14
Next Hunt!
Amelia’s phone pings three times. She can’t be bothered to look at it. Busy gazing the ceiling of the hotel with all its long, tall wall all the way up to the alfresco depicting battle during the English Civil War. She can’t make out the name of the Cavalier’s general. ‘Was it Prince Rupert or John Pym?’ She wonders. Her smartphone doesn’t stop pinging. She looks at the phone and sees three emails have already arrived on her SubNet account. ‘Fuck’s sake!’ She exhales.
She opens the first email, and it is from Paul Redemption.
“Received the package. Looks fresh. Have spent hours looking at that bod. Hahahaha…No I haven’t wanked all over it. But I have enjoyed the view. Very good. The base is super happy. Let me know when you want to meet, and I will introduce myself to you. Ta, PR”
‘Prick!’ She whispers. It is time to get up. She switches the hotel TV on and puts on Classic FM. ‘Yes, Its John Brunning!’ She makes the fist and punches the air. Paul’s email is in her mind. She doesn’t for a second think of the effects on her that these hunting campaigns are having. She knows that somehow, in one way or another, the best remedy for any fall out inside her mind is not to think about it. ‘Focus on the next hunt. You haven’t got much time to dwell on pastimes!’ She keeps telling herself. But flashes of Tabitha and the recent kill doesn’t go away easily. She brushes her hair whilst the shower nozzle only lets a few drops of water falling in her head. Her showers are quick, the same as her thoughts. She hasn’t got time to muck about. The shower room is steamed out as she steps out of it. The hair dryer sitting on top of the mirror switches on. She brushes her hair furthermore before she puts her facial cream on and then does her nail carefully and patiently. Doing the nails for her has a calming effect. She looks herself in the mirror and begins to see through herself. She imagines a London on fire, everybody burning and people sipping out of burned buildings seeking help. She imagines a tormented London unable to recover from the onslaught of the bloodthirsty cannibals, wrenching lives and several communities, making their lives hell. She sees the fire coming through the rotunda of the St Paul’s cathedral, people below praying but never realising that their world is about to end. Chaos is the least of the words you can use to describe the experience. She sees through hell and hell becomes an expansion of experiences in her head which helps her make sense of the world around her. She sees the unbeliever and the believer, both disappointed and sublimely entrenched in the hollowest of the corners of her mind, screaming change for the sake of a drip of air and life. Adjourned is the life of somebody who is sitting there during society and glorifying the visual world, the unreal, the fiction of the narrow-mindedness and the inept. Not long before this whole wretched life befalls the living and the masks fall-off. I await that day, I await that mercurial rise of the preponderous stigmatising of the un-initiated to surround oneself with the longest rope around humanity’s neck and tighten the aorta so strong and ruthlessly tight that it snaps the pipe out of life, permanently, not just making a dent in the history but evaporating the whole soulless happiness amidst society. She zooms out with her pupils and first thing she notices is the Albinoni’s Flute in G-Minor Amsterdam orchestra playing in the background. She pulls her blue folder inscribed “Client’s Portfolio” in black ink. She ticks the blonde’s name Sylvia and then Tabitha’s name before she moves her index finger on a bigger name – that of the Met Police Commissioner Jessica Nimbles. ‘Crikey this is not going to be easy.’ She whispers to herself. She pulls the chair and sits in the oak-wood desk pulls the drawer and picks-up a pen. She scribbles Jessica’s name, and, on her notebook, she writes:
‘Three things I need to remember to be cautious of; 1. The security perimeters 2. Her routine 3. How do I test out if she is tradeable? ‘To do that I need to understand the inner workings of the political machinations at the Met’. She then opens her phone and rings Paul. ‘Hi. That was quick. Don’t tell me you have more to send through?’ Jokingly Paul responds. ‘No. Don’t get too excited mate. Am not near there. I need a favour. I need to know what is going on inside the Met?’ Paul is careful to respond to the question. ‘Are we on Sub?’ He asks immediately. ‘Yes. Of course!’ She responds. ‘Ahhhh jeez, the Met is a mess. There are three or four different schools of thought in there which Jessica doesn’t seem to have control over. Although her latest reforms on culture and efficiency have helped cement her as a serious contender for a successful overhaul of all agencies, she just has too many enemies. It’s a mess. I wouldn’t waste my energies. What’s it for anyway!?’ Paul asks inquisitively. ‘Ah its nothing. It’s just this cousin of mine just graduated from Cambridge and was wondering if she should go ahead and apply for jobs in the Agency. It doesn’t matter! Thanks anyway!’ Paul is not somebody who let go easily. He wants more. He needs more from Amelia. ‘Wow, wow, wow honey. Easy, easy. You can’t just ring me throwing a question randomly and making me feel like I am some sort of ticket machine where you just press a button to get a service! You are not seriously thinking of stepping in there are you?’ Paul’s question doesn’t shake Amelia at all. She wants to be open about it but does not know him well enough to share life with him. ‘No, no, no you have the wrong end of the stick. I really am not planning to join the agency. Honest! Listen, what’s the latest at the Institute? Is my name being shuffled and stirred in the quarters?’ Paul laughs ‘No. Actually its quite the opposite. Your reputation is at the exponentially high level for a new addition. You are praised but then again I am not totally in the BlockNet as I am not allowed to be in the Green Zone.’ When Paul mentions the Green Zone – Amelia begins to think a little bit more seriously of that implication. ‘Ah. So, you’re not in the know then!? How did you find out about the goods I delivered?’ She then bites her tongue immediately. She thinks she probably shouldn’t have had mentioned it. There’s a pause on the line. Paul then says ‘Well. My boyfriend is the pickup driver. He must know, and he confided in me. Let’s keep it between us shall we!? Now that you know my secret and I know yours I guess we can trust each other more than we can trust anybody else. What do you think?’ Amelia breathes heavily. ‘Ok. Let’s keep it between us.’ Paul wants to say something but changes his mind last minute. ‘Ok. Speak to you soon!’
For Amelia now this is another headache. Something that she can’t control. Behind on her schedule she must strike more to be able to hit her targets and then follows the strategy of getting her safety and security back on. How does she do that she doesn’t have a clue now, but a rough idea is being boiled over in her head. She probably must strike there where it hurts more or where it shocks more. Jessica is still a target but now Paul has become even more prevalent to her. These are important decisions. This cannot be called and not delivered upon. She looks over the window and stares deep into the other side of town. A lot has changed since the times when her great-grandfather roamed the streets of East-End and in particular this part of the world. She sips her tea and finding herself deep in thoughts, she tries to make sense of it all. Is it something that she can understand a little more about herself? Is there something else that goes through her veins and turns her into this highly hungered specimen who is constantly seeking redemption as a big-bang therapy and a severed revelation about herself. She does want to think differently about the consequences of feeling imposed on the will and imposed on the agitated process because there is so much pressure which needs to be evaded, somehow.
