by Jem Tugwell
He walked out of the gardens, trying to get his nerves under control. He wiped his brow and slowed his walk before heading down Priory Road and turning into Priory Street. By the time he reached Dudley Town Hall and the official reason for his trip here, he felt much calmer.
He imagined a family beside a loved-one’s hospital bed. Hearing the unexpected but fantastic news of a suitable organ.
The glow of it warmed him through the tedious meeting and the discussion on the details of new accountancy standards that all councils needed to use.
Chapter 19
The two days sitting around since they had been measured for the BioSuperTech universal mount had felt like weeks to Femi.
He couldn’t stand waiting. The two runs out along the local roads with Lilou had helped pass the time and kept his body moving. Worryingly, they had also proved she was a serious opponent. When Femi had first seen Lilou in a French Olympic team tracksuit top, he had thought it was a replica and the talk of triathlons and parkour was just that – talk.
Their first run had changed his mind.
Her back disappeared into the distance, then the gap closed as she jogged on the spot waiting for him, before disappearing again. At the end of the run, Lilou seemed fresh, still bouncing as she stretched to cool down. Femi, his hands on his knees as he gulped in air, wished his legs would stop shaking.
‘Same time tomorrow?’ Lilou said.
Femi couldn’t find enough breath to speak, so he nodded.
On today’s run, Femi hadn’t done much better.
Now he lay on the narrow bed, his feet dangling over the end. Like most things, it wasn’t designed for someone six foot six inches tall. Despite the metal bed frame pressing into his calves, his eyes were closed, and a small smile played on his lips as he daydreamed that he was back home cooking for his family, savouring the smell of the ocean mixing with the smoky sizzle of beef.
A bang on his door crashed him out of the warmth of his dreaming and into the cold, stark room.
‘Meeting in five minutes,’ a voice called through the door.
Femi stood and stretched, hoping that this would be the real start of the game.
***
The Four were back in the main hall area, standing in a line in front of Serge and the long table. Femi deflated a little when he couldn’t see the BST hands on the table. Instead, four folders were stacked in a neat pile. The top one had the letter ‘A’ on it. He rubbed the back of his leg to ease an aching hamstring and waited for Serge to finish yet another long pull on a cigarette.
Serge’s eyes locked briefly onto Femi’s before scanning onto the others.
‘So, this is goodbye,’ Serge said in a breathy voice.
Femi wondered how much practice it had taken Serge to be able to talk and blow the smoke out of the side of his mouth at the same time.
‘But first we have the details of the game to discuss,’ Serge said as he slid the folder with the ‘A’ on it off the pile and along the table. The folder now on top of the pile showed the letter ‘B’. Serge repeated the sliding of the folders until all four were laid out.
‘I said before that there are four starting points, four routes and four finishing lines.’
The Four nodded.
‘Now we choose.’
Sully jumped forward, his hand extended as if to grab a folder, but Serge shouted, ‘Wait,’ and he motioned to someone at the back of the hall.
Sully’s hand stopped for an instant, then he smirked at the others before staring at Serge, defiance in his eyes. Sully moved his hand forward again, but as his fingers touched folder ‘C’, two large men appeared at his shoulder. Four hands found a good grip on Sully’s shirt and he was jerked back into his position on the line.
Sully struggled against the restraining grip, but the two men held him fast.
‘It’s not for you to choose the order,’ Serge said.
Sully glared and pushed his bottom lip out into a pout.
‘We choose in the order you finished the second test. Lilou first.’ Serge waved her forward, and as she stepped towards the desk, Sully tested the grip of his restrainers again.
Lilou’s fingers brushed over the folders, trying to sense the best one. ‘Can I open them?’ she asked.
Serge shook his head.
Lilou ran her hands over the folders again, her head tilted to one side.
Femi saw her head tilt back to vertical and the muscles in her right shoulder tense as she grasped folder ‘A’.
‘Femi next,’ Serge said.
