NO SIGNAL
Page 1
Table of Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Publisher Info
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Part 3
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
With Thanks
Dear Reader
Proximity
Jem Tugwell is a crime fiction author with a Crime Writing MA from City University. NO SIGNAL is the second book in the iMe series and follows his thrilling debut novel PROXIMITY. Jem is inspired by the fascinating possibilities of technology, AI and the law of unintended consequences. In a past life, Jem had a successful career in technology and investment management, and he now lives in Surrey with his wife and dog. He has two great children. Outside of his family and writing, Jem’s loves are snowboarding, old cars and bikes.
www.jemtugwell.com
jem@jemtugwell.com
@JemTugwell
@JemTugwellAuthor
Praise for Jem Tugwell and the iMe Series
‘No Signal, an immersive, entertaining high-octane thriller set in a plausible interconnected world. Well-written, thought-provoking escapism. Perfect for fans of Black Mirror & Philip K. Dick.’ Adam Hamdy
‘A vision of the future that both chills and entertains.’ Jake Kerridge (Sunday Express Magazine)
‘…exhilarating and provocative debut crime thriller with a twist.’ The Malestrom, 4 of the Best Beach Reads: Summer 2019
‘Very topical, terrifying, superb concept for a crime novel.’ Stav Sherez
‘A darkly twisted crime novel set in a future world that seems to grow closer every day. Fantastically imaginative and gripping.’ Angela Clarke
‘An ingenious and highly plausible look at crime in a future with 100% surveillance.’ Claire McGowan
‘Compelling, relevant and chilling. Is this where we’re heading?’ Abi Silver
5* Review ‘The writing hurtles along like a runaway train and you can barely pause for breath. What renders it original and ingenious is the background of embedded technology called “iMe” (how perfect is that?!) It’s a crime thriller and it is very thrilling.’ Gill Chedgey (NB Magazine)
5* Review ‘I must admit that I finished the book with a prayer that I will never see something like iMe in my lifetime - the idea is just too terrifying’ Breakaway Reviewers
‘5*s from me as the storyline is brilliant… Plenty of discussion topics here for bookclubs!’ EmmabBooks
‘Jem Tugwell’s outstanding description of years too close to ours to my taste left me speechless.’ Meggy, Chocolate’n’Waffles
‘A brilliant book, an excellent thriller and 100% entertaining. Highly recommended. Really can’t wait for a follow up! Genius.’ Books from Dusk Till Dawn
No Signal
Jem Tugwell
First published in Great Britain by Serpentine Books
This edition published in 2020 by
Serpentine Books Limited
www.serpentinebooks.com
info@serpentinebooks.com
Copyright © Jem Tugwell 2020
The moral right of Jem Tugwell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
PB ISBN 978 19 1602 233 1
EPUB ISBN 978 19 1602 234 8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Part 1
Selection
Chapter 1
‘For the sceptre of wickedness shall not rest on the land allotted to the righteous, lest the righteous stretch out their hands to do wrong.’
(English Standard Bible, Psalm 125:3)
‘Do you want to choose between your wife and your daughter?’ Serge said. He pushed the barrel of the gun hard into Antoine’s cheek, forcing his head to turn towards the corner of the room. Towards Antoine’s girls. Towards their fear.
Marie had little Sadie enveloped in her arms as if her will alone could deflect a bullet. Her stare blazed back at him: How could you put us in this danger? Little Sadie’s wide eyes tore a hole straight through him: Yes, Daddy, how?
Antoine’s shoulders slumped in shame. This was all his fault. His fingers were slick on the joystick, his grip not as light and controlled as normal. Today he needed to be better than normal. He needed to be perfect. The pressure from the gun released and he turned back to the screen. He wished he was in another long session on a game where losing a life simply meant starting again and doing better. But this was real.
Saliva flooded his mouth and Antoine swallowed. He tried to shake his head clear of everything except his joystick and the screen in front of him that showed the image from the drone he was piloting.
He couldn’t let his girls pay for his stupid mistakes.
The timer at the bottom of the screen showed one minute to the coastline, and the black waves of the English Channel flashed under the drone as it skimmed only a metre above the water. He nudged the joystick in his right hand to correct for a gust of wind, but his movement was clumsy and the d
rone almost touched the sea.
