The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  Is it worth worrying Dan with my latest yet final incarceration? No, he’ll want to rush to my aid when he should be by his mother’s sick bed. At least I can still talk to him. Dan will help me hold on to my sanity.

  A faint echo ricocheted on the inside of her mind. Incomplete sounds like a telephone transmission cut off halfway through. Was that… a Russian accent? She heard it again. A whispered thread seeping into her mind.

  “Not over, Mary.”

  I definitely heard that. Whose mind have I tuned into? Yelena’s perhaps? She would be the closest. Maybe I linked with her as the van pulled away. That’s weird, I normally need to look into their eyes to connect.

  It was difficult to maintain an upright position in her booth, without seeing ahead. Sharp turns caught her off guard, throwing her against the rattling walls. She closed her eyes, searching for the thin stream of light that mirrored the planetary geomagnetic lines discovered in Parth’s lab.

  With continuous deliberation and effort, Mary ascertained that they were heading in an easterly direction. That’s not the best direction to head in, if they intend to take me to that bunker inside GCHQ in Buckinghamshire. East is just more congested roads. Even Holloway women’s prison is in North London, or did I read somewhere that they were closing it down? Perhaps there is another one east of here.

  A peculiar sensation of acceptance eroded the pessimism of her ponderings. All decisions, all questions, all hope stripped away. She was nothing more than human flotsam, discarded by a government Act.

  “Don’t give in, Mary.”

  “Who said that?” Mary pushed her ear to the booth door, straining to hear any evidence of other life inside the van. “Is someone there?” She waited, nothing. “Hello?” Still nothing. What am I doing. That was definitely inside my head. Am I losing my mind? Maybe all the additional neural stresses have triggered some form of schizophrenia. Parth would know. He would have lists of colleagues queuing up to examine me and test for such things. I doubt that I will receive any kind of mental health assistance in prison. Poor Parth, I do hope he makes a full recovery.

  More sharp turns sent Mary sliding in her seat, crushing her shoulders and bruised ribs against the vehicle wall. Extending an elbow, Mary grunted with the effort of righting herself, just as the van came to a full stop. She heard a latch inside the cab clunk. The entire vehicle shook from the force of the driver’s door slamming shut. There was another, more muted sound that she could barely make out, like the squeaky beep of a car unlocking device.

  Well, this is it. What’s it gonna be, solitary confinement or a big arse detention centre filled with angry women? The van wobbled with the uneven weight distribution. Someone was mounting the treads of the metal steps. Despite the minutes of calm resignation, her heart beat a coordinated tap dance in anticipation. The anxiety spiked as a radiated pain through her chest and up the jugular veins in her neck.

  Metallic objects clanged against one another; a collection of keys on a chain. Shuffled footsteps, then a clumsy attempt to unlock the booth door. The clattering noises informed Mary that the wrong key was inserted into the lock. A leisurely withdrawal followed, and then more clinking as the keys were sifted through and rejected. Finally, another attempt to unlock the door.

  The mechanism clunked. Her breathing shallow and stilted. The door swung open. There stood Alexi with the biggest smile she had ever seen.

  “Ta da! I rescue you.” He configured his arms in a self-congratulatory show of jazz-hands, and then reached for her hand cuffs.

  “Don’t you come near me. Stay back or I’ll…I’ll…”

  “Why you threaten me? I save you, again. Don’t you want to get away?”

  “I do. Away from you.” Mary complained bitterly, but she allowed Alexi to bend low and unlock the cuffs binding her to the van booth.

  Alexi shook his head, tutting. “I help you over and over, but you still not trust me.” He retraced his path along the narrow central passage of the van and descended the steps onto a concrete yard. Mary rubbed at her sore wrists and followed at a discreet distance, taking in the shabby, run-down brick buildings surrounding them.

  “Where are we?” She asked, keeping a beady eye on his movements while scanning for signs of other potential dangers.

  “Safe place. A quick stop, that is all.” He beckoned her towards the open door of a silver Ford car. Perched on the backseat, was her satchel. Mary dashed over to open it, checking the contents. It was all precisely as she had left it when she was taken into custody. The roll of Connie’s money, the passport and Grandma Phebe’s brooch, all tucked inside, among the bric-a-brac of useful and not so useful items.

  “How did you…?” Mary faced him. His smile still plastered across his pale face.

  “Satchel is important to you. I took it from decontamination truck. Guards for Prime Minister, very stupid.” Alexi darted around to the rear of the car, lifting the boot lid to show her two small wheeled suitcases. “I bring clothes, and this.” He held a blonde wig aloft, its tresses sticking to his arm with static.

  Mary shrugged. “What’s that for?”

  “You must look like Mary Sedgewell, in picture.”

  His meaning filtered through her brain and hit home. It made her chuckle for the first time in what felt like an age. “You mean the passport photograph… are you insane? You think a blonde wig will fool border control? My face is known the length and breadth of this country. The Prime Minister herself referred to me on national television. I am an Internet sensation. There is no where I can go where I will not be recognised.” It was the first time she had acknowledged that fact to herself.

  Mary looked at Alexi with a new weariness. He didn’t seem such a threat anymore. His jubilance faded. His arm drooped, swishing the headless hair against his combat trousers.

