by Terry Tyler
"It'll be shock-horror revelations about over-population next, you wait," Dex said, when he found me watching one of these programmes.
He was right. Images of vast, tumbledown urban sprawls in Central and South America flew around the internet after they'd appeared on a prime time Newsnight special. Predictions for world population grew more alarming. Unemployment would be a global problem, we were told, as technological advances meant that more and more industries would replace human labour with robots. A huge proportion of the world's population would soon be 'economically non-productive'.
And then the bombshell. There simply wasn't enough in the way of natural resources to sustain this explosion. In fifty years' time, even those in the developed world would face food and fuel shortages.
"Not you, but your children, and your grandchildren."
I woke up. So world problems affected us, too, even in cosy little Shipden. I could see what some people meant about remaining childless, because they didn't want to bring children into this world. My life would be at an end by the time all this happened, but Lottie's wouldn't, and she would have children of her own.
Dex was sceptical, of course, and showed me articles on the Unicorn site.
BorderReiver (aka Jeff) wrote:
"Governments create ignorance within the population, because that's the way they want it. Keep reporting lies and biased statistics as fact, and the majority of the public believes them without question. Look at the pictures of poverty-stricken shanty towns in Mexico and Brazil, and you may think the laws in some countries that prohibit couples from having more than one child seem reasonable, even though thirty years ago this seemed shocking, an injustice against human rights and even nature. If those in power decide that something must be done about the alleged over-population crisis, what might the next step be? Think about it. And when it's time for the hammer to fall, who will be for the chop?
You already know the answer. Because the media have given it to you.
"Jeff's doing the same as the government," I said. "He says they're presenting lies as fact. But he's presenting his theories as fact, too."
I thought I'd made a clever and valid point, but Dex just smiled that patient smile of is. "We'll see, shall we?"
In March 2024, Gia, the connection from GCHQ, agreed to assist Unicorn.
Dex and I were walking along the beach one Sunday afternoon, just as winter was starting to melt into spring, when he told me.
I congratulated him, but his news gave me a sick feeling of dread. I wondered if he was dipping his toe in rivers too deep; an online activist group was one thing, but this—oh, but he looked so pleased; I knew it was a big win for him. My fear was based on intuition rather than knowledge; he was telling me less and less about Unicorn.
"So what's she going to do?" I looked up at him, and grinned. "Give away state secrets so you can blog about them?"
"Don't be stupid." His voice cut across the air between us, and his sharp words hurt. So did the look on his face. He'd never spoken to me like that before. "You don't understand how serious this is. She works for a government intelligence agency, and she's agreed to help us. An organisation that works against the government." He frowned, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "I shouldn't have told you."
I pulled my arm away from his. "I'm sorry. I was actually joking." I frowned. "So how come she's agreed?"
"I'm not really supposed to be talking about this. I shouldn't have said anything at all."
"Well, you have, so can you answer my question, please?"
He stopped, shut his eyes for a moment and breathed in. "Okay. In brief. She was asked to investigate us by applying to join, but when Scott checked her out, a couple of things didn't ring true, so he blocked her from the site. Few months later, she's had a crisis of conscience. Feels like she's backing the wrong team. To cut a long story short, she came back to us last month and said she wanted in."
"Like a double agent?"
He smiled. "Sort of, yes. She's heard a few whispers that have given her cause for concern. Trouble is, security clearances are steel reinforced brick walls."
I couldn't help it. "Doesn't she see reports in big manila folders with 'Top Secret' labels stamped across the front in red letters, like in old spy films?"
He managed to laugh at that. "If only!"
"Can't Scott hack into stuff?" I said, which earned me another 'oh, for goodness sake' look.
"This is the British government, Vicky." He shook his head, as if wearied by my questions. "We're not aiming to get banged up for treason. She's putting herself in a dangerous position; as I said, I shouldn't really have told you."
"Why did you, then?"
"I don't know."
