On the 24th October 2013 I decided that first thing every morning I would write five a minute section of a twenty three hour day. The idea was to just write a short piece without any plan of where each five minute moment might lead to eventually. In some ways I think it was a way of coping with my ‘mood swings’ by forcing me to get into the day
Sometimes I had to write a few ‘5 minute’ sections in one go because of being away or wanting a lie in at a weekend. However they read, what errors, spelling, grammar and punctuation exist this is how they appeared each morning and here they all are as ‘23 hours’.
00:00 The Beginning
00.00. The alarm goes off and drills into my sleep 'fracking' the depths of my mind and bringing muddled thoughts to the surface. I am awake, but it takes a few moments before I can remember why I set the alarm. I consider hitting the 'doze' button but I know I have left the minimum amount of time to get ready. Pushing back the duvet with an arm which is both leaden and fizzing with the shock of the rude awakening I swing my legs over the side of the mattress.
00.05. I have silenced the chirruping fool that sought to disturb my rest and stare at the time on the alarm clock. The vibrant red angular numbers are shapes from a distant past. They come from the time when watches and calculators were first introduced. The new digital font was a source of much amusement to young boys at school back then. How much joy was produced by turning the display upside down to reveal ‘B00BS’?
00.10. The shuffled walk across to the bathroom. At this point of awakeness the effort of my lifting feet higher than the top of the pile of the carpet seems unimaginable. As a result I am accompanied by a sound similar to corduroy chaffing. Hips and legs have not received the requisite amount of blood to tackle such a high-energy workout. The light in the bathroom is sharp and cutting in its criticism of my sagging physique.
00.15. I will attempt my ablutions. A lovely word that holds my attention and allows my mind to imagine the contorted shapes my mouth could make uttering the sound- aaaabbbbloooooooshunssss. It is too early to attempt real speech. I know it need a mug of tea to clear the gravel from the path of my throat and allow the words out smoothly. This will be a long day so I will change the blade in my razor to ensure the closest of shaves.
00.20. A nagging voice in my head was reminding me about something that happens with new razor blades and me. The drips of blood in the sink and the confetti like toilet paper around my chin provide a visible reference for future memory loss. I stare at my face and remember looking up at my father in similar situations. How brave he seemed to a young child carrying such pain and loss of blood without complaint.
00.25. The one element of the morning I cannot accurately calculate, how quickly will my bowels listen to the messages from my head? This is not a time they are normally awake and they seem confused at the request to evacuate. I fear they believe that it is a dream state trick and that to obey could result in a lot of sheet washing and blame. Still, the strain appears to have coagulated the blood on my face and I now have small white flowers with single red dotted stamen over my chin.
00.30. I shower quickly trying to win back lost moments. How could I have believed when I set the alarm that I could be ready to leave the house with such a short preparatory time? In attempting to move quickly I am more violent in my washing. What good the toilet paper has done to my bleeding face is reversed by my hands. A light blood coloured water now runs towards the plug. What time I have gained will be lost in re-patching my cuts
00.35. I brush my teeth and dry with a towel still damp from the previous night and then struggle to pull socks over slightly damp feet. Having repapered my face I risk putting on a white shirt and finally finish with trousers. I glance at the alarm. It’s going to be tight but I can still make it. Well, I have to make it. I dash downstairs and realise that I have no time for tea so drink a glass of orange juice which performs a chemical reaction with the remnants of toothpaste.
00.40 For God’s sake what is it with laces when you are in a hurry. Like Medusa’s hair they fight with my hands as snakes. I hear myself shouting at them “I’m going to strangle you if you don’t help me.” What sort of a threat is that to shoelaces? Finally, by breathing deeply and moving slightly more slowly I am able to secure the footware. “Less speed, more haste,” I mutter as I make my way to the hallway and glance in the mirror.
00.45 One look and I realise that my blood stopping skills are not at the paramedic level and my collar looks like the inside of a dentist’s spittoon. It is too late to change and I realise I am going to be conscious of my Sweeny Todd neck for the rest of the day. Whilst coming to terms with this I find myself thinking that the expression is “More speed, less haste.” The alarm on my phone goes off. Five minutes left.
00.50. In switching off the phone alarm I realise I have forgotten or failed to charge it. The battery is at 27%. Probably not enough to even get through to lunchtime. I plug in the lead for a five minute burst and make my way to cupboard under the stairs. Opening the door the light from the hall falls on the package. Wrapped in anonymous brown paper it looks as innocent as an angel. I pick it up nervously and place it inside my briefcase.
00.55. The doorbell rings as I am slipping on my coat. I unbolt the door and open it a fraction. “Taxi,” says a jaded looking man with yellow skin. “One minute,” I reply pushing the door to and checking my face and clothes again. I pick up my case and am about to leave when I remember my phone. I pull it from the lead and notice the switch at the wall is off. Brilliant. Down to 26%. This is not what I need today of all days.
01.00. The cab moves away from the kerb and I check my phone for the time. I should just about be ok for the station. I realise the phone is my only way of knowing the time. I should have brought the charger. “More speed, less haste,” I say out loud which earns a response from the driver that he is doing his best. I’m about to explain when he puts the radio on. I had forgotten how rubbish early morning radio is. It is a punishment for those who cannot sleep.
01.05. Which part of God’s great plan means every light will be red when there is no other traffic on the road. I have the only cab driver in the world who honours the highway code to the letter. As the lights turn amber we do not move. It’s only on green that we creep forward. I have a sudden panic and open the briefcase. My pumping hearts believes I have left it home, my head knows it is in there but only sight will confirm.
01.10. I sit back and relax. The package is safe in the case and we are beginning to make good speed as we hit the motorway. I now believe that I will be there on time. I close my eyes and let the world become just noise. Sound of car, DJ and my breathing. I open one eye and see the driver staring at me in the rear view mirror. He seems to be looking at my neck. Oh God, it’s the blood stains. How am I going to be invisible today? I will have to buy a new shirt if I get time.
01.15. The rain is beginning to fall heavily and as a result the effectiveness of the wiper blades has been revealed. The visibility through the windscreen is extremely poor and the lights bouncing off the road and raindrops makes this journey suddenly dangerous. The driver has now decided to go at the speed I had hoped for earlier. I wonder whether he has a death wish but at least he has stopped looking in the rear view mirror. His attention is focused on the road ahead.
01.20. I waste a little of the battery charge on the phone to check the time. I am beginning to feel that my fears on getting to the station on time will be unfounded. The stupid part of me now thinks I could have pressed doze or at least showered at a pace that wouldn’t have torn the fresh scabs from their sores. The packet in my case weighs heavy on my mind
01.25. The cab takes the final roundfbout and the glowing neon sign of the station looms into view behind the spray. It is clear that the driver has not been here before as finding the drop off point reduces our speed to a crawl. I attempt to give him instructions but the radio’s constant drone mitigates my efforts. Finally he sees the space and pulls in. In one movement the radio is off and a request for money is barked through to the back seat.
01.30. Having paid the bill I got out clutching the bag in my hand with so much pressure my knuckles went white. Another fear defeated, another nightmare punctured. The bag is not being driven off on the back seat of a taxi and the driver was not sent to intercept me. I take a long deep breath and watch the lights of the cab turn the corner. Just me again.
01.35. I have purchased my ticket using notes withdrawn from a cash point that have only touched my gloves. I also purchased a newspaper, water and some chewing gum making sure to mask my face from the CCTV cameras. I have found a dark part of the station to sit and wait. I flick at the newspaper but I am so apprehensive about the day that it is impossible to concentrate.
01.40. My eyes are constantly flicking up to the departures board. As yet there is no movement but my stomach will not let me rest and relax. I know that the train will not just flash up and then leave at the same moment. Or at least my rational mind knows that. My fears however keep telling me it will be there and gone. After all the hurry and anxiety time is now hanging heavy.
01.45. The train has appeared on the departure board. A handful of people are making their way to the platform. I shall leave it until one minute, no two minutes before it is due to leave. I am keeping a watchful eye on the other passengers but as yet there is no one I recognise and no one who causes me any worry. I gather my paper, water and finally the case and slowly stand.
01.50. I have found a seat facing forward with my back to the end of a carriage. From this position I can have a view of the whole space which is currently empty except for myself. There can be fewer than ten of us aboard and the majority have walked toward the far end of the train. The psychology of being nearer the front so you get to your destination quicker. With a sharp whistle the train moves off.
01.55. Once again I find my body begin to relax. Another part of this journey can be ticked off. I stare at my reflection in the window. Beads of rain run down my hair and cheek but fortunately on the other side of the glass. I cannot believe how tired and old I look. I just want this day to be over with. I open the paper and find I can read.
02.00. Although I can just about follow the articles in the newspaper my eyes are constantly flicking towards the briefcase. Finally I give up and put the paper to one side and lift the case onto my knees. I click open the fastening and try to look casually inside but anxiety means I cannot help but stare at the package. It is still there as indeed I knew it would be. Even as I close the lid again I want to open it to check again. I must relax or I will give something away
02.05. I have locked the briefcase and placed it on the shelf above the seat opposite me. This way I can just lift my eyes from the paper and see it to reassure myself. I have decided to try the Sudoku. Unfortunately it is a hard one and I can feel my mind wandering onto the challenge of the day ahead. The rhythmical sound of the train on the track is soporific.
02.10. I cannot afford to fall asleep so I sit upright and widen my eyes in an attempt to fight the risk of them closing. I could do with a drink, a tea, so I begin to consider if the train will have a buffet car. Although I doubt it very much given the time of this service, the numbers aboard and the general quality of service I decide to take a walk through the carriages to see.
02.15. I lift down the briefcase and begin to navigate my way through the carriage. It takes a certain amount of shifting my weight from leg to leg to develop the walk that avoids bouncing my hips against the sides of the seats as the train moves. As I walk through the carriages I am able to check out the other passengers. All men apart from a woman with her head buried in a book. Apart from a couple glancing up briefly as I go by them they seem to be paying no attention to me.
02.20. The buffet car is shut as I really knew it would be but had desperately hoped wouldn’t be the case. The result is I now want a drink more than ever. The fact I can’t get one makes it even more desperate. I turn to walk back to my seat only to be immediately halted by finding myself staring face to face at the woman from the next carriage. She has the greenest and most beautiful feline eyes I have ever seen and my already dry mouth turns arid.
02.25. “It’s not open then,’ she purrs staring past me at the shuttered bar. “No, no, it’s shut” the words stumble from my mouth and I feel like an awkward schoolboy. “Ah well,” she says and turns to go back. I let her leave the carriage before I give myself a shake and take a deep breath. I must focus on what I have to do.
02.30. I squeeze the handle of the case tightly until my hand begins to throb and the pain begins to block out all other thoughts. OK, I shall walk calmly through the train and back to my seat and reflect on how the day should play out. I take out my phone to check the time and see the battery life has dropped to 19%. How can that be, it’s just been in my pocket.
02.35. I hold the phone and, as I walk through the carriages, open the settings and turn off as many apps that could be draining the battery. By the time I get back to my seat it is now functioning like the first mobiles, as a phone. I check the time, 02.39 and slump down into my seat.
02.40. “Hello again.” The woman from the buffet car is sitting opposite me. “I hope you don’t mind but one of the other passengers was bothering me. Don’t worry I just want to read my book.” With that she looks down into the pages and I am left staring at her and wondering how she knew I was sitting in this carriage. I put the case on the seat next to me and let my hand rest on it.
02.45. Why does silence seem so artificial when you are sitting with someone? The desire to converse becomes overwhelming but I know I can’t engage with anyone today. I need to remain anonymous, a cipher in the day. The fact that this spectacular woman has spoken to me is potentially very dangerous. I take out my phone check the internet and distract myself to remember I have turned 3G off. 17% on the phone battery.
02.50. She glances up at me and smiles. My mouth is even drier. I turn my head towards the window in the hope that she will go back to reading. The train is beginning to slow as we approach the first station. One hour of the journey gone. If I had the time I would get off and catch the next train so that I would fade from the memory of the woman opposite.
02.55. As we pull to a halt I see a drinks dispenser on the platform. I leap from my seat and press the button jumping through the doors as they slide open to save moments. My hand dives for change in my pocket and I purchase two bottles of water. I hear the guard’s whistle and wave frantically to make sure she knows that I am getting back on. I am through the train doors just as it begins to move again.
03.00. I am about to offer the woman one of the bottles of water when I notice she is not in the seat anymore. My heart suddenly races and deafens me but the sight of the case still resting on the seat next to me brings it rapidly back to a regular beat. I drop myself down and flip the lid off one of the bottles and gulp down some of the water. The first drops seem to create a glue in mouth but by the time it is half empty I am beginning to feel more normal.
03.05. I let me head fall back against the headrest and yawn. I take a more leisurely drink from the bottle and feel my body begin to relax. I have been awake for just over three hours but it feels like thirty. This is going to be the longest and hardest days of my life. Once I have delivered the package I will disappear and swear to myself that I will never get caught up in this sort of thing again.
03.10. I begin to wonder where the woman has gone to? What happened to make her move? I was only off the train for a matter of moments but now there is no evidence that she was ever here. I stare at where she sat. There is evidence, a slight dip in the seat and a slip of paper. I lean forward and pick it up. It is receipt for a rather expensive scarf from a London shop I have never heard of.
