‘I’m going with or without you,’ Martin told her as he finally realised her zeal for the plan didn’t match his own.
‘Martin,’ Jessica said, her voice heavy with a mixture of emotions, ‘I want the GMRC to answer for their crimes as much as you, but I just can’t leave my family, not now.’
‘I thought you of all people would want to take this further.’ His smile was bitter. ‘Obviously I was wrong.’ Martin got up, reclaimed the piece of paper with the address on it and made to leave.
Jessica grabbed his arm. ‘Martin, wait!’
He looked down at her. ‘For what?’
Again, Jessica couldn’t find the words, an anguished expression her only answer.
Martin shrugged off her arm. ‘Goodbye, Jessica,’ he said and stalked away, leaving her alone in the pub once more.
Chapter Four
The rest of that week Jessica fretted about not helping Martin track down his lead, but she knew she’d been right to turn him down. His motivations dwarfed her own and right now she needed to take stock of recent events and to nurse her mental wounds rather than make any rash decisions. It hadn’t made her feel any less guilty, though; to let down a friend in need weighed heavily upon her, not to mention the frustration of passing up on the chance to expose the GMRC for what they were and to get some payback both for her and her colleagues. Ex-colleagues now, Jessica thought sadly as she made her way down the stairs of her London home.
It was Saturday evening and she’d just spent time reading a storybook to Victoria and Daniela. She’d then sung the prerequisite Purple Ducky song she’d made up especially for them. The two girls had giggled in sheer delight when Jessica had carried out the accompanying dance moves. Kissing them both goodnight, she’d switched off the light in the large shared room and then decided to rejoin Evan, who rested downstairs in the living room, watching the TV.
‘Did they get you to do the dance?’ Evan asked her as she settled down onto the sofa next to him.
She smiled fondly. ‘They did.’
‘I’ll have to record you doing that someday, for posterity.’
‘You’d better not.’ She dug him in the ribs.
Evan looked across at her, perhaps gauging her mood. Leaping up, he grabbed her and pinned her down, an impish grin lighting up his eyes as he looked down from above.
‘No!’ she said. ‘Don’t, or I’ll scream and wake the kids.’
His smile broadened. ‘Ha ha, that old excuse won’t wash with the tickle master!’
As usual she descended into a screeching, laughing mad thing, fending him off as he tickled her under the arms. Just as she felt like she couldn’t take any more, she caught sight of the television in the melee of arms and legs.
‘Evan stop!’ she said trying to regain her breath as the shock of seeing her picture on TV subdued her laughter.
‘No chance, I’ve started so I’ll finish!’
In no mood for him to continue she pinched him hard until he let out a yelp of pain.
He rubbed his arm. ‘What was that for?’
She pointed at the television. ‘Shut up and look.’
The BBC news was on and in a slot sometimes presented by Jessica herself, a story about her was running. Picking up the remote control Jessica rewound the stream to watch it from the beginning.
‘—a late breaking news story,’ the presenter read from the autocue. Jessica knew the woman well, new blood from a rival channel and with the morals of an overripe dead frog. ‘Controversy rocks the reputation of one of the BBC’s recently departed presenters, Jessica Klein, tonight, as revelations about the disgraced news anchor, sacked this week for gross misconduct, hits the front pages of tomorrow’s newspapers. Video footage of Ms Klein, forty-two, from London, has surfaced today appearing to show the mother of two receiving bundles of cash on three separate occasions from members of a right-wing, extremist group with a well-known anti GMRC agenda and ties to terrorist factions in the Middle East. A spokesperson for the group, known as Humanity 1, has denied ever having any contact with Ms Klein, who herself has refused to comment on the allegations at this time. The footage, however, which we are about to show you, seems to be a damning indictment in itself.’
Jessica watched, dumbfounded, as the promised video ran on screen. She watched herself, filmed from a concealed camera, taking possession of a plastic carrier bag from a well-known Humanity 1 activist. In the video Jessica then unfurled and withdrew wads of used notes tied together with elastic bands. She appeared to go through the process of counting the money. Two more similar videos were shown, filmed at the same location, this time with audio. Jessica could easily be heard conversing with the same activist, discussing how she would hijack the news channel. The last footage showed her receiving a typed piece of paper, some of which she read aloud. It was word for word what she had said on that fateful day outside the GMRC headquarters back in New York.
The screen switched back to the presenter. ‘The BBC asked the GMRC if they would like to comment on this shocking turn of events and in the last few minutes they have released the following statement.’
The broadcast greyed out before a white rectangle appeared containing a short paragraph of text, which read:
“It is not GMRC policy to comment on unsubstantiated evidence. The video footage and supporting documentation we have received from a third party has been passed to our legal department. If it is deemed that there is a case to answer, we will pursue our interests vigorously through the courts.”
— GMRC Public Relations Department
‘If this wasn’t bad enough,’ the newsreader continued, reappearing, ‘another leaked film, this time from within the BBC itself, has shed further light on the volatility of Jessica Klein’s darker side. Viewers are advised the following content contains bad language unsuitable for younger viewers.’
