Tag Archives: Butler

The Prisoner: “Imminent Departure”

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Prolog: This may, or may not, be my finale for our agent, Mr. Drake, and The Prisoner. As you read this keep in mind that things aren’t always what they seem. But then again, sometimes they are. Confusing, isn’t it? I’ve tried, and please don’t ask me how I came by the information (that would be telling) to fill in a few blanks concerning The Village, its residents, and our agent, here and there. And I have, admittedly, engaged in more than just a bit of humor. The last I heard Number Two was updating my file in that respect. But it occurs to me that in the filling in of blanks I’ve left out some interesting information. And that’s what THEY want, isn’t it? Information. And so there is another story interwoven with “Imminent Departure”. The title? “The Recruits”. You see, Mr. Drake was trained for his job as part of a class of twelve. I thought you might like to know a little about the beginning as we’re drawing towards what may, or may not, be the end. Oh, and FYI, you can cut, paste, and go to Google translate to convert Russian into English.

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Quote: “Freedom is a myth.” Patrick McGoohan.

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Number Six had glanced over his shoulder just as he came to the corner of the building. The other man rounded the corner at the same time. Colliding into each other they now stood face to face.

“You!” The mans eyes went wide and then narrowed. His badge read Nine. “You,” he said again, lowly. “So you are the reason I’ve been brought here.” He looked Number Six up and down, taking a slow step back. “No number I see. You are the Number One. I could have guessed!” And turning he walked off, heading now in a new direction. The Green Dome.

“Be seeing you,” called out Number Six, saluting.

~

He heard the person approaching. Heavy steps, obviously male. He waited until the shadow fell, and remained, on his copy of the Tally Ho before looking up.

“Well, the changing of the guard didn’t take long this time, did it?” He was looking up at the new Number Two.

“Number Six,” the new Number Two chuckled, shaking his head from side to side in a mildly amused and somewhat disappointed sort of way. He looked up from Number Six and out over the retaining wall towards the sea and breathed deeply. And calmly walked away.

~

“The Recruits” … Spy school. Who would have thought there could be such a thing? But everyone needs training. Mr. Drake, having been recruited as he was from the bank, took three months sick leave. They said it was some sort of fever he’d contracted while on vacation. Very serious. And the three months of training was just that. Serious, intense. It was a class of twelve. Each man was paired with another. You see, not only did you learn your trade but you learned the necessity of team work as well. There were no lone wolves. Drakes partner, a very likable chap, had been recruited from the Royal Navy. Being a sailor he had a girl in every port, and several far from port. Drake worked hard to master his new trade. It was, after all, life or death.

~

Oddities never cease in The Village. The first man, Number Nine, had a very distinct Lithuanian accent. Number Two had a mild accent, almost undetectable. The sort of accent a person acquires after having learned several languages fluently. The accents weren’t so very odd by themselves. It was the resemblance between the two. They could easily have been brothers. At a distance, side by side, they would be nearly impossible to tell apart. But the oddest part was the feeling in Number Six’s gut. In some dim way he recognized them both. But from where, and when? It would come, given time.

~

“I know you,” Number Six stood over Number Two as the other man sipped coffee at the café. Number Two, looking up, smiled and chuckled.

“Number Six,” and he chuckled again, only a little louder this time. “Of course you know me. I am Number Two.”

“I know you as someone other than Number Two,” Number Six was fishing.

“Indeed? Well, let me know when you can put a name with the face. Then we’ll talk. Perhaps its just that I remind you of another,” and he laughed heartily, as though at some private joke. “Until then I’ll call for you if I feel the need.” He turned his face away at this, seemingly engrossed by the seascape just visible through the tumble of Village buildings from this point.

~

Number Six stood in his doorway, Number Nine was standing just outside. The man had actually knocked.

“I have been watching you,” the man peered at Six through eyes that were slits, as though he was trying to see past the exterior, trying to see what was inside Number Six.

“Yes, I’ve seen you. And do you find me very entertaining?” Number Six raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Oh, fascinating. I learn much by your example. I thought you to be Number One. But no, you are a prisoner just as I am,” he titled his head to one side, just the hint of a smile on his face. “I never dreamed such a thing would happen. I had heard rumors of a place like this. And then to find you here. It is almost too much.”

