by Sam Nash
“Oui, yes. Those connected to drugs companies have been selling their shares. Some have made losses too. It has sent the stock market…s’écrouler…how is it… tumble? Free-fall, oui… that is it.”
“Right-oh, Connie. Thanks for letting me know. Keep on it and I’ll call you soon. Au revoir.” She hung up, hoping that she had not caused Connie any offence. Was that longer than thirty seconds? Mary rushed to the ladies’ room, relieved her bladder and returned to the lab.
Parth and Hugo were still preening over their accomplishments. “Hey, here comes the Compound Queen, young and sweet, only thir-er-teee” Parth sang his words to the tune of the famous Abba song. “Weren’t they from your country, Hugo?”
Hugo went to pour another cup of wine out for his friend but twisted the bottle by its neck to see less than an inch remaining. “No, Abba were from Sweden. We are almost out of wine.”
“Ah but that is impossible while the Compound Queen is here. Mary, turn this water into wine for us.” Parth picked up the brown glass bottle and tipped the distilled water into a clean beaker. Hugo stood stock still.
“We have to leave, now. I think they have our location.” Mary unlatched her satchel and tucked the burner phone inside.
“Not until we have one more cup of wine.” Parth demanded, thrusting the beaker towards Mary then swiping the wine bottle from his friend. “Here.” He held it by the neck and passed it to his wife. Hugo stepped aside, his eyes reduced to slits, fixing on Mary.
“If I do this for you, can we leave straight away?” She waited for his gesture of agreement, and then reached out for the two glass containers. Almost without thinking, Mary felt the electromagnetic signature from the wine, tingle her palm through the bottle. With practised speed, she projected the same frequencies into the water. Hugo gasped as the water transformed from the colourless, tasteless liquid to a deep syrupy burgundy.
Hugo stepped backwards, his chin moved but no words issued from his mouth. He folded his arms across his chest and then let them hang by his sides before reaching up to lock his fingers into his golden hair. Parth chuckled, and grabbed the beaker from Mary, raising it into the air.
“Cheers.” Parth gulped the new wine down in one go. “Lovely.” He made a tongue smacking noise against the roof of his mouth. “Pity she can’t do the same with loaves and fishes.” Mary caught Hugo’s features in her peripheral vision. He shot Parth a withering glare. His mouth puckered and his jaw set. His arms fell once more to his sides, resting his hands on narrow hips.
“Time to go. Parth get your things.” Mary stripped off the lab coat, laying it across a bench before pulling the strap of her satchel over her head. “Thank you so much, Hugo. For everything. And…well…I’m sorry.” With Parth trailing after her, mumbling his annoyance, they made for the door. As Mary bundled Parth along the corridor towards the stairs, she glanced back into the lab. Hugo was hovering over the running camcorder. His movements were stilted, as though his active thoughts were delaying the neural transmissions controlling his limbs. The camera beeped as he pressed the stop button. He released the tiny memory card storing the footage. Hugo looked up and locked eyes with Mary. One moment that lasted an eternity. A moment that conveyed all the hatred, upset and confusion of the last two thousand years of worship. The moment a fanatic was born.
Chapter Ten
Mary untied the black shawl from the strap of her satchel and urged Parth to slip his cap back on for the benefit of the foyer cameras. Suitably shrouded, they left the physics building and headed south along Queen’s Gate.
“Where are we going?” Parth trailed after her quick steps. His tummy growled. “Don’t you think you are over reacting? We have been careful with cameras and they can’t trace our phones.”
“If you don’t stop whining, I’ll leave you behind. I think they have a tap on Dan’s phone. I’m sure they can trace us from his call to my burner.” Mary stopped briefly, waiting for him to catch up. She grabbed his arm and forced his pace. They marched along Imperial College Road and turned right at the end. “I’m cold and hungry and we have to save what little cash we have left.” She growled, still clutching his limb. Mary led Parth to the slow-moving security queue for entry into the Science Museum.
“Are you kidding me?” Parth’s snarling whisper prompted the lady before them in the queue to turn around and scowl at the loud man in a formal suit and incongruous navy baseball cap. He lowered his voice. “It will be chock full of surveillance in here.”
