Identity Cards
Volume Two
The Spawater Chronicles
Barry Tighe
Published 2010 by Can Write Will Write at Smashwords
http://www.canwritewillwrite.com
Copyright © Barry Tighe 2010
Barry Tighe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
The Spawater Chronicles are a series of tales set in the old Roman City of Spawater.
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Identity Cards
Chapter One
After the lull comes the storm. Alarms reverberated through the Dark Lord’s head awakening him to his colossal blunder. By concentrating his thoughts, strength and armies on the fleabite facing his unassailable fortress, he had committed the most foolhardy, dangerous and deadly folly. He had neglected the inhospitable highways and barren, ashen-pocked byways leading to Mount Doom.
His all-seeing eye swivelled from what was plainly Gandalf’s diversion, his sacrificial force, onto Baggins wrestling with the creature Gollum. They, like the Dark Lord’s future, hung over the precipice.
Simultaneously sensing their Master’s imminent peril, the Nazgul bat-winged their way to Mount Doom’s cavernous entrance.
Sauron, the Dark Lord, smiled the smile of victory.
The pitiful Hobbits were locked in their forlorn combat, fighting over his Precious. Soon they would be taken by his loyal Nazgul servants and the Ring would return to its rightful owner. ‘One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to bind them’. Soon, very soon, all of Middle Earth would be enslaved; the dark shadow would envelope the land forever. Soon, very soon…
Not soon enough, fretted Sauron, as the Nazgul failed to report in with ‘mission accomplished’. Where were they? Suspicion replaced complacency. The acrid bile of fear welled up sickeningly. What’s keeping them?
The Dark Lord knew that his future, his very existence, depended on the Nazgul getting to Baggins before the Ring fell into the abyss. Where, oh where, were his Nazgul? Boys? Where are you?
The palantir rang. At last, thought Sauron, relieved; about time too. He clicked it open.
‘Hello, Sauron, Dark Lord here.’
It was the chief Nazgul. ‘Sorry, boss,’ the Nazgul reported, ‘I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem. A huge spider at the entrance to the Cracks of Doom won’t let us pass unless we show her our identity cards.’
‘Well show them, then!’ cried out Sauron in desperation. This was no time to argue with arachnid doorkeepers.
‘We haven’t got them with us, boss. We were in a hurry.’
‘What on Middle Earth!’ hollered Sauron frantically. ‘Tell her who you are! Tell her the fate of Mordor hangs in the balance!’
‘She knows who we are, boss. We are easy to recognise. She says it cuts no ice with her. Rules is rules, she says, and if she made an exception for us she would have to make it for everyone and then where would we be?’
Sauron recoiled in despair. Those bloody identity cards! Ever since the Grand Council of Wizards introduced them, Middle Earth had been crawling with jumped-up jobsworths demanding identity cards all over the place. Everywhere Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Ents, Hobbits and Nazgul went, they were stopped by fixated flunkies demanding the production of little bits of plastic before they could go about their business. It was the wrong side of enough, flailed Sauron wretchedly.
Only the Orcs liked them; stealing cards and selling them or holding them to ransom was a nice little earner. Better than working for their former employer, thought Sauron bitterly. No wonder he could not get the staff needed to protect his borders from burgling Hobbits.
Too late! The delay allowed Gollum to bite the hand that didn’t feed him and fall, gloating, into oblivion.
Sauron too, was finished. With ringing in his ears, he felt himself falling…falling…
Clump. Joanna woke to find she had fallen out of bed, her alarm ringing piercingly and her morning off to the worst possible start. When identity cards invade my dreams, she silently fumed, rubbing her elbows, they have got to go.
The last three months had been a strain for Joanna and her friends. She had returned from a well-deserved holiday to discover that an insecure government had selected her hometown of Spawater as the trial area for identity cards and a national database. Since then, life had assumed an unpleasant and serious atmosphere. Frodo and his fellow Hobbits felt the same when they returned to the Shire to discover their own insecure rulers had closed all the pubs.
Over a bleak, solo kitchen coffee - her partner Jady was not up yet - Joanna recalled how she had heard the barely credible news. The gang had met up in the Lifeboat Club, a nautically-themed establishment resembling a cruise liner down on its luck, after some time apart. Jady and herself, their great friends Jenna, Alison and Hanif, Farmer Tom and young Arnie, Hanif’s assistant at the computer security company for which Hanif and Arnie worked, were in attendance.
It had been a happy occasion, drinks all round, with Farmer Tom getting the go-ahead from Spawater Council to get into the humane farming business and out of the battery hen Hell he had been forced into for financial reasons. It was a happy evening for Tom, but after he slipped his moorings the atmosphere had struck a reef.
Ron, the owner of Lifeboats’ and a man as gloomy as Monday mist, had casually informed Jady that Spawater was to be the testing ground for the identity card and national database project. Biometric cards would be issued to all citizens in the Spawater area, compulsorily, to accustom the country to the idea prior to inflicting them on the entire population.
Far from enraging the gang, as Joanna had expected, the news split them several ways. She was furious, of course, as was Jenna, albeit for different reasons. Jady was against but not overly concerned as he expected the idea to collapse.
‘It is just a fetish of the Home Secretary,’ he deemed. ‘His career is on the way down and as soon as he dies, politically, the scheme will die with him.’
Joanna was not so sure. Amongst her friends, Arnie did not care one way or the other, like Switzerland, and Alison made the simple and lacklustre observation that kind-hearted people often make about identity cards.
‘If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.’
Lovely, trusting Ali, thought Joanna sadly. Betraying such trust was another thing that annoyed her about the business. Suspicious, cynical members of the government played on the fact that most ordinary people are innocent and willing to give others the benefit of the doubt. Living with Jady, Joanna knew better. Power abhors a vacuum, and once introduced, the information held on the public by their rulers would be used against them whether they thought they had nothing to hide or not. Alison was sometimes too nice for this world, but better a world fit for Alisons than a world fit for governments.
No, the real surprise was Hanif. Hanif was for them. Not only in favour but actually keen. He could not wait to see everyone stamped and filed, and honestly believed identity cards would make the country a better place.
‘How will splitting the country from top to bottom make it a better place?’
‘Wait and see, Joey,’ Hanif replied. ‘Once people get used to identity cards they will learn to love them.’
