NO SIGNAL

by Jem Tugwell

  ‘Minister,’ Katrina began. ‘How can we have a terrorist attack on the steps of the Northern Ireland Parliament?’

  ‘We don’t have the motive for this attack–’ Karli started, but Conor jumped in and talked over her.

  ‘What else can it be? Yer man there was a Catholic. A Catholic blowing himself up outside parliament can only be seen as a sectarianism terror attack. This government’s record of protecting the interests of the people of Northern Ireland is shameful.’

  ‘Typical, Conor,’ Karli fought back. ‘Jumping to conclusions and trying to make political capital from the suffering of others.’ She nodded to emphasis her point. ‘The perpetrator has no links to terror groups, so the motive isn’t clear at this time. But what is clear is the need for greater funding and control to be given to the security forces to protect this great country from vile and cowardly attacks – from whatever the source.’

  The bulk of the studio audience greeted Karli’s comments with boos, offset by a smattering of clapping.

  ‘Always the same from the government. More and more control. Whatever happens – that’s their conclusion. Their control is leading to a police-state,’ Connor shouted.

  ‘OK, OK, you two,’ Katrina said. She waved her hands, both palms down. ‘Let the others have a go. Miles?’

  Miles smiled, ‘The motive is clear to me. The government is a right-wing, racist, capitalist machine raging against the people. They don’t care about worker’s rights and equality of earnings. It’s about making the rich richer.’

  ‘But the bomber was from South Africa,’ Katrina objected. ‘Why does that make it about right-wing politics?’

  ‘Many in South Africa battle against the same issues. We need to get rid of the self-serving political puppets and reboot democracy. Capitalism has failed. Eco-socialism is the only morally ethical approach that protects the environment and saves jobs and worker’s rights.’

  Miles stopped and the audience burst into loud applause. He beamed.

  Issac waited for the noise to lessen. He was gaunt, like he ate the very minimum that Model Citizen allowed. ‘No, no, Miles. You’re missing the point. We live in a time of excess. Hundreds of years ago, people had to work for their meals. Food was seasonal. Now it’s a simple click and food is delivered.’ His voice had a seductive pull to it and Clive found himself nodding, even though he had always fought the Model.

  Clive knew he needed to change. Perhaps the Model and the Church were the right way after all?

  Issac continued, ‘This lazy greed has led us into an environmental and climate catastrophe. We need to consume less. We all need to be Ultra – it’s the only way our world can survive.’

  ‘That’s shite,’ Conor said. ‘Typical “purer than you” preaching from the loony church.’

  ‘For once I agree with Conor,’ Karli said. ‘The New Modelists are a dangerous cult, not a church. They’re generating fear about an economic meltdown. We can’t sustain the jobs that Miles wants to protect if consumption falls.’

  ‘We need to use this bombing as a shock to the democratic system and demand political change,’ Miles said.

  ‘That’s giving in to terror,’ Issac said. ‘The aim of terrorism is to frighten people and make us believe that we are in imminent danger. You don’t win a war by killing nine people. If the terrorists had more powerful weapons, then they would use them. Terrorists want to appear powerful and relevant on a government level by being in the news.’ Issac paused to lock his eyes onto the camera, his whole body projected hope and salvation. ‘Our church can shelter everyone.’

  Karli seized on the pause in Issac’s flow and said, ‘Terrorists want to use the fear from an event like this because they can’t win an election with their ideas. And that applies to the others on this panel. They’re looking to change the world to fit their vision and using this tragic event to do it.’

  ‘You can’t say that–’ Miles started, but Clive hit mute.

  Despite his hopes for something entertaining, they were all repeating the same old points.

  He needed some escapism, not reality.

  Clive thought back to his childhood dream of driving a Ferrari and the ride he had finally had in one. Esteban’s car had shown him a different life. A life that wasn’t ever going to happen for him. He hopped channels again searching for escapism and settled on the ancient film, Pirates of the Caribbean. He’d seen it so many times that it didn’t matter that it was almost halfway through.

  His body relaxed and the stress of the day leeched out of him: his failure to talk to Sophia, the trip to Edinburgh, the explosions and his anger from the meeting and being cast aside.

