by Tim Heath
“So, do you think John is ready to do this?” Alison said, breaking the brief silence, and indicating more accurately where she wanted the conversation to go.
“I think he will. We've created a world for him which he thinks is real. We've convinced him that he is somehow different. I've been there all along to listen to him, to encourage him, to make him feel this is all normal. That he is special, that he sees something that hasn't yet happened, and he's ready to take that step. We've got there, we've done what we set out to do. Physically, he's still not quite ready to start walking. In some way, they probably started things too early with him. There will be some time before he gets to do it, though of course the sooner, the better, I know. So in the meantime, I will have to keep talking with him. Keep up the show, the pretence.”
“You'll be great, Lorna, he trusts you. He's your friend.”
“I know that, but doesn't that make me the monster? The evil villain?”
“It makes you a better woman than most. You've put everything you are facing on hold. You're serving for the greater good. For the good of the majority. For the continuation of life as we know it, too many have died already; hundreds of thousands of people are dead. Many more are going to die from the radiation. But not as many as those that will die if those reactors all explode. We'll die. If we did nothing, we would have been dead. We still might be if John changes his mind, or proves unable to do what we hope he can. What we all need him to do. Yes, we are all asking a big thing, an awful lot of him. But better one man dies believing he's the hero than everyone dies. We've given him this chance. This moment to step into human history as a champion. A victor. The man who saved the day. We've given him his shot at glory.”
“But it's all unreal. For John, there need be no death. He'll recover. By some freak outworking, he was exposed and yet has lived; is living. His wounds will heal, he'll eventually walk away. And we are asking him, no tricking him, to trade that in, to save us. That doesn't seem right.”
“It isn't fair. None of this is. I wish with everything in me that this thing never happened. But it did happen, and we've got to contain it, we've got to stop it claiming even more lives. Our lives. The lives of everyone we know still living. We've got to do whatever it takes to stop it, to end it, once and for all. And for that, it takes one man; it takes this stranger or the freak for want of a better word. He does have a gift, and his body does hold something special that has kept him alive, more than that; has shielded him from the poison. It doesn't affect him. He's immune to it. And that does make him special. It makes him very special and unique in so many ways. And so when he walks up to that reactor, the radiation isn't going to stop him. The heat from the building fires we can protect him from, but the poison we couldn't; and yet he is already protected. If it works, he gets to walk right up to that button, to shut it all down, to deactivate the reactor. He is special.”
“Will I regret it, one day, Alison? Will I look back, and wonder what I allowed myself to do? What I allowed myself to be part of? Like some Nazi party worker, following orders. When all is said and done, will I look at my life and ask 'what have I become?'”
“We all have regrets. Things we should have said, things we shouldn't. People we should have spent more time with, or less. Things we should have seen, places we should have gone to. You've got to see that this is different. It's the life of one man for the good of the world. One man with an amazing ability, to soak this poison in and yet it would not kill him. One man that is now willing to sacrifice his life, knowing the cost, for the good of us all. You've got to look beyond this situation and think about the bigger picture. You still have the chance of a family.”
They paused, realising how intense it had all become. Alison changed her tone and continued:
“I'm here for you. I'm on your side. We can do this together. We can talk about anything. You are not alone in this, and you do not have to carry this solely on your own two shoulders. As capable as you are, you do not need to do this on your own.”
Lorna smiled. She slipped her arm through Alison's as they started working their way back towards the main entrance. It had been long enough, but the chat had done her some good, done them both a lot of good. She didn't want to be alone in it, especially now that things were getting to the final stage.
Walking back in, they spotted the two reporters working through the database, entering the names of those that they were being told of. So far, John's name was not on that list neither would it be. Alison said goodbye to Lorna, before going over to check briefly on the two of them working away on the computer. Everything was fine, they needed nothing, and she left them to start her next session of rounds. It was going to be as busy as any other day.
The doctor had been gone some time, and Lorna had finished with the latest set of new dressings for John's wounds. Her patient seemed in good spirits, which was nice to see, a good sign. She was still processing her chat with Alison from that morning, but her head felt quite clear for a change.
“So tell me how it went this morning with the Doc.”
“Nothing has happened so far if that's what you're checking. He did say it might take a few sessions before we even know how successful it might be. We talked a bit, and then I had to relax my mind, imagine a warm, sunny place, and he talked me through what it felt like there, what I was feeling , etc. He set the scene well. It was very relaxing. He then dropped in some questions, some promptings, random things. Nothing resonated, however, not this time anyway. In some ways, if I'm honest, that was a relief. I thought that maybe all the memories would jump back at me and suddenly I'd have them all to deal with at once. I'm not sure if I could cope with that, on top of everything else, at the moment.”
