Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “Is that so?” he said, looking down at their business cards again. The made-up name of the business on the card did not mean anything to him, of course, but at any rate, it did not look like another rival newspaper. The thought that John had involved anyone outside the paper was painful enough to hear.

  “Look, you don't have to worry. We are on your side in this,” the shorter of the two said, picking up on the obvious thought patterns now going through his head. She had shoulder length brown hair that she was wearing loose and no hint of an accent. She continued:

  “It's just that we heard that John Westlake was found alive and is being treated in hospital. And if that were the case, we'd like you to pass on our regards.”

  The man sat back in his chair at this point, revealing the two ladies that this was the first time he'd heard about it, as they expected.

  “That's news to me. Are you sure? Who said this to you?”

  “It was something random, just word of mouth from someone at a hospital, mentioning a journalist named John being found alive. The rest of the crew were found dead, of course.”

  “I know that for sure. But I was told they were all killed. We ran a story the following week naming all our staff who had been killed and John was on that list. How can you be sure?”

  “Well, that is why we are here. I'm sure that if this is true, like us, you would want to know. If one of your guys made it against all the odds, that's the good news story we've all been waiting for,” she said.

  “Yes, indeed. But I just can't believe it. They were right on top of it when it happened.”

  “That is what we heard, too. Look, here are the details of the hospital we heard this from,” she said, handing him a printed sheet of paper with the basic information listed. He knew of the hospital once he saw the name. She continued. “By all means go and check this out for yourself. You guys are the investigative reporters. We are just the messengers. But we do hope you find your man and, if you do, please do call and let us know. It would be nice to know he survived, unlikely as it sounds. It would also make a nice story.”

  That part was becoming only too clear to him at that moment. The cogs of his editor's mind were already turning, and he was thinking through the possible angles. If someone had been that close and lived, it was a fantastic story. The two ladies got up, clearly indicating that they were bringing this brief meeting to an end.

  “What did you say John was asking of you again?” he asked. They both stopped, the taller one, with more extended black hair tied neatly to one side, turned back to him.

  “We didn't. Let's just say we were offering operational relief, and leave it at that, shall we?” That was one way of describing paid sex that he'd not heard before.

  “Oh, I, erm, see.” There seemed nothing more to say, and neither did they give him a chance, as they walked out of the room and left the building.

  Clive headed for the lifts that would take him back up to his top floor office on the fifth floor. Though not the largest of the London based papers, they once had many hundreds of staff, scattered around the country, if not the world. Still, the office had always been the hub of the operation, the engine room of the whole paper, and yet for too long now, it had been but a shadow of its former self. Clive was a seasoned reporter. Sniffing out a good story was in his blood. And the country needed just that. If there was any truth in what these two women had shared, he was going to dig and find out. Walking into his office, having grabbed a couple of staff members on the way in, he set to work straight away on the phones, trying to find out what he could, arranging to get someone to the hospital, as well as finding out if John's family had heard anything.

  Once more back in the car in which they'd come, the two African secret service ladies reported what had taken place to their contact at HQ.

  “We'll keep tabs on movements from here on. If he calls, we'll let you know. I don't think he will unless he wants sex. We led him to believe we were call girls, so I think the connection to John and us is broken. I don't think he'll come calling, though please monitor the number and if he does call, you can put him through.”

  “Very good. We have another team at the hospital. He isn't likely to go himself, not at this stage, but will surely send someone else quite soon. They've started making calls already. They certainly believed what you told them. They'll lead us right to him, the perfect shield for us. Stay where you are, and we'll be in touch.”

  They ended the call and sat there drinking coffee from tall paper cups that they'd purchased from a street-side coffee booth on the way back to the car. They were parked on a quiet side road, about sixty metres in direct line of sight from the newspapers front doors. If any one of interest were going to leave, especially Clive, they would be onto them. The day was going better than hoped.

  Present Day

  Lorna had made a cup of tea for them both and came over to put John's cup next to his bed. He thanked her. They'd been talking a little since the doctor had left, not just about the memory loss, but things in general. They each took a sip from their cup. Lorna was aware that she was now enjoying the company. It was unlike anything in her nursing career before, to spend so much time with one patient. Going through a difficult time herself, it meant she had grown an emotional connection with the one person that was listening to her, and it was true the other way round as well. They continued to take small sips of tea as if knowing what the other person was thinking or at least having an idea. John valued the conversation more than ever. She'd become his one support throughout the whole ordeal, and he knew he could trust her. If she was happy for something to happen, then it was okay for him too.

  He placed his now empty cup on the bedside table, making sure he didn't knock over his growing pile of books. The latest one had been a space adventure, and though not his usual read, it was enjoyable all the same. One thing he did have was time, so it was good to be able to indulge in reading; of course, John was not sure if he'd ever done much before, but he doubted it. Who would have the time unless they were lying in bed all day long? Lorna finished her tea now as well and placed her empty cup next to his.