  He dozed, but was jolted out of a dream by his Buddy alerting him that it was 1am and his ‘health and productivity would be sub-optimal unless he slept in his bed’.

  His dream had been full of bare-chested pirates, muscles glistening, wearing pirate hats and waving swords, but Clive couldn’t work out why one of the pirates was driving Esteban’s Ferrari.

  He gave up and headed to bed, but the fire and fight in the pirate’s eyes warmed Clive.

  He’d find a way to get back into the investigation.

  He’d find out what was going on and stick two fingers up at bloody Lance Grannum.

  Chapter 57

  Clive’s pirate dream seemed to have infected him, as the next morning he sauntered into the PCU office ready for a fight. He was upbeat, even if his mood fell short of swashbuckling.

  ‘You seem happy, Boss,’ Ava said.

  ‘Given our PCU workload is so light, I’ve decided that we should carry on looking for Lilou and Tatsuko. Especially as Jay Evans is still waiting for us.’

  ‘Cool. Let’s do it.’

  ‘Look, Ava, my career is screwed already, but you’ve got a lot to lose–’

  Ava stood and reached out to touch Clive’s arm. ‘Boss, you’ve helped me so much… It’s PCU against the world. It’s us against Lance.’

  Clive smiled and turned away from Ava’s gaze as tears of pride welled up and threatened to spill down his cheeks. ‘Fuck Lance. Fuck ’um all,’ he croaked.

  ‘Fuck ’um,’ Ava agreed.

  ***

  PCU’s shabby and depressing Interview Room One was a million miles away from the luxury of Bhatt’s conference room, and a different planet to Alain Robertson’s glass and chrome new room in Edinburgh.

  It was PCU’s only interview room, and no one knew why it was numbered. Maybe it was a subtle hint from the senior ranks that expansion might follow and that interview room two would be needed.

  It never was.

  The room had originally been an institutional battleship grey, but had been the victim of a corporate re-branding exercise. Social welfare groups said it needed a colour that was more neutral and less judgemental. More suspect friendly and sensitive to their feelings.

  The designers had called for Summer Nomadic Desert Gold paint. The painters had Trade Beige in the van and had skipped any pretence of doing a quality job. They ignored all the necessary preparation and slapped beige paint all over the grey before the designers could object.

  Now, the years of knocks and scrapes had opened wounds in the beige and the original grey seeped back into the room like a mould.

  Clive and Ava were immune to the scarred room, but Jay Evans sat with his hands on his lap, like he didn’t want to touch anything in the room in case it stained him.

  ‘Why were you in Dudley?’ Clive asked.

  ‘I specialise in accountancy standards and I had a meeting at the Town Hall with the council’s accountants.’

  ‘Why get there so early? Journey time plans are reliable these days.’

  ‘I… I wanted some air before the meeting. I can’t context switch from car to meeting easily. I need a little time.’

  ‘How did you spend the time?’

  ‘You know where I was.’

  ‘Yes, you were in the park. Plenty of people to talk to.’

  ‘I didn’t
talk to anyone.’

  The room was cool enough for Clive to need a jacket, but Jay dabbed at his temples with a tissue.

  ‘And Southampton?’

  ‘Same. My job takes me around the country.’

  ‘And to the cliffs near Sandwich? Why do you go for a walk there every day on your own?’

  ‘I’m not on my own, I go walking with Kevin.’

  ‘There’s no signal for a Kevin,’ Clive said.

  Jay half-laughed and said, ‘No. Kevin’s my dog. He’s a Great Dane.’

  ‘Funny name for a dog,’ Ava said.

  Jay shrugged. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Yes, you go every day at exactly the same time. You’re either very reliable, or you’re building an alibi. Which is it?’

  ‘No… I, I’m reliable.’

  Jay’s hands were back on his lap, his palms turned down, gripping his knees.

  ‘You ever see drones getting shot down?’ Clive asked.

  Jay shrugged. ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘Once or twice? Coastal defence has you at or near the site of six over the last year.’

  Jay shrugged again, but his knuckles whitened as they tightened on his knees. Clive could see a small tremble in the fabric of the man’s shirt.

