Gone Underground

by Phil Brett

  Speaking in a voice which was as much to herself as to him, Cole said, ‘That's strange, because she told the NWC that she was here for all four days.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe she wanted to take a couple of days off. Throw a sickie, have a duvet day or two or spend time with her family. We’re all human.’ He chuckled at the thought.

  ‘It’s possible,’ I replied curtly, ‘but Olivia wouldn’t have done that. And you are one hundred per cent certain that she didn’t come here?’

  Perhaps my tone was more authoritative than I intended, and sounded more critical than I felt, but my comment brought a swift change in his demeanour. His face grew serious and his voice more apologetic. ‘I'm sorry, but I can only say that she wasn’t here.’

  Cole appeared to have little concern over any anxiety he might be feeling. ‘Could we double check that with any colleagues that she worked here with?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course, yes. Zuzanna Bosco is the person in charge of recovery maintenance department. She actually shared her office with Olivia. She’s there now. Would you like to talk to her?’

  The pair of us indicated the obvious, that yes, we would very much like so, with Victoria adding, ‘And, possibly, if it is indeed correct that Olivia was not here for those two days, she might be able to shed light on where then she actually was.’

  ‘Oh, nothing gets past Zuzanna. She’ll be able to help you.’ Then, turning his head, he peered at one of the impressive dials. To my disappointment, he didn't read some astounding fact about the speed of the turbines, the amount of electricity being produced or how much Staines was consuming, but instead informed us that the temperature outside was still below zero. It was a thermometer. From this fact, he announced that despite Novak's office not being far away, he had better put his coat on. ‘Still, it’s the wind hill which makes it so nippy around here.’

  What the hell a wind hill was he did not explain. I thought it was all hills and winds here.

  He opened one of the steel covers. Again, my expectation of cutting edge technology was dashed. On opening it, we could see that in fact it was a clothes locker. Inside was an assortment of garments, boots and some photos of family members, stuck on the inside of the door. There wasn’t a circuit board or electrode in sight. He took out an appalling silver puffer jacket and put it on.

  Inwardly, I groaned at the sight of the silver on top of his grey suit. Once dressed, he shuffled around and headed out. The doors opened and once more the wind slapped our faces. My hair, so carefully coiffured this morning, instantly stood to attention. Nash’s spread across his face, almost obliterating his features. Leaning into the wind and desperately separating hair from mouth, he pointed to one of the buildings nearer the sea. ‘Zuzanna’s in there!’ he shouted, and then, after zipping up his jacket, he headed off.

  I was thankful that the wind was coming off the sea because I wouldn’t have risked heading towards the cliff, if it had been going the other way. I liked a good dive as much as the next person, but there were limits. One thing which didn’t seem to be having a problem with the wind was the huge sculpted figure, which stood there, not swaying a millimetre.

  Cole and I followed. Guiltily, I snuck by him. Ostensibly, it was to talk to him, but there was also the bonus that I could use him as a windbreak. Approaching the large statue, I could see its evil grin and pointed ears. He was leaning forward with his lead leg bent forward, carrying the weight of his sack.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that’s Fujin, the Shinto God of the wind?’ I shouted.

  Nash turned and looked impressed. ‘Yes! That’s right,’ he yelled back. ‘The multi-national which built this array was Japanese. Although the state appropriated the wind farm, it was felt that it was a rather fine piece of sculpture. How do you know about it?’

  ‘I’ve studied Japanese art,’ I replied.

  Arriving at it, and despite the gale force wind, I couldn’t help myself and stopped. It was, indeed, rather a fine figure. The folds in his flabby legs and stomach had been expertly crafted. They matched perfectly those in the sack which was said to contain the winds. There were three large triangles by his lead foot, representing the sea, which I thought were a rather neat abstract contrast to the figure. Nash, though, was obviously no art lover, as he not only did not stop, but increased his pace to reach the sanctuary of Zuzanna Bosco’s office. Cole, likewise unimpressed, hurried past.