03.15. As I look at the receipt something makes me feel uncomfortable. I tuck it into my jacket pocket and pick up the case. I go to the locks but they are already open. I am almost sure I would not have left them like that. I lift
the lid and feel physically sick as I stare at empty interior I jump up and shake the case to check it’s empty. It is clearly not there but I cannot help myself. I feel desperate and my stomach is cramping. I look under the seats and up on the shelf, standing on the seat to make sure that I can see right to the back. I want to scream.
03.20. I quickly run through my day so far and it is clear that only time the package could have gone was when I was briefly off the train buying the water. Logic tells me that the woman must have taken it and that would explain her absence. I know I have to get it back so I throw the now empty case onto the overhead shelf and start to walk through the train.
03.25. The same men stare up at me as I go past plus a couple more lift their gaze, their frowns signalling the fact that I have disturbed their precious concentration. One man is occupied collecting his belongings in preparation for the approaching stop. There are fourteen on the train including the guard. I know that as I counted before. I get to the carriage where the woman had been sitting but it is empty. I carry on through to the buffet car and finally to the door of the driver’s cabin. She is nowhere to be seen.
03.30. I feel light headed and semi feint, propping myself up against the drivers’ door. This cannot be happening. Perhaps I will wake up soon and this is just an anxiety dream about the day ahead. In my heart and head I know that this is not true but I want to believe I am asleep. Where the hell has she gone? I will walk through the train slowly to find her. She cannot have left the train at the last stop where I bought the water as I could see the platform and no one got off.
03.35. I go back through the carriages again checking and rechecking. When I get to the carriage next to mine I notice that the toilet door is locked. That’s it. She is hiding in there. I knock heavily on the door and just get a muffled sound back. Suddenly there is banging on the door from the inside. I put my weight against the handle and force open the door. She is lying on the floor with gaffa tape across her mouth, her legs are bound with a cable tie. Her eyes are full of fear. I lean forward and lift her up. Her arms are tied behind her back with another plastic tie.
03.40. I take the gaffa from her mouth and she coughs uncontrollably. I take the small penknife that is on my key ring and cut through the cable tie around her ankles. It is incredibly hard. She turns slightly to let me get to the one on her wrists. As soon as she is free I push her shoulders back against the wall. “Where is it?” I say with a voice mixed with fury and fear.
03.45. “I have no idea, She says immediately, “I was watching you get water when a hand grabbed me and pulled something over my eyes. Next thing I know is you open that door.” I go back into the toilet and look around. Nothing. She could have left it anywhere on the train. I go back to her, “Where is it, I’m serious, I have to get it back.” She doesn’t say ‘what?’ so she knows what I’m talking about
03.50. “I know.” she says. “What do you mean, ‘you know’?’ I stammer. She looks at me with those remarkable eyes, “Did you really think they would send one person with such an important package.” Her words echo round my head. Does this mean she works for them too. The rain is slowing to a stop as are my thoughts. “Come on,” she says, “We have to find it. I stand upright and, as I do, a picture comes into my head.
03.55. “What is it? she says grabbing my arm. I have to focus, what is it in the picture in my head that is disturbing me. The man gathering his bags, plastic bags and a rather trendy paper carrier with a logo that said …… Oh my god. I fumble with my pockets and pull out the receipt. “What is it? she says again. The name on the receipt is the same as on his bag. I turn and run to the next carriage with her following behind. “I know who has it,” I say over my shoulder.
04.00. The train is pulling away from the station as we get to his carriage. The seat is empty, the carriage is empty. I let out an expletive and the guard who has just stepped back into the carriage asks rather politely if something is wrong. I turn to her and stop myself from shouting. “Where is he?” I gasp, “Where is the man who was sitting here?” She is surprised by our reaction when she tells us he has just got off at that stop we have pulled away from..
04.05. “Why?” the guard asks. Before I can answer the woman with me speaks, “We think he has taken one of our bags," and, after a pause “Accidentally.” The guard seems happy with this answer. “Is there anything we can do?” I ask, “Is there someone at that station we can talk to?” The guard shakes her head, “Not at this time in the morning, it’s unstaffed until 6.” She sees me glance at the emergency stop sign. “And I wouldn’t try that for a lost bag Sir,” she says. “The next stop is in 5 minutes and you should be able to get a cab from there.”
04.10. The woman with me takes out her phone. “What is the name of the next station?” she says in a calm, firm and controlled voice. As the guard says it the woman repeats it over he phone as she requests a cab to pick us up in 5 minutes. The voice at the other end speaks and she says, “£50 extra if you are there as they train pulls in.” The guard stares at me. “Thank you,” she says and hangs up. She then turns and tells me to get my belongings.
04.15. We walk in strained silence back to my seat and pick up what little things we have. I wonder whether it is worth taking the case but remember it is important to leave no trace behind. Perhaps it’s too late as so many of the passengers know we have been on this train. “Who was he?” she says. I’m not sure if it’s to me or just voicing her thoughts but I do respond. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “What did he look like?” she asks pointedly. I pause to try to get the picture back in my head.
04.20. As the picture forms again I realise how clever he had been. Every time I went past his seat his head was hidden from me. Either behind a paper or with his back to me gathering his bags and belongings. There must be something, there must be something I can remember. The train pulls into the station and once again I find myself jumping through sliding doors to save time. In the darkness there is a glowing yellow lamp. “There,” she says pointing, “that must be our cab.”
04.25. We are underway but the driver will not shut up. First about the £50 bonus and then by the fact we forgot to get off at the previous station, which seemed the simplest explanation. His constant drivel makes it hard to concentrate on the picture in my head. Finally I turn to the woman and as I do I realise I don’t even know her name. I lean towards her and quietly say “I’m Mike,” as the driver’s prattle carries on. “Faith,” she responds and then to the driver “How long?”
04.30. We should be at the station in five more minutes. The driver seems oblivious to our talking and is continuing his one-way conversation in the front. The absurdity of our situation is beginning to hit home. We are going to arrive at a station fifteen minutes after the man with our package got there. We have no clues as to where he is going and what transport he had arranged. Faith has taken out her phone. “I can’t get any 3G,” she says, “try yours.”I take mine out and have no internet signal either. “Nor me,” I say before remembering I have turned the Wifi off to save battery. 15%
04.35. We have got out of the taxi and asked him to stay. The station is empty and barely lit as we begin to look for any clues as to where the man has gone. The rain proves to be our friend as there are a single set of damp footprints coming from the wet platform and through the sheltered concourse to the footpath outside the station ticket office. That’s where they end so he either set off back onto the wet pavement or….
04.40. Faith has noticed the same wet footprints further up the pavement where it is sheltered by a bus top canopy. They stop there and she places her feet over the last two and sits down on the bench. That’s it. He waited for a bus or something here. As she gets up another car drives up and winds down its window. “Cab for Etlingham?” I walk up to the driver, “Pardon?” He repeats, “Cab for Etlingham?” “Who ordered you?” Faith asks. “Don’t know, just got a call about twenty minutes ago.” I turn and look at Faith and then turn back to the driver. “I’m afraid your fare has left already,” and before he can ask, “I point to the other taxi, “and that’s ours,” I say.
04.45. The angry cabbie pulls away cursing. As I watch him exit the car park I see Faith studying the bus timetables. “That’s it,” she says triumphantly, “He waited here for his cab but when it didn’t come quickly enough he caught the 4.30 bus. There’s a night bus every hour and it goes through Etlingham.” She runs back to the cab and I follow admiring her mental adroitness. We jump in as she says, “Get us to Etlingham as quickly as you can. The bus is due to stop there at ten past five,” she whispers to me. “Etlingham,” he says, “right away,” and so starts the next outpouring of unwanted conversation.
04.50. “He can’t have planned to take the package when he did. He must have just been waiting for an opportunity,” She says. “He didn’t know you would get off the train for water.” She pauses for a moment. “Why did you?’ she says turning towards me. “I was thirsty,” I say staring back at her, “And I knew you were too.” She let’s her eyes drift from me and quietly says, “It means he had no transport arranged here. He is having to do everything off the cuff. We might just have a chance.”
04.55. It is still dark but there is an increase in streetlamps as we move towards a town. I lean forward towards the driver. “Is this Etlingham?” I ask and the driver shakes his head. “Nope, this is Fenschem, then we’ve got Lower Etlingham, then Etlingham. Not long now.” I stare at Faith and was about to say at least there’s hope but realise she won’t appreciate the levity and I think she currently sees me as a bit of a fool. As we leave Fenschem we can see another vehicle in the distance.
05.00. As we move nearer it is clear that the vehicle lights we have seen ahead of us belong to the bus we have been chasing. We let the our driver overtake and move on toward Etlingham. The lights from his headlights catch the ‘Etlingham Village’ sign on the outskirts of the town or village or whatever it is. In addition to welcoming careful drivers it is twinned with Brancion in France. Now we are ahead of the bus we have a chance. We ask the driver to stop by what looks like a bus stop on the square, pay him off and watch one set of red lights leave the village as white headlights come towards us.
05.05. We wait in anticipation at the Bus Stop as the single decker bus pulls up, its racing green colour being revealed by the lighting from the pub signs. The door slides open and the driver looks at us wearily. Faith gets on and moves down the aisle signalling that I will buy the tickets but to where? I fumble with change to kill time but before I even have to speak she is back by my side. “He’s not on here,” she almost shouts in frustration.
05.10. We are off the bus. Faith’s urgency of questioning terrified the driver and revealed that a man with bags that had got on at the station had got off at the last stop. The bus driver tells us it will take between five to ten minutes to walk back there depending on how fast we walk. Why do people insist on stating the obvious, of course it will depend on how fast we walk. According to him there’s next to nothing near the last stop other than a couple of farms. We set off walking. I start to say something but Faith’s stare convinces me to keep silent.
05.15. It is almost pitch black with no street lights along the road. There is little sound other than an occasional car or lorry in the distance. Faith has put the torch on her phone to help us see. It makes me check mine and I see the battery has dropped to 8%. There is no phone signal and my 3g is switched off. I can’t believe I didn’t put the switch on at the socket.
05.20. In a home office on the outskirts of London a darkened room is lit by a feint blue flashing light from a computer screen. A half awake man walks back into the room carrying a freshly made cup of tea and sits at the computer. He takes a sip and looks up before splurting the hot remnants from his mouth over the display. “Oh Christ!” he exclaims and presses ‘dial 1’ on his phone.
05.25. The voice at the other end of the phone does not rise as the situation is explained but the tone changes and the young man begins to realise that he should have used the toilet before the call. It is a voice that can chill, a voice that’s very calmness threatens more than anyone shouting could ever do. “Why did it take you so long to notice?” it asks. “I just popped downstairs to make a cup of tea. It must have happened then. His eyes glance at the clock and he realises he must have fallen asleep. It was just gone 3 o’clock when he went downstairs. ‘Oh shit,’ he thinks now he’s really in trouble.
05.30. He enlarges the map on the screen to track the blue flashing light. As it gets larger the railway line soon drops off the screen as he knew it would but desperately didn’t want to happen. This is worse that he thought. The train would be getting to its destination about now but the location of the blue light can’t be much more than an hour into the journey. “Well?” the voice on the speaker phone asks “Where are they?” He tries to control his breathing as the screen enlarges again. "Nearest town is Etlingham,” he says clicking on the icon. “Etlingham?” says the voice. “Yes, twinned with Brancion in France,” he says totally unnecessarily.
05.35. “We will examine what went wrong later,” the voice says with a chill, “for now the priority is to get that package back. Do you understand. Get someone out there.” He pauses for a brief moment. “We already have someone else on the trip. I sent Agent Hope as a silent back up.” There is a longer pause and the man at the computer can’t work out whether the explosion he has feared all along is about to happen. Instead the voice is even quieter and more considered, “Two gone rogue? Two who didn’t know each other before today gone rogue? This doesn’t add up. Get support out there and quick.” The line goes dead.
05.40 Any residual tiredness has gone, driven away by the combination of adrenalin and fear pulsing through his body. He has made two calls with the briefest of instructions and already one car and one helicopter have been dispatched. Finally he makes the calls he has been putting off for fear of hearing the truth. There is no reply on either of their mobiles and both go straight to answerphone. In his mind’s eye he can see the phones lying in a ditch or rubbish bin somewhere. He presses speed dial 1 again.
05.45 They have been walking around for half an hour trying to find some trace of where the man has gone. He obviously did get off here as the bin by the bus stop is filled with his plastic bags and the paper carrier bag that is their only clue. That shop won’t be open so they can’t call about the receipt yet. Finally Faith speaks again “Still no signal on my phone.” “Or mine,” he says glancing down. 7%. Faith is looking at her phone again, “Looking at my map there is only one other way worth exploring. Can we use your 3g for a while, my battery has dropped to 50%."
05.50. This is the second time at least she has stared at me with eyes that say ‘how could they have chosen a muppet like you for such an important task. “It wasn’t switched on at the wall,” I hear myself explaining much as child to a parent. We walk on in silence until we get to an opening. There is some light from the moon. I glance up to the top of a hill and there, in silhouette, is a man lighting a cigarette. I grab Faith’s arm and place my finger across my lips before pointing up to the feint light. She smiles, the parent has forgiven the child.
