Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  That first month of cruising didn’t take them too far away. They had the maps of the whole canal network but had resolved to get the feel of the lifestyle in only a fairly confined section of it. The navigation rules dictated that you had to keep moving, but the area they were living on was at the heart of the canal system and gave them ample opportunity to keep within those rules. Some days, they would put themselves out in the middle of nowhere and moor up with only the distant hum of nearby roads to remind them of the outside world. Other days, they moved nearer to towns and villages and their confidence grew each time that they made it through a day in the real world without feeling threatened.

  Pub visits became an important part of their life. Not the best for Carrington, one would have thought, but strangely and perversely it helped him to rein in his drinking a little more. Two pints in the company of strangers were as satisfying as a bottle of vodka on your own. Some of the people they spoke with thought they were lovers. Some, that they were brothers. Some understood that they were simply close friends with something of a shared past. Whatever they saw in the two, judgements were few and far between. When you lived on a boat, all the pretence and competition disappeared. To other boaters, you were simply fellow boaters. To those who saw you as part of that small band of quirky ‘others’ who lived in a metal can, you were simply a non-threatening curiosity. To all, you were interesting, but transient, and that transience in the relationship was all that mattered.

  With Carrington immersing himself in the mysterious world of his mathematical analysis, Philian Gregory began to hanker for a passion of his own. He read a lot, catching up on the years when his life had either been working or coming home and vegetating in front of the television. He did most of the cooking on the boat and found that he really enjoyed the whole process. And he discovered a whole array of practical talents that he never would have believed lay in him. He worked on the boat and repaired the things that needed repairing or improved the things that needed improving. There was always something to do but both of them found that there was also a lot of time for them simply to relax and find peace in the solitary surroundings that enveloped them.

  In short, from the ashes of their previous existence, Philian Gregory had found a way to build a new life for them and with that new life came the promise of a brighter future. A future that would always be tainted a little by the past and a future that could never ignore the potential threat that they always lived under. But a future nonetheless. A new life that had all the security of the anonymity that Carrington had grown used to, but one that allowed them to at least live a little in their obscurity.

  Chapter Nine

  Mitchell Knight was looking forward to a long and lazy retirement. He’d paid his dues and had only continued working because he enjoyed the sense of purpose that it gave him and, being honest with himself, he had to admit that he still enjoyed some of the challenges. He’d dropped off the mainstream public radar many years ago, but he still had a fondly-remembered-celebrity persona that would only really begin to fade when he’d been dead for a while. As a young popstar in the late seventies, he’d topped the hit parade when doing so actually meant something, and the singles he’d released were staples at weddings, Christmas and New Year festivities. They were earworm songs that everybody was familiar with, whether they wanted to be or not; songs that occasionally gave rise to an internet search to discover what had become of the singer, which in turn elicited surprise that he was still alive. Fans no longer stopped him in the street or camped outside his house. That was fine. The royalties were mounting up into a retirement fund that would ensure he lacked for nothing.

  Having grown out of the stardom, he’d used the contacts that he’d made to establish a media production company that continued to deliver popular comedies and dramas across all the major networks. His company, Knight Media, was a household name, with its logo being as recognisable as the MGM lion. To his relief though, being known in this way was much less intrusive than the madness of celebrity and he could pick and choose how much or how little human contact he had. It was a good life. But now, it was being threatened. The past six months had raised up a ghost from the past that he’d thought to be long buried. It was something that would always be there as a potential threat, but he hadn’t expected it to come back and to linger so persistently. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, nor did he desist from fuelling his passions in his later years. The problem was, those passions weren’t strictly legal in the UK. He didn’t want to live out his final days in a prison cell, nor did he want to have to endure the pillorying he’d face from the press. In short, he was prepared to do what he had to, to ensure that certain secrets remained locked away.

  That was why he was meeting with Andrew McClean. He’d never met McClean before, but he had been close at one time to Paul Roberts, the ex-Hombre and who now went by that new name. He saw the change in Roberts’ appearance and demeanour as not just a reflection of the time gap, but also of how fully he’d embraced the chance to become a new person. He hadn’t seen him for many years, nor did he particularly wish to do so, but there was a hierarchy in The Circle and those in a superior position to him had given him the task.

  “Mr McClean.”, Knight ushered his visitor into the luxury apartment that would soon be sold to pay for a very large villa in Spain, “I trust you had a safe journey.”

  “Very good, thank you.”, McClean replied, “And thank you for seeing me.”

  “Let’s get settled, shall we? Drink?”

  “A beer please.”

  “Take a seat and I’ll bring it through.”

  Whilst McClean settled himself and sat admiring the luxurious furnishings of the apartment, Knight popped a couple of bottles of beer and used the sound of clinking glasses to mask his sending a text confirming his visitor’s arrival. It was only mid-morning, but that was late for McClean to start on the beer.

