by Robert Wilde
“Yes.”
“Jesus, you fucker’s really don’t talk to each other very often do you.”
“This must make raiding it easier,” Dee said, very keen to be issued with a pistol to chase people down.
“Err, err…yes. In theory we can just speak to the base’s security and get them to shut it down.”
“In theory?”
“Well, the other project can do the same thing.”
“So a lot of people are going to get shot.”
“No Professor. A lot of people are going to have a very heated argument with lots of dick swinging.”
“Sounds like my sort of thing,” Nazir said, believing that humour was the best thing in any situation. Dee didn’t really agree.
When you’re the head of security at a very real military base you are normally busy trying to keep people, from Communists to terrorists, out. Even when that base is filled with projects from the intelligence services, the general idea is still to protect them. What you’re not expecting is one project approaching you, explaining that another project has overstepped its mark, is now rogue and dangerous, and would you mind going in and arresting everyone.
The head of security pondered this for the full sixty seconds he had after Peters had asked him, and decided on three thrusts of action. The first would be to err on the side of caution and immediately shut down the buildings belonging to Kosar, make sure nothing could be destroyed or removed, and no one fled. The second point would be to do much the same thing for Peters’ project, and the third would be to ring someone higher up to come round and sort this clusterfuck out. There was, however, the question of who to ring, because both projects had different chains of command, and there didn’t seem anywhere that linked them.
Kosar was expecting visits from his interested parties to see the machine first hand, not the army to march in, arrest him, take him to a makeshift cell, and refuse to let him go near his phone or the machine, which he was forced to see a sergeant pick up and carry off. Peters was expecting this to happen to Kosar, and was bemused when it happened to him. And even more bemused when the car containing Joe arrived, was promptly arrested too, and the army had to concede that the damaged figure in the back would be better off with some food and drink inside him whilst on a comfy chair.
The trio, now a foursome, were just glad to have Joe back. It was just him that asked where his machine was.
Meanwhile security rang around, trying to sort something out.
A party of smart suited individuals soon arrived from inner London, at which point Peters and Kosar were summoned to a discussion.
“Mr. Peters, what is your complaint in this matter?”
“Kosar has been making witnesses to my project disappear.”
“And your project is the…Array.”
“Yes.”
“Which I’ve just been informed is a vastly powerful computer powered by human brains.”
“That’s correct.”
“And this is a real thing you’ve not made up.”
“We can go and see it if you wish.”
“Mr Kosar, did you abduct Joe le Tissier?”
“Yes, on a matter of national importance.”
“And this matter is?”
“He has in his possession a machine which can talk to ghosts.”
The lady asking the questions paused, looked at Kosar, and said simply “you expect me to believe that?”
“Bring the machine here and I’ll prove it.”
“Mr Kosar, if this machine is anything less than you claim I’ll have you arrested. Do you understand?”
He smiled like a wolf. “Oh yes.”
Soon the machine was placed down on the desk. “It doesn’t look like much,” their superior commented.
“Just wait,” and Kosar switched it on. He thought he might have to wait a while, but a voice came through immediately.
“You bastard!” it cried.
“A fan?” Asked Peters.
“You bastard, how dare you!”
“Are you a ghost?” the superior asked.
“Yes, I’m a ghost, we’re all ghosts, and it’s his fault.”
“You mean Mr Kosar?”
“Yes.”
The superior leaned forward. “Do explain.”
“He killed us, all of us,” and a cheer of support came over. “We all thought we were psychic, honestly, no conning, all honestly, and he brought us here, to this school, this pressure cooker from hell, and it drove most of us mad. So many killed themselves, so many, and now we haunt it. You can’t let this bastard go.”
Kosar reached a hand out and switched the machine off. “You see that it works,” he said nervously.
“Normally I would ask if you have a radio in that, but it doesn’t sound like you do.”
“Err…”
“Mr. Kosar, have you been driving psychics to suicide?”
“There was a high fatality rate, but we had to compete, get ahead of the US.”
Peters leant back and smiled. He’d won, and he hadn’t had to say anything. Always the best way.
The argument went on for a long time, but much like the Second World War the ending was decided early. The superior and her team decided that Kosar had been operating rogue, and here he had crippled himself again: he made his unit so secret, so buried, that there was no one to come to his defence. Anyone who might have helped wrote him off, and did so easily. So, that night, Kosar was arrested and removed from the base. Which just left four loose ends.
“You can’t expect them to leave without the machine,” Peters protested.
“Why should we give this device back?”
“Those four are British citizens. It’s within their rights to cause as much shit as they want until they get that machine back.”
“And we can block them.”
“You can try. My project will support them.”
“What?”
“We are working on the most powerful computer in the world, one that breaks any code. If you do not do the right thing with those civilians my project will cause a stink.”
“And you don’t think we can have you removed?”
