EVA BARR Algorithm of Power

By Wa'qar A Mirza

Eva is an electrifying socio-political thriller that plunges readers into a shadowy world where global elites manipulate technology to control the future. When Eva Barr, a former&nbsp

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book publishing partner
• Release date: Jan 9, 2026
• ISBN: 9798295542855

Book preview

EVA BARR

Algorithm of Power

by

Wa’qar A Mirza

Copyright © 2025 Author: Wa’qar Ahmed Mirza First edition.

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that with which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

To the poor and needy of the world

Table of Contents

1:You are either running away from something or towards something. What about you?

2:That’s the way it goes, I suppose.

3:Patience is a virtue, found in women, not in men.

4:Only you know what happened last time, so be careful.

5:Never assume anything, seriously.

6:We all get ripped off at some point.

7:Live outside your comfort zone; it’s a whole new world.

8:Never give up, never.

9:Uncertainty is a certainty

10:Everything happens for a reason

11:There is no such thing as a coincidence

12:Like a beautiful lotus, the pretty and the ugly always sit side by side

13:It’s like chewing sand while standing on your head

14:Beyond right and wrong, there is a park. Let’s have a picnic there.

15:So, you think you know it all? Don’t be too sure.

16:Blood, sweat, and money.

17:Just another sunrise.

18:Even trust cannot be trusted.

19:Don’t let the heat worry you.

20:Raindrops are tears of joy for some and sadness for others.

21:Egos are very dangerous.

22:It’s all about the timing.

23:Now, what do we do or don’t?

Acknowledgement

Author

1

You are either running away from something or towards something. What about you?

E

ver since she was a child, a recurring vision had haunted her. It was more than just a dream that was trapped in her mind like a song going around and around. It was more like a kind of twisted lullaby; she went to sleep with it and, like an alarm clock, she woke up with it. And today had been no different. It was very unsettling to her, a woman with the soul of a poet, as she had been described by many.

It was very early in the morning. The moon was still up, clinging desperately to its crowning spot in the sky. Eva had positioned herself, as usual, in front of the half-open bedroom window, behind the balcony of her apartment, to soak up the last of the cool blue moonlight and enjoy its fading serenity on her face. She had sat like that, bewitched for a while, just enjoying the silence.

She remembered the deep breath of late-autumnal, icicle-sharp air she had taken in as she had peered outside at the gentle magic of the dawn sky in the still air. At that moment, everything had seemed so pure, so clean, so new, and so full of promise. Cloaked in the world’s predawn hush, she had felt far more in control, far more in harmony with the universe than at any other point. It was as if she and the stars had aligned as she had gazed up at their slow vanishing. She had wondered whether they might even be listening to her whispers, listening for her hopes and aspirations as her thoughts rippled across the universe to their destination, and wondered whether every atom in the world might be able to conspire to answer her prayers. She was convinced of the positive.

Waking up early was something that she had been doing for a very long time. Even in the icy black of the dark early winter mornings, the dawn chorus of spring was alive, the breeze of autumn, and the soft light of summer; she had been up before anyone else. She looked at the world as if it were hers for the taking, a master of the universe. These moments of tranquillity set her up beautifully for the rest of the day. Today was a very important day: the second of October, her birthday. It was a special day for another very significant reason, too. There was so much to worry about and so much to hope for. Can one person change the world?

She had a habit of leaving on time. She was never late. However, despite leaving home with plenty of time, she always rushed to the station in the morning to catch the Tube. The Tube jolted and lurched and then whizzed into the black, dark, gaping hole. Juddering speedily through the darkness for what felt like an eternity, the Tube finally creaked, ear-piercingly screeched as metal against metal ground the teeth, and clanked its way to her stop.

She shot up the stairs of the Tube station, and outside, where right near the entrance was a small treeless park. She sprinted to it swiftly before pausing for a moment, as though in slow motion, and sat on a wooden bench. The Tube, as always, had been stifling. She wanted to let the growing warmth of the autumn sunshine appear upon her face and warm her cheeks, blowing away the suffocating subterranean soot that still clung to her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the rosy pink of the morning sun soak her eyelids. The memory of the still-burning stars she had gazed at that morning when the world was still young had been buzzing around in her mind until now, when it was allowed a moment’s peace. Then again, she remembered how she had woken up that morning. It was the same as every morning she had ever known. Why did this pattern persist? She knew the path she was about to take could end in a way she could not imagine; she could lose everything, even her life, for what she believed in, passionately.

