Category Archives: The Orb of Covfefe

Part XIV – A tough pickle

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‘RUDI!’ The word had left his lips before Barron consciously registered what happened. He lunged forwards, but Rudi pushed him back, coughing up blood as he did. Inspecting his bloodied hand and shirt, Rudi realized what had happened, realized he had made a fatal mistake. There was only one thing left for him to do. Looking Barron in the eyes, he dropped the keys in the front seat. He shifted backwards, gritted his teeth, balled his hands into a fist and with a loud scream turned around to punch his attacker in the face while at the same time closing the front door.

His attacker simply grabbed and stopped Rudi’s fist mid-air. The man then raised his pistol to Rudi’s face and calmly pulled the trigger. That ended Rudi’s battle scream.

Barron shook off his paralysis, lunged forward and with a press on the car key button locked all the doors. The man outside gave an amused smile as he heard the sound of the door locks sinking down.
‘You think that will save you boy? It is over.’
He raised the pistol through the window, aimed it at Barron. Another gunshot.

Barron slowly opened his eyes and inspected himself; no wounds. He was still alive? He was still alive!

Outside, the man tapped on the window with the back of his gun. ‘Hm. Bulletproof glass. Did not expect that. No matter.’ He took a few steps back and aimed the gun at where he knew the tank was. ‘It’s still over boy.’ He shot once… Twice…

An exploding car filled the exit with deafening noise and searing heat. But it was not Barron’s car that exploded – it was a police car. Car sirens blared, smoke flared up and those that were not hit by the explosion ran the hide behind cars, at which point a second car blew up, this time an undercover civilian vehicle. Big Man did not hide, but looked around to see what the hell was going on. What happened next, Barron would not have believed it if he wasn’t there to witness it.

From the other side of the exit, over the top of a low hill, came flying with roaring engine sound a black and red Ford Mustang. Well, flying for 2 seconds or so, before it hit the ground and drove towards Barron’s car at alarming speed. Meanwhile, a third car blew up. Just as Barron thought the car was going to crash into him, it braked and made a 180 degrees’ spin turn so that not only Big Man had to jump to avoid getting hit, but the car stopped right next to Barron. The front door opened. Barron did not hesitate for a second, unlocked his door and jumped into the Mustang.

‘Good. Close the door’, a voice with an Australian accent bellowed. As Barron did so, tires screeched and the car sped off. The police and civilian squad behind them had partly recovered from the chaos and shot bullets in the direction of the car.
The man laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll take more than bullets to get through this baby.’
Barron took a look at his savior, and was quite surprised to see a bald fat man behind the steering wheel, wearing nothing but a blue bathrobe and a pair of slippers. Barron couldn’t tell, but really hoped the man at least wore underwear.

The car roared towards the same exit Barron had earlier entered from the other side when Rudi was still alive, and even more adrenaline pumped through Barron’s blood as he realized that they were going to drive in the wrong direction of the highway traffic.

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Part XIII – Roadblock

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They stopped only for gas, drinks, snacks and peeing. The latter only in secluded parking spots – Barron did not want to risk being spotted by security cameras. Rudi also avoided turnpikes which were apt to register their plate numbers. Barron thought that was clever and picked Rudi’s brain on more secret service stuff.

– ‘Can they spy on us with satellites?’
‘They used to. Satellite technology at its peak was pretty good at recognizing humans from above, but satellite maintenance has been lacking for the past decade or so. Perhaps 1 in 10 CIA satellites is operable, if even that, and they’ll lose you as soon as you change hats. Which I do recommend.’
– ‘Why shouldn’t they follow me to Hungary?’
‘They probably will, but Orban is one of those men who has made it his life mission to crap in the faces of the globalists. Secret service networks have their claws all around the West, but in Hungary less so. All other countries between England and Saudi Arabia are dangerous though. Even the Turkish dictator Erdogan may betray you in exchange for political favors. Although some countries like…’

Rudi stopped talking as a red message flashed in his forward window: “STOPPEN SIE DAS AUTO AN DER NÄCHSTEN AUSFAHRT—- PULL OVER YOUR CAR AT THE NEXT EXIT”

Behind them a police car shortly sounded its alarm.

