by Oisin McGann
“So this editor, Goldbloom,” Chi asked, breathing hard now as he kept up the brisk pace. “Sharon’s going to show him what she’s got on the Scalps?”
“Yeah. Goldbloom could put it on the front page if he thinks it has legs—he could put a team of reporters on it to dig deeper. You have to be photographed talking to her before that happens.”
“So they’re still watching us now?”
“They’ve been watching the whole time, lad,” Robert explained, shrugging him off. He tilted his head at a young man with a hipster’s beard and seventies-style sunglasses on the other side of the street, who appeared to be polishing with his pair of Google glasses. “They’ve watched every step you’ve taken. I’ve cut a deal with them. I was loyal to the service for years and in return, they’re giving me one chance. This is nothing personal, just damage control. They’ll photograph you and Sharon together and I’ll send the photos to you. You’ll post them on your blog, talking about the story and how you and Sharon are working on it together, making it sound like you’re partners. When Goldbloom goes online to follow up on her story, he’ll find your blog with all the other mad crap you write about.
“If we can discredit Sharon thoroughly enough, these bastards will leave her and Harriet alone. I’ve got one chance at this and you’re it, Chi. You can save my daughter’s life.”
“But I have to sink the story to do it?”
“That’s what it’ll take.”
Chi was about to retort, still outraged at how he was being manipulated, when they emerged onto Shoreditch High Street. Even as they did, Robert swore and shoved Chi into a shop doorway.
“Will you stop pushing me around!” Chi protested.
“Shut up, you fool! Look!”
The street was busy, but Chi was able to see Harriet and Sharon’s building. He didn’t understand what Robert was getting at until he noticed the blue roof lights on the car parked across the street from the building, directly opposite the front door.
“That’s Harriet’s doing—it’s got to be,” Robert exclaimed in frustration. “How the hell did she swing a protective detail so fast? Christ on a bike! This is because of you, Sandwith. You’ve screwed this up good and proper!”
“Oh, bite my arse, you old fart!” Chi scowled, feeling cornered and utterly impotent. He looked around, trying to see where the watchers were, but knew he’d be unlikely to spot them. They were experts at this, after all. Unlike him. After years of reading Machiavellian plots, after all his role-playing, he had been completely unprepared for the real thing and the realization was profoundly depressing. Robert glanced at him, saw the cloud coming over the young man’s face and placed his hands on Chi’s shoulders.
“Listen, I need you now, Chi,” he said earnestly. “I know this isn’t how you thought things would go. The kind of power we’re messing with here, it’s … believe me, it’s beyond the ability of any one person to influence.” He looked back out at the street to see a black cab pull up in front of Sharon’s building. “There’s the taxi. We’re out of time. She’ll be on her way down.”
Chi barely grunted in reply. Robert shook him, staring intently into his eyes.
“We’re both out of our depth, okay? Me as well as you. I’m an old man pissing against the wind here. But there’s one thing you can do to make a difference and that’s to help me keep those two young women alive. That’s something, isn’t it? We can do that right now, but I need you to go out there and be convincing. Sharon’s got to talk to you, to look like she’s comfortable with you. Can you make that happen?”
“Dunno,” Chi said in a morose voice. “I suppose.”
“Hey! Hey!” Robert barked at him. “These bastards are all around us! ‘Suppose’ isn’t going to cut it! You’ve got to commit to this, to make it work. You want the truth about what’s going on here? I’ll tell you all of it, you hear me, Chi? Anything you want. I’ll … I’ll … I’ll tell you everything I know about the goddamn aliens if that’s what it takes, but I need your help! Come on, man!”
“You’ll tell me … everything?” Chi said, blinking.
“Sure, anything you want.” Robert was gazing back down the street.
“What are we going to do about the police?”
Robert shrugged off his coat, folded it over his arm, and handed it to Chi. Then he took a steel-handled locking knife from his pocket and unfolded the blade.
