Lamb to the Slaughter (9781301399864)

by Ellis, Tim

  Richards grinned. ‘Oh God, Sir! There could be another one of you out there.’

  They all stared at her.

  Her face turned red. ‘I was only kidding.’

  ‘Except that if you are Epsilon 5,’ Scoles said to Parish, ‘then Mary is probably right. You may very well have a twin somewhere.’

  ‘A twin sister,’ Angie said.

  Scoles looked at her. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He has a list of the children’s names. The twins in the Epsilon 5 experiment were called Zara and Zachary.’

  ‘I’m assuming that you were the “Control” twin,’ Scoles said. ‘And that Zara was the “Experimental” twin.’

  Now they stared at him.

  He began to feel uncomfortable. ‘Let’s say I believe what you’re saying is fact instead of fiction, what happened to my parents?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you didn’t have any parents. Well, not in the normal sense anyway. My understanding is that the mothers of the five sets of twins in the Epsilon experiments were merely vessels. Yes, biologically and genetically you could say that the woman who gave birth to you was your mother, but that’s as far as it goes.’

  Parish thought of the woman – Maisie Elliott – who had rung him in January last year and said she was his mother before she’d had her throat slit in the stairwell at Redbridge Council offices.

  ‘And his father?’ Angie asked.

  Scoles shrugged. ‘I have no idea. All I can say is that there needs to be a familial history of monozygotic twins. Lorenz had no such history in his own family, so he wasn’t fathering the twins himself.’

  ‘You say that Lorenz was experimenting on one of the twins . . . What was he actually doing to them?’

  ‘He was altering their genotype, which is the inherited instructions it carries within its genetic code, with the intention of changing a phenotype – their observed characteristics or traits. In this case, what makes people good or evil.’

  ‘And presumably,’ Parish said, ‘Lorenz was under orders to turn normal people into killers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It sounds like something out of Dr Frankenstein,’ Richards said with a laugh.

  ‘Yes, I know, but you have the evidence of what he did in those files. We’ve been able to do many things – genetically speaking – for a very long time. It’s just that you weren’t told about what we – the government – were up to. Work is well advanced for curing genetic diseases such as cystic fibrosis and certain types of leukaemia. Genetic therapy has already been used to successfully treat a number of diseases – for example, Parkinson’s disease. Believe me when I say that the cat has been well and truly let out of the bag. As with any human endeavour, we are moving apace. It has also been speculated that genetic engineering could be used to change physical appearance, metabolism, and even improve physical capabilities and mental faculties such as memory and intelligence . . .’ She laid her knife and fork on her plate and swilled a mouthful of wine down. ‘Dr Orvil Lorenz was way ahead of his time.’

  ‘With the help of the government,’ Angie said.

  ‘Of course, but trying to prove it would be a fruitless task.’

  ‘We have the evidence in those files,’ Richards said.

  ‘They would never see the light of day.’

  ‘What about the twins in those files?’ Parish asked.

  Scoles shrugged. ‘According to the written notes, the first four experiments failed.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Lorenz doesn’t elaborate.’

  ‘And what about Epsilon 5?’ Richards said. ‘Did that fail as well?’

  Scoles shook her head. ‘Without the file, I have no way of knowing.’

  ‘You could be the evil twin, Sir.’

  Parish stood up. ‘I have to walk, Digby.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ Richards said, a look of concern on her face.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Professor. It’s been most enlightening.’ He shook her hand.

  ‘You’re welcome. One last piece of advice – I wouldn’t say anything to anybody about those files. Angie was lucky finding me, but if certain people from the government knew you were in possession of those files . . . I think you can guess the rest.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shivered and looked at his watch. It was quarter past midnight. Where had the time gone?

  ‘Come on, old fella, it’s time we went home.’

  Digby barked in agreement.

  Chapter Twenty

  He parked up behind the old Volvo sitting outside the Defence Geospatial Intelligence Fusion Centre in Feltham at eleven-fifteen.

  They were parked in the shadow of a large oak tree and he could see a strange curved building bathed in light through the manned security barrier. A Union Jack fluttered in the breeze outside.

  He climbed out of his car, walked along the pavement and slid into the passenger seat of the Volvo.

  ‘Okay,’ he said to Cookie, ‘tell me in more detail what’s been going on?’

  ‘They came for me. I knew they would sooner or later. I escaped out of the back. When you live in a squat, and you do what I do . . . Well, you have to be prepared, don’t you? Anyway, they arrived in a black van, were dressed all in black with helmets and balaclavas and they were armed to the teeth. Fuck, it was like something out of that second Alien film where the soldiers arrive in that troop carrier with grenade launchers, Gatling guns and . . . well, a whole fucking armoury. I got out of there real fast, had all my important crap in a sack. I stuffed my laptop in with it all and was gone, but the bitch saw me crossing the wall and followed me. After running through a million alleyways I jemmied the door of this car and hid behind the back seat under a blanket. There were some druggies in one of the alleys and she shot them. Then she shot the owner of this car and his girlfriend when the guy asked her to stop sitting on it . . .’

