Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  And had news been leaked, they would have had to share their hope of a solution. But that would be a huge risk, the ethical consequences massive. Secrecy was therefore the country's best hope, which was why only a few people knew, and why it had been so alarming when a group of unknown assassins had stormed the hospital to hunt for a man they thought no one else knew existed. If there were others still out there, they didn't know where, or who they were working for. Security had been kept tight. The truth was they knew very little.

  Lorna had been fully briefed that morning, that John was to be transported the following day. Hearing that the day had come hit Lorna hard. Sudden panic came over her, but she soon regained composure and focus, the reality and suddenness of the situation still shaking her. Having prepared for this moment, for what seemed like a lifetime, it was hard to comprehend that it was now here. Tomorrow, John was going to take a walk that would end it all, in a way. Of course, the radiation poisoning that had been affecting so many would still be a problem. People would still be dying, generations falling ill for decades to come. But the new cases would stop. The site would soon be able to be cleared and cleaned. The leaks could be plugged. And that, millions so far unaffected, meant everything. It meant everything for her too. Life, currently caught up in some bubble, as if frozen in time, could finally continue. Life could go on. A new day could start, a new season. And for the first time in weeks, as fresh and strange a thought as it was, it brought hope to her heart at that moment, for the first real time in weeks. She felt purpose, closure. It was the news that life was not all going to be as it currently was. That change was coming. Still, there were twenty-four crucial hours to go, and she had to work out exactly how she was going to talk this through with John. How to communicate the news, how to explain things to him in a way that would make any sense. It was a moment she had turned over in her mind for a while but now the time had come, how could she do it?

  She thought this through as she made her way to his room. It was strange to think that, after tomorrow, she wouldn't be doing it again. She wouldn't be walking in to see John, in his room that was as much a prison as anything else. Strange to think that she wouldn't see John again, that from tomorrow this unlikely, but important figure, wouldn't play a part in her own life any more. That thought was now knocking with real emotion on the doors of her heart, as if trying to get in. Those had been kept shut long ago, with the loss of James. That thought too came back, that soon she'd have to open that up and deal with what was behind it. It was all coming home, how things were changing, would change, over the next few days.

  Walking into John's room, she put on her best smile and, taking a deep breath, simply came out with a heart-felt:

  “Guess what, John. You're ready to leave!”

  John looked up from his book straight away, to check she wasn't joking, and when it was clear she wasn't, replied:

  “Well, that's great news! Really? Wow, yes, certainly. I'm ready when you are!” Leaving the confines of a hospital room he knew well for a world he remembered nothing about was a concern, but he had spent too long there already.

  “We'll have to do some final checks, just to make sure, completing the various bits of paper, but come this time tomorrow, you are a free man,” she said, the 'free man' part only realising how bad it sounded once she'd actually voiced it. How could she call him that, when nothing about him was free? He belonged to them, to everyone. He was the one hope they were now counting on. The end of their nightmare––anything but free.

  “That does sound good to me!” he said.

  Lorna turned away, so as not to show the emotion on her face at that moment, instead making it look as if she needed to work on something by the door, her hands refolding sheets that didn't need folding. She made herself busy for two minutes, just allowing her thoughts, her inner turmoil, to settle down, before finally turning back to John, who had just been lying there, watching her. She let that pass.

  “So, how do you feel?” she said, finally.

  “You mean, health wise?” he said, to which she nodded. It didn't really matter what she meant, as long as he was talking and they could move on the conversation.

  “I feel good. My legs are feeling stronger, the muscles building again. The damage doesn't seem permanent, and the physiotherapist seems very happy with everything. I'm sleeping well, and more than ready to leave.”

  “Good,” was all she could come up with. However, nothing felt good at that moment. She felt sick inside. Over the last week or so, they'd been drifting apart a little, as if subconsciously protecting themselves from each other. She didn't know what to make of it, nor why she'd felt like that. Lorna guessed the reality of what she was doing to him meant that she didn't want to be too emotionally attached. It wasn't sensible, and could risk everything. Things had now become too crucial to risk messing it all up.

  “You'll be having one final session with the physiotherapist today, and the doctor would also like to see you.”

  “And will you be here with me today?” he said.

  “Of course, John. Right with you, holding your hand if you need me to. Right here, as always.”

  “I'd love you to hold my hand,” he joked, reaching over and grabbing her hand. She pulled away out of reflex, a silly reaction, before smiling at him, as if she was joking with him. He bought it and laughed back.

  “Good, then today is going to be a great day. And tomorrow, I can't wait!”

  “No, neither can I,” she said, the words raw and real, ice cold inside, their real meaning shielded from John. 'If only he really knew,' she thought, the words burning into her now.

  After lunch that same day the physiotherapist had been to see John and he'd left wishing John all the best, like old friends going their separate ways. The same was true for the doctor, who was concluding his visit to John.

  “You've recovered really well,” he said, genuinely happy with John's condition.

