The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  “Nope, not Agate or Jet. Weird… it feels warm. It’s not black diamond either. I have no idea what it is. I know the crystalline structures and key signs for all precious and semi-precious stones, but I have never seen this structure before. Where did you get it from?”

  “I um, inherited it.” She bit her inside lip against the pang of loss resurfacing with the subject matter. “It belonged to my great-grandfather’s mother.”

  “I think this stone requires further investigation. If you leave it with me, I can take it up to London at the end of the month. There’s a symposium I’m attending where I can show it to experts…”

  “Thanks, Will, but I’d rather keep it on me. Kind of you to offer though.” Mary held out her hand and kept a steady eye on him. With reluctance, Will relinquished the jewel back into Mary’s keeping.

  Mary pocketed the brooch and turned towards the door. “Thanks for all your help, Cath, Will.”

  “You’re welcome to come home with us for a bite to eat. Will is making Kungpo stir fry tonight.” Cath said, resting her hand on Mary’s shoulder. Her piteous look, first at Mary and then at her husband, conveyed the entirety of their thoughts. They believed the news reports. Mary was disturbed and needed professional care. Catching sight of her appearance reflected in the shop windows, she thought that they could hardly be blamed for their opinions. Mary looked a mess.

  “No thanks, Cath, I have to go. Another time though.”

  An air kiss, quick hug later, and they allowed Mary through the fortress of locks at the shop front and onto Ship Street. Striding southwards, Mary found an unoccupied promenade bench and sat watching the rolling tide.

  The onshore breeze had quietened with the sunset. The beach, thinned of tourists and day trippers, wore the scars of human detritus left in their wake. Seagulls pecked at the fast food containers and flapped away from the pebbles hurled at them by aimless students drinking beer into the night. The atmosphere of family fun switched off for the day. This was the hour for the beggars and pickpockets, regrouping beneath the pier to count the day’s spoils.

  A man in a ripped hoody and dirty trainers approached, offering to sell her whichever drug she desired. Her refusal seemed to anger him, his outburst accompanied by exaggerated arm gestures. Mary held her nerve and waited for him to pass, wrapping the strap of her satchel twice around her wrist for added security.

  The street lamp flickered on overhead, illuminating her solitude. Taking a sip of spring water, Mary swallowed a couple of painkillers from her bag and concentrated. “Dan? Can you hear me?” There was a hint of desperation in her message.

  “I can. Are you alright?” Came the telepathic reply.

  “Fine. What’s happening at Grampy’s?”

  “Well, the minister’s men claim they don’t need a warrant when ransacking a terror suspect’s house.”

  “Oh God! Are you hurt? Did they find the hidden lockbox?”

  “No. I got everything back in order before they barged in and I am following them around putting everything back in place the moment it’s moved. Hey, are you somewhere safe?”

  “I’m on the promenade, close to the pier. Why?”

  “That’s way out in the open. You need to hide. They have two cars out looking for you and the rest are packing up here to join in the search.”

  “Shit. Okay, I can do that. Hey Dan, I got a friend to take a look at the brooch. He’s a jeweller. Says he can’t identify the stone.”

  “That’s Interesting. Old Granny Phebe hoarded unknown precious gems, eh?”

  “So it seems, but that can’t be Grampy’s leverage, surely?”

  “I don’t see how. Get this, I had a little snoop into one of the henchmen’s minds. The Ninth Earl of Sedgewell keeps cropping up in his thoughts. Whatever is going on, has these agents rattled.”

  “Okay, take care of yourself, and keep me posted.”

  “You take care. You must be in agony. And, Mary…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t do anything rash. I don’t want to lose you too.”

  The connection waned, then stopped. Mary felt the tether between them unhitch as their focus shifted. Glancing over her shoulder, every vehicle in the constant stream of traffic posed a threat. The minister’s men were back on her trail. Hurrying along the prom, she crossed the junction in front of the pier and scurried up Old Steine and around the gardens. Large, black cars were everywhere, though none appeared to be in a particular hurry. Would she have noticed them without Dan’s warning?

