Minister.’
‘Downing Street,’ a man answered almost immediately, ‘how may I direct your call?’
‘Put me through to the Prime Minister.’
‘I’m sorry; he’s in a cabinet meeting for the rest of the day. Please call back tomorrow.’
‘Not good enough,’ Joiner told the civil servant. ‘Can you not see from your display who this is?’
A pause left Joiner waiting on his phone.
‘I’m sorry, Director Joiner, forgive me. I will ask him if he is able to speak with you. I take it this is a matter of some urgency?’
‘It is.’
The phone went silent once more and it was some time before another voice came on, a deeper and more powerful one. ‘Director Joiner, how goes the GMRC’s annual summit?’
‘Prime Minister,’ Joiner said respectfully. ‘It goes very well, thank you; your presence has been greatly missed.’
‘You’re too kind, Director; how might I be of help to you today?’
‘You have no doubt been made aware of the incident that occurred earlier with one of your BBC newsreaders?’
‘I have.’ The PM sounded grave. ‘We have collaborated with your GMRC office here in London to ensure the fallout has been minimal.’
‘May I ask what alterations have been made to the BBC’s managerial structure?’
‘A full review of the computer systems responsible for all television and media broadcasts has been instigated,’ the PM said. ‘Any flaws will be found and corrected. Rest assured, Director, lessons have been learnt.’
‘With all due respect, Prime Minister, that is not what I asked.’
‘Yes, of course. I have reprimanded Lord Eaton, who is the Chairman of the BBC Trust, and he has assured me that no such event will occur again under his watch.’
Joiner introduced a firmness to his voice. ‘I’m afraid that is not good enough, Prime Minister. The GMRC will require a clean sweep of the BBC’s hierarchy, including the replacement of Lord Eaton, who is clearly as incompetent as his staff for allowing this to happen in the first place.’
‘A clean sweep,’ the PM repeated. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Responsibility begins at the top,’ Joiner said, enjoying himself as he dictated terms to one of the world’s foremost leaders. ‘Please don’t force me to take this to the GMRC Directorate, as it will only end in your capitulation and subsequent humiliating concession. I want the BBC’s management replaced with more malleable counterparts within the day; do I make myself clear, Prime Minister?’
As Joiner waited for a reply he could almost visualise the Englishman’s blood boiling as he computed what he’d just heard.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ the PM said with barely concealed fury and hung up the phone.
‘And a good day to you, Prime Minister.’ Joiner put his own phone down with a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
Once more Joiner’s eyes were drawn to the images of the two captives displayed on the video wall. He knew it would be so much easier and significantly more satisfying to torture and then kill these puerile fools for their crimes, but even he had to abide by the rules on occasion. The rat-a-tat of his finger tapping the table brought him out of his reverie. He clenched his fist to quell the outward display of frustration.
‘Release these two idiots to the NYPD for processing,’ Joiner told one of his agents. ‘They can then be deported with immediate effect to the United Kingdom.’
The agent bobbed his head in response. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And get the UK Government to revoke their passports when they get back. Their days of travelling are over. In fact,’ Joiner said, ‘confiscate their passports and then put them on a plane to somewhere inhospitable, like Siberia.’
‘That will stick them in limbo when they get there,’ the agent informed him. ‘They won’t be able to get back to the UK for some time.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Joiner said, as he walked from the room. ‘That is most definitely the
‘Downing Street,’ a man answered almost immediately, ‘how may I direct your call?’
‘Put me through to the Prime Minister.’
‘I’m sorry; he’s in a cabinet meeting for the rest of the day. Please call back tomorrow.’
‘Not good enough,’ Joiner told the civil servant. ‘Can you not see from your display who this is?’
A pause left Joiner waiting on his phone.
‘I’m sorry, Director Joiner, forgive me. I will ask him if he is able to speak with you. I take it this is a matter of some urgency?’
‘It is.’
The phone went silent once more and it was some time before another voice came on, a deeper and more powerful one. ‘Director Joiner, how goes the GMRC’s annual summit?’
‘Prime Minister,’ Joiner said respectfully. ‘It goes very well, thank you; your presence has been greatly missed.’
‘You’re too kind, Director; how might I be of help to you today?’
‘You have no doubt been made aware of the incident that occurred earlier with one of your BBC newsreaders?’
‘I have.’ The PM sounded grave. ‘We have collaborated with your GMRC office here in London to ensure the fallout has been minimal.’
‘May I ask what alterations have been made to the BBC’s managerial structure?’
‘A full review of the computer systems responsible for all television and media broadcasts has been instigated,’ the PM said. ‘Any flaws will be found and corrected. Rest assured, Director, lessons have been learnt.’
‘With all due respect, Prime Minister, that is not what I asked.’
‘Yes, of course. I have reprimanded Lord Eaton, who is the Chairman of the BBC Trust, and he has assured me that no such event will occur again under his watch.’
Joiner introduced a firmness to his voice. ‘I’m afraid that is not good enough, Prime Minister. The GMRC will require a clean sweep of the BBC’s hierarchy, including the replacement of Lord Eaton, who is clearly as incompetent as his staff for allowing this to happen in the first place.’
‘A clean sweep,’ the PM repeated. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Responsibility begins at the top,’ Joiner said, enjoying himself as he dictated terms to one of the world’s foremost leaders. ‘Please don’t force me to take this to the GMRC Directorate, as it will only end in your capitulation and subsequent humiliating concession. I want the BBC’s management replaced with more malleable counterparts within the day; do I make myself clear, Prime Minister?’
As Joiner waited for a reply he could almost visualise the Englishman’s blood boiling as he computed what he’d just heard.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ the PM said with barely concealed fury and hung up the phone.
‘And a good day to you, Prime Minister.’ Joiner put his own phone down with a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
Once more Joiner’s eyes were drawn to the images of the two captives displayed on the video wall. He knew it would be so much easier and significantly more satisfying to torture and then kill these puerile fools for their crimes, but even he had to abide by the rules on occasion. The rat-a-tat of his finger tapping the table brought him out of his reverie. He clenched his fist to quell the outward display of frustration.
‘Release these two idiots to the NYPD for processing,’ Joiner told one of his agents. ‘They can then be deported with immediate effect to the United Kingdom.’
The agent bobbed his head in response. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And get the UK Government to revoke their passports when they get back. Their days of travelling are over. In fact,’ Joiner said, ‘confiscate their passports and then put them on a plane to somewhere inhospitable, like Siberia.’
‘That will stick them in limbo when they get there,’ the agent informed him. ‘They won’t be able to get back to the UK for some time.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Joiner said, as he walked from the room. ‘That is most definitely the
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