The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller

by Malhar Patel

  He entered his room in just as laboured a fashion as his walk up to it. However, a quick look around was enough to see it was just the way he'd left it: an absolute tip. He realised he didn't have time to unpack now, and suddenly his calm, cool exterior dissipated. He was sure a few minutes ago it had been a lot more spacious.

  With some frantic running around, the room almost seemed to come to life as clothes were picked up, suitcases stuffed and objects arranged into neat symmetrical patterns. Rushing around, looking for a place to put the bag, he decided instead on simply shoving it under the bed. Then with a strained sprint over to the mirror he got one final look at himself. It wasn't much but it would have to do.

  He could feel his heart beating a little harder as he heard footsteps. For a second the image of the henchmen from the bar popped into his mind and in a single, fleeting moment, paranoia had taken over with a fiendish grip.

  Events like this one didn't happen to him often and his nerves were jangling at the prospect. He was determined not to let the cloud of worry persist, and instead went to wet his hair in the sink as a last-minute substitute for hair gel. Scuttling quickly across the large magnolia room he failed to notice the bartender's package on the bed was leaking a dark red, viscous fluid.

  Jack came out of the bathroom and was already beginning to second-guess himself. A look at his watch only heightened his anxiety. Was the present from the woman? Did he imagine the looks she was giving? Or did she just get lost on her way up. Maybe he should go outside and look for her. His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a splintering knock on the door. This was it.

  He scrambled over to the door, bringing himself down to a calm, casual saunter midway, to ease his mind. Reaching the door he took a deep breath as he let his charming self rise up to the surface. With a smooth motion, he suavely swung open the door, flashing a Colgate smile for his new friend.

  There, in the doorway, stood a middle-aged man, balding from his crown and sporting a hideous comb-over. His royal purple waistcoat and faded gold tassels screamed out the fact that he was one of the hotel staff. “Good afternoon sir”, he droned out in a jaded monotone, leached of all feeling by his tedious job.

  “Erm hello,” replied Jack, glancing left and right down the hallway as he said it.

  “What erm, what can I do for you?”

  “I have an envelope for the gentleman in room 308, which I assume means it's for you.” Jack took it and thanked the man. A small but polite cough followed, reminding him that a tip was expected. After fishing out some change from his pockets he slowly walked back inside and started tearing open the envelope, wondering if it was from the mystery woman in the bar. Midway, he became distracted by his navy blue quilt cover, noticing the formation of a small dark mauve patch.

  He took a few more steps towards the bed and glanced at the package. It was enclosed within an expensive looking red bag, but peering in he saw a far less expensive looking parcel, crumpled and wrapped in cheap brown paper. His face formed a pensive frown as he looked closer: it was darkened all along the underside. Carefully removing the twine, he folded open the shoddy covering. The woman was no longer on his mind. Peeling back the last of the sticky paper revealed a scruffy and badly worn olive green shoebox.

  This was beginning to get a bit too peculiar for him; evident in the way his hand had started to gently falter. Not quivering but not steady either. He pried open the top of the box and immediately took in a short, sharp gasp, springing a step or two backwards. Having given way to rasping, deep breaths now, he leant over to check what he had seen, nice and slowly. Laid out in a row, amidst a haze of festering stench, were five bloody, shrivelled human fingers.

  His hand began to quiver violently, a sickly feeling taking over his gut. It was like the bluntness he experienced in his stomach when he felt guilt. As his hand wretched from side to side he noticed the envelope was still in it. Trying to steady himself against the wall he opened it fully and with some effort managed to remove a sheet of off-white paper. Unfolding it, there was a simple message written in a typewriter font.

  BE AT JENNY'S, TO THE WEST OF THE HOTEL, IN 1 HOUR. COME ALONE AND UNARMED.

  Chapter 2

  Pete looked at himself in the mirror one last time. He was a tall man, with rugged good looks. Thick auburn stubble enveloped his strong jaw line and his hair stood short and spiked up. He sprayed on some deodorant and finished buttoning up his blue striped shirt. “Neesh, I'm off to work now, I'll be back for the game.”

