Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “I need to be sure that you have understood me,” Felix said. “Please talk me through from the beginning what you have to do. Please run it by me one more time just to be sure. I will go very soon, and it will be left with just you. It will be up to you.” Felix fell silent. John closed his eyes and started saying what he recalled, from the very beginning, the scenes around him, right through to what he needed to do. He was still speaking, it seemed, as the room fell dark, as Felix disappeared, as things started spinning, shapes coming and then going, and once again he arrived back in the hospital room, his bed feeling warm around him. In his mind he was still speaking, still saying the words:

  “And I need to make a sacrifice. I need to give myself to save others. I need to shut that button down and stop all the death. It's my calling; it's my role. I am the last prophet. And I will do everything you've asked me to do.”

  Twenty One Days Ago

  John awoke late in the morning, still on his sofa, the television playing quietly in the background. His mobile phone was ringing. It was Alan, and they were wondering where he was. They'd agreed to meet in a lay-by just a mile from the RAF base. John had overslept. Jumping up, he'd told them he was on his way and that they were to stay where they were, that they'd be working from the van today, and not to bother going to the café.

  It was not even twenty minutes later when John was out of the shower, cleaner, if not sober. He drank a mug of strong coffee as quickly as he could, and the effect was almost instant, though he still didn't like the taste. John often wondered why he drank the stuff and yet consume it by the bucket load he did. Grabbing his jacket and keys, he was off out of the front door and into the car, watching around for any other sign of life, but so far all was quiet which suited him entirely. John had decided against mentioning anything to the others in the team about the two guys who'd come looking for them. Chances were, he now hoped anyway, that their paths wouldn't cross again, he had no intention of ever going back to the café, probably not with the team. And the café was a long way from where they were now headed. Although, if the killing of Bradley had been linked to the base, then potentially the nearer they got to it, the nearer they got to real danger.

  Today was the date of the first launch, and it looked a dry and bright day for it. John hooked up with the team less than one hour after Alan had called and they were now approaching the base. They parked in a viewing area that had been made a few years before for the avid plane spotter, though thankfully they were alone that morning. If their research was accurate, today should see the launch of a space-age probe, right from the very base now in front of them.

  The events of the day unfolded very much to plan. It was as if they knew the story before it was being told and they were the only reporters to witness that historic launch. The rocket was much smaller than they'd expected and the launch seemed successful as it shot fast into the sky, soon out of sight. John wondered what the UFO freaks would make of it, realising that there was probably some truth behind their sightings even if they were misguided as to their origins. What they'd just witnessed was the launching of a space probe from UK shores. To their knowledge, this was the first of its kind. And if it was to be believed from their findings, three more were to follow from different bases over the next few hours. They would not be able to see them from where they were, but they were seeing the output from the main control room display, so they were easily able to keep up to date with everything.

  The information output following the first launch was incredible. They'd seen the drafts for the media, which they now knew only told half of the story. Obvious, by its absence, was any talk of the nuclear capabilities of each mini probe that was being sent up into space.

  During the morning and afternoon, a few cars came in and out of the viewing area, the drivers all middle-aged, on their own: anoraks. None of them particularly noticed the van and, for all of these latecomers, there was nothing for them to see. They'd missed the real action; John just didn't know whether they were there at that moment because they heard about something or just to watch for planes that day. Maybe it was something they did all the time. John took note of each car, recording its registration number before each one left, but he felt there was nothing to fear from any of them.

  Late that night, food ordered in, and they were just starting to dig in, unsure about how long the night ahead was going to be when the first warning signals came through from the probes. Everyone forgot about the food and watched the output. From the sudden flood of phone calls in the control room in the base in front of them, they could tell that something was wrong. The first probe had stopped responding, and there were the beginnings of mild panic. It was to be the start of a long night for them all.

  At some point in the early hours, the base went on full alert, and it was clear that the probe was heading straight back from where it had come. Personnel were recalled and, in the chaos that followed, even the main gate was left momentarily unguarded, so they took a chance and moved their van, with the lights off, onto the main base. It was going to be the scoop of the century.

  John had asked Alan to get the camera working and the equipment assembled in the van which now sat, quietly and out of view, on the base. They had a perfect line of sight to the launch area from the previous day. The crew were busy with the equipment, the camera now in position and working. John himself sat watching the main output screens. It was clear from what he could hear from the control room, not far from where they were seated, that the scientists were bracing themselves for an impact. It would be a loss of a costly and high spec space probe, but beyond that, nothing too extreme. The area had been cleared, and the nuclear core was deemed to be safe, its reactor not engaged and there was thought to be no danger from the impact.

