Life Diverted Part 2 Adulthood Chapter 8 Warlord
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Life Diverted (Part 2: Adulthood)Chapter 4: Croquet free porn video
July 1973, age 18
I was woken by someone banging on my bedroom door.
“WHAT?”, I yelled from within my bed covers.
The door opened, and Dan stepped inside looking annoyingly fresh and awake.
“It’s past nine”, he told me. “Ewan mentioned your idea of doing something high visibility today to draw the press away from the villa. That seems a good idea to me, so get your lazy arse out of bed, eh?”
I wanted to tell him to go do something rude to himself, but he had a point. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
Mrs O’Keef was nowhere to be seen when I made it to the kitchen, so I served myself a basic breakfast of cereal and juice. Dan joined me at the breakfast table, getting straight to business.
“I just rang the office. They were planning to issue a press release later this week about the TV station, but they’re happy to bring it forward. If we’re quick, we can invite them to a press conference this afternoon: a brief speech from you, a sneak peek of the new headquarters and some free Champagne. You okay with that?”
“Fine”, I agreed. “Just don’t give me too much to say. Is the building ready then?”
“More or less”, he hedged. “There’s still work going on, but that’s just decorative, and not in the areas we’ll show. Er, you’d better also be prepared for silly press questions on a different topic: James Bond.”
“What?”
“You missed the premiere of Live and Let Die. Some are saying it was a snub to Roger Moore.”
“Oh — come — on! I was out of the bloody country! And Caity went to represent the family, didn’t she?”
“She did, and loved being centre of attention. Freya sent Roger Moore a ‘good luck and congratulations’ card from you on the day of the premiere, so you need to thank her for that. His people are trying to kill the snub idea, but it could still come up.”
“Okay. Get PR to write me something”, I said, shaking my head in disbelief. It was stupid how the smallest things seemed to get blown up. Changing the subject, I had to assuage my curiosity. “Any news from Sir Edward?”
He smiled, mischievously. “Mission completed overnight. The target didn’t go to work this morning. We tailed him to a wig shop — an obvious tail to keep up the intimidation. He’s still there as we speak. No indication of police involvement.”
“Good. Did I do the right thing by offering Ed a job last night? I mean, that’s where you were manoeuvring me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes and yes. When you mentioned filling the post, I knew Ed was the best candidate by far, so introducing him did have an ulterior motive. But I didn’t think for a moment that you’d act so quickly. It was ... impressive. Unexpected, but pleasingly decisive.”
“Well,” I answered wryly, “I’m glad I can surprise you now and then.”
I spent the morning being lazy, swimming and reading a novel by John le Carré: Call For The Dead. If I was going to be stuck in the world of espionage, I needed to read up on it. I’d already read all Ian Fleming’s works, but Dan had told me that le Carré’s books were more realistic. From now on, I would always think of MI6 as ‘The Circus’.
I had lunch with Mrs O’Keef, then changed into a suit and went to the office. Freya handed me the speech they wanted to give, telling me, “I’ve changed a few little bits to make it sound more like you, less like a robot.”
I smiled. The PR department’s speechwriters wouldn’t like that! She made me practise it in my office, critiquing my delivery and helping me memorise as much as possible so I could look up from the podium. It was a lot longer than the paragraph I’d been hoping for.
At 3.30pm we left Marvel Tower for the short trip to Piccadilly Circus. Marvel Television’s new headquarters was a collection of buildings collectively known as The Trocadero. We had acquired them a few years back and had gutted and refurbished them.
We entered via the triangular building that fronted onto Piccadilly Circus itself. It had had several names and functions during its life, most recently the London Pavilion cinema, where some of the Bond films had premiered. It had grand entrances on the south and west facades, complete with baroque columns, balconies and triangular pediments. We had taken down the illuminated advertisements that had shrouded most of the building, and cleaned and repaired the stonework. Now only the corner section between the two entrances had adverts. It was an historic building in a prestigious location which now formed an impressive entrance to the new HQ.
Inside, once you got through the futuristic security airlocks, you arrived in a large full-height atrium where once had been a cinema auditorium. While it had echoes of its history, it was now modern and bright. A new section of glass roof flooded the space with light, and the central staircase had escalators either side. At the top of the stairs, an enclosed connecting bridge led over Great Windmill Street (what a wonderful name!) and into the main portion of the complex, which contained newsrooms, studios and offices. That building’s facades were listed (a protected historic building) so those had been preserved and cleaned while the two-acre interior was razed to the ground and completely rebuilt to our needs.
Why all this fuss about television? Because the bill we had been pushing through parliament had finally become law. It had been in the Queen’s speech in 1971, passed by the Commons in 1972, and promptly killed by the Lords. There was then a hiatus when the Home Secretary resigned over some dodgy business dealings, and we had to persuade his successor of the bill’s merits. (He also had to sign-off on continuing Operation Editor, but that was an easier sell.) The bill was eventually re-introduced and nodded through to the Lords where, this time, they couldn’t kill it. If they tried, the provisions of the Parliament Act would kick-in to overrule them, and the bill would go to Her Majesty for royal assent whether they liked it or not. So up yours, your Lordships. The Lords grumbled but passed it with only a few amendments which we could live with.
So the UK would soon, finally, have such a thing as cable and satellite TV. We were there that day to launch the very first cable/satellite TV channel.
