‘Oh God! Mia. What am I going to do about her?’ I say.
‘Right now, nothing. They may activate her to find and kill you. Then—’
‘No! I can’t.’
‘I’m with you, Michael,’ she says. ‘I’ll take care of what needs to be done.’
‘You don’t understand. She’s pregnant.’
‘Interesting.’
I shake my head in confusion. ‘What’s interesting?’
‘They let her get pregnant. Maybe she’s not one of us but one of them.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I say.
‘You will. But let’s get out of here now. I have another safe house set up.’
Neva’s safe house is a forty-minute drive out of Manchester centre, the other side of Altrincham. It’s a small country cottage in a rural location. I take my holdall containing my meagre belongings inside and find it cosily furnished.
‘Nice place,’ I say.
‘Airbnb,’ she says. ‘Surprisingly anonymous.’
In the bedroom I find she’s bought me some basics – more underwear and clothing – as I only brought enough things for one night. I’m surprised by her practicality.
I take a shower and change into the new clothing: a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. In the bathroom is shaving gel and a new razor. I scrape away the two-day-old stubble and feel more human again.
Downstairs, Neva fixes us some lunch. She offers me tap water to drink.
‘Screw tea,’ she says.
I laugh.
Over a tuna sandwich, I ask her what the plan is.
‘We could just get the hell out of here,’ she says. ‘But they won’t stop looking for us.’
‘I can’t do that. I have a life. A job.’
‘You don’t understand, Michael. None of that is real.’
I have a hard time processing this and I tell her so.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she says. ‘The person you have been … the MI5 agent, that’s mostly you. But you’re more than that. You’re a sleeper and the Network isn’t going to let you fall into the hands of your colleagues now that the cat is well and truly out of the bag. You know too much and you’re aware of it all, no longer compartmentalising the bits they didn’t want the real you to know. If they know you’re compromised, they can’t let you live.’
‘So we run? Hide?’
‘We could. Or we could fight back,’ she says.
‘How?’
‘Your mother told me where the house is. But she lied. They knew I wouldn’t torture her further if I believed what she said. She was good. I’ll give her that. She put up with just enough to make me believe she’d cracked.’
I feel sickened by her words.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘But I had to do it.’
‘I know,’ I say. I understand completely who and what she is, more now than ever. I’d have done the same in her shoes. Yet I still can’t believe I think like this.
‘She told you it was in Bristol. That’s a default location. When you started on her, other conditioning kicked in. She would have believed she was telling the truth. She lied. But I know where the real house is. I remembered. When I was … the other Michael.’
Neva put her hand on my arm, ‘I was hoping that would be the case. We just have to think of a way to get in there and shut them down.’
‘I can do that,’ I say.
‘Michael, you’ve been compromised. They’d never trust you.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Neva. Andrew will trust me. He’s always trusted me. I’m his heir.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Michael
The house is in several acres of land in rural Cheshire. I know the security rituals and how to get in there. What I’m not sure about is how to get Neva in.
I draw a plan of the place, showing her all the weaknesses in their defences. They may have upped their game as a precaution though, and I explain this to Neva.
‘I want to bring Archive into this,’ I tell her. ‘We can do with their help.’
‘Michael, you can’t trust them.’
‘But wouldn’t I remember now if one of the others was in the Network?’
Neva shakes her head. ‘They may have kept you in the dark about each other. Hell, for all I know, Archive is a front to help, not stop, them.’
I’m not surprised that she thinks this. The Network has many fingers in many pies, particularly the government, which is full of people facilitating them for the backhanders, or other privileges. I write down a list for Neva of all those I know of.
‘The thing is, most of these people don’t know what the Network really does. They take bribes to push bills through that suit the company, or help Beech Corp – whose money mostly finances the whole operation. My parents talked a lot when they thought we were drugged,’ I explain. ‘All this stuff has been hiding in my brain.’
I tell her some more things I overheard.
‘There’s something else you should know. That last day when I was in work, seven children were reported abducted. I was waiting on instructions to go and interview the parents. It’s likely that all of these kids were taken to the house. They haven’t finished with the last batch; they’re overlapping the new with the old. For some reason they need more operatives. But here’s the thing. There’s something nagging me. About the parents … I just can’t remember what it is.’
‘Give it time. There’s a lot of information in your head that needs to be processed and made sense of,’ she explains.
A short time later we go out for a drive in Neva’s car. I don’t know where she got this one – perhaps it’s another rental – but I drive far enough away from the cottage until I find another phone box. The woman I’d spoken to was at the house. I’m late checking in. Now I have to convince them I’m still under their influence.
I dial the number again and she answers with an abrupt ‘Yes?’
‘I’m not far away. Made several detours to make sure I wasn’t tailed,’ I say.
‘And have you been followed?’ she asks.
‘No. I’m free and clear.’
‘Mr Beech will be here to debrief you. What’s your ETA?’ she asks.
