Agency O

by Tor Fleck

  Ipcress is a subsidiary of Tor-izon Inc.

  A hand clamped onto Paul’s shoulder and he leapt to his feet in fright. ‘Fu-u-u-u-ck!’

  ‘Shh!’ whispered Richard, pushing Paul gently back into his seat. ‘It’s a fucking library, no a play park.’ The lank-haired librarian at the desk opposite glowered in their direction. Richard clocked her and smiled back obsequiously. ‘And we’re no getting a ride aff her.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Paul, his head still reeling from his dive into the dark web of cyber brainwashing.

  ‘I thought you might like to accompany me to the local hostelry,’ said Richard. ‘You look like you could do with a pint.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Twenty to seven.’

  ‘I thought it was earlier.’

  ‘Come on.’ Richard picked up Paul’s bag and handed it to him. ‘I’m giving you an order, soldier.’

  ‘But we don’t have any money.’

  Richard flashed his credit card. ‘This’ll do nicely.’

  Four pints later they were back out on the street and heading home.

  ‘So that’s it sorted then,’ said Richard. ‘We take down Agency O before they brainwash us all, then we take out the CIA, and then we establish a new social order, with me as the omnipotent demagogue leader serviced by a harem of nubile adoring followers. Correct?’

  ‘Impotent, more like,’ slurred Paul. ‘Let’s get a bag of chips.’ They stopped at the lights. As they waited for them to change, a car up ahead revved its engine. ‘Alpha wanker,’ Richard muttered. The lights changed, and he and Paul crossed. Through the haze of alcohol, Paul thought the car looked familiar. ‘That car,’ he said, ‘it looks like – ’ Before he could finish, the car was careering towards them, its tyres squealing and spinning on the tarmac.

  ‘Look out!’ Paul shouted, slamming his body into Richard’s, knocking them both to the side of the road. The car sped past, missing them by inches. At the next set of lights, it handbrake turned and accelerated back towards them again.

  ‘Run!’ Paul yelled. Scrambling to their feet, they sprinted down the street. The car raced after them, mounting the pavement and bouncing on its hydraulics like something out of Mad Max. Paul grabbed Richard’s collar and shoved him through a gap in the railing, following him down a set of steps into a basement. The car screeched to a halt at the top of the steps, its engine rasping like a determined killer. Paul and Richard lay still, too scared even to breathe. Above them, the passenger side door was pushed open, but before anyone could get out of the car it was shunted into the railings from behind. Twice. Three times. Avoiding a fourth time, the driver spun the wheel and tore off, tyres squealing.

  Paul lay on top of Richard in a heap of shock. Slowly, they disentangled and sat up. ‘What the fuck was that?’ wheezed Richard.

  ‘Bastards!’ screamed Paul. He helped Richard to his feet. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  Richard checked his arms and legs for injuries. ‘I think so. Thanks, pal,’ he said, placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘You saved my life.’

  Car headlights flashed down at them from the top of the steps.

  ‘They’ve come back!’ cried Paul, and he and Richard ducked back down into the gloom.

  The driver’s door swung open and the large pumpkin-sized head of Detective Quinn appeared. ‘Come on!’ he gestured to them.

  Paul and Richard stared at each other, not sure exactly how to react.

  ‘Now!’ Quinn’s order had the terrified pair scrambling back up the steps. They pushed through the railing and approached Quinn’s car, the bumper hanging by a thread.

  Quinn was squeezed into the driver’s seat like an elephant trapped in a sardine tin, his gut engulfing the steering wheel. The interior resembled a mobile landfill site, with half-crushed wrappers, empty food cartons, and coffee cups scattered all over the seats and floor. A slice of half-eaten pizza lay on the dash. It was as though the entire inside of the car was smeared in congealed fat. ‘If you want to stay breathing,’ said Quinn, ‘get the fuck in!’ Richard immediately jumped in the front, leaving Paul to handle the foul-smelling detritus in the back. The engine roared, the wheels spun, and Quinn bounced the broken car off down the uneven street.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ shouted Paul from the back, the smell of sweat and rotting food invading his nostrils. ‘Those were the same arseholes that terrorised my mum and dad!’ Quinn took a hard right, almost knocking Paul into a foil carton of discarded vindaloo. He drove like a maniac, crunching gears, ignoring signs and traffic lights, and hurtling round corners at breakneck speed. He seemed to prefer it to speaking.