She gives in to the temptation. She scribbles in her notebook something unintelligible from the point of view that she doesn’t even make sense herself what she’s on about. But then the text becomes much more subtle, and she is content with the flow. ‘All I need is three more bods. Three more and then I am out. What a disappointment will I be to my ancestors. Wherever they are…!’ She raises her head and looks in the ceiling ‘…I am indebted to you, but you owe me more for this genetic precondition I inherited for it I will probably fall on my own sword but never repent to my deeds before the lord and Mary, the mother of God!’ She closes the paragraph by adding ‘I have stopped explaining. It’s time to do things!’ She then gathers her stuff in the rucksack and leaves the room feeling as if she is leaving the place for the last time. She looks in every room to see if things are exactly the way she left them, then the bathrooms and the living room lastly. She doesn’t take a taxi, preferring the onslaught of a super busy London underground. Merging out of the Shoreditch Station onto Hanbury Street, she notices that the street is busier than usual today. ‘Multigendered Society Festival’ is on today. She realises after she read the notice board pinned in the steel pillar standing outside Café NUDE. She reads it and re-reads it but doesn’t register her that the event is tonight. She walks the distance but comes back immediately to re-read the notice again. In her head she thinks she can make space for one more event that she is curious about but, then again, she thinks that this could be a stretch. ‘Not really!’ She mutters to herself. ‘I could have my hunt tonight, an easy and less absorbing fresh dough!’ She smiles. She is happy. It doesn’t go long and her phone rings. ‘Hello!’ She responds ‘Hi, it’s me Paul.’ She drops her shoulders slightly bent as if to say -what now- ‘Yes Paul!’ She impatiently exhales ‘I have an idea. Why don’t we meet now? I have all morning off. We could consolidate a few ideas I have been having for a while now. Is it too much to ask?’ Amelia isn’t sure but wants to meet him though. ‘Ok. Let’s meet in an hour. You will find me at the Truman’s … the pub!’ Paul is pleased. The festival in the other hand has capped her wings. First thing that goes on her mind is - which is going to be easier? Him or the festival? If I do him than stuff will get all complicated and sour. I might upset everybody. If I hunt at the festival, then this could give me more leverage, room to breathe and I could focus on a few other priorities ahead- A lot goes in her head, but she is not settled. She never likes the idea of turning back and changing her mind on things. But she knows the pressure is on to hunt for more before the Institute pulls the plug, permanently disabling her and probably worse, ending somewhere lifeless in the gutter. She understands the genetical pre-disposition of triumphing against the odds but, what she doesn’t understand is the cognisant of the fact that one-off events in one’s life are not far-fetched and can happen instantly. What, for example could happen that would make her life harder!? She enquiries deep within herself. ‘I could cock-up tonight or something would go fundamentally wrong which could cause me to get all emotional and lose control!’ But then she stops and thinks better. She knows she must simplify things. She knows she must be able to engage her right-side of the brain to be able to make sense what this all entails. She pulls up at the ice-cream shop and orders a chocolate chip cookie dough. As it melts in her mouth a lot more thoughts strike her thinking. ‘I think I am good at these things. I think I am good at catching people who do these things. I think I have a plan B!’ She then almost swallows whole ice cream with no regard to its iciness and insanely big size which once it goes through the larynx there is no going back. She sits in the corner of the ice-cream shop and scribbles a few lines. One of the lines reads like the following: ‘I remember Mamma (Her grandmother). She was this beautiful big-eyed woman in her late eighties. She used to tell us stories about her father Charles. He was the Charles Cross of East-End. The man who despite all the pressures by the society at the time, never gave in to the temptation of letting things out just because this sense of justice and fairness encapsulates one’s mind. Why? How? And how did he do it? Is this extra-terrestrial hype!? Where was he getting all that source of energy and motivation to plough on? I will be very much interested to know and understand him more. I wish I had this time-machine, and I could just transport myself in the era when he was about. I want to know more about his style, his personality, and his demeanour. I remember my grandmother telling me that she has inherited a lot of his character and personality. This intrigued me a lot as I couldn’t understand most of it then. But then she also said, I remember this well that a lot of my personality are like hers. This made me smile and I felt very much pleased but loved and much more appreciated at the time. She was my rock my Mamma. I miss her so much. She then looks at the watch. ‘It’s near time!’ She whispers to herself quietly. The walk to the Truman’s takes only a few minutes but she wants to find more time to walk through the Old Spitalfields Market. It gives her a sense of rare pleasure and time-out to think about things. Paul rings her instantly. ‘Am here. Whenever you are ready! I am wondering though why many drones on top of this building is there so?’ Paul tells her. ‘Don’t worry. Will explain when we meet. I won’t be long. Get a drink for yourself and I will join you shortly.’
Truman’s is a busy place anytime of the day. She enters the pub and Arlene; the pub lady serves her the usual ginger shot with cherry syrup and a shot of Kosovan rakija. ‘Ah wow. That’s some drink!’ Paul laughs. ‘Ah well, better than your boring pint there!’ They both laugh. ‘Look. I don’t know what we’re doing her Paul. But I think we are endangering everything by meeting up. Do you think this is a good idea?’ Paul doesn’t hesitate to laugh again ‘Listen, I know your fears. You might be right, but you need to understand that the chaos we face at the Institute is embarrassingly frightening. I am utterly surprised how come so far there hasn’t been any leaks coming out of the Institute. I mean I know your job is crucial and it sits at the top of food chain, you are probably watched, listened to, and even mentored and supported. I expect that. I am absolutely of a view that reaching some societal goals, we must be enormously creative. Our society has had enough of monotonous continuation of the conversation you know! I just think that with a little bit of indoctrination, better indoctrination we can achieve wonders.’ He sips from his pint and continues ‘I just think that we could be creative in what we do. Me and you!’ He points the finger at Amelia and then to himself. ‘What are you on about Paul? I don’t get it. All I do is follow instructions. Am not interested in all that high-level politics. Have you got a buttbons?’ She asks. He offers her one and she without any hesitation inserts it in her shoulder next to her Thyrohyoid patch. ‘Gosh I can never have enough of these. So hard to resist, aren’t they?’ Paul gives her another two sorts with different colours on them. ‘These ones, the lilac-coloured ones are the most lethal ones. You will find them slightly too strong, but they keep going for a very long time. ‘You know that when they discovered ColdosereneX a few years back now, it revolutionised life for the poor in developing nations! You know why?’ He asks her, looking her in the eye ‘Well, because this drug, basically it put them out of their misery. Their lives were unbearable, and the drug made it just …you know! Easy. I guess.’ Amelia agrees. She nods her head passively. ‘I know. They discovered it in the Amazonia, didn’t they?’ Hesitating to engage in such peculiar subject ‘No, no this was discovered by the British Astronauts in the furthest part of the space that any human being had gone – Molecula Point – the borderline between Mars and Ceres near the Asteroid Belt area. They reckoned that while they were sipping out from the atmosphere they were hallucinating, and all sorts of thoughts and strange dreams were occurring for months. Then they extracted tons of it brought it back to earth and commercialised it so quickly that it made Kesla, once again the richest company in the world.’ Amelia rather impatiently asks ‘…and the point is?’ ‘The moral of the story is that there is more to all of this then they let out. For instance, the Cabinet of the Institute is ragged with people who believe in the theories of Malthus or even William Granger!’ Paul adds. ‘Who’s Granger?’ Amelia asks innocently. ‘The guy who came up with the theory of the “Select Few” who should be part of the big transformation. You know the big change!’ Amelia still doesn’t make sense out of it at all. She feels lost but eager to be able to understand the purpose of all these things that Paul is reciting to her. ‘Ok, ok I get it. So, you know I am vulnerable and exposed here! So why don’t we just clarify a few things. You seem to have knowledge on the inner workings of the Institute. Not too bad for a guy who pretends to not be in the loop, someone who with all its endeavours and trials portrays himself as someone who just sits there in the periphery and wonders what one or the other is doing! I mean come on. You have all the demeanours of Intelligence community member. How long since you have retired?’ Paul isn’t caught by surprise, but he feels that he is caught by his balls on this one. He knows well he must tread carefully because upsetting one of the field operatives of the Institute can be costly. ‘Well, five years since I left 6 and then private contracts, back in government for a bit and then institute had the best offers. I picked the institute not for what it does but for the principle, its guiding ethical standing and vision. You haven’t seen a lot when you were kept in their custody.’ He then gets closer to Amelia’s face and says ‘You only know ten percent of the overall activity we’re involved in. Your great-grandfather was a huge theoretician. You should know more, perhaps you don’t. I haven’t a clue how much you know about his theories and the doctrine he built spending years writing notes and collecting evidence.’ Amelia decides to self-impose a good level of patience whilst in her mind two scenarios are occupying her thinking. One is the face that Paul would show when confronted with the first shock-stab in his neck, just around his left side of the neck where a few jelly-like raised skins give the impression that he’s dropped a few crumbs from a crispy baguette. Second thought which occupies her mind is the scenery where she is snogging this girl from the Transgender Festival and the noise she makes while her tongue is still stuck in Amelia’s mouth. Paul’s face seems to melt away in Amelia’s eyes. He doesn’t exist like a normal human being anymore. He is something else. He has become something more, invisible, detachable part of an octuplet of imagination and self-perpetuating Cronk slaughterhouse. She likes the idea. The more Paul elaborates his theories in a robustly conspiratorial way, the more Amelia feels that she needs to detach this man’s head and suck the juice off his DNA for eternity. Paul knows that more he throws at her the more she becomes agitated and annoyed. But what Paul doesn’t know is that she has had it planned in her head. The more annoying and throwing theories out there without any substance, the more her decision to slay his face and end his breathing becomes prominent. Paul has an endless energy to bypass any logical sense of equilibrium. He just goes on and on, and Amelia tries to restore some sense of quid-pro-quo exchange with him. To his surprise, Amelia comes across as collaborative and probably ready to open and help him with his enquiries. But she has a sense of unease around him and about him. She just can’t work out how does she handle her emotions before making any mistakes that she will regret soon afterwards. She knows she hasn’t much lever to use. For a minute she thought about using her sex appeal to lure him and then do him in. but, then Paul is gay. He won’t fall for it. She then thinks about getting him drunk, spiking his drink somehow, convince him that the best place for him is her flat and then do him there. None of the options aren’t good, viable. She needs to get rid of him because the net is spreading and getting bigger, but this is not good for her or the Institution that this big-mouth ex-spy is willing to spill everything. ‘I mean what the heck!’ She is almost overheard. Paul continues his spat about conspiracy theories, warning Amelia of an incoming crises at the Institute, the fall out of the Met, corruption, and sophisticated nefarious activities in the intelligence community etc etc. ‘Ok. Let’s assume I only know a small percentage of stuff. What difference does it make if I am not on the ball on some intricate and useless stuff? I mean I am contracted to do a job and I am trying to do it properly and without making many mistakes…any mistakes for that matter.’ Paul leans back and exhales ‘You don’t understand. Listen, you must go by yourself, own way because they will not carry you for long. Once you hit their target that is it. They will find a way to get rid of you. That’s how we done it with others!’ He sips his drink without taking his eyes off her. When he said, “That’s how we done it with others”, this for Amelia was important and resonated deeply like the speeding of Oumuamua from the reign of sunlight. She doesn’t want to be seen as her heart has just weaken tremendously. She wants to project a sense of control and balance and that she is rational about it all. ‘Who are the others?’ She sips her drink and looks him in the eye. ‘Aha!’ Paul by now smells blood. ‘So, you are biting, and biting hard…hahahaha.’ Well, you wish mister!’ She whispers to herself while lowering her drink on the table. ‘No, I mean let’s be pragmatic about all of this. I mean you wanted to meet. It wasn’t me who came up with the idea. So, if you have decided to tell it all, I think you should just tell it all. What’s here to lose?’ Then she raises her shoulders as if to say that I haven’t anything to lose anyway. Paul is tempted. He looks around, over his shoulders to see if anyone is listening to the conversation. ‘Ok. Listen. I have managed to get hold of a plan. That plan is about you. As you can see it here…!’ He points the index finger in a red dot pinned in the middle of Amelia’s name just below her picture. The dot is shown in a map which most of it is filled with water, oceanic blue water. ‘What’s this?’ Amelia asks ‘It’s the Pacific, Vanuatu island. That’s the Institute headquarters!’ Amelia takes another look at it, but she is not that impressed. ‘What am I supposed to think about all this?’ Paul is gob-smacked by the level of complacency that Amelia shows. ‘Look, I know I can never probably turn your mind on this. But you must believe me when I say to you that your life is in danger if you continue to think that you are somehow invincible. It is highly likely that the project is running out of steam. They are working on other more advanced less life-abrogating measures…!’ Amelia interrupts him immediately ‘Such as?’ ‘Well things like Hybrid-Artificial Transhuman who share all the genetical design and make up of an authentic species. They are doing this by adopting technology which supports extraction of human embryo from the un-willing mothers on pre-abortion. Ireland, Poland, and Brazil are a huge market for them. It’s all happening now!’ Amelia leans back and then she sips some more from her drink before she adds ‘But, my contract with them is a long-term commitment. I don’t have much to lose to be honest. I mean I can just pull a rabbit out of my hat now when its necessary. Remember, this isn’t easy for them either. I have accumulated enough material to destroy the whole empire, their empire!’ Paul by now begins to laugh. ‘You still haven’t grasped how they operate and what they are capable of. They are the system. It is these judges that you would hope to appear in front of to get justice done, those are the ones that are their main clientele, it is the lawyers and the cops and the politicians and the journalists and the doctors and and and who are all part of the structure. They are all in it, whether as receivers of service or providers. They get shipped and flown away in the most extraordinary places on earth, awashed with the most expensive gifts that they ever receive, showered with exclusive deals, and offers from retail to access in the most exclusive world clubs – it’s all mystical and sounds like a science fiction work but it isn’t. Amelia, you need to listen to me! I have worked for them for a very long time, and I know what I am talking about, and I know how they operate.’ He looks at Amelia desperate to be taken seriously, but Amelia doesn’t seem to register any of that, or she does but refuses to be led in a directionless, utterly pessimistic view of the world she has signed up to become part of. ‘Have you got a chewing gum!?’ She asks Paul with that burning desire to burn sugar. He gives her a small packet of Spearmints ‘These are small?’ She asks inquisitively. ‘I got them in Istanbul last week. ‘Do you go there often?’ Amelia asks. ‘I do two or three trips a month abroad, mostly Asia and South America!’ Paul sips more from his drink. ‘I can see that you have thrown everything on this project, and you perceive this to be your little baby. I appreciate that. I really do. I just wanted to warn you that is all. I have not got any other agenda and I don’t work for anybody else. I am just a courtier providing services to the institute that is all. So, you must forgive me for being upfront with you. I need to dash!’ Paul gets up on his feet, eyewinks her and leaves. Amelia draws her notepad, jots down a line or two and then heads out herself.
**
Sitting in a stool not far from the main bar in the middle of the square, Amelia strikes the pose of somebody who is constantly on for a hunt. A night previously she has cut her hair and dyed them light but sparkly silver, quite different to her usual chestnut, light brown. She looks attractive to both sexes you may say. Probably, or highly likely that she might look much more appealing or even super attracted by her own sex. From her point of view, she is not here to be attracted to or even feel that she is going to attract somebody she fancies. Wait and see, an ideology of never ending the thirst for self-pleasure. Too many to choose from. The line-up in front of her starts from the short, blonde, plump built, too-kind, snowflake types all the way to tall, leggy, slightly unstable but all in all they all look fit, ready to associate themselves with uncertainty and the new habitat. Staring from a good distance onto the crowd in front of her, gives her the advantage of picking and choosing. But is this the only thing she can do!? She wanders in her mind. It reminds her of the dying days of boarding school she attended. All the malarkey about the fittest being able to survive only because by some miracle, nature and the evolution had dictated a new form of breed who are resilient, confident and with a ruthless streak, those that survived the difficult and harsh days of the boarding school. It reminds her of how ashamed she used to be when amidst all the war and infighting due to increased fees, competition ensued amongst the pupils and she managed to ruthlessly climb at the top of the year because she was fearful her father would pull the plug, or even go bankrupt and fail to support her financially. She smiles now but she remembers that at the time, this was a truly difficult time, unbearable. She would spend nights isolated from the rest of the pupils, crying her head out and feeling that she does not deserve to be there, that she does not want all the perks of an easy life later only because she has a gift. That gift, as it turned out later, became a resemblance of intuitively made decisions, gutfeel, and intrinsically cut-thru rebelliousness which if taken that seriously will produce results that only a crazy person can think of. However, she is not bound by any of the redemptive measures, she is not conventional. She left conventions way behind when she left the Boarding school. For a long time, she wanted to believe that she has become a new person, someone who is unbound, dislodged from the rules of society, and can comprehend all consequences that society can throw at her. She gets it. But she still feels she must do it. She must maintain course. She inhales the last puff of her cigarette and then the last big gulp of her vodka. She has eyed the bold headed one. She has been eyeing the person for a while now, but Amelia has been patient and didn’t want to be intrusive or all too in the face. ‘Hello!’ Amelia said from a close enough distance. ‘Hi!’ The bold headed person responds with a smile. ‘Quite a crowd, isn’t it?’ Amelia hints ‘I know. Right!’ Amelia can’t work out if this is the one that she intended to go for. In her books she would be classified as the “Fanatical pretender” – someone who isn’t the one you think they are. Because they build such a fantastical story behind themselves that you feel you are betraying your own kind if you were to go further and be more intrusive. But she wants to maintain course and not upset her mental focus and all the preparations that she has put in for a few days. ‘I guess I would say half of them are just waste of space, the rest are a mix of immature clearly impotent by the way they dance and clothed…!’ Amelia says and they both laugh. Amelia thinks that she has had a breakthrough now. She tested the waters. The result is clear – she can do business with this choice. Without being too intricate, Amelia goes for the chase. ‘So, you’re a student then? Where you from?’ She tries to drop her posh English and stay in the par. I am Chezch, and I am a student! How did you know? My name is Agatka. What’s your name?’ The speed of talk and the questioning wound up Amelia within seconds. But she remains calm and focused. ‘Sorry, my name’s Amelia. I just guessed you being a student. This is an area cut out for students, it was purely a just wild guess…I guess,’ and they both laugh ‘thank you. This is my third day in London, and I have been pretty lonely I must admit!’ Agatka sips onto her drink and looks at her watch ‘I had somebody with me earlier, but he decided to go and spend some time with somebody else.’ She points the finger at one of the guys who is enjoying the company of three other blonde woman in the corner of the entrance. ‘Did you know him?’ Amelia asks Agatka directly. ‘Well, I met him online and then we spend the first two days together, but I can see he is losing interest on me quickly.’ She sips another time and looking at Amelia’s eyes she wants to say more. Amelia waits for her to say more. The music becomes louder and louder. Amelia’s eyes are now switched on to the guy with the three blondes. Almost like an automatic reaction, Amelia’s brain is switched on an unprepared plan. Her focus on that bloke becomes obsessive. ‘Ah well. I don’t care really. I know that to him there are other more attractive propositions, so I am at peace with that. It isn’t the first time and I know it won’t be the last!’ She sips one more time and then places the empty glass on top of the barrel which has been turned upside down mimicking a table. ‘I have to go am afraid. I have a lot of revision to do. It was nice meeting you!’ Agatka extends her hand waiting for Amelia to extend hers. ‘Of course. This is my number. Call me when you need to talk to somebody, or you want to meet for a coffee!’ She rubs her smartphone against Agatka’s. She accepts the number, smiles, and waives goodbye to Amelia. For Amelia this is an opportunity for a well-deserved hunt. She leans against the wall where Agatka was standing and with her glass in one hand and the other hand placed on her left thigh she looks at the bloke dead on his eyes. The guy turns his head suddenly and stares insistently on Amelia. She can see him from the distance he is trying to keep up the conversation going with the blondes. It’s the three of them and all being feisty, for him this is a losing battle. Good chance that he might end up not getting a fuck tonight. Amelia looks a better proposition. He slurps another drink and then almost like it has been written on a script he decides to make the move and approaches Amelia slowly, smilingly but keen to know more of her. ‘Hello!’ Amelia responds with a polite ‘Hi!’ ‘Do I know you?’ He infers with a cheap tone. Everything about this bloke is cheap, wacky, and bellicose stringent. She thinks to herself. ‘I don’t know. If you think so, am ok with it!’ Amelia responds and smiles. She decides to pull a little bit more of her dress in the cut-out part of her left thigh. The guy approaches a little fast now and gets much closer than she would like him to. ‘I notice a little twinge in your shpeak…!’ He tells her ‘Posh?’ Amelia laughs but doesn’t hesitate to respond quickly ‘Yes. Very posh, like Boarding school nightmare and Cambridge Armageddon posh…hahaha!’ He is impressed and adds ‘Well, I am Cambridge too, born there, lived there, schooled and graduated from there!’ Amelia is impressed but she can’t help herself but express a kind of despise on the lot. The guy approaches much closer now. To her this is a little bit too much, but she can handle that. ‘I think you are a little bit too close I can actually smell your condom at your back pocket, on your left’ The guy smiles so much that he sticks his hand in his left back pocket and pulls a handful of condoms but accidentally not aware that he has picked up a pill as well ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘I don’t know where this comes from…!’ He said gullibly. ‘Don’t worry. One piece of advice though – try and keep your pills in a plastic wrapper or even a small pill box its safer.’ They both laugh but the guy smiles much more. ‘Thank you but I don’t have that kind of a problem!’ He said ‘Well!’ She grabs him by his white shirt collar ‘It remains to be seen than!’ The guy is slightly surprised but not that much. ‘What are you offering?’ Amelia decides to wrap his love-handles round and pulls him toward her ‘I offer blood, struggle and total pleasure deriving from the depth of your soul that you never know it existed!’ The bloke laughs but is enjoying the physicality of her grip and the aggression of her speech ‘I can handle that…I think!’ But he doesn’t stop laughing. They walk out of the club after Amelia told him that she lives in an apartment just above the street. He is impressed but his legs are slightly not to be trusted. ‘Are you ok?’ Amelia asks him, pretended to look concerned. The guy says something like ‘My head’s spinning…!’ She opens the brown door which is situated in the Woodseer Street next to the Gumjee restaurant. ‘Here we go. You will feel better very quickly.’ She helps him sit in one of the staircases and then she sticks her head out to see if there are any drones or an all-seeing eye capturing her movements. It’s all quiet apart from the noise coming out of the club and other drunkards roaming Brick Lane like uncontrolled soul-wasters. She rams the door and sets upon climbing all ninety-eight stairs all the way to the top. The guy started to get heavier and sleepier, but Amelia is not one to give up. Reaching the top of the flat and by the time she opened the door it was a straining experience., The guy is totally asleep now. Her syringe had worked on him. His love handles are a good pitching part of his body for which he was totally unaware for the price he is going to pay now.
15
Time to warm-up!
Thicke hates the dilemmas. The only tolerable thing he has ever allowed to immerse himself in and not be wound-up about it it’s the difficult cases in the past where he had to deal with distraught families of disappeared ones. After many years of hardship and unimaginable pain, he has managed to solve the cases. They were both interconnected with each other and for him it was like solving the Oumuamua phenomenon. He recalls just now, sitting in his lounge settee reflecting and looking out of the window, how does he resolve the K and C riddle. If they are after me then the whole project just breaks down. He mutters to himself. He gets up and grabs a packet of fags which he has placed in the top drawer next to his side of the bed. Downstairs he can hear his children screaming and giggling as they are about to leave for school. He normally sends them to school himself but not today. The kids say goodbye to William, but he is entirely oblivious and not listening. Only after the door is shut does he realise that the kids have gone. ‘Goodbye my littleys!’ He whispers to himself. It takes a lot of courage to get up and see thru the day today. For some reason he just doesn’t feel that he is cut out to do anything useful today. But he knows this is an important day and that he must pull his weight off and get on with his life. His phone rings. Its Chloe. ‘You’re not in the office? Is everything ok?’ She enquiries. ‘Well, I have a parents morning. Just about leaving house. Let’s call it a day off! Do you need me for anything?’ Chloe is slightly taken aback. ‘Ah, ok. All I need is the monthly expense approvals before I send them off!’ She sounds cold and slightly dispirited. ‘Of course. Send them thru to my email.’ He then pauses. ‘Chloe, could you do me a favour please?’ Chloe responds with an ‘Of course. Shoot!’ William pauses for a few seconds after he inhaled his cigarette and then asks if she could send him the latest reports on Amelia. ‘Of course. Will do. Mind you we’re still monitoring her. I think there is stuff you need to see. I would appreciate it very much if you could feed the loop, I left there ready for you.’ William is a little bit surprised when Chloe pronounces the word “Loop”, is it me or is it the stuff they have discovered or is it just a fluke!? ‘Of course. Send thru. Many thanks. Bye!’ This is not a finished conversation, William felt that he had to say much more but will save it for later. Somehow the sense of urgency that was lacking earlier on, is coming back with the vengeance now. He feels that the levels of energy are resuming slowly but surely. He looks at his watch and then scribbles a few lines in a pad on his kitchen table. The plan is detailed out at the granular level. He knows he must manage this split of his personality well; he knows that he is not allowed to make any mistakes. He knows that all the politicking in the world, all the outsmarting that his competitors have put in place for him, isn’t going to be enough to shake him from the rising altitude of his problems. Now, for the sake of some unthought of circumstances, things like his own team being suspicious of him, Amelia being the main suspect and the handling of the bigger powers, will not sway him away from the focus and that focus will suck his energies out, exhaust him. In his scribbling, one thing stands out – How to catch the suspect without being the one that has caught her? It is even more difficult when you think that he is potential, I say that potentially being watched. He scribbles ‘The bar-maid’ – he then looks up in the ceiling. She has been there for him lately; she is somebody he can utilize well but also somebody who he is relying on a lot. He understands the intricacies of involving her in these cases, but he also understands that even if he is being watched, all he is doing is just having an affair with the barmaid. What else can they pull on this? I mean they can say Ok, so you are having an affair with this person although you are a prudent and a trusted person and withhold high level of integrity and a sense of duty and professionalism, do you really think that we trust that you haven’t told her anything about your work, your projects, your investigations etc? You see, he tells himself – this is not easy to pull. He then sits on the stool and scribbles some more. One of the lines reads “What if she is the fall woman? What if she catches the suspect on the act?” This is harder to pull but not impossible. She catches her after I set-up the whole thing. Almost like serving it on the plate! He thinks loudly by this stage. His phone pings a message. Thicke opens it and it reads “We need to meet. At the same place as last time. In an hour? PR.’ Thicke doesn’t respond straight-away but continues with the scribbling. Where does P fits in all of this? His added note on the pad says. Do I trust him enough? He continues. Then as if by a quick miracle, he responds back to P. ‘Agreed. See you soon!’
