Local time – 2:56 pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
London. England.
Gerome marvelled at the American passion for protest. The President had been shot less than an hour before, and already the news cameras showed a formidable crowd building on the Capital Mall at the Washington Monument. In actual fact, there were two distinct crowds, split into opposing sides by the perpendicular reflecting pool. The pro-gun group was the larger, on the right hand side of the mall. Gerome guessed there were 10,000 people there and more by the second. And the President’s supporters, who were less organised and perhaps had to travel further to form their wall of sorrow, numbered about 3000. Gerome had sent his Washington Correspondent, a young freelancer called Peter Markson, straight to the monument to report on the action, and when Peter called him he was eager to hear what was happening.
‘You’d swear the gun groups knew the announcement was coming. They’re here with placards and banners, ready to kill the President themselves if someone hadn’t got to him first.’
‘He’s not dead Peter. Is there any news on that front?’
‘No. They’re operating on him now. But we probably won’t hear the result for a couple of hours. I hate to say it, but I don’t think the rumours of the operation can necessarily be trusted. They might be working out how to break it to us that he’s dead, you know, putting the announcement off with the fake news of an operation.’
‘I know, I thought the same thing. A bullet in the chest is fairly difficult to survive.’ Gerome could still picture the red stain he had seen on his TV, as if it was burnt onto his retina. There had been one fuzzy photo released. But NBC hadn’t shown the footage again, in respect for the President, and supposably so the FBI could assess it without the media’s scrutiny. However, with Internet TV recording every second of live television, the footage had turned up on You Tube within moments of it going to air. Gerome only re-watched it once, wincing at the horrified expression on the President’s face when the bullet ripped into his breast.
‘What are the President’s supporters doing? Are they just there to wait for news? To collectively mourn if necessary?’
‘It would appear so. But don’t forget there’s a third group on the fringe of the crowd, who were already here before Meet the Press. Maybe 500 or so are protesting about a world government, thanks to Alex’s video. Have you heard from her by the way? What’s going on there?’
‘No, I haven’t heard form her. And I honestly have no idea what that’s all about. Is that group making themselves known?’
‘Not really. They’re definitely a fanatical bunch, but they look a bit startled at this morning’s news and the gun rally has really stolen their turf. No doubt, as a group of staunch conspiracy crazies, they’re trying to link these happenings to their world government plot. But I don’t see it. This was surely some nut case who had prior warning of the gun buy back announcement.’
‘On any other day I would definitely agree. But until I hear from Alex, and I work out what she knows about this whole Bilderberg thing, I’m withholding judgement.’
‘Agreed. I’m going to have a chat to some of the pro gun people, see if I can get any idea how they managed to get here so fast. It’s a bit too organised for my liking.’
‘OK. If you can, have a chat to some of the conspiracy guys as well. I know they’re hard to take seriously, but I want to know how much of Alex’s video was a surprise to them, and how much of it they already had in their arsenal.’
‘Got it. I’ll report back soon.’
Gerome hung up and tried phoning Alex’s number for what felt like the hundredth time. Her phone was still turned off. He opened his email and typed in a message, updating her on the news of the President and the rally in Washington. His pride forbade him from pleading with her to call, but he expressed as seriously as possible the necessity for him to speak to her. When he went back to his inbox, there was a new email from Laura, Bernie’s wife. He had spoken to her yesterday, to give his condolences, and he expected the email to be a note of thanks for his support. Laura was the type of woman to write thank you notes when she was the one being consoled. But that wasn’t what her note was about. And when he read it, he became even more confused, and even more worried for Alex.