Jessica, still in shock, now saw herself on television once more. This time she stood in a doorway, the footage shot from inside the room where she had her disciplinary hearing earlier that week.
‘—well you know what you can do with your job!’ Jessica shouted at the panel. ‘You can stick it up your fucking arses you pathetic, snivelling wretches. I hope you and the GMRC are happy with this—’
Jessica sank down onto the sofa as more footage of her swearing and ranting during the meeting was played on screen. She suddenly realised that the hearing had been designed to goad her into losing her cool for the specific purpose of using it against her later – and she’d fallen for it, hook, line and most definitely sinker.
Evan looked to Jessica when the news story finished ‘How did they film you taking that money?’
‘They must have fabricated it somehow,’ she said, massaging her tired eyes. ‘I didn’t realise they had the capability to create something that realistic. It looked perfect, totally authentic; if I didn’t know I hadn’t done it, I’d believe it myself.’
‘I take it that stuff in the office was real, though?’
She nodded. ‘It seems the GMRC wasn’t content with making us lose our jobs, they’re out to destroy me.’
The next day soon arrived and so did a mass of news crews and camera vans outside Jessica and Evan’s home. Their telephones rang off the hook as journalists hunted for the elusive headline quote from the former BBC employee now in the eye of a media feeding frenzy. Setting foot outside their Kensington home with this circus of vultures parked on their doorstep was ill-advised and Jessica and Evan decided to keep the girls out of school until everything had calmed down.
This latest development in the fallout from Jessica’s verbal assault on the GMRC had infuriated Evan. Understandably he was angry at the loss of their jobs, but he had resolved not to let it affect them detrimentally, holding onto the fact that everything would blow over and they could get new work somewhere else. Now, however, they were attacking his wife in ways he could not protect her from. It also impacted on the children, and this was something that he just couldn’t handle. Whe
n yet another opportunistic photographer sneaked into the back garden, he found Daniela on her way to feed the rabbits and, unsurprisingly, the little girl had screamed when she’d come face-to-face with the unexpected intruder. Evan had stormed outside and a physical altercation had ensued, resulting in one smashed camera and an aggravated scuffle that only made matters worse when the police were called by one of the neighbours.
The final straw came the following day when a letter arrived from the bank, which advised them that they would be foreclosing on the house due to missed mortgage payments. Jessica had been quick to ring them as they had already paid a substantial amount off over the years and only missed two recent repayments. Trying to reason with them, though, was akin to talking to a brick wall as her, and then Evan, were taken round and round in dizzying circles by various bank employees without resolving the situation. Evan had exploded when it became clear that the house was lost and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Jessica had argued with her husband before, but nothing on this scale and intensity.
The situation was compounded as Victoria and Daniela, unable to understand why their parents were at each other’s throats, both sat crying their eyes out in their bedroom.
‘This can’t go on,’ Evan told Jessica after they had calmed the children down. ‘I’m going to take the girls to my parent’s house. They can’t be exposed to this toxic cauldron any longer. You can follow us when they’re settled in and everything has calmed down again.’
‘What? You’re just going to up and leave me here, to deal with all this on my own?’
‘I don’t want to, but it’s what’s best for the kids that matters. If you came with us then the hounds outside our front door would soon follow.’
Jessica could see his logic and she didn’t want the girls traumatised any more than he did, so she had relented and let them go. The separation had been difficult, considering the circumstances, and Victoria, being the youngest, had clung to Jessica, unwilling to let her mother go. Finally they had departed and Jessica was left alone in the big, depressingly quiet house.
Unsure what to do next, she wandered into the office after hearing an alarm sound on the computer. She logged onto her email account, more out of habit than any real need to see what was contained within. Two hundred and eighteen unread messages had filled the inbox in just two days of neglect. Deleting the obvious junk files and opportunistic messages from several amoral journalists, she whittled it down to fifty and then went through them one by one. Some were from friends offering their support while many were sent by old colleagues trying to get her to comment on her situation for an inside scoop. Some people had little shame in her profession, but to experience it like this gave her a different perspective on an industry that had previously been so good to her.
Disgusted by these underhand tactics, she shook her head in disbelief before hitting the delete button again. Carrying on through the inbox, three messages didn’t appear to be related to current events; two of these were from Internet shopping firms providing information about her accounts and one was from her mobile network provider. She deleted the first two but the third kept displaying the following message:
Error: Unable to delete message.
Attached linked file contains active connection.
Frustrated, she accessed the email once again to see if she could delete it when it was open. This also failed; however, instead of getting an error message a separate white pane flashed up on the monitor. After a couple of seconds this window filled with black text resembling some kind of computer code. The text scrolled endlessly down the page until it stopped. A second window appeared, this time with a luminous green background and a white flashing cursor in the top left corner. Jessica stared at it before attempting a hard shutdown of the computer, which strangely failed to work. As she contemplated pulling out the power cord, worried she’d infected the computer with a virus, the cursor moved across the screen leaving behind it three words which made Jessica sit back down in her chair.