  “Have fun Pete, see you later.” Anisha heard the door rattle shut as her flatmate left for work. Not that Pete really called it work: photographing models all day was more of a paid hobby to him. In contrast, Anisha was a surveillance worker; one of the many unknown faces keeping the city safe from crime and ensuring justice for all.

  After buying the new time booths, the government had had to pay out a tax to their inventor, the largely mysterious and equally reclusive Liam Fuse. He was now easily the richest man on the planet, even owning several countries. Every year the government paid a small percentage of the time booth business' projected profit, directly into Liam's pocket.

  For complex financial reasons, it had saved money during its start-up by building a surveillance network as part of the time travel project, and it was currently enjoying the higher profits as a result.

  Surveillance was a fundamental necessity for the project; with time travel having all manner of inherent implications for crime and deceit. As such, there were cameras throughout the entire city, and within every single room of every building. Even people's bathrooms. Interfering with them or turning any of them off was the highest taboo, and potentially punishable by death. Anisha, along with thousands of others, monitored the daily events in the capital. She followed the activities of its inhabitants and was the first step in stopping any potential problems. It was big brother all over again, but dressed up as public security.

  With the faintest yawn, Anisha ran a comb down her coal black hair. It was perfectly straight, falling down to her shoulders, and the comb slid through effortlessly. She was Asian but compared to most people in her family, her skin was several shades paler. Licking her cherry red lips seductively, she grabbed her keys and headed out of her huge apartment. Being a monitor monkey -that's what they were nicknamed - she was entitled to certain privileges. Today she had the afternoon free and she was off to meet her best friend for a meal. She could sense it was going to be a good day.

  The colours of the room all blurred together: the soft pines, mild magnolias and royal blues seemed to form a raging vortex around him. A million thoughts bounced around his head, seeming so urgent as to take physical form. All the events of the last few minutes seemed to bleed into each other. In his flustered state, the same few questions cycled continuously through his mind.

  Who was Jenny? Whose fingers were in the box? Who delivered it to him? Disorientated, Jack stumbled backwards and just about managed to find a small velvet chair to slump onto. Deep in thought and still shaken up, he resolved to find out what was going on. It seemed the most logical thing he could do given the seemingly illogical turn of events.

  As he blinked, the room came back into focus and gazing around, his attention again drew to the bloody box. His hands felt itchy, as if his sweat was suddenly caustic and etching away at them. He held them up to the light to check for blood and thankfully saw none. With an almighty heave he forced himself up, and out the door. He had to find Jenny in less than an hour.

  The bar was packed full and on his walk through, it rumbled with deafening conversation. A quick scan of the place for the men he had seen earlier turned up nothing. Instead he saw the Japanese woman, now smiling at somebody else. He walked through into the lobby and up to the reception desk.

  There was a different person from the one had seen a few hours ago, although in his haste Jack hardly noticed. “Erm hi there,” he began, “Can you help me out please?” His voice felt raspy and strained.

  “
Sure thing mate, what seems to be the problem?”

  “I'm looking for a girl, erm, a friend of mine. She was supposed to be checked in today.”

  “What's her name?” he enquired, friendly as possible.

  “Jenny.”

  “Jenny what?” Jack began to feel hot under the collar and sensed a crimson flush taking over his face. His eyes became glazed over as he immersed himself deep in thought. Then something struck him. “Erm, let me level with you. You seem like a pretty mellow guy. It's not that kind of a friend. It's this girl I met at a club,” he paused to cheekily raise his bushy eyebrows a fraction. “Do y'know what I mean?” His voice was seedier now. “She mentioned she was staying here.” After another short pause the man at the desk nodded his head a little, returning the sleazy grin.

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  Jack started back up to the elevator, a list of Jenny's staying in the hotel now safely in his leg pocket. He stopped for a second, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the note again. It said Jenny's room was to the west of the hotel. Checking his list of room numbers against areas in the west wing, only one name seemed to match. Jenny Doyle.

