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
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 3rd 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.
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