The Minders

by John Marrs

  In one swift manoeuvre, Emilia placed the gun’s muzzle to the slight lump at the crown of her head, pointed it in a downward motion, and pulled the trigger.

  She was dead before she hit the ground.

  CHAPTER 87

  FLICK, ALDEBURGH, SUFFOLK

  No!” yelled Flick, and from her position behind the pew, her body recoiled at the sound of gunfire and the split second of muzzle flash. Then Emilia fell from view.

  Flick clasped her stomach tighter, as if to shield her unborn baby from the horrors of its mother’s world. Then she waited, half expecting Dr. Porter, or MJ or Emilia or whoever she’d thought she was, to rise from the dead and come for her next. But nothing happened. She moved slowly towards her and only when she saw a pool of blood around MJ’s head and shoulders did she know for certain that she was dead.

  The stitch in Flick’s back and stomach was becoming more persistent, but though it still didn’t hurt, it was affecting her ability to remain on her feet.

  The thunderous sound of Aldeburgh’s fireworks display reached its climax, with a crescendo rainbow of colours turning night into day. Only when it stopped and she heard Elijah gasping for breath did she remember what had brought her to that old church. She hurried to her feet and ran to him, yanking the gag from his mouth.

  “Elijah,” she said, the word breathy and brimming with desperation. She placed her ear next to his mouth—shallow, near-silent breaths could just about be heard. She sensed he didn’t have long left. Flick returned to the aisle where she’d dropped the knife and used it to hack at the ropes binding his legs, wrists, and neck to the crucifix. He fell towards her as she tried to support his weight, the two of them tumbling to the floor in a heap of limbs.

  “Elijah,” she repeated, her voice now reduced to a tremble. “Please talk to me?”

  There was still no response. She carried out a fingertip search of his body until she located the bloody bullet wound in his thigh. If it had penetrated the femoral artery, he would already be bleeding to death unless she was quick. She unhooked his belt and tied it tightly around his thigh as a temporary tourniquet. All she wanted was to look after him, to make up for the anguish she had caused.

  “Please, hang on,” she continued, and patted his pockets, searching for a phone. He wasn’t carrying one.

  She scanned the gloom of the church but didn’t know where to begin looking for a landline. However, she recalled Aldeburgh’s only remaining public telephone box from one of her many walks as she committed the town to memory. It was only two streets away. Flick ran as fast as her legs could carry her, clutching her stomach and stumbling as she hurried through the lashing rain. And after dialling the emergency services and anonymously warning the operator of an injured man and dead woman in the church of St. Paul, she hung up and returned to the church.

  Flick hesitated as she gripped the large metal rings to open the doors. She knew that as much as she wanted it, she couldn’t be with Elijah when the ambulance and police arrived. There was too much explaining to be done. If, as she hoped, this was all over, the best thing she could do for everyone was to disappear back into the night as quietly as she had come. She made her way to the far corner of the churchyard, using a full-height gravestone to hide behind.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered impatiently, wringing her hands as she awaited the ambulance. If there had been any doubt before, now she understood why Karczewski had warned against making emotional attachments. All who came into contact with her were dead or injured. She desperately wanted to be with Elijah in that church, comforting him and telling him how much she loved him. But happy-ever-afters were not written for people like Flick.

  She thought about Dr. Porter. Their paths had not crossed, and by the time Flick was enrolled into the programme, she was just a name in a file, stored inside her head. The deaths of the first four Minders had been hushed up, lessons had been learned, techniques tweaked and alterations made so that her actions could never be replicated. The data suggested that Dr. Porter had been killed, but now it was clear she hadn’t been. The world was so full of lies that even the data she stored in her brain couldn’t be trusted.

  Despite the cruelty inflicted by Dr. Porter on the other Minders and Grace, there was a side of Flick that pitied her. She had witnessed the confusion and turmoil in her face as she debated and argued with a person who was not present. Flick had listened helplessly as she quarrelled with herself, her subconscious and repressed memories doing battle with her present to reveal the truth. If it meant Dr. Porter had been acting alone, then there was no longer a threat to Flick’s safety.

  Finally, a first responder vehicle arrived, blue and red lights flashing, followed moments later by an ambulance, then two marked police vehicles. Another stabbing pain in her stomach caused her to fall to her knees. And when she slipped her hand inside her underwear and saw that her fingertips were red, she feared the worst. It was all she could do to stop herself from asking for help to stop her miscarriage. Instead, she waited until Elijah was carried out on a gurney flanked by paramedics, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Only then did she quietly disappear in the car she’d arrived in hours earlier.

  Once again, Flick was back on the road, potentially the last Minder standing from both programmes.