  “I fix border control.”

  “No one can fix border control. It is hopeless.” A glint of light reflected from her open satchel. Reaching in, she retrieved the brooch and angled it towards the low sunlight. The facets of the black jewel diverted her gaze. It was hypnotic and warm to the touch. Pushing the bag further along the backseat, Mary sat down, and traced the golden lines of lambda with a curious finger.

  I wonder if Dan is any closer to finding Grampy’s secret? Poor chap. He is probably glued to his mother’s side. I have burdened him with so many things since we found each other. He will begin to regret ever meeting me. I wish he was here now.

  Alexi sauntered back towards her, knocking her from her reflections into a more cautious frame of mind. Mary jumped up, palm outstretched and poised in self-defence.

  “I not hurt you, Mary. I never hurt you. Why you not trust me?”

  “Er, let’s see. There’s the kidnapping, drugging and restraining, all the people that you have killed, not to mention you trying to shoot me outside the Natural History Museum…”

  “No, no… I saved you. I not shoot, she did.” He touched his fingertips to the healing wound on his scalp.

  “Then there are the hundreds of people you tried to poison at Westminster. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Alexi nodded, with not a hint of shame or regret.

  “What did you hope to achieve? What was the point?”

  “I did it for you.”

  “What on Earth for? You could have killed them all.”

  “No one died. Gave them a taste of own medicine. They will change Health Bill now.” His features stretched into smug delight. “I prove I on your side.” He held out the wig for her to take. “Come, Mary Sedgewell. We have plane to catch.”

  Mary looked at the former Soviet general. His slight frame and thin hair blowing in the early evening breeze. What other options did she have? She could take the Ford car. If Alexi tried to stop her, she had no qualms about blasting him with an electromagnetic pulse, but to where could she drive? Even remote islands off the Scottish coast had Internet connections and national TV.

  Alexi seemed to gauge her reticence. He dug his free hand
into his trouser pocket, pulled out a set of car keys and dropped them to the floor. With thumb and forefinger, he pinched the fabric of the lining, and turned each pocket inside out. “I not armed. No gun. No knife, nothing. You safe with me.”

  What had she got to lose? If he had wanted to harm her, there had been plenty of opportunities. Slowly, she reached out and snatched the wig from him. “I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.” Pulling the satchel from the backseat, Mary slammed the back door shut and opened the front passenger side of the car.

  “A lamb? I no understand.”

  “You know we will get stopped at the airport, don’t you?”

  “It is all fixed. I know a man. Seatbelt on, Mary Sedgewell. I drive fast.”

  Heathrow Airport, London.

  Alexi steered the Ford along a slip road away from the main approach to the Terminal Five building. They pulled up to a secluded side entrance, sheltered by large potted trees, trimmed into geometric shapes. Before Alexi could cut the ignition, a young man in a pale grey uniform rushed out to greet them.

  Mary took a deep breath, donned her sunglasses and smoothed the blonde tresses flat. Keep cool, you are Mary Sedgewell, and if you get away from this Scot-free, it will be a miracle.

  “Welcome to Heathrow VIP Black Service, sir, madam.” The young man dipped his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Please leave your keys for the valet, who will also deal with your cases. If you would like to follow me into the Windsor Suite.”

  Mary stepped lightly through the glass entrance and into the polished marble foyer leading to a darkened hallway flanked either side with regularly spaced doorways. The young man stopped at the first door, holding it wide open for his guests. Inside, sleek modern lines, cream leather upholstery and original art adorning the walls. It was luxury made cosy with cushions and throws.

  “May I take your passport and hand luggage madam?”

  Mary looked at Alexi, who nodded his reassurance before handing his own travel documents to the official. She passed over her beloved satchel, with the expectation of never seeing it again.

  “Thank you. I will process your luggage and arrange for your boarding passes. Feel free to order whatever you desire from this menu. The direct telephone line is just to your left.” And with that he disappeared, closing the suite door behind him.

  Alexi grabbed the TV remote from the glass and steel coffee table, and then dove into the plush leather seating. “Nice, yes? I hungry. You want eat too?”

  “I’m too nervous to eat. I feel so out of place. This is the royal suite and I am wearing grubby clothes with bruises around my wrists from the prison van cuffs. It is too surreal for words.”

  “Ah, relax, eat. Told you I knew a man. From now on, you have only the best.”

  She perched on the edge of the sofa, observing Alexi as he channel-hopped through almost every TV station. When the young man returned with their stamped passports, luggage tags and boarding passes, Alexi shuffled forwards on the chair, admiring the official’s physique in an overt and lascivious manner.

  For the first time since Alexi’s rescue, Mary was beginning to feel like this escape plan of his could actually work. He trawled through the menu and picked up the phone. Mary took the opportunity to swipe the tv remote, punching in the memorised channel for the BBC News.

  Video footage played, showing ambulances leaving Westminster Palace, with a voice-over explaining how staff were struck down with the bacterial infection, Legionnaires Disease. The newscaster read from the autocue in stiff curated tones, how the antiquated plumbing system in Parliament Buildings would require a multi-million pound overhaul to prevent a similar occurrence in the future. Funding would be announced during the next budget.