Are you alone? _
Wondering what to do, she watched the cursor move once more.
Jessica Klein.
I have bad news for you _
Without her touching anything, a photo materialised onto the screen. Jessica’s hand went to her mouth and she let out a sound of despair and loss when she realised what she was seeing. The image showed a pavement next to a tarmac road, in the gutter lay the body of a man. His limbs rested at distorted angles and a trail of blood seeped out from underneath the torso to flow into a large pool. The dead man’s eyes stared up to the sky, his face a mask of fear and pain. Jessica couldn’t look away from the horrific photo of Martin, but she didn’t have to as it soon disappeared. The cursor moved again.
You are in danger _
Jessica typed in a reply with shaky hands and hit return. Who is this?
I can give you answers Jessica Klein _
What answers?
Who killed your friend. Why they killed your friend _
Tell me now, she wrote. The cursor blinked on and off, unmoving for some moments, before the reply came.
GMRC Intelligence. To hide a secret _
What secret? Tell me now! she typed, as she lost patience with this mysterious digital intruder.
Take your train tomorrow. Meet @:
Philological Library
Freie Universität Berlin
Habelschwerdter Allee 45
14195 Berlin, Deutschland
3.14 _
As the message appeared her printer hummed to life and spewed out a piece of paper with the same address on it. Another message displayed soon after, a message that chilled Jessica to the bone.
You have been classified as a credible suicide risk, Jessica Klein. Easy to kill. Easy to explain. Get out of your house. NOW! _
The last message was too much for her to take and Jessica sprang out of her chair and yanked the computer’s plug from the mains supply, sending the screen black, its threat nullified. Angry at herself for believing every word this anonymous person had fed her, she took to the kitchen for a glass of red to calm her nerves.
That night she slept fitfully, her mind struggling to deal with the day’s events. Rising at three a.m., she went downstairs in her nightwear to get some cereal to eat, a routine she usually reverted to whenever she couldn’t sleep.
Was the photo of Martin’s dead body real? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. If the GMRC could recreate her in a video, a photograph would be relatively simple by comparison. Although why would the GMRC bother to infiltrate her computer when they had already discredited and all but destroyed her? She was metaphorically on her knees, no further threat, yet a multitude of nagging doubts remained. The hacker had provided the same address as she’d seen on the piece of paper Martin had shown her in the pub. And the fact that they were a hacker, matching the profession of Martin’s contact in Germany, also spoke volumes as to their credibility.
Crunching down her cereal, the noise sounding loud in the surrounding quiet, Jessica eyed the train ticket Martin had bought for her. It lay conspicuously on the kitchen work surface, next to the printout produced by the hacker. What if the hacker was right and the GMRC have deemed me a suicide risk, perfect for elimination? They could be coming for me right now … surely not, part of her scoffed at the idea. With all those reporters outside, one of them would see someone breaking into the house – wouldn’t they? She glanced around the dark kitchen, and the hallway, which led to the staircase and front rooms.
Getting up, she turned on the light switch and went back upstairs and on up to the second floor of the town house. Jessica may have been petite and physically weak compared to most people, but she had never allowed it to make her feel vulnerable, not like she did right now. Retrieving a stick, she hooked open the attic door and hauled down the ladder. Climbing up, the aluminium rungs squeaked and rattled until she took her weight from them and onto the bare wooden floorboards of the third floor. Bending dow
n, she felt in the dark for the light switch she knew was concealed off to one side. Locating it, she clicked it on and headed towards the far end, navigating through many years of dusty accumulated clutter.
Unearthing a large oak chest from beneath some old clothing, Jessica heaved up the creaking lid. A lingering smell of old leather and musty books settled in the air around her. Moving aside some dusty volumes, she located a heavy metallic box. Shifting her body to the right, in order to remove the cast of her shadow, she spun the numbered dial located on the top of the small safe back and forth to enter a six digit combination. The latch sprang up with an audible click and she opened the lid to reveal a soft, partially oiled, light-brown cloth. Moving it to one side exposed a present her father had bought her for her twenty-first birthday; a stainless steel Smith and Wesson Model 60LS.
Taking it out of its moulded insert, she flicked open the cylinder to make sure it wasn’t loaded. Placing the gun back down, she took a key out of the gun safe and then opened another box, which had been well concealed behind a hidden compartment in the trunk. Inside rested a cardboard box stamped with .357 Magnum High Velocity Ammunition. Jessica opened it and slid out the bullets, the shiny metal casings held vertically in a plastic tray. Picking the gun back up by its wooden grip she loaded the rounds into each of the five chambers and then double checked the safety was on.
Her father had been in the British military all his working life and he’d taken a young Jessica with him when he went to the shooting range, which he did every weekend when he was stationed at home. She’d become quite proficient with the weapon and at this point in time appreciated feeling its snug weight in her grasp once more.
2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) Page 7
