by Lynn Watson
Marcus came out of his door and waited on his front path. She pointed at the ‘for sale’ sign as she approached, and he gave her a thumbs-up.
‘Hi, that’s fantastic, isn’t it, and I was hoping to catch you. Are you still okay for this Friday afternoon at the department? It’s at 3.45 but you need to get there a bit early to go through security. And remember – less is more, keep it brief and to the point.’
‘Yes, definitely, I will – thank you, Marcus, I really appreciate it.’
She was surprised at her lack of hesitation, her willingness to see this through. Was it irresponsible to push ahead with the meeting, given that it was not only her safety that was at risk? Marcus, Alice, and Ned too, they were all involved. She should ask Marcus if he had seen or heard anything, obviously, but not yet. She didn’t want to make him anxious.
She went into the house and straight into the living room, scanning it swiftly. Her eyes alighted on Guacamole, who had shifted his gaze up to the mantelpiece. The antelope had changed its stance and lowered its head, so the spiral horns were facing forwards and its front legs were positioned further apart. Fran stepped backwards, startled by the definitive nature of it, the message that she should stay strong and follow her passion and intuition.
When Alice arrived, Fran had their one-pot dinner ready and had made up the spare bed. She was already convinced by Alice’s initial hunch that the truffles had been doctored and, sure enough, the lab tests had confirmed it. There was a second synthetic drug in the mix, an unlicensed hallucinogenic substance that had been injected through a fine needle.
‘It wasn’t close to a fatal dose, but it would have given you a bad trip at the least and you could have reacted more strongly than they intended.’
‘Who was it then, Alice – your Professor Fred, our top villain, Infrared?’
‘It’s looking that way, although we don’t have the proof. This isn’t a common substance and Fred would know where to get hold of it. He has a clear motive for wanting to stop you spilling the beans to his precious government contact, assuming that he’s controlling her and not the other way round. And another thing – I went along his departmental corridor this afternoon, while waiting for the results, and the porters were clearing out his office, piling stuff onto trolleys. They were getting it ready for someone else to move into on Monday. I asked the secretary what was happening and although she was tight-lipped to start off with, she finally confided that Fred has taken up an offer of a sabbatical visit to another university and she hasn’t been told where or for how long.’
‘Well, it sounds like someone or something’s put the frighteners on him, don’t you think? But I’m not backing down now, that’s for sure. I’m even more resolute. Are you with me?’
‘Are you not scared witless, Fran? This is heavy stuff.’
‘I am scared, don’t get me wrong, and I’m upset that someone has it in for me. I wouldn’t have asked you to stay over otherwise. But honestly, I feel angry more than intimidated and I’m not going to be shot down or knocked out of orbit by this, I’m just not.’ She paused. ‘But you can distance yourself from it, Alice; I’d quite understand if you wanted to back out.’
‘Me? I’m embroiled in it just as much as you, there’s no wimping out now. And anyway, I like you too much, I won’t abandon you. I can at least promise that.’
‘Thank you, Alice – it’s a fantastic promise, more than enough.’ She raised her hand and they brought their palms together with a grand flourish.
***
The security level was severe, according to the green wall screens in the foyer of the government building; that was probably normal these days. Her photo had been taken, her bags checked, and she was waiting nervously, practising her opening lines and wishing it was all over. What on earth had compelled her into this, driven her to stick her neck out instead of running a mile? What if she dried up, or much worse, if she had got it all wrong and her evidence collapsed like a pack of cards, was reduced to weak conjecture? They were clever, these civil servants, whatever anyone said. And they had power, which of course answered her question about why she was here.
Each time a young official came through the barriers to collect a waiting visitor, Fran jerked forward or half-stood up, she was so on edge. After what seemed an age, but was only fifteen minutes according to the clock, a young man let himself through and picked her out as his likely prospect. She followed him into the lift and then along a corridor with glass-fronted offices all down one side. Turning the corner, the offices were closed in with proper walls and each had a nameplate on the door; they were obviously for the senior members of staff who didn’t have to work in the open-plan area. The young man stopped at one of the doors, knocked lightly and led her into the room. Inside, there were two people: a short, dumpy woman in a loose black trouser suit, very unstylish, and someone Fran had expected and hoped not to see again: Ravi.
The woman introduced herself as Amanda and acknowledged with a throwaway gesture that she knew Ravi and Fran had already met. She dismissed the other young man, who seemed taken aback as he was already opening his tablet to take notes, and the three of them sat down at one end of the table.
‘So here we are; we won’t stand on ceremony or waste any of our time. There’s a jug of water if you need it. You requested to see me, and I believe it’s about a research project we are planning – you have a concern about it, something we may be able to clarify.’
Fran’s well-prepared opening lines had gone right out of her head. Her strategy was derailed by Ravi’s presence, what it meant and whether she should change tack as a consequence. It was too complicated to decide now; she just had to take a deep breath and dive in.
‘First of all, thank you for agreeing to see me, Amanda. It’s about the Bright Minds project, which I’ve come across because I work for a company that sells a specialist type of chocolate with unique cognitive-enhancing properties. What I’m concerned about, as you put it, is that the formula to be used within the Bright Minds project contains a new and unlicensed drug. I believed you were unaware of this, although seeing Ravi here I’m not sure of that now. In any event, my own interest in this is very specific. I have no wish to challenge or undermine the project as a whole.’
