The universe wants to play with you (part 31)

As promised, here's my report on the last few days:

About ten days ago, there was vague talk of a heightened security risk, a coming event. It wasn't transmitted in a memo or email but casually, almost imperceptibly, from person to person. It seems to have gone round everyone, from the top (operational rather than  figurehead) to me. No one could say what it was about but it hung in the air. I took it as a sign of something that was going to happen.

The universe wants to play with you - Full version

The complete text (so far...), unencumbered by photos. Print it out and read it in the bath. Don't let your servants read it though...

 

 

The universe wants to play with you Retro 2014 Spectacular! Parts 21-30

The universe wants to play with you parts 21-30

 

 

The universe wants to play with you Retro 2014 Spectacular! Parts 11-20

 THE UNIVERSE WANTS TO PLAY WITH YOU 11-20

 

The universe wants to play with you Retro 2014 Spectacular! Parts 1-10

 THE UNIVERSE WANTS TO PLAY WITH YOU 1-10

 

View from a (new) darkened room

The creative  process
Just been lying in the bath, musing on the creative process, or more particularly, my creative process, always a slightly unpredictable beast at the best of times.

My big complaint over the last few years has been the lack of time I had for writing which meant anything I wanted to do had to be condensed into an hour or so in the evening; one of the drawbacks of living in a small house with four children between the ages of 5 and 8 and three adults.

The universe wants to play with you (part 30)

For fuck's sake, Roland, what was the point of this?
                                                                                 

Look, it wasn't meant to happen like this. They were playing three-way chess in the car and it was only when they hear the woman on her cell that they realised they'd missed someone. They were just a bit, er, over enthusiastic.

Trying to drag someone into a car isn't overenthusiastic, it's stupid and dangerous. I thought you'd learned your lesson after last week's fiasco.
                                                                        Come on, that was a genuine misunderstanding.

The universe wants to play with you (part 29)

From Fernanda to Anya, from a puzzle piece to the puzzle solver, from the... I'm sure you get the idea by now.

Anya, half Hungarian, half New Zealander, all crazy, with a mind that works quite differently to everyone else.

I know exactly when I first met her, I was 20 and pregnant, she was 16 with an attitude like a diamond, I was queuing up in the toilets at a gig in London, sporting an impressive bump which appeared to be invisible to everyone else who was waiting. Anya, wearing pink leggings and a kilt around her neck like a shawl marched to the front and clapped her hands and howled like a lone wolf with toothache. Despite the hubbub, they all stopped talking while she growled slowly in her strange accent of kiwi mixed with Hungarian, "There's a pregnant woman waiting here, why don't you let her go first, you self centred bitches," it even felt as if the music went quieter.

Pain and Music with my Insane Friend

I got home from work tonight at 8.30, feeling tired miserable and in pain. I’ve had what I thought was bad toothache for over a week and this morning decided SOMETHING HAD TO BE DONE; the cost of dental care over here is beyond the reach of most people so a trip to the emergency clinic at the School of Dentistry is the only solution.

The clinic is open 9-12 in the morning and 2-4 in the afternoon and is so much cheaper than a dentist and you don’t have to pay straight away. The only drawback is you just have to wait and wait and wait. I got there just after 9 and left at 12.45.

View from a darkened room

Am I a hobo?

View from new house
 

 

I'm just about to move house, the fifth time in the 4 years I've lived in New Zealand, so I got thinking about how many different places I've lived in over my 52 years.

 

I lived with my parents in Liverpool until I was almost 17, 1978, and then until October 1990, I lived in another 6 houses or flats before I spent the next 9 months travelling throughout Eastern Europe.

 

The universe wants to play with you (part 28)

Driving away from the bus stop with Corrado in the back, it struck me how odd this all was, not so much someone falling through space, seen that and done it but the fact it should have been him who turned up. Now that's weird synchronicity.

But it was the dwarves that was most weird - what was that about? How were they waiting there? And why dwarves? There's something we don't know and I don't like that.

With one bound...

My last blog post evidently came across as quite negative, judging by some of the feedback I got. This was unintentional and was probably because it was going to be a long involved piece but I ran out of time and lost patience with it and just shoved it up.

And that is the beauty and, perhaps, the point of blogs...as if there needs to be one.

View from a darkened room

Before
 

After
 

There is no plan B

 

'I don't belong here,' was the thought that involuntarily popped into my head on the morning of my first day in New Zealand; four years later, it still resonates, though I've reconciled myself to the fact that I'll probably spend the rest of my life here.

Moving to a new, very different country at the age of 48 was never going to be easy though I thought I'd get used to it after a few months. It didn't quite happen that way...

The universe wants to play with you (part 27)

TRANSCRIPT

 

Location: A suite of rooms underground in Wellington.

Attendance: Sir Ray Bergquist, chair, New Zealand Intelligence and Security Forum;

Roland Auger, Human Liaison representative for the New Zealand  National Dwarf Association;

Olwen Rees, Secretary, Dwarf Liberation Movement.

 

Distractions

The Distractions - Time goes by so slow

Not that kind of distraction, good though it is.

The universe wants to play with you (part 26)

Text Epistles

 

Aaron, I'm going to be in dunedin tonight

and tomorrow. doing some secret government

work. I'll need some help from u n merl. I'll ring.

G

 

The universe wants to play with you (part 25)

We've found the head.

Quigg felt as if it was him who'd gone into another dimension. The 'investigation' was so strange, like a circus, dozens just milling around in a supposed top secret national security case, a mixture of people who seemed unlikely investigators and some straight out of central cop/agent casting. The American wasn't an American; he was an Australian, Ray Bergquist, the replacement for the unfortunate Dame Gunnarson.

The universe wants to play with you (omnibus edition. Parts 1-26)

 

Part one

I discovered something yesterday. Or at least I think I did. You can never be too sure these days with all the strange things that are happening around the place. And anyway, my grasp on reality has never been the same since reading Philip K Dick’s Exegesis. At least the weird dreams have stopped for now-I think. So I was on the side of the library waiting to cross the road to the café and through the window, I saw a girl, well, a woman who was the spitting image of me. I didn’t have my glasses on because vanity always gets the better of me but it was just like looking in a mirror; she was so identical. I moved my arms to see if she did the same; she didn’t. That got a man staring at me. I crossed the road, peering intently at her. As I went in, she looked towards me and it seemed like she quickly turned away. I got a coffee and went to sit down and she’d gone. As if by magic which is I suppose the correct thing for a doppelganger to do. I couldn’t see her through the window in either direction. I took the coffee and sat outside so I could have a smoke. It’s an uneasy feeling having a doppelganger unless I was just hallucinating again. I should have asked if anyone else saw the resemblance. It reminded me of years ago when I was crossing a busy road in London and stopped at the island in the middle and out of nowhere a girl popped up and asked me the directions to Abney Park cemetery which was about 20 metres away. If that wasn’t odd enough, the next Saturday in the same place, what seemed the same girl asked me again. I had to lie down after that. Weird coincidence with someone with short term memory loss or something else? A few days before the doppelganger cropped up, I was driving back into town in the dark-first time I’d left here for almost a year-noticed a car staying behind me which is unusual as I drive a lot slower since picking up two speeding tickets the same day last year. A bit paranoid lately despite being tooled up, especially being a woman at night and with all the stories hear about roaming mobs of Satanists or whatever this week’s scare is. I took a detour off the main drag, pulled over for a smoke for 5 minutes. No-one followed. When I got back to SH1, the same car was coming along as if it had just restarted. I put on a bit of speed but it kept the same distance behind the whole way home, even though I did a ticky tour. I think there were two men it. Haven’t seen them since. No idea what any of this means.

How’s Rick?

H

X

 

PART TWO

Don't send me any more of this crap. I have enough problems as it is. The cafe was closed by the council for a week because an idiot tourist said they found mouse shit in their rice salad. it was a raisin. just leave me alone, I don't need reminding that my sister is a nutter.

 

PART THREE

 

Merlin Phoenix Clinton didn't enjoy driving at night. he had to pull the seat closer to the wheel so he could peer myopically into the dark, clenching it tight as he could. He didn't like being spoken to when driving either. Or talk shows on the radio. he especially didn’t like Aaron talking to him at night or any other time. As they passed the 'no doctor, no hospital, one cemetery' sign in Waihola, he knew he would start up. He always did.

 

*I love that sign. it’s so stupid.

Merlin ignored him but it didn’t work

*Do you like the business cards*no, i don't like the business cards*you don't like the embossed hound on them* yes that’s good. i just don't think you should have put undercover operatives on it*but that's what we are*i know but we don't want anyone else to know that do we*why*because we won't be undercover anymore if they know we're undercover, will we*ah ok, i didn't think of that*anyway, i don’t think we need business cards. i mean, who can we show them to*o k. i could redo them to make them more neutral, so we can give them out to contacts. just names and cell numbers*ok that might be worth it

33 minutes later, the car bumped over a hole, slowed and stopped outside a building. They looked up.

*No light on Merl. actually, no roof on it.

 

Nothing but the sky. Merlin got his notebook out and leafed through it.

*fuck. give me the map.*we’ve gone to the wrong house haven’t we*yeah, right road, wrong part of town. that’s the problem with the whole no phone, no gps, laptop idea* i need to practice my map reading I suppose. long time since the scouts.

Ten minutes later, outside the right house, it was quiet and it seemed the same inside too. No curtains or blinds were closed giving a view clear through the house to the back garden.

*ironic we have no electronics on us but the whole house is covered*big house for one person, isn’t it*when she turns up, we'll stay for about 5 minutes and that should do the job.*shit, look, the light's gone on, she must have been sitting in the dark*maybe she parks at the back of the house. i'll start the car and see if the noise makes her look out. I'm sure she'll recognise the car from the other day*Merl, drive round the back, she's just put a jacket on.

