The Memory Man: T14 Book 1

by Marcus Freestone

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  Ninety minutes later, White's incredible operation had come together and we landed at the MOD base.

  They were naturally rather unhappy at being invaded by us but knew that they had no comeback. Part of T14's remit is also to deal with corruption in any other organisation in Britain, be it political, military or industrial. This was a mixture of all three. I think we may be able to technically invade parliament but we've never tested out that clause.

  The marines sealed off the perimeter and separated all the lowest security level staff into one huge group. There was much chatter among them at being marched off into an aircraft hanger but at least it was a warm day and catering was already being set up for them. Once they had all been searched we left a dozen marines in charge and the rest of our enormous contingent entered the main complex.

  This still left us one hundred and fifty seven members of staff with higher level security clearances. However, there were more than fifty T14 agents so we matched the seniority of our people to theirs. Most of our agents were assigned to three MOD staff and given orders to question them thoroughly without revealing the existence of the captured equipment.

  Hannah coordinated all the work and collated the information, as well as overseeing the marines and keeping an eye on the press choppers that were circling like vultures despite the exclusion zone.

  Meanwhile, White, Adam, Tim and I found ourselves in a plush boardroom with the nine people who made all the important decisions and had also signed the Official Secrets Act. This meant that we could inform them of the PM's arrest and our capture of their prototype without fear of the information being leaked.

  White and Tim asked the questions, Adam sat at a laptop collating information, though we were also recording everything, while I stood back and trained my new powers of observation on the nine men. Two of them were supercilious and initially treated us like interloping children who had gate crashed a party, but once White had divulged details of the PM's arrest in his typically forthright manner their attitude soon disappeared.

  “So,” asked Tim, “we would be very interested to know how this prototype came to be developed without my knowledge. There is no record of it's existence in any Downing Street file. You are a government ministry, not a private company.”

  All nine looked shocked at the news of the PM's arrest but I felt that the three senior men betrayed something else, that they were angry and therefore knew what he was up to. The other six seemed genuinely surprised at the whole situation and exchanged glances among themselves. The other three did not look at anyone else. They were too unflustered. I went over to Adam and opened a new note on the top right corner of his screen, typing in my thoughts. He smiled and nodded his thanks. I went back to focusing on the reaction of the three men to each and every question.

  “You only have the PM's word that this device came from us,” said Jackson, who was commander of the base.

  “Do you deny that it did?” asked White.

  For the first time, he looked to his colleagues.

  “No conferring,” said White, “just answer the question.”

  “We draw up a lot of plans here... several departments... all working on...”

  “Are you claiming that major projects are carried through here without your knowledge?” asked Tim.

  “No, of course...”

  “Did you know about the design and building of this equipment, yes or no?” pressed White.

  Still he was reluctant to answer.

  “Yes, we did,” said the man next to him.

  Jackson stared straight ahead, showing no reaction.

  The third of the men turned his eyes skywards.

  The other six continued to display surprise and confusion.

  “Boss, a minute outside.”

  He turned to look at me.

  “I believe it's important.”

  We left the room as Adam stood up, picking up his rifle and pointedly fixing it in an intimidating position in front of him. As I closed the door I saw Tim surreptitiously unbutton his jacket, ready to pull out his gun if needed.

  “I think we should get rid of the six on the right,” I said quickly. “I've been watching them all closely and I'm confident that all this information is a complete surprise to them. Jackson and his two cronies already knew what the PM was up to, I'm ninety nine percent convinced. Those six are people who get things done, the other three are the real top decision makers. It would be much easier to control just three of them.”

  “Do we have anyone to look after the others?” he asked. “They're still important. They will have been involved in some way in the manufacture of the machine, even if they weren't told about its ultimate purpose.”

  “Hannah?” I said into my headset mic.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have anyone to question six of our lot? They're top security level but we want to separate them.”

  “Hang on a second.”

  “We can guard them out here until someone is ready for them,” said one of the agents who were posted outside the door.

  “Time is of the essence, isn't it?” I said to White.

  “Yes. Okay, let's get them out. Seat them over there.”

  “Jen?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can have someone for them in ten minutes.”

  “Great. Thanks, Hannah, they'll be outside board room C.”

  “Okay, any developments your end?”

  “It's looking hopeful. Any results for you yet?”