  I walked off to join the philistines.

  It had only been a couple of minutes to walk, yet I felt as if I had spent the day in a blast freezer in an ice-cream parlour. Every layer of my skin felt as if it had been crystallised. My face felt red and sore, and stung as we walked through electric doors and into a corridor, which looked exactly like the building we had just come from. It seemed that creativity started and ended with the statue. So was this going to be another cloakroom? Still, interior design was not the issue here. I was once more simply pleased to be able to breathe and not feel that someone had stuffed a vacuum cleaner down my gob and switched it to blow.

  I was wrong about expecting it to be somewhere to hang our coats because, after walking through no less than three electric doors, we entered a small office. There were approximately ten desks, all black steel and glass, with green and very upright chairs. The far wall was pure glass, giving a perfect view of the turbines out at sea, which were greedily eating up the wind. Another wall appeared to be just four doors. The remaining two had a mix of posters, screens and, yes, dials!

  There were eight people working, of varying ages, races and gender. None of them looked up to see who we might be. Instead, they were studying the computer projections in front of them.

  Nash pointed to the farthest one by the window, and headed off towards a tall slim woman with tied back greying hair.

  ‘Zuzanna, sorry to bother you, but these two comrades would like to talk to you to about Olivia.’

  She looked up and hesitated. Then, with her right hand, she wiped the screen down. She looked at us and smiled weakly. ‘Yes, er, hello, Connor, er, sure, no problem, although I’m not sure what help I can be.’

  Clearly, she was puzzled by what we might want; nonetheless, she immediately stopped working. Being a keen viewer of cop shows all my life, I had always found it amusing at the standard response of the characters when questioned by police. Be they witnesses, possible culprits or simply just a member of Joanna Public, script writers had always deemed it natural for people to be rather offhand, often rude and always continuing what they were doing. It didn’t matter if they were a car mechanic, legal secretary or life guard – they all would continue working and only reluctantly answer questions. In reality, it had taken a revolutionary situation for that level of attitude to start being shown to the cops. Most people used to just stop, go blank and say, ‘Yes officer.’

  ‘Here,’ Connor said, clearly not worrying about the politics of body language. He scampered off to grab three chairs. It seemed that he was going to join us. On returning, he gave us one each. We all faced the window, with our backs to the remainder of the office. I was nearest to a small white set of shelves. Matching green folders took up much of the space. What remained contained framed photographs. Two had Zuzanna with three children under ten, who bore a striking resemblance to her. Another was of her standing at a barricade, a large baseball bat in hand, with a grinning Jackie Payne. Next to that was another featuring Zuzanna, but this time she was with Olivia. In this, she had swapped the bat for a glass of wine.

  Zuzanna saw me looking. ‘That’s the staff party at Christmas. Olivia could be a laugh . . .’ She paused, and her face dropped, as did her voice. ‘I liked Olivia. She was a lovely woman; clever, funny, kind. I was proud to call her a friend, as well as a comrade.’

  For a moment or two there was silence. She didn’t cry or sob but just looked into the mid-distance.

  I spoke quietly. ‘So, you were friends?’

  She nodded, but said nothing. Obviously, it was a raw subject, and an area we
had no need to explore, so I gently asked about her work at the wind array.

  Her voice, when she replied, was quiet but controlled. ‘She worked here in the recovery maintenance section, which is a grand name for the four of us making sure that the turbines are kept working. That includes anything from organising the service checks and ensuring that any work required has been done to hanging the wetsuits and counting the wellington boots.’

  ‘And that was Olivia’s job?’

  An affectionate smile spread across her lips. ‘More of the latter, I’m afraid. Because she was only here occasionally, it was mainly the more menial tasks. I used to laugh and tease her that in between talking to Jackie Payne and international heads of state, she was checking the tool boxes.’

  ‘We were told that she usually only worked one day a fortnight, but Connor tells us that on the 20th and 21st, she was here. Why was that?’

