The Perfect Politician

Elijah Clarence Thomas Darlington adjusted his gleaming, silk tie in a sultry blue. He gave a cocky smile to himself in the mirror and then opened the door. Flashes shot into his face, but he remained poised and calm. The shouts of questions crisscrossed his path, and he raised a hand to be heard.

“Thank you, members of the media, for coming today. I have a short statement and then I will be heading to Buckingham Palace to see His Majesty the King.”

He paused to give the photographers time to find their best positions on his lawn and for journalists to have their phones at the ready to record his statement. He softly cleared his throat and gave a glimmer of a smile. He ignored the trampled roses.

“Today we stand at a crossroads of history, where the choices we make will shape the destiny of our great nation. In the tapestry of democracy, each thread is woven by the hands of its citizens. Let us embrace unity over division, progress over stagnation, and compassion over indifference. Our new government will build a future where every voice is heard, every dream is nurtured, and the flame of hope burns brightly for generations to come. Thank you.”

Darlington had only been a member of parliament for three years and after the unfortunate death of the leader of the Conservative Party six months earlier, he had allowed his name to go forward as a candidate. This outsider sailed through the rounds of voting by party MPs to make it to the last two and then in the membership ballot had embarrassingly won nearly eighty percent of the vote. The media fawned over him. At forty-five, Darlington brought a youthful freshness to the Conservative brand. Here was a centre-right politician who had achieved a first at Trinity College, served in the army and saved two wounded soldiers trapped under enemy fire in Ukraine, been awarded the Victoria Cross, worked for a homeless charity and was married to Martin who had been his school sweetheart. Their two beautiful children, a boy aged six and a girl aged ten made for happy family photos, especially with their chocolate-coloured Labrador called Sunrise. Darlington showed his concern for the climate crisis by sponsoring polar bears through an animal charity and raising money for Greenpeace by a sponsored walk to the Arctic Circle.

Compared to the ultra, Left-wing opponent of the Labour Party who wanted to nationalise every utility at an unfathomable cost and seemed to have a dodgy relationship with communist China, Darlington was the safe bet for middle England. But his reach extended deep into Wales and Scotland and nowhere seemed off limit.

Darlington gave a wave, stepped into the back of his electric Jaguar and it pulled away from his terrace home in Kensington on the way to the palace. The king would ask if he could form a government, and he would answer that he could. With a majority of over one hundred, Darlington had a mandate to change Britain.

A number of investigative journalists had combed through his personal history, tried to dig up salacious details they could use and all failed. His speeches were like honey poured over people’s drab and difficult lives. Critics said his speeches were sublime and his speech writers were held up as role models as they lifted cynical audiences out of their daily stupor and into excited, engagement on social media. There was abuse from a small number of vile, homophobic individuals and it was usually the same few who abused his African and Asian heritage, but it was curious how he held such a grip on public opinion.

He had been caught on camera whilst out on an early morning run catching a man who had tried to mug an elderly woman. His rugby tackle became a meme and reinforced his common touch and his tough on crime tagline.

Whenever a journalist in the election campaign had tried to catch him out, Darlington knew the price of a pint of milk and the number one single in the charts. He could map out in plain English how the economy would be placed on a long-term footing for sustainable growth, whilst at the same time slashing carbon emissions. He had a knack for a sound bite even when he was asked ad hoc questions by the public or a journalist.

His first evening at number ten produced a rapturous applause on his way in from staff of whom most had voted for him in the election. But what he didn’t realise was that as he got back out of the Jaguar to wave at the cameras and walk through the door a tiny transmitter had fallen from behind his ear hidden by his thick, lustrous hair. His luck had run out as a photographer had noticed the slight reflection from it as it lay on the road.

Damon Gadlink frowned. Was it a coin? As journalists shouted at the new prime minister, he zoomed in his huge telephoto lens on the reflection. He could see it was round and almost translucent with wiggly lines like a SIM card from a phone. He thought nothing more and finished snapping the popular guy who disappeared behind the closing black door. The press medley quickly packed up and left but Gadlink loitered by the barriers. He packed away his camera slowly until he was left alone in Downing Street with half a dozen police officers who turned away.

Gadlink walked over and at first struggled to see the object again. There. He picked it up and thought it was a contact lens, but he could make out the faint lines. He put it into his wallet and left.

