The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  Has he left his wallet and phone in his dinner jacket? That burner phone would have come in handy. She mused. “Which is closer?”

  “The lake, especially if we cut across near the tennis courts.”

  The tables outside the café entrance were packed with panting retrievers and perspiring owners. Mary shuffled in through the glass doors, between groups of elderly women on a bus tour, with Parth bringing up the rear. They sidled off towards the disabled toilet and used a coin to unlock the safety door.

  Parth lifted Mary’s shirt up to her armpits and smoothed his fingertips over her ribcage. She winced and flinched away from him when he pushed his thumb between the bones. “Nothing feels broken, but you may have detached the intercostal muscles and there is extensive bruising.”

  Mary washed her face and hands, then turned her attention to swilling out Parth’s puncture wound on his arm. She closed the edges of the ragged skin with two plasters from her bag, and then they cleaned and tidied themselves as best they could. Back out in the restaurant, they joined the queue to place their orders. Mary struggled up the stairs into the glass rotunda, set high in the parkland, and found an empty table.

  “What do we do now?” Parth waved the waitress over with their order. Mary shrugged. He removed the items from the tray and thanked the uniformed girl. Mary pulled the tea pot closer, lifted the metal lid and swished a teaspoon around in the brown liquid. She straightened her back. Her spine crunched and clicked.

  Parth persisted. “Should we make our way back to Connie’s place?”

  Mary shook her head and poured the tea into her cup. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t know how long the minister’s men have been watching us. They could have followed us to the meeting with Jones from Connie’s house. They could be watching us right now.” There was a permanent quiver inside her stomach. She gulped down the tea, then looked at her cup. “Oh God, I forgot. The water isn’t safe.” Her hand flew to her abdomen. Had she harmed the baby? A bad mother already, failing to protect her unborn from the toxic effects of impure water and a battering from a high-speed crash.

  Her anguished, downward look at her hands, clasped over her tummy, induced a perplexed frown from Parth. “One cup won’t kill you. If it was that poisonous, everyone around you would be dead. You are over-reacting.” He thrust his fruit drink across the table at her. “Here. Have some of this instead.” He broke a scone in two, spread butter and jam from a little pot on both halves and offered one to Mary. How can he be so sweet and kind one minute, and a complete bastard the next? The question lingered in her head, as she took a bite of the dry cake.

  Mary wriggled in her seat, groaning in pain. No matter how she positioned herself, it hurt. “I think I might be better off walking than sitting.” They finished off the scone and carried the drink back down the stairs and out into the formal rose gardens. The sun was trying to burn off the cloud, making them squint through the haze.

  Parth offered to carry her satchel, but Mary refused. It contained all she needed to survive. “We have money, thanks to Connie, bless her, so we have options.” Mary held out a thumb as though she was going to count the possibilities out on her digits, but a rapid mental calculation reminded her of the few they had left

  “We could catch the tube to Heathrow Airport…except we haven’t got our passports.” Parth trailed off, quashing his own suggestion.

  “And the minister would have an all-port’s-warning out on us by now.” They shuffled along in contemplation. She continued her musing. “We cannot stay, and we cannot flee. If we give ourselves up, the minister would find a reason to lock us up for good.” A distressed grunt erupted through her lungs. The nerves firing in radiating throbs around her chest.

  Parth rushed to her aid as her knees buckled beneath her. “Are you feeling dizzy?” He touched his palm to her forehead and then pinched the pulse point on her wrist. “Does it hurt all the time or just when your ribs move?”

  “Just when I’m breathing, oh wait, I can’t stop doing that can I?” She pushed his hand away, then immediately felt wretched. He was attempting to help her. “Sorry. I’m okay. I just need to lay down for a bit. Is there a hotel nearby?”

  “Bound to be, but it’ll be pricey around here. Not the sort of place that would let us in, looking like this.” He pointed out his ripped shirt spattered with rusting blood. They walked slowly along the outer pathway of the university building, across a small bridge over the narrowest section of the lake and finally out of the park into the rush of traffic.

