by Chris Lofts
‘So, where did it come from?’ Wheeler said.
Helix glanced at Sofi. ‘It’s impressive. Way better than anything we could have come up with. But still not real.’
‘The clothes are wrong,’ Sofi sniffed. ‘That wasn’t what I was wearing.’
‘Ethan searched everywhere for surveillance in Lytkin’s apartment,’ Helix added. ‘There was nothing. No cameras so no video.’ He put down the gun and fixed his eyes on Wheeler.
Wheeler shrugged. ‘Where did it come from?’
Helix frowned. ‘Ulyana Lytkin.’
30
18 Hours
Wheeler’s pacing up and down was grating on Helix. As he’d summarised what had happened to himself and Ethan and Lytkin’s demands, the colour had drained from the former politician’s face. Was Wheeler’s reaction genuine or an act? If it was the latter, he should forget politics and take up the theatre. ‘So, you’re saying that Valerian didn’t even know his sister was alive?’ Helix said, reassembling his gun.
Wheeler slopped more brandy into his glass. ‘If he did, he never said a word to—’
‘But you were his friend.’
‘Well. Yes. But he hardly ever mentioned her,’ Wheeler said, spinning around to face Sofi. ‘What about you, Gabrielle? You were close. Did he—’
‘No,’ the AI replied. ‘He just said that she disappeared as they fled Ukraine.’
Helix needed to cut off this line of questioning. Sofi had limited knowledge of Gabrielle’s past life apart from what she’d told Helix when they’d first met.
‘But he must have—’ Wheeler persisted.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Helix said, taking the brandy bottle from him. ‘Whether he did or didn’t, it’s irrelevant. She’s real. She’s in London and she’s holding my brother.’
Wheeler slumped onto the sofa, running his fingers down his cheeks. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said, switching his hands to his thighs. ‘She’s been able to stay hidden all these years. What’s she like?’
Helix frowned. ‘If I was being kind, I’d say unhinged. I didn’t get to meet the real Ulyana Lytkin. She’s a bit twitchy about her identity given that she presented herself as four or five different people during our short meeting.’
‘I imagine that you thought Valerian Lytkin was unhinged too. But he was brilliant.’
‘No. I’m going to stick with unhinged and what’s more, I think she’s cleaning up.’ He poured a measure of brandy into his empty cup and passed the bottle back to Wheeler. ‘Yawlander and Blackburn,’ he mused, staring into his cup. ‘It’s a start.’
Wheeler froze, his eyes fixed on Helix. ‘Cleaning up?’
Helix nodded. ‘Makes sense.’ He sipped his brandy. He’d had better. ‘She’s got Ethan, she wants Gabrielle and when I deliver her, she’ll try to take me out as well.’
He tapped out a short drum roll with his fingers. ‘If she succeeds, after she’s finished with us, she’ll tie up any other loose ends.’
‘Loose ends? What loose ends?’ Wheeler laughed. ‘You surely don’t mean me, do you?’ His eyes darted between Helix and Sofi. ‘I was his—’
‘You’re starting to sound like a parrot.’ Helix sighed. ‘Be under no illusions. She’ll come for you too.’ He nodded, happy with his conclusion.
Wheeler wrung his hands and loosened his tie. ‘She doesn’t know where I am.’
‘Not yet,’ Helix said, pointing to his right eye. ‘But I’m sure she watches the news.’ He climbed up from his chair and stretched. ‘Did you know everything I see with my right eye is recorded? Ethan may be temporarily offline but his AI isn’t. It listens, it sees and it could, if I told it to, distribute footage of you leaving Paddington station. We could even go live from our living room.’ He clamped his hand on Wheeler’s shoulder. ‘But look, I’m a reasonable man. If you work with me, I can protect you. The last place you need to be at the moment is here, in London.’
‘What have you got in mind?’
Helix pulled the curtain aside and looked out. ‘It’s dark and still pissing down. That’ll make things easier. We need to keep off public transport so I hope those shoes are good for walking.’
‘Where are we going?’
Helix slung his holsters over his shoulders. ‘To collect the dirt you have on Ormandy.’