  ‘Once might be a coincidence, but six seems planned,’ Ava said. ‘What was being delivered to you?’

  Jay stayed quiet but dropped his eyes to the table.

  ‘What. Was. Being. Delivered?’ Ava repeated, emphasising each word. She used the same tone that had worked so well on Brett. Somehow Ava’s force of will seemed amplified when it came out of her five foot two inch frame.

  Jay blinked rapidly several times as he tried to process the switch from Ava’s sunnier demeanour to this inexorable force.

  ‘And don’t lie to me again,’ Ava growled.

  Jay gulped and started wringing his hands together.

  ‘No. Of course. Of course. I got a box the last time. Other times the drones got destroyed in the air or never arrived.’

  Ava sat back in triumph. Jay looked like a balloon that Ava had pulled the stopper out of.

  ‘What was in the box?’ Clive asked.

  ‘Don’t know for sure. I was told not to open it. That I’d damage the contents if I did.’

  ‘What do you think was in it?’ Clive asked, but Jay shrugged again.

  ‘You don’t look like you’d be comfortable running around on cliffs. You seem like you’d be happier talking,’ Ava said, adding a drop of sweetness to her voice.

  Jay looked up at Ava, his eyes seemed bigger, puppy-like. ‘Yes. I’m a consultant – I tell people what to do. I don’t like to get involved.’

  ‘I know,’ Ava said and smiled at Jay. He reflected the smile.

  She’s got him, Clive thought.

  ‘Tell us everything,’ Ava said, but this time her voice was as hard as steel. A honey-covered sword that Jay couldn’t parry.

  ‘I belong to a group. We talk about what’s wrong with the country and how to fix it. Then about eighteen months ago, someone slipped a note in my pocket. It said I needed to live up to my words, that the cause needed me.’

  Jay stopped speaking, but the wringing of his hands continued.

  ‘Go on,’ Ava said, flashing Jay a small smile and raising an eyebrow. ‘I want to know.’

  ‘It told me to go to a park and where I’d find a second note. That one told me I could do great service to the cause, and it had the address of the different park for the next note. I went several times before there was anything more.’

  Jay paused and licked his lips, but ignored the chipped glass of water on the table.

  He relaxed his shoulders. ‘They told me to collect a package and that I would help people lead better lives.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘This bloody system. It’s not fair. It’s not right.’

  ‘I know,’ Clive said.

  ‘Tell us,’ Ava added.

  She kept her voice soft because of the tears in Jay’s eyes.

  ‘My poor old dad died waiting for a liver transplant that never came. iMe makes everyone live longer and stops all the accidents that provide donors. Then the prioritisation system favours the rich and famous, or the young. Everyone but my dad.’

  Clive nodded. This was an argument he’d made a lot of times, but it wasn’t what he expected to hear now.

  Jay continued, ‘We need a fairer system, more transparent. One that helps the poor. So, I helped. I thought that smuggling in donated organs from Europe and getting them to the poor would help the most needy.’

  ‘But the organs wouldn’t survive the trip?’ Ava said.

  ‘They told me they had all sorts of clever technology in the box. That’s why it was so heavy. That’s why I couldn’t open it.’

  ‘And you collected a box from the cliffs, took it to Chichester, then Dudley?’

  ‘Yes. It was lighter each time I got it back.’

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘Someone left a note saying I had to leave the whole box under a car in a charging point on the M6 services on the way back from Dudley.’

  ‘Where exactly?’ Ava demanded and Jay gave her the details.

  ‘Do you want to know what was really in the box?’ Clive asked.

  ‘Hearts? Livers?’ Jay said.

  ‘Hands.’

  Jay frowned. ‘Hands?’

  ‘Did you see that guy’s hand explode in Belfast?’ Ava said.

  Jay crumpled in his chair and his head dropped onto the table. His hands came up and cupped his ears, like he was trying to hide from Ava’s words, trying to ‘un-hear’.

  ***

  ‘What do you think?’ Clive asked Ava when they were back in the PCU office.

  ‘He was used. He was told what he wanted to hear to get him to do someone else’s dirty work.’

