Philian Gregory and Nathan Carrington were pleased at how it had gone with Walker. They were comfortable that Dave would have done his part and ensured total discretion, although they knew that they had exhausted his goodwill. They’d needed an honest and reliable police officer and the call to Dave had given them Walker. The second call had burnt their bridges but Dave had assured them that they wouldn’t find a straighter die than the one he’d given them. They’d know in a day or two whether they’d managed to add a third string to their bow or whether they remained an unlikely duo pursuing an even more unlikely enemy.
Time was running away from them and the evidence that they’d begun to collate from the final analysis of the data and photographs they’d pumped into the laptop was stretching them to their limits. The soon-to-be executed members of The New Progressives were all there in their records. The virus-carrying prisoners and those who’d placed them there were in full view. But the computer had ideas of its own and stopped prioritising those people as it became aware of events and transposed them into its own predictions for the future. New names appeared and new labels took prominence on the clock-face. The centre remained the same. Whatever was happening, it was a political thing. And more than just a bunch of radical activists seeking to inflict a cruel victory on the nation.
“I want to thin this all out.”, Carrington told his friend, “At the moment, we’re not able to see the wood for the trees. I get a feeling for what Walker’s going to find, if he decides to help, but it’s still not enough. Something bigger is about to happen and we need to find out what.”
“You don’t think others are better placed?”, Philian Gregory asked, “I mean, look at us. We’re not exactly equipped, are we? We should pass this information on.”
“No, not yet. We still don’t know who we’re safe to speak to. Don’t forget, we’re fugitives. We’ve both got blood on our hands. You want to give yourself in?”
“No, not after that last car journey.”
“Good.”, Carrington placed his arm on his friend’s, “We’re nearly there. Don’t forget where this all began and what it hinges on. The Circle isn’t the threat anymore. The threat lies in what those former associates of The Circle are now involved in. Who’d believe us if we told them what we suspected? No, we’ve got to keep going alone. And I think I know how we can manage that.”
It took Carrington the rest of the day to juggle the massive lists of data that were being produced and to see enough of a pattern within them to realign the computer’s algorithm to help it find the central point.
“Dexter was a surprising help.”, he told Gregory as they settled down to a late supper, “The photos he chose to take, they could be the key. Names are one thing, but we need harder evidence and I think we have it. Tomorrow, we need to hit the road again. I’ve got one last ID that I can burn up, but once that’s gone, I’m out. The geography is too much and the time too short. We need to hire a car. I’ll sort it first thing and meet you in the town. You may as well bring as much of the gear as you can carry. The time for gentle approaches is over. The gloves came off when our friend in the brown suit decided that we were expendable. I don’t like to get angry, but I can’t help thinking we escaped by the skin of our teeth.”
“You think we’ll see him again?”
“No. If all goes according to plan, he should be scooped up and tossed away as part of what Walker’s pursuing. That is, if his failure to deliver us didn’t sound the death knell for him. But all that does is removes another layer. I don’t want to stop until I get to the centre of this. Not just to avert the next threat. No, I’m still driven by the images I have of Patty and Martha. That’s still what it’s all about. You can bail anytime, but I’m in this to the end and I believe that whatever else this is centred on, the last of the people responsible for their deaths will be behind it.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Wednesday morning saw Carrington and Gregory battling the traffic around Leeds. Traffic that should have been thinner than usual thanks to the constraints of martial law, but which was in fact heavier since travel and throwing yourself into work were perfect excuses to stay away from the implied threat that lurked on every street corner. It was a bit like a ‘quick, look busy, the boss is coming’ situation. Nobody wanted to stand still long enough to arouse suspicion. It worked in the two men’s favour as they blended in well with the rest of the traffic and eyes were focused more on any immediate danger than on trying to pick out a most-wanted face amongst the crowds.
They didn’t expect to hear from Walker until at least the following day. That contact, if it occurred, would not be via conventional means. He no longer had their details. But they would know if he was onboard by the event that would mark his compliance. It was unlikely to be kept secret, but if that was the case, they had ways and means of checking up on newsworthy situations that never made the press.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”, Carrington asked as they left the city ring-road and began the steady journey out into the Yorkshire countryside.
“As okay as I’ll ever be.”, Gregory sighed, “You know me. I’m here because I’m here. Whether I like it or not, there’s no turning back. And you seem to forget, it wasn’t just you being abducted the other morning. A little righteous anger helps me stay focused.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then!”, Carrington laughed, turning the radio up so that they could enjoy the rest of the journey with their own thoughts.
They pulled straight onto the Bishop’s driveway and were at his front door before he’d had time to register the crunching of the gravel and all that it signified. Alerted, he seemed to take a little longer than expected to answer the door, but when he did, he was in full ‘Christian welcome’ mode.
“Good morning, how may I help you?”