  ‘Stop!’ Paul cried out again. We’re going to die! We’re going to die! We’re going to die!

  The car raced on, down to the bottom of Byers Road, then out towards the fringes of the city. Finally, it slowed, turned into a deserted industrial estate, and screeched to a halt.

  ‘Okay,’ said Richard, his throat rasping, ‘so what the actual fuck is ha – ?’

  ‘Shut your hole,’ Quinn barked, his mid-Atlantic twang lending him such an air of harsh authority it immediately clammed Richard up. Paul watched from the back seat as the detective checked his mirrors, keeping an eye on the car park entrance and shuttered lock-ups beyond. The tension was too much for Paul and he lost his patience. ‘Look, Detective,’ he said, ‘you clearly know what that was all about back there, but if you don’t start talking, right now, we’ll – ’

  ‘You’ll what?’ growled Quinn, twisting his fat neck round. ‘What is it you think you’ll do, dickhead? Here’s what you’ll do. You’ll shut that pussy hole of yours and fucking listen.’ Chastened by the detective’s sudden personality transplant, Paul shrank back into his seat.

  ‘You still have absolutely no idea, do you?’ asked Quinn.

  ‘About what?’ Paul’s voice was small and tinny, as though talking into a bin.

  ‘You two fuckwits are up to your gullets in shit,’ said Quinn, ‘and you’re utterly fucking clueless.’ He let out a loud belch of a laugh, and the car’s suspension squeaked in response.

  ‘So enlighten us,’ said Richard, playing the tough guy role.

  The detective squirmed and groaned as he battled his bulging gut sideways to face Richard. ‘Don’t be a prick,’ he snarled. ‘It’s extremely important that you listen to what I have to say.’

  ‘So say it,’ Richard replied defiantly. ‘We’re all ears.’

  ‘You think I’m doing all this for you?’ snapped Quinn. ‘I couldn’t give a gorilla’s tiny cock about either of you.’ He ran a tired hand over his face. ‘I’ve been working myself raw on this investigation for two years – two whole fucking years – and then you two clowns stumble onto the set and jeopardise the whole fucking movie.’ Beads of sweat trickled down his bloated, flushed cheeks.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Richard interrupted, ‘but what the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘The script, shit-for-brains! The script!’

  ‘Our script?’

  ‘Is there an echo in here?’ said Quinn. ‘That piece of crap you posted all over the Internet.’

  ‘What investigation?’ Paul interrupted from the back.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ said Quinn sarcastically. ‘Still cowering like a child in the shadows, are we? I almost forgot you were there.’ He tried to twist further round but his belly refused to budge.

  ‘You talked before about an ongoing investigation,’ said Paul cautiously, fearing another ferocious response.

  ‘I work for the US Government,’ said Quinn. ‘That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘You mean like the IRS? No wait, I’ve got it, you’re a federal librarian, aren’t you?’ Richard mocked.

  ‘Yeah, go ahead,’ said Quinn. ‘You won’t be laughing when the bastards stop playing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Paul.

  ‘Your script kicked a hornet’s nest,’ said Quinn, ‘and now they’ve sent their best soldiers out to
defend their kingdom. You two bozos have made it damn near impossible for me to conclude my investigation, and I was this close.’ He held up a fist and clicked his fingers in Richard’s face.

  Richard didn’t flinch. ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘You expect us to believe that bullshit? So you’re saying you’re a CIA operative, is that it? You?’ He looked down at Quinn’s gut hanging over the steering wheel.

  ‘Who said anything about the CIA?’ said Quinn. ‘I’m a librarian, remember? You lard-lumps have fucked my case over and now you owe me.’

  ‘I am very particular about what or who I fuck,’ Richard snapped back.

  ‘Let him finish, Richard,’ said Paul. He turned to Quinn. ‘Are you saying some kind of organisation is behind the threats and attacks?’

  ‘Join the dots, dipshit. Right now, they’re just playing with you, but make no mistake, they want you gone.’

