It was completely silent. I guessed that if anyone was nearby then they would have heard the arrival ‘ping’ of the lift and would probably come to investigate. Maybe.
No one had turned up so I decided that I should probably walk around to see if I could locate Ethan.
The building was like a huge, square doughnut and was very sparsely furnished. I walked past the offices I’d visited before and I wondered what horrors might lie in them today.
My heart in my mouth, I completed an entire circuit of the floor, coming back to where I’d started from in front of the lifts. I relaxed a little. Although I knew that I needed to see Ethan, I was relieved that he wasn’t here as my plan development still seemed to be about half an hour behind my actions.
Unsure what to do, I walked to the window wall and stared out across London. Everything seemed so small and insignificant from this altitude.
“For the first time you’ve surprised me, Matthew.”
I span around.
Ethan was standing ten feet behind me and was regarding me with a wry smile. “I didn’t expect you to come here.”
“I didn’t kill Karen Geller,” I said but I could hear the nervousness and doubt in my own voice.
Ethan regarded me for a few seconds and then said, “Of course not, Matthew. It was suicide. Don’t you watch the news?” and his face twisted up into a grin.
“I mean, I didn’t cause it.”
“Ah.”
“I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault.”
The grin slipped from Ethan’s face and he continued to stare into me for a few seconds longer than was comfortable.
“Do you like art, Matthew? I know that you spend considerable time at museums but I’m not sure whether that’s appreciation or boredom. Maybe a little of both, eh?”
I just stared at him; I had no idea where this was going.
“Come with me,” and he led the way around the side of the lifts. I followed him around to the opposite side of the building and he continued as we walked, “I like art, Matthew. To me it’s the perfect expression of an idea. Words are clumsy and cannot express one’s thoughts clearly; they have a definitive meaning. If I tell you that the sky is blue then it’s blue. If I show you a painting of a blue sky you will see swirls and patterns in a way that I won’t. We can appreciate and interpret things according to our own psyche. The artist might lead us on a journey but what we choose to focus on is up to us. Don’t you agree?”
I said nothing.
We walked on a little further and then stopped. “Take this one, for example. What do you see?”
I looked across and Ethan was indicating a painting hanging on the internal wall.
It pictured a scene at sea. There was a ship that looked as if it was caught in a storm. There were huge cliffs on one side with a multi-headed sea monster and on the other side there was a huge whirlpool.
The ship seemed to be trying to navigate between the two obstacles.
It reminded me of a series of films I saw when I was younger about Sinbad the Sailor so I assumed it had something to do with Greek mythology.
“Tick tock, Matthew,” teased Ethan.
I didn’t want to play his game. “I don’t care.”
Ethan smiled. Behind me I heard a heavy double click and I felt something hard press into the back of my head. Instinctively, I whipped round and came face to face with the barrel of a gun. On the other end of the gun was Luther, who then reached over and grabbed the back of my head, keeping me within an inch of the pistol. It smelled like burnt fireworks and oil.
No expression on his face, he thumbed a level on the back of the gun which I knew from watching TV was pulling back the hammer, making the gun easier to fire.
Ethan said, “Tick tock, Matthew,” and Luther turned my head around to face the painting.
My legs were weak. Even though the gun wasn’t against my head anymore I could sense it close and in my mind’s eye I could see the barrel of the gun less than an inch from the back of my head.
They say that when you’re facing death your whole life flashes before your eyes. Either that wasn’t true or I’d had an incredibly boring existence because all I could think about was whether or not I’d feel or hear anything if it went off. Part of me welcomed the thought if it meant that I’d painlessly cease to exist and be removed from this nightmare.
I’d seen films where people would swing around, disarming the assailant, snatching the gun to reverse the predicament and saying something really cool. I would have tried that but I couldn’t think of anything cool to say, so instead I just stammered, “I… Is it Greek?”
Ethan clapped his hands slowly. “Good! Very good.” He waved a finger and glanced at Luther who relaxed his grip on my neck and another click made me think that he’d made the gun safer.
“In fact,” Ethan continued, “it’s a depiction of a story by Homer of Scylla and Charybdis, two mythological sea monsters that guarded the strait between Italy and Sicily and presented sailors with a choice. Avoiding one would put them too close to the other.
“According to the story, Odysseus had to choose which direction to follow and he chose to go close to Scylla, sacrificing a few sailors rather than risking the destruction of the entire vessel. Do you think he made a wise choice, Matthew?”
“It’s just a story.”
“It is indeed, but given the suspension of disbelief that we employ with all good fiction, do you think he made a good decision?”
“I guess so.”
“But at what cost, Matthew? Think of all those lost sailors; their wives and children. Their mothers. Do you think Odysseus slept well at night and commended himself on the survival of the vessel or do you think he was pounded by guilt for the death of his sailors?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a story.”
“Tell that to Karen.”