“Cut the pleasantries,”, Carrington pushed him back into the hallway and produced the pistol that he pointed at the Bishop’s face, “we haven’t got time for niceties. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”, the Bishop managed to reply.
“Good, then let’s get started.”
At gunpoint, they followed as the Bishop led them to his study. The two intruders checked around for any signs of other people, preferring not to trust the occupier, but the place was, as he’d said, empty.
“Sit down.”, Carrington ordered the Bishop, pointing to the leather chair behind the mahogany desk that dominated the room.
The Bishop did as he was told.
“Comfortable?”, Carrington asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Not a bit squeamish then?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Oh, come on.”, Carrington pulled out some photographs from his jacket pocket, “Even you must feel a little disturbed to be sitting there. Mind you, it cleaned up well.”
“Bishop Michael James?”, Philian Gregory spoke for the first time, “Logic and protocol dictate that we confirm you are who we are looking for. We do have the right man, don’t we?”
“You do.”, James sighed as he took in the images on the photographs and realised that any evasive tactics were pointless, “What is it you want from me? I gather by your unorthodox approach that you are not here in any official capacity.”
“You recognise the chair?”, Carrington asked, waiting for the bishop’s nod before continuing, “The same chair that the nation was privy to see as a certain ultimatum was delivered by a certain George Atkinson? The chair in which he blew his own brains out?”
“How did you…”
“Never mind all that.”, Carrington cut him short, “Let the photos speak for themselves. Two images, one location. Call it good luck or call it, if you prefer, divine intervention. Although, the latter is probably not your particular cup of tea.”
“Time is short.”, Gregory took over the conversation, “So, let’s get down to business. We’d like you t
o give us as much information as you can, but we fully appreciate that you will be reluctant to do so. No problem, we’ll find what we can when we search the place. Anything you want to tell us before we get cracking?”
“I gather that you intend to kill me.”, the bishop seemed resigned to his fate, “In which case, I appreciate that any pleading for my life on my part would be a waste of breath. However, a whisky would be nice. Would you consider that a reasonable request?”
“My pleasure.”, Gregory walked over to the side table that the bishop had nodded towards and poured the cleric a large measure of single malt, which he passed to him.
“Thank you.”, James took a long drink and winced as he swallowed the strong liquor, “And, in return for the favour, a few pointers. Not to assist you, merely to explain. You’re right about the chair and you’re right about Atkinson. We tossed a coin for the honour of dying. My role was to provide a safe venue, record the proceedings and clean up afterwards. I’d hoped that I’d be of service in the future, however, it looks like that won’t be the case. Mind you, I feel that the event went off admirably well and am proud of my part in it.”
“Enough of the self-justification.”, Carrington shouted, “We’re not here to listen to your preaching. We simply need some answers. The Haven club, what can you tell us about that? The people up the food-chain from yourself, any clues there? And the next steps, want to tell us anything about those?”
“To answer any of those questions, would be to compromise the works that are unfolding.”, the bishop finished the whisky and settled back in his chair, “Which, after a lifetime of following the new order, would be both a foolish and unnecessary way for me to waste my final minutes. What is happening, is bigger than you could ever know. It’s the new age of man. An age of freedom.”
“All this,”, he continued, waving his arm around the office that was filled with religious texts and the numerous artefacts associated with ministry, “is nothing more than a convenient front. It paid me well enough, gave me a good living in many ways, afforded me a respect from my followers and allowed me to solidify the steadying influences of religion on a very compliant bunch of needy people. Whatever you may believe this all to be about, I can assure you that faith plays no part, in fact, it is something of the opposite.”
The gunshot made Gregory leap, not because of the noise that was reduced to only a loud pop by the gun’s silencer, but because it was unexpected.
“Mate!”, he protested.
“Forget it.”, his friend replied, lowering the gun, “We haven’t got time for listening to rubbish. Let’s search the place and get out. I couldn’t listen to him anymore. You know I’m a bit impetuous.”
With the body of the bishop slumped backwards in his chair, the damage to what was left of his face enough of a testament to the fatality of the shot, Carrington and Gregory ransacked the small palace and retrieved anything that might be of interest. Nothing shouted out as being an essential clue, but there were a few things that gave hints of what the bishop had been and what he might hope to become.
“Done?”, Carrington asked as Gregory joined him from upstairs.
“Done.”, Gregory replied, “Let’s go.”
They drove the rental car away slowly at first, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. Once they were happy that they had cleared the scene, Gregory raised the speed to just above the limit and they continued their road-trip.
“Nothing life-changing, I’m afraid.”, his passenger spoke only after a half hour in which he’d searched through all that they’d retrieved, “The police will pick up the connection to The Circle’s preferred activities when they scan his computer. That should buy us a little time. They won’t pull out all the stops when they see what he liked to entertain himself with. And they should pick up on the chair, so again, a loose end tidied up for them, rather than a murder hunt.”
“Nothing we can use?”, Gregory asked.
