by Chris Lofts
‘It might do you good. Admitting you have a problem is a first step to solving it.’
Helix bit the inside of his lip, stifling a grin.
‘Tabitha’s parents have booked a private room at Rapture, we’re not getting there until ten,’ she said, pulling a grey hoody with a school logo over her head. ‘Staying for two hours? It’s hardly worth bothering.’
‘Don’t bother then,’ Ormandy said, her hands on her hips. ‘You have a field trip the next morning. It’ll be—’
‘The digger trip?’ Christina slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘So, it’s impossible for diggers to enter the city but OK for the city to send its “hope for the future” outside to watch a bunch of lowlifes scratching around in the dirt or shovelling shit on their vegetables?’ She shoved her hands in the hoody pocket. ‘Is that another one of Gaia’s experiments? To see if we catch anything so she can cure us?’
‘Christina! I said that’s enough. You need to set an example. You’re 15 years—’
‘Oh, that’s what this is about. Can’t have the fatherless 15-year-old daughter of a powerful politician embarrassing her mummy,’ she whined.
‘OK. That’s enough. Like it or lump it, Christina, I don’t have—’
‘Screw you then!’ she screamed. ‘I never want to speak to you again.’
The monitors and hologram evaporated in response to the snap of Ormandy’s fingers. ‘You won’t believe the number of times I’ve heard that one, Major.’
Helix nodded diplomatically.
She drew a deep breath. ‘As I was saying, it’s a very sad day.’ Unbuttoning her grey-blue jacket, she perched on the edge of the desk. Her fingers played over the string of pearls that vanished into the plunging neckline of her cream silk blouse. ‘The country has lost a valued and loyal servant.’
Helix cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. ‘We have ma’am.’
‘And a good friend of yours, I understand.’
‘He was the finest commanding officer I’ve had the privilege to serve under.’
‘So, not a friend?’
He pulled a tight-lipped smile. ‘Not in the conventional sense.’ And if they were, he wasn’t about to admit it to her. ‘He was kind enough to offer his advice when I needed it over a drink or lunch in the officers’ mess. We shared an interest in military history, that sort of thing.’
‘And he was sponsoring your request to return to special services operations.’
‘He was.’
‘But your application was denied.’
‘It was. I was notified earlier today. I failed to achieve the necessary fitness levels.’
‘Because of your injuries.’
Helix nodded. He could have done without the reminder. ‘I have a very preliminary update on the General’s death.’ Saying it left his mouth parched. He swallowed. ‘I’m expecting a call from forensics as soon as they’re on site. They’ve sent a drone and I’ve—’
‘You’ve sealed off his apartment. Yes. Thank you, Major.’ She tucked a stray dark brown hair behind her ear. ‘Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill the General?’
‘I can’t, ma’am. An accident or suicide can be ruled out.’
‘So, you agree that we are looking at murder?’
‘That’s my current hypothesis, judging by the extent of the damage in the General’s apartment. The forensic examination and post mortem will tell us more. The General was universally respected and popular, but the only person…’ Did he want to go there? Yeah fuck it. Why not?
‘The only person?’
He coughed into his hand. ‘The only person who might have a motive would be Chancellor Wheeler.’
‘Ex-Chancellor Wheeler. Sentenced to 25 years in prison for a long list of crimes and misdemeanours including conspiracy to murder his own wife – the legendary Gabrielle Stepper.’
‘Exactly. You commuted his sentence to banishment from the cardinal cities so there’s no way he could have orchestrated or committed the General’s murder.’
‘But equally, if I hadn’t commuted his sentence there is still no way he could have escaped halo-confinement to commit the crime.’ She smoothed her hand over her hair. ‘Did I sense a hint of disapproval in your tone just now? The way you gave weight to “you commuted.”‘
Helix folded his arms. ‘You’re the Home Secretary.’
‘And I’m sure the fact that Wheeler was shagging her had nothing to do with it,’ Ethan whispered.
‘Button it, Ethan!’
