Strangled Silence

by Oisin McGann

  Amina got a lot of that. A command with a question mark tagged on the end to be polite. She nodded and picked up the document.

  'Quick as you can, thanks!' Marie grinned again as she walked away.

  Ten minutes later, Amina was wrestling with the photocopier again. A page had got lost inside the machine. It seemed to have completely disappeared. The symbol on the little screen told her there was a paper jam, but it refused to tell her where. After a careful look inside the machine, she tried to switch it off and switch it back on again. The copier politely reminded her about the paper jam, reiterating its point that it could not work until its insides were sorted out.

  Sitting on the floor, she braced her feet against the wall and heaved the machine out far enough to allow her to reach behind it and pull out the plug. Then, after waiting a few seconds to ensure that the last dregs of electricity had drained from the machine, she opened the copier and began feeling around between the heavy, finger-mashing rollers.

  Amina was so absorbed in what she was doing that it took her a minute or two to notice what was going on in the newsroom outside. The place was erupting into activity. She leaned out of the door and looked around. Everyone was on their feet, grabbing jackets, notebooks, recorders and cameras and making for the doors. Goldbloom and a couple of the other editors were shouting orders.

  'Amina, I have to go to Heathrow,' Marie called to her, stuffing a bottle of water into her bag. 'Can you do something for me?'

  'Eh, sure. What's going on?'

  'Terrorist alert. There's been some kind of threat reported against the airports. The army's surrounding them all – big bloody tanks and armoured cars and everything. Goldbloom wants everyone to drop what they're doing and get out and see what's going on, but I promised this old woman I'd see her today. It's just a small story, but she's a sweet old bird and I've cancelled on her twice already. Here are the details.' She handed Amina a piece of paper. 'Apologize for me, yeah? I'll give you a byline, OK? See ya!'

  And with that, she was gone. Amina looked down at the sheet of paper. Goldbloom had made it clear she wasn't to do any reporting, but this hardly counted. It wasn't to do with her own story and anyway, she was covering for Marie at her request. It would be a shame to let the old lady down.

  Amina turned her back on the photocopy room, put on her jacket and picked up her bag. She scribbled a note explaining where she had gone and left it on the desk she'd been working at. It would be a good idea to check with Goldbloom, but he might say no, and anyway, the woman didn't live too far away. The newsroom was almost completely empty. Amina should be back before anybody noticed she was missing. She hurried out, biting back a smile.

  After Chi and the clerk used their dual keys to open the safety deposit box, the clerk pulled out the drawer, leaving the lid closed. She took Chi into a small room and left him alone to open the drawer, which was about the size of a box of A3 photocopy paper. He watched her close the door before lifting the lid.

  As he expected, the box was full of disks. Nexus's back-ups. Here was what he called 'the Essentials Collection' – all of the most important, most sensitive information he had gathered, along with the theories he was putting together on the various plots he was intent on cracking. To Chi's surprise, there was also a Ready-to-Go mobile phone and a disguise kit filled with wigs, different kinds of facial hair, make-up and even contact lenses for changing eye colour. Tucked into a pocket in this kit were a couple of false passports with credit cards in the same names, some cash in pounds, euros and dollars and a small can of Mace pepper spray. Chi would have expected to find a gun among all this fugitive paraphernalia, but that wasn't Nex's style. Deep down, he was a gentle soul.

  Chi put everything into his backpack, slipping the Mace into his pocket, and was about to close the lid when he paused. There was a certain finality in the act, as if by committing it, he was taking over Nex's life. He grimaced and clicked the lid shut.

  His mobile rang as he left the bank and he lifted it to his ear.

  'Hi, it's Ivor. We need to meet up.'

  'Fine. My place in an hour.'

  'See you then.'

  'Bye.'

  Chi hung up. It was best to keep phone calls short and mobile calls even shorter. So much for keeping their distance. Chi wondered what had prompted Ivor to break their short-lived silence.

  3

  Mrs Hilary Atkinson seemed to suffer from abysmally bad luck, as Amina was soon to discover. And being mugged wasn't the half of it. When she answered the door of her maisonette – a well-tended little seventies affair with window boxes on the ledges and hanging plants on either side of the door – she was squinting out through a black eye that wouldn't have looked out of place after a heavyweight title fight. The black was fading into a purple, its stain of yellow spreading well beyond the main lump. Amina almost winced when she saw it.

