Chapter Twenty-Four

Assange was awakened by a loud banging on the Embassy door. It was four in the morning. A bit unnerved, Assange crept to the entrance cautiously. He looked for a weapon…papers, old laptops, a chair. He chuckled at himself and sighed. “Whatever.” He opened the door a smidgeon. “Yes?”

“Greetings and salutations brother!” said Anon #1. He bowed, revealing a blonde wig behind his Guy Fawkes mask. “We’re here to rescue you in the name of the People, right under the nose of fascism.”

Assange smiled, “you and what army?”

Anon #2 threw open the door. “This one sir!” Assange peered outside. Hundreds of people in masks and blonde wigs filled the streets in front of the embassy.

“You guys are…” Assange’s voice hitched, “awesome. But I can’t go.”

“What do mean?!?” cried Anon #4. “The time is ripe, and the night coppers are preoccupied by a sighting of you near Crystal Palace on the other side of the river. You’ve got an army of volunteers here at your beck and call, AND we’ve got safe houses all over the country.”

“It’ll be life imitating art imitating life,” said Anon #5, glasses clearly visible behind his mask. “Just like ‘V for Vendetta’!”

“Hold on,” said Anon #6, who chose a dyed blonde crew cut (JA hair-do ver. 3.0). “Guy Fawkes never wore a bloody mask. He was no pussy.”

“You’re biased,” replied Anon #5. “You’ve got tart on the brain.”

“She never could separate business from leisure,” chimed Anon #3.

#5 rolled his eyes, “That’s pleasure.”

“Chaps, stick to the subject.” Assange continued, “I can’t go with you. The police will be back any moment, and regardless, this place is wired for sound and there are cameras on every block.”

“We got laser pointers on all of ‘em!” whined Anon #2. “Please Sir Julian…”

“Don’t call me Sir Julian.”

“But,” pleaded #2, eyes watering, “we’ve had so little time with you. ‘Please sir, I want some more’.”

“That’s very cute Oliver, but before you begin singing ‘Where is Love?’ I suggest you pack up the entourage and scatter before a S.W.A.T. team gets here.”

“But the laser pointers…”

“Won’t show them shite, but will alert them that we are here,” concluded Anon #1. “Sorry Jules, we thought this was the right thing to do, but if you think it’s too impulsive, we will wait for a better opportunity.”

“You chaps are ‘A’ grade material, and I appreciate the help, but I’ll need more time before we pull a stunt like this. I’ve got some business with Ecuador to handle before I make any moves out of here.” Police sirens began wailing in the distance. “Come on lads, you don’t have much time.”

“All right you miscreants!” yelled Anon #1. “We’re pissing off, but let’s leave ‘em with a song!”

The crowd about-faced and began marching. “When you walk through a storm hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of a storm is a golden sky, and the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone, you’ll never, ever walk alone.”

The S.W.A.T. team barreled right into the heart of the mob, yanking masks left and right. Julian watched from the door and fought back tears.

“Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone, you’ll never, ever walk alone!”