05.55. He has hung up. The news about the phones has not gone down well. It would appear that they have gone rogue. Rogue with a package that cannot at any price fall into the wrong hands. He now knows what he has to do. It’s what he gets paid a lot for and not a lot of jobs could let him live the lifestyle he has and work from home. He enlarges the map and looks at the screen. The blue flashing light has not moved. One red light is still miles away but one is getting very close. He presses speed dial 2 and issues the instructions.
06.00. They crouch down behind a bush although the chance of being seen or heard in this light and wind is very slight. Faith has turned off her phone so we are giving off no light. We speak in muted voices. “How are we going to do this?’ she asks. “I can make my way around to the other side but he must be waiting here for a reason. Someone must be coming and we won’t know from what direction” We both stare at each other as we hear the sound of an engine approaching.
06.05. “Do it” line 1 says.
06.10. I am replaying the scene in my head. A small microlight helicopter lands and the man gets in. By the light of the cockpit we can see the two men hug each other. They are about to take off and we are shouting at each other over the engine noise when a second larger helicopter with a small red beam light appears in the sky. The light tracks onto the small microlight. There is a pause, a flash and then what appears like a bolt shoots down and the hill is bathed in an enormous fireball that blinds us. As our eyes adjust we can see the large helicopter disappearing into the distance lit by flames from the brow of the hill and the sun rising behind it.
06.15. “Target removed,” he says to line 1 as the blue light suddenly disappears from the screen. The red light has begun to move rapidly to the edge of view. The second red light is getting nearer to the scene. The voice on line 1 speaks, “This has not been a good morning. We shall speak on…” His voice is interrupted by the pilot on line 2. “Target gone, two fatalities and little will remain, Should look like a crash. “Two?” says the voice on line 1. “Yep, two.” By the computer screen the man feels a bead of sweat run down his temple.
06.20. The officer by the desk answers the nearest phone and then others start ringing. An urgent call is put out the nearest car who responds with the comment that ‘it’s near the end of their shift’ but the mention of a fireball switches on the blue flashing lights and they are suddenly accelerating along the road as the dawn breaks. “Be there in about five minutes.” The desk officer answers another phone and takes contact details, brief description of a ‘vision of hell’ and assures them a car is already on its way.
06.25. Faith and I have made our way back to the road and are marching toward Etlingham. “We have to get away from here,” she says. “The buses go on the half hour from 6.35, we have to be on that first one.” As we rush along we can hear the sound of a vehicle coming toward us. We both duck into the undergrowth and turn our faces away as a police car flashes by. We emerge as it goes over the brow of the road and walk even quicker. There is a trickle of blood on Faith’s head where a thorn has scratched her.
06.30. “You know what this means,” says the voice on line 1. “One of them is missing.” Of course he knew. He had already thought about that as soon as the pilot had reported back. “It’s possible,” he hesitated as he replied, “that they both didn’t go rogue, one might have killed the other.” There was a pause, and then the voice, “I don’t rule that out and it would be convenient. However we must work on a ‘worst case’ scenario. One is still alive and knows too much.
06.35. The bus is drawing up as we get to the stop. Slightly breathless we board and buy tickets to the terminal. At least we will be in a bigger town where there are chances of being able to blend in and the chance to plan is possible. As the bus sets off another police car and an ambulance shoot past with lights flaring. A lady in front of us turns and says, “Something must have happened.” She seems happy with her summary and turns back. I whisper to Faith, “I doubt they will need the ambulance.” I turn to look out of the window as we pass through an idyllic English village. What a strange juxtaposition with just a few minutes ago.
06.40. “God only knows Sarg,” the policewoman speaks over the radio. “It’s like a bomb has gone off here. I reckon we’ve got a helicopter crash from what we can see but there’s no way anyone survived this. You’d best get SOCO and accident investigators up here. We’ll tape off the area. We’ve got a few local ghouls already descending and it won’t be long before the reporters get here.” In the crowd one person’s eyes are more focussed than others. After a few moments he turns and moves away.
06.45. “If they got off at that station then they must have got a taxi. Get onto it and call me as soon as you know something.” Voice 1 goes dead. He checks the red dot on the screen. “Did you hear what he just said?” he asks. Once he hears their confirmation he just says, “then you know what to do, and be quick, this is beginning to unravel and we can’t let it come undone.” He sits back and looks at his cold cup of tea. Whatever happens next he knows his life is never going to be the same.
06.50. The call is patched through. The large wooden door to the office is opened and a head appears hesitantly around it. “Yes,” says the man without even troubling to look up from his desk. Years of being served, however begrudgingly and insincerely, have given such a sense of self importance that the niceties of decent behaviour have been subsumed by the expectation of forgiveness for social inadequacies. The man at the door speaks, “Minister, there is a call on the scrambled line.” Suddenly he feels the full weight of those eyes upon him. “Get out,” is barked.
06.55. He leans back from his desk and pounds a fist onto the green leather top. He curses himself briefly then quickly turns his anger to others. He has never been indecisive, he has never been without an answer. How the hell did he end up agreeing to this mission? He knew it was a mistake so why had he said yes? If this went wrong there was only one ‘head’ that would matter to the media. He shook himself and decided that the priority was no longer the mission but self-protection. It was this trait that had made him the consummate politician. “Get me the CRISIS committee he shouted at the closed door.
07.00. Sunlight has begun to illuminate his room. The man turns from the computer screens and looks around. It is a total tip and he knows he will get a visit shortly. Only a fool would not suspect him from being part of this mess and they are not fools. Will anyone believe he just fell asleep and that’s where the missing time went or will they choose to believe that he deliberately let them get away by leaving his report until later. He looks at the magazines on the bottom shelf. Too late to get rid of them and probably the last of his worries now.
07.05. The young policewoman turns to her colleague as two vans draw up. “These aren’t our SOCO,” she says as eight people in almost uniform black clothes step out and instantly survey the area. The tallest is making his way towards them. “PC Groom and Ellis I presume?” Before they can reply he has started speaking again, “We will take over from here, your Commander has asked us to be responsible.” He turns and looks up at the wreckage on the hill. “Have you touched anything?” “No Sir,” says the young woman, “just taped the area off.”
07.10. As they get into the police car she turns to her colleague. “We never even asked for ID. Bloody hell we must look like yokels.” She reaches her hand for the door handle but is prevented by her older colleague. “Better yokel than unemployed,” he says quietly. She turns to him as if he is mad. “Don’t you get it, that’s Security Services not SOCO, something odd has happened here and the less we know the better for us.” As he finishes the radio burst into life telling them to come into the station for a meeting. “We know nothing, remember,” he says as he slips the car into first gear. The policewoman slides her hand into her pocket and rubs her fingers around the metal object she had picked up.
07.15. They arrive at the town and get off the bus opposite a coffee shop where they now sit with one latte and a double espresso. As they sip at the hot drinks they begin to map out the events of the morning. Faith is doodling as she speaks. It is clear to them that the organisation believes that they are involved in the theft of the package and they know what that means. Suddenly she says, “turn off your phone,” as she switches her own off. “They can use them to track us. Until we know what’s going on we need to keep off the radar.” I don’t need to turn mine off as it already was. First time I haven’t felt guilty about failing to charge the battery.
07.20. “Let’s get back to London,” says Faith. We can find out more from there. We can learn nothing from the scene and they’ll be all over it by now. Our only hope is the shop where the scarf was bought. Where’s the receipt again?” As I put my hand into my pocket I feel physically sick even though I know it must be in there. I feel so useless compared to her that I am convincing myself that I must have lost it. I almost scream with delight when my fingers touch the paper. As I take it out she lifts it from my fingers and stares it at afresh as though it can reveal more. I feel relieved inside, she can take responsibility for it.
07.25. He is sitting, sweating, staring at the screen. No news from the second red dot yet so he decides to try their phones again. There is no reply and both go straight to ansaphone but for a brief moment on another screen there is a green flash signifying location. It dies almost as soon as it appears but he uses the time function to fix it the location. He calls the second red dot. “Forget trying to find a taxi, just get to the ‘Ground One Coffee Shop’ in Betcherton NOW and let the crew know.”
07.30. Working in almost silence the team capture the scene with video and photographs and then load the vans with all the metal and physical detritus that they have bagged. Within less than half an hour it is only scorch marks and ground damage that show anything has happened here. With the vans full they siting talking about the operation when they get the call “get to Betcherton now, Ground one coffee shop.” The engines burst into life. Quietly the caller asks what they found at the scene. “Nothing,” says the leader. “Good nothing or bad nothing?” the voice asks. “Bad nothing,” he says and hangs up. “Get to Betcherton fast,” shouts the leader. One of those watching at the police tape takes a photo of the vans driving off.
07.35. The man puts his head around the door and is surprised to see the Minister look up. “The committee will be here at 8. Do you want me to book a room and coffees?” “No, don’t worry Michael,” he says from behind his desk, “We’ll meet here, and don’t put this meeting in any of my diaries. That will be all and …. thank you.” The man shuts the door and goes back to his desk in a state of shock allowing the words ‘thank you’ to echo in his head. He sits at his computer, clicks on the diary appointment ‘CRISIS Meeting’ and clicks delete. ‘Surely it won’t matter that it was there for a few moments,’ he thinks.
07.40. Faith and I leave the coffee shop and make our way to the station. As we walk we see two dark vans driving up the road. Automatically she strides on turning her head to a shop window and I hold back and pretend to look at my phone. We know the vehicle type and it means they are on to us. We have to get away on the first train to London. How did they track us so quickly I think and as if she can read my mind Faith says, “Must have been my phone before I turned it off.” As we cross the road Faith stumbles into a cyclist. There is a brief altercation as he swears at her and we lose a few precious moments on the way to the station.
07.45. The owner of a small coffee shop is delighted with the uplift in trade as eight men all dressed in black come through the door. “Gentlemen,” he says in his best voice, “Take a seat and I’ll come over and get your orders. I’ll just finish this Latte.” The men have already read the room with their eyes. Two existing customers, one an old man clutching a large cup and a younger man in a suit waiting for his coffee. Four men sit either side of the table where the young man waits. The leader glances over the empty tables and sees two empty cups on the one place that can’t be seen from the window. A man and a woman walk in and sit by him at the next table. The acknowledge each other by eye contact.
07.50. PC’s Ellis and Groom sit in one of the interview rooms at the station on the side of the desk they have never occupied. A giant bear of man with a beard and a softly spoken voice is asking them once again what they saw. Their answers remain consistent and amount to nothing useful. The man questioning them is unknown but judging by the way everyone at the Station is behaving he is extremely senior. He pushes his hands against the desk and turns to the local Commanding Officer. “Get me a private office with a direct line ready and clear for 8 o’clock.
07.55. He stares at the screens in front of him and tries to calm himself. Apart from falling asleep he has done nothing wrong. If they hadn’t cut numbers of personnel he wouldn’t have to work such stupid hours. Suddenly the green flashing light is back on the screen. One click starts his call. In the Ground One Coffee Shop the leader’s phone goes. “Get up.” he shouts, “We’re moving.” Recently delivered full cups are pushed away and the café is rapidly emptied. The young man stares at the coffee shop owner who shrugs his shoulders. “The old man sighs as he get up. “They were in a hurry,” he says picking up two of their drinks.
08.00. The three speaker phones bleep into life and the caller on each identifies themselves. Those seated in the room do the same. The normal jocularity that usually accompanies such situations is missing. The Minister leans back and then forward with purpose placing the palms and fingers of his hands together almost in prayer, "Gentlemen, and lady," he turns to acknowledge her, "I need hardly remind you what a tsunami of crap is going to fall on your heads and lives if we don't resolve this situation." He leans back and gives the sort of smile that can curdle milk
08.05. In Betcherton eight men run to their vans as the leader stares at a tracking device on his mobile. The man and woman walk back to a dark saloon car and get in. The woman is speaking on her phone. On a train pulling away from the station Faith and I are sitting opposite each other. I have been keeping an eye on those walking along the platform and those boarding the train. There is no person or group who look dangerous to us. I lean across to Faith and say, “Looks like we’re ahead of them.” She lets out a little smile and sits back.
08.10. A voice from the one of the Spider phones crackles into life “Gentlemen,” says Voice 1. The lone woman in the room stares at the speaker. “It would appear that our teams are back on the signal track of Agent Hope’s phone. I shall leave this conversation for a few moments and come back to you with an update shortly.” As he hangs up there is a general sense of relief in the room. A second disconnected voice reports that the police who were present are too stupid to know anything. The Minister sits back, “Let us hope this removes the cloud that is hanging over all your heads.” He presses his intercom. “Tea now,” he barks.
08.15. As PC Ellis changes into her civvies she hangs her uniform on the bar in her locker and turns away before remembering. She reaches back into the darkened space and lift up the sleeve. She takes a short sniff. ‘Should do for another couple of shifts,’ she thinks before her hand brushes the pocket of the jacket. She glances around the changing room to confirm it’s empty and puts her hand inside enclosing the metal object from the scene in her palm. Quickly transferring it into her civvy clothes pocket she leaves the room for home shouting ‘goodbye’ as she leaves.
08.20 He cycles with headphones in. He is avoiding puddle and potholes and is finally beginning to relax after the near accident by the station. He begins to sing along with the track and let’s his mind wander ahead to the evening he has planned. A small smile flicks across his lips at the thought. As it curls upwards towards his eyes he is knocked from his bike by a black van sending him sprawling onto the pavement and his rucksack into the road. He begins to shout as a second van pulls up and he, his bike and bag are bundled into the back.
