by Sam Nash
“You know you got the spelling of Arora wrong, don’t you?” She peeped over the edge of her cup at him, half smiling.
“Did I? What a shame. That makes it legally invalid then, doesn’t it? Besides, without the Aurora Borealis, we may never have triggered these gifts, so it is appropriate.” He beamed at her. A childlike smile of defiance spreading across his stubble covered cheeks.
“If it is not legally binding, then the caveats won’t protect our rights either.”
“My dear little sister. With our combined powers, no facility can hold us and you can fry the circuits of any device that they attempt to strap to your head. You said it yourself, we must maintain the illusion of compliance.”
The conversation petered out, each of them preoccupied with the time they could finally relax in familiar surroundings. Dan’s fluttering stomach and clenched muscles made strangulated noises. Mary was wistful and sad. What reception awaited her now that Parth had to adjust to the new limits of his research? Her former life of subjugation to his career path was over. Could their marriage survive such a paradigm shift? Did she even want it to? At least she had Grampy and now Dan, to lean on. The emotion stung her tear ducts.
“I’m just going to powder my nose.” She announced, before placing her empty cup on the table and making her way down the corridor. The minister left the Tactical Room, pulling the door closed behind him. Oh God, this is where it all comes crashing down. He has come to his senses and he’ll have Mr Muscle arrest me. They will throw away the key this time, for sure. Mary held her breath and walked slower. As she approached, the minister turned this way and that, blinking too fast and scratching at the back of his head. He saw Mary and shuffled towards her. She braced.
“Ah, do you work here, young lady? Could you direct me to the gentleman’s lavatory? I seem to have lost my bearings.”
A millisecond of shock swept through her. She restored her senses enough to point in the general direction of the toilets. Dan had worked his magic on him. He had burrowed into the Minister’s hippocampus and tinkered with his memory. She watched the aged man amble away, the sweat stains beneath his arms spreading out across his back, his arthritic joints creaking and crunching, throwing him out of step. He seemed much smaller now. Her formidable opponent, diminished. The head of the Ministry of Defence for the British Commonwealth let the door of the Gents swing and smack him in the backside.
***
The morning after the storm smelled clean and filled with potential. Flynn provided Dan with a pass card for the secure exit and bade them farewell. Yelena informed them that she would be in touch soon. It sounded more like a threat than a promise. They met Mr Muscle pushing Constance Cadot in a wheelchair at the front entrance to the pyramid building. She wore a padded neck brace that held her chin unnaturally high, but it did not stop her from leaping out of the chair and throwing her arms about Dan. He lifted her off her feet and kissed her. Parth turned away. Mary watched them. They needed no words; their feelings were plain to all. The tension in Dan’s body slipped away and relief softened his pinched brow.
Dan’s burgundy classic car rounded the corner and stopped in front of them, driven by the agent who had taken them to the FCO restaurant. The perpetual smirk plastered across his face widened upon seeing Mary. He yanked the handbrake up and left it idling in neutral, then hopped out of the driver’s side to greet them.
“You’re off then?” He stood much too close to Mary, making her take a backward step. “I was led to believe that you’d be sticking around for a while.” He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and rocked forwards on his toes.
“Yes, homeward bound. Job done. Thank you for your help.” Mary blushed. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, suddenly aware of the stale clothing she had borrowed from Connie’s villa.
“Such a shame. I was all set to buy you a drink later at the bar. This place needs someone to brighten it up a little.” The eye contact made her feel uncomfortable. It locked on like a heat seeking missile. Whichever direction Mary looked, his stare was right there before her.
Parth wedged his shoulder between them. “She doesn’t drink and my wife and I won’t be coming back here anytime soon.” He hissed at the driver, then raised his forearm against the man’s chest. “Come along, Mary.” Opening the car door, Parth ushered her into the back seat. “Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?” She declined, a hint of a smile forming on her lips. She had no need to explore the depths of his mind to know how guarded he was of his possessions. That was all she was to him, a valuable possession. In that moment, she knew that she could not resume their life together as it was. He could not make any restitution for his disloyalty that would appease her.