The Four Seasons is a busy hotel in this heatwave. The promised blooming of greenery and the good English continental weather is holding on and holding on well. In Thicke’s mind, there is so much he is going to talk about with Paul. He could probably talk about all the possible scenarios for which he had thought of thru but is unable to fathom, yet! He may talk about Amelia and reservations he has about her, or even contemplate thinking about his plan – The Plan! Huh, too dangerous. He recalls that he can’t fully trust Paul since he met him the first time, but then again, he must open somehow and try and make sense of the world he is in, open slightly, be humble but canny to further his interest.
‘I never expected you to be here that early. I thought I was going to beat you!’ They both smile and then Paul as if by a premonition offered to go somewhere more private where the noise in the lounge area can be amortised. ‘I have booked us a booth in the restaurant. Do you mind?’ Paul said. ‘I don’t mind at all. I could do with some heavy breakfast!’ They both laugh and Paul is a little bit too polite. Thicke, deeply, somewhere inside his mercurial heart is frightened. But he doesn’t show it and doesn’t bother to second-guess his own suspicions. They sat at this table just by the window. Outside there’s a crow, a black crow picking the food from the floor and swallowing it so fast that it affects both Paul and Thicke to stare at the thing and laugh. ‘You know crows are very clever birds. They are the best capitalists amongst the bird kingdoms. They don’t grab food like gulls do from human hands, they only eat what they deem it to be safe and not intrusive to humans. They look angry and aggressive, but they are pragmatic birds!’ Paul said. Thicke staring at the bird, uninterested but keen to get on with the conversation. ‘What’s on your mind Paul?’ Paul is keen to proceed and doesn’t object the hurried approach from Thicke. ‘First of all, I expected you to call me! But look I understand. I know you have a lot of reservations and I understand that. But I don’t want to be like the canary at the coal mine, usurping in your profession and making things worse!’ The waiter interrupts them and after they order their breakfast, Thicke seems more interested to listen and Paul very keen to lay out his plain conversation. ‘Amelia is part of the institute. She is family, you can’t go near her. She is direct descendant of Charles Cross.’ Paul sips his tea and awaits Thicke’s reaction. ‘How do you know about Amelia?’ Thicke shoots back. ‘Well, it isn’t difficult to find out that you have been in the footsteps for some time and that you already are coming very close to dropping her in!’ Paul sips some more tea ‘Are you fucking her?’ Paul asks. Thicke almost chokes on his tea. ‘No, no, no I have absolutely nothing to do with her. Look I have been in her trail for a while now. I have been working hard to catch her. I think one of my team is fucking her. And I think you know who that is!’ Thicke throws back the doubt on Paul’s turf. ‘I know. And when I say I know this doesn’t mean that the agency knows or that anybody else knows. I have managed to pull a few cut outs from the mobile watchers and your case, and you aroused my suspicion because for some reason you seem to be desperate! Is there anything I can help? But remember we must agree on one thing – Amelia is not to be touched. I am being very honest with you William; she is not to be touched. This will mean the end of your company and probably an overhaul of the whole sector.’ He butters his slice of brown bread and bites into it speedily. ‘Tell that to the agencies. Tell that to people who are making my life much harder, tell that to…’ He then stops and bites on his toast ‘…tell that to the Met!’ Paul shakes his head. ‘You need to understand that the agency and the Met do not have any redistributive access to any of the material you work on. All they do is mobilise money from the government onto you guys. I have been there. I know how it works William,’ He sips some of hid rink before continuing ‘We know what she is doing but she cannot be touched. It will ruin all the chances for utility of unification!’ William wants to think what he means by that but is unable to form two words together. “Utility of Unification” What is this all about. William wants to ask what it means but he is too proud to be caught out on an information that he doesn’t know. He is a professional and he supposed to know this. ‘I guess, we all have to live with the consequences of a dog-eat-dog life!’ He then looks at Paul keen to get his reaction. Paul is not amused. He then pulls a piece of yellow paper and shows it to William. ‘This is what I am talking about…!’ William looks at it initially uninterested, then he smoothens up the attitude and shows more interest. ‘Do you think it will happen?’ Paul wants to give him the bad news but is not sure how William is going to react. So, he decides to lie to him. ‘I think it can be reversed!’ Paul responds not sure himself. ‘It’s fine. You can bite into your toast. I have done my job. I have warned you that things will get tougher and probably even tougher if you are not careful William decides to not pay much interest and ignore by finishing his toast and then standing up and leaving. ‘I told you. Tell the met, they need to change their ways. I will investigate and bring to justice anybody I like. I run a police agency not a business.’ He then drops the towel onto the plate and leaves.
**
Early in the year, Paul had to deal with several competing exchanges between the two people he reports to. One is the current line manager to whom he reports to and the other one is the lover he was seeing for a while but whose relationship with wasn’t to be revealed and was kept secret for a while. Obviously, in these difficult situations, you want to make sure that you make the right calls and pull the right punches, but not everything is as smooth as it seems. For Paul the main objective of his life is protecting the agencies and promoting the strength honour and trust of the National Security Apparatus above all, and if this means that he must partially sacrifice elements of the private sector, he will do it and he has the permission to do so. For Paul, operating on behalf of the state apparatus is tantamount to preserving the highest order of secrets and he cannot afford to let that small issue such as dealing with William deter him from the mission. But there is one problem though. He needs to be careful how he handles William. He has no plan and no strategy how he is going to deal with him. The stretch to which he needs to lay-out his hybrid type of thinking in tackling William will stretch his imagination further. Without doing many favours to the Agency, he wants to embark on a task which if not executed successfully, then the chances are that the whole thing blows up. But to do that he needs to update the institute of his intentions. They will know of the risks that if Amelia is caught and exposed than the whole project is doomed to fail. ‘All of this just because of some people wanting to taste the human flesh and blood!’ He mutters to himself. With each passing moment, Paul is adamant that he needs a plan. He decides to stop at the Friar’s Inn Pub, not far from the Blackfriars Bridge. There, at the corner of the pub, he is scribbling away the plan. ‘It’s only four of them.’ He thinks to himself. ‘If I can get one of them to splinter away from the rest of the crew, then, I think stuff will get easier!’ Not supremely convinced, he pulls Kwame’s dossier. He looks at it with the keen interest of somebody who is very keen to find faults and trigger endless unhappiness in poor souls. Drawing up plans for the faltering of the masses is difficult enough but drawing up plans for the direct benefit of one group of people or even engineered fall of a fellow human being is another thing. Kwame looks very appealing for Paul. A long history of street crime, fraudulent benefit claims made by his single mother during his youth, occasional drug taking, are just some of the sharper ends of a lethal dossier. Paul wants to be civil about all this. But he needs to be stern and very much determined to deliver on it. Reaching Kwame is hard as well. He is very much trained in counter-surveillance and streetwise. Unconquerable in agility and physical prowess. He can overreact if he sees a direct threat on him. But he has weaknesses too. He is a regular visitor at the PNIN. A prostitute club, high class end of the business. He is a regular every Monday night. Paul wants to know more. He wants to know why Monday nights are the only fun nights with prostitutes for Kwame! He looks at Kwame’s partner profile. She is just an ordinary doctor, working in the NHS and very much a dedicated wife and a keen swimmer. She sees somebody secretly. As he reads on the file, Paul notices that both are in an open relationship and not very much keen to be together at all. He also notices an important detail . She has been married before. Her marriage is consistent with the years Kwame has been in jail. Then after a few more browsing of the pages on the Inthranet, Paul discovers something peculiar – Kwame’s wife is the daughter of Chief Protocoller. How is that possible? He asks himself. He then looks at his datalog to see if her father’s details match with the record that the Agency and the Institute hold on the CP. It confirms that she is the daughter and that she is all legit. Paul can feel his heart pacing faster than before. He senses trouble with this approach. This line of enquiry might blow out of all proportions. He needs to tread carefully here. A lot is at stake but a lot more is important to be discovered and dug out. He knows that he hasn’t got much time to manoeuvre but he has a lot of patience at his disposal. This is a difficult one but the more he looks at Kwame’s file the more convinced he becomes of the outcomes he may acquire. What other options does he have to determine which line of enquiry he should follow, what leads and what other alternative guiding principles he may follow. All of it is unclear but also becomes a little bit too much of a hassle to put oneself thru. He rings Beta, the network agent who is always more than happy to be able to help. ‘I am stuck. I need to make a quick decision on this one. I have Alpha 1 on the Subnet charge I sent you who is connected and collected with the Admiral 00 through his partner. I need to execute a procession of embarkation and I am not hundred percent sure if that is going to raise any issues for the uninformed or even trigger a lash from the top!?’ Beta asks him to hold on to the line until she sees an approval come thru. ‘Yes! It’s fine. Go ahead. The CP has been dismissed last week. He has become another issue for another agent. You may proceed!’ The phone receptor is put down. For Paul this sorts a big dilemma out. His mind is clear. His conscience Chrystal clear and his roadmap paved away ahead of him.