 They parked on the other side of the road, diagonally behind. After a few minutes, a woman came out, stared in their direction, got in the car and drove down the hill.

*this is perfect Aaron, we'll stay with her for 5 minutes then clear off back to the office*can we get something to eat then, i'm hungry as.

Merlin and Aaron sat in the tiny room that was their office at a small table wedged against a wall, eating KFC. The rest of the wall was taken up by computer gadgetry stacked almost to the ceiling.

*my daughter asked me about the ethics of banking this morning and how I can justify doing it. i just said would you prefer we couldn’t afford food. that’s a cop out she said*she’s right though but it doesn’t matter. I don’t particularly like some of the things we do but if we didn’t do it someone else would. anyway, we were offered the franchise not the Wilkins brothers and they’d be far worse*but you’re saying the same as me*no I’m not. I don’t believe in ethics at all. Can’t see the point to be honest. I spent 20 years as an engineer, long hours, dirty, tiring and I never got as much as I earn now for driving round in a car with you. That of course, is the down side* thanks, I appreciate that. Do you ever wonder what this is all about* this woman or the whole thing? *both *not very often. It pays our wages. anyway, enough smoko time, we need to listen some of this audio.

 

Oscar, you’re an arsehole and your rude. A little bit of sympathy would be nice. You sent me plenty about Rick’s tumour and photos and I didn’t complain. The same car that followed me was outside the house tonight when I left. 2 middle aged men were in it, they didn’t look dangerous but they could be. They had moustaches like that old 118 118 advert. I think I’ll go to the police. What do you think?

H

X

___________________________________________________________________________

Ok, I’m sorry. I’ve never been to New Zealand but I can’t imagine who would be following you, you’re just not interesting enough. You should go to the police but that might be who it is. Rick is doing well by the way. Let me know what happens.

Oscar

 

 PART FOUR

 

 

“what’s this bullshit? Stevens come here. who took this shit down? Fucking dwarves-this is fucking bullshit. What the fuck is this, man?

‘There’s more sir; there’s four I think’.

Four report sheets lay in the tray and stared up.

Senior Sergeant Pat Marker’s face contorted into a rage so hideous, the fly on the wall dropped down dead. The veins on his bald head bulged out red and his moustache began to twitch; his eyes grew larger, his breath laboured and his whole body shook, slowly then faster until his whole head exploded showering blood, snot, brains and a sizeable chunk of ear wax all over constable Stevens who, luckily, was already wearing his emergency overalls. His false teeth hit the window and bounced onto the floor, before scuttering out of the door in search of a new home.

---

Half an hour later, after everything had been sucked back in by Dr Strouthous and his trusty vacuum cleaner and the head patched up, Marker sat at his desk with Senior Constable Burroughs, the only officer in the station he ever listened to.

23 years in the service had taught Pat many sophisticated and subtle ways of people management, bullying his inferiors and sucking up to his bosses, which had given him a solid reputation amongst his colleagues.  As a twat.

‘I’ve been in the service 23 years and I’ve never even seen a fucking dwarf and now we’ve got vanloads of them driving around harassing people. what the fuck is this? are these people morons?’.

Words swelled in Burrough’s mouth but his brain restrained them; Marker still looked edgy enough to explode again if the wrong expression was used. Only weekly injections of a drug used to sedate psychotic baboons put him in a state close to human and Burroughs knew most of all how thin the line could be. As Marker said in his more lucid, reflective moments, ‘if it’s good enough for monkeys, prime ministers and royalty, it’s good  enough for me’.

“do they have beards like the ones in that movie? maybe that’s what it is, they escaped from the movie set!’

‘sir, how do we know they’re not what they say they are? Maybe they’re a special section of SIS that’s manned just by dwarves’.

Like a layer of smoke left after the fire is put out, the words hung there so their absurdity could be savoured

‘don’t be stupid; where would they get them from? we need to pass this on and get these people talked to. I’ve got better things to do’.

 ‘you probably never noticed but one of them was from your friend Bruce’.

……

‘Bruce, Pat here. what’s this about dwarves?’

‘Hi Pat, I was expecting you to ring. it was really strange, we’d just got out of Waihola, when we came across this silver van facing towards us, lights full on and a flashing sign on the roof saying stop. I thought it was cops because I was speeding a bit so we pulled over and these three little men got out. they were dressed in black. I thought they were kids. one of them had a little stool that brought him up to window level so I wound it down. he said “hello sir’ and showed me an id card’.

‘what did it say on it?’

‘It had a photo of him and across the top said Internal Security Service and his name, Greg Mabinowski’

‘so what did he say to you?’

‘that they were conducting spot checks for terrorists in line with a new law which he quoted. Don’t remember it though. He was very polite; looked at my licence, checked it on his computer and said thank you very much sir, sorry to bother you, it all looked official. it is,misn’t it’?

‘no idea. We had other reports as well. Did you get the licence plate number?’

‘no, couldn’t see it. Just assumed it was some new thing. It was only because my cousin in balacutha rang me to say he’d been stopped as well that I thought I’d ring you. he rang the ODT as well.’

‘fuck, no. sorry Bruce, I’ve gotta go-have to find out what’s going on, I’ll have the ODT down on our necks again’.

PART FIVE

 

 

not always obvious where the sky ends and the sea begins, is it?

if you sailed at it in a boat, you’d find out soon enough;.

I can see the sea but the sea can’t see me.

---

what if it could though --if it was alive and breathing and conscious;

yeah and when you swam in it you were swimming in something alive that knew you were in there;

it could drown you or push you back to land;

maybe drowning is the sea wanting you to stay forever;

I’d prefer it to not want me to be honest.

the universe is maybe the same, a vast active living intelligence system
 just like Dick said-did you read it yet

I tried, honest but it was just too hard for me-it made my brain ache. I’m not into philosophy.

what do you think though-is it possible-I don’t mean like old man with white beard on cloud but the whole thing alive from us to stones to dirt and the stars and everything.

and we’re just tiny specks…

we’re not even that

…of sand

so why your name then-it’s unusual for a first name

I know but you can talk too. If the universe is alive why does it allow a miserable system to exploit us and suck out our souls

the dog doesn’t allow the flea on its back but it’s still parasitic.

 

 

Ha, ha, now I know you're not being serious.

 

PART SIX

 

Meanwhile, after the romantic interlude…

Sanders doesn’t live under his name but with it and the constant questions of why, well…why Greg? You can’t get more boring than that or add in your own least favourite name. Sanders lives up 39 steep steps, always wheezing, reaching the top, meaning to stop smoking four or five times everyday. Being a security guard doesn’t help, time standing round in the dark, liking the glowing red after a puff and the smoke being dragged down his throat.  

---

Today, when the summit is reached he sits in his chair in front of the computer and reads the ODT for light relief and all the stories that don’t matter, like motorists being harassed by dwarves in security uniforms.

What’s that about? Groups of unemployed dwarves left destitute after the end of the Hobbit’s filming wreaking revenge on Peter Jackson’s former countrymen? Or an underground race of dwarves predating the Maori’s arrival and finally coming out to reclaim their land? Or some fetishistic dwarves deciding to show everyone that little people can dress up in uniforms as well; at least they haven’t started sodomising anyone yet.

Sanders emailed the link to Hawthorn with the message, ‘you’ll like this and they had their own stepladder’.

What if the story was real though? Security dwarves sweeping the south looking for, well… something. Sanders had a well developed sense of paranoia, nurtured by experience and a lifetime of mistrust of authority. A list of the culprits is available on request but it includes the Catholic church, schools and all previous and current employers. But even so, it seemed unlikely.  Apart from anything else, such as why bother, people notice things like that and complain. The only answer was it had to be some sort of stunt to advertise something.

 

PART SEVEN

 

 

Hi there, good seeing you the other day. Well, after our talk, I decided it was time to do something about the stalkers so I took the old fashioned route, like I did with your father before we moved here.

---

So I did a recce and drove out of town and found the perfect cul-de-sac which also had a little extra road linking two driveways that came out further back on the road. I got my Puma Bowie knife and the old sledgehammer and stuck them on the passenger seat. It was so easy…

As usual, they were waiting on the other side of the road, looking particularly pleased with themselves. Smug bastards. I set off really slowly so they had to stay behind quite a bit then sped up as I got closer to the cul-de-sac. Whoever they are, they’re not very bright as they just parked up by the last driveway, turned the engine off and waited.

I just sneaked through the bushes and was already raising the sledgehammer when I came out. The first thing they knew was when the windscreen shattered and they screamed but by then I was already smashing the back one. Then I just slashed the rear tyres, went back through the bush and back in the car and I was away.

Honestly, they were pathetic, one of them shouting, ‘I’m blinded, I’m blinded’, I could still hear them as I drove off. I was laughing my head off all the way to work. Best day I’ve had since the infamous BMW incident which, according to Lucy, is still talked about locally.

My only worry is that the stalkers look for revenge. Suppose it depends on what they’re really up to.  Don’t care really but if I disappear you know who to blame.

Speak soon,

Love mum

PART EIGHT

 



Drama student prank answer to 'dwarf' mystery

By Brendan O'Çleary 

Senior Sergeant Pat Marker admitted that the case of the 'Dwarf Security Service' , reported last week in the ODT, was one of the stranger investigations he has been involved in during his almost 18 years on the force in Dunedin.

It was also one of the quickest to solve. Marker and his team only had 3 letters of the van's rego plate plus a vague description of the type of van to go on. Luckily, one of the scarfie's involved told his sister, who told her mother who phoned Marker directly.