‘Nice try, Major. You might be in a bit of a pickle with her at the moment, but I know where your loyalties lie. You’ll take the information and use it to curry favour with her and ship me off to halo-confinement. No, thanks.’ Wheeler pressed the glass to his forehead. ‘I’d sooner die.’
‘Hmm. Tempting but I’ve got better things to do than pull her strings. That said, nothing would make me happier that to see her go the same way as you.’
‘And what about Ulyana Lytkin? Your masterplan doesn’t resolve that issue, does it?’
Helix tidied the gun cleaning kit back into its box. ‘True. But I’ll take my chances.’ He folded the silver case closed and pressed down on it with his palms. ‘So, I guess, if your answer is no, then you’ll be taking your chances with Miss Lytkin too.’ He folded his arms. ‘Or I could just shoot you. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. I’d be doing you a favour.’
Wheeler searched for the answer in the bottom of his empty glass. Helix left him to it, taking the second of the two cases into the bedroom. He heaved it onto the bed, opened it and checked the contents.
‘I’ve got the munchies,’ he said, returning to the sitting room. ‘There’s a place purporting to be Lebanese just out on the main road. They do deliveries.’
Sofi sauntered over to him. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’m tired. Think I’ll take a nap.’
‘OK. Close the door so we don’t disturb you,’ he said. He clapped his hands together. ‘Right. Food. What do you fancy?’
Wheeler sighed. ‘Alright, Major.’
‘I know what I’m having. You?’
‘No. I meant alright, I’ll take you there.’
Helix feigned surprise. ‘Excellent choice. But I still need to eat.’
Helix teased a piece of laboratory lamb from between his teeth with a toothpick and nodded towards the TV. ‘Another ten-thousand people out of work thanks to the unrelenting drive of technology,’ he said.
‘Don’t you ever crave more time to yourself?’ Wheeler replied, pushing away his half-eaten food. ‘To do the things you want to do, catch up with friends, go to the theatre, the opera, a concert, dining out?’
‘The opera? Me? I’d go out of my mind with boredom.’ Helix tore off a piece of pita bread and wiped the gravy from his plate. ‘No. I’m too busy catching bad guys and there aren’t many of them these days, present company excepted. It’s not for me,’ he said, pausing to swallow. ‘I mean look at the castle in Chepstow. Where was the pleasure in that for you?’
‘It’s nice to have nice things, Major,’ Wheeler said, folding his napkin.
‘To have nice things. Served on a silver salver or a paper plate in my world. What about making those things for yourself? The planning, gathering the tools and materials, preparing the site, sweating the blood, and then standing back and admiring your handiwork.’
Wheeler shrugged. ‘Never been very good with my hands.’
‘Apart from counting beans.’
‘Very droll, Major.’ He interlaced his fingers. ‘We’ve come a long way since the pandemic, don’t you think? People, I mean.’
‘Some people. Mainly in the cardinal cities. What about the folks outside? The diggers as your sort call them.’
‘I think they’re content with their lives. For all the reasons you listed. They’ve evolved just as much as the city folk. They’ve found a way to—’
‘Out of necessity. Natural selection, survival of the fittest. Call it what you like. But better to evolve rather than be evolved by some unnatural ethereal force. Give me Darwin any day. And a fat lot of help they’ve had. To be honest, I reckon even if you offer
ed help, they’d tell you where to stick it.’
‘They made their choices.’
‘If they had a few million in the bank when the shit hit the fan, maybe.’ Helix folded his arms. ‘Otherwise, the only choice they had was leave or die. Personally, I reckon they made the right choice.’
‘So, what’s holding you back? If you’re such a fan of their way of life, why don’t you join them?’
‘Perhaps I will. The way you lot are going it won’t be long before the folks outside organise daytrips to come and stare through the glass. To watch you swimming around the aquarium waiting for the all-powerful Gaia to drop a bit more fish food on the surface of the water. Gaia’s pets,’ he concluded, stacking the plates and cutlery.
‘Oh no,’ Wheeler gasped, pointing to the TV. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Someone you know?’ Helix said, reading the ticker announcing the death of a prominent Member of Parliament. ‘How many does that leave?’
‘MPs?’ Wheeler said, shifting from the table to the sofa. ‘Forty-nine in London.’