  “A few negative ones, I've just sent the details to Adam. One or two possible leads, I'll let you know. Out.”

  I followed the boss back into the room. “Could you six follow me, please?” I said. They exchanged further looks of surprise but stood up without complaint. Jackson's two colleagues looked distinctly nervous. Good, I thought.

  “Call me if any of them move from their chairs,” I whispered, tapping my headset.

  The agent nodded and I shut the door.

  I was pleased to see that Tim had been thinking and had taken up a position much closer to Jackson, leaning against the wall in an apparently casual fashion but in fact towering over him in a fairly intimidating manner. White clocked this and moved his chair a lot closer. The three men were now cornered in the top left side of the room. Once I'd exchanged a few words with Adam I took up a position on the right of them, effectively hemming them in.

  “So,” continued White, looking at the middle one who seemed ready to cooperate, “you knew about this equipment?”

  “There's no longer any point denying that, is there?” he said.

  “Not now, you idiot,” hissed the man on his right angrily.

  Jackson continued to stare ahead impassively.

  Three different approaches. Questioning them together could prove tedious.

  I was about to suggest that we should take them back to HQ and interrogate them individually when Adam let out a strangled expletive.

  “What is it?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the men.

  “According to Arthur, the PM's arrest is breaking news. I'm just checking now.”

  I glanced at the boss. In front of our 'hosts' he betrayed nothing but I knew from his eyes that he was ready to explode.

  I could scarcely believe the arrogance of the man but Jackson actually stood up.

  “You'll be wanting to attend to that then,” he deadpanned, making as if to leave. I'm not sure if he really thought that he had so much authority or bearing that we would part like the red sea and let him stroll away.

  I moved towards him but Tim was nearest and pushed him unceremoniously back into his seat.

  “I could sue you for assault,” he bristled.

  “Oh shut the fuck up, you dick head!” shouted White ferociously. In all my years with the agency I'd never heard him so angry.

  He stood up abruptly and went over to Adam.

  Tim took out his pistol and held it in front of him.

  “Arthur, wh
at the fuck is going on?”

  “I'm trying to trace the leak now,” came Arthur's voice from the laptop speakers, “no luck yet.”

  “Okay, let me know the second you have anything at all.”

  “I was about to suggest anyway,” I said, “that we return to HQ to continue our little chats.”

  White didn't miss the emphasis I placed on the plural s, and nodded his agreement that we should separate them. He motioned to Adam to take over guard duties and soon we had replaced the two agents outside the door.

  Hannah was just allocating the last of the other six to an interrogator.

  “The PM's arrest has gone global,” I said flatly.

  This rendered her speechless for a second.

  “If we take those three back in separate choppers,” I said, thinking aloud, “we could get a head start on them.”

  “Good idea,” said White, barely pausing as he adjusted his headset, “Three choppers to leave in ten minutes. How's everything else going?”

  “Slowly,” said Hannah, “we've accumulated tonnes of information, it'll take a good day or so to compare and verify all of it.”

  “Any general gist?” I asked.

  “Most people seem genuinely ignorant about the lorry and the gear, but ten or so people have heard rumours of something important being stolen.”

  “I think you need Adam to help coordinate this giant mess,” I suggested, “shall I go in and relieve him?”

  White nodded, so I went back into the room and sent Adam out with his laptop.

  “Right then,” I said to the three men in my best patronising voice, “does anybody need the toilet?”

  To my delight Jackson nodded, so I accompanied him myself because, if I'm honest, I found him even slimier than the PM and couldn't resist the opportunity to humiliate him further. Besides, I didn't trust him one iota.

  Back at HQ we barely had time to show our three guests to their accommodation before even more shit started to hit the fan.

  As Adam, Arthur, White, Tim and I entered the main meeting room we were greeted by the deputy PM, looking as if he'd gone three rounds with a tsunami, and a man of impossibly impeccable bearing. He stepped forward and extended a hand towards Tim.

  “Nice to see you again, sir.”

  “Hello,” said Tim, shaking the man's hand uncertainly. He took a moment to gather himself. “This is Peter Harrington, the Queen's personal representative.”

  The rest of us, not for the first time in our careers, exchanged confused glances.

  “We have a very serious situation on our hands,” said Harrington.

  “I'm perfectly aware of that,” said White, “but it's on our hands. I fail to see how it's on yours.”

