by Martyn Ford
Harriet,
Should I be prepped for lethal intervention?
Dan x
Sat, Feb 15, at 9:08 AM, Harriet Goffe
Dan,
Absolutely. Move forward with the termination of Subject 44. Make it look like an accident—car crash or the like. Do it today.
Harriet
Sat, Feb 15, at 10:46 AM, Daniel Moore
Harriet,
It’s done. Paulson is toast. What’s our next move?
Dan x
“Wow,” Tim whispered. “It’s them. They did it all. Harriet and this guy Daniel…”
He read the final email:
Sat, Feb 15, at 11:00 AM, Harriet Goffe
Dan,
Your services shall be required in due course. For now, rest easy. I’ll let you know what to do with the kid at a later date, but I expect—like all these frayed edges—our only option is, regrettably, termination.
Harriet
“What do you think that means, ‘termination’?” Tim whispered, although he reckoned he already knew.
Phil was standing, one foot propped on the edge of the keyboard, looking up at the screen. “Do you really not know?”
“This email implies that they intend to kill you, Tim,” Dee said. “It is quite obvious.”
“I notice that they are using Comic Sans,” Phil added, pointing up at the monitor.
“Yeah,” she hummed, leaning in. “That’s not professional at all. This isn’t a poster for the village fête.”
“I suspect Arial would be more in keeping with the office environment,” Phil said. “Although I am partial to Times New Roman.” The monkey turned around. “What’s your favorite font, Timothy?”
Tim had been listening to this exchange with his mouth locked open in astonishment. “I think the noteworthy part of these emails is the bit where Harriet and Daniel discuss conspiracy and, you know, murder,” he said slowly, doing his best not to be angry.
“Sor-ry,” Dee said.
“Yes, Timothy, we were just making conversation.”
“Look, never mind,” Tim said. “Let’s get this stuff together and get out.”
“I do wonder what Harriet, with all her authority, would have to gain from this,” Phil said. “Is this all just a ploy to get your Imagination Box? Controlling people’s minds? Perhaps a little over the top? They could have just asked.”
“Seems like part of something much bigger,” Tim said. “Fredric said they operate above the law—this is probably one of many schemes.”
“We can find all that out later,” Dee added. “We’ve got proof that Harriet and this Daniel bloke are criminals of the worst sort. That’s all that matters right now.”
The download bar had almost filled at the bottom of the screen—it was at eighty-nine percent.
“Anyway, what is it?” Phil said, looking up from the desk. “Your preferred font?”
“I haven’t got a p—” There was a clunk outside the room. They all stopped, poised as statues. “Be quiet,” Tim whispered.
Standing from the chair, he saw the progress on the download reach ninety-nine percent. It paused, then tipped to one hundred. He pulled the memory stick from the computer. Now all that was left was to sneak out of this place and present the evidence to—
“What does that mean?” Phil said, pointing at the top of the emails.
“Which bit?”
“People copied in…‘G. Eisenstone’? Is this to imply he received these messages?”
Dee typed another search—emails containing her grandfather’s name shot to the top of the list. The first one was entitled “Payment.” They read that Harriet had paid Professor Eisenstone a great sum of money for his “silence concerning this sensitive matter.”
Tim’s stomach turned. He noticed his hands were shaking. A wave of physical sickness made him sway. The idea that the professor might have lied triggered in him a feeling of hopeless confusion and terrible loneliness. It felt as though he was falling. “Eisenstone…knew about this?”
“He’s part of it?” Dee whispered. Her face was pale. “I know he and Harriet are old friends…and…” She was breathing faster. “And we know Granddad is no stranger to secrets, but this? I can’t… What…Why would—”
“FREEZE!” a voice yelled in the doorway. It was the guard. And, as Phil had earlier noted, he did indeed have a gun.
There was an awkward silence in Harriet Goffe’s office. The only sound was the rain on the glass and the occasional grumble from the electric weather outside. The security guard, wearing a smart, dark blue shirt and a thick black belt, heavy with a baton and a flashlight, didn’t seem to know what to do next. He was pointing a silver pistol at them, with both hands wrapped tight around the grip.