“I exist. My project exists. We have told people, we have allies, we have demonstrated it to the Prime Minister. You cannot make me disappear.”
“You’re very sure of yourself. Since when did threats work?”
“Since they’re allied to a plan.”
“Go on.”
“I will form a new research unit, and I will hire Joe le Tissier as a contractor in whatever capacity he will work for us. We will do our best to build a new machine. Hundreds of machines. To explore and harness this.”
“We could just arrest le Tissier, and you, and come to the same result.”
“You could, but to be frank, not everyone in MI5 is as much of a twunt as Kosar and I don’t believe you are. Let’s sort this out right.”
“That’s hardly the Band of Brothers speech.”
“I look at jars of brains all day, my debating skills are in the shitter.”
Joe sat in the lounge of his house, drinking a coffee Nazir had made him. The latter was hovering just out of the room, determined not to leave Joe at the mercy of Peters, and not to leave until Joe felt safe again. Joe, for his part, was looking at the liquid in the mug and frowning.
“You won’t be troubled by Kosar again,” Peters explained, “and your machine is your property. All I ask if you share everything you have with us so we can work on a new one.”
“I can do that.”
Peters nodded. He didn’t need to explain that was a requirement, not a request.
“And I have to ask Joe, come onto our research project. We’d make you the lead scientist, you’d have as much money as you want, unlimited resources. It would all be yours.”
Joe looked up from his coffee, and indecision was raging on his face. Then he looked down, saw the liquid, and decided.
“Not yet. I need… a break from MI5 for a while.”
“I understand. Then let us bring things to you for comment. Come in occasionally. A contractor to help us. Do us that at least.”
Joe smiled. Was that two people he was now on retainer for?
“And this… advising. It would be paid?”
“Of course.”
“Just slow at first, okay? As a thank you for getting my machine back.”
“Perfect,” smiled Peters. It was as he’d hoped.
“This is getting a habit.”
Dee and Maquire were sitting outside a café, drinking mediocre coffee and smoking a cheeky fag each.
“I’m sure the odd one won’t hurt,” Maquire replied. He’d called Dee to find out what was happening, and when she said everyone was safe he offered to take her for a drink to hear the whole story. Now he could barely believe it.
“That could have ended badly,” he said, worry on his face. “What if Peters had been like Kosar? What if Kosar had seen the Prime Minister? All four of you could have vanished.”
“We could… but we didn’t, and we managed to get another arsehole nailed. That’s what it’s all about.”
“I know. All too well. But…”
“But?”
He looked around, decided. “I like you Dee, and while we’re both at risk we shouldn’t waste any time.”
She began to smile. “Go on.”
“I’d like to take you out.”
“Isn’t that what this is?”
“No, no, properly out. A date. Let’s go on a date.” He looked at her nervously. This was far more stressful than dealing with a criminal. But when she smiled warmly he did too.
“Just make it somewhere nice, okay?”
Nine: The First
“I’m getting a message, yes a definite message, I’m looking for someone who’s lost their…mother.”
The man stood on the stage in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back with premium products, his watch supporting a large timepiece, and no shred of guilt in his body. At least that was Joe’s conclusion as he sat watching Elegant Eddie, the south east’s leading psychic medium go through his paces, for thirty pounds a ticket. Joe had done a count when he’d come in, and there were seventy two people in the audience. A nice return for a few hours’ work, and that was before the private readings to be paid for later.
“Yes, their mother,” Eddie said, and Joe put his hand up. He always tested them by volunteering himself. “Ah, sir, I sense that your mother is here, a nice lady yes?”
“Yes.”
“And she was taken from you?”
“Yes.”
It was at this point that Dee elbowed him in the ribs, but Joe ignored it and played his role in the charade, discovering that his mother wanted him to know she was at peace, that the issues worrying him would be resolved, and she’d love to see some grandchildren. Which was pretty interesting seeing as Joe’s mother was definitely alive. Unless zombies can answer phones these days, he wasn’t up on the movies.
Finally the show ended, and as people rushed to drinks and private bookings, Joe and Dee walked out into the car park. “Why don’t we just go back and punch him in the balls?” Dee said.
“You think there’d be a law against it,” Joe mused.
“Remind me why we keep going to these shitshows?”
“We know one person was able to talk to spirits, so it stands to reason others can too. And maybe, just maybe, one of those people makes a living out of it.”
“So far all we’ve found our con men and women, cold reading their way through.”
“Yes, but if you could speak to the dead wouldn’t you use it?”
Dee laughed. “We do Joe, we do!”
“Exactly. Unless it’s like a code and you don’t use your powers for financial gain.”
“Well we’ve fucked that code up the arse.”
“Maybe we’re due a visit from some council warning us off.”
“You’re not allowed to read any more urban fantasy. Aliens for you from now on.”
“Thanks for coming,” Joe said, hoping he didn’t sound like he wanted these trips to turn into dates, because that’s exactly what he wanted.