‘Shit’ said Rudi.
– ‘You think they’re looking for us?’
‘They couldn’t. How could they possibly know where we are? It’s probably just a routine check’ Barron wasn’t sure he agreed. Rudi pulled over the car at the next exit.

There were multiple police cars waiting for them, inspecting multiple civilian cars.

‘See?’ Said Rudi. ‘Just stay calm, we’ll be OK.’ A cop from the car behind them walked up to the car and signaled Rudi to get out. Barron looked around at the other cars. Something felt very wrong… He had that same feeling as in London, when Nigel Farage opened the door with a forced smile… But a feeling was only a feeling, right? Maybe he was being paranoid?

The cop asked Rudi for his papers which Rudi promptly handed over. Barron noticed the cop, a gigantic man with thick black beard, had a white earpiece. Was it strange for a cop to have an earpiece? Back home it would be, but perhaps Europeans did things differently… He looked closer at the closest civilian car being inspected.

The cop, having gone through the papers, asked Rudi to perform an breathe alcohol test, which Rudi promptly did. Barron looked at the civilians. They seemed to be doing routine checks… Yet, there was this undeniable feeling of danger encroaching on him… But this was just a random, ordinary check, wasn’t it…?

Suddenly, it came to Barron in a flash. It wasn’t just the cop who had an earpiece. The civilians. Had. Earpieces. Time slowed down to a single heartbeat: this was a set-up. They somehow found him. They found him. These were fake civilians. Probably fake police. Holy shit. Barron’s body froze in utter fear.

‘Danke, in ordnung. Sie möchen weiter fahren’ the cop handed Rudi back his papers and signaled that they were free to go. In slow motion, Barron saw Rudi turning around, entering the car. Rudi must’ve seen the absolute fear in Barron’s eyes, for he froze in place, a millisecond. What he would have done after that, Barron would never know. A gunshot sounded, and Rudi fell to his knees as a bloodstain formed on the chest of his white dress shirt.

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Part XII — Into ze Germanland

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Hours had passed. The black car sped over the highway, nearing the German border. In it, Thierry was explaining his view on the Western political landscape.
– ‘…So then I figured: if the elites don’t represent the will of the people, we should give the people better representation, and what better to do that than public voting on important issues? That’s why my part is called Forum for Democracy: I wanted to give the power back to the people, away from the corrupt elite in Brussels.’
‘But…?’
– ‘But it did not work. Not at all. Well, I lifted along with the right populism wave and became prime minister, so that worked all right. But beyond that, nothing. In order to get the power back to the people, the people need to have a vote on it, but because they don’t have the power, they don’t get a vote… It’s a Catch-22.’
‘How will you solve it?’
Baudet’s face turned grim. ‘Not sure we can, to be honest. I used to trust in the rules and traditions to pull us through, but lately it is hard to see the silver lining.’ Baudet leaned closer to Barron and lowered his voice. ‘…They say that the end of democracy will arrive soon.’
Barron looked skeptical. ‘My dad has got a great deal of supporters that call him the God-Emperor and beg him to make himself emperor. He always said those people were taking things too serious.’
– ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking. Are we going back to the age of kings and dictators? I don’t know. But I’ll tell you one thing: I used to be the biggest fighter for democracy, back when the left was trying to kill it. But now…? Now it seems only suckers and gullible people still believe in it. No one takes the official system serious anymore. Something major is going to happen, you can bet on it.’
Barron said nothing.

Baudet inspected their location on his phone. He turned towards the chauffeur. ‘Next exit, Rudi!’
– ‘Yes sir.’

The car turned off the highway and came to a halt on a parking spot next to a gas station.

‘Soon you’ll be crossing the border into Germany’ Thierry said as they stepped out of the car. ‘We’re all part of the Schengen area family, so you don’t need to be afraid of border patrol. I’m afraid that I can’t come with you. Too risky. However, we’ve already decided that my chauffeur, Rudi, is yours for as long you need him. He knows what roads to take.’
Baudet pointed towards a dark green dilapidated station car. ‘That’s your vehicle. Good luck, son of Trump!’