  “Her majesty has had a phone call from the American President. He is very concerned that Britain does not become a destabilised nation.”

  “Funnily enough, so am I,” intoned White, “it's my job to prevent that and you are currently delaying me in carrying out my job.”

  “We are all on the same side,” said Harrington, still smooth and unruffled, “we have the best interests of the United Kingdom at heart. I just have two questions.”

  “Then proceed with all due haste, sir,” said White, and I had to turn away and stifle a giggle.

  “Are we under an immediate terrorist threat?”

  “No. So far as we can establish, the device which caused the blackout was an MOD prototype. We're confident that we have the only example in existence.”

  “The MOD?” said Harrington, raising his manicured eyebrows. “What on earth were they doing with something like that?”

  “That's what I will be finding out as soon as I can get downstairs and question the head of the base it came from.”

  “Did you have any knowledge of any project like this?”

  “None whatsoever,” said Tim, “which is very worrying.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And your final question?” asked White.

  “Why has the PM been arrested?”

  “He attempted to sabotage the laptop which controlled the blackout device. He claims that the device was stolen from the MOD and that he was trying to avoid any embarrassment to the government by preventing us from discovering it's source.”

  The deputy PM, who seemed too scared to speak up, looked utterly defeated and began staring at the floor.

  “I see,” said Harrington. “What crime does that make him guilty of?”

  “We're not sure yet, possibly treason. Either way, he can never hold public office again.”

  “Oh dear,” he said in the same tone he would have used for a Corgi shitting on a palace carpet.

  “He's no great loss,” I said.

  Harrington glanced at me down his aquiline nose but said nothing.

  “Is that it?” asked White.

  “I would now like to have a political conversation with Mr Saunders,” said Harrington.

  “Come on then, let's get to work,” said the boss, striding out of the room.

  I was the last to leave, throwing what I hoped was a supporting smile at Tim as I closed the door behind me.

  “My office,” said White. We all followed.

  “So what's our plan?” I asked when we'd gathered around his desk. “Let the bastards stew or go at them full tilt straight away?”

  “I think we should collate all our data first. Adam, get Hannah.”

  Adam unpacked his laptop and in a couple of minutes we were holding a conference call.

  “We'll be finished questioning the last few groups within fifteen minutes,” said Hannah. “Do we pack up and go or keep searching? It could take days to go through every nook and cranny of this base.”

  “Surely,” said Arthur, “we should at least close the base down until we establish what has happened. Either this machine was stolen and they're guilty of a massive security breach, or they conducted the test themselves. I don't see any other possibilities.”

  “Shall I send everyone in the aircraft hanger home?” asked Hannah.

  “Yes, do that straight away.”

  “Back in a minute.”

  “We could use the marines to seal the base while we do a proper search,” suggested Adam. “But what exactly are we looking for?”

  “Evidence of any other unofficial projects and exactly who was involved in this one,” said White. “And also evidence of whether or not this burglary story is true.” He tapped some buttons on his computer. “Still nothing on our gunman from the lorry.”

  “Put his photo out to the media?” I offered.

  “Maybe,” pondered White. “But if it wasn't stolen then one of those three downstairs must know who he is. As I see it we have two immediate options. We stay here and interrogate them hoping to clarify matters or we leave them to think for a day or two and put all our resources into searching the base. Opinions?”

  “I vote we explore the base now,” said Adam. “The three downstairs can't do any more harm and surely it's a priority to establish ASAP what's been going on at the base?”

  “I agree,” I said. “Two days in the cells should persuade even Jackson to come clean. Whether or not the machine was stolen, we still don't know what the point of the test was or even who carried it out. The two drivers clearly know nothing, the dead guy hasn't helped thus far, I vote we all go straight back to the base. We can clear everyone out, get the marines to secure the perimeter and go over every inch of the place.”

  “There'll be mountains of paperwork to go through,” said White.

  “Surely everything's on computer now?” said Adam.

  “The MOD are very old fashioned, they still have hundreds of filing cabinets.”

  “They're on their way out now,” said Hannah, “should take about ten minutes. What about the rest of them?”

  “We need the place clear to do a thorough search,” said Adam, “but we need someone to guide us around.”

  “We can use those six other senior people,” I said. “They have the autho
rity to gain us access to anywhere in the base and they can explain anything we may find. They all seem likely to cooperate. So, do we storm the Bastille twice in one day?”