  'The swellin's gone down a bi' now,' Mrs Atkinson said, spotting Amina's reaction. 'Me 'ead woz the size of a wa'ermelon las' week. I woz chewin' parace'amol like they was Smar'ies. If my son ever gets 'is 'ands on the little snots who done this, they'll wish they was never born, I tell yah. You Marie then?'

  'My name's Amina, Amina Mir. I'm afraid Marie couldn't make it because of the alerts at the airport, but she asked me to come in her place. I'd very much like to hear your story, Mrs Atkinson.'

  'Right then. Come on in. Kettle's on.'

  The house was comfortable in a worn, old-fashioned way that would have reminded half the adults in the country of their mother's place. Bad watercolours of birds hung in the hall; in the sitting room were pictures of children or grandchildren, and over the fireplace, a picture in a laminated frame of two cockerels woven out of some kind of fabric. The furniture was old but well cared for, and the ornately patterned carpets and wallpaper could not have been bought in this country in the last twenty years.

  'The muggin' was just the icin' on the cake, really,' Mrs Atkinson began as soon as they sat down to a tray of tea and biscuits and a mineral water for Amina. 'Those kids've bin actin' up for the last couple o' years. Most of it was just mischief to start wiv; smashin' windahs or lettin' air out of people's tyres an' all 'at. Y'know, just playin' up. But lately it's bin gettin'worse. I woz onto the bill abou' 'em, but they're just too busy wha' wiv all the drug dealers and people smugglers an' the terrorists an 'at. My sister's eldest, Jimmy – lovely boy – is a copper, an' he spends all 'is time fillin' out bleedin' forms. I ask yah, is 'at wha' it's all abou'?'

  Amina shook her head. She should have asked Mrs Atkinson questions to keep her focused, but found she was enjoying the old woman's banter.

  'So I was walkin' along the alley, and I sees these two li'l snots comin' towards me. An' I knows I'm in trouble, 'cos they're the same two who smashed all me garden gnomes last year and Maryacross-the-road says they're bad seeds and they're sproutin' into right li'l villains and them not even sixteen. They did 'er gnomes an' all, an' I'm sure they was the ones who set fire to me shed in the winter just gone. Li'l snots! Mind you, it was the warmest I got that winter, what with the pittance they giv yah for fuel allowance these days. My next-door neighbour froze to death a year ago! Can you believe 'at? Hypothermia they call it, but it's a fancy word for freezin' to death if y'ask me. Who'd a thought it in this day and age? Sometimes I shiver so much me dentures sound like a pair of woodpeckers goin' at it!'

  Amina resisted the urge to look at her watch. She took a sip of water and continued to listen, letting the old dear get to the point in her own good time.

  'Mind you, the 'eat can be as bad! Y'know how many people died in the 'eatwave last year? Nearly three thousand! Know how many were killed by terrorists? None. But you didn't see the army out surroundin' old people's 'ouses and fannin' 'em to keep 'em cool, did yah? Hear all the politicians on the radio talkin' about keepin' us safe? Y'know what would keep me safe? Air conditionin' !'

  She stopped long enough to take a sip of her tea. Amina knew there would be very few people in the world who
would be allowed to make Mrs Atkinson tea using that teapot. It would have to be done just so.

  'So I'm in the alley and I can see the two li'l snots comin' towards me. And it's only about seven in the evenin' but it's already dark under the trees and the council's been promisin' to put lights on 'at path ever since my brother was mugged there two years previous, but of course they 'aven't. So then . . . sure you won't 'ave some tea, love?'

  'No, thanks,' Amina replied with a polite smile.

  'Suit yourself. Never saw the appeal in drinkin' plain wa'er meself. So then, these two boys come up – 'oods up, you know the way – and they ask me if I 'ave any fags and I tell 'em I don't. I gave 'em up after I caught pneumonia a few years ago.

  'So then they laugh and ask me for me 'andbag. And I tell 'em they're not 'avin' it.'

