2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (10 page)

Are you alone? _

Wondering what to do, she watched the cursor move once more.

Jessica Klein.

I have bad news for you _

Without her touching anything, a photo materialised onto the screen. Jessica’s hand went to her mouth and she let out a sound of despair and loss when she realised what she was seeing. The image showed a pavement next to a tarmac road, in the gutter lay the body of a man. His limbs rested at distorted angles and a trail of blood seeped out from underneath the torso to flow into a large pool. The dead man’s eyes stared up to the sky, his face a mask of fear and pain. Jessica couldn’t look away from the horrific photo of Martin, but she didn’t have to as it soon disappeared. The cursor moved again.

You are in danger _

Jessica typed in a reply with shaky hands and hit return.
Who is this?

I can give you answers Jessica Klein _

What answers?

Who killed your friend. Why they killed your friend _

Tell me now,
she wrote. The cursor blinked on and off, unmoving for some moments, before the reply came.

GMRC Intelligence. To hide a secret _

What secret? Tell me now!
she typed, as she lost patience with this mysterious digital intruder.

Take your train tomorrow. Meet @:

Philological Library

Freie Universität Berlin

Habelschwerdter Allee 45

14195 Berlin, Deutschland

3.14 _

As the message appeared her printer hummed to life and spewed out a piece of paper with the same address on it. Another message displayed soon after, a message that chilled Jessica to the bone.

You have been classified as a credible suicide risk, Jessica Klein. Easy to kill. Easy to explain. Get out of your house. NOW! _

The last message was too much for her to take and Jessica sprang out of her chair and yanked the computer’s plug from the mains supply, sending the screen black, its threat nullified. Angry at herself for believing every word this anonymous person had fed her, she took to the kitchen for a glass of red to calm her nerves.

That night she slept fitfully, her mind struggling to deal with the day’s events. Rising at three a.m., she went downstairs in her nightwear to get some cereal to eat, a routine she usually reverted to whenever she couldn’t sleep.

Was the photo of Martin’s dead body real? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. If the GMRC could recreate her in a video, a photograph would be relatively simple by comparison. Although why would the GMRC bother to infiltrate her computer when they had already discredited and all but destroyed her? She was metaphorically on her knees, no further threat, yet a multitude of nagging doubts remained. The hacker had provided the same address as she’d seen on the piece of paper Martin had shown her in the pub. And the fact that they
were
a hacker, matching the profession of Martin’s contact in Germany, also spoke volumes as to their credibility.

Crunching down her cereal, the noise sounding loud in the surrounding quiet, Jessica eyed the train ticket Martin had bought for her. It lay conspicuously on the kitchen work surface, next to the printout produced by the hacker.
What if the hacker was right and the GMRC have deemed me a suicide risk, perfect for elimination? They could be coming for me right now
…
surely not
, part of her scoffed at the idea.
With all those reporters outside, one of them would see someone breaking into the house – wouldn’t they?
She glanced around the dark kitchen, and the hallway, which led to the staircase and front rooms.

Getting up, she turned on the light switch and went back upstairs and on up to the second floor of the town house. Jessica may have been petite and physically weak compared to most people, but she had never allowed it to make her feel vulnerable, not like she did right now. Retrieving a stick, she hooked open the attic door and hauled down the ladder. Climbing up, the aluminium rungs squeaked and rattled until she took her weight from them and onto the bare wooden floorboards of the third floor. Bending down, she felt in the dark for the light switch she knew was concealed off to one side. Locating it, she clicked it on and headed towards the far end, navigating through many years of dusty accumulated clutter.

Unearthing a large oak chest from beneath some old clothing, Jessica heaved up the creaking lid. A lingering smell of old leather and musty books settled in the air around her. Moving aside some dusty volumes, she located a heavy metallic box. Shifting her body to the right, in order to remove the cast of her shadow, she spun the numbered dial located on the top of the small safe back and forth to enter a six digit combination. The latch sprang up with an audible click and she opened the lid to reveal a soft, partially oiled, light-brown cloth. Moving it to one side exposed a present her father had bought her for her twenty-first birthday; a stainless steel Smith and Wesson Model 60LS.

Taking it out of its moulded insert, she flicked open the cylinder to make sure it wasn’t loaded. Placing the gun back down, she took a key out of the gun safe and then opened another box, which had been well concealed behind a hidden compartment in the trunk. Inside rested a cardboard box stamped with
.357 Magnum High Velocity Ammunition
. Jessica opened it and slid out the bullets, the shiny metal casings held vertically in a plastic tray. Picking the gun back up by its wooden grip she loaded the rounds into each of the five chambers and then double checked the safety was on.