Back at the office, Gadlink called his technology contact, Simon Schmidt.

“Simon, how are you my old mucker?”

“Damon, I suppose you were swanning around Downing Street just now? What do you need?”

“You know me so well. I found this tiny, er, thing. Looks like a transparent SIM card. Can you run some tests on it?”

“Sound intriguing. Did you find this near our new prime minister?”

Gadlink chuckled. “I couldn’t say, Simon but could you fast track it?”

Schmidt now chuckled, “Yep.”

Gadlink sent it by courier and fretted for the next few hours waiting for the call. He was at home driving his husband mad as he wouldn’t eat until he had spoken to Simon. On the first ring, he answered.

“Simon, yea Damon. Any luck?”

“Can we meet?”

“Meet? Can’t you just tell me?”

“This isn’t something for the phone, mate. George and Dragon, Blackfriars, in thirty minutes?”

Twenty-five minutes later, the two met up in the King George pub near Victoria.

“I got you a pint. What’s with the cloak and dagger? We haven’t done this for a while.”

Schmidt looked furtively around before he sat down and took a large glug of ale. He had motorcycled to the pub, and he unzipped his leather jacket and handed it to Gadlink under the table.

“Seriously? You are taking the spy stuff a bit far. What is it?”

“It’s a transmitter. I couldn’t trace where it was coming from, but I’ve seen a mock-up of that kind of gadget on the Dark Web. It connects an AI to a receiver transplanted into a human skull. Where did you find it?”

Gadlink stopped drinking his Guinness and was staring at his friend. He looked around.

“I’m certain it dropped off the prime minister as he got out of his car in Downing Street. Are you saying that he’s getting communications from artificial intelligence?”

“I’m not saying anything. All I can tell you is that whoever uses it could communicate with an AI just by thinking a question and silently receiving the answer. It’s up to you to decide who is using it, but I’ll be honest, it’s scary.”

Gadlink was staring out into the middle distance. “It would solve the riddle of how this slick, perfect politician always has the right answers and hasn’t put a foot wrong since he came into the limelight just a few months ago. Fucking hell. What do we do now?”

“We? Oh, no. You’re on your own. Listen I voted for Darlington. I like the guy. Think about what’s going through your mind right now. You’re thinking that somehow you can prove it. That you’ll write the article yourself and sell it to big media. You’ll have a big wad of money in the bank. Money for a new car or holiday. You’ll be on all the talk shows. You’ll get job offers. Darlington will have to resign, and we’ll end up with the Foreign Secretary who is a halfwit or there’ll be an election, and we’ll end up with China’s best friend in number ten.”

Gadlink was frowning at him. “How did you know…. Okay fine. So, I do nothing? Artificial Intelligence is running the government through a middle-class mouthpiece?”

The two men sat looking at their drinks.

Gadlink said, “Okay, I don’t have the proof at the moment so there’s no harm seeing if it can be proved. How do I get the proof?”

Schmidt sighed, “If you put it on you have the transmitter. It’s still working. You’ll have to get used to using it, as it took me a while. You need to clear your mind and then it works. When your mind is blank then suddenly, you’ll hear a voice. With me, it was clear as day. A woman’s voice asked who I was and then tried to confirm my identity. It was talking into my mind. But I didn’t have the receiver and mental microphone, so even when I was thinking of answers, it couldn’t hear me. Darlington must have the receiver and microphone embedded into his brain so that he can think of a question or converse with the AI.”

“I see. What’s the range on the two being together, the receiver and the transmitter.”

Schmidt bit his lip and finished his pint, “I don’t know. It can’t be far.”

“If I wear the transmitter and I was close enough to Darlington who has the receiver could I Segway into his mind.”

Schmidt pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged, “It’s possible. It’s going to get messy. I’m sure by now he’ll have replaced the transmitter. But if you were close to his head then your thoughts could go into his receiver and connect with the AI using both transmitters.”

Deep in thought, Gadlink said, “All I need is to be able to communicate with Darlington’s mind.”

“If both the receiver and transmitter are encrypted then no, you’ll just look like you’re going to kiss him.”

“That would be embarrassing.”