With Connie safely strapped into the passenger seat, Dan took control of his classic car and followed the black Range Rover escort to the main exit of the base. Winding down the stiff window mechanism, he leaned out and handed the pass to the guard, who in turn opened the barriers. Two speedbumps and a right turn and they passed into the overgrown lanes of the Buckinghamshire countryside.
They had driven many miles in quietude before anyone dare break the silence. It was as though making a sound would break the spell and send them crashing back into custody and a life of servitude. Constance spoke first, her damaged voice box giving her a husky timbre.
“What happened to that sadistic bastard Lars Visser?” The mirror in the sun visor showed Mary and Parth conducting an unspoken dialogue of shrugs and grimaces. “It is okay. I am not permitted to report on anything that you tell me. They made me sign things.”
Dan let go of the gear stick and patted her knee. “He’s dead, Connie. He cannot ever harm you again.”
“Of this you are sure? You see his body, yes? She reached up and angled the visor mirror to witness Mary’s reaction. Mary averted her gaze.
Dan changed gear and hesitated at a crossroads, trying to recall the directions Flynn had provided. “Well it was a bloody big explosion, Con. It’d be a miracle if he did survive. Just know that you are safe now. No one can harm you.”
“And what of the other one? The little man in the white coat?” Her tenacious journalistic tendencies would not allow her to let the matter drop.
“Presumed dead also.” Dan leaned forward, looked both ways and turned right at the church.
“Presumed. So, you have no idea really then?” Connie twisted her shoulders round, trying to coax the support collar sideways to allow her to look at her boyfriend.
“Can’t you let it go? We are all exhausted. Let’s have some music.” He pushed a faded plastic tape into the ancient audio player and increased the volume. Connie folded her arms across her chest. The stereo crackled into life with the thin sound of a piano as the track started. Paul McCartney’s crisp voice rang out through the speakers, after a brief melodious introduction, with the first line of Let It Be. Dan started laughing before the second bar.
“Did you do that on purpose?” Mary cackled.
“No, I promise. It was already in the player.” A moment shared between siblings. This, the first of many unexplained conspiratorial exchanges. They had thirty years of shared mischief and missed opportunities to recoup. Constance sighed and fixed her sight ahead.
Brighton and Hove, UK
Brighton Beach was crawling with students of every nationality when they arrived. Pip unfolded the blanket and anchored it in place with heavy stones at each corner, and then helped Mary unpack the picnic. Connie balanced on one leg while she removed a sandal, brushing away the grimy dust that had collected on the insole. Dan’s cotton hat blew from his head, tumbling across the gradient towards an Asian family hunkered down in the pebbled ridges. One of their children caught hold of it by its rim and handed it back.
Pip helped himself to a vegetable samosa from a sandwich box. “What story are you currently working on, Connie?”
Constance folded herself on to the corner of the blanket, adjusting the silk headscarf protecting her hair from the war
m breeze. He offered her an Indian pastry from the container. She shook her head.
“I am working on an exposé within the pharmaceutical industry. It is all very hush, hush, but I believe it will shake the infrastructure and its government ties to the core.” She nibbled at a cheese straw, picking up small flakes that had escaped onto her linen trousers.
“I look forward to reading that.” Pip stuffed his balled-up socks into his boat shoes and placed them together next to his crumpled sweater on the shingle. “Anyone up for a paddle?” He didn’t wait for a reply. Rolling up his trouser legs and holding his hat on his head, Pip Lawrence navigated the sharp flints and smooth pebbles down to the shoreline.
Mary followed, catching him up with her flip-flop cushioned steps. She fed her arm through his, hugging his limb close to her body. They kicked and splashed through the shallow waves, pointed out the brave or foolhardy souls who had ventured into the English Channel to swim and shooed away the ever-vigilant gulls.
