Helix Nexus

by Chris Lofts

  ‘I’m listening, Major,’ Ormandy said, folding her arms.

  ‘They’re scrambling the quads,’ Sofi said into Helix’s implant.

  ‘OK. Let’s not waste any of each other’s time. You need to ground those quads. If they cross the Severn you won’t be getting them or the men on board back. Do it now.’

  ‘They are mostly women, Major.’

  ‘Congratulations, you’ve achieved your diversity quota. But I don’t care. They all look the same in a body bag.’ He unzipped his jacket. ‘You need to cancel all orders to have myself and Doctor Stepper arrested.’

  ‘Don’t be preposterous.’ Ormandy laughed. ‘Doctor Stepper has confessed to murder and you—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ve disobeyed orders and withheld evidence. There you go. Another confession. I’m so glad I got that off my chest.’

  ‘Quads turning back,’ Sofi said.

  ‘Anything else?’ Ormandy said. ‘Request a Royal pardon for Justin? If you are considering taking him on your little odyssey you must know the consequences if he attempts to enter a cardinal city.’

  ‘I have control of his dog collar, so no need to worry, your secret is safe. For now.’

  Ormandy’s makeup did nothing to hide the flexing of the masseter muscles towards the back of her cheeks.

  ‘Good. Now I have your attention, do I need to repeat my demands?’ Helix pulled his P226 from its holster. He stepped back and placed the muzzle on the back of Wheeler’s head. ‘Or I could just shoot him right here. Save ourselves the trip.’

  Fear elbowed arrogance from Ormandy’s face. He’d struck a nerve.

  He swung the gun away and fired twice. Finch’s head snapped back. He slumped, his cuffed left hand suspending him in mid-air somewhere between sprawled and standing.

  Sofi screamed and clutched her hands to her face. ‘Was that really necessary, Helix,’ she demanded.

  Helix’s brow furrowed as he looked at the slumped man. ‘Hang on. The last time I saw him, I’m certain I broke his jaw and his nose was smeared across his face.’ Crossing to Finch’s corpse, he swung the blade across its wrist, just below the handcuff, the limb remained attached. ‘Where’s the blood?’

  Sofi rushed at him. ‘What in God’s name are you doing? He’s dead, Helix.’

  ‘He’s not dead,’ he said retracting the blade. ‘Remember the park? Remember McGill?’ He glanced at Wheeler. ‘Remember?’

  Wheeler’s eyes darted at Finch. ‘It’s one of those…’

  ‘A shrink-wrap, as we like to call them,’ he said, turning the gun back on Wheeler.

  ‘Finch already knows too much for his pay grade, I hope you’ve got him locked up somewhere safe, Home Secretary. He has a horrible habit of opening his mouth when he should keep it closed.’

  Sofi spoke into his implant. ‘She’s cut comms to the ops room.’

  ‘Thought she might.’

  Ormandy leaned closer to the camera. ‘What have you done, Justin?’

  ‘It’s OK, Julia,’ Wheeler said, his hands held up. ‘He doesn’t know enough. But he is serious.’

  ‘So, Home Secretary. We’re coming to London and we won’t be expecting a welcoming committee. Right now, you should have someone searching the Justice database to locate the IDs on the charges in Wheeler’s neck and turn them off. You’re wasting your time. Even if you can get past the new administrator’s password, when you get in, you’ll find they’re not there.’

  Ormandy threw her head back. ‘Your brother. I knew it.’

  ‘I told you Ethan has been taken hostage, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely blind.’ Helix said, his fist smashing onto the desktop. He raised a finger. ‘But I will know if you haven’t issued the order to stand everyone down. I will also know if we’re being followed. You need to make another appearance on TV and tell the great and the good in the capital about your mistake. If you’re quick you should be able to catch the lunchtime news. I know you’re thinking through your options. I suggest you don’t waste your time. As your friend here said,’ he placed his hand on Wheeler’s shoulder, ‘I am serious. In case you didn’t get the message with Finch, let me show you.’

  Sofi didn’t need any prompting.