**
The atmosphere in the office is tense. Thicke knows that the team are not hundred percent behind him. He can’t stand this kind of disparity and antagonism. After he says good morning to everybody, he immediately rescues himself in the booth and he shuts the door behind him, making Chloe feel a little unease. She looks at the other three. Kwame raises his shoulders whereas Agim feels sure that there’s something not right with Thicke. ‘We have to talk to him,’ Agim said standing up and wanting to be heard. ‘What difference is this going to make?’ Chloe responds quickly. ‘Well, it might if we come up clean with him. I think he knows that we’re up to something .’ Kwame sounding confident. ‘No, I don’t think this is a good idea. Let’s just give ourselves some more time before we come to a concrete plan. Let’s just think about this properly. Let’s discuss this next Monday!’ They all agree to behave as if nothing has happened. Kwame picks up his handbag and he is out. Agim is also keen to head off to meet one of his contacts. For Chloe, staying in the office and and tending to Thicke has more edge but also more meaning. She doesn’t want to be seen as someone who rapidly but assuredly goes cold on her boss, the person who has helped her consolidate her career. She doesn’t deny having certain feelings for Thicke. But she is restricted, deep inside her soul. She cannot bring herself to realisation that anytime soon she may dispose herself off the fact that she will find a way onto Thicke’s heart. She doesn’t want to think about it. Although she wants, in a way to at least indicate to him that if any time soon he is in the need to talk to somebody, she is there for him, she will be there for him. Thicke is a tough nut to crack. His outside interests are always a mystery. But his resolve to not mix life and business together is even stronger. Chloe is holding a photo in her hand. This is a photo of Thicke attending the same pub as Amelia two days in arow. There is no evidence of him meeting with her. Just a picture of him entering the pub after work. To Chloe this doesn’t necessarily constitute a potential meeting of the two. But what it means is that Thicke hasn’t declared any of those meetings to the team. He probably doesn’t know himself that he has been at the same place at the same time as Amelia!? This could be a possibility, potentially a misunderstanding on her part. She thinks. But she is not at all clear if she should continue to doubt or maintain her coolness and let things develop as they go, until Monday.
Thicke nips out of the booth and asks Chloe about the others! ‘They’ve all spread out. Meeting their contacts.’ Chloe responds with the slight disinterest. ‘Ok. Can you do me a favour? Can you call a team meeting for this afternoon at three?’ He shuts the door. Chloe begins wandering what was this all about. A meeting at three!? Why and how has this come about, she just hasn’t got a clue what to say or how to think anymore.
**
Show the world you care, and the world will treat you differently, better one hopes. Kwame isn’t sure whether this is a good idea to attend the quad meeting today. He can justify this by telling the office that he is busy. Not much will be gotten out of that meeting anyway. The world around the industry is in total turmoil and one thing to be done now for people like Kwame is to try and look after their own interests. This is much easier said than done. There are a lot of things that may put him off. One of the things the things will play a big part on any future decision is Agim and Chloe. He knows for sure that Agim will probably do exactly the same if he has the same opportunity that has been offered to him – that opportunity comes in the form of working for Paul, and Paul is Machiavellian enough to understand that lifers like Kwame might want to help him pursue his corporate strategies but they will not help much to achieve the actual ends, the ends he is striving to achieve to break-up Thicke’s activities because that is how is dictated to him – or is it? Paul knows that the closer he lets Kwame in the more dangerous he will become for the unseating of Paul. The institute has a load of files on Paul. He knows that anybody he brings in to work for him is only a temporary usage tool. Nothing. But Kwame is much more astute and in the know than what Paul can contemplate. For Kwame the mere ending of Thicke’s enquiries isn’t necessary an end on itself. Kwame is much more ambitious than that. Kwame wants to make decisions himself and he wants to lead and be himself. This is not an easy task in a world full of savages where competition isn’t just some kind of trophy you will win in the end and feel good about yourself – far from it. This world is totally different, unassuming at first but slowly and surely becomes an enemy of itself promulgated by human conscience and deliberation. Kwame doesn’t know where stands. But he knows what he wants. Paul, in the other hand, doesn’t seem to know what he wants but he knows where stands. A perfect mashed clash.
Kwame pulls out last minute just as he was about to enter the main door. He sends a message to Chloe saying that he is unable to attend due to last minute call from a client who he must meet ‘Make sure you log the client meeting!’ is the response from Chloe.
The meeting begins with a flurry of criticism and feedback, flanked out from Thicke onto everybody. Chloe doesn’t understand this behaviour. Agim is indifferent. Thicke reckons that this is a good opening to begin the overall control of the investigations and its progress. Agim feels like he wants to throw up whereas Chloe is patient. ‘I want to make one thing very clear here. Our investigations have stalled. We have been dithering for a very long time. Everything is at risk if we continue to behave like this. I need results. I need results now.’ Agim and Chloe look at each other. No one knows how to react to that. In Agim’s mind, Kwame not being in the meeting is God send because he would react and react badly. For Agim the investigations have been going well. He is the only one who had processed a great amount of data which looking at it in the long run will make a huge difference. ‘I needn’t tell you how important it is for you to see thru this. It is an existential issue for all of us. You need to understand that if we don’t solve four out of our accumulated six cases we are doomed!’ Thicke stares at both. Chloe wants to say something but is worried that all of this will just blow out of proportions. In the end she decides to shoulder in. ‘Just wanted to say that there’s been a lot of work done. I can vouch for that as I am the owner of the Metrix. Our log shows immense activity and I think we should be pleased with it. Remember we are tackling some of the most difficult cases in the city. We are working with the minimal resources and most of the work is done on foot and using classic techniques of investigation. I think the team deserve some credit.’ Thicke is caught unawares to the challenge from Chloe. He doesn’t fail to acknowledge this as a direct challenge to his authority. ‘One more thing I want to say,’ Chloe adds ‘I think there is a breakdown of communication and trust in this team! I think we need to acknowledge that there are issues here. If you were to ask me what the issues are, I can list you several of them, but one sticks out…and that is your activities boss! We don’t know what you are up to most of the time!? We are wondering whether there is something you are not telling us and that something could help us a lot! I am inclined to believe that this might just be misunderstanding and that there’s nothing to worry about!’ Thicke leans back in his seat and exhales three times. Agim now is very quiet but utterly confident that he should say something too. ‘I agree. I think that there is something definitely not right in this environment and I have been looking for other opportunities somewhere else…not in the industry!’ Thicke can’t believe what he just heard. His mind is split into two. One is the possibility of winding the team up further by being defensive about the whole thing. Secondly is the thought that if he is to say anything that will mean that without Kwame present in the meeting, he feels that he has been robbed of any partake in these so important discussions. He thinks and they are waiting for something to be said. The boss needs to say something otherwise it will become very weird, awkward to say at least. He gets up hurriedly ‘Sorry, just going to nip to the loo,’ he leaves in a whim. Chloe and Agim look at each other, baffled. ‘I think that’s cowardice!’ Chloe said. Agim shakes his head indifferent to the moment. Thicke comes back quickly. No time to think a lot on this one, I guess – Chloe whispering in her head. ‘I know you think that I am up to something and that I am not being transparent and straight with you, but I can assure you that this is not the case.’ Thicke pauses. ‘I have been running a parallel investigations unit which I haven’t told anybody about.’ When he says that he becomes all red in his face. He doesn’t want to be perturbed by any emotional overhang. There’s no more testing and trying to run away. This is the dead-end man. Just give in and see what is good for everybody else. Can’t you just see how much nightmare is caused by dithering and hiding, ducking, and diving! He wants to tell all these loudly and clearly to himself. ‘For how long?’ Chloe asks keen to get an honest answer and a clear response. ‘A few months. Only since the recent murders in Hanbury St and Marylebone.’ Thicke responds half-heartedly. ‘I will fill you in tomorrow.’ He picks up his jacket and leaves the room. Chloe doesn’t waste any time and rings Kwame ‘You are unbelievable. Such a waste of space sometimes. We got him. He confessed. He admitted everything. We have to pull-off and refocus our energies on the project!’ Kwame doesn’t know how to take it. He knows that the stakes are high if he doesn’t make the right judgment call here. He knows that he must deliver for both now. Paul is someone he can work around whereas Thicke is tricky. Who takes precedence is further away from his mind? He needs to think carefully.