  “That's great. And my memory?”

  “Like I've said before, John, it might never come back.”

  “You've said that before, really?” John said, hiding the joke from his face, which was looking serious and concerned.

  “Yes, John, I have. Are you saying you can't remember me telling you this?”

  “Who are you again?”

  There was silence for a time. Even Lorna came over now, a hand going over her mouth as an 'Oh my goodness' came through her lips. John couldn't hold his expression any longer and a deep belly laugh came pouring out of his mouth, as he watched their faces change, the humour currently lost on both of them.

  “You had me there, John, for a moment,” the doctor said, turning to Lorna, each catching the others facial expression for a moment. John spotted something there, something too serious for the situation, something not fitting with the joke he'd just made.

  “You should have seen the look on your faces,” John said, still laughing, pushing that last thought from his mind. “Priceless!”

  “Well, really, John,” Lorna said, only now breaking into a smile. Her heart had felt like it had stopped for a brief moment. Panic had threatened to creep in at the thought that his memory had gone, with all the knowledge of the visions, the program, everything he needed to do. All gone, all forgotten. Everything wasted. Hope gone. It was a terrifying moment of hopelessness, and it put things into perspective, just how much she really wanted this all to work out. She'd do anything for the plan to succeed.

  “John, anyway...” the doctor said, starting to put things back into his bag. “It's been great working with you, and I wish you every success tomorrow...when you leave, every success for the future, what ever that might hold for you.”

  “Thanks, doc. You've been a great help. If I ever hit those triggers you talk about, and my memory comes back, I'll let you know.”

  The doctor was smiling at this. He knew there was little chance of anything happening.

  “You do that, John. You do that!”

  And with that, the
doctor patted John on the shoulder and left the room, determined not to look around, not to take one last look at the man that his hopes were pinned on.

  Now it was once again just the two of them, as it had been so often over the last fifty-six days. In the first two weeks, when John was fresh into the visions, and his wounds were at their worst, his waking hours had been very few. As the weeks had progressed, and especially once he'd come through the program, they'd spent much more time talking things through. He'd become an avid reader and had read a small mountain of novels at great speed as there was little else to do other than sleep. The books had taken him to new places, far away places, magical places, and some very strange places. They'd shown him love, death, sacrifice and sometimes betrayal, all feelings he, with his lack of memories, knew little about, though the visions had talked of his sacrifice. Love, too, was something he was now starting to feel. A love for the woman so much part of his present life, the only woman who filled his memories. And he wondered, deep down, what she felt about him, though he knew her own loss was still too real for her to even think about someone else. The age difference was something else as well. It was at best a one way fantasy, his dreamy nurse, cleaning his wounds, giving him bed baths, nursing him back to health. He was savouring every minute, aware that the final day was upon them both. He was not sure if he would even see her again, doubting if this would even be possible.

  “What will you do after I'm gone?” John said, the innocent question initially catching her off guard.

  “What do you mean? Who said you were dying?”

  “No, I mean, tomorrow when I've left. What will you do then?”

  “I think I'll take a long holiday.”

  “Yes, sounds about right. After working with me, you deserve it!”

  “Indeed, I do. After all you've put me through!” The old Lorna was coming back now, she was smiling again.

  “After all I've put you through,” John said, with his own smile now too.

  “Oh, it's like that, is it? You think I've been harsh on you?”

  “It's been no gentle breeze, I can assure you!” John said.

  “Okay, we'll call it even.”

  “Agreed. Look, I don't want to be forward,” John started, his change in tone giving a hint at what was coming. “But seeing all we've been through together, the connection we've made, do you think, at some point, I could have your number and someday, when you've had your holiday, I could take you out to dinner as my way of saying thank you?”

  “I think that could be arranged, John, yes.”

  “Good, I'd really like that. And maybe, in time, we could see a bit more of each other?”

  “John...” she could see the look in his eyes. Those puppy dog eyes. “I really don't think that would be possible, you know.”

  “I get you. I just thought, since you've seen me naked, it would only be fair if you returned the favour.” John was smiling at her.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lorna said, a cross between shock and intrigue appearing on her face.

  “You've given me countless bed baths. Don't say you haven't had a peek when I've not been looking.”

  “I've done nothing of the sort,” she said.

  He put a hand on her hip, which she allowed him to do for a moment. No man had held her like that in a while. It felt good, her mind going back to days with her James. The intimacy they'd shared. But John was not that man to her, nor could he ever be that man, as much as he wanted to be. She touched his hand gently, but pulled it from her hip and gently placed it back on the bed.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, not knowing if he'd over stepped the mark with that.

  “It's okay, John. It really is. Perfectly natural. However, I think I'd better go and get your dinner now. Big day tomorrow, you need to keep up your strength.”

  How little he currently knew. The next twenty-four hours were to change everything.

