The Patriots: Part 4 – Glass Houses

After Jakarta, Bill van der Boer was briefed on the Patriot Initiative by Lord Rockford over a Zoom conference while on the plane. Bill immediately accepted his role, got severely drunk at the wet bar, and had a go with Julia. Percy joined in, and Walter was forced to hear the horrid sounds of the ménage a trois happening in the other cabin.

Once they arrived back in London, they were given luxury rooms in the Rockford Hotel. While the rest of the Patriots scheduled appointments for luxury massages, Walter stayed in his room, watching Fox News on TV. He lounged in boredom until he received an email from Lyman Gartner, the head of research and development at Tadworth Technologies. The subject of the email was “Project Gauntlet is Complete.” He smiled and opened the attachment, revealing the latest breakthrough in defense technology. Soon he would have a way to outmaneuver that rascal Devereaux…

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The next day, the Patriots were taken to meet Lance D’Arcy, a rock star from the 80s who was now the spokesperson of the Caretakers. They would all be participating in a Caretakers publicity event at the O2 Arena in London.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Rockford began. “I’d like you all to formally meet Lance D’Arcy.”

“Pleasure to meet you, lads,” Lance greeted. He was a middle aged man, with an ill fitting suit and long hair that perhaps looked attractive in his youth, but now made him look like a drug addicted homosexual who abuses tigers in captivity.

“Weren’t you that queer who wrote the song about the Troubles?” Percy asked.

“No, I did the song on Mandela,” Lance replied. Bill began breathing profusely, and Dietrich injected a chemical into his neck to calm him down.

“Milord, if you don’t mind me asking,” Walter chimed in. “But why are we going out in public for this event? Isn’t this whole initiative about being clandestine?”

“Your concern is valid, Mr. Tadworth,” Rockford replied. “Yes, we will be conducting the most vital of our operations in secrecy, but we must preserve the public face of the foundation. The truth is, the vast majority of people are sheep, who can be swayed either way to support or oppose a cause. I am aware that a plan that is as supremacist and elitist as ours is bound to have only a few devoted supporters, but we will only have to violently dispatch the miniscule but devoted opposition.”

“Of course, milord. I’m sorry for questioning your wisdom.” Walter cursed himself silently for questioning a man of Lord Rockford’s noblesse. However, he composed himself, for the show was about to start soon.

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Bhivan Singh had arrived at the O2 Arena and was waiting in line. He was wearing a dandelion colored sweater, a hue that was bright and barbaric. Despite his obvious terroristic appearance, nobody else in line paid much notice, for they were all politically correct big city loony leftists.

“Aleph to Lion,” a voice said into his earpiece. “Do not speak, just listen. Agent Boru is coming your way, at your three o’clock. Over.”

Bhivan looked to his right to see a man approaching him. He was a tall and muscular man, with a brutish Celtic build. He had dastardly scarlet hair, and was carrying a camera.

“Hey, mate,” he said to Bhivan in a disgusting Irish accent. “What are you doing in line? I got your press pass here, plus you left your camera at my flat last night. No time, let’s go.”

Bhivan nodded and followed the Irish brute to the entrance, where the security foolishly let the two through, and once they got to an empty corridor, they began speaking.

“Alright, I’m Liam O’Hara,” the Irishman said. “I’m with the Commission, as well as the Irish Times, you?”

“Bhivan Singh,” Bhivan responded. “I’m a social worker.”

“That’s quite noble of you,” Liam replied, odiously misappropriating the word. “Now, for today, you’re my photographer, so make sure to take pictures. Now, let’s go, the show’s about to start.”

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The arena was crowded to the brim with screaming showgoers. The words “Rockford Caretaking Foundation” were emblazoned on the walls with lights. The crowd began to cheer hysterically as Lance D’Arcy came out, playing the freshest guitar riff 1985 had to offer. Once the song was finished, he brutally smashed the guitar, inciting even more cheers.

“Hello, everyone!” Lance announced. “I’m Lance D’Arcy. You might remember me from songs like “Pip Pip Poppy,” “Love Tunnel,” and “Robben Island Blues.” Well, now I’m the spokesperson for the Rockford Caretaking Foundation, and I’d like to announce our newest project, the Patriots! The goal of the Caretakers is to promote international relations, so we’ve set up a team of experts in various fields who all love their countries very much and want to help out the world. To begin, for our Chair of Business and Technology, we have the former Governor of Virginia and the CEO of Tadworth Technologies. Give it up for Walter Francis Tadworth!”