“Don’t…don’t move a muscle,” he said, jutting the gun forward. He stepped inside the room properly. “Wh-what are you doing in here?”
“We were wondering if you have a few moments to talk about the Lord Jesus Christ,” Dee said.
“Is that supposed to be funny?” The guard looked nervous—he didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. “Hands up,” he said, lifting the barrel toward Tim. Without protest, Tim held his arms above his head.
His heart was going into overdrive while he tried to process just how much trouble they were in and, more so, how much trouble he would be in if they were captured. Everything had gone wrong so quickly. He tried to get his thoughts straight, about Eisenstone, about Harriet, but that proved impossible. One thing at a time. All that mattered was that they get out of here with that memory stick.
Despite his manic mind, he did notice that the security guard, although large and scary, had an empty clip on his belt where, Tim surmised, his radio should be. This meant backup wasn’t on its way.
“You all right there?” Dee asked the man.
“Shut it!” He was aiming at her now, shaking. “How did you get in here?”
“You seem anxious,” she went on. “Is this your first shift or something?”
“No,” he huffed. “It’s my second.”
“Look,” Dee said, “we are sort of in the wrong—this is a crime, we get that. But how bad would you look if your boss knew that someone broke in on your watch?”
“A couple of children,” Tim added.
“Couple of children and a handsome finger monkey,” Phil said from the desk.
The guard yelped, only now noticing him. Out of impulse, he fired a shot. The room flashed bright, the bullet sending splinters and dust spitting from the surface, right next to Phil.
A high-pitched ringing faded in Tim’s ears. Phil was staring at the hole by his side, stunned into silence.
“Whoa,” Dee said, slowly pulling her hands away from her head. “Man, you’ve got to relax. You can’t shoot guns at children. In virtually no context is that all right.”
“Really,” Tim added. “It’s a no-no.”
Dee shook her head. “Put it down.”
“What the hell is that thing?” the guard demanded, still staring at Phil. “And what are you doing here?”
“We’re here for that,” Tim said, tilting his head at the Imagination Box on the low coffee table in the corner. He was still wearing the reader. “Open it up and this will all make sense.”
The guard glanced at the contraption, then at Tim, then back again. He seemed to distrust Tim. He took a sidestep toward it. “What’s inside?”
“Have a look.”
He stopped. “Both of you, facedown on the floor.”
Tim nodded to Dee, and they did as he said. Phil was still staring down at what had nearly killed him. Smelling the carpet, Tim looked over as the man approached the Imagination Box. The guard moved out of sight, but Tim heard the lid flick open. He heard the guard step back, cough, and thud to the ground.
“Sleep tight,” Tim said, standing, placing his sleeve over his mouth. “Don’t breathe that in,” he said to Dee and Phil.
As Phil was still stuck in a state of shock, Tim picked him up and slipped him into his top pocket. Dee snatched the memory stick, now full with the vital incriminating evidence. Then they made for the door, giving the thick cloud of sleeping gas a wide berth. On the way, Tim grabbed the Imagination Box, dropped it into his backpack, and shouldered into the corridor, where there was more space to teleport.
He put his arm around Dee, hearing more security officers thumping up the stairwell, shouting orders and warnings.
“Ready?” Tim asked, holding the orange teleportation sphere.
“Let’s go.”
With his eyes closed, he clicked the button. When he looked again, they were in the same place. “Um.”
“Quickly, Tim,” she said. “Must leave now.”
Three security guards appeared at the end of the hall, their eyes glistening in the darkness as they spotted Tim and Dee standing, like a pair of lost lemmings, directly in front of them.
Tim clicked the button again, but nothing happened. It was jammed or malfunctioning or whatever the word was for when your teleporting ball wouldn’t work. He shook it. Bashed it on his palm.
