9
Big elephant in the room!
Not long since Thicke has felt the wrath of his team. They have ganged-up on him. He doesn’t like being muscled in to do something. They are on to something but for Thicke this might just be euphoria of winning, premature trumping real progress. He is not that much keen to listen to them that much. He is down at the Hanbury Street staring at the CCTV cameras trying to get a better understanding of what is exactly at stake here. One more case and he is going to be under pressure. Honestly speaking, he doesn’t give a toss about that. He knows what he is doing, and he has a plan. A message from office comes through on his phone. ‘Fingerprints inconclusive. Possibly male rather than female. We’re double checking.’ And a picture of the woman suspect is attached to the message. Thicke looks at the picture keenly. He leans against the wall, inhales his cigarette, and then starts looking at all the cameras in the street, covering all the angles from the Poppies shop all the way down to the office door. There are twenty mobile drone cameras and four fixed ones. He recounts them again. Then he notices that one of the cameras which is positioned in the junction between Brick Lane and Hanbury Street is slightly hooked and points on the floor just outside the Ice Cream shop. Thicke would’ve liked that this camera is pointing towards the direction which is intended to Hanbury Street. What that means is that somebody, somewhere had bent the camera down, deliberately. He speaks to the owner of the shop where the camera is positioned but all he gets is ‘You need to speak to the council. We don’t control these cameras.’ As if Thicke didn’t know this. He then rings Chloe and asks her to access the cameras. Chloe needs permission of the Met to do so. ‘It’s fine. Just use our last case as a justification. They should approve it.’ He responds back before Chloe answers back and tells him that they had used the last powers in the previous case and the only option is that we ‘Hack into it.’ Thick is thoughtful for a second then he gives the go ahead.
The walk towards Liverpool Station is full of challenges. Way too many delivery drones have lowered their altitude and they almost touching the ground, rudely causing a lot of fright and frustration amongst the Londoners. Some of them do deliberately drive these things because they are probably bored stuffed in their hot offices or home balconies and seeing the fun on what they’re doing. Thicke evades two drones going past him quickly before he crosses the road and waves a Pickford’s taxi. The vehicle is one of them hovering on the air type of taxis. Their altitude is monitored by the Transport for London, and they have very strict guidelines how to behave but also provide some of the best service in the town. He hopes on and asks to be taken to Marylebone High Street. The place where he is most obsessed with. The journey to Marylebone lasts just under ten minutes. Looking out on the south side of the river, Thicke reminisces of his days in the Met and how much it had meant to him, how much he misses the place and the people. Since he has decided to go separate ways with the organisation, he has faced a lot of challenges to say the least. Things have become extremely difficult to maintain, issues about tax, tendering for new cases, keeping the morale high amongst the team, filing sanctions approvals from several bodies. I mean who would have thought that setting-up your own company is a smooth process! It’s very bureaucratic. He pulls his wallet and inside it in the third pocket, he pulls out a piece of paper he had been given a few weeks ago in one of these Global Security Network dinners. He met this interesting character with whom he had a long and quite an intriguing conversation. He didn’t know whether he was in the right path by talking to this individual. What he means by the ‘right path’ is that he may have wound up a few of his former bosses who look at these Trans-Atlantic relationships dubiously. He maintained a solid but careful style of rapport with the individual, always careful and watching his back. When the person slipped the note to him – he done it so carefully and sneakily that Thicke had almost missed it. He looks at this note now, and it makes him think that he should probably consider a little bit of help would be appropriate and much welcomed. “Paul” as he is known in the intelligence circle is a former MI6 and Mossad “operative”. He is a Board member of Hawk Stream a defence and intelligence corporation which deals with logistical and technological developments, the advancement of Hybrid Human-Robot policing, Intelligence gathering and data analysis and other malarkey. Thicke dials the number that shows in the paper. It goes through straight away. Without any hesitation Thicke feels like he has a good opportunity and a chance to break the mould and receive the advice of somebody who has been on this kind of trade for some time. ‘Hello Paul. How are you?’ A groggy voice at the other end of the phone answers ‘Am fine. Who is it again?’ ‘It’s me William Thicke from Thicke’s Enquiry. Remember we met in London a few weeks ago?’ ‘Aha, ok. I do remember of course. You’re that cop…you’re running your own shop…of course!’ He responds surprisingly enthusiastic although sounding like he just got off sleep. ‘Hey, William, can I call you back in like half hour or so? Am just in…just got up…is that OK?’ ‘Of course. Take your time. Am just about to head off in the field. But you can ring me anytime you find spare few minutes. It will be great to talk to you!’ Paul hangs up and Thicke has just arrived at the Marylebone High Street. The three spots of the previous murders have been cleaned up completely. Thicke feels that humanity has lost its sense of mellow and kindness. ‘How can they clean up so quickly!?’ he talks to himself. He manages to take a few more pictures from his smartphone and then sits in Dolce Vitae café for a quick coffee. He takes notes while listening to Albinoni in G-minor. The street outside is in full swing. There are a lot of people roaming the streets of Marylebone and Thicke thinks to himself that probably the council was right to clean up after all as any human dignity would’ve been trampolined over by the sheer business of this street. A lot of lost heads and poor souls walking the streets unawares that just round the corner some other poor fellows were brutally murdered with all their god given limbs stretched out everywhere, blood becoming part of the sucked-up stream of rainfall and air onto the grounds of the street. They just have no idea. Absolutely no clue whatsoever. He jots down a few more words before Paul rings him. ‘Hi William. My apologies for hanging-up on you like that. Believe it or not I was with two women in bed, and they can be so much trouble. Oh, by the way I am in London, and I can meet if you prefer!?’ Thicke is taken aback by Paul’s keenness. ‘Of course. Let’s meet. Let me know when and I will be there in no time.’ The Four Seasons Hotel by the Tower Bridge is a towering monument, plush and grandeur, very beautiful inside and it has the most labyrinthian but spacious corridor leading to enormously gorgeous rooms one can find. Paul is waiting in the rotunda area where the relaxation and calming features of the ambient is very appealing. Thicke walks in and is slightly confused. At first, he can’t remember when the last time was, he had entered such plushie hotel and secondly his ragged overcoat and his white shirt which slightly grey in colour due to overuse and the effects of smoke make him look like a tramp from the streets. He takes his scarf off, and a waiter is in attendance. ‘Am ok. Thank you!’ Thicke says. He identified Paul from the distance. Lights in the rotunda area are slightly dimmed but he can still see Paul’s huge figure. He walks towards him and shakes hands.