“Yes, I quite agree. But then the world is filled with odd occurrences, isn’t it, ah, what was your name again?”

Smiling, the man replied, “Oh, you know who I am, Number Six. I am,” and he pointed to the badge on his lapel, “Number Nine.”

“Would you care for some genuine non-alcoholic Brandy? Twenty three units a bottle.” And Number Six held out his hand towards the interior of his flat in invitation.

“No,” the man smiled and shook his head slowly. “I will let you know when it is time to talk. Be seeing you,” and, turning, he walked away.

“And you.”

~

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“The Recruits” … Part of the job consisted of knowing your equipment. The world of espionage has its share of gadgets. They were useful, but Drake preferred to use his mind as much as possible. His partner, on the other hand, seemed comfortable with relying on the “tools” of the trade a little more than Drake was comfortable with. John had told him once, “These things are handy, but they can fail. We have to learn to think on our feet.” His partner replied, “When one thing fails there’ll always be another. There is no end to invention.” Ah, well, to each his own.

~

He was standing in the breeze, watching people as they frolicked on the stone boat. Some actually got seasick on their imaginary journeys. Imaginary journeys. He’d indulged in a few of those himself. Number Two strolled by, turned to him, walked over to him.

“Beautiful day,” quipped Number Six.

“There are no microphones nearby,” Number Two was looking out over the sea, speaking lowly, “Only cameras. Mr. Drake, I couldn’t care less why you resigned. You are more of a problem here than you will ever be an asset. They tell me that they don’t want you damaged, you’re to valuable. I question that. But for now it is the only reason I don’t have you killed. There are about to be any number of changes here, elsewhere, and I am one of them. I want you gone, Mr. Drake. When things come to a head here, as they shall soon, I want you gone. Do you understand?”

He looked at Number Two, a bit shocked but doing a good job of hiding it. This was the first time anyone in The Village had called him by name. Wanting him gone? He’d be glad to go, but he’d not take part in another ruse.

“I am no longer a number then?”

“Oh, yes, you will remain a number for as long as you are here. But I call you by name now for a reason. I want to impress upon you one simple thing,” and he turned slowly, facing Number Six. “I want to impress upon you this … I want you gone. And gone,” he was almost whispering now, “is what you shall be.”

~

He was working out at his private gym. The day was bright, and hot for this time of year. He could see, far down the path, Number Nine approaching. He continued his work out until the man was standing there in the small clearing with him.

“Now we talk,” Number Nine spoke slowly, deliberately.

“About the weather?”

Number Nine shook his head. “No, Mr. Drake. We talk about leaving. You and I. Together we can. We are perhaps the only two people who, together, could.”

“Who are you?!”

“You know who I am,” and he pointed to his lapel. “I am Number Nine. You are Number Six.”

“I am not a number! I am a free man!”

“Yes, and together we shall both be free. Together we will escape this,” and with a sour look, twisting his mouth as though about to spit, he said, “place.”

“Go tell your masters that you tried and failed. I’m not buying.” Number Six turned his back to Number Nine. And he remembered. He knew who Number Nine was now. And Number Two. But which one was the right one? Only one of them could be the man that he now knew that one of them was. The identity was certain, the one it belonged to was the question. He heard Number Nine walking away.

“We will talk again, John Drake. I give you time to think. But do not take too much time. Opportunities are lost over time.”

~

“The Recruits” … Drake worried about his partner. At one point he had actually caught him copying answers from his paperwork. He hadn’t said anything. He was no rat. A fool perhaps, but not a rat. If it hadn’t been for the man’s charm and whit he would have no doubt washed out. But he hung in there, and so did our Mr. Drake. However, lets give the other guy credit where credit is due. He could tell you the vintage of the grapes used in the production of the sherry that he drank. His palate had obviously been well-trained.

~

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He sat thinking, a tumbler of genuine non-alcoholic bourbon and water, on the rocks, in his hand. The Muzak played, the sounds of The Village drifted in through the open window. And he thought. This felt different. Something wasn’t right about it, and he knew it. But what? What was the twist or turn here? The underlying current? The plot? Because there was one. There always was one. The Muzak stopped and the syrupy sweet female voice made the following announcement.