  ‘But that’s just crazy. Our script is bullshit fiction. It’s total bollocks. We just made it up. Surely they must know that?’

  Quinn wiped his brow with a pudgy hand. ‘Your script cuts a little too close to the knuckle. They don’t know how or why, but they think you know more than you do.’

  ‘We don’t know anything,’ said Paul.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ sniffed Richard.

  ‘You’re idiots,’ said Quinn, ‘but they don’t know that. They see you as a threat. You’re messing with some very bad people. Dangerous people. That’s why you need me to help you.’

  ‘What do you want from us?’ asked Paul.

  Quinn twisted his bulk a little more so he could look Paul in the eye. ‘Right now, it’s all about intimidation,’ he said. ‘They’re just biding their time.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘They want your script and they’re trying to frighten you into handing it over to them.’

  ‘What will they do with it?’

  ‘Destroy it, of course. Remove all record of it, online or off. It will be like it never existed.’

  ‘But what about everyone that’s already read it?’ asked Paul. ‘Or watched the videos. What about Omni? We’re about to close a deal with a production company.’

  Quinn’s expression hardened. ‘That cannot happen,’ he said. ‘You need to give that up. You hear me? It’s imperative you hand over to me everything you’ve written. Your drafts, your master, the video masters, all your notes, even the handwritten stuff, all of it.’

  ‘Oh, now I get the picture,’ nodded Richard. ‘Now I see what’s going on.’ He opened the car door and turned to Paul. ’Come on, Paul, we’re leaving.’

  ‘Sit back down, shit-for-brains,’ growled Quinn.

  ‘Paul, come on,’ insisted Richard. ‘Move it.’ He stepped out of the car.

  Paul was torn. On the one hand, he knew Richard was right. They couldn’t trust Quinn. But on the other … Quinn’s story kind of made sense. He wanted to hear more.

  Richard stuck his head back through the window. ‘Come on!’

  Shit. Mates before dates. Paul climbed over the fetid debris and out the other side.

  ‘It’s him,’ said Richard, as they headed towards the car park exit.

  ‘Wait,’ said Paul. ’Who’s him?’

  Richard stopped. ‘Can’t you see?’ he said. ‘He’s our fucking lunatic stalker.’

  ‘Quinn?’

  ‘He’s clearly after our script. Jesus, why did we even get in the car with him? I mean, where the fuck are we?’

  ‘But look at him,’ said Paul, shaking his head. ‘He’s not the guy who followed me or broke into our flat. He can barely walk, far less flee a break-in.’

  ‘I’m telling you, he’s the bastard who nearly broke my jaw.’

  Quinn emerged from the car, holding onto the door frame for support. ‘They won’t stop,’ he wheezed, exhausted with the effort. ‘They’ll wipe your script and then they’ll wipe you too.’

  ‘Fuck you, you bastard!’ shouted Richard. ‘You could have killed me!’

  ‘Right now, I’d love to kill you, but it was the organisation that was most likely behind that.’

  The comment took Paul by surprise. ‘You know about the attack?’

  ‘It’s my job to know everything about you.’

  ‘Yeah, stalkers are good at that,’ fumed Richard.

  ‘I can protect you,’ said Quinn. ‘I have the power to make sure you’re safe.’

  ‘I fucking bet you do!’ shouted Richard.

  ‘It’s your funeral,’ smirked Quinn. He slowly lowered his expanse of buttock back down onto the seat and squeezed himself into the car, like toothpaste trying to get back in the tube.

  ‘Wait!’ said Paul. ‘You can’t leave us out here.’ As he walked back towards the car, Quinn started up the engine. With a squeal of tyres, it roared across the car park. Paul and Richard watched as it turned and came straight back at them at high speed.

  ‘Fuuuuck!’ Richard yelled, leaping out the way again. The car was almost upon them when it swerved and screeched to a stop just yards away. Quinn stuck his head out the window and looked straight at Paul. ‘Watch your back, son,’ he rasped. A final roar of the engine and the car was gone, fleeing the deserted car park for the sanctuary of the night.

  ‘Well, that’s just fucking great,’ said Paul with a scowl. ‘Well done, Richard.’