That was rather good – no wish to challenge or undermine the project. But she was skating on thin ice. Ravi could point out at any moment that the make-up of Junoco and the Bright Minds formula was similar, if not indistinguishable. Amanda’s expression was unreadable and Ravi looked impassive, his fingers outstretched on the table again in his characteristic pose. Amanda picked up a pen and made a note on the small pad in front of her, then laid it down again and put her hands together.
‘A quite specific interest, you say? What is it, this specific interest?’
Amanda looked and sounded aggressive as she asked the question, or maybe more defensive, it was impossible to tell. Anyway, it felt discomforting and the sooner Fran was able to say her piece and get out, the better.
‘My interest is this. I have a doctor friend who has applied for asylum in the UK, been turned down and is waiting to hear the result of his appeal. Put simply, and this is my only demand, I want his appeal to be fast-tracked with a positive result, so he can live and work here.’
Amanda was doodling on the notepad, producing overlapping circular squiggles as Fran set out her demand. Then the doodling stopped, pen in the air, and the two women were locked in an unwavering gaze until Amanda dropped her eyes and spoke again.
‘All right, if that’s it, I’ll arrange it. If there’s anything else, let’s hear it now.’
‘No, there’s nothing else. I don’t want to be involved any further and I’ll keep quiet.’
‘Yes, you will keep quiet because if you don’t, if you speak to anyone or the story gets out in a damaging and uncontrolled way and it’s traced back to you, your friend’s refugee status will be revoked overnight and he will face immediate deportation.’
‘I understan
d that, and I accept your terms.’
Surprisingly, Ravi decided to accompany her back down in the lift and see her out through the barriers. This gave her the chance to ask her burning question.
‘Why did you approach me, Ravi – such a minor player?’
‘I don’t work for this department. I got pulled in to investigate what was going on, once suspicions were aroused about information leaks and misinformation being spread about the programme. We thought you were the weakest link, but I have to say, and I sincerely mean this, we were wrong. And I got hammered for letting you turn the tables on us. What you did today, that was a quiet master stroke. It takes a lot to topple Amanda.’
And for the first time, he actually smiled.
Chapter 20
Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, she remembered how indecisive she had been when choosing what to wear to the public lecture on brainpower. Today was different. It was her birthday and Alice had invited her to lunch at a restaurant near her home in North London. Putting together her outfit was easy – the close-fitting blue-and-yellow dress that Daniela had encouraged her to buy, together with a twisted gold belt, short jacket, dangly earrings and ankle boots. She spun round, examining all angles in the mirror. It looked chic and a tad sophisticated, altogether very Vicky. It felt liberating to recognise her inspiration. And another thought, a distinctly odd one – would Vicky look any different in her true identity?
The doorbell rang. It could be Lily, who had gone on a special trip with Petra to choose a birthday present for Fran. It wasn’t Lily, though. It was a delivery boy with a bumper bouquet of spring flowers and ferns. The fragrance of the ferns came through strongly as she lifted it to her face, inducing a sudden flashback to the days with her teenage boyfriend, romping in the ferns on the pretext of taking the family dog for a walk.
She carried the bouquet into the kitchen, laying it on the counter while she opened the little envelope with the card, which bore no personal greeting or signature. She turned it over to check it was blank on the back and then filled the vase with water, stuck in the flowers and ferns all at once and stood back to view the result, which was untidy and lopsided. Had she let slip to anyone why she loved ferns so much? It was unlikely, but she couldn’t remember.
It might be Vicky; surely anyone else would have included a birthday message, a few words. She wasn’t allowed to do that, though; it would be forbidden once she had cut and run. Did that mean she had also disappeared from Andy’s life? Yes, it had to; Vicky couldn’t maintain any contacts from her undercover existence and Andy must be wondering why, or thinking it was the confrontation with Fran that put paid to it. Did he even think he was doing anything wrong, behaving like that? Was she presuming too much, turning it into something that it was never meant to be?
And Vicky, sitting in bed with him in that dream scene, her foxy smile, who was she? Was she a nice person who had been promoted to the wrong job or was she in the job precisely because she enjoyed the deception and lies, leading people on, winding them in? Did she believe Fran was a legitimate quarry or had she truly been fond of her and overstepped her role because she wanted to be close to her? If she had sent the flowers, what was behind it – what kind of emotion? What was it Fran had said to Vicky in Andy’s kitchen? Many contradictory things can be true, all at once. She shouldn’t expect consistency. The feeling and the words, they didn’t always fit.
She turned on the tap to wash up her breakfast mug and small plate. It was a long, knotty string of questions, with no real answers.
Before leaving the house, she took a peek at the drawing of the sloth she had done before breakfast, following last night’s Junoco session. It was the perfect sketch to animate, a languorous pole dance down the tree trunk, limbs and paws slowly extended one after the other.