---

All four students involved were quickly invited to Dunedin Central Police station, where they given a stern talking to by Marker. As he explained, 'I was quite cross with them as it could have had serious consequences. They realised this and are very apologetic about this stunt. It was for this reason that we decided not to charge them or release their names as we don't want to see a spate of copycat actions'.

However, not everyone approves of this approach. Calvin Malkevic of the Sensible Sentencing Trust warned that it sent the wrong message to other students. 'These students have been let off scott-free for the crime of impersonating security officials. Due to the lack of punishment, I wouldn't be surprised to see similar future copycat actions'.

Pat Marker thinks the likelihood of a repeat is low, not least because neither he nor the perpetrators are going to reveal how it was done.

 

Part nine

Aaron and Merlin sat at a table squashed by the wall, adjacent to their impressive array of computer equipment, complete with tracking devices, monitors, everything shiny and hi-tech. The irony wasn’t lost on Merlin that modern technology is, in certain circumstances, easily bested by the primordial violence of the vengeful.

A silence, brought on by the imminent arrival of Gillespie Quigg, added to the already despondent atmosphere. Quigg, if born centuries earlier, would have been the perfect witch finder or member of the Inquisition or something else equally intimidating. He had the knack of making you think he already knew something that you wanted to keep secret, so you ended up telling him anyway.

---

*I don’t know what to say to Gillespie about my face.

*shaving accident?

*only if I’d been shaving with broken glass. I suppose I’ll have to go with a car crash. More important is what we’re going to say about our progress on the files.

*look Merl, we’re doing fine on all of them apart from the woman and we can just say we’re making slower progress because she was the last of this batch.

*that’ll only work if he’s not in a hands-on mood or he’ll be having us drive him round to the house to ask her.

*really?

*I’m joking. I think. All depends on what mood he’s in.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As Gillespie Quigg walked the mile to Aaron and Merlin’s office, he focused on what he needed to say to them. This wasn’t easy. One of his many rules was always following his instinct; the few times he didn’t were always regretted. His instinct now was that something wasn’t right with their operation in general and their latest subject in particular.

Despite objections from others above him, he had insisted they were the right people for the job. Merlin was conventional in his thinking but he had a good analytical mind. Aaron was naïve, impulsive but had a photographic memory for faces and details. Together they should have made a good team but now he wasn’t so sure.

When he arrived, he could sense a different kind of tension to normal and the state of Merlin’s face showed something had gone wrong. Taking the car crash explanation at face value, he jumped straight in:

*I think you two are out of your depth, given the situation we’re in. You’re not delivering the results I need. We need to talk seriously about what I can do to help you.

Quigg almost smiled to himself; they both looked like naughty school kids caught out by their teacher.

*That's not true Gillespie-we're on top of what we do and we're ready to move up to the next level.

*What situation?

*We’ll see. Ok. Did either of you read the ODT today?

Both answered no.

Quigg gave them a photocopy of the article from the ODT about the dwarf incidents.

*Well, read this article and I'll ask you both a question about it.

*You first Aaron. What do you think?

*Yep, I knew it was just a stunt right from the start.

*Merlin?

*no, I don't believe it. Too vague, no names, no details and it mentions copycat actions twice, as if they're getting in early with the explanation for the next sighting. Just doesn’t make sense. Not that I think the original story is true.

*You’re wrong Merl, it's got a quote from Mal Parker-I know him, he wouldn't lie.

*He would if the alternative was traffic duty-this is why I said you're out of your depth. There's a lot going on that you don’t know about.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

Less than a hundred metres away, Hawthorn Villan was treating herself to a celebratory coffee, sandwich and cake for lunch-a radical change from rice and lentils. Pleased that she didn’t have to start work until later, she’d gone home and emailed a few people about her morning’s activity; there’s nothing like revenge to set you up for a good day.

Her phone on the table rang but stopped before she could pick it up. Blocked number was displayed – damn, she thought, I must owe money. Looking across the café, a woman was staring directly at her; fuck, it was her doppelganger again. Hawthorn hesitated; she wanted to go over and talk to her but what would happen? Would they cancel each other out or both explode in a flash of sparks and fire.

Hesitation over, she glanced back ready to get up. She was gone,

*Hello Hawthorn.

She shrieked and jumped. *Shit.

*I shouldn’t be able to do that, should I? But I can. As my mum used to say, there’s more things you can do with your mind than there’s fleas on a dog.

*Who are you?

The woman was younger than Hawthorn had thought but definitely looked like her.

*Name, rank and serial number?

*Why are you following me? *ha, ha…I thought it was you following me-I think we just follow the same star. *I want to know your name.

*Names are handy things. I’ve got lots of them-what about you?

* Enough thank you but you still haven’t told me yours.

*Well, one of them is Fernanda but if you don’t like that, we can try some of my other ones.

Hawthorn leant across the table, gripped Fernanda’s hand, looked deep into her eyes and whispered, *are you a catholic? For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.

Ferdanda’s confidence quickly faded into uncertainty. *I don’t understand.

*I’ve got quite a reputation for being violent but that’s not what you need to be worried about with me, is it? I think you’ve just realised who you’re dealing with haven’t you?

*Quite possibly, yes. Fernanda managed a faint smile as she said this.

*Good, so we can start all over again without the stage tricks.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I’m not at the top of the food chain but I get some good scraps thrown my way sometimes so I’ve built up a picture of what’s going on. The dwarves aren’t important but they’ve been around since the Holland government though where they live is another question as you’d imagine someone would have noticed them.

Then there’s the underground nuclear reactor that was built in by secret by Muldoon which is still functioning for no apparent purpose; it’s well-known amongst MPs and the media but the public don’t know about it. There’s more but they’re just sideshows.

The New Zealand economy is fucked; but capitalism is functioning just like it should. It’s behind all this where the real decisions take place. There’s a constant battle between parts of the state, private security firms, corporations, police, military, the intelligence services about what should be done; they’ve all got different agendas and their fights spill over into the public. And we’re part of it.

Of course, what happens here is minor compared to the States. Think about the NSA scandal. Their budget was increased by 4 million; the CIA and other agencies’ budgets were reduced by around the same amount so have a guess what’s going on here.

Anyway, there’s more than enough technology out now or waiting in the wings to make keeping secrets almost impossible. The more there is, the more there’ll be in the future-that’s how it goes-all this data that is collected leads to the ability to control more of what we do and think-that’s the aim and will probably be the result

Half the battles going on are about who will be in control. That’s mainly what we’re involved in. We’re not dealing with terrorists or subversives but working for one side to stack up the odds in their favour.

*You’re believing conspiracy theories, Gillespie. The world is simpler than that.

*I’ve spent thirty years conspiring against people; I know what I’m talking about.

*The dwarf stuff is bollocks. I think you’ve become too cynical

*I’m not cynical; I’ve spent my life spying on people, framing them, wrecking their lives, all for organisations who told me it was for the good of society.

*Why do it then?

*I was in a left wing group and got trapped into informing. I could have refused but I was faced by an alternative that would have really hurt someone close to me. I was too scared by what could happen that I went along with it. I hate what I do to people; it’s like I sold my soul. But none of that’s any excuse; I’m up to my elbows in it and there’s no way out now, even though it destroys me.

*You’re going soft; me and Aaron do this because it’s important. Someone has to do this type of thing and despite what you say, we do it well.

*I’m under pressure for you to get results and if you don’t, we’re all in the shit. Look, I’m going to take you out for some food now but we have to work on a plan to help you. I need to know what really happened to your face Merlin and I also want you to give me Hawthorn Villan’s data.

 Part 10

Hawthorn was laughing to herself as she drove off to work. Today’s score so far: 2-0. Maybe it was all beginning to come together.

 

 

As she turned back onto George St, she saw the stalkers on the pavement walking along with another man. Toying with the idea of running them over and claiming she’d had a fit, Hawthorn noticed that the third man looked familiar but she couldn’t place him.

She drove past, pulled over to a park and got out. Half an hour before work, still time to do some investigating. Following behind on the other pavement, they were deep in conversation-almost arguing. The other man had an air about him, suggesting he was in charge or had a hold over them.

---

They stopped at a set of lights at a crossroad but didn’t cross. This must be where they were parting company. Hawthorn took 5 quick photos on her phone and then crossed over so she was still on the other side of the road but in front.

 

After some vigorous head movements, they shook hands and the 3^rd man headed down the road Hawthorn had just crossed so she followed behind. He turned left and got into a car-Hawthorn walked past memorising the number plate and make and then doubled back on herself, heading back to the car.

Sitting in the car park, she put the car details in her phone and studied the photos. She wasn’t sure if she had seen number 3 in New Zealand or in Britain or elsewhere but she’d definitely seen him somewhere. This was all becoming even stranger; doppelgangers, stalkers and mystery men-at least it made life more interesting and she had enjoyed smashing the windows...

Before going into work, she texted Sanders:

Hi S. had exciting day. Tell u at breakfast at 8.30 2morow.

H J

Part eleven

Walking to work at night. Is shit. Walking to work and then spending 10 hours standing around. Is more shit. Three days before the car's back. And that's shit too.

Meeting Hawthorn for breakfast isn't shit. Exciting day, wish I had one sometime.

Tell her about Dick-hard going, even universe essay. Must read more stuff like that. Weird but made sense.

---

Reality ain't what it used to be.

Maybe it never was or maybe it always is. Ha, ha, ha...

Reminds me of Ethan, always talking about conspiracies, everything was a conspiracy but there's a lot it about, like fucking rain. Everyday mud-just when it looks like it's over, it starts again.

Dwarf thing has to be something-student prank is bollocks. Wonder what Hawthorn thinks about this sort of thing. Not sure of what I think.

Not sure what I think about anything anymore. Nothing so simple as black and white. Got to stop smoking. At least in the car, it's only a one smoke journey; by foot it's two. And I can't listen to music-never wear headphones when walking or you will die.