“Grampy?” Her rosy cheeked countenance dimmed. It was the voice of the little girl he had read bedtime stories to. The child he had picked apples with in his garden past dusk and soothed her wasp stings with a vinegar rinse. The frightened grandchild who saw monsters in every shadow.
“Yes, sweetie-pie?” He waited while she swallowed and cleared her throat. They faced the horizon.
“Did I cause the airbags to fail that day? Was the accident my fault?” Her grip on his arm tightened. He paused for a moment, dipping his head to the side and depositing a kiss on the top of her head.
“I don’t know, my love. I don’t think we will ever know.” He reached his spare arm around and covered her hand with his. She looked up at him. His kind, old face radiated nothing but love. Not a hint or trace of resentment hiding within him. They walked along in quiet contemplation for a time, absorbed in their memories. “Now then, tell me all about this PhD you have landed.”
“I start next month.” She released his arm long enough to pull a tissue from her jeans pocket and blow her nose. “Professor Haas has arranged for me to work as a demonstrator in undergrad practicals at the same time as my research so that I can continue to earn.”
“That was good of him. What area of Biomedical are you considering?” They had wandered along the shore towards the pier for some distance. Pip spun her around and they headed back the way they came.
“Epigenetics and hereditary transfer. Have you heard of it?” They waited for a body boarding youth to cross their path out of the water.
“I have indeed. It’s the ability to switch dormant genes on through exposure to drastic changes in environmental or social conditions. The theory posits that those alterations can then be passed on to offspring as a viable trait.”
Mary admired her grandfather. She beamed up at his undiminished acuity.
Pip looked quizzical. “What? I still find the time to read the odd medical journal every now and then.”
By the time they had returned to the blanket, Dan had polished off a considerable amount of the picnic. Connie had picked at another cheese straw and was on her second Perspex flute of sparkling wine. Pip watched his grandchildren bicker over the last of the chocolate rolls. A contented smile took up residence and reanimated the old man’s features. Mary snooped into his mind. A show-reel of scenes, leading to Dan and Mary’s worlds colliding, played in his head.
The moment when a distraught student sought his help at the medical centre. Tired, pregnant and alone she confessed that the baby was Pip’s grandson. The scene altered to an image of Mary’s mother in desolate tears, handing over her first born to Pip’s friend and colleague. The proud feeling Mary sensed in her grandfather, on the day of Dan’s christening. A deliberate bonding of family ties to maintain a connection to his kin. Mary passed the foil covered chocolate roll to her grandfather. He thanked her and began unwrapping it.
“Grampy, why didn’t you tell us about each other? I mean, you could have, after the accident.”
“It was never my secret to tell. As his godfather, I could keep an eye on Dan; make sure he had what he needed in life and maintain your parents’ confidence. I did think about telling you, but Dan made no attempt to discover his biological parentage and I didn’t want to rock the boat.” He gobbled up the gooey sponge and lay back in the sloping shingle, tipping his hat over his eyes.
“But you did encourage me to buy the bookshop close to Mary’s home though, didn’t you?” Dan turned to Mary. “In fact, Pip invested his own money in my business, making it almost impossible for me to back out.” Dan grabbed Pip’s ankle and shook it to encourage a response.
The old man poked the brim of his hat up and squinted at them. “Well you most certainly would not have met if you had stayed living around here.” He propped himself up on an elbow.
Mary pointed at Pip, but addressed her brother. “Wait, don’t tell me. Grampy was also the one who sparked your interest in the paranormal and strange unexplained phenomenon.”
“Yep and guess who sent me the advert calling for volunteers in Parth’s research study?” Dan said, chuckling. Connie sat with a bemused grin.
“It all worked out for the best, didn’t it?” Pip pulled his hat back down and snoozed in the afternoon sun.