  “Straight to business then.”, he said as he bought the drinks through, “I understand that you want to make some sort of a deal, is that right?”

  “I spoke to P.”, McClean explained, “Several times in fact. I told him that this whole situation was driving me crazy and that I wanted it to end. He’s been very helpful. I know he’s spoken to the others, but they don’t see it the same way. They think he’s out to bully them, but it’s not like that. P’s a good guy. He knows what we’re up against and I believe him when he says he’s as mad about losing Carrington as anybody.”

  “Go on.”

  “The difference with me and the others, is that I don’t want to lose what little life I have left to revenge and getting even. We all carry the scars, that’s true, but where Sutherland and Wilkins think they’ve been hard done by, I can accept it as a just punishment. I mean, we raped and killed Carrington’s kid. I think we got off lightly.”

  “But the others don’t think so?”, Knight asked.

  “No,”, McClean sighed as answered, “they never will. I don’t know if it’s an age thing or what, but they won’t change their minds. I can guarantee that.”

  “But Sutherland isn’t well, is he?”

  “No, and that’s making it worse. He wants a resolution and he wants to see Carrington suffer before he dies. That’s why I’m here today. I know the score as well as anyone and if we keep pressuring you guys, something will give and you’ll take the punt and wipe us out. I want to try and settle things.”

  “So, what are you suggesting, Paul?”, Knight deliberately used McClean’s past name, “Because I have to tell you, you are a lot more realistic about this than the others and you’re absolutely right. The few of us who are left have less and less to lose with each day that passes. The information is old hat but we know it still has a punch to pack. Who knows, we may even be able to second-guess you all and find it before you use it. We do have friends in very high places.”

  “Please, can you try and keep to McClean? Paul Roberts wa
s yesterday’s man, “It’s hard enough forgetting who I was, without the constant reminders.”

  “Apologies.”

  “Accepted. This is what I’m suggesting. It’s an idea that P and I have agreed together but which needs you to sign it off. I want to break free of the others. I’m happy to give you the files that I have in return for the chance to live an anonymous life. If there’s money involved, then all the better, but that’s not essential. I just want to be free to live again.”

  “Have you mentioned this to the others?”

  “You must be joking! They’d string me up. We’re the Three Hombres. One for all and all that. Sutherland won’t be a threat for much longer, but Wilkins scares the life out of me.”

  “Okay,”, Knight drained his glass before continuing, “so I get where you’re coming from and what you get out of it, but I’m still unsure how it moves us forward. Sure, knowing what information you have might be a help, but I think we can guess what the gist is and if the others have copies, the threat remains.”

  McClean didn’t have an answer for that. He’d thought it would all be plain sailing after talking with P, but Knight was right. What exactly did he have to bargain with?

  “Are you saying it’s a no go?”, he asked.

  “Not exactly. It’s just all a bit weighted in your favour. I totally get where you’re coming from and I think we can trust you to do your part and disappear. But it’s not enough. Let’s talk about some alternative approaches.”

  That talk lasted for much longer that either of them anticipated. They threw together sandwiches for a late lunch and continued talking as they ate. Numerous options were discussed, considered and ultimately set aside, but they gradually began to see a way forward that might just work. Resources weren’t a problem. If they wanted something done, they had people there to do it. Nor was cost. The Circle had vast resources and could tap into extra at any time.

  After a number of phone calls and a bunch of last-minute revisions, Andrew McClean, AKA Paul Roberts, left the apartment and headed down into the Tube network. He hadn’t got exactly what he’d wanted, but he was happy with what had been agreed. Finally, after the pain, the suffering and the years behind bars, maybe now he was about to get back something that at least approached a normal life. He would never have children, but a wife would be nice. He wouldn’t be able to satisfy her, so something would have to be done about that, but he would be able to provide for her and be a loyal companion. That was really all he wanted. Despite the closeness of the Hombres and the multitudes that had surrounded him in prison, he’d always been lonely. He wanted that to change more than anything and now he had an opportunity to bring that change about.

  Back at the apartment, a hastily convened conference call was put together across secure lines that were impenetrable even to the nation’s security forces. The prospect of Knight enjoying the retirement that he thought he deserved, spurring him on to complete as much as he could that evening. With the conference call over, there was still work to do. He had one more visitor scheduled. Not the sort of person he wanted to see and not somebody he had ever invited into his own private domain before. That, despite the intimacy of their relationship. A relationship built on shared secrets and a singular pursuit of one goal. They were closer than lovers in many respects, but there was no love lost between them. There’s was a functional relationship and tonight was about finding a means to use that functionality to allow them to go their separate ways.

  Powell arrived dead on nine. Knight knew that he would have been waiting somewhere nearby checking off the seconds before approaching the apartment. Between them, Hendricks and Powell were ruthless, efficient and meticulous in their work, but Powell had a thing about punctuality. To him, a missed second counted and being one minute late was as bad as not arriving at all.

