The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  “The equipment we need to look at the app with and then send to the others isn’t on this campus. There’s an office on the Med campus, a few minutes up the road, which we’ll need to use. We’ll need to wait until after 10pm when the library closes. The building will be virtually deserted then, other than for a few of the night shift and security guards. But they won’t bother us if you’re with me.”

  Michael and Brown nodded their approval as Simon shuffled past them on the narrow path and back in the direction of the Students’ Union bar.

  “I don’t know about you, but in the meantime, I need a drink.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  13th September 2007

  Douglas Trevellion’s coffin sat to the left of the simple altar. A plain mahogany box with a subtle gold trim running round the lid, meeting on either side at the handles for the pall bearers. Standing on a sturdy metal frame it was positioned at the exact same height as the altar.

  The altar itself was covered with a plain white cotton covering, a small blue cross embroidered on the front, facing the congregation. A simple chalice, lacking any form of decoration, stood in the middle of the altar, two large white candles dwarfing the vessel either side.

  It was a simple scene. Certainly one his father would have approved of Simon Trevellion reflected as he sat in the pews, his gaze fixed on the coffin. His father could hardly have been called a religious man, and a simple, non-fussy, Church of England funeral was far more in keeping of the man than the added pomp and idolatry of a Catholic church.

  His father had been a quiet, unassuming man. Plain-speaking without question. But a man who didn’t like a fuss to be made. Not in life, and certainly not in death either.

  Looking to his mother, sitting to his right, a tissue firmly held in her hand and already moist from her tears, his gaze moved discretely to his watch. The service would start in less than five minutes. But still there was no sign of Vincent. His muscles tensed involuntarily, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

  Not that he was surprised. Why break the habit of a lifetime? It was only their father’s funeral after all.

  Fighting back the scowl he didn’t want his mother to see, on today of all days, he cast a look around the small village church and the assembled congregation. A combination of relatives and family friends filled the narrow aisles. Some of the people, family included, Simon knew well. Others were just casual acquaintances he’d seen at family functions over the years, although he couldn’t quite place their names. But no sign of his brother.

  During his father’s long and painful illness he’d been there. Every step of the way. Through the radiotherapy and the chemotherapy. In the brief period of remission, when for a few weeks they’d dared to believe that maybe the aggressive cancer had been stopped in its tracks. And then through the desolation of knowing it had spread again and that there was no way back for his father. He’d been through all of it. Comforting his mother. Supporting his father.

  But Vincent’s involvement had been few and far between. And the role of emotional crutch to both of his parents had been down to him alone. What irony.

  His mother had, as always, taken a charitable view of his brother’s actions. Choosing to believe he couldn’t cope with the emotional stress of terminal illness and seeing his father fade away. He smiled bitterly. Even after all these years, and through this bereavement, his mother still believed nothing Vincent ever did was wrong or with bad intention.

  Maybe being the baby of the family just reinforced this behaviour he’d wondered on so many occasions. How could his mother not see his brother’s interests were elsewhere? And always selfish. Vincent had never been a family man. He was too busy pursuing his own career to care about what happened to any of them. It had always been that way.

  It was only a chance meeting with a former acquaintance of his brother, Vincent didn’t tend to keep friends long, not after they’d served some sort of use, that had given him some recent intelligence. Apparently, his brother had just secured a major appointment at one of the biggest semantic computing companies in the country. The post of Vice President apparently. Of course he’d heard of SemComNet by reputation. Who hadn’t? Another blue chip company with a thirst for expansion and the bottom line. And as far as he was concerned one of the many enemies of freedom of information sharing.

  Sadly, the appointment hadn’t surprised him, just reinforcing the gulf between their two ideological stances on computing and information delivery.

  Needless to say his parents had been full of it for weeks, telling everyone they knew about their successful son. Quite a different response to his PhD and post at the University. That had been merely met with the comment: ‘Nevermind. Perhaps you’ll make Professor one day”.

  “Is Vincent here yet?” his mother asked softly, dabbing her eyes again as the vicar appeared from a hidden room behind the pulpit, approaching the altar.

  “No, not yet,” Simon replied through gritted teeth.

  “He’s probably just very busy,” his mother said, smiling at the thought of her other son.

  “I’m sure he is,” Simon replied caustically, unable to withhold his feelings any longer.

  “Simon please. If he could be here he would.”

  “This is dad’s funeral. If he can’t make it on this day, when can he?”

  Turning to face his mother Simon watched as his mother’s eyes brimmed with tears again. Not sure whether she was crying for the loss of her husband of 44 years or Vincent’s no-show, he put a comforting arm around her.

  Squeezing her son’s hand she wiped away the tears, conscious the vicar had begun speaking to the gathered mourners.

  Simon listened as the vicar eloquently and humorously talked about his father’s life. From his early days as an engineer on the railways through to time spent designing wind tunnels, his journey had never been dull. And there was always a story to tell. Simon smiled as anecdotes were shared and the congregation laughed appreciatively as the vicar celebrated his father’s life.

