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The Satnav of Doom

by on May 28, 2014


The SatNav of Doom

The quintessential London Black Cab taxi drew to a halt beside the heavy iron gates that protected Downing Street from the justifiable derision of the general populace. Having seen the registration number of the Black Cab, the armed police guards assumed the carefully blank expression of those who don’t want to have seen anything sensitive while on duty.

The taxi driver turned to his passengers, “Can I have me fare, Gov?”

One portly, well-dressed passenger pulled a chequebook from his pocket.

“I’d prefer the usual payment, please,” said the taxi driver sternly, “don’t trust your cheques.”

The second passenger, who was looking grim and worried by turns, opened his battered red briefcase, embossed with a gold crown, and took out a small cardboard box. Then he started shoving his handwritten notes into the briefcase. The taxi driver opened the box, and smiled at the bar of gold inside.

“Have you…

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