‘Like Winston loved Big Brother? Hang on to Nurse for fear of something worse?’ Joanna rounded on her friend, spilling her celebration wine over Ron’s comfortable cruise ship’s armchair. She was no longer in the mood to party. The others were quiet, sensing a private argument. ‘I am shocked at you, Han, how could you favour such a terrible assault on the whole country? Why should you want to control everyone’s lives? It is not like you at all.’
Hanif averted his eyes; guilty as a sheep-dog hosting a barbeque. ‘You see, Joey,’ he replied at length, ‘while you were away my company obtained a big new contract. Here in Spawater. The biggest job we have ever had.’
‘Morning, world.’
Joanna jerked herself back to the present to greet Jady at the breakfast room. The two of them lived in Chez Guevara, the downstairs half of a large old sprawl on the edges of town. Upstairs lived Jady’s sometime sparring partners, Mike and Carole. ‘Least said about them,’ maintained Jady when asked, ‘the better.’
Jady removed a fruit bowl from the refrigerator, smiled approvingly and tipped half its contents onto his plate.
‘Good morning, Jady.’ It was good to be back in the present. Remembering old arguments is no way to start the day. What a lovely world it would be if everybody forgot what they were arguing about!
Joanna and Jady were evidence of the old adage that opposites attract. Joanna was a worrier; she cared about the troubles of the world and cried when the world let itself down. Jady cried when the world let him down. After all, who was the world for? Joanna loved Jady enough to let him infest the flat with hideous, ancient heavy furniture giving the place the air of a used furniture emporium circa late nineteenth century. Jady loved Joanna enough to actually listen to her, at least when the wind was blowing in the right direction. As likely a combination as Red Riding Hood going into partnership with the Big Bad Wolf; ‘Wolfie ’n the Hood Ltd. Organised picnic basket delivery and cottage management; text Grandma for directions. No woodmen.’ Together they made a team as redoubtable as sand and cement.
‘How are things at the anti identity card campaign?’
Joanna winced. She was a member of the ‘Campaign Against Identity Cards’, a national organisation opposing their introduction and the even more dangerous national database. It was struggling to raise the database up the league table of national consciousness, an uphill task.
The problem, she knew, was that people are intrinsically decent and wish no harm to others. Their mistake is that they assume governments are the same. So, when a government assures them that identity cards are a ‘good thing’, the government is believed. The truth will become apparent when it is too late. If only, she mused, there was a way to discredit identity cards before they could be imposed upon the whole country. That was her task; to discredit national identity cards before it was too late. Churchill had a similar problem; he failed and it caused no end of trouble.
‘Not so good, Jady,’ Joanna admitted. ‘The usual protests, letters of complaint to the newspapers as you know, but the government anticipated all that before it started and, let’s face it, they have the drop on us. We are losing the argument; not to counter-argument but to apathy.’
‘Mmmm?’ Jady munched his fruit. Have a good breakfast and the rest takes care of itself, was Jady’s approach. Tall and slim, that’s what kept his brain and body supple enough to morph through life.
‘I said our enemy is apathy.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must be,’ Jady mumbled. He sympathised, of course, but found the idea of labelling the entire country so ludicrous that he could not get worked up about it. The whole nonsense would be quietly dropped as the impossibility of making such a scheme actually work dawned on the authoritarian control freaks that promulgated it. And the Treasury. And the voters. He had other business.
‘You are not listening, Jady. This is important to me.’
Recognising the signs, Jady devoted the rest of breakfast time to Joanna. Placated, but no further towards solving her problem, Joanna pecked Jady goodbye and set off to her day job.
Jady relaxed. Discussing identity cards with Joanna, or listening, anyway, had reminded him of how his current situation had come about. Problems are opportunities, he mused. It was Joanna’s problem that had given Jady just the opportunity he was looking for. Jady recalled the events leading up to the current position.
It was in Lifeboats’ the evening of their return from holiday, he recollected. An argument had erupted between Joanna and Hanif. When the two of them started squabbling over identity cards, Hanif had been obliged to declare his interest.
‘The biggest job we have ever had,’ confessed Hanif.
‘What do you mean?’ Joanna challenged. She learned towards him angrily, violating his air space. ‘What are you saying?’
Hanif was not a confrontational person. Birds of Paradise came to him for relationship advice. With the tortured anguish of a Hell’s Angel confessing to wilful vegetarianism, he owned up.
‘My company have the contract to oversee the introduction of identity cards in Spawater. I am liaising with the consortium that is running the whole thing from London on behalf of the government. It is my job to supply local knowledge in order to make the thing a success.’
Hanif reached for his drink and took a defensive swig. Hanif and drink were like Popeye and spinach. Emboldened, he continued. ‘We are in the twenty-first century and it is time people realised it. For better or worse, identity cards are here and here to stay.’
A likely story, thought Jady complacently, people have got the twenty-first century on the brain. As if everything must be different because of a number. As though the taxpayer will bankroll an enormous army of mouse manglers poking their bureaucratic noses into other people’s affairs when there are worthwhile things to spend taxpayers’ money on. No chance.
Anyway, Jady mused, this Spawater experiment could be turned to his advantage. Strange how fate works; if not for the identity card nonsense, Hanif would not have fallen out with his Joanna, and Arnie, Hanif’s assistant, would not have quit his job.
‘Why?’ asked Jady when Arnie told him in Lifeboats’
Pool room.
‘Because Hanif has fallen out with your Joanna. We
had a blazing row about it and I walked out.’
Young Arnie was the nearest thing Jady had to a fan club. A computer wizzo, Arnie had lacked confidence in the real world until Jady had shown him that it was the real world which had the confidence problem. The world had to justify itself to them, not t’other way around. The follow-on from this was that Arnie could not work for anyone who was at loggerheads with Jady’s partner.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Joanna challenged Jady that evening, ‘Arnie has resigned because Hanif and I disagree about identity cards? That makes it my fault. I still like Hanif, for goodness’ sake, we just disagree on something, that’s all. Tell Arnie to ask for his job back. I will tell Hanif that Arnie was only doing what he thought was right. Surely he will reinstate him?’
