The Codex File (2012) (31 page)

Michael sat up, slightly more enthused than he’d been two minutes earlier.

“
Can you get it working?”

Brown nodded.

“
Yes, I think we can. You’ve got to trust us and give us some time.”

Michael looked back to the screen where Trevellion’s image had been displayed on the screen minutes before. The BBC News 24 coverage had reverted back to the trip of the Saudi President.

“
I’ve got to get out of here,” Michael finally said. “I’m going stir crazy here just waiting for something to happen. I’m going home. You ring me as soon as you’ve got anything, OK?”

Brown nodded reassuringly.

“
Don’t worry Michael, it’s not over yet. Not by a long way.”

8
^th
February 2010

The school hall at St Winifred’s was humming as Michael, Colette and Clare walked up the wide corridor. On one side, children’s drawings depicting the age of the Aztec’s decorated what seemed like never-ending wall space. On the other, photographs of recent school trips showing children being taken around a zoo and then an outside activity centre.

From the moment they’d entered the building it was clear where the dance competition was being held. The sound of the children’s excited chatter echoed down the corridors, hitting you the moment you entered the school’s front door.

The car park had been like the M25 on a bad day. Virtual gridlock ensuring parents were forced to park on the school field next to the normal car park. Parents, desperately trying to keep their excitable children safe and under control, strode across the school grounds in search of a seat in the hall.

“
And to think, I thought we’d left early,” Michael had commented as he’d first laid eyes on the packed car park. “I didn’t think this many kids would be interested in dance.”

Catching Clare’s eye in the rearview mirror she’d shaken her head, reminding him how old and stupid he was if he didn’t know that all children liked dancing. Casting a knowing glance at Colette she smiled back at him, trying not to laugh. He certainly wouldn’t have been one of those children he thought as they’d raced across the car park, trying to keep up with Clare’s own enthusiasm.

Decked out in her full ballet outfit both parents could barely contain their pride as Clare called out to one of friends a little way ahead of them. Like Clare, she too was wearing an ivory, satin ballet dress. Michael was sure he’d seen the girl and her mother one time he’d picked her up from ballet practice, although he’d never caught her name before. They were just nodding acquaintances as was often the case once your child was at school and involved in a million-and-one activities. Keeping up with names was an ongoing problem with just the hoards of children, nevermind their parents too.

The sound of children laughing, running about, or simply shouting at their friends from across the hall rose to a cacophonous din as they approached the doors. They could clearly see most of the chairs for the parents were already taken.

“
We’re going to be standing at the back at this rate,” Colette said flatly, pushing through the doors.

Casting a glance round the hall, all the parents and family ahead of them in the corridor had quickly snapped up the remaining seats. Michael and Colette were left standing in the aisle with not a spare chair to be had.

“
Oh well,” Colette said quietly, “the wall it is.”

Nodding, the pair of them moved to the back of the hall and leant against the climbing bars secured against the wall. Further down the room Clare had turned, looking out to see where her parents had gone. Spotting them at the back, she ran back up the aisle, a slight disapproving look spreading across her pale features, made all the more so by her shock of long blonde hair.

“
Oh mum,” she said with feigned annoyance. “Why didn’t you run to get a seat?”

Colette stroked her hair gently, leaning in for a hug.

“
I can’t run as fast you these days,” she said. “But don’t worry we’ll be able to see your dance from here. I’ve got the video camera as well.”

Clare pulled a face, scrunching up her face at the prospect of her dance being filmed. Although secretly she was pleased. Especially if she won the competition.

With the dancing almost ready to begin Michael casually looked around the hall at all the parents and children who sat, waiting patiently for their moment of dance glory. His gaze stopped on a mother about six feet away, standing over her daughter, a serious expression on her face. What had her daughter done he wondered as Colette followed his gaze to the woman.

Sharing the same thought both Michael and Colette strained to hear exactly what the woman was saying to her daughter. Clare turned also, less subtle in trying to see what was so interesting.

“
I want to see you concentrating out there and giving it everything you’ve got. If you don’t then all those dance lessons will have been for nothing. And you know how expensive they were, don’t you? You’re going to win this competition, aren’t you? You don’t want to be a failure, do you?”

Michael’s brow creased in astonishment at the mother’s overbearing tone as she continued her ‘motivational’ pep talk to her daughter. Colette raised a quizzical eyebrow, a smirk starting to form on her lips.

Clare looked up at her parents, a look of deep concern causing her to frown.

“
You won’t think I’m a failure if I don’t win the competition, will you?” she said quietly, her eyes starting to brim with tears.

“
Oh, of course not,” Colette replied quickly, putting a comforting arm around her. “Daddy and I will never think you’re a failure. Not at anything. Will we?”

She turned to face Michael who nodded reassuringly, squeezing her hand gently.

“
This is just a bit of fun,” Michael said quietly. “You go out there and enjoy yourself. It doesn’t matter who wins. Don’t listen to what the lady was saying.”

Clare nodded, wiping away the single tear rolling down her cheek. And feeling better about the whole competition again, she turned and ran off in the direction of another friend she’d noticed.

Michael leant back against the wall, a knowing smile crossing his face as he looked sideways at Colette.

“
What are you smirking about?” she said, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

“
You’re such a liar,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh. “You have just as high expectations for Clare as old ‘competitive mum’ over there.”

