The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller
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Authors: Malhar Patel
The Whitehall Syndicate
By Malhar Patel
Copyright © 2003 by Malhar Patel
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other
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Table
Of Contents
Contents
Jack's heart was pounding so fast it was emitting its own low pitched hum. In a rush of blind panic he felt around his waist for the blade. The handle felt cold to the touch. With the grim nature of his circumstances, it ran a trickling tremor down his back. His head snapped around sharply; left then right, down the long corridor. There was no one around. This was it. He kicked open the solid mahogany door with his wet, worn shoes while trying to dislodge the six inch blade held in place by his jeans. Without so much as a word he pounced at the oncoming man and swung.
Bright scarlet blood slowly oozed around the blade as it fought its way into the man's temple. It surprised him how much force it had needed, as well as how thin the blood was. Not dark and viscous like in the movies. His throat burnt now, feeling etched and dry. He hadn't realised he was breathing so hard. Struggling to control himself he heard quiet echoes of voices, gradually becoming audible: they were getting closer. Looking around the cramped, claustrophobic office his eyes darted from side to side as he searched for a means of escape. But with every sweep they kept returning to the man lying on the floor.
He was well groomed and in his early forties, sporting a cheeky goatee and too much styling wax, which over the years had made his hair thin and sparse. Thud Thud. Jack could hear clear footsteps now. Reaching down, his hand grabbed for the protruding blade. It was stuck. He tugged more tenaciously but it wouldn't give. With a final heave he unsettled it and a spray of lukewarm blood was his reward. As it wormed its way into the smallest cracks and creases of his eyeball, he felt a sharp sting and struggled to fight back a wave of tears.
Juleen, around five foot two with pale cream skin and shoulder length ginger hair, was the errand girl. She helped everything run smoothly, running like a gofer from place to place. Her soft hair flung side to side in a cloud of worry at her next perilous mission: finding out which crisps to pick up. As she walked down the hall at full kilter she chatted nervously to her obviously disinterested colleague.
Chuck had known Juleen for a couple of years now but had never really gotten to
know
her. He found she had a habit of speaking volumes without ever really saying anything. So he ignored her for now, tuning in every so often in case he missed something important. Not very likely. They reached an archway where a right corridor joined their lane of traffic and Chuck checked his watch. He hadn't said anything in a while now. Maybe he should speak.
“So what's your favourite crisps flavour?” he offered, trying to give her a token gesture of interest.
“I like plain ones.” That pretty much summed up Juleen. Always talking, always eager to seem energetic and lively. But at heart just a plain Jane.
Chuck had a good view of the entire corridor. He had yet to see a single person, which struck him as a tad peculiar. Maybe something was wrong. He dismissed the thought; he didn't want to worry unnecessarily. Juleen was probably doing enough of that for the both of them. As they continued down the corridor he thought he heard something clattering, and again dismissed it. Maybe this job was getting too much. Was he
losing his mind, hearing sounds that didn't exist? At the moment Juleen's soul-dampening monotone was hardly helping the situation.
They reached within a few feet of the office and he crouched down to tie his shoelaces. Juleen continued forward to knock on the door. She waited patiently but was greeted with no response. Undeterred, she ventured a further, heavier knock, again to no avail. While she wanted to knock again, just to triple check, the thought of Chuck laughing at her over-zealous behaviour stopped her. Instead she grabbed the warm brass doorknob and began to turn it to the left.
Juleen swung open the door and immediately let out a scream. Thundering through the sparse corridors it rattled the cups of company stationary and shook the early morning coffee jug. Across the cubicles, everyone knew immediately that this was more than just an office prank gone wrong.
Juleen stood there quietly quivering as Chuck jumped up to help
her. He got to the door where she stood, and could see a glaze of tears forming over her eyes. One broke free and dragged itself down her left cheek, stopping just shy of her jaw. Chuck froze in shock for a few seconds, for the first time feeling nervous. As he peered inside, his eyes widened.
