The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “Arun?” Jack called out.

  Instantly the lights flickered on, “You are late,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry, I had to re-route through a playing field to avoid a CRU patrol… Is everything okay?”

  Arun advanced to the sofa and drew attention to several print outs that he had placed on the stained coffee table. Aware that the tone had rapidly dropped, Jack joined him and stole a glance at the papers.

  Arun worked in the treasury, so he wasn’t altogether surprised when he found that he was reading information on taxation powers. From a quick overview he understood that they were to raise taxes, which was not altogether surprising.

  “Is this the information you had for me?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t understand?”

  Arun pointed to a specific paragraph at the bottom of the page, “It’s the new law. It’s just been passed.”

  Unnerved by Arun’s worried undertones, Jack scanned the paragraph until the horror of the situation resonated within him.

  The Government hereby is granted full access to accounts owned or managed by UK taxpayers, whether employed or self-employed, and to scrutinise all and any transaction for its origin and destination. Any transaction deemed criminal or proven to fund terrorism in any direct or indirect way will result in the entire estate and finances of that individual to be absorbed into the Treasury.

  Jack looked up and, through the gloom, met Arun’s haunted eyes. If Jack had interpreted it correctly, then the government had just constricted the entirety of The Resistance’s finances.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “They can’t do this, how can they do this?” Jack was pacing the grotty flat, arms flailing with madness and anger.

  “They can do it and they have,” Arun remained on the sofa, injustice fermenting inside him.

  Jack didn’t know what to do. How could the organisation continue now? All their sponsors would disassociate themselves immediately.

  “Well played,” Jack pictured the faceless man, “Well fucking played.”

  He paced the room, processing what this would mean for The Resistance. Were they already in immediate danger? Their bank accounts would surely be frozen, and those that opened them up on the bank side thrown into jail without trial.

  “What does this mean for our existing sponsors - can they backdate these checks?” Jack asked Arun, who was already packing up his things. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t stay here for more than a few minutes,” he explained, “It isn’t safe for any of us anymore.”

  “Not safe? It’s been not safe for a decade, what’s changed now? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Arun rose to his feet and yet seemed to cower back into the shadow behind him. Instantly, a nervousness stirred inside Jack. Something he hadn’t anticipated had or was happening.

  “Did you tell someone I was here?” he asked, so delicately it was beyond dangerous.

  Arun shook his head slowly.

  “Were you followed?”

  It took a fraction of a second for the body language to process in Jack’s brain, but he was soothed by the relief when Arun again shook his head.

  “They know you took this don’t they?” Jack asked.

  “It is a suspicion that I fear they won’t spend long in gathering evidence, yes,” he said, “I have a means of escape already planned, you need only lie low here for a few hours before it will be safe for you to leave.”

  “Where are you going?” Jack asked, “Is someone from The Resistance helping you?”

  Arun nodded, “I’ve already said goodbye to my family. Now I must say goodbye to you, but before I do…”

  The man hesitated, his eyes straying to the window where a shaft of golden light splinted through for just a second.

  “My department at work is run by a Graham Harries,” he said, “He is not your friend, but you must seek him out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is out of favour in government,” Arun explained, “I’ve heard rumours that he is to be replaced.”

  “What did he do?”

  Arun looked intensely at Jack for a moment, “Disobeyed orders.”

  Jack felt the presence of The Man already; his heavy breathing, his forceful gaze. He was near, he was in this conversation and for once Jack didn’t invite him.

  “Whose orders?”

  “I don’t know his name, I’ve never seen him…”

  It was enough to confirm Jack’s fears. From that moment he knew that he needed to assign Arun the highest security detail. If he was to be absorbed into the safety net of The Resistance, then no one must know why. The secrecy of Jack’s mission relied entirely on this. He stared across at the poor civil servant and for a fraction of a moment he disgusted himself by an easy solution to ensure the trail stopped dead at Arun: literally.

  “This man,” Arun continued, “I think he works directly for Cameron Snowden. I think he makes sure everyone tows the same line.”

  “Hmmm,” Jack said.

  “You have heard of him?”

  Jack avoided his question, and instead took the notes from Arun’s hands and tore them up.

  “What are you doing?” Arun said, staring in bewilderment as Jack threw the shreds into the kitchen bin before lighting one of them with the gas from the hob and tossing it in as well.

  “You were never here,” Jack said, “We have never met.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “What you know, you can’t ever tell anyone, have you got it? You can’t repeat it to anyone, that’s an order.”

  Jack knew what he needed to do. Somehow, he needed to arrange for this man to make it - alive - to headquarters. There, Alex could look after him and ensure he was safe.

  “When are you being picked up?” Jack asked.

  “In about an hour, near the station,” Arun said.

  Needing to think fast, he patted Arun on the shoulder, “Don’t tell anyone we met.”

