2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent)

by Robert Storey

  The man looked at his watch. ‘It’s eleven hundred hours. We are a go for deployment at thirteen hundred. Make ready and good luck!’

  The crowd began breaking apart and Sarah found herself standing on her own in the middle of the room. She turned to walk away, but as she did so a hand grasped her left wrist. Looking to see who had accosted her, Sarah peered up into the dark brown eyes of the Deep Reach team member who had held her gaze back in the museum.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said with a smile, but still holding firmly to her arm. ‘Are you lost?’

  Sarah, feeling like a wild animal trapped in a cage, managed to produce a confident sounding laugh at the suggestion. ‘No, not at all.’ She brandished her folder. ‘Just taking some notes.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked amused and proffered a hand. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, while inwardly cursing her stupidity for thinking she could walk in and out of such a facility without getting caught.

  Releasing his grip he plucked the folder from her hands and opened it up to peruse. Sarah, now free to make a dash for it, stood frozen to the spot. As she waited with bated breath her tormentor continued to read the folder.

  ‘So,’ he said at last looking up at her, his annoying smile still plastered across his handsome features. ‘I can’t see any notes in here about the final debrief before the off, just some computations on thermodynamics.’

  Sarah had no idea what was actually in the file apart from some odd diagrams and meaningless numbers; thankfully he’d slipped up and revealed to her its contents – what an idiot.

  She tapped her temple. ‘It’s all up here. I was just about to write it all down before you interrupted me.’

  ‘Ah, how silly of me.’ He passed the folder back to her. ‘I’ll let you get back to your physics.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with what she hoped was a conciliatory tone, ‘those computations won’t get done on their own.’

  Sarah turned and walked away, while her mind screamed at her to run. As she reached an exit – thanking her lucky stars she’d managed to blag her way out of such a tight spot – his voice called out to her from behind.

  ‘Just one more thing.’

  Sarah paused and looked back round.

  He walked towards her, closing the gap between them. ‘It’s strange,’ he gestured to the ring binder in her hand, ‘that file contains the food supply logistics for the mapping teams. There’s nothing in it on thermodynamics.’

  Sarah’s anxiety resurfaced and she stood looking at him, desperately trying to think of a plausible defence. ‘I must have picked up the wrong folder,’ she said, the lie sounding lame even to her own ears.

  ‘Ah, is that the reason.’ He moved closer to invade her personal space. ‘Didn’t I just see you back in the museum?’

  ‘I think you must have me confused with someone else.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Can I see you MF card, please?’

  Reluctantly Sarah removed the card from her pocket and gave it to him.

  ‘Ah, so you work in the Smithsonian,’ he said, looking at the card before handing it back. ‘It seems, however, you have but a lowly level one clearance, and since this outfit requires seven or above, you most definitely don’t belong.’

  Sarah didn’t know what to say, so she decided to say nothing at all as she tried to avoid his penetrating gaze.

  ‘Do you know the punishment for being down here without clearance?’ he asked, more serious now. ‘No?’ he continued when she still didn’t respond. ‘I’ll tell you what; instead of calling in the military to arrest you right now, I’ll give you a three minute head start on them. Sound fair?’

  Sarah gawked at him, unsure if he was being serious or not.

  ‘Clock’s ticking, Sarah Morgan.’ He tapped a watch on his wrist. ‘Two minutes fifty-five – fifty-four – fifty-three—’

  Sarah, realising he was giving her chance to get away, bolted down a corridor while throwing away the incriminating folder. Flying up some stairs, she dodged in and out of people, startling many of them as she flew past. Within a minute she’d flung open the old iron door and ran down the brick tunnel. Already she could hear signs of pursuit; it seemed the three minute head start had been rescinded. Too bent on escape, she had little time to curse the man who’d blown her cover. Instead she tapped furiously at the up button in the lift she’d just boarded. Shouting could be heard now and as the lift moved upwards Sarah caught sight of armed men swarming down the tunnel towards her.

