Friday, January 25, 2013

Photo-Op



   "Molly, it's me, Sean. Are you there?"

   "Yes." I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line.

   "Listen. I don't have much time to talk. I've been forced into acting as if I was Billy Clarkson, it's a long story, I need you contact Mrs. Robinson. Do you still have the letter I left you?" This was the end of trying to leave Molly out of the loop.

   "I've already read it, Sean. She's right here, just a sec..."

   "Sean, Robinson here. Speak."

   "They're trying to squeeze me, to put me away so no one can ask any questions. Find out who's behind it- did you get the SD card?'

   "I've got it."

   "The files should tell you what you need to know. Do a massive analysis- there's a common thread here, but  I think it's more than the Senator.  Tag all proper nouns, and tabulate all names associated with them. I'm betting that the top three or four names will hold the key. I'm going to be moved somewhere tomorrow. Try to get that information out before I disappear. Make it seem as if it is coming from hackers, or Wikileaks, maybe even Al Jazzera, but who ever it is must be stopped."

   "Will do. Billy's body is in the Seattle morgue, ID'd as yours, we're working on getting that cover-up exposed as well."

   "Great, let me talk to Molly again."

   "Sean, are you all right?"

   "I'm OK, it wasn't a real bad wound, but I'm pretty much tied to a bed for a couple of days. I'm being held against my will, listen, they told me they'd put you in prison if I don't cooperate. Can you hide out somewhere?"

   "I think so."

   " Do it.  People coming, I've got to hang up, love you..."

   I had heard a commotion in the hall so I hung up and feigned sleep. I had recently been put in a private room—evidently they hadn't thought of removing the phone. The door opened and Senator Clarkson came in, with a couple of cameramen and reporters.

   "Billy, how are you doing?" he moved close to me, making sure that the camera and video operators had a good view.

   "I'm hanging in there, Dad. I could be worse."

   "That's the spirit, my boy. You'll be up and around in no time."

   "When can I leave?" I thought I'd put him on the defensive.

   "Well, at least until we get the incident at the reception figured out, we'll be keeping you out of harms way."

   "If there's anything I can do for your campaign, a press conference or anything, let me know, we could do it from the hospital."

   A reporter asked, "Do you know who did it?" and then shoved a microphone in my face.

   "No, I was sick, and whoever did it threw a jacket over my head before he stabbed me."

   I could see one of the Senator's aides whisper in the Senator's ear.

   "That's enough for now, boys, Billy is still weak, and we don't want to compromise the investigation."

   "Just one more photo with William, Sir."

   The Senator moved closer to my head, so close that I could smell the gel in his hair.

   "This is my son, with whom I am well pleased."

   What a sanctimonious prick.

   When they left the aide took the phone.







Fiction


By Professor Batty




1 Comments:



Blogger Jono said...

Go Sean! And Batty!

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