“They’re just kids, boss,” one of the guards mumbled. “Where’s Jack?”
Through Harriet’s open office door, they spotted the man Tim had encouraged to pass out.
“Grab ’em!” another guard shouted.
They turned and ran. At the end of the corridor, they arrived at a silver door, which opened into a narrow chamber. A tall ladder ran up the middle, with steel ribs around it, near the top. Behind, Dee turned a key that was sitting in the lock; they were now sealed inside.
“This goes to the roof,” Tim said.
The door handle tilted, then rattled loudly. “It’s locked,” a muffled voice said. There was a pause, then a hard bang. Then another. The hinges buckled; a screw clinked along the floor.
“These guys are loopy,” Dee said.
She began climbing, and Tim followed suit. He was no more than three rungs up when the door behind broke from its frame, and the guards came pouring in.
“Faster!” His climbing became a scramble as large hands reached out for his feet.
One got a hold, but Tim shook his leg, his shoe coming off in the man’s grasp. At the top of the ladder, Dee fell out of the hatch and onto the roof. A harsh wind howled around her, thick columns of rain cascading. The storm was loud, and the height of the building put them right in the midst of it.
Tim swung one leg out but felt a tight biting pain on his other calf, then his thigh. The guard had him pinned against the ladder. He jolted, trying to get free. Dee grabbed and tugged at Tim, but the man was too strong. “I’ve got him,” he said.
“Run!” Tim yelled. Dee had the memory stick—the evidence—all that mattered was that she get away.
Dee turned. The only place she could go was another hatch across the flat expanse. However, before she was even halfway, it swung open, and one, two, three guards came out. Skidding, falling to the ground, she rolled over, and made her way back toward Tim, who was getting pulled lower, back inside, back into the hands of TRAD.
In the rain, as heavy as a power shower, Tim gritted his jaw as he put his imagination to good use. He’d wrapped his arm around the horizontal metal, meaning the guard would need to pry him off. This bought him a few moments. He didn’t have the time, or the strength, to reach inside his bag, so instead, in one fluid motion, he disconnected the plastic clips, yanked it from his back with his free hand, and hurled it. Spinning, straps twirling, the backpack went through the round hatch. Tim had one last go at breaking free, twisting and writhing.
On the roof, one of the men was bolting for Dee, running at the pace of someone intent on a savage tackle. A flash of lightning turned raindrops to crystal, making the world seem, for a moment at least, completely still. The bag housing the Imagination Box landed, and the lid fell open. A brand-new orange teleportation sphere bounced out and rolled toward Dee. She snatched it from the ground, her shivering, wet fingers still fumbling when the guard arrived. As the delayed drums of thunder quaked overhead, he dived with all his weight, swinging his heavy arms through nothing but thin air and water.
Dee was gone.
With that, Tim’s hand was torn from the ladder. He and the large guard both fell back down the chamber, banging and clanging along the steel safety cage as they went. Luckily, Tim landed on top of the man, who was groaning in pain, badly winded, as the remaining security bundled around them.
Tim realized, as he was dragged inside, that there was no point in running anymore, and certainly no point in fighting. They had him.
The security guard who had grabbed Tim escorted him through the Diamond Building’s offices and past the labs, limping and clutching his side. He also fitted him with handcuffs. Actual handcuffs.
“I’m eleven years old,” Tim said, frowning, looking over his shoulder. “What do you think I am going to do?”
“You’re not going to do anything,” the guard replied, placing his hand on Tim’s head. He pulled the reader hat off and looked down at it. “Without this, you’re completely harmless.”
They had collected the Imagination Box from the roof—Tim had only been reunited with it for a matter of minutes. And now he had been taken into what he suspected was an interrogation room. There was a brown plastic chair, just like one from school, tucked under an empty wooden table. Opposite that was a far nicer seat, with blue foam lining. And on the right-hand wall was a wide mirror that Tim supposed was see-through from the other side.
“Now,” the guard said. “Harriet has requested we hold you until she arrives. She wants to speak to you personally.”