“I’m guessing it’s a closed feed. This place is big enough for their own security teams. We won’t stay long. It’s warm, it’s dry and above all, it’s free.”
They reached the security desk and Mary opened her bag for a female officer to glance inside. Parth opened his jacket and flashed the man at the desk. Waved through, Mary scuttled down the ramp into the long entrance hall and veered right towards the cafeteria. Taking a tray from the stack, Mary slid it along the metal shelf towards the chilled cabinet. She selected a triangle pack of cheese sandwiches and a vanilla slice, and then looked at Parth. She raised her eyebrows. He dug his fists into his trouser pockets. “Well?”
“Egg salad, please. And a doughnut.”
Parth reached out for a fruit drink and slipped it onto Mary’s tray just as the lady in a polyester tabard slammed a metal teapot down onto the counter. “That’s sixteen pounds and fifty-six pence, love.” Mary winced at the cost, then removed the exact amount from her purse. She prised open the pockets and quickly counted her remaining cash. Forty-five pounds and a few coppers left. Parth must be running low too. How can we get more money without using our cards?
Parth picked up the tray and carried it to an empty table. The seating area was packed. European school parties and tourists of mainly Asian and American descent. The children of the Asian couples, quiet and dignified. Those of the American families quite the opposite, but the most embarrassing by far, were the British kids. Pink faced parents shushing their spoiled offspring, promising toys and continuous entertainment in return for half decent behaviour.
Mary glanced at the diners and smiled. There was nothing so comforting to the mind as neatly pigeon-holed stereotypes. In her peripheral vision, Mary caught the movements of a small framed man with fine mousey hair. He stood up from his single table, turned his back to her and walked away. There were no traces of food or drink where he had sat. As he rounded a corner and disappeared, something awoke in the depths of her subconscious. A memory that she thought had been tamed and filed away in the hippocampal vaults of her brain. Heat rushed to the skin on her neck; the growing warmth fanning out across her chest. Her empty stomach stirred. Was that…? No, it can’t be. You can’t lose your mind now. He died in the Alaskan explosion. Just because you heard Yelena mutter his name, doesn’t mean that he is still alive.
“Don’t you want your sandwich?” Parth continued chewing the last of his egg salad and was preparing to bite into his jam doughnut.
“What?” Mary looked down at the bleached white bread resting in her hands. “Oh, yes. I was just… never mind.” She sank her teeth into the tasteless cheese. The morsel stuck in a doughy ball against the roof of her mouth.
“You’re still angry with me.” Jam spilled out of the doughnut and landed in unsightly globs on his chin. He paused before his next bite. His eyes glazed, but he blinked the excess moisture away. Parth wiped the jam blob up with a thumb and delivered it to his mouth. Mary continued to eat. A hundred sentences of forgiveness assembled in her mind but remained unsaid. Self-preservation was now the guard of her thoughts. There was no one left to offer her protection, especially from him.
They sat in silence for the rest of their meal, keeping their heads bowed against any cameras. Parth took stealthy glances at Mary’s face, hoping to find the harsh lines of her features softening towards him. She sensed his gaze, snapping her head up with a grimace. He looked away.
“We can’t just mill about here until they kick us out.” Parth finished his
juice drink, screwed the cap back on the bottle and stacked the debris on the tray.
“No, but perhaps we won’t need to.” Mary pulled her smartphone from her bag. Parth drew in breath. “It’s okay, it’s not connected to any network. I just need to access the hard-drive for a telephone number.” Scrolling through her contacts list, she balanced the phone on her thigh while she dialled the number on Parth’s burner. A short, hushed conversation and a rudimentary plan was in place. “We need to kill two hours. I suggest we see if we can get tickets for the last showing in the cinema. That will give us forty-five minutes in the dark.”
Parth purchased two tickets from the central desk. Heeding the warning from the clerk to hurry, they rushed across the entrance hall, mounted staircase after staircase, along narrow metal walkways until they reached the theatre doors. Their tickets ripped in two, they collected the massive three-dimension spectacles and found seats at the far left of the staging.