Ormandy brushed a finger over the glass desk-top. The frosted windows cleared unveiling the glittering London skyline. ‘That was quite a scandal,’ she said sliding from the desk. ‘Yawlander placed himself at considerable risk. Maybe he made a lot of enemies.’ She paused half-way between the desk and the window, pinning him with her stare.
Helix swallowed. If he’d had his way it wouldn’t only have been Wheeler’s career that ended on that stage but hers too. But Yawlander hadn’t wanted any distractions. What evidence there was on her was thin at best. Apart from her affair with Wheeler, the General had thought that given enough rope and time, she would hang herself. Helix wasn’t so sure. The bigger threat, Valerian Lytkin – Wheeler’s political sponsor and a Government favourite – had been eliminated in a move that nobody had seen coming.
‘And what is your opinion of Gabrielle Stepper?’ Ormandy folded her arms and leaned against the window. ‘It’s been the talk of the town.’
Helix shrugged. ‘I don’t think she would have been a threat to the General.’
Ormandy laughed. ‘No, indeed. I meant your opinion of her choice to leave London for a life of… Well, I don’t know, let’s be polite and call it a less comfortable, less privileged life.’
‘She made her choice, ma’am. It’s not something that we discussed.’
‘Surely you got to know her a little. During your time as fugitives from justice.’
‘She’s given a lot. She’d been estranged from her sister for some time and, after they were reacquainted, she saw an opportunity for a new start after Wheeler’s defenestration.’
Ormandy slid back into her office chair. Her wall of monitors re-emerged between them. ‘The forensic team are here,’ she said.
‘I best get back upstairs then, ma’am. I need to release the security seal.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Unless there was anything else.’
Her hand darted across the desktop. ‘No need. I’ve overridden your lock. They’re inside.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but protocol demands that as the senior investigating officer—’
‘You can leave when I dismiss you, Major.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I will be leading this investigation and assuming the General’s command until such time as a replacement is appointed. You and your team will stand down.’
‘You?’
‘Careful, Major. That thin veneer of respect is beginning to crack. You are too… or should I say, were too close to General Yawlander. I fear your emotions may impede your judgement and the investigation. I want you at a desk downstairs tomorrow morning and there you will remain until I call for you.’
‘No.’
‘Are you disobeying an order, Major Helix?’
Helix loomed over her desk. ‘I will resign my commission.’
‘You can’t. Yawlander’s death doesn’t change anything. Like it or not you’re Government property for the next six years, unless you’re released by either the Home Secretary, the Secretary of State for Defence or the Prime Minister. And the person occupying the first two positions in that holy trinity would be me.’
‘I have two months of accrued leave. I’d like to take it immediately.’
‘I can do better than that, Major. You are suspended with immediate effect.’
‘Same thing.’
‘Not exactly, Helix. Access to all MoHD and Home Office premises, systems and resources will be revoked. The same applies to your brother Ethan.’
> Helix stifled a snigger. Locking him out would be a minor inconvenience. Ethan wrote the manual when it came to cyber surveillance and security. Good luck with that.
‘And one other thing,’ Ormandy said, leaning back in her chair, her legs crossed. ‘You are not to leave the city.’
4
Built beneath the arches of what used to carry one of the old suburban railway lines into London Bridge, The Royal Oak bar pretended to be what it was when packed commuter trains used to rattle overhead. It was one of the few stretches of old brick-built railway arches that had survived the ravages of time and relentless march of technology. The arched bare-brick theme was carried inside in the shape of vaulted drinking spaces where patrons could lose themselves in the shadows. The more gregarious congregated around the almost-black wooden bar with its pendulous downlighters, above which lurked the coils of the industrial air conditioning system, cable trays and plumbing.