  Three Weeks Ago

  MI5 had first been alerted to the fact that a trade was on the cards when a coded message was received through various diplomatic sources. Its content was checked, the call verified. Whoever it was, was being very careful to cover their tracks. But it was clear that the British wanted the trade. What was being offered to them was a piece of state of the art technology and they just needed to be the highest bidder. A drop off was arranged for the money, a tracker placed within the bag. They thought it was undetectable and would give them an understanding of who was behind it all, as well as safe guard their money, should something go wrong.

  Three agents made the drop off. The bag was left in a very public place, people walking around, making surveillance very difficult. It also made following any potential targets almost impossible. Surprisingly out-foxed on this occasion, the bag of money, a cool million pounds, had already been picked up just after three in the afternoon. The tracking device was discovered and removed. The contents of the bag were checked, happy that they'd got their money, they confirmed that the final drop off could take place.

  Once more, MI5 received this confirmation through the same diplomatic routes, though a different path had been taken the second time. Whoever was behind it all was highly capable.

  On the dot of four, a courier arrived at Thames House, from a London based courier firm. He had a small cardboard box with him, which did not give anything away as to its contents. It was handed over to the waiting team on the front reception desk, the courier himself taken to one side for questioning. His details were checked and put into the computer, much to his own annoyance. He was just an innocent delivery man, doing another job on a normal, fairly busy, working day; he knew nothing of where it had come from. The courier firm confirmed that the package had been dropped off the day before, hours before the first call had even been put into MI5; they were very clever. They knew the British would buy the hardware. By dropping it off before the call, it would be impossible to trace who'd made the order. Even that, of course, had been done by an unconnected person, just another piece in the puzzle.

  The package was quickly taken through security at Thames House, screened for any unwanted devices. Nothing was found, and it was finally unwrapped on the main conference table, which was currently a scene of harsh words and short tempers. The ongoing national crisis was still in full flight. Sitting with them at that moment were two tech guys, brought in that day to give the latest purchase a once over, confirming what it was, and what it could do.

  Taking out the small mobile phone looking device, the tech guys got to work on it straight away, as those around the table fell silent.

  “It's genuine,” came a startled statement from one of the two tech guys.

  “I've never seen anything like it before in my life,” said the other, having set up the simple test, the device performing as it should.

  There was a collective sigh around the room, as everyone felt they could finally breathe again.

  They'd just secured a highly advanced piece of technology that would come in very useful soon. It was an exciting breakthrough for them all.

  26

  Present Day

  It was now late in the evening of that final day in the hospital, and Lorna was preparing John for his last night's sleep in his bed. A bed that had been his home for longer than he could remember. His usual cocktail of drugs was being prepared, together with a particular drug. One that would put him into the kind of deep sleep state that he had been in at the beginning. He was again to have a vision, an authentic and very different one this time. He needed to believe that it was now all happening. The television had been prepared, and video feeds stitched together to make the early morning news look like real-time events reporting on what was happening, and ready for when John awoke in the morning. It wasn't tidy and was of course untested. But that was true for everything they'd done so far, and as far as they could tell, it was still all working.

  She carefully injected John in his right arm, before bending down and kissing him on the forehead.

  “Sleep wel
l,” she said, the words already fading, the dream-like nature of her goodnight kiss making him wonder if it happened. The drugs were taking their effect fast. Five minutes later, her patient soundly asleep, the cord was reattached into the back of his head, as it had been for all the visions so far, ready for later in the night, the early morning, in fact, those waking hours when he would once again receive an image. But this one would be like no other that he'd had before.

  Lorna watched him for some time, actually stroking his arm for a while. She stood there in the silence, apart from the monitors that made their constant sounds which told her that everything was okay.

  “John, I'm sorry for all this,” she said out loud, breaking the silence in what was to be her private goodbye. “I'm sorry for what you've been put through, all that has happened. I'm sorry about what will happen tomorrow. I'm sorry for the lies, I really am. And especially for my part in that. I hope you can forgive me if you ever were to find out. I'm not such a bad person, though I'm not the angel you seem to think I am either. I just want to live.”

  With that, tears were running down her face. Great sobs were pouring forth, crying like she hadn't done since the loss of James, grieving over the imminent loss of another man close to her heart. It wasn't love that Lorna felt, not love in the same way as she had with James anyway, but a different type of love. A connection, that was for sure. She felt profoundly connected with John and knew that this link would stay with her all her life, however long that would be. John only had one day, assuming everything went to plan. Usually, faced with death all the time in her job, it was hope they shared with patients. A dream of recovery, the promise of better times. Rarely was the time of death known with any certainty. Of course, she'd dealt with many terminal patients in her time. But death, for them, came like a thief in the night. Not a surprise, but still sudden when it finally happened. John was quite the opposite. He was now the healthiest he'd been in the fifty-six days since arriving, and yet tomorrow was to be that day. She left him at that moment, looking at him once more, deep peace upon his face, sleeping like a baby.