“Fellow citizens, one and all, your Village Council, and remember it is YOUR Village Council, democratically elected by YOU, is pleased to announce that in one week, exactly one week from today, there will be a glorious Festival of Unity. There will be music and refreshments, a truly carnival atmosphere, an unveiling of NEW Village statuary, and the main attraction, a moving speech by our beloved Number Two. So come one and come all! Its festival! More details to come!”

~

Number Two sat down across from him at the chessboard.

“Care to play?” Number Six asked pleasantly.

“Hardly. I want to give you a word of advice.” Number Two looked from side to side, and, leaning over the table, snarled, “Listen to Number Nine. The festival is your opportunity.” Standing, he looked down at Number Six and whispered, “Remember where it is I want you?”

“Gone?” Number Six smiled nonchalantly.

“Specifically.”

~

For the next several days Number Six saw very little of Number Two or Number Nine. When he did see Number Two the man would scowl and walk away. Number Nine would smile and nod faintly and go about his way. This was fine with Number Six. Perhaps they had given up on their game. But then the warders never gave up that easily.

~

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Number Six was making his way to the General Store as he passed Number Nines door. It opened as he neared it, an older woman, in her sixties and carrying several small potted plants in her arms, backing out, a broom tucked under her arm, trying to keep it all balanced and in hand. As she turned she smiled pleasantly at him and said, “Good morning, Number Six. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Bending over she sat the plants down, and rising up he saw her badge. Number Nine.

“How very odd,” he said, an amused look on his face. He was used to this sort of thing. “Why just yesterday Number Nine was a middle-aged male from Lithuania.”

“Well, if you say so,” she twittered. “Things do seem to change, don’t they?”

“Be seeing you, Number Nine.”

“And you,” she replied, as she turned to her gardening and the sweeping of her front walk.

The public address system blared, “Attention, citizens. Just a reminder, only one more day till Festival! Be ready for all the fun and excitement on this joyous occasion! This is YOUR day! Enjoy it to the full, and remember … Life is for living!”

~

“The Recruits” … It had been something of a scene. Drake’s partner had been caught sneaking a girl into the compound. The chief instructor, a middle-aged man with eyebrows like feather dusters, had gone livid. “Being a commander in her Majesties Royal Navy I understand that you may think you have an image to protect, all sailors being infamous womanizers, but you WILL hold it in until training has been completed! IS THAT CLEAR?!” If Drake hadn’t spoken to the Colonel later, well, who knows what might have happened to his partner?

~

The Butler was just leaving the General Store as Number Six approached. Entering he saw a tall man, easily in his late fifties, standing near the counter, a copy of the Tally Ho held in front of him.

“Good day to you sir,” the storekeeper chimed pleasantly. “And what might I do for you?”

“I’d like some halibut for the evening meal please.” Number Six walked past the tall man. “Excuse me.”

The man slowly folded the paper, his badge clearly visible now. The new Number Two.

“A new Number Two again?” Number Six cocked his head to one side. “And where do they store all of you for the keeping?”

“You needn’t concern yourself, Number Six, with details. You’ll deal with me now. As far as you’re concerned I’m the only Number Two there’s ever been.” And turning, he walked out.