This voice is familiar. It’s the same one that took my call last time and there’s a trace of an accent, though I can’t place it. I know who she is – or at least my other self does – but I still can’t access this information. It’s as though it’s hidden behind even greater barriers than the other things I can remember.
I glance at my watch. ‘An hour.’
When I get back in the car, Neva is waiting in the passenger seat.
‘Any problems?’ she asks.
‘None. My explanation was accepted. Andrew is there too,’ I say.
Neva nods. We now both recall that Andrew is always at the house when the new children are brought in. He plays an important role as the figure of authority.
The plan is simple: when we get nearer, she’ll hide in the boot of the car. I’m not expecting them to search it, but if they’re suspicious, she’ll be armed and ready if the trunk is opened by anyone other than me. Then all hell will be let loose and we’ll be in for a fight. But I’m ready for that. I almost welcome it. The other Michael inside me will know what to do when the time is right, and I’ll use his knowledge to bring down the house, and the Network.
With more time we might well have come up with a better plan. I’d wanted to go in alone, but Neva wouldn’t hear of it. She wants her revenge, and now I know how I’ve been manipulated, so do I.
Twenty minutes away from the border of the house, I pull over and help Neva settle in the boot. Then I drive straight for the impressive walled and gated driveway.
There’s a security guard waiting in a small booth. I pull up and wait for him to approach. I open the window and say the expected codeword; he glances briefly into the back seat, then turns and points a remote control at the gates. They begin to open with barely a creak. I close my window and make my way
sedately into the grounds and drive up the long approach to the house. I behave exactly how I would if the other Michael was in charge.
The house looks just like the photograph I saw in the school. It’s been years since I was last here myself but I marvel that they could have so easily suppressed my memories of the place. I hadn’t even recognised it from the pictures, but Neva had. So powerful is their control that I know I’m going to have to be on my guard. I don’t want any opportunity for Beech or anyone else to make me slip back under their influence. As I draw nearer, a wave of anxiety rises in my chest, followed by slight nausea. I remember feeling this way; approaching the house always brings a rush of unwelcome memories.
I recall sitting in Mendez’s surgery, my eyes wedged open as I am forced to watch horrible images on a large screen. All the time, the drugs were pumping into my system through a drip. These are not pleasant recollections. I was a child being tortured.
Now my recalled memories reveal that back in the Second World War, Hitler’s doctors had used drugs and torture as a way of brainwashing agents they later sent out into the world. Mendez wasn’t old enough to be a Nazi, but sometime after the war, as a young medic, he’d gained access to notes that should have long been destroyed. These early experiments became the basis of Mendez’s conditioning. A conditioning that he evolved over time once he realised that young minds were the best to work on.
It was sick. Abusive. The evillest thing I can ever imagine one human being doing to another, especially a child. At least I was given the semblance of a normal life around the training and they’d allowed me, albeit for their own reasons, not to remember the torment most of the time. But I do now, and all that pain eats at me even as the house looms ahead. I push back, trying not to let my awful past swallow me whole. I remember reading files on Mendez’s methods. The old guy has Alzheimer’s now. Andrew shared that with me during one of the times he pulled me in to see him.
Andrew had shared a lot of information with me. He’d trusted me; hopefully he still did. I understand now what my role had been. I was their mole in Archive. For this reason, I was sure that no one else in there was. This thought brings me to an important conclusion.
As I pull up to the front of the house, I remember that parking is around the back. I drive around the house and see the large carport, which is full of various other vehicles. I back into a slot beside Andrew’s Porsche so the front of my car faces the cameras at the back of the house and the boot of my car is obscured. Then I pull out my burner phone and, making the decision to tell Ray Martin where I am, I send him a text. The message is in code, but it tells Ray my location and makes reference to the children. I wonder what Ray will make of this, considering I’ve taken sick leave. He’ll realise that this was a lie. How he’ll respond, I don’t know. I hope he’ll bring in some help. I’ve a strong suspicion Neva and I will need it.
I erase the message from the phone, then get out of the car. Taking my jacket from the backseat, I go around the back of the car and open the boot. I make a show of pulling on my jacket and then lift out my holdall. Meanwhile, Neva slips out of the boot and hides behind the car. I slam the boot shut, lift my holdall onto my shoulder and walk towards the back entrance of the building. I’m sure that any observing security will think this is all normal.
The backdoor is locked, as per protocol. I press the intercom and stand in front of the camera. There is a piercing buzz and the door unlocks, allowing me to enter.
I go in, leaving Neva outside, trusting she’ll find her way into the house without too much difficulty. One thing I know about her is that she’s very good at getting in and out of places and not being seen. The Network taught her well.
I pass down a long corridor and out into the main entrance. I’m surprised that no security guard comes to greet me. I had at least expected to be patted down, but no.
Olive Redding is waiting for me at the door to her office. We’ve met before and I know that she is the current caretaker of the house.
‘Come in, Michael,’ she says.
I enter and see the slender frame of another woman sitting by Olive’s desk.
