THE CABINET MEETING

The way some governments are going the fiction that I've written here might turn out to be close to reality

“I have decided,” grated the Prime Minister, “we live in troubled times, our word is not getting through, there is vocal opposition...”

The Cabinet of Ministers nodded. They knew the truth. They knew that once their glorious leader, be it the present incumbent or any of the long catalogue of leaders who had occupied her chair, only had to make a statement for the masses in their wisdom to know it was the truth. Until now. Until the emergence of such organs as Facebook and Twitter.

Now there were evil forces at work. Forces of division, of questioning, of doubt, and they had many the aforementioned questionable outlet. They were being heard and that quite simply was not right. Because, and this hurt her, there was criticism.

“So I have decided,” repeated the Prime Minister, “to recruit, from amongst the police force, what I will call an elite arm that will be able to locate and destroy the forces that have the sole purpose of questioning what we, in our wisdom, decide.

“What sort of shape would this premier arm take?” asked Tony Longshanks, Home Secretary.

“Strong men,” said the Prime Minister, nodding and turning her lips into a downward scowl as she spoke.

“And women?” asked Miranda Bumptious.

“No. Not in this instance. No women. We want thugs, and women don’t make good thugs.” The Prime Minister’s voice was firm. “I know we want equality, I as a woman am clear about that, but there’s equality and equality and I want the first kind. There’s force and there’s brute force. I want brute force. Men prepared to act without question. Prepared to attack without fear. Prepared to kill if necessary, and maybe to kill if it isn’t actually necessary. We must regain control, and that is something that doesn’t require kid gloves or gentle words.”

“So strong men?” asked Tony.

“Physically, though not necessarily mentally. Very strong. Armed with as many weapons as they feel they require and sufficient to put so much fear into the population that they stop their pathetic jabbering on the various social media and, to put it simply, do as they’re told.”

“What about the liberal-types who will demand we adhere to human rights legislation?” asked Tony, “you know the sort, those who believe in freedom of speech, innocence until proven guilty, that little army of do-gooders and enemies of true democracy?”

“I’m going to wipe the human rights stuff from the law books,” said the Prime Minister firmly, “I want you to know that I’m clear about that! We can’t have namby-pamby legislation getting in the way of democratic decisions!”

“Some might say that we’re not exactly a democratic parliament, what with more citizens voting against us than those who voted for us in the election last year,” put in Desmond Snivel, Transport Minister. “Some might say we ought to be reformed so that every shade of opinion is represented in government.”

“That’s crap and you know it!” snapped the Prime Minister. “We were voted in and by golly we’re going to stay put!”

“Until the next election,” nodded Basil Herbman, minister without a portfolio..

“There won’t be another election!” barked the Prime Minister. “I’ve asked Tony to draft legislation that will empower us to remain in power indefinitely while the present emergency needs dealing with!”

“What emergency?” asked Basil. “I wasn’t aware that there was an emergency.”

“Then I’ll spell it out,” snapped the Prime Minister. “Last week I made an announcement in the Commons about the funding of the Health Services in this country. I mentioned the extra millions we are finding to improve the health of the nation and an elderly woman in her seventies, a woman, mind you, a leftie woman, using the social media, pointed out that the extra money is going to private companies...”

“My company,” sniggered Tony Longshanks, rubbing his hands. “And my company will do a damned good job too! We can’t continue leaving the health of the nation in the hands of those whose only qualification is medical when we all know that the market drives things upwards!”

“And onwards,” almost sneered Basil, “It’s all right if you’ve got shares in your company, but I haven’t and I’m tempted to question...”

“Herbman!” snapped the Prime Minister, “we’ll have no talk like that! Just you wait!”

She picked up a small tinkly bell that she had obviously brought into the cabinet office with her, and rang it.

Instantly, the door was pushed open from the other side and half a dozen crash-helmeted and heavily armed officers rushed in.

“I have an emergency,” she said, pointing at Basil Herbman. “In times of emergency like those we live in we need action!”

“Humph?” asked one of the officers, brandishing a lethal-looking gun in the air and letting loose with half a dozen shots that ricocheted around the room with the sound of fury that caused most of the cabinet to cover their ears with shaking hands. The Prime Minister sat there, knowing where strength always lies.

“Him,” she pointed at Basil when the fury had died away.

“Hurrah!” bellowed that same officer, and he yanked the offending Minister without Portfolio out of his chair and, using immense strength, flung him against a wall.

“Wha...t?” jabbered Basil. It was to be the last thing he said. Not much of an epitaph, then.

“We can’t have weakness. Not here, at the head of Government,” grated the Prime Minister, and she nodded at the action-man police officer.

“Say your prayers, scum!” he roared, and pushed his weapon into Basil’s stomach before releasing a hail of lead at closer than point-blank range into the minister without portfolio’s stomach.

Once the sound of the gun and its hail of death had faded to silence the atmosphere in the room was almost tangible. It fed on itself, it poured itself into the souls and spirits of those sitting around the table.

“That’s what I mean about about an elite arm of the Police Force,” grinned the Prime Minister. “And these gentlemen with their weapons will head it up! And you,” she pointed at her colleagues one at the time, “you, all of you, will monitor the social media and search out the dangerous leftie lunatics who are trying to spread their poison and you will be considerably less kind to then than the police were to our late lamented member from Brumpton who lies there bleeding into our expensive carpet…. for you will order the guns be fired!”

“Yes, ma’am,” grunted her colleagues, some of them reluctantly, and, for no good reason, the elite police shooter.

“We’ll get them sorted, see if we don’t!” she snapped. “Power is ours, and with us its going to stay!”

© Peter Rogerson 25.01.18