“I have wanted to see this for some time. Hugo said it was amazing.” Parth removed his jacket and wriggled down in the folding seat. The glasses were uncomfortable, but at least they shielded their faces. Lighting dimmed in phases from the front to the back of the auditorium and the feature began. Mary fell from the immersive experience of being inside the International Space Station to contemplate the reactions of the children all around them.
A little blonde girl bounced out of her seat and into the aisle, reaching high into the air to touch the space craft illusion above. There was another child, a beautiful mixed heritage boy, small for his age with a rounded cherubim face. His rosy mouth hung open at the wonder before him, revealing a perfect row of tiny teeth. He was captivating. The spectacles and darkness allowed her the anonymity to observe the enchantment as though he was the theatre’s main attraction. Mary smiled and touched her abdomen, exhaling and shedding an entire layer of anxiety.
Parth opened his legs wide, connecting his knee with hers. “I’ve missed this.” He jostled her leg, playfully. Pulled from her trance, she frowned at him, but his grin could not be quelled. “I’ve missed you.”
Unmoved, Mary shushed him and looked once more at the screen. The astronauts were spacewalking outside the capsule in their shiny white suits. The little boy seemed perturbed and barged past knees to his mother’s embrace. His sloppy kiss to her cheek and spindly arms crushing her neck, sent an influx of yearning throughout Mary’s body. An unconditional love that can neither be bartered nor sold. She folded her arms across her middle, her hands grasping at her waistline. I wonder if I am showing yet. I won’t be able to hide it from Parth forever.
The little boy dropped a wrapped lollipop. Parth took off his spectacles, bent double and reached beneath the mother’s seat, before handing the sweet to the boy with a wink. He would still be a good father, even if we aren’t together anymore.
The film backtracked its visuals from Earth to the solar system, through the galaxy and to a computer-generated approximation of the universe. The titles scrolled up the movie screen, instigating a mad rush for the exits. Parth and Mary held back, taking their time to gather their belongings and saunter down the aisles. “What now?” Parth held open the door for Mary, who ducked under his arm to leave.
“Let’s find an exhibit to hide in.”
Back on the ground floor, they walked the length of the History in Space Exhibition to the furthest reaches of the building and read every plaque on every stand. Mary checked the time on her phone. It was five-thirty. Security teams would usher them out in half an hour. What if the minister’s men were waiting outside for them? What if they had already linked to the museum’s surveillance system and were monitoring them right now? Mary breathed slowly and calmly. If that was the case, they would be in custody already.
“Check your phone, Parth. Are there any messages?”
Parth removed the burner phone from his inside pocket and clicked through the clumsy menu. There was one message. Mary snatched the phone from him and scanned the screen. “Come on, Connie is waiting for us. She must have caned it down the M1 to get here so fast.” They walked at a brisk pace, following the signs to the exits. The polished stone steps leading down to Exhibition Road, gleamed. The miserable clouds had dissipated into late afternoon sunshine.
With the fabric of the black scarf held across her face, Mary pushed the glass door open and stepped down onto the pedestrianised section of the street. A quick look over her shoulder informed her that Parth was close behind, along with a noisy gaggle of students. A lumbering teenager barged past, knocking Mary’s elbow. Her arm jerked, and she dropped the scarf from her face. A lapse of no more than three seconds passed, before the veil was in place once more.
They stood for a moment, looking up and down the street to gain their bearings. As they faced north and took a decisive step, a percussive crack shocked her eardrum. A metal bus stop sign attached to a post on her left, bent like it was made of cardboard. She gasped, holding her hand to her ear. Mary looked up. A single hole punctured the steel notice. Another loud crack of a muffled sniper rifle. Someone was shooting at them. Mary shoved Parth’s back with the heel of her hand. “Run!” Dropping the scarf, they darted behind a people carrier, parked in the disabled bays in front of the museum entrance.