Femi stepped forward and he picked up folder ‘D’. No other choice for him. ‘D’ for Dinah, his wife. His soul.
‘Tatsuko,’ Serge said when Femi had stepped back into the line.
She took a pace forward, hesitated over folder ‘C’ before picking up folder ‘B’.
‘I don’t want to give Sully his choice, but I’m from Boston so it seems destined.’
Sully beamed. ‘Got what I wanted,’ he shouted. The four hands gripping him released him and he shot forward to grab folder ‘C’ and clutch it to his chest.
‘C for cash,’ he sneered. ‘First prize for me, losers.’
Serge looked at Sully and crinkled his face in disgust, like he had caught the smell from an open sewer.
‘In your folders you will find details of your start point and everything else you need. You will be given your finish point when you’re in place. Please.’ Serge nodded towards the folders.
Femi pulled the flap open on the folder and looked inside. The top sheet of paper showed a map with an address. The starting point.
The second sheet of paper showed details of two flights. The first one from Paris tomorrow.
Serge fished in his pockets and pulled out four passports.
Femi could see his green South African passport on the bottom. Serge gave them out quickly and Femi flicked through his passport. He stopped at the page showing the stamp of a large entry permit.
The stamp showed the words ‘United Kingdom – Border Security.’
He was going to the Forbidden Island.
‘Let the game begin,’ Serge said.
Part 2
Game – The Forbidden Island
Chapter 20
Ava was in an advanced self-defence training session for the whole morning. She certainly fills every moment of the day now, Clive thought.
He sat alone in the PCU office, with only the scrolling health and safety messages on the office’s display wall for company. The message about HUD shoulder made about its tenth appearance in the last hour. Clive rolled his shoulder as instructed and felt the click and crunch of muscle near his shoulder blade. Typing and browsing on a HUD with your hands in the air meant that your shoulders carried the whole weight of your arms. It got tiring. The muscles knotted in complaint at the abuse, and HUD shoulder crunch was the inevitable, audible melody. In a busy office, the shoulder rolling would give an orchestral sized soundtrack of clicks, cracks, and groans.
It was nearly 11:30 am and he had ‘solved’ two cases already: one robbery and one assault – stupid crimes committed by stupid people who knew they would get caught. Solved with a simple drag and drop and search. Mindless, skill-less work. Not like the old days.
He knew he was on borrowed time in the police. Ava could do the job easily. Any of the trainees who rotated through PCU could do it after only a few hours. Clive bent to the desk drawer and pulled it open. His hand scrabbled around the bottom of the drawer, disturbing the old, unused police pencils, pads, and even an old phone charger that had somehow survived in the far corner. His fingers found the thicker booklet he had discovered one boring afternoon when he went foraging in the office cupboards and desks.
He laid it out. The spine of the booklet had a form of muscle memory and fell open at the page Clive kept rereading. The heading on the page was ‘Detective Constable Job Description’.
Clive knew the opening sentence by heart, and repeating it out loud brought it to life.
‘Being a detective is all about uncovering the truth. You’ll do this by analysing evidence, talking to witnesses and building trust within the community,’ he said, staring into the distance. It had been so long since he had analysed actual evidence.
Clive tried to ignore the craving his brain fired when he was bored – chocolate and coffee. He gave in and pushed his chair back in preparation for the walk to the vending machine, then stopped.
Two problems. One was that the machine probably wouldn’t give him what he wanted as he was now on a restricted diet. The second was his recent trip to the hospital. He couldn’t risk the flare in blood sugar.
Clive tucked his chair back in, still pushing down on the craving.
After a few short minutes, Clive was ready to try the vending machine anyway. The walk would kill some time. No, think of your health, he thought. He dithered in his chair while engrossed in mental arm-wrestling.
He was saved by a bing in his ear and his Buddy jogging out onto his HUD screen trailing a message: ‘One new item in your work queue.’
Clive clicked the banner and the PCU queue opened. Sure enough, there was one unread item.
