by Sibel Hodge
He smiled to himself as he dialled a phone number and asked for information on Chief Constable Derek Sutherby. Within a few minutes, he knew Sutherby’s address, where he lived alone, and the details of his family—he was divorced with two adult kids and a grandkid. White knew what car he drove, his financial status, and all manner of other things. He didn’t have time to study Sutherby’s recent communications, but that didn’t matter for now. He stared at the screen as he read about Sutherby’s ex, Anthea. As an administrator at the university, had she become suspicious and tipped off her husband? It could be a toss-up between her and Klein.
White went into the bathroom, washed his face, then got dressed in a grey suit and white shirt. He matched it with a grey striped tie and stared at the effect in the mirror. His skin looked almost the same shade as the suit. His cheeks were gaunt. He’d lost more weight. He had four more years to go before retirement, but he wouldn’t make it that long. He was dying. The big C. He’d been coughing up blood for weeks before finally plucking up the nerve to see the doctor. Maybe it was payback for everything he’d done. Now the cancer was metastatic. It had spread to his spine, and there was no cure. The only choice of management were tablets to dull the pain and reduce bone loss.
He certainly wasn’t going to go gracefully, though. He thought about all the sacrifices he’d made. All the justifications he’d told himself. All the things he’d done. The lengths he’d gone to. Now he didn’t know if any of it had been worth it.
He drove to Sutherby’s house, thinking about mortality and morality. About right and wrong. About necessity and secrets. Patriotism and the greater good. And the dark shadows he and those like him had hidden amongst for so long.
Dawn broke in a haze of oranges and greys, and White reckoned he had about another one hundred and eighty sunrises left in this world.
He drove down Sutherby’s quiet, leafy street, wondering how many sunrises Sutherby had left. Not many if the chief constable didn’t yield to the pressure he was about to bear.
A light was on in the window of Sutherby’s upstairs bedroom. White parked outside, opened the gate, strode up the path, and rang the bell. A light came on downstairs, and a shadow appeared behind the obscured glass in the front door. White reached into his pocket for his ID.
The door swung open. Derek Sutherby was already dressed in his uniform of black trousers and white shirt, complete with epaulettes bearing his rank.
White held up his ID. ‘I need to speak with you about a matter of urgent national security.’
Frowning, Sutherby peered at White’s ID then took it from his hand to scrutinise it closely. Sutherby’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He was trying to appear calm, but there was fear beneath his demeanour. White had seen that fear plenty of times before.
‘What kind of national security matter?’ Sutherby asked.
White eyed him with a cold stare. ‘We should discuss it inside.’
Sutherby hesitated, taking one last glance at White’s ID before handing it back to him. He stepped aside to let White in and led him to the lounge.
Sutherby stood in front of a TV in the corner of the room. ‘All right. What’s going on?’
‘Your staff recently interviewed Amy Price and Charlie Cooper in connection with the Farzad Nuri stabbing.’
Sutherby’s frown got bigger. ‘Yes.’
‘In that interview, you were asking questions about Professor Brian Klein.’
‘What does that have to do with MI5?’
White didn’t answer. ‘I want to know why you were talking about Klein’s research programmes. And why you did a PNC check on a vehicle belonging to a Paul Clark in North London.’
Sutherby looked gobsmacked. ‘Why are you asking?’
‘As I said, it’s a matter of national security.’
‘What national security issue has to do with Professor Klein or his research or that vehicle?’
‘That’s highly classified. I want to know what’s going on here.’
‘So do I,’ Sutherby snapped.
White gave him a tight smile. ‘Why are you investigating those things?’
Sutherby fidgeted with his hands at his sides, as if working out how much he wanted to tell White. ‘The vehicle had a rear brake light not working. I was driving home following it, and I called the control room to do a PNC check. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t stolen.’ Sutherby shrugged.
White let out a humourless, disbelieving laugh. ‘And Klein and his research? Why were you asking about that?’
Sutherby didn’t answer.
‘We could go back and forth all day like this, but that would be incredibly boring and unnecessary. As of now, you will immediately cease any investigation into Klein or the university or any of its students on the grounds of national security. Is that clear?’
‘No, it’s not bloody clear! It’s not clear at all. I want to know exactly what your involvement is in this.’
White sighed, annoyed at having to repeat himself. ‘That’s highly classified. Your investigation stops. Right now.’
‘Wait a minute, you haven’t told me why this concerns national security.’
White’s voice hardened. ‘And I don’t have to. But your own officers suggested it themselves. Farzad Nuri committed a terrorist act, just like the London Bridge terrorists did. Which means counter-terrorism officers will be taking over the investigation into the stabbing and the search for him. That’s all you need to know.’
Sutherby glared at him.
‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you you’re bound by the Official Secrets Act,’ White carried on. ‘And you’ve got five years before retirement. If you don’t stop digging around now, you’ll lose your job and your pension. Not to mention you’ll receive a lengthy prison sentence when you’re convicted.’