  He headed off to her room, W96, with a stomach full of butterflies and a brow drenched in nervous sweat. All this frantic scurrying had left his every muscle tense and he could feel his legs ache with every step he took. Finally arriving, he inhaled deeply to calm his shredded nerves, then rapped on the door with his knuckles.

  From the shower she heard a hollow thud, followed by another. The ancient faucet creaked with lime scale as it was turned off, and the sound became discernible as knocking on the door. With a thunderous voice, surprisingly loud for such a small girl, she yelled, “One second” and felt around the cubicle for her towel. Patting down rather than drying, she flung around the towel frantically and reached her legs quickly. Although not baby smooth, her legs were still silky to the touch. It was a good thing she had shaved before her shower.

  The knocking continued. Whoever was at the door appeared to be pretty agitated. “I'm coming, hang on,” she yelled, hoping to keep them at bay. Finishing off her legs she wrapped the towel around her head while getting out of the bathroom. As she sauntered to the door, she sighed a grumbling hot breath, annoyed that her shower was being cut short. The merciless assault on the door began again and she was starting to lose her patience “One more second” she yelled.

  There was some kind of mumbled reply but the pale peach towel was too low over her ears to make anything from it. Slipping the robe on, she dried off the soles of her feet and headed for the door, reaching it just in time to hear yet more knocking. With a flustered yank, it flung open. “Hey, sorry about that Neesh, I was in the shower.”

  Disgruntled, Jack turned away. There was definitely no answer at the door. He wondered if he should go around the hotel and search for her. He conceded that it was a long shot, especially since he had no idea what she looked like. Just in case, he rhythmically plodded back to the lounge. There was only thirty minutes left. What was he going to do? Should he go back in case Jenny did turn up, and stalk her door? He didn't like that idea much but idly waiting around didn't suit him either; he was the sort of person who always aimed to be pro-active.

  Drifting over to the bar, he had an idea. It wasn't very good but it was worth a try. He stumbled into the cocktail lounge, his restless legs clearly showing his agitation and in his most casual voice, asked the bartender where Jenny was, to the west of the hotel. “You mean Jenny's?” Jack thought about it for at least a second.

  He got out the note, and feeling a stroke of paranoia, subtly angled it away from the bartender. BE AT JENNY'S, TO THE WEST OF THE HOTEL. “Yeah,” he said. “Jenny's to the west of the hotel.”

  “Jenny's café is about a hundred metres that way, down Bermondsey Street.” Jack's eyes lit up and he thanked the bartender before leaving hurriedly, afraid of the consequences of being late.

  As he walked, he thought to himself, 'Jenny's is a café. I'm such an idiot'. He found his mix-up to be stupid and embarrassing, and it was a relief to his pride that no one else knew about it. A little more nervous pacing followed until he tapered to a stop outside the building.

  It was atypical for a London café in that it had several seats outside. More like an American style coffee house. He decided to sit on one of the uncomfortable aluminium chairs, so that whoever wanted to meet him would have a clear view.

  Amidst the haze of the London smog and the whir of traffic speeding past the adjacent road, his eyes began wandering round. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but then his gaze stopped on a man in a pale black pinstripe sitting a few tables away. He was in his late thirties but already had a receding hairline, and was watching his silver suitcase intently. It could’ve been the sender of the box but Jack didn’t want to jump to any conclusions; as he’d just proved, it usually wasn’t a good idea. Instead he turned his attention to the menu, wondering if the café served Vodka shots. He doubted it, but he could use a stiff drink.

  Looking up he saw a woman casually walk up to one of the tables, her face breaking into a soft smile. She had creamy skin and slightly chubby features but overall an attractive face. As she turned to sit down she revealed another woman behind her. This one had the same dark hair, but smooth mocha skin and could easily have been a model. He paused for a second. ‘Hang on a minute,” he thought, “she looks familiar.’

