by Malhar Patel
“Nice going. What's the catch…or catches?” he asked suspiciously. Green senior looked a little sheepish.
“Just one. Without the right machines and without an accurate specifications for the drug, the lab was trying to do a year’s worth of R&D in one afternoon, and produce it without the correct equipment. They could only make enough of the drug to use once so we have to be completely accurate when we do this.”
Jack had expected nothing less. It was getting later into the afternoon and he thought maybe it was time he paid Kim a visit. He had only popped home to change into some more menacing clothes, the run-in with Green an unexpected side-bar. As they talked, he was sat in his black trousers, Pete's intimidating black duster and his wrap around shades, to hopefully hide the nervous, amateurish look in his eyes.
Green senior placed a small, translucent orange container of Dextrafizene on the coffee table and Jack told him he was doing one last sweep of the Royal Hall. Pete had said yesterday that it was too heavily guarded but he told senior he wanted to check again. As he predicted, the geriatric was tired from his long day's work, and allowed Jack to leave quietly without further question.
It was another shattering day drawing to a close for Kim and she was relieved it would be over soon. She had the printout of the attendance list in her bag but there had been too many people around and too much work to find sufficient time to inspect. Instead she'd opted to read it when she got back home.
The lab was already dark; only her corner remained lit as she and a few colleagues finished off the last test for the day. When Kim had originally been asked to head a team for the project she'd expected more freedom and delegation and less monotonous lab work. The reality though, was constantly having to dip into everything, and always being the last to leave each night.
At least it would be over soon, and then maybe she could take a trip with some of the extra money she'd saved up. Having worked during her time travel, she hoped that she could now rest during on her return to the present. Of course this fancifully assumed that everything would be resolved that easily. With time weapons and dead bodies to contend with, her dream wasn't looking very likely.
Locking down the main beam splitter for the night, the few friends she still had around were quick to jet off, their day contractually over now. As she secured the remainder of the lab she checked the entire inventory and everyone's report material. Finally, having done everything on her check-list, she left for her car.
The drive home was as slow and infuriating as usual. The roads were always packed at this time, and the congestion of the capital had once again taken her prisoner. As she crawled by the streets she saw Londoners slowly pooling out of every tube station, ready for a night of excitement. Just the thought left her fatigued and she massaged her stiff, sore neck with her left hand. She was glad when she finally turned into her road and saw her flat approaching.
Kim was a svelte woman, lean and healthy but habitually tired. So far, the last few days had really tested her. As she walked up to her door she saw it muddy footprints littering the floor and trailing off to the alley that ran alongside her house. Slightly confused, she entered and nearly had a heart attack there and then.
For a second she felt paralysed. There was someone sitting on one of her dining room chairs, facing her head on, with the intimidating expression of a man who wanted to get down to business. Kim choked, unable to speak. The door was behind her; all she had to do was run. The tension in her muscles, the fear pulsing through her veins, the guilt clouding her mind: they were all stopping her, holding her hostage.
“Kim? I think you and me have a lot to talk about.” Jack rose up from the chair and slowly walked over, trying to re-assure her that nothing bad would happen if she co-operated. Kim was no hero and nodded compliantly.
He gestured for her to take a seat on the black leather couch and she followed, still tired and glad to be off of her feet. Slowly, Jack proceeded to tell her everything that had happened to him, and how she was connected. As Kim listened, empathy melted away her initial fear and instead her interest peaked.
More and more light was being shed on her employment with every word Jack spoke. Finally he asked her if she had anything to say. She was silent for a moment, struggling to collect up thoughts, and then cleared her throat to speak. “Just recently I've been noticing strange things about my job. Things that I thought might be ... Illegal. So I started looking into them.”
Thus Kim filled Jack in on her story so far and soon the two of them both had a clearer picture. Jack could tell Kim wasn't a bad person. Everything she said made sense, and from the documents on her desk, which he'd noticed earlier when he was alone, she seemed to be telling the truth.
He apologised for sneaking into her house through the back door she'd forgotten to lock, but it already seemed to be a thing of the past. “I have to work out what's going on here,” said Jack.
“Me too. You and me seem to be connected to the same thing.”
“Well I'm willing to help you figure this thing out,” said Jack cheerily. Kim smiled, letting him know she would do the same. He felt slightly safer now. He had another ally; one with undeniable motivation. As the conversation went on, the mood eventually lightened, never quite reaching the rapport of good friends, but closely approaching it.
It was beginning to get late and Jack announced that he had to leave. Despite him breaking into her flat, and the fact that they only met today, Kim actually felt safer having him nearby and was sad to see him leave. Just as he was ducking out of the door she remembered the staff roster in her bag and got it out for him to look at. Checking through the list for males that might be involved, she saw only one senior doctor who hadn't reported for work today.
“It's Dr. Lewis. I think that's the man who was killed. I can't be sure, and I don't think we could check now. His body's probably not there anymore.” She cringed at having to say 'his body'. It was too detached, too cold and clinical.
