The Accidental Activist

By Alon Shalev

David meets Goliath in the law courts of England in the 1990's. The advent of the Internet is leveling the playing field as a multinational corporation tries to silence two young political activists in a riveting court case that captivates the political and business world's attention.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lloyd Lofthouse
• Release date: Nov 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452454023

Alon Shalev

Deep in a redwood forest in Northern California, a boy and his father sat at a picnic table and created an epic fantasy world. The ancient trees bore witness to the summoning of the Wycaan Masters. Alon Shalev is the author of social justice-themed novels, A Gardener's Tale, The Accidental Activist, and Unwanted Heroes. He is the lead writer of the political blog, leftcoastvoices.com, and never expected to delve into the world of fantasy. In 2010, while on a family camping trip in the Northern California redwoods, his then 11-year-old son, who devours YA fantasy, objected to his father opening his laptop and writing. A compromise was reached and both were soon deeply engrossed in what became the first of three epic novels (so far) - At The Walls Of Galbrieth. Alon Shalev lives in Berkeley, California with his wife and two sons. As a fantasy writer, he blogs at elfwriter.com and tweets @elfwriter. OTHER PUBLISHED WORKS Wishing to express his desire for social change, Shalev has written a number of social justice-themed novels (see below). Alon Shalev is the proud author of A Gardener's Tale, a story of healing of family, land and community, along with a look at the Pagan religion and its time-honored impact upon rural communities. The Accidental Activist is a fictional account of the astonishing 'McLibel' trial that captivated Britain in the 1990's, a David .v. Goliath court case that highlights the treachery and ruthlessness of the multinational corporations and how the advent of the Internet can curb them, when a few individuals refuse to back down. It is a defense of Freedom of Speech and the acknowledgment of the Internet as a tool for social change. Unwanted Heroes brings together an old, battle-scarred Chinese American war vet and an idealistic and pretentious young Englishmen, who share a love for San Francisco, coffee and wine. They soon discover they share even more when repressed memories bring them together in a gripping climax finding in each other an unlikely ally to set themselves free from the tragic past that binds them both.

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The Accidental Activist

Alon Shalev

Published by Three Clover Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2010 by Alon Shalev

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a heavily fictionalized story loosely based upon the events of an actual trial. Names, characters, places, events, incidents, organizations and dialogue in his novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Helen Steel and Dave Morris, the real heroes:

Modern-day Davids in a world of Goliaths.

Chapter One

I looked at myself in the mirror—for only the eighth or ninth time that hour. A smooth-shaven, pathetically optimistic Romeo peered back, reassuring me that, should the Juliet of my dreams turn up at tonight’s party, I was surely in with a chance. I slapped more aftershave onto my already saturated face and glanced at the bottle. The label promised to fulfill my dream and the woman in the picture would certainly achieve my ambitions—quite the bargain for less than a fiver from Boots the Chemist.

I turned and reached for a pair of socks. Two calculating green eyes stared at me, but all I saw was a fur ball lying on my creaseless imitation silk shirt.

Get off that, Gates. I said I’d feed you before I left. Damn! I’m going to have cat hairs all over my shirt now.

Gates nonchalantly rose and stretched before walking over to his bowl. He sat, wrapped his tail around his body and stared expectantly. As I searched for cat food, the phone rang. I did not attempt to pick it up and, just as I began to feel guilty, the comforting click of the answering machine filled the room.

Come on, Matt, I know you’re there. You’ve never been early for a party in your life. Answer the phone, you silly bugger.

I turned on the loudspeaker. Whatcha want, Paul? I’m taking my rollers out.

Ha. I need a lift to the party, mate. My car’s been towed away and they’re not answering at the pound.

Leave it there, I replied. The fine will be more than the car’s worth anyway. Paul was very proud of his brand-new 1995 BMW. Ignoring his colorfully articulated response, I continued. And what happens if I pick up a date, and she insists I take her home?

