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 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.
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.