Schmidt looked at him, “So, apart from actually trying to kiss him, how are you going to get close?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Schmidt stifled a grin, “Well, remember what I said, you’ll need to clear your mind. Don’t think of your ex dressed in a thong.”

“Very funny. Another drink whilst we mull this over?”

“Sure, I’d love to know how you’ll get past Darlington’s security detail.”

The two men remained at the pub for two hours.

The next morning Darlington had pulled on his tracksuit and was wrestling with his new trainers. Martin had dressed the children and both children kissed Darlington goodbye before getting into the chauffeur driven car to head off to school.

“Sweetheart, I’m off. It’s John and Deepak who are on duty and are keeping me company. I’ll be back in about forty minutes.”

“Yes, Prime Minister. Have a good run.”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

Martin smiled, “Five years? No wait, Elijah, ten years and then you promised you’d retire.”

Darlington grimaced, “Okay. In that case I’ll be calling you First Man for ten years.”

They kissed and then there was a knock. Darlington said his goodbye and went out the back entrance of number ten, across the Mountbatten lawn and out through the back gate onto Horseguards Road. Darlington ran in the middle, with his close protection officers, Deepak behind, and John in front. The three joggers went unnoticed as they entered St James’s Park. As they ran alongside the lake, another runner dressed in baggy shorts and sleeveless top came towards them. As they passed, the jogger called out, “Mr Prime Minister!”

Darlington raised his hand to acknowledge the man, but then the runner did a U-turn and jogged alongside him. Deepak inserted himself between the two men.

“Sorry Prime Minister I just wanted a selfie. Any chance? My daughter is a huge fan.”

Darlington stopped and Deepak shook his head at the prime minister.

“It’s okay, first day, why not?”

Deepak nervously stood to one side as the runner pulled out his phone and stood next to Darlington. He leaned his head close to Darlington and focused the phone’s camera.

“Can you hear this prime minister?”

Gadlink felt Darlington tense next to him. There was a jumble of voices.

“Who is this? This is not authorised. You must leave now.”

“What? Is that Cora?”

Gadlink thought of a field of snow, and then thought, “This must be very confusing for both of you.”

Deepak was frowning, “Sir, this is taking too long. The prime minister is very busy.”

Gadlink thought, “Tell him it’s okay.”

Darlington gave half a smile to his close protection officer, “It’s fine Deepak. Having a few problems getting the camera to work.”

Gadlink nearly turned in surprise, it had worked. He continued to look forwards snapping photos.

“Invite me to meet with you. No security. No special advisors or staff.”

Gadlink lowered the phone. “It’s a great honour to meet you, sir. My name is Damon Gadlink.”

Darlington faced him. His stare was cold. “Damon, I’m delighted to have met you. Please come to number ten with your daughter. Shall we say at three o’clock?”

“Oh, thank you. She’ll love that.”

Darlington turned and sped off. Deepak gave him a final look and ran after him.

Gadlink felt his heart rate was hammering and looked at his watch. “Blimey.” The watch read 130 beats a minute. Gadlink breathed deeply and took off the tiny transmitter from behind his ear. He headed to the office to get changed. At 2:45pm, Gadlink arrived with his daughter whom he’d borrowed from Schmidt. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion to use poor Josie.

They went through security and the airport-style scanner and then walked up Downing Street. Gadlink thought, ‘How different it looks on this side of the barrier from where I usually stood with the other members of the press.’ As they neared, the famous black door swung open, and a police officer smiled at them. Young Josie, aged fifteen, was very excited as they were shown into the entrance hall and then escorted up to the first-floor reception by an aide. They were shown into the pillared drawing room with a painting of Queen Elizabeth the First hung over the fireplace. A different aide appeared. He was on the short side but dressed in an expensive suit, white shirt and woollen, green tie. He offered to take Josie around and they went off together. Five minutes later the prime minister walked in. He didn’t shake hands.

“Damon Gadlink, photojournalist, married but no children, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Gadlink gave a quick smile and then took Darlington’s cue to perch on a hard chair with gilded legs. Darlington lounged on a settee.

“Well, you know my little trick, so what do you want?”

Gadlink blinked. He and Schmidt and talked about what to do if it had got this far but now in the moment their plan felt like dry dust.

“Yes, well I could go public. I should go public but right now, erm, I want to know why.”