They were at home, parked on their enormous settee in front of the huge unlit fireplace, mulling over recent events armed with tea and biscuits Joanna’s spat with Hanif caused ripples in their social lives, especially as Jady and Hanif were close friends, but Jady and Joanna were close friends too, so, unlike Hamlet and his uncle, all could be discussed and resolved.
‘I’m ahead of you there. I spoke to both of them in Lifeboats’ this evening. Secretly, they would like to let bygones be bygones but neither will back down and besides, Hanif’s company is committed to this identity card and database nonsense so even if Han agreed with you, he would have to continue or resign himself. No, Jo, while Hanif’s company are carrying out this trial, young Millado stays resigned.’
Joanna was mortified. Guilt comes easiest to those who deserve it least. Dick Dastardly caused the resignation of scores of assistants and didn’t miss a heartbeat. ‘What’s that, Muttley? You don’t want to fix the race? Tchaa!’ Joanna inadvertently caused one assistant’s resignation and couldn’t sleep.
‘Don’t worry, Joey,’ Jady reached forward and dunked a consoling biscuit in her tea, ‘this was fated to happen. It so happens that I need Arnie to help me in a moneymaking project I have been thinking about lately. I need Alison as well.’
‘No, Jady.’ Joanna knew all about Jady’s moneymaking projects. Yes, they usually made money; they also made havoc. ‘I don’t mind you causing trouble again but I won’t have little Arnie dragged into something beyond his ken. Remember last time? If not for Alison, he could have been imprisoned. No, leave Arnie alone.’
Jady knew his Joanna. Protecting Arnie from him would assuage her guilt. He would agree with her for now and suggest the scheme to Arnie later. Arnie’s enthusiasm would ensure Joanna’s permission to proceed, if not her blessing. Machiavelli would approve, though he might think it a bit raw.
‘All right, Jo, we’ll leave it for now. Don’t worry about Arnie, Hanif wants him back and as soon as the identity card rubbish is dropped and things return to normal, things will return to normal.’ Jady squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘Now, fancy a nightcap?’
Identity Cards
Chapter Two
‘So, Mr Singh, are you entirely happy and au fait with your assignment? It is absolutely vital that you are aware of what is expected from you and are both willing and able, no, enthusiastic and able, to carry out your responsibilities.’
Hanif bridled. Yes, he was in favour of identity cards, whatever his friends thought, but that did not mean he approved of the establishment bigwig infesting his office and treating him like a mentally deficient amoeba on a slow day.
‘No worries, Mr Dauntliffe, I am, as you say, aware of the position and in total control of it.’ Hanif was not going to give the intimidating Mr Dauntliffe the satisfaction of hearing him repeat the words ‘au fait’, like an impressed underling. ‘I am in complete concord with both your plans for the implementation of identity cards in Spawater and the rationale behind them.’ Hanif could speak faux French too. ‘Compulsory identity cards and their controlling national database will be a step forward for Britain in its march to the future. The sooner everybody in the country is issued with a card, the better. Would you like another coffee?’
Mr Dauntliffe nodded importantly. Hanif had impressed him. He had made a wise choice in choosing Hanif’s company to implement the identity card project trial. This Mr Singh, he considered, was just the man for the job; intelligent, knowledgeable and an enthusiastic supporter of compulsory Identification Cards.
Indeed, Mr Dauntliffe wondered, he might even be worth inveigling into the real project. Early days; time will tell if Mr. Singh is suitable or not.
‘Ooh, that would be lovely. As it is on you, I will have a large one with added chocolate and a cream cheese bagel. You don’t mind, do you?’
Alison was torn between desire and manners, and manners were having a hard time of it. Belying her svelte, concave figure topped to the north by a lustrous golden mane of hair that would be the pride of any lion, she would no more refuse a creamy bagel than Gollum would refuse the Ring. ‘What’ssss that, Master? You say sod walking to Mordor for a game of soldiers, you are off to the Havens, so do I want the Ring? Sssss…give it to Boromir, he quite likesss it.’
She sat with Jady in a coffee emporium close to her place of work. Jady had telephoned her earlier and asked if he could meet her for lunch as he had something to discuss. So the treat was on him.
‘Nothing’s too good for my favourite Alison,’ replied Jady pleasantly, rising to go to the counter. ‘And my favourite advertising consultant.’ He looked back at his long-time friend and smiled winningly. ‘I want to pick your brains.’
Picking Alison’s brains was not something many people outside her work did, preferring to take their chances with random fortune. Alison combined a warm and loving temperament and an industrial-strength sense of justice with a naivety that could have got her mugged in the Hundred Acre wood. Her relationship to reality mirrored her relationship to oxygen; she knew it mattered but did not let it ruin her day. All in all, Alison was a helpful, heart-warming person to call a friend, but you wouldn’t want to be stuck in the jungle with her. ‘Look at the pretty lion; shall we stroke it?’
This, of course, made her perfectly suited for a life in advertising, brand-building and promotion; and it was in this capacity that Jady wanted to pick her brains. Life, he reflected, he would handle himself.
He sipped his coffee in silence, eyeing the person opposite appraisingly, and waited. Susan, Hanif’s secretary, removed the debris from the previous coffees, shot Hanif a disapproving ‘who is this nasty man,’ glance from behind his shoulder, and left, closing the door pointedly. Waiting a moment, Mr, Dauntliffe placed the coffee cup carefully on the centre of the place mat, and resumed.
‘Well, Mr Singh, I am satisfied, so far, with this company’s work and especially with your attitude. I need a man like you at the sharp end. As you know, identity cards are a controversial issue. They will happen anyway; it is inevitable. My objective, our objective, is to implement them with the minimum of fuss. It is vital for the smooth and steady transition to a knowledge-rich society that identity cards are implemented in Spawater with as little trouble as possible. In fact, no trouble at all.’
‘There are bound to be hiccups,’ Hanif replied, swallowing his resentment at Mr Dauntliffe’s patronising manner and the implied suggestion that his assistant Susan could not be trusted. Hanif trusted Susan unreservedly - she disapproved equally of all his clients without fear or favour.