“You're probably right,” said Jack. “Someone must have moved the body otherwise the police would have found him by now. He may have had more information on him, more discs maybe. Do you have any idea where they could have moved him?”
“Not a clue.”
The huge mock-Tudor mansion was the height of lavish style. Huge, echoing rooms gave the feeling of spaciousness while the mixture of warm reds, subtle pinks and fiery oranges gave the home a cosy, intimate feel. It was without doubt a house that only a doctor could afford.
Dr. Ruhbaker was home slightly early today and his afternoon had certainly seemed much shorter without the rambling moral arguments he had become accustomed to over the last few days. As he opened his huge closet he let out an uncensored, feminine scream. Hanging in between the black Italian pinstripe and the thirty-two long navy blue business suit was a body propped up with a coat hanger.
The head was sunk low and the suit that held it to the hanger was looking worn. It swung gently, leaking on the other suits as it pressed against them. Afraid to touch it, and fighting the urge to vomit, the doctor arched his head to the side to get a better view. It was Dr. Lewis.
Ruhbaker knew straight away that it was a threat, a message telling him he should refrain from asking too many questions. The way Dr. Lewis had done.
Chapter 12
Jack trudged home disheartened, brimming with additional facts yet no closer to finding out who was blackmailing him or why. Instead he now had a whole other part of the jigsaw to consider, one he was certain was relevant. Whatever Green was up to, whatever this weapon was for, Jack was certain someone was out to stop it at all costs.
Maybe it was terrorists out to control the weapon, or maybe it was spies from whatever country the weapon was being primed for. These worries didn’t concern Jack nearly as much as the question: why him? Of all the agents, spies and killers walking the streets, why blackmail him into murder?
The complexity of the situation was growing exponentially and he wasn't sure how long he could k
eep doing everything himself. It was time to tell someone what he knew, and to Jack, Gina seemed like the safest bet. The way he reasoned it, there were only two feasible theories to reasonably explain what was going on.
Firstly, it was possible that whoever wanted Green dead was also the force helping him to create the illusion of killing the MP. In that case either the Dextrafizene was a lethal drug that didn't just mimic death but caused it, or Anisha was going to do something at the last minute to wreck their plans and leave them with no choice but to kill Green.
The alternative was that two separate groups were coercing him. One was, in a roundabout way, trying to assassinate Green, while the other was a group from the future trying to protect him. Neither explanation felt complete, nor entirely convincing.
Walking back into Anisha's flat, he was greeted by the usual hub of activity. The chancellor's security details were laid out across the floor and the whole group was chatting away. “Any luck with the hall?” asked Green senior.
“No, Pete was right. It's impenetrable. I think Green's party is going to be our best shot. I scoped it out just now, after the hall. He left the windows open again.”
“Great. We were trying to think of ways to administer the drug.”
“Well if it's at a party then can't we just slip it into the punch?”
“No,” cut in Anisha. “With the fractional dose we have, the drug has to be made into solution and taken intravenously.”
Jack scratched his chin. Was she being helpful or deliberately antagonistic? It was near impossible to tell. He turned to Green senior.
“After the injection, how long until the drug takes effect?”
“In about five minutes. It isn't a gradual reaction. He'll be feeling fine and then all of a sudden he'll start to feel the effects. Within a few seconds more it'll appear as if he's dead.” Pete frowned, confused by how easily the time traveller referred to himself in the third person.
With the basic outline set, it was now up to the group to find a plausible way of executing the plan. The party was pencilled in for next Monday. They had exactly one week left to organise themselves.
The rest of the night was spent talking about approaches to the crime and by the end they had a simple list of goals. They needed to get into the building undetected, mingle with the guests without being spotted, somehow get the drug into Green's blood, commit the 'murder', escape without being followed or captured and hold captive Green's body so that even when he woke up, the national press would still believe he was dead. It was going to be a strenuous week.
Green stood in the old closed down construction site, the smell of sawdust and ground asphalt agitating his nose. It was cold now and the fresh breeze numbed his skin. He could see his own breath in front of him, and for a moment he watched it take shape and form a fine, listless mist over his face. Most of the machinery around him was locked up but the site had been surprisingly easy to walk into.
Huge piles of various abandoned materials sat in heaps around the site, in the dark giving the impression of towering mounds from which all manner of vile creatures could slither out. Green wasn't afraid; it took more than shadows to rattle him. Having complied with all the instructions so far, he was assured that this last meeting would give him some useful information.
Eventually he heard the crunch of rubble being trampled and saw a shadow appear from behind a stack of timber. “Mr Walsh-Robbins.” The voice had a thick, posh accent.
“It's me,” replied Green confidently.
“As you're aware, access to the surveillance network is impossible to obtain. What you asked for wasn't easy.''
''If it was easy, I'd do it myself. That's why I'm paying you.”
“And I assure you, the cost will more than justify the results.”