Screwing her face up into a feigned frown, Colette looked to where Clare was talking animatedly with a group of girls from her class.

“
I know that, and you know that. But I’m not going to let Clare know that and heap the same pressure on her. Not like that awful woman over there has. Of course I want Clare to succeed and be the best in everything. But she doesn’t need us setting her up to fail with impossible standards.”

“
Touched a nerve, did I?” Michael said playfully, moving his arms to prevent another probing elbow in the ribs.

“
Oh sod off,” Colette said playfully, flicking her long hair disdainfully, concealing her face from his mocking grin.

Before Michael could retort again, Colette’s mobile phone began to ring in her handbag.

The previous smile on her face faded a little as she reached for the device.

“
Who can that be?” she said with minor irritation.

Pulling the phone from her bag, she read the name on the display before rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“
It’s work,” she hissed, pushing her hair back behind her ears to answer the call.

Michael immediately looked to where Clare was finishing her conversation with her friends. Turning she began to walk back towards her parents.

Colette spoke quietly in her phone, uncomfortable at the interruption in the school hall, conscious of the glances she was getting from other parents.

“
But I thought the pre-conference meeting was scheduled for tomorrow morning. I’ve got a train ticket for first thing in the morning………So what’s the urgency?………And they want to meet this evening?………Is there any flexibility on the time?………No, I understand………No, it’s not a problem………No, really………I’m leaving now………Bye.”

Sliding the phone into her handbag Michael could see Colette’s eyes brimming with tears. Wiping them quickly away she turned to face him, her face flushed with anger and disappointment.

“
They’ve moved the pre-conference meeting from tomorrow morning to tonight. Two hours time in fact. Apparently there’s some major crisis involving the state network tender that only I can solve. The Chief Executive has asked for me personally, so it must be serious. They’re getting really twitchy about what might happen if we don’t get it.”

“
But what about Clare?” Michael said, watching as his daughter approached where they were standing.

“
Look, I know,” Colette said angrily. “Don’t make this any harder than it is.”

Putting his arm around Colette, he pulled her tightly to him, resting his head gently on hers.

“
I know. I wasn’t having a go at you. You shouldn’t be so good at your job and indispensable to them. What would they do without you? Do you really have to go now?”

Colette nodded, thankful she’d packed her overnight bag for the conference before they’d left for the competition. It would have to do for two nights now she thought as Clare reached the pair of them.

“
What’s the matter mummy?” she asked, looking into her mother’s moist, reddened eyes.

Colette dropped down onto her haunches, gripped her daughter’s hands, and looked straight into her wide blue eyes.

“
You remember the conference that I’m going to tomorrow? Well, they’ve moved the time of it, and I’ve got to leave for it now.”

A look of disappointment washed rapidly across Clare’s pale features.

“
What, now?” she said, fighting back the tears, determined not to show how she really felt, and knowing how important mummy’s work was.

Colette nodded, pulling her daughter close to her, tears rolling down her own cheeks.

“
I’m so sorry,” she whispered, feeling herself choke-up as she spoke.

Clare pulled away gently from the embrace, looking her mother squarely in the face. She knew she had to be grown up about it.

“
It’s OK. I understand,” she said. “Daddy’s told me how important your work is and how busy you are.” Gulping, determined not to cry, she added: “They’ll be other dance competitions.”

Colette squeezed Clare’s hands before holding her tight again, proud of her daughter’s response.

“
You’d better go,” Michael said gently. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come home.”

Nodding, Colette rose to her feet and smiled warmly at Clare, wiping the tears from her face.

“
I’ll talk to you on the phone tomorrow? OK darling?” she said.

“
I’d like that,” Clare said softly.

And turning she ran back quickly down the aisle towards her friends, unable to stop her own tears from finally streaming down her face.

As the key slid into the lock of his front door Michael cast a nonchalant look up and down his street, checking to see if he was being followed or watched. He knew he wasn’t particularly adept at being subtle about these things. He certainly wasn’t as well practiced as his four counterparts in Aldershot. Perhaps there were some things he should be thankful for he thought as nothing appeared suspicious about this quiet surburban street. But then nobody would have predicted a brutal murder would have occurred here. But it had.

Closing the door behind him, he felt pleasant warmth envelop him as the wonders of central heating filled the house. If nothing else, coming home was worth it for some comfort, despite the unpleasant memories lingering there.

A photograph of Clare taken at one of her ballet performances where she had the lead part hung on the hallway wall. Her happy smile shone from the picture. The framed memory quickly doubled his determination. They had to succeed in what they were doing.

Walking over the pile of letters, flyers and newspapers scattered over his doormat Michael moved into his lounge, slumping onto his new sofa. Bills and pizza menus could wait.

As his television flickered into life and he reached for his console he was aware at some subconscious level that his disposition was changing. Not so many days ago, the slightest mention of Colette and Clare’s murders had made him want to seek refuge from the horror of the details, reducing him to sweaty waves of nausea. But now he actively sought it out. Any detail or piece of information about them, about UKCitizensNet, about the anti-net campaigners, and even about Trevellion, needed to be absorbed, assimilated and rationalised. It was only through understanding it could his determination for revenge be truly sated. No detail could be ignored. No stone unturned, in case someone or something that was complicit escaped his wrath.