Parth shook violently, panting hard and holding his ribcage in panic. Mary crawled on hands and knees towards the passenger door, peeping out through the car windows to the building on the opposite side of the road. She cast her eye along each floor of the Victorian apartment block. The balustrade along the roof, the tall sash windows, balconies and finally the railings surrounding basement flats.
Was it safe to run yet? Was the gunman waiting for them to break cover before firing directly into the back of their heads? Did no one else in the street hear the shots? Tourists and locals meandered and scurried respectively, at their usual pace. No screaming, frantic arm flinging or wailing. No cordoned off Police area with armed response vehicles. No loud hailer wielding negotiation expert to talk the gunman down from his lair. Barring traffic, all was quiet. Passers-by muttered to each other and pointed to the couple crouched low behind the disabled person’s vehicle.
Inching forwards, Mary peeked out over the car bonnet. She went to speak but her throat generated nothing more than a strangulated rattle. Suspended in time, the scene filtered through her senses and reassembled in her brain. It cannot be. Mary’s lips moved but she emitted no sound. But he is dead. The man rose into view as he ascended the basement steps. He tucked a pistol into his waistband and pulled his shirt down to conceal its presence. A smear of blood ran along the parting of his fine mousey hair. He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing it to the graze on his head.
For one dreadful moment, Mary caught his gaze. Her bowels turned to water. She tensed every muscle in readiness for action but found herself rooted to the spot. There was no clarity of mind enabling her to use her gifts. No leisurely perusal of the contents of his thoughts, just sheer blind terror. “Alexi…” She murmured. Her mind flooded with the damned recollection of her gaoler. The friendly pretence he adopted to force her cooperation. The indignity of being buckled into restraints to quash any hope of escape or rebellion. The faces of the ten innocent men, women and children which were killed as a result of his trickery. Their blood stained her heart as well as his hands. Their shortened lives danced a sombre tune every wakeful night, keeping the torment fresh.
Alexi pushed the hanky back into his pocket. With eyes fixed on Mary, he stepped out into the queue of traffic, plotting a direct course to her huddled position. She couldn’t move. His slight frame wove between the cars and skirted the row of rented bicycles. A solitary double decker bus halted his progress, crawling along the bus lane at walking pace.
With Alexi hidden behind the vehicle, the spell was broken. Mary shuddered. Parth tugged at her shoulder, but she failed to respond. Alexi skipped around the rear of the bus, his beady eyes searching for his quarry.
“Mary, move
yourself.” Parth shook her from her daze.
Mary flicked her head around, blinking away the fog. Alexi was almost upon them. His jack boots thumped against the paving, his steps quickening like the beat of her heart. Parth grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her to her feet. Dragging her at speed through the disabled parking zone, Parth led her into the crowds. They ran past the Geological Museum and grassy areas at the back end of the Natural History Museum, ducking low and weaving between the benches and bicycles. A taxi nearly clipped them. The cabbie slammed on his brakes, hit his horn in annoyance and flipped them the bird. They scurried along the roadside gutter, by-passing the masses leaving the Tropical Butterfly House.
Parth stopped dead, wrenching Mary’s arm by the socket. Ahead of them, to the side of the East Lawn, was a large black four-by-four vehicle with tinted windows. It idled with the thrum of a powerful German engine. Its spotless paintwork reflected their fear. Mary glanced back the way they had come. Alexi was sprinting along the road about fifty metres off and gaining.
Chapter Eleven
This is it. Caught in the crossfire between the minister’s men and my tormentor. This is where it all ends. Mary looked up at Parth. He smiled down at her, releasing her wrist. The grinding whirr of a motor caught their attention. A tinted window lowered in the BMW and a blonde woman yelled out.
“What are you waiting for? Get in!”
Mary almost laughed. How the mind plays tricks. Of course, it was Connie. That is what they had arranged. They bundled into the back seat of the car, while Connie slammed it into reverse and barged her way into the oncoming traffic. Mary rocked her head back onto the firm headrest and breathed. Parth grappled with his seatbelt and clung to the overhead handle. Connie tailgated the taxi ahead of her and jumped the lights at the junction with Cromwell Road.