 

That house never has lights on, never seen anyone in it but there's never anything sticking out the mailbox.

There's an air about it-much older than the others-looks like a black and white still from old movie. Very un-kiwi.

Mind you, the factory's odd and old-Don't really understand why they want security. Nothing much left in it and been empty for months and huge fences.

Fergus thinks he owns it, making me do a checklist every hour. Don't sleep, keep to the schedule, ring me before the police-ready for another tour of duty then?

Hate this last bit of the hill-welcome to the void of another 12 hours on my own when the gate opens.

"Good Evening Sanders. Ready for another tour of duty then?"

 

          Part twelve

 

First female: Just a reminder of our rules. No names, no notes, no outside dissemination unless mutually agreed upon..

First female nods to first male.

First male:

The category D situation is firmly under control with no expected repeat. A total misunderstanding but when seen from their viewpoint what happened was logical. Procedures put in place will ensure this can't happen again. As expected, there has been no negative feedback from partners.

More importantly, the experiments regarding category D that I've mentioned previously have shown incredibly good results. We have already used them successfully in three operations. I'll go into more detail later.

First female nods to second female.

Second female:

Interest in the NSA/GCSB has died down here, to the extent that it actually made it out of the media in the first place. For us, it was really helpful as it emphasised technology over old fashioned intelligence, so helping to obscure Janus which is producing some incredible material, especially in the way that it keeps drawing in people like a real-time chain mail letter. Numbers now enrolled are far higher than expected at this stage.

Both islands are well covered by now. In one South Island city, the Mayor,  Deputy Mayor and three councillors all compromised each other from one very innocuous beginning. This network also played an important role in the resolution to the Cat D issue referred to earlier. Due to the outstanding results, more funding has been put forward to speed things up. After lunch, the operational manager will be covering some of the significant successes, and believe me, they are significant.

First female nods to second male.

 

Second Male:

Internet security fallout as mentioned above has also helped to draw attention away from anyone pursuing the few public signs of the T/D Experiments being conducted with partners from other places. These have had exciting results which have taken us into areas that are almost unbelievable and given us access to knowledge that is beyond our current comprehension thus far. However, we are optimistic that we are close to finding a key to unlocking all of this. In light of my last report, I'm pleased to say there have been no more accidents. The lead scientist will expand on the progress and future opportunities this afternoon.

First female nods to third male.

Third male:

In conjunction with Northern one and Eastern one and three, we are, like T/D, moving into areas that are at the very edge, and beyond, of our reality. What is happening is ultra-sensitive and will be expanded on after lunch by our guest speaker. He will be talking in particular about the gains we are making now from this research, and can expect to continue to make in the future but also the very really dangers that are present and how we can attempt to guard against them.

First female nods to fourth male.

Fourth male:

After the presentations, I will look at the security aspect of all the projects and look at which issues we need to consider in relation to our governments and the media.

First female:

Thanks for the concise introductions. We'll now go next door for lunch. Same rules apply. Ferguson, you can open the door now.

 

Part thirteen

Merlin was raging. Flecks of spit decorated monitors, walls and Aaron's face.

This is war. I'm not being treated like this. I am not going to put up with this. He's a red; he admitted it. He's a traitor, a fifth columnist. I'm going to ring Farry on the emergency number.

Aaron's ears and nose were already bleeding as Merlin's voice rose higher and he started to jump up and down. Next would be the banging of his head against the wall, followed by destruction of everything around him.

Aaron moved slowly and quietly into the other room, closed the door behind him, took a gas mask out of the cupboard, put it on and then tapped a code into a key pad under a shelf. He counted up to 25 and stopped when he heard a loud thud from the main room.

After waiting for a few more minutes, he went back to Merlin, turned him over and put a pillow under his head and cuffed his hands and feet. He quickly rang Merlin's wife and then went home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron removed the cuffs from Merlin's feet and hands.

*How bad was I?

*Ok. Only verbal. I got you just in time before you turned into the hulk. You were going to ring Farry to denounce Gillespie.

*Hmmm, I think I might still do that.

*You can't.

*Why not?

*Think about it. What if it's a test of your loyalty to see if Gillespie can trust you? Or it could be a test to see if you'd put the organisation first. You don't know. Whatever you say or don't say could be wrong. We're in a wilderness of mirrors. Gillespie is right when he said in the café that we don't actually know who we're really working for and to what end.

*That's wrong. You can't be like this. We have to be right. We have to do this-we have to carry on. Gillespie has given up. He's got no faith any more if he ever did. This is too important to give up. I don't care if it's a test, we can't have someone like him in charge of the programme. You've got to choose sides Aaron.

*Look, you're taking this wrong way. He was just wondering out loud. I've known you for over 20 years Merlin. You know I'm with you. I'm just being cautious. I'm not giving up on you. Don't do anything stupid.

*Ok. I'm just worried about Gillespie. Let's get on with today's work.

 

Chapter Two   

Part fourteen

2am. Time to do the next walkabout; Sanders closed the book. Wonder what Hawthorn will think of the comics and Zappa obsession.

 

                                                            Ow...A stabbing pain shot through his head and into his eyes.

Fuck. He held his head in his hands, feeling like he was constantly turning upside down; nauseous.

Then it stopped.

---

                           Then an alarm went off.

                                                                   Shit. The screen switched to the right area, splitting into quarters. Nothing there from any angle.

                                                                        He switched the alarm off; Reassured that no-one could possibly want to break in, he grabbed the phones, a torch and his cosh and set off to investigate.

                                                                             

                                                                              Typical that it should go off in the furthest part; he'd walked through the factory so many times, he knew exactly he had to go through 8 doors until he was there. Why did he get that pain just before the alarm went off-maybe it was some kind of electro-magnetic interference that caused both.

                                                                                     As he walked through the 7th door into the main open shop floor, another alarm went off. It sounded as if it came from the far left side, beyond the control room.

                                                                                          Jesus, what is going on-4 months and not a squeak and now two together. No pain this time so that's something.

                                                                                                      Sanders opened the final door and peered through; the alarm had gone off in the second of two empty storerooms in the area in front of him and to their right, a short corridor lead away to the rear exit. Well, at least the escape route is clear. Odd that the both doors were open; that shouldn't happen and it didn't show on the camera.

                                                                                                                         By just walking four steps, he could see straight into the first room; nothing there. Closing that door, he could see the other was empty too. Electronic malfunction. Turning away, he caught sight of a tiny glow against the inside wall so he went back in.

On the wall adjoining the first room was the outline of a door as if lit from within. Sanders laughed, 'that's straight out of a movie[ Hawthorn would love this. Standing in front of it, it did look like a door. He heard the X-files theme tune in his head and reached towards it and gave a slight push.

                                                                                                                    

 

           Shit, it was a door but it can't be. A silvery metal corridor opened up, straight from central casting-Dr Who, circa late 1970s.

 

What the fuck was going on. I'm not going in there, real or not. He picked a small screw off the floor and threw it in, watching as it bounced along skimming over some small muddy footprints.

                         Jesus, I'm off. As he went out of the room, he looked back as the wall reappeared or the door closed. An hour later, all alarms were silent, a check of the cameras had shown nothing but Sanders was still feeling nervous.

                    Before going out for smoke, he locked all the doors that led up to the control room; no more surprises. Mind you, if whatever it is, can make doorways in the walls, there's no point really.

                                           Outside, it was still totally dark, no stars and barely a moon. Too bizarre really. Sanders half expected to see some shiny UFO above the factory and for that reason, he avoided looking up. I've had enough weirdness, last thing I need is a beam of pink light hitting me. Been reading too many graphic novels and sci-fi.

                                                            Shit, the footprints. In the corridor. As soon as he'd finished smoking, he went straight to outside the two doors; there were footprints coming from the opposite wall, straight to the door and through into the room.

 

This is crazy shit-at least there's no fucking door this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

                                                                             By the time, 8 o'clock was near, Sanders felt like a wreck; he'd filed a bare bones report of the alarms and was ready to go as his replacement, Wayne arrived.

 

"Good morning Sanders-Jesus,  what have you done to your face, looks like you burnt it." 

 

 Part fifteen

 

Quigg sat on the deck in darkness, the sea distant but audible, clouds blotting out the stars and moon. He was tired after driving. after his visits, after thinking about the past. He was tired of lying; all day, everyday, for 33 years. He was tired of the emptiness, the futility, the lack of joy in his life. He'd long stopped listening to music, reading, watching movies, doing anything. Days were spent driving around the South Island, lying to people, encouraging others to lie and deceive and manipulate.

---

When he was home, he sat around, every other weekend he saw his two teenage children, other than that he drank beer and sat around, inside or outside, on the deck. The years doing all this had eaten his soul  or whatever it was, from the inside, but he never felt guilt or remorse, just a hollow feeling. Since the Snowden story began, he'd started thinking how he was a part of this huge spiders web stretching over the world; or one of the flies. He wondered if he'd said too much today; they'd both looked angry and shocked by it. One of them could report him to Farry most likely Aaron; he got on too well with Merlin. Or to Taggart, though he wasn't sure if they knew of him; he'd never given them too much. He didn't know what would happen if they did. In his darkest moments, there was always that question; did he know too much to walk away-what would happen? He'd kept a lot of notes over the years, quite religiously, for no conscious reason he wanted to think about. Layers and layers of fabrication made up his world, all the world.