~

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“Rise and shine, rise and shine! It’s another beautiful day in The Village! Remember that today if the Festival of Unity! Make your plans to attend now. The wonderful celebration begins at ten o’clock sharp so don’t be late. And now, to help you ready yourself for fun and frolic … Music.”
Number Six rolled over in bed, pulling the sheet over his head. They could keep their Festival of Unity.
~
He sat down with his coffee, the Muzak conveniently tucked away in the fridge, when he saw it. On the floor, just a few inches from the door. It had obviously been pushed under the door and five minutes ago it hadn’t been there. He picked it up, a white envelope, and on the front, in bold block letters, he read: “To John Drake”. Inside was a short note …
“Behind the hospital at 11 a.m. during Festival. It is our chance.”
~
He leaned cautiously around the corner. There were five cargo helicopters, fully two dozen Village workers, a multitude of crates in various stages of being packed and loaded. And pandemonium. The workers feverishly went about packing, loading, and fetching more from the building. Much of it looked to be computer equipment.
“Be careful! You break that and I’ll break you!” One worker, obviously in a supervisory position, yelled at another.
“What’s all this about anyway? Why the rush?”
“And do you REALLY want to know?!”
Number Six watched. In all the rush and confusion it would be a simple matter to hide in one of the larger crates, pulling one of the many tarps in and over to cover himself. The rest would be left to chance, true, but at least it was a chance. If they found him out he’d be no worse off.
~
“The Recruits” … Graduation day. Such as it was. A tallying of the grades, a going over of the records. Drake placed at Number One in the class. His partner? He earned the twelfth position. Well, that WAS better than washing out. They had talked, he and Drake. The training had been for service with NATO but the other man said he was going to pull a few strings and opt for MI5. Drake would continue with NATO. They made plans for one farewell drink before they parted ways. And the day after having left the compound, the day before Drake was to return to the bank from hospital and his partner return to Naval service, they agreed to meet at a certain pub at a certain time.
~
Five hours. Five hours he was bumped and jostled. He could hear the copter, he could feel the unloading, he heard the workers as the crate was transferred to what must be a truck.
“Be careful with that, mate! It’s supposed to be delicate.” If they only knew.
He felt the truck stop, more voices, more jostling. With a thud he felt the crate set down.
“Start the unpacking, men. They need these things upstairs today.”
He heard a crowbar biting into wood, the crate shook slightly, nails made a screeching sound as they were pulled out. He shielded his eyes from the light. The worker stood there, eyes wide, mouth open.
“Frank? You might like to have a look at this.”
~
 
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He rode in the back, the two bobbies up front. Once at the police station he could explain, could get word to the Colonel. For now he contentedly took in the sights and sounds of London. Even the exhaust fumes were a welcome alternative to The Village.
~
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In Moscow Georgio Rannesin was escorted into a large, sparsely furnished office. There, behind a desk, sat a large man, moustache bristling. He smiled at Rannesin pleasantly. And Georgio’s heart sank into his shoes as he heard the words …
“Товарищ Добро пожаловать в деревню. Теперь … Скажите, почему вы уйти в отставку?”
~
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“The Recruits” … They waited patiently for the bartender. The place was packed. But they took the opportunity to talk. It would be a friendly parting. Drake couldn’t help but like the other man and he sincerely wished him well.
“And do you think you’ll be able to get on at MI5?” Drake asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s just a matter of making the right call,” he smiled.
Drake reached into his pocket and took out a pen and small pad.
“I know one person, a secretary, who works at MI5. Call her,” and he wrote out a name and number. “Mention my name.”
“And where do you know her from?”
“The London bombings, during the war.”
The bartender moved to their end of the bar.
“Sorry it took so long, gentlemen. Now, what can I get for you?”
“Whiskey,” answered Drake.
“And you sir?” The bartender looked at Drakes friend.
“Martini, please. Very dry and please don’t stir the ice, it bruises. I prefer it shaken, not stirred.” Ah, the well-trained palate.
“Certainly sir, coming right up.”
The two waited patiently, silently now. The drinks arrived. Taking their glasses they raised them.
“To your very good health, John,” Drakes friend smiled.
“And to yours, James.”
After finishing their drinks they got up to leave. As they shook hands Drake put his hand on James’ shoulder, smiled, and said, “Now, when you talk with Miss Moneypenny be certain to tell her I gave you her number.”
“Thank you, John. I will.”
~
~
Off the elevator, down the hall. Drake walked between two officers. One stopped at an unmarked door and, reaching for the knob, smiled at Drake and said, “Here you are, mate. You’ll get to explain yourself now.”
The room was ordinary enough. Through the window he could see the familiar London skyline. The high-backed chair behind the desk was turned away from him, its occupant obviously intent upon what looked to be a computer monitor. The chair began to revolve as a hand reached towards a button. There was a slight swishing sound behind him as a chair began to rise from the floor. “Have a seat, dear boy,” a familiar voice said pleasantly. The chair completed its turn, and a smiling Number Two said, “Welcome to The Village.”
~
Epilog: Well, well. The whole world a Village? Remember what we’ve learned here. Things aren’t always what they seem. And in The Village they are very rarely so. I’m not sure I have the heart to leave Number Six in a situation like this. Who knows? He doesn’t seem to be able to escape The Village. He’s always brought back. Maybe I won’t be able to escape these tales either. Time will tell. And from time to time I may just have to come back. I mean, somebodies gotta feed Rover when Number Six isn’t around. Oh, please excuse me. Number 14 just pulled into the drive and you know how she gets when kept waiting. Be seeing you.
 