  Drawing to its conclusion the vicar turned his attention to the family. Squeezing his hand Simon’s mother wiped away the tears again as he described the loving wife and their long marriage. Simon could feel his own emotions rising, his own sadness engulfing him as the vicar spoke of his father’s pride and joy: his two sons.

  But as he grappled with his grief and own sense of personal loss he felt his anger rise. Anger at the snub to his father. Anger that his own brother couldn’t find the time to attend their father’s funeral.

  As the vicar’s word echoed around the small church Simon cast another look across the congregation. His sorrowful gaze stopped on the back row, just inside the church door. In the pews, wearing a smart dark suit, a black tie and sunglasses, Vincent sat, silently watching the service.

  A sense of confusion rushed through him. A mixture of surprise that his brother was there. A sense of anger that he was sitting there at all, given his absence during the illness. And a feeling of relief, however misplaced, for his mother. Whatever his own opinion on his brother, he wanted everything to be right for her. Today of all days.

  As his brother sat, emotionless, another thought struck him. Were the sunglasses intended to conceal his emotion, hide his grief? Vincent was never one prone to sharing his emotions, even as a child. Or was it just a bizarre fashion statement? Another statement of his own individuality. He was weary of trying to second-guess his brother motives. He’d never really understood what made him tick. Why would now be any different.

  Aware her son was distracted by something his mother turned also. A wide smile crossed her face and she raised a hand in acknowledgment to where her younger son sat. Vincent turned, nodding in her direction, before turning back, seemingly listening to the vicar’s continuing eulogy.

  “I told you he’d be here,” his mother said quietly.

  Scowling, Simon looked away also, focusing his attention back to his father’s memory. He’d save what he had to say to his
brother for later.

  With the service completed and the cremation carried out, the funeral party had returned to the family home, a short car journey from the church and crematorium. Simon’s mother had been busy, preparing a feast of food that would have fed twice the number of mourners if required.

  His parents’ house was a modest bungalow, with a long narrow back garden. If the weather hadn’t been so favourable for early autumn it would have been a real push to get everyone inside the bungalow. But with the garden everyone could mingle easily and comfortably, stopping to pay their personal respects to his mother and himself. And to Vincent.

  Suppressing the glower as mourners expressed the sympathy to his brother, who had barely even acknowledged the illness and its progression, he nodded his way through comment after comment. Everyone was warmly thanked for attending, assured that his father would have been proud of the send-off.

  Finally, with the vast majority of people standing in the garden, Simon approached where his brother stood, alone, in the dining room, looking out onto the well-kept garden.

  “Why did you bother coming? You couldn’t spare the time when dad was actually dying. What’s so different about today, especially as the old man wasn’t even here?”

  Vincent turned, still sporting his dark sunglasses, a thin smile crossing his face.

  “It’s good to see you too Simon,” he said, ignoring the question.

  “It broke dad’s heart that you stayed away when he was ill. You know that don’t you?”

  “I saw him before he died. We said what we needed to each other. Don’t assume you know anything about my relationship with our parents. You have yours. I have mine. I bet mother hasn’t been complaining about it like you are?”

  Simon was sure he could see a slight sneer cross his brother’s face.

  “Well, you know mum. She doesn’t think you can do a thing wrong. Dad didn’t either. And how you take advantage of that.”

  Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear the same mantras he’d heard throughout their childhood, gnawing at his thoughts:

  “Stop lying Simon, Vincent wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why don’t you behave like a real man, like your brother.”

  “Vincent hasn’t wasted his time on a meaningless degree. He’s got a real job.”

  “Simon, say sorry to your brother.”

  The sneer on Vincent’s face grew.

  “Really, Simon, that sounds like sibling jealousy to me. And I thought it was the youngest son who was supposed to be the jealous one.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself that I’d be jealous of you for an instant. You chose your path in life and you can stay on it. I have no interest in it. You’ve sold your sole to the devil. At least I’ve still got my integrity.”

  Vincent removed his sunglasses, placing them on the dining room table, before looking back to his brother, his eyes as piercing as ever.

  “And so speaks the great intellectual mind of the family. Is it any wonder our parents never had any interest in your career when you’ve wasted it so completely? Our father was a do-er. He got his hands dirty actually making things happen, making things work. He didn’t hyopthesise the whole time, wondering how things might happen in some intellectual utopia. He went out and did the job. And that’s what I do. That’s why he didn’t need the constant gratification of knowing I was there, in his face. Because he knew I was out there doing something. Not just talking or thinking about doing something.”

  Simon could feel his anger rising as his brother goaded him and the intellectual, academic path he’d taken.

  “Believe me, I’d take the same path every time rather than sell out to some parasitical company like you have.”

  A smirk crossed Vincent’s face as he watched his brother’s face flush red with anger.

  “So you’ve heard about my new job and promotion then, have you?”