 

Reality wasn't real, not what we thought it was anyway. He checked his emails on the lap, there was one from Merl; the file on the woman, including a photo. He opened it-he'd seen her before, maybe on the disastrous trip to England; he hadn't been briefed properly. What was the name of the UFO nut? he couldn't remember-fuck, he'd worked him out before he'd spoken. Denounced in front of the audience. What was that book of his with the odd title? Oh, that's right, 'If you think I'm weird, look at my reflection'. And he'd signed it for him, 'Fuck off and die, Aussie spy'.  Villan was in the audience and she'd spoken to him afterwards; distrustful and inquisitive-gave him a hard time. Fuck, this is worse, he thought. What could he do? Opening another bottle of beer, the full moon popped out through the clouds and he stared at it; imagining living there, especially if it was made from green cheese.  Sound and vision blocked out of his mind and for seconds or minutes, he felt somewhere else; another time and place, in a different past or a different future. Maybe now was the time to jump out of the loop; how bad could it be, for god's sake, while there was still time, while he still had time. He could do it quite easily. It could change lives but he'd have to plan it carefully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part sixteen

A coincidence (often stated as a mere coincidence) is a collection of two or more events or conditions, closely related by time, space, form, or other associations which appear unlikely to bear a relationship as either cause to effect or effects of a shared cause, within the observer's or observers' understanding of what cause can produce what effects.

3pm

Meanwhile, 11,850.82 miles away, Corrado Fenn was disturbed and while he'd been accused of this a number of times, including twice by high court judges, this time it was him who felt it.

---

He'd just seen a man looking at him from out of his bedroom wall.  A man wearing a security guard's uniform, who slowly faded away. 

 

A man who had a look of shock on his face. 

That didn't disturb him as much as the fact he was lying on the bed having a wank at the time. The loss of dignity was deep, even when the man disappeared; there also a deflationary effect.

Strange appearances, peculiar happenings, impossible coincidences and every other odd thing in between was just in a day's work for Fenn. As befits the author of such 'popular' books as 'Come to the stars with me or at least to my camper van' and 'If you think I’m weird, just look at my reflection', weirdness had been his constant companion since he was three or four.

From the séances his parents hosted,  to the little people on his bed, from his father reading 'The Book of law' to him when he was 12, to his mother taking him to the sky watches at Warminster when he was 14, his warped understanding of reality had turned him into the man he was today; 61, living on his own in a small house in Walthamstow, East London, a pariah to most of society but a reluctant prophet and a guru to a small minority.

This was despite him adhering to the late John Keel's mantra of  I'm 'not an authority on anything' and refusing to accept the view that UFOs are evidence of extra-terrestrial craft and beings. Over the years, he'd managed to antagonise plenty of people in the Fortean arena, not all of them deliberately, ever since his first UFO conference in the early 1970s, when he'd denounced the platform speakers, and most of the audience, as stuck-up, toff posh bastards.

 

Earmarked as difficult and contrary from the start, Fenn had only upped his game in the years since by his sheer intransigence, not to mention his ability to produce over 150 issues of a magazine that mixed the world of politics with the world of the strange ; while no-one doubted the effort he put into his research or his basic integrity, his refusal to involve himself in constructing a theory, or more importantly to self-selected groups, supporting their particular theory and his willingness to call an idiot an idiot amongst other epithets had made him vastly unpopular amongst ufonauts, conspiracy nuts, Trotskyists and countless others.

 None of this had prevented him from just about making a living from his writing most of his life with just regular back up forays into freelancing. Apart from the success of his books, the crowning glory or the slap in the face of his enemies, which was far more important, was his lecture series at Birkbeck, now into its second year.

How they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, completely ineffectually.

 

Fenn was already thinking how he could fit the visitation into tonight's lecture; no longer needing to have a shower, Fenn pulled on his clothes and got ready to go out, drinking with the remainder of the UTB before his lecture.

Part seventeen

 

It was a wet, windy and cold day in Wellington but four storeys underground in the most secure set of rooms in New Zealand, it was the perfect ambience as Dame Margaret Rae Gunnarson sat waiting for her visitor. After yesterday's day long meeting she hadn't expected to be back wearing this particular hat so soon but she couldn't complain as she sat sipping a Gin and tonic, watching the Prime Minister make a fool out of himself on TV. It's like she had always thought, you can't leave the really important things to the lottery of an election because you end up with clowns who don't understand the way the real world works.

---

She found it amusing that he didn't even now this bunker existed and neither did anyone without the proper clearance. It troubled her sometimes, the way that the elite were portrayed by the press and politicians as an out of touch minority who cared little for the mass of the population. As she knew heself from all the sacrifices she'd made, this wasn't the case; if she'd just wanted to make money, she could have done but instead she'd chosen the path of public service. From Ambassador to the USA to chair of the New Zealand Intelligence and Security forum, as well as their representative on the International body, she felt she'd played an important public role. The problem was that most people, even politicians just didn't have the skills to work at this level; she had been groomed at Oxford and Harvard, public  service was in her blood. For Gods sake, she was a personal friend of Henry Kissinger.

 

The bell rang at the outer door, it was opened by the guard who then ushered a man in his thirties into the room. They swapped protocols and passwords and both sat down.

He handed her a short document, this is just some background information on what we think we know about other dimensions, you'll find it useful...

What?

You'll see the relevance in a minute. Up to now, no heads of state have been told about this, apart from the Belgian Prime Minister, not even Obama. I know but there is a reason for that. Right, this is what we think has happened. It started at a Belgian cabinet meeting, two days ago. The Prime Minister was walking around the room talking, he leant against a wall and fell through it. There's a video of it but I haven't seen it. Witnesses saw a feint glow just before he leant against the wall. When he fell though it just closed up behind him. A hole was smashed through the wall but it just went through to the next room. Of course, no-one has been told about this; the story is that the Prime Minister is ill. No-one knows what to do and there probably isn't anything that can be done.

The next case was at the wailing wall in Jerusalem. A Jew, praying at the wall fell into it and disappeared. Again it was videoed and this is the one mostly likely to spread. Others have been reported in Finland, Switzerland and Australia but we don't know more details about these yet.

The IISF's initial view is that for some reason, boundaries between Earth and other dimensions, , if they exist, had broken down. That's not much to go on but it's the best there is.

So what do they advise?

Stay away from walls...

But surely the same could happen anywhere, not just against walls.

It was a joke; there's no advice apart from don't tell anyone the truth. It would cause mass panic and encourage terrorist attacks.

So what should I do?

That's your job, I'm only the messenger and I need to go to bed because I've got two more countries to go to tomorrow. Oh and you should only tell people on a really strict need to know basis. Think of it like an outbreak of a plague that could strike anywhere and there's no cure. Goodnight.

Dame Margaret was worried. She rang Julian to find out where he was; 'Where are you? This is an emergency. I need you here now. I'm about 10 minutes away.

 

Another Gin and tonic was the starting point.

 

Part eighteen

Three hours in the lotus position, three hours meditating and visualising the room. Jackie 1 was totally transported in her mind. Body in Dunedin, mind stretching through to Wellington.

 

Each of the other girls had exact instructions on what to do. No disturbing her. It was hard enough as it was; if she lost focus, everything would unravel.

She was 99% certain she could do it, the 1% was why she shouldn't be able to do it, but  as her mother used to say, there’s more things you can do with your mind than there’s fleas on a dog.

---

Thirty three years ago when she was seven, scientists came to Fernanda's school and tested some of the students in the hall, away from the teachers and the other children; testing for especially gifted children they'd told her sceptical mother. This worried her because there's gifted and 'gifted'. To her, 'gifted' meant someone like herself and her own mother who could see things and Fernanda was the same. Were they looking for children with abilities like this for some reason?

A few phone calls around people she knew revealed it had happened in other places too; again to children with the 'gift' Some weeks later, a letter arrived inviting Fernanda to a two week residential school in the North Island so 'they could help her attain her full potential'. Her mother said no and nothing more was heard.

 

Twenty three years ago when she was seventeen at high school, they got in contact again and asked her to go along to a meeting at the university so their data could be updated. Despite her mother being set against it, she went along out of curiosity, especially after having no memory of the previous tests.

It was a bizarre experience, the testers, whoever they were, looked liked central casting's idea of nurses and doctors, but obviously they weren't, as they had no ide how to interact with the participants. As another girl Fernanda spoke to said, it was like they'd been taught the right words to say but didn't understand what they meant.

None of the tests were like IQ tests or straightforward school exams but rather, as she found out later, the type of exercise used in testing paranormal abilities. The man in charge was a tall, bearded Australian who carried a clipboard in which he kept writing. By the time, it finished, all the participants including Fernanda felt quite uneasy and stressed; a feeling increased by the security guard who asked them all to sign a form before they left, saying they wouldn't reveal the day's activities.

Over time, as she began to understand more about the hidden world, she heard of numerous similar events that betrayed the secret state's interest in the paranormal and this only helped increase her curiosity. By the time Fernanda moved back to New Zealand in 2010, she had come to understood the possibilities of human consciousness and had spent twenty years developing her own ability to alter herself and the world around her.

 

This led to grandiose plans to mix magic and politics, most of which dashed on the rocks of life leaving just a couple of ideas in the life raft. These were worked on for the next couple of years as she plotted, researched, planned, recruited and drank lots of beer, all in a good cause; in the process of which, she began to acquire a number of useful, alternative identities that allowed access to previously forbidden social circles. Most importantly, she met two like minded girls whose ideas were on the same wavelength as hers; things, she thought, were going to get interesting.

 **********************************************************************************

And they did.

Two years later, Fernanda was playing around on Google maps, looking for things that shouldn't be there; following a hunch, she was looking for a secret bunker, not the well known one, but another which didn't officially exist. Rumours pointed to a small area a few K away from the Beehive, underground. Bizarrely, as she slowly examined the map, she saw an arrow pointing downward, with 'restricted, don't include'-whilst laughing, she saved it immediately, copied it and emailed it to the other two. Within 24 hours, arrow and text disappeared.

