“Let me put it this way. You’re an attractive young man and you’ve been assigned to protect attractive, single young women. You may even interact with some of them, as you did with Amy. The temptation to become more deeply involved is always there, as it would be for any man thrust into your position. However, you’ve shielded your heart so well that the experts have given you less than 2% of a chance of becoming distracted and overlooking the real reason that you’re here.”
The experts? “You’re saying that my inability to fall in love again is a positive thing?”
“For this project, yes. However, we know it isn’t guaranteed. The 2% chance remains in place.”
He ignored that comment. He did not intend to love anyone but Annie, not ever. He could give his heart completely only once in his life. “Who are the experts?”
Her gaze wavered before she resolutely steadied it again. “They’re members of the corporation. Elliot, you know I can’t tell you any more than that.” She reached past him to tap her finger on the first page of notes. “Let’s work through this together.”
Elliot still had plenty of burning questions but from the shutdown expression on Ramona’s face, he knew it was pointless trying to probe further. It was clear she’d told him all she was willing to say for now and he reluctantly agreed. “Ok, where do we start?”
“Start with the Knave’s physical description.”
“You don’t have a photograph?” This was surprising. Photographs had played a major part in the briefing for his test assignments. How was he supposed to recognise his target without an image to match the man to?
“The Knave is a master of disguise. He uses a different profile picture for each of the women he connects with and unfortunately, we don’t know how he’ll show up on each date because the person sent to find that out didn’t bother to write everything down. The corporation has given you a detailed description of the characteristics that he can’t change; his height, his body type, his voice, his walk, and his mannerisms. Memorise them because you’re going to need them.”
Elliot read the paragraph out loud. “Height 5’ 11” or 1.8 metres tall with a strong, broad-shouldered physique.” He remembered Amy’s blunt comments and gave Ramona a wry smile. “He sounds like every women’s ideal.”
“Not every women’s ideal, and I can vouch for that. Keep going.”
“Deep voice with a gravelly or harsh tone in times of stress.” He recalled the mysterious phone call. “The man who phoned me had a voice like that.”
Ramona nodded impatiently, her eyes on the page. “Plenty of men do. I wouldn’t attach too much importance to it.”
“Walks with a strut and a sense of innate arrogance.” Elliot chuckled. “I can picture that easily. I rubbed shoulders with some of the most arrogant men you could ever hope to meet when I worked down on the docks.”
“The Knave is a cocky and self-assured man. He genuinely believes he is unstoppable, and that belief will continue to worsen if he’s successful. Our knowledge of the future has shown us that.”
“How many women will he kill?” He meant her to tell him based on what they already knew but she misunderstood his meaning.
“None, providing you do your job properly.” Her gaze was steely, changing the colour of her eyes to a flinty grey.
“Understood. Don’t worry, you can be sure I’ll make every effort possible to protect these women.” Elliot moved his eyes further down the page. “The Knave’s mannerisms include a habit of twisting the ring on his little finger when he is apprehensive or agitated. He occasionally smokes cigarettes and chews mint gum to disguise the smell.”
“Are you building a mental picture of the man?”
“I am. What type of disguises does he use?”
“He changes his hairstyle, he uses contacts to change his eye colour, and sometimes he has facial hair while other times he’s clean shaven. His dress style changes dramatically too – he might show up looking as if he’s just stepped out of the boardroom or as if he’s on his way to the skate park.”
“And his date for this evening?” Elliot flipped over the page.
“Jayne Trainor. Her photograph is attached to the back of the page.”
A girl with a blonde pixie cut and dark brown eyebrows gazed back at him. She was holding a small dog in the photograph, some kind of terrier that was gazing up at her with adoring canine devotion.
“Unlike Amy and Lani, Jayne has no idea that she’s involved in a covert operation. As far as she’s concerned, she’s meeting a man tonight who is looking for love, just as she is.”
“Where are they meeting?”
“The details are on the next page. There’s a diagram of the location as there are several rooms in the building and you’ll need to know where to go to find the spot where they’ve agreed to meet.”
Elliot moved on to the next page, which contained a paragraph of descriptions and the diagram. “The Tate Modern?”
“It’s an art gallery. They’re meeting there at 5.30pm. The Knave suggested the time as he plans to ask Jayne to go with him to a wine bar afterward. However, he has no intention of taking her to a wine bar. If he can get away with it, he will kidnap her, assault her, and then kill her.”
“That won’t happen. Not while I’m there.” Elliot turned to the last page and stared down at a sketch of what looked like a roll of tape, a hank of rope, and a knife. “What’s this?”
“The tools of his trade. He’ll have them concealed somewhere on his person. Jayne must remain unaware that you’re following them and the general public can’t know what’s happening.” Her expression was grim and her voice inarguably serious. “Unless you can prevent him from doing so, the Knave will notch up his first victim this evening.”
“Why don’t we stop him forever? I don’t understand this part. Why can’t the corporation arrange for him to be stopped before he meets anyone else? That way, he won’t be able to harm anyone.” This was perplexing to the extreme. If the corporation were as powerful as Ramona made them out to be, surely they could put a stop to this?