‘Down from how many after the pandemic?’
‘What? Oh, 73 I think it was,’ he mumbled, lost in the TV coverage. ‘Why’s that?’
‘The other three cardinal cities have fewer than that combined.’
‘About 46 I think.’
Helix cleared the table and made coffee. The Parliamentary system was broken before the pandemic and even in its born-again form, it fixed everything else except itself. It operated, if operated was the right word, like some incestuous club that was no longer open for new members. Taking advice from the wise oracle, aka Gaia, votes to redraw constituency boundaries, like most things, went through unopposed, negating the requirement for an inconvenient by-election. Helix didn’t need Wheeler to tell him, he knew his life in the city was drawing to a close, but not just yet.
Back in the sitting room, he passed Wheeler a cup. ‘What? It’s coffee, not cyanide. I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself by staggering around,’ he said. Pulling a small daysack from the case, he rolled up his leather jacket and stuffed it inside along with his jeans. He pulled on a fresh pair of smart-fabric trousers and hung the matching jacket over the back of the chair, issuing a set of commands via the screen in the sleeve and running the diagnostics. Satisfied everything was working, he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Sofi was sitting on the side of the bed, the second case open beside her, the Glock lying on the duvet. Shards of light cut through the gaps in the curtains, casting triangular shadows across the magnolia walls. Helix picked up the Glock and checked the magazine. ‘Any chatter?’ he said, tossing it back on the bed.
‘Nothing specific to us. All routine stuff.’
‘Where’s Ormandy?’ He lifted a panel from inside the case.
‘10 Downing Street. Dinner with the PM and her favoured candidate to replace Yawlander.’
‘Already? She’s not wasting any time.’ He took four demolition charges from their moulded recesses and checked the batteries and laser locators. ‘Obviously realised there was more to the job than she thought. Who is it, anyone we know?’ To the charges he added two halo-cuffs.
‘Brigadier Ortega, from Bristol.’
‘That sycophant.’ Helix snorted. ‘Still, makes sense. Ormandy prefers people who agree with her.’ He shoved the charges into a small cloth bag. ‘She’s not next in seniority. She obviously doesn’t care about pissing the others off.’ He sighed. ‘Happy days.’ Picking over the remaining items in the case, he flipped the partition, his fingers resting on the matt black Heckler and Koch MP5. From a similar era to his P226s, it was old but reliable. He packed it into the rucksack with four spare clips of ammunition, a three point sling and four multi-mode grenades. ‘OK. All set. Remember who you are. None of the Ninja shit I know Ethan will have taught you. I’ll see you later.’
‘Have you worked it out yet?’ she said.
‘The location of Wheeler’s stash?’ He nodded. ‘Yep. At least roughly. We’ll see.’
31
16 Hours
Helix pulled the hood of his jacket forward and leaned into the rain. As expected, the streets were quieter, people taking shelter in the restaurants and bars or hiding beneath umbrellas as they hurried home or towards the station. The air was heavy with the scent of wet plastic, wet concrete, wet dog and whatever wet stuff the street-cleaning rovers sprayed. The opening and closing of restaurant doors competed, ushering out the fleeting aromas of food and the hum of hospitality. Pausing at the edge of Bayswater Road, waiting for the crossing lights to change, Helix breathed in a distant memory carried on the breeze from Hyde Park. The earthy memory of the woods. The woods and the village in Tintern, the woods of his childhood where he built camps and fought mock battles with Ethan and Jon with swords fashioned from sticks.
‘I imagine Gabrielle is quite relieved not to be with us,’ Wheeler said, dragging him back to the present. ‘I’m still surprised that you chose not to bring her with us,’ he added looking at his shoes.
‘She’ll be safer where she is.’
‘Yes, but safety in numbers and all that.’
‘Look, Wheeler, just leave safety and security to those who know what they’re doing. You clearly haven’t got a clue. You’re more interested in your shoes than those two guys following us.’
‘Where. Which ones?’ he said, his eyes darting between the faces of the bedraggled pedestrians.
‘My point exactly.’ Helix sighed, raising his eyebrows inside his hood. ‘There’s nobody there. Come on.’