  Gangs of youths called out and whistled to her from outside a restaurant café, vaping, swigging from bottles and laughing at her across the road. She was too conspicuous. Everyone seemed to recognise her. Mary pulled the hairband from her ponytail and let her hair swing down, covering the sides of her face. If she could just get to the Royal Pavilion, Karan should arrive at any moment.

  Almost there. Turning the corner, she could see the cluster of cupolas between the tall buildings. The pale iron onion dome of the saloon bottle soaring at the highest point. The originality of architect, John Nash, displayed for all to see. Which side had they agreed to meet on? Palace place or at India Gate? Both sides were still jammed with tourists. Most looked to be mooching around the pavement compounds of bars and restaurants.

  Black vehicles seemed to be multiplying in numbers. One clean black, four-by-four, accelerated towards her, zig-zagging through traffic in illegal manoeuvres. Startled with indecision, Mary froze. Should she run and highlight herself as a target, or duck behind the nearest group of revellers? Common sense kicked into gear. Mary ran. Choosing the more congested side of the Palace, she sprinted along the street, crossing between the slow-moving cars and onto the pedestrianised area of Castle Square. Pushing on with burning lungs and aching ribs, past the pavement diners and up to the lavish, India Gate.

  Roaring engines and furious car horns blared, as two more four-by-fours joined the throng in her pursuit. The walkway narrowed, forcing the agents to abandon their vehicles. One of the lither men gave chase, hurtling after her at full speed. Mary’s satchel knocked against her thighs, obstructing her legs. Reaching around, she grappled the bag to her chest and raced on through the gate. Panting and tousled, she came to a jolting full stop, right into the arms of Shrimant Karan Shinde.

  “Ugh! Sorry.” Mary did a double take. It took a moment to recognise him. Those traditional silk clothes exchanged for western styled jeans and a smart shirt. “Karan?”

  “Come with me, quickly.” Leading Mary to the left, they ran through the parkland trees to the next gate accessing the Royal Pavilion Gardens and into a waiting limousine. A small flag, next to the hood ornament, rippled in the night air.

  Mary scrambled inside the stretched vehicle and shuffled along the back seat to the farthest side. Karan slipped in beside her and closed the door seconds before the nimble agent reached them. Mary heard a series of clunks, as the central locking mechanism secured them inside. Karan lowered the tinted window a fraction to bestow a challenging smile at the sweaty man.

  The agent grabbed the door handle of the car and pulled, but nothing happened. “Come along, sir. Hand her over.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I have a duty to protect an asylum seeker and you have no warrant for arrest. Drive on.” Karan raised the limousine window, masking the agent in grey tint. The vehicle pulled away from the crowds and into the traffic.

  “Asylum seeker?” Mary said, with a faint half grin.

  “I have diplomatic immunity, didn’t I say? Sit back and relax now, Mary. All your troubles are over.” The formalities Karan had observed at Ditchley, absented themselves with the traditional attire and his regal title. This was casual Karan. Fun Karan.

  Mary looked down at her grubby clothes and unkempt hair and flushed hot. “My troubles are far from over. Moreover, the troubles of the British population are worsening every minute.” She hesitated, filtering the pros and potential consequences of confiding in Karan. Was this man trust
worthy? He was a visiting dignitary at Ditchley, and content to verbally joust with the Secretary of State for Defence, therefore he was no slouch in openly criticising British politics. That did not necessarily mean that there were no underlying motives of his own beneath that veneer of charm.

  Proceeding with caution, Mary relayed the information gleaned from her bodiless trip to the Velvet Room, and the Prime Minister’s agenda, hidden behind the proposed new Mental Health Act. Karan listened with calm indifference, his hands folded in his lap. When she had completed the majority of her story, omitting personal information and that relating to Parth, Karan stopped nodding and said, “I am truly sorry for your loss, Mary, but do you think the Prime Minister is aware of the suffering in maternity wards from the water additive?”

