by Vic Robbie
‘Fisherman’s Quay.’
‘Our men said you disappeared and again there was no reading from your chip.’
He glanced at the woman who pressed a button on her keyboard. ‘Heinous crimes which all add up to deletion. But it would be a great waste.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You must meet this unchipped man again.’
‘But I don’t know him. May never see him again.’
He didn’t believe her. ‘I’m sure if your life depends on it, you’ll be able to find him.’
‘Why?’
‘We can’t have an unchipped terrorist on the loose. He endangers us all. Although he’s quite conspicuous, we haven’t been able to track him down. We expect you as a good citizen to help us apprehend him.’
He stared at her.
As if the walls were closing in, the waves of light grew more powerful, invading her space. ‘And what happens to me then?’
‘Your debt will have been paid.’ He stretched out his arms before leaning forward, his face pressed into hers, and she could smell onions on his breath. ‘You must deliver him to me.’
‘And if I don’t?’
He exhaled and his expression changed as if he didn’t want to go there. ‘If you refuse or we fail to capture him, you must pay.’
‘Deletion?’ Even the word made her tremble.
‘No, something much worse for you. You’ll be deprived of entry to your home and your car. You’ll not be able to work, travel, or receive money, and will be denied food and water and any medical assistance. You will be a non-person. It’s a slow and painful death.’
He leant back, giving her space to consider her options.
She couldn’t betray Headlock, especially not when Becky’s life could depend on him. He could still save her, unlike when she was a child. There had been no one to rescue her from her mother.
His eyes bored into her so that they seemed to grow larger, almost devouring her.
She averted her focus and watched the waves of light emanating from the walls, and she felt disoriented.
‘Well?’ He leant in close again. ‘You really have no options.’
She gulped in some air and tears welled in her eyes. ‘Ok, I’ll do it. I’ll deliver him to you.’ And in her mind, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Headlock, so sorry.’
‘Good,’ he said and handed back her phone. ‘Now this is what you must do.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
The men who picked up Skarab outside Evolution Industries hadn’t asked him to accompany them. Instead, they each grabbed an arm and lifted him off his feet, forcing him into the back of a car.
It wouldn’t be a social visit, he thought as he stood in an awkward stance, knees knocking. Being ignored added to the pressure while Ottomon continued to read something on a tablet, clicking a tongue in disapproval.
Eventually, the host raised his head and stared straight through him. At first, he believed it to be a welcoming smile but soon realised it was the grimace of someone who had picked up dog shit on a shoe.
‘I know you, Skarab. We used to call your type opportunists.’ Ottomon flicked a foreign body off the lapel of his jacket. ‘You were a member of the cult of science and a professor at two of our leading universities. Forever promulgating fanciful ideas and opinions that even some of your deranged fellow academics found dangerous. All detrimental to the populace and likely to foment unrest. Rightly, they denounced you and your ilk as charlatans ever eager to accept vast sums to fund your scientific whims. I believe the first rule of science is to discount nothing and everything is possible. Opinions like that are radical and dangerous.’
He surprised himself by interrupting. ‘I demand to know why you have dragged me here against my will. I’m an important officer of the State.’
‘I need you to help me. It’s urgent.’
‘May I sit?’ He made to move to a chair to stop his legs shaking. The tycoon’s reputation spread far and wide.
‘No.’
Ottomon wheezed as he rose from the desk and went over to a French window and gazed at the gardens.
Sweat coursed from the top of his head and ran down his cheeks. This was an unwanted distraction. Any interruption threatened his all-important deadlines.
‘I require the assistance of your scientific brain.’ Ottomon sat back down and clasped his hands over an ample belly. ‘I have two interlinked problems. First, do you believe it possible for a painting or drawing to have mystical powers and be able to imbue the beholder with those qualities?’
Ludicrous.
Angry, he hoped to fob him off. ‘Perhaps, but it would depend on the drawing and the intellect of the beholder.’
Ottomon leant forward on the desk, his head resting on his fists. ‘Don’t patronise me, Skarab. It’s no more fanciful than your theories about life after death, parallel universes, climate change or self-repairing bodies. Come and see for yourself,’ he gestured to his men and left the room.
They stepped forward and grasped him by the elbows, propelling him towards the elevator into which they squeezed.
No one talked, and within seconds they were in a basement surrounded by an array of art that had him gasping. ‘So many, so many old masters.’ He wandered around the room, peering at great works of art he’d never seen outside a museum.
‘Quite a collection,’ Ottomon chuckled as he opened the door to a side room and ushered him through, ‘but this is the pièce de résistance.’
It was as if a higher power had taken charge of his body, and he shivered and couldn’t speak. The portrait drawn in fading red chalk on ochre paper was of an old man with a pitted face. His hair flowed to the shoulders, joining with a full beard, and the nose was aquiline and deep grooves lined the forehead.
But it was its intense gaze that thrilled and frightened him in equal measure. The eyes stared out of the drawing and into his soul, opening him up as though draining him of everything that made him human.
‘You know what it is?’ The tycoon scrutinised him.