  ‘Go back to the start. What about the bunker . . . ?’

  ‘Bunker 7, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a secret government facility in London under Fenchurch Street station. I was finding out stuff for Jerry, and I needed a physical connection to their server, so me and two friends tried to get inside the place. Anyway, they caught us, raped me and killed my two friends on the District Line between Upminster and Ealing Broadway, but I managed to escape and get back into the place. I got the information I needed, and then killed the bastards who raped me and killed my friends.’

  ‘And then these people came after you?’

  ‘Are you in hurry?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I gave the information to Group323 . . .’

  ‘I thought it was for Jerry?’

  ‘Yeah well . . I got that information for Jerry, but I copied everything on their server.’

  ‘So, you stole top secret government information?’

  ‘The bastards raped me and killed my friends . . . it was payback.’

  ‘No wonder they came after you. Okay, carry on.’

  ‘So, I gave all the top secret files to Group323, who are . . .’

  ‘I’ve heard of them.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘They’ve been on the news a couple of times.’

  ‘They’re great, aren’t they?’

  ‘Troublemakers.’

  ‘Environmental activists.’

  ‘Traitors and terrorists.’

  ‘You’re a pawn of the establishment, I’d expect you to say that. Anyway, I gave them everything I had, and they passed it to WikiUK . . .’

  ‘Who began publishing . . . ?’

  ‘The bastards. I bet it was the same people who came for me. They killed everybody in the Wiki building in Iceland, you know?’

  ‘That was an accident . . .’

  ‘Are you an idiot? How fucking convenient for the place to burn down just when they’re about to publish documents that could have brought down the government, and then Cally Flinders
is found dead in that MP’s flat. Well what do you know – the publication of UK top secret government files stop. You’d have to be a fucking moron not to realise that it was all connected.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  ‘What I don’t know is how they found me.’

  ‘I’m shocked! Something you don’t know?’

  ‘If you’ve just come here to take the piss . . .’

  ‘I’ve come here to help you.’

  ‘You’re coming inside with me then?’

  He laughed. ‘And you call me a fucking moron. Have you seen the size of that place?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Do you know where these people you’re looking for are?’

  ‘Well no, but . . .’

  ‘The fences are impregnable, they have CCTV everywhere, there are Ministry of Defence police with dogs . . .’

  ‘You could call someone.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘You’re willing to spend the rest of your life in a high-security prison then?’

  ‘Me?’

  He started counting the fingers on his left hand. ‘Stealing top secret government files, passing said files to enemies of the state, killing government employees, destroying government buildings, stealing a vehicle . . . Have I missed any of your crimes out?’

  ‘Yeah, but those bastards killed . . .’

  ‘And we only have your word for that. I’m quite sure that in your rush to escape from authorised government agents who were sent to arrest you for crimes against the state, you dropped the gun that you used to kill the druggies, the owner of the car you stole and his girlfriend, and said gun is now in their possession as evidence . . .’

  ‘Me? You bastard?’

  ‘There’s a dozen witnesses who saw you gun down those defenceless people in your mad rush to escape from the forces of justice.’

  ‘Fuck! You’ve fitted loads of people up before, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve fitted no one up . . .’ He grinned. ‘Well, not for a while, anyway.’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Have you been trained by the special forces?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re never going to win a physical fight with these people . . . You should be using your special skill.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Hacking into computers.’

  She sat there staring through the bug-splattered windscreen into the darkness at the entrance barrier and the hut containing two security guards.

  ‘I still have a copy of all the files from Bunker 7, you know.’

  ‘As a government employee, I shouldn’t be advising you to do this, but if you want revenge – get those files out into the public domain. If what you say is true . . .’

  ‘If?’

  ‘. . . Then they’ve already demonstrated they’ll do anything to stop those files leaking out. If you’re determined to go into that place . . .’ He crooked his head towards the sprawling buildings behind the security fence. ‘Then you’ll be going in on your own. I have nothing against going out in a hail of bullets, but not tonight. Once I’ve found Jerry . . . Well, then I’ll lead the charge.’

  ‘Oh, Jerry! I found some stuff.’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Come back to my house now . . .’

  She swivelled on her seat. ‘Don’t think you can . . .’

  ‘To sleep. Jerry’s parents are there, and I also have four children who haven’t seen their dad for a couple of days.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘After we’ve had some desperately needed sleep we can work out how you’re going to get those files into the public domain, and you can tell me what you’ve found out about Jerry.’

  ‘I was really looking forward to killing those bastards.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes, even if you could have made it inside, which is doubtful. So, I’ll lead in my car, you follow me in this heap of metal. If you decide to go somewhere else, I’ll put out a police alert to find you again. You’ll be hunted down, arrested, and I’ll hand you over to the secret police for interrogation.’

  ‘It’s nice to know who my friends are.’