“Well, I don't think that was ever going to be a possibility. You do need to know that it might be that nothing happens.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. Part of me wonders if that would be the best thing anyway, but a larger part now also wants to know who I was, who I am. To have some recollection, some understanding of the journey I've made, of the people that have been around me before all this.”
“Do you think it will make it any easier knowing all that, with what you have been shown?” she asked, bringing it back to what lay ahead of them both.
“You mean the visions, and what I need to do?” She nodded. “I guess I don't know. I've not made the connection with what I was seeing and what happens in reality. What if it doesn't make sense, doesn't mean anything at all?”
“But you know it does. Something amazing happened to you. Something unique.” Given her patient's situation, she was now surprised at how easy it was to bring him back on track, to make him do what deep down she now wanted him to do; wanted with everything within her. She admired him so much, but she would think much less of him if, after all this, he walked away. That couldn't happen, nor would she allow the thought.
“Lorna, I've not left this room in a long time. I can't remember ever being outside this room, besides these visions I've been having. What if they were memories? What if they were my brain's way of bringing back to mind things that have happened? What if there is no safety switch? That I'd just be waiting for this thing to happen, and nothing ever does? What kind of life would that be?”
“John, this way of thinking is not helping you. I can see it's confusing you. You've been through something different. It's left you wounded, but somehow, you've been spoken to. You've seen what needs to be done, told you, and only you, have the chance to stop it. Have the power to prevent it, to save everyone, and to be the sacrifice to save those around you. To save me.” She stopped as John looked at her, real emotion in his eyes now. Had she said too much?
“Look, okay, I get that. I'm sorry,” John said.
“No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. I went too far.”
“No, you didn't. And you are right. I guess I just have so many questions, which I don't know the answers to, that I'm starting to doubt what I've seen, what I know.
But you are right. It might save you. You are younger than me. If I'm to do this, clearly it's got to be in my lifetime, otherwise what's the point? If I'm the one to do this, therefore, you'll still be around. It helps me to think of it like that. Being a sacrifice to faceless people, millions of people at that doesn't equate. How can it? I would have no way of ever knowing them. But to think of some people, someone, like you. You are someone worth saving.” He reached over and touched her hand, though she pulled away momentarily, mainly out of self-preservation. She patted his hand with hers. There indeed was some connection between them, but she feared they didn't both see it in the same way.
“Look,” she said, changing tone as easily as anything. “We need to focus on getting you better. On taking some steps, and sooner rather than later. Spend too much longer in bed, and your legs might stop moving!” She was smiling, so John knew she didn't mean it literally.
“That would be good. I'm in your hands, so when you say I'm ready, I'm ready. And thanks. Thanks for everything you've done for me. You've kept me alive, kept me going. Without you, I don't know if I could have come through all this.”
“Rubbish,” she said, not at all convincingly. She felt a knot growing in her stomach and needed to get out of there. 'Thanks for everything I've done for you' she thought over and over again, the words smashing around her mind, doing damage on the way. 'I've made you a prisoner, I've kept up a lie. What I've done to you is made you swap your life for mine.'
She realised she needed some more air and made her escape. The guards at the door were told to call her if the patient needed anything, but he was already reading the book, drawing towards the final chapters, lost in space.
The joint MI5 and SAS task force had been working hard together since being handed their assignment. The files and reports, both open source and security service documents, were spread out evenly around the giant conference table at Thames House. They had been going over everything documented from the previous year's negotiations when the world powers had come to England and talks had taken place. There were a lot of things that made more sense now. The actions of the Chinese, Russians and even Americans made all three of them look a little guilty. There was the surprise African involvement at the dinner reception. Little more was known about them.
As they dug and tracked various comings and goings, there was enough of a trail to assume a mainland operation was being carried out by a foreign intelligence agency on British soil. Surveillance was stepped up on the various embassies involved, agents now tracking each coming and going. A control room was set up, too. More agents would be pulled into service as the need arose and it was highly likely that they would.
Section heads had been called, and they were now all sitting around the large table, each man a seasoned professional with significant experience. The conversation was loud and open.
“We need to know who is behind this,” one said.
“It's a breach of trust, especially if it's the Americans.”
“However, we must tread very carefully.”
“Agreed,” and that was echoed by every one of the five men around the table.
“When the time comes, and when we are clear who it is that is involved, we need to act ruthlessly. We are all aware now of what is required. If the Chinese were to find out what happened, we'd have big problems. If the Americans got wind of something themselves, they could use it against us.”
“They wouldn't dare,” came one reaction. The rest were not so sure.
“Once the level of involvement is assessed, we'll meet again to decide on action. We need to know what they are after. We need to know what they know. And we certainly can't let them anywhere near our man.”