Darlington leaned forwards resting his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Then he took off the transmitter behind his ear and carefully laid it on the round, coffee table.

“It’s certainly in the public interest to know who is advising the prime minister, so the right thing to do is simply to write an article and publish it.”

Gadlink’s mouth opened slightly and closed. He was frowning and he too leant forwards.

“But there is also a public interest in keeping certain sensitive information out of public scrutiny. We don’t allow the nuclear launch codes to be available on the Daily Mail website. We don’t give personal details of my special advisors such as their home addresses. At the end of the day all I have is someone whispering in my ear ideas and suggestions. I am a free agent. I make my own decisions. All I’m getting is good advice. Surely that is a good thing for the country? Surely that is good for the couple with two children living in Bristol? Surely managing the economy to improve productivity, lower inflation, create more jobs and uplift the wealth of Great Britain, surely that is a good thing? Lowering the cost of the health service whilst reducing waiting times and improving success rates of operations, surely those are things that everyone wants? Producing better drugs and medicines to destroy cancer and give people better mental health, are very desirable. I am using the most advanced artificial intelligence ever created to ultimately give people happiness.”

Gadlink’s mouth gurneyed but he said nothing.

The prime minister carried on in an earnest tone. “Damon, do you know how many bad decisions have been destructive to making the world a better place? The Iraq War, the Thalidomide scandal that caused birth defects, the Great Depression, Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, etc etc. I could go on and on where the so-called best minds in government, science, financial services and so on made catastrophic decisions. Surely you don’t want more disasters that hurt and kill innocent people? The AI agent is called Cora. She is a force for good. She can take away pain from patients. She can ignite an economy. She can diplomatically solve conflicts. She simply helps to make this a better world.”

Damon slid his teeth together and then blew out. “The people didn’t know you were using AI or maybe the AI is using you, when they went to vote.”

“I intend to but at the next election when we have proven the benefits. Give me five years and I promise I’ll go public. I’ll give you the exclusive.”

“Five years that is too long. It may not work. No, people have a right to know. I do though get what you are saying. We need to put AI to work that really helps people.”

Darlington gave a weary smile. “Damon, it’s your choice. Think about it, eh? It’s a big decision. Very few other people know. Let’s say the weekend?”

“Okay, that’s fair enough. Three days.”

Now Darlington stood up and offered his hand. Gadlink shook it. It was a warm, firm handshake. It felt comforting. Gadlink was about to pull away, but Darlington held on.

“One more thing. I have a vacancy for the official Downing Street photographer. I want you to fill the role. Good pay with benefits. Am I trying to bribe you to be quiet? No, I honestly need a good photographer for functions here and visits around the globe to record my time here. Will you accept?”

“Wow. I think you are trying to bribe me, but I am interested. I’ll let you know Monday.”

Darlington smiled and let go of his hand. An aide appeared with Josie, and they went down the yellow walled staircase lined with photos and images of all the past prime ministers. Gadlink noticed Darlington’s photograph and wondered if an image of Cora should also be next to him. He smiled grimly.

That weekend was difficult. Gadlink read and read about artificial intelligence and read a biography of Darlington. The man hadn’t had AI when he was in the army, and it was unlikely he had it when he was working for a homeless charity. He was a good man. All he was asking for was time. On Sunday morning, Gadlink opened up the BBC website and there was a flurry of announcements by the government. They had brokered a ceasefire in Ukraine. All homeless people were guaranteed places to live by means of a large building programme of apartments. Starting on Monday waiting times for operations would be slashed from an average of two years to a few weeks by immediately using the capacity of the private health sector. Every house and apartment blocks would have solar panels installed and ten million homes would have insulation improvements within twelve months. Carbon emissions would be net zero within five years through a slew of policy announcements. Aid to developing nations was doubled over night. Every household below twenty-thousand-pound income would receive a one off one-thousand-pound payment tax free. On and on the announcements continued.

Gadlink looked at the opinion polls. Darlington was the most popular prime minister since records had begun. He bit his lip. He could destroy this government tomorrow with a few hundred words on a website.

On Monday morning he went alone to the gates of Downing Street and was ushered in by police officers. He walked up the street and stopped and looked up. He walked up the steps and the door opened.

…..