After a few moments of enjoying her thoughts, she opened her eyes and found that the whole world suddenly seemed crisper, clearer, and more vibrant. The buildings stood taller, more defined, and more purposeful than just drab concrete obstacles blocking her path from A to B. Pockets of red and ochre leaves looked, for one brief moment, like minuscule bonfires blazing at the roadside. Acknowledging the sunshine always brought life to her surroundings. This was something she missed about not living in the Middle East. Eva loved the sunshine. For her, the sun gave people a reason to be happy, energetic, and creative even, but most of all, a reason to smile and live.

She was sitting in what she knew was an important area of East London. It was steeped in a kaleidoscope of rich history. As she thought about all of the many different lives that the area had touched over the centuries, it was like being struck across the face with historic transitions of ironies and dichotomies. Disrupting her thoughts of the past came the sound of the call to prayer from a mosque across the road and the smell of an ensemble of herbs and spices from the Turkish and Indian food being cooked in the homes that lined the streets. Then the stimulating aroma of a little coffee shop nearby, a shop without a name on the front, hit her nose, washing away the aroma of spices that had previously been wafting around her like a culinary breeze.

As she carried on with her walk, she noticed the traffic. It was in another typically chaotic crush and rush. Drivers battled impatiently and raged, trying to force their way through angrily. Everyone believed that their journey was the only important one being made that day; no one else’s mattered. Out of nowhere, an abrupt metallic roar made everyone jump. Eva felt her body vibrate with the roar of car exhausts, the rumble ripping through her chest as two Aston Martins whizzed past. The disinterested drivers were dressed immaculately in expensively tailored suits and were clutching mobile phones to their ears. Eva watched them fly into the distance in their luxurious cars. As she turned to continue her walk, she noticed a filthy old man slumped on the pavement. A large, flattened, empty cardboard carton of loo paper rolls was his soggy cushion. He had the worst voice that you had ever heard. He was begging for a few pennies by hoarsely croaking Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. The smell of the tramp made Eva’s stomach, ashamedly, lurch. Eva sadly walked quickly past him, dropping a five-pound note, desperately trying to escape the sickening smell of dirty flesh, urine, sweat-soaked, filthy clothes, and cheap spirits.

Eva had been struggling with the idea for some time that some people had simply become too comfortable living a life of beauty, luxury, and outrageous wealth, despite knowing that the total opposite existed all around. She asked herself every day how the rich people in their Lamborghinis and mansions carried on living a life of blind opulence when there were so, so many people living a life of miserable poverty and sadness, and worst of all, no hope.

She thought of the City of London, where vast sums of money were being transacted every day, and yet just around the corner sat London’s poor and homeless, inconveniently, in the litter paths of the striding wealthy. When Eva thought of this outrageously immoral state of affairs, it made her question whether there was something fundamentally wrong with the world in which she was living. How are people so blind, deaf, dumb, ignorant, arrogant, stupid, and callous? she thought to herself.

As she walked through London’s increasingly busy streets and saw the eclectic mix of people and the obvious extremes of fortune, her beliefs were cemented and superglued further. She also began to understand why they wanted to hold the award ceremony at the Whitechapel Gallery in London. As she grew closer to the gallery, she considered her surroundings carefully. This area has everything, she thought. She knew that immigrants came here and built their lives up, starting with nothing but the clothes on their backs, faith, and hope. From what she could see, they had integrated perfectly into an already vibrant community, their cultures and traditions just enhancing the area. But this happy thought was pushed away when she remembered that this small community was a mere bubble. It is not a true microcosm of the world. In reality, the rainbow of life arches across and kisses the ground, with one side having everything and the other absolutely nothing, her thoughts whispered bleakly. The pot of gold is always only on one side, and only the rich know on which side to dig and how.

Today has been a long time coming and one hell of a journey, the thought popped into Eva’s mind like a flash as she walked towards the gallery. Eva had had more ups and downs than she cared to think about. I hope nothing goes wrong, she thought to herself, unable to shake the instinctive feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She tried to shake off this feeling, and again her internal dialogue started up once more, reminding her of how unbelievable it was that she was going to be presented with an award for her first leading actress role. It was a strange feeling for her. When she was much, much younger, she’d been inspired by M People’s Search for the Hero. Heather Small’s rousing voice had always encouraged her to chase her dreams. So many lines from that song had been her mantras over the years. She could hear that track ringing in her ears now. Thank you, Heather, for those amazing vocals and melodies. I wish you were here now, she whispered.