16
Jackpot landing!
The buttbons filter is filled to the neck. Amelia can’t be bothered to empty the tray. She lights up another buttbons but this time it’s a strong one which after she inhales it enthusiastically it causes her to cough and that feeling of strangulation in her neck. She has taken too much of it but adamant to changing habits, she inhales some more. This time the dwindling liquid is so strong that it freezes her teeth and manages to go straight onto her guts. She’s passed out now. Unable to control the substance she’s gone to sleep.
**
Two hours since she’s fallen asleep and just managed to get up and see for herself that she has done to her own sense of rationality and sanity. Her head feels heavy. She is unable to move her right arm. She is unable to move anything. Her physical world is spinning. Her room is spinning in her head. Suddenly Tabitha’s silhouette appears in front of her. Amelia’s face opens. She finds it difficult to even feel any sense of fear or even the confidence to carry on, mystically somehow Tabitha’s silhouette moves around like a dervish’s dancing rhythm. Amelia can’t get enough of her face. ‘Tabitha, is that you? I am so sorry my friend, so sorry sister. I did not mean to cause you so much pain and loss!’ Tabitha’s silhouette continues to swirl around in the room which makes Amelia turn her head around and follow her. But she begins to feel dizzy and not well. Tabitha swirls around uninterruptedly hiking up her speed and smiling all along. Amelia is left chasing Tabitha’s silhouette until Tabitha’s face disappears and Amelia drops on the floor heavily after trying to reach to touch Tabitha’s face. The silhouette disappears and Amelia is on the floor unconscious.
**
Unsure what had happened to her, Amelia manages to wake up on her two feet and make a cup of coffee for herself. It looks all grim outsides. She pears over from the kitchen window and staring straight onto the outside. London clouds gather much faster and are pacier than any other sky clouds you witness anywhere in the world. For Amelia a good day starts in the morning. This morning though seems to be a much tougher one. With the dead body in the storeroom, she hasn’t got much time to waste. She glurps the hot coffee in a very insensitive way, she then follows it up with a glass of water before walking in the stoor room. She realised that the temperature in the storeroom isn’t as cold as it should have been. Lucky for her that the body is still fresh since she has wielded the knife on is abdomen and then the heart. She grabs a pair of gloves and begins taking clothes off until she strips the whole body off. ‘Not much hair on this one!’ She whispers to herself before she starts shaving the head and then the little bit of hair mass assembled in the middle of the chest. The body has gotten very heavy. When she tries to move the body slightly sideways, the blood has in coagulated fast and is sitting flat like the liquid form between the skin and the flash. The body has taken a purple colour. She is not sure if she should cut through. She pulls her trolley full of chemical components. Amidst the pile she pulls out a big container which contains salt and formaldehyde. She pours most of it on top of the body. She ensures that she doesn’t touch the chemical or the body as it releases this steam of gas which blinds her from having a clear vision. She turns the refractor on to try and suck all the mist which has filled the room. She then steps out of the storeroom to see from afar. Steam vanishes after a short while. She sends a quick ping to Xi. He responds immediately ‘Fuck’s sake you wouldn’t even let me fuck!’ Bring it over but you have got to follow a different route. The place is swarming with birds.’ He hangs up. She is happy. She has done her hunt but also, she has earned her day. Time to look at the light of the day and get out. She needs to run a recce first. But that’s easy. She has time to do that not before Paul ringing her from the BlockNet. ‘We need to meet. I have thought of a plan!’ His message reads like he means it. Amelia responds with a ‘I can meet now. Where?’ he immediately responds with the ‘At the St Paul’s cathedral. Am inside at the café.’
**
The café at the Cathedral is vast. Amelia struggles to find Paul. She keeps on looking but to no avail. He doesn’t seem to appear anywhere. Then he taps in her shoulder ‘Hello stranger,’ Amelia jumps ‘jeez you scared me. What is this place? I mean no one seems to care about anything. I have been standing here for a few minutes and no-one acknowledged me at all!’ Paul kisses her on both cheeks ‘Let’s not worry about that. We have a lot to talk about!’ He then ushers her in one of the booths at the far end of the restaurant. Paul orders some wine for both. Amelia isn’t sure if she can take alcohol this time of the day. Well, after a bit she decides to go ahead with it ‘One life many pleasures’ she tells Paul. They both laugh. ‘Look. I am going to cut to the chase on this one. I need to pull you out of the field. Your role has been exposed and you are in danger of risking the whole project. I don’t think anybody can afford to have that. We have discussed this for a time now and have to conclude that you in this situation is untenable.’ Paul takes a pause. Takes his buttbons and lights it. ‘William Thicke is in your case and what terrifies me most is that I don’t know why he hasn’t been put down so far! Worst-case scenario would be for him to get ahead of himself and try to ruin the project. Is not far-fetched. He is up to something, and we don’t know what that is,’ he sucks some more from his buttbons and then continues ‘I am going to retire by the end of the year. This is an important milestone to me, personally. I have worked for this organisation for a very long time and have never felt that fearful for its future. Last thing I want to see is to end my career on a tragedy of our own doing…’ Amelia becomes slightly more impatient. ‘…and enjoy your fat pension in a super-hot and sunny country somewhere in the Med. Is that your plan?’ Paul takes a quick sip on his wine. ‘Well, and that! Of course, one must look after oneself. I mean I could take my retirement a long time ago but decided to stick with the organisation because I saw the need to hang around for a bit, to try and help the place rejuvenate and I think I have done a good job.’ Amelia immediately steps in and adds ‘Paul let’s not kid ourselves with this. We don’t serve any purpose. No purpose at all. Don’t tell me what is right and what’s wrong because everything we do is WRONG.’ She leans back tries to take a deep breath but the frustration with the whole thing doesn’t allow her to just sit back and not make her views known. ‘I told you why I do this job. This is not just a job it’s the mission that I have to accomplish right to the end…this is when you should understand that this is much more important than anyone else’s end of career pension. I would advise you to check these facts properly and try to make sense of all of this. It is important that we try to work together on this.’ Amelia ends the conversation and then sips her wine. Paul is not sure whether he should respond to that and do it in a challenging way or just ignore it and move on and change the subject into something else. He decides to downplay the proposition but overplay the statement. ‘So, you are telling me that you know who you are and who your great-grandfather was?’ Paul says. ‘Yes. I know and don’t ask me how I know and how I managed to find out.’ She sips more from her wine. ‘I think we have clarified a lot on this instance wouldn’t you say so?’ Amelia slurps the last bit of wine she had in her glass and stands on her two feet ‘Await my instructions and please get Thicke out of my back!’
Paul is not only stunned but his appetite is affected too. He asks for the bill and decides to leave the restaurant ‘But sir you have reserved this for the whole afternoon?’ the waiter intercepts ‘I know, I know. I have to leave now.’ He leaves the restaurant unsure what his next steps are going to be.