A lady in her late twenties was first to take to the podium in front of the stairs. A modest crowd of media journalists were gathered, lured, no doubt, by the alcohol. Alongside them was a much larger bunch of Marvel employees who had been sent along at short notice to bolster the numbers and make it feel more of an event.
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Marvel UK, welcome to the Trocadero. As you know, the Broadcast Act 1973 created the London Cable and Satellite Television company, known as LonCAST, one of fourteen new ‘Chartered Companies’ covering each of the UK’s television regions. LonCAST, like its sister companies, has the exclusive right to provide subscription television services in its area. Harrison Holdings won the auction in May to become LonCAST’s ‘Core Investor’ and operator, with the remaining 50% of the shares to be floated on the stock market in October, as per the Act.”
The act also allowed the government to swipe 1% of the hundred million pounds we had paid in the auction, as an administration charge. That was a Lords amendment. Cheeky sods. The rest of the money raised from the auction and the flotation would be put in escrow as protected operating capital for the new company to invest in infrastructure.
The lady continued, “LonCAST and Marvel UK share a parent company, so I am delighted to introduce to you the chairman of Harrison Holdings, Finnley Harrison MBE.”
There was applause and even the odd cheer from the crowd of employees. They knew who signed their pay cheques.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began, “Marvel began as a comic book company in New York City. When my grandfather purchased it in 1966, it lent its name to a larger group of companies with the same spirit of creativity and flair. Marvel has been making television content in the States ever since that merger, and from today, with the opening of this new facility, it will do the same in the UK. LonCAST already has thousands of homes connected to its fibre-optic network. So I can announce today that LonCAST will begin transmitting on the 1st of September, with the three existing BBC and ITV channels, plus a new channel called Marvel Television, or MTV.”
I was interrupted at that point by a whoop and another round of applause. That gave me a chance to get my breath and refocus. I wasn’t very comfortable with public speaking like this, but I kept reminding myself of techniques I’d learnt at school in Drama lessons.
“MTV will feature music, sport, drama, comedy and light entertainment, and will be the first of a family of four channels, introduced over the next year or so. MTV News will be a 24-hour news channel. MTV Movies will show the latest films along with classics. And MTV Kids will have cartoons and children’s programming. In addition, LonCAST has space on its network for additional channels from other content providers, and we’re in negotiations with several such companies. I can also announce that the chartered company for the Midlands region has agreed to include the MTV family in its service offering, and we hope for similar arrangements in the other regions to make us a national network. This is an exciting new chapter for Marvel in Great Britain, and we look forward to great things ahead. Now if the press have any questions, I’ll be happy to dodge them as best I can.”
There were plenty of questions, including the Bond one. I held myself back from calling the guy a rude name, but just barely.
This was the first part of the television jigsaw puzzle we were assembling. The next part would come in a month’s time, at Comic-Con in San Diego.
Wednesday was a lazy day, spent at home swimming and reading. Then on Thursday morning, I had a call from Freya to tell me that Sir Edward wanted to meet. So I donned my work clothes and headed to the office for the second time in a week. Wow. I almost felt like an adult going to work regularly.
Ed turned up bang on time for our meeting, wearing a tailored three-piece suite that probably came from Saville Row.
After the usual pleasantries, he told me, “I am minded to accept your kind offer. But I do have a favour to ask that would solidify my thinking. I have a ... pet project, you might call it. If I take the job, I would appreciate it if you’d look the other way when I misappropriate certain resources to the benefit of that project.”
He stopped as if waiting for an answer. “Do you seriously expect me to agree without knowing what the project is?”, I asked. “Are you testing me perhaps?”
“Perhaps”, he replied with a knowing smile. “How much do you know about South Africa?”
“Enough to know we’ve been sensible to steer well clear until now.”
“Finnley, you’d be forgiven for thinking that my family’s heritage would mean I’m wrapped in the typical prejudices of nobility. I, on the other hand, pride myself in being neither sexist, racist nor classist. And the things I’ve done at the behest of Her Majesty’s Government have often been targeted at white men in powerful positions, which gives one a unique perspective on what the dregs of humanity really look like. Apartheid is an abomination. It is a stain on the consciences of white people the world over and particularly to us British, as the former colonial power. I was down there ten years ago and saw it first hand. Ever since, I’ve helped the anti-apartheid movement as best I can with my particular skills. With your blessing, there is very much more I could do.”
I didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t wrong. “Which governments and intelligence agencies would you be putting us on a collision course with if we did this?”
“That rather depends on how far we go”, he answered. “The simplest and most immediate thing you could do is increase news coverage of what goes on there. I could connect your journalists with people on the ground to make sure they’re always in the right place at the right time. You could also get involved with construction and aid. The black towns and regions get a minuscule amount of government money compared to the white areas. You could build a hospital, for example, and donate to Médecins Sans Frontières for them to staff it. Or, ultimately, you could turn a blind eye while the new MD of Cerberus Solutions directly assists the rebel paramilitary groups with advice, tactical planning, finance, equipment and potentially personnel.”
I took a moment to think through the angles. “Are you making this a condition of your acceptance?”
“No. Think of it more as a signing bonus, a golden handshake.”
I shook my head. “I’d prefer to think of it as golden handcuffs. If I agree to this, you’re mine. No pissing about with where your loyalties lie. If the Foreign Office found out, they’d go after you more than they would me, because they’d no longer trust you.”
Elouise
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