When Barron had emerged out of the dark, dank tunnel, he found himself surrounded by a big shrub at what seemed to be the end of Nigel’s street. In the distance Barron saw and heard police sirens rushing towards the Farage estate. No doubt his friends would be in shackles soon. Barron really hoped nothing worse would happen to them. Images flashed in his mind; the pistol aimed at mrs Farage’s wife, the utter rage in Khan’s eyes when he socked Nigel. Guilt and terror struck Barron. He turned and ran.
After calling the phone number and receiving instructions to head for a harbor city, Barron hailed a cab, whose Indian driver did not show any signs of recognizing Barron. After stopping only so Barron could buy sunglasses and a hat they drove straight to Ipswich. Barron checked Perv’s Twitter. Nothing.
The drive took only an hour, yet the meter pointed to a bit over 300 pounds. When Barron questioned the fee, the driver shrugged. ‘inflation’s up 20% mate.’
The drizzling summer rain and the quant English streets made for beautiful scenery, but Barron was not in the mood to enjoy them. He checked into a hostel using his fake passport and spent the remainder of the time in bed with the curtains closed.
The meeting with Colin however went much better than Barron expected. Not only did Colin seem like a genuine fan of his father, the guy claimed he could get Barron out of England, no questions asked. On the way to the hostel it stopped raining and Barron didn’t feel like sleeping yet. Scared to enter a pub, but with lifted spirits, he bought a can of beer in a night shop and drank it sitting on a brick wall overlooking the sea. This journey wasn’t panning out the way he expected, but at least it didn’t seem like the end yet.
The next morning, an anxious Barron met an excited Colin. ‘So something big is going on eh!’ was the first thing Colin said. ‘Harbor security checks are up. I guess they’re looking for you. Don’t worry, we’ll get you across.’ He gave Barron a yellow safety helmet. ‘Put it on. Let’s go!’ He led Barron around the harbor and while doing so, explained their plan. Turned out Colin was a sailor on a ferry between Ipswich and Rotterdam. The captain’s ferry was a staunch nationalist who wanted nothing more than to personally deport all foreigners on his ferry, and Colin knew he considered helping Trump’s son to be an honor. As for getting past customs, well… Colin smiled and said nothing.
Half an hour passed. They were walking amidst shipping containers, cranes, and a big chain link fence that separated public British territory from private harbor territory. In a secluded spot, Colin pointed at the fence. ‘Look, you can see it’s been repaired here.’ Indeed, the fence’s reparation showed that there had previously been a man-size hole cut in it. ‘This was one of the spots illegal refugees entered Britain through. Of course it took months before we were allowed to plug this hole.’ Colin winked. ‘But now, let’s open it for some opposite immigration shall we?’ He grabbed a fence cutter from his backpack and they re-opened the hole. ‘OK, great. Now, go through it, walk straight ahead until you hit the sea, then turn left. Search for a big blue boat, by the name of Thatcher II. Here’s your ticket. I’ll meet you aboard.’ And with that Barron was alone again.
Things worked out just like Colin said. Barron found the boat, got aboard without problems and sat among the tourists as if it were the most normal thing in the world, though he was sure not to take of his glasses and hat. He’d like to think the unshaven chicken hair on his chin and jaw helped him stay unrecognized.
When the boat left shore, it’s horn blowing, Barron let out a sigh of relief. He hoped the remainder of the journey would be easier.
On Perv’s Twitter account a new tweet was posted: “Important mission against NWO underway! Battle fills frogtwitter loyalist with grit!” It was accompanied by a picture of a muscled blond man in boxers posing in front of a waterfall with a gun.
Soros’ phone rang. He answered the call, and a groveling voice spoke to him.
‘My deepest apologies mr Soros, we couldn’t have known Farage had an escape hatchet installed. We’ve arrested his entire team and we’ll use this incident to further cement our posi…’
‘I do NOT care about his team, nor do I care about your PETTY domestic politics’ interrupted Soros. ‘I want the kid stopped. I specifically instructed you to stop the kid. You did not. Your failure does not shine well on your future career, mr Khan.’
‘I understand mr Soros, I understand. I have men at all continental transport connections, airports, trainstations, harbours…. We will stop him before he reaches the mainland, of this I assure you.’
– ‘It is likely that he has already reached the mainland. It seems that I require better help. You’ll be hearing from us.’
‘Mr Soros, wait mr…’
Soros put a hand on his forehead and rubbed his eyes. All important loose ends were under control, but this Trump kid was getting further than he was supposed to. No more time for games. He searched his phone index and clicked on the contact called ‘mr Lenin’. The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered.
-‘good day, mr Lenin. I have an assignment for you.’
– ‘Donald Trump’s youngest son, Barron Trump. Barron currently travels through Europe, unaccompanied. He wants to get to Saudi Arabia to retrieve the Orb of Covfefe. He must be stopped.’
‘For the president’s son I ask triple price.’
– I will pay you quadruple if you succeed. Furthermore, consider all my continental assets to be at your disposal.
Somewhere in Paris, a huge bald man sitting on the edge of his bed put away his phone. Behind him, the voice of a young man: ‘you have to go, mon amour?’ Mr Lenin answered without turning his head: ‘no, you have to go. I have to prepare.’