The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller (5 page)

Green washed off his hands, rubbing the soapy lather in and scrubbing ferociously. There was probably nothing that could trace him to the explosion but he wanted to remove all doubt. It was nearly lunchtime, which meant he still had half a day of meetings left. He frowned at the impending ritual of smiling like a puppet while he listened to lowly politicians drone. What made it was worse was being forced to disagree with them and regurgitate the opinions of the cabinet heads.

Still, that was nothing more than a mild irritation, and only one issue currently occupied his mind. Klaus' report from his privately hired science group. The pieces were all coming together. All he had to do was stay alert and soon his grand plan would be complete.

Riding back up the elevator they laughed about how close they'd come to getting caught. Everyone was fine now, and Bob was heading back to his cubicle. He wanted to go with them but he knew he couldn't, the same way Gina had known she had to go to work this morning. The law was clear that you had to work. If you called in sick it was inevitable that you were checked on, so taking days off was a risky business.

With the new right having entirely taken over, your job was all you had. You weren't going to get any government support and with mean education and qualification levels constantly rising, finding a new one would be nearly impossible. All Gina and Bob could do was go back to work, to keep their jobs and their livelihoods. There was no need for Bob to go with them anyway. Anisha had already downloaded Jack's fingerprint onto her phone. All that was left was to say their goodbyes and leave.

On the way down the colossal glass elevator, a bolt of inspiration struck Anisha. If the shooter was at the Café during the incident, then the cameras might have recorded him in action. She was authorised to access the logs from any branch so she quickly explained the idea to Jack. With his approval, she pushed the button marked thirty-five to go and search them on the top floor. The lift seemed to climb up painfully slowly, taking them closer and closer to the clouds. Finally it chimed to a halt and the duo walked out.

Flashing her badge to the large African lady at the desk, she headed through to the computer room, Jack in tow. She logged onto the machine and after inputting the area, date and time, a 'SEARCHING' banner came up. There was a pause and Jack began nervously drumming his fingers on the desk. Finally the screen flashed: NO RESULTS FOUND. “That can’t be right,” muttered Anisha and tried it again. Jack had a bad feeling about this that sunk down into the pit of his stomach. Again, NO RESULTS FOUND.

Springing up without so much as an explanation, she went back to the woman at the help desk and asked her for the user log file. The woman passed her an FLD.

“What's going on?” asked Jack dumbfoundedly.

“There's no video for the cameras we want. The data is supposed to be stored for at least a month; it's a strict legal requirement. It should be there.”

“So what are you doing now?”

“There's no log for each camera so instead I'm looking at who accessed camera's in a one mile radius in the last twenty four hours.” The machine beeped, causing her to frown. “The log's been emptied as well. Wait let me try the backup.” Jack watched in admiration as her fingers shot over the keys. Beautiful and smart. “Okay I think I have it,” she said.

“One of these people deleted the camera pictures. That means one of these people is working with those men that shot at us. Have a look at the list.” Jack's eyes scanned over the set of eighteen names. He didn't recognise a single one. “I don't see anyone familiar,” he said grudgingly. A hard lump formed in the back of Anisha's throat as she hoarsely whispered, “I do.”

She pointed at the screen, to the penultimate name on the list. ZOE GHOSH. “It's my TSN pseudonym for when I log in through my home terminal. Only two people have access to that machine and since I haven’t been home in almost twenty-four hours…” For a second her voice trailed off. “The main machine is password protected. The only other person who could’ve accessed it is my flatmate Pete.”

As they made their way through the grimy streets, weary waves of disorientation crashed at the two of them. Their minds were troubled; even causing distraction from the stench of the homeless men as they passed the alcoves by the bridge. Anisha and Jack slowly walked up to Gina's flat, confused and paranoid. If Pete was out to get him, how did Jack know that Gina wasn't too? Or even Anisha? Who could he actually trust anymore?

He had to be careful: after all his life was on the line. Anisha was quiet, the feeling of betrayal clear in her deep brown eyes. Reaching the familiar red door, they noticed something taped onto it: another envelope. Jack spotted it first and jogged up to grab it. He didn't bother looking around, assumed the culprit was hours away by now.

Tearing it open, he tipped out the folded paper inside. It was written in the same type as the first note he'd got, and sent the same shiver down his back. “What's it say?” inquired Anisha. Jack read it aloud. “In your hotel room is a briefcase with the necessary information.” Jack paused, deep in thought. Anisha stood by him, reading the fear in his eyes. The sun suddenly began to shine, bathing them in an unpleasantly intense golden yellow.

Jack began having doubts about retrieving the briefcase immediately. Just the thought of the hotel left him with a sick feeling. Even though he knew that realistically it was no less safe than the flat, it still scared him. It was where this had all began and in some way, his mind now associated it with fear and bad luck.