  Sinking to her knees to catch her breath, Sarah tried to remember the winding route back to the museum for when she exited the lift. Unable to recall it, she prepared to run again, massaging her injured knee, which throbbed painfully. The platform jolted to a stop and the barriers rose up. Sarah was out and running, her long legs propelling her round a corner to collide with a soldier approaching from the opposite direction. As they tumbled to the ground, the soldier let out a shout of alarm. Sarah, quicker to her feet, scrambled away, but another soldier appeared in front of her.

  ‘Halt!’ he shouted, bringing his assault rifle to bear.

  Skidding to a stop, her hands gaining purchase on the floor, Sarah turned to go back, but as she did so she glimpsed the other man, she’d just sent flying, behind her. The raised butt of his gun snapped down in a jarring jab to her temple. Lights flashed before her eyes and she crumpled to the floor, a deep blackness engulfing her with its inescapable smothering embrace.

  Chapter Nine

  London’s St Pancras International railway station, conceived in 1863 and completed by 1868, had at the time boasted the largest enclosed space in the world. Now fronted by the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel, a Victorian gothic architectural masterpiece, the station acted as the city’s land-based gateway into Europe and due to this, as ever, it pulsated with vibrant activity. Businessmen and women strode with purpose and an assured air of self-importance as they sought their destination with a determined focus. Students and school children, while mirroring their elders’ self-involved demeanour, seemed more haphazard in their progress through the station, more relaxed and less stressed, taking time to cavort with their companions or to pause and ensure their favourite tune played over their headphones.

  Tourists, still ready and willing to travel despite the strict GMRC protocols, stood in small, excited and bewildered groups like clusters of pebbles surrounded by a continuous flowing stream of water. Like all other areas of the city a military presence made itself known as armed soldiers stalked the platforms and guarded entrances and exits, ensuring civil unrest would be met with a swift and fierce resistance if it dared to rear its ugly head.

  Amongst the hither and thither of the station’s patrons, a petite woman gazed up at the departures board. She wore a short, black, heavy weave plaid skirt, thick white thigh length socks and a pair of chunky black leather ankle boots. On her back perched a turquoise rucksack which resembled some kind of furry animal with huge eyes and a surprised expression on its face, beneath which a tight transparent padded jacket had been secured. A shock of bright red hair topped off the woman’s ensemble, along with a pair of thick, black, horn-rimmed glasses.

  Jessica Klein pursed her lips, the skin feeling tight as she did so. She’d almost forgone the makeup, as once she had kitted herself out in her ridiculous outfit she hadn’t recognised herself in the mirror. However, the passport photo Martin had mocked up for her required the addition, so she had plastered it on. She’d needed quite a bit of foundation anyway – passing off middle-age as early twenties was always an ask – but she was quite pleased with the results. A slim frame helped with the impression of youth, of course, and Jessica had always been slight.

  She didn’t have long to wait for the train to Berlin. According to the timetable, which scrolled across the departure screen, the Eurostar was on schedule. Taking out the train ticket, Jessica hobbled to the gate entrance for the appropriate platform. These shoes are killing me, she thought. Why
I decided platforms were a good idea, heaven only knows. They add to my wanna-be-Japanese appearance, though, so I can live with it for now, but as soon as I get settled for the journey they’re coming off – quick smart!

  There was one thing about her costume that Jessica did like, the anonymity it gave her; normally in public she would draw the classic double take as people recognised her from the television; some would even spark up a conversation with her out of the blue or ask for an autograph or picture. While she didn’t mind now and then, it could begin to grate when it continued throughout a whole day. Now, however, she could walk around incognito; it felt quite liberating in a peculiar kind of way.

  Standing in a short queue as she waited for the ticket to be checked, she couldn’t help but follow the movements of the soldiers as they patrolled the area beyond. She was acutely aware she was travelling A, illegally, and B, armed. Her cherished and loaded revolver even now nestled in the bag perched on her back, its dense weight, along with that of the extra ammo, noticeable as it pulled against the straps of the bag on her shoulders. The closer she came to the turnstile the clammier her hands became, her nerves taut and her fear of discovery growing.

