I think I owe it to my readers to be upfront about my political affiliations.
That’s why I have decided to come clean about my involvement with Kim Dotcom.
We’ve been hearing a lot in recent days about Dotcom’s meetings with various politicians. It seems that just about every political party leader, except John Key, has sought an audience with the big man. We don’t know exactly what has been said in the halls of that vast Coatesville mansion, or whether vows of fidelity and loyalty have been offered at the poolside by Dotcom’s suitors. We do know that Kim Dotcom will do just about anything to bring John Key’s government down. What I didn’t know until my own meeting with Dotcom was how just far the man was prepared to go.
I received a call on my cellphone late one night a week or two ago, from a number I didn’t recognise. The voice seemed strangely familiar, but it took me a few moments to realise that I was talking to the most dangerous man in all of Christendom.
“I am sending a chopper to you now,” he told me. “Don’t tell anyone where you are going. Not even your wife.” Even as he spoke I could hear the thud-thud-thud of an approaching helicopter. I barely had time to put a pair of shoes on before they were knocking on my door, and two gentlemen in black were hauling me towards the chopper. I was blindfolded and gagged and tied with ropes, and told to sit still and say nothing.
I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember is a sharp light shining into my eyes. I was seated, though mercifully they had untied me. It took me a moment to get my bearings, because everything had happened much too quickly. It seemed like only moments earlier I had been sitting at home reading Ian Wishart’s book Totalitaria (a great read, by the way). And yet the large clock on the wall to my right told me two hours had passed since my abduction.
“I must say I am very disappointed in you.” It was Kim. I knew the voice. My eyes gradually adjusted to the harsh light, and I saw I was in a small room, almost empty except for me, the chair I sat on, and a large German man. “Very disappointed. I thought you could be relied upon, but now I’m not so sure. Whose side are you really on?”
“Damn you, Kim!” I spat back. “Goddamn you to hell!” I realised with some dismay that I was talking like an actor in some terrible American action TV show.
It must have been the drug talking, because that voice didn’t sound anything like me. Had there been something on the gag they’d put over my mouth? It would explain how I couldn’t remember a single thing about my helicopter ride to this place. I suddenly felt an outpouring of sympathy for John Banks; but that was probably another side effect of the drug they had given me.
“You’ll never get me to talk, you German bastard!” I found myself saying.
“Come now, come now,” purred Dotcom. “I have a great deal of respect for you Americans. Let us not shout at each other like this. Our governments may have decided to go to war against each other, but I have always admired the can-do spirit and attitude of your nation, much like our own. You and I are not so different, perhaps.”
“Don’t insult me,” I replied. What was wrong with me? Who was this talking through my mouth? It certainly wasn’t me. “Your regime wants to enslave the entire world, and kill everyone who tries to fight back. You and I couldn’t be any more different. You make me sick!”
He began to stride up and down the small harshly lit room, his hands behind his back. “It pains me to hear you speak this way. Together our two countries could have been great. We could have divided up the world between us. But instead, the Americans continue to defy us. How unfortunate for you, because you will never leave this room. For you, the war is over.”
“Just tell me what you want, and let’s get this over with!” I spat back.
“You know what I want. I want information.”
“Go to hell! I’ll never talk!”
He giggled. “Oh yes, I think you will. You will tell me everything. I have destroyed greater men than you, so please don’t fool yourself into thinking your training against interrogation techniques will do a bit of good.”
Kim Dotcom strode purposefully down the room, then spun back on his heels. I saw he was wearing polished black boots that went almost up to his knees. They went with his uniform, which was black and crisply ironed. He wore a red band on his left arm, and on it was a swastika.
This is ridiculous, I thought to myself. World War Two finished seventy-odd years ago. There are no real Nazis any more, the Germans are mostly a peaceful people, and Germany has turned its back forever on the horrors of Nazism. Why would Kim Dotcom be dressing like a Gestapo officer?
“So tell me please, and do not lie, because I will know if you are lying.” He drew closer and closer to me, until his chins were almost in my face and I could smell his stale breath. “Why have you not bought my new album?”
And then the spell was broken. No longer was I in a chair in a small harshly lit room, enduring a Gestapo officer’s interrogation. I felt as if I was floating. I was! I was in a huge swimming pool, paddling about while nearby a huge man sat by the pool sipping a cocktail. He looked more like the Kim I had seen so often in pictures.
Even my voice now sounded normal. “Your album? Why would I buy your album? I don’t even like dance music. You flew me all the way here to ask me that? Why didn’t you just ask me over the phone?”
He chuckled. “Don’t you know? The phones are bugged. I don’t talk to anyone on the phone unless I absolutely have to.”
“But why is it so important that I buy your album?” I paddled to the poolside next to Kim, where I had also apparently left a cocktail. “You have thousands of fans, people who adore you and admire your stand against the US government. You have politicians lining up to talk to you, and you’re in just about every newspaper and on every TV channel. So why does it matter what I think about your music?”
“You can tell a lot about a man from the music he likes,” said Kim.
“Bullshit. I have hideous musical tastes, including a disgracefully large number of 1970s prog rock albums. These include bands such as Genesis and King Crimson, and even Emerson, Lake and Palmer. That sort of musical collection should mark me as some sort of monster or sexual deviant, and yet I assure you that I’m nothing of the sort.” I was no longer in the mood to swim. I got out of the pool, only to find that my swimming togs were gone. Or perhaps they had never been there. I was stark naked, and a number of Kim’s people were looking at me with mild bemusement.
“You have no clothes on,” observed Kim. “What was that you were saying about sexual deviancy?” The he began to laugh, a deep throaty laugh that echoed all around us. I stood there, naked, cold, and dripping wet, and feeling wretchedly humiliated. “Ah, this is fun, isn’t it? And now we have pictures of you. It would be most unfortunate if these pictures were to find their way into the media.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I cried in dismay.
“I would dare. I have taken on the US government, and I’m being targeted by the New Zealand police and intelligence services, so you don’t really scare me.”
“Fine, tell me what you want.”
He smiled a victor’s smile. “It starts with your blogging. You now work for me. You will post what I tell you to post. If you decide to post anything I don’t give you, you will run it past my people first. Everything you write must be directed towards the goal of destroying John Key and the National Party.”
“You will also become a champion of the Internet Party and of my cause. You will use your legal skills to join my defence team, but you will provide your services pro bono.”
My head sank. “Okay. I’ll do it. Is that all?”
“There’s more. You will go to JB Hi Fi tomorrow morning and buy ten copies of my album. Then you will go home and listen to my album again and again, until every single track is bouncing around in your head like a demented kangaroo.”
“How can you be so cruel?” I asked him. “It’s more than any man can take!”
“And lastly you will burn all of your Genesis albums. It’s for your own good, as well as mine. The fact that one of my supporters owns a copy of Invisible Touch could prejudice my case before the courts, should it ever become public knowledge.”
That’s when I screamed. I screamed and screamed until I awoke from my dream, drenched in sweat but very much in my own bed.
So that’s my story. I met Kim Dotcom in a dream, and I thought you ought to know.
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