‘Hiccups, yes,’ conceded Mr Dauntliffe, sitting back, clasping his fingers together and twirling his thumbs, ‘I can accept a few. That Luddite anti identity cards outfit, whatever they are called, is causing a bit of a fuss. This is inevitable when men of vision implement progress. However,’ he raised his voice abruptly and sat up bolt upright, giving Hanif visions of vampires at sundown, ‘it is your job to ensure that they are no more than hiccups. Any scandal could set the project back years. That must not be allowed to happen, Mr Singh -’ Hanif felt Mr Dauntliffe would prefer to call him Igor ‘- and I am relying on you to make sure that it doesn’t. Do I make myself clear? This must not fail.’
‘Yes. It sounds like a great idea. Totally absurd, of course, but the best ideas often are. Handled properly, you could fool the whole country.’ Alison giggled merrily and continued. ‘Actually, the more I think about it the better it seems.’ She leant forward, absently brushing her hair from her eyes. ‘You see, Jady, the usual problem with promoting a product is that the better you make it appear to be and the higher you raise people’s expectations, the more disappointed they are when they finally come across it. Of course, in your case, this doesn’t apply. Yes, it is brilliant. If you handle it properly, it can’t fail.’
‘It will be a disaster. That’s the one thing I am sure of; it will be an unmitigated mess.’
Joanna sipped her coffee, absently spilling the lukewarm liquid down her chin without noticing. ‘You know what Jady is like; you know what Ali is like and as for poor Arnie…’
Joanna was not in the best of humours. Sitting with Jenna in the unfair-trade coffee bar adjacent to her workplace she was unloading her worries, or at any rate, talking about them. Jenna, familiar with the protagonists, was not entirely sympathetic. Lady Macbeth would have piped her eye, not Jenna.
‘Honestly Joey, you underestimate your Jady sometimes. Yes I agree, any scheme that involves seeking advice from Alison sounds about as convincing as a drunk’s promise, but Jady knows what he’s doing. After all, Alison came up trumps with that chicken farming business a while back, and you have to admit, when it comes to advertising she knows her stuff. As for Arnie, he worships the ground Jady stumbles on.’
Joanna hardly ever expected sycophantic agreement from Jenna, and hardly ever got it. A smidgeon of empathy once in a while would be appreciated though, and she informed Jenna of this.
‘Yes, I agree,’ agreed Jenna, nonchalantly stirring her cup, ‘and you have my complete support as always. My point is that you worry too much. Let’s go over the thing again. Jady is up to one of his shady-Jady schemes to keep the wolf from the door and halfway down the drive. It is something to do with marketing, or promotion, or whatever it is that Alison does when she leaves the real world and enters her advertising agency. Ali must be good at what she does, or at blackmailing her boss - either is a good career move - so it is only reasonable that Jady would look to her for help. The more off-the-wall the scheme, the more Alison is the woman for the job. Which reminds me,’ she dropped her spoon into the flower vase, ‘what is the scheme, anyway?’
‘That’s just it,’ replied Joanna miserably, ‘I don’t know. Jady explained it to me, how he intends to promote a brand and sell it for sacks of money, as he put it, using Arnie as the unique selling proposition, but it still doesn’t make sense. I think I will just leave him to it as usual.’
Joanna was far too preoccupied with her fight against identity cards to get deeply involved in Jady’s schemes. They were close, but kept a little bit of space for themselves. It worked for them.
‘I see your point,’ agreed Jenna. ‘Ignorance is bliss, that’s why you never see an unhappy turkey. Also it looks much better in court. No, seriously Joey, I shouldn’t worry about it. Jady wishes to promote something using Arnie to help, and Alison -’ Jenna couldn’t suppress a giggle, ‘- Alison is generously donating her professional advice. I won’t say it can’t fail, but it will probably not do too much harm. I should leave them to it if I were you.’ Jenna drained her own tepid cup. ‘Now, time to go. I have got to get to the Hall.’
‘Oh, how is that going?’ asked Joanna, relieved by Jenna’s reassurance and pleased to change the subject.
‘Not so good,’ responded Jenna, rising and grimacing simultaneously, like a deep-sea diver late for an appointment, ‘I’ll tell you about it tonight.’
Joanna rose too. ‘See you at Lifeboats’.’
‘See you at Lifeboats’, and don’t worry about the money, it is all on me.’
Jady put down his home telephone and smiled the smile of one whose plans are going according to plan. After a successful meeting with Alison, he called Arnie and arranged to meet him in Lifeboats’ that evening to discuss his part in the scheme. As Jady expected, Arnie agreed with enthusiasm.
Arnie was going through a bad time. He had made the grand gesture of resigning on principle only to discover that his mother, with whom he lived, preferred rent. Mrs. Bennett was a great admirer of Hanif and persistently encouraged Arnie to apologise to him for his childish pique, as she put it, and earn some wages. Arnie had intended going to Lifeboats’ that evening anyway, to play Pool and get some peace, so Jady’s invite was an exciting bonus. His life was currently a mixture of melancholy and boredom, two emotions of which Jady could never be accused. Bugs Bunny, yes, Groucho, possibly, but Jady, no.
‘Interesting chat?’ Susan directed this remark pointedly to her boss as she cleared up the coffee paraphernalia. Recognising her tone of disapproval Hanif went on the defensive.
‘All right, Susan; Mr. Dauntliffe is our most important client and must be humoured. I agree he is not the type I would care to socialise with but facilitators cannot be choosers. We just have to put up with it.’
Susan gave Hanif a look reminiscent of Rhett Butler bidding final farewell to Scarlet, and departed.
Hanif sighed despondently. Things were not going well at all. No, that was not true. The implementation was going according to plan. Identity cards were being distributed to the people of Spawater with remarkably little fuss; no mass card-burnings or protests, and the card readers were being installed in municipal and other buildings according to schedule. Soon, Spawater would be the first town in the country to be ‘knowledge rich’, as Mr Dauntliffe put it, so things were shaping up splendidly.
Why, then, was he so out of sorts? After all, he supported compulsory identity cards; he believed that people would eventually come to love them and wonder how they managed before. So why was he unhappy? True, Mr. Dauntliffe was an unpleasant person to have to work with - Stalin would be an improvement - but Hanif had worked with difficult clients before without the feeling that there was gloop where his soul used to be. It was not the job, which was going well and one he believed in; it was not the client, unpleasant though he undoubtedly was. So what was it? What was this worm of unease devouring his sense of worth?
