by Oisin McGann
Amina watched with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. She had been so caught up in her desire to save this woman's life from a would-be terrorist attack, she had almost killed her. All around them, police sirens were howling, cars screeching to a halt. Amina sat down beside Cathy and put her arm around her. Water dripped from the sculpture above them, soaking them still further, but neither felt like moving just yet.
Chi strode down the alleyway that led to Nexus's building. This was a complete breach of protocol. They were supposed to steer clear of each other's bases – better that they work as independent cells with as few connections as possible. But Nexus had been adamant; he had something Chi had to see and it had to be done here.
The rain ran down on his shoulders, dripping from his soaked trench coat. His baseball cap offered little protection, but at least it kept the worst of it off his glasses. The galvanized steel door in the grimy brick wall was daubed with graffiti. Chi rapped on it, pulling his collar up to stop the drops running down the back of his neck. He heard two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs inside – sounded like Nex had company – and then the door scraped open.
Nexus was looking as unkempt as usual. Several days of sparse, fluffy brown beard clung to his face and there were bags under his eyes. Chi would have bet that the GREEN DAY T-shirt he was wearing hadn't been changed in a while.
'Man. Hey,' Nexus said dully, his head twitching to one side as he spoke. 'You're early. Eh . . .'
'Can I come in?' Chi asked pointedly, raising his eyes to the sky in a meaningful fashion.
'Sure! Sure!' Nexus opened the door and stood aside, his head still twitching as if he had some kind of nervous condition. Too much time staring at computer screens.
Chi had barely time to register his relief at being out of the rain when a fist slammed into the side of his face. He was thrown against the doorframe and his glasses fell to the floor before another blow to his chest hurled him back out into the rain, landing him hard on his back in the mucky alleyway, knocking the air out of his lungs. He winced, feeling a bolt of pain go through the backs of his ribs. He struggled to get to his feet. The ground was hard, cold and wet beneath him but he was barely able to move. Stefan Gierek's snarling face appeared above him.
'Ah. Gierek,' Chi wheezed. 'Give us a hand up?'
The fist came down like a brick against his face. Chi had never known such stunning pain. Most of what followed was obscured by the headache from hell. In flashes of juddering nerve endings, he felt himself being dragged through the door and up the stairs. His wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape and then he felt a rope go round his ankles too.
'Hey . . .' he mumbled.
The rope went tight and he was hauled feet-first into the air. His headache went from fireworks to high explosives and he wailed like a child.
'My badge,' Gierek said in a grating voice, as Chi's senses began to come back and his eyes opened. 'I want it back, Sandwith, you little pencilnecked fudge-packer. And I'm not going to ask twice.'
'Is there anything else you can tell us, miss?' the detective asked.
Amina sighed and shook her head. She had given her statement about the anthrax letter – the fake anthrax letter – three times now. She knew that this was how the police did it, making you repeat yourself to see if your story differed each time. Never trust a single telling of any story. But it didn't make it any less aggravating. The detective, Sykes, who was taking the statement, was one of a team from Counter Terrorism Command. A thin, mousyhaired man with large freckles and a perpetually sardonic expression, he had been questioning her in painstaking detail for over half an hour; more than enough time for her to adequately describe the few seconds she had been standing in front of the opened envelope, before draining the last vestiges of oxygen from Cathy's panicked lungs by rushing her down several flights of stairs.
She wanted to get out of there, to see her friends and talk to them and maybe even have a bit of a cry, and have them hug her and comfort her. She was desperate to get rid of these shuddering remnants of shock and relief that boiled around inside her.
'That's all I know,' she said, in case a shake of her head wouldn't be enough to convince the detective.
His eyes lifted, wrinkling his brow in a way that suggested there was far more she could tell him if she would only try a bit harder, but he pursed his lips and thanked her. All around them, in a room on the ground floor of the Chronicle building, people were being interviewed. Cathy was in the seat just over from Amina. She too was being thoroughly grilled.