  “Give me half an hour,” said White, “I need to ensure HQ is secure before we go and organise further supplies.”

  I thought about this for a moment. I'd forgotten about HQ.

  “I could mind the shop,” I said. “I'm not really one for going through filing cabinets. If we only have minimal personnel here we could go to lock down, make things easier. If Arthur stays as well we could go through all the info from the interviews, go over everything again including the blackout, talk to Steve about the equipment. Tim could stay and help us as well. Plus he's on hand if there are any more political developments.”

  White scratched his chin and considered all this.

  “Okay, fine.”

  “I'll go and see how Tim's getting on with Lord Snooty.”

  I left the boss' office and went back up to the meeting room, via the kitchens. I anticipated drinking at least three coffees before they had finished but to my surprise I found Tim sitting on his own outside.

  “Where's his royal ponciness?” I asked.

  “He just left.”

  “Interesting conversation?”

  “Yes.”

  He offered no elucidation.

  “Anything we need to know about?”

  “I'll let you know when I've digested it all.”

  “Fair enough. In the meantime, we're having a sleepover.”

  He looked at me quizzically.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” he said when I'd explained everything. “What exactly does lock down mean?”

  “You'll see when they've all left. I'll need to show you the codes anyway. Basically, we turn the ground floor and basement into a bomb proof bunker and clear all the upper floors. Have you been down to the dungeons?”

  “No.”

  “There's a very comfortable living area away from the cells with enough food to last a few months. We can work down there or up top. Either way we'll have plenty of space and relative peace and quiet.”

  Forty minutes later we were down to just a dozen agents and I showed Tim the protocols for locking down the building. Firstly I tapped in the codes to bring down the three foot thick steel shutters and then we manually levered the bolts into place.

  “Now this can only be opened from the inside.”

  “It's a bit like being in a coffin,” said Tim.

  “But with air conditioning and catering. Now, it's just a formality but we have to check the upper floors are all clear before we seal off the ground floor stairs and disable the lift.”

  We went through a perfunctory search but we knew perfectly well who was and wasn't in the building.

  I took Tim back to the main computer.

  “This disables the lift.” I tapped in the codes and steel shutters slid into place in front of the lift doors. Again we bolted them in place.

  “And finally the stairs.”

  We walked over to the huge door which resembled that of a bank safe.

  “Same code as the lift,” I said, tapping in the digits on the door's keypad, “and hey presto.”

  A beeping alarm sounded for ten seconds and then the door vacuum sealed itself. A steel shutter came down and we bolted that into place.

  Going back to the computer, I called up White.

  “Lock down completed, enjoy your trip.”

  “Thank you, 45. Out.”

  “Come on, Tim, I'll show you around the dungeon then we can get to work.”

  Twenty minutes later, after checking on our four prisoners and ignoring Jackson's blustering nonsense, I showed Tim how to seal the dungeon door and we walked through to the room which Arthur had been setting up.

  “Oh good, you found some comfy chairs,” I said, letting myself flop down in an armchair. I put my feet up on an office chair. “Okay, where do we start. Arthur?”

  “I thought we could go through things chronologically,” he began, “and then something we learn about the blackout itself may provide an insight into something else.”

  I nodded as Tim settled himself in an adjacent chair.

  “They've managed to further isolate the electrical signal and are fairly sure where in the brain it was targeted. As well as causing general confusion, it seems its purpose may well have been to induce violence. From what 7 has been able to learn from a neuroscientist, the blackout was probably an unintended consequence. It was an attempt to stimulate an ancient part of the brain, our so-called 'fight or flight' mechanism.”

  “So people would react differently to it?” I said.

  “That kind of makes sense,” said Tim, “from the point of view of the perpetrators. If you wanted to cause public disorder, or a massive distraction, then a large group of people all becoming either scared or violent would do the job.”

  “So you were right all along about that guy in the shop who tried to attack you?”

  Arthur nodded.

  “Okay,” I said, “so we're fairly sure we know what the intention of the equipment was, and that it went wrong somehow. Good, that's some useful progress. Does this test indicate that this sort of equipment is unreliable on a mass scale?”

  “7 thinks so.”

  “Perhaps that's for the best. Okay, what's next?”

  “In the last few minutes we've had the DNA results on the driver you killed. He was originally from Israel though probably moved away at a fairly young age.”