  “Baker Street is around here, somewhere.” Parth monitored her movements, his medical training over-riding all else.

  “I don’t suppose there is a Sherlock Holmes themed hotel is there?” She snarled between gritted teeth.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but there are some shops a couple of blocks down. I can see the signs. Can you make it?”

  They shambled through the gawking crowds, passed fast food outlets and pizza chains and more restaurants, stopping briefly outside a supermarket for Mary to catch her breath.

  “Hey look…” Parth cackled, stretching out towards a building a few metres away. “There really is a Sherlock Holmes themed hotel.”

  Mary sniggered. “Thank you, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  The pristine white frontage, with understated signage, foretold the expense within. Parth straightened his hair, then his collar and walked up to the front desk.

  “Hello, pardon me.” Parth flashed his most appealing smile at the receptionist. He anticipated her stunned response to their appearance. “We have been in a road accident and need a place to stay for the night. May we check in, then I can go and buy some essential items. You know, smarten ourselves up a bit.”

  The receptionist paused, turning in all directions. in the hope of locating the manager. Mary pulled the roll of cash out from her satchel and peeled off a fifty-pound note, slapping it down on the high counter top. The woman reached up and scrunched the note into her fist.

  “Certainly, sir…madam.” She looked at her computer screen and tapped the down curser on the keyboard. “We have a double suite available or an apartment?” Her gaze focussed on the money roll. It had a mesmeric quality about it.

  “Two single rooms, please.” Mary announced, peeling notes from the bundle.

  “No. I need to keep an eye on you. Do you have a room with twin beds?” The seriousness of Parth’s look, silenced Mary. She nodded her agreement.

  “It is a busy weekend, sir, but I will do my best. May I see some form of personal identification?” The receptionist looked squarely at her captives, then down at the cash. Mary handed over another fifty. “Thank you, madam. Room twelve is available. That will be two-hundred and seventy-five pounds.” More money changed hands. Mary leaned on the counter, trying to take the pressure from her aching ribs. The printer spat out a receipt into the receptionists waiting fingers. She tore it off and handed it to Parth. Favouring tradition over technology, the room keys hung from hooks behind the desk. The receptionist turned and retrieved the key from hook twelve and said, “If you would like to follow me.”

  They took the lift to the first floor. The receptionist guided them along the passageway and unlocked the door. She stood just inside the room, holding the key to her chest, waiting for a further tip. Mary fixed her jaw and threw her a withering glare. “Thank you, miss.” Mary swiped the key from her hand, then shoved her out of the room. “That’s just taking the piss. Honestly.” She slammed the door in her face.

  Mary turned around, chucked the key on one of the beds, and collapsed into the other. Parth giggled. Checking her pulse and temperature against the back of his hand, he took a few bank notes from the roll and gathered up the key. “Stay awake, if you can. I won’t be long. If your breathing becomes laboured, call an ambulance.”

  It took Mary a few minutes to find a comfortable position, propped up on her side with pillows and cushions. For how long could they keep running? Were trained professionals
watching and waiting for them outside in the street? A fake baby in a wired-up stroller, pushed by one of the minister’s agents, or perhaps a phoney businessman checking into the hotel right now. A twinge of discomfort spiralled up from the depths of her loins. The baby.

  Struggling to her feet, Mary went to the bathroom and peeled her jeans and knickers down to her knees. No blood. Thank God. She sighed and sauntered back to the bed. I suppose that means I have made up my mind. Cradling her stomach, she reclined into the cushions and allowed herself a brief, closed-eye fantasy of motherhood. Boy or girl? Let’s go the whole hog, twins. One of each. Uncle Dan and Great-Grampy. Won’t that be a shock to them. Well, maybe not to Grampy.

  A fleeting vision of building pebble towers on Brighton Beach with her little infants and her most loved family and she was almost asleep. Must stay alert. Can’t afford to drop my guard. She opened her eyes and stared at the plush décor. I hope Connie is alright. We shouldn’t have left her. What if she had more than cuts and bruises? What would she have told the police? Dan would know. If only I could call him and ask.