A Personal Note

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Just a note. I have a lot of health problems, terminal cancer being the most serious, and recently I’ve started several alternative therapies that have all helped, some more and some less. They are, however, time-consuming. So I may not write fan fiction as much as a result. I’m not saying I won’t write any, but the posts may be few and far between. I just have to prioritize and there are only so many hours in the day. I’ve had a lot of fun doing this and hopefully its been enjoyable for some other folks as well. And the site will be here for whoever finds it, the stories, for what they’re worth, being new to them. 🙂

And just a thought for all the people out there who think that The Prisoner is just cool fiction at best, and that George Orwell’s “1984” can’t happen, I offer you this …

In times of profound social change like the present, extreme views hold out the appeal of simplicity. By ignoring the complexity of the forces that shape our personal and collective circumstances, they offer us scapegoats. Yet they fail to provide a viable pathway from the cold war to the global village.

Source: It Takes A Village, by Hillary Clinton, p.286 Sep 25, 1996 Be seeing you.

Village Residents: “Surveilance”

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Drawing of a CCTV Camera (MS Paint)

A watchful eye is one thing. Taking joy in your work is another.

Different personality types are best suited for one job or another. We like to believe, and regrettably it may be wishful thinking, that everybody is good at something. We’ve all seen people promoted in their field until finally they reach a position that they will never be promoted from because they’ve reached the end of their capabilities and now do a mediocre job at best. And so we appreciate those few individuals who, having reached their own “top”, excel at the job they do and stay put. Its reassuring to know they’re in control of the situation, that the job is held in capable hands. Unless …

~

It had been years now. He had acclimatized to life in the Village rather quickly and, having seen what he considered advantages, made a useful niche for himself. He wasn’t irreplaceable, he knew that. But he was good at what he did, no, he was excellent at it and they knew it. From the top down they all knew it.

~

Number Six was playing chess with a fellow Villager, one that he was sure was a warder. The conversation seemed civil, benign. But body language, voice inflection, facial expression, these gave away information even when the tongue was restrained. And Six was most observant. So were the Village security cameras and microphones.

~

At first he had wondered. It was clear enough why they had brought him to the Village. As a high-ranking executive with a major corporation holding government contracts with three of the worlds super powers he had access to information that was sensitive to say the least. His first few days in the Village had been filled with anger and a desire to strike back. In certain ways he had been much like Number Six. In some ways. Unlike Number Six he had given up on the idea of escape almost immediately. He was an executive, not a government agent. He knew well his area of expertise and his limitations. One encounter with Rover was all of the convincing he had required.

~

Some of the information he gathered had been somewhat disturbing. But, armed with such knowledge, he was better equipped to deal with certain elements in the Village. The more Number Six knew about them and the less they could get from him all worked to his advantage. He was, overall, pleased. It had been a very enlightening chess match. And every move had been recorded.

~

It was when he realized that by giving them the information they so longed for that he could ruin one of his rivals in the corporate world that he pitched in with full vigor. It was all the encouragement he needed. In an instant the anger had been redirected and his term as prisoner ended. He would be a warder supreme. And he was.

~

Number Six was dressing for bed, humming to himself. He would hum, he would be himself even here, in spite of them. Some of these things, like the humming, he did to let them know he was still an individual, still himself and no number. Every day, every moment, every activity was a chance for him to show them they weren’t winning and never would. He made use of every opportunity. And they saw, they saw it all.

~

This job had been nothing less than a stroke of luck. He had been in the right place at the right time. His “promotion” had been within three weeks of his arrival. He found out later, while doing his job, that putting him in that position had at first been a ruse. Place him in a job they were certain he’d fail at and, given his personality type, use the resultant stress to break him further and gain yet more information. But he had done a perfect job and willingly, freely gave them all they asked for. They had underestimated his sadistic bent. He had very much enjoyed the ruining of his rival. Now? He could make the ruin of others a daily occurrence. It mattered to him not one iota that they were strangers to him and innocent. His job was now his passion. He had found his true purpose in life. And he could re-run the tapes any time he pleased.