I did. He was showing off. Showing me they were important enough to warrant investigation. Oddly enough, I found that rather endearing.
A gust of wind off the sea blew my hair over my face; temporarily vision-impaired, I felt my right foot sink into a shallow rock pool. Cold water seeped into my boot. Oh, lovely. Half an hour's walk home with a soggy sock.
"Damn and blast!"
Dex didn't notice; he'd turned away from me and was looking out to sea.
I pulled off my boot, squeezed my sock out, and toppled over, bashing my bare foot on a jagged rock. "Ouch!"
At last, he turned to look at me, and held out his hand over the offending puddle. "Sorry I was short with you. I didn't mean it, I'm a dick. Honestly."
"Honestly, you're a dick?"
"Ha, ha. Yeah. Sorry. I'm a bit preoccupied these days, that's all."
"No, really?" I allowed him to tuck my arm back into his and kiss me, cold lips on my cheek.
"Shall we get back?" he said. "I fancy some serious film watching. Couple of pints in the King’s first, what d'you think?"
Oh well, I could always take the sock off.
Half way through the film, he was back on his laptop, tapping away on Unicorn.
Alas, they didn't yet understand half of what was going on, and were not powerful enough to prevent it, even if they had. And by the time we found out the truth, it was way, way too late.
Chapter Three
Travis and Kitson
South London
June 2024
The building had no address, and most of it was underground. In a long, low room filled with rows of people tapping away at computer terminals, a young man sat back, loosened his tie, and put his hands behind his head.
His name was Kitson, and he'd worked in BDC (Bulk Data Collection) for three years, but on this covert project for only four months.
"Funny, isn't it, how the keywords change from area to area." He reached out and tapped the screen. "North East's chock full of Reds. Light on the illegals, heavy on the crims and anti-government bleaters."
His colleague nodded, without taking his intense, light blue eyes from his own monitor. Travis had started work on the project a month before Kitson; countrywide selection had been rigorous, and the workforce was housed in an anonymous apartment block in Vauxhall. A condition of their employment was the signing of an addendum to the Official Secrets Act, which reiterated the secrecy of the project, and threatened severe penalties should security be breached. Such responsibility meant that a bond had formed between those involved, and they tended not to seek company outside their group.
Travis and Kitson shared a bedroom; they'd become friends, of sorts.
"It all evens out in the end," Travis said, "and it's much to do with the country's economy, I imagine." He scrolled up and down the data unravelling in front of his eyes. "More Greens on the south coast, Blues in the suburbs. Tons of Reds in London and Essex. Probably earning a lot more from their dodgy deals than they get on Universal Credit." He narrowed his eyes, transfixed by what he saw. "And they tell us all about it on Private Life. Unbelievable."
Kitson leant over to look at a female who'd just appeared on Travis's screen, and whistled. "Now she doesn't look dodgy at all! She's a Blue, right?"
&
nbsp; "Uh-uh." Travis shook his head. "Green. Buys her weekend coke off a Red who gets it off a site on Tor. They actually arrange the transactions by Private Chat." He clicked onto a message on the girl's Private Life profile. "Can you believe it? There's stupid, and there's taking the piss."
To a background of Kitson's appreciative whistles, he scrolled through several images of the girl and her pretty, club-going friends.
"Boyfriend's a Red; he deals a bit of weed, signs on and doesn't declare his cash in hand. Someone's tagged him in a picture working in a cocktail bar and the moron's 'liked' and shared it." He clicked onto the next open window. "This one's more my type. A bit Diane Kruger, think you not?"
"Who's she?"
"Inglourious Basterds. Several other forgettable films that I only watched 'cause she was in them."
"Can't place her. But yeah, she's alright."
Travis flicked onto more pictures of a pretty face framed by ragged waves of honey-coloured hair. "Red, though."
"Yeah? Looks harmless enough. Benefits or crim? Ah—no, don't tell me—diabetic? Bipolar?"
"None of the above. Political activist."
