The Shift of Numbers (14 page)

Transcript of interrogation 38717.1

14:12
Initial, aut.
ALL
  
–
S. Pentothal

Int.1
:What
is your name
?

Sub.
:
Unintelligible

Int.1
:What
is your name
?

Sub.
:Michael

Int.1
:How
old are you
?

Sub.
:40
…47

Int.1
:40

Sub.
:47

Int.1
:Have
you ever stolen money from the print
?

Sub.
:No

Int.2
:You
’
r
e
lying

Sub.
:No

Int.1
:Have
you ever printed too much money
?

Sub.
:Yes
, b-
but

Int.2
:Told
you he was lying

Int.1
:Maybe

Int.2
:He’s
lying

Int.1
:Did
you ever tell anyone you printed too much money
?

Sub.
:Yes
, check

Int.1
:What
do you mean by check
?

Sub.
:Checked
, all the time

Int.1
:Have
you ever altered the number of notes to be printed
?

Sub.
:No
, never ever, wrong

Int.2
:This
ain’t working

………………………Break………………………

14:36
Cont, aut.
ALL
 
–
S. Pentothal +WB

Int.2
:Will
you tell me now
?

Sub.
:Yes
, yes

Int.2
:You
stole from the print. Say yes. It will stop

Sub.
:No

………………………Break………………………

14:48
Cont, aut.
ALL
 
–
S. Pentothal +WB

Int.2
:Did
you steal from the print
?

Sub.
:No

Int.1
:This
isn’t working. Longer this time

………………………Break………………………

15:07
Cont, aut.
ALL
 
–
S. Pentothal +WB

Int.2
:If you want it to stop you just need to say yes

Int.1
:Let
me. Did you steal money from your place of work
?

Sub.
:No
, no. Watched

Int.1
:By
who

Sub.
:Cameras
. All
day long

Int.1
:Did
you check the cameras
?

Int.2
:Didn’t
know about em

Int.1
:
Unintelligible

Int.2
:
Unintelligible

………………………Break………………………

15:09
End, aut.
ALL

*

Back in the Director
’
s office the man known as ‘Sir’ had finished reading through the transcript.

“You
did
this? Let me get this clear in my mind.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “You interrogated the only person in the country who has enough skill to produce our banknotes? With threats o
f violence and sodium pentothal?
” He slumped into a nearby chair, seemingly contemplating their stupidity.

“We used water too, but it didn’t work
,
” Carl said matter-of-factly. ‘Sir’ stared blankly at the floor, absently scratching his nose. After some time
, he stood up and spoke:
“Carl… Go and fetch Michael.”

Michael was brought through into the room
. He looked dishevelled, spaced-
out and scared. Carl stood him against the wall by the door and took a seat.

“Get up Carl… oh, and give me your gun.”

Carl responded obediently with a knowing smile and the man put the gun into his jacket pocket.

“Would you like a seat Michael?”

“I, I, erm…” Michael’s eyes darted around the room not really comprehending the question.

“Take a seat. Go on. I
t’s
okay
. Tim, would you fetch this gentleman a cup of sweet tea
,
please?”

“Yes
,
sir.” Tim left swiftly - leaving the room in silence. A moment later he returned with a
cup and passed it to Michael. S
ensing something wasn’t right
, Michael
placed it on the floor.

“It’s
okay.
I
t
’s
just tea.” He
got up, picked up the cup and took a sip. “See…”

Michael took the cup
from him
and took a tentative slurp. To his surprise
,
it tasted just like tea.

“Now
, Michael. F
irst
,
I would like to begin by offering my sin
cerest apologi
es for the actions of my colleagues. Secondly
,
I would ask you to please put your fingers in your ears.”

“What?” He choked as tea went down the wrong way.

“Put your fingers in your ears. It’s not
a trick, I promise.” He said this
in his most calming voice. Moments later Michael put his fingers into his ears.

“Now… you 2, stand over here.” He pointed at the Director and Carl
,
then to the floor next to his chair, his voice shifting gears into tones that should be listened to and obeyed without question. They shuffled over to where he had pointed, like naughty children. In 1 fluid motion he drew the gun and fired off 2 shots. Tim
stared in disbelief as a smoke-
filled hole appeared in Carl
’
s ‘good’ foot, then another in the toe of the Director
’
s pet
ite high-
heel
ed shoe
.

