Under His Influence

They arrived at the Park Lane Hilton and Mimi reluctantly took John’s proffered arm, her bare skin prickling on contact with his fine wool sleeve. He smelled so incredible, and the very nearness of him was a drug racing through her bloodstream, rocketing down every nerve. He did this to Anna—resist it, resist it.

She stared severely ahead, at the golden crystalline light pouring from the lobby, at the milling suited or gowned guests, breathing in other perfumes to dispel that alluring one directly beside her.

There were nudges, even a few behind-the-hand snickers when people recognised John. Word had spread through the press that Stone was going to try to importune Rodney Merchant for more funds for his harebrained scheme. The general consensus was that he had been driven mad by the death of his wife and was a harmless eccentric. The fall of the mighty was always a favourite theme of newspaper hacks, and several of them looked forward to penning some editorial about arrogance and hubris.

“There he is,” John said, having homed in immediately on the magnate, standing in a corner surrounded by eager editors and journalists. As the guest of honour, Rodney Merchant would be making the after-dinner speech, and sound bites were being begged at his feet.

“There’s no future in public service broadcasting,” he was saying into a row of held-aloft Dictaphones. “If it isn’t what the majority wants to watch, why is it on TV? Those people on the margins that want to watch opera and foreign movies and documentaries about war zones ought to pay for it. Why not? They can afford it. Advertisers want slots in talent contests and celebrity reality shows. That’s what the people want.”

“So entertainment should be free, but we should pay to be informed?” It was Prendergast speaking. “Isn’t that a bit topsy-turvy?”

“I would expect my good friends at the Recorder to bring this up,” Merchant said with a condescending smile. “I suppose this is about the pay wall at the London Post website? Listen, it works. People are happy to pay for quality analysis. The people who want this are well-heeled and middle-class—like your readers, Prendergast. Perhaps you should consider it.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell…” muttered Prendergast amidst general laughter. He caught sight of Stone and Mimi and spoke up again. “Actually, there’s someone here I promised to introduce you to. Would you mind?”

Merchant waved his hangers-on away and stood, smiling expansively, until only Prendergast, Stone and Mimi remained.

“You must be John Stone.” Merchant held out a hand, which John took and shook with vigour.

“The very same,” he replied with a rakish grin. “And this is my friend, Miranda Leblanc, who works on Prendergast’s paper.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Miranda,” Merchant said with the trace of a leer.

“Likewise,” she lied.

Prendergast melted into the crowd, his job of introduction done, leaving the trio to find a quiet table in an alcove for their discussion.

“So, the ozone replacement programme,” opened Merchant, to his credit keeping the easy ridicule out of his voice. “Tell me about that. I’m fascinated.”

John outlined the design and function of his machine in enthusiastic detail, keeping Merchant hooked with his charismatic manner and convincing delivery. He was able to answer every question Merchant threw at him, batting them back with extra information until Merchant really seemed to have moved beyond scepticism and into belief.

“And you’ve nearly finished it?”

“I’m at a critical stage, Lord Merchant, so very close to completion. But I need additional materials and I’m running over budget. I’ve had some funding from the Ministry of Defence, but you know they’re slashing their expenditure, so I can’t really expect the government to step in again.”

“I get the picture. How much?”

“Two million.”

“And when, if I might put it in crude terms, will I see a return on my investment?”

“Prendergast must have told you about the knock-on effect on satellites transmitting to Earth. How you use that, Lord Merchant, is entirely up to you. The only limit is your imagination. I know that you know the power of media manipulation, suppression of information, subliminal messaging. These tools would be at your disposal, to an extent you’ve only been able to dream of up to now. I know you’ll have a hundred schemes ticking away right now, a hundred different ways of using this new capability. The return on your investment could be anything, from market monopoly to outright control of the world.”

Merchant almost salivated, his eyes glazed at the idea. “Big talk,” he said after a pause.

“It’s a big business. You only need to take that one step. The possibilities really are endless.”

Merchant bit his lip, lost in contemplation. “What do you think, Miranda?”

She was surprised to be canvassed and almost jumped in her seat.

“What do I think?”

“Yes. Should I give him the money? Or should I loan it, maybe?”

“A loan would be acceptable, but I would expect shares in your empire once the satellites begin doing their stuff,” John cut in over Mimi’s tentative throat-clearing.

“Oh, would you? Hmm. Well, I think a loan is the way to go. We’ll discuss your cut of the profits once we know the machine is working. Agreed?”