Wheeler held on to his hat, dancing around a puddle as the lights changed. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To collect the loot.’
‘But I haven’t told you where it is,’ he said, trotting to keep up as Helix stepped off the North Carriage Drive and onto one of the paths that criss-crossed the park.
Helix slowed. ‘If I was going in completely the wrong direction you would have told me.’
Wheeler nodded. ‘You’re still cold, but heading for warm.’
‘Good. I know if it was down to you, you would have jumped in a cab or on the loop, immediately announcing to all those watching where you are and where you’re going.’
‘A taxi would have been preferable. Besides you told Ormandy to stand—’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Helix said, coming to a stand. ‘Will you shut up. Your constant jabbering is getting on my bloody nerves. We’re going to cross Hyde Park, then Green Park, over St James’s and then on towards Lambeth Bridge.’
‘Why not Westminster Bridge?’
‘What’s at Westminster?’
‘Parliament.’
‘Exactly. Is that where it’s hidden?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I thought not. It’s a relief to know even you’re not that fucking stupid.’
Helix stepped out, switching his right eye between night vision and thermal, scanning the paths and shadows ahead. The few pedestrians cutting through the park were more interested in getting out of the rain than in them. Wheeler had fallen silent. Helix side-stepped a puddle, the gravel at the edge of the path crunching under his boots.
A faint beep in his ear announced a call. The absence of a number on the screen set into his jacket sleeve added to his impatience. He tapped the screen, hunching his shoulders against the rain. ‘Helix. Hello.’ The line remained silent. The hairs on his neck rose. He disconnected the call and turned, half expecting Wheeler to be gawping back at him, but he wasn’t there.
A flood of adrenalin hit him. He instinctively unholstered one of his guns, scanned left then right. Wheeler was nowhere. He extended the range, the night vision and thermal overlays overwhelmed by the lights and traffic on the Bayswater Road. Four lanes of slow-moving AVs filled the road. Pedestrians dotted the pavements, heads down, umbrellas up. Helix zoomed and scanned what faces he could. A duo of umbrellas sprung apart, repelled by each other, a small disturbance in the rain-drenched trudge. Anot
her two. The same. Two more. A distinctive fedora bobbing and weaving. Wheeler.
Helix chose the shortest route between him and his quarry. Sprinting over the muddy grass he made for the low metal railings. Leading with his left foot he hurdled the barrier. The pavement was greasy. He slipped as he landed, cannoned off the trunk of a tree. With his footing regained, he craned his neck looking over the glistening procession of vehicles filling the road. He ranged the distance to Wheeler. Ninety-eight yards. A junction ahead of him.
Horns sounded, tyres screeched as they fought for grip as Helix plunged through the traffic. Umbrellas and pedestrians scattered as he mounted the pavement like an out-of-control juggernaut. What the hell was Wheeler doing? Helix wiped the rain from his face and ploughed on. Wheeler hesitated at the junction, conditioned to obey the signals, distrusting of the vehicles’ collision avoidance systems.
Helix accelerated. ‘Wheeler!’
His target froze, looked around towards the sound of his name.
‘Stop.’ Helix yelled, closing the distance.
Wheeler bolted. A large AV blocked his path. He rebounded off the smooth bodywork, stunned. The door slid aside. Two cropped heavy-set men lunged from the interior, hands outstretched.
Helix changed gears, his arms and legs pumping as he sprinted towards the junction. What was unfolding before him wasn’t road rage. The men weren’t disgruntled passengers. Helix slid to a stop, dropped to one knee and fired two rapid shots. The first shot knocked one of the men back inside the vehicle. The second man fired back. Helix rolled aside as he heard the shots. Wheeler fell. ‘Shit,’ he cursed.
The standing man moved towards Wheeler’s slumped form. Helix exploded forward, swapping his gun from his right to his left hand. The blade sprung from between his knuckles as he fell upon Wheeler’s assailant. Driving forward with his right shoulder he plunged the blade into the man’s chest. He was dead before Helix crushed him into the pavement. Terrified pedestrians screamed and scattered. Helix rolled away. Shards of cement exploded from the ground beside him. He swung his weapon up, painted the target and squeezed the trigger. The top of the man’s shaved head exploded.