  PART FOUR

  Three Years Later

  ** CONFIDENTIAL **

  TOP SECRET: UK EYES ONLY, CLASSIFIED “A”

  THIS DOCUMENT IS THE PROPERTY OF HIS MAJESTY’S GOVERNMENT

  MINUTES OF JOINT CYBER-ESPIONAGE/INTELLIGENCE COMMITTEE ASSESSMENT MEETING 11.7

  “THE ALTERNATIVE APPROACH TO STORAGE OF CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS”

  ** Please note this is an account of the minutes taken from the above meeting. Portions of text and certain participants have been redacted to prevent threats to security. **

  LOCATION:

  █​█​█​█​█​█, █​█​█​█

  MEMBERS PRESENT:

  Finn Braxton, Operations Director

  Dr. Sadie Mann, Director of Psychiatric Evaluations

  Dr. Pascal Foley, Deputy Head of Neuroscience

  █​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█, Ministry of Defence (MoD), Porton Down

  █​█ █​█​█, MI5

  William Harris, HM Government’s Minister for Central Intelligence

  NONMEMBERS PRESENT:

  Prime Minister Diane Cline

  PRIME MINISTER: I’d like to keep this brief. What’s the status of the programme?

  FINN BRAXTON: The five most recently appointed Minders from Cycle Three are a year into the programme with no reported complications or side effects.

  PRIME MINISTER: And we are still tracking them?

  FINN BRAXTON: Yes, Prime Minister. Communication remains minimal through social media channels, but the transdermal patches they wear and the bioresorbable health sensor implants keep us up to date with their physical and mental statuses.

  █​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█, MoD: And as former special forces personnel, these candidates continue to remain discreetly armed at all times. But there have been no occasions to date when the necessity has arisen to draw their weapons.

  PRIME MINISTER: By my calculations, thirteen months remain until they and the last remaining Minder from the previous programme will find their beads dissolving. Is that correct?

  FINN BRAXTON: Yes. But our programmers are four months ahead of schedule. In all likelihood, we will be the most unhackable country on earth by March next year. At that point, the Minders will be recalled and their data retrieved.

  PRIME MINISTER: Tell me about the retrieval process. We cannot risk a repeat of what happened to your predecessor, Dr. Porter, when she was subjected to it.

  DR. PASCAL FOLEY: Her methods have now been redeveloped and perfected, seemi
ngly with no negative reactions.

  PRIME MINISTER: Good. One last thing—when Flick Kennedy has been recalled and her data retrieved, I’d like to meet her. █​█​█​█, can you ensure that is arranged as soon as possible?

  █​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█​█, MoD: Is that a good idea, ma’am?

  PRIME MINISTER: She has sacrificed more for this country than anyone else in recent times. Her will to survive despite all the odds we have put her through is remarkable.

  WILLIAM HARRIS: She will be financially recompensed when this is over.

  PRIME MINISTER: Money cannot buy five lost years. The very least I owe her is a handshake and a personal thank-you. Has there been any contact with her?

  WILLIAM HARRIS: We know roughly her whereabouts but there has been no direct contact, no.

  PRIME MINISTER: She has no idea of how appreciative we are? I will do my best to rectify that sooner rather than later.

  EPILOGUE

  FLICK

  The mid-April heat wave was approaching thirty-two degrees, according to the digital temperature gauge attached to the top of the lifeguard tower.

  As Flick slathered her face and arms in factor 50 UPF, she welcomed the light breeze coming in from the sea. A beach marker revealed that half a metre of land had been lost to the water in the space of two years. Global heating was shrinking and eroding many unfortunate coastal towns, including Aldeburgh. The construction of an unsightly three-metre-high sea wall further up the coast was a temporary solution. Flick wondered how much of the town she loved might be left fifty years from now.

  The more time she spent alone—three and a half years, to date—the more she considered the future and how hers might have played out had her decision been different and had she been allowed to be a mother.

  She swigged water from a bottle and replaced it in her backpack along with the sun cream. Touching a button on the arm of her sunglasses, she zoomed in on two figures ahead. They were jumping in and out of the shoreline waves with an excitable black Labrador by their sides. Butterflies circled her stomach every time as she watched Elijah and their son, Leo, playing together. They brought out the child in one another.

  Leo had been her miracle baby. The back and stomach stitches she’d experienced the night of Emilia’s suicide and Elijah’s near-death had been debilitating. Soon after leaving the town, she had been forced to park in a supermarket car park and spent an hour locked in the disabled toilets, bleeding and anticipating the loss of her baby. But to her surprise, it eventually petered out. Flick ventured into the shop, bought panty liners and a burner mobile phone, and Googled the symptoms. She discovered that she was likely having a threatened miscarriage, which involved bleeding even though her cervix remained closed. It didn’t mean she had miscarried. And she had sobbed for an hour the next morning when she felt the baby move inside her.

  Now, her heart swelled as she watched Elijah hugging his son. Even to a stranger’s eye, their closeness was undeniable, and she felt a twinge of envy prick at her. Elijah had been the only parental figure in the boy’s life. Days after giving birth under a false name in a Cheshire hospital, Flick had walked out of the maternity ward entrance alone, having given her son a tear-stained kiss goodbye and leaving a note pinned to his Babygro alerting the neonatal team to his father’s name, address, and telephone number.