“As I’ve already told you, it’s a hugely complex operation. In the current version of the future, the one that is already in place from this hour onwards, Jane Trainor dies tonight. A great deal of work has gone into revising everything on the assumption that she doesn’t die. There’s a delicate balance between what we can change and what we can’t and to be honest, I’m not privy to most of the details myself. Can you take my word for it that smarter minds than mine have rigidly checked and rechecked the plan as it stands?”
He could see how anxious she was. He realised that the blame would lie on her shoulders if he backed out now or if he tried to force an unexpected change to the corporation’s blueprint for the operation. He nodded in agreement, although he wasn’t altogether convinced. “I’m happy enough to take your word for it.”
“Good.”
He saw the tension leave her shoulders and it pleased him to know that he was the one responsible for alleviating her nervousness.
“This calls for a small celebration. Let me introduce you to the wonders of chocolate biscuits dunked in a cup of hot coffee. I promise that you’ll love it.” She gave him a very un-Ramona-like wink and walked jauntily across to the kitchen.
Elliot grinned and went back to reading the notes. He was already excited about this evening and this pre-determined opportunity to stop the Knave in his savage tracks. Let the games begin.
Chapter Twenty
He had it all set out in his head. He was going back to the fast food restaurant by the river to order some more of those deliciously tasty burgers before traveling to the art gallery around 4pm. That would give himself enough time to look around, get his bearings, and find the room where Jayne and the Knave had arranged to meet.
The first part of his schedule went well. He sat at a table by the window and watched the river languidly flow while munching his way through a couple of cheeseburgers and a plastic cup of orange ju
ice. Orange juice was a revelation; fresh fruit had been as rare as Christmas for a chimney sweep on a limited income. Having enough oranges from which to create a full cup of juice was unheard of. A young mother with two toddlers sat at a table nearby and he looked on as they ate their meal, remembering the street urchins who would’ve been lucky to have that amount of food to eat over two days or even three. One of the toddlers was fretful and the family group didn’t stay long, leaving most of the meal uneaten. Elliot’s street-honed instincts almost had him up and out of his seat, prepared to scavenge what he could from the leftovers, but he remembered where he was just in time to stop himself.
He left the burger bar around 3.30, after first disposing of his rubbish and dropping the empty tray on top of the others already stacked on the bins as Ramona had done. He then caught the tube to Southwark Station, ready to make the ten minute walk to the Tate Modern. And that’s when everything went downhill.
He first noticed it when he stepped off the tube – an overwhelming sense of discombobulation and vagueness. The rush and roar of the train as it left the platform took his breath away and the crowds of people disarmed him. He walked up to the street, hoping that some fresh air would clear his head, but it was no better up here. If anything, he felt worse. Dizzy, lost, and unsure of himself. The traffic confused him, as did the high buildings and unfamiliar landmarks. He hadn’t felt like this since he arrived and he was at a loss as to why he felt so overwhelmed now. Out of place. You don’t belong here, Elliot Cinder.
He hesitated, well aware that he was in no condition to complete the assignment while he was in this state. Should he call Ramona and tell her he couldn’t do it? But would that mean that Jayne must die? He staggered backwards to lean against the wall of the building behind him, needing the solid support of the sun warmed bricks. With trembling hands, he wrangled his phone from his pocket. He stared dumbly at the device, struggling to remember how to use it, before finally managing to make the call.
Ramona answered at once. “Are you on your way there?”
“Uh, sort of. I’m at Southwark Station.”
A woman in a pink floral dress and a long knitted cardigan slowed down as walked past. She looked at him curiously before hurrying away, glancing back once over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. He wiped the sweat off his brow and shivered, realizing he must look as ill and infirm as he felt.
“Good. You’re close to the destination.”
“I can’t do it, Ramona.”
“What? Of course you can do it. You only need to walk a few blocks and you’re there. Ask the person at the gallery information desk to give you directions to the right room.”
He slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself and failing miserably. He was acutely aware of the hard and fast thump of his heart in his chest. A double decker bus whizzed by, too close to the edge of the pavement, and he stared at it in horror, almost ready to run and find somewhere safe to hide. Ramona was talking again but he couldn’t hear her words. He glanced at his wrist, at the bare spot where the era decoder should be, and suddenly everything made sense. He looked down at the ground by his feet but the wristband wasn’t there, not that he expected it to be. He was sure he would’ve felt it fall off if he’d lost it here.
“It’s gone.” He interrupted Ramona mid-spiel. “The era decoder. I’ve lost it.”
“Crap. Not now. Oh, Elliot.” The line fell silent but he could still hear her breathing. When she spoke again, her voice was urgent and hurried. “You can still remember the things I’ve showed you, can’t you? The things you’ve experienced already are now your own knowledge so you should be able to find your way back to the apartment. Go there and wait until you hear from me. Dammit, why did this have to happen today? Do you know where you lost it?”
He remembered scraping his rubbish into the bin at the fast food restaurant. “I had a burger at the place you took me to yesterday. I think I might’ve dropped it in the trash bin when I tossed my rubbish away.”