Great, Tim thought, just who he wanted to see.
And with that, the man left.
Without his Imagination Box or his reader, Tim felt helpless. He had no idea if the teleporter sphere he made had actually worked. Dee had disappeared, sure, but he couldn’t be certain that she had arrived at Fredric’s facility. Plus, even if she had, how long would it take them to come and rescue him from these people? He kept running over those emails in his mind, wondering what other secrets they might have found. And Professor Eisenstone…Tim shook his head again.
Phil clambered out of his top pocket sluggishly, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The monkey hadn’t uttered a word since he was almost shot. He sat cross-legged on the table, lost in thought.
“Right,” Tim said. “Listen, we’ve got to get out of here. This is bad. We need to escape. Can you pick locks?”
Phil stared at nothing in particular, without responding.
“Hello? Can you hear me? What’s got into you? Look, Harriet is going to be here soon. I have no idea what she’s going to do with me. Or you for that matter. Phil? Phil!”
The monkey finally lifted his head, making eye contact. “I nearly died,” he said.
“Yes. Nearly, but you didn’t.”
“That security guard—he shot at me.”
“You made him jump. He didn’t mean it. Now, try and get these cuffs off.”
“What is the point?”
“Excuse me?” Tim snapped. “What’s the point in getting me out of here? Did you not hear me? Harriet, the woman who, for some inexplicable reason, wants me dead, is coming. I’ll level with you, Phil, cards on the table: I don’t fully understand what’s going on, but I am scared. This place, this situation, it scares me.”
“I meant, what is the point in anything?”
“Oh, Phil. This isn’t the time.”
“My whole life flashed before my tiny eyes when that gun went off. Timothy, do you know what I saw?”
“No,” Tim sighed, tugging at the restraints behind him. The metal was tight on his wristbones.
“Nothing. My short existence has amounted to nothing. What have I achieved?” Phil stood. “Hmm? What am I for? I live in a drawer, Timothy.”
“I…”
“A drawer.”
“This…these are very gr
and questions, Phil, and they apply to us all.”
“You were right, good sir, it most certainly is not all sunshine and sing-alongs.”
“We can discuss this later, just help me get my cuffs off.”
There was a crackling sound, and Tim spotted a speaker in the corner of the room, near the ceiling. A voice boomed from within. “Tim, we can see and hear you. This is a two-way mirror.”
“I suspected it was,” Tim said under his breath. “Never mind, Phil. You probably won’t have to worry about the meaning of life for much longer.”
Half an hour passed in near silence. Tim and Phil stared into space, both pondering their respective crises. Eventually, Tim gulped at the sound of a female voice behind the door and a darkened shape through the frosted window. A few seconds later, Harriet entered. The gentle breeze of her moving through the room was enough to make Tim’s neck hair tingle.
Knowing what he knew, he saw her differently. Before, she seemed like a stern school principal, a neutral authority figure. But now, she was more of a menacing presence. Her narrow, wandering eyes were almost reptilian.
“Tim,” she said as she pulled her blue chair out to sit. “Have they been treating you well, have— Are those handcuffs?”
Harriet stood, left the room, and returned with some keys to free Tim from the restraints. He rubbed his wrists as the metal clanked onto the table next to Phil, who was still slouching. “I am sorry about that,” she said. “The guards seem scared of you for some reason. They think your Imagination Box is dangerous. You’ll be pleased to hear that Jack has woken up from his short slumber.”
She was being far too nice, Tim thought. This might have fooled him before, but not now.
“You could be in a huge amount of trouble,” Harriet said, pulling her long, blond, tightly braided hair over her shoulder. It hung down almost to her waist. “But I must admit, I am more curious than angry. Can I ask what on earth you and your friend were up to? Did you eat Chinese food in my office?”
Tim frowned, then remembered the fortune cookie. He decided to pretend he hadn’t read those emails—best she didn’t know that he knew. “We were looking for my Imagination Box,” he said.