~

“Supervisor,” Number Two called out.

“Yes.”

“Put recent videos of Number Six playing chess with Number Thirty Seven on screen three please.”

“Certainly,” the Supervisor replied. “And I can re-run the tapes any time I please.”

“Yes,” Number Two replied dryly. “So I’m told.”

Developement

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Often people that criticize your life are usua...

Development. In Danger Man the character of John Drake is, over time, filled out nicely. In The Prisoner Numbers Six and Two, especially Leo McKern‘s Number Two, are dealt with and fleshed out rather well. We get to know them, we see their characters, their emotions, and have an idea about what drives them. But there’s more here than Drake and Two. We see others that, while highly visible, are kept in a kind of void. We see them its true but we never get to know them. John Drake, Number Six, Number Two, you, me, we all have history. So I’m going to try something a little different. I’m going to get to know these people, share their lives. I’m not sure just how many of the Village residents I’ll deal with. Over time I’m sure of three in particular. Who are they? Well, wait, give it some time and we’ll get to know these people together. It might be an enjoyable get together. And then again, we might end up knowing more than we want to.

The Prisoner … “Deep Six” … Part Three

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Number Two's residence as it stands today, kno...

“Number Six, report to the Green Dome. Number Six, report to the Green Dome immediatly.”

“Yes, I understand. … Oh, no, I agree totally sir. Yes indeed, it was a mistake. … Everything will be put to right soon, you have my word. … No, regrettably Number Six said nothing. But he is tight-lipped. … Yes, yes I will. … Thank you, sir, thank you very much.” He put down the red phone and exited through the concealed door to the rear of the room, giving the monitor one last glance as he did. Number Two would be back soon and he didn’t need to be here.

The Supervisor smiled to himself. He was glad they had never “offered” the Number Two position to him. He was good at what he did and that was one reason they kept him where he was. Another reason was that he never spoke of what he saw. The man who had just used the red phone? That came as a surprise even to him. The twists and turns never ceased to amaze him. But he never reacted, never spoke to anyone of them. Sometimes he felt as though he knew more about what was going on than Number Two did.

The Butler never moved a facial muscle. The question uppermost in his mind at the moment was: “I wonder how he takes his tea?”

~~~

Number Six tried to look innocent. Surely they hadn’t noticed that he’d spotted the hatch. If they had they wouldn’t have allowed him to return to the spot. Unless of course it was some meaningless hole leading nowhere, which was what he half expected. But it could be a way out and he’d never know unless he checked. Rover floated only a few feet from the boat as he prepared for his last dive. Falling over the side backwards, the water splashing around him, he began his descent.

He swam along the wall of whatever it was. On the other side he could see various forms of marine life. There was a shark moving slowly towards him. At one point it obviously touched the wall and jerked away as though shocked. He made his way towards the hatch. He knew they were watching but he had to try, he had to know. And the Village warders only need slip up once. Perhaps this was that time. At about twenty feet distance from the hatch he made a dash for it. He grasped the wheel of a handle and began turning it. He could see Rover sinking towards him. He pulled. The hatch opened with Rover about fifteen feet away. There was nothing but blackness inside the hatch. Suddenly there was a rushing of water, a pull. He was literally sucked into the hole. The force was so great that it hurled him against the interior head first. That was the last thing he remembered. Until later.

~~~

Three men were standing over him. One yelled at him: “Are you a fool?! The interior mechanism wasn’t turned on! You could’ve flooded the entire level if we hadn’t turned on the emergency valve system!”

One of the other men punched the man speaking on the shoulder. He said, “I don’t think he’s one of the crew. He’s a topper.”

“Well how’d he get here then?”

“Don’t know, but have either of you ever seen him before? Any word that a new crew member was coming on?’

“No”, both of the others muttered.

“Up with you!” The second man grabbed Number Six by the arm, pulling him up roughly. “Come along then. We’ll soon see what you’re about.”

As they escorted a rather groggy Number Six down a rock lined corridor he thought he saw steam rising through what looked to be a vent of some sort. And he thought he could hear music from someplace, he wasn’t sure where. He was stumbling, blood dripping down the side of his head. He wasn’t sure how badly he was hurt.