“I’ll handle the police,” he said.
Chapter 13: Contact
Chi watched as Robert tore open the front of his shirt, pulling one side out of his trousers. The old man then mussed up his hair before placing the blade of the knife against his head, just above his hairline, over the left side of his forehead. With barely a wince, he cut a short incision in his scalp. Blood began to run down his face.
“Scalp wounds bleed a lot,” he murmured, seeing the expression on Chi’s face. “Looks worse than it is. Just make sure you do your bit right.”
With a brush of his wrist, he smeared the blood across his face and his glasses then handed the knife to Chi. Stepping out onto the path, he began to stumble away, as if drunk or concussed. He looked the part. Chi watched for a moment before turning his eyes to Sharon’s front door and realizing with a jolt that the reporter was already stepping outside—and Detective Sergeant Harriet Caul was with her. Still unsure of what he was going to do, Chi crossed the street and started making his way toward the two women.
It felt like a betrayal of everything he stood for, of the Truth. But he believed Robert’s fear. The conspiracy was horribly, dangerously real. Sharon was going to get herself—and possibly Harriet—killed. Even as he set out to sabotage the other journalist’s work, Chi felt an emotion that was almost chivalrous. He was doing the right thing. By allowing himself to be the clown Robert needed, he was saving these two women from something that would consume them all if he didn’t act. In its own small way, wasn’t this a heroic sacrifice?
Harriet spotted him then, her wary copper’s eyes hardening, like a predator watching its territory invaded. She was about to say something to Sharon when her attention was drawn to a scene that was unfolding across the road. Robert had reached the police car and was staggering against it, leaving bloody handprints on the white bonnet. He started bellowing curses at the two uniformed men inside the car. Chi was close enough to hear Harriet say: “Dad?” in a bewildered voice and start across the road toward him.
“Harri?” Sharon called. “What’s going on?”
“Just get in the cab,” Harriet shouted back over the noise of the traffic. “I’ll handle this. You get to your meeting!” Facing forward again, she cried, “Dad? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Sharon was opening the door of the cab as Chi came up to her. He caught the flash of suspicion in her green eyes, one hand swiping back a lock of auburn hair from her face as she looked him up and down, cautious, but unafraid.
“Sharon, hi! My name’s Chi Sandwith,” he said brightly, holding out his hand, which she took on reflex and shook reluctantly. “I don’t know if Harriet’s told you about me—”
“Yes, she has,” Sharon replied drily, then turned as she heard more shouting.
Harriet was approaching the police car. The two policemen had climbed out to deal with the injured, incoherent, old man raving on the street.
“What’s going on here?” Sharon demanded. “That’s not … that’s not Robert, is it?”
“Oh, you know him? I think Harriet’s dad just wanted a word with her. They’ve got some issues to work out … y’know, stuff that goes way back. Listen, Sharon, I need to talk about the story you’re working on, about the Scalps. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
“You comin’ or not, love?” the cabbie called through his window. “I’m holdin’ up traffic ’ere and there’s some mad geezer across the street covered in blood that I’d like to get away from, if
you don’t mind.”
“Just wait a second,” Sharon said to him. Looking at Chi, she asked: “What do you know about the Scalps?”
“Enough to put you on the right track,” he told her. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll give you everything I know about their plans.”
Chi cast his eyes back at the squad car, wincing at what he saw. One of the policemen had his hand on Robert’s arm. The old spy swung his right elbow back into the man’s nose, drove the heel of his left hand into the man’s sternum, and then seized the can of pepper spray from the cop’s belt as he tottered backward. The other copper, handcuffs in hand, attempted to get Robert in an armlock, but Robert swiveled and sprayed the pepper spray into his face. The copper cried out, rubbing frantically at his eyes. Harriet roared at her father, her expression one of consternation as she ran around the car and kicked him in the kneecap. He yelled in pain and stumbled back. She seized a baton from a fallen policeman’s belt and raised it, ready to strike. Chi couldn’t watch what was going to happen next.