There were loud cheers in the crowd, and Walter walked out, waving and smiling. Most of the crowd were millennials, and Walter was sure he had provided many of them with their favorite childhood toys. And his critics claimed he was only self-interested.

“For Science and Mathematics, we have notable chemist Dr. Derek Smith!”

There were less cheers as Dietrich walked out, but people were still happy to cheer for someone. Dietrich waved and gave signs of gratitude to the crowd.

“For Culture and Lifestyle, we have world traveller and sports enthusiast William van der Boer!”

Bill burst out of the room, hooting and hollering along with the crowd. Wearing an orange Dutch football jersey, he kicked a soccer ball into the crowd. The crowd went hysterical, and security had to break up a few fights over football rivalries.

“For Security and Foreign Relations, we have a war hero, our very own Lieutenant Commander Percival Devereaux!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, more than for Walter. Percy came out in his sleek black suit, with a cigar hanging from his mouth. He kneeled down and kissed a woman on the hand, causing her to faint. He looked at Walter and smirked. Walter scoffed and ignored him.

“And now, for our benefactor and founder, the Right Honourable Lord Rockford!” The crowd erupted into more cheers as Lord Rockford walked out, waving at the crowd and tipping his top hat. When the audience subsided, Lord Rockford and the Patriots were seated at a table, where they began a panel discussion. Many of the questions were corporate fluff to make the Patriots look better, but they still had to be subjected to interrogation from communist fake news sources, like the Guardian, the BBC, and the most left wing of them all, CNN.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya,” a redheaded reporter greeted in a boorish accent. “I’m Liam O’Hara with the Irish Times, and I’ve got a question for the lot of ya.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lord Rockford asked, taken aback by the Celtic hooligan’s direct questioning, and expecting a profuse apology and self-flagellation for being so rude to his Anglo superior.

“Right, so,” he continued, continuing with his disrespectful Hibernian diatribe. “The Caretaking Foundation is supposed to be this great humanitarian effort, but some of your records are a bit dodgy. I mean, Lord Rockford, you were in the Troubles, and Devereaux was in Iraq, and Tadworth’s got a whole thing with his workers, and that’s only scratching the surface.”

“How dare you!” Walter screamed, pointing at Liam with fury. He was absolutely appalled that this thug would be so disrespectful to a man as great as Lord Rockford. “Lord Rockford is trying to save the world with his charity, and you just want to tear him down instead of contributing to society!”

“Mr. Tadworth, I do my fair share,” Liam continued, ignoring clear orders to silence himself. “I’ve got nothing against charity, and I think it’s great if Lord Rockford is sincere about this, but a dodgy past implies that the organization might have dodgy intentions, as long as those behind haven’t attempted to reconcile with their past.”

“Security, please remove this man at once,” Lord Rockford ordered. “We don’t need to promote chaos at a selfless event like this.” The Patriots watched as Liam shrugged off the two security guards and walked away. Behind him was an even more brutish Indian man, who was taking pictures of the whole debacle. The curry-addled photographer froze and shuddered as he made eye contact with Percy, and followed Liam out after a few seconds. Lord Rockford sighed and beckoned for the next reporter, hoping to bring order back to the event.

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Once the event was over, the Patriots reconvened in the O2’s green room, where Percy shoved Walter against the wall.

“What’s the big deal, Devereaux?” Walter cried, trying to free himself.

“You made us all look like fools in front of the world!” Percy yelled, wrapping his hand around Walter’s neck. “Your outburst made Lord Rockford look like a fool, for having such a loudmouthed yank at his table!”

“Better than a perverted limey like yourself,” Walter spat.

“Gentlemen, please!” Lord Rockford shouted, pulling the two apart with an iron grip that betrayed his elderly appearance. “There is no need for such infighting amongst our Anglo-Teutonic stock. Collect yourselves.”

“Sorry, milord,” Walter and Percy muttered.

“Now, I understand both your perspectives,” Lord Rockford began. “Walter, with your American mindset, you could not bear to see an inferior blatantly insult a man of my position, so you lashed out to defend my honor. I truly do respect that. Percy, with your British mindset, you calculated that perhaps it would be better to let that Celt expose himself for the socialist fool he is. The outburst at this event is beneath me, but what I care about is the constant infighting. This must stop. We have to be a unified front against the dark forces of the world, and with so little on our side, we cannot afford to fight with our fair-skinned, iron-blooded ilk. Understand?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Excellent.” And with his imparted words of wisdom, the Right Honourable Lord Rockford took his leave.