She looked out for Lily on the street but there was no sign of her, only a young tabby cat padding up to purr round her ankles. A new generation, maybe even a replacement for one of the stolen pets. She decided on the pond route past the green and, as she had hoped, the lines of fluffy yellow ducklings had now appeared, paddling fast to keep up with their aloof but watchful parents.
‘Bonjour, Jean-Claude,’ she said, as he stepped out of the café with a stack of chairs for the few small tables he managed to fit along the inner edge of the pavement. She also had to stop off at the shop to check that all was okay and remind the young sales assistant to unpack the new chocolates, the richer ones she had ordered to keep up with the trend in all the premier chocolate stores. It was fun, having the authority as manager to make these decisions now Daniela was away.
Her direct tube journey to North London took thirty-five minutes. When she arrived at the restaurant, Alice was sitting there with a large, gift-wrapped box on the table.
‘Hey, is this for me? You shouldn’t have. Can I open it straight away?’
‘Yes, get on with it, I can’t wait any longer.’
Fran untied the ribbon and tore off the paper, opening the box with a mystified expression before extricating the object from its packaging. It was a black-and-silver robot standing about ten inches high.
‘Oh wow, it’s beautiful! What does it do?’
She pressed a couple of buttons and lights started flashing, blue, red and white. She had a sudden sense of déjà vu. She knew this robot creature, had met it before and followed it, perhaps in a dream?
‘It’s one of the most advanced bots,’ said Alice, ‘or so I’ve been told. It has speech recognition and learns to anticipate requests and instructions. It’s a reader as well, and will fetch and carry, pick things up, do a spot of housework, feed the cat, organise your love life, who knows? You can read the booklet.’
‘It’s mind-boggling – thank you, Alice, you’re so sweet, such a perfect present. I think I’ll start a collection, buy one every year to track how they evolve.’
‘Lovely idea – history, as it happens. I want to come over and play with it too, if you let me. Now, let’s have a bottle of birthday bubbly to get us going.’
As they raised their wine glasses, Fran was reminded of her first meeting with Alice and Professor Fred, after the lecture when he was so tipsy.
‘I must ask you about Fred, what’s happened to him, but before I do, I’ve had a thought about robots, how we’re all in danger of falling in love with machines, inanimate objects. Ned claims to be in love with his smart fridge and he’ll make anything it suggests. I’m in love with my mole friend Guacamole, if you can call him inanimate. He’s somewhere in between. What about you, Alice? What thing are you most in love with?’
‘That’s a good question, I’ve no idea. I expect for most people now, it has to be their phone because it is their gateway to other worlds. For me, being rather old-fashioned, it’s probably the radio. Anyway, just for you, Fran, I do have an update on our Professor Fred. He’s supposedly on sabbatical for twelve months and we haven’t been given any contact details. The research project is on hold for the time being, although I think they might be reshaping it; that’s the rumour.’
‘Reshaping it?’
‘Well, it might be retargeted at a narrower group, not the cleverest children but the least academic ones. They’re making a calculated judgement, I think, about how parents will react, how curious they’ll be about what’s going on. And cognitive-enhancing drugs tend to have a bigger effect on the bottom thirty per cent, the people who struggle most intellectually. I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but I trust you and I have to talk to someone.’
‘I feel the same way, Alice, about you and Junoco. My trust has taken a bashing in the last while, but it’s still intact and I’ve learnt some lessons about how to respond when it does break down. Without Junoco, I’d be spinning like a top.’
‘There are whispers that the Home Office is interested, thinking about how to get prisoners off legal highs and give them a curiosity boost instead.’
‘Really – that’s fascinating! They’d have to offer outlets for creativity too,
of the non-criminal kind I mean. But going back to children and the Bright Minds study, I may have played a part in the reshaping you just mentioned.’
‘What do you mean? Is this to do with your assignation on holiday?’
‘Yes, it is, indirectly. Osvaldo gave me the name of the senior civil servant involved in the project and let on that she was based in the Home Office, not in education or health as I’d assumed. This fits with what you said just now – maybe the Home Office has taken charge. Osvaldo also let slip that the civil servant didn’t know that the compound they’re planning to use, a variant of Junoco, contains an unlicensed synthetic drug. When I got home, I saw my chance and managed to contrive a meeting with her. Marcus next door set it up for me.’
‘What chance – your chance to do what? I’m not following you.’
‘I know – it’s a sideways leap. It’s for Kwesi, who’s been waiting forever to hear the outcome of his asylum appeal. I went to the Home Office and struck a deal with the woman, to get his appeal through.’ She stopped talking to top up their glasses with the remaining champagne.
‘What did you say?’ Alice affected a husky drawl. ‘“Give me the money or I’ll shoot”?’
‘Yes, in so many words. I said his appeal had to be fast-tracked with a positive result, so he can stay in London and work as a doctor.’
‘Smart move – how did she respond?’
‘She was quietly fuming, but she agreed to do it. And she said if the story gets out through me, she’ll have his refugee status revoked and he’ll be deported. That’s her hold over me.’
‘Yikes, that’s some deal! Does Kwesi know yet?’
‘Yes, he’s had confirmation by letter and he’s over the moon, as you can imagine; says he always had faith in British justice.’