Signal Point

by Marcus Alden

  ‘Yeah, it’s the right one. Constable, or whoever it was imitating him.’

  ‘Why is this important? Okay, it’s pretty, what we can see of it, but it’s nothing special.’

  ‘I guess that’s why you’re not an art historian; it’s not that clear-cut. Even ugly things are worth money sometimes, don’t you know? In fact, some of the ugliest art I’ve seen is valued at millions while something I’ve liked is labelled worthless. It all depends on what your values are and how you approach it. This might be an ugly painting in your eyes, but it must have fooled some people to have gained its reputation,’ Dan said as he looked at the shadowy canvas.

  ‘Well, evidently the person that threw paint over it didn’t appreciate it as much as you do.’

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t make it worthless just because people don’t like it. The fact that someone has defaced it only adds to its story and perhaps makes it even more valuable; think about it. Why do people buy dead celebrities’ shoes? They’re not going to use them for the practical purpose that they were made for, but they sell for thousands at auction because they are one of a kind. Art is the same.’

  ‘So, you’re saying that even though this painting is a fake and has been damaged, it’s worth more than a genuine piece by an unknown artist? That’s ridiculous,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Well maybe, and what isn’t genuine about this? It’s still paint on canvas. All I’m saying is that sometimes the facts don’t make sense and there isn’t a logical reason why people give some things value and others not.’

  ‘Okay, and how did you get so knowledgeable about the art world? I thought you were a graphic designer, not an art expert,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I did a bit of art history way back and I guess it stuck.’ Dan shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But why would this painting, the fake one, be mentioned in the will and featured in that fake art book?’

  ‘I think they were just recording all the notable items the Easton family owned. One man’s junk is another man’s––.’

  ‘Sssh!’ Sarah cut Dan’s words short, she turned to listen. The sound of a door shutting and footsteps in the corridor had made her alert. They watched as a shadow of a figure moved past the blinds of the window. ‘We should go, our luck might have just run out.’

  Leaving the gloves behind, but still wearing the white coats, they left the room and walked back the way they had come. Dan and Sarah got back to the vestibule, but voices came from behind the door they needed to exit by. They dashed into the men’s toilets and snuck into a cubicle together, though it became apparent straight away that they were not alone in the toilets. Someone in the cubicle next to them made strained noises. A foul smell met them. Dan and Sarah winced and tried not to laugh as they waited for him to finish. The man pulled more and more toilet paper from the holder, the thin partition rumbled between them each time. The comedy of the moment was sobered though as soon as the man spoke.

  ‘Is that you Bailey?’ the man in the next cubicle said. With a panicked face, Dan looked at Sarah for answers. She pointed down to the photo ID badge pinned to the white coat he was wearing.

  ‘Err no––, it’s Ewan.’ Dan attempted a Scottish accent; his voice stumbled out like someone had tripped over a chair leg.

  ‘Ah Ewan, would you mind passing me a wee bit of paper. They never put enough in these things.’ Dan looked at Sarah perplexed.

  ‘Sure.’ Dan couldn’t believe what he was doing. Dan pulled off as much tissue as the holder would let him have; it spun around and made a noise. Dan passed the tissue under the cubicle into the hands of the stranger on the other side.

  ‘Now what?’ Sarah whispered with a look of concern. Dan shrugged. An announcement buzzed through the man’s walkie-talkie.

  ‘Jeff, two suspicious people wearing cleaning jackets just entered the men’s toilets on level 0. Check it out, over.’ The walkie-talkie blipped.

  ‘This is Jeff; I’m in the toilets on level 0. There’s nobody in here except me and Ewan, over.’ The walkie-talkie blipped again.

  ‘Repeat. A man and a woman have been seen entering the toilets, check again, over. The voice replied in a more urgent tone. The man in the next cubicle spoke again.

  ‘Say Ewan, did you see anyone on your way in? Come to think of it, why aren’t you still in Glasgow?’ There was a brief pause as Dan tried to collect his thoughts, but he wasn’t quick enough. The security guard noticed his hesitation and stood up on the toilet seat and peered over the partition into their cubicle. With a look of horror their eyes met. The chubby bearded man stared back at them with wide, surprised eyes.