  Three minutes before impact, the communications went quiet, as if they were holding their breath in there, which many of them were. John took a look out of the van's window, but it was impossible to see anything, the speed of the descending probe meaning it would probably not be visible until the last few seconds.

  But it was with about ninety seconds to go that John saw, for the first time, what was happening. It was sabotage. The one piece of communication that came from the base, now written across his screen, had itself reportedly just come from the probe and was being read by all in the control room on their big screen. It had the message:

  'THIS WAS NO ACCIDENT––GOODBYE...'

  John jumped up from the terminal, hitting his head on the ceiling, nearly knocking himself out. His crew turned to him in surprise, concern showing on their faces, but they did not want to miss the impact. John could not breathe, the words just not coming out. He'd semi-concussed himself, and the van was now starting to spin around him. Alan turned to him from the camera asking:

  “Are you okay, man? That sounded quite a bang.”

  Still, the words would not form, so John started pointing at the screen. Alan had turned away so that he could begin working the camera again. There was silence for a few seconds. John began to hit the screen hard with his hand, the sound bouncing around the small van. Two of the men turned, but neither could see the screen from where they were sitting. With real urgency, John continued to point, frustration more than anything shown through his strange, silent actions. Aaron got up and moved over to the screen, reading aloud as he got there:

  “THIS WAS NO ACCIDENT––GOODBYE...” The others turned to him, and then they all looked at John. He was starting to lose consciousness from the blow to his head. Just then there was a bright light in the sky as the probe came into view. The three members of John's A-team froze as they watched from the van, like rabbits caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle. The probe smashed into the ground, an instant explosion erupting, bright light swamping the truck as it lifted from its place and thrown through the air across the car park. It crashed into the ground, rolling over and over. Fire burst all around them. John lay buried in one corner, the rest of his crew already dead. He was buried
, but still alive and now just waiting to be rescued, though he was unconscious and unaware of it. He would wake up in a hospital bed a few days later, with no memory of how he had arrived there.

  Present Day

  John was physically doing well, though his wounds were still a few weeks from healing. Lorna had spent a long time with him following his latest vision, and he'd talked for ages about it all. The truth was, for the last few days they'd been going round in circles. Their starting points were different, but they were concerned with the same central issue and ethical issues at that. Both were dealing with the more significant questions in their own way, and importantly, they were both in agreement that what needed to happen, would happen. She'd left the room briefly as the doctor came in and another session regarding John's memory got underway. She would be back before long, and she needed to be too. The doctor only knew so much and could say even less. But it was safe for him to at least start the session with just the two of them.

  “Okay, so how do you feel?” he started, giving John his full attention.

  “Still nothing has come back. The visions are taking my sleeping moments, and there are no flashes of anything that resembles a previous life I once had. And if I'm honest...” he said, pausing a little, suddenly wanting a drink of water from the glass that sat next to his bed. The doctor let him take his time, sensing what the next statement was going to be, as they'd talked about it quite a bit last time. “If I'm honest, I'm still not sure that I want to remember. I'm afraid of what I will find out. At the moment, I feel like I mean something; that I have a purpose. What if I find out I'm some very different person? Was some very different person?”

  “Who you were and who you will become do not have to be the same, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do see that,” John said. “It's just; I don't know really.” He was struggling to form the sentences that best described his inner feelings. “It's just, what if the reality of what I once was...why I'm alone here in the hospital. What if that reality so shocks me, so scares me, that it reawakens something and I change back to that person? That I put aside all that I know and become him again?”

  The doctor took some time to think and looked over at Lorna who had returned to the room. He continued:

  “This isn't something you need to do at all. It is something you wanted to explore, and for that, I am here to talk with you. There are probably lots of reasons why family haven't come. Why friends aren't around. It's not been possible to contact too many, and with all that's happening to you, probably not the best timing for you anyway. If you turn to me and say you don't want to continue, that is okay with me. I'm here to help you, to talk with you. I'm here because if you want to try and restore your memory, or at least some memories from before, then I can help you with that. I can give you some tips, some advice. There are some exercises we can do. But I'm here on your request, and until you feel happy one way or the other, we won't start with anything.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” John said, feeling a little less concerned than he had a few moments before.

  “Change is not easy to handle, for anyone.”

  “What do you mean by that?” John asked.

  “I mean, in the here and now, this is all you know. To remember some of your life from before, as you said, is to risk changing the way you feel about yourself, or maybe changing the decisions you want to make for the future. Change is difficult to handle at the best of times, and yet, here, you are far from your best of times. But that's just the point. Change has already happened. Something changed for you. Something happened. So you are already in change. So to be afraid to change back from this current strange situation to what was once normality is not logical.” He stopped talking, a puzzled but open look appearing on John's face now.