Serge stifled a cry and leaned in. His breathing sounded like it had a distant rattle, as if something small was trapped in his lungs and vibrated with each breath. With a sour tobacco cough, Serge controlled his laboured breathing and said, ‘Careful. Don’t cause me more delays.’
Antoine risked shooting another glance towards his girls. Marie was sobbing and kissing Sadie’s head, whispering to comfort her. Each sob scratched a deeper wound. Saving them was everything now.
Antoine brought his fingers to his shoulder and wiped his fear onto his shirt. Hand back on the joystick, he repeated the movement to dry his other hand.
His grip was better now – his control more precise. He tried to shrug some of the tension out of his shoulders. At least tonight the sky was clear, and the water was calm. No waves to snatch his drone like last time. No defence drone to shoot him down too soon. No pilot error.
Last chance.
He took a deep breath and blew it out, collapsing all his senses down, leaving only his eyes and fingertips. He was the drone.
As the white cliffs appeared, he pulled back on a joystick to slow the drone and edged it in as close to the cliff as he dared. Deft fingers feathered the joystick and the drone began a vertical climb, hugging the irregularities of the cliff.
The drone peeked over the high security fence at the top of the cliff and showed a green field edged by a coastal path. Serge coughed in Antoine’s ear and said, ‘There. By that pile of stones.’
Antoine edged his joystick and the drone jumped over the fence and into the United Kingdom. He pushed forward and the drone accelerated, skimming the grass. As it flashed over the pile of stones, he pressed the button to drop the box the drone carried.
‘Destroy the evidence,’ Serge said.
Antoine eased the altitude of the drone up and away from the stones. Ahead and to the right, he saw a Border Security drone rise into the air and swing towards his drone. Two lines of tracer fire erupted from the defence drone and scorched a path across the clear sky. Antoine flinched as the image on his screen jumped, flashed and then blanked out.
‘Perfect,’ Serge said.
Chapter 2
DI Clive Lussac had only been at work for an hour, but he looked at the Proximity Crime Unit’s ‘Requiring Action’ message queue for the hundredth time. Still empty.
The message queue took up half of his Head Up Display, or HUD as everyone called it. It was part of his embedded iMe device. The same iMe every adult had. Its virtual screen projected information about a metre from his face. It had everything he could ever need. Work, personal, news, maps.
His location.
iMe knew where everyone was. It saved their signal so that it also knew where everyone had been. There was nowhere to hide.
On the other half of Clive’s screen, Uniform’s message queue ticked over slowly with the occasional trivial case where, despite knowing they were certain to get caught, someone’s emotions had raced ahead of their logic.
Clive glanced at the clock in the bottom corner of his HUD. He knew it was a mistake. It only seemed to slow time, stretching and blurring the minutes. Watching it definitely didn’t make the day go any quicker. He groaned at the thought of seven more workless hours to go. A detective’s work had all but disappeared.
I’ll do another lap of the office, Clive decided, standing and stretching out the knotted and aching muscles in his back that were caused by the cheap chair’s poor design. He strolled past the empty desks, trailing two fingers in the dust, leaving parallel tracks on the surface. He reached the window. The grime crusted onto the panes obscured most of the outside, so he didn’t pause to gaze out.
Walking made his beltless trousers settle. Since Mary, he couldn’t look at a belt, let alone wear one, without seeing her face, so he hooked his fingers into the vacant loops on the waist of his brand-new trousers and hitched them up. He turned and completed this lap of the office. Walking around the office was a complete waste of time – but that was the point.
Sitting on the edge of his desk, Clive looked at the office door, remembering when DC Zoe Jordan had burst into the room with news of Karina’s body. The excitement of those few weeks had dimmed over the last year like a setting summer sun. Clive’s new Off-Grid Crime Unit had waited for a wave of new style off-grid crimes, but they never arrived. Zoe’s frustration at doing nothing had ramped up and up, and when they both had been merged back into the Proximity Crime Unit, it was the final straw. Zoe had wanted some action and had transferred to Cyber Crime.
Now, only the dent in the wall from the door handle remained. It was almost like it never happened.
***
The PCU office door opened and DC Ava Miller appeared, one hand on the handle, the other holding a glass of water. A zero-calorie, sugar-free protein bar dangled from her mouth, like a huge antique, Cuban cigar. At twenty-three, she was too young to have seen anyone actually smoke a cigar, but she would have been bombarded with all of the health risks when she was at school. At five foot two inches tall, her lack of physical size made the protein bar seem even bigger.