  ‘What the heck––.’ The guard scrambled to pull up his underwear and trousers around his thick legs while he moved about the small cubicle. Dan twisted the lock and flung the door back. He dragged Sarah out behind him. The guard unlocked his door. He reached out to grab them as they ran but it was no use. The guard shouted into his walkie-talkie. ‘I’ve seen them, they’re running––.’ His voice was urgent. But he forgot he had not pulled up his trousers; the guard tripped over and landed in front of the bank of sinks. Dan and Sarah ran out as they heard him crash to the floor.

  The corridor was empty so they hurried toward the exit. They hammered through the door, dumped the white coats on the floor, and were then back in the gallery. Without stopping, they ran through the maze of the lower level dodging visitors and displays. The warmth of the rooms and the running made Dan begin to sweat. They turned a corner; at the end of a narrow passage were the stairs to the ground floor. Climbing two treads at a time Dan and Sarah reached the ground floor out of breath, but without being stopped.

  ‘Stop running, we need to be calm or they’ll notice us,’ Sarah said panting. ‘Walking straight would be quickest.’ Dan acknowledged her but didn’t reply as they met other visitors about to descend the stairs. He pulled Sarah close and meandered left through the displays, as a couple might, not walking the quickest route ahead. ‘What are you doing?’ Sarah said through her clenched teeth trying to control her breathing.

  ‘Don’t you think this one is best? The way the colour weaves through unnoticed leading your eye to the doorway.’ Dan attempted to speak in code while looking at a painting of a Madonna and Child. Dan felt the strain inside of him bubbling up; trying to burst outwards the further he suppressed his internal anxieties.

  ‘Ah yes I see now,’ Sarah said as she felt the pressure of security cameras on her. Dan and Sarah skirted round the walls and noticed that the room attendants remained unflustered amongst the other visitors. Maybe the guard from the toilet was the one supposed to be watching the CCTV, Dan thought. The pair’s eyes were fixed on the route out of the gallery. Garbled voices behind made them quicken their steps at the possibility of a chase. The chances of getting away unchallenged were slim, Sarah thought.

  With his arm around Sarah, Dan got within meters of the exit. The urge to look around was intense, but he fought against it. They walked straight out of the doors. Dan breathed the outside air; they had done it.

  ‘Wait there,’ a quiet voice from behind said. ‘Wait.’ It came again, but although the voice was urgent sounding it did not seem like it would belong to the security staff. Dan and Sarah turned around; it was the stranger that had followed them in Winchester. Adrian approached them.

  ‘I don’t know who you are but now is not the time, we’ve got to go.’ Dan turned back around to walk away.

  ‘Look, I need to speak,’ Adrian pleaded with them while walking.

  ‘Who are you? Why are you following us? What have you got to do with the thugs?’ Sarah fired questions at him.

  ‘Please, just listen.’

  ‘Be quick.’ Dan looked towards the gallery doors.

  ‘My name’s Adrian. I’m a journalist; I don’t know who you are, but I’m investigating Robert Atmore. What have you got to do with him?’

  ‘I don’t know who that is,’ said Dan.

  ‘I’ve been following Atmore’s men to get informa
tion on what he’s up to. I tracked them from London to Winchester and that’s when I saw you. I––.’

  ‘Quick, they’re coming.’ Sarah pulled Dan’s arm to warn him to go faster. Adrian followed. The security team emerged and pounded onto the paving with yells and screeches. The sound of rubber soles slapped against the stone as the security team ran for Dan and Sarah; the sounds echoed in the space between the buildings. One of the team shouted out.

  ‘Stop, the police are on their way!’ They ran past the Scottish National Academy and cut into Princes Street Gardens, Adrian followed. They tumbled down the steps and sprinted along the path that lead into the gardens. Members of the security team reached the railings and looked down, radioing and shouting as others whipped around the corner and down the steps in pursuit of them. Police sirens came from vague directions in the distance. Further along the path, they were exposed from all sides. Sarah shouted to Adrian as they ran.