**
‘Veni, vidi, vici’ bar is not far from Bromley by Bow. There, just before you reach the bar on the left-hand side, there is this organic shop where Amelia buys her early morning coffee. Ahmad, the owner of the shop tells Amelia how much he has missed her in the past few weeks as he slips her a pink purse with a few notes in it. Amelia doesn’t know how to react to that but slips the “gift” onto her right pocket and tries to converse with Ahmad. ‘Sorry, I have been very busy lately and have been unable to pop in.’ She gives Ahmad a smile and then says her goodbyes to him. Ahmad winks at her. When she walks out of the shop, she is not sure where to head off. Left with no option but to enter the bar she sits in one of the stools in front of the bar. She never imagined that she will ever be sitting there. Pasts are the days when she would come in the club with her friends and enjoy all the entertainment that the club had to offer. The place is slightly decrepit, and the owner has changed. The guy standing behind the bar doesn’t seem very convincing, but she is convinced that he might be the owner and that she should probably ask for a drink. ‘Hello there,’ the guy doesn’t seem to have noticed Amelia ‘hi there, hello!’ She raises her voice a little bit ‘Oh, Hi.’ He responded. ‘Could I please have an orange juice with that much of vodka on it,’ she shows him how much she wants poured in her glass by picking up a glass next to the beer dispenser. ‘No worries!’ He tells her. Finding herself totally immersed on the thought of opening her “gift”, she opens the small purse which contains three letters. One of them is of a pink colour and other two are brown and light blue. ‘Somebody very methodical…must be!’ She thinks to herself. The first letter, pink one has an imprint inserted onto it which looks like an old facsimile. A difficult handwriting and almost unreadable but at the bottom have a familiar signature – CCCross with an extended tale of the letter S. She then opens the second letter, blue one. This has a picture imprinted onto it. It is a familiar picture as well – that of her great grand-father Charles Cross, taken when he was a bustling young man working for Pickford’s down the city. The third letter contains a thirteen-digit code: 0291213294815.
She then places the letters on top of the bar and wants to look at them again, properly. She takes more notice on the handwriting and the facsimile. The picture does not impress her. She begins reading the longhand note. Letter by letter, it does prove to be difficult but doable in her mind. She is unsure if this is the right place to undertake such a task. She decides to head back to her flat grab her bike and head for the London Library. The exquisite surroundings at the library make things very easy in the library. Amelia feels lucky. The librarian just told her that due to the good weather, the library has been surprisingly not that busy. She swipes her membership card on a PACOM panel which is drilled onto a wall next to the turnstile. It’s been a long time since she has attended the library. Not much has changed though. She takes a seat in the Writers Room. Half empty, the room feels as if it wants to swallow her up completely. The vibe is tremendously exciting, this is partly due to the letter that she can’t wait to open and read through it. The first sentence that has taken shape after Amelia deciphers its meaning is a short line of words “I have left some dosh with the Club in the Truman’s” then follows another line “Trust me this is more than just me venturing about with a knife and a machete taking other woman’s lives” What’s not clear to Amelia is the insertion after that which says “I have executed all the decisions that the club wanted me to commit to…” and then it goes to provide names of members. Most of the names are unrecognisable to Amelia. She re-reads them once more and then as if by a turret attack, she drops the pen and looks on the fellow right opposite her who is sitting and working away. She stares at him, but he doesn’t know that she is staring at him. She enters almost a period of trance for a minute or so. Not that an urgent action is required, but for Amelia this means everything. To see one’s ancestor’s plan for the descendant’s life laid out in a plain piece of paper is everything. She steps out of the library and rings Xi. Immediately, he answers with a ‘Yeess!’ She is not impressed but needs to make amends with him. ‘Hey. How much do you know of the institute and since when have you been working for them?’ Xi is always doing something at the background, like a plate is about to be smashed or a woman is whining or asking him about things etc. ‘Hang on a minute. I told you about my workings with the institute. What’s the big deal?’ he responds impatiently ‘Just calm down right. I have come across a few letters written a long time ago by my great grand-father.’ She pauses and Xi listens intently. ‘I bet it’s the institute! Just be careful!’ Amelia doesn’t know how to take that. ‘I know. I think I know who would do that. I think this is a game that the institute are playing to get me under their wings so sooner or later they can just break my wings or my neck. For me it’s very important that I won’t fall on their trap. I just wanted your input onto this as I wasn’t sure what to do.’ She then wants to conclude the conversation as soon as she can. ‘Anyway Xi. Thanks for picking up the phone. I really appreciate it.’ Xi sips his tea ‘When are you going to send the stuff thru? PDF-ing?’ Amelia is a little confused initially but then she gets it ‘Ah. Yes. Yes, I will send thru. It’s a large file. You may want to clear out any backlog. This is much more expensive though. I guess you will get a bigger cut from it as well. I want the big fat cut too.’ Xi sips his tea once more ‘I agree. See what I can do. Send the stuff thru anyway!’ and then hangs up.
Amelia goes back to her desk in the library and rereads the letters once more. The Truman reference annoys her slightly. But resilience is the norm when it comes to facing these critical situations for Amelia. First thing she does is research the Truman estate. A mega-building containing some of the most important works of art anywhere in London. With a staff of three hundred and a security reinforcement that is mind-boggling difficult to penetrate. She observes that the area where the club used to be, today is a café, serving customers and the visitors in the estate. ‘This is not a museum or a gallery but an Art Estate!’ Amelia thinks to herself. The only way to tackle this is to go through proper channels rather than try and commit something stupid. Her eight-dimensional views do not provide much conclusive penetration. In the right-hand side bar of the website, she pulls this item under the “History of the Estate” section. It isn’t more than a mere overview of the state from the dark ages, pre-Truman era when everything was just a swamp land. ‘Why do I need to know that!?’ She wonders. Then further down below the patchy bit where you must follow a chain of links and sub links to get a better read of what’s in sections below, she stumbles on a longer paragraph with the heading “Was Jack the Ripper a member of the club?” This drew her attention quite quickly. Then she responds to it silently “Yes. He was. I know that because I have three letters confirming that from the devil himself.” And then she smiles. She can feel it herself that she is onto something here. The paragraph doesn’t have more than just a small description of the history of the Jack the Ripper and his ventures. She quickly moves on from the section and then onto the view of the estate. She wants to make sure that she has good visibility of the intersection between the beer hall and the vicinity inside the arts hall. The café is right in the corner with a view in the hall but also in the outer street which considering is Brick Lane, from her viewing position she doesn’t think is the right angle. She browses some more, looking at the pictures of the place and trying to figure out how is she going to find the place where the “Dosh” is hidden. It strikes her that the term Dosh might not be what describes the items or item that Charles Cross has hidden there. It might well be something more resembling another note or another item which is important to him hence he has written to her for her to find it. She spends more time thinking about the latter. But the skirmishes of the past bother her a lot. The moments of struggle when the struggling victims had no idea what has just happened to them, and the growling of some, the non-sensical plead for help that they embarked on in their last moments of their lives, struggling to breathe and not able to blurt anything articulate out of their mouths. That period of living like an insomniac when nights became never-ending excitement and thirst for blood but not forgiving and days were just a source of continued motivation and the seeking for the new hunt. She has become slightly spiritual in the last two days or so. Probably the last kill did bring her to new senses. Huh, new senses whatever that is. I mean she could just overplay her hand in life with all the stuff she’s got in her head, but she cannot avoid the simple fact that there is stuff she needs to go through before she commits herself to new adventures. Clearly, to her, walking the streets of the city feels like an empowering parade. When that power translates like an anomaly, an anomaly amongst the living. You never know, these people might have their hands with blood. How do I know that! Sod knows what kind of lives they lead and whether they are as innocent as their faces might tell me. Sombre moods most of the time, they are the ones that you need to keep an eye on. As she watches and observes people in the street going about their lives, Amelia feels this deep sense of connection to them. It is an empowering moment, a reflection. Things that she is not able to go through when standing on her own two feet. What particularly strikes her thoughts is the frequency of people stopping in the middle of the streets with their AR50s on and just looking ridiculous or pathetic. She does feel that probably bashing into them ‘by accident’ is something that could wake them up or at least make them aware that they are a nuisance to a lot many people. She hates it when people are inconsiderate and detached from the reality. Although, having said that – this reality, the one that she has embarked on is the knackered vision of a dystopian world where the lords and lordesses of the resurfacing of the old shadows, are overruling her reality. She can’t take it out of her mind that, probably, deep down, somehow, she must believe or accept the belief that she is mortal, and immortality is only for the ones that have been totally abandoned by any sense realism. She leaves the library and heads for the flat. She must deliver the goods for Xi.
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