  Wheeler snapped upright in the chair. He gagged, his eyes wide. ‘What’s—’ he spluttered, his hands to his throat. ‘No,’ he howled as the muscles in his neck tightened and twisted like thick ropes. His fingers probed at the pronounced bulge at each side of his throat. He braced himself against the edge of the desk as the pressure built. Unable to breathe, unable to speak, saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth, sweat beading his brow.

  ‘OK. That’s enough.’

  Wheeler slumped onto the desk like a man back from the brink of drowning, gasping grateful lungfuls of air.

  Helix zipped his jacket and folded his arms. ‘You have fifteen minutes.’

  27

  ‘Thank you, Director General,’ Ormandy said. ‘My assistant will come back to you with the detail. I’d be happy to give another interview, but unfortunately my agenda is full. I’m sure you understand.’ She ended the call. ‘Shit!’ Steadying herself against the edge of her desk, she pushed away, bending at the waist, pressing her forehead to the cool glass desktop. The situation was getting out of control. ‘Damn you, Justin,’ she snapped. He was meant to have disappeared into obscurity. She took a deep breath and raised herself up. If he hadn’t run straight back to his mud-hut-dwelling ex-wife, his path would never have crossed with Helix’s. What the hell had he told that Neanderthal?

  She weighed a bottle of 50-year-old Cragganmore single malt whisky in her hand. The cork yielded with a faint pop. Whatever Wheeler had said, Helix thought he had the advantage. She poured a measure of the amber liquid, added a dash of water. The whisky’s wooded aroma rose to meet her as she sipped. If Helix wanted to press the self-destruct button, she needed to make sure she wasn’t caught in the fall out. Rolling the creamy-textured spirit around her mouth, she unbuttoned her jacket and slumped back into her chair. The whisky did nothing to temper the words of news ticker at the bottom of the BBC broadcast. ‘Home Secretary announces Gabrielle Stepper letter is a hoax.’ She took a greedy gulp. The spirit caught in her throat, moistening her eyes. ‘Investigation to be dropped. Stay tuned for more on this breaking story.’ She slammed the tumbler onto the toughened-glass desktop.

  ‘What is it, Gemma?’ she barked, more harshly than she’d intended. Glancing toward the half-open door, she swallowed her rage. ‘You off out for lunch?’

  The PA stepped inside, the collar of her khaki raincoat turned up, the belt tight around her waist. ‘Your order from La Perla has just been delivered,’ she said, her long fingers on the belt of the coat.

  ‘OK, great. I’ll look later.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment.’

  ‘Oh,’ Gemma said. ‘I thought you’d like to see it.’ The belt slipped undone. Sliding her hand inside the coat she swept it open, her hand on her hip, the full set of black lingerie contrasting against her pale toned body. ‘What do you think?’

  A warm glow bloomed over Ormandy’s stomach and thighs as her eyes ran over her assistant’s slender form. She cleared her throat. ‘You could have just brought in the box.’ She sipped her whisky. It was tempting but she had other things on her mind.

  ‘I ordered the same set,’ Gemma added, slipping the coat from her shoulders.

  Ormandy pressed her hands together in front of her face, glanced at the door to the bedroom. ‘I guess we both have good taste.’ She slipped her thumbnail between her teeth. No. ‘Could you get Lieutenant Dempsey on the phone for me please, Gemma?’

  ‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’ She snatched the coat up from the floor, pulled it on and made for the door.

  Ormandy crossed her legs and watched her go. Her eyes sauntered back to one of the monitors. The breaking news had broken. The news anchor was recounting the original story, overlaying the latest developments and reassuring viewers that more intriguing details were to follo
w. Ormandy rested her glass against her bottom lip. The promised statement wouldn’t arrive. There would be no more to tell.

  Gemma appeared on a neighbouring screen. ‘Lieutenant Dempsey, for you,’ she said, her tone perfunctory.

  ‘Ah Dempsey, I have something for you,’ Ormandy said with enough impatience to put the man on edge. ‘Yes, it’s me who should look surprised. Alas, it seems I have a dog, but I’m having to do all of the barking.’

  The man’s shirt collar twitched against his Adam’s apple. ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Can you give me the current whereabouts of Justin Wheeler?’

  ‘Certainly, Home Secretary. We can locate him via his tags.’

  ‘Very good.’ Ormandy finished her whisky. ‘Do it now. I’ll wait.’

