Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Prime Minister Temple’s fortunes and those of the Conservative party improved during the week after Lugh started his job. Through the first three months of the calendar year, his approval ratings were mired in the mid to upper thirties. After months of criticism from the English press, the party’s approval rating had hit forty percent mark for the first time since his election. The accusations of corruption and financial malfeasance coming from opposition MPs had begun to disappear from the press. The Prime Minister looked like he may be able to retain office in the next election. Some reporters on the opposing side coined the sudden rise as “Temple’s Magic Trick.”
Even with the good fortune, there were still impediments in the world that could signal his government’s undoing. A movement that began in a small park in New York City had now been duplicated across the pond by four hundred young souls encamped at St. Thomas’ Church. They promoted a message of a fair and just world for rich and poor alike. It was a concept that found supporters amongst the English public who had been affected by the government’s austerity policy.
In the brightly lit conference room, the Prime Minister’s cabinet assembled to create the strategy for the upcoming G20 summit in Spain. A dozen men and one woman sat around an oval shaped oak roundtable. Dozens of interns, representing various departments, stood along the white walls, monitoring any new information that came during the course of the meeting. Lugh watched from a corner of the room along with a few of the other aides from the Home Office as the Prime Minister entered.
“The protesters encamped at St. Thomas’ is gaining a considerable amount of sway amongst the populace,” he said to the room, pacing in front of the large roundtable. “Now, Labour is trying to get their grubby mitts on that momentum. If we beat them to the punch, however, we can solidify our party for the next decade in the same way that little twat Blair did.”
The Home Secretary, Timothy Piper, stood up from his chair. He was a gruff middle aged Party man who started his political career as an assistant when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister. “Mr. Prime Minister, this is a matter for the city. We cannot inject ourselves into this scuffle,” he said, briefly clearing his throat as he spoke. “I fear it will alienate donors in the City which will hurt the party just as we’re getting our legs again. I say we let Mayor Johnson and the Metropolitan Police take whatever praise or punishment that’ll come out of all this.”
Mr. Piper’s colleagues murmured to one another, uneasy about the merits of the idea as he sat back down. The next minister who spoke was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Philip Reynolds. He was a young, opportunistic man who made his riches in the financial districts of London and Manhattan before stepping into government life.
“I agree to a certain extent with the Minister that we shouldn’t be involved,” he said, voicing many of the opposition’s murmurs. “But the City isn’t gonna give a rat’s ass about how this will look. As long as we’re good to them policywise, they’ll be good to us moneywise.”
“The last government left us with a mountain of debt, sir,” the Chancellor continued. “Our economic program is already showing some signs of life again. It’d have been more if it wasn’t because of the damn holidays. We don’t need to try anything new, just sell what we already have.”
He was interrupted by the derisive laughter of the Press Secretary, Jayne Clement. She was the only female Cabinet member in the room. The first female Press Secretary in the country’s history, she also was the highest Liberal Democrat in her party next to the Deputy Prime Minister. Her party affiliation made her as popular amongst her colleagues as Ebola.
“The old way is going to get us sacked sooner rather than later,” she uttered, fixing her posture in her chair to appear larger. “It’s already seeing a backlash in France, in Denmark, with their governments getting sacked. Don’t think for one second, gentlemen, we’re immune. We have to seem like we care for people that aren’t filthy stinking rich,” she continued leaning forward. “I believe, Mr. Prime Minister, the G20 is the forum to start proving it.”
“Proving it how?!”
The room quickly devolved into a loud debate with each side of the table stating their case to the other side. Their voices grew louder and louder to the point they were screaming at one another. Eventually the Prime Minister had enough and stood up from his chair.
“That is enough!” He pounded his fist hard on the table, immediately quieting the room. “We must come to a consensus, or at least something we can live with. There must be someone in this room with an idea that won’t anger every damn person present.”
Lugh saw an opening. He stepped forward from the wall which made a couple of the other aides muttered in confusion. “Mr. Prime Minister, I—I believe I can reach that consensus.”