Hanif looked out of the window at the pedestrians and drivers going about their affairs, apparently oblivious to each other’s aspirations. In the bright, reflective sunshine, the street was lively and invigorating. The creative anarchy involved in total strangers on foot and in vehicles meandering seamlessly, seemingly at random, successfully negotiating their way through to their disparate destinations, inspired Hanif to creative and productive thought. It was Joanna. And Arnie. And Jady and the gang at Lifeboats’. Hanif was upset at being at loggerheads with his friends. Stalin could wave his former comrades goodbye if they disagreed with him, or even if they didn’t. Hanif was made of flabbier stuff. He believed in compulsory identity cards and they did not. It was an honest disagreement and one where opposing views could be respected. There was no need to let it ruin their friendship. Hanif picked up the telephone.
‘Hello? Mr. Pettifogg? Dauntliffe here. Mobile call so I will keep it brief. Yes, it is all going according to plan. The organisation in Spawater is doing a sterling job. The person in charge of local operations is a Mr. Hanif Singh, a good man. Believes in the project unreservedly.’
Mr. Dauntliffe was driving back to London. On his hands-free, he was reporting to his civil service and consortium subordinate.
‘We can leave the day-to-day running in his hands; the bigger changes will come later. Much later.’ Mr. Dauntliffe looked aside at the orderly row of cars in the slow lane, each equidistant from the next and travelling at exactly the same, sedate speed. This pleased him. Complete strangers co-operating together. The drivers in the slow lane had not met and probably never would, but they all knew the rules and obeyed them without fuss or protest. If only people could behave that way all the time; in cars or out of them. Well, it was Mr. Dauntliffe’s intention that they would. Order and control, and an end to Anarchy; that was the way forward, the slow, sane, sensible way to run society, and he was the one who would implement it.
Without warning, not even a flashing indicator, one of the slow lane cars pulled out in to the middle and accelerated. Mr Dauntliffe was obliged to adjust his speed momentarily. A flash of anger contorted his features. ‘Try that on a motorway in the future, my friend, and you will pay,’ he thought. Mr. Dauntliffe eased back into the soft, imitation leather seat that, womb-like, held him in comfort as he accelerated. ‘Oh yes,’ he continued, a cold determined expression replacing his flash of anger, ‘you will pay.’
‘I will pay, so you need have no worries on that score.’
Arnie wondered if he had become a celebrity and was the last to know. First there was Jady insisting he go to Lifeboats’, all expenses paid; now his former boss, Hanif, was making the same offer. What was a youngster to do? Simple really.
‘Ok boss, or ex-boss, I will see you tonight at Lifeboats’.’
Identity Cards
Chapter Three
‘Where is he? Where is he?’ Ron passed Jady’s white wine across the imposing, heavily varnished bar and answered his own rhetorical question. ‘He is where he always is, of course, where he has decided to spend his life. It is not his second home, it is his first. I wouldn’t mind, but since he lost his job with your friend Hanif he manages to make one drink last the whole evening. I lose more money in Pool chalk than I make serving him. Honestly, Jady, can’t you get young Arnie a job? Or at least buy him some chalk?’
Ron, owner of The Lifeboat Club, was on his usual form. Upon leaving the catering division of the Navy at a rate of knots a few years back, Ron had sunk his severance pay into what he’d thought, with the optimism of a wasp issuing picnic invitations, would be an upmarket, sophisticated, social drinking club. Persuaded by the helpful estate agent’s brother-in-law that a nautical theme was what was required, and also by the amazing stroke of fate that the aforementioned brother-in-law just happened to have the very fixtures and fittings to hand, Ron dived in. He’d sunk his all and was now marooned. Instead of sophisticated, affluent social elites, Ron found himself with a clientele that would be cosy doing deals with Arthur Daley, Del Boy and Bilko, as well as the likes of Jady and associates, including the now financially challenged Arnie. Ron would love to jump ship but nobody would board her; the combination of ready cash and gullibility being a rare thing in Spawater. Ron himself still reigned as the undisputed champion. He could not set sail into the sunset, laden up to the Plimsoll line as he was with debts. Given the professionalism, these days, of the Fire Service and the insurance actuaries, there was no choice for poor Ron but to continue splicing his customers’ main braces, face pressed firmly to the telescope keeping a weather eye out for a rescue ship. Ben Gunn knew the feeling.
‘Nil desperandum, shipmate,’ Jady responded insouciantly, ‘your troubles may soon be over. I have a proposition to make to young Millado that will enable him to drink himself stupid and fill the Pool room with chalk dust. In fact, pour him a lager, will you, I’ll take it to him. Stick it on my account.’
‘It won’t involve the Club, will it?’ Never one to look at the sunny side - where others saw treasure maps, Ron saw litter - Ron was continually disconcerted by Jady’s breezy cheeriness. ‘I do not want any underhanded flim-flam here.’ Ron began pouring Arnie’s drink in a suspicious manner.
Jady was used to such negativity, he could power new age batteries on it. ‘Nae fret, laddie. This is all honest and above board. In fact, Alison is my agent. You don’t get more honest than that.’
‘Ye gods,’ retorted Ron, handing him Arnie’s lager and hurrying to adjust Jady’s account before the slate ledger self-destructed in disbelief. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Very wise,’ conceded Jady amicably and sauntered off bearing liquid gifts to the Arnie-filled Pool room.
Ron returned to his routine Club manager activities, bickering with the members and generally carrying out his self-imposed sentence, and was neither surprised nor enthused by the arrival of some of those who he knew as the Jady gang.
Alison and Jenna, for that’s who it was, strolled into the main quarters of the Club, selected a large table in the darkest corner, parked their accoutrements, jackets, bags, and in Jenna’s case, Ron suspected, knuckledusters, and strolled barwards with a buoyancy that made Jady’s sauntering resemble forelock tugging.
‘Belay there, Ron old buddypal, how are things? Shipshape and Spawater fashion? Or as normal? Never mind, we are here now so things are looking up. Fancy a drink? My good friend Ali and I will have a bottle of your excellent house white. Give us three glasses. Joanna will be here soon. By the way, have you seen young Arnie? Joanna is looking for him.’