  At that same moment she spotted him too, and as their eyes locked, her face immediately formed a grin of recognition. She began to come over and in those few small steps to his table, the cogs in Jack's brain clicked into place and he worked out who she was. “Anisha, wow! Hey how are you?”

  “I'm not bad you know, same old. How about you?” The question hung in the air for a few moments. With the recent unsettling events, Jack had to struggle to maintain a mellow exterior, although he did welcome the distraction.

  “I'm not bad,” he replied with a false smile. “What brings you here?”

  “I'm just killing time with my friend Gina before an early dinner. Come say hi.”

  She ushered Jack over and soon the three of them were chatting away as if they'd been friends their whole lives. Jack knew Anisha from when they were only ten or eleven, wide-eyed and starting school. Back then he had been best friends with her older sister and she had always tagged along with them when they went out. It had been around seven years since they last saw each other and it felt good to catch up.

  Jack quickly found out Gina was Anisha's best friend and although he had expected awkward pauses when the conversation fell on them, he was surprised at how easy she was to get along with. He learned that they had been friends since school and still stuck together now. It then fell on him to describe his life up till now. There wasn't really much to say. He worked in the contracts department of a large faceless corporation. With a divorce years ago and no love life to speak of, he lived alone. His life story: the perfect mood killer.

  Looking at his watch he realised it was almost time to meet this mysterious person. The instructions were to come alone and not knowing the consequences of breaking them, he had to assume they would be grizzly. Telling the ladies he had a meeting to get to, he excused himself. “Okay well I'll talk to you soon then. Have a good vacation.”

  “You too. Nice to meet you Gina.” With five or so minutes left he walked into the café, telling the girls he wanted one more drink for the road.

  Inside he took a careful look around. The booths were all smeared and tarnished, while dirt from the ages now encroached the murky beige walls. The only sounds were the faint clatter of chips being fried, and the resonant breathing of a heavy-set gentleman sat near the front. The place was virtually empty, which was unsurprising at this hour.

  From his position in the far corner, a short man with a cough got up and began to walk out. He had an air of destitution to him, evident from the worn clothes and his foul, sharp odour. On his way out he collided with Jack, wrenching h
im around almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Jack was about to demand an apology when he noticed an unexpected weight in his right jacket pocket.

  After cautiously walking over to a free table, he sat down. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a yellow jiffy bag and he stared ominously at the mysterious package. Inside it was a dirty scrap of paper with a hand written message. OUR INSTRUCTIONS WILL BE OBEYED. Jack's blood ran cold. Someone had been watching him. Seen him with the girls. He whipped his head around side to side but he couldn't see anyone suspicious in the café. The grubby man had left.

  In a flash he was up and, still darting his head around, he ran out of the door. The man in the pinstripe had gone, but his suitcase was still there. The drink on the table was full and there was no money by it. In Jack's analytical mind that meant one thing: he'd left in a hurry. Leaving in a hurry didn't sound like such a bad idea and as he was about to do just that when he was interjected.

  “See you round then Jack. I have your number, we should catch up soon.” The sweet, friendly voice threw him off guard. Jack turned over to her table but couldn't seem to utter anything. His head was clouded by worry.

  From the scrap of paper he could tell something was going to happen. Something bad. The anticipation was electric, as if sparks were crackling in the air and he was the only one who could feel them, the only one afraid of them. He took a step closer to the girls, preparing to explain himself, when he saw a small red dot appear on Gina's blouse. Time seemed to blur and adrenaline took over. Jack leaped forwards and pushed Gina out of the way, somehow also swinging himself out of danger.

  As the pair gently sailed to the floor, a chunky, high-pitched shot tore through the air and he could see a spark fly from the chair behind her. Maybe everyone else in the café didn't hear the shot or maybe they were pluralistically ignorant. He wasn't sure. But he knew he had to leave now. And the girls knew it too. Scrambling to their feet in a flurry of blind panic, they took off across the café, Jack momentarily hunching down to sweep up the briefcase before they all pelted down the street.