by Nick Jones
She got up and showered, hoping to make sense of the questions banging around in her head. It didn’t help. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t shake a growing certainty.
Whatever else she might discover, whatever the dream meant, Callaghan was right about one thing. They were in danger.
Chapter 15
Code Blue.
What the hell is a code blue?
Analyst 13 wandered down the hall, grabbed a coffee and arrived back at his terminal. It was still there, flashing. He rubbed his temples, glancing around nervously. There were around twenty other operators on shift that night, all of them young like him, worker bees, each assigned five hundred cycles per hour. Their job was to flag files of interest and then pass them on for processing. That was it, that was the job and he was good at it.
Mole.
That had been his nickname in college and for a few years after. Until he came here. In this underground deniable bunker, everyone was numbered and faces would come and go. Mole had decided it best not to make friends. If he kept his head down for one more year, he would move up a pay grade and perhaps run his own team. He was a hard worker, he was sure that had been noticed.
Alerts, though, they were rare.
That’s why he double-checked the code blue – triple-checked, in fact. He didn’t want to get this wrong. Protocol required him to make a phone call. Level three clearance. He wasn’t required to interface with people very often and realised he was sweating heavily. Again, he squinted around the room at the ghostly faces tapping away in silence.
Come on, Mole, this could be the making of you.
He dialed the number, fingers trembling.
Chapter 16
In the members’ bar of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, New York, Zido Zitagi entertained her guests with well-researched conversation. Wrapped in a silver kimono dress – a nod to her Japanese heritage – and standing tall on razor-sharp heels, Zitagi was a woman who demanded attention. Her guests, two gentlemen from a prestigious manufacturing company, were discussing their excitement leading up to this evening’s performance.
Immersive theatre, as it had become known, combined live performance with holographic projection and required precise choreography to ensure a seamless performance. When done well, the effect was mesmerising. Zitagi’s dark eyes, displaying a wisdom beyond her years, scanned the two men politely.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said, her voice precise and warm. ‘If you are ready, we can make our way to the private gallery.’
They nodded and she led each of them by an arm, making more polite conversation. The men surely felt special – this was her gift, perfected and used many times. The outcome of such an evening would always be as Zitagi planned.
Her party took their seats, a gallery situated centrally above the ground floor, and admired the impressive building. The orchestra ceased warming up and the audience hushed, the anticipation tangible. Zitagi had seen it once before, and although her focus was on her guests, she allowed herself a moment of wonder.
Two blue lights shone down, revealing the stark simplicity of the central stage. Then, piece by piece, an intricate scene appeared. First, a campfire with rocks and horses and tents, then to the left of the stage a tree-covered hillside, and to the right a steep cliff face. Finally, when a starlit night with moving clouds completed the panorama, actors walked out onto the stage and began to interact with the projected scenery. The tableau was complete, a rich, deep landscape that spanned the full height and width of the stage. The audience fell silent, transported by the stunning spectacle. Later, a horse would travel across the entire scene in an intoxicating display of live theatre, film and immersive entertainment. Zitagi noted her guests. One had a tear running down his cheek. The first time could have that effect on people.
Augmentation was automatically switched off during the performance. But Zitagi’s equipment was beyond their control, set to receive calls of security level two or above. She was surprised when the call came in.
It was level three.
She slipped silently into the adjoining bar, clicking her fingers at the smartly dressed bar staff and pointing to the door. They shuffled out quickly looking worried.
She answered. A moment of decryption followed by a voice.
‘Hello?’ a male voice said, weak and hopeful.
Zitagi sighed, pursing her plump red lips. She preferred artificial assistants, but if they had to be human, at least make them sharp. This one sounded twelve years old.
‘Go ahead,’ she said in a harsh tone.
‘This is Analyst 13.’ There was a long pause. ‘The protocol requires that I call the person named on the –’
‘Analyst 13,’ she interrupted. ‘Have you ever made a level three call before?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he replied.
‘Some advice,’ she said. ‘Take a breath and get to the point.’
‘I’ve just received a code blue.’
‘Subject?’
‘Jennifer Logan.’
A pause.
Zitagi said, ‘You’re absolutely sure?’
‘Yes, completely. I ran it three times.’
‘Interesting. When?’
‘This morning around 3am. The subject’s brain pattern changed, we picked it up as she accessed the network on her –’
‘Tell me,’ she asked. ‘Do you recognise the encryption?’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’ve never seen this kind of encryption before. The date tag, it’s old. Initially I thought it was based on something –’
‘Listen carefully,’ Zitagi cut in again. ‘Tell no one about this, not even your supervisor. Copy the search data onto a secure server and delete any trace from your systems there. I have just granted you clearance to do that.’
She waited. Nothing.
‘Is that clear?’ she barked, already making plans.
‘Yes. Absolutely.’
Zitagi disconnected, closed her eyes and smiled, savouring the moment. A code blue, at last. Presuming it was genuine – and she no reason to doubt it – she might finally get the chance to achieve her primary directive.
