by Malhar Patel
“But what about the recent allegations in the media regarding the unexpectedly advanced ageing of the British public?”
“Well John, Let me ask you this. Who knows more about the science of these devices: gossip columnists and scaremongers or the inventor; the scientists who work on them every day; the government officials so convinced by the devices that they use them themselves? Let me tell you this: There are only fifteen percent of the population that can afford a trip each year longer than six weeks cumulatively. Of the other eighty five percent, more than three quarters only travel for around three weeks. That's an extra three weeks in fifty-two and a half, a five point seven percent increase. You're hearing talk in the press about people at twenty who are starting to go grey already. Those are an incredibly small number of isolated incidents caused by people travelling too much-”
“But what is too much chancellor? Your party has yet to give the public any clear advice on this. Your official documentation doesn't offer any clear guidelines.”
“Now hold on a minute. I don't agree with that. We have recommendations in booklets and FLDs as well as the information and the publications available in both our public access areas and online.
“Your critics argue that isn't clear enough”
“Well it is clear and very straightforward. We have the safe guideline limits for travel durations and the methods of working out the age effects of time travelling. We need the people to start reading them.”
“So are you blaming this on the British people-,”
“No I am not blaming-,”
“And if you were aware of this problem then why has your administration so far failed to tackle it?”
Green had talked himself into a corner and he wasn't sure there was an easy way out. “No we are not blaming the British people. We are saying that there needs to be an established, well instigated and effective interface allowing streamlined communication between the government and the people to efficiently facilitate a scheme of public education. This is something we are very much involved in and dedicated to and I think will play a major role in our policy for the next term.”
Green hated political interviews, especially ones where he got asked questions that the Prime Minister should be addressing. In the absence of 'real' news stories, flailing news networks with plummeting ratings were always using political interviews to peak interest, and with the Prime Minister unavailable, he often found himself playing the stand in. What made today's one even worse was the way he had to passionately defend the administration's views on time travel, despite his own misgivings. If he led the party, things would be a lot different.
Kim woke up from her sterile white desk with a jerk. Her hands were clammy and her pale turquoise top was darkened in a triangle down the back by cold, stale sweat. With the tips of her fingers she gently checked her throat for wounds. The dream had seemed so real. It must have been her sub-conscious warning against her curiosity. But she had the sinking feeling that the research she was doing was being used for some illicit and unsavoury purpose and she didn't want that on her conscience.
Glancing at her watch she saw it was just past six; she had drifted to sleep for almost a couple of hours. Stretching as she stood up, she carelessly shoved some documents in her bag and walked out of the office. This Saturday's workload had been surprisingly light and while she would normally have an additional mountain of work to take home, there were only a few reports left to finish from today, all of which could be done tomorrow.
Thankfully there was no work on Sunday and she resolved to spend most of it sleeping off last night. As she left the building she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the walk through the car park. Her company car, a silver Ford saloon, was close by. She had no use for a car that size but her small cherry red flat back, was being used by her other self so, to her dismay, it was all she had available.
Briskly pacing through the car park, she saw Dr. Lewis' black Sedan and slowed down. Curiosity getting the better of her, she changed direction and walked up towards it, spontaneously developing a look of guilt and lightly feeling her throat as she approached. With a long glance around the lot, she stopped next to it. The car park was empty, just like in her nightmare. She reached down and tried the door. It was locked. Not wishing to tempt fate any more she straightened up and walked back to her car.
The leaves rustled outside as they were picked up by the fresh wind, whooshing along and cooling down the warm day. It was already dark and the quiet sounds of traffic could be heard as the nearby roads filled with people on their way home. Inside Anisha's flat, everyone had gathered around the suitcase, its contents loosely spilled on the floor for all to see. Green senior stroked the leathery skin on his chin, now shaved of its grainy stubble.
Jack was reading the schedule of Green's whereabouts and Pete had some more detailed security information in front of him.
“What about two pm on the eighteenth?” he asked.
“No,” said Jack, “He's going to be at the Royal hall, where the old Petticoat lane market used to be. We'd never be able to get in.” They both exhaled deeply, another possibility failing to yield anything resembling progress.
“Why can't we just kill him in his sleep?” asked Pete to some restrained groans.
“We've been over this honey,” said Anisha. “We need to do it in a public place so everyone believes he's dead.”
Jack frowned at the word honey, not really sure how he felt about it. He quickly checked himself- there were larger problems abound. Gina softly asked,
“What are we even doing this for? Even if we can get to him, in a public area how do we make it look as if he's dead? Don't we need his co-operation for it?”
“Not exactly,” said Green senior with a trace of smug superiority. I’ve done some research and I think I know a way we can carry it out that will fool everyone.”
Chapter 8
It was the worst night's sleep Bob had endured in a long time. Sunday was his sacred day off and he was used to a lie-in. But with so much rattling through his mind, he had stirred all night and was in no mood to continue the façade of sleeping.