 

A few weeks later, they made a weekend trip to Wellington; from the outside, standard non-descript office building, nothing unusual apart from huge numbers of CCTV cameras and an impressive array of antennas on the roof. From this visit, sprang a series of plans that would culminate in a physical visit to the bunker to deliver a declaration of war.

So there was Jackie 1, in an empty room in Dunedin, seated in the lotus position on a pile of cushions, to the side of the room were the newly arrived Jackies 2, 3, 4 and 7; the first three would go into the bunker and 7 would keep an eye on them and 1.

Jackie 1 had spent years perfecting her remote viewing but this was a step beyond, using mental energy to break down space and time so they could just step from a room in Dunedin to a room in Wellington. She first picked up on the possibility of this in Romania when she was twenty, from a very odd man whom she met on a railway platform; he still sent her cryptic letters every 2 weeks containing 5 or 6 lines of text with pages of commentary and notes on what he wrote. From this, she put together a 6 month training program and bit by bit, she got more ambitious and here they were, at the moment of truth.

Sometimes, she thought some of the girls were more useless than deathless which is why Jackie 1 and 7 determined to set out exactly the rules:

 no identification, no mobiles, no jewellery, faces, hands and feet covered. If anyone is in there, come straight back and don't engage with them; 30 seconds, 3 photos with the manifesto and leave it behind.

Jackie 7 started counting down from 30, as Jackie 1 began to open the door; the wall began to glow and look fuzzy and slowly it began to get fainter until there was an open space. Jackie 7 started counting down from 30 and the three girls stepped through into the bunker.

 

Hardly into the room, a woman appeared, shouting at them; they turned and headed back but Jackie 4 was rugby tackled by the woman...20 19 18. She crawled on to the hole, with the woman attached to her legs, still shouting as the other girls pulled her...17 16 15 14. As she got to the gap, 2 and 3 were trying to prise her hands off Jackie 4...13 12 11 10 9.  4 was now in the room but with the woman still holding on with one hand; Jackie 7, as she counted down, stamped and stamped on her hand, making her let go and tried to push her back with her foot...8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1.

The wall reappeared instantly as Jackie 1 lost her lost control of it, separating the woman's body from her head which plopped onto the floor, rolled slightly and stopped with an expression of sheer terror on its face. And that was the end of Margaret Rae Gunnarson.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part 19

Hawthorn and Sander's big (half) day (in and) out.

 

 

---

Section one: what they talked about:

 

1. Sander's scorched face.                         2. Quality of coffee.                 3. Don't go through holes in walls.   3. Stalkers and the necessity of violent revenge.            4. Fernanda and what is she up to?

5. The ever shifting nature of reality and the growth of weirdness: what does it mean?   6. Dwarves.   

7. Hawthorn's childhood in England.                         8. The importance of unusual names.

9. Sanders' childhood in Australia and New Zealand. 10. Why football is better than rugby.

11. If voting changed anything, they'd abolish it.   12. The medium is the message.

13. Why does anyone like Bob Dylan?   14. Frank Zappa, punk and why Lorde is over rated.

15. Jesus never existed. 16. The universe is alive and likes a good joke.

17. When are you going to stop smoking?  18. It's all because of the catholic church.

19. Prison life.  20. Favourite sexual positions. 21. Don't go through holes in walls.

22. Who are the stalkers and why are they doing this? 23. Plans for weekend together.

 

Section two: What they did.

 

1. Talked. 2. Had breakfast in café. 3. Walked through town, holding hands. 4. Had sex (twice). 5. Said goodbye.

 

 



Part twenty

After Hawthorn left, Sanders decided it was time for sleep as he was working at 10.

 

He woke up at 8 and, first things first, went outside on the front deck for a smoke. Luckily, it was hidden by trees from the neighbours so no-one could see his spunk stained boxers or his rather neat Zappa t-shirt.

Sitting down, he thought he head a faint voice; he listened, couldn't hear anything but then heard something like a croaky whisper, 'Oi fuckface, are you ignoring me?'

---

 

Sanders jumped and looked around; there was no one there but the voice came again, 'That worked. Over here'.

What the fuck-no-one there-I'm going mad. 'Down here dog breath'. Leaning over the railing, all he could see was leaves and...a hedgehog.

'That took fucking forever Einstein. You humans are really thick. Some more than others, of course.'

I'm hallucinating. I'm being talked to by a foul mouthed hedgehog with a northern English accent.

'You missed out the word 'telepathic'. Look, I'm in a hurry, well as much as a hedgehog can hurry, but I am. I'd tell you my name but you couldn't pronounce it so you can call me Jimmy'.

'Hello Jimmy. Who are you?'

'I'm a fucking hedgehog obviously.

'But you're talking'.

'Of course, I'm fucking talking. You humans really are stupid and you drive too fast. You need to listen to me because it's important. Some people have guardian angels and stuff, apparently, but you can see me as your guardian hedgehog'.

Sanders laughed.

'It's not funny.'

'Yes, it is. How can you guard anything when you're small and squishy'?

A searing pain hit Sanders between the eyes.

'You're not laughing now, are you? Anyway, I'll continue. I've been watching you for a long time and I've become sort of fond of you, in a way but I have to tell you, there is a lot of big shit coming you're way unless you're careful. Every now and then, the universe gets a bit strange, well, even stranger than usual and believe me, that is really strange. The fabric gets a bit thin and if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, you can end up anywhere.

 

If you're lucky it's the next room, if you're unlucky, it could be anywhere in any time. Sometimes, some humans have the ability to break down the barriers of time and space but it's easier when the universe is in wobbly mode, like it is now. Bits of time and space are flaking off all over the place and there's going to be an epidemic of people and things in the wrong place or no place. If it happens to you, you have no control over it, just don't choose to go through any holes'.

'Hawthorn said that today'.

'Shows she's brighter than you then.'

'So is it real'?

'What'?

'The world. What we see, everything in it'.

'Yes and no. I'll tell you about it another day if one of you bastard humans doesn't run me over. Now go and have a shower, you smell of come. Oh and stop smoking'.

That is bizarre. He texted Hawthorn and went off to have a shower.

 

 

Part 21

The darkness, tiredness, soullessness and accumulated crap of all the years of lies and deceit had lifted away from Gillespie, like an old coat thrown in the corner of the room.

 

It didn't even matter that he had hardly slept,

 

energy fired inside him, sparking off a host of plans, including some clever sabotage ideas; none of this was a way to make amends, as the past was done and over but wherever he might end up had to be an improvement.

As he showered, ate and dressed, he had music blasting out loud through the house, not something he'd done for years, part of the process of draining the poison out of himself. By 8.30, he spoken to both Aaron and Merlin about different things he needed them to do but mainly to slough off any possible backlash from what he'd said to them the day before.

 

---

Gillespie needed a reason to ring the office in Wellington and invite himself round next week to do a bit of snooping around; go through cupboards, computer files and anything else he could poke in. He also wanted to go to Dunedin again to see if he could contact Hawthorn Villan, thinking of her during the night as the key to the unravelling

 

of something that he couldn't quite put his finger on yet.

As he was about to leave the house, his cell phone rang, 'Gillespie, it's Gerry Ashley, I need you to come to Wellington urgently. You're  booked on the 9.50 plane. There's a major incident up here, panic at the top and we're on the inside. I need you to head it up. I'll meet you at the airport, ok'?

 'Er, yes, of course'.

'Bring some clothes and stuff, it might take awhile. It's completely secret, no mention to anyone. See you later'.

'Ok, Gerry, I'll be there'.

Fuck, what's going on-he switched on the TV as he got his laptop and clothes together. No report of anything of course, wonder if it's to do with his talk with Merl and Aaron, nah, Gerry wouldn't cough  up an airfare for that. No this was a real situation.

Before he left the house, he went into his spare room which was essentially his library. He'd still bought books until a few years ago but had stopped reading anything other the occasional light fiction long before. The things he used to read were too close to the bone, too critical to what he's become, it would be like facing himself in a mirror.

But now it didn't matter, now was the right time, he was ready to get critical again. He picked a book up at random, a weirdly titled book he didn't even recall buying, 'Art, Class and Cleavage: A Quantulumcunque Concerning Materialistic Esthetics',

 

and put it in his bag.

Arriving in Wellington Quigg felt somehow transformed, his mind had exploded into an alternative universe that demanded cerebral attention or else. Bits of his brain were firing up in a way that hadn't happened for years. Whoever Ben Watson was, his writing style was a subject/object lesson in tearing reality apart, examining it disdainfully and putting it back together in a more satisfactory arrangement, with the understanding that he would probably do the complete opposite to it on the next page..

The experience also helped prepare him for the performance that Ashley produced when he met him  at the gate; 75, 6ft 3, bald, hugely overweight but also jumping up and down with irritation at the plane's 10 minute lateness.

'Come on, hurry, I'll fill you in, we've got to back to the IC as soon as possible. I've already got you official accreditation as our rep on the investigation. This is our big chance to show we know our stuff and can play with the big boys. What's happened is so bizarre and macabre, a horrible murder or assassination, we don't yet but that's what it's beginning to look like. It's just the tip of an iceberg and we're lucky to find out about it as it was top secret and it was only captured on video at the bunker by accident. We're lucky we've got a police escort'.

Sirens blaring front and back, sitting next to a driver overdosing on self-importance and self-delusion, Quigg had no clue what was going on or why he was apparently needed and repeated pleas for a simple statement seemed only only to extend the convoluted 'explanation' into the linguistic version of the rock drum solo: loud and pointless.

Eventually, after almost killing a couple of cyclists and a group of small children, Ashley managed to provide the bare bones of the story, though it still mystified Quigg as to why the company and himself in particular, belonged in this particular field of enquiry.