  Dempsey straightened his already straight tie, his eyes on another monitor. ‘Just bringing up the Justice Ministry—’

  ‘I don’t need the running commentary, Lieutenant,’ she said, brushing her fingers over the sleeve of her jacket. ‘Have you found them?’

  ‘Just searching for them…’

  ‘You won’t find them by looking over your shoulder, Dempsey.’ She brushed her glass aside. ‘Look at me. You won’t find them because they are not there, at least not where they should be.’

  ‘I don’t understand, ma’am.’

  ‘Ethan Helix.’ She folded her arms. ‘Somebody else you can’t find. The reason you can’t locate Wheeler is because Ethan Helix has been poking his sticky little fingers where they don’t belong and has moved his tags outside of the Justice Ministry system.’

  ‘But the tags will still work, Home Secretary. If Chancellor, I mean, if Mr Wheeler gets within—’

  ‘Exactly. I want you to deactivate his tags for the next 48 hours.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. Find a solution. Think!’

  Dempsey ran his hand over his mouth. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Hallelujah.’ Ormandy got to her feet and returned to the drinks cabinet. ‘Go ahead, astonish me,’ she said, pulling the cork.

  ‘It’s not the most elegant solution.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But it should work.’

  Ormandy spun around from the cabinet. ‘I’ll come back to you. I have another call I need to take.’ She left her drink where it was, returned to her desk and brushed Dempsey’s call aside. ‘Prime Minister, good afternoon.’

  ‘It was, Julia,’ the PM said, lifting her heavy-rimmed glasses to the top of her wavy grey hair. ‘I suppose I don’t need to ask you if you’ve seen the news, given that the source of the story was probably you or your office.’

  Why didn’t the old bat just get to the point? ‘You mean Stepper’s letter?’

  ‘Lettergate or Gabriellegate they’re already calling it,’ she replied, throwing her hands up. ‘We don’t need another scandal, Julia. How can something so solid suddenly become so unreliable?’

  ‘Technology I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘Deep fakes have been around for years but they’re always evolving, it’s difficult to believe anything you see these days.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, Julia. I might be an old fart but I’m not stupid.’ She returned her glasses to her nose and peered over them. ‘You need to kill it and quickly.’

  ‘I’m already on it, Prime Minister,’ she lied. ‘It’ll be dead and buried before the end of the day.’

  28

  22 Hours

  Wheeler had made a meal of bundling Finch’s shrink-wrap down the stairs and outside. After he’d finished, Helix allowed him to shower. In spite of its association with the disgraced politician, the gatehouse had something about it that appealed to Helix. He rotated slowly in the office chair. It was away from the city but without the hardships of woodland life. Enough space, with a few enhancements. It was close enough to the village. Gabrielle could see SJ while still being a doctor and teacher. It would make a great hideout for Ethan. That said, he would have a hard time convincing his brother to accept another Wheeler family hand-me-down. He shook away the blame he’d hung upon himself. Ethan could have said no to the Observatory. It was only half his fault.

  Wheeler muttered something about clothes before skulking off to the shower, saying, ‘Digger clothing was hardly going to allow them to keep a low profile once back in the city.’ He may have a point. Helix’s clothes didn’t make any difference. His height and build were enough to turn people’s heads regardless of what he was wearing. He’d told Sofi to see if there was anything with a hood for her. Something similar to what Gabrielle was wearing when he met her for the first time. Just before he’d arrested her on suspicion of murder. He shook his head. So much shit in such a short amount of time.

  ‘Two drones incoming,’ Sofi reported from downstairs.

  The chair shot back on its wheels. Helix hammered on the bathroom door. ‘Move your arse, Wheeler. We’ve got company.’ He didn’t wait for a reply. Plunging down the stairs, he caught the thin metal bannister, steadying himself as his oversized feet slipped on the undersized steps. He ducked under the low door into the bedroom. Sofi stood at the shattered window, dressed in only a pair of black lace knickers with a matching bra. He paused a beat, reminded himself it wasn’t Gabrielle and stood at her shoulder.

  ‘Non-military. Too small for troop carrying,’ she updated.

  Helix’s brow creased as he zoomed in. ‘They’re carrying something.’

  ‘It’s a window,’ Sofi said, moving back from the window and assessing its dimensions. ‘It’s a glass replacement service.’