  I wonder if I could synchronise with his brainwaves without knowing where he is. We have never tried communicating over distance before. Wedged among the pillows and cushions, Mary closed her eyes and thought about her brother. The creases surrounding his dark eyes whenever he laughed and the gentle way in which he spoke. The feeling of safety his presence evoked. “Dan?” The word dissolved into a symmetrical frequency inside her mind and floated out into the airwaves. “Can you hear me?” Perhaps I am not doing this right, or maybe he is busy and not listening out for some mad woman invading his thoughts.

  What if the minister is holding Connie for questioning. He could use her as leverage. Mary breathed jagged breaths and tried again. “Dan…it’s Mary. Can you hear me?” Her heartbeat echoed inside her head. Perhaps he was too far away to connect with.

  “Hey there…Yes, I can…hang on…” The wait seemed interminable. “Hey, Mary. Where are you? What’s up?”

  Her relief was profound. They could stay in touch regardless of modern technology. A perfectly secure line, unless another telepath could intercept their thoughts.

  “Dan, have you heard from Connie at all?”

  “Not since she dashed off to pick you and Parth up in London. Why?”

  “There’s been an accident…well more of a deliberate attempt to kill us… but I am panicking you. She’s okay… I think.”

  “What? Is she hurt? Are you alright? Oh, dear God…” The volume of his transmission dipped. His distress was etching the link between them. Mary could feel his focus drift, taking his channelling ability with it.

  “Dan, listen. She was grazed and bruised, but okay. Call her mobile and check up on her, then let me know the outcome. Parth and I are laying low. We paid cash for a hotel room and registered under a false name.”

  Dan’s response was feeble, barely audible. “I’m coming down there, as soon as I have called Con. Take care of yourself.”

  With reinforcements summoned, Mary allowed herself time to relax. Time to assimilate all that had transpired. In the space of two days, she had unleashed the wrath of the British government, attracted the attention of a Soviet ex-military terrorist and offended Christians worldwide with her impression of a religious miracle. How could she stop the retaliation from the cabinet ministers, with their knee-jerk and extremist answer to conscious evolution? How many millions of people would be needlessly medicated under the pretext of National Security? The whirl of issues seemed to compound in thick, insoluble layers. Mary pulled a pillow over her eyes, blotting out the strengthening sun through the curtains, and slipped into a fretful sleep.

  ***

  The key clunked the lock mechanism. Mary awoke startled. For one hazy moment, her mind tumbled back in time to her enforced incarceration at the hands of the Russian terrorists. Her heart thumped, adrenalin coursed through her blood once again, in preparation for fight or flight. She jumped to her feet, then slumped when Parth peeked around the edge of the door.

  Bustling in with multiple carrier bags, he kicked the door closed and dumped the shopping on his bed. “Phew, it’s steamy out there now. He slipped between the beds and grasped her wrist, counting the beats against the bedside clock. “Hmm, a little elevated.” His hand moved to her forehead once more. “I’d have thought it would have stabilised by now. At least you are not running a temperature. How are you feeling?”

  “Rattled. I was asleep when you barged in. Gave me a bit of a turn.” She faced the mound of plastic wrap and opened one of the bags. “What on Earth have you bought? You were not followed, were you?”

  “Nah, they aren’t looking for me. You are the famous one. I’m just another handsome bloke on the Underground.” His infectious grin waned when he saw her expression.

  “You went on the tube?” Her pulse quickened, the rush of heat prickled her scalp.

  “Relax…I wore my daft hat.” Parth reached for the baseball cap from one of the bags and waved it at her. “There are so many tourists about, I simply blended in.”

  “That was a risk we could have done without. You understand that Yelena’s techie chap could trawl all surveillance feeds with face recognition software?” She sat clumsily on the edge of the bed. Her hyperventilation made her feel faint.

  “Well, we needed clothes and toiletries and I wanted to get you something for your birthday tomorrow.”