Kitson laughed. "Never! She's not ugly enough!"
Travis smiled, pleased with himself. "I've got me a Unicorn, my friend."
Kitson's eyes opened wide. "Fuck, really?"
"I shit you not. Well, actually, it's not her, it's the boyfriend. He's one of the main men: the elusive Dexter Northam. The lovely Vicky mentioned it on Facebook just once, three years ago, but she's had a lot more to say to her mum recently, in emails."
Kitson leaned in yet further. "You lucky bastard. Every time I get 'unicorn' flagged up, it's either some twat blathering on about a fantasy epic he's written, or a mad hippie. Awesome work, bro’. I'm impressed!"
"Yep. Bonus time for L. Travis, Esquire." He laughed. "Northam's been re-routing for years; we don't get the same IP for his posts, but the next door neighbour's posted some jolly barbecue photos with him in, so we know he's still around, and he's cocked up. Sent Keating a post written by Unicorn main man Jeff Finch, aka Border Reiver, about whom we know very little." He opened up another window. "And look, here they are. Nice bit of facial recog." And he lined up a photo posted by Claire Robertson, taken in her garden the previous month, with a CCTV image of Dex and Jeff entering a quiet pub in Northumberland, a few days before.
Kitson studied the image, sat back and folded his arms, nodding with approval. "Bro, I am seriously impressed. Nice one."
"Just luck. Have to say, I enjoy finding the detail, even if we don't need it. Makes the job more interesting, doesn't it?"
And Travis dragged Vicky's deleted Facebook account, Lottie's MyLife and Dex's scant but revealing internet history into a bright red folder, then moved on to the next person on his list.
Chapter Four
The Gathering Storm
Summer 2024
Once it began, I felt as though I'd gone to bed in one life and woken up the next morning in another.
After Dex told me about Gia joining Unicorn, there was a curious shadow hanging over our days that I couldn't put my finger on.
I heard him say the words ‘catastrophe waiting to happen’ more than once when he talked on the phone to his friends, and I gathered that Gia had started to come through with some information for them, but when I asked him what, exactly, he told me that he and the other key members of Unicorn had agreed on complete secrecy, to safeguard their operation.
I thought he was being over-dramatic, and teased him about it to relieve my annoyance at being kept in the dark. "Is this like on Undercover, when that woman didn't know her husband was working for MI6?"
"Vicky, this is serious, it isn't a Netflix conspiracy thriller."
To pay him back for making me feel silly, I put on a washing load and left out all his socks.
He was cagey, worried, distant. Then he started going up to Northumberland for meetings with Jeff and the gang. They no longer felt safe talking over the internet, or even on the phone, not in the light of whatever it was that Gia was revealing.
"How long is all this going to go on for?" I asked, when I watched him chucking stuff into his bag for yet another long drive up to Jeff's house.
"As long as it needs to, I'm afraid, love."
Oh, and I wasn't allowed to contact him when he was there. 'They' could track phone calls, apparently, and my phone was almost certainly under surveillance.
I shut my eyes. "Dex, all this paranoia is starting to get me down, just a bit."
"Better to be paranoid than infiltrated." He stopped what he was doing and looked up. "Look, I know you think I'm being ridiculous, and I'm sorry, I can't tell you what's being discussed. But Gia—"
"Oh yes. Gia." I folded my arms. "These secret missions started when she joined the clan, didn't they?"
Dex stared at me. "Tell me you're not doing this, please."
I stared back. "Doing what?"
"You know. The stupid, suspicious, possessive crap that other people do."
For a moment we just stood there, then he arranged his features into a smile, dropped the shirt he was folding, and wrapped his arms around me. "Listen. She's not my type, and, anyway, I've got more important things to think about." He put a finger under my chin and lifted my face to his. "We're good, aren't we?"
I shoved my face into that lovely warm bit between his neck and shoulder that always smelled so Dex, dreading sleeping without him that night. "Course we are. I just feel useless, that's all." I looked up at him. "I wish you'd tell me what's going on."