“I didn’t kill Karen!” I shouted.
“You didn’t save her, either. Although, you did spare her son the trauma of spending a couple of days away from her. I wonder how that’s working out for him now.”
I didn’t save her, that was the truth and it twisted my stomach into a knot. Despite the guilt I was feeling I said, “I didn’t kill her. You killed her. You’re responsible.”
Ethan sighed. “What a shame. I’d hoped that you might have learned from the experience but it would seem that you’ve learned nothing. As a result of your stubbornness, we must continue.”
“What do you mean?”
“Night, night, Matthew.”
“What?”
Luther’s arm appeared around my neck and dragged me into him. I felt a sharp pain in the side of my neck and I realised I’d been injected.
I started to feel disconnected from the world around me and the room began to swirl. Everything seemed heavy and the last thing I saw and heard was Luther waving with his fingers again and saying, “Time for some fun.”
9
Until this happened I’d never really understood it when people said they ‘lost a couple of days’. I’d assumed that you’d always know what day it was and they were being over-dramatic. Until this happened.
I was aware that time had passed and I vaguely remember waking at times with people around me; someone checking my pulse and shining a light into my eyes. These moments of lucidity didn’t last long though and I’d feel unconsciousness creeping up on me like a thick, dark wave.
When I finally awoke I was alone. The same thumping pain in my head suggested that they’d been using the same drug as before but this time it was accompanied by a blinding white light. Each time I opened my eyes they’d sting and it felt like I was staring directly into the sun.
My body felt heavy but with considerable effort I managed to roll onto my side. The floor was hard and smelled of rubber which insta
ntly made me nauseous.
I covered my eyes with my hands and slowly allowed myself to become accustomed to the light and, as my eyes adjusted, I was able to start taking in my surroundings.
Everything was white. I forced myself to sit up and look around; the whole place was white and lit in such a way that no shadows seemed to exist to give me any sense of scale.
I reached out a hand and bumped my fingers against a wall about a metre from my left side. I reached out my other hand and felt nothing.
Leaning against the wall my hand had found, I got to my feet and, with my head pounding, explored my surroundings.
It seemed I was in a box about six feet wide, ten feet long and seven feet high. All the walls were made of the same white rubber and there didn’t appear to be any doors or windows.
On one wall was a map with some photographs, which I ignored for now as I was more interested in the large bottle of water that hovered in mid-air at the far end.
When I got to it I realised that it was, in fact, on a small table made of the same material, but with the lighting created in such a way to eliminate all shadows it blended into the wall.
Next to the bottle was a bottle of painkillers, probably the same bottle from the hotel. I popped two out and washed them down with huge amounts of water. I felt incredibly dehydrated. I slid down the wall and sat with my knees up, hugging the bottle of water.
Despite being out of it for what seemed like days, I felt incredibly tired. Having drained the bottle I leaned into the corner and fell asleep.
When I awoke I was in the same place, although the bottle had been removed and refilled and my clothes had been replaced; I’d probably peed myself. I was now dressed in a black one-piece overall but at least my headache had subsided to a dull thud.
I pushed myself up and got to my feet. For the first time I noticed that my left arm was hurting and when I rubbed it I found sore spots on the inside of my elbow; needle marks, possibly from some drug or maybe from an IV to keep me hydrated. It was anyone’s guess.
Feeling more lucid I took a better look around. The lighting hid every shadow to the point where it was hard to tell where the walls ended and the floor and ceiling began, which was very disorientating. What made it worse was that the box I was in felt as if it was suspended, as when I walked from side to side it seemed to sway. It reminded me of some trick I’d seen where a magician had trapped himself inside a glass box hanging in the air in London for a few weeks, except this box wasn’t made of glass and I wasn’t hanging here by choice.
I looked at the map on the wall. It was a street map of London with the Tube network superimposed on top. Three places were highlighted on the map in red marker: one at the centre and two towards the outsides so that if you joined them up you’d make a straight line.
Next to the outer two dots were some photographs.
The one on the left was a school; an old tall building that looked a bit like a prison with high walls and dark bricks. A line ran from this photo to a point on the map near to Notting Hill Gate Tube station.
Stapled to the photograph was a card with an address:
Fox Primary School
Kensington Place,
London,
W8 7PP
Where had I seen that name before? Unable to recall the name from anywhere else, I moved over to the other photo. Linked to an area close to Dagenham East Tube station on the District Line, this photo showed a modern, red-brick building and the card attached to it read:
Alexander Court Care Centre
320 Rainham Road South,
Dagenham,
Essex,
RM10 7UU
This place wasn’t familiar at all. I stepped back and leaned on the opposite wall, staring at the map to see if some sense would come out of it. None did.
Looking around I now noticed that on the table next to the water, the pills had been replaced by a different sort of tablet, a computer tablet propped up in a stand, and for the first time I also noticed a small camera defining the upper corner of the box I was in, above the small table.