And with that, Barron once again said goodbye to a recently made friend. He entered the car (it smelled of old people) and Rudi took the wheel and sped off, into Germany. Although he did not want to jinx himself, Barron could not help but think that, finally, things were looking to go his way.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. A gruff voice.
‘Yes.’
– ‘We have information. Dutch prime minister missing from his post. His car was spotted close to German border near Düsseldorf before turning around. Our agents say a switch was likely made into the following car: Dark Green Toyota Corona, license plate VL-SE-937. Spotted on route 3 past Frankfurt.’
‘Good. Alert our friends. I’m on my way.’
– ‘Will do.’
*click.*

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Part XI – Politics politics

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‘That I would ever give Barron Trump a ride across the Netherlands!’ Thierry’s eyes twinkled as he moved his hands to the violin music. ‘Ah, to escort Donald Trump’s son while Bach plays in the background. Dreams really come true!’ Barron knew Baudet a little from TV. They also met once in the white house, shortly. He remembered Baudet as an intellectual man, and a fan of his father’s.

Thierry continued: ‘I understand you are heading for a certain country to retain a certain… Orb, is it not?’ Barron was shocked. ‘How do you know?’
– ‘Word gets around. Well to be honest I was not entirely sure until your response, which confirms my suspicion. I have been asked to get you as close to Saudi Arabia as possible and I know of only one object you’d find there that would help your father.’
‘Do you believe the orb can heal my father?’
Baudet let out a long ‘eeehhhh’, followed by: ‘honestly, I’m not one for voodoo and magic. But people I respect tell me the orb of Covfefe has certain… Powers… Which our scientists cannot explain. So, who knows. But do tell me, how has your journey been so far?’
Something told Barron he could, to some extent, trust this man. He sighed. ‘You’re not the only one who knows what I am doing. I was almost arrested in London.’
– ‘wait, that affair with Farage and Khan… That was you?’
Barron nodded. Thierry squinted.
– ‘Oh my. I thought that was weird. So it’s quite the diplomatic scandal… Arresting political opponents, apprehending the son of the American president…
‘it gets worse. I was never supposed to be in England. They shot down my plane.’
Thierry was shocked. ‘Nooo they couldn’t… They did?’ Barron affirmed they did.
‘Well…’ Thierry said as he rubbed his chin, ‘things are even worse than I thought. Although I should not be so surprised… Things have been escalating since your father did a step back. I’ve noticed the EU commissars being a lot more confident lately, more scheming than usual going on. They are planning something. I guess they really are scared that you’ll save your dad. With him out of the way, there will be nothing to stop them from appointing a sock puppet president to rule over America and the EU alike.’

Barron did not like to be reminded of his father’s situation. He switched subjects.

‘How’re things in the Netherlands?’
– ‘Rough. No doubt you’ve heard of Brussel’s latest legislation; they are getting very close to passing a law making it illegal to leave the EU. And, well, with the EU army funded and the Dutch army unfunded… This country could very well face EU occupation, which among other things means the end of my career.’
‘Why don’t you leave the EU before the legislation is passed?’
– ‘I’d wish. We’re completely stuck; if you thought your father had it rough with two parties, imagine how I’m dealing with 17 parties. It’s impossible to get anything done. For instance, we tried very hard to organize a national referendum on leaving the EU, like the Brits did, but referenda were outlawed before I got in office, and no matter how hard I try to get them back, I am blocked.’
‘That’s rough.’
– ‘There is some hope. When I campaign and talk to the people, many agree that things have gone too far, prices are up too high and the commissars in the EU are sucking us dry. The assassination attempt on Sinterklaas by radical leftists made a lot people angry.’
‘Who?’
– ‘Sinterklaas. Ah never mind, it’s a Dutch thing. Anyways, plenty of support in the streets. But in the office, much more huddled voices. Politicians choose the side of the strong horse, and with your father’s state being what it is, they’re not so sure who the strong horse is anymore.’

Realizing his mistake, Thierry quickly added: ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insensitive. It must be hard for you.’
‘It’s OK. I’m used to people talking about my father.’ They both smiled.

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Part X – friends in high places

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“We’ll be entering Rotterdam harbor in 15 minutes” a lady in navy blue personnel costume told Barron as she gave him a pink sheet, “be sure to fill in the custom form”. Barron threw it away as soon as she was gone. He went on deck to admire the Rotterdam view: beneath the clear blue sky, the bustling activity of the harbor, with ships and containers and cranes everywhere, and in the distance more than a few skyscrapers, which were nothing compared to New York, but impressed Barron nonetheless.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Colin.