  “Most definitely. There is a blanket ban on media coverage of any unsanctioned water related stories and they have commissioned an enquiry into midwifery practices, shifting blame from themselves. Why do you think they are so keen to have me locked up?”

  “I thought they had issues regarding your ability to create drugs from pure water.” He said, in mild confusion.

  “There is that too, but internet broadcasts courtesy of Hugo and Jones, has resolved that one for them. I have been universally discredited on that score. Even close friends think I have lost my marbles.”

  Karan curbed a chuckle. “If I had not witnessed the effect for myself, I might have thought you a little crazy too, especially after the internet video where you accused the Prime Minister of poisoning the water.”

  Mary saw the funny side for the first time and indulged in a cathartic giggle. She held her weary head in her hands. “Oh, it is all so frustrating.”

  “Why must this burden fall on your shoulders, Mary Arora? You did not order the suppressant to be added to the water supply. You are not responsible for the anguish of the bereaved. Antagonising cabinet ministers will just place you in further jeopardy.”

  “Are you suggesting that I simply go away and hide until the dust settles, knowing what I know? Don’t you see? This is all my fault. If I had not developed extraordinary abilities, the ministers would not be doping everyone in the country and trying to round up others like me.” Her voice rose an octave, her larynx constricting in desperate guilt.

  “Again, you take on too much blame. You did not choose to have remarkable gifts. Evolution entrusted them to you.” He reached out to her, then changed course and patted the stretch of leather upholstery between their knees. “If, as you say, you have been universally discredited, why are the agents still intent on capturing you?”

  “I overheard something my grandfather said to Yelena which may have inflamed matters. All I know is, that I must find a way to stop the chemicals being added to the drinking water and Grampy’s puzzle may be the solution. My brother is following that line of enquiry.”

  Karan scratched his head, and then returned his hands to his lap. “They think you are in possession of some damning information?”

  “I guess so. My brother tells me that agents have searched almost every inch of my grandfather’s house.” Her tears ducts were stinging once more. She dug her nails into the palms of each hand, the pain distracting her from the inner torment and grief. “They found nothing, thank God, but you can bet your bottom dollar that they will be following us right now. Where are we going?” A thought that hadn’t crossed her mind since entering his car. Mary stared through the shaded windows out onto the blurry, street lit asphalt of a generic motorway.

  “To the High Commission of India, in London’s West End. You will be my guest there until we can arrange the visa paperwork for you.”

  “A Visa? I’m not leaving the country. Didn’t you hear me? I have to stay and work this out.”

  “As you say, but having the paperwork filed in case of emergency is prudent planning.” Karan sat forward on the seat and pressed a button on a panel near to the left-hand door. The glass partition between the front seats and the rear of the limousine lowered. “Gupta, phone through to the kitchens and have them prepare us a meal, something vegetarian. And arrange some clothes for Mary too.” Orders issued, Karan raised the partition before reclining into the sumptuous seats, beaming like a jackpot winner.

  ***

  The familiar stop-start traffic flow in the congested zones of London, impeded their progress towards India House, the Grade II listed High Commission building between Aldwych and The Strand. Its decorative arches deeply grooved and embedded with British grime. The limousine cruised along the one-way system and edged into the service entrance car park.

  “Not a very glamorous way to begin your stay, but I can promise you that Yelena’s people hold no sway here.”

  Gupta scurried to open Karan’s door. The driver offered the same service to Mary. Swept into the rear hallway and through marble floored passageways, past beech panelled ceremonial rooms to living quarters on the first floor.

  Waiting for their arrival, was an older Indian lady in a red and gold sari, her hands placed together in greeting. She bowed her head to the tips of her fingers, whispering “Namaste,” first at Karan, and then at Mary.

  “Everything is arranged for your comfort, Mary. Once you are settled in, we shall dine together in the parlour.” Karan pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and turned his back to Mary, wandering towards an office as he dialled.

  The older woman beckoned Mary to follow. She led her into a suite of luxurious rooms, filled with the scent of incense and heady flowers. An air conditioning unit ticked away from the ceiling, lending a peculiar coolness to the otherwise sub-tropical atmosphere within.