08.25. I am looking at Faith and she is still smiling. “You seem quite relaxed considering they are chasing us right now.” She reaches forward and says, “I gave them a little detour.” She smiles again. “Remember the cyclist I bumped into.” I nod. “Well I turned on my phone and slipped it into his bag when I knocked into him. They should have been chasing him for the last twenty odd minutes.” I sit back and suddenly feel nothing but pity for the innocent cyclist who is now wrapped up in this hideous morning.
08.30. In a darkened room a nurse moves towards the man in the bed and rest her hand upon his. She gently repeats his name until his eyes open. “What is it nurse?” he croaks and signals for the plastic beaker with straw next to his pillow. “It’s your son Sir, he want to see you.” He takes a sip and lets the warm water moisten his lips and tongue. “Help me sit up,” he asks and when he is settled asks her to show him in. He knows something is wrong. He has no son.
08.35 The cyclist in the back of the van is terrified. Two of the men are shouting questions at him about a mobile phone is his bag that isn’t his. He has no answers and if confused. He needs time to think but they won’t stop shouting. He can’t even follow what they are saying as his English is weak. They have been through his papers and he can only presume it’s about his visa but they haven’t asked him about it. Finally he shouts out his name and bursts into tears. For a few moments the only sound is from the road. A voice over the leader’s mobile phone says “Bring him back to base.”
08.40. Tea has been served. Those that wanted coffee accept the tea as it is clear there was never going to be a choice. Little of insight has been said in the half an hour that has passed but they have rehearsed a few scenarios and discussed various strategies and approaches. The have shortlisted the most likely countries and organisations to be behind the act and have shortlisted two. The computer voice announces that the Line 1 spiderphone is active again. “Well?” asks the Minister. The tiny voice speaks, “He’s being brought back to the base for questioning. He has the phone but nothing else.” There is an uncomfortable silence.
08.45. Back at home Tracey-Rebecca Ellis fills the kettle and flops into her comfy chair and thinks ‘what a night shift.’ Well, in fairness up until just after six it had been a normal night but then …. She takes the metal object from her pocket and stares at it. She’s knows what it is and she knows she should have handed it over and now she is totally compromised. She can’t think what came over her but can only assume it was the fact that, for the first time this morning, something exciting and exceptional happened after four years in the police. The click of the kettle makes her jump.
08.50. “You wanted to see me?” says the man from his hospital bed. “You can leave us Nurse and do sit down son.” The nurse pulls the door shut and they both leave a pause to hear her footsteps move away. The room is filled with the sound of the old man’s breathing. “Well?” he finally says. The younger man opens a brief case and lifts out a small device which he turns on. It emits a white noise distraction and as soon as it is audible he speaks. “We may have an issue with the collection.”
08.55. Faith opens her eyes and looks at me. “We should be in London shortly. The shop is in a very affluent part of London. I doubt it will open until ten at the earliest. I suggest we go to one of the large shopping centres and buy a set of clothes each from a single shop so we can settle everything together in one payment. They will have tracks on all our credit cards. Before then we want to buy to large brimmed hats with cash to ruin any CCTV images.” She really is rather remarkable. At least I have some cash so can contribute a bit.
09.00. The meeting has broken up and everyone has been sent away with instructions. The only real hope at the moment is the cyclist and there has been no information from the interrogation other than he is a Turkish national. This news rather threw a spanner in their thinking in that neither the country nor any of its groups featured on their long list never mind the shortlisted two. The Minister is calculating the best time to let those above him know what’s happened. He wanted to call with an answer so perhaps he will wait another half hour he thinks.
09.05. Tea and toast made Tracey-Rebecca sits down and lifts her laptop onto her knees. It’s a heavy old model and she curses Police pay for not allowing her to upgrade. She lifts open the lid and boots up hearing the clunky whirring that signals the start of the slow process that will eventually bring light to the screen. Taking a chunk from her toast she looks away knowing it’s not only watched kettles that slow things. After a sip of tea the screen is dimly awake and she reaches out for the metal object, clicks off its top and puts the memory stick into a USB port. As she does the battery dies. She laughs out loud and takes another bite.
09.10. The old man’s breathing is heavy and wheezes as he asks what exactly has happened. “It’s hard to piece together yet but from what we can tell he was successful in getting the package on the train much earlier than anticipated so had to get off before the ‘meet up’ point. We managed to liaise and get a light helicopter to pick him up but that was,” the young man pauses, “destroyed.” The old man takes another sip of water and whispers, “enemy action?” “Our man on the scene thinks so because these were the vans that were on the scene.” He shows the image on his phone to a pair of blue eyes that, whilst watery and bloodshot, still have an iciness that can chill.
09.15. As we leave the train Faith immediately marches towards one of the exits keeping her head to the ground as she walks. I mimic her attitude and begin to think I am really not suited to this game anymore, if I ever truly was. She scans the street and walks towards Primark. This is clearly not the time to raise ethical concerns over manufacturing I think, which makes me smile for the first time in what feels like a week. I have been up for over 9 hours already and I won’t see sleep any time soon. I suddenly realise I am thirsty and hungry. I feel like a little kid next to her.
09.20. She finishes her toast and checks that the battery on the computer is charging. The battery on her mobile needs charging too. She plugs that in and moves through to the bedroom. She throws her clothes onto the bed and goes into the bathroom and stares at her face and thinks how drawn and tired she looks. It makes her want to take a shower but that will only wake her up and she must sleep before her next shift. She walks to her bed, lifts back the duvet and lies down. Within moments she is gently snoring.
09.25. The old man has fallen into a sleep. ‘It must be the drugs’ the younger man thinks. It is sad to see such a man in this decline. In his heyday he was physically and mentally strong. Indeed, up until two months ago, he could spread fear with a look. He had built his empire on that unique partnership of intimidation and encouragement. Now all that was under threat and he was in no real shape to respond. The younger man feels the passing of power and finds he has sat more upright in his chair.
09.30. The door to the office opens and he nervously steps into the room. The Minister is standing by the window staring out as though lost in thought. A slight cough captures his attention. He turns and looks to the door, “Yes?”. The man coughs again and speaks. “There’s a call on the red phone. It seems they have heard about something and want to speak to you straight away. Shall I patch them through?” The Minister mutters yes and goes back to his desk. He had hoped to beat them to the call but he has had no updates. This is not a call he is going to enjoy.
09.35. We are now complete with wide brimmed hats on our heads and a complete change of clothes in bags each. Faith crosses the road and takes us back to the station. “Get changed in the toilets and meet me outside in 5 minutes. If there’s a bin dump your own clothes in there.” She runs down the stairs and disappears into the ladies. I look around for the Gents making sure not to raise my gaze to high. Having located it I find it will cost 50p to get in. An old man next to me mutters his disapproval “Spend a penny eh? That’s fifty pees.” He laughs at his own joke whilst I wait for a cubicle to become empty and squeeze in. I have never changed in anywhere so disgusting.
09.40. It all seems to happen at once although actually he registered it milliseconds before. He lost control over the screen arrow from his mouse which means his computers and programme are now being run from the main office. Within the moment of his realising this he hears his front door compromised and suddenly his room is filled with the ‘black suits’. It has been a recurring dream since childhood but now it’s happening - he is in an intimidating situation dressed in his pyjamas and he knows this is going to be worse than his ‘going to school’ nightmares.
09.45. The Minister hangs up the phone and shakes involuntarily. It is very clear that if this situation is not recovered they expect him to fall on his sword. His attempts to deflect attention onto the CRISIS committee members has cut no ice and they only have him in their sights. He presses the phone and speaks “We need to reconvene the CRISIS committee at 10.30 prompt. Remind them I want solutions and make sure no entries in anyone’s diaries.”
09.50. The cyclist can tell them no more. It is clear that he either knows nothing or is so good he will never break. The injections have merely reinforced his confusion and lost what little English he had. The leader picks up the phone to relay the news and also that the fingerprints of the mobile phone in his bag are just Agent Hope’s. He listens to the voice on the other end and then turns to the man holding the syringe. He nods once.
09.55. There is no point resisting. They have shut down all his computers and boxed them. They have been transported downstairs and he can only presume into a waiting van. They have rifled the shelves, wardrobes cupboards and have found nothing. Well they couldn’t as he has nothing to hide. Apart from falling asleep he has done nothing wrong. He just wishes he had got rid of the magazines. It’s funny, he knows he is in for hell but the embarrassment of the magazines is dominating.
10.00. The younger man enters a building that is totally anonymous from the street. He presses his palm and fingers against a screen and a lift door opens. Within moments the doors open again and a woman looks up from the reception desk and smiles. “How is he?” she asks with a concerned voice. “OK,” he replies keeping up the pretence that the organisation has nothing to worry about. He goes through to the old man’s office and looks out of the window over the heart of the city.
10.05. We are standing opposite the shop. Faith was quite right it would have never opened at 9am. Indeed it won’t open until 10.30. For Faith this means we have time to plan and rehearse how we are going to get the information we need. I would rather have a coffee and sandwich. She rifles through her bag and finds a badge and card that will give us authority if not checked properly. It is all down to the confidence we exude when we first enter. She checks her watch and says, “Lets get a coffee.” I reply with reluctance in my voice to suggest I’d rather just get on with the operation.
10.10. In the hospital room a dull single note sounds from one of the machines. Within moments it is filled with medics who work without instruction to try to revive the old man. As if choreographed they step away as together as the defibrillator is placed on his chest. After three attempts the leading medic states the time. The room empties leaving two nurses to clear it out and pull the sheet up. “I’ll let the next of kin know,” says the elder as she walks out. The younger nurse strokes the old man’s hand affectionately, she has no idea of his past.
10.15. He sits in the van wedged between two of the suits. No one speaks. He has attempted two conversations and it is clear that they are not going to respond. He has never been to any of their buildings. All his dealing have been done in coffee bars, churches and park benches. Now he is frightened. If they are taking him to a building it cannot be good. The fact that he is still in his pyjamas is not helping him cope well.
10.20. I have a coffee and some form of heated Panini. It has cheese that has been melted to the temperature of the sun and tomatoes that could burn through sheet metal. The success of this cooking process is that any possible taste has been removed. Faith is eating a chocolate brownie with a precision that is surgical. I am increasingly attracted to her. I take a sip of my scalding coffee to cool my tongue. In about ten minutes things are suddenly going to burst into life again.
10.25. The Minister glances at his screen and pager. There are a mass of messages, many of them urgent, to deal with but he just can’t give them any attention. His mind is entirely dominated by the events of the morning. He knows his future depends upon a resolution but he just can’t see how this will turn out well. He closes his eyes and mutters ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” It offers no help.
10.30. He is still staring through the window when he hears the door open. He turns to see a woman who has worked for the organisation longer than he has and has been the old man’s confidente for as long as anyone there can remember. He can see tears in her eyes. He looks kindly towards her and quietly asks “Well?” “He’s gone,” she says and sobs momentarily before pulling herself together. She hands him a folder and a set of keys and fobs. “You will need these,” she says and turns to leave the office.
10.35. We are rehearsed and ready as we cross the road and enter the shop. Faith speaks with directness of voice that will brook no nonsense. A stunningly dressed assistant walks towards us but before she can speak Faith has made her opening move. “Get the manager here, tell her it's the Police and we are in a hurry,” she flashes the card and badge she had in her purse. The shop assistant is suddenly flustered as she explains the manager is not in. Without a break Faith says, “Were you working here yesterday?”
10.40. “I need hardly remind what would happen if this information falls into the wrongs hands,” the Minister shouts. His response to the progress to date is one of anger. No leads other than a geek with lost time and a sword hanging over his head. Once again they rehearse what they know and it doesn’t amount to much. Either one or two agents have gone rogue or a daring operation by an unknown organisation. “What are you going to do about this,” he shouts again. In the outside office his private staff pretend they can’t hear anything.
10.45. The door to the garage glides up as the van approaches. They park and he is bundled from his seat straight into a lift. Still no one speaks as they glide from the basement. He is pushed into a room with a table and chairs either side. One of the suits says “Sit down,” and pushes at his shoulder. There attitude changes when a man and woman walk in. “Hello Ian,” says the man as he pulls back a chair. “Hello,” he says back as he sees the woman eyeing his pyjamas. The man turns to the suits. “Go back to his home and get him some clothes, do a final sweep and then torch it.” He turns back and smiles.
10.50. My god she is impressive. Having ascertained that the assistant was working yesterday. She demands to see the CCTV. At first the assistant explains we will have to wait until the owner comes in this afternoon. In a voice that nearly made me wet myself she says that if we don’t see it now by the time the owner arrives the shop will be stripped empty, shut and being searched for drugs and other illegal dealing. We are now watching the CCTV which, in line with the shop, is high resolution and colour. “That’s him,” says Faith freezing the shot. Print that out.” The shop assistant bloodless face looks quizzical.
10.55. The young man sits behind the desk. Everything about it and the desk reminds him of the giant of a man who has been in this chair for as long as anyone can remember. ‘What would he do?’ he thinks to himself, ‘What would he do?”. He answers the question as quickly as he formulates it. ‘He would bring in the best we have got,’ he mutters and then says louder, his voice giving him confidence, “Can you contact the Zurich team,” he shouts through the open door. At her desk the woman smiles, ‘the Kings is dead, long live the King’.