  Mary held her head in her hands. “You risked our freedom for a birthday present? That defies logic. Not like you at all.” She eased herself backwards onto the bed. “It’s not as though I can celebrate, with all that is going on.”

  “Ah, well. I thought of that. I booked us a table for this evening in the hotel restaurant. It gets rave reviews and the menu looks divine.” He rummaged in the shopping pile and pulled out a collection of bottles and tubes from a supermarket carrier bag and delivered them to the bathroom. On his return, he grabbed another bag and chucked it towards Mary. “I thought smart-casual would do the trick, in case we have to leg it mid-dessert.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Parth. What if we are seen? It’s too dangerous.” She watched him unpack a couple of pairs of cotton boxer shorts. He smiled at her, and then retrieved some dark trousers. Undeterred, she tried to reason with him again. “It’s not even an important milestone birthday.”

  Parth stopped his foray and glanced at her. “All your birthdays are important. You may not think much of me anymore, but I will never stop loving you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary had no answer for Parth. She kept her face buried in her hands and felt the ardent scrutiny of her estranged spouse, urging her to look up and engage in the conversation. Had he planned this exchange? Did he sit on the tube and engineer the steps of this chat to win her back? The weariness of perpetual doubt dragged at her limbs.

  Parth relented and returned his attention to the shopping. “Do you want your gift now? I had the shop assistant wrap it for me.” A small, glossy bag of navy and gold swung from his finger by its corded handles.

  Mary shifted her palm to afford a peep at his offering. “Jewellery? We can’t go wasting Connie’s money on unnecessary things.” Her hands fell to her lap, her head rocked in frustration.

  “I didn’t use Connie’s money. That would hardly be a gift from me if I had.” He stretched out his arm, dangling the bag close to her face.

  “Please tell me that you didn’t use your credit card? They can trace…”

  “I’m not stupid, of course I didn’t.”

  “Then how…?”

  “I sold my watch for cash.”

  Dumbfounded, her chin fell. Mary reached for the gift. She was curious to see what Parth had bought in exchange for the heirloom timepiece. The watch his father had passed down on the day of his PhD graduation. Inside the bag, navy and teal tissue paper, bound in a box shape with a thin gold ribbon. Please don’t be a ring, please don’t be a ring. Anything but a ring.

  Lifti
ng the present, Mary tugged the ribbon and let the wrapping fall away. She levered up the lid. Inside, nestling on a velvet cushion, was a golden locket in the shape of a heart. Embossed on its surface, a Celtic knot that resembled the sign for infinity. “You shouldn’t have. We aren’t together anymore.” She could not stop herself from touching the symbol.

  “So, what? Our marriage is over; therefore, I can’t get you a gift for your birthday? Rubbish.” Parth took the box from her, unwound the chain from the cushion and opened the clasp. He kneeled one leg on the bed beside her and looped it around her neck.

  “You really shouldn’t have. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Gifts from her grandfather were selfless and thoughtful. Presents from Parth were laden with expectation. “This doesn’t change anything. In fact, I think you should return it and see if you can get your watch back. Your father will be furious.”

  “Certainly not. There…it suits you.”

  Mary brushed his arm away and stood up. “Thank you, but we don’t have time to fuss over things like this.” She walked to the window and checked the street outside. “There is too much at stake to be playing at happy families.” A woman in Lycra jogged past, pushing a three-wheeled baby buggy. Mary watched her stop and adjust the sound buds poking out of her ears. She could be an agent, listening for orders. Although the park is not far away. She could just be out for a run.

  Two Japanese tourists looked up at the building façade. Mary ducked behind the curtain and held her breath. The man ushered his partner in front of the hotel doorway and made her pose for a photograph.

  Parth watched Mary tense every muscle. “You need to calm down. I know that your migraines have eased off, but you will make yourself ill.”

  “It’s hardly surprising. We have nowhere to go where they will not find us. We cannot hide out here forever.” She watched the tourists take their picture and amble off down the street.

  “Then we have no other choice but to speak with Connie’s editor. The landline from this room will be safe to use.” Parth hovered next to the handset, waiting for the go-ahead.