In the movies there would always be a red blinking light on a camera but this one had none, so I had no idea if this one was working but I guess that it probably was and I was pretty sure I was being watched.
For some odd reason, I waved at it. I wasn’t expecting any response so I was surprised when there was a ‘ping’ and the tablet came to life.
As it lit up a picture appeared and it was the same picture as Ethan had showed me in his office with the ship and the whirlpool.
As I was looking at the image the screen changed and an incoming Skype call appeared. It self-answered and, as I half expected, I was looking at Ethan’s face.
“Sleep well?” he asked. I just stared at the image on the small screen. He smiled. “Not talkative today? No matter. Hopefully you’ve had time to clear your head as I’m only going to give you these instructions once.”
I continued to stare at the image on the tablet, wondering what was coming next.
Ethan continued, “Open the drawer beneath this tablet.”
I hesitated for a few seconds and Ethan patiently waited. I considered doing nothing but that didn’t seem to present any possible outcome that would have benefited me. Maybe the bottom of the box would drop out and I’d plunge to whatever depths existed below me. I moved to the table and slid open the only drawer.
Inside were two small packages, each about the size of a half brick but weighing considerably less. They were both wrapped in brown packing paper, sealed with tape and labelled with separate addresses; the same addresses as were on the map.
I turned both packages over and shook one. Along with the packages was what looked like a watch, which I took out and examined. Although it looked like a watch, it was actually just a small black plastic disk on a watchstrap with two LED lights. As I looked at the disk the two lights came on and glowed red.
“Place the strap onto your left wrist, Matthew,” instructed Ethan.
I complied.
“Good. Now, listen very carefully. Listen carefully to everything I’m about to tell you. Any misunderstanding will be your responsibility. Do I make myself clear?”
“OK,” I replied.
“The wrist strap you have on contains a receiver, tuned to the devices in each of the two packages. Inside each package is a wireless disarming circuit. At each of the locations on the map is enough plastic explosive to kill and maim many of those in each building. The disarming unit needs to be delivered to each location so that it disarms the device hidden there. When it has successfully disarmed the device it will trigger the strap on your wrist and the associated light will turn green. OK so far?”
I felt numb; it was hard to take in so I just said, “OK.”
“I’m expecting you to get these units to within one hundred metres of the devices and leave them there. You’ll know when you’re close enough because the light will have turned green. At that point, leave the disarmer and go to the next location. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ve given you some money; there’s two hundred pounds in your pocket. You have one hour to deliver both disarmers.”
On the wall above my head the clock beeped. The display changed to ‘1:00’ and then clicked over to ‘0:59’.
Absent-mindedly patting my pockets and finding the cash, I looked at the map and turned back to the tablet, panic starting to grip me. “I’ll never make it to both of those locations in an hour!”
Ethan shook his head. “So slowly he learns. Come on, Matthew, kids or old people. A simple one. Choose!”
The screen went blank. After a few seconds I heard a low thud and with a dragging noise one side of the box slid away. I was in the back of a large van. Luther was standing there, impassive.
I cl
imbed out of the van and looked at both packages. I’m sure that if someone had offered me this choice objectively then I would have instantly said that I’d head straight for the school but here, right in the middle of it, it’s not so simple.
I had to choose the school, there was no other viable choice, but with every step I made in that direction I was hit by the realisation that I was heading away from the care centre. Each step was dooming them.
I knew London well and I knew that my best chance was the underground. If I could get to Notting Hill Gate station it was just a short run to the school. I raced as far as I could down the street towards the closest Tube station to me: Piccadilly Circus.
As I ran I started trying to work out timings; could I make both locations in an hour? Surely not, but it was worth a try and just as I rounded a corner I was met by a sight that suddenly gave me an idea and some hope.
On the side of the road was a motorbike with large panniers emblazed with the logo ‘Swift Courier’ and a telephone number.
The bike was on its side stand and its owner was using the bike as a bench, his one arm through his helmet as he rolled a cigarette.
I ran up to him panting. “Excuse me but I need a package delivered as soon as possible!”
He turned his head, looked me up and down and then turned back to his cigarette rolling. “Phone the number on the bike,” he said.
“No, you don’t understand. I need this delivered now!”
“I’m on a break, kid. Phone the number.”
I wasn’t giving up. “Look, if you take this to Dagenham I’ll give you twenty pounds!”
“Ooh, twenty pounds, eh? I might just buy myself a boat.”
“Fifty.”
I felt a change in the guy’s demeanour. “Make it one hundred and I’ll get it there in twenty minutes.”
I reached into my pocket and, to the courier’s surprise, pulled out a wad of twenties. I peeled off five of them and handed them to him along with the package.
“Please be quick!”
The courier pushed the cigarette into one of the dozens of pockets in his jacket and pulled on his helmet. “You’re the boss, kid.”
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