Ron reached for the wine bottle. Jenna might rabbit a bit, he reflected philosophically, as Plato did of his friend and mentor Socrates, but at least she always puts business across the counter. It compensated for the fact that despite being an original member, she had not once paid her Club dues. Swings and roundabouts.
‘Your friend Arnie is with your friend Jady in the Pool room, or Arnie’s room as I shall rename it. I think they are in conference.’
‘Jady is always in conference,’ chortled Jenna, reaching for the bottle. Jenna knew Joanna’s partner of old, and liked and admired him, seeing in Jady a reflection of herself. Desperate Dan and Friar Tuck had a similar mutual respect regarding their appreciation of cow pie.
Alison brushed her hair aside and picked up the three proffered glasses.
‘Hello, Ron,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘When Joanna comes in tell her we have her drink ready.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ Jady replied to the toast. His timing was fortuitous, arriving in the Pool room just as Arnie finished off yet another opponent. Jady looked on admiringly and with satisfaction. Arnie was good. Very good. Chivvying him away from the tables, Jady sat him in a corner and made with the drinks.
‘So, Millado, how are things with you these days?’
Arnie shuffled uncomfortably. He had resigned over Hanif arguing with Joanna. A Grand Gesture. The trouble, he was discovering, is that grand gestures are like grand binges. Great fun at the time; they do not seem so clever the next day. Ask anyone on Monday morning.
‘It was a noble gesture of yours, resigning like that, I must say,’ continued Jady seamlessly. ‘Not employed yet? Good. Listen Millado, drink up, lots more where that came from. Now, I have a proposition to put to you.’
‘So what is this proposition? I bet it is something appalling and totally illegal. I also bet it will make Jady a big pot of cash. Am I right?’
‘Partly right, but no cigar.’ Alison took a dainty sip of wine, shuddered slightly, and continued to reply to Jenna’s question. ‘If it works it will certainly make Jady a lot of money, and it is appalling, but it is not illegal, so far as I know.’
‘Do tell then,’ tched Jenna impatiently, ‘What’s it all about?’
‘Hang on, Jen, here comes Joanna.’
Joanna approached them from the bar area, having been directed to the recess by Ron. Routine hellos over, the three friends settled down for a spot of enlightened conversation.
‘Jenna, are you free next Wednesday?’
‘Why?’
‘I want you to accompany me to London.’
‘So, what do you think of that then?’
Arnie was confused. Over a drink, Jady explained his idea, the scheme, and Arnie’s role in it. It was all a bit sudden and original for Arnie to take in, in one go; he was baffled.
‘I don’t quite get it. Could you go over it again? It seems a bit confusing.’
A serene man - Jady could give lessons in anger management to Buddhists - Jady related the idea once more.
‘You know your Jady is in the Pool room with Arnie, don’t you?’ Alison remarked.
‘Yes, Ron told me. Jady is drinking white wine and Arnie is on lager. Jady has gone to see Arnie about his latest project. He knows I don’t approve of Arnie getting involved in any more of his schemes but we have agreed to give him the opportunity to hear what Jady has to say. Well,’ Joanna continued dully, ‘Jady has agreed, anyway. Arnie is an adult, technically, so it would be patronising to veto the idea without giving him the chance to hear it, I suppose.’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ cried out Jenna impatiently, ‘but what the hell is the bloody scheme in the first place? If Jady can tell Arnie, can’t someone tell me?’ She giggled, slightly embarrassed. ‘Not that I am nosy, you understand; call it professional curiosity.’
‘Of course,’ laughed Joanna, for the first time that day. This is what friends are for, she considered, to cheer each other up when things look grim. Good to be home.
‘Actually,’ she continued, ‘I was rather hoping that Jady’s technical advisor could explain it all to me.’
‘Who is that?’ asked Alison.
Jenna placed her glass on the table, looked deeply into Alison’s eyes, grinned and whispered, ‘I think she means you.’
‘Me?’
Joanna nodded in confirmation and continued. ‘Jady told me he saw you today to discuss his latest scheme, involving himself and Arnie.’
‘Oh, that. Yes he did. He told me all about it.’
‘So would you be so kind as to say to us what he said to you?’ pleaded Jenna mildly. ‘Before we all die?’
‘Of course, I thought that was the idea.’
‘Excuse me?’
The girls, absorbed in their own little world, looked up.
‘Erm,’ Hanif was slightly self-conscious in front of Joanna due to their strained relations. This had no effect on Jenna, of course, or Alison.
‘Hi, Hanny Honey,’ replied Jenna, recovering first. ‘Draw up a chair and a glass.’
‘Hello there, Hanif,’ added Alison, smiling.
Not to be out-welcomed, Joanna joined in. ‘Welcome aboard, Han.’ She was not going to let their difference of opinion ruin their long-standing friendship.
‘Yes, I will be glad to join you, but first I am looking for Arnie. Is he in the Pool room, do you know?’
‘Where else?’ replied Jenna. ‘Why, are you going to give him his job back?’
Jenna’s direct approach and raising of an awkward issue disconcerted Hanif, as she’d known it would. Experiencing a hot flush and hoping it was not obvious, Hanif replied.
‘I have kept his job open for him. He can have it back at any time. Excuse me, I’ll see you later.’ Hanif departed hurriedly.
‘Jady is on white wine and Arnie wants lager,’ teased Jenna after him. ‘Anyway,’ she continued unabashed, ‘where were we?’
‘Alison was just about to explain Jady’s latest scheme.’
‘So that’s the scheme, pure and simple.’ Jady sipped his wine in a satisfied manner. Explaining such an abstract idea as his scheme to a computer programmer such as Arnie entitled him to both drink and satisfaction.
Arnie did not share Jady’s satisfaction; in fact Arnie still couldn’t grasp how on Earth the scheme could possibly make Jady money, but he did not wish to endure another explanation. Fermat’s theorem, yes; Jady’s machinations, no.
‘I would hardly call it simple,’ he replied daringly, drinking his lager with considerably less satisfaction, ‘but I think I have got the hang of it. My part in it anyway. And if it works, I get twenty-five percent?’
‘After expenses, yes. I will pay you a stipend, that’s a basic salary plus beer money, which will ultimately be deducted from your cut. Should the scheme fall flat,’ Jady frowned, ‘then I will take the loss. You win either way.’