His analysis of this possibility wasn’t pretty, but he’s my best mate and we set a time. I put the phone down and started to walk to the bathroom when a scratching sound stopped me abruptly and my smug mood quickly vanished.

Gates, leave my shoelaces alone. I said I’d feed you. Look, here’s a tin and, oh, where’s the damn tin opener. I’m gonna be late, Gates. What about this dried stuff, huh? Doesn’t entice you? It does when there’s nothing else. So what if there’s a tin, there’s no fucking tin opener!

Again, the phone rang and I vowed to ignore it.

This is Mr. Rees. Pick up the phone or you’re fired.

It’s amazing how quickly my telephone answering reflexes improved for my boss.

Having a good weekend, Mr. Rees?

I knew he wasn’t. Mr. Rees was never the type to enjoy life and would probably get annoyed if he did.

Matthew, I’m at the office and I can’t find the latest Husseini printout you showed me this afternoon. We need to get this finished, you know. It’s a big account and there’s tough competition out there. Why, when I was your age, I’d work on weekends just to—

The Husseini account was big. We were creating a computer program for an oil conglomerate and, if deemed successful, we could sell it worldwide. I knew it was a serious deal for the company, and I was an important cog in the wheel. I also knew I was covered.

Mr. Rees, I know it’s important and that’s why you can’t find it. I brought the file home to work on during the weekend. Here, I have the folder in my hand—

As I lifted the folder from the table to give Rees his information, the tin opener fell onto the table. Twenty minutes later, I left my flat: my boss with his information, my cat with his food and me hopelessly optimistic that tonight would indeed be the night.

We got lost, it began to rain, and Paul was getting me down with his map reading. How is it that he can read his way through any computer program within an hour but can’t find his way through Camden on a Friday night?

At his suggestion, I dropped Paul at the party and meandered down the crowded street in search of a parking space. By the time I’d walked back to the house, I was in no mood for a party. The place was packed and the music loud. As I flung my raincoat on top of a mound of equally wet coats, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. The well-groomed Romeo who had peered out from my bathroom mirror and nourished such high aspirations a mere hour ago had dissolved into a wet, disheveled slob.

Hi, Matti, been out for a swim, dear? A hand playfully ruffled my hair before wiping itself extravagantly on my shirt.

I hope your hand is covered with cat hairs.

Another partygoer gleefully patted my shoulder. Your birthday’s coming up soon, isn’t it? Now I know what to buy you, old boy—an umbrella.

You’re getting a fucking bus home, Paul, I swear. Where was the bastard, anyway? Nearing the bar, I spied him in the corner with a small blonde. Seeing me, he rose on the pretext of refilling their glasses.

Isn’t she a beauty, Matt? She even comes with her own car. I don’t think you’ll need to give me a lift home after all.

Paul casually looked me up and down. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and comb yourself out, mate, he said, patting me on the arm before returning to his prey.

Struggling between a sarcastic reply and a more primeval urge to throttle him, I quickly turned and eased my way through the crowd and upstairs to the bathroom. It was in use, so I sat on the stairs and rested my head in my hands.

Perhaps I whispered some magical words for, when I looked up, I was staring into a pair of deep-brown eyes. A beautiful smile greeted me sympathetically, but the voice was earnest.

Here’s the deal. You’re having a miserable time, and I need to get out of here quick. You have a car. I need a lift. You drive me home, and I don’t invite you in. Impress me with your conversation and we’ll stop at my local on the way and I’ll buy you a drink. Whatcha say?

I didn’t. My mouth opened but nothing came out. She misread. Perhaps I made a mistake. You’re probably with someone and having a great time. Sorry. She got up and retreated down the stairs.

I stumbled down after her and, elbowing my way through the crowd, I caught sight of then lost her. Friends stopped to greet me, but I politely kept moving. Finally, I zoned in and approached decisively.

