The Memory Man: T14 Book 1

by Marcus Freestone

THE MEMORY MAN: T14 BOOK 1

  by

  MARCUS FREESTONE

  ALL MATERIAL © COPYRIGHT MARCUS FREESTONE 2013. THIS WORK MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED OR RESOLD IN ANY FORM.

  ISBN 9781301641802

  FICTION

  The Least Resistance

  Random Target: T14 Book 2

  Just Murder: T14 Book 3

  Two Serial Killers, A Wedding And A Funeral: T14 Book 4

  Never Kidnap A Serial Killer: T14 Book 5

  Ethelbert's Sunday Morning (short stories)

  What To Do If Trapped In A Lift With A Dentist (poetry)

  NON FICTION

  Positive Thinking and The Meaning of Life

  101 Ways To Happiness

  Tell Depression To #@%! Off

  The Psychology Of Happiness: Unraveling Self Help Nonsense By Understanding Your Brain

  Donald Trump and Brexit: Misguided Rebellion

  101 Completely Made Up Untrue Facts

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  CHAPTER ONE

  March 2nd 2024

  It all began the day I read my obituary.

  Using the Cartesian Cogito and Occam's razor I reasoned that I was alive, so there were three options.

  Somebody was trying to threaten me.

  Somebody had good reason to think I was actually dead.

  Somebody was sending me a coded message.

  I could think of more effective threats, particularly with the resources and moral contortions available to the people I was currently pretending to work with. Besides, if they had worked out who I really was they would have just rung the doorbell and shot me in the head, or at least tried to. They would also have no way of finding out about the code system unless they'd captured one of my fellow agents and tortured them. No, be sensible, don't let your imagination run away; there's already enough paranoia in the organisation.

  Although this was one of the publications where I could expect to find such coded communications, this one didn't make sense. Part of it seemed to be a message directed at me, a warning, but the rest wasn't part of our code system, or rather the last two sentences were a meaningless jumble of various messages.

  In any case, a knowingly false obituary could potentially draw unwanted attention, despite the fact that only around a dozen people knew me under that name. The group I'd infiltrated knew me by that name so it was a high risk strategy.

  The problem with being properly undercover, not just playing at it, is that you are entirely on your own. Last year I had been briefed on my mission and then cast adrift. Since then I had not been able to directly contact anyone at T14. Unless my life or cover were in immediate danger, I had to deal with everything myself until the mission was over. I'd amassed nearly enough evidence to put the gang away but there were still a few loose ends.

  Anyway, the point was that I couldn't just phone up the office and ask what the message meant; I had to figure it out for myself. Assuming it had come from HQ then it was not a risk they would have taken lightly - I'd only received two messages since the mission began. But it had to be from them: the chances of anybody accidentally using so many of our code phrases in a genuine obituary were infinitesimaly small, even allowing for the coincidence of it being somebody else with such an unusual surname.

  I came to all these conclusions in the newsagents. I purchased a few items and quickly returned home, whereupon I locked and bolted front and back doors, turned off all but one of my phones and closed all the curtains.

  Unlikely as it was that anybody had been stupid enough to enter my house during the twenty minutes I'd been out I checked all my traps nevertheless. They weren't traps in the James Bond sense, rather items I placed in certain exact positions that couldn't fail to move if anyone entered a room. A piece of sellotape on a door opening is always a good standby, or tiny pieces of bluetac strategically scattered over a carpet. Several items of apparent junk mail were also strewn across the length of the tiny hallway – there was no way anyone could traverse these without treading on some of them.

  I gathered them up and paused for a minute, listening intently. There was no sound of movement so I made my way through the living room - no problems there - to the kitchen and back door. It would be impossible to move or climb over the tumble drier I kept up against the door without disturbing the pieces of bluetac under its feet.

  Everything was okay so I relaxed very, very slightly. It was just after 10am so I had plenty of daylight left in which to escape if needed. People think darkness is best for an escape but they're wrong - nobody can look inconspicuous at night. If you think you're being watched or followed the best course of action is to stride out purposefully in broad daylight among plenty of witnesses. If I didn't receive a phone call by midday then that was what I would be doing.

  I started packing and cleaning away anything I couldn't leave behind. Still unsure whether I would be returning to the house, I had to hedge my bets.

  Two hours. There was a lot to do but I took the time to sit down and rest, drink plenty of water and coffee and eat the three Mars bars I'd bought. It would be a long day and I had absolutely no idea what would be required of me so I needed to fill up on energy while I could. I also needed some space to think.

  If I wasn't contacted today then that brought up a whole new smorgasbord of complications. It could mean that my own employers had ordered my death, though that made no sense – besides, it just wasn't cricket. Mind you, I thought I had ruffled Peterson's feathers when I... no, that's absurd. He was a creep but he wouldn't have me killed. He wouldn't dare.