At last they entered a control room of sorts. He was starting to come around now, a little more at himself. He felt his head.

“You set here then!” And the first man pushed him into a chair. “You,” he spoke to the third man roughly, “Go call topside. Get word to Number Two that we have a possible topper here. He’ll know what to do. Hurry about it!”

~~~

He was fully himself now, but not acting like it. He slumped over a panel of switches, holding his head. And reading labels. Valves, motors, lighting, vent system, flow control. Interesting labels. He seemed to have been there forever.

“Ah, Number Six,” said the familiar voice, “whatever shall we do with you? I give you an inch and you take the proverbial mile. I’ll expect the return of the scuba gear of course.”

“Of course,” Number Six sat up straighter, looking at Number Two.

“And have you satisfied your curiosity?”

“Not quite,” Number Six smiled as he suddenly flipped three of the most promisingly labeled switches.

A number of alarms went off. “Good choice,” he thought to himself.

Number Two went deathly pale. “You fool! You’ll kill us all!”

Number Six could hear shouts. He thought he heard rushing water. Number Two pulled him towards what looked like a glass tube. In a moment they were traveling upward, as though in an elevator. An elevator made for speed.

~~~

“Yes … Yes … I understand … Yes … Yes, at once.” A pallid Number Two set the red phone down.

The Supervisor watched with a sort of perverse satisfaction from the control room.

The Butler walked towards the door, pushing the tea cart before him. Tea time was obviously over.

~~~

The two bottom levels had been flooded. The computer systems were a total loss. It would take days to pump out the sea water, and weeks to install new equipment. Number Six new he’d created a disturbance. He had no idea how much of one. Of the five lower levels of The Village “system”, as the keepers called it, these two were a large part of the nerve center. This was a major victory for Six. Sadly, he would never know how great a victory it had been.

~~~

“Number Six report to the Green Dome. Number Six, please report to the Green Dome immediately.” The public address system seemed a bit out of sync today.

Number Six, paying for his tea, left the cafe and walked leisurely towards Number Two’s office. Knowing that he had done some damage somehow made this visit worthwhile.

~~~

The doors slid open, the Butler waving Number Six in. The globular chair didn’t move. He was at the desk before it slowly began to revolve. The new Number Two smiled slyly. The new Number Two, the old Number Forty One, spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Ah, my dear Number Six. What a wonderfully devious Villager you are. You’ll never know the pains I’ve gone through on your account.”

“Don’t feel obligated.”

“Yes, well I do have a responsibility towards the citizens,” he sighed. “Be glad you’re not being billed for your little escapade. But, after having helped, without knowing it of course, remove a weak cog from our machinery writing off the bill was the least I could do. And I just wanted to let you know that I’m here for you should you ever feel the need to talk.”

~~~

“Yes, things will change, have changed, for the better,” Number Two smiled as he spoke into the red phone. “He wouldn’t confide in me as a fellow Villager, but I guarantee,” his teeth gritted, “he WILL confide in me now. … Oh, no sir, I wouldn’t think of damaging the tissue.”

~ finis ~

The Prisoner … “Putsch” … Part 4

Standard
Chess Pawn

We’re all pawns, but some of us are better at it than others.

“It is customary  to knock!” Number Eighty One bellowed as Number Six entered his flat.

“Not in The Village! And I am NOT your errand boy!” He took the envelope from his pocket, slamming it down on the coffee table. “You will kindly inform your friends that from now on they can deliver their own messages! That is the only reason I brought this one, so that I might give you notice that I resign the post of errand boy that you seem to have … ”

“Who sent you?! What are you talking about?! Answer me!” Number Eighty One screamed. He looked totally out of control, which was, so far as Number Six was concerned, a positive at this point.

“I have no idea who they were! They wore scarves that covered their numbers!” Storming towards the door he called back over his shoulder, “BE SEEING YOU!”

~~~

Number Two, now more than a little paranoid at the current goings on, was checking, double checking, and more. And the phone rang. The red one.

“Yes sir … Oh, no sir, certainly not … Of course … Of course, yes … I’m positive, sir … I’ll check … Yes … ” And he was abruptly cut off. Looking up at the screen he saw Number Eighty One leaving his flat as though on an emergency errand. The camera panned left. Number Six was there, in the background, looking … Watching?