  Mrs Atkinson took a sip of her tea, her hand shaking only slightly.

  'And . . and then they started 'ittin' me. Really 'ard, like, and I'm on the ground in no time and they're kickin' me. Then one o' the li'l snots stops and takes out 'is phone – y'know the ones with the cameras?'

  Amina nodded, swallowing as she felt her throat tighten.

  'An' 'e films it!' Mrs Atkinson's voice shook. 'It was the last thing I saw – 'im lookin' at me on the . . . the . . . the li'l screen on 'is phone an' gigglin' away to 'isself.'

  She didn't cry, but Amina could see the effort it was taking to hold it in.

  'And they were arrested?' she prompted gently. 'You told Marie that the police picked the two boys up the following day?'

  'Course they did,' the old lady quavered. 'Kids 'adn't a brain between 'em. Tried to use me pension book, didn't they? Said they were collectin' it for their granny. Idiots. As if that pension's worth a damn anyway, since the fund collapsed. Know what the li'l snots said when they were nicked?'

  She sniffed and then started laughing – high-pitched, almost hysterical laughter, and Amina didn't know whether to smile or not.

  'You know wha' . . . ha-ha-ha . . . wha' they said? They . . ha-ha . . . they said, "Wasn't our fault! We're just products of the system. We never 'ad a chance!"'

  Her laughter stopped abruptly, and an expression of what could have been pity settled on her features.

  'Still, it could be worse, I suppose. Not everyone's 'ad my good fortune. You seen those ol' dears livin' in their bombed-out ruins in Sinnostan? Gawd love 'em. Some people have the worst luck.'

  Biology was taught on MindFeed using a shoot-'emup game. You had to name the parts of the body as you blasted them. There was an alternative that taught the science using first aid instead, if you weren't of the trigger-happy mentality. Tariq went straight for the guns.

  The enemy soldiers came thick and fast and the crosshairs could pick out chinks in their body armour, but you had to choose the name of the body part from a drop-down list. Tariq was among the best in the class at this and he was revelling in his new-found expertise. His hands danced nimbly across the keyboard, blasting one target after another. He wished he had a proper cordless controller handset like he had at home, but the school's computers weren't set up for games . . . yet. If there was one thing he knew about the military, it was that they knew how to spend money on hardware.

  His hair was long enough, with his shirt collar turned up, to hide his earphones. As he gunned his way through the virtual city street, Absent Conscience thudded in his ears.

  'You said I was your guiding star/But I'll be daylight to your vampire's heart/Say you love me while you suck me dry/So I'll burn your soul and your poisoned lies . . .'

  Tariq finished his game and got ready to start a new one. First he had to do the hand-to-eye coordination test, tapping the arrow buttons as the two squares on the screen flashed up alternate lights and patterns. He turned off the music because he couldn't concentrate enough with it on. There was a sound element to the test now too; a beep you had to react to whenever you heard it.

  He had just completed the test when he heard cackling from a group of the guys at the other end of the room. There were thirty terminals in four rows, but some of the others were empty as Noble and his mates had gathered around a single screen. Lieutenant Scott was not in today. Mr Quinn, the Biology teacher, was sitting at a desk by the door, engrossed in a science magazine. Unlike some of the other teachers, he did not resent the intrusion of this military project into the school curriculum. As far as he was concerned, the less time he had to spend trying to drum facts into the heads of obtuse students the better.

  There was more cackling, and Tariq caught a few sidelong glances his way. It was smarter just to ignore them, but he put his game on pause and stood up.

  'Can I go to the toilet, sir?' he asked the teacher.

  'Mm-hmm,' Quinn replied without looking up.

  Tariq walked towards the door, passing the gang of four boys crowding round Noble's terminal as he did. He stopped when he saw what was on the screen.

  Now he knew why they had held him down a few days ago and taken his picture with their phones. The enemy soldiers charging towards them on the screen all wore Tariq's face. They even had a grimacing one for when the shots struck. Noble was proving to be an apt student of Biology, blasting away one Tariq after another. The boys gave an extra cheer when any of the charging figures were hit in the face.