The eyes of the people at the table immediately focused on Lugh. Some appeared shocked at the break in decorum which came from a mere office worker. The Prime Minister, however, appeared more open to what Lugh had to say. “Let the man speak! Given the unique territory we are in, we should welcome any constructive idea brought to the table.”
“Thank you, sir,” he nodded clearing his throat. “I have the greatest degree of respect for every single person in this room. But each of the ideas I have heard today address the situation through a 20th century mindset that I believe does not work anymore.”
The ministers laughed hysterically at the young aide’s proclamation. “We’re doing what has worked for centuries, young man,” Home Office Minister Piper huffed. “What makes you think it will suddenly fall apart now after all that time?”
“Because what has worked before suddenly doesn’t work,” Lugh barked. “We have seen this in Rome, in Egypt, throughout pockets of the Middle East. The ways of the old world are dying a slow death. Great Britain should get ahead of that and lead Europe head long into the 21st century."
“How do you propose we do that?” Chancellor Reynolds leaned back in his chair.
“I suggest that we introduce a policy that can put our people to work and use our resources more efficiently, whether it’s a solar panel or an NHS office,” Lugh replied confidently. “Germany has gone through the same thing in their government, and they’re at the head of power for the entire continent. I fail to see why Britain can’t go down the same route. I know for certain that we can change the world with it.”
“That’s all well and good, young man,” said the Commerce Secretary. “But there’s no way we’re gonna be able to do that without some type of help from the private sector.”
“I have that actually,” Lugh replied. “A friend of mine from my day’s in Cardiff is a multi-millionaire. He has access to lines capital that can fund these policies and help minimize the government’s financial liability
Lugh’s words were met with criticism and mocking by the individual Cabinet members. Prime Minister Temple regained control of the room with another slam of his fist. He stood up from his tall office chair and calmly walked over to Lugh. He seemed to be the only one in the room who was intrigued by the young man’s speech.
“Can I speak to you outside for a moment, Mr. Pearson?” he whispered, guiding Lugh out the door shortly after.
Lugh wondered at that moment if he had miscalculated his approach. Maybe I should have waited till his associate arrived. As the door to the conference room closed behind him, he began formulating contingency plans in case things went badly.
“This friend of yours,” Mr. Temple stated with eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you can get him to commit to this…world-changing policy of yours?”
“Yes sir, I can,” Lugh smiled, silently breathing a sigh of relief. “I am
Prime Minister Temple patted him on the shoulder before moving back to the conference room. “Have a workable draft of your plan ready on my desk by the end of the week.”
“Yes, sir.” Lugh savored his victory for a moment before returning to the meeting.
***
Later that night, Lugh sat in his flat racking his brain for potential ideas. He searched through mountains of books and academic papers that he had collected from an assortment of libraries throughout London. Some of the journals he gathered included stuff from economic and social science professors to help him come up with each piece of the plan.
The clock above the door struck two in the morning when Lugh was almost ready with his dense policy text. All it needed was one last touch for it to be complete. It wasn’t a word or an idea. It was an ancient scroll he had purchased from a slovenly troll in Avalon, which he retrieved from his secretive associate shortly after he broke out of the Neamhchinnteacht. He picked up the sports coat, and pulled the Gaelic parchment out of one of its pockets.
It contained a spell written in Gaelic that allegedly gave whoever held it the power to recreate the world in their image. It was only to be used if the human race found itself in dire straits, troubles that could not be overcome. Looking at this world, he could think of no better time to use it.
Lugh remembered the last thing Dagda said before he ripped the scroll from his hands and was placed in the cold lands of the Neamhchinnteacht. “You cannot make the world better through destruction!”
He returned to the folding table with scroll in hand and sat down. He looked at the parchment for a quick second before unfurling it on top of the academic papers. He then spent a few minutes memorizing its ancient words. When he finished, he turned his eyes to the window and began to recite.