11.00. The noise of the doorbell wakes her from her sleep. She is instantly confused. It’s light and she has been sleeping. As the doorbell rings again she remembers she is on nights. She glances at her alarm clock and realises she has been asleep for not much over an hour. She put on her slippers and shuffles to the door angry with whoever has disturbed her. She slides open the door until the chain stops it. Through the gap she can see a young man with a tray of cleaning materials.
11.05. We leave the shop with an image of the man we are hunting and his credit card details. Faith leads us down the road and we dive into an Apple Store. “Keep the ‘brains’ busy whilst I do a search”. Strangely this opportunity does give me the chance to ask why the battery on my iPhone 5 is draining so quickly. The man in the t shirt says we should ‘reset’. I explain the phone is totally drained and he says he can give a super burst and before I can stop him takes my phone into the area behind the Genius bar.
11.10. In two buildings less than one mile apart two sets of people are intensely studying computer screens and information strands. In both offices there is shaking of heads and a sense of bewilderment. The common question is ‘how the hell could this happen’. Quite possibly the most dangerous collection of information has disappeared. For some the thought that it was blown up in the helicopter explosion is a potential blessing. For others, the loss of such knowledge is a disaster on a scale that is unimaginable.
11.15. She lies back down on the bed but knows she will not fall asleep again. She has had the equivalent of a ‘power nap’ and the adrenalin from the sharp awakening is coursing through her veins. After moments of turning from side to back to side she makes the decision she may as well get up. She walks through to the kitchen and clicks on the kettle. She may as well shower now, she thinks and walks through to bathroom. As she passes her laptop she let’s her finger rest on the pad and see the battery is up to 93%.
11.20. Faith comes over to me. “OK, I have a trace on where he lives. It’s about ten minutes from here which makes sense. Let’s go.” I explain that I will have to wait for my phone to come back from the Genius bar. I don’t think I have quite seen a look like the one she gives me since my mother found me with the wings of a butterfly in one hand and its velvet like body in the other. Fortunately the eleven year old techie who took it comes back. “OK, it’s had a charger boost, can you switch it on?” “No,” says Faith forcibly, “we’re late.” He hands me the phone and I now get a look of pity from a baby faced tech.
11.25. The Minister has just about given up hope. All that he has built, all the climbing of the greasy pole he has done, all the crushing of competitors is about to be lost. It was his responsibility, he did ‘OK’ the operation, it is his head on the block. He could cry. This was not the end he envisaged. His plan took him right to the top. He cannot even explain that he had made the decision to approve at a time when his attention was diverted. He wants no one to know his little secret. How can anyone think straight when they are bound and being whipped. He should have let the phone ring but he wanted to show how important he is, was.
11.30. She towels her hair dry, it is practical cut and one that doesn't spoil from wearing the police cap. She taps the kettle on and transfers one and half teaspoons of coffee from jar to mug. The click signals the movement of water to granules. With milk added she goes back to her chair and lifts her laptop. She stares at the memory stick and wonders once again what possessed her. She opens her Facebook account ‘Roberta Peelers’ and types in a new status. She looks back over the last fifteen days since she signed up and realises how dull her life looks. In the next few hours she will wish for those times.
11.35. Two vans are parked on double yellow lines. A traffic warden approaches. As he begins to show interest one of the doors slides open and a dark suit gets out. There is a brief chat and the traffic warden moves swiftly on. The suit gets back into the van and shuts the door. Silence remains. They are used to slipping into neutral between bursts of activity. For most it’s a job but for the leader he knows that this one is make or break. He doesn’t like the expression ‘life or death’ but he knows what might happen.
11.40. We walk up a gravel drive to a little mews cottage tucked down one of those amazing hidden roads you find in central London. Faith rings a doorbell and we wait. Within moments the door opens and a middle aged woman looks out. Before she can speak Faith says, “We’re here to meet David,” in a light singalong voice with no trace of threat or anxiety. “He’s not here I’m afraid,” she replies but Faith moves forward saying, “He asked us to wait for him.” The woman, who I can only presume to be his wife, asks if we are from his work to which Faith replies in the affirmative and before I know it we are being offered tea or coffee.
11.45. The Zurich team having been briefed make their way to three different sites. A group goes to the command centre, another team take up a variety of surveillance positions around the Minister’s office and one team speeds towards the site of the Helicopter crash. The news about the incident is on the radio and tv which will mean getting access for the third team will be tough.
11.50. As the wife is making our coffees Faith takes the opportunity to search the room. I know we have to find out who he worked for as it will be the only way to clear ourselves. There will be teams out looking for us and unless we find the answer it will be us in the spotlight. Faith whispers to me to go through to the kitchen to ‘help’ so I can delay his wife. Every second of this day is making me feel more and more inadequate.
11.55. With Facebook updating done she has turned to her emails. It’s the one way she keeps in touch with her family and those friends she can’t see regularly because of her work shifts. She sends a last email suggesting to one of her closest and longest standing friends that perhaps they should think about booking a holiday. As the clock ticks towards noon she inserts the memory stick she had taken from the site. That one action starts a series of events that she could never have imagined.
12.00. At the stroke of noon everything changes. In three separate locations screens bust into life and there is sudden intense activity. Searches locating a specific IP address and GUI’s are started and people are shouting across each other. Everyone knows how important it is to trace this computer, it’s location and who is operating it and before anyone else possibly can. In the Minister’s office a call is patched through. “Yes,” says the Minister with a voice of dejection and resignation. A quiet authoritative voice speaks, ‘Someone has just plugged in the USB stick.”
12.05. Messages are transmitted to various teams to be ‘on standby’. Body shapes change as people go from a state of semi comatose to alert. The man sitting in his pyjamas is still being questioned and losing the will to live. Apart from falling asleep he has done nothing wrong but they won’t believe him. The door is suddenly opened and with one look his two questioners jump up and leave the room. He is left with two people dressed in black and both armed. He tries a ‘raised shoulders’ slight grin but it cuts no ice. He glances down and see the stupid gap in the front of his is pyjama trousers are open. The worst day of his life has just got even worse.
12.10. GPS and search programmes run speedily and silently closing in on the location and ownership of the computer in which the USB stick has been inserted. In her living room Tracey-Rebecca stares at the white box asking for the password. ‘Of course it would be password protected’ she thinks and ejects it. After a moment she types in ‘password generators’ in the google search box and starts to read about the most common forms of passwords. In a number of offices there is a collective sigh of frustration, anger and profanity as the signal drops out. Have they got enough?
12.15. We have drunk our coffee and Faith checks her watch and says in an innocent way, “I wonder if we have the wrong time? Perhaps you could call him?” His wife picks up a landline and presses ‘quick call’ 1. After a few moments she turns and says, “It’s gone straight to ansaphone I’m afraid. I’ll try his work mobile, I’m not supposed to have the number really,” she says in a conspiratorial voice. As she presses 2 Faith knocks her cup onto the floor. She has read the woman correctly as she immediately hangs up and runs to get a cloth from the kitchen to remove the stain from the cream carpet. Without a pause Faith is up, presses 2 on the phone and takes down the number on the screen then we are out of the door and away as the woman returns.
12.20. The area has been tracked with differing levels of accuracy and range by the opposing sides. They know that it is near Betcherton and once again teams are despatched. One team has been there already and sat waiting at the Ground One Coffee Shop before being sent elsewhere. Now everyone who is travelling in cars and vans realises that this is the best chance they have. They have to retrieve the object. A call through to the Minister lets him know that things are moving again. The young man at the desk knows that the Zurich team are the best he has. The game has started again.
12.25. We are back in the Genius bar and Faith is searching the web whilst I discuss the various merits of memory sizes on the iPad to keep eyes away from her work. She has had to go into one of the ‘Departments’ websites and we know that this will be noticed. We can only hope that it will be some time before the information is fed up the chain. She suddenly stands bolt upright and turns to me. “Do you have the answers you need?” she says to me. I reply quickly and we leave the shop. Outside she tells me who the mobile number belongs to I feel a state of shock tremble through me.
12.30. She is not going to be able to sleep and she is not going to be able to open the USB stick. She sees her mug of coffee undrunk on the table. The top has a surface of curdled milk. She goes over to the fridge and sniffs the milk. An involuntary gag in her throat tells her it is off and that is doubled by the thought she could have drunk it. She picks up her purse and bag and sees the USB stick which, for an unknown reason, she slips in her bag. She leaves the house and walks up towards the Ground One Coffee Shop
12.35. In the Reptile House at London Zoo a man stands staring at a crocodile. Neither move nor seem to take their eyes off each other. An outside observer might note that the crocodile seems more wary. In the reflection of the glass the man sees another gentleman walk up behind him. Momentarily the man takes his focus from the crocodile and to the reflected eyes of the gentleman who turns immediately and drops an envelope onto a nearby seat. The man turns his attention back to the crocodile and counts to 80. As he turns from the tank the crocodile snaps into the air. Any other people in the area turn to watch. Quietly the man retrieves the envelope.
12.40. Faith and I are sitting talking through what we now know. It would appear that whatever could go wrong has gone wrong and most will think we are responsible. We need to get a message through to Control and let them know what has happened and who we now think is involved and responsible for the chaos. There is only one direct route and will put as it risk but after going through all the other options – it does seem our only choice.
12.45. “Hi Trace, night shift?” says the café owner. She nods with a tired expression and asks for a Double Macchiato to go. She looks around the café which is unusually busy and filled with suits. There is very little conversation. She turns to Ed who owns Ground One. “Busy here today,” she says. “It’s been an odd day. First thing this morning this lot arrive, order drinks, pay then run out leaving them behind. About half an hour ago they turn up again. Seems like they’re waiting for something. Tracey-Rebecca changes her mind and asks for her coffee to drink in.
12.50. They have both narrowed the signal from the USB to a street. Unfortunately for them it is mainly blocks of flats. In both office teams are running names and addresses through systems to see if any trigger any known links. It’s like an episode of Heir Hunters but without the dull commentary and actually interesting. As they search information is being passed through to the teams. Everyone is in the state of nervous expectation. They know it’s a race.
12.55. The Minister is doing his best to report progress. The only really good news is that the USB still exists, whoever has not yet opened it and they have a slight trace on its whereabouts. Other than that it sounds like a catalogue of chaos and cock up. The Minister is still trying to deflect blame to those around him but those above are clear about who they blame. He hangs up the phone and returns to the window. The walls either side are filled with photographs of him meeting some of the most famous and notorious people in the world.
13.00. She sits quietly drinking her coffee. She is listening to the few words that are spoken whilst keeping her head down. It is only her good memory that meant she recognised the man who had ‘taken over’ at the crash site. She is sitting with her back to him. It is clear that they are waiting for further instructions and she has picked up a reference to locating the ‘object’. The USB stick glows hot in her pocket. They don't know where to look but it is clear that they will soon. She decides to get back to the flat quickly and pack a few things.
13.05. In a dark van the message comes through to the Zurich team that the computer must be located within Oldfield House, there are approximately fifty flats to visit and search. They leave the van where it is to avoid too much presence and walk towards the flats. They know they may be only minutes in front of other search teams and they must be quick and effective.
13.10. We have sent the email that details what we know and the telephone number of the man who took my briefcase and who he works for. We must now move again to keep safe. We have told them we will contact again in one hour to see if we have further instructions or if we have been cut adrift. I pick up a copy of the early evening paper and see that the helicopter crash warrants a few paragraphs on page 5. It’s funny how geography and celebrity make such a difference to news coverage. I expect we should be grateful.
13.15. She leaves the flat with a large holdall containing clothes, money and passport. She has no idea why she is reacting like this but she can sense she is in deep trouble. The impulse to take the USB stick was certainly the stupidest thing she has ever done and now it has turned her stomach and her life upside down. She goes straight to a cashpoint and withdraws the maximum her account will allow. Now what?
13.20. The Department now has the same area location for the USB and the team from the Coffee Bar once again leap up and leave their tables. On this occasion Ed has been expecting it and they tip well. The leader has the information on the names the flats are registered to and none are bringing up any links or cross references. They are about twenty minutes away. As they walk briskly ahead of them the Zurich team are already inside the building.
13.25. “Ah, good afternoon,” the smartly dressed man says to the elderly lady who opens her door. “I’m from the Gas Board,” He flashes identification into the gap between the edge of the chained door and the frame. “We have had reports of a gas leak in the building and we have to check every flat I’m afraid. From her view into the corridor she can see another man standing at the door further down the hall. The pushes the door to and slides the chain out before opening the door fully and letting him in.
13.30. The man leaves the Zoo and makes his way toward the Underground station. He boards the train going south on the Northern Line and finds a seat. He checks around him and notes the fellow passengers. All occupied many with tell tale wires trailing from the ears. He takes the envelope from his pocket and slits it open with his finger. He doesn’t bother to count the £50 notes, they wouldn’t dare short change him. He takes out the photographs and stares at the portraits. These are the bungling amateurs who have messed everything up.
13.35. Tracey-Rebecca gets to the station and uses a public telephone box to call the station to say she is ill and won’t be in for a couple of days. She puts on the pathetic washed out voice of people calling work and then hangs up. She boards a train and sits back facing forward. If she sits with her back to the direction of travel she feels sick. On this occasion she feels sick already. Her mind is racing with thoughts of how she can escape this situation.