At first, he couldn’t reply but then croaked, ‘It’s the self-portrait of Leonardo da Vinci. It’s reputed that his gaze is so intense it imbues the beholder with magical powers.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Ottomon stood right behind him. ‘Everyone reacts in this way when they first see it. Is it working on you? Has it a magical power, taking from you but also imbuing you with an inner strength?’
‘What’s it doing here?’ he stuttered.
Ottomon laughed. ‘Come all the way from Italia.’ His voice became business like. ‘It’s many hundreds of years old, and because of its value and age, we have to keep it in special conditions. Fibre optic lighting because there cannot be any natural light in here. The temperature is a constant twenty degrees Celsius. And humidity must be fifty-five per cent. The display case is made of special glass. And we have reinforced doors, alarms and security cameras here in the vault.’
He took a preservation torch from a pocket and gestured for him to move closer to the case. ‘Look here.’ He shone the beam on the surface of the drawing revealing reddish-brown marks on the paper. ‘It’s damaged, and we cannot allow it to deteriorate further. For example,’ he pointed at the bottom left of the drawing, ‘here there was a red chalk inscription in Latin, Leonardus Vincius, which has disappeared.’
He found his voice, although it was shaking with emotion. ‘This is unbelievable.’
‘Probably the most valuable work of art in the world.’ Ottomon smiled with satisfaction.
Fascinated, he trawled his memory. ‘But shouldn’t it be in the Royal Library in Turin? They would never let it go. They even hid it from invaders so as not to give them more power.’
Ottomon coughed. ‘I’m fortunate to have the honour of its stewardship.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Somehow, it came into my possession.’
You stole it.
A sense of dread pervaded his body. If this were a confession, he’d rather not hear it as it would make
him an accomplice.
‘Interesting,’ he tried to compose himself. ‘but why are you showing it to me?’
‘I need your opinion. I need a scientist to investigate and determine if it has those powers. A challenge that must interest you as a scientist?’
Not if it’s illegal.
‘Do whatever necessary to find out what powers this work of art has. I’m a man of great wealth, and I have a considerable amount of power. But this—’ he turned again to the image ‘—is more than any of that. And I want this power for myself.’
Understanding the man’s dreams, he gave a wry smile. ‘A great work of art is almost magical and can elevate one’s thoughts and dreams, but I don’t—’
Ottomon’s raised hand silenced him, and it was apparent a refusal wasn’t possible. ‘That’s settled, you will help me. Now for my second problem, which is more pressing.’
He feared it would prove even more difficult.
‘Come back upstairs, I need a drink.’
Back in his study, a butler served a drink to the billionaire, and he took a sip before continuing. ‘You must do this quickly. I cannot afford any delay.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, slow and cautious.
Ottomon evaluated him. ‘You are the world expert in chipping. You can track a chip anywhere—’
Whoah.
He put up both hands and stepped backwards, suspecting what he was about to ask. ‘Can’t go there. I signed the Official Secrets Act which prevents me from divulging any information about our work or any information we hold.’
The tycoon overrode that. ‘I need you to locate a certain young woman.’
‘Impossible.’
‘It’s a matter of some urgency.’ Ottomon continued, ignoring the objection. ‘Would I be right in saying the chip uses radio frequency identification technology?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘The State uses your programme to spy on its citizens, and no one complains because they’re brainwashed into believing it’s for tracking dangerous criminals and terrorists.’
‘Couldn’t possibly—’
‘The chip can also change the personality or moods of a person. And there are countries where they breed like rabbits that have found it useful to lower libido and therefore birth rates.’
Unwilling to say anything more, he studied his feet and wondered if he should risk leaving. This could be a trial by the State to test his allegiance, and if he walked out, he’d survive.
‘Science fiction perhaps, but for example, the State, in certain circumstances, has employed the programme to make certain undesirables disappear. Now that’s a useful tool.’
A growing panic consumed him. What the man was saying was treasonous and warranted a death sentence.
‘Some have removed their chips, but I hope this person hasn’t.’
‘It’s illegal, and there are severe penalties.’
‘If you’re desperate, you’ll do anything. I want you to inform me of her location at any time.’
Sick rising in his throat rendered him speechless. Although it was straightforward to track anyone, all actions had to go through several levels of permission. And he’d face prosecution if he broke protocols. He shook his head as his mind whirled, trying to find ways of extricating himself from a situation that was growing more dangerous.
Ottomon’s voice had been measured, now it grew harsher. ‘We have been tracking her, but her phone is unreliable, keeps going out of service as if she’s disappeared down a rabbit hole. Couldn’t get a reliable enough signal to… We thought we’d taken care of business but were way off target so to speak.’
He frowned as he took a large swallow of his drink. ‘So now it’s down to you. Find me this woman, she’s a model, Solo Blue. You may have heard of her?’
Skarab turned white. He knew who she was, and he knew why her phone was cutting out.
‘Don’t misunderstand me, I am not asking you,’ Ottomon continued. ‘I am ordering you to find the woman. You have no choice.’