“réaltaí sa spéir
talún ag ár n-troigh
uair amháin cur thar maoil le saol
anois chun freastal ar aon cheann
lig na focail seo--”
The house shook violently in the middle of the recitation. The force was similar to an earthquake or the approaching footsteps of a dragon in the middle of the field. He looked out from his chair at the window. From what he could tell of the stable landscape, he was the only one in the area that felt it. A bright golden light spilled down from the ceiling and enveloped the room, provoking him to stand up from the chair. The light faded and the shaking ceased after a minute, Lugh saw the results of the spell and chuckled with great joy.
“Perfect!” he uttered looking all around the room.
The miserable looking interior of the room had been completely transformed. The rickety table where his papers lay became an elegant Italian oak table. The windows and tapestries looked like a room in a luxury hotel with each new piece of furniture appeared to come from the pages of a Harrods catalog. The walls were painted a beautiful shade of silver that made the room pop.
“This is just what I thought it would be.” He uttered in wonder before sitting back down and completing the rest of the policy paper.
***
Lugh arrived at Downing Street that Friday ready to show the finished plan for the P.M.’s approval or dismissal. He could see the advisers and staff from the Treasury Department gathering the last of their essential things from their cubicles before leaving for the summit. The staffers paid him casual attention as he stepped into the lift leading to the Prime Minister’s office. A few minutes later, he arrived in front of Mr. Temple’s door and knocked twice.
“Stop lollygagging," Mr. Temple barked after a few seconds of waiting. “I know it’s you!”
Lugh opened the door and stepped inside the office, observing the assistants watching him walk around the room in a quickened pace in preparation for the summit. The Prime Minister moved toward the side of the desk, picking up newspapers and policy reports to read on the flight and placing them in his suitcase. He clipped the black leather case shut and stood up.
“That’s your plan I’m guessing.” Mr. Temple said as he snatched the folder from Lugh’s hand.
Temple opened up the manila colored folder and bent his head to read each page of the twelve page plan inside. Lugh waited, trying to read the man’s body language and facial expressions. All he could detect were non-verbal sounds that could be associated with a litany of emotions that were completely irrelevant to the moment.
“Impressive,” the P.M. bellowed at the end of one of the pages. “I can see how you came in with such high recommendations and acclaim, Mr. Pearson.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lugh replied as Mr. Temple finished reading and snapped the folder shut.
“I have one worry though," the Prime Minister said. “I fear this is going to hamstring my fellow anti-growth comrades in the United States. Not to mention Germany who will hit us hard if this ever sees the light of day.”
“We cannot worry about Germany or the United States,” Lugh fired back. “They will support us once they see the plan in action. All they need is to be shown the way. This is your Churchillian moment, sir,” Lugh moved closer, putting his arm across Mr. Temple’s shoulder. “This will cement your place in the history books as one of the giants to ever stride through 10 Downing Street. ‘The Man who Made Great Britain Great.’”
“The plane is leaving in twenty, Sir,” The Chief of Staff Lord Matthew Vincent said poking his small head into the room.
The Prime Minister stared out in the distance for a moment. “Thank you, Matthew,” Mr. Temple nodded before shifting his focus back to Lugh. “Alright, Mr. Pearson, I will take your plan into consideration. It doesn't mean that I will use it. Just that you will be in the running along with a half dozen others my advisers have given me.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” Lugh smiled and offered the P.M. his hand to shake.
Mr. Temple released Lugh’s hand and placed the folder with the other documents from other departments in his suitcase before leaving. He was the first out of the room followed shortly by Lugh out to the hallway and to the police convoy waiting outside. The two of them were joined shortly after by the staff and advisers of other cabinet officials on the upper floor. Lugh was swallowed up in the crowd as they reached the lift doors.
As Lugh waited for the lift to reach the lower floor, his cell phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring. The five inch screen showed an alert noting a text message which came from the number ‘242766.’ The message read: I have the orb harnessed and ready to release. All going according to plan?
He looked up from the screen as the lift stopped. He followed the large group out of the building to the secure cars taking them to the chartered plane waiting for them at the airport. A smile crossed his face as he typed his response to the mysterious associate: Like clockwork, C. I will see you in a couple of weeks.