  “Israel? Any ideas on that, Tim?”

  “Nothing comes to mind immediately. I mean their intelligence services are devious bastards and get up to all sorts of stuff but I can't think why they would conduct such an operation here. They're still heavily reliant on America and we're still, publicly at least, friends with America so they've no reason to want to attack us.”

  “Lone ideological freak?” I suggested. “Have we got an ID on him?”

  “Not yet,” said Arthur, “he isn't on file in this country and it'll take time and a lot of diplomacy to get any results from Israel.”

  “Unless the MOD has been leaking like a sieve, how would any foreign power know what they were up to anyway?” I said. “They can't have gone totally rogue, can they, Tim?”

  “No, that's not possible. So many people have to sign things in triplicate before they can do almost anything. I'm sure this machine is a one off... unless...”

  I waited for him to elaborate.

  “What?” I prompted.

  “Unless they stole it from someone else.”

  “If that were the case,” said Arthur, “then there will be no paper trail to find.”

  “Maybe this thing was never on an MOD base in the first place,” said Tim. “Maybe they found out about it and employed the three drivers to steal it.”

  “From where?” I said. “Who the hell could have built such a machine privately?”

  He shrugged. “Just an idea from left field.”

  I had a sudden brain wave. “All our problems revolve around not knowing who made the machine. Isn't there some way of... taking it apart and forensically working out where the components were manufactured? At least if we knew which country it came from that would be a start. I'll call... oh yes, Steve's on leave, isn't he?”

  “He's been working non-stop since the blackout, he needed some sleep,” said Arthur.

  “It's not so much a question of where this particular device came from,” said Tim, “it's more important that we know what they intended it to do and who has the knowledge to build another one.”

  “I guess we'll only know that when we take it apart.”

  “That is next on the agenda,” said Arthur, “once we've finished analysing the laptop. Another day at least.”

  I got up and paced the room in frustration. “We can't just sit around doing nothing. It'll be two days at least before they've finished at the base. The only thing we have are the three MOD knobs and the PM downstairs.” I
looked at my watch. “I think they've had enough time to think things over, let's have a go at the cooperative one. What's his name?”

  “Mike Jones,” said Arthur.

  “Tim?”

  “I don't see there's anything else of much use we can achieve today, may as well give it a go.”

  I phoned White and he agreed, so the three of us went down to the dungeon and took Mike to the living quarters. I figured he'd be less nervous in there than the interrogation suite and Arthur could record everything. We gave him tea and cakes and after ten minutes of small talk I felt he was as relaxed as he was ever going to be. I had put my Kalashnikov on the floor beside the sofa where he couldn't see it, so none of us had any visible weapons. It was too hot to wear a jacket and cover a holster so I changed into cargo trousers and a vest, placing my gloch in one of the expansive side pockets. I also got Arthur to remove his ever-present tie, figuring that our casual appearance would help even more. I also had a notepad and pen on my lap, which may have fooled him into thinking that he wasn't being recorded.

  “So, Mike, the other two are being very uncooperative. It's rather a pain for us to have to stay locked up in here babysitting you – I'd much rather be sat in a nice beer garden this evening. I'm not saying if you talk you can go home immediately but, if you give us some useful information, you can spend the night in here instead of the cell and I promise that you'll be released tomorrow.”

  Everything I said was entirely true so I held his gaze, hoping he would see that I was being genuine.

  “In our department it's drummed into us that secrecy is a top priority,” he began, “There's a high level of paranoia among top level personnel. Some of them seem to think we're still fighting the cold war. There are even people who don't trust their own colleagues. It's a very insular world, not being able to tell anybody outside anything about what you do every day. I think that some people, if they don't have much going on outside the department, get a little bit stir crazy.”

  “Would you say Jackson is stir crazy?” I asked.

  “I wouldn't go that far, but he's deeply paranoid. If I met him in the outside world I think I'd take him for a conspiracy nut.”

  That was very interesting and I wrote it down.

  “Does he see it as his department?” I asked. “Is he one of those old colonel types?”

  “He definitely sees his decision as final.”

  “Even on the instigation of projects?” asked Tim.

  “Especially that.”

  “The final decision is always that of the prime minister... whoever that turns out to be.”

  I was puzzled by that but I made a mental note and let it pass.