“Oh God,” was all he could mumble and he quickly covered his mouth as he turned away. In the middle of the office lay his friend's corpse, a fresh patch of blood shimmering by his head. Juleen began to shudder irregularly as she struggled to control herself. Chuck responded by uttering strange sounds and fractured words, failing in his attempt to say something comforting.
One of the most powerful MP's in all of England, deputy Prime Minister Michael Green, lay on the office floor murdered.
Streams of blood rushed around inside Jack's head, smashing and crashing through his brain like hot magma. Very quickly the heat had become unbearable, like an army of fire ants scorching him from the inside. Through the glass screen several inches in front of him, his view began to shake and became fuzzy before losing focus entirely. Soon all colour seemed to fade to black. He wasn't sure if he'd closed his eyes or lost his sight but he didn't really care as most of his attention had fallen instead to the caustic pain of the electrodes launching their cerebral assault. Seemingly from the ether, came a shrill, high-pitched whining sound that became deafening and not much later his arms were numb. Just as he thought he would pass out from the pain, it suddenly faded.
His biceps could once again feel the hard steel restraints shackled over them and he took in a deep breath while the pain settled to a dull throb. On opening his eyes everything was a little blurry and bright, but he smiled: at least he wasn't blind. He blinked a few more times as a means of steadying himself. The whirring sound of the huge, daunting, silver machine behind him had faded to the gentle hum of electrical equipment. A few more seconds passed by and he saw a man in a white coat approach, which he couldn’t help but think was something of a cliché. The scientist quickly pulled open the glass screen as casually as a man opening a fridge. A whoosh of cloudy white gas escaped, which cleared to reveal to Jack, a grinning pack of spectacle-laden scientists gathered in front of him. So he was finally here. He smiled gleefully and stepped out of the time travel booth.
Slowly turning round the gold plated key, he heard the small locker door quietly click open. He reached in and carefully pulled out his deluxe size suitcase filled with the clothes he had packed a few weeks earlier. Or was it later? He couldn't quite remember. Time travel was a complicated concept and a bit too confusing for him to fully understand. That's what the boffins out there were for, he mused; let them handle it.
He slipped out of his standard issue white robe and stood there naked for a minute or two, glad to be out of the irritating garment. All over his body he felt small itches, like insects crawling across his flesh, and they left him with a maddening urge to scratch his skin until it was raw and red.
He dug into the locker and pulled out some of his holiday clothes. A red wine coloured long-sleeve T-shirt with a light beige suit top and matching trousers, and a gold bracelet for his left hand. They were all new items he'd bought especially. When he thought about it, it didn't really make any sense.
He should buy new clothes so the people he sees everyday can admire them. To most people there was nothing more embarrassing than finding themselves wearing the same outfit every time they went out. As his friends kept telling him, “A man's got to look good.” But Jack, obtuse as he was, would buy new clothes for when he went on holiday. Even though he met new people who hadn't seen his old clothes, people that would be equally impressed with either. It was a vacation; and that was enough justification for Jack. Slipping on his dark green wrap round sunglasses he headed down to the office marked on his starter pack, eager to meet one of the programme staff.
A sharp rapping of hard knuckles on soft wood broke the soothing silence inside the room. Without waiting for a reply, Jack hurriedly entered, eager to make the most of his time. It was a small squalid room, with the hefty stench of refuse, but he didn't want to make any comments. He just wanted to get in and out so that he could begin enjoying his week off.
Since the government started the time travel holiday scheme things had been going well for him. Certain parties had had their doubts about putting the public to work fifty-two weeks a year, using time travel to annually send them back for a few weeks of vacation. But everyone in Jack's family was used to working nearly the whole year round anyway. He relished the chance to have some relaxation time. Besides, nobody could argue that it had done the economy the world of good.
