by Stuart Keane
“You have reached your destination.”
Rupert drove past, undeterred.
With a flick of his wrist, Rupert silenced the GPS. The small LCD screen went black.
If anyone was watching the street, he didn’t want to be noticed. Pulling up in John’s car would have been the worst mistake of the evening. No, he drove past and went around the block. He completed a full circle, then turned around and headed back. However, he soon changed his mind. En route he had discovered a small alleyway that linked his road to the one in front of the building. Rupert drove past the entrance, stopped, and reversed. Then he turned into the alleyway, killing the lights. He moved slowly to the middle of the narrow alley and stopped. The engine was still running.
Rupert needed a plan.
His first decision was to keep the car, realising that he might need the means for a quick escape. As enjoyable as it would be to set fire to this bastard’s vehicle, he needed it. Since entering the industrial park, he had seen only one solitary vehicle. It was an abandoned milk truck, three wheels and all of its contents smashed on the ground beside it. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
The BMW, it was.
Rupert sat in the seat, thinking. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. After a moment, he knew what he needed to do. He opened the glovebox, and the lid fell down, exposing some documents, a flick knife and a wallet. He took the knife, placed it on the seat beside him and then reached for the wallet. It was a small leather billfold, solid and heavy. He flipped it open. A picture of an unknown woman faced him. Several credit cards sat neatly in its compartments. Turning the wallet over, he discovered two hundred pounds in cash in an inside pocket. Two small plastic cards sat wedged beneath the money. Rupert removed the cards. Each had one simple word on it:
PASS
BASE
Nothing else. The cards were silver, sleek and nondescript. The fact they had been packed underneath the money in the wallet suggested that they were important. Rupert slid them into his pocket, folded the wallet and put it back in the glovebox. He closed up the door and picked up the knife, he placed it in the duffel bag beside him.
Rupert took several deep breaths.
This is your chance to end it, he thought. The one thing you’ve wanted to do for years and you can do it right now. John is out of commission. All you have to do is shut him down. The building before you is the key to doing this, he reasoned. Not far to go now.
Then he flexed his arms, gripping the steering wheel tight.
He killed the engine, pocketed the keys and climbed out of the vehicle. He closed the door silently behind him. The night air was cold and moist and it felt as if rain was imminent. The freshness of the air turned Rupert’s breath into steam.
Rupert opened the passenger door. On the seat was his bag of weapons. In the car’s footwell sat a briefcase, which Rupert picked up and opened. He saw some files, a stapler, and some stationery. He emptied it out onto the car’s floor and laid the briefcase on the seat. Looking through his duffel bag, he picked out two knives and put them in the briefcase, slipping them behind some Velcro holders in the lid. Seconds later, his silenced pistol joined them. Next he placed a meat cleaver into the case, concealed between two folders retrieved from the floor, and then closed the lid. He gently shook it to and fro. There was no rattling noise: everything sat tight and snug.
Excellent.
There was a black coat on the back seat. Rupert grabbed it and placed it under his arm. He placed the briefcase out onto the ground beside him, put the coat on, grabbed the case and prepared himself. He pulled the coat tight and buttoned it, covering his clothes. It was one size too big, but felt comfortable.
With silent strides, he exited the alley and crossed the road to reach the building. There were no signs, no indication of who resided inside. He walked closer, stopping just short of the entrance. There was a revolving door in front of him. Rupert squinted but couldn’t see anything beyond it. He pushed the revolving door firmly and it slowly swivelled around, allowing him to step into a lobby.
What a lobby!
The essence of expensive leather hit him immediately. The walls were made of dark, smooth oak, whilst the white marble floors perfectly combined with the oak to create a luxurious space that radiated wealth and class. A dark oak desk was positioned to the right, the kind that concealed the person behind it until you came up close, but today it was deserted.
Expensive looking art works lined the walls – Rupert thought that he recognised two of the paintings as original works by eminent artists. The floor angled off into a bottleneck. At the end of that were two lifts. The steel of the doors looked as if it probably cost more than Rupert’s entire house. Two plush leather sofas were to his left, probably the source of the wonderful aroma, and a glass coffee table, with three magazines on top, was between them. Rupert took a stride forward and approached the desk. He looked over it and saw nothing but a small laptop with its lid closed. On closer inspection he could see that the computer was embedded into the desk’s wooden surface.
Rupert advanced towards the lifts. As he did so, he glanced up. Strangely, he saw no cameras. Then he realised that, judging by the luxuriousness of this place, there was probably surveillance equipment hidden in the walls. He stepped up to the lifts. There was no button. On closer inspection, Rupert saw a small LED panel. He looked around nervously, checking that the room was silent. He slipped the small silver cards from his pocket and swiped the one labelled PASS across the panel. A second later, he heard a DING and the door to his left opened. An electronic, female, voice greeted him:
“Welcome, Mr C.”
Rupert wondered what that meant. He stepped into the lift, whose interior was solid steel, its shiny surface so polished that he could see his reflection in it. The doors closed smoothly behind him. The lift began its ascent and after several seconds came to a smooth halt. After a moment, the doors opened. Rupert stepped out slowly.