Eva looked down at the programme she had been handed on her way in. Its opening lines were: This gallery has been here since 1901. Artists like Picasso, Pollock, Hockney, and Hirst have premiered their work here. She looked around herself at the new Zade exhibition. I don’t know what it’s about. I’m no painter, she thought to herself, but this is a load of mess of colour. What do people see in this graffiti? I could paint better myself. What rich person with impaired vision would buy stuff like this?

Eva! Good to see you. Eva’s train of thought was suddenly interrupted. We have several major aid agencies that want to talk to you, so please don’t be too controversial for a little while! said Max.

Max, thanks for everything. I’ll be on my best behaviour today, just for you, Eva said with a small, disgruntled growl.

Eva, it’s a great film, and you played a blooming blinder; all I did was to get you in front of the director, soothed Max, smiling. Listen, I know you said you wanted to use this opportunity to get a few things off your chest . . .

It’s not just getting a few things off my chest. There are important world issues that need to be discussed, and now I’ve got the perfect platform to do it, Eva replied, slightly marked.

Look, Eva, I appreciate that, I do, Max said, putting a hand on her arm. I want you to be able to enjoy this moment too. Don’t make it all about the politics; this is about celebrating your success, your talent. . . . You’ve come a long way, Eva. Eva knew Max was speaking the truth.

There are a lot of influential people here, people who could potentially keep you on the big screen for the rest of your days. You need to capitalise on that! Max finished with a knowing look. Now, let me get you seated. Max was Eva’s agent. His full name was Sir Max Clifton-Taylor. Max was one of the best. He was always immaculately dressed, well-spoken, and had the charm of an A-grade, hereditary peer. Light shone off his bald head like a lighthouse on a moonless night. He stood out in his field as someone who helped relative nobodies make their mark in the world of TV, film, and stage, guiding them to their ports, hopefully loaded with the treasures of success, from which he would take his juicy twenty percent cut.

Eva had to learn a lot by herself during her life, but she was genuinely grateful for Max’s support in this latest venture. Thoughtfully, she turned to Max. If you want success, Max, you know what they say? ‘Work with the best and stand on the shoulders of giants.’ Max took this compliment with a generous pinch of good grace, which Max had in bucketloads.

The room that Eva was ushered into next was a banquet for the eyes. It was packed wall to wall with the great and the good, from the papers to TV and film executives and stars. Architecturally, it was Eva’s type of place, mixing old stone and brick with modern steel and plaster, bringing the past, present, and future together in one style. Well, she thought, at least the walls of this place are worth looking at, ’cos the art is crap. Tall uplighters on the floor were casting giant pink and blue shadows onto the high walls, as though they were kissing the ceiling. The room looked more like a flower shop due to the exotic, colourful, and large, oddly shaped flowers. It was an impressive display. They’d even added fake scents to give the feeling of being in some sort of Alice in Wonderland–esque surreal garden. The natural, strong perfume in the room was from giant pink lilies. Eva wondered about the poor people who had been forced to pick them for hours at a time in some far-flung land, for peanuts. Then her stomach turned as she considered what it probably cost to have a room this size pumped full of perfume and decorated with such a vast festival of flowers. Shaking her head, she nimbly played with the pollen-stuffed anthers of a lily she had been admiring seconds beforehand. She sent showers of vibrant orange all over the flower and table. Like a child, she pulled her hand away quickly when she realised that a waiter had spotted her and was working his way towards her through the crowd, champagne-glass-laden tray balanced precariously on one hand and all. Whoever picked them was probably seriously underpaid. And to add insult to injury, their efforts would no doubt be put straight into the bin after the event. A prime example of the throwaway world we live in, she tutted to herself grumpily.

Eva had seen first-hand the journey that things like these lilies made before they reached the shop shelves in the UK to satisfy an expensive lifestyle. As she remembered her last trip, her hard face softened, people walking for miles, clutching the flowers in their arms. You know what, getting these flowers here has meant that some poor person was fed, so maybe it’s not all bad after all? Eva questioned herself.