  Helix holstered his weapon and turned towards her.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, looking down at the underwear.

  ‘I think it would be a lot better if you put some bloody clothes on.’ He sighed, staring into the open wardrobe. Clearly Wheeler had thought he’d be able to charm Gabrielle out of the woods with clothes and home comforts. She wasn’t that shallow. She couldn’t stand her ex-husband before his downfall, and she hated him afterwards.

  ‘My goodness, Gabrielle,’ Wheeler said from the door. ‘Have you lost weight?’

  ‘Sod off, Justin,’ she said, sheltering behind Helix as she pulled on a cream blouse.

  Dressed in a silk robe, he stepped over to the wardrobe. ‘Did you find something to wear?’

  ‘Who ordered the window?’ Helix said.

  Wheeler leaned around the wardrobe door, a striped shirt in his hand. ‘It ordered itself. Smart technology. Following your act of vandalism a replacement would have been ordered. It’ll only take about ten minutes to fit.’ He examined the shirt, shook his head and replaced it. ‘Perhaps not. Now let me—’

  ‘You’re not dressing to impress, Wheeler. You’re dead to the people in the capital. All you need to do is blend in with all the other sheep.’

  Helix ducked his head. The drones were close, the small rotors audible over the heavy rain. Sofi slipped on a pair of black ballet flats, completing her outfit.

  The drone’s lasers located and began cutting away the old frame and the shattered fragments of glass as they hovered around the aperture. The new window was eased into place, sealed and secured, shutting out the sound of the rain. Helix peered through it, watching as they collected the debris, loaded it into a sack and buzzed away into the rain-laden clouds. ‘OK. Change your clothes,’ he said.

  Sofi’s scowled. ‘I’ve only just got dressed.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. And you, Wheeler.’ He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, pale blue shirt and black jacket. He laid them on the bed next to Sofi. ‘You can keep the smalls.’

  She gave a derisory flick of her eyebrows. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is that really necessary, Major?’

  ‘Yes. Those things have cameras. Ormandy knows where we are. If they’ve been hijacked, anyone looking in now knows what we’re wearing. That will make us easier to track once we’re in the city. Changing might buy us a bit of time, but not much.’

  ‘A lit
tle paranoid, aren’t we?’ Wheeler huffed.

  ‘I’m not the one who keeps dirt on politicians written on paper.’

  ‘Touché, Major.’

  ‘Listen, Wheeler. This is not blokey banter between us. I’m only helping you to help us,’ Helix said, jabbing Wheeler in the chest with his prosthetic finger. ‘I’m not your buddy. I’m bad fucking news. I own you. Look at me.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Now, shut your trap and get dressed.’

  Helix opened the flap on his jacket sleeve. Responding to the tapped commands, the smart-fabric of his jacket and trousers rustled as it morphed into a three-quarter length hooded brown leather jacket over jeans with black leather boots. He pulled his Ray-Bans from his inside pocket and perched them on top of his head.

  The new window framed the leaden sky that had all the appearance of the dusk that wasn’t due to fall for several more hours. The antique clock on the mantlepiece chimed the hour, it was 14:00. Gabrielle would be concluding the day’s lessons within the hour. The kids would go off to their evening chores. The adults would go about theirs. Then they would all come together in the dining hall, noisy, tired, happy and hungry. She would be amongst them, a spark in her eyes, her skin aglow.

  Sofi whispered into his dream. ‘I’ve got transport organised. ETA seven minutes.’

  He opened his eyes and she was there, looking up at him. He swallowed. ‘What have we got?’

  ‘Untagged AV from the maintenance pool at Filton.’

  ‘If it’s untagged, how does it know where it’s going?’

  ‘I’m driving. Software me, not Gabrielle me.’

  ‘I’d assumed that. OK. Let’s go.’ He should have realised. Ethan had conjured vehicles seemingly out of thin air on many occasions without anyone noticing. Why should she have been any different? ‘Once we’re in town, try to avoid any eye contact,’ he said, turning from the window. ‘Don’t interact with anything or anyone. Ormandy will have surveillance hooked up to everything that uses biometrics or facial recognition. She’s given orders not to approach but it doesn’t mean she’s not watching.’