Helpless, he almost gagged. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Yes, you will. Now you have seen the drawing and have agreed to work with me that makes you an accomplice, so it’s in both our interests we find her.’
His head spinning and his legs trembling, he despaired for his research and his mother.
‘And if you need an incentive to help me, I know all about your private work.’
How does he know about that?
Fear gripped him as everything seemed to be slipping out of his control.
Ottomon’s glower showed he’d brook no more interruptions. ‘I have people everywhere, watching and listening. I know everything about your work. And I understand progress has been impressive in a certain area of research that particularly interests me.’
There was no point in denying it. ‘It’s serious work, and, yes, I am on the verge of making a monumental breakthrough.’
‘Undoubtedly, but that’s another problem for you. While the State allows you a certain amount of licence to carry out scientific experiments, you haven’t informed them of your findings. And that means…’
He’d have no option but to agree. To buy time to complete his work on schedule, he would help find the woman. After that, he’d extricate himself from this mess.
Ottomon broke into his thoughts. ‘And I want to be involved. I can provide considerable funds to ensure your research comes to fruition. Help me find the woman, and your secret is safe with me.’
He exhaled noisily.
But which secret?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jane carried her despair like a shield, trying to act normal for the sake of her son, but there was nothing ordinary about her actions. The toll Becky’s absence was taking on her was evident in her robotic ironing of clothes and putting them in neat piles as if expecting Becky to return home soon.
She opened the door and met Headlock with a mixture of grief and guilt, and she folded into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder. He let her cry. ‘Let it all out.’ Whatever they said could never be adequate.
‘Oh, Junior, she was my baby, too.’
For once, he didn’t mind being called that.
‘Didn’t want this to happen to my beautiful little girl, but it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t left her for a few seconds, she’d be here safe with us. What have I done? Now all I can think is she’s all alone and frightened and crying for us, and we’re not there to comfort her.’ She pushed him away. ‘What has happened to her?’ Her eyes flared.
He shook his head, but her eyes were so full of tears she couldn’t see.
‘Will she be okay?’
Jane wanted to hear she was, but all he could muster was a reassuring smile although he feared the worst.
‘Maybe someone has her and is caring for her and will give her back.’ She stumbled, and he helped her into a chair. ‘Maybe a woman who can’t have children.’ She looked up at him, grasping at straws, but continued, ‘And when she realises what she’s done, she’ll bring her home.’
He knelt beside her and took both her hands. ‘Everything is being done to find her. We’ll keep on searching.’
‘I know, I know, I told your brother not to worry about me and just get out there and look for her.’ Her face crumpled as she glanced at the neat pile of ironed children’s clothes. ‘Had to do something, the waiting is driving me crazy.’
‘I understand.’ He should do something, but where would he start?
‘She’s a little girl, and I let her and you down. She was always asking when you’re coming to see her.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ he consoled her and swore to himself that if he ever got Becky back, he’d never let her out of his sight, no matter what happened.
‘When she comes home, I’ll put a bed in her room and sleep there every night,’ she promised, and her eyes lit up at the prospect. ‘Yes, that’s what I’ll do.’
‘It will be hard, but we must stay positive.’ His words sounded empty
.
Jane rose and paced the room, glancing out of the windows as if expecting the child’s imminent return. ‘I keep driving over to where it happened and looking around. There’s nothing there, but I can’t stop myself.’
The doorbell rang and composing herself, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘That’ll be my cousin, she’s come to help. I’ll be okay. You find her.’
A woman ten years older than Jane whom he recognised entered and together the three of them swapped condolences, picking the words and skirting truths.
As he was leaving, Jane grabbed both his hands. ‘She’s still alive, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he lied, hating himself for it.
He’d got a cab to the house and now walked for a few blocks to clear his head of the thoughts and despair that had overtaken him.
A distinctive red car he’d seen outside police headquarters was parked nearby. But he paid it no attention and immersed himself in formulating a plan of action.
As he wondered how he’d cope with her loss, an image of the young girl’s body with Becky’s face transposed flashed before his eyes. He would go back to the alley to search for anything they might have missed, and he’d find Solo, and together they’d rerun the events of that night. Although he wasn’t sure how he’d find her. A woman of mystery, she flitted in and out of his life, and he wondered if she existed or was a figment of a fevered imagination.
As he crossed the road heading for a taxi rank, a car revved its engine, and he turned to see the red car barrelling down the road towards him. It was powerful and moving fast. Too fast. He froze, wondering if the driver had lost control as it lurched and mounted the sidewalk.
A woman’s scream diverted his attention to a small boy chasing a bouncing ball down a drive towards the road. Concerned for the boy’s safety, he moved towards him, but the car was travelling too fast. The boy, ball and car came together in the roaring of a wild animal in pain, and the collision threw the boy into a neighbour’s garden.
The car slewed to a stop; the engine running raggedly. And the driver, wearing a baseball cap, stared at him and revved his vehicle, wrenching the wheel to the left and bumping down from the kerb before stalling.