  She double-checked the GMRC border pass, which also acted as a travel order, and which she’d had stamped upon entry to the station. The pass allowed her to circumvent usual security checks, fast-tracking her through the otherwise tiresome boarding procedure; it had also enabled her to bring the gun with her, a risk she had to take considering her circumstances. She just prayed a spot bag check wasn’t instigated when she passed through.

  Her new name, Eliza Sterling, had been scrawled across the top of the border pass in what she hoped was an adequate disguise of her normal handwriting. Not that she should need to hide this aspect of her real identity, but with her producer’s untimely death and the warning from the hacker that the GMRC might try to kill her off, her paranoia was sky-high.

  As she stepped forward, the queue growing shorter, she felt a hand brush against her bottom. Turning round, she saw the man standing directly behind her looking off to one side. Frowning at him, she turned back only to once more feel a hand on her behind, this time lingering longer and accompanied by a slight squeeze.

  Jessica whirled round. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?!’

  The man, dressed in a suit and in his mid-forties, looked at her, innocent-eyed.

  She pointed at him. ‘Touch me again and I’ll report you for sexual assault.’

  ‘I didn’t touch you,’ he protested.

  She took a step closer and stared up at him with baleful eyes. ‘Don’t take me for some naïve little girl.’

  Unfortunately her confrontational approach didn’t have the desired effect and the man, instead of backing off, had the audacity to reach out again sliding his hand up the outside of her exposed thigh. Jessica smacked it away but it was too late as the quarrel had attracted the attention of a soldier.

  ‘What seems to be the problem here?’ the armed guard asked.

  Jessica cursed inwardly and prayed no one would recognise her. ‘This man is harassing me,’ she said loudly making people look round in their direction, ‘touching me inappropriately.’

  ‘I didn’t touch her,’ the groper repeated.

  ‘We can soon find out.’ The soldier indicated the CCTV dome which protruded from the high ceiling above. ‘Do you want to take this further, miss?’

  As much as she would have liked to, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to bring more eyes upon them, especially considering her predicament. ‘No,’ she said, her tone reluctant. ‘I have a train to catch.’

  The guard nodded and sauntered off, leaving her in the queue with the man who now smiled at her with sickening smugness.

  ‘Just because I didn’t report you doesn’t mean I want you to keep touching me,’ she told him in no uncertain terms, keeping her distance from his wandering hands.

  The man winked at her and then ran his eyes over her body, mentally undressing her and making her feel distinctly uncomfortable in the process. Thankfully, she was able to ignore him as it was her turn to have her ticket punched and passport papers checked. The Eurostar employee, apparently satisfied everything was in order, handed the documents back to her and she carried on through the gate and onto the platform. Boarding at the centre of the train, Jessica found her seat and removed her footwear with a great sigh of relief.

  An hour later, the train sped through the dark Kent countryside on its way towards the Channel Tunnel and France beyond. The carriage had near half its seats occupied and Jessica’s paranoia had increased even further since she’d boarded. A few seats along from her own, in an empty section, a woman sat facing her. Jessica felt she had seen her before, but couldn’t place her, which made her uneasy. Able to adjust the lenses on her glasses to make them darker and lighter at will, Jessica altered them to their darkest setting, enabling her to keep an eye on the woman without fear of discovery. Every so often the passenger flicked her gaze at Jessica, far too frequently to be mere curiosity.