13.40. Faith and I have had a bite to eat and are working on the form of words we will use when we contact the department. We have one chance and we have to get it right. Finally I have the upper hand as my skills in communicating seem to have her respect. It’s amazing how close to someone you can get in less than eight hours. It’s stupid but I feel I could spend the rest of my life with her, if we have any life in the future. These people don’t play games.
13.45. The man’s wife opens the door and finds herself violently pushed up the hallway and into the front room. Within the seconds the light stain of coffee still visible on the beige carpet is subsumed by a rich blood red. The man moves from room to room searching and leaves within moments with a plastic bag of things. As he walks up the path a motorbike pulls up and takes the bag before speeding away. The man lifts out the next photograph from his inside pocket. It is a face he recognises.
13.50. The old lady has filled him in with what she knows about all the people in the flats. He has struck gold, she is the equivalent of their profession with a desire for knowledge and gossip. As he mentally ticks of the flats with her and reads his list identifying those who will be out during the day and therefore its safe to break in. With every safe flat he texts the number to the team. “Flat 17?” he asks, “James Kent.” “Oh,” the old lady says, reveling in the fact that she has more knowledge than the gas board, “He sublets his flat.”
13.55. Back at the ‘office’ a search is run on Tracey-Rebecca Ellis and within seconds it throws out her background. No one can believe that it is an accident that someone who was on the scene of the crash could also have a flat in the building where the USB stick was activated. Within moments the man leaves the old ladies flat and the entire team enter flat 17 and start their search. As the door to the flat closes the team from the coffee bar enter the building. The leader knocks on the first door. A little old lady opens it slightly. “Hello,” he says showing a card, “I’m from British Gas.”
14.00. He stands on the pavement and looks casually, as a tourist would, at the magnificent building. They would not stint on making their head office as prestigious and grand as possible. Status and appearance is all to them. He gazes at the balconies and wonders which one would open from his office. This will be a long wait and he has to find a suitable place. He looks at the map he has picked up from a nearby hotel.
14.05. Within ten minutes the Minister’s department know that someone is running a search on the young policewoman who was at the scene of the crime. The Zurich team has left flat 17 with a laptop and other belongings. They are out of the back door and into the alleyway to the street as the other team force open the flat door. Within moments the silence is broken by the Leader shouting an obscenity. They know they have been beaten to it and they will have to let the senior know.
14.10. Faith and I contact the department through the secure email from a cyber café. We are vulnerable but it is the only thing we can think of doing. There is an email waiting for us. It takes us a moment to read and a moment to digest. “What do you think?” says Faith turning towards me. “What choice have we got?” I reply. She is about to send a response when I interrupt. “It asks for us both to go. What if only one of us went, we would still have some control.” Faith stares at me.
14.15. The Zurich team race with the laptop and other belongings to London and the office. The leader of the other team has spoken to his senior and both asked the same question, ‘How did someone else get their first.’ For the leader he can only assume that there is a leak or somehow their system has been hacked. Neither is palatable and once he has passed this through to the management group there is general dismay and anger. On top of this the Minister has called for another CRISIS meeting at 14.45.
14.20. The little old lady sits for a moment and wonders. After a while she calls the free helpline. The answer she gets doesn’t make her feel happy at all and so she calls the Police. The officer at the other end seems incredulous at her story of two teams of ‘British Gas’ workers going into the flats and British Gas knowing nothing about it. He is about to say she’s lucky to get anyone to come out when she gives the address of the flats and a warning bell goes off in his head.
14.25. Tracey-Rebecca is getting nearer to London and is having to consider what to do next. She needs to speak to someone and the only person she can think of is Pete Groom he police partner. He should be at home as they were on nights so she could risk a call when she gets off the train. He won’t mind, he’s kind of been like a father to her. Not that he will be happy with what she’s done but he might have some advice as to how to resolve it.
14.30. At the station the senior officer pieces together what they know. About twenty minutes ago they get a call from the Department to ask about PC Ellis. When he finds out she is off ill the Department demand more information. Now it seems she was out on the crash this morning, had been interviewed with PC Groom by someone from outside their station and now her phone at home and mobile are not being answered and the desk sergeant has reported strange activity at her block of flats. Two cars are despatched to investigate.
14.35. The man has booked a room with a window overlooking the building. He sits and waits for his target to appear in one of the window’s opposite. He knows the target is one of the most senior people in that particular office so it is likely he will have one of the windows with a balcony. He can see all four. It is possible that his office may be so big that it has two of the balconies. He has a particularly good view of the middle two.
14.40. Police are called to a lovely mews cottage where they find a woman shot dead on the living room carpet. The irony of dying in the living room is not lost on the senior policeman. “Call it in Purves. Tell ‘em we need SOCO and murder squad.” He picks up an envelope from the hall table. “And they can start doing a search on a Mr & Mrs Singleton. You can bet the husband did it. See if they can get a trace on him”. The call is put through and the gate is closed and taped off.
14.45. The CRISIS team are meeting. If you wanted a definition of tension you could show a picture of the room. The Minister opens the window to the balcony to let in some air. He goes back to his chair and the circle is complete. The door to the outer office is shut quietly and the Minister speaks. “Right,” he says with more conviction than he really feels, “What do we know?”
14.50. Faith and I arrive outside the building. We are both nervous. We have decided to go in together because any other action may suggest some form of guilt and involvement. Once we go in that’s it. We look at each other and I think we are both wondering how so much could have happened in just one day. At a window opposite a man goes to an envelope and takes out two photographs. He can hardly believe his eyes. Three of his targets are in or near the same building. This could make the job harder.
14.55. On the radio come the first reports of a woman shot dead in her home in central London. Although no names are given the broadcast says the Police are looking for her husband. The suspicion is that it is a domestic incident. The news has already come through to the two different organisations hunting for the USB stick. They know who the woman is and both now suspect that the other is responsible for the ‘hit’. Both are wrong. In a hotel room opposite a man adjusts the sight on his rifle. He now knows for sure which balcony is attached to the man’s office.
15.00. The sound of one of the world’s most famous bells marks the passing of time. The young man sits at his desk and knows that with every minute that passes his job gets harder. Unless the information is found soon it could have left the country and be anywhere. The woman, who is now his PA, walks through the door with coffee. It’s the first mistake she has made, his predecessor drank coffee here for almost forty years. He drinks Earl Grey. He wrestles with this thought for a moment knowing she is in deep mourning. “I drink tea,” he says with a warm smile.
15.05. First edition of the evening paper has an article on the shooting and a separate report on the helicopter crash. There is also a type of ‘comment piece’ about ‘why so many important people’ have been is a series of meetings during the day. There is some speculation about reasons but none are even close to the mark. This will however be the last edition the day that will have a ‘Is she pregnant?’ headline
15.10. Tracey-Rebecca goes to the first public phone at the station and dials her police partner. As soon as he answers she says ‘Hello Pete’. When he replies ‘Hello Trace,’ she knows something is wrong. He always calls her ‘Trellis’. A gun is pushed into the side of his head. ‘Where are you?’ he asks. Without a second thought she lies and says ‘Manchester. I’ll call again when I’m settled.’ She hangs up and runs from the station. The second man at PC Groom’s house looks at a screen. ‘London’ he says with a dead voice.
15.15. Half an hour in and the CRISIS meeting has digested all the information they have. The news that the two ‘rogue’ agents have voluntarily come to the building and their email explanation has been reviewed. There is a consensus, but not total agreement, that their story and behavior stacks up. The Minister does not know who to trust anymore and at 4pm he has to go to see his superior. Today he hates his life however many good lunches it has provided.
15.20. A national reporter receives a phone call from someone who spins a tale so astonishing it brings the world weary cynicism of a seasoned ‘hack’ to the surface. Many of the names he is quoted are national figures and it is only when he ‘Googles’ some of the other names mentioned that he begins to see the links emerge. The phone goes dead. He is left with no proof but enough questions to start a ripple across the sea of the establishment that could cause a tsunami of trouble.
15.25. Faith and I have gone through our story three times and we appear to be believed. We have just covered visiting the man’s wife when we are suddenly asked, “Did you kill her?” We are both so quick and strong with our denial and then Faith states, “She’s been killed then?” A photo of the scene is shown to us. “So, either someone has been following us or someone is just behind us in what we now know.” One of the men in the background asks, “What do you know?” “Not a lot,” I say.
15.30. Tracey-Rebecca stands in Trafalgar Square and feels sick and frightened. She knows taking the USB was quite simply the stupidest thing she has ever done and if she could rewind time she would have left it where it was. Slowly an idea comes to her. It won’t automatically save her but it could reduce the amount of attention focused on her. It’s probably her only hope.
15.35. He is still sitting in his pyjamas when the door is opened and he is asked to come out. He goes into the corridor and sees a man and a woman. He has never met them but he knows who they are. They are all asked to move along the corridor and get into the lift. The woman glances at him and once again he just wishes he had got dressed before stating work. The lift door shuts and he fears the worse.
15.40. News of the phone call is relayed to his office. They know she is in central London, they believe she has the USB stick with her. All the research they have done about her points to this being a ‘one-off’ piece of erratic behavior. That doesn’t help in trying to calculate what she will do next. Two members of the Zurich Team have her police partner and his wife held. ‘Needle’ and ‘Haystack’ come to mind. He sips his tea that is now cold.
15.45. The reporter shouts across the news room and the relevant correspondent tells him there is a general press update later this afternoon. After giving him the information of time and venue the correspondent asks ‘why he wants to know’ but the reporter has his head buried in his laptop. He is certainly not going to publicise yet what he has been told. Partly because it just doesn't make sense.
15.50. The lift door opens and we are shown into a very large office waiting room. We are asked to sit down. I sit next to Faith and leave the man in pyjamas to sit alone by the glass-topped table. As we sit and wait the inner office door opens and some of the most important people in the organization file out. I now know whose office we are outside. Faith leans towards me and whispers, “They must believe us if we are being brought here.” “But what else can we tell them?” I say.
15.55. The room has emptied out and the Minister has a headache that has grown over the last half hour. He believes the pain to be unbearable but he hasn’t really felt true pain until he opens the door to his balcony and steps out. With just two minutes until his 4pm meeting his secretary opens the office door to see the Minister slumped on the floor. The angle of his head gives the tell tale sign that he is no longer alive
16.00. “What?” is screamed down the phone in offices and newsrooms around the country. The news of this death, as yet the cause is still a secret, richochets around the internet much as the bullet that took off half his face richocheted off the balcony wall behind him. In a window opposite the man has already broken down the rifle and returned it to a laptop bag. He is leaving the hotel as the sirens wail.
16.05. In and around the office is bedlam as the CRISIS team re-gather and remove a series of documents and computers before the police, in whatever form, arrive. A new ‘blank’ computer is placed on his desk. Faith and I witness all this and then finally are allowed into the office to view the scene. It seems that we are back at work. The man in pyjamas throws up three times at the sight.
16.10. News bulletins are being broadcast reporting the death of the Minister. There is a state of shock. The tone of the announcements suggest that it wasn’t a natural death but no broadcaster can yet substantiate what is flying around Twitter. Only a satellite channel refers to the rumours. Already a crowd is beginning to gather outside the building and people working there are amazed at how many flowers and symbols are already being laid.
16.15. Faith is of one opinion – this was an execution. She really is astonishing as I watch senior representatives from the CRISIS committee naturally cede authority to her. “Get pyjama boy on the computers where he can do some work and get onto our foreign offices to find out if there has been any movements of known ‘hits’ she barks. I stand nearby nodding trying to look as though I would have acted this way too.
16.20. At his desk in the anonymous building the news of the assassination has thrown everything into the air. He knows it wasn’t them so it can only mean there is a third ‘party’ chasing the secrets. He knows that the Minister’s organisation will suspect them and this will only serve to muddy the water. He patches a call the leader of the Zurich Team. “Find out what the f**k is going on,’ he demands. His PA frowns. In nearly forty years she had never heard his predecessor swear.
16.25. The reporter is making his way to what should have been a ‘run of the mill’ media conference by the organisation and one he was hoping to disturb with his ‘open’ questions. Now it is going to be packed and focusing on the death of the Minister. It’s unlikely he will get a question in but he most go as perhaps he will be the only one there who suspects there is far more to this than meets the eye.
16.30. Tracey-Rebecca has settled on her only course of action and has located the busiest PC World in London. The inside is packed with people trying out all types of electronic equipment on display. There are not enough staff to cope so after a surly ‘can I help you?’ is responded by her ‘just looking’ she is free to move from TV’s to laptops. She finds one where there is a USB port at the back and inserts the stick. A familiar ping brings an icon to the screen. She walks away and boards a bus.
16.35. The man in pyjamas has settled into his seat and relaxed. Screens are his friends and he can almost forget what has happened over the last few hours as he opens the programmes he needs. Within seconds he rocks back and shouts, “It’s been plugged in.” He runs an instant location finder. “It’s at Oxford Street, near Tottenham Court Road.” Faith shouts orders and agents are dispatched. There is a chance we are ahead of the others.
16.40. His PA opens the office door. “We have a fix on the stick, it’s in PC World, Oxford Street. I’ve sent the Zurich team the information and they are on their way.” He sits back in his leather chair and places his fingers together in prayer. ‘What on earth is happening now,’ he wonders.
16.45. The lads and two girls slouch into the store. The security at the door clocks them immediately and gives them a look. This only fuels the teenage angst. Victims of others attitudes they deliberately touch screens and keyboards to wind up the assistants. It’s free and it’s fun. One of the lads sees the icon on a screen and wanders over. He looks at the PC and reaches around the edges and finds the USB stick. Whilst looking in the other direction he pulls it out and pockets it.