Events so far had convinced him that whoever was behind this needed him to assassinate Michael Green so they couldn't kill him. Yet. But that didn't mean they couldn't do some pretty nasty things to him first. Just like that all the possible methods of torture began cycling through his mind, filling his ears with imaginary screams. He gulped, trying to swallow his doubts, and then scratched his stubbly chin. Before he entered the flat he told Anisha he planned to go to the hotel.

Expecting another overprotective lecture on how dangerous it was, instead she simply nodded and replied, “I know, but be careful”. He looked at her with a crooked half smile then turned away and down the path to the street, his boots crunching beneath the gravel as he went. He forced himself not to turn back.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Jack reached the hotel. He wandered back through the familiar lobby and again rode up the escalator. Getting out he found everything calm, the way he expected it should be. Breezy hotel corridors funnelling echoes and mutterings from their busy guests. For a fleeting moment the urgency was lost. Shaking his head, and with renewed vim, he headed to the hotel room. Trying the door he found it unlocked. This time he expected it and wasn't fazed.

He knew whoever had broken into his room was probably long gone, and so without hesitation he entered. On the large velvet bed lay a simple leather briefcase, opened and prominently displaying its contents. Jack edged closer to it and saw that inside were floor plans, schematics, sketches and documents. Everything he might need to kill an MP. Hovering over it now he also saw a knife resting behind one of the documents. It had a smooth ivory finish above the coiled metal grip, with a wide, complex blade maybe six inches in length.

He picked up a small booklet with the words SECURITY DETAIL written on it and flicked through. There were numerous pages of information, outlining Michael's Green's expected public appearances over the next twelve days, and the level of security assigned to each. Dropping that for now, he rummaged deeper and picked up another one: a small olive green combat guide. It was full of black and white diagrams and showed a number of simple moves to quickly disable a range of opponents.

Stopping for a second, Jack closed his eyes to soak up the scene. He felt strange being in this room again. It made his skin itchy and his scalp tingle. There was something about this room that filled him with unease. He'd already found out that Gina's flat wasn't much safer and now neither was Anisha's, not with Pete around. He considered where else was left. Since nothing came to mind, it seemed Gina's was as good a place as any. He grabbed a medium sized travel bag off the floor, still unpacked, and zipped it open.

Looking across at the shoebox on the bed he wondered if he wanted to mix his nice clean clothes, clothes that he had to wear, with something like that. Rancid and bloody and once alive. He didn't really have much choice so he placed the sullied box inside. Hooking the bag over his shoulder he closed the briefcase and took a deep calming breath, before walking out of the room with it, locking the door only out of habit.

Gina and Anisha sat on the couch, chatting excitedly about what had happened at the office. “We were this close to being completely caught. Then Bob sneezed and it was like Oh My God! I thought it was over.”

“But you must've got away in the end.”

“Yeah we finally managed it but I've never been so scared in my life. It was like being a professional cat burglar or something.”

“God, I'm glad I was at work.” A small pause hung over them. “So what are we going to do about this Pete creep?”

“I don't know. But all of this suddenly happening and then Pete's name like that. It doesn’t seem like its random. It seems like you meeting Jack after all these years can’t have been a co-incidence; it must’ve been forced. Pete has to be involved in what’s going on. If only we could work out how.”

They were interrupted by Jack knocking on the door. Exercising her newfound caution, Gina checked through the side-window before letting him in. With a dry voice he proclaimed, “I've got the fingers.” Anisha was waiting with her mobile, which was now loaded with the correct format of Jack's fingerprints. It identified certain characteristics in the image that then made a quick match detectable, even from a partial print. They all moved into the living room and slumped to the floor.

From the moody atmosphere and the shifty look the girls were
trading, Jack could tell they'd been talking about Pete. It was a problem that everyone had put to the side for now. The proverbial elephant in the room. As the mobile beeped to show it was ready everybody avoided eye contact. Eventually Jack whispered, “One of us has to fingerprint the fingers.”

“They're your fingers,” retorted Gina, and Anisha nodded in agreement.

Jack sighed. He knew they were perfectly right but it didn't make the task any more pleasant. His stomach began to reflux at the thought of touching the bloody stumps. A quick scan of the room revealed some tissues and grabbing out a wad in one go he draped them over each of the five fingers.

As he worked, the girls watching him intently; almost with morbid fascination. Jack now began pressing each tissue on the surface of a finger, checking it was thick enough to stop any unwanted juices from leaking through. Finally he picked up the first finger and pressed it on the screen.

Anisha squinted in disgust. Her phone was never going to be clean again. Soldiering on, Jack picked up the next one to print and then did the same with the third and fourth fingers. At times he felt his grip on the digits loosening and it took all his willpower not to drop them completely. He finished with the thumb, which was smaller and more awkward. Placing it on the pad it beeped, as the full set was complete.

Wasting no time, Jack dropped the last of the fingers back into the shoebox and wiped the screen with a left over tissue before running off to wash his hands until they were red and sore. Returning into the living room a few minutes later, all eyes fell on Anisha. Now it was her turn to get involved.