  “Come in.”, Knight opened the door and ushered Powell in, “Straight through to the kitchen. First door on the left.”

  Powell breathed deeply as he entered the sort of kitchen that he would never be able to afford. What wasn’t stainless steel, was either black marble or white tile. The smell of Chinese food hit him immediately, it’s source a hissing and steaming wok on the central island of the kitchen.

  “Smells good.”, he told Knight, “I didn’t think this was a dinner date.”

  “It isn’t.”, Knight replied bluntly, “Drink?”

  He waved a bottle of chilled white at Powell, who gave a slight nod and watched as the drink was poured.

  “Firstly,”, Knight explained, “I’ve had a long and tiring day and that food is my reward to myself. As is preparing it. Cooking helps me relax and shake off some of the tensions of the day. But you and I both know that it’s there for another reason. This place is scanned weekly. I use the people I’m told to use and have no reason to suspect that they are not meticulous. And yet, one can never be too careful. A friend shared this tip with me once. Chinese food at a certain temperature on a gas hob and with the right sized wok is the perfect background interference against even the best listening devices. What could be more innocent than cooking up a dish?”

  “Ingenious.”, Powell replied.

  “And eminently practical.”, Knight emptied his first glass of wine, “Not only does it mean that we won’t be overheard in our discussions, it also means that when the meal is cooked I will get to eat it at its best whilst you depart.”

  “And so, to business.”, he continued, “I’d like to tell you that we are making progress in all areas, however, we both know that that would be a lie. Things are being accelerated with regards to the Three Hombres and I hope we’ll see a result there soon. With regards to Carrington though, you appear to be in need of a little help. For which reason, and at great expense, I have procured this for you.”

  He turned and opened up one of the anonymous cabinet fronts, revealing a full height freezer, from which he removed a small bag.

  “This might be the game-changer.”, he said as he handed it to Powell, “In fact, if it isn’t, I’m really not sure what else we can do.”

  “What is it?”, Powell asked, opening the bag and seeing only a high-capacity jump drive that had been sealed against the effects of the freezer in a number of layers of heat-shrunk plastic.

  “In a nutshell,”, Knight stirred the wok and leaned over it to address his visitor, “that is the most powerful and sophisticated intelligent search program ever to have been developed. Needless to say, it isn’t available in the shops just yet, nor is it ever likely to be. You see, it’s something of a hybrid. I’ve pulled every string I can and what you have there is the result. It’s part military, part Secret Service and part governmental. Where it really comes into its own though, is its commercial side.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that you are getting the best of the best. For all the money invested and the high aspirations of the public sector, their motivation can never be the same as that of the numerous businesses out there who see data-mining in terms of bottom-line profit. Without naming names, you know the tech billionaire who is part of our little group and you know the friend we have in the credit card industry. Together, they use the most sophisticated algorithms ever developed to see what isn’t there.”

  “Something of a paradox, surely?”

  “Not at all. It’s in the invisible that so many secrets hide away. Remember the systems in the eighties and nineties that tracked customer transactions and detected fraud because they filled in a blank left by the legitimate cardholder’s spending? They knew it wasn’t you doing what was being done, because you never did what was being done. A positive from a void. This is the same, only a lot, lot more powerful. Carrington and Gregory can’t just have disappeared. They can only have become invisible. This will bring them into the light.”

  “I’ll get started straightaway.”, Powell pocketed the drive.

  “Just a couple of points of proto
col.”, Knight gave the stir fry a final dash of soy sauce, “But very important ones. You’ll need to run the program off a laptop and using only a secure mobile connection. Tomorrow morning, that laptop and the necessary modem will be couriered to you. It means that the program will run slowly. It’s designed to be hooked into a powerful mainframe and use a three-figure internet connection. You can’t have that luxury I’m afraid. Anything hardwired is potentially hackable. You’ll just have to be patient, that’s all.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying.”, Powell finished his own wine and prepared to leave, “You seem to be placing a lot of confidence in this program. What makes you think it can do more than we’ve already done?”

  “Firstly, because your own results don’t take much beating, but mainly because that piece of kit isn’t hindered by human nature. Simple as that. You tell a person to search for something or someone, they come with preconceptions. They are limited by what has been done before and always by the boundaries of convention. That little beasty is truly independent. You tell it to look for the invisible and, if it’s there to be found, it will find it.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “You’d better hope it does.”, the gas was turned off and the food being scraped into a bowl by now, “You know the way out. Good luck with it.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Three Hombres met one afternoon at the small bungalow that had become a second prison for Jeremy Sutherland. Ideally, they’d have found a more discrete location but the disease that was ravaging Sutherland’s lungs meant that travel was out of the question. He’d bought the adapted bungalow before the sickness had fully taken hold but always with a mind to the bleak prognosis that he simply couldn’t avoid. He was confined to a wheelchair for most of the time and dependent on a constant stream of bottled oxygen to maintain his body’s slim hold on life.