She made another call, this time to Victor Reyland. There weren’t many people that could make her nerves swim, but he was important. She respected him more than anyone. He answered and she immediately felt the last twenty years fall away. She was a recruit again, standing before him. His commitment to the cause had been absolute and she had worked tirelessly ever since to gain his respect. That made this moment all the more special; his faith in her was finally being rewarded. She explained the situation and received her orders. His voice was calm and controlled. He briefed her fully and before disconnecting told her that she had done well.
Zitagi glowed with pride.
She returned to the performance, her two guests acknowledging her and nodding their appreciation. She tipped her head and smiled back, calculating that she could kill them, complete her mission and be in London by the following evening.
Chapter 17
It was the evening of Jim McArthur’s surprise party. Three days since the dream had played out. Jen’s father had buried something in the churchyard, and she needed to find out what. She began making plans deep in her mind but tonight needed to put them, and her building sense of dread, on pause. If only for tonight, for Mac’s sake, she needed to pretend life was the same, that it was safe and good. He would be pretending, too, playing down the attention but secretly enjoying it.
Jen looked out of her apartment window at the waiting car. Richards had insisted they travel together. She checked herself again in the mirror, deciding he could wait a little longer. She wore her hair up for a change, leaving her shoulders exposed, and wondered how many times she would hear the phrase You scrub up well.
She hated that.
Entering the lounge, she saw Simon sitting in comfy clothes, his attention on the box. He glanced around and then again, nodding with absolute sincerity.
‘Yes, yes!’ he cried, approving the outfit. ‘Black dress and heels. All men will be helpless.’
‘No idea when I’ll be home,’ Jen said dryly, curling her lip.
‘Come on, it can’t be that bad.’
‘You’re probably right.’ She thought through the guest list. Peter Callaghan would be there. Since dislodging the memory they had spoken daily, but she hadn’t told him about the dream yet. She was hoping for a chance to talk to him tonight.
‘See you later.’ Simon smiled, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’
Jen navigated the stairs, folding her ankle twice and cursing her choice of footwear. She stepped out onto the street. The auto-car was an expensive model, silver and sleek with a large, spacious interior. The wing door was up and Richards was peering out. She climbed inside and sat opposite him. The cabin was clearly designed to be a statement – studded red leather, framed with chrome detailing – the ceiling an animated night sky. His eyes worked over her quickly.
‘You look very nice Logan,’ he said, his delivery reluctant, as if his mother had nudged him.
‘Thank you, Sir.’ Jen smiled graciously. ‘So do you.’
It was a lie. Only Richards could make a dinner jacket look that bad. The car pulled away smoothly. They stared out the window for a while, the city streaming by. Eventually he spoke.
‘Logan, I wanted to take this opportunity to speak to you before the party.’
She nodded, waiting for him to continue.
‘There are some important people attending, and I would urge you to consider tonight an opportunity.’
‘An opportunity?’ Jen replied. ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘You’re a good police officer, Logan. Maybe I’ve never told you that, but you are.’
Praise from him was rare, and he seemed to deflate, the words clearly painful for him to say. Jen decided to enjoy the moment even if it did lack sincerity.
Richards continued, ‘There is someone I want to introduce you to.’ He leant forward, the smell of his cheap scent threatening an instant headache. ‘I’m trying to help you.’
There was bitterness in his voice and his delivery felt forced, as if he were reading from cue cards. She’d worked Duality for nearly three years and in that time had never received a single word of encouragement. It was obvious he’d been put up to this. The question was, why? Was this linked to Callaghan and his theories on searching? Her dream? Or, perhaps less worryingly, was Mac putting in a good word before such blessings lost their power? Whatever the reason, she decided to play along.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ she managed finally. ‘I appreciate it.’
Richards sat back, stretched and gazed out of the window. He seemed happy the conversation was over.
‘I’m sticking my neck out here,’ he said, in a more familiar tone. ‘Just don’t fuck it up for me.’
* * *
Across town, Peter Callaghan returned home, his car lights tracing across the garden and settling on the driveway before blinking out. Just enough time to change and still make the party, he decided. His cat slinked onto the porch.
He spoke in a higher voice reserved exclusively for his feline companion.
‘Millie, I thought I left you inside.’
He was tired and tempted to stay home, knowing that a nightcap followed by approximately four minutes of reading would be enough to bring sleep. He wanted to see Jen, though. They needed to talk. He entered the house, closed the front door behind him and noticed a shaft of light spilling from his study.
‘Is there someone there?’ he called, his words reverberating through the old house. He waited, feeling ridiculous, half-expecting someone to answer. No reply came. He considered just leaving the light on and going to bed but couldn’t. He crossed the lounge, lights turning on automatically as he approached, and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. The door to his study was ajar, but there were no signs of forced entry, and anyway, the security would have notified him.
So it’s a polite, considerate intruder. Intent on what, exactly? Reading my collection of worthless novels? I’m an old fool. Spend my days surrounded by senility and now it’s my turn.
He entered his study. It was untouched. He walked over to an old standard lamp and reached under the shade.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ It was a man’s voice, and calm.
Callaghan turned to face the intruder, a cold surge of adrenaline flushing through him. The man, tall and well dressed, was blocking the doorway.