16.50. “Signals gone,” says the man in pyjamas. The same is said in another office. “The team is nearly there,” says Faith. The teenagers are walking around the store when one of the girls notices the arrival of people in identical suits. They decide it’s time to leave and just get out before the team shows identification and brings down the shop grill. The customers left inside and the shop staff wonder what on earth is going on.
16.55. A woman climbs on board the bus with her bags of shopping and flashes her card across the payment mechanism. There is one seat available next to a young woman who appears to be asleep with her head in her chest. She asks her to move up but gets no reply. As the bus sets off she decides to shake her awake. Even with a shake her head remains lolled forward. She turns to other passages and says, ‘must be drunk,’ before shuffling further along to stand.
17.00. The man steps up to the lectern and opens the Media Conference. The room has had to be changed because of the level of interest not just from the UK media but international journalists as well. To calm the level of noise and excitement the man goes through the traditional start reading out the statement for activities for the week before signaling that the questions can begin.
17.05. The people in the shop are complaining about not being let out onto the street. They are objecting to being questioned despite having been shown ‘some form’ of identification. Two of the team are reviewing the internal CCTV. They note the behavior of the group of young people and quickly assess the situation and what has happened. Only the Leader of the team knows why they all have to wear the surgical gloves.
17.10. Faith and I have feedback from our group in Oxford Street. They have not been able to get into the store as the shutters are down. One of the team says he is sure that he has seen an agent he recognised inside the shop. Somehow they have got there ahead of us again. As we curse the Minister’s superior walks in and glances around. The remainder of the CRISIS committee suddenly become animated and start barking orders.
17.15. The media conference has been dominated by the Minister’s death. The questions started respectfully but have now become more pointed and the first reporter for an online publication risks asking about the rumours. The man chairing from the lectern says he will not even ask the representative from the organisation ‘respond to such speculation’. The journalist sits and wonders whether he can ask his questions with such little substance behind it.
17.20. The bus has arrived at the terminus. The driver glances at the screen displaying the internal views of the bus. There is a shape at the back of the ground deck. The driver jumps out of his seat and walks to the rear. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, ‘end of the line I’m afraid. You’ll have to get off here.’ As he gets no response he leans forwards pushes the slumped figure. The next thing he remembers is screaming.
17.25. He sits and considers how he will carry out the next contract. There has been no sign of either of them since they stepped out onto the balcony and the hotel he used now has police officers inside. It didn’t take them too long to work out which building the shot had to come from but they are on the wrong floor. With this much activity he is going to have to be extremely careful and vigilant.
17.30. The public has been let out of the store and the Zurich team are explaining to the staff that they will have to be extra vigilant. They don’t have to be of course but the team has used their ‘identification’ as members of the Anti Terrorism Squad to scare them. Although unnerved most of the staff feel somewhat excited to be trusted with such work. The security guard in particular thinks this is the sort of work he should really be doing.
17.35. The bus driver is explaining to the police what happened. Meanwhile the ambulance crew has called back to the hospital to say that they have never seen anything like this and need advice. On the bus, in a taped off area, Tracey-Rebecca is dead. Her face is covered with pustules that have hideously deformed her skin which once clear, is now shaded with purple.
17.40. The lads and girls have walked then length of Oxford Street and gone to sit in Hyde Park. As they are messing about the boy with the USB stick produces it. ‘Where’d you get that?’ As he explains the others start laughing. That’ll teach the staff to hassle them. It’s tossed from one to another until one of the girls finally asks the question, ‘I wonder what’s on it?’
17.45. The dead Minister’s Superior has spoken to a handful of the CRISIS committee and then makes a bee line for Faith. It’s amazing how powerful people know where the real power is automatically. He ushers her away from me and they have a quiet conversation. At one point Faith’s face gives away a moment of surprise before almost immediately resuming the professional air.
17.50. The depot is now shut and taped off whilst people in white suits and face masks work feverishly on the bus. The driver has been taken into quarantine along with those people he has spoken to. A press announcement is prepared to request everyone who was on that bus to go the head hospital. How do you say that without causing a panic? Meanwhile at hundreds of bus stops travelers are bemoaning the delays.
17.55. With the media conference drawing to a close and the rumours that the Minister’s death was not natural growing in strength he decides has little to lose. He raises his hand and is pointed at. He stands, gives his name and publication and then asks his question. A room that had been filled with background chatter falls to silence and stares at the raised dais. The representatives on the stage rise and file out as the spokesperson declares the conference over.
18.00. Faith quietly walks over to me. She has a strange look in her eyes. She grabs me by the elbow and leads me out onto the second balcony. “What’s wrong?” I say before she stammers out, ‘Things are a lot worse than we thought.” ‘What the hell was on that stick?’ I say. “He won’t say what is on it but I do know what they packed around it.’ She leans forward and whispers in my ear. I instantly feel sick
18.05. If he had been ready he could have completed the next part of the contract. Both have appeared on the other balcony. As it is he is not ready and in a public place. He curses himself but he knows he will get his chance. He is the best. The very best
18.10. The leading specialist in contagious disease walks to the back of the bus takes one look and tells everyone to get off. He draws tall the senior people together and relays his instructions. This is a situation they have practiced for in a control room below Whitehall on many occasions. He dials a preloaded number and speaks the password. In three words the world begins to change. He jumps into the back of an unmarked police car and the blue lights go on.
18.15. The journalist has escaped the press conference and not answered the questions of fellow professionals about his question and list of names. It was clear from the reaction that it had scored a hit. He is wondering what to do next when his mobile goes. ‘No caller ID’ flashes on the screen. He answers and recognises the voice immediately.
18.20. We descend in a lift to a basement room. We are two of the first here. I recognise the faces of three of the other four in the room from the television. I get the sort of questioning look that says’ what’s he doing here?’ Faith speaks, ‘This is Mike, he was on the delivery from the start.’ I glance round the room and see maps of central London, the helicopter crash site, rail routes and then I almost gag when I see a photo of a woman head covered with weeping boils.
18.25. The Zurich team regroup at the office of the Leader. Their network of contacts has thrown up some interesting information. Although the stick is still missing it is clear that the other side do not have it. The have their own meeting currently going on. A journalist’s question has linked a number of names they were conscious of. A young woman, as yet unidentified, has died from a highly contagious disease.
18.30. In the basement we finally begin to understand the scale of what might happen. The stick has information on it so sensitive it could change the world. To safeguard it the packaging it was held in contained a mutation of a highly virulent disease that was previously eradicated and as a result there is little resistance, if any, in the population. It will spread and already hundreds, possibly thousands will have been infected.
18.35. Newspapers are getting reports of some A&E departments getting ‘call ins’ with similar complaints. There is a growing sense that something very odd is happening. The journalist is sitting at his desk in a daze. What he has been told over his mobile by the ‘voice’ has scared him witless. He now knows there is a contagion – well two. One is physical and the other is the network of links that the organisation has had the subverts power and has done for years.
18.40. The biggest decision is about to be made. Morally can they withhold the information they have and put at risk the lives of thousands, potentially millions, knowing it can only get worse? Finally the senior Minister speaks. ‘We are going to have to break silence. We will not mention the USB stick but we must let people have a chance. I will make the call.’
18.45. The lads and girls make a decision. They will go back Jane’s place and try to find out what is on the USB stick. They jump up and head for the Underground Station. As they walk along one of them grabs the boys arm and shouts in his ear ‘stop scratching yourself’ He hasn't even really noticed that he has a red weal on his arms where his nails have been digging into the surface.
18.50. Discussions in the basement room now focus on the disaster management plans that they have rehearsed regularly knowing they would never have to use them. The head of the emergency have arrived to augment those present. They have made the decision not to issue the true reason for their actions but have settled on ‘significant’ air pollution as the reasons for their actions. A media information pack is agreed upon and will be issued shortly.
18.55. The Zurich team is still in the office with a leaked copy of the information statement from the basement room. They know something really big has happened and are not fooled by the ‘air pollution’. Finally one of them risks saying what they are all thinking. In that small utterance they all begin to think of the implications.
19.00. The email has now reached the media. Broadcasters and publishers all over the UK are transmitting the news. People are advised to go inside and stay where they are. Do not travel or move about on the streets if that can be avoided. Those already travelling should get out as soon as they can and seek shelter. A further announcement will be made in two hours. The journalist reads the statement and decides it’s time to talk to his Editor.
19.05. The Health Service is experiencing demand levels that are already beginning to cause collapse. The media information is stating that the skin reactions are caused by the high levels of pollution. Patients showing signs must be isolated immediately. A number of Doctor’s in A&E are already doubting that this is a reaction to pollution.
19.10. In the basement the maps are being updated with information fed from the hospitals. It is clear that, with a few exceptions, the trails of infections lead from near Betcherton to London almost following the railway lines. There is still a chance to contain the spread if they act quickly. The army is immediately actioned. The commander in the basement cannot resist making a sly comment about having reduced numbers due to cuts.
19.15. The Editor and senior team cannot believe what they have just heard. It is so massive, so terrifying that they just can’t credit it. And yet, something about it, possibly it’s very scale and perverseness make it seem real. Finally the Editor let’s out a sentence that has rarely echoed in this room because it is so bald. ‘People deserve to know the truth’. The next chapter of horror is about to be written.
19.20. The lads and girls leave the underground and are surprised to see the streets near Jane’s mum’s flat are really quiet and empty. ‘What the hell’s going on, it’s like a Zombie movie,’ says one and the others laugh. Within a few moments they have climbed the stair and are inside. Jane turns on her computer while the other get glasses for the drink they have bought. After logging in the USB stick is inserted and the password box flashes up.
19.25. News is delivered straight away to both the basement and, in another office, the Zurich team. Tracking is underway and the Minister authorises the Army to locate the stick. They will be in full protective clothes and can use weapons if required. This news is also leaked to the man in control of the Zurich operation via his PA. This is no time to reveal their involvement so discretion is the answer. Besides the growth in public illness is making him nervous.
19.30. They are having fun trying different passwords. Each shouting ruder and ruder thoughts and laughing as they fail. Finally the boy who took the USB stick from the computer at the shop says ‘Armageddon’. Having spelt it wrong twice they finally enter it and the screen unlocks. They all turn to the boy I awe before one of the girls shouts and points. ‘What the f**k has happened to your arm.
19.35. The first edition of their paper will be in the morning but they are going to put teasers on line to make sure there will be record sales. Having reviewed the copy four times the lawyers have finally approved it. They sit and watch the screen in the board room as it goes onto the site. The online editor has never had this much attention. He watches the site hits bar. It remains stubbornly stuck where it was and then there begins a gentle increase.
19.40. With the army moving towards the USB stick the Zurich team look to their new young boss. He tells them to wait outside and asks them to send in his PA. She slowly walks in and shuts the door behind herself. He is sitting at the desk where for so many years her lover had sat. He looks up to her. He is worn out and looking visibly older already. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’, she thinks. He looks up at her. ‘What would he have done?’ He asks her quietly.
19.45. The girls are screaming. The pus is weeping from his arm and the rash and boils have gone to his face. He is slumped in the corner. One of the boys is staring and can’t stop shouting ‘what the f**k is going on.’ He turns to them and sees a boil on one of the girls faces. He screams even louder and points. Their screams are drowned out by the sound of a helicopter landing in the park opposite. They rush to the window in time to see a stream of people in white suits rushing to the house.
19.50. She has given him her counsel. His previous boss and the ‘father of the organisation’ knew when to cut his losses. There is no way they can compete with the army, it would make them too public and potentially unravel too much. They key is now to protect themselves and their clients. A knock on the door ends their conversation. One of the Zurich team says, ‘You’d better see this.’
19.55. In the basement the screen shows the front page of a national newspapers website. There is a moment of jaw dropping silence as people begin to scan the article. ‘Where did they get this from?’ he asks no one in particular. The article is accompanied by photographs of some of the most powerful and influential people not just in the UK but worldwide. His photo is in the centre of the web. ‘But it’s rubbish,’ says Faith, ‘Isn’t it?’ The silence makes her repeat the question. ‘Isn’t it?’
20.00. The house has been stormed. The computer snatched. All the young people have been bundled out into the helicopter, all but the one boy who had died in the corner. He will be taken away by a black van that has pulled up outside. Through windows opposite and down the road worried neighbours watch with trepidation. In a bedroom opposite and girl updates her Facebook status.
20.05. Hospitals in the defined area are now at total capacity and all leave and holidays have been cancelled. Medical staff have been called back but there is little hope in stemming the tide. Even in places as far away from the current ‘infected area’ as Scotland and Cornwall people are presenting themselves at A&E with their fears.
20.10. The newspaper has never had so many hits on its website. The number of comments has exceeded moderation and most are from those who have always believed there was an international conspiracy behind everything. This report seems to support that paranoia. Other UK media is having to follow the lead and speculation is creating massive falls in the international money market. In some other countries media there is talk of a new ‘plague’ in the country.
20.15. The Minister is going to have to make a public appearance on the media. The BBC is the only trusted route. They have agreed that he will appear live at the start of the 9pm news. Now they have to work out what it is that they can say. Faith and I have now been sidelined. It’s about politics now. Well, it actually about power and I suppose it always has been. In my naivety I believed those at the top were doing things for the better of others. Now it’s clear it has always been about them and theirs.