  “I'll have to clear some of these books out; otherwise, it'll become a hazard,” she said with a smile, breaking the silence and moving back into a routine conversation.

  “Thanks. This last one is quite something. I find myself lost in another world: literally in this case,” he said, tapping the cover. Lorna laughed a little. Her James had loved those type of books and the type of films that came from them. It was not her favourite genre.

  “Tell me,” he said, noticeably more serious now. “If you could have your memories wiped, now, as you are, with all the hurt and regret you have, would you do it?”

  “That'd be like saying we should delete all our photos on the computer because we don't like the last few. But it's my whole life, and to lose all the good memories because of the harder ones, would be to lose much of myself. And besides, it's more the emotions now than actual memories. Does the sadness go away when the memory does?”

  “I guess I don't know. I mean, I feel as I do at the moment but is that normal or not? Was I sad before, or happy? I really can't tell. Is what I'm feeling now real, is it a happy time? Am I my real self? These are questions I don't know how to answer because I have no background, no history to refer to. Do you think I was happy?”

  “I think you were like anyone else, certainly. No one is happy all the time, but life for you certainly would have had its highlights, yes.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he said.

  “Honestly, you're not that special.” She was smiling at him as she said this.

  “Thanks!”

  “What I mean is, why would it have been any different for you compared to nearly every single person who has ever lived?”

  “Yeah, I see what you are saying. So do you think I had a family?”

  “A wife you mean? No, I don't think you do. Of course, maybe you didn't ever wear a ring, but there
certainly isn't any sign of one. You can tell when someone who normally wears a ring doesn't have it on. The finger is a different shape, usually a different colour where the ring once was. It's, of course, impossible for me to tell. You seem like a nice guy, so there is no reason why you shouldn't be. Maybe it was your job, maybe that got in the way?”

  “What do you think I did?” he asked, enjoying the conversation.

  “I have no idea,” she lied. “Maybe you were a pilot?”

  “No, I can't see that. Can you?” He laughed as she did. A shared joke.

  “Do you think there was something about my life that meant I was chosen to have these visions? Do you think it was because I was a good man?” The atmosphere in the room suddenly got a little more serious. John picked up an instant awkwardness in Lorna.

  “I honestly have no idea and don't want to talk about that.” It didn't make sense, but John let it ride. There was an uncomfortable silence for about a minute. Lorna collected the empty teacups and put them back on the tray by the door. She came back and took some old books from the bottom of the pile next to his bed, leaving just the one he was reading. She left these also by the door, before coming back and sitting down next to him once again, ready to move on from their last moment.

  “Why do you do what you do?” John said, looking up at her.

  “Nursing, you mean?” she asked, John nodding his answer. “I told you, it was the moment my brother was choking, and that lady came and saved him. From then on I always wanted to be a nurse, always wanted to help people. To know what to do in an emergency.”

  “Yeah, I know that. That's why you got into nursing. I mean, why now? Why are you still doing this, when you've so recently lost your husband? Why are you working when you're not even through grieving? Why this much dedication?” The discussion had become somewhat heavy. Lorna knew she needed to dig deep and move things away from this region; otherwise, it could lead to problems later.

  “I guess I just can't stay away.” The smile on her face looked real enough. “Anyway, you need some more medicine soon, and I do need to take a look at the wounds before dinner. So while it has been good talking, you need to let me be the nurse again and do what I need to do.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” he said, a jovial tone returning to their conversation. The moment had passed.

  Lorna stood up and straightened her uniform, before going over to prepare the latest batch of drugs that her patient needed. She'd then redress his wounds. John picked up his book and opened it to where he had left off. He was soon lost in his new world once again.

  Present Day

  Back at the offices of the paper, Clive had a notepad already half full with snippets of information. Together with his team which had grown steadily during the day, they'd tracked down as much as they could about the family. They had carefully found out that his relations had heard nothing from John for weeks before the incident and evidently nothing since. They were parents mourning the loss of a child they saw all too infrequently. Part of that had been because of his job, and though they were grateful their son was working, it was a problematic issue. It was the job that had ultimately led to their son's apparent death and that of the rest of the team working with him at the time. It was a delicate conversation.

  Nothing had been said to them at that moment, for fear of giving them false hope. A reunion story also held much more significant power if the parents were the ones being surprised. Clive could imagine the look on their faces, with the cameras rolling, as their son was brought out to them, literally back from the dead.

  A check of the hospital records gave no mention of John Westlake being admitted, but then again, there were only just over three hundred names listed, and it was common knowledge that the three thousand bed hospital was way overstretched. The majority of patients were either yet to be processed, or as yet unidentifiable. The thought was shocking enough. If John had survived, in what kind of state was he? And then Clive came back to what had been said by the two ladies who had been to his office earlier that day. They said it was word of mouth, that John's name had been mentioned. And therefore they knew his identity or at least had something with that name on, and yet the hospital records were showing blank.