Eva was starting to feel a tad nervous. She didn’t know why. She had done so much stuff like this before. She’d never had butterflies from the idea of receiving an award, though. The last time she felt like this was when she fell in love ten years ago. He was married to someone else now, but she chose not to remember that part. She liked to bury that fact deep, deep down and pretend it was not true and that he still loved her. She was nervous that he might be there, and she wondered how it would be to see him again. Her heart was racing, thumping along like the Flying Scotsman. People had told her to move on, but she knew better than anyone that that was easier said than done. People also told her that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Bollocks. It’s better to have never bloody met him.

Ladies and gentlemen, can I now ask our representative, Yuri Nabakov, to present this special recognition award to the great Eva Barr! the Master of Ceremonies boomed. Yuri was a tall, wavy-haired man of about forty, effortlessly elegant and undeniably intelligent. Eva was excited to hear that her great friend Yuri was to be presenting the award; she’d half expected some older man in a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers to be doing the honours instead. So it was an absolute delight when she saw Yuri being called up onto the stage. She nervously anticipated the obligatory gentle kiss on the cheek, knowing that the musky scent of his distinctive perfume would inevitably take her back to a time when there could have been something more between them, a time when circumstances just got in the way, thankfully.

Yuri started to talk, but Eva was somewhere else entirely, altogether entranced. The whole room was awash with faces of different colours, shapes, expressions, and feelings. Eva wished she could read their minds and decipher their thoughts. Would it not be amazing if you could see what those eyes have seen and hear what those ears have heard? she whispered to Max, who looked at her, baffled. She pondered all of the different thoughts that the people in that room with her had had throughout their lives.

People are amazing, she thought. You will never actually know a person, even those closest to you. Maybe that’s what makes us human, those unique inner thoughts that can never be shared and have to stay sealed up in the locked safes of people’s minds; scary and fascinating at the same time. Perhaps that’s what I love about acting and why I’m so good at it. I mean, I can know a character in their full glory, really know them. This means I can create their inner thoughts and mould them around the person I want them to be. Actors, writers, and life’s geniuses are the only people who can afford that valuable insight.

Eva nodded to herself and mused over how much fun it was to make her characters do what she wanted, to make them move, think, and feel how she wanted and when she wanted. Now that’s real power, well, OK, in a make-believe world, but power all the same, she thought. Eva would often notice people, particularly when travelling, whether on a bus, train, tram, or aeroplane. She would often look at people and make up stories about their lives, reflecting in the sharp mirror of her mind the way they looked, dressed, and even the station they got on from. God, it was bizarre and surreal at times; her mind could go from a relatively mundane backstory to wild, fantastical stories about these strangers’ lives, with many of her creations inspiring some of the roles she had played over the years. She would control these people’s lives without them even knowing, by putting them into different situations. There was one young man in his thirties whom she’d got to know on his regular commute; his name was Martyn, and he was the spitting image of the Hollywood actor Burt Reynolds. Eva’s imagination put Martyn in all manner of situations, from the surreal to the naughty sexual fantasies, crazy and dangerous, all just so she could end the boredom of her journey and put a smile on her face during the long odysseys of her endless bloody commutes.

Suddenly, Eva was startled. God, what did he say? she murmured. It was as if the whole room had suddenly filled with the noise of a tropical rainstorm from all of the wildly clapping hands. Everyone was peering at her. She hoped that people would take the look on her face for a look of humble shock and surprise. She stood up and started walking, hoping that she was doing the right thing and was not going to find out that she had got up on the stage for the wrong award. Eva could see some people standing up. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she tried to spot those who had inspired her to be here, hoping they would give her a comforting glance. No one was madly gesturing for her to sit back down, so she pressed on. She walked up the steps to the stage and stood next to Yuri, who pressed a blue glass trophy into her warm hands. It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be. Then she felt the cheque pressed into her hand. The crowd was still clapping noisily. She looked down at it. £50,000! A prize much bigger than she’d ever imagined. This would be very useful for what I have planned in the coming weeks and months for the global campaign.

That reminded her: she needed to call William in the States to arrange the meeting in Langley, Virginia, for the following week. That made her go red. This was not something that people usually associated with the actress Eva Barr. She knew that she needed to press on with her agenda, which scared her a little. After this, everything will be different. There won’t be any going back. Yuri waved her over to the lectern, pointing to the mic, clearly indicating that now was her moment to give a speech. A nervous wave of panic made her temporarily incapable of knowing where to place her hands. For a fleeting second, she seemed to have too many of them. She reached into her