He kissed me. "I will, when we've got the full picture and we know what we're going to do. Sometimes Gia can't find out anything concrete, it's just hints and vague references." He released me from his hold, and turned to carry on packing. "Talking of Gia, I've got to pick her up in Norwich, so I'd better crack on."
"Norwich? Why? Isn't that off the route?"
"Yes. Exactly. She lives in Essex, so she drives to her sister's in Norwich and I pick her up from there. There's a GPS tracker on Gia's car, which I gather is normal for certain levels of employee at GCHQ."
I sat down on the bed. "Can't you just take it off?"
"No, because then it would look like she was hiding something." He zipped up his bag. "I'll be back Sunday afternoon. Try not to worry."
It was only after he'd gone that I remembered he was wearing the lovely chambray shirt I'd bought him for his birthday, that looked so good on his tall, lean frame, and brought out the blue in his eyes. And cologne.
He rarely used the stuff, however many bottles he was given for Christmas and birthdays, but he'd made himself smell good for Gia.
There was something else, too. The way he didn't look at me when he told me he was going on another trip. And he'd looked cagey when he talked about picking her up.
I felt sick. He could be lying. She could be a total babe. It was a safe lie, too; we were never likely to meet. Meanwhile, he was picking her up for a weekend in a cosy cottage in the Northumbrian countryside. What went on when they'd finished talking about saving the world? There would be seven of them at the meeting. Kara and Phil, Dex, Gia and Jeff, Naomi, Scott. How many bedrooms did Jeff's place have?
"Dex gone again?" Lottie said, when she came in from her friend's house, later.
"Mm-mm." I kept my eyes on the TV screen.
"Why don't you go with him?"
"It's Unicorn business."
"Bor-ring!"
Because Dex told me nothing, I began to look at the Unicorn site on a daily basis.
Taken from a post by BorderReiver, dated 22nd June:
"If you look at our posts and choose to forget what you've read, it's because you don't want to face the truth. We're told there are far too many people living on the planet, that our resources cannot be stretched. Once the media has got you quaking in your boots about your children and your children's children not having enough to eat, the idea of targeted depopulation might not seem so unthinkable."
/> I looked up 'targeted depopulation', and read that conspiracy theories predicted horrific stuff like mass sterilisation via drinking water, using the overpopulation crisis as the pretext.
The way to guarantee the dismissal of any warning or suggestion is to label it a conspiracy theory. That was what Dex told me. But all the same—sterilisation via drinking water? Sounded a bit far-fetched.
Shortly after that post appeared on Twitter, the Unicorn profile was suspended for violation of the site's rules. No further explanation was given, and Jeff's enquiries were ignored.
Dex was up in Northumberland when it began.
Pictures appeared on the news of a mysterious virus scything its way through remote villages in two provinces of the Central African Republic, one of the poorest nations on earth.
Who knows anything about that country? Can you name one of the provinces? I couldn't, and I wasn't any the wiser when I looked them up. I read that fifteen per cent of the population is HIV positive, and antiretroviral therapy is available in only three per cent of the whole country.
I didn't know exactly what 'antiretroviral' meant, but I got the gist; basically, there's bugger all medicine there.
I watched film of victims lying on battered looking beds in hospitals that resembled cattle sheds. Skinny children playing in the dirt on sun-baked, dusty roads; harassed, sweating aid workers.
At first they thought it was another strain of Ebola, said the report, but this was quickly ruled out. If you caught it, the first symptoms were fever and muscular pain eighteen to thirty-six hours after contact, followed by puking and diarrhoea, after which your liver and kidneys began to pack up.
Nasty.
No one knew where it came from, or exactly how it was transmitted, but they soon sussed out that it was a hundred per cent lethal. If you got it, you were toast.
All flights out of the affected areas had been cancelled. Just as a precaution, they said; there was no need to panic.