Before Arnie could drink to that, Hanif arrived, clutching three flowing glasses.
‘Hello all.’ Hanif placed the drinks on the table. ‘Peace offering. May I join you?’ Jady smiled and Hanif relaxed. ‘Well, well, young Arnie, how are things with you?’
‘Hello, ex-boss,’ grinned Arnie cheekily. ‘Things are just jim dandy. The chief and I have been discussing a business proposition.’
‘Pull up a seat, Han old boy,’ contributed Jady gaily whilst accepting the proffered white wine. ‘Welcome aboard.’
Hanif obeyed gratefully. After what had occurred between him and Jady’s Joanna as well as young Arnie, he could have been cast adrift. As Helen of Troy was oft to remark, it is good to be amongst friends.
‘So, Arnie, Jady, tell me about this business proposition.’
‘Here’s to Jady. A man after my own heart. At least, he would be if he thought it was worth a buck. Well, Joey, I have to hand it to you. Living with Jady must be a laugh a minute.’
Alison had explained Jady’s scheme to Joanna and Jenna. Quicker on the uptake than Arnie, they grasped the idea in one shot.
Joanna was tired. Much as she loved Jady, this was quite enough of him and his clever-clever schemes for one day. Time to change the subject.
‘Anyway, Jen, what’s all this about trouble at t’mill?’
‘T’mill?’
‘Trouble at the Hall, I mean. You said things there were not so good.’
Metaphorical storm clouds darkened the atmosphere. The anguished howls of twenty werewolves opening their vets’ appointment letters rent the still, fetid air asunder. Frightened villagers lit their torches and honed their stakes, eyeing their first-borns quizzically.
Joanna had opened a wound.
‘So that’s it?’ Hanif laughed. Jady never failed to astonish him. After swearing a trustworthy Hanif to secrecy, Jady had given him the gist of the scheme. ‘I must say, Jady, this time you excel yourself, using identity cards to your advantage. And Arnie too. Take the money and run, Arnie. That’s my advice.’ Hanif drank some of his wine. ‘While we’re on the subject, this identity card trial won’t last forever. There is always a job waiting for you when it is over.’
Arnie blushed uncomfortably. He was not used to being in so much demand. The two adults who had shown more confidence in him than legions of schoolteachers, social workers and therapists combined were buying him drinks and offering him work. Like Tinkerbell, people believed in him. Life was full.
‘Thanks, boss; when the chief and I have finished our project,’ he looked ingratiatingly at the condescending Jady, ‘I might well take you up on that, but you are embarrassing me now. Can we drop the subject?’
‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’
Jenna had explained to the girls exactly what the problem was between her and the Town Hall. She had much more to say on what she proposed to do about it, but Lifeboats’ was not the proper place for that type of discussion. Jenna was as fond of a drink as the next dipsomaniac, and as such knew that after a few liveners her discretion often went west with the wagons. Her solutions to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that occasionally made the elementary error of coming her way were best discussed in private.
Ever ready to change any subject any time, Alison chirped inquisitively, ‘What was that you were saying, Joey, about going to London?’
‘London? Wouldn’t touch the place with a bargepole. What do you want to go there for?’
As the owner of the Club, Ron felt he had carte blanche to join in any conversation he wished whilst doing the rounds. As he whisked Alison’s and Joanna’s nearly empty wine glasses onto his tray - Jenna’s had diplomatic immunity - he gave them his two pence worth. ‘What has London got that Spawater hasn’t?’
‘Privacy,’ countered Jenna, offering up a silent prayer to her favourite god, Bacchus, and thanking Alison for so recently changing the subject.
‘Actually, Ron,’ said Joanna in a placatory manner, ‘if Jenna is up for it, we will be going to London next Wednesday for a meeting of the national Campaign Against Identity Cards and the national database. You are welcome to come along too.’
‘You mean you are still fighting against identity cards?’ questioned Ron from behind Joanna’s shoulder. ‘Why bother? You know they are inevitable so why not make the best of it? You carry identification anyway, driving licence, credit cards. So why bother causing a fuss?’
Joanna bristled like an electrified hedgehog. Normally a peaceful, easygoing person, the compulsory implementation of identity cards drove her to distraction. The only thing that annoyed her more was the way so many people meekly accepted them as though there was nothing they could do about it. What was the point of being alive, she thought, if only to live as robots? Forcing people to justify their very existence to the State, the same State that should be the servant of the people and not the other way around, made her madder than a scorned hornet. Abruptly she turned and faced him.
‘What the Hell do you know about it? If you think we have made a fuss so far, you ain’t seen nothing yet. If you won’t stand up for yourself, make way for those who will. And give me back my wine glass.’
This was a side of Joanna Ron had not encountered before. Come to think of it, he didn’t much want to encounter it again. Returning the wine glass, plus Alison’s for luck, Ron muttered that it wasn’t his idea to have identity cards and it was no use taking it out on him. Joanna remained unmoved. Chastened and with head bowed, Ron skulked away. Right, he thought, I think the Club subscriptions should go up again this year. Cheered by this happy notion, he straightened up and continued about his business.
‘I say, that was a bit strong, old gal!’ said Jenna, impressed. ‘But right on, sister.’
‘You should not let it get to you, Joey,’ clucked a concerned Alison. ‘After all, he is right. It is not his fault; it is the fault of the government. You should blame them.’
‘That’s right, Ali; you tell it like it is,’ agreed Jenna enthusiastically. ‘Now Joey, book the tickets for Wednesday. It is time to fight back.’
Identity Cards
Chapter Four
Michael was a clever man. Born in Austria - Germany lite - and educated at a minor British public school, he was equally at home in either country. From his early schooldays, his teachers reported that he would go far. As the years progressed, Michael did not disappoint. His import-export businesses - smuggling, some would say - ensured that his mind was broadened. He traversed the longitudes and latitudes of the globe, often at high speed, narrowly leading a field which consisted of a disparate and sometimes desperate group of followers straddling both sides of the legal divide.
To put it simply, which is something he never did, Michael was a crook. A dishonest man whose saving grace was that, like Robin Hood, he did not bother stealing from the poor.
A relaxed and amicable mastermind, Michael sat drinking a meditative coffee al fresco in the sunshine at the café opposite Spawater Town Hall. The Hall itself, however, was not occupying his highly developed brain. No, the object having that honour was encased within the large, semi-open air building next door: the building housing the Spawater Baths.