  And with that he fled the flat and hurried back to the secluded basement flat.

  Streaks of snow slashed his skin as he ran along the streets, his scarf wrapped tightly around his face and providing both warmth and security. All the way home Jack was consumed with what Arun had said. This was the single biggest blow to the revolution. With no finances, they couldn’t print new ID cards, they couldn’t supply fake Rations to the public and there was certainly no way they could fund travel on nearly the same level as they currently did. It would essential cripple them and remove any power that they had. How they would be able to carry on, Jack had not the knowledge or the experience to realise. Only Alex could determine the next steps, or even fathom through the chaos of mass departures how they could even continue.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack dove into the living room to grab a piece of paper and an envelope. It was the only means he had of communicating with Alex. Composing a letter than simply spelled out Arun’s full name, a coded version of his knowledge and the importance that his safety should be guaranteed at headquarters, Jack resurfaced to street level to send to the third party address that Alex managed. Only he ever received mail there. By tomorrow Alex would know to send for Arun - and hopefully Jack would be able to rest easy tonight.

  Back in the flat he delved into his notes again, staring blankly at the wall until words became embossed and seemed to fly out toward him. He had added the latest revelation to the wall and had for a while he became transfixed with it. He wondered how many men and women - innocent donors - were being rounded up as he sat in the gloom. Would they be killed, or just indefinitely imprisoned?

  Days passed without note. Night and day battled each other without Jack even acknowledging their significance. His only motions were between the kitchen and the living room, occasionally detouring to sleep on the mattress. For hours there seemed little else to decipher and as his frustrations grew he soon wanted to storm outside and run away from it all. He dwelled on the notion th
at despite all his hard work, and everyone’s suffering, that there might not be a reason for any of it at all. This man he had been seeking may very well turn out to just be a government advisor, or a secret political party whip designed to make everyone follow the line and go in a direction they believed to be for the better of the country. However, it was a notion that quickly filtered through Jack’s brain. How could anyone think Curfew, Rations or Martial Law was for the betterment of any country?

  As the hours passed, his craving for a drink heightened. He needed to take his mind off the wall of writing for just an hour, not even that. Right now it consumed him - every part of him. When starvation grew too much for him and he dragged himself through to the kitchen to prepare yet another meagre meal, he felt the ideas he’d written on the wall desperately clutching at him to return. It was mesmerising as it was terrifying.

  Whilst Arun’s news of the latest policy to try and dismantle the support for The Resistance was worrying, it was a worry that he need not be concerned by immediately. Until Alex confirmed otherwise, he had to remain here and learn as much as he could. Perhaps it was arrogant of him to believe that the future of the country rested on him - he occasionally smirked at his own self-importance. As much as he knew what he was doing was important, he knew also that he if he wasn’t doing it then Alex or someone much more skilled than he were would be doing it instead. Living an isolated life, slowly forgetting who they were and their reason for even being there in the first place. Right now, he was the only one who was capable of the mission and so when everything weighed heavily on him and the idea of giving up all hope entered his mind, he knew that he wouldn’t just be failing himself: he would be failing everyone.

  Mornings were the most difficult. Occasionally Eliza creeped into his thoughts before he could summon the energy to banish her. Always in those moments he wondered how she was getting on with motherhood and whether she ever thought about him. It was foolish to think that she ever did and in a strange way Jack almost hoped she didn’t - their time was over and a new life deserved all the love that he otherwise would have had.

  It was five days after Jack had sent word to Alex that he heard the letterbox screech open and clap shut. Moments later he heard footsteps rushing up the stone steps to merge into the crowd. In all this time he hadn’t ever received mail here. Initially on alert, Jack reassured himself that the only possible contact he would have here that didn’t result in his immediate death or arrest had to be with The Resistance.

  On the Welcome mat by the front door he saw a small piece of paper scrunched up. Jack picked it up and flattened it in his palms. In blotched ink it simply read:

  Manzoor’s Groceries, Upper Street, Islington. Ask for Stella at the counter.

  Within an hour he was dressed for winter and was striding along the streets of London, away from the city centre and out towards the more affluent residential areas. He had stayed at a safehouse in Islington once, though he couldn’t exactly recall where.

  As he turned into Upper Street he scanned the row of shops until he spied Manzoor’s Groceries - a dilapidated corner shop that had seen far better days. Outside where trays of fruit and vegetables might have been displayed a decade ago, there were only cardboard boxes and sacks of crumpled bin bags. Entering the shop, Jack jumped as the bell tinkered overhead. From the other side of the shop and behind the counter a friendly face greeted him.

  Curiously, the shelves were empty. Where there would have been tins and bread there were only pictures of these items attached with a price written in permanent marker. Ahead of him someone approached the counter and presented a list to the man on the other side. He took the piece of paper and disappeared through a door behind him.