Okay, I said confidently. Here’s the deal—

A thick hand pushed against my chest. She’s with me, mate. The words were slurred and it somehow dulled their effect. I’m a bodybuilder and I pump two fifty.

Though he was bigger than me and I’m usually quite the coward, his alcohol intake and my elevated hormones conveniently subdued any rising fear. Slowly, but firmly, I moved his hand away and met his stare. As I spoke, there was an abrupt lull in the music—unfortunately.

And I’m a computer programmer and my viruses are deadly. With everyone else seemingly absorbing my words, I turned to the woman and graciously extended my arm. Do we have a deal?

Those beautiful eyes gleamed as she nodded and took my arm. A deal, my hero.

As we made our way to the door, I spied Paul without his small blonde. He was staring at me with his mouth agape. Victory was complete.

Chapter Two

Quite impressive, my gallant knight, she said, as we retrieved our coats. Don’t suppose you brought an umbrella though?

It’s attached to my lance, I replied, which, unfortunately, I left with the blacksmith to be sharpened.

And where’s your charger? She peered along the rain-strewn street.

I grimaced and offered to bring the car round.

No, I don’t think so, she replied glancing back. Mr. Universe might just sober up enough to follow us.

Once in the car, we drove in weary silence, both wet and content to allow the windscreen wipers and Lloyd Cole ballads to keep the atmosphere subdued. After a while, she made the effort to strike up a conversation. Do you usually go around saving women in tight situations?

Oh yes, I replied, about once every thirty years or so.

As her laughter tailed off, she shook her head from side to side and repeated, "'My viruses are deadly.' Where did you come up with that one?"

I didn’t have a comeback and the conversation died. Nearing her pub, she realized it was past closing time and, as I pulled into her street, she seemed to be deliberating something.

Don’t worry about it, I said. I knew the terms of the rescue. You said up front you wouldn’t invite me in.

Well, I haven’t kept my side of the bargain, she replied. "What’s your name anyway, or should I just call you My Knight?"

I answered in my best Queen’s English. In public you may call me Sir Matthew of Putney. In private, Matt will suffice.

Following her directions, I stopped outside her house. I was tired and had driven a good half-hour out of my way. However, as I turned, her face cut a fine silhouette, and I felt the urge to see her again. Considering my aspirations for this party, I had ironically not even thought of this as a potential pickup. Tell you what, meet me tomorrow and we’ll have a drink—neutral territory. What do you say?

Tomorrow I’m busy. She paused, thought for a moment then her face lit up. But I will see you Sunday, noon at Hyde Park Corner. Then, my brave knight, I’ll treat you to lunch.

Hyde Park Corner. I haven’t been there for a while. Actually, I couldn’t recall when I had last been there, no doubt incidentally passing through. It’ll be crowded. How will I find you?

A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she unlocked the passenger door. Don’t worry, you will. Just make sure you’re there before twelve.

I could easily have slept past twelve o’clock and never seen her again. Saturday had been a relaxing day of football and newspapers but toward evening, I started working on the Husseini project and lost all track of time. Fortunately, the next morning, Gates came to the rescue. My ever-hungry feline situated himself on top of my pillow, lightly titillating my face with his tail. It was only a matter of time before my nose succumbed, and the sneezes sent my cat flying but pulled me upright.

Godammit, Gates! It’s Sun— I looked at the clock, and my mind cleared instantly.

I was out of the house within twenty minutes and only calmed when the car passed Hammersmith without running into traffic. I would make it on time. Shit! I hadn’t shaved. I had fed the damn cat and not shaved. At least it wasn’t raining.

It occurred to me that I might not recognize her. I hadn’t seen her in daylight, or in the light of anywhere. I didn’t even know her name.

Hyde Park Corner hadn’t changed. Everyone either was a tourist or dressed scruffily. There were even badly dressed tourists, and I wandered around feeling overdressed—or at least lacking a camera.

I passed the anarchists and self-ordained prophets ranting from their soapboxes in a language I wasn’t entirely convinced we shared. How would I find her here? Damn! What had she been up to suggesting this?

