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Chapter 12 : Special Weapons & Tactics
Florence Daniels, Minister for Home Affairs, sat waiting for the count down at the start of the programme. She was already sweating under the lights. With luck she’d get in her points this time. She could hear the voice of the producer in her ear piece. “Quiet studio, please. Three… two… one…, Roll credits, Ready on one. Coming to one. Cue Kirsty…”
“Good evening and welcome,” Florence’s interviewer smiled. “In tonight’s programme we will be looking at some of the latest New Order initiatives and I’m joined by Florence Daniels, Minister for Home Affairs” Florence nodded in acknowledgement. “But first,…” Florence felt her stomach sink. Why wouldn’t they just let her get on and talk about the important stuff? “I hope, Minister, that you can comment on media speculation about the true nature of some of the recent trials being carried out by your department.”
Look straight at the camera, she thought. Be firm and clear. Let her see you are answering but don’t let her divert you from what you’ve come to talk about. Let her have this one and a follow up question so it looks like you don’t want to duck the issue but then get back to your message. “I think I have made it quite clear,” Florence said, “that these trials are being carried out purely from the perspective of the potential use of these devices in the detention and correction system.”
“So reports that this is a precursor to a directive for the use of these male chastity devices in domestic environments are without foundation?”
“I can assure you, Kirsty, and the viewers, that my department’s interest in this project is penal not penile.” She smiled at the camera. Her interviewer smiled in her turn at the joke and abandoned her questions. “But what I really want to get across the viewers is the way in which our latest proposals on detecting and deterring dissidents will work…..”
****** ****** ****** ****** ******
The Prime Minister’s fixer turned down the sound on her video screen with a satisfied nod. Mrs Johannsen would be pleased; she liked her ministers to be able to think on their feet.
The fixer knew that the newspaper headlines would be more interested in the “penal not penile” joke than anything else.
Moments later the fixer’s phone rang. Mrs Johannsen, Prime Minister and leader of New Order was on the line.
“A good sound bite,” Johannsen said.
“And all her own work. I can’t claim any credit.”
“Indeed. Well she threw that little cow off the scent.”
The PM’s fixer was always disappointed when Johannsen started mixing her metaphors. It was always the same when she got annoyed. The PM didn’t like the BBC. There were still too many men in editorial posts for her taste.
“That piece of work might be useful,” Johannsen went on. “I’ve been thinking we ought to look at some further ways of reducing the opportunity for unsponsored males to commit sex crimes.”
“You don’t think that some might see that as a further erosion of personal liberty? Or that some people might think that Florence Daniels wasn’t being entirely straightforward?”
“You tell me. And then tell me how we make it play differently.” The fixer could hear the determination in Johannsen’s voice. “The way I see it, if an unsponsored male isn’t involved in sex crimes they shouldn’t have a problem with chastity devices; should they?”
The fixer didn’t reply. She knew it was a rhetorical question.
“There’s one other thing. It’s about Stearns.” The fixer listened carefully. It hadn’t been clear when they spoke before whether Johanssen wanted her on board or not. The things that she’d learned from Fetter Lane might or might not have made a difference. “I’m not sure,” the prime minister continued, “that I accept your concerns. I appreciate your advice but I’ve always felt that she doesn’t let her personal life interfere with her work. I am absolutely certain that nothing will come to light that would prevent her appointment to the Supreme Court.”
“Prime Minister?” The fixer wasn’t happy with the decision but the use of the word “absolutely” was clear enough; Catherine Stearns was being fast tracked and that was it.
“Yes, good, I’m glad you agree.” That was all Johannsen needed to say. That was the strength of their relationship, very little said but that which needed to be done happened.
The fixer put down the phone. She knew what was meant. Whether or not she agreed, she was being asked to make sure things turned out that way. It would cause some problems. They’d have to shut down the Fetter Lane operation, of course. It was a shame, it had only really just got going, but there would be far too many loose ends. Tennant wouldn’t be happy either but she would have to find another venue for entertaining.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Lady Justice Catherine Stearns sat with her elbows on her desk, her fingers pressing on her forehead, trying to clear her head. The ache in her head was doing nothing to help her concentrate on the day’s business.
Lewis, her chamber boy, stood quietly to one side, knowing that calm and quiet was needed in the office that morning. It was a hot day. He couldn’t understand why Lady Stearns was dressed as she was. The heavy, high necked, long sleeved, dress must be making her hot and surely that couldn’t be helping how she felt.
He had brought the files for the cases for the following day. Sometimes she asked him about what was going on in the offices, what the gossip was below stairs. Today though she was quiet. “Tea, Madam?” Lewis asked. It seemed a more likely choice than coffee this morning.
She said nothing for a moment but then looked up. “No. Err, no, thank you Lewis. Just some water will be fine. Thank you.” She took the files as Lewis went to fetch it.
She leafed through the folders. More dissidents. Conspiracy to rape, possession of subversive material, membership of a proscribed organisation, promoting behaviour in conflicting with public morality, obtaining property by deception. It was days like this when she regretted following criminal law. How much easier it would be to be looking at a civil custody case or trying a dispute over some transfer of property under the Reallocation of Marital Assets Act. She felt stiff. Bruised all over, bruised emotionally and physically too. It was, as always, difficult to concentrate and Lewis made it no easier either. His blank, dutiful mechanical obedience made her own feelings the more difficult to come to terms with.
Lewis returned. He put the tray down with the jug and glass of water. Catherine reached for the glass. As she did so Lewis caught sight of a dark mark on Lady Justice Stearns’ wrist. It looked like a nasty bruise. Lewis wondered how she had got it.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
James was sitting in his cell, staring blankly at walls confused and degraded by the episode with the woman the night before, his cock sore from the constant abuse of the previous weeks.
The first that James knew of the police raid was the crash of a door splintering and the cry “Armed police!” immediately followed by the building shaking thumps of stun grenades detonating somewhere above.
Fearful and uncertain of what might be happening, James and his cell mate cowered back against the wall as if that could in some way offer them protection. Nevin burst into their cell confused, frightened and gasping, “It’s the police! A raid.” He started to fumble with the lock that chained James to the wall but before he could unfasten it the door behind him burst open.
In a cloud of dust and smoke, a gasmask-wearing police officer, in black combat gear, her body protector declaring “SWAT”, stood in the doorway clutching an automatic weapon. “Armed police,” she called and Nevin turned towards her raising his arms. James saw the woman’s eyes widen behind the flat glass of her gas mask. A single shot rang out. Nevin, a startled look on his face, fell silently to his knees and then pitched forward, blood spilling from the hole drilled in the middle of his temple, the back of his skull shattered by the bullets exit path. James almost threw up at the sight. Both he and the other man looked up in helpless terror waiting for the next shot.
A second police officer appeared. “That was lucky,” she said. “I saw him coming for you. Quick reactions!” She pulled off her gas mask and shook out a mane of blonde hair. “Let’s get these two out of here. The team will have finished clearing upstairs by now.”
Two more shots smashed the locks that had imprisoned the two men and the first police officer led the two of them, still shackled, upstairs, out of the building and into a waiting police van.
It drove off.
James was shocked by the sudden and unnecessary killing of Nevin. He had done all he could to ease their confinement. Still he at least felt relieved by their liberation. He wondered what would happen now that they were being freed. Perhaps, after this, there would be some sort of resettlement, maybe even some form of sponsorship to help him to recover. Whatever else it couldn’t be worse than the abuse of the last few weeks.
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Groups: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Femdom_Fables/
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