Just before arriving at their destination, the police cars turned their sirens off and Ashley pulled into an underground car park. Quigg was expecting a James Bond style lift down into a bunker instead they climbed piss stained stairs to the street,

 

crossed the road and entered a shabby looking warehouse. Inside a policeman said hello and let them in.

After sorting security passes out, Quigg was introduced to a few people who seemed so bizarrely pleased, almost grateful, for his presence, that Ashley had obviously been spinning some outlandish yarns about him.

'Hi Mr Quigg, I'm really pleased to meet you. So cool to be finally meeting the kiwi fox Mulder'.

Jeez, so that's what he said. 'Thank you, you're too kind', growing more uncomfortable by the second.

'I'll show the video at normal speed, then we'll replay it and I can enlarge any bits you're interested in'. Quigg watched the footage,  the quality of which showed it hadn't been bought from Harvey Norman, aware that other people were sneaking glances at him, already thinking he could use all this to his advantage.

'Go back to just before the wall opens, slow it down and enlarge it please. I want to see the room beyond the wall'.

They watched the three women dressed in black, wearing face masks, gloves and plastic bags on their feet coming through the gap. They came from behind a huge curtain, so nothing could be seen in the room. The only interesting thing was a sheet of paper, one of the women was holding, like a leaflet. Quigg wanted to keep this to himself so he didn't mention it. The one word he could make out was a heading, dea...ess.

A number of people were gathered around him and Greg now, so time to get into role. 'Well, I think we are seeing a breakdown in space and time, they could be coming from anywhere, see how the solid wall fades into a gap; something is keeping it open, a machine perhaps or a person with heightened psychic powers. The whole operation is very well planned. Gunnarson, they turn around to go back through. They meant no harm to her or anyone else. It's her who tackles them and they try to get her off. They obviously knew they only had a short time available. Her death is a tragic accident. My guess is they'll be traumatised by this and the head will be left somewhere it will easily be found'.

 

We can't see into the room beyond the wall as there is a curtain up, they're covered and the moment they say Dame

'Interesting', said an American voice behind him. "I think it's time to discuss what to do next. I'd quite like you to repeat this to everyone please, Mr Quigg'.

 

Part 22

 

The Babble-on working

8.15 am Dunedin

 

A man in his early 60s walking two dogs through the park, heading toward the road, passed by young woman carrying gym bag, in shorts, running vest and trainers, turns to admire her rear and carries on. Lots of school children on both sides of road. Beginning to cross the road, the dogs, Azmud and Dumi, pulling on their harnesses, growling, drooling, baring their teeth, straining to get at a package wrapped in black bin bags on the other side, their owner tugging back hard. Police car driving towards them, pulling up on the left, Senior Sargent Pat Marker and Constable Dwayne Fraenkel get out.

---

I don't know what was in the bag but the dogs started going crazy before we even crossed the road. Could hardly hold them back when we got over. There was something in that bag they wanted. Just when I was getting them away, the idiot policeman ran towards us waving his arms and right up to the dogs. No wonder, Azmud bit him, what a twat and then he tried to get the other one to arrest me. I just walked away, it was his own fault. God knows what was in the bags, something disgusting probably.

 

Bad news, I'm afraid, Jackie 1. It was unbelievable what happened, honestly. The moment I passed the man with the dogs, I was worried but as I was looking back, it looked like he was crossing diagonally but then the dogs must have got the scent and they were pulling and barking back to where the bag was, so it was a real relief when the cop car turned up. Two got out but the older one went over to someone by the park and looked like he was arguing with him about something. The younger one crossed the road so the bag on the bench was between him and the dogs and the man started pulling the dogs away but then the other one came running across the road shouting at the man and his dogs, grabbing at the bag. Both dogs lunged at him and one of them bit him on the back of the leg. I was walking closer by this point and he was going mad, swearing and shouting, 'you're under arrest' but the guy just dragged them away and the other cop was telling him to calm down and get the bag in the car. There was about 9 or 10 people standing by them watching so I crossed over to join them, I know I shouldn't have done but it didn't matter, I just couldn't believe what was going on. That was when it got worse. The older policeman started trying to open the bag while the other one was saying no, take it back to the station. He was holding it with one hand and trying to rip it open with the author. There were about 5 kids crowding around him and he didn't tell them to move away or anything. The other one looked like he was going to explode with rage. Then, the bag tore open and the head shot out, hit a parked and bounced back onto one of the kids who were all screaming. The young cop scooped it up while saying really loudly 'Ha, ha, it's a model head from a shop. I really thought it was real for a second, he put it under his jacket and walked  off to the car and drove off leaving the other cop just standing there on his own.

 

 I have never been so appalled by the behaviour of a fellow officer, disregarding orders from a superior officer who had trusted him enough to go out on patrol with him, leaving him on the street and spreading lies about him to superiors. I just can't believe that I've been suspended from the force after 23 years of loyal, dedicated and much rewarded service for an incident I had no control over. This isn't the end of the matter and I'm going to fight this all the way. I refuse to be witch hunted out of the force for standing up for what is right.

His behaviour was incredible. I told him I was stopping because of a suspicious package and he gets into an argument with a guy who was smoking outside the park. He would probably have arrested him if I hadn't kept calling him over.

 

The owner had calmed his dogs down and was pulling them away when he ran straight over to them shouting, waving his arms at them. No wonder he got bitten. It was his own fault and he wanted me to arrest the dogs' owner. The package could have been anything but a severed head is bad enough. It was as if he just didn't care what it was. If he gets to stay in the force I'm resigning.

Sit down Pat. No, I'm doing the talking. You've gone too far this time. The whole business of the head is a matter of national security. Thank god for Dwayne thinking on his feet. I think the time is overdue for you to retire. We'll come up with a story as to why. I don't care this time Pat. It's your choice; you can retire on a full pension or we'll prosecute you for what's on your computer. I've got a statement for you to issue about the head for the press. That's all. You can go now. By the way, you're now on paid sick leave.

 

 

Part 23

 

 

Walking back into his house, Corrado Fenn was in a good mood, the lecture went well, he'd sold 15 copies of his books at ten pounds each and he'd smooth talked one of his admirers to drive him home so he could avoid the tube.

Sometimes, talking in public was a chore that couldn't be avoided, leaving him flat, other times like tonight, he felt inspired; even now a couple of hours later, after midnight, he was ready to do some writing when normally he'd be asleep.

---

 One of the drawbacks of his house was the lack of space which was why his bed was in the smallest bedroom, six foot off the ground on concrete blocks. After making a cup of tea, he took it up to his bedroom and started flicking through his notes and the print out of 18,000 words from his latest book, planned to be his Magnum Opus, the theory of everything, his theory of cosmic mischief.

 Needing a pen, Fenn got off the bed to get one, as he did, he fell backwards towards the wall; a not uncommon experience.

 

He braced himself so his back would bear the brunt, but somehow he missed the wall, landed flat on his back, then cracked his head on the floor.

 The alarm clock was ringing-time to get up. But he didn’t have one and it was very loud. His head and back really hurt and he remembered. A feeling of strangeness passed through him,  it was cold and the floor was wooden. He didn’t have any wooden floors. Opening his eyes he could see a large window high up on the wall; the ringing stopped.

Jesus fuck, where am I, though as he said that, he knew he was in the room the security guard was in yesterday. He could hear footsteps, there was nowhere to hide or run, all he could do was wonder if it would be the same man and if it was, had he seen his cock.

He’d always wanted to break though the barriers of time and space but now that he appeared to have, he was shit scared.

If a compere appeared before him saying, Mr Fenn, hold up the card which shows your state of fear and panic, with one being the lowest and ten being the highest, it would have been the ten

he held up. He could be anywhere, anytime, well anytime that had uniformed security guards; usually calm in a crisis, Corrado was shaking.

 The door opened, Fenn lay still on his back; he’d dreamt this years ago, it just came back to him. In the dream, when the door opened, he had expected to see a dalek but it was a man in a uniform. He lifted his head up, it was the same face from last night.

The man stared at him, ‘How the fuck did you get in here?’

‘I fell through the wall. I don’t know where I am.’

‘Well you’re in Dunedin in New Zealand.’

The security guard held his hand out to help him up.

‘Fuck. You’re kidding me. Shit, how am I going to get out of here? I live in London. Who’s going to feed the cat? What is going on?’

‘Don’t panic. Come and have a cup of coffee’. He walked out of the room with Corrado reluctantly following.

“I don’t want a fucking drink, I want to go home’, Jesus I must sound like an idiot. ‘What the fuck am I going to do?’

‘Look, I know you’re scared but I’m not going to call the cops or anyone else apart from my girlfriend. She’ll know what to do. My name’s Sanders, what’s yours?’

‘Corrado.'

“Sit down, you can have herbal tea, it might clam you down. I wasn’t too surprised to see someone in the room after the alarm went off. It went off yesterday, and a door opened in the wall in that room and I could see into a corridor. It was freaky, I almost ran out of the building. I was too scared to go through it.’

“Weird thing is that I saw you looking through my wall yesterday.

 

You didn’t have glasses on then.’

‘That’s true, I left them at home’.

‘Did you see me?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course, why?’

‘Just wondered.’

 

 

Part 24

 

What does weirdness smell like? Sanders asked me yesterday. I had to think about it, ignoring the woman on TV demonstrating a revolutionary new vacuum cleaner, 'Well. I think it's like this, everything strange that has happened to me has had an associated smell, more than a smell I suppose, a taste, a sound, an odd visual feeling but there's more, something intangibly tangible'.

He burst out laughing but it's true. It's just hard to explain. I was thinking of this after I'd got home from work, sitting on the sofa, drinking hot chocolate, cat on my lap, just staring into space (and time) waiting for them to stare back at me.