  “Did Jackson conceive this project – did he want to build a machine that could affect people's thought and behaviour remotely?”

  “Yes. I know it's against all the rules,” he turned to face Tim, “but I really do think that he would have told you, or you successor, about the project when it was completed.”

  I glanced at Tim and Arthur.

  “Completed? So it wasn't ready for use?”

  “No. We knew it was at the stage where it would have an effect but we didn't know what.”

  “What was the intended purpose?”

  “To disorientate people in a more subtle way that we saw during the incident.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  Mike sighed. “What Jackson actually wanted, and we still don't know if this is technologically feasible, was a machine that would confuse people, make them slightly dizzy, affect short term memory, but not in a way that would be noticeable to anyone else. He wanted to be able to 'disarm' or pacify a large group of people without anyone noticing that it was happening. The hope was that individuals would just think they had a headache or a bit of flu coming on. The military purpose was to render groups of enemy combatants 'dozy' for a short period to enable an easier attack.”

  “That's actually quite a clever idea,” I said grudgingly, “but if you ever tell Jackson I said that I'll break your arms.”

  “So was it actually stolen or not?” asked Tim.

  “As far as I know, yes. I came in one day and Jackson held an emergency meeting. The machine was there the previous day and now it wasn't. No trace of a break in, all relevant CCTV had been wiped and they must have disabled the alarm system.”

  “Not the work of your average criminal,” I muttered.

  I wrote some more notes and thought things over. Then I got up and went into the corridor.

  “91, 94 come and get yourselves a drink,” I shouted.

  As they approached I whispered “He's quiet as a church mouse but he's still in our custody so keep an eye on him, and above all else keep him in one piece.”

  I motioned to Tim and Arthur to follow me.

  “I think we can trust him,” I said.

  “I monitored his body language, all indicates he's telling the truth,” said Arthur.

  “So, what we're now looking at is that Jackson developed this thing in secrecy, intending to present the finished article to the government and be hailed a national hero, or whatever was in his peculiar mind. Somehow it was stolen, or allowed to escape unnoticed, and used in a test by an unknown third party.”

  They both nodded their agreement.

  “That certainly simplifies matters. All we have to do now is get the other two to verify his story and identify the dead guy. Come on, let's go and give the boss some good news. Could be their search isn't needed after all.”

  As we closed the dungeon door behind us I suddenly remembered Tim's expression after his meeting with the royal bloke and his comment later about who would be PM.

  “Are you ready to tell us what happened in your meeting?”

  “I've not had much time to think about it yet but I would like to discuss it.”

  “Okay, I'll talk to the boss then we can grab a coffee. I think we've earned ourselves a little break.”

  White was delighted at our apparent progress.

  “As it's cost so much money to instigate this we may as well finish the search. It may come in handy in future to know more about how the MOD works. Besides, I've had the leader of the opposition bending my ear about 'leaving no stone unturned', 'we must be seen to act' etc. And there's still the matter of how this thing disappeared from the base and who wiped the camera footage.”

  “Do you want us to have another go at Jackson tonight?”

  “No, leave him stew until morning. An uncomfortable nights sleep should persuade him that he's better off cooperating and getting himself released into more accommodating custody. How is the PM behaving?”

  “He kicked off for a while but now he's given up. I think at the moment he'd prefer not to have to answer any more awkward questions.”

  “Tomorrow I'll be talking to the Leader of the House and the Attorney General and deciding how to proceed with him. Any other problems your end?”

  “No, I think we're done for the night now,” I said. “Steve's coming back tomorrow to finish dissecting the laptop and then hopefully in a day or two they'll be ready to take the equipment apart and examine the components, establish where they came from. I reckon we'll have this all sewn up in a few days.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said White. “I'm badly in need of a bottle of scotch and a night of television. Over and out.”

  “Nighty night.”

  I decided I'd almost certainly had enough coffee the last few days so poured myself some orange juice and we settled back into our comfy chairs.

  “I assume that the royal chat was about the current power vacuum?”

  “Pretty much,” said Tim. “Obviously there's technically nobody in charge for three weeks before an election but a situation like this is totally different. The stock market has plummeted like a lemming and they are very keen to make a definitive announcement tomorrow lunchtime.”

  “The queen wants you back?”