‘Not bad huh?’ Colin said. ‘you’re looking at the biggest port in Europe.’
– ‘It’s nice.’
‘It is. Know what else is nice?’
– ‘What?’
‘I got you a ride. I won’t spoil who it is, but he can be trusted. Should take you all the way to Hungary. I hear you have some friends in high places over there. You might even be able to catch a plane in Budapest, if you’d want to.’
– ‘That’s pretty amazing. Thank you.’
Colin grinned. ‘My pleasure. The only thing better than serving the God-Emperor is serving the son of the God-Emperor.’
Barron looked down and laughed.
Colin’s face went serious. ‘Considering your profile, I’m sure they’ll have a picture of you at customs. You’ll need to exit Rotterdam harbor the same way you entered Ipswich harbor. Lucky for you, at one point there were so many illegal immigrants creating so many alternative routes, it was impossible, not to say disallowed, to stop them all. I’ll show you. Also, once you’re out, head for the New York hotel, near the Euromast, across the bridge. Look for a man holding up a sign saying ‘Godfrey Elwick’. That’s your ride.’

After the ship ported Colin once again led Barron through a maze of industrial activity. This time the hole in the fence was quite creatively hidden between two old containers, both of which were pushed together one either side of the fence. From the outside it seemed like they were closed off, but after Colin opened one of the container doors it was revealed that both ends of the containers had a man-size hole welded in between them. Barron stepped through, thanked Colin, and felt grateful for having entered the Netherlands in one piece.

He crossed the Erasmus bridge, remembering one of the few things his dad had to say about the Dutch: ‘they’re good at building things with water.’ Looking at the giant white harp-like bridge, Barron was inclined to agree. At the New York hotel he saw a man in chauffeur’s uniform holding a sign up with on it in black marker letters: GODFREY ELWICK. Barron went to the man and shook his hands. ‘A pleasure to meet you sir’, the man said in fairly fluent English. ‘My boss is waiting in the car. Please follow me.’

They crossed the road towards a black BMW with tinted windows. The chauffeur opened the back door. Classical music and a faint smell of lavender came out of the car. Hesitantly Barron looked in. Immediately, a hand was extended.

‘Welcome, Barron Trump. Considering the circumstances I am nonetheless glad to meet you.’ Barron followed the hand upwards and saw that it belonged to no one but the prime minister of the Netherlands, Thierry Baudet.

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The Orb of Covfefe, Part IX: SS Escape

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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…’
*click.*

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.

‘yes.’
-‘good day, mr Lenin. I have an assignment for you.’
‘hm.’
– ‘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.
‘Ok.’
*click*

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.’

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Part VIII — smoking in Ipswich

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Colin took a deep drag of his cigarette as he looked at the newspaper in front of him with disbelief.

FARAGE UNDER HOUSE ARREST AFTER ASSAULTING PRIME MINISTER.

A cartoon underneath depicted a crazy-eyed Farage punching a shocked Sadiq Khan, the latter draped in the flag of England. ‘FARRAGED’ read the caption.  Normally Colin ignored the papers as much as possible, but this rattled him. Especially after the phone call he received last night. First a friend of Nigel calling help, now this? Something big was going on. Colin glanced around the shady harbor bar. It was his favorite place to visit in-between work. Nothing fancy, just friendly personnel, decent coffee and a bunch of sailors and fishermen drinking and smoking, minding their own business. If only things everywhere could be as peaceful as in this bar, Colin thought to himself. With the smoldering butt of his cigarette he lit another cig and read the article.

‘A GRISLY turn of events as UKIP-leader Nigel Farage without provocation PUMMELED Prime minister Sadiq Khan in the FACE during a diplomatic dinner gone awry. Doubts on the Brexit-instigator’s sanity were raised earlier but…’