---

I couldn't put my finger on it but something was bothering me, somewhere in my mind there was a glint of a thought, an idea, a ghost fragment of information that I needed to know, that was important. I closed my eyes, just letting my thoughts drift to their own place through boxes of memory.

 

I needed to find out what was hiding there and the memories that came out could be the key. Or not, sifting through the crevices and caverns of my mind often shot me off in the most bizarre directions, usually dead ends or cliff edges.

I remember when my brother Oscar died in childbirth, I was four and a half; we were sitting on the green in front of our house, neighbours were around us and all our furniture, we'd been evicted and mummy was in hospital giving birth. I was sitting on my big sister's lap, Granddad and Dad were talking in whispers, kept looking up the road towards the hospital.

Then we saw Auntie Cadi running towards us, Dad and Granddad jumped up to meet her. I remember thinking there was something really wrong, in the abstract way of a child, as adults never run. Unless they’re playing football and then they run a lot. They shouted at the rest of us to go with them and we set off running towards the hospital, with Ciara was carrying me on her back.

They all looked scared and very probably ridiculous as we rushed up the lane but before we got to the entrance, Cadi led us off into the wood on the right until we stopped in a clearing.

 

She got us to stand in a circle holding hands and my Granddad started chanting and one by one the others joined, like they’d rehearsed it (which they had and that was why we were standing within a chalk circle).

It was a calm, sunny day but it went cold, a breeze began to blow and I felt the sensation of moving even though we weren’t; instead, it was if the world was moving around us very fast, through a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds, through a tunnel that seemed to be made of bone, into a whirlpool of fragments, all the time getting faster as a mist began to envelop us  as a hissing sound got louder and louder and then it all stopped abruptly and we were still again. No wind, no movement, no noise, until we clearly heard the cry of a baby.

Everyone started laughing and crying and hugging so I joined in despite being totally unaware of what was going on. If they were happy, I was going to be happy too. In those days, I was always keen to join in.

I asked my Dad once, 'What happened to Oscar, did we go back through time'. 'No, the other.' Other what?' 'Space, dimensions, whatever you want to call it.' As he said, for every act of magic, or creation as he called it, there was a price to pay.

In Oscar’s case, his was to become a cynical, arrogant twat who cared for very little except himself and money and believed in nothing.

He could get hysterical if any of us even began to talk about anything slightly paranormal, let alone magic.When he got older, he’d only bring his friends around when he could guarantee there would be no-one else in the house, such was his horror that anyone would meet his weird family.

Maybe the answer to Sander’s question is, it smells like me.

 

I wanted to go to bed but I started thinking about when I was eleven and we stayed with Nana and granddad Flode. They lived in this run down house in the country, quite big with lots of rooms but crammed full of stuff, books mainly over three or four rooms.

 Staying there was a challenge especially if all of us went but this time it was just me and mum and dad and we went on the train which was unusual. I slept on a camp bed in the garage, surrounded by arcane bits of machinery of unknown  purpose and an ageing parrot who at different times of day and night went into free form chattering in what seemed like ancient language as I lay on the bed drifting away into my imagination.

 

On the table was my very own copy of the Flode family's magnus opus, The theory of cosmic mischief, which meant it was time for my initiation into the family trade, sorcery, being the only one of this generation who was notably odd. When I told Sanders he almost choked, having visions of ritual sacrifices, chickens, babies, smearing of blood all over me, choking on incense.

Unfortunately, there was none of that, just four grandparents and two parents, talking about my responsibilities to the Flode and Villan tradition, an undercurrent worlds away from Crowleyism, wicca and anything else you care to mention.

 

Mind you, it was better than being told you had to join the family undertakers business and it did have certain benefits.

I went to bed thinking of parrots, cosmic tricksters and the smell of oil but without feeling any more enlightened.

***********************************************************************************

At ten to eight, I was sitting in the car, waiting for Sanders to come out. I couldn't help noticing that further down the road, there was a classic Beetle in a horrible greeny colour with blacked out windows; paranoia never sleeps.

 

Sanders was talking before he'd got inside the car, 'it happened again in the same room but this time, a man came through it, we're going to pick him up from round the corner'.

I just stared at him, 'repeat slowly'.

'In the same room where I saw the doorway yesterday, the alarm went off again. I checked the cameras and there was nothing so I walked down to it and there was a man on the floor. He said he fell off his bed in London and straight into the room. He was definitely freaked out by it and there was no other way he could have got in'.

 

'So where is he then?'

'Hopefully sat at the bus stop where I told him to go, waiting for us to pick him up'.

'Áre you winding me up Sanders?' 'No, drive round the corner and I'll show you.'

Just as I was starting the car, the beetle shot past, screeching round the corner, so I did the same, Sanders shouting at me, 'I haven't got my seat belt on.'

Round the corner at the bus stop, we saw the bizarre sight of three hairy dwarves trying to pull a man into the car. 'It's him, it's him,' shouted Sanders.

I drove straight at them, sending them jumping, shouting 'open the back door' to Sanders. Eventually, not being a man of action, he did. The man jumped in and I drove off.

'What the fuck was that about? They were dwarves. They tried to kidnap me.' He was slumping into the seat like this was yet another thing for him to endure and it was then I realised it was Corrado Fenn in the car. Now that was even more bizarre than rampaging dwarves.

'How's things Corrado?'

He sat up, suspecting yet more skulduggery, 'How do you know my name? Where are you taking me?'

 

This was fun. I stopped the car, turned round and said, 'You can't have forgotten me already', flashing my biggest smile.

'Hawthorn! Jesus, I can't believe it. Thank god. I'm safe...'

And he started crying.

 

Part 25

 

We've found the head.

Quigg felt as if it was him who'd gone into another dimension. The 'investigation' was so strange, like a circus, dozens just milling around in a supposed top secret national security case, a mixture of people who seemed unlikely investigators and some straight out of central cop/agent casting. The American wasn't an American; he was an Australian, Ray Bergquist, the replacement for the unfortunate Dame Gunnarson.

---

The head is in Dunedin.

Now Quigg was sitting on a military plane for the first time, wondering what madness would be next, at least with Bergquist not on board, he wouldn't be called 'Dr Quigg' all the time. Being military, seats were in odd places, his back was wedged against the side with his head level with a window; he chosen this space so no-one would sit next to him.

It was found in a box.

A paranoid feeling that this was a show for his sake flitted through his mind until swatted away by the entirely rational response, who would bother. In a way, the lack of the paranoia option meant things really were bad; they really didn't have a clue, especially flying everyone to Dunedin. What was the point?

 

The head was in the police station, they could have just sent it up by courier. He could just see them walking down George St, asking passers-by, 'Have you recently broken through space and time and accidentally decapitated someone?'

The head is in the police station.

It was 5 already, still more people coming on board. Looking out of the window, there were 4 dwarves on the way to the steps. Jeez, must be serious.

'Hi Gillespie, can I squeeze in next to you?' A Chinese woman he'd never seen before, smiling broadly, dressed in a business suit with a large briefcase was already bending herself into the seat next to him. A normal sized seat, hampered by a really low ceiling which meant she had to sit at a dangerous angle as if she was going to fall into Quigg's lap at the slightest turbulence.

We must reunite the head with its body.

'I'm Ellis Zhang',

 

offering him her hand. Reluctant to talk, Quigg opted for pleasantries. 'So what's your role then, Ellis?'

'Well, I'm actually a triple agent for the CIA, the Chinese Security Services and SIS here in New Zealand.'

'That must keep you busy, so do you get 3 pay packets?'

'Ha, ha..I'm joking, of course. No, I'm only a double agent really, China and New Zealand.'

And why not, he thought.

'So what do you think really happened? Is the video footage real or is it just a cover?'

'If it's not real, how did her head get to Dunedin so quickly? Courier?'

'Could have been driven.'

'Timings don't work with the ferry.'

'Private plane.'

''Wasn't one.'

'Don't quote Sherlock Holmes or I won't speak to you.'

'So what do you think happened?'

'No idea, to be honest. Just find this space/time gap too much to believe. Maybe it's not her head?'

'It is.'

We will use all our resources to catch the killers.

 

'How are you going to find the time travellers?'

'They didn't need to go through time just space, I don't know. I think it's unlikely we'll find them. They could be anywhere. Maybe they're back in Wellington'

'I thought you were the expert. Ray said you were.'

'Well, I'm not. I'm an expert on nothing.'

'Look, I'm going to find another seat or I'm going to break my neck. See you later.'

Quigg closed his eyes; this was only the start.

 

 

 

Part 26

Text Epistles

 

Aaron, I'm going to be in dunedin tonight

and tomorrow. doing some secret government

work. I'll need some help from u n merl. I'll ring.

G

 

---

***********************************************************************************

 

contact made

 

***********************************************************************************

 

Corrado, weres the file. u drunk agen. yr not answering. I need it urgently

 

 

***********************************************************************************

 

Merl, just got a txt from Gillespie. He's in Dunedin on some secret work. Needs our support. He'll ring us.

 

***********************************************************************************

 

Hawthorn, its Fernanda here, I relly need sum help and advice from you. Please call me asap.

***********************************************************************************

 

 I will fucking kill you Dwayne

***********************************************************************************

I'm hearing good things Gillespie. Keep it up.

***********************************************************************************

Our people are going to examine the head soon as they arrive. It won't help us. I only sent everyone to Dunedin to look as if we were doing something. There's been two more reports, a doctor in London and a priest in Italy. Something very serious and scary is happening and we don't have a clue. Meeting Roland at 8.30, hoping he might have some new ideas if he can stop himself getting worked up over the old stuff. I'll let you know how it goes.