Sykes stood up, patting down his crumpled grey suit, and shook her hand.
'We're almost done examining the newsroom,' he said to her. 'We'll be taking all of your post away, but you can go back to work in a bit, I'm sorry to tell you. Pity you couldn't have got the whole day off, eh? Nice thing about these emergencies: everybody gets a bit of a holiday. Not us obviously. But normal people like yourself. Thanks again for your time, Miss Mir. We'll be in touch if we need anything more.'
She nodded to him, and was just getting to her feet when he turned back to her.
'Oh! Nearly forgot,' he said, pulling a photograph from his breast pocket. 'Happens sometimes, you know. We're supposed to have these great memories – police officers, I mean – but mine's like a sieve. Expect you've an excellent memory, doing all that journalism training . . .'
Amina regarded him with a quizzical frown, unsure if he was mocking her or not.
'Can you tell me, have you seen this man around at all?' He held up the photo.
It was a picture of a middle-aged man with oriental features. He was clean-shaven with a small, sharp goatee. Wide, black-framed glasses enlarged inscrutable eyes and his black hair was swept back from a jagged widow's peak.
'I don't think so,' she replied. 'Who is he?'
'Name's Anthony Shang – that's S-H-A-N-G,' Sykes told her, slipping the photo back into his pocket. 'Chinese national. A mercenary scientist with known ties to a number of terrorist organizations. Intelligence sources believe he may have slipped into the country recently. He's a biological weapons expert; this would be just the kind of thing he could pull off.'
'But the letter was a hoax, wasn't it?' Amina pointed out.
'Only one of many,' Sykes replied. 'The National News got one too, as well as a number of MPs. It'll all be coming in over the wire as we speak. But we think this may have been a dry run. They want to see how we're going to react.'
'Oh,' Amina said, wondering why he was telling her so much.
Counter Terrorism Command only gave out information when it suited them. If they were talking openly about this Shang character, then he had to be on the terrorist watch list. She made a mental note to check him out. The country was suffering continuous terrorist alerts, seeding a near-constant atmosphere of fear, particularly in the cities. Any threat of attack was always guaranteed to make the headlines but, like most people, she had never made any attempt to put faces to the source of that fear. After today, she would start paying more attention.
First, though, she needed to start going through the paper's archives in search of articles on Sinnostan. She would be meeting Ivor and Chi this evening, and she hadn't yet made any headway on her mental-health enquiries. Amina was desperate to be taken seriously as a journalist and it was vital that the two young men she was working with did not outshine her. She had to show them that she was a force to be reckoned with.
'Amina, can you make me a coffee?' one of the editors asked as he walked past her. 'I'll be in my office. Decaf latte with two sugars, yeah?'
2
Chi felt like his guts were digesting broken glass. Gierek had only hit him three times, but the guy had hands like lump hammers and the blows had a peculiar penetrating quality that Chi was sure had sent shockwaves all the way through to his spine. The rope around his ankles was biting into his flesh and he thought he could feel the joints dislocating under his weight. Ankles were made to be stood on, not hung from. His head throbbed un
bearably. His charcoal trench coat hung down over him like the wings of a misshapen bat.
'Ahh . . . ahh,' he gasped. 'I . . . Was just coming back to you on that, man . . . Gierek. I didn't even realize I had it until a few days ag—'Another punch to his abdomen stopped him dead. He moaned and coughed painfully.
'You stole my badge. I want it back. NOW, numb-nuts!'
Gierek's mix of Polish and north London accents was strong enough to make him sound like a ham actor playing a Cold War bad guy. He had failed to get into no less than three armies (Polish, US and British) on mental-health grounds, but had nevertheless embraced military living with gusto – right down to his drill-sergeant dialogue.
'Fine,' Chi grunted. 'Happy to oblige. If you could just cut me down—'
'You get down when I say you can, you pissblooded bottom-feeding crackerjack! WHERE'S MY BADGE?'