Sutherby’s nostrils flared. ‘Convicted for what? What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Anything we want to drum up, whether it’s real or not.’
Sutherby’s fists clenched. ‘You’ve got the cheek to come to my house and threaten me?’
‘Well, it’s not just you, is it? The other thing is your family.’ White flashed his teeth in a sickly smile. ‘Was it Anthea who came to you with some ridiculous ideas about the university and Klein?’
Sutherby blanched. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Leave my family out of this!’
‘No can do, I’m afraid. You’ve got a couple of lovely daughters, too, haven’t you? And your grandson’s a cute kid. How old is he now? Five? No, silly me… He’s six, isn’t he?’
Sutherby’s face flushed pink. ‘How dare you! I’ll—’
‘Whatever you think you want to do, you won’t. This order comes from the highest level. You know the drill. You’ve been in this situation before. You’ll forget what you think you know, and forget you ever met me. Are we clear on this?’
Sutherby clenched his jaw, and White could tell exactly what Sutherby was thinking as he weighed up his options, which were exactly nil. Even though he was the chief constable of a large constabulary, he was still a puppet, bound by a hierarchy of people far more powerful than himself. It wasn’t the first time orders from higher up had shut down one of Sutherby’s investigations, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. That little catch-all of national security that stripped away people’s rights would see to that. And if that failed, and Sutherby’s lips got a little too loose, there were always the threats to himself or his family to fall back on. Because they weren’t threats at all, as Sutherby well knew. They were facts.
‘About as clear as a rotten pile of shit,’ Sutherby finally said through gritted teeth.
‘Good. I’ll see myself out.’
Chapter 39
Detective Becky Harris
It was just gone 7.00 a.m. I’d fallen asleep researching the night before and had awoken two hours ago, to pick up where I’d left off. I’d started looking for experiments used in brainwashing and behavioural modi
fication and found pages and pages of links. I’d worked my way through history, reading about clandestine black ops that had been done way back in the 50s, run by the CIA.
A project called MK-Ultra had been carried out in various institutions that tested methods of mind control on unsuspecting people, without their knowledge or consent. They’d used implantable electrodes in people’s brains, hallucinogenic drugs, electromagnetic pulses, and radio waves. People subjected to the abhorrent studies and tests were often the most vulnerable in society—those in prisons, mental hospitals, colleges and universities, and even the military. People who couldn’t say no or fight back. Some of the doctors the CIA hired for the programme were the same torturers who’d committed atrocities in the Nazi concentration camps.
MK-Ultra’s inhumane, bone-chilling experiments had gone on for twenty years, often resulting in the total destruction of the victims’ sanity or their deaths. I’d watched videos of some experiments that had been done on animals, most notably a bull in an arena with an electrode implanted in its brain. It’d turned from a raging beast to a docile animal at the flick of a switch. I’d pored through pages of reports, declassified documents, and articles.
But this morning, I’d found something even more terrifying from online news reports and journals about new, up-to-date methods that were currently being developed. In conjunction with various scientists, huge technology and biomedical corporations worldwide, and government agencies, nanochips were being tested to detect and alter people’s brainwaves. By using wireless technology—or more precisely, nanotechnology—these chips could remotely manipulate thoughts, behaviour, and emotions.
A thought slammed into my brain, something Natalie had said to me. Someone put it in my head.
I thought of her jabbing at the back of her neck. What if she’d really been talking about some kind of nanochip? Had she made the connection that an experiment she’d been involved in for Klein was messing up her head? Is that what she’d meant when she told me she’d looked it up? Had she done some research on the internet?
Goose bumps scattered all over my skin. This had to be what Klein was testing on unsuspecting students, some new kind of nanochip implanted in their necks that changed their behaviour. It sounded like an episode of Black Mirror.
I sat back and stared at the screen with growing horror, unable to believe this kind of highly dangerous technology was not only possible, but actively being worked on right now.
I leaped off the bed and found the post-mortem reports for Vicky and Ajay. Because the deaths hadn’t been considered suspicious, the post-mortems weren’t as thorough as a Home Office post-mortem, so it was likely the pathologist wouldn’t have discovered the presence of a nanochip. I read through Vicky’s first, and there was no mention of any foreign body inside her, but there was a note that she had a recent one centimetre cut at the back of her neck, exactly in the same place that Natalie had pointed to. Ajay’s body had been too damaged to note any possible cuts. His skin had melted away in parts to just leave bone. Some of his organs were just about intact, but judging by the state of his body after the fire, it was likely any chip would’ve melted. Or had someone tampered with their bodies to remove a chip en route to or at the hospital to stop it being discovered? That could explain Vicky’s cut.
My brain raced on overdrive, incensed and disgusted at the lengths people were prepared to go to in order to cover up what was going on. I was terrified at the possibilities for all of us if they succeeded.
I reached for the phone to call Sutherby, but it rang before I reached it. I glanced at the screen. Sutherby was calling me.
‘Morning,’ I said to him. ‘I was just about to ring you, sir. You’re never going to believe what I’ve found on—’
‘Are you alone?’ He cut in.