  Tariq watched from behind them, completely unnoticed. Suddenly, he really did need to go to the toilet. Suddenly, he needed to be on his own. His breath rasped through gritted teeth as he walked down the corridor.

  23

  Chi got home not long before Ivor was due. He went through his normal routine of sweeping the place for bugs, then laid out a bowl of food for Roswell, whistling to her to come in from the garden. She sauntered through the cat-flap and brushed back and forth between his legs, indicating that she would eat when she was good and ready. He loved her contemptuous manner.

  The terror alert at the London airports was all over the news. The rumour was that the authorities had picked up email traffic about a possible attack on planes landing or taking off around the city. A simple surface-to-air missile fired from the shoulder could bring down any commercial airliner. The airports had been surrounded by troops, tanks and armoured cars. Helicopter gunships swooped overhead. Nobody was quite sure what all this heavy armour was supposed to achieve, but it was an intimidating sight.

  Chi watched the reports on his PC as he waited for Ivor. A correspondent was describing the frustration of the people trapped in the airports until their planes could be given clearance to take off, when the doorbell rang. Chi kept one ear on the television as he went out into the hall, punched a code into the alarm and opened the door to let Ivor in. But one look at his guest's face made him forget the news broadcast.

  'I need you to turn that off,' Ivor told him, as they walked into the study. 'There's something you're going to want to hear.'

  And then Ivor began to relate the flashback he had experienced in the hospital. Chi listened in rapt fascination as the story unwound – about Ivor waking up in the military hospital, escaping from the orderlies and finding himself in the medical/strategy room, surrounded by surgical staff. As Ivor told of his recapture and the patchy memories he had of the hours of conditioning in the isolation tank, Chi could not hide the smile that crept across his face.

  'And all because you lost a tooth they didn't know about,' he chuckled. 'Bloody hell, Ivor. This blows this thing wide open! And you're sure you saw Shang?'

  'It's hard to be certain.' Ivor shrugged. 'Maybe my mind was just putting his face there, 'cos it fitted . . . I don't know. But I'm pretty sure all of this is what got buried under the false memories. It's all still a bit woolly. I don't know what I was doing there, or what the story was with the roulette wheel.'

  'Shang's a roulette fiend – he spends a fortune on it,' Chi replied. 'It's in his book.'

  'OK, but what . . .' Ivor's fingers went unconsciously to his right eye. 'What's it all for? Jesus, you don't think I was a stake in some kind of twisted casino g
ig, do you? That's all I need: I lose my eye 'cos some rich old fart was using me as a gambling chip.'

  'I don't know,' Chi said, lost in thought. 'It's hard to be sure, but like I said before, it's one of two things. Either they're brainwashing you to make you forget something, or to make you do something. I'm still trying to figure out the UFO angle in all of this—'

  'Oh, for God's sake, Chi!' Ivor snapped, suddenly losing his patience. 'When are you ever going to give up on that crap? Get serious, will you! We're not living in the bloody X-Files here.'

  Chi glared back at him for a moment, saying nothing. If Ivor wanted to see 'serious', then maybe it was time to show him. Chi hadn't trusted anybody but Nexus with knowledge of his prize possession, but this was as good a time as any to test it on Ivor.

  'Stay here,' Chi said. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

  Striding out into the kitchen, he knelt down and opened the pots cupboard. Taped into the lid of an old coffee percolator was Gierek's badge. The real one. The badge Chi had given him had been a copy. It wasn't difficult: the badge was simply a blank chrome-plated disc about five centimetres in diameter with a safety pin set into the back. Chi pinned it onto the right breast of his black MEGADETH T-shirt and walked back into the study.

  Ivor was watching the news on the computer screen and did not look up immediately. When he did, his first response was one of utter shock. His second reaction was a wild punch that caught Chi on the cheek and knocked him back against the doorframe. Ivor hit him again, nearly dislocating his jaw. Two more blows landed before Chi could pull the badge off his T-shirt and hold up his hands.

  'Stop! Agh! Stop! It's just me! Let me explain!'

  Ivor grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across to the desk. There was a letter opener in a cup with some pens and Ivor seized it and pressed the point against Chi's throat.

  'It better be a good explanation. If you're one of them . . .'

  He didn't finish the threat. He didn't have to.