Chi would have pointed out that Gierek had originally said he wouldn't ask twice, but it didn't seem like a good idea just then. In Chi's view, the man was overreacting wildly to his theft of the badge in question. Granted, it was the one piece of evidence that Gierek possessed to prove he wasn't going mad, but it wasn't actually any good to him unless he could figure out how it worked. Which was why Chi had taken it – without permission from its owner.
'It's back at my place,' Chi wheezed. 'I'll take you there.'
Gierek cut the rope and Chi dropped to the floor, all his weight coming down on his right shoulder and back. He cried out again but decided against further protest, waiting while the Pole cut the duct tape from his ankles.
Nexus was sitting miserably in a chair nearby. There had been no need for Gierek to tie him up. The maniac had simply threatened to smash Nex's computer gear if he made any funny moves. Nex sat there like a meek kitten, watching his friend get pummelled. Chi glowered at him. There was little that sixty kilos of computer nerd could do against a survival nut twice his size, but he could have made an effort.
Nex's place had once been a sweatshop where illegal immigrant workers created fake, gaily coloured designer-label garments. Despite some renovating, it still had a seedy quality to it. Nex had inherited the building when his father was convicted of people trafficking.
He was now intent on healing his karma by helping the needy of the world fight government corruption, particularly in the form of dark, shadowy agencies that operated beyond the law. The concrete walls of the workshop were plastered with papers, photos and cuttings from his various investigations, along with posters of indie bands and a tricked-out synthesizer with an intimidating sound set-up. One corner of the room was filled with a state-of-the-art computer system that made Chi's look like a ZX Spectrum. The rain could be heard rattling on the metal roof above them; the yellowing perspex skylights gave out onto a mottled sky.
'We're goin' to get that badge, you puckered-up lily-livered ass leech,' Gierek barked. 'And if you try anything stupid, I'll hit you so hard your whole family'll die!'
He checked that Chi's hands were still tied firmly behind his back, and then went to open the door at the top of the stairs. Chi saw Nexus lean over and press a button on his keyboard. As Gierek's hand grabbed the door handle, his whole body went rigid and a strangled hissing noise burst from between his gritted teeth. He let go of the handle and collapsed to the floor.
'You electrified the door handle?' Chi asked in amazement. 'How long's it been like that? You never told me!'
'Can't take chances.' Nexus shrugged as he walked over to Gierek's unconscious body and checked for a pulse. 'He'll live. Sorry about that, man. Nutter nailed me as I was coming back in from the shops. Made me call you up and get you over here and then kept a knife jammed against my arsehole when I went to answer the door. I couldn't do anything until his attention was focused on you.'
'Took your time,' Chi muttered miserably. 'You gonna untie me or what?'
'He really did a number on you, didn't he?' Nex said as he sliced the tape off Chi's wrists with a box-cutter. 'Here, help me get him taped up and then we can put him somewhere safe until we figure out what to do with him. That cupboard over there should hold him.'
Once they had the Pole bound up and locked in the metal cabinet, they relaxed. He was starting to wake up and they listened anxiously as powerful blows thudded against the cupboard's aluminium walls. Enraged screams unleashed strings of Polish swear words.
'We can't keep him in there for ever,' Chi commented. 'And now he knows where you live.'
'I'm moving tomorrow,' Nex declared. 'I'll move to bloody Thailand if I have to.'
Chi looked at the cabinet shaking with each blow.
'May not be far enough,' he said.
Ivor found Chi's house without too much trouble, but there was no answer when he rang the front doorbell. The rain had stopped, so he sat down on the polished granite step of the porch to wait. It was a sprawling, high-class residence in a wealthy neighbourhood, but he did not feel safe. He was sure he had been followed; there had been fleeting glimpses of people looking away as he glanced at them, reflected figures in shop windows that changed direction just as he did and, more than anything, the shivery, instinctive sense of being watched. His fingers went up to his glass eye and he remembered the warning left in chalk on the pavement.