  I had expected him to jump in and say something, but he just sat there watching us, probably enjoying the show. Shame I hadn’t thought of bringing crisps and soft drinks to enhance the experience.

  ‘She wanted to prep for the international environmental conference. I let her off her usual duties. Considering the importance of the conference – to organise an international effort to tackle global warming – counting torches seemed somewhat a waste of her time.’

  ‘The NWC were under the impression that she was also here for the 22nd and 23rd of February, yet the records here say that it was only 20th and 21st.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘No, she was only here for two days. Well, more like one and a half, actually.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Definitely.’

  Victoria wanted confirmation: ‘She wasn’t here those days? It couldn’t be that you’ve forgotten or that you were elsewhere and didn’t know?’

  The two women looked at each other closely. ‘No,’ Zuzanna replied, ‘I never go anywhere and I would have noticed if she’d been here – we shared this desk.’

  ‘Have you any idea, then, where she was for those days?’ Cole asked.

  ‘I thought she'd gone back to the NWC. I mean, I didn't question her. Why would I? It wasn't my job to keep tabs on her.’

  Bosco's tone was dropping in temperature, matching outside's. She obviously was beginning to chafe against being questioned.

  I broke the moment. ‘Okay, can you tell us what she was working on whilst she was here?’

  Her attention returned to me, and whilst still pretty polar, it hadn't got any worse. ‘Sure, she was due to speak on integrated energy production. On present renewable alternatives and possible future ones, and how we were going to phase out the old eco-damaging industries. She spent the 20th looking at new improved arrays and their possible maximum output.’

  ‘So, not actually doing what she was supposed to be doing then; in your words, 'counting the torches'? Wouldn't that mean just extra work for you?’

  With my charm certificated to be able warm any tundra, she smiled. ‘Like I said, with this conference coming up, she had far more important things to think about. It seemed to me to be sensible if she took this time to do some NWC work. I mean, okay, it meant that if she wasn't doing all the chores, then I had to do them, but we are all in this together, aren’t we? Anyway, you’ve got to admit that it’s pretty cool to have her doing the prep work for a conference which could help save the planet, right in front of you, on your desk and nicking your tea!’

  I could see her point. ‘True. So how did she research the output of the arrays?’

  ‘Oh, she compared the wattage to these turbines to past models, then evaluated their efficiency by comparing them with other sources of power. She was also looking into how we could extend the use of turbines. To be frank, Olivia was knowledgeable enough to know most of it already, but she was just checking her figures.’

  ‘Can we be sent copies of everything she looked at?’ asked Cole.

  ‘Sure, the plant cloud will have a record. Give me your number and I’ll send it to you.’

  Cole thanked her. ‘That would be useful. What else did Olivia do here?’

  ‘Well, she took the opportunity of being away from what she called the 'incestuous hurly burly' of the NWC to work without any distractions. She was in contact with party reps in all the power industries across a number of countries, old and new: hydro, oil, gas, coal, solar, hydrogen, solid-oxide and waste conversion.’

  Before Victoria had a chance to say anything, Zuzanna added, that yes, she was sure that if the calls had been made through the plant’s computer network then they would be recorded. She added, ‘But if they had been on Olivia’s phone, then you'll have to trace it through her own cloud.’ She chuckled. ‘We don’t spy on people here'‘

  I didn’t mention that actually we couldn’t check Olivia's because everything had been wiped. Nor did I point out the irony that, as far as spies were concerned, anything was possible. Even old Fujin outside was under suspicion. ‘So, she was in communication with the power producers for the two days she was here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was there anything that you heard which might have concerned or alarmed her?’

  The puzzled look returned, but with greater emphasis. ‘Such as? All I heard was dry technological details of power production. What do you think she heard?’

  I didn’t say. Couldn’t say. ‘Her mood didn’t change then?’

  An affectionate laugh left her lips. ‘Oh, Olivia’s moods could change by the second, but no, she was generally in a good one. I know she was very excited about this conference because she felt that not only could it be a way forward to fight global warming but it could also be used to extend the influence of the revolution. She called it a way to save the planet on two fronts.’