The officer at the desk said, “Please. Have a seat.” His tone sounded slightly apologetic already, which Jack immediately took as a bad omen. None-the-less he complied. After some fidgeting and trading 'hello's and 'how are you's the small slightly balding man finally got down to the grit of it.
“We're not entirely sure how it happened but erm, it seems that you've been transported a slight bit further back than you'd expected.”
“How much further?” replied Jack coarsely, immediately taking the offensive.
“In our records we have you down as booking a one week vacation. The date is currently the sixth of July. Fourteen days before you entered the booth.” Jack paused for a moment.
“I'm not paying extra for this,” he retorted, continuing to play the arguing customer.
“Of course not Mr Winchester. In fact the company is willing to refund you half of the money you paid for this trip, to show there are no hard feelings.” He flashed a grimy smile before continuing to apologise.
The conversation went on, and while Jack was a little irritated that he only had clothes and supplies for a week, he was secretly more than content. He had a fortnight's vacation for the price of three and a half days! It was a good thing he'd placed his things in the locker nice and early or they might not have been here now.
Even with his limited provisions, he couldn't just go and fetch more supplies from home. It was one of the rules of time travelling. You didn't meet your future self at any point during your trip. There was no real explanation of why that law was in place, but conspiracy theorists had their ideas. Some rumours claimed that if you met yourself the entire universe would collapse in on itself. Others suggested it was just a law to stop con artists and other fraudsters from using the concept of doubles in their various grifts.
But like most aspects of the time travel program, the hard facts remained elusive. As for the logistics of the program: they were fairly simplistic. You just lived separately for the course of your holiday and then, when your future self went back in time, you simply took over from him or her.
As the light-sabre hands of the novelty clock ticked on, Jack could
feel his time slipping away. He had planned for a week of relaxation and he intended to do just that. As soon as the meeting ended he went straight to a phone and called the hotel he had booked, pleading and charming his way into an earlier reservation. The very next thing he did was to hail a taxi to take him on his way. Without realising it a discreet smile had formed on his face as he thought about the fun to come.
Walking up to the clerk, he handed over his documents and details with a cheery smile. The lobby was immaculately kept; the décor perfectly matching the old five star hotels of the nineteen fifties right down to the gratings on the elevators. Jack stood statuesque, simply breathing in the atmosphere of the place. After a minute the clerk politely coughed to draw Jack's attention, before handing him a dull silver key. He was in suite 308.
It sounded posh but he imagined all the rooms were called suites, to make them sound fancier. Taking the elevator up, he was exited to find his room was only a few doors away from the lift. Since he was a young child he had found hotel doorways to be eerie. A huge row of doors all exactly the same, all parallel and opposite down a long straight corridor. Even now there was no explanation he could offer, it just seemed sinister to him. He entered his room and immediately dropped his case by the door and proceeded to throw off his jacket onto the amply sized bed. He took it back. It
was
a suite: luxurious right down to the quilted, scented toilet paper in the en-suite.
Some people used their time travel vacation to go abroad. He wondered why. All the countries were the essentially the same, just with different languages on the road signs and people he couldn't understand. He had decided he might as well stay in London, the city he loved, and instead spend the money on a lavish hotel. At this moment, he had no regrets. Scratching his head he unpacked his things onto the huge pine bed and then decided to head down to the bar to get a nice cocktail; and maybe a nice girl.
As he left his room he got the distinct feeling that someone was following him. Almost as if a shadow was pressed firmly on his back. He turned around and found the corridor was empty. Convinced it was nothing he continued on his way. The paranoia persisted on his journey down to the lobby but he didn't turn around again. He was sure it was just the corridors to blame. The creepy, eerie hotel corridors.
“I'll have a Sea Breeze with a twist of lime please”.
He'd never been here before but he already felt like a regular. As he sat on his bar stool he scanned across the rest of the lounge. In the back corner was a quartet of mean-looking men and from the menacing glint in their eyes, they seemed the sort it was best to leave alone. Pale skinned but carrying dark faces, they were dressed in black to suit their moods. As Jack kept scanning he saw an East Asian woman, probably in her mid-thirties, sitting alone at a table. She had a touch of rouge on her cheeks, long raven black hair that waved gently from side to side, and dark hazel eyes.