‘Hello, Michael,’ says the woman, turning to me. Of course! I had recognised her voice and now the memories rush back into my mind. I am almost plummeted back to the moment I first arrived at the house, when Simone Arquette brought me here along with her own daughter.
‘It was so amusing when you came to talk to me with your colleague,’ Simone says. ‘About Amelie. When you two were in the house together.’
‘Simone,’ chides Olive.
‘Oh, Michael is fine!’ Simone says. ‘He knows I mean no harm. This is our life here, after all. I’m a breeder. He’s a sleeper. And Amelie became an assassin. We are all the property of the Network. We all understand our roles.’
Olive asks me to sit. I do as she says, falling easily into the conditioning, respecting her position here. She is a powerful woman. I know she is a former-operative-turned-trainer. Does she still get tremors when she walks down the corridor to Mendez’s consulting rooms? Or does she still play the mantra over and over inside her head, reaffirming her loyalty to the people who took her from her home and brought her here as a child?
‘Mr Beech will want to see you,’ Olive says. ‘But first, how did Neva find your parents?’
I tell her the story that Neva and I planned on the way here. Mostly the truth, with just one tiny twist, that Neva had knocked me out, killed my parents, and left me in the house to take the rap. I don’t tell them that I now remember everything. They assume I’m still in agent mode – a default if my other self becomes compromised.
‘When I came to, I remembered who I was and what to do. My mother had followed protocol and activated me. Neva had fled, and so I called you, as I was supposed to, for clean-up.’
‘We picked up the bodies,’ Simone says. ‘There’s a team waiting in Bristol for Neva to appear at the other house. When she does, we’ll have her, Michael, and you can wreak your own revenge on her, if you like?’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t sure if Mum had given her the Bristol location, though I hoped. Which is why I didn’t come here until I was certain I wasn’t being watched.’
As the casual interrogation ends, Andrew comes into the room. I stand and bow my head to him. I don’t address him as Andrew – though my real self always did; instead, I call him Mr Beech, like everyone else does. This appears to be the right behaviour as Andrew is relaxed around me, sure that I am genuinely on their side.
‘Come to my study,’ Andrew says.
I follow him out of Olive’s office and down to the next room on the left of the expansive hallway.
‘The death of your parents changes things. Their disappearance will raise questions. Therefore, you are compromised,’ Andrew says. ‘That being said, there’s no cause for alarm.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say.
‘I will one day need a successor, as you know. I think it’s time you took a more active role. Maybe take on my duties here at the house. Then you’ll be shadowing me properly, learning the ropes. It’s time.’
I bow my head, showing how humbled I am at this suggestion. The thought horrifies me, but also excites the other side of me, who has always known this was coming. I find myself wondering why I’m so privileged. Questions that have never been asked before pop into my head. Who were my real parents? Why has Andrew taken such a personal interest in me all these years? I don’t ask the questions, hoping instead that the answers will be forthcoming.
Andrew pours us both a liberal shot of brandy from a decanter on his study desk.
‘To the Network, dear boy.’ He takes a generous swig.
I pick up my glass and sip the warming liquid, trying not to show how distrustful I feel about drinking or eating anything here.
‘But now, you must tell me everything. How did Neva know who you were?’
The only way to deal with this is to tell mostly the truth. Andrew will know if I’m lying
anyway. And so, I start at the beginning.
‘I met her outside the tube station the day Tracey Herod was killed…’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Neva
She passes by, as invisible as a ghost and as silent as the dead. The kitchen is empty but Neva can hear movement in a small pantry on the left-hand side of the room. Inside the room, Neva sees the cook, stuffing a handful of chocolate chip cookies into her mouth. The woman chomps noisily, oblivious of the assassin behind her. For what is about to go down, Neva intends to leave no adult witnesses. All are facilitators, abusers, abductors. She enters the pantry, reaches out and grabs the woman’s neck. One precise twist, and the woman slips to the ground at her feet. The half-chewed cookies crumble from her dead mouth, even as the eyes glaze over. It’s grotesque, but nothing worse than Neva has seen before.
Neva remembers this woman as she looks down at her face. She’s older now, but no less mean. There are flashes of memory, how she tormented the children with food, half-starving them mostly, then sitting eating cookies even as one of them fainted with hunger.
Maybe I am an avenging angel after all.
Neva leaves the pantry, closing the door as she goes.
At the kitchen door she encounters a small child. She is a little girl of five or six. The girl is small and frail-looking. Neva realises that nothing has changed at the house, despite the story that Michael told her of their ‘new’ methods.
‘I want my mummy,’ says the girl. Her eyes, over-large in her too-thin face, are red from crying.
‘Where are the others?’ Neva whispers.
‘In the gym room. We have to climb the ropes.’ The little girl holds out hands showing red and sore blisters.
‘How many teachers are in the gym?’ Neva asks.
‘Just Mistress Mercy.’
‘You’re going to be okay. Go to the bathroom. Stay in there until I come back for you.’
The House of Killers, Book 1 Page 27