  ‘Like Femi, like Sully. They weren’t in a game, despite what they were told.’

  ‘It will take forever to search for all the people who left the notes, even if we can find any. Too many locations and too long a time period.’

  ‘And we’ve still got two people we can’t track loose in the UK with bombs clipped on their arms.’

  Chapter 58

  They had released Jay when it was clear he knew nothing. Lance could always find him again if needed.

  Clive checked the empty ‘Requiring Action’ message queue when he and Ava got back to the PCU office.

  What was the point of sitting here doing nothing when there was real work to do? When Tatsuko and Lilou were still out there.

  Ava obviously agreed with him. Her HUD was shared with the office display wall. She had a window with the profile pages of the four ‘gamers’ open, one photo in each quarter.

  She touched Sully’s photo and dragged it to the bottom. Femi, Lilou and Tatsuko’s images shuffled to make room. She repeated the action with Femi’s photo. Lilou’s and Tatsuko’s images now took up the top half of the display wall.

  ‘Girl’s on top,’ Clive said. ‘They’re doing better than the blokes.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Ava said. She held a pen icon on her HUD and ran her finger diagonally across Femi’s face. It left a vivid, red line. She drew a second diagonal line. Femi had been crossed out.

  She changed the colour of the pen and put a single yellow line through Sully’s face.

  ‘Now we can focus on the others,’ she said.

  Clive agreed with the conclusion, but the clinical nature of the crossing out shocked him.

  He took a deep breath, trying to settle the jumble of thoughts. ‘We’ve hit a dead end chasing the people who delivered the other game controllers. We’ve got to try and guess Lilou’s and Tatsuko’s finishing points and try and stop them getting there.’

  ‘Tatsuko started in Southampton. So, a target in the south of England makes the most sense. She could be aiming for Windsor Castle and the King, but she bought an A–Z map of London. Also, Sully’s and Femi’s targets were political. And not only political, t
hey’re the parliaments. My guess is that Tatsuko is heading to Westminster.’

  ‘I agree,’ Clive said. ‘Especially when you look at the distances.’

  ‘Boss?’

  Clive pinched his fingers and selected a map he’d been working on. He attached it to a message and sent it to Ava. Clive watched the display wall, and saw the message arrive on Ava’s HUD. When she opened it, he saw the familiar map of the UK open.

  Clive had drawn four stars on the map, one for each of the butcher’s shops where the game had started. Four lines started at Sully’s shop in Dumfries and took different routes to Edinburgh. A little annotated flag sat above the finish point with the words: ‘70–80 miles’.

  Clive pointed at the flag. ‘That’s the rough distance for Sully to travel if he had walked and not tried to cheat. Now look at Femi.’

  A second set of lines linked Derry and Belfast. Femi’s route. The flag sitting over Stormont also had the words ‘70–80 miles’.

  ‘Same distance,’ Ava said.

  ‘Then there’s Tatsuko.’

  The star at the bottom of the map had four lines starting from it and crossing diagonally from Southampton to London. The third flag had the same text. ‘70–80 miles’.

  ‘You can’t see at this scale, but those lines end at the Houses of Parliament,’ Clive said. ‘All three gamers had the same rough distance to travel. Enough of a distance to be a challenge with only the food and water that they can carry. Enough to make it look like a serious game.’

  Ava nodded towards the west of the map. ‘I can see that we agree on Lilou as well.’

  ‘Yeah. She started in England, but the National Assembly for Wales in Cardiff makes sense. They are attacking all four parliaments.’

  Clive had drawn a fourth set of lines on the map from Worcester to Cardiff. The flag over Cardiff read ‘70–80 miles’.

  ‘I did think that she might be going to London as well, but… it’s too far. Give me control, I’ll show you,’ Clive said, nodding at the display wall.

  Ava fiddled with menus and said, ‘Yours.’

  Clive touched the little dot at Worcester and moved his finger, dragging a little cursor east towards London. As he did, the HUD software drew a line that tracked his movements, keeping a straight line between Worcester and wherever the cursor was. The numbers in the flag spun as the length of the line recalculated. When Clive let go of the cursor over Westminster the flag read ‘110–120 miles’.