He didn't want to stare too long in case she saw him, but just as he turned away he caught a smile in his direction. Smiling a little himself, he decided he should wander across the dim, blue lit bar and introduce himself. But he was too nervous right now. After a short pause, he once again took a quick scan to the corner. Playing it cool. He noticed the men in black had all edged forward and were now one table closer to the bar. He began a slow but subtle turn of his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the exotic beauty. And is if on cue, there it was: the formation of that small, crooked smile. Entirely genuine and wholly inviting.
He finished his drink to pluck up a bit of courage and then, calmed by the soft sound of jazz music wafting from the bar speakers, stood up to go over. Panic struck and within a few seconds he was sat back down again, in the same seat as before, feeling slightly more foolish for his troubles. Before he went over he felt it was best if he quickly ran through a few charming things he could say. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat. His drink fell from his hand, seemingly in slow motion, and rattled to a halt on the bar top. Pricks of sweat had clawed their way up to his skin. He exhaled nervously. Right next to him sat the four menacing gentlemen.
The stools around him had all been empty and to see these men
suddenly appear from nowhere was a shock. The man next to him sat breathing quietly but hoarsely, like some great dragon from hell. The smell of his rancid breath had quickly found its way to Jack's nostrils and it was enough to make him nauseous. He took a few seconds to compose himself, and was just about to leave the bar when the bartender tentatively came up to him with a package and said, “Here you go mate. I think this is for you.” He didn't seem completely convinced. “It's from, and I quote, 'Some-one who'll be giving you a surprise soon'.”
He fought to subdue his inner grin and failed: his face exploding into a coat-hanger smile. Within a few seconds his confidence had grown volumes, so much so in fact that he decided that now he would keep
her
in suspense. In the dark, cobwebbed recesses of his mind, a plan slowly formed. He would go upstairs, slowly. Let her follow him and see what happened from there. He thanked the bartender and headed off. As he entered the lift he loudly declared, “Floor three please,” to the woman by the keypad. Not too subtle, he thought, but effective.
Getting out of the lift he preceded to walk slowly, making sure everyone passing down the corridor could see him. His gaze wandered from person to person, all the while a flaccid confusion forming in his mind. Where did all these people come from? This corridor was empty a short while ago. His worries didn't persist for long though, displaced instead by eager thoughts of the debauchery to come.
He entered his room in just as laboured a fashion as his walk up to it. However, a quick look around was enough to see it was just the way he'd left it: an absolute tip. He realised he didn't have time to unpack now, and suddenly his calm, cool exterior dissipated. He was sure a few minutes ago it had been a lot more spacious.
With some frantic running around, the room almost seemed to come to life as clothes were picked up, suitcases stuffed and objects arranged into neat symmetrical patterns. Rushing around, looking for a place to put the bag, he decided instead on simply shoving it under the bed. Then with a strained sprint over to the mirror he got one final look at himself. It wasn't much but it would have to do.
He could feel his heart beating a little harder as he heard footsteps. For a second the image of the henchmen from the bar popped into his mind and in a single, fleeting moment, paranoia had taken over with a fiendish grip.
Events like this one didn't happen to him often and his nerves were jangling at the prospect. He was determined not to let the cloud of worry persist, and instead went to wet his hair in the sink as a last-minute substitute for hair gel. Scuttling quickly across the large magnolia room he failed to notice the bartender's package on the bed was leaking a dark red, viscous fluid.
Jack came out of the bathroom and was already beginning to second-guess himself. A look at his watch only heightened his anxiety. Was the present from the woman? Did he imagine the looks she was giving? Or did she just get lost on her way up. Maybe he should go outside and look for her. His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a splintering knock on the door. This was it.