‘Yes. I’ve been working on the brainwashing angle, and I’ve found something unbelievable.’ I quickly ran through the research I’d carried out, talking in one long stream. ‘I think the students were being implanted with nanochips in their heads. I know it sounds weird, but this technology is very real. And it seems like people have been working on this for years. I think we should get Natalie tested and see if she’s still got one inside her. From what I read, these nanochips can be detected on an MRI scan. She was never given one at the hospital when they were diagnosing her. These chips can—’
‘This investigation is being shut down.’ Anger radiated in his voice.
My eyes widened. ‘What? Why? What are you talking about, sir? I know we haven’t got any evidential link yet between Klein and the students, but I’m certain I’ll find some patient records or paper trail somewhere that—’
‘Listen to what I’m saying. You need to get out of there, go home, and forget all about it.’
I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at it in disbelief. Then I put it back again. ‘Sir, what’s going on?’
‘We need to stop looking into Klein and Hoodie Guy, which means shutting this down immediately.’
‘I can’t. Not now. Do you know how much danger people could be in with this? If I am right, you’re going to have a hell of a lot of people after that technology. Think how much damage it could do. Think about the corporations, governments, military, and security services all around the world who’d love to get their hands on it, not to mention the criminal organisations. It would be priceless. And if it fell into the wrong hands… actually, I can’t think of any right hands for it to be in.’
‘Becky! Stop talking for once and listen. This isn’t up for debate. It’s a direct order from above.’
I sucked in an angry breath, frowning. ‘What do you mean? Orders from who?’
‘MI-bloody-five,’ he hissed.
‘What the hell, sir?’
‘They’re saying this is a matter of national security and prevention of terrorism. They wouldn’t tell me anything else. I had a bloody visit from one of their spooks this morning.’
‘Oh, great! That catch-all terrorism buzzword that gets bandied about every time someone wants to cover something up. And national security is a guise that doesn’t equate to public safety. You know what this means… if the security services are trying to stop us, then that proves this is some kind of black operation. We can’t stop now, sir.’
‘We have to. National security takes precedence over any police investigation. Counter-terrorism are taking over the Farzad Nuri investigation.’
‘National security, my arse.’ I paced up and down the small room, fist clenched. ‘We both know that one of the common reasons intelligence agencies keep things so secret is because they’re acting unlawfully. No, this is wrong. Kids are dying. We need to stop them.’
‘I mean it, Becky. You have to give it up and go home.’
‘This is crazy. We can’t just let them dictate to the police not to investigate this.’
‘I don’t like it any more than you. But that’s the way it is. Just pack up and go home and forget you were ever there. They don’t know about you, and I want it to stay like that.’
‘How am I supposed to forget about it?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘What if they succeed in what they’re doing, and we all end up like microchipped zombies? It’s not just about a few students now. This is about unleashing a crime against humanity that could affect every single one of us if they get their way. It’s MK-Ultra on steroids!’
‘This isn’t up for debate. I’ve had my orders. And so have you.’
‘But, sir—’
‘But nothing.’
‘Did they threaten you?’
He didn’t answer, which was the only answer I needed. Instead, he said in a defeated voice, ‘Go home, Becky.’
I gritted my teeth, letting out a groan.
‘That’s an order,’ he said when I didn’t reply.
‘What happens if more kids die?’
‘My hands are tied. I can’t say any more about it, and neither can you. Do you understand?’ There was a tremor in his voice.
I gri
pped the phone tighter, wanting to protest more, but knowing I’d be wasting my breath. ‘Yes, sir.’
I killed the call and stared at the phone again, gobsmacked, as a storm raged inside. I could understand how he’d been threatened—Official Secrets Act would be first, then maybe they’d thrown a possibility of treason in there, too. Possibly threats to him personally or his family. Or a bribe. Or blackmail, if he had a dirty little secret in his closet.
A ball of anger rose from my stomach, detonating inside as it hit my chest. I threw my phone on the bed and kicked my wastepaper bin across the room.
Chapter 40
Toni
I’d hardly slept all night again. After Mitchell had gone, I’d looked up Ajay, Vicky, and Natalie online. Two students were dead because of this. Farzad Nuri had most likely been killed, too, to keep him quiet. Another victim had died because of Natalie’s actions. Not to mention all the lives of their families, smashed to pieces.
I got up at just gone 5.00 a.m. and did a tai chi flow then tried to meditate to relaxation music afterwards to clear my mind of the disturbing images flitting around in my head. It usually helped calm me, and it was a technique I often recommended to my clients. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Farzad thrusting the knife into the man’s chest. Marcelina’s body hitting the tarmac and sticky, wet blood pouring from her head. Ajay screaming like a desperate animal as he burned himself alive. Vicky diving off the stairway into a dark void. The sickening crunch of Natalie’s vehicle hitting and killing the old man. I was horrified and sick with sadness, but more than that, I was angry. Incensed. And the meditation didn’t stand a hope in hell of working.