  ‘What?’ Richard threw up his hands. ‘The guy’s a madman. I’m just glad he’s gone.’

  ‘Quinn’s right. You are a fuckwit.’ Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets and stomped off.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Richard shouted after him.

  ‘As far away from you as possible!’ yelled Paul.

  The bus shelter was a Turner Prize shoo-in, a mangled, dog-shitted bomb-site carpeted with beads of shattered glass. Tracey Emin would kill to doss down in here, thought Paul. He’d reluctantly let Richard catch him up, but neither had spoken for a good twenty minutes. All that was about to change.

  ‘Duntocher? Jesus!’ groaned Richard, half-heartedly punching the vandalised / possibly curated timetable. ‘The good news is that there’s a bus in …’ He paused to check his watch. ‘… forty-five minutes.’

  There were lights in the distance. Paul headed towards them.

  ‘You’re not planning on walking all the way, are you?’ shouted Richard, pulling his coat in tight against the cold.

  ‘Yup!’ shouted Paul, and carried on doing exactly that.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Richard. He kicked away some of the glass and sat down, wriggling against the remains of the back wall until he got comfortable. He closed his eyes. They flew back open again almost immediately. Is that fucking dog-shit I smell?

  16

  By the time Paul found his way out of Duntocher and made it back to the West End, it was past midnight and he’d been walking for over two hours. He was exhausted, his brain fried from everything that had happened. Who was this Quinn character? Maybe Richard was right, and he was the man responsible for the threats. And what did he mean by ‘watch your back?’ What else hadn’t he told them? At Byres Road Paul decided he’d had enough of Richard’s posturing for one day, and kept walking.

  As he stood outside the tower block, Paul’s brain was still fizzing with questions, doubts, and rampaging paranoia. He rang the buzzer. No reply. He rang it again. And then a third time. Finally, there was a click. Someone had picked up.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Paul. ‘Can I come up?’

  ‘It’s late,’ mumbled Alice. But then the buzzer sounded, and the door clicked open.

  Paul took the overly-bright lift to the third floor and gently rapped on the door of apartment 13. Alice opened it without looking, her eyes half shut. Paul didn’t care. Before the door had closed on him his lips had found hers and he was kissing, fumbling, and falling into her. Wide awake now, Alice broke off and pulled Paul by the belt buckle backwards into the bedroom.

  Later, in the quiet of the dark, Paul listened to the ebb and flow of Alice’s breathing. ‘Are you awake?’ h
e whispered. She stirred, turned, and lay an arm across his chest. ‘I think I may be out of my depth,’ he said.

  Alice looked up and stroked Paul’s cheek. ‘You did okay,’ she smiled seductively.

  Paul ignored the joke. ‘A car came at us tonight and almost killed us both,’ he said.

  Alice sat up. ‘What?’

  ‘Out of nowhere. Just drove straight at us.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Paul.’ Alice’s face was full of concern. ‘This is getting way out of hand. You need to go to the police.’

  ‘I can’t. We’ve got nothing on whoever it is that’s doing this. It’s just speculation.’

  ‘But I thought you knew who it was?’

  Paul remembered his lie and thought fast. ‘I thought I did,’ he said, ‘but – oh, I don’t know. I’m tired.’ He sank beneath the duvet. Alice followed him, squeezing in behind him.

  ‘You should give it up,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give it up. Stop. It’s not worth losing your life over.’

  ‘But then they win.’

  ‘So what? It’s better than being dead.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘It’s exactly that simple!’ Alice’s voice softened. ‘I’m not saying destroy the script. Keep the script.’ She smiled. ‘You could keep it here. I could hide it for you. I could hide you.’

  ‘I couldn’t put you in the front line like that.’

  ‘No one would know.’

  ‘They seem to know everything else about me.’ Paul shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. And anyway, the script’s already in a safe place.’

  ‘Not in your flat, I hope?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Alice, pulling Paul round to face her. ‘Stay here, if you don’t feel safe in your flat.’

  ‘I’m a liability.’

  ‘You’re lovely, is what you are.’ She kissed him gently, and then with more urgency, until he let himself tumble into her again.