I drifted into a large crowd in front of a stage with a huge white banner as a backdrop. I couldn’t make out what was written on it, but there appeared to be a large drop of blood on a black smear. Against the white backdrop, it was very distinctive. I was about to walk away when a strong feminine voice filled the air.

I started shoving through the crowd with little concern for those I was pushing aside. It couldn’t be! I wasn’t even listening to her speech. I had to see her face. I needed a profile to be sure. As I reached the front, I found two big men suddenly standing between the stage and me. They were clearly part of the demonstration as they held leaflets and one of them had a sheet of stickers. They were eyeing me suspiciously, and I felt conspicuous. I turned to listen to the woman speaking.

And so it’s not just a question of the rain forest's future. It’s not even simply a question of unethical business practices by multinational corporations. This is abuse. Human abuse. For a few barrels of oil, we are destroying the dignity of an entire tribe, trampling on their heritage. If they carry out their threat, I say there will be blood on their hands, not only of the multinationals, not only of their government who is so shamelessly selling them out for forty barrels of black silver, but on the hands of every one of us each time we fill our car's petrol tank. When we do that, we provide legitimacy and profit to these unethical and abusive companies.

The applause was passionate, and I enthusiastically joined in though I hadn’t a clue what she meant.

A man took her place and urged people to sign the petitions and get involved. The two burly men came up to me as I tried to make my way to where she was leaving the stage. They blocked any opportunity for me to reach her.

Want to sign the petition, mate? one asked, mockingly.

From the Green Alliance are yer? asked the other, his cockney accent thick. They laughed.

I was frustrated. I had now seen this woman twice in three days and each time found myself in a confrontation with big men. At an approximate count, that’s twice more than I had encountered since leaving school twelve years ago, a perturbing pattern.

Do you gentlemen have a problem? I asked, trying dismally to sound assertive and no doubt only succeeding to appear hurt. Britain is a democracy and Hyde Park Corner the jewel in its democratic crown. I am perfectly entitled to—

Cut the crap, said a welcoming voice from behind them. He’s waiting for me, boys. I owe him lunch.

Relieved, I tried to catch a glimpse of her between these two human mountains, but they weren’t finished. One of them extended a huge hand and bowed. Sir Matthew, I presume.

Careful, his mate warned, grabbing his friend’s arm. Suzie warned us he's got viruses and won’t hesitate to use them.

They both creased up laughing, but at least I now knew her name. I’m sure I was blushing. The second man then introduced himself as Luke and explained how they had seen me pushing through the crowd and suspected me of foul intentions. Being such a sensitive issue, they had to take precautions. I was just beginning to feel at ease when he said, The way yer dressed and all.

A softer hand touched my arm. Matt, I’ll get my things and we’ll be off.

I wasn’t keen on her leaving me alone with these hulks, but Luke now set a friendlier tone. So yer Suzie’s new bloke, huh?

Actually, we’ve only just met. I can’t lay claim to the title yet. I raised my eyebrows conspiratorially on the last word, and we both smiled. A spot of male bonding never did anyone any harm, especially when the other stood over six-foot.

Go for it, Matt. She’s one hell of a woman.

Then Suzie returned and dumped some files in my arms. I’m sorry, Matt. I must help clear up. I’ll only be five minutes.

Na, forget it, love, said Luke. Yer spent all day yesterday preparing for this. Yer run along. We’ll see yer at six and bring Matt along if he's interested. I saw a distinct smirk cross his face. I imagine he will be by then.

With this, he slapped me on the shoulder, no doubt causing permanent bruising and walked off laughing. Though my shoulder stung, I was finally alone with her. I looked into those beautiful brown eyes and was struck as I had been on

Reviews for The Accidental Activist

[joannsmithainsworth · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Well written courtroom drama about environmentalists taking on a mega-sized oil company using information gathering via the Internet.