  Of course, Clive could well imagine there just weren't enough staff to update records. The team came up with the idea to go and offer their help to the hospital concerning data entry, helping to get patients listed and put onto the empty database, to start the process of connecting loved ones to the sick and dying. Most families hunting for relatives did not find them before they died. There was just too much destruction, too much change to get things happening as they needed to be done. People were being transported all over the country to hospitals that had space. Nearly every bed within about 100 miles of London was occupied. There were calls for mass evacuations into the northern regions of the country, where hospitals had some capacity. Many people had made the move themselves already, staying with relatives and friends and getting as far away from the disaster area as possible, though ultimately not far enough to be out of harm's way.

  A pair of young reporters left the offices and took a company car to the hospital hoping, as a natural part of the sorting process, that they would be able to locate John if he was there.

  Watching the two reporters leave, the African secret service agents reported this to their HQ and pulled away slowly to follow them. Another team were on their way to the newspaper and would continue to monitor what was being done. Traffic was heavy enough to go unnoticed. They drove the fifty minutes it took them to get to the hospital and only then did they stop following. Instead, the other African secret service team were told who it was that was approaching, and they took things on from there. A computer at the hospital was hacked to monitor any updated information, as they assumed the young pairs offer of help would be accepted. If they were fortunate enough, John's status would soon get updated, his room listed, and then they'd send in a team to take any appropriate action deemed necessary.

  17

  Present Day

  John delayed his decision until the morning but finally asked Lorna to pass on a message to the doctor that he'd like to start the memory exercises.

  The small monitoring team, together with Lorna, had the previous night discussed the issue. They had agreed there was no danger in him having some of his long-term memory restored. It was highly unlikely that anything would change. From what they could tell, he lived a very ordinary life. Nothing since the disaster would come back, as his memories of the time immediately after the incident were being suppressed and slowly destroying themselves. Clearly, he was creating new memories well now, so there seemed no severe damage to his memory's functionality.

  The doctor came not long after breakfast, and they talked a little, like old friends, which for John was partly true. Besides Lorna, the doctor now helping him did represent the only other person he currently remembered knowing, though maybe that was about to change. John realised that perhaps he was just about to get some of his life back, to meet some people he knew, if only in his mind. The thought of that thrilled him.

  Lorna left them to it as they started a few simple warm-up exercises and headed towards the nurses' station, in search of Alison, her previous manager. Alison was a friend, a listening ear. They both needed each other, and over the past week, they had grown closer than ever before. She could be herself with Alison. There were a lot of thoughts going through her mind.

  “So how's our star patient getting on?” Alison started in a friendly manner, as they sauntered around the edge of the hospital car park.

  “He's in with the doctor now, going through some memory stuff. We see no problems with him regaining some lifetime moments. The team think it has helped him feel more connected to me, the fact I'm willing to help him in this way. They also feel it will help him with what he needs to do; in the final moments, he will have something to think about. Someone to be there with him.”

  “Yes, that seems sensible.
Of course, there are no guarantees John will get anything back.”

  “No, he knows that. We've talked a lot actually, about many things.”

  “You like him, don't you?”

  Lorna looked at Alison but could see she wasn't making a joke.

  “Not in that way, no. It's too early for that, anyway. I'm not sure I could love again. But yes, I've grown close to him. It's like I'm his sister or something. I'm not quite sure what the fit is. Sister sounds a bit wrong now that I say it.”

  “And he trusts you?” Alison continued.

  “Yes, I think he does.” Lorna paused. “Am I a bad person for doing this to him?” They had stopped walking, and Lorna was now looking Alison in the eye, but she couldn't keep eye contact for long, and she looked off into the distance at nothing in particular.

  “I think you are very brave. I mean it.” There was no reaction with Lorna. “I mean, look at what you've gone through.”

  “We've all gone through this.”

  “Yes, I know, but the loss of James... I mean, you've not had a chance to pull your own emotions together, to get into that good place. I'm sorry for my part in that. I hated sharing the news with you. Hated the way we did that, so clinical, so final. Not giving you a chance to pause. We were all struggling to keep up, we still are.”

  Lorna turned back towards Alison and put her hand on her shoulder.

  “It's okay, and I don't blame you. It's been good for me. What else would I have done? It has allowed me to get through it all. If I'm honest, there have been days when I haven't thought about that life at all. Moments where I'm just in the here and now, almost forgetting that the world's falling apart; that my world has fallen apart.”

  They stood silently for a while, Lorna's hand still on her shoulder. She then turned again, and they continued their slow walk, going nowhere in particular, not that there was very far they could go. There were, however, noticeably fewer cars parked there than when things were normal. From where they were, they could not see the destruction of the city. In their random wanderings, they had unconsciously turned the other way, as if to deny what had happened. But what they couldn't see was undoubtedly making itself known in the sky above them. It was as if a layer of blackness had set up home like some invading force had come from outer space and had blocked the sun from them all. There was also this smell, this stench in the air. It was unmistakable. Neither of them commented on what was evident to them both.