A long hallway greeted him. The entire left-hand wall was glass, clearly an exterior glazed wall. The night sky was beautifully dark and mysterious beyond it. The stars actually illuminated the hall, casting beams and shadows onto the minimal décor. One solitary door stood at the end of this hallway.
Rupert paused for a second, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. The walls were white and plain, while the carpet was black and new. As he moved down the hallway, he noticed more artwork on the wall. Another door, to his right, stood open. Rupert stopped and peered in. A lamp was on. Through the open door he could see another leather sofa and a vending machine. He continued.
He reached the door at the end. Rupert looked to the left and took in the view. He could see right out across the industrial park. The dome that had been his home for the past several hours was there in the distance. From here, he could see three more domes like it. Various structures were built in a pattern. It seemed as if the buildings were constructed to form a grid, arranged into squares with the roads criss-crossing one another. In the distance, he could see the horizon. Several tower blocks idled, multiple lights on all floors turning them into colourful beacons. A black sky and stars hovered over everything. It was a great view.
Rupert turned back and stood in front of the door. After a couple of breaths, he opened the door and stepped through into the room.
Closing the door behind him, Rupert found he was in a luxurious office. The lights were off, but even in the dark, he could see that no expense had been spared. A desk stood central, backlit by a huge window. The view was busier from this angle, an entire city sat silent, illuminated and uncaring. If this was John’s office, he picked the best view.
A monitor sat on it, a blue reflection cast into its glass. There was ample floor space before him and around the desk. Another leather sofa sat to the right of the door, accompanied by a coffee table. On it sat a chess set. Some of the pieces had been moved. In the corner was an armoire, while a huge Persian rug was positioned centrally. As Rupert looked around, he
noticed that everything was organised in perfect order, as if arranged by someone suffering from OCD. All around, there were straight lines, no curves. The only things out of place were the chess pieces.
Crossing the room, he moved behind the desk and lowered himself into the leather chair. The monitor was on. Clearly whoever normally sat here did not lock their computer. On the screen there were several small squares. Some were coloured, some were black and white. A few smaller squares were black. In the corners of the latter, it read NO FEED. Rupert found the computer’s mouse on the desk: it was a small circular hub, no bigger than an orange. Rupert clicked on one of the squares.
When it enlarged, he could see the facsimile of his own house. The camera was positioned high up, outside. It was probably one of the dome cameras. They were globes positioned in the ceiling so they could spin three hundred and sixty degrees at any time. Rupert clicked on several more of the squares: more shots of his house, a low angled shot of his porch – he could see the broken glass at the base of the shot. One was the exit door of the dome. He could see the Range Rover in the distance and his house, a defined shadow among many. Then the shots changed. He saw a leg lying prone on the ground. One camera was zoomed in and a dead face, splashed with blood, stared back at him: one of John’s men.
These were the cameras the men had been wearing.
The NO FEED cameras, Rupert assumed, were the ones he’d broken. He ignored them. He scanned a few more and realised that no other cameras were switched on. Rupert smiled.
I totally fucked John over, he thought. He had no choice but to come for me.
I ruined him in The Game. I did this.
Rupert felt happy in the knowledge he had outsmarted John, feeling it to be the least he deserved.
He minimised the windows on the screen and checked the desktop. Two folders were sitting there. One said THE GAME. The other said BACKUP. John looked around the desk and found two drawers. He opened the top one. Several magazines were stacked in a pile. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay on its side, a tumbler clinking against it. A black plastic lip sat just inside the drawer’s edge. Rupert pulled it up to reveal a slim black tray containing paper clips, pens and general stationery items.
And a USB stick.
Bingo!
Rupert took it out and laid it on the desk. Looking at the monitor, he realised that the desktop part of the computer was built into it. He turned it to the side and located several USB ports. He placed the USB stick into one of them and the computer made a clinking noise to indicate that the USB drive was active. He spun the screen around again. The USB stick’s contents were there on the screen. He dragged both folders on the desktop onto the USB. After a few seconds everything was copied. He removed the USB and put it in his pocket. He then deleted the files on the computer, then emptied the Recycle Bin to ensure that the files could not be easily recovered, if they were recoverable at all.
He opened up the camera shots again. He scanned through a few of them. He frowned when he realised that these shots were not familiar. The screen before him was different, divided into four panes. One was blacked out, where he had left off a moment ago. The other three were still on.
There was movement on these three squares. He opened them up one by one. Rupert tried to conceal his anger. The shots before him showed different people. He didn’t know them from Adam but it looked as if John had been watching them.
Or someone else had.
A young woman’s body lay crumpled on the ground. A stouter woman stood beside her, smoking a cigarette.
The next screen showed a man and a woman surrounded by a number of bald men, who weren’t moving.
And the third one showed a bloody Chinese man lying on what looked like a kitchen floor.
Were there others?
Rupert felt the vomit rising from his stomach, it burnt his throat a second before he turned from the computer and vomited on the carpet. After two minutes, he returned to the screen. The three scenes in their separate panes were still there.
John, he thought, what the fuck have you done?