“She was trying to get you out of here,” he said urgently to Sharon, clasping her hand in his. “She had the right idea. You need to make that meeting. It’s important.”
“What? How did you know about that?”
“I know a lot. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for. Then I’ll get out of the cab and out of your life.”
Climbing into the car, Sharon slid along the seat to make space for Chi, who got in and closed the door behind him. Somewhere nearby, he knew, cameras were capturing the meeting. He smiled ruefully at Sharon as the taxi pulled away, wishing he could explain why he’d just contaminated the biggest story of her career.
Chapter 14: The End of the Road
Sharon knew what kind of writer Chi was—Harriet had warned her—but she listened to him all the same, recording it with her phone, open-minded and willing to use any source of information, confident that she could verify it later and discard it if it seemed unreliable. And Chi told her everything he knew. Suppressing his bitterness at his role, he gave her enough perspective to connect the pieces of the story that she already had. He described the false flag operation Robert had depicted, the brainwashed terrorists that would provide the justification for a war in Sinnostan, and the plan to create a surveillance state. He explained how the Scalps would generate the public fear needed to successfully abolish the concept of privacy, giving the government unprecedented power over its citizens.
He even told her about the words on the fridge hard drive—and that Robert Caul was one of his sources, which seemed to give Sharon a flush of satisfaction. Perhaps she’d wanted to talk to the old spy about his work for a long time, but Harriet had never allowed it. Chi, thoroughly miserable now, watched her take it in. Even as he talked, he wondered how much of it was true, or if Robert had lied through his teeth about the conspiracy, too. Perhaps there was something entirely different going on and the whole brainwashing thing was just a ploy to deflect attention from the real story. There were so many knots in the narrative, there was no way to be sure of the truth anymore.
Either way, it didn’t matter what Sharon learned about the whole thing. Her reporting, and her reputation, would be discredited by her association with Chi, and he would play his part in full. He’d tell his own story of this meeting, post the photos, make it look as if they were working closely together and exaggerate the fantastical aspects of the story. He’d ruin it all for her. To save her life.
They talked until they reached the offices of The Chronicle, where she paid the fare and jumped out, energized by the new material and eager to start double-checking Chi’s claims alongside her own discoveries. She thanked him and promised to be in touch, giving him a smile that exuded an excited hunger, like a hunter who caught scent of her prey.
He sat there, watching her walk away, feeling a sense of massive anti-climax. After everything that had happened, was this it? Had he succeeded? Had anything he’d heard today even been real? Despite Robert’s assertion that he was saving lives, Chi felt as if he’d achieved nothing except make a fool of himself and sabotage a good journalist’s career. The cabbie’s voice startled him out of his morose musing.
“Where to, guv’?” the man asked.
Chi wanted to take the taxi home, exhausted and deflated after this head-wrecker of a day. He gave the driver his address, and the cab started off again, the doors locking automatically as it did so. It was normal, but for some reason, it set Chi’s nerves on edge.
He noticed the driver had fixed him with an intense look from the rearview mirror. He studied the guy for the first time, absorbing details. The man was of about average height, with a shaved head and skin the color of old bone. His face wasn’t very visible in the mirror, but it was bland, with lean features, light brown eyebrows and eyelashes that, along with the skin, gave the impression of something faded or not quite there. It was the eyes that made Chi pay attention. They were devoid of emotion, like a doll’s eyes. They gazed at Chi, as if measuring him up. It was only then that he remembered Robert’s words: “They carry out a lot more abductions with taxis than they do with UFOs.”
The man must have seen Chi’s change of expression, for he gave a slight, humorless smile and nod of the head.
“You did well back there,” he said, his voice taking on a flat, insipid quality that Chi suspected was more true to character then the cheery London tone. “Ms. Monk was convinced and so am I.”