Helix ducked through the doorway and into the burbling crowd. He apologised his way through the crowd to the bar, one of a few that still had a real person serving real ale in real pint glasses. He liked this place. You didn’t have to shout over music or sport being shown on the large screens that floated over the heads of the drinkers in other bars. It was a place where people came to drink, where people were interested in what you had to say, not what you were wearing. It was a favourite amongst the security services, which on that evening made up the majority of the punters, who fell silent as Helix loomed over the bar. Averting his eyes from his own reflection in the mirrors behind the spirit bottles and glasses, he wrung his gloved hands while he waited his turn. An eruption of laughter carried from beyond an arch, puncturing the hushed void. It acted as a cue to the others to pick up their drinks and conversations from where they’d left them. He leaned on his elbows, trying not to stand out any more than he did. The barman approached.
‘Pint of Spitfire, please,’ he said. ‘Actually, make it two.’
Waiting for the first glass to fill, the barman tapped the order into the payment terminal and nodded at Helix who pressed his thumb on the small screen set into the bar. Peeling his forearms from the sticky surface, Helix took the first drink and downed it without pause. He exchanged the empty glass for the full one and turned away from the bar.
Side-stepping through the knots of drinkers, he made his way to what he hoped would be a quiet corner. ‘Excuse me,’ he said finding his way blocked.
The black-haired woman turned around. ‘Hello, Helix,’ she said. ‘It’s been a while.’
It was his turn to look surprised. ‘Hello, Tanya,’ he said, recognising the gentle face, dark eyebrows and olive skin. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine.’ She touched his arm. ‘Shit news about Yawlander, eh?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. That was one way of putting it. ‘Look, I’m sorry I never got—’
‘It’s OK.’ She smiled. ‘Like you always said, it comes with the turf.’
‘Yeah, but I could have called once it was all over.’ He sipped his beer. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why don’t you join us?’ she said, flicking her long hair over her shoulder.
‘Perhaps another time. Not really in the mood for small talk.’
‘I understand. Why not give me a call sometime? It’ll be good to catch up.’ She squeezed his elbow. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘Sure. OK.’ He nodded. ‘Thanks.’
Guilt twisted a knot in his stomach as he excused himself and shuffled around Tanya and her friends. He acknowledged a couple that they’d been out with on a double date. That had been a rare occasion. He and Tanya had often bumped into each other in the Oak, usually ending up ensconced in a quiet corner over their beers. The date had been her idea. He’d almost blown her out; it was easy to come up with an excuse in their line of work. But with Ethan’s goading, he’d gone along and had enjoyed himself. The follow-up date, with just the two of them, had been a genuine victim of circumstance. The particular circumstances were his arrest of Gabrielle Stepper on suspicion of murder and everything that followed.
He slipped off his jacket, tossed it on the bench and squeezed in next to it.
‘Was that the lovely Tanya I saw you talking to?’ Ethan said into his ear.
He switched to TC. ‘Ethan, I’m going offline for a bit. I just want to have a couple of pints and a bit of time to myself. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.’ He ended the call abruptly, immediately regretting it. His shit day wasn’t Ethan’s fault. He buried his face in his hands shutting out the world. Being tossed on the scrap heap and suspended would have been enough for one day. Seeing what happened to Yawlander was up there with the day that his older brother Jon had died. He wasn’t one for wallowing in self-pity but he felt like he’d been run over by a maintenance troll. He took a deep swig of beer. How had Yawlander put it? ‘Special forces ops isn’t everything, you’ve still got plenty in the tank. There’ll always be a place for you.’
‘That was before you took a nose-dive out the window from the 55th floor,’ he mumbled to himself. He sniffed a laugh at Ormandy’s arrogance. Jesus. Yawlander would have blown a gasket at the thought of her assuming command. ‘Politicians? Pink faced earnest men and women who are Teflon coated so the shit doesn’t stick.’ That was one of his favourites. ‘What we need is an iron fist in a velvet glove.’ He glanced at his own carbon fibre and titanium fist inside its leather glove and flexed his fingers.
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ a voice said, shaking him back to reality.
Helix blinked in the dim light at the man who’d spoken. ‘What the fuck do you want, Finch?’ He squeezed his glass to the brink of destruction.