  ‘You better start speaking; who is Atmore?’

  ‘He grew an empire from insider trading and now has every major company begging at his feet. If he clicks his fingers it happens. For some reason, his thugs are after you.’ Adrian was breathless as they continued to run. ‘I don’t know what your involvement is but you need to stop before it’s your death someone else is investigating.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about this Atmore. My grandfather died and left me money, I went to sort the paperwork and they’ve followed since.’ The three of them ran along the flat path below Princes Street past people sat on benches that looked out towards the castle high on the rock. They had gained some distance from the security team, but it was the reinforcements Dan was more concerned about. They could see the steep climbing steps at the end of the path, but they were still far from them.

  ‘What does Atmore want with me? I’m trying to solve my grandfather’s death nothing more; what’s it got to do with him?’

  ‘We thought the thugs worked for Maybury,’ Sarah said.

  ‘No, they’re Atmore’s men. Who is Maybury?’ Adrian asked.

  ‘He’s a solicitor in Winchester. Atmore and Maybury must be linked then, but how?’

  ‘Atmore is very influential. Why would he be dealing with such a small company?’ Adrian paused as he pieced the facts together. ‘Atmore won the contract for the rail project. His company is constructing the high-speed rail link between London and Birmingham; it’s worth billions.’

  ‘And––,’ Dan said.

  ‘He must be trying to keep a low profile while getting this solicitor to do his dirty work. You have to understand who you’re dealing with.’ Adrian gasped for a breath. ‘He only cares for money and power; it’s neo-liberal corruption to the core. Even if you get rid of the thugs, he will send more. You’ve got to stop him.’

  ‘But we don’t even know why he’s after us,’ said Sarah. They reached the bottom of the steps out of breath, yet unable to stop for respite.

  ‘You really don’t know anything, do you?’ Adrian said exasperated looking at them both. The three of them put all their energy into the climb which prevented them from speaking. They pushed to reach the top as sirens sped down Princes Street. Under the shadow of the Scott Monument, Adrian took off a lanyard that was around his neck and thrust it into Dan’s hand. On the lanyard was a USB key. Adrian stared Dan in the eyes with fear and said nothing, then looked over at Sarah.

  ‘We need to split, or they’ll get all of us.’ Waiting parked at the top of the steps on Waverley Bridge was the black 4x4. Hawk stood in front of it. With the police approaching on one side and Hawk on the other, there was no time to say anything else. Adrian, who had seen a bike propped up against the railings while its owner talked to a bus driver, made the first move. He leapt onto the saddle and peddled away. He squeezed between the cars and buses. Harrier revved the engine of the 4x4 and roared after him.

  Hawk stared through Dan and Sarah. He opened his jacket to show his gun to them, but Dan couldn’t care less; he was becoming bolder and was not going to surrender yet. They ran straight forward between the buses and over the road, down the ramp into Waverley Station. Hawk fired a couple of pot-shots towards them but moving vehicles obscured the bullets and they smashed through the window of a taxi. Cars started to surround the area. Police poured out and followed the sounds of the shots on foot.

  Adrian gave all his energy to pedaling. He mounted the pavement to dodge shoppers and rang the little bell in frantic repetition to warn them to move. He cut a sharp left into a narrow dark lane behind the shops. Avoiding large wheeled bins and parked vans he raced through the passage towards the next street. Harrier followed in the bulky 4x4 and smashed one of the wing mirror’s off against a downpipe that jutted out. As he tore out of the lane, he saw Adrian pedaling away into St Andrew’s Square. Distracted, he clipped a people carrier. It crumpled the entire side of the sleek 4x4. Harrier pursued enraged; more determined to catch the weedy cyclist than before. Adrian cut left into George Street, where the old banks that had been turned into classy bars and restaurants sat. Harrier accelerated with the pedal pushed to the floor; the engine kicked into frenzied submission and tore over the tarmac. Though the journalist did his best to pedal despite his fatigue, Harrier caught up with Adrian. The thug pressed on the horn beeping for pedestrians to move out of the way.