‘Ah wow, I never knew you were so huge mate.’ Thicke said. Paul isn’t sure to take it as a compliment or an indication of a particular fear, that of gigantic man. ‘Hahaha. Just don’t compare us to David vs Goliath and we’ll be fine…hahaha!’ Paul responds. They both ask for Alabama Slammer. ‘that’s quite exotic, isn’t it?’ Thicke responds. ‘No not at all. You know the story behind the Alabama Slammer?’ Paul says. ‘No, I don’t actually. I’d love to know.’ ‘Well back in the sixties, a bunch of students breaking all conventions came up with the idea of introducing shots in the student bar and they were drinking these shots like there is no tomorrow. They couldn’t bother with the frequent trips to the bar so they decided to pour as many shots as they can fit in a Whisky glass and pored lemon and orange, lime, and shots of whisky and to their super drunk tastes this became a slammed-up juicy drink which took off and a few years later Hugh Heffner introduced it in his mansion and girls loved whereas Tom Cruise made loads of it and sold them in the movie Cocktail. Hahaha’ Paul laughs. All he does he just laughs. ‘Interesting. Very interesting actually. If it does me good for an erection tonight, I couldn’t care less.’ Thicke responds to much of Paul’s hilarious laughter. ‘Happy wife, happy life. Let’s drink to that!’ They both rub their glasses and drink to it all. ‘So, what got you into London?’ Thicke asks. ‘Well, I am attending this conference on Artificial Adult Industry. Big fan and probably stupidly enough a huge investor in it as well.’ Then he glurps another sip but this time much bigger than the previous one. Thicke senses a tension on Paul. ‘Ah wow. I have never heard of Artificial Adult Industry! Interesting. Are we talking about actual Adulty stuff…?’Thicke asks politely with that English kindness and pretence. ‘Hahaha…of course. That is exactly what I mean. Its porn my dear friend.’ Another sip is glurped. ‘That’s how I make my living now. Before career in intelligence world, I was a porn star. The first black porn star with a five-star rating …hahaha!’ Thicke likes him straight away. He knows he must handle him carefully though. A former spy and an adult film star I mean what a combination. ‘Amazing. I have never been one to access the industry to be honest…’ Thick said. ‘Ahhhhhh, come on mate. This is below the belt…hahahaha!’ Paul adds jokingly. ‘No honestly, am just never interested you know. When I needed the relief, I just got it…somehow. I don’t know…can’t remember now…hahahaha.’ They both laugh and not long until Thicke lays out to him. ‘Listen Paul. Thanks for your time. I have a favour to ask. Paul stops his laughing halfway through. ‘You know when I told you the other day that I am actually struggling with the volume of work but volume I need to get me going. And I also told you that I have got some resource but not a lot and considering here that the level of crime is going up in London, I would’ve loved to have more but cheap and I know, I know, cheap is not always a good option. It’s risky, it’s silly and highly self-diminishing in this trade. Am asking you if there are any other methods, ways I can get to make two and two together and get five out of it!? Do you know what I mean?’ Paul laughs his head off. He has levers to pull but having Thicke on his side might do him a great favour as to pursuing his own interests. Economic ones, of course. ‘I can help. I can really help!’ Paul seeing an opening, responds. ‘All I need to know in concrete terms. Plain English – what is it that you are struggling with, what are your rapport with the other agencies and the private sector? And what are you aiming to achieve and why?’ ‘Of course.’ Thicke said slightly relieved. ‘I have four murder cases and one disappearance case in my log. I have detected a pattern and my team are working super hard to address intricacies. We have, or my team think that we have a suspect. I am not entirely sure. But I am working on it. I need two things – all Atmosphere data released from our satellites and IP address communication flow access so I can use these tools to get through to some raw data. It is imperative that I start arresting some motherfuckers and open the courts and I want to move on and catch up with others in the market.’ Thicke pronounces the last the last word with a heavy relief. ‘I understand. I get you. You said you had a suspect? Can you share that with me? Only to see who it is and if I can see and be of help in other means.’ Paul says keenly. ‘Of course. Bear with me!’ He pulls his smartphone and shows Paul the picture. He knows this person but struggles within himself to accept the fact that it is her but needs to be emotionless on this. ‘Aha. Nope. Don’t know her. She doesn’t look like a murderer William! I mean she could fit one of my ex-porn stars I used to employ. She is very pretty.’ Paul tries to switch off the conversation but knows full well that he must give something to William and take something back from him. ‘Righty ho. Ok. So, let’s meet again at the same time tomorrow. Same place. Right here.’ Paul said. ‘Brilliant. You think you can help?’ Thicke asks keen to get an answer. ‘Of course. Let me give you a final response tomorrow! I have to dash am afraid.’ Paul said. Which in a way raises a few questions in Thicke’s head? One, is this guy just some kind of double dealer and will stitch me up somehow, or is he just a bored villain, spy and a crook and willing to help me why!? They part away. Paul hops on his Mayback with a driver waiting comfortably outside the hotel. Thicke on his feet heading back to Shoreditch. Within minutes after they departed, Thicke’s phone rings. ‘Hello, Thicke’s enquiry. How may I help?’ A deep voice from the other end ‘I wouldn’t ask his help if I were you. You arranged to meet him tomorrow. He has a plan for you. Don’t meet him. Will call you with more at six tonight!’ And then hangs up. It was a man’s voice. He tries to rewind the call to access location details. The settings give him an Elephant & Castle spot. He looks at the spot and rings Agim. He doesn’t answer, then he rings Kwame who answers at once. He asks him to view the cameras at the spot. Nothing interesting comes back. A lot of people coming out of the subway and there are no cameras. ‘Oh no, fuck, fuck. We missed him!’ Thicke frustratingly says. ‘Ok. What number is it. Can you trace it? ‘Yep.’ Kwame responds. ‘It’s somebody called…tut-tuts- ok its Julia Harper from Clapham Junction…address will follow on a text.’ Kwame responds. ‘Brilliant. Send me the address and am waving an air-taxi.’ Kwame sends the address and Thicke is on the way to South-West London. ‘Ah. It’s the same taxi I had earlier.’ He mutters to himself thinking that he had spent all his life, almost all of it on taxis ferried around from one place to another. Marylebone to Clapham only takes a good eight minutes. Thicke is standing outside the address he got given. The place is plushie. The driveway has three cars in it. A BMW and a Range Rover. The window on the second floor is opened, wide opened and the noise of kids playing in the room can be heard from the outside. Thicke pulls out his notebook and starts his drawings. Within a few minutes after he has been noticed by many of passers-by, he decides to ring the bell. Immediately after him, in the driveway another big Apple vehicle pulls up. A huge well-built gentleman comes out of the vehicle. ‘Hello. How can I help?’ Thicke slips his notebook in the pocket inside his overcoat. ‘Hi. I was wondering if you can help me. Do you live here?’ Thicke asked. ‘Yes, I do! What’s the problem?’ the man looks agitated now. ‘Oh no, no – there isn’t any problem at all. I have received this call earlier…oh by the way I am detective William Thicke from Thicke’s Enquiry.’ He extends his hand, but the geezer does not reciprocate. ‘I am sorry but what are you doing outside my front door!?’ Geezer asks now slightly losing his patience. ‘I was actually going anything. I just wanted to speak to you or anybody in your household to see if you have made this call…!’ He pulls out his smartphone and shows him the recording ‘Well. That’s nothing to do with anybody in my household. I can assure you that.’ The man responds and just wades himself almost through Thicke to get to his door. A woman in her fifties opens the door and kisses the geezer. Thicke is standing right outside only a few yards away from them. ‘I am sorry, but I have a warrant to actually come in and interview you guys. He pulls the smartphone and shows the geezer the screen. ‘What do you mean – interview us?’ The lady said. ‘It’ll only consist of voice recording to see if it matches this recording, this voice.’ Thicke plays the record again. The couple see Thicke’s determination, and they let him in. The voice in the recording does not match with the voices of the couple. Thicke looks around in the room and sees at least five toddlers roaming around the house and a few more kids outside in the garden playing with the airguns. ‘OK. Thank you. I appreciate your time. That’s it from me. Thank you for your time. Goodbye!’ Thicke is out and utterly disappointed. ‘Excuse me. Excuse me!’ the lady’s voice from behind is heard. Thicke stops right outside his taxi. ‘Yes!’ he responds. ‘Is this anything to do with a phone call that a lady has made from my phone earlier in the Elephant and Castle!?’ ‘Yes, yes, that’s it. I did receive the call from her. Who is she? How did this happen?’ ‘Well. I was waiting for a coffee and this very young lady who had sunglasses and a cap on was on the queue in front of me. She asked me if she could use my phone to make an urgent call as her battery had gone flat. I said yes. Of course. She did make a call and it only lasted for a few seconds…I think!’ Thicke feels very much relieved. You could tell by looking in his face. ‘OK, ok. Can you please describe her face?’ ‘Oh no. I have actually taken a picture of her. It only covers the profile. Here we go…’ She shows him the picture. ‘Ok. Brilliant. Fantastic. How many people have touched this phone since you got back home ?’ The lady looks a little surprised. ‘Just me. No one else. Oh, my two young toddlers as they played a game on it just now.’ She spoke. ‘Can I please scan your phone as I need to see if I can match her fingerprints.’ ‘Of course. Go ahead. But she had gloves on when she used my phone. I thought it was a little bit peculiar!’ The lady said. ‘Ah damn…phew. Damned.’ Thicke mutters frustratingly. ‘Ok. You don’t mind me doing the scan though?’ Thicke asks. ‘Not at all.’ ‘Can I also have kept your number with me in case I need to ring you if anything pops up and we need your help!?’ ‘Absolutely feel free. I will try and help as much as I can detective.’ Thicke hops on the taxi and the lady goes inside her house. For Thicke this is like a slipped chance, as frustrating as it can be – he still is optimistic that the breakthrough might stand a chance this afternoon, at six!
10
Flesh-point!