Mouth still full, Ava sat opposite Clive, and raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Clive pinched his fingers in front of his face to ‘pick up’ the ‘Requiring Action’ queue. He pulled his hand back and pretended to throw the queue at the office’s display wall. The wall’s scrolling health and safety directives paused, leaving an ‘Avoid HUD eye: Don’t forget to blink and focus on something else’ instruction for a second before being replaced by the ‘Requiring Action’ queue. Now Ava could see the empty work queue and fully participate in the inactivity.
Ava had worked on Karina’s case when she was a trainee, and now qualified, she was the latest officer forced into a three-month rotation into PCU. When she had arrived, Ava had kept herself busy with her TrueMe, the secure and identity-assured replacement for all the old abusive, stalker-friendly, and insecure social media. Her hands danced on her virtual keyboard as she typed message after message. Clive would see her smile at a lot of the messages, but the occasional frown and dismissive shake of her head sent her blonde ponytails swishing. Somehow Ava managed to make doing nothing a high energy activity.
Clive was used to keeping his real self – the conflicted, struggling, depressive – hidden behind the body the world saw. When he had watched Ava, fully immersed in her world, something about her seemed similar, as if the image she projected, with bouncy, happy ponytails, was an act. Like she thought that’s what the world expected because of her age and stature. Her self-confidence seemed to depend on her TrueMe, and dipped and rose with the flow of external validation.
As tentatively as if he was tiptoeing past a sleeping lion, Clive had tried to get Ava to talk about herself and to work on building her inner-confidence. Clive could talk a good game on the subject, despite the obvious hypocrisy. To his surprise, Ava had opened up and they had talked and talked. It wasn’t like they had much else to do during the empty PCU workday. Ava’s breakthrough, unlike the Nazirite Samson, had come when her ponytails were cut away and replaced by a stylish bob cut. She embraced a strength-oriented exercise regime and a more ‘take me as I am’ attitude.
‘How’s the wrestling going?’ Clive asked, nodding at Ava’s protein bar.
‘Brilliant,’ Ava beamed. ‘Nothing better for the soul than sending a six-foot bloke flying.’ Rolling her sleeve up, she clenched her arm. Muscles jumped to her command and bunched into impressive mounds and ridges all along her arm.
‘Wow, you’re getting scary,’ Clive said, making no move to roll his own sleeve up. The comparison wouldn’t have been flattering for him.
As they waited for work, Ava alert, Clive, eyes half shut, mouth half open, he wondered what all his old colleagues were doing. Ava was into her final few weeks and Clive was going to miss her. He felt like he was drifting away from shore, away from people. No man is an island, he thought, but his life was a very good impression of one. Mostly his own fault
. He didn’t really bother to try to contact people unless he felt lonely, and then it was too late to reconnect.
He typed out a message to Sophia, but changed it again and again, failing to find the right tone. It had been difficult dating Zoe’s mum when he and Zoe worked together, but now their relationship was getting rocky and Clive’s depression was returning. It was leeching into his relationship with Sophia. He settled on a lame, ‘Hi, can I come over tonight? Miss you,’ and pressed ‘Send’.
No response.
He typed out another message. ‘Zoe, how’s things?’
‘Can’t talk, Boss. Snowed under with a cyber attack,’ flashed Zoe’s reply. Clive’s disappointment lifted slightly at Zoe still calling him boss, but plummeted at the message he received from Sophia: ‘Sorry, busy.’
‘When then? I need to see you,’ Clive typed. At least the pleading tone in his mind didn’t translate directly into the text. He had the Sentiments on his HUD turned off on purpose. Having a little graphical figure representing his exact emotional state for all to see was too much information. Too embarrassing.
‘Not sure, I’ll call you.’
Where was she going? Clive wondered. Who with? When would she call? Would she even call? She’d started going to Church of the New Modelists recently. She said they helped simplify her life, but Clive didn’t get it. He churned and whirled the possibilities. Failing to grasp any positives, he gleefully snatched at the negatives and let them run free.
Clive jolted fully awake at a bing. The tone was distinctive and he and Ava both knew what it meant.
Ava used to be so timid that she would wait to be told to take the message, now it was their personal game. Their hands shot forward, trying to grab the message from the action queue, like two politicians trying to snatch the last exemption for a dodgy expense claim.