  In the centre of the road bronze figures of historical importance mounted on stone pedestals presided over the chase. Adrian cycled past the green statue of George IV and into Hanover Street. His panicked thoughts had calculated that he needed to lose Harrier before returning to the hotel. If the thug followed him, he thought, he might be stopped from uploading the files to head office and all he had done would be wasted.

  Adrian weaved in and out of traffic as Harrier got caught behind a line of cars. Into Queen Street, he managed to get further away and turned right in between the gated gardens that lined the Georgian houses. The grim spire of St Stephen’s hung in the distance like a guillotine about to drop on its victim. Turning another right Adrian doubled back on himself; he looked behind and couldn’t see Harrier. Had he done it? His hopes were dashed as the 4x4 almost impaled him from the side.

  Adrian cycled straight on, the curve of the road swept round with trees on one side and palatial houses on the other. The pedals pushed the flabby journalist beyond any workout he had ever done and he reached the top of the street exhausted and gasping for air.

  Harrier accelerated, but road works prevented him from following; the 4x4 mounted the pavement and hit a metal post shunting the car to an abrupt stop. Adrian didn’t turn around to look but just heard the crunching smash of the bonnet as the metal buckled inwards. The air bag catapulted out from the steering wheel and hit Harrier in the face.

  Bloody nosed, the thug opened the door and got out to run after Adrian who was headed towards a hotel set in the terraced Georgian houses. Harrier shot several times towards the reporter as he ran after him. Adrian’s plan had only been to get to the hotel and he had not thought of the next step or how he would escape. He couldn’t think of anything, just survival.

  The hotel grew nearer. Adrian applied the squeaking brakes and slid off the saddle allowing the wheels to crash against the hotel steps. Harrier shot again from a distance, but this time it pierced Adrian in his side. He yelled; an agonising sound that tore through his depleted energy.

  The wounded reporter clambered up the steps into the hotel’s reception and, using all his remaining energy, he climbed the wide turning staircase to the second floor. He held his wound as blood trailed out onto the carpet. Inserting the key with his shaking hand Adrian unlocked the door and shut it behind him. He flipped open the laptop and slumped down in the chair.

  Adrian clicked open his email account and attached his research files on Atmore to his boss’ address. He hit the send button; the uploading bar crawled across the screen on the hotels slow Wi-Fi network; 10%, 30%, 50% completed. There was a pounding at the door. Adrian turned panicked, his breathing tense but s
hallow. He looked back to the screen and began typing in the message field. The files were taking time to upload; 70%, 80% completed. The hammering at the door continued. It was no use; Harrier could not get through the thick wooden door. Adrian felt a culmination of sweat cling to his body. He tried to reassure himself it was the cycling that had caused it, not the bleeding wound.

  The pounding at the door stopped, Adrian looked back to the screen; 99% completed. Then a few seconds later it was complete. He had done it; the head office had what they needed to expose Atmore. Caught like a mouse in a trap Adrian contemplated his options as his head swam with dizziness and the blood seeped into the fabric of the chair.

  Adrian looked around the room; it had a high ceiling with two large sash windows that faced the street, but no other door apart from the one he had entered by. He saw the hotel phone next to the bed and wrenched himself up from the chair and over towards it. He lifted the handset and dialled 999. As he did, Adrian heard voices on the other side of the door.

  ‘Ah thank you, my wife has both the keys and I need to get changed for a meeting,’ Harrier said to a cleaner that was passing on the landing. The lock clicked and Adrian’s worst fear became a reality. Standing there in his room was Harrier. The hulking thug shut the door behind him. Adrian wriggled back on the bed and smeared the white duvet in blood.

  ‘The police, the police are coming––,’ Adrian paused to catch a breath. ‘Atmore won’t win,’ he said with fear in his voice. He looked down at the red soaked bedding and the oozing shot wound from where the pain throbbed. He wanted to be sick.

  ‘Atmore always wins. Do you think you’re the first one to try and bring him down?’ Harrier stepped closer. Adrian gulped before speaking again.