‘Oh, no,’ Clive said. ‘Give me some real work.’
What had his job been recently? Taking a little girl to have an iMe implant against her parent’s wishes. Moving a mouse to solve trivial cases. Now today’s highlight.
He clicked into the case and read the details of an American tourist who was out of time and needed escorting to the airport. iMe classified him as off-grid even though his iTourist was still working, and so he was Clive’s problem.
This wasn’t police work. He banged some of his frustration into the table, making the booklet bounce.
‘Problem, Boss?’ Ava asked.
Clive looked up. ‘Just this life,’ he said.
Ava’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. ‘Err…’
‘Don’t worry. Get your coat, we’ve got a serious criminal to catch.’
***
Clive and Ava’s car rolled to a stop outside one of the many Costa Health Drinks in Kensington. They got out and headed to the glass doors, which hissed a welcome as they slid open.
‘That him?’ Clive asked, nodding towards a figure crouched at a table in the far corner.
Ava’s fingers moved on her HUD as she checked the display of iMe signals. ‘Yep.’
‘You want to handle it?’
Ava half paused, then nodded. ‘Sure.’
They walked over to the figure, Clive dropping half a pace behind Ava. All he could see was blond hair and shoulders covered in a white shirt.
‘Hello, Brett,’ Ava said. ‘You should have gone home yesterday.’
Brett looked up, revealing blue eyes and a thin face. His right hand was clasped tight on his left wrist. ‘No, not me,’ he said.
Clive shook his head and Ava said, ‘Really… “Not me”. That’s it?’
Clive looked in pride at Ava, when she had started at PCU she would have been meek and used her happy-bouncy tone. Now she was hard-edged steel.
When Brett didn’t move, Ava snapped, ‘Stop pissing us about and show me your wrist.’
Brett jumped to Ava’s command. Clive took a half-pace to the side to watch. Ava had this in the bag.
The iTourist was like a thin electronic bracelet clamped tight to Brett’s left wrist. It flashed red.
‘Not me,’ Ava mocked. ‘Let’s go.’
She reached across and pulled at Brett’s shoulder, encouraging him up.
As he shuffled towards the doors and the waiting car, Brett said, ‘How did you find me?’
Ava groaned and said, ‘Not too bright this one, Boss.’
Clive’s smile broadened.
***
The car weaved its way through the afternoon London traffic and headed towards Gatwick airport.
Brett had spent the first miles in silence, but now seemed to have decided that Ava cared about him and wouldn’t shut up.
‘So, I was at this party. I knew my flight was due, but I thought “fuck it” and carried on partying. There was this girl, and–’
‘I don’t want to know,’ Ava said.
Brett looked offended that his story wasn’t the most interesting thing in Ava’s world, but carried on anyway. ‘Then at midnight this iTourist thing starts flashing red,’ Brett said, waving at his wrist.
Ava rolled her eyes. ‘You were told it would at immigration.’
‘Yeah, but the girl said don’t worry I can stay at hers. Then the payment thing wouldn’t open the taxi and she had to pay. Guess I misread her. She was just being friendly, and I spent the night on the sofa with her dog.’
‘Poor dog,’ Ava said.
Brett took the put down badly and spent the next few minutes looking out of the window.
Ava smiled at the silence and started tapping at her HUD.
‘SaladWay,’ Brett laughed. ‘That’s Subway at home. This place is crazy… and what’s with all the closed burger joints. I couldn’t get a McDonald’s anywhere.’
Ava’s eyes pleaded with Clive to take the next stream of Brett’s consciousness. She’d taken the brunt of it so far.
‘Too much sugar, fat and carbohydrate,’ Clive said. ‘The tax on all that means it’s too expensive. Also, no red meat during the week.’
‘Crazy,’ Brett said, shaking his head.
‘Yes and no,’ Clive said. Sure, the food was healthier, but why was it always the things that were bad for you that tasted so good?