He stepped closer now and Green could vaguely make out some details of his face. It was hard to tell because the light was quite poor, but he seemed far too young for this line of work, and his strawberry blonde hair only added to his boyish visage. “The information contained here is not strictly guaranteed however I can personally assure you it is reliable.”
He stepped even closer now and Green could clearly make out his face, complete with chubby cheeks and large saucer shaped eyes. The man leaned over and held out a small document holder. Green took it and with that, his informant turned and trudged off, his footsteps crushing small shards of glass as he left. Green had nothing more to say and let him go.
Standing there, waiting for the man to leave, the icy air once again sent a chill to his core. Opening up the file he saw that it had a small data pad inside. Not being able to make out much more, he closed it up for later and casually strolled out of the construction site.
The glare of glowing sunshine washed over Tony' face as his deafening alarm snapped him awake. Willing himself out of bed, he massaged life back into his tired muscles, and cursed Frank under his breath. He could've had an afternoon shift today but Frank was pulling them in for nine to fives every day until they cracked this thing.
Tony wasn't a morning person and his cranky demeanour persisted from waking up right to the point where he walked into the station. He had spilled coffee on his badge this morning and even though he'd wiped it off, it still had an unwholesome scent to it. “Damn Frank,” he yelled across the room, “Why do we gotta be up so early?”
“The early bird catches the worm.”
“I don’t wanna catch no worms,” he whined
“It's a simile, or something like that. You know what I mean. Anyway, have a look at this.”
Tony walked over to his partner's desk and looked over his shoulder at the screen. It showed a log file for a time traveller and the name on the top of the screen was JACK WINCHESTER.
“I had a hunch that there was a reason the mobile wasn't reported stolen. It was still active, but being used by the other Jack.”
“So yesterday we were kind of interviewing the wrong person!” Frank chuckled.
“Yeah seems like it. I'm trying to get through to surveillance about the guy right now, but they're not picking up. If he travelled then they should have a tracking bulletin for him”
“In the mean time, I have an idea.”
Tony reached over and began typing and Frank moved off to give his partner more space. “He probably isn't using his credit card as his time travelling self, but he might have booked into some sort of hotel. He pulled up two lists now and the computer began cycling through them. A dialogue box came up with one hit, and an address. “He's booked in at the Stravenoff-Marigold Hotel.”
“Nice work Tony,” exclaimed Frank proudly. “We'll make a great detective out of you yet.”
With Frank grabbing his faded leather jacket and Tony picking up the suit jacket from his chair, the two men headed out, fingerprinting kits in hand.
Another day dawned, and as usual it was an early start, with half the group off at work. Jack was left with Green senior and Pete, who had the morning to work at home. Jack hadn't had a chance to talk to Gina yet, the assassination having been the hot topic last night. This morning, him and Senior were working on splitting the task up and assigning the relevant tasks to members of their group, based on capability as well as flexibility of schedule.
Green had a solid knowledge of his contacts, actions etc. in this time period, so he was the one in charge of counterfeiting the actual murder. Pete photographed a lot of celebrities and the like, and was convinced that he could think up some sort of trick to make their group look like the sort of people who would be invited to this party. Anisha's background in security made her the ideal choice for engineering the break-in. Jack and Gina were left to plan all the other relevant parts.
Gina was a lowly receptionist at a mechanic's out on the edge of central London and Jack was in the contracts department of a large business. Neither of them were entirely sure what pertinent skills they brought to the table. It was a depressing feeling, as if they were inferior in some way. Jack was well trained at goin
g over documents and he sat down in front of the briefcase full of them, resolving to do just that. He might find some small piece of information he could exploit.
Jazz music gently wafted through the twenty-four hour bar; creating a calm mood complimented by the soft, dim lighting. Showing the bartender a photograph, he vaguely recognised the man but hadn't seen him for a few days at least. Frank thanked the bartender and walked back over to Tony shaking his head. So far nobody knew where Jack was.
Tony was used to the bureaucracy of the job but he also knew how to exploit it. Frank watched as he rang the chief and smiled in awe at the subtle way Tony manoeuvred the big man round. Hanging up he got another nod from Frank. He'd just asked to issue an official missing person's warrant, which gave the police access to his hotel room, and it was now ready and on record in the legal archive. They took the elevator up and walked to suite 308.
Entering with the key card the hotel had provided, they found the room empty and devoid of any and all signs of life. Sighing, they began to sweep for fingerprints. Frank was leaving no stone unturned and he scanned everywhere. Tony tagged every print he found, and checked each one individually. Frank's expert eye could tell which ones looked the same as all the others and he didn't bother with Jack's prints. Even so, it was a slow, scrupulous process and as the hours passed they were still coming up empty.
Frank peered at the toilet seat and noticed a chiselled area where it had been chipped. The surface was still rough and appeared to be coated with some sort of powder. With a focused blast of his EM beam, the computer began gathering data. Shaking his head he turned back to Tony and shouted “forget it Tony, I don't think we're going to find anything. I have trace compounds here from ammonia disinfectants and polyvinyl gloves. The cleaners have beaten us to it”