Colin stopped reading as the bar door opened and a tall young man with sunglasses and a blue hat entered. Which is exactly what the voice on the phone said he’d be wearing. Colin held up a hand. The youngster came over and sat down. Colin, watching him intensely, caught him glancing at the newspaper. ‘You know anything about this?’ The youngster stayed quiet. Something about him seemed very familiar to Colin. ‘Who are you?’ The young man looked around, as to check no one was listening in. Colin pressed. ‘C’mon man, give me something. Who are you? Why did Nigel give you this number? Why should I help you?’ Slowly, the youngster took off his sunglasses and with no small surprise Colin realized he was sitting opposite the son of the uncrowned God-Emperor of the United States of America. ‘Holy shit. You are –‘
– ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘So that explains how you know Nigel.’
– ‘Yeah.’
‘And I guess this brawl’ -Colin pointed at the newspaper- ‘involved you.’
– ‘Yeah.’
‘Damn.’
– ‘Can you get me to the Netherlands?’
‘Uh, what? Probably. Yeah, sure. Sorry I kind of need to process this.’
– ‘I’m not sure this disguise will fool anyone looking for me, and I’m sure they’ll be looking for me. Can you get me to the continent without anyone ehm… Authoritative finding me?’

Colin straightened up. ‘Well… It just so happens mr Farage sent you to the right guy. I’ve got just the thing that will get you straight to mainland without anyone knowing.’ For the first time since he met him, Colin saw a glimmer of hope cross Barron’s face. ‘Great. How soon can we leave?’
‘Ehhh tomorrow, actually. Be here at 6 AM. ‘
– ‘OK. Great. Don’t tell anyone about this. See you tomorrow.’ Barron stood up, but did not leave before taking a last look at the newspaper. ‘And don’t believe everything they tell you in the paper’ he said. Colin smiled. ‘Don’t worry, never do.’

Once alone again, Colin ordered himself a pint and absentmindedly took a sip. So he was going to smuggle the son of the Donald to the continent? He lit a cigarette and blew out a big cloud. God damn, these were exciting times.

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Part VII — Life or Death

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Perv swerved his arm to take aim at Sadiq, but the butch arm of a rainbow soldier knocked the gun out of his hand. As Sadiq and rainbow soldier jumped Perv, Hans and Mike handed out punches to the disbelieving blue-haired goons. Farage pulled Barron down to the ground behind a couch and talked as quick as an Englishman could talk: ‘Young man, judging by the effort our enemies are making to stop you, it is imperative that you obtain the orb of Covfefe. For this you must leave England in one piece.

A gunshot whizzed through the room, followed by the sound of broken glass, some of which Barron felt landing on his back. Barron looked up to see Sadiq Khan running at Perv with a swollen lip and fist raised in the air. Perv evaded the fist and punched Khan in the stomach. Barron turned to Nigel. ‘how do I get out of here? They must have the place surrounded.’
– ‘Yes, it is merely a matter of time before reinforcements arrive. But there is an escape. Follow me.’

They crawled to the back of the room, half-successfully avoiding the scuffling men and shards of glass. The last thing Barron saw before he exited the room was Hans landing a high-kick in the pierced nose of a rainbow warrior, and Perv ripping of his own shirt in a bloodrage, revealing chiseled abs underneath. Once out of the room Nigel and Farage got on their feet and Barron could hear Khan’s voice crying behind him: ‘Don’t let them escape! Get the boy!’ Barron followed Nigel who ran down a small stairway. Behind them Barron heard the sound of someone in pursuit.

Quickly Barron rushed down wooden steps until he found himself in a damp cellar, barely high enough for Nigel to stand upright, let alone Barron. Nigel was hurriedly pushing aside wine bottles and cans of food. ‘Where is it where is it’ he murmured.

Barron in the meanwhile grabbed a wine bottle and pushed himself against the wall behind the stairs. Nigel found what he was looking for: a wooden Santa Clause statue, as large as a hand. He pulled it towards him, and with minor rumbling a hidden door in the stone cellar wall slid open. Grinning, Nigel turned around, only to look straight into the barrel of a gun pointed at him by a very angry looking rainbow warrior. ‘Step away from the door, NOW’ she said. ‘Or else I will…’

It will never be known what she would have done, for at that same moment a green bottle hit her head so hard it broke into pieces, and 170 pounds of blue-haired butchness fell unconscious to the floor. Barron emerged from the shadows, the remainder of the bottle in his hand.

‘Splendid!’ Nigel said. ‘Here, take this.’ He hastily scribbled some notes on a piece of paper and gave it to Barron.

‘Make your escape through the tunnel. You will emerge safely at the other end. Get to Dover as quick as possible. Call the number on this paper, say I sent you. Now go quickly!’