  “There's no personal preference involved, obviously, but
constitutionally we do need an immediate resolution. The current deputy PM is, to put it kindly, not even up to that job never mind actually being in charge permanently. Two options were put to me earlier. One is for me to hold talks with the government and get them to elect a worthy leader within seven days. The other is to push for a general election and help get my party back in power.”

  “Is either of those scenarios really your responsibility?” asked Arthur.

  “Some people clearly think so. It's only because I'm here that I haven't been bombarded with calls from all sides. What do you two think?”

  “My immediate reaction is 'Oh no, not another fucking election'. Arthur?”

  “History shows that a second election is always unpopular and rarely delivers a much better result than the first one. The country voted for the incumbent party. Besides, surely it's the government's responsibility to sort this mess out themselves? It was them who elected that treacherous idiot leader.”

  “Also,” I said, “another three week vacuum would surely be disastrous?”

  “Those are the lines I've been thinking along myself,” said Tim, “and also, disloyal though it sounds, I wouldn't like my party to get straight back in in case they wanted me back as leader. My successor was very much chosen to lead the opposition, he's not seen as PM material.”

  “Continuity,” said Arthur, “that's what the constitution demands, isn't it?”

  Tim closed his eyes for a few moments and we let him mull things over in silence.

  “I think I'd better make some phone calls,” he sighed.

  “Fucking hell,” I said, “did the three of us just decide the future of this country?”

  “I can only make suggestions,” said Tim, “I have no political power any more.”

  During the silence I'd taken out my phone and gone on line.

  “I think you underestimate yourself. There's a pole showing seventy three percent of the public want you back as PM.”

  “Oh fuck,” he said, “I think I'd better start by phoning my wife.”

  “I'll show you how to make calls on the main computer,” I said, “that way your location can't be traced. We still don't want anyone knowing that you work here, even if you are going to leave soon.”

  We both got up and made our way to the door.

  “Arthur, you could give Barbara a call, we've nothing else to do tonight. In fact, fuck it, you may as well go home.”

  “That's against protocol.”

  “Oh come on, what difference does it make? There's still enough of the evening left, go home and have a meal with your wife. The three in the cells are going nowhere and there are nine agents to guard the church mouse. Go on, go home, it's only a few minutes to open the front door enough for you to crawl out.”

  “Okay,” he finally agreed, “thanks, Jennifer.”

  When we had resealed the doors I showed Tim to the computer and then left him to it. I checked that everything was fine downstairs, which it was, so I found myself at a loose end.

  I tried to think of what Tim would be saying to his wife and who else he would call but the possible permutations made my head spin. The fact that I was now the only other person on this floor with the man who could decide the future of the country was too much to contemplate. My brain needed some serious down time.

  I realised that for the first time in weeks I could actually have a night off and get some proper sleep. I made a quick call to Adam then went back up to my comfy chair, placing a laptop on a table beside me. I went on line and found some good music, snuggled into my chair and closed my eyes.

  A couple of minutes later my eyes sprang open. I'd forgotten about the small package in my locker, the contents of the hidden box in Peterson's shed. I went to my locker, retrieved the disgusting items and took them to the toilets. Taking one last look, a mixture of disbelief and repulsion, at the dozens of photographs he had taken of me in my bedroom with a hidden camera, I tore them up and flushed them down the toilet.

  Walking back to my comfy chair I put the whole affair (okay, bad choice of words considering what happened to Libby) behind me. After all, it's pointless being angry at a dead man.

  marcusfreestone.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marcus Freestone has been publishing novels and non-fiction since 2013. This thing that you have just finished reading (or are unwisely looking at the end of before you've started, tut tut, do people do that with e-books?) is his second novel. Before that he worked in journalism, a variety of tedious office jobs, completely failed to build a career in stand up comedy and was once paid £250 for a script for a TV series that was never made for reasons that were nothing to do with him or the quality of the script. His biggest success to date has been the 70,000 plus downloads of the free version of the e-book 'Positive Thinking And The Meaning Of Life' (though he is probably prouder of the time he stole the register from the school library). He will continue writing books until he is too old and tired to do so.

  CONTACT THE AUTHOR

  Marcus Freestone can be contacted via the electronic telegraph service at

  marcus.freestone@yahoo.com

  or

  Facebook

  He does not do twitter because his mind is too hyperactive to cram anything into 140 characters. He tried it once for a few weeks and couldn't see the point of it, and anyway all the #'s and @'s gave him a headache.

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