It was unanimously accepted, and a team from the SAS would base themselves at the hospital to watch the patient and watch for anything suspicious. Visitors would be monitored, the hospital put on shut down. It didn't matter what the outside world thought, John's safe little haven was all they needed to protect. His existence affected the existence of all. Now their lives all depended on him finishing the job. Little did John know, lying in his hospital that night, that so much was resting on him. Without knowing it, the nation needed him alive for just a little bit longer. It was only a small group of people, working around the clock, who needed him dead.
18
Clive was walking the streets that surrounded the newspaper's chief office just after four in the afternoon. That morning he had met someone, but unknown to him, each step he took was being watched and followed by the two African secret service personnel. They followed him into his first meeting, actually sitting on a table next to his, though hidden behind a pillar so that they got a good listen about what he had talked. If they'd been speaking in code, it was a highly elaborate routine, and had them fooled. No information had come to light from that particular source. In reality, Clive had darted around a conversation, digging without making it look obvious, seeing if his usually good source had anything, but getting nowhere. After only thirty minutes, he called it off, much to the annoyance of his table companion, who'd been looking for another handsome pay-off but apparently hadn't produced the goods, that time. They went their separate ways, the two women looking at each other for a moment, wondering if they'd missed something. It could have been an elaborate smokescreen, though they would never know for sure either way.
They followed him to lunch, this time keeping watch from afar, as the restaurant he was going to was far too small, and far too overbooked, for them to sneak in unnoticed. Sitting outside and across the road, in perfect line of sight, they ordered coffees at a boutique café, sitting at a table for two on the street itself taking in the warm sun, while they kept an eye on events across the road. Nothing dramatic seemed to happen. The man Clive met had been about his age, dressed the same. It appeared, from the body language, that there was mutual respect, but no close friendship. They would get a photo of the companion, and get the guys at HQ to dig up who he was, just to be sure. It was thought that it was mostly social, and nothing relevant to their case, as two hours pressed on. Between them, the two men had drunk through a bottle of wine and then some after lunch whisky. How they would work that afternoon, it was hard to say.
Leaving the restaurant, they followed him back towards the office, before Clive had made a phone call, stopping in the street. On finishing the call, he turned around suddenly and started back in the other direction. The two ladies, who had been following him only about twenty metres behind at that point, suspected they were caught as they quickly took in a shop window of a local travel agent. However, Clive's mind was on other things and that soon became clear when he arrived at a café not ten minutes from there. The two ladies saw him meeting with a young woman, probably half his age, and she'd kissed him on arrival, Clive's hand on her backside pulling her tight in towards him. It was no business meeting.
As the two flirted with each other in the café, the African secret service was running through the photo of Clive's lunchtime companion, and it was confirmed he was Editor-in-Chief of another British paper, though they were at different ends of the gene pool. That newspaper had class, while Clive's tabloid paper was not interested in quality of any sort. It made an interesting contrast, but for now, they couldn't see any angle on it that would make further investigation on the companion necessary. They preferred to keep the field tighter and stick to the main players. At this stage, anyway.
Clive and his young love parted company, with a passionate embrace, just before four. He indeed walked with a spring in his step after that, once more on his way back to the office. The two ladies kept a greater distance, sure that he was heading back this time, but not risking another close encounter. Next time they might not be so lucky. The two secret service personnel waited outside, at a distance, looking like tourists, but always watching. They were sure Clive was going to lead them to something soon.
Back on the fifth floor, his office at least was starting to show signs of how things had once bee
n. There was a team of five now working with him. The priority at that moment was to get some results. So far, the young pair at the hospital had nothing to report. They'd successfully identified around eighty-five per cent of the patients at the hospital, and while not finding their man yet, it had brought great joy to many who were searching for loved ones. On the back of this good news, three similar projects were happening at three other hospitals, as people volunteered to document who was where. The country, as best it could, was slowly trying to get back on its feet.
It was just before five when Clive took the call for which he had been waiting. As chance would have it, the guy he met for lunch from the other newspaper had connections with a firm of architects who, as well as overseeing a significant extension to that newspaper's head office just over a year ago, had also built the hospital where John was supposedly being kept. In the few minutes after taking the call, Clive had been emailed the plans. He was a happy man. That would mean the records could be matched to what his two young reporters were finding out, and individual sections of the hospital could then be searched once they realised the holes in their information. If John was there, he hoped tomorrow they would find him. Clive called his team working at the hospital and told them to wrap things up that night, as best they could, and to bring everything with them to the office tomorrow. They said there was still some way to go, and that it would take them too long to finish that night. Clive ended by telling them to do as much as they could.