20.20. At the anonymous offices computers are being wiped, paperwork shredded and burnt, desks and chairs moved to a secure lock up in the basement. The Zurich team have signalled for three helicopters to transfer everyone away and onto their ship at Portsmouth. As his office is emptied he stares out of the window. Since he has worked for the organisation he has dreamt of being in charge. He has been in control for less than twelve hours and everything has collapsed around him.
20.25. The computer and USB stick are in the basement in a sealed bag to prevent further contamination but they know it is too late. The virus has spread. The biological one has been out and spreading for hours. The computer virus entered the veins of the internet 55 minutes ago. They were so frightened that someone would stumble onto their wrongdoings that they produced a programme that will have unimaginable consequences just to protect their secret.
20.30. The newspapers website has collapsed three times under the weight of the site visits. The group editor is shouting at the head of IT. The head of IT quietly reminds him that it was his decision not to invest in the upgrade because, as he said, ‘No one believes what’s on line and it’s not worth the money.’ Astonishing how the result of his decision is everyone else’s fault. It’s that type of brazen approach lacking any shame or guilt keeps people at the top.
20.35. The journalist, who has found himself elbowed to the side of the story, is sitting at his desk staring through to the glass office where he can see the group editor shouting at the heads of department. He is rightly pi**ed off with them all. He had the scoop, he had the questions but as soon as it gets interesting he’s pushed back in his place. He knew the world was sh*t and unjust but this is the most visible it has felt. He quietly lifts two fingers under the desk towards them all. His mobile phone rings.
20.40. I am listening to the weasel words being honed for the Minister to speak on the BBC. They are going to shift the blame towards forces outside the UK and how the powers that be are doing everything they can to repel this ‘invasion’. They are struggling to find a plausible narrative that will rebut the accusations in the media and point the finger away from the people of power to an unknown force determined to challenge world democracy. The Minister rehearses the draft taking on almost Churchillian tones. Twenty minutes to broadcast.
20.45. The hospitals are collapsing and a spokesperson is forced to go onto TV and radio to defend the cuts and reduction in bed spaces. He knows it was a cut too far but didn’t realise it would be revealed in such a way. He is however able to blame the current situation on ‘unprecedented demand’. After a series of questions a reporter from a satellite channel snaps in the face of such bland responses. ‘But hundreds are dying,’ she shouts, ‘What are you going to do about it?’ The spokesman, unaware of the catastrophe inexorably building, says ‘everything we can’.
20.50. The journalist has hung up and he is an another state of shock. It is just too awful to contemplate. He types in the web address that he has been given and his screen is filled with the supportive paperwork that validates the story. He now knows about the two viruses – physical and virtual. He stands up and walks towards the glass office, not pausing he opens the door. ‘What do you want? shouts the group editor. ‘You need to know and see this. It’s bad, worse than we thought and…’ ‘What?’ says the Editor. ‘Our owner is in this right up to his neck.’
20.55. The hitman is sitting outside the building following everything on his mobile. He now knows he is caught in something that is of a scale that he cannot comprehend and cannot prevent. In such a situation he will do what he always has done, honour his contract. Two to kill and then he can escape. The streets are deserted. The security officers for the building have gone inside. He is hiding in full view. It makes him smile.
21.00. ‘Good evening,’ says the newsreader, ‘and welcome to the nine o’clock news. In the face of unprecedented reports of hundreds, possibly thousands dying from a mysterious virus, the NHS is chaos and stories that this is linked to an international group made up of some of the most powerful and influential people in the world we have the following statement. All over the country people are glued to their tv’s computers and tablets. The Minister begins his statement.
21.05. I feel sick. He is still talking with manufactured sincerity. The words drip from his lips and he shows no sign in either tone or body language that he is lying and knows it. The scale of the crisis is laid out with blame firmly attached to the ‘forces outside the UK’. People are told to ‘stay at home or work, the virus is extremely virulent. If we can stop the spread we stand a chance. Our top scientists are currently working on plans to halt its advance.’ Out in the real world people are hugging their loved ones.
21.10. The group editor has shown that his spine has little rigidity when it comes to dealing with the owner of this media empire. He is on the verge of taking down the story, even though they now know it’s not just is true but even worse than they imagined. He looks at the screen displaying the story and sees it update. A picture of the owner is now in the middle of the page along with other influential faces including the Minister. Underneath the single word – ‘ACCUSED’. ‘Who they hell did this?’ he shouts. ‘I did,’ says the online Editor, ‘You said the people deserve the truth’.
21.15. The Minister is coming towards the end of statement that is being relayed on every media channel possible around the world. The newsreader knows he has one chance of a question, one chance to ask what everyone might want to know. Suddenly he has a voice in his ear gabbling excitedly. ‘Minister,’ he says interrupting his final words, ‘Are you aware that a leading national newspaper has accused you and a group of influential people of being behind this situation and that there is no evidence of outside forces?’
21.20. Faith and I sit staring at our coffees. It is clear that this is out of control. The physical virus is spreading and reports are coming through of the web beginning to show erratic functioning as the virus infiltrates. 3g and other mobile networks have failed and our over reliance on the internet is now beginning to look like a bad mistake. I look up to see tears in her eyes. ‘We did our best,’ I say. “I know,’ she replies, ‘It’s what they have done that I can’t forgive.’
21.25. There is one network that isn’t being degraded or failing. A network that only a small group of extremely powerful people know about and have access to. Hand held devices are being activated and pre-programmed messages with instructions are being sent. Those in the ‘know’ have always had an exit planned in case this scenario happened. It’s what money and power deserve they believe. They made this world, it’s their wealth that has fed the system. However the mass of the population suffer they will be safe.
21.30. The office is empty apart from his PA and him. ‘We’d better go now,’ he says to her gathering his case with a few belongings plus a photo of his family who he will never see again. ‘You go,’ she says ‘I will just do a final look round’. As he leaves the office he turns to see her go up to the portrait of the man who had ruled the organisation without failure for decades. He pulls the door to and misses her lean up and kiss the painting. She mutters ‘goodbye my love,’ and takes a small pill from her purse.
21.35. ‘We can’t just stay here,’ says Faith and gets up leading us back to the CRISIS room. She stands in the doorway and glances round the stricken faces. The screens are showing the extent of the disease but keep freezing or blanking out. I watch her glance around the room. ‘Where is he?’ she says. Without reply she shouts it again. A senior member looks up, ‘He’s gone back up to his office.’ She turns and sets off again.
21.40. The group Editor bangs the phone down. ‘For fu*ks sake what else is not going to work. He turns to the reporter. ‘You and you, get up to his office and start asking him questions. If he’s going down we are not going with him. Go and be blo*dy journalists and nail the b*stard.’ They run to the lifts but they are not working. It’s going to be a long climb up thirteen flights to the penthouse. If he has been part of what is happening and has happened it’s going to be hard to stay professional.
21.45. The hitman watches as a helicopter hovers over the building. Slowly it descends to land on top of the roof. His phone no longer works so he is going to have to decide on what to do himself. It is clear that the situation is in ‘meltdown’. He smiles, he knows that helicopter well, he knows what is happening. Years of obeying orders means he does not judge. For him the strong survive at the expense of the weak, that is the order of things. He has a mission to complete.
21.50. The reporter and colleague knock on the door of the media owners office that occupies the top floor, an area bigger than most people’s entire house. The reporter has only been here once as a sycophant, part of a staff party to celebrate the purchase of another huge chunk of international media. He remembers seeing the Prime Minister, senior religious leaders and other international moguls sharing the moment. He feels sick in his mouth as he makes the link with the current situation.
21.55. The staff at hospitals have had to give up. The numbers are too great and there is nothing they can do anyway. In many areas rioting is breaking out. Despite Twitter, Facebook and other social media slowly collapsing the message of what has and is happening has spread. Across the world people are rising up against those that have ruled them, their anger at the realisation of the level of corruption unbridled. Others hide, boarding up their homes and sinking into the safety of the family.
22.00. Faith and I get to the roof of the building in time to see a helicopter take off. It is clear what has happened, a planned escape. As is always the way those with wealth and power escape the results of their actions. Faith bends and vomits. I know how she feels. I am as disgusted as she is that we have played some part in what might be the end of the world. God that sounds so dramatic but I fear it’s true for a world we knew and thought we understood.
22.05. The journalists burst back into the Group Editor’s office. ‘He’s gone, his helicopter’s gone, he’s run.’ ‘Right,’ says the Editor emboldened as most feeble people are when the writing is on the wall end everyone knows, ‘We use every news channel working to get this truth out. Wherever they go to hide they will be found out for what they’ve done.’ Behind his back two of the senior management make gestures with their hands and wrists that captures perfectly their attitude to him and his damascene conversion to ‘truth, justice and backbone’.
22.10. I look at Faith and realise that in the space of an unbelievable day I have fallen in love. I muster the courage I have to speak. ‘I suppose,’ I stammer, ‘The question everyone thinks about is…..’ I pause, ‘If you knew you were going to die what would you to do in the last moments.’ She turns and looks at me wiping the remains of vomit from her lips. ‘Fu*k Off,’ she says, ‘The world’s ending and you want is a quick shag. Bloody men, you’re all the same. I want justice,’ she shouts and walks away. Embarrassed I watch her going to the door and wonder how this day could get any worse.
22.15. As the social breakdown continues around the world the different behaviours of people are revealed. Some are hoarding food and water, others stealing TVs and other irrelevant consumer desires. In some areas you can see the wonderful side of the human race as people check on neighbours and share what little they have planning together for a ‘nuclear winter’ they never believed would come. What will win in the eternal struggle between self and selfless, greed or compassion? The leaders have shown what side they are on.
22.20. On a remote island the first helicopters have started to arrive. Staffed almost exclusively by glamorous women it has been created and established as ‘The Ark of Eden’ and used for secret meetings for years. A series of world leaders begin to disembark. A journalist would have a wonderful time working out who isn’t here, who was never part of ‘The Club’. They are ushered through to a paradise and served chilled champagne. As millions suffer they toast their escape. Any hope guilt might make it taste bitter is dashed by the smiles and laughter.
22.25. The hitman still sits and waits. The sores on his arms itch and weep but he will not scratch. This is when his training counts. He will not give in until his job is done. He focuses on the breeze that is blowing through his hair and enters the meditative state. His time will come. He quietly sings the nursery rhyme his auntie taught him, ‘Ring-a- ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies, A-tishoo, A-tishoo, we all fall down.’ He smiles.
22.30. I catch up with Faith and start to apologise. She brushes it and me away on her hurry. ‘What did you mean by justice?’ I shout. She rushes down to the CRISIS room in the basement and I follow behind. We enter the room and the same gaunt looks of disbelief upon the faces on those ‘in charge’. The screens are now blank. She moves to where the Minister had sat and strokes the back of his chair. A smile crosses her lips as she moves back to me. ‘Rough justice,’ she whispers, ‘The Masque of the Red Death’.
22.35. The phone lines connections are beginning to disappear as the computer systems that run them submit to the virus. Whatever is now happening around the world will be in communication isolation. The Earth is regressing through the decades. Continents are virtually set adrift again much as they were before. The world is big again as the communication bridges that spanned the globe crumble. Alongside them the human race is failing as well as the physical virus accelerates.
22.40. The last helicopters are arriving and the Minister steps out, is greeted and ushered through. One of the ladies serving offers to take his jacket as it is so hot. He stops to take out his wallet and mobile phone and realises he will need neither. He reaches down into the side pocket and pulls out an object he doesn’t remember and that feels alien in his hand. He takes out his hand and glances at his open palm. An ice chill strikes through his heart. The USB stick.
22.45. ‘What the hell is the Masque of the Red Death?’ I ask. ‘Edgar Allan Poe,’ she says, and seeing no glimmer of recognition goes on “It’s the story of a Prince who thought he could escape the plague by sealing himself and his noble men in an Abbey. But the red death got in because walls could not keep it out. Well, wherever they are hiding they are about to find the same has happened, there is a ghostly spectre at their feast. I stare at her and again find myself in awe of her.
22.50. The Minister glances around at all those involved in sustaining one of the greediest and most heinous plans – the continual taking advantage of the masses for the benefit of the a tiny few. When the forefathers started it they could not have imagined it would come to this. He realises that the feelings of guilt and anguish are not about what is happening out in the world but rather the fact it has caught up with them. He knows it is over. He scratches his arm and fiddles with his stiff white collar. ‘God forgive us’ he prays.
22.55. I glance at my watch. It is almost twenty three hours since I woke up. I had no idea what the day would hold then but I doubt I could have ever guessed what has happened. The lid on Pandora’s Box has been lifted and it’s hard to imagine how quickly this will all end. I have seen the worst of humanity today. All the trust I had in those ‘above’ has been shattered. Trust people not positions I have found out far too late.
23.00. Faith and I step out onto the street and into the moonlight. This has been the longest day of my life and has meant having to revaluate everything I have believed in. I turn to Faith who is gazing up at the moon. I lean towards her and kiss her cheek. She turns and holds my hand and we both find tears rolling down our cheeks. I stare deep into her eyes and relax. For one brief moment I find some peace. There is the sound of two sharp clicks. The hitman smiles and takes his rifle apart and slips away.
(Ends 27th July 2014)