Barron nodded and with bent head entered the low, dark tunnel. Before he disappeared, he turned around and faced Nigel Farage one last time. ‘Thank you’, he said. Farage’s eyes watered up. ‘Thank you, young Barron. Bless your father. Godspeed to your mission, the world depends on you!’ Nigel pushed the Santa Clause figurine back in its original space, and with the closing of the door darkness engulfed Barron.

 


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Part VI — An unexpected turn

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The sun had risen by the time the Land Rover rolled into Single street, Bromley. Green hedges and mansions adorned the sides of the road. ‘This is it’ said Perv and he pointed to an Aristocratic-looking white house. They parked in front of the house. Jack stayed in the car as look-outs, the others walked up to the gate. Perv pressed the intercom button and a distinctly British voice answered: ‘Yes?
– ‘Nigel, Perv here. Did you get my DM?’
Nigel? Barron thought, it couldn’t be..?
‘Ah, yes’ the voice answered. ‘Come in.’ The gate opened and the men entered. They rang the doorbell and the 3-meter high oak door was opened by no other than Nigel Farage. Perv put his hands on Nigel’s shoulders and said it was good to see him. Nigel averted his gaze. ‘I wish it was under different circumstances’, he said. Perv nodded. ‘So do I, my friend.’ Barron shook hands with Nigel. They had met before in the Golden Palace, but for some reason Nigel was a lot less friendly now. He looked like a man under a lot of stress. Barron shot a glance at Perv, who apparently noticed the same thing.
‘Uh, come on in’ Nigel mumbled, ‘I’ll make you some tea and we can, uh, talk things over.’

They followed Nigel into his living room, which was furnished with Persian carpets, red leather sofas and old, hand-made oak furniture. Sides of the room were decorated with blue velvet curtains. Nigel shifted around nervously, fluffing up pillows and adjusting the coffee table. ‘Yes sit down, I’ll make you some tea…’
Perv stepped forward. ‘Nigel. Is something wrong?’
‘NOTHING is wrong mr Pervert’ came a voice from behind the curtain. Out stepped a dark-skinned man with a gun in his hands. ‘Sadiqh Khan!’ cried Perv.
‘I am glad you still follow the media’ Khan said. He turned to Barron. ‘Ah the young Trump. I apologize for the mediocre welcoming committee earlier, perhaps now we can make amends.’ He snapped his fingers and from behind the curtains several butch women with short blue hair stepped forward. On their upper arm they wore thick bands with on them a rainbow symbol intercrossed with an Islamic moon. One of the blue-haired woman was holding a gun to another woman’s head, whom Barron recognized as Nigel’s wife.
‘How did you know we were here!?’ Barron asked.
– ‘Let’s just say I have… Sources. You see, we are everywhere. We have all the momentum. Your hateful, racist and misogynistic ways, your… ‘white supremacy’’ Khan spit out these words ‘is at an end. WE are the future!’
‘You won’t get away with this’ said Perv.
Khan grinned. ‘Oh but I already have. You see, with the death of a prominent presidential family member’ he waved his gun at Barron ‘at the hands of extreme right-wing terrorists, I have no choice but to declare martial law and rise above the petty limitation of democracy. And perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but back in America president Trump is not feeling to well and soon enough my friends will have to intervene to… Save America. Yes, things are looking pretty good I’d say.’
Barron was dumbstruck. Perv gnashed his teeth and started to raise his fist, a response met by Sadiq pointing his gun towards mrs Farage. ‘Ah ah ah, mr Pervert. One wrong move and Mrs Farage will meet a most unfortunate fate.’
‘The British people will rise up against you!’ cried Farage. Immediately, Khan hit Nigel’s cheek with the back of his gun. Nigel fell to the ground, blood spatters hitting the carpet. ‘Dorothy, Molly!’ Khan snapped his fingers.
2 rainbow soldiers grabbed Nigel’s arms and brought him up on his knees.
‘You know Nigel, I’ve been looking forward to this for such a long time. You have been such a pain in the ass, you know that? You know how much work it will be to permanently end Brexit?’ He punched Farage in the stomach, who bent over double in pain. ‘Not that it will matter. You people had your chance a long time ago, back when London still belonged to you.’ But you gave it all away with barely a fight. The West is ours now. Don’t worry, it’s for the better.’ Another punch. Nigel looked up with a blue eye and fat lip. ‘You’ll never win’ he said. Rage filled Sadiq’s face. As he raised his fist for another punch, Perv extended his arm towards the rainbow soldier keeping mrs Farage hostage. Suddenly a gun appeared in Perv’s hand. He pulled the trigger – the bullet connected with rainbow soldier’s forehead.