  Hovering near pictures of pasta shells, Jack watched as the man returned with a basket of items and scanned them through the till. The woman handed over a mixture of cash and Rations before stuffing her goods into her rucksack and leaving. A method of shopping must have evolved to restrict theft. It was another reason for Jack to be grateful of his fortnightly deliveries.

  It was at this point that the man met eyes with Jack and he felt he could no longer sustain the tension. He approached the counter.

  “I’m looking for Stella,” he asked.

  The man nodded slightly, reaching underneath the counter discreetly and retrieving a mobile phone.

  “Stella isn’t here,” he said, sliding the phone across to Jack.

  Picking it up and stuffing it inside his jacket, Jack said, “Well thanks, should I come back later for her?”

  “No,” the man said, diverting his gaze to the middle distance as an unsubtle hint for Jack to leave.

  Back out in the cold again, Jack raced to find a quiet spot to be alone. He wasn’t sure why he had been given a phone number or where it might lead to. He had no numbers to call. Was there a chance someone might be ringing him any second? What was this about and why was it urgent enough for Jack to break his cover? Manzoor might be on side, but there was every possibility that one of his customers might have spotted him and summoned the CRU?

  Amongst the roads and side streets, rows and rows of shops and homeless dwellings of cardboard boxes and muddy sleeping bags, Jack found a small little haven behind a commercial bin in an alleyway that he hoped no one would have any interest in venturing down.

  Taking out the phone, he scanned around to ensure no one was watching him. The phone was unlocked and it seemed that it did not belong to anyone. There was nothing personal on it at all. No messages, no photographs or files. But then he clicked on the contacts and found only one entry under the name of A and there could be no doubt as to who would answer if he called.

  The dial seemed to last forever, Jack’s nerves and pulse mounting. Was he to receive new instructions? Had his position been made and did he leave to leave London immediately?

  “Hello Jack,” Alex’s warm tones from the other end soothed Jack’s panic. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m alright,” he said, “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “You’re not in the flat are you?” Alex asked, “Just in case they trace the signal.”

  “No, give me some credit,” Jack cowered behind the bin, admitting only to himself that he hadn’t given his position a second thought when it came to tracing the call.

  “I got your note,” Alex began, “We managed to get to most of our sponsors in time. You saved a lot of lives, Jack. Thank you for that.”

  “Is that why you called?” Jack was getting nervous now. Though he was convinced he was out of sight, he couldn’t help but be paranoid and he was a little annoyed that this conversation seemed to just be a bit of a chat.

  “No, I wanted to check in with you, see what you’ve learned about our friend,” he asked.

  “Not much if I’m honest, but he’s got his claws into most of the government departments. I’m still no further to finding out who he is or even what his agenda is all about.”

  Alex’s tone was jagged, as if he was frustrated by Jack’s lack of progress.

  “So what’s your next step then?” he asked.

  “I’ve been told Graham Harries might have some connection to this guy - he’s been fired for disobeying orders allegedly but no one is quite sure who was barking them if that makes sense,” he said, “Do you know anything about this guy?”

  There was a pause as Alex pondered the name. Meanwhile Jack peered around the edge of the bin to see if there were any passers-by loitering. He sighed silently with a temporary relief when he saw that he was completely alone.

  “I have to admit, I’ve not heard much about this guy. What department is in he in?”

  “The treasury I’ve been told,” Jack said.

  “Well that’s very interesting,” Alex said, “If we could find out why he has been fired then it might help figure out what their next plans are.”

  “Yes, well I gathered that,” Jack said, bored of Alex’s presumption that he was unable to work these things out for himself.
“I think it would be more useful to get Graham onside though. If he’s pissed them off enough to get fired, maybe he is pissed off enough to talk.”

  “True,” Alex said.

  There was so much more Jack wanted to say, but he knew their time was brief. Such phone calls were extremely dangerous. He wanted to tell Alex a range of his theories and describe in detail the new nutritional pill being introduced for free. But he probably only had time for one more question before he had to leave.

  “Before I go,” Jack said, “Did Arun make it to Headquarters alright?”

  “Who?”

  “Arun Patel, the guy I wrote to you about the other day. The one who told me about the new financial measures.”

  “Oh yes,” Alex said, “Yeah, I asked all the London reps - no one picked him up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one ordered an extraction in London this week, Jack,” Alex said.

  Jack froze against the cold concrete behind him. He’d been duped. Arun was dead. Somehow someone found out he was feeding information to The Resistance and had tricked him. Had Jack just taken him to a London safehouse himself he would have survived.

  “Jack, are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “But I’m going now.”

  He hung up, a chemical reaction of anger and disgust fermenting in his belly. Arun Patel had risked his life for The Resistance and his country - and for his sins they had killed him. Another innocent life dragged into the battle. For whatever reason, Jack could take no more.