Amina showed up not long after and it felt good to have someone there with him. He wondered if she noticed how he stared at her, but then decided she was probably used to it. You couldn't look that good and not be used to turning heads. He had no doubt the watchers would be getting an eyeful too. She was in a black trouser suit with a deep blue shirt and her long black hair hung loose, draped over one shoulder. She smiled at him.
Ivor was abruptly conscious of how he himself was dressed. Back in the day, he had been a sharp dresser, but ever since leaving the army he rarely tried harder than hiking boots, jeans and a T-shirt or baggy sweater. Maybe he should put some more effort in.
'Hi!' she said, and he stood up as she stepped into the porch. 'He not home then?'
'Nope. Not unless he's locked himself in his safe-room or something.'
'Yeah. If I get much more paranoid, I'm going to need one of those myself,' she chuckled.
And just as she said it, a man walked past along the road. He was dressed in a casual jacket and cords, and as he passed, he glanced once up at the house. Ivor tensed, his hands clenching in fists. Amina saw his reaction and turned to look. The man disappeared behind the willow trees overhanging the garden wall.
'Did you see it?' Ivor muttered through tight jaws. 'Did you see his face?'
'I only just caught his back as he was walking away,' she told him. 'Why? What was wrong?'
'It was one of them,' he hissed. 'His face was gone . . . smudged like . . . like he was a painting and somebody'd rubbed their thumb across his whole face. There was nothing there!'
Amina took off at a run down the driveway, stumbling to a stop at the gate. But the guy was gone. She came back up, a look of concern on her face.
'You think they're watching us?' she asked.
'They're always watching,' he replied.
He noticed she was looking uncomfortable; he couldn't be sure if it was because of the surveillance or the fact that he had apparently seen a man with no face. Chi appeared a few moments later. He was looking decidedly uneasy and was sporting a massive bruise around his left eye.
'Jesus, what happened to you?' Ivor asked.
Chi waved the question away, unlocking the door, disarming the intruder alarm and ushering them inside. He led them down to his study and quickly scanned the room for surveillance. His cat came in, sitting at the door, licking her crotch and gazing at them occasionally as if daring them to judge her. Chi picked the cat up and put her on his lap, stroking her as if he needed to calm his nerves.
He wouldn't say who had beaten him up, so Amina went ahead and told them about the anthrax scare at the newspaper.
'I saw it on the news,' Ivor told her when she was finished. 'Two newspapers, BBC Television Centre and
four MPs. They were all fakes – the letters, I mean, not the MPs – but they had the desired effect. Lots of news coverage. Now everybody in a public position will be thinking twice about opening their post.'
'It scared the hell out of me,' Amina admitted. 'I didn't know how easy it was to catch, but . . .'
'Pretty easy,' Chi mumbled, bringing the news report up on screen on the Chronicle's website. 'I haven't read the reports on this yet, but the letters that were sent in the US after September the eleventh caused five deaths and put seventeen people in hospital. Just a few grains of powder. You have to hand it to those headcases; here's the West coming up with all this sophisticated, multimillion-pound technology for tackling terrorists and they're taking over airliners with box-cutter knives and sending diseases through the post.
'Mark my words: the next real terrorist attack, when it comes, will be something simple.'
'You should phone the police and tell them immediately,' Amina urged him. 'It could be the breakthrough they're looking for.'
'Oh, ha ha.'
'Maybe some of the terrorists are aliens,' Ivor mused. 'Maybe they're only using primitive techniques to hide their superior technology until they're ready to unleash it on the world. Destabilizing the planet before the fleet of mother ships arrive. I bet there's a great big flying saucer lying buried in sand somewhere in the mountains in Sinnostan. Been there for thousands of years, lying dormant, waiting for the signal to awaken an army of clones in cryogenic suspension.'
'And the soldiers who've gone missing have accidentally discovered the ship,' Amina added. 'They have to be captured and reprogrammed so they don't give the game away.'