  ‘Wait a couple of minutes before following me. I’ll wait for you at the first junction. Don’t switch your lights on until you’re out of sight of the guard hut. And then, when we’re on our way, keep close behind me and make sure there’s no one following us.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not one of those bastards?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  He climbed out of the Volvo and walked back to his car.

  ***

  She knew she was dying.

  As soon as she’d cleaned the bucket she puked everything back up.

  What scared her was that mingled in with the faeces and vomit was fresh blood.

  God! What was happening to her?

  Amy had come back down, found a worse mess than what there was before and beat her again. Her wounds had opened up and blood streaked her body.

  Who was she?

  Where was she?

  The pain she felt made her feel that she was alive. It was the only thing that gave any meaning to her existence. The beatings made her feel that she was still a person – still an individual.

  She welcomed the beatings now. Looked forward to Amy coming down those steps, said and did things which she knew would elicit a beating. It was so easy. Amy thought she was in control, but she wasn’t.

  What else was there?

  When had she last eaten?

  She had water, but it was old. There were dead flies and centipedes floating in it. At first, she had scooped them out, but now she didn’t bother.

  The spiders, cockroaches and centipedes were her sustenance – her life’s blood. She would catch and kill them, and hide them from Amy in a little crack in the wall. It was her secret hiding place.

  When had she last been washed by Amy? She could smell herself. There was no toilet paper left, and she hadn’t wiped herself down there, or blown her nose.

  She was rotting from the inside and the outside. Soon, that badness would meet in the middle and she’d become a corpse, a zombie, a monster.

  What had happened to her toothbrush? Had she ever had one? Her teeth were layered in grey sludge, and her gums were beginning to hurt and bleed.

  The door opened and Amy came down the steps.

  ‘Hello, Amy.’

  Jerry laughed and grabbed at Amy’s ankles.

  ‘Don’t touch me, you filthy animal. What has happened to you?’

  ‘Have you brought me food and water?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve brought you a stew.’

  ‘Yummy.’

  ‘But I have to tell you what’s in that stew.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Remember I said I’d kill all your children if you didn’t clean that bucket?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t clean that bucket, did you?’

  Jerry giggled. ‘No, Amy.’

  ‘So I had to kill your children.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I chopped them up, put them through the grinder and made a stew.’

  ‘Where is it?’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t smell anything.’

  ‘Did you hear me? I put your children in the stew?’

  ‘I’m hungry. Where is it? Can I have some bread with it?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. I treated you well, and yet this is how you repay me.’

  ‘Get the cane! Get the cane.’ She scrambled onto all fours. ‘After you’ve beaten me, will you bring the stew?

  Amy went back up the stairs and turned the light off.

  ‘Are you bringing the stew?’

  ‘Please bring the stew.’

  ‘You promised stew.’

  She reached into her secret hiding place and wrapped her fingers round a juicy black beetle and popped it into her mouth.

>   ‘Will you bring the stew next time?’ she shouted up the cellar steps, but Amy didn’t answer.

  ***

  Wednesday, April 18

  Dragan Milić didn’t live in a big house surrounded by a metal fence in Stoke-by-Nayland, he lived in a detached three bedroom Victorian house with two chimneys and a conservatory. The black Renault Trafic with the number plate matching the one that Sharon Williams had written down on a scrap of paper was parked outside the garage.

  He rang Jennifer.

  ‘Why are you ringing me, Monsieur?’

  ‘I’m not going to make it home tonight, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘I’m very disappointed.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I’m wearing French underwear that I bought just for you, mon amour.’

  ‘Don’t tell me anymore. I have to stay here, so that when he leaves in the morning I’ll be able to follow him.’

  ‘You could come home and get up early.’

  ‘I can’t risk it. I’ve never overslept in my life, but I would tomorrow, and how could I explain that?’

  ‘Have a lovely time in the car on your own.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  He ended the call.

  No, he couldn’t risk it, but he was sorely tempted. He hadn’t come prepared either – no food and no drink. It was going to be a long lonely night. He reached over and grabbed the tartan blanket from the back seat. His feet were already getting cold.

  He was just drifting off when there was a loud knock on the driver’s window, which nearly gave him a heart attack. Had Milić discovered him already?

  Whoever it was, the idiot was shining a high powered torch in his eyes. He was sure his optic nerves were fried.

  ‘Get that light out my eyes, you idiot,’ he said after he’d lowered the window slightly.

  ‘Neighbourhood Watch,’ a deep female voice said. ‘I’ve got your number, you know.’

  He showed the middle-aged woman his warrant card. ‘Police.’

  ‘You’re staking out that foreigner, aren’t you?’

  ‘What makes you ask?’

  ‘Comes and goes at all hours. Doesn’t speak English as far as I can tell . . . or at least he doesn’t answer neighbourly questions. Nobody round here knows what he does for a living . . . Listen, do you want to come in for a hot toddy? You can see everything from my house.’