The Romans had constructed the Spawater Baths in the good old days, before rising villa prices and the realisation that Rome sold better wine obliged them to leave the Baths to the locals. They had long since become Spawater’s pride and joy; like Loch Ness and Nessie, a symbol of Spawater’s superiority over other towns. ‘And how many monsters does your town have, the noo?’ Rival areas might have bigger cinemas, or busier bypasses, bluer skies or cheaper pubs, but none of them could match Spawater in the Spawater Baths stakes. Mention Spawater in any company and immediately people would refer to the world famous Spawater Baths.
Michael intended to steal them.
‘Are you serious? You mean now?’
‘Oh yes, if you can. You see, we do not stand still in this business. If someone has an idea, it is considered immediately. If the big cheeses approve, they act on it straight away. If they do not, they reject it straight away. Quite logical, really.’
Jady agreed that it was quite logical, really, though what acquaintance was shared by Alison and logic, he was at a loss to imagine. Still, there it was; Jady had asked Alison to act for him and she had. It was all a bit sudden, though.
‘You really mean now? Right away?’ Jady was rarely nonplussed, normally being very plussed indeed, but Alison’s ability to move events without really noticing astounded him.
She ran her hair idly through her fingers. ‘If you are ready, of course. I told my bosses that you have an idea to promote a brand using the fact that Spawater is the first town to introduce those identity cards that Joanna and Jenna are so annoyed about. They are in London for a couple of days, aren’t they? Attending that meeting. Anyway, I told them that you had a plan whereby we could use this identity card thing to our advantage. The big cheeses, I mean, not Joey and Jenna. That would be silly. Of course they are interested, Jady. The big cheeses, I mean. We are all interested in the brand-building world; turning things to our advantage is what we do. It is how we make our money. So, can you come in today and meet the big cheeses? If you can, it will have to be at six this evening, just when it gets quiet.’
Could he? Jady mused. Never at a loss for long, he recovered his equanimity and replied. ‘Jolly good, Ali, I will be there. I won’t bring Millado though; I think it would all be a bit sudden for him. Can I meet you outside in the coffee bar at ten to?’
‘All right Jady; ten to six in the coffee bar; this meeting should be fun.’
‘It was a very useful meeting. Things are going well. I am favourably impressed.’
‘And you approve of this Mr Singh character? You said as much on the telephone.’
Mr Pettifogg passed the silver tea tray to Mr Dauntliffe. They were in a discreet corner of their London Club, discussing progress.
‘Yes, he is very keen on the project.’ Mr Dauntliffe looked up from the tea tray and stared into Mr Pettifogg’s eyes. ‘What he thinks is the project, anyway.’
‘Quite.’
‘The introduction of Identification Cards in Spawater has exceeded expectations. The man in the street does not mind - or hardly minds - another piece of plastic in his pocket. When we double it up as a driving licence and passport, he will be queuing for it. What resistance we have encountered has consisted only of the usual suspects; the unholy alliance of the extreme, loony anti-globalisation hippies and the libertarian, Little Englander Right. The average man in the street could not care less.’
Mr Dauntliffe paused, poured his tea out of the silver teapot into the middle of his cup, set the teapot down in its proper place, carefully added the milk in a clockwise direction, no sugar, and continued. ‘We are winning, Pettifogg, we are ahead of the game. At this rate we will be able to move to stage two ahead of schedule.’
Mr Dauntliffe was a man of limited emotions and furnace-forged control of them, but the excitable child that resides in us all escaped momentarily. He thumped the table, making a storm in his teacup and falsettoed, ‘I tell you, Pettifogg, we are going to win!’
‘Keep your voice down. Where do you think you are?’
Mr Dauntliffe regained control, a little irked that his junior should rightly reprimand him, like Robin reminding Batman to lay off the bat juice before driving the Batmobile.
‘Yes, you’re right, Pettifogg. We must be calm and calculating at all times. Now, how are things at your end?’
‘Just great, Michael, exactly how you said it would be.’
‘Excellent.’ Despite being right nearly as often as Nature, Michael still got pleasure from being reminded of the fact. His lieutenant had returned from his public tour around the Spawater Baths with the message Michael had hoped for.
‘Get yourself a coffee and tell me what happened while it is still fresh in your memory.’ Michael switched on a discreet recorder so he could pour over the account at leisure. He was a meticulous and organised planner who, whilst being realistic and therefore aware that the difference between success and failure is often down to chance, nevertheless believed in stacking the odds. Monte Carlo would not have liked him. It was his attention to detail and his consequent reputation amongst the cognoscenti that had landed him this assignment. His biggest and, if successful, his last, this would pay him enough to retire to a life of ill-earned leisure. Jason felt the same way about pilfering the Golden Fleece.
His assistant returned with a latté.
‘All right, Erich, tell me in your own words, but with discretion, precisely what happened from the moment you queued up for a tour of the Baths. This is being taped so that our colleagues hear the same account. Don’t let that bother you but please bear it in mind and speak clearly but quietly.’
‘I cannot remember the precise details, of course, but this is a rough outline.’ Alison placed her empty coffee cup carelessly on the edge of the table. ‘The big cheeses are always looking for new ideas. New angles, they call them; or blue sky thinking outside the box, all that old toffee. I told them that you had a new idea based on those identity cards. They are interested and would like to meet you. That is it, really.’
That was good enough for Jady. After his initial surprise that things could move so quickly, Jady was back on top of his game. Putting down his dead orange juice glass, he stood up and graciously lent his arm, unnecessarily, to Alison.
‘All right, Ali, shall we go? Once more unto the breech.’
When Michael accepted his assignment, he took a large down payment in order that it should not fail due to underinvestment, and to enable him to hire the best accomplices. This was no problem; money was one thing his client had in abundance. He was a fixture on the world’s unofficial rich list, regularly pipping King Midas to the post. With money no object, Michael hired the best. He assembled a team of English-speaking Germans with enough brains and expertise to put Ali Baba and his gang to shame. All experts; two women and, himself included, two men. Strictly professional, they could pose as two couples where necessary, fitting in as unobtrusively as zebras in a bar-code factory.