Her fingers glided over the keys effortlessly, every now and then the phone beeping. After a few seconds some results came up. Jack and Gina waited for Anisha with baited breath. “According to this, the four fingers are all a one hundred percent match with yours.”

The report was grim. The message was telling the truth. The pictures were real. As the news sank in, Jack's blood seemed to stop flowing for a moment, pooling inside his veins. But Anisha wasn't finished yet. “The thumb print though, was definitely not a match. I don't
have a record on my mobile that it matches. It's a dead end.”

Silence descended once more. Both the girls wanted to console Jack but couldn't quite find the words. They didn't have to; he was more resilient than that. “No match on the thumb?”

“No sorry. We could try searching the central database. It would mean a trip back to the tower only this time it could last two seconds to two hours. There's no way of knowing how long the search would take.”

“We'd get caught, no question about it,” he replied. Anisha could see from his eyes, his renewed vigour. It was almost as if the bad news had shocked him awake. “It may not be a dead end yet,” he finished.

“What do you mean?” asked Gina.

“I think it's time we paid Pete a little visit.”

Kim was exhausted. She'd been in the lab for nearly eight straight hours. She shook her small round head and waved her brittle, murky blonde hair to remove anything caught in it. Wiping her forehead she realised wrap around safety goggles still clung to her snow-white skin. Looking back at her desk, the thought of more work made her sigh.

Everyone in the lab was sanctioned off into specific groups to work on individual experiments and no group was allowed to talk to the others about what they were doing. The whole atmosphere was segregated and alienating. Only the panel overseeing the project had any idea about what the teams were actually investigating.

When she had agreed to take the job, Kim had assumed it was some sort of important confidential testing and was fine with non-disclosure. But now she was actually working, she found the whole atmosphere of distrust and secrecy ground away at her soul. It actually managed to make her exhausting days even more draining.

Kim was just one of hundreds of people who had been asked to travel back in time six months and conduct classified research for the government. What they didn't know was that travel of longer than 2 months was almost unheard of and was only authorised at the very highest level of government. As far as they knew, what they were doing was perfectly normal. Kim didn't realise was that she was just another scientist being used by Michael Green.

The laws of time said that going back in time couldn't cause major events, but in theory you could speed up an event that was already going to occur anyway. To this end, Green had plans next month to send an entire lab back so that they could carry out the research he needed. To him, in the present, it would seem as if the lab had spontaneously produced results. In reality, they had just been given a six-month advantage.

To Green this was a necessary exception. Usually he was against this sort of thing, seeing it as yet one more problem with time travel booths. It was true that safeguards prevented people, for example going back after taking exams and retaking them knowing the answers. But lazy children could leach off their rich parents and go back in time, effectively buying extra revision time and giving themselves an advantage over the less well off. Time travel had so many intrinsic flaws it had changed mankind's existence in ways not yet perceivable.

Kim sat busily documenting chronotron decay rates. After a demanding shift, she was ready to go back to her company flat and just curl up. There was one more task left until she was free. She had to deliver today's findings to the senior staff. As she approached the main office she heard the division heads arguing heatedly. Through the door it was all a murmur but she did make out three or four voices included a deep, booming one: probably Dr. Lewis.

The words 'outrage' and 'Klaus' were being repeated a lot but she couldn't make much sense of the conversation. Her curiosity peaked and she leaned in to try and eavesdrop. Almost as if the men inside could see her, the door immediately swung open, and Lewis left in a defiant, melodramatic exit.

“What is it Kim?” enquired an irate Dr Ruhbaker.

“Today's lab reports.” He grudgingly took them and then glared at her, clearly ordering her to leave. She willingly took the hint. While departing the office she heard a few more words before the door was sealed shut, which left her with a strange feeling. One of the doctors had mentioned 'using it to become more powerful than anyone alive.'

Heavy knocking vibrated the flimsy wood of the door to the studio apartment. On one side, Pete walked out of the kitchen to answer it, wiping tomato paste off his hands as he went. On the other, a fired up Jack stood impatiently waiting, together with the girls. They had tried talking him out of coming, reminding him it could well provoke his aggressors, but Jack had refused to listen. The door slowly opened and as Pete saw Anisha safe and well a relieved smile crossed his face. A second later and Jack's fist bulldozed forwards, a blunt crunch resonating as Pete’s nose was battered.

As the photographer stumbled around, mucous-thickened blood slowly bubbled out of his nose, forming sticky lumps. Another crack at his nose and he collapsed to the floor, his eyes swelling with tears. Jack was devoid of any sympathy, only stopping to massage feeling back into his hand. Motionlessly watching the malicious act, Gina felt disgusted. Anisha grimaced. Despite feeling deceived and betrayed, she still had a small urge to help him. He lay there dripping scarlet blood over her pinewood floor, but the wound didn't seem too much worse than a nosebleed.