***
The car rolled past a group of eco-protesters holding ‘Air travel kills the planet’, ‘You’re stealing my future’ and ‘Flying? You’re a carbon criminal’ placards. A group of Uniforms corralled the protesters and kept them off the road. A gang of young kids in blue school uniforms sang the popular ‘Save the World’ song, conducted by a man with long dark hair. Could be an Environmental Studies class from a local school, Clive thought. The kids sang well, so maybe it was choir practice instead.
The sounds of song faded as the car climbed the ramp to Gatwick’s East terminal, and Brett’s eyes flashed.
‘I was meant to go to Rome,’ he said. ‘You can send me there.’
Ava groaned and said, ‘You needed to have paid more attention, Brett. If you outstay your visa, your iTourist stops your money and you get deported. Not to wherever you fancy, but your point of immediate departure prior to entering the UK. You confirmed all this when you came into the country.’
The car stopped next to two UK Border Security officers and the doors opened.
‘Yeah, but I’m meant to go to Rome,’ Brett moaned.
‘Tough,’ said Ava as she got out of the car.
‘You should have left yesterday,’ Clive agreed.
They beckoned Brett out and as he stood by the car, Clive grasped Brett’s left arm and held it out to one of the Border Security officers.
‘You’ll enjoy this one,’ Clive said. ‘He wants to go to Rome.’
‘Righty-oh,’ the larger officer said. ‘I’ll talk to American Airlines. Get you a nice first-class window seat and access to the executive lounge.’
‘Cool. Thanks,’ Brett said, perking up. Not getting the sarcasm.
The officer winked over his shoulder at Clive and Ava, then steered Brett towards a battered grey door in a low, windowless building.
Chapter 21
Lilou looked out of her aeroplane’s window at the twinkling lights of night-time Birmingham. She always loved a city at night, the sparkling house lights, the tiny stream of lights from the cars – red in one direction, white in the other, tracing the routes of the roads.
As the plane approached the airport, she tried to stay still and appear calm, but for every drop in altitude, Lilou’s excitement grew. She was nearly there. After hours on the train to Paris, a wait, a flight to Berlin, more waiting and then a flight to Birmingham.
She was tired, but the game was about to start. Finally, she was nearly on the Forbidd
en Island. Her pulse quickened and her nerves ticked in her legs as she stretched and then clenched her calves and thighs to ease the tension. She needed to be up and out of this seat to feel better. Much too much sitting around for one day. She needed to go running.
***
Inside the terminal building, running wasn’t an option. Lilou pushed up onto her tiptoes to see past the man in front of her and along the corridor towards the front of the queue. All she could see was a line of people that snaked ahead and then turned left. She had no idea how close to the front she was.
Lilou looked up to check she was in the correct lane. Her line was marked ‘All Other Passports’ and wasn’t moving. The other lane was marked ‘UK Citizens Only’ and people in it walked quickly and easily past her.
It took fifteen minutes for her to shuffle, pause, repeat her way to the corner. As she turned the corner, she groaned. The corridor opened into a large hall with a high ceiling and more signs. The line she was in continued into a lane marked with retractable barrier tapes suspended by movable posts on either side. The barrier tapes traced out a snake that crossed the hall, did a sharp 180 degree turn and crossed back across the hall. It seemed to twist and turn forever. Lilou looked up above her head at the sign: ‘Average wait time from here 90 minutes.’ The sign crushed what little of her excitement remained. She settled in for a long wait.
***
When Lilou eventually got to the final turn in the line, she was numb with boredom. She had seen all she could ever want to of the back of the man in front of her. The half-smile to the same people she passed on each traverse across the hall had lost its novelty early on.
She stared enviously at the UK Citizen’s Only section. People strolled up to a row of glass-doored booths, each the size of a toilet cubicle. As each person approached, the front glass door slid open, the person stepped inside the booth and out through the second door that seemed permanently open. It took each person only seconds to get through the cubicle. Then they turned and walked past a group of about ten idle, uniformed UK Border staff.