  It could be a double bluff - I think that they think I've been dealt with and then compromise myself. It would have to be somebody who hardly knew me to think I'd fall for that one. Or it could be that everybody, my employers included, thought I was already dead. But then who was the message for?

  Would it be such a bad thing? I had plenty of money squirrelled away in untraceable accounts so I could just disappear and go back to living a normal life. However
, I couldn't do that without knowing for sure and I couldn't think how to find out without revealing my continued existence. I wasn't sure if I could actually be charged with treason but I was certain that any perceived dereliction of duty or hint of going AWOL would be frowned upon in a rather severe manner. Besides, I fucking love my job.

  I churned things over in my mind as I drank a third coffee and continued packing.

  An hour or so later I fired off emails to the few people with whom I maintained the identity delta seven. This served a double purpose. Firstly to cover myself in this 'real' life by telling all the regular people who were likely to contact me that I was going on holiday for two weeks. I often went on these spontaneous 'holidays' - it fitted in with my cover story about having won the lottery eleven years ago and being single with no ties or responsibilities (if only) and also got everyone used to me disappearing with little or no notice when something cropped up. This meant nobody would call at the house and become involved in any possible conflagration.

  Secondly, it would let one of the very few people I really trusted know that I was in fact still extant and had read the obituary. They would by now have also read my obituary and been equally puzzled (at least, I fervently hoped they would) by its true meaning and been checking for a secure communication. I had inserted three code phrases known only to the two of us in the emails. I was confident he would have read the message by now - he obsessively checked them several times a day - but it was strictly one way traffic, I couldn't possibly risk contacting him directly. The gang I'd infiltrated may seem a bit stupid but I had no idea how sophisticated the people behind them were. They knew about my lottery cover story but they thought it was a cover for what I was doing with them rather than for my real job.

  I slapped my forehead in frustration. How stupid could I be? The most obvious explanation was that Adam had posted the obituary as a warning. Jesus, I'd been doing this job too long, got myself caught up in the old habits of the public school brigade – seeing intrigue and mystery at every turn instead of coldly and logically assessing the facts. It meant that I was in danger but he couldn't be specific. After all the work I'd put in to the mission... still, I couldn't ignore the message. Whether the obituary was a threat or a warning and regardless of who had sent it, there was only one possible inference I could draw from it – disappear, and quickly.

  I checked a few things on line, looked at the weather forecast, printed out a few train times - none of which I had any intention of taking - and shut down my laptop.

  There was no room left for denial; it was 12.26 and I had received no contact. I checked the contents of my rucksack and jacket pockets for the eighth time and retied the laces on my trusty hiking boots. The rucksack was heavy but I'd toughen up after a few miles. Taking the gun without having my ID on me was a risk but one I had to take. If the gang saw me departing I'd have no choice but to kill them all and ruin a years work.

  I intended staying in youth hostels and similar accommodation to begin with so that I could get a good nights sleep without worrying about being ambushed. I could also use free wi-fi and other people's mobiles to gain information without revealing myself; indeed I took great pleasure in stamping on one of my phones until the screen cracked and it died the death its appalling customer service deserved – it would make a good prop to elicit sympathy and offers of lent phones.

  Maybe I could even get myself a shag – it had been a while.

  As I left the house it never occurred to me to check the local news. Who knows how my actions would have changed had I known that two days previously somebody who lived a few streets away had been followed from their home, dragged into an alleyway and stabbed to death. I still don't know whether I'd have stayed, for that person looked remarkably like me.

  By three o'clock I was well away from civilisation and making good time. The country path used to be a railway line and frequent, monolithic stone bridges and archways peppered the route.

  I hadn't seen anyone for over an hour which perfectly suited my current mood. I was wearing headphones but not listening to anything, a handy trick if you want to avoid passing conversation. I was one hundred percent sure that nobody was following me so I relaxed, maintaining only a peripheral alertness for any sudden movement, and had a really good think.

  I needed proper contact with Adam but couldn't think of how to achieve this securely, bearing in mind that I couldn't currently be sure of what was happening at HQ. In any case, it was one of the few unbreachable rules that an agent maintaining an undercover identity never goes to the office and never makes uncoded contact. If they want you they'll find you but currently nobody could find me, no matter how badly they wanted to.

  Adam would know by now, unless something serious had kept him from checking my emails, that I was unharmed. However, if somebody was out to get me, or thought they already had, then were they also after Adam, or at least tailing him? He was in a very difficult position and couldn't just abandon whatever else he was working on and devote all his attention to my situation, even if he were able to ascertain whatever that situation actually was.

  I followed this line of thought for a moment: if it was his message then what would he expect me to do? Leave the house and go incognito - fine, job done, but what then?

  Had my identity been compromised? If so I could have several rather unpleasant people trying to find me in order to do something rather unpleasant to me. It was no good, I simply had to contact Adam, otherwise it meant I was completely in the dark as to what to do next and had no idea whether or not to continue using identity delta seven.