  Abandoning the one thing she loved most in the world left her heart in a million pieces. But she knew that it was in Leo’s best interests to live a stable life, and that was something Flick had been unable to offer him.

  The only physical reminder of her son was a navy blue sleepsuit with white velvet stars upon the chest. She’d dressed him in it that first night, then replaced it before she left. Weeks later, when she was crippled by grief and could barely eat or move, there were moments when she became convinced she could smell traces of her baby lingering on the arms she’d held him in and the lips she’d kissed him with. Sometimes she imagined him still inside her, turning from side to side, kicking, hiccupping, or making her stomach flutter. Without Leo, she was a lost soul.

  Her baby aside, Flick’s life following Emilia’s suicide had been uneventful. Seven months after the government exposed Flick and launched its hunt for her, she read that she had apparently been captured and killed. Quite why, she didn’t know. But even though she was no longer a target in fear of being identified, she had still spent the rest of her time travelling the length and breadth of the country, rarely remaining in one area for more than a couple of months. There was nothing to suggest that she was being pursued, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. She made acquaintances but not friends, and certainly no one came as close to her as Grace. Life as the only remaining Minder was one of self-imposed isolation.

  Many times, she’d visited the ReadWell boards on the off chance that other government staff aware of the programme had left her a message informing her of what was expected next. Or perhaps new Minders had been appointed and deployed and were now communicating with one another using the same means as she had used. However, there was never anything to be found. But last night, something had happened that had changed everything.

  She had turned on the television in her motel room and chosen a rolling news channel. It was the news ticker that caught her attention.

  Credible Hacking threat to UK—PM addresses Parliament.

  Since she had become a Minder, many more countries had been under cyberattack from the Hacking Collective, and most recently Luxembourg and Belarus had fallen. Finland, Spain, and Australia were also close to the breaking point.

  Flick turned up the volume as the newsreader spoke. “This afternoon during Question Time, Prime Minister Diane Cline assured her own party and the opposition that the United Kingdom was ‘uniquely prepared’ for any attack. She said that security measures were in place and that Britain was still on target to become the world’s first unhackable country. However, despite repeated calls for evidence, she refused to offer any.”

  The screen cut to footage recorded earlier that day of the PM leaning against the lectern in the House of Commons to address her own party and the opposition. “When the freedom of our country is under its biggest threat since World War Two, it would be foolish of me to risk our safety by explaining how such measures will work. I implore you to have faith. I have gratitude to, and complete confidence in, those brave people behind the scenes who have sacrificed their lives as they once knew them, their careers, relationships, and families, to keep us safe from the Hacking Collective and every other unseen enemy that wants to bring us to our knees. You have not been forgotten.”

  As studio pundits debated back and forth what the Prime Minister meant, Flick was convinced that it was a coded message directed at her. And it was as if a weight had been lifted from Flick’s shoulders. It meant the programme hadn’t died with Karczewski and there were people out there who knew she existed. While the Collective remained active and new security measures were still being developed, she was needed. She hadn’t been separated from her baby for nothing.

  A year remained until she completed her term and the data would either be removed or dissolve, taking her knowledge with it. She must remain in isolation until then, protecting herself and serving her country.

  Since giving birth to Leo, Flick had returned to Aldeburgh every four months or so, each time sporting an alternative appearance—new hairpieces, baseball caps, contoured makeup altering the appearance of her bone structure, glasses, or coloured contact lenses. And after leaving fresh flowers by Grace’s graveside each visit, she either sat inside her car behind blackened windows or hovered on the beach, watching Elijah’s house from a distance, waiting to spy on the child and the life she was missing out on.

  Sometimes she was fortunate enough to catch glimpses of them, and at other times she waited days and eventually gave up, assuming
they had gone away with Elijah’s work. Today was one of the more successful days; she had been afforded the opportunity to watch them for about an hour as they walked the dog and then threw a ball at one another.

  You did the right thing, she told herself. They’re safe and they’re happy.

  Flick turned her back as they began walking in her direction and towards the house. She planned to wait until they were inside before she left town again.

  Their dog brushed past her legs and it was all she could do to stop herself from bending over and stroking him, as if touching his fur might allow her access into their world. Next, she became aware of Leo’s small feet hurrying along the pebbles and towards the dog.

  “Rupert,” he squealed, “it’s home time.” Flick waited until he’d passed her before she glanced over her shoulder to watch him from behind. Her heart quivered at their proximity, just as it had the first night they’d lain next to one another in the hospital ward. It was just as difficult now as it had been then to tear her gaze away from him.

  Suddenly, she felt another presence approaching her, Elijah’s feet much heavier as they pounded across the stones. Shivers spread across her body when, for a second at most, Elijah’s little finger entwined around hers as he walked.

  “One more year to go,” he whispered as he passed her. She felt his warm breath on her cheek and she closed her eyes.