The Pickford’s box isn’t big enough to fit the whole body. She must do something more drastic if she is to try and fit the body in the box. If she decides to cut the body in half, then it will lose value. Xi will be prickly about it. She takes her chances and splits the body into three parts. Under minus ninety degrees, the body is solid frozen. The journey all the way to Soho doesn’t take more than thirty minutes if she decides to go by bike. Its sunny outside. She calculates that by the time she reaches Soho, the body will be warmer and probably a drop of a few degrees. She rings one of Xi’s sidekicks to confirm the time of arrival. She isn’t sure whether she is going to pull this through without any swat. But she is sure that she is going to sell the body and make a few quid out of it. One of the Air-Taxis pulls up right in front of her feet. Hanbury Street is as busy as it always is but today is carnival day and there are more people than will ever be. She looks to her left to see if there are any movements from number sixty-nine. She shakes and pulls every muscle she has in her body to try and lift the box. After she re-oriented the taxi to park outside the CCTV which is positioned at the edge of the Brick Lane facing her door. She feels rather relieved. She managed to get the box on board and punches in the address on the super-thin panel inside the taxi. The taxi does not move, and she doesn’t realise that this journey is a shared journey. The doors don’t close. She starts to panic. She sticks her head out to see if anybody is coming to join her in the ride. No sign of anybody. She then instructs the taxi to close the doors and drive off. To no avail. A voice from the intercom comes blazing ‘We have another passenger joining you in your trip. Please be seated. We would very much appreciate your patience. Won’t be long!’ As soon as the voice ends its announcement, a man with a long black overcoat enters the car. ‘Hi. My apologies for delaying your journey.’ He hops on and looks at Amelia gently with a smile. The car doors close, and the car drives off in the direction of Bishopsgate and heading for West London. The man sitting opposite Amelia is deep on his smartphone. Amelia is relieved. She occasionally glances at him to see if he is paying any attention to the box. But there was no sign that he is interested in any of that. Three minutes have gone past, and the car seems to be heading alongside the Embankment. A lot to be said about that but Amelia is getting worried. She looks on her watch again and tries to make sense what’s this all about. What she hasn’t countered is the extra journey that the passenger who sits opposite her will take. Hence is called a shared journey. ‘Excuse me!’ She goes. ‘Is your journey West? Or are you heading somewhere else?’ The man looks at her briefly and then mutters a few words ‘Heathrow. T5…excuse me I have to take this!’ He answers the phone leaving Amelia wandering to herself of the hassle she has just been put through with an additional few minutes to her journey. By the time they arrive at T5, Amelia is an absolute wreck. She just can’t wait for the guy to leave the car. Immediately she presses the fast button. Xi’s sidekick is awaiting outside the delivery bay. ‘Hurry up. Before food arrives. Just so you are aware – we have a fresh body arriving at twelve. If I, were you, I will try and beat that before he changes his mind? Its fresh meat Amelia, fresh, fresh, fresh.’ Hovering air-taxi goes much faster than anything in this world. Mediating between the tall building of Ealing and into Notting Hill. When the car lowers its altitude onto Euston Road, Amelia feels like she has never had such a long journey in her life ever. Loading Bay area in Soho is clear. The car lowers down, and Xi’s sidekick is awaiting her impatiently outside. He waves from the outside to say don’t take the box out because there is a few hovering CCTVs in the air. He gives the signal for wait. Amelia had to give instructions to the vehicle to wait. She adds a few more quid onto the waiting time. CCTVs disappear and then Amelia opens the door. Two of Xi’s staff, one with the chef’s toque, double-breasted jacket, white pants with a black and white houndstooth pattern and an apron. Amelia is not sure whether to worry or panic. She decides to say nothing. The two men take away the box and Amelia tries to follow them but get stopped by the sidekick. ‘What!’ She spoke. ‘Nothing. It’s just they need to give me the nod and then I give Xi the N O D. Youi see we do things professionally here. Did you really think that you can just fly through and get to see Xi whenever you want…nnnnno? Wait here. Sit there!’ He indicates a seating area next to a booth where a lot of empty boxes have been placed and abandoned. She pulls her phone out and sends Xi a txt ‘Goods delivered. Am in Loading Bay. They’re not letting me go through…!?’ response from Xi comes back immediately. ‘Thanks. Moran has the money in C-notes. Take the dongle and enjoy spending it. Be careful. XiX!’ Moran approaches Amelia and hands her the dongle. He bows down and whispers something in Chinese. Amelia takes that as a sign she must go away now. She decides to walk down the road towards Greek Street. Not much impressed with the way Xi has responded to her. She then notices this huge lorry heading the opposite direction towards Dean Street. She remembers what Moran had said to her on a text earlier “Fresh meat. Fresh, fresh, fresh!’ it has stuck in her mind for a while now. She decides to chase the lorry and walks back to Dean Street. She knows very well that if she is to sit in any of the cafes nearby or too close to the Loading Bay, she will be seen. She decides to take a seat inside a Pret, sitting at the near edge of the shop and observe. Lorry unloads all the boxes within half hour. She couldn’t see how many but from the looks of the driver and the helper with him, she knows that this isn’t random delivery. This is high-end. The lorry is glossy white, Mercedes model and it’s a ten tonner. The driver is a white-haired mid-fifties white man, and the helper is a tall and well-built black man who carries with him a pad and takes notes before he embarks on the lorry. Their behaviour is strange and very un-random. There are no signs on the lorry. Only a sign of the tiger in both the driver’s and helper’s breast pocket are seen. Uniforms are blue but clean and crisp. The lorry is not dirty, well kept, and new. She notices that there is some paperwork placed inside the car and is shown on the windscreen. She can’t make out what it is, but she doesn’t want to risk being noticed. She takes a few pictures. The driver and the helper hop on the lorry and the vehicle merges out of the loading bay and heading west down Dean Street. Amelia comes out of the shop and looks in the sky. There were no hovering CCTVs. ‘This is weird!’ She whispers silently. She manages to take a picture of the lorry and the sky covering both angles, the lorry leaving and no signs of CCTVs in the air. She waves an air-taxi. One pulls up right in front of her instantly. She punches in the number plate of the lorry and instructs the taxi to follow. The white lorry heads off for the A40 and speeds up. The pay-meter shows £125. She plugs in the dongle onto the meter port and pulls it again. She gives oral instruction to pursue the vehicle and charge the return journey as well. Its half an hour or so since the lorry is on the road and dwindling through tight and narrow Beaconsfield Town. Then a few meters up this hilly road, which is full of long and thick trees, the lorry doesn’t seem to come out at the other end of the road. Her air-taxi hovers around on top of the forest area but no sign of the lorry. She instructs the vehicle to slip through under the trees and lower the altitude. The vehicle does just that. All she can see now is that the tracks left by the lorry lead to a farm which is almost buried completely under the trees ahead of hear. The asphalted road leads to the nearby village. She opens the door and instructs the air-taxi to wait by the station and she will be there shortly. She decides to walk towards the trajectory which is set by the tracks of the lorry. It’s a long alleyway surrounded by big trees and smaller ones which have these long branches canopying the road all the way to the big gates of the farm. ‘Cross Sciences - Veterinary Exploration Institute’ The sign reads. ‘What!’ She then opens her phone and tries to pull up the search box but there is no signal. Two super-fast hovering drones approach her quickly. She is scared. She decides not to run. One of the drones tries to identify her by scanning her eyeballs. The other one injects her with a long and super thin syringe which makes her unconscious instantly. The gates open and a hovering van pulls back. Four women in blue uniform pick her up and take her inside the van. The gates close and the hovering drones disappear. The hovering transporter goes under the building where these huge gates open from inside. Everything inside there is all white. The transporter pulls up at this bay at about hundred yards away from the gates. Amelia’s unconscious body is put in a stretcher and these two women in white mantles rip all her clothes up and throw the clothes in a container which has a lot of liquid in it. She then is transported into this room which is all mirrors, and a life-support machine is switched on and beeps regularly, monitoring Amelia’s pulse, blood, and heart rate. After an hour or so Amelia begins to open her eyes. ‘Where am I!?’ She mutters. The door to the room opens and two white males with their pads in their hands walk in and greet her. ‘Welcome to the Institute Amelia.’ She wants to pull herself up so she can see better who these two are. ‘Who are you? What am I doing here?’ She asks with no hesitation. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. What you need to worry is how come you breach into our market, trying to cut us out!’ phew… The man, the taller one whose face looks like an alligators skin whose nose has evolved into a human form only by the sheer force of nature. ‘What are you talking about!?’ She spoke. The shorter man pulls up his pad and shows it to her. ‘This. My friend is a murder.’ He shows her Tabitha’s body in Amelia’s bathtub. ‘You have killed her and sold her body to the highest bidder and this highest bidder happens to be your old friend, but now he is our new friend because he is our biggest client. You just didn’t know who you were messing with. Didn’t you!?’ He pulls another syringe. Amelia says no but to no avail. But the syringe doesn’t have any effect on Amelia. She awaits in silence whilst the two doctors scurry away taking notes. The door is closed. Amelia is all by herself. Within a few minutes her whole body begins to shut down. Within seconds, she loses her ability to move her fingers. She can’t move her neck and the only thing she can move is her eyeballs. Soon, both doctors come back but now with a team of eight others. They check her breathing and her blood levels. They test her body for reflexes and take a few samples from her mouth. Then soon after they cut her in the head. She hears whirring noise from behind but can’t make what it is. Her body is slowly elevated. Her back is pushed slightly forward, and her legs are firmly attached to bed and a string of tiny thin belts have pinned her legs onto bed. All she does is watch and feel nothing. Most of the doctors, she assumes they are doctors, in the room seems to be specialist of a certain field. Somebody scans knees, somebody else does the fingers and the nails and they all throw out names and codes. For instance, knee-cap code is K-Beta number 6, Skull incision is Matter-5, Skin depth is Aqua-17 etc. She remembers those as she relates them to first letters of the pronunciation KBMA. It gone over three quarters of an hour since they have been conducting the test and analysis on Amelia. She still doesn’t feel anything and wants to say something, but nothing is forthcoming. Not a single nerve of her mouth works, not even the guts of her stomach or the muscles at the back of her neck. Then as if by magic her tongue begins to move and then her throat. ‘You should be able to speak to us within a minute or so Amelia. Please look at me when I ask you a question.’ The doctor with a thick eastern European accent said. Amelia barely pronounces a smooth ‘Yes!’ ‘Did you come at the institute by yourself?’ Doctor asks. ‘Yes!’ She spoke. ‘Did you know of the institute’s existence beforehand? I mean well before you made your journey here?’ Doctor asks again while the rest of the team are jotting down stuff. ‘No!’ Amelia responds. ‘How did you hear about us?’ Another question is popped out from one of the doctors. ‘I didn’t! I came across you by accident. I was just curious and stumbled on these tall gates. That’s all I can remember…I mean I do remember the drones and that’s it!’ They all look at each other. ‘She is showing positive in all the questions.’ One of the doctors’ whispers to the old white man standing the tallest amongst the group. ‘Ok. Amelia, we need to make one thing very clear to you. We have asked you three questions and your responses have been not to our satisfaction am afraid. In other words, you are lying to us.’ The doctors press a button on his pad and the whole room goes dark. A projector screen is turned on and a film is being rolled up. ‘This is you. Age nine. These are your parents. You are somewhere in Brighton. Enjoying yourselves. Your father who is sitting in that beach chai is reading a paper. You will go and ask him a question in a second…’ They all wait. It’s so quiet you can drop a pin and the noise will be loud. A sound comes out of the film. Its Amelia’s voice asking her father what does this Institute do? And then the father responds by saying that he is helping set-up this place where people can get cured. Is the place going to be big? Amelia asks and her father responds by saying that yes it will be, very big and enormous which will mean it will take years to complete. Then Amelia asks where all the money is going to come from, and her father’s response is – The Grandfather left us some money and a lot of his rich and powerful friends have pooled in and created this big bank which will help us build this hospital. The film stops and doctor asks Amelia ‘Do you remember this?’ Amelia doesn’t seem to recall the event at all. ‘No. I don’t remember. Can I please have some tablet or something I am in deep pain. My head hurts massively!’ She pleads. ‘Am afraid we can’t administer anything now. You are plugged in one of our Memory-Trackers. It will take another half hour until we have extracted everything from your mind. In one way or another we will get to the bottom of this whether you give us answers or not.’ Doctor throws a small towel on her face and gestures for everybody to leave the room. ‘We will leave you for a little bit longer, until we see some improvements on your responses. Don’t worry. Everything will be absolutely fine.’ He walks out and turns the lights on. Amelia tries to test out her own speech. She begins thinking retrospectively. She tries to remember most of her life’s events but can’t recall anything about the institute. The greyed hair doctor walks in again. ‘Hello. We have some results at last. Mmm. It doesn’t make any sense at all to us. How come there’s a large amount of your memory is showing blank. Especially the childhood part. Do you remember your father at all?’ He asks. ‘I do. Of course, I do. He was my father and when he passed away, I was only twenty-five. I do remember my own father. What question is this!?’ She said abruptly and impatiently. ‘Ok. I get it. Anyhow it is important that we get at the bottom of what we’re after.’ He spoke. ‘After what? What are you after? I don’t understand. Where is this place? What am I doing here?’ She increases her voice and screams at the doctor. ‘Huh. You don’t understand Amelia. You have just stepped in the most secretive medical and scientific research facility in the world. No one knows of its existence bar the personnel. We don’t see the outside world the way you see your world. We are not free people. We work, live, work, live and we get the job done for our stakeholders. We are not meant to be found by anybody outside these walls. This is a forty-point sixty square miles town within a town, and nobody knows of its operations. We are well protected by private military and the police. People in higher echelons of power don’t even know of its existence. How on earth you stumbled on here I don’t know but am afraid you must make a choice now and quickly at that. You need to decide whether to stay here as part of our experimenting team or become part of the organisation pursuing our goals and objectives. Asking questions is not going to be helpful. Following orders and making sure that you abide by the rules of the organisation is essential. Is critical. Is everything.’ He shows her the pad and in it there is a screen split into two. On the left there is a text which describes the terms and conditions for the experimentation team and on the right it’s the personnel agent’s terms and conditions. ‘Just point your eye-focus in one and sign in with your eyes.’ Doctor said. Amelia without hesitation signs the box saying, “Personnel Agent T&C”. ‘Done! Release me.’ She spoke. ‘Oh no. You need to wait a little longer on that.’ He extends his pad again to show her the screen in front of her eyes. ‘This is where we’re at. Only seventy-six percent of your brain has been scanned yet. We won’t take long. Bear with us!’ He turns the light off and walks out leaving Amelia in total darkness apart from the lights coming out of the dripping machine and the irritating noises that it makes. All she can do now is just look around the darkened room without the ability to influence a slight movement in her limbs and in her upper body. ‘I am toast!’ She mutters to herself.
**
‘Good morning, Amelia!’ The deep voice from the doctor who is surrounded by his team of other doctors comes out at Amelia like a cold shower bucket in her face. ‘Morning!’ She responds grumpily. ‘Right. How are you feeling?’ Doctor asks. ‘Not much. Apart from my tongues which has gone a little bit numb.’ She spoke. ‘Ah that’s fine. We wanted you to say that. I was really praying this morning that you will be saying that, otherwise we would’ve been in a big shit.’ Doctor said smiling. ‘I now need you to focus quite sharply. There is going to be a lot of mess going on in your head. My tea here are the best in the globe. They are trained psychiatrists and anatomists, biologists and sociologists, anthropologists and philosophers who are here to show you around and make you aware of things around. It’s quite a sophisticated part of the world around here. You need to be aware that you have the ‘Lumber Juice inserted in your blood stream. This will make sure that you are tracked, and your physical and conscientious state is totally plugged in on our data tracker – in other words you can’t run away anywhere without us knowing it where you have gone or what you’re up to. So, my advice would be that you be careful and do not spend much time trying to find a solution to your problem by running away because that will not work at all.’ He presses a couple of buttons on his pad and within seconds Amelia starts to feel her legs and her upper body much quicker. Instantly her head feels relieved, and the headache seems to have gone completely. She then begins to feel her back and the arm muscles. Within two minutes she can feel everything in her body. The doctor tells her to see if she can stand in her two feet. She gets up and she can feel the ground. ‘Wow. This is weird. The ground feels very hard. Why?’ She asks. ‘Well. It will feel harder because your blood is spreading in the areas where it couldn’t go before. So, this is normal. Do you feel any pain in your back at all?’ Asks one of the doctors whose initials on his breast pocket are F.N. ‘No. I don’t. I feel just fine.’ They take her to another room which is a few metres away and walking for Amelia is quite tiring. A woman doctor gives her some water to drink but Amelia feels sick and wants to throw up. She is escorted onto this bathroom where two robotic caretakers take her in and help her with any needs she may have. Two minutes later she comes out feeling much better. They continue the journey to the next room. They enter this corridor which is wider and lit-up from corner to corner with these lamps which come through the glassed ceiling and the walls. A lot of movement is seen in this corridor. Amelia gets the feeling that this is much more serious than she ever thought of it before. She convinces herself that she must abide by the rules and the best way forward for her is to calm down and just do what she’s told to do. They enter this hall which looks like a university theatre hall with all the seats and a podium and giant screens erected everywhere, small moving drones hover around the ceiling awaiting instructions from the doctors. Amelia is sat in the first row and is asked to not talk to anybody and not stare. Within a few seconds several women and young men are let in and it’s a dozen of them. The queue of youngsters slipping through the two sides of the hall onto the theatre doesn’t stop. Amelia looks on but doesn’t stare. She follows the instructions as she was told. She looks back and sees that the whole theatre has been filled and that the doors of the hall have been closed. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels like that of a cinema just before the movie is about to start. The greyed hair doctor walks in and everybody applauses. ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!’ The doctor waves his left arm as if he is a royalty but important, he is. It seems. Then Amelia does the same thing what the others do. Applaud, smile, and feel like you are a part of something. The doctor begins his speech which quickly becomes a lecture. He asks all sorts of questions, and they all give answers and respond politely, kindly, and enthusiastically. Amelia is the only who hasn’t asked any question. Her turn comes and the doctor gestures towards her to see if she has any questions. Amelia stands up and looks around. She tries to behave exactly like the other have in the past hour or so. ‘My question is: How do we go about planting some flowers in the main garden area!? The part next to the rector’s rotunda?’ She doesn’t even know where the question had come from. Everybody applauds and the doctor smiles at her and says thank you. ‘We will do that. Of course. I think this is the best question we have received so far. I mean come on guys we have more blood in here, much warmer blood in here!’ Everybody applauds and some whistle. Amelia feels overwhelmed by the power and the good energy of the hall and everybody in it. Techno-garage music seeps through the hall and everybody begins singing in unison. ‘And let’s hear it from all our pupils. Our hymn. Our anthem the glory of which will sustain our lives for ever and ever until the dawn of the new age. Hurray!’ Everybody repeats after him, standing and shouting in unison. They all walk out in numbers. Amelia hasn’t noticed but attached on her front pocket is a badge with the number 117. She then waits for her queue whilst all the pupils leave patiently but in an organised way. The greyed hair doctor glazes at Amelia and nods his head with his thumb up. Amelia is confused. She doesn’t look around, but she understands her mission clearly. Her turn comes and she is the only one escorted by the security personnel. ‘Please follow us miss. The doctor needs to see you urgently!’ One of the guards said. She follows them back through the corridor she went earlier but feels like the route is heading the other way around – the opposite direction. They arrive at the elevated section of the building where all the shops and the real life inhibits every square meter of this place. For a moment she thought that this is some shopping centre somewhere in London. She looks at the faces of people and every single one of them looks familiar. She continues to follow the guards whose stern and almost robotic walk is boring to her, very boring. But so is everybody in there. All the people walking along this corridor are just boring, collectively boring. Suddenly the bending on the right is very sharp, this wide corridor opens, and things become much quieter and more normal. Another few yards away and then these golden doors that stand out from the rest of the doors Amelia has seen, appear right in front of them. There are two pine tree plants on each side of the door. The guard pushes the door wide open. Amelia is asked to follow the guard and enter the room. A woman in her mid-fifties welcomes her in. ‘Thank you for cooperating and being so understanding Amelia.’ She said in a gentle and amicable manner. Amelia tries to sit somewhere comfortably but relieved that she is not injected with something. She could feel that the tension is not there anymore. Its only her and the host, all alone. ‘No problem. But can I ask – why am I here?’ The woman with her head down tries to say something. She crosses her arms and asks Amelia to sit and feel comfortable. ‘We believe that you have taken somebody’s life! Is that accurate?’ After a short hesitation and looking like a rabbit in the headlights Amelia responds with a ‘Yes!’. ‘Well. That is, it then. You should be in jail. Shouldn’t you? I mean this is the perfect place for you to complete your sentence. I mean, look around Bill Gates of Bezos would be jealous of these facilities. You have everything in here. We can handle the public sphere. Don’t worry about that. How do you like that? Or would you rather end up in Belmarsh or Bronzefield? Huh?’ She stares at Amelia with that motherly disappointing stare. ‘I, I, I, don’t know what to think. All this is illegal. You can be operating like this! I mean you know; I know, everybody knows that this whole stuff will lead to the press, and it will become a huge issue and then you will have to release me, and I don’t mind spending some years here but, in all honesty, this is crackers.’ Amelia said with that attitude of not caring score. ‘Ok. I want you to look at this!’ She flicks something in her watch and a wide screen opens in the wall. The film shows a few well-known figures attending this “Festival of Hunger” organised by the institute. ‘There, you see. That’s Robert Mordane the head of Media Watchdog, that over there is Suzanna Okafor our PM, that one over there who just pulled up from the long escort is James Joyce our Joint Chiefs of Staff, and this one here…you see that blonde woman arriving now with the helicopter; that’s Pamela Rodrigues. And you know who that is – she was received in the Chequers by our PM this last weekend. You have media moguls, music kings, business, and industry magnates – they are all in its Amelia. All of them.’ She switches off the screen and peering around her desk she sits at the top of it right in the edge. Her short skirt shows her attractive legs and her tight blazer around her chest area shows her formidable breast size. Leaning in one of the legs she beacons forward, her skirt pulls up a little bit more. Amelia’s eyes go straight in between the legs, and she notices that there’s not much left of clothing underneath but a scrambled black hair. ‘I have a proposition for you!’ The woman said. Amelia looks her in the ye now. Very difficult to try and make sense what this is all about and after the strange encounter with her expose, she looks her in the eye. ‘You can be our operations asset. You can help us help you.’ She gets up and from her left-hand drawer she pulls a folder. ‘Here. Read their names. These our agents in the field.’ Amelia holds the folder and looks at the names in the list. Two strike her out as recognisable. Xi and Tabitha herself. She then looks at the woman. The woman smiles. Amelia smiles too. ‘Ok. I get it so I killed one of your agents!’ Amelia said. ‘But that is not the issue. Tabitha was not the first or even the last one to be eaten by our own animal instinct. Tabitha was very weak. We picked her up because her boss briefed us on her. She was going to end it anyway. Too crazy and a complete nutcase. You came along and done us a great favour. You still have your great-grandfather’s genes and blood in you.’ When she said that Amelia raised her eyebrows. ‘My great-grandfather’s blood! What’s that supposed to mean?’ ‘Well!’ The woman says. ‘Cross Sciences – Veterinary Exploration’ What does this tell you?’ Amelia starts shaking. Unable to make sense of it all. ‘Huh.’ The woman exhales. ‘Listen. To cut a long story short. It is through your ancestor’s legacy that we have embarked on this long-haul project of saving humanity from its own extinction. It was Charles Cross the one that set us on a path of illumination.’ She then flicks the same button again and the giant screen shows once more on the wall where the bookshelves are, a diary which a young man flips the pages of a red notebook. The young man turns towards camera and in an obstinate sound of voice he says, ‘This is a treasure trove!’ He then continues flipping pages and taking notes on the side in a separate notebook. ‘Now. That’s your father who at the age of thirteen, came across this notebook. This red notebook in his grandmother’s loft. He was a very bright young thing. Clever clogs. He took this notebook onto a different level. He read from it, analysed events and build his own conclusions about a better world. If Malthus theorised about the idea of population growth as the number one risk for humanity, your great-grandfather Charles took it to another level – he cut these women in a bespoke way and revealed to us, to the world that nothing is hidden beyond this large wall of ignorance and dogma. He taught us that taking of one’s life for a purpose or no purpose can be seen as an act of nature. I will show something which might persuade you of what I mean.’ She then draws another folder from the other side of the desk and flips the pages to a section called: “Anticipatory Life-taking Manual for Humans with inherited diseases and advanced levels of medical malfunctions -detections, investigations and research”. ‘In this book!’ The woman says ‘There are answers to any of the doubts you may have. Your great-grandfather was the pioneer who saw people’s plight, helped and he has done something about them. He was a healer and a genius. What we need you to do for us is probably call to redemption for your family. You need to do that. You have to do that!’ When she says ‘Redemption’ for Amelia this is tremendously important. She is a trained linguist who pays a lot of attention on words and its meaning. Redemption is important to her. Her family haven’t had time or chance to think retrospectively about the idea of redemption. Or even the concept of self-assuring that redemption becomes part of the wider community of families and connections, or even to talk about it. Why should one do! Why should one converse in a peaceful evening dinner about redemption if it is an important topic? It wasn’t and it isn’t even now. ‘No. I don’t think that is the reason for me to help you. I want to do it myself. Without any need for redemption or redemption of the family’s past deeds. I want to do this myself. You can stop me if you want to. But I want to do it.’ The woman steps back not in a surprising manner but relief. ‘Ok then. Let’s get on with it. I need to make you aware that there has to be a consensual type of written document which you will need to sign so I can take it to the Board for awareness…!’ Amelia rises and says abruptly. ‘No. I will not sign anything. I don’t want my presence to be known anywhere by anybody or anything. I want to do all this by myself without the need to be approved by anybody. I mean that. Or I will just spend the rest of my life holed up here and planning my escape.’ The woman looks at Amelia as if to say that I don’t know what to say but you are crazy. ‘Ok. I will try and pull some strings behind the scenes. Give me some time…!’ Amelia is clearly frustrated and doesn’t mince her words. ‘You don’t understand! I cannot stay any longer in here. The woman is put in a difficult position now. She knows she can’t be hard on Amelia as this will scupper the whole plan. Amelia, in the other hand knows also that she can just push the buttons further onto the ‘angry’ areas of the woman’s mind and still come out unscathed. ‘Ok. We need to somehow structure the plan of execution!’ The woman says as if she has been pushed off against the wall. ‘We don’t need a structure. We don’t need a plan. I can do this all by myself and I will not require any help. All you need to know is that every body count, you must make sure that I will come nearer a complete freedom. I want that freedom and I will do anything for it.’ Amelia’s eye pupil become smaller, but the woman doesn’t fail to notice that Amelia means business and that she will do everything that is required to be part of the community. To please everybody and amass bodies so the club can be fed. That was that from the meeting. The woman asks the guard waiting outside to accompany Amelia at the “Hall”. Amelia looks around and then looks at the woman as if to say, ‘The Hall!?’ what is it? What is this all about? ‘Don’t worry. All is under control. You will be released in a few hours’ time. My team are going to de-brief you momentarily.’ The guards’ step in and escort Amelia down this longest of the longest corridors. As she walks by the lengthy journey to the Hall. Hanged in these huge walls are some of the most important portraits of scientists. Or so it begins and then the mosaic of paintings become more gruesome and intriguing for a scientific facility. She stops right in front of the biggest portrait of them all. Its portrait number thirty-four and in it is Charles Cross. Her great-grand-father. Sitting in one of the Pickford’s rooms in east End of London. She stops there and stares at the paintings. His physical detail and in particular his face glow with traces of her father. She doesn’t remember her grandfather, but she has seen pictures of him on the family album. This portrait reminds her of her grandfather. The guards look bemused but sympathetic. ‘This is my relation! You know!’ She said almost in a hurry. The guards remain silent. No response from them. She then looks at both and burps some more words. ‘I guess you don’t care!’ She walks on but without losing focus on the paintings on the walls. Pictures of dismembered bodies of young and old. Some faces she recognizes. They are the most invincible of the celebrities and VIP’s, people with a lot of weight in society, charismatic and outspoken ‘figurines’ of a long past whose bodies have been signed-up to be the depository left-over remains of the institute. After a few minutes of the stroll, they reach the Hall. The huge glass door opens solemnly, almost with several people in white coats, pads, and pens in their hands, welcoming her inside. ‘Welcome Ms Cross.’ They all salute her at once. The shortest of the woman there, picks her up by her shoulder and asks Amelia to accompany her. ‘It’s only a few feet away. And then we will only take a few minutes to discharge you!’ She said in a moronic and squeaky voice. Amelia doesn’t respond but wants to say something. She is asked to sit in these high-stool chair which is situated at the far end of the glass room. Above it, just on the right flank of Amelia, there is this robotic shaped moving computer which registers Amelia’s details. ‘Please repeat after me!’ The robot instructs Amelia. ‘Please open your mouth and I need to see your eyes!’ He instructs her. Amelia does what is told. The robot takes the samples on her mouth and then sprays two or three times a liquid which smells like a man’s aftershave. ‘We’re all ALPHA!’ He said looking directly at the little woman. She scribbles something in her pad and then gives Amelia a smile. We’re not done yet. But we will. I promise you.’ She then leaves the room. Now, Amelia feels slightly vulnerable, and an oppressive mind takes over. She wants to move but the automatic locks on her seat prevent her from moving. ‘Why am I being locked now?’ She asks in desperation. The ugly robot looks her in the face and with a long index finger waving in front of her eyes, he puts her to sleep.
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