“Great, that’s exactly what we don’t need. Go home. Go home now. Don’t speak to anyone and don’t detour any further than you have to. Take the quickest route to your apartment. I’ll have to arrange for someone to take your place at the art gallery before Jayne unwittingly puts herself in mortal danger.” The phone went dead in his hand and she was gone.
The trip back his apartment was terrifying. He heard people around him saying things that made no sense and he kept his head down to avoid meeting anyone’s eye. Everything was strange and unfamiliar, despite the fact he’d travelled on the tube many times. He hadn’t understood before now just how much of a buffer from the world the era decoder provided him with. On top of that, he was scared for Jayne. If she died this evening due to his lack of care, he would never forgive himself. He should have noticed the band falling from his wrist as soon as he lost it. He pictured Jayne’s photo, retrieving the image of the young woman cuddling her small, devoted dog. Had he inadvertently sent her to meet her executioner? The thought chilled the very blood in his veins.
He shook with agitation as he fumbled for his key and he let himself into his apartment. Even this former sanctuary felt too large, too bright, and too open without the benefit of the era decoder. He longed for the safe haven of his tenement room, that narrow and dark space with no furnishings save for a cot bed and a rough blanket and the comforting noise of other people moving around in the adjoining rooms. He sat down on his couch and hunched his shoulders inside his woollen overcoat, trying to make himself small and insignificant in a world too far removed from his own to be real.
He sat like that for an hour or more, until his racing pulse calmed down and he began to feel more at home in his surroundings. He tried turning the television on then, hoping the false company would make him feel better, but instead it made things worse. His mind battled with the astounding idea of how those miniature people could go about their lives inside that compact black box and he hurriedly switched it off again. He paced around the apartment, looking out the windows until vertigo overcame him – and him a former chimney sweep! – and then he pulled the curtains shut on the impossible sight of the river far below.
In the end, he returned to the couch and huddled down, waiting to hear from Ramona so she could provide him with a solution for this madness.
Chapter Twenty-One
When someone knocked at the front door, Elliot naturally thought it was Ramona. It was after 7pm by now and he hadn’t spoken to her since their phone call from outside Southwark Station. He hadn’t moved far from the couch either, unable to find an appetite for dinner and unwilling to switch on the lights. The darkness was soothing and it blocked out most of this new and frightening world.
He jumped up from the couch and hurried over to the door, switching on the light now so he could welcome her in. Except it wasn’t Ramona. A young man in casual clothing stared back at him from the other side of the doorway, looking just as surprised as Elliot felt.
“Who are you?” the man demanded as soon as he found his voice.
“Elliot Cinder.” Elliot looked past him, half-expecting to see Ramona standing there behind him. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Ramona?”
“She’s not here.”
“This is her apartment.”
“I haven’t seen her for several hours.” Elliot went to close the door, aware he’d broken one of Ramona’s sharply stated rules while his natural politeness fought to win the battle. Don’t speak to anyone. “Can I tell her who called?”
The man ran his hand through his hair, clearly still shocked to see Elliot there. He was around the same height and build as Elliot, with thick brown hair, a well-defined shaven jawline, and a cleft in his chin. “You live here?”
“I do live here.” He saw the man’s appalled expression and he hurriedly clarified his comment. “I don’t live here with Ramona. She has her own apartment.”
“She does?” The man blinked, looking even more shell-shocke
d by this news. “I visited her here just a few nights ago.”
Elliot remembered the empty wine bottle and the two glasses of wine he’d seen on the bench when Ramona first showed him the apartment. Was this man one of Ramona’s suitors? And if that was the case, why didn’t he know that she didn’t live here? “Can I give her your name and tell her you asked after her?” Elliot asked again.
“Jason. She’ll know who I am.” He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious, and attempted to peer past Elliot. “Are you sure she’s not in there?”
Elliot angled his body so Jason couldn’t see inside the apartment. There was obviously a reason why Ramona didn’t want this man to know where she lived. “You should go.” He could hear his phone ringing in the apartment behind him now and he didn’t want to miss Ramona’s call. “I’ll tell her you were here.” He shut the door before the man could reply and quickly turned the lock. He snatched up the phone and pressed the Answer Call button with his thumb. “Ramona?”
“Where are you?”
“At the apartment. What happened to Jayne?”
“Jayne is fine. She has been escorted safely home and she is none the wiser as to just how close she came to death this evening.”
He slumped down on the couch, overcome with relief. “How?”
“We sent someone else in. It’s of no concern to you. I’m on my way over there now with your era decoder. We managed to salvage it from the restaurant’s trashcans. How are you coping without it?”
“It’s been difficult. Everything is so overwhelming and hard to process.”
“I can understand that. I’m about five minutes away.” As usual, she hung up without saying goodbye.
Elliot dropped his phone down onto the couch beside him and waited, unwilling to do anything further until she arrived with his translation device. He would make sure he never lost it again – there was no way he ever wanted to repeat this awful experience. He wondered who the corporation had sent to protect Jayne, but he accepted he would probably never know. He was becoming more acutely aware by the hour that he was only one tiny cog in an extremely large and well-oiled machine.
Lay Down Your Hand Page 10
