An Innocent Man

by Mark Z. Kammell

what seemed to be an immaculate black suit, white shirt and black tie. He walked over to the prisoner and took his left arm. The prisoner jerked upright and tried to pull away but the man moved him with what seemed like huge strength, guiding him towards the chair and pushing him in. The straps tightened automatically over the prisoner’s arms and the helmet snapped over his head, pulling him back and tight.

  The prisoner tried to struggle for a couple of seconds but quickly gave up and fell back, exhausted and defeated, into the chair. The man stood in front of him, reaching over and doing something that I couldn’t make out, but then he stepped back and stood to one side, giving me a clear view of the prisoner in his chair. There was a flicker to my left and I saw that the laptop had sprung to life, showing a white screen with a single window displayed. Commence extraction? was written there, and underneath were buttons saying Yes and No. I stared and the screen and back at the prisoner, silent and masked but for a moment it felt as if he was staring up at me in hope. Subtly the man shifted his position and looked up; our eyes locked and he gave a tiny nod of his head. I wish that I could say it was that command that made my hands move the mouse until the pointer hovered above the yes, and then click it. I don’t know, even, if what I was seeing or feeling was real, but I knew beyond doubt what would happen when I pressed that button and I did it just the same. The chair started to vibrate and the prisoner started to struggle in seeming silence against whatever forces were ripping through him. The man watched passively as the prisoner seemed to visibly shrink as if he was being sucked dry; his mask and clothes becoming baggy and his struggles becoming less visible under them, until eventually there was nothing except empty clothes and a trickle of a whitish substance that leaked from the trouser legs and formed puddles on the cold floor.

  The man looked up at me again, gave a slight bow and walked away and I was left to study the puddles as they appeared to solidify and grow darker, adding to the stains of how many other victims that had been in this room. My trembling hand remained fixed on the mouse, holding me to account for what I had done. Then there was a click behind me and suddenly the small, young and efficient woman was by my side. She smiled efficiently and said “They’re ready now, would you come with me please”, I stared open mouthed at her and back at the screen, but it wasn’t there and I swung round wildly to see my surroundings had changed, and I was in a small, comfortable room with pictures on the walls, sofas for guests and a water cooler.

  Are you OK, Mr Jones? my host asked, nervously, but my head felt strange as if I was running from something, as if the events of the last few minutes had just been a dream, as they became blurry around the edges and then more indistinct and then fused into one tiny black point that was trying to burrow its way into me, like a mark on my conscience that said forgotten but not forgiven. I stared at her then stared at my left hand.

  I think I may call security, she said and I said No, no, I’m fine, don’t worry, sorry, just a bad turn, because maybe that’s all it was and maybe I didn’t know any different. I took a deep breath and followed her back into the conference room.

  There were two people sat there – a woman and a man, both immaculately dressed, both serious looking, both on the right side of middle age. They both glanced at me, then back at the papers they were studying. The man muttered something about sitting, so I did, at the far end of the table, as far away from them as possible. They both carried on whatever they were doing, ignoring me, talking quietly to each other, jotting notes on the sheets in front of them. The woman was young, slim, dressed in a deep black suit, her handsome face serious, her hair long and extremely black, and I didn’t recognise her at all. The man, older, with cropped hair, slightly overweight and with serious eyes and, something about him did ring a bell but I couldn’t for the life of me place it. I glanced at my watch – 10:15 – fifteen minutes into the meeting and still nothing happening. My eyes started wandering around the room and lighted on a seemingly abstract picture of an old sailing boat caught in a storm, its hull broken in two and the sailors reaching up towards heaven for rescue. It was painted, though, in sparing detail, so that the waves were streaks of blue, the boat was made of swirls of lines and colour without specific shape or form and the dying men were half consumed by the clouds that seemed to reject their pleas. I found myself fascinated by it, thinking of the painter and whether he had felt that power over death and life as he had drawn it, and whether that translated into reality. I looked again at my hand – had I really killed someone?

  Woman (coughing): We’re ready when you are

  Me (surprised): I’m sorry?

  Woman (glancing at man): I assume you have brought something to show us?

  Me (confused): Erm… no, I don’t think so?