Then, many things happened at once.


 

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Part V: a new plan

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Barron landed in a tree. With the help of some sturdy branches he reached the ground with relatively few bruises. He opened the flashlight on his smartphone and headed in the direction where Perv landed. Soon enough he found him. Some phone calls back later the team was together again. Huddled in a circle they discussed their options.
‘Steal a plane?
– ‘First place they’ll be looking for us will be nearby airports. Perhaps some distant airport, but that will cost too much time.’
‘Head for the US embassy?’
Hans shook his head. ‘That’ll be the second place they’ll look for us. They’ll stop us before we enter the place and even if we succeed there’s no telling how long they’ll keep us there. We need someone we can trust, someone well-connected.’
The men were silent for a moment.
‘Okay’, Perv sighed. ‘Perhaps I know someone. He’s not exactly low-profile, but he is well-connected and they won’t expect us visiting him. He lives in London. Judging from our position it’ll be a few hours by foot. We’ll see if we can get a car.’
They nodded. Perv turned to Mike. ‘Can you arrange a car?’ ‘Maybe’, came the answer. ‘Has to fit 6 men.’
– ‘Great. Let’s move on before the dogs or whatever are on our tail.’

With as little light as possible they navigated through the woods, avoiding roads. Sometimes they’d stand completely still when they’d hear a sound too close for comfort, as when they heard a helicopter in the distance, but overall the men kept the tempo high.

After an hour Barron was exhausted. They paused near a creek for some rest and water. As Hans, Mike and Jack did some stretching, Barron caught some breath. Perv sat next to him. ‘You holding in there?’
– ‘yeah, I think so.’
‘Good. There’s something I need to talk to you about. The plan was, I escort you all the way to Saudi Arabia, but the plan did not include us being shot down. I don’t know what will happen next. Worst case scenario and I am taken out, you should not be a sitting duck.’
Barron listened intently as Perv continued.
‘Look, there’s three things in the world you need to survive: money, a passport and a phone. Phones you can buy anywhere. As for the other two…’ Perv held out a passport and a wad of money. ‘Here you go.’
Barron took the passport and opened it. In it was his face, but it went with quite a different name: Ashton Bucksley from Oakland, California. ‘I can’t take this!’
– ‘you can and you will. I’ve had strict orders to give it to you in case of an emergency. Take the money as well. Better to use cash only from here on. It’s a hundred 50 euro bills.  Should be more than enough to get you to Saudi Arabia and back.’
Barron sighed. ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that.’
Perv agreed. Barron let himself fall backwards and gazed up to the stars. Something about the sound of rippling water gave Barron a serene feeling, even if the circumstances were far from that.
‘Perv?’
– ‘hm?’
‘I’ve been wondering to ask you. Why do you do it?’
– ‘Do what?’
‘This. Helping me out. Are you with some kind of agency?’
Perv laughed. ‘Hell no. I am a free man. And as a free man, I enjoy the finer things of life. Finer things which are, quite unfortunately, under attack. So I must fight.’
– ‘You don’t have to.’
‘Of course I do! For thousands of years men have fought! It is a most noble and virtuous pursuit. Besides, I am needed.’
– ‘By whom?’
‘Well right now by you. But others as well. We must unite and cooperate, but many are stubborn. Through superior aesthetics, I will help teach our people submission, then cooperation, then victory! Do you understand?’
– ‘…I think I do.’
‘Good.’ Perv smiled. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, it is handsome Thursday. I have some business to take care off.’ And with that he turned to his phone.

The men continued their journey. After another hour the forests made way for meadows. They passed some farms. When Mike spotted an exposed car near one of them, he signaled the others to wait in a ditch next to a road. 20 minutes later a dark green Land Rover stopped on the road next to them. Mike opened the front door: ‘you guys need a lift?’ The men chuckled silently. Barron was very impressed, but as he got in he had to ask whether they could return the car later on. Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘If the situation permits it, sure.’

He put down his foot on the gas pedal and they sped towards Perv’s connection in South-East London.


 

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