  “No surprises there then.” Mary muttered. The next story concerned a fatal cheese rolling accident at Cooper’s Hill in Gloucestershire. Health and Safety officials were campaigning to put a stop to the tradition, much to the disgust of the locals. “Nothing about Hugo’s pilgrims? Is that all there is?”

  Alexi scampered to his suitcase and unzipped a padded compartment, pulling out a tablet computer. “Here, online is better. More stories.”

  Mary thanked the Russian. Maybe he wasn’t all bad after all. Flipping open the articulated lid, the tablet chimed its wakefulness. Opening a browser window, she navigated to the Reuter’s website. The top headline, Hugo Blom – Saint or Sinner? With a by-line that read; Exclusive interview with his jilted lover, Drew Sanders.

  “Oh dear. That won’t go down well with the faithful.” She skimmed through the first few paragraphs of the story, but it revealed little that she didn’t already know.

  Alexi’s food order arrived, along with a perspiring bottle of lager and a reminder of procedure for when their flight was due. He tipped the young man with a twenty-pound note, making sure that their hands connected for an indecent length of time.

  Mary rolled her eyes. “He is far too young for the likes of you.” She snorted.

  “He might like sugar daddy. You can never tell.” Alexi winked back, drawing her attention to the news channel. A red strip flashed across the screen, encapsulating the huge font that said; BREAKING NEWS. “Increase volume, Mary.” She did as he asked.

  “This just in…” The stuffy newscaster reported. “The British Secretary of State for Defence, has been detained by the Metropolitan Police, following allegations of industrial espionage and leaking military secrets to opposing nations. We go now to a live announcement from the Chief of Police at Scotland Yard…”

  The familiar steel signage, spun slowly on its axis, reflecting the journalist’s flash lights from its surface. Standing to the left of it, next to the shallow steps, a svelte man in the dark navy police uniform approached the lectern. He coughed, straightened his cap, and then leaned into the microphones.

  “At a quarter past six this evening, evidence of treason at the highest level of the Defence Department was brought to our attention. With the sensitivity of this enquiry, and with national security in mind, I will not be releasing any details of the nature of offences perpetrated. I am permitted to inform you, that a rigorous and extensive investigation will follow. A protocol is in place for these kinds of eventualities and I am hopeful of an expedited outcome.”

  The officer drew breath, signalling the end of his statement. The quietude was broken with a cannon of shouted questions from the press pack.

  “What can you tell us about the Defence Secretary’s arrest?”

  “Is he accused of treason?”

  “Where did the evidence come from?”

  The man held up his hand, silencing the crowd. “The Defence Minister is currently assisting us with our enquiries. I am not at liberty to divulge the source of our evidence, but I do congratulate Ms Constance Cadot, for her diligence in bringing the matter to our attention. I have no more for you at this time.”

  “Connie! Did you hear that, Alexi? Connie informed the police.” They watched the policeman climb the steps of Scotland Yard and enter the building before Mary pressed the mute button. That must be what the Thin Man gave to her outside Parliament. Perhaps this is what Grampy meant by ‘automating’ the process. If anything happened to him, the Thin Man would act. I wonder if he has Grampy’s secrets filed away somewhere. I must tell Dan.

  The young man returned to their suite and announced that their chauffeur had arrived to drive them directly to priority seating in first class on the plane. Mary gathered her satchel and allowed the young man to wheel her suitcase out of the room.

  “Where are we going to, Alexi?”

  He shot her a mischievous smile and raised one brow. “To a new life, in a new world, Mary. I your family now.”

  ***

  THE

  AURORA

  RESOLUTION

  A conspiracy thriller

  By Sam Nash

  I dedicate this book to all the scientists who dare to teeter on the edge of conventional wisdom, to lead their research teams into unch
artered realms. May you find the proof to turn fiction into fact.

  Manhattan, NYC

  The connection between the siblings, a telepathic tether crossing the choppy waters of the Atlantic Ocean through western airwaves thick with greed and mistrust, was tenuous.

  “It seems our grandfather kept his own special talents a secret from us all. He was an avid and prolific journal writer.”

  “Uhuh…”

  “Hey, Mary. Listen to this entry. Pip writes: This vision had me quaking in my shoes all through the morning. The scenes played over and over in my mind. So many gruesome deaths, carnage; complete pandemonium. The dark skies lit up with an arcing pulsation, electric blue and deadly. The shock waves spread in concentric circles, decimating all circuits, communication and power lines. Substations exploded, collapsing nearby buildings. Hospitals plunged into chaos, without backup generators or torchlight. Streams of highway traffic coasted and collided into fatal accidents.

  “And there was screaming. Loud, terrified screams of the afflicted. Burns so deep, the whites of the bone shone through the bloodied flesh. Children impaled by shards of steel and glass, lay lifeless in the streets. Looters stepped over bodies to claim bales of toilet rolls and porridge oats. There were shopping carts piled high with bottled water and dog food. I saw Times Square cast into darkness. The Eiffel Tower was a mass of lethal sparks and the London Eye crashed into the Thames.