  Vincent had always known exactly what buttons to push with him to elicit maximum irritation. Over the years he’d even been able to see when he was doing it. But no matter how hard he tried, despite his resolutions that he’d never rise to his provocations again, the red mist always came down. And Vincent always ended up winning their psychological games. They didn’t need to have a fistfight. His brother could always hit him harder with a few well-chosen words. It was his natural talent.

  “You disgust me. How can you possibly think a company like SemComNet has anything other than its own self-interest at heart? Remind me again, what’s its slogan: ‘Bringing the world to you’. What a pile of shit. Companies like that aren’t interested in delivering any good. They’ll just stamp on all the smaller companies developing proprietary software and using open standards, homegenising everything in its path. Why don’t all we just say goodbye to creativity and free thinking now and go home. Tell me, does your job description explicitly say ‘shit on the competition at whatever cost’?”

  A wry smile crossed Vincent’s thin lips, although Simon detected the merest hint of annoyance flash across his eyes. He’d clearly touched a nerve. A minor victory for him. No-one else would have been able to detect the indiscernible change in his expression. But this was his brother. He’d grown up with him. And he could still spot it.

  “Well, who knows? We’ll have to wait and see. Maybe one day we’ll be able to get university computer research departments shut down when we launch our own graduate scheme. What do you think will be more appealing? Twenty grand’s worth of tuition fees or a nice fat bursary to come and work and develop the future of semantic web technologies with SemComNet? Why don’t you try computing that?”

  Simon’s expression dropped at the prospect of such a scheme as Vincent reached for his sunglasses, replacing them on his narrow nose. His veiled threat was the sort of scheme his brother would readily setup just to piss him off.

  “I won’t hold my breath waiting for a visit from you then,” he replied coldly, turning to see where his mother was returning from the garden. “I’m sure you’d like the new premises we’re going to have built. Very modern.”

  And without another word Vincent was swiftly gone. And after a quick exchange of pleasantries with his mother he’d left the family home, staying barely long enough for the tea to get cold.

  Exhaling deeply, attempting to calm himself down, Simon looked into the long garden, mentally noting who he should go and talk to next. It was hard to believe he was related to Vincent, so far apart were their beliefs and outlooks on life. If they didn’t look like brother’s he might have thought one of them was adopted.

  Distracting him from his musings, a slender arm slipped round his waist as Jenny leaned in against him. His wife had been the perfect host, even though it wasn’t her house, guiding everyone through to the garden, loading them up with food, and saying all the right things befitting a wake. He was lucky to have her. A fact reinforced by his latest verbal spat with his brother.

  “Are you OK?” she said softly. “I saw you talking to your brother. I didn’t really want to interrupt. It looked a bit intense.”

  Simon nodded, sighing again at the memory of it.

  “He’s unbelievable, he really is. He doesn’t show up at all during dad’s illness, although he tried to tell me he did. Then he saunters in here and thinks he’s going to get a warm reception.”

  Jenny looked at him knowingly, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Are you sure that’s all you talked about? You sure you didn’t get onto his new job? You said you weren’t going to, didn’t you?”

  Simon bit his lip, frustrated at his own transparency.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help it. I really didn’t think he was going to turn up. Then he started goading me, I couldn’t help myself. But it wasn’t the only thing we talked about. I told him what a selfish shit he was. Well, I implied it at least.”

  Jenny nodded, squeezing his arm.

  “Look, I know how hard this is for you and your mum. Don’t let Vincent make it any worse. OK?”


  Simon nodded, knowing she was right. But as he watched his mother returning to the garden, talking to another distant cousin, he couldn’t help but feel sad at her unflinching belief in his motives. Why couldn’t she see what he could? What everyone else could surely see? But then maybe that was what being a mother was? Perhaps if he and Jenny ever had children she could tell him if that was really what it was like.

  Whatever the truth though, he knew one more thing for certain. He didn’t have to see his brother again if he didn’t want to. And after the day’s event that wasn’t likely to change for some time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Michael pulled the Land Rover into the quiet car park next to the angular building and looked around for any signs of life. In the building to his left the odd window was illuminated, bearing testament to an over-burdened professor or researcher still working at this late hour.

  The monolithic structure of the Medical and Sciences Campus at South Downs University was set in gently rolling landscaped grounds surrounding the 1970s concrete structure. Concrete beams, running horizontally and vertically, were evenly interspersed with tall windows running along the length of the building.

  On the ground floor, above a loading bay which ran along half the side of the building, a single light was on, housing a couple of the night security guards who were chatting whilst they drank cups of coffees.

  As the three men exited the Land Rover Michael noticed a set of greenhouses perpendicular to the campus building. A dim light shone inside revealing various plants and vegetation, carefully being nurtured and monitored for specific research purposes. Despite the light, the greenhouses and the car park were deserted.

  Simon Trevellion led the way, walking back round to the other side of the building where a slightly inclined ramp led down to the building’s main entrance. As the electronic doors opened they walked into the quiet foyer where a further security guard sat behind a glass windowed reception desk. Simon nonchalantly walked up to the desk with Michael and Brown close behind, although pretending to be interested in the contents of a postgraduate students’ notice board.