  Jessica put her shoes back on, sat back down and then pretended to fall asleep, letting her head loll to one side, but all the time keeping the woman in sight. The train was now underneath the English Channel and some of the lights around her flickered and went out, sending areas of the compartment into dark shadows and yet leaving her own seat in bright light. Jessica, straining to see what the woman was doing, glimpsed movement in the half-light. Unable to see directly, Jessica switched her gaze to the reflection in the glass which produced a better angle. The woman, leaning down, fiddled with something in her hands. As she sat up Jessica realised with horror the woman now held a gun, a silencer screwed to its barrel. Instantly alert, Jessica grabbed her bag and rolled smoothly from her seat to hurry down the aisle and into the next coach. Reaching the end of the carriage she turned to see the woman had followed her. Sliding past a sleeping passenger, Jessica cowered down beside them to tear at her bag, desperately hunting for her own weapon without success. The woman, much taller than Jessica, strolled past. She didn’t have a gun at all but a hair brush and she disappeared into one of the lavatories further along towards the locomotive.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Jessica was about to apologise to the person who she’d squeezed in next to but the words caught in her throat. She looked into the face of the man she’d had the altercation with in the queue. He grinned at her and twisted in his seat, eager hands reaching out to touch her. Crap! Feeling like a fly trapped in a spider’s web, Jessica jabbed out her right palm, impacting the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. As he let out a yelp of pain Jessica made her escape. She almost felt sorry for him – almost. He must have thought it was his lucky day, except that Jessica had always enjoyed going to courses over the years, bettering herself, and she had excelled at self-defence classes; making use of her small stature had always appealed to her and it was nice to be able to put it into action in real life.

  Sliding back into her seat, she indulged in a small smile. Oh – that felt good, she thought, her composure regained and a semblance of self reinstated. Outside the window she saw they had exited the tunnel and were now in France, the lights of distant buildings apparent in the darkness. She smoothed down her short skirt, trying without success to close the gap between it and her long socks in an attempt to hide the flesh on display. Part of her regretted opting for the sexy schoolgirl look, although it had done its job as, even when she had solicited the attention at the station, no one had twigged it was her, and she hadn’t even tried to alter her voice. Now that she was out of the country, however, she would make a point of putting on some jeans, not only to heighten her dignity but to increase her warmth as, according to weather reports, Berlin was in the midst of a snow storm. Wonderful, she thought, dreading the prospect while the train continued on.

  Five hours later and Jessica, now feeling snug in her trousers, having changed an hour earlier, left the high-speed train behind and walked into the confines
of Berlin Hauptbahnhof; the German capital city’s main railway station. Once more, Jessica passed through passport control without incident and she headed outside into the cold night air, her breath easy to see as she looked around to gain her bearings. The snow had stopped falling, but the roads were clogged with drifts, and ploughs were out in force clearing the streets. Unlike the armed forces back in London, the German military kept their heavy machinery in plain sight. Two large grey tanks dominated the area outside the station and a gun emplacement had been positioned on the other side of the road. Jessica skirted past a huddle of soldiers and on towards a taxi rank. She stopped next to the first car and the driver wound down his window.

  ‘Kannst du mich an diese Adresse nehmen bitte?’ Jessica asked the nearest cab driver handing him the address the hacker had printed out for her.

  The man looked at it and nodded. ‘Ja, das ist kein Problem.’

  Jessica entered the back, settling in for the ride. ‘Wie lange wird es dauern?’ she asked him, wondering how long it would take to get to the library

  ‘Bei diesem Wetter? Zwei Stunden,’ he replied.

  Two hours in the snow, not as bad as it could have been, she reflected, staring again at the printout.

  Philological Library

  Freie Universität Berlin

  Habelschwerdter Allee 45

  14195 Berlin, Deutschland

  3.14

  The five numbers were clearly the postcode; but on the scrap of paper that Martin had shown her she’d thought they looked like some kind of cypher, requiring decryption. The only numbers left were 3.14, which could have been a time, but if it was she had missed the meet by quite a margin. No, she decided, the hacker would have known I wouldn’t have been able to make it, so it must pertain to something else … but what? Unable to think of another meaning for it she abandoned her ponderings to soak up the snow-draped, floodlit sights of Berlin as the taxi crept along the icy roads.