Nothing was moving on the scenes on his monitor. Rupert zoomed in on each, but nothing new was revealed. Was this the reason for the other domes? Did John have revenge plans prepared for other people too?
Wait, he reasoned to himself.
The Game?
Were these poor unfortunates the other participants? If they were, they were presumably being controlled from some other location.
In the same way that he was being controlled here, was being the crucial word.
Rupert rubbed his head and thought hard. This was even bigger than he thought. If this business was being conducted in secret, who the hell organised it? Why hadn’t it been shut down?
He ran his hands down his face.
DING.
Rupert looked up. He recognised the noise of the ascending lift. Someone was coming. Rupert hit the monitor button, throwing the room into complete darkness, although he was still backlit by the window. Where could he go? Not under the desk, for it was open on both sides, and he would be spotted immediately. He looked around and discovered, for the first time, a door in an alcove. He left his briefcase under the desk, satisfied that it wouldn’t look out of place, and removed the coat, draping it over the chair. He ran to the alcove door and opened it.
He waited. Then shadows danced outside the office door and he heard footsteps muffled by the carpet. He stepped through the door and closed it, leaving it ajar. The alcove would hopefully deter anyone from coming over. Rupert waited.
The newcomer was now in the office. He could see shadows moving about in the room. Whoever was in the room was deft, silent and quick. Or trained. Rupert decided it was the latter, he had seen too much to underestimate the abilities of anyone involved in all this – doing so had caught him out before.
After a few moments, Rupert exited the doorway, using the alcove for cover. Slowly, he peeked around the wall. The person had their back to him. They were bending down next to the sofa. Rupert stepped out from behind the alcove and bunched his fist. Slowly, he moved behind the stooping figure who was level with the coffee table. The person started to ease upwards from their crouch.
Rupert slammed his fist into the back of the head. He heard a small yelp as the body careened forward and the forehead smashed into the coffee table’s glass surface, shattering it. The noise was deafening as the glass exploded, chess pieces flew into the air, onto the sofa, and the floor. The body came to a rest on the floor, amid the debris. Everything settled finally, as a pawn rolled to a stop on the surface of a piece of glass.
He realised he was panting. Sweat was dripping from his face as he looked down at the damage. He stepped closer to see the body, and rolled it over with his foot.
It was a woman. She was Caucasian and slim, and was wearing a red apron. A woman whose body had been defined and toned by her job. Rupert had once read that the activity involved in cleaning burns off more calories than a bike ride, though he didn’t know if this was true. The life force was fading from her eyes as she lost her fight to live. A severe gash in her forehead indicated that the impact with the glass table had probably fractured her skull. Rupert felt a sense of overwhelming guilt. She was another innocent victim.
Damn you, John!
This isn’t John’s fault, he realised to himself, and faced up to the fact that he had killed her.
Yes, he conceded, but it was John who put her in the line of danger.
Rupert moved back to the desk. Had the noise been overheard? He picked up the suitcase and left the office. As he reached the hallway, he heard the lift descend. Had it been summoned by someone? Rupert slipped the silver cards from his pocket. Gripping both of them in his sweaty palm, he swiped them against the LED panel on the wall. The left-hand lift continued to descend.
Come on, come on!
He frantically swiped the cards, but to no avail.
Suddenly, the doors of the right-hand lift opened.
> “Welcome, Mr C. You are headed to HQ,” said a voice from somewhere.
Rupert stood still, unsure what he had done. He realised each lift had a purpose, hence the two cards. He stepped into the right-hand lift. The doors closed smoothly behind him.
As the lift ascended, he thought he heard the left-hand lift start to ascend at the same time.
Rupert wondered where he was headed.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The clones hadn’t moved for some time. Kieran and Heather were standing on the platform, surrounded by the doppelgangers. Unsure of what to do, or how much danger they were facing, kept them rooted to the spot.
Kieran was taking everything in, calculating frantically. He was searching for an escape that wasn’t possible. The many bodies surrounding them were blocking his view, nevertheless, he remembered the control office and the tunnels behind them. He looked at the clones, trying to gauge their mood.
The bald creatures were standing, their gazes locked onto the young couple. Heather felt a chill travel up her spine. It felt as if every single clone was staring at them, their unnerving glares somehow shackling them, making it impossible to move. Their eyes had the power to penetrate deeply, as if they could see into a person’s soul. Heather felt her spine freeze with more chills of pure terror.
Kieran leant in, all too aware that any movement could upset the creatures. The clones followed his every movement with their eyes, their heads moving in unison a fraction of an inch to the right. Kieran was leaning close to Heather, so as to speak into her ear. “If we get a chance, we need to go for the tunnels,” he whispered urgently. “Going anywhere else means delay and would be pretty much suicidal. When I give the signal, we both run, got it?”
Heather nodded. As she did, the heads of the clones all moved a fraction up and a fraction down, as if they were mimicking her. Their focus was purely on Heather now. She swallowed. If they could understand English, then Kieran’s words had most likely been noted. If so, it would hardly be a secret that they’d decided to make a break for it. Heather said nothing.