  ‘Generally?’ Victoria queried. ‘You said that she was generally in a good mood. So does that suggest that there was a time when she wasn’t?’

  Zuzanna didn’t reply for a second, evidently thinking about her answer. ‘Well, now that you mention it, she did seem to grow agitated just before she left. She seemed worried. I even saw her pacing up and down outside. I assumed it was just a problem with her conference speech, but I suppose it might have been something else.’

  Interesting. Pacing up and down in that wind must have meant that she was really worried. ‘Do you have any idea what might have worried her?’ I asked.

  ‘None. I was going out to the boats moored down below to check that they were secure, so I didn’t really pay much attention. I was more concerned about keeping warm and keeping on my feet.’

  ‘You don't have any idea whatsoever might have upset her?’

  My charm could only do so much, and the chill between the two women was returning. ‘Sorry, comrade, no. Like I said, I only know – well, I can guess – that something worried her.’

  ‘And shortly after, Olivia left here?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, in obvious exasperation. ‘She did keep trying to call someone. Tried several times, but I don’t know if she ever did manage to get hold of him. All I know, is that she kept ringing him.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘No, sorry. Look, I know I’m not really being very helpful, but far from spying on people here, I always tried to give Olivia some space. Thinking about it, I think she was trying to ring someone called Youssef. Sorry. I've no idea of his last name or who is, but, yes, it was some comrade called Youssef.’

  Cole and I exchanged a look.

  12. Ranunculus ophioglossifolius

  Connor led the way back to his office in the howling gale. His hair had become a swirling curtain of a mop. I turned up the collar of my coat, and wondered why people did that. It wasn’t as if that thin strip of material was going to make much of a difference. Maybe it was just tradition. Nothing wrong in that. At least I’d look cool whilst shivering to frozen hell. Victoria dropped back and was hugging her chest and was, no doubt, regretting wearing such a flimsy jacket. She might have been young and str
ong, but the wind whipping off the Thames was older and a damn sight stronger.

  ‘So, what do you reckon?’ she shouted, trying to compete with the gale.

  ‘Well, it’s a start. We check out all the calls she made and see if there’s anything there of help.’

  ‘What?’

  I repeated what I’d said.

  She nodded. ‘

  The CIMC can help. I think we need to find out what was it that made her leave here early on the 21st. We also need to know what she did on the 22nd and the 23rd and who she met. She told the NWC she was doing one thing but was doing another. We need to find out what and why.’

  ‘Yeah, I agree.’

  ‘Huh?’

  I shouted it again.

  Cole slowed her pace and leant towards me so she could hear me better. That was fine by me because, as it so happened, in doing so, she helped shield me from the squall. Not greatly mind: she was rather too petite to be an effective windbreak.

  Connor was now several steps ahead of us and seemed in an even greater hurry than we were to get back to his desk. I’d give him a second or two and he’d be sprinting. If he ran at the right angle, he’d have the wind behind him. At its current strength, the 100m world record was a possibility.

  ‘I have to say that nothing we’ve seen or heard sounds very useful. I can’t see how any of it helps us. It all sounds rather humdrum to me.’ I yelled.

  She nodded. She’d heard that. ‘That’s as may be, but we need to start somewhere, and creating a timeline of where she’s been and who she has seen, will surely be a good place.’

  ‘Yeah, we can get the others to look into a lot of it. I mean, popping in for a chat at electric sub-stations, polishing wind turbines and visiting shale gas sites doesn’t exactly sound the areas where MI5 is going to waste its energies. No pun intended . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Energies . . . oh never mind . . .’

  Strewth, she needed her ears cleaned out.

  Connor had stopped by the side of the large sculpture of Fujin. For a second, I thought he was going to ask me about it and I was looking forward to enlightening him, but then I noticed that Connor was cupping his hands over his eyes in the way people do to see better. As if miming a pair of binoculars would improve their vision.