  Man (sighing): If you’re not ready, why did you ask for this meeting?

  Me: Erm… I was asked to join the project briefing?

  Man (glancing at woman): You were? Who by?

  Me: Erm… X? I mean, Andy Smith, you know, my boss?

  Woman: Department H? Why would you be here?

  Me (swallowing): Well… I’m his… I’m his Head of Security. We were going to collaborate on the security issues we’ve been having.

  (Man and woman talk to each other in low voices)

  Man: Give me a minute. (He pulls out a phone and talks, I can’t make out what he is saying. Finishes the call then looks at woman)

  Man: Fine. Fine. Seems like we need to cooperate with you on the security issues that you have been having.

  Me: We’ve been having.

  Man: That’s what I said.

  Me: No, you said you’ve been having. I mean we, as in both our departments

  Woman (glancing at papers meaningfully): It would seem that your department mislaid first an extremely sensitive item of equipment, and then a sample of G6 that was in your possession. The fact that we have been working on that project collaboratively does not mean we share the accountability for your mistakes.

  Man: Seems like you have some big security issues, Mr…?

  Me: Jones. Sylvain Jones.

  Man (scratching his head): Sylvain Jones? I remember your name. You joined just after I left, I think. But… you weren’t a security man? Weren’t you the designer of that invisibility device?

  Me: It’s not an invisibility device, it’s a VDE.

  Woman: And the difference?

  Me: Look. It’s just that…

  Man: Never mind. Are you the same man? Why are you in charge of security?

  Me: Andy thought I was the best man for the job.

  Woman: He’s finally lost it. We should talk to…

  Man: Maybe later. Fine. (Big sigh). Fine. My name’s Mark Smith. I run Department G.

  Me: Mark Smith? You mean…

  Man: Yes. Of course. This is…

  Woman: Alice Stevens. I work with Mark.

  Me: What do you do?

  Alice: That’s not relevant.

  Mark: Right. Mr Jones. You have (he studied his watch) approximately ten minutes. What do you want?

  Me: Erm… I thought this was a project briefing on Project U? That’s what Andy told me?

  Alice: We don’t want to waste your time going through all our issues. Tell us what you want to know and we’ll do our best to answer it.

  Me: I need to know about G6. And Project U.

  Alice: Why do you need to know?

  Me: I need to understand why someone would want to steal it. What does it do?

  Alice: Do you have any idea who may have stolen it?

  Me: I only started this job this morning. So, erm, no.

  Mark (looking at Alice): You may need to work together on this.

  Alice: Really?

  Mark: Why would anyone steal it? Unless…?

  Alice: Yes. I know. You think it may be…

  Mark (shrugging): It’s a possibility we need to consider.

  Alice (glancing at me): Do you think he’s really the best they can do?

  Mark:
Well. It’s not like they’ve covered themselves in glory so far is it?

  Alice: Oh God (then looking at me) … Listen. Jones. What we are about to tell you is in absolute strictest confidence. You understand? I know you have whatever level of clearance you think is important, but if this gets out, in any way at all, we will hold you to account. You understand?

  Mark: And you don’t want to be held to account by us, my friend. Believe me.

  Me: I understand.

  Alice: Very well then.

  So, here’s what I learnt, more or less. In fact, rather more than less. Department G always had a reputation for lunacy, which was partly why I was so surprised that it still existed. I guess we all needed people who would think the unthinkable and do the undoable, if only because everyone else was doing it too, and where would our strategic advantage be if we didn’t do what everyone else was doing, then do it again, then do it better. Or, more precisely, in a more extreme way. And so, Alice’s talk about alternate universes and infinite power and switching off elements of the brain and doing unspeakable things to test subjects didn’t even touch me; I suspected half of it was untrue and the other half just confirmed the banal cruelty of mankind and our endless quest for power. Who was I to judge, you may well ask – I was very possibly a killer twice over, the first time (perhaps) I killed Mark (then perhaps forgot about it), the second time (perhaps) I killed some sad prisoner in a mask and then of course perhaps I didn’t. But let me be clear that I’m not judging; I take no moral high ground, and even if I was (as I think is