‘What do you want?’ Callaghan managed, his heart racing, eyes searching the room for an escape.
‘Doctor Callaghan,’ the man said. ‘I need you to come with me.’
Chapter 18
Dark clouds hung over London as the car pulled up outside the restaurant. Richards jumped out and insisted he open the door for her. Jen nodded, stepped out of the car and they entered the restaurant like an awkward married couple. The restaurant was one of Mac’s favourites. It had a club lounge feel with lamps, glass tables and large leather sofas hugging the edges. Large dining tables filled the center of the room, each with a personal chef preparing food in front of the diners. It was expensive, popular and heavily decorated for Christmas.
Jen spotted Jonathon Cole and a new female constable standing at an ornate bar that stretched almost the full length of the room. She hadn’t seen Cole since the Operation Penthouse debrief. He was a good option for pre-dinner chatting, and she’d met the constable once before and liked her. Maybe tonight would be okay.
The maître d’ took her coat. Jen checked the time. Mac would be arriving shortly with his family, unaware of the gathering. She began the process of small talk, working her way around the gathering.
Thirty minutes later, Mac arrived. She was glad she recorded his arrival – now, whenever she needed an emotional lift, she could replay the video and watch the genuine surprise on his face. Sally, his wife, glowing with excitement, had organised the evening. So far it was all going to plan. His twin daughters, aged seven, captivated most of the guests, the rarity of children making them a novelty. Population was strictly controlled and had been for years. Mac had been lucky. After many attempts, Sally had finally conceived, and when twins were confirmed it had been a battle to keep them.
Jen wondered if her maternal instincts would ever be rekindled. Pangs of motherhood were a rare thing now. She didn’t feel it was her destiny to have children, but she would certainly enjoy Mac’s kids this evening. In fact, the first hour was already gone and she was actually enjoying herself. Eventually Mac made his way to her.
‘Thanks for the heads up,’ he said, referring to the surprise and her lack of warning.
She smiled, leant in and kissed him on the cheek.
Mac took a step towards her in mock secrecy. ‘I need to ask you a favour.’
‘Anything, Mac,’ she replied. ‘You know that.’
‘I’m going to miss this.’ A sad expression moved over him quickly. ‘Too much, I suspect.’
Jen touched his arm and smiled. ‘I know.’
‘Keep me in the loop, okay?’ he asked. ‘I need to keep my mind busy. Sally has ideas for me. Gardening and cooking and other things.’ It was a mixture of sadness and humorous concern. Jen suspected he was secretly looking forward to a quieter life but could understand the need to stay mentally active. She smiled again, attempting to reassure him.
‘Mac. Listen. You’re only what, early hundreds?’ She knew he was a little older. ‘You’ve got years left in you.’
Raising her hand flat to her cheek, she whispered, ‘I will let you in on a secret. I can’t imagine doing this without you.’
He laughed and seemed happy, but Jen felt a pain pinching her heart. It was true. They hadn’t worked many cases together, but they’d often met, shared information and talked. Her intention was for that to continue, but people always said that, didn’t they? She thought of Callaghan again. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t derailing again, spo
uting more crazy talk. They needed to figure this out together.
‘Wasn’t Callaghan supposed to be here tonight?’ she asked, sending Mac’s eyes searching across the bar.
‘Yeah, I thought so. But you know him.’ He lifted his eyebrows playfully. ‘Probably knee-deep in some experiment or case file.’
She decided that if Callaghan didn’t show, she would call him again later.
An Italian-looking waiter with a dark blanket of stubble and long hair rang a bell, ushering the party into a private dining area. Jen was seated in the middle of the table. Mac, his family and four others were guided to the head. She recognised Ravenscroft. The other three she presumed were MI5, MI6 or high up in the Met. They had an air of importance about them. It seemed Richards had been right; it was a serious gathering. She thought of their earlier conversation in the car and wondered whose arse she would be required to kiss.
Once seated, Mac tapped his glass and stood. His speech had people laughing out loud. She really was going to miss him. As she looked around the table at people smiling and enjoying each other’s company, her concerns of the past week began to fade. Tonight she simply couldn’t imagine some terrible conspiracy. Whatever Callaghan had discovered, they would figure it out together – and that hidden memory? That was a long time ago. History. She would understand it all eventually, but tonight she was just happy to be genuinely enjoying herself.
The evening passed easily. The McArthurs were a nice family, decent people who attracted like-minded folk. After more speeches Jen decided the alcohol, which had worked its magic earlier, was starting to make her feel a little slow. Knowing she still had to meet her mystery guest, she eased off, joining Mac’s wife at the bar. They chatted but within minutes Richards caught her eye and nodded to the far side of the bar, his expression like granite. Jen could see Ravenscroft and two other men talking to a Japanese woman she didn’t recognise.
Jen was quite sure this woman hadn’t been at the table during dinner; she would have remembered her. She was smartly dressed and classically beautiful. Jen wasn’t surprised to see men clucking around her. Richards approached, apologised for butting in and escorted Jen towards the group.