“That’s okay, I think we’re right to look. The problem is there’s so much bullshit, and I should know I spent years reading through it all, I’m not sure how we’ll ever be able to find the honest people. If there are any honest people.”
“No one is unique,” Joe commented, “if John Paul’s father could speak to spirits, others can. And they’ll have answers.
“And best we find them before some crazy scientists.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“You wake up to the sound of a Dalek shouting at you.”
“That’s… cult.”
“Nearly.”
Nazir sat on his favourite chair. Joe and Dee had gone out together, although not ‘out’ out, and Joe had been acting a little strange around Dee lately, but anyway they’d gone out, Pohl was writing a review of a new monograph she’d been sent, and that left Nazir to his own devices. He’d decided to stay at home, so bought some lagers, some crisps and retreated to his most used room. You’d have called it a Man Cave if you were a twat, but it was the room where all his tech was wired together, so there were screens, machines, the best chair in the house and plenty to keep a person occupied. And at this very moment he had a football match on the left hand side, two browsers open in the middle, and a rerun of a tv show he was streaming over the net on the other.
Despite all this he felt he was working. One browser was open and he was searching for paranormal news and titbits which might be of interest to Joe and his new branch. But despite that he’d got the other window searching for porn, because he was a single person alone for the evening, so what else is he going to do.
It made an odd hour, eyes flicking from men playing football, men with fewer clothes but still fiddling with balls, the spy drama unfolding, and people talking about auras, orbs and other oddities. Given that Nazir’s experience of the paranormal before he met Dee had been wondering why his Christian classmates believed in Santa, the esoteric search wasn’t winning the attention battle, especially when this chap passing would do so well with a cock in his mouth.
Nazir almost missed it, as his eyes saw a festival of the occult advertised, went to click to get the details for Joe, and with one eye on the football pressed the wrong link. And there it was, a website devoted to Spanos, ‘The Largest Occult Library in Europe’.
Nazir turned his mind to this site and assessed it. As befitted a library, the website looked like the coding had been done ten years ago, and everything was so far out of date it could have been on parchment. But there were a few pictures, and the place looked fascinating, shelf after shelf of old books, odd looking people reading the books, and best of all it was based in London. Actually that wasn’t best of all, because according to details which hopefully weren’t out of date, anyone could visit for free with an appointment.
Definitely something worth telling Joe about, and they’d get a day out in the capital.
Which was good, because this porn wasn’t going to watch itself. Time for multitasking of a different variety.
Despite the attempts of London’s government to get people out of cars and onto public transport, Joe and his three friends had driven down and parked up as close as they could, and were now walking along to the library. No need for a A to Z when you have phones, and these guided them along. Joe had told Nazir he’d definitely be visiting, Nazir had offered to come, Pohl had invited herself the second she heard the word library, and Dee had pretended she had better things to do so someone would talk her into it, which they didn’t and she turned up that morning anyway.
Soon they rounded a corner and came across one of those London streets where the same building stretches down the length of the whole road, and the front doors are the only sign it’s been divided up. They walked down to number twenty eight, and found a small metal plaque on the wall which read ‘Spanos’ and n
o more. But there was a bell, and although checking their watches revealed they were five minutes early, they pressed anyway and waited.
If asked beforehand, the group would have imagined a Lurch style butler opening the door, but when the real librarian did he seemed entirely perfect: a man of average height, skinny, with wire rimmed circular glasses and prominent cheekbones.
“The le Tissier party?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, you’re five minutes early,” and a silver pocket watch was checked.
“Good traffic,” Joe confirmed.
“I suppose you had better come in then,” and he said it in a way making clear he’d considered making them stand there. “I notice from the records this is the first visit for any of you.”
“Yes.”
“We’re virgins,” Nazir added.
“Good of you to find us. We were founded in the eighteenth century by Joseph Spanos, who…”
“We’ve read the website,” Dee said, looking round at a hallway cum cloakroom where coats and bags had to be left.
“Ah, so you know. What is the website like?”
“You don’t know?”
“It was set up by a junior librarian we had, but hasn’t been updated since she disappeared.”
“Did you say disappeared?”
“Yes. Potentially tragic.”
“Okay,” Dee breathed out.
“I will have to explain the rules to you, and…”
“These rules?” Dee said, pointing to an A3 piece of card hanging on the wall.
“Yes.”
“Can’t we just read them?”
“You’d be surprised. But I can offer you something you will find helpful. If you care to tell me what you’re interested in, I can guide you through the stacks.” Then he rushed to explain “completely private, of course, and no pressure if you wish to work alone.”
“We’re after people who can speak to the dead.”
“Oh, you’ll be able to spend days here! Speaking to the souls of humans and other spirits has been a long standing goal of the occult. A vast body of material…”
“We want people who can really do it.”
“Sceptics?” It was a reply to Joe’s frustrated command.