***
All the doors and windows of Pip’s house were wide open in the listless evening heat. Dan made reservations at an exclusive restaurant and was off treating Connie to some five-star romance. Pip poured a glass of brandy and invited Mary to join him on the patio to view the muted stars.
“It’s a beautiful night.” Pip took a swig of the amber liquid.
“It is. I miss being by the sea.” Mary sipped her tea and breathed in the briny Solent air. Steel wind chimes tinkled from the branches of the apple trees and the moon rose creamy and fat.
“I can’t begin to imagine the trauma you have been through. I heard you cry out in your sleep last night. Have the nightmares returned?” He grasped a curl from her ponytail and coiled it around his fingers.
“Sometimes, yes. What’s done is done. I can’t change what happened but I still feel responsible.” She kept her gaze skyward, willing her grandfather to change subject. He did.
“How are your migraines? Any more seizures?” He leaned forwards, trying to catch her eye.
“Not too bad, actually. Dan and I let Parth do a couple of tests on us in his department. Whatever else he may be, he is very good at his job. He says that we have enlarged limbic regions in our brains.” She noted Pip’s look of distress; his years of medical training leaping his conclusions to the worst-case scenario. “It’s okay though. He says we have a remarkable level of neural plasticity. Our brains are adapting in structure to accommodate the changes.”
“Promise me that you’ll get checked out properly if you have another seizure. I still have a few contacts if you don’t want to ask Parth.” Pip pitched a solemn frown in Mary’s direction.
“I promise.”
“Hmm, see that you do. How are things between you two?” He rattled the ice cubes around his glass and raised a tentative hand to her shoulder.
“I have asked him to move out. With any luck, he should be signing a tenancy agreement on a flat this weekend. I can’t avoid him entirely, what with my research position being in the same faculty, but I think we can make things work.”
Pip nodded, patting her back gently. “Will you divorce him?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t think I will ever be able to trust him again.” They dragged the patio chairs into a sheltered corner near to the French windows and sat looking up at the moon.
All the people in her world and more had tried to control her, influence her, confine and abuse her, even before she had developed her gifts. They had exploited her kindness, her fears, inadequacies and her physical weakness. They pitted strength in authority against the meek and innocent. They had fostered and rewarded greed and ambition. In her darkest moments, she had plunged to depths she never imagined possible and fought li
ke with like. Mary had no intention of sinking to their twisted levels of intimidation to maintain the upper hand.
It reassured her to know that in times of crisis, there lie inside her a well of ruthlessness she could call upon in an emergency. An ability to protect herself when faced with the direst of circumstances. That gave Mary confidence. Not a swagger, but a calm knowledge that she had lived through a most heinous test and survived. Providing those barbarous tendencies remained in check, Mary was content. She convinced herself that there could be little left in life that would awaken her inner savage.
Cyril Plender craved power and dominion within his small sphere. His reign was short lived, as was the brute who had attempted to force himself upon her during her imprisonment. Parth and Yelena had steered and cajoled her. The Defence minister simply bullied her into collaborating with the world’s largest covert surveillance network. A community of nations, intent on dominating the global airwaves, which in turn had spawned terror attacks from those on the outside. It was hard to choose which side had behaved worse, Alexi and Visser or the minister and Flynn.
Yawning, Mary lay back on the lounger, listening to the rustling leaves in the orchard and the low babble of dialogue from Pip’s TV in the house. The opening theme tune for the ten o’clock news travelled through the air, followed by the echoing chime for Big Ben. The presenter announced the headlines. “Solar storm knocks out satellite transmissions…” Bong… “Canadian power grids fail …” Bong… “Spectacular Aurorae displays seen in record latitudes …” Bong… “Pharmaceutical giant in government tax dispute…” Bong…
***
THE
AURORA
MANIFESTO
A conspiracy thriller
By Sam Nash
I dedicate this book to the British Government, for providing me with an endless supply of disappointment and mistrust, and to my family for giving me the courage to write it all down.