~~~

He stood calmly by the retaining wall, seemingly lost in contemplation as he looked out over the ocean. It wouldn’t be long now. And it wasn’t. Only minutes after he had left Number Eighty One the soon to be new “old” Number Two came, nearly running, out of his flat, envelope in hand. Number Six walked slowly towards the cafe. Even a Pawn has strategic value if you’re good at the game. Now? Let the game begin.

~~~

Number Eighty One went hurriedly from one shop, one flat to another. As he emerged from each another followed, soon heading off towards another shop or flat. In less than half an hour the people he deemed loyal had alerted half the Village warders. In short order he was accompanied by four security personnel armed with nerve gas (one squirt you’re paralyzed, two you’re dead), two medics, and heir doctor, Number Thirty One. And THIS time the door opened.

~~~

The doors slid open, the diminutive Butler, his facial expression never changing, bowed and waved a gloved hand towards the control room occupied by Number Two.

Number Two, looking up from the control panel, the Supervisor standing next to his desk, pointed at Number Eighty One and said, “You are banned from this area until your committee meeting!” His color began to fade as he recognized the men with Number Eighty One. The Supervisor stepped quietly back and out of range.

“Number Four … ” Number Eighty One began.

“I am Number Two!” But his voice belied his nerves.

“NUMBER FOUR! You are accused of being of the cult of the individual and of being unmutual. You are guilty of insubordination, unlawful occupation of a Village post, and treason. Due to your obvious mental illness you will mercifully be treated as the sick man that you are.” The medics and guards were already circling the desk and chair. There was no place for Number Four to go. The Supervisor exited through the hidden doorway to the rear of the room. “You are to be taken to hospital immediately,” and Number Two smiled grimly, “where you will undergo total social conversion. Among, ” and his voice dropped noticeably, “other things.”

Number Four tried to push his way through but the guards held him back and down while the medics administered calming drugs.

~~~

Number Six sat, drinking his coffee, watching the street to his left. A taxi soon appeared carrying Number Two, an ambulance was close behind, and behind the ambulance was Rover.

“I’ve always loved a parade.”

~~~

The red phone rang as soon as Number Two entered, having just returned from hospital after having dropped Number Four off.

“Yes sir … Oh, certainly I … Yes … Yes … Absolutely … Oh, I was aware all along, it’s just that … Yes … I wanted to give him enough rope to hang himself … Evidence? Oh, yes sir, a great deal of … Yes … Yes … Oh, thank you sir, thank you very much.” And he smiled broadly as he replaced the phone on the desk.

The tables had been turned. But how? Why? Who? And he knew, he knew the “who”, but the “how” and “why” were mysteries.

~~~

Number Six, eyes closed, Bach playing softly, totally relaxed. A rare moment. That the evidence in the envelope had been concocted made no difference now. The truth never did in The Village. If they checked, and they would, they always did, they would see that given time. But they would also see that Number Four’s evidence was of the same ilk. And Number Two would look the mastermind that had foiled a plot against The Village. He didn’t care. It was better than assassinations and the mass drugging that he had seen coming. Better a prison that was peaceful on the surface than one filled with barbed wire and trained attack dogs. And then the door opened. No knock, it just opened as was customary here in The Village. Number Six didn’t bother opening his eyes for a moment. Rather, he said, “And do you ever knock, Number Two?” It was only then that he looked up.

“Why do you care?” And the question was sincere.

“I care about knocking because I value my privacy!” Number Six snapped back.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. I know,” and looking in the direction of the hidden surveillance camera he hesitated. He knew that he was as much a prisoner as anyone, as watched as all the rest. ” … what you’ve done.”

Number Six, standing up, replied: “Oh, I’m very certain you’ll manage to manufacture some dastardly deed to blame me for so that you can … ”

“Alright, have it your way. But understand, regardless your reasons nothing has changed. You WILL be GLAD to give me the information I require or … ”

“Number Two, make yourself at home. You may as well.” He walked towards the door. “Make yourself some tea. I’m going out to plot the downfall of the regime … Be seeing you.”

“And you,” muttered Number Two.

~~~

~ finis ~