Bob and Jack were closer than most brothers living in the city these days. Residing nearby, they went out a lot and shared several friends. This close fraternal bond only heightened Bob's worry, but he had to play it cool; there was nothing he could do. With big brother watching him he had to act 'normal' so as not to arouse suspicion.
He mulled over what to do today. Under the circumstances, another day of TV and holographic video games didn't appeal to him. Jack had specifically asked him not to get involved but he knew his brother well. If he did a little research without Jack knowing, and managed to find something important, he wouldn't be angry. Getting out his laptop he started scavenging for information about Michael Green. Obviously this man had some enemies, but which one of them wanted him dead?
The group had taken an early night after a long evening of searching for possible targets. Due to his age Green senior had been given the sofa bed while Jack had taken the floor with Gina. This morning they were all showered and wearing fresh clothes. It was still daybreak but last night they had made a list of possible places to launch the attack and they wanted to check them out ASAP. With four main areas or buildings to scope out and five people to do it, Green senior as the spare hand, asked to go with Jack.
Gina was going to inspect the press office adjacent to Downing Street, formally the site of the foreign office. It was a short trip from the flat to Westminster and the only thing she would have to compete with was the swarm of tourists around the area. Anisha had the equally straightforward task of trying to photograph the running track at Southwark Park, which coincidently sat opposite her old friend Carol’s house on Hawkston road. In a few days Green was going to watch his cousin race at the track. Along with the occasional visit to Carol, Anisha had also done part of her staff training in Bermondsey so she knew the area well.
Pete was assigned t
o the Royal hall just in case the option became feasible and Jack had opted to take Green's house in Kensington, because of a small soiree he was planning there in a few days time.
“Okay everyone, you know these guys might be out there and the cameras are watching us as well. So be careful and get back here as fast as you can.” With any luck, Gina and Anisha would be the first back, and could let everyone else into the flat. Exchanging a few final looks of reassurance, the quintet ventured outwards.
Bob was sat in his casual slacks, a grubby white shirt loosely hanging off his beer belly. He was tapping his feet on the pale brown carpet while he typed on the keyboard. Something certainly appeared amiss and he was determined to uncover the truth. According to official records it seemed that Green had hired out a science consortium without any mention on record of what they were supposed to be doing for the government. The budget records were plainly visible but extensive searching provided no additional evidence that the group even existed.
Accessing his online security clearance he checked the electronic money transfers and began trying to back-trace them. Unfortunately the money seemed to have been routed around several different stations in a bid to hide where it was being sent.
Whatever this project was, Bob was certain it wasn't legal. He kept hacking away at the computer, continuing the arduous task of following the money through the various different banks and transfer orders. Finally his screen beeped and the words SOURCE DETECTED appeared on his screen.
He smiled in anticipation; he was almost there. Clicking a few more buttons he transferred the file over to Jack's mobile. He was proud of himself, doing his part to help his brother out. With a few more taps of the keyboard, he dug deeper into the mystery. Having cross-referenced the list of financial holdings with a list of documented scientific facilities, including those that were classified, he eliminated all but one match - Ruhbaker and Associates.
On the coffee-stained pad next to him he scribbled down the name. The laboratory was in the public sector so there was no employee list available directly, but Bob tried using some of his own personal hacking software to bring one up. As it churned away, miles across the city alarm bells sounded. An automated message went out to one of the millions of mobiles in London. Somebody was on the way. On the way to stop Bob from getting any closer.
Jack looked across the street at the house, while Green once more re-iterated the plan. “It's really very simple. Like I said yesterday, my body has a response to the drug I mentioned, Dextrafizene. It causes hyperventilation followed by dizziness. Then it shuts down all the vital organs and mimics death.”
“Yeah”, said Jack, “I know that but it's one of your future drugs. Where do we get Dextrafizene from and how do we administer it to you? That's the bit I didn't understand.”
“Oh,” said an embarrassed Green Senior, having an answer for neither question yet. “Well we'll have to look into it. How's the house looking?”
“For a man who might be the Prime Minister soon, assuming they get re-elected, his house is a cinch to break into. There's no security system, and most of the windows seem to have been left open overnight. Street surveillance is the only thing we may have to worry about. The police might be watching it.”
“Then again, the men threatening us may be watching too, in which case you have to leave the cameras on so they can see you kill me.” They both paused for a second, phased by the peculiar nature of the sentence.
Jack frowned, knowing the old-timer was right. Even so, he didn't envy the idea of the police spying in. The concept of being a fugitive for the rest of his days was hardly appealing.
He gently massaged his temples to clear away the stressful thoughts and instead thought about Anisha. Now there was a nice thing to think about. Gorgeous, bright, young and full of life. He refrained from smiling, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Looking across at Green senior instead, his mood shifted to aggravation. This man knew exactly when, where and how he was going to die and for some obscure and indecipherable reason he wasn't giving anything away. He really wished this would all work out, but at the same time he had a niggling feeling that things weren't going to run as smoothly as he hoped.