“Not really. Not for our cause anyway. This one might be worth a read, ‘A Christian Case for Euthanasia – The Art of Sacrifice’, by our good friend Bishop James, but I think we know the gist of what he’ll be saying.”
“And your ruthless approach?”, Gregory asked, “You happy with that?”
“Please, buddy, let’s not go into that again. It’s a practical thing as much as a vengeance thing. He was giving nothing up and only wasting our time. We did him a favour. Imagine having to face the public with his crimes? No, it’s the best way. Now, to Oxford, my friend, and spare not the horses.”
And so, the pair made their way to the home of a retired heart surgeon whose name meant nothing to them other than it being a product of the computer’s algorithm. As they travelled on into the evening, Carrington drifted off into a gentle sleep as he thought about that computer and all that it had done for them. They’d closed it down before setting off on this last leg of their mission. It had served its purpose, but now they needed to rely on those uniquely human traits of instinct and inspiration if they were to reach nearer the top of a pyramid than even the finest algorithm couldn’t quite see. The computer’s findings had been stored on password-protected drives and it had been fully dismantled before being disposed of. Now, all that remained of that so-productive assistant they had employed was a mix of random electronic components scattered far and wide in a mix of random and inaccessible place.
It would always be the way, Carrington thought to himself as he nodded off. We were no closer to a robot led society than ever, despite computers playing such an important role in our lives. They didn’t have that spark that made humanity. Never would have. He hoped.
Oxford was quiet as they battled through the car-unfriendly city centre and on into one of its nearby suburbs. They needed to be a little more cautious in such a heavily populated and policed area, but they knew that being overcautious would only serve to delay them. This should be a straightforward one, by all accounts. But what it would give them, they didn’t quite know.
“If I told you I didn’t know what you were talking about, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”, Dr Eric Patterson spoke softly as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.
“No.”, Carrington replied, checking each of the bindings that held the surgeon to the kitchen chair.
“And if I tell you nothing?”
“Oh, that’s quite simple. You have a less comforting obituary than you would like.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Let me spell it out then.”, Carrington let out a sigh of annoyance as he spoke, “You are currently a respected heart surgeon who is about to die. We are not animals and will make that death short and sweet, irrespective of what you choose to tell us. However, the nature of your legacy is somewhat different to the nature of your death. Co-operate and we will simply make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Alternatively, you can die with some extremely unpleasant images on your computer and some very positive links to the recent prisoner episode left behind for the police to find. You have a lovely family, I’m sure. How would you like them to remember you?”
Unlike the bishop, Patterson opened up to his killers before yielding his life to them. He gave them certain documents that he had in his possession which had been removed from The Haven without anyone’s knowledge. He also spoke to them about a new threat that would make the dementia deaths seem like small fry. That reference interested Gregory more than Carrington and was the first time that he began to entertain the possibility that the effects of Reforgin might not have been as accidental as had been generally accepted.
“And finally,”, he’d told them, “I should warn you that you have little chance of success in your vigilante mission. I’ve given you all I want to, so, we’ll say goodbye now. But remember, I’ve not given you much. If you make something of the smallest piece I’ve sacrificed, you deserve to succeed. I doubt very much though if you have the power to
stop the changes that are going to happen. Without ennui, I offer you my best wishes.”
Another shot rang out. The room fell silent.
“Cardiff then?”, Gregory asked his friend.
“Cardiff indeed.”, Carrington replied, “But with an overnight stop I think. Find a pub somewhere that has rooms. We deserve a break. And I need to sort some other bits and pieces out as well. Talking of which, turn the radio on, let’s see if there’s any other news.”
They listened to numerous vignettes of classical music as the hour approached and were just pulling into the car park of an inn that advertised vacancies, when the news came on. They listened to the main headlines, none of them a source of any joy in a nation under pseudo-military rule, impatiently willing the newsreader to move on. The event that they were hoping to hear of was covered as one of the ‘mop up’ stories that helped the station maintain a depth of coverage that listeners appreciated.
“Well done, Danny boy.”, Carrington said as the report concluded, “Well done indeed.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
On balance, Dan Walker was gradually becoming a little more satisfied with the way that his career was progressing, aided by his latest triumph and the plaudits that it gained. The only thing tempering his satisfaction was the mystery that surrounded both his informants and the events that they seemed to be a part of. He was only a little reluctant to be drawn into this strange new world. He liked results and he trusted the enigmatic Dave who seemed to have recommended him for the, unasked for, role. All he had to do was act on the information he received and, it seemed, the victories would follow.
He was fortunate to be linked to one of the anti-terror units in what was still referred to as Scotland Yard. Following the attack on the prison system, resources had been diverted away from all other non-essential tasks. Deemed a terror attack, his own unit was protected from these changes and had the resources it needed. Whoever gave him the tip-off must have understood this. Their information was scant but credible and played the terror threat well.
Philian Gregory Page 43