Smoke and the
smell of spent ammunition filled the small room. His eyes not
iced blood spatter on the floor and
creeping up the wall. Next came the noises, at first barely audible over the ringing in his ears. A muffed thud, Michael had fainted, screams of incredulity and pain, then crying, a door banging, men with guns shouting.

“Put your guns away
,
please. And get an ambulance for those 2.” He pointed to
where
the screaming
came from and
the men at the door immed
iately holstered their weapons.
“Tim, would you be so kind as to pi
ck up Michael and take him home?
” He paused despondently, deep in thought. “You go home too
, Tim. W
e can start afresh in the morning.”

Tim could take a guess that he would be wearing a more somb
r
e tie tomorrow.

Back at home
,
Tim slouched into his ample sofa a
nd flicked the remote control. A
wide
-
screen TV
,
half the size of the wall
,
came to life. Another press of a button and the lights dimmed to a lazy warm glow. As he put his feet up on the couch, his eyes grew heavy almost immediately, and he drifted in and out of a welcome sleep, catching small fragments of news.

“Good evening and welcome to the 9 o’clock news with me, Pelex
ia Brown. Tonight’s top stories: the death toll rises to 4 in what is being described as
the worst power
failure since the war. With 100
s injured, hospitals are struggling to cope. The cause
of the power cut has yet to be
identified, but government officials, yesterday, were quick to dismiss rumours of a terrorist attack.

“We will be focusing, i
n ou
r top story tonight - with eyewitness accounts - on
a re
port direct from Mercy General Hospital and an interview with Sub-C
ommander Johnson, in charge of homeland security. First, outside Mercy Ge
neral, we have Aldrich. Hello. W
hat can you tell us about conditions inside the hospital?”

“Good evening. A
s you
have
already mentioned, all the hospitals in the city have been inundated with patients, none more so than Mercy General. Doctors and nursing staff are literally swamped, with reports of people being put on temporary beds in corridors and simply left to fend for themselves.”

A woman interviewee spoke:
“My Jack was left for 9 hours in the corridor with a towel
w
rapped around his leg. All
he needed was a few stitches. I
t’s unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable!”

A middle-aged man commented next:
“Dad is over 70 and no one p
aid him any attention whatso
ever…”

“These are just a couple of examples of…”

Tim drifted off to sleep, images of talking cartoon cats filling his mind.

“…
to
what effect?”

“We simply don’t know, but the doctors are urging people with minor ailments to stay at home or book an appointment with their GP.”

“Now, live via video phone is Sub-Comm
ander Johnson. Good evening, sir.
What reassurances can you give the public over last night
’
s power failure?”

Tim opened his we
ary eyes and saw the bronze, ageing face of the Sub-C
ommander, his long grey hair
combed over a thinning scalp, h
is pristine uniform and shiny medals on show, for all to see.

“Unfortunately, I am not in a position to of
fer reassurances at this time. O
ur initial dismissal of a terrorist attack may well have been premature. I would like to read a short s
tatement from the Commander-in-Chief:
‘In accordance with procedure, the general alert level has been raised and as a result you will see more enforcement officers on the street. This is a move designed to reassure the public that we are doing all in our power to safeguard liberty and freedom from those who seek to take it away from us. We
will
stop those cowardly
people who
cho
o
se to attack us, and those responsible
will
be brought to justice.’”

Tim
, now
wide awake
, began pacing
round the room. If he had continued viewing he would have seen Pelexia shuffling paper around her desk, completely thrown of
f
guard by the turn of events.
She finally thought of a meaningful question.
Johnson had only repl
ied that more news would
be made available in due course, and spent the remainder of the interview trying
to play down the threat. He was aware that
it would only serve the opposite reaction and churn out fear. But Tim knew this already.

“It’s started!” Tim said ou
t loud.
“He’s laying the groundwork.” By
the time he had stopped pacing
round the sofa, muttering to himself, and had sat back down, the news was almost at an end. He knew that he could probably turn to any other news channel and it would be playing again,
being
dissected and pondered over. 

A slightly flustered-
looking Pelexia Brown turned to the camera. “…And finally, c
arrots. Once hyped as the ‘cure-all’ for poor eyesight, the ‘
orange medicine’ goes under the spotlight
again,
as top scientists reject
medicinal claims
made on carrots’ behalf
.
More on this and our main story at 7 o’clock tomorrow morning.
Goodnight.”
And with the usual wink from her sparkling brown eyes, Pelexia was gone.