Jack began to edge away from the place, trying to distance himself from the house so he didn't attract suspicion. Green senior followed instinctively. When they were a good kilometre away, Green ventured a thought. “I think I can get us some of the drug. A friend of mine was working in a pharmaceutical company around this time. Dextrafizene is a mixture of other compounds and I have a pretty good idea of its constituents. If I approach him over the phone and ask him to make some in his lab, we might be in business.”
“What makes you think he'll agree?”
“If I know Phil, and I do, then he probably owes me quite a few favours right now.” An almost nostalgic look crept over his face
Jack was satisfied enough, and agreed to let Green take care of it when they all got back to the flat. Wondering if anyone was home yet, Jack switched on his mobile to check for messages from the others.
As he switched it on four new texts flashed up. Two of them were typical junk, people trying to sell genital enlargements and pornography. In addition, there was a computer file and a text message, both from Bob. He opened the text and his eyes widened. It said: HURT. HELP. COME ALONE.
The apartment was quiet save for a gentle groan emanating from inside. The whole street outside stood empty and picturesque. Suddenly the front door was smacked off its hinges as Jack kicked his way through. Running into the living room he immediately saw his brother lying on the floor, his shirt stained scarlet by fresh blood. He was practically bathed in it; it had pooled around him, seeping through his shirt and soaking into the carpet. Jack stood transfixed at the huge crater in Bob's chest and fought back the urge to burst into tears.
Scrambling over he quickly found his brother was unconscious but thankfully still breathing. He grabbed Bob's phone and looked down at the call list. He had already called for an ambulance but he had no idea how long it would take. The traffic in the capital was murder.
Bob lived in Earl's Court and it was a good thing that Jack had been so close. Still, he worried it might not be close enough. Looking down he saw there was no point putting pressure on the wound: it no longer appeared to be bleeding. It was hard to tell; there was just so much blood everywhere. Jack could taste vomit in his mouth and sprinted back outside into the fresh air, awash with guilt for leaving his brother alone.
Rhythmically taking in deep breaths he clenched his fists in frustration, wondering when the ambulance would arrive. He peered back inside and watched his brother, lying all but motionless. He looked almost peaceful, but Jack knew that in reality he was fighting for his life.
Glancing across the room he saw the laptop, smashed apart. Taking a deep breath he walked back in again, and with a closer look saw that it was destroyed beyond recovery.
His gaze stopped at a pad of paper perched under an upturned chair. The name 'Ruhbaker and Associates' was on it. Thinking it looked relevant, Jack put the pad in his jacket pocket. The scene was again becoming too much for him and he ran back outside. Fighting it no more, he began to weep openly, right there on the street. The tears streamed down his face, gushing from his tired eyes. He tried wiping them away but to no avail: more just poured out.
Through his blurry pupils he suddenly noticed the crushed dent in the bush near the gate. Sobbing in broken intervals, he wiped his eyes and wandered over. It was a small patch of greenery on an otherwise baron street and he saw a line of broken branches protruding into the core. He peered in and found a black object resting on the topsoil. Fishing a tissue out of his pocket, the only one that wasn't stained in tears, he reached in to pull out the object, using the tissue to cover his hands. What emerged was a small GK pistol.
The tears were gone now, replaced by a vengeful flush of anger. He took off his denim jacket and wrapped up the firearm. At the same time he heard the familia
r waning sound of an ambulance arriving. In a split second he decided that he should leave: staying meant a likely talk with the police, which was definitely a bad idea.
As he ran off he guessed that the surveillance logs had already been wiped out. Waves of exasperation pounded at him. He was intent on carrying out Green senior's plan now. He had to find these people and teach them a lesson… They were going to pay for what happened today.
Jack had phoned the hospital a few moments ago. His brother was stable but not receiving any visitors yet. Presently, Jack was on the train to Anisha's apartment. The way he'd suddenly left Green senior, the group might be a bit worried about him. After some deliberation he had concluded that he wouldn't tell anyone about this. It was family business, and besides, he couldn't bear to smile stupidly in mock appreciation of everyone's sympathy.
More importantly, he wasn't sure who he could trust. Rummaging in his breast pocket for his phone, he felt two chunky objects, and pulled one out to reveal Bob's mobile, which he had lifted along with the pad. It was another surveillance issue phone, newer than Anisha's, and he began flicking through some of the options.
It surprised him to find that the fingerprint archive had been updated to contain all of the prints on Anisha's phone. He must've transferred them during their visit to his workplace. As the train rumbled along Jack realised he would need an excuse for where he had been all this time. It was mid afternoon now and he'd been absent for a significant time.
Racking his brain, he concocted a story he thought might pass as plausible. He would tell them that he had received another message from his blackmailers, telling him to go to a certain phone box. On arriving the words 10 DAYS LEFT had been written on the booth.