Chi looked out the window, his heart thumping. The doors were still locked and they were moving faster through the traffic now. He wondered if he could escape by one of the windows. At this speed, it might cost him his life. He remembered Robert’s fear and thought it might be worth the risk.
“Are you one of them?” he asked in a tight voice. “Are you one of the Scalps?”
There was no answer.
“She wasn’t going to make that meeting if this went wrong, was she?” Chi said sourly. “So what now? Is she … are we … safe?”
“It remains to be seen what to do with you,” the man replied casually. “Like Robert’s daughter now, you have been tainted. The Ms. Monks of this world are … well, not unlike nuclear waste, I suppose. To be handled with profound deliberation. Everyone they come into contact with can then, in turn, become toxic. What to do with them becomes a matter of weighing up the pros and cons. A risk assessment.”
“I … I still have to write the blog,” Chi stuttered. “To discredit her story. There’s … there’s more to be done.”
“No, we have what we need,” the man said mildly. “We can do all that on your behalf, if need be.”
Chi gripped the edge of the seat, terror creeping over him like frost. Tears welled in his eyes. He felt the urge to start hammering on the windows, to scream for help, or even to smash the glass partition between him and the driver. Anything rather than surrender quietly. But he was kidding himself if he thought he was going to fight his way out of this. These people were professionals. Something else Robert had said came to mind now: “Whether they rub you out or not depends on how much of a threat they think you are. The dumber you come across, the more likely you’ll be considered harmless—or even useful. And we can use that now.”
“Just tell me … has any of it been true?” he asked in a miserable voice. “I did my bit, all right? If you’re going to kill me anyway, what does it matter if you tell me? Did I even get close to what’s really going on? Or has it all been complete fiction, from start to finish?”
The man stared back at Chi from the mirror, the eyes offering no hint of his intentions. Chi felt his breath trapped in his chest, his body rigid with tension.
“You’ll never know,” the driver replied at last.
He steered the car over to the side of the road. Chi couldn’t tell what street they were on, or even what area, but it didn’t matter. He just wanted out of the car. But the doors did not unlock. He pulled franti
cally, pointlessly at the handle. He still couldn’t get out. The driver turned to gaze at him, appearing completely at ease, as if this was just another fare in just another cab.
“It’s okay to be curious,” he said gently, though his voice had all the emotion of a shipping forecast from the Met Office. “But a dog should not bite the hand that feeds it, as the saying goes. They are making a better world by keeping order and that must always be respected. They make the decisions and we abide by them.”
“Who … who is ‘they?’” Chi asked shakily.
The man considered the question for a moment, a slow smile creeping onto his face. He lifted his hand, his index finger out, pointing upward. Then he turned to face the front and there was a click as the doors unlocked. Holding his laptop case to his chest, Chi went to wrench the left-hand door open, but stopped for a moment.
“What’s … What’s going to happen to Robert? And Sharon and Harriet?”
The driver did not respond. He had already put Chi out of his mind. Chi hesitated another couple of seconds and then shoved the door open, lunging out onto the pavement. He slammed the door shut and staggered away, watching as the black cab pulled unhurriedly back into the traffic, mingling with the other cars until it had disappeared from sight. He realized he was holding his breath and exhaled loudly before filling his lungs again. Bending forward, he leaned his hands on his trembling thighs, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.
He stood up straight and looked around at the anonymous street: a wide, busy road lined with three-bedroomed, semi-detached houses, with their glass-enclosed porches, their paver-covered driveways and small, groomed gardens. He arched his neck, gazing up at the iron-gray clouds that shrouded the sky and felt an overwhelming sense of shame. All the time he had spent searching for the Truth and, for the first time, he’d come close to uncovering it. But it was over now. They’d pulled his teeth, broken him, just as they broke everyone … and all it had taken was lies and veiled threats. He’d never see Robert again; he was sure of that. The old spook had got what he wanted from him. Chi had been an asset who had served his purpose and could now be discarded. Sharon would certainly never speak to him again.