‘Hell of a day, huh?’ Captain Elias Finch said, running his hand over his slick black hair. The ends of his pencil moustache tilted upwards with the sarcasm in his grin. ‘I saw you talking to yourself so I thought I’d come over and say hi.’
Helix stared into his glass. ‘Hello. Now fuck off.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Finch tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. ‘Shit news about Yawlander. He was a good egg. I liked him.’
‘Finch,’ Helix said, raising his eyes from his glass. ‘the only person you like is yourself.’
‘Heard the selectors knocked you back.’ He ran a finger over his moustache. ‘Bad luck, man.’
‘At least I got selected. You still trying, or have you finally got the message that you’re not good enough?’
Helix waited for an answer. Folding his arms was the best Finch could do.
‘Listen, jug ears,’ Helix continued, ‘I know getting on people’s tits is a hobby of yours, but you’re one button away from getting your lights punched out. Why don’t you go and find some small furry creatures to torture? You could start with the one on your lip.’
‘Fine.’ Finch laughed from the safety of the other side of the table. ‘I’ll leave you with your imaginary friends.’
Helix exploded from his chair, his half-drunk pint almost toppling as his thighs lifted the side of the table. He caught the glass as it slid towards the edge, ignoring the eyes turned towards him. The momentary hush evaporated as people returned to their drinks and conversations.
‘Twat,’ he muttered as Finch sauntered into the crowd.
Finch was the department chancer, always on the periphery, universally unpopular, snooping, listening, brown-nosing with the leadership. More devious than dangerous. Helix finished his beer, pondered another. No. He needed to get to the Meridian.
‘Another pint, Helix?’ Tanya said from the edge of her group.
‘What? Oh, no. Thanks. I need to crack on,’ he said, forcing a smile.
He looked on as Tanya melted into the crowd. The way he’d melted away from her. The one he’d let get away. He slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket feeling the edges of the folded letter he kept there. The letter from another he was in danger of allowing to melt from his life. Things were going to change. Yawlander was gone. New brooms always wanted to make
a clean sweep. It was time to take the initiative rather than being swept away.
5
Gabrielle Stepper’s parting gift to Helix had been the house she once shared with Justin Wheeler: the Royal Observatory, in the former world heritage site of Greenwich Park, renamed The Meridian. Like the grateful nation that had gifted the property to her, she had made the same gesture to Helix when she’d embarked on her new life away from London, away from any of the cardinal cities.
For Helix, it evoked too many memories. He rarely visited, preferring his own digs deep in the tunnels of the disused underground station at Down Street on the Piccadilly line between Green Park and Hyde Park Corner. Ethan felt exposed on the top of the hill, but he was making a go of it, claiming it would do until he found somewhere more discreet. That hadn’t stopped him from converting Gabrielle’s former BSL 4 laboratory into his own version of a man cave.
It had taken Ethan less than a minute to liberate Helix’s untraceable AV from the bowels of the Ministry of Home Defence. Two minutes later Helix had climbed aboard as it drew alongside him in Crucifix Lane. Twenty-eight minutes later, the biblical rains intensified as the AV turned into the tree-lined drive that led to the Observatory. There were faster ways to travel around London, but Helix missed what he called the gridlock days. Since removing human control from vehicles in 2025 things had improved but compared to the hyperloop tube network it was still pedestrian.
Helix went to Ethan’s cave, flicking on the air filtration system as he stepped through the airlock doors.
‘Whoa,’ Ethan protested as the fug evaporated. The wheels of his chair squeaked on the floor as he spun round to face his brother.
‘It stinks of bloody weed in here. I’ll be as high as you just from breathing the fumes.’ Helix leant down and gave his brother a bear hug. ‘Where are your legs?’
‘Over there. They were making my stumps itch. Grab a beer from the fridge.’
Helix threw his jacket and shoulder holsters on a bench, grabbed two beers from the bio-hazard labelled fridge and handed one to Ethan. ‘Corona – excellent choice,’ he said, clinking bottles with his brother.