  Laid out across the huge bed, was a selection of outfits. One, a beaded black cocktail dress with matching accessories. The other, a silver and pale blue silk sari. Mary needed no encouragement to peel off her grubby clothes. The mixed odours of hospital and salt spray lingered about them. She stepped under the giant shower rose in the wet room and exhaled a long cleansing breath.

  Eyes closed under the warm jets, Mary let go of all the restraints supporting her grief and let the rush of emotion wash her skin clean. The most eventful birthday of her thirty-one years dominated by incalculable loss. Reaching up to her neck, she fumbled with the clasp that fastened the locket and caught its weight in her palm. Articulating her wrist, the necklace dropped to the ridged wet room floor. Stripped bare of adornment, of family, of hope, she wept.

  Mary lost track of time. Caught in a loop of desperation, her thoughts meshed into a dark mass of negativity, with intent to smother her. Concerned for her safety, the older lady ventured into the shower room, and finding her guest naked, in a foetal curl beneath the streaming water, acted. Switching off the shower, she tucked soft cream bath sheets over Mary’s body and attempted to rouse her from her trance-like state. Unable to lift Mary’s form, the Indian housekeeper went in search of Shrimant Karan Shinde.

  Torn between preserving Mary’s dignity and instructing his employees to move her to the bed, Karan hovered in contemplation. Twice, he crouched low, considering his approach, aiming his limbs to best support hers, then backing away to calm his rapid breath.

  Embarrassed, he dismissed the housekeeper, and approached Mary once more, feeding his arm beneath her bare wet legs and another under her back. As he straightened his knees and lifted, the towels slipped to the floor, revealing her beaten and bruised body.

  A collision of shock and dismay infused the sharp inhalation across his teeth. She was a wretched sight. Distracted from his own demons, Karan carried her to the bed, and pulled a light sheet up to her chin. A damp section of hair fell across her face. With the gentlest of touches, he swept it back and over her ear, before hurrying from the room.

  ***

  The noise of a steel trolley, stacked high with breakfast crockery, mounting the threshold strip to her room awoke her. Holding the sheet over her modesty, Mary greeted the housekeeper and thanked her for helping her into bed. The older lady smiled. She carried a dish containing iced wa
ter and cucumber slices to the bedside. “For the eyes.” She said, pointing to the fluid filled crests above Mary’s cheeks. “Shrimand Shinde ordered your breakfast, but I can arrange something else if you prefer?” Her voice, soft and lilting. The tone of comfort, a mother makes to a frightened child.

  Upon hearing his name, fragments of the night before broke into her consciousness, colouring her face in shame. “That’s very kind, thank you. It all looks delicious.” Mary gratefully accepted a robe from the old lady. The housekeeper turned around and busied herself, tidying away the used bath towels while Mary sheathed herself in silk.

  “Is Shrimant Shinde available? I should like to apologise for my behaviour last night.” Mary noticed the locket resting on the bedside cabinet, retrieved from the shower floor.

  “He said to tell you that he has to attend a meeting this morning but would be delighted to join you for lunch.” The housekeeper lifted a steel dome from a breakfast plate, revealing an assortment of pastries and fruits. Mary sat at the foot of the bed on a chaise, and ate ravenously, although no amount of food could fill the void.

  The old lady directed Mary to a wardrobe filled with a selection of traditional clothing on one side and western styled clothes on the other. All were precisely her size. Undergarments and shoes too, in a variety of colours and fashions. Had they waited until she was asleep, taken the sizes from her discarded clothes, and purchased them overnight? That was a lot of trouble to go to for an overnight guest, Mary thought with some trepidation.

  Breakfasted, showered a second time and dressed in cotton trousers and a neat blouse, Mary waited for the housekeeper to leave, and then contacted her brother. Utilising the untraceable sibling bond, Mary reached out for Dan’s frequency. “Hey, Dan, are you okay? What’s happening?”

  “Hey yourself. Where are you?”

  “Back in London, at the Indian Embassy, if you can believe that. I’m fine.”