.
“Look at me Benjamin, not at the
carpet, but I said I’d have you on the carpet, and here you are.”
“It wasn’t my fault sir” Benjamin
protested.
“If it wasn’t you’re fault I don’t
know whose fault it was” PR12 said from behind his desk.
“I carried out my instructions to the
letter.”
“Yes, but you got on the wrong bus.
How did you make that mistake?” PR12 wanted to know.
“I was waiting at the bus stop, and
the bus came along and I get onto it.” Benjamin explained.
“You were instructed to order a taxi
the night before” PR12 said “you were fiddling your expenses I expect, you kept
the money and looked to be reimbursed for the taxi fare when you took the bus!”
“Sorry sir.”
“You will be Benjamin, we had better
return you back to general duties.”
“General duties sir!”
“Its all you’re good for Benjamin.
Now get out of my office.”
If there were two things which got Benjamin’s
back up it was not having been issued with a code name, and it was others using
his first name for his surname. As he left the office, closing the door behind
him, he turned facing the door he pulled a face
28
“And that was your worst fear, being
reduced to general duties?” No.90 said with an air of disappointment turning to
No.50 “and what about you?”
“Now don’t you start on me, my
instructions were to pick a fight with him.”
“No you didn’t, I was the one who
picked the fight!”
“On whose instructions” No.90 asked.
“On Number 2’s instructions, after
which he would see I was released and put back into circulation” No.50
explained.
“Is that a fact?”
No.90 turned his attention back to
No.50 “So what have you got to hide?”
No.50 looked nervous “N…nothing,
nothing at all.”
“Everyman has something to hide,
otherwise there would be nothing to find” 90 said staring 50 in the eye.
“If you don’t get a wiggle on darling
you’ll be late” the brunette haired middle aged woman told her husband, who was
still hiding behind the morning newspaper.
“There’s no rush, I’ve time for
another cup of tea yet” he told her.
“It is a quarter to.” She told him as
she began to clear the breakfast table.
There was a sudden clatter of the
letter box, and the sound of post dropping onto the rug.
“There’s the post” she said and went
off into the hallway to retrieve the three brown envelopes and one blue
envelope “Three bills and something for you, its marked urgent.”
Putting the newspaper down he picked
up the blue envelope and looked at it.
“Whoever would be sending you
something that’s urgent?” she muttered opening the first brown envelope, it was
the gas bill.
Opening the envelope he brought out
the half of a postcard of
“What’s that?” his wife asked putting
down the final demand, and opening the second brown envelope.
He quickly put the half of the
postcard back into the envelope, and the envelope into his wallet. Looking at
the wall clock he went into the hallway collecting his grey overcoat, umbrella,
bowler hat, and briefcase.
“You’re in a hurry all of a sudden”
she said waving a final demand from the electricity board “what about that
second cup of tea?”
“Not now Norma, I’ve got to go, or
I’ll be late” he told her opening the front door “goodbye” he said closing the
door, and with that he was gone.
Little did Norma Jenkins know at the
time, standing there watching her husband leave, the final demand for the rates
in her hand, that it
29
would
be the last time she would see him.
It was but a short walk to the
railway station, one he had taken many times on his way to work, but this
morning it was different. He was sorry for his wife, she had had much to put up
with over the years, and now he was about to leave her to it. And yet there was
nothing for it, no other way out not after what he had done. Walking down the
road towards the station a car passed him, and stopped a few yards ahead. He
walked on, his mind on other things. The half of a postcard nestled in his
pocket. Obviously it was a recognition signal, so they knew they had the right
man, without it he would be going nowhere. But when would the other half of the
postcard be presented to him so that the two halves could be joined. On the
platform at the station, or on the train? Perhaps the picture meant he had to
go to Trafalgar Square and be met by someone there.
“Excuse me sir, I wonder if you can
help me?” a voice asked
This brought George Jenkins back from
deep in his own thoughts, to be faced with a gaunt looking man, with a long
thin face, and dressed all in black.
“Well I don’t know, what do you
want?”
The man said nothing, he simply stood
there brandishing a strange looking gun. Pulling the trigger a vapour cloud was
released, and George Jenkins stumbled forward and collapsed onto the ground.
One undertaker opened up the back of
the hearse and together they took the coffin out and laid it on the ground,
placed the unconscious body inside and replacing the lid put it back into the
hearse, then drove off.
“Who knows where you would be now, what say you Number 50. It’s not very nice behind the iron Curtain, especially for defectors. Once you’ve told them all they want to know, they leave you to live out the rest of your life in misery, so lucky for you we managed to get to you first!”
There was a sudden announcement over
the public address system “Would Number 4 please go to the Labour Exchange where
Number 2 is waiting. I repeat, “Would Number 4 please go to the Labour Exchange
where Number 2 is waiting.”
No.90 looked at the man’s badge “I
think that means you.”
“Then he can go on waiting as far as
I’m concerned.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’ve no intention of going.”
“I would if I were you, it doesn’t do
to keep Number 2 waiting you know.”
“As if I care!”
The foyer of the Labour Exchange was
a hive of activity, workmen were busy putting up a number of framed slogans on
the walls. “Humour is the very essence of a democratic society” read one,
30
another
“Of the people, by the people, for the people,” taken from one of the Abraham
Lincoln quotes. “And the government of the people, by the people, for the
people, shall not perish from the Earth. ... The ultimate rulers of our
democracy are not a President and senators and congressmen and government
officials, but the voters of this country” 1863. Then a more curious one,
“Questions are a burden to others, answers a prison for oneself,” he’d have to
think about that one. And “A still tongue makes a happy life,” the meaning of
which was not difficult to grasp, keep your mouth shut and you’ll be alright,
or words to that effect.
“Ah there you are Number 4, sorry
about he mess. If you would step this way” No.2 said pointing the way towards
the manager’s office with his umbrella shooting stick.
As No.4 stepped behind the counter,
avoiding the workmen, the grey haired man standing behind the counter at
“Enquiries” looked on him with suspicion.
“Don’t worry, I’m not after your job,
I’m not after any job!”
No.2 stood at the manager’s door with
a hand on the door handle, he turned it and both men stepped into the office.
Through the door were a set of steps
leading up to a pair of thick steel doors, they opened and the two men stepped
into a large domed, green walled chamber. A few feet in from the wall, another
circular wall, but made up of a number of dark and light grey arches, which
gave the room a sort of German expressionist look as in films of the 1920’s,
such as ‘The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari.’
Crossing the floor No.2 sat down in a
chair while No.4 approached the semi-circular grey desk, behind which stood a
man a grey morning suit, on the lapel of which was a badge denoting the No.20.
“Now Number 4, if you would just fill
in the questionnaire” he said indicating the sheet of paper on the desk with a
pen.
No.4 looked at the single sheet of
paper, and took the offered pen.
“Its not difficult, just indicate
what you like to eat, to drink, what you like to read, what you were, what
you’d like to be. Any illnesses, disabilities, race, religion, politics” the
manager told him.
“You don’t want to know much do you?
Why not ask him sat over there, he knows all the answers!” No.4 said in protest,
“I’m issuing a nolle prosequi!”
“You mean you refuse to cooperate?” asked
the manager.
Turning, No.4 marched briskly across
the floor, up the ramp, and out through the opening steel doors, out through
the manager’s door, and out of the Labour Exchange and into the bright sunshine
of the village.
“You didn’t put him through the
aptitude test” No.2 said casually.
“No” came the reply.
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