  “I think I get what you mean. You're saying that I'm fearful that finding something out will change my world, but this very world I'm trying to protect by not opening that door, is already a change in my life.”

  “Yes, so on many levels, you are already a changed person. And just because you have no memory, does not mean you are now better off not remembering that previous life. In your final moments, to have those memories to look back on, happy times, better times, I'm sure will be of some relief for you.”

  “I hadn't thought about it like that, I guess. I mean, besides our conversations in this room with the pair of you, and these four books I've read this last week or so, I don't have any happy memories. Don't get me wrong, and I have enjoyed our chats, Lorna,” he said, turning to her, not wanting to offend her by that last remark. She smiled and nodded, too caught up in everything to want to voice a response. It felt like thin ice that they were all walking on and she didn't want to be the one to risk breaking it.

  “So tell me, Doc,” he said, turning back to him. “What things are there that I can do? What might help me remember something? Anything?”

  “The brain is an incredible organ, John. Way more advanced and fragile than the best of the supercomputers, its full mystery is still a long way from anyone's understanding. From my professional background and experience, there are some mind mapping exercises we can do, but results vary greatly from person to person. On some these exercises don't work at all and, on a rare few, it has resulted in almost complete memory recovery. The most effective way is to find triggers. And by this, I mean things that cause you to remember something based on smell, a familiar place or a situation, or anything. A trigger could come in a million shapes or forms but is that moment when so much of your surrounding situation is prompting brain activity, like déjà vu it would seem, that it compels the brain to dig deeper and brings back that connection. What often follows, as that part of the memory is restored, is a flood of associated memories from the same time.”

  “So what are the best triggers you've seen?”

  “For helping victims deal with a terrible crime that might have been inflicted on them, or around them, it would be to walk them around the crime scene again and deal with the issues that arise. It's hard for them but brings healing. For most others it's talking, going through photos, and voice recordings are also great. Sound seems to penetrate the brain at a different level. Of course, a bit of all these areas would be ideal and could help memory recovery. The challenge with people in your situation is that, because of the memory loss, we can't tell where those trigger points are, or those key locations that might restore some thoughts.” The doctor was unaware of where the patient had been rescued from so for the doctor this was true in John's case.

  “Okay. With all you've said, I do feel like I still need a little more time, but am coming round to the idea of giving this a go soon. I just have no idea where to start.”

  “Of course, I understand that, John. It seems like an ocean, but you can leave that up to me. You are some weeks off being up and about. So that takes out the chance to go to a location, for example, even if we knew where to go. At the moment, we can start with some of the exercises when in a semi-conscious state. I ask you some questions about things. We could start that this afternoon. Do you think you are up for it?”

  “Thanks, Doc. Give me some time to chat this through with Lorna here, and I'll get her to pass you on a message later. Is that okay, Lorna?” he said, turning to her.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied.

  The doctor made his exit, and it went back to being just the two of them in the room once again. That was a memory John was only too familiar with, though far from unhappy about.

  16

  Present Day

  The news was dominated by just one story: the unfolding disaster, the consequences of which no one could foresee.

  The city was struggling. Many businesses around town, if physically still intact, were effectively closed, government departments were struggling to keep up. Police and armed forces stretched, hospitals overwhelmed by the dying, the remaining firefighters exhausted.

  For the media it was the most significant story they had ever covered, or ever would get
to cover. It was a story the world needed to know. Some reporters and teams had already been killed, not to mention John's team that had witnessed first hand the original explosion.

  The African secret service had decided to change tack and went back after the former employers. So when two well dressed young ladies walked into the main doors of the newspaper's offices, no one was too bothered. They were yet another team who worked for the secret service. Having spoken with someone on the front desk, they were led into a waiting area. They were offered a hot drink, which they both accepted and took a seat on a black leather three seater sofa that seemed to dominate the room.

  It was a few minutes before someone came in to see them both, and he apologised for keeping them waiting as he shook each hand and took a seat opposite them. They exchanged business cards; John's boss took in the names and tried to link it to the faces.

  “So ladies, you said to our receptionist that you had some information you were following up on and that it was of a sensitive nature that would require someone senior. Well, I'm the best we could find I'm afraid,” he said with a smile on his face. “So, tell me, what is it you are following up?”

  “We think we came across one of your teams investigating the RAF base before the incident.”

  “Go on,” he said, wanting to keep his cards close to his chest and hear what they had to say before he said too much himself if anything.

  “John once contacted us, as he needed some help. Nothing to concern you, but we were just aware of what he was starting to work on.”