Her father had been in the British military all his working life and he’d taken a young Jessica with him when he went to the shooting range, which he did every weekend when he was stationed at home. She’d become quite proficient with the weapon and at this point in time appreciated feeling its snug weight in her grasp once more.

Sleep came surprisingly quickly now that she felt safer, although she had left the lights on throughout the house to make any would-be assailants less sure of themselves if, heaven forbid, they did come-a-knocking.

In the morning Jessica woke with the heavy loaded gun resting underneath the palm of her right hand. She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Is this what it had come to? If her father had taught her anything, it was not to let anyone push her around, regardless of their position. This advice had stood her in good stead for the previous forty-two years of her life, so why had she stopped paying heed to it now? So the GMRC were the biggest and most powerful organisation anyone could come up against.
So what?
she could hear her father say.
The bigger they come—

Martin had gone to Germany and ended up dead, but she could well end up the same way if she stayed here. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She had to wrest control of her life back,
and that is exactly what I’m going to do
, she decided,
starting right now
.

Five hours later Jessica had packed a case, left a letter for Evan, collected the train ticket, Berlin address, and passport papers, and left the house, the front door swinging shut behind her with purposeful finality. Fighting her way through the assembled massed ranks of the media, still camped on her doorstep, she reached the street and her parked silver Mercedes. Shouts and cries from the paparazzi wanting a comment fell on deaf ears, the flashing of cameras dazzling her as she struggled into the confines of her car. Glad she’d put on her dark glasses, she was amazed the cameras hadn’t sparked some kind of epileptic fit as there were so many going off.
I don’t know how these big celebrities deal with this on a regular basis
, she thought, securing her documents in the glove compartment and starting the car.

Revving the engine on her diesel driven classic, she edged her way past the people and roared off down the street, the twin turbos whining as they kicked into gear. As Jessica raced through the West London streets she felt free and empowered and back in control. Next stop Berlin.

Chapter Five

The heat from the big yellow sun felt hot on her skin, pleasant and comforting. Springing up from the dry, cracked earth, bright orange flowers with tall, green, luscious shoots swayed in the soft breeze. They were nearly as tall as her! She bent and sniffed inside the cup of petals; a wondrous smell flooded through her senses. Leaning back up, she jumped in surprise, letting out a small yelp when a huge, bright red and orange butterfly flitted past her face. It moved funny, jerky like a puppet on a string, but coupled with an effortless ease. Leaping high, she attempted to catch it in her small hands, but on inspection only her empty palms were revealed. It had been too quick for her.

Searching around, she spotted her quarry once more, skimming over the surface of the lawn. Chasing it across the dry, mown grass, she couldn’t help but giggle as every time she closed in on her prey it escaped her clutches. With the butterfly always just out of reach, she danced and hopped along behind the flying beauty until her foot caught on something and she fell onto a hard, flat surface. Pain exploded within her and she couldn’t help but cry.

‘Sarah, come here, little one,’ her mother’s voice called out, the sound seeking to make itself heard through the agony of the fall.

Sarah clambered to her feet, her hands pressed onto her left leg as tears streamed down her face and racking sobs escaped her mouth. Each step made the pain seem worse, but at last she made the long walk down the garden to be embraced in her mum’s arms.

‘Have you hurt your knee?’

Sarah nodded mutely, the shock lessening.

‘You have? Oh no,’ her mother said in deep concern. ‘Do you want me to kiss it better for you?’

Sarah very much wanted it better so she nodded again as she wiped the tears away from her chubby cheeks. The kiss helped and then she was lifted into the air and she found herself sitting on her mum’s lap. Cuddling into her warm body, Sarah felt safe and enclosed, away from the sharp, hard world she had just experienced. The sound of her mother’s slow, rhythmic heartbeat became louder to her ears, the gentle thump, thump, thump morphing into an all-encompassing, hypnotic embrace.

Sarah felt herself drifting off to sleep and the heat of the sun increased on her skin, hotter and hotter it got, accompanied by a roaring noise that exuded a thick, dense smoke. Shouting and other noises sought to overwhelm her senses as she felt her lungs choke with the pervasive black gases that sprang from the fire that now blazed around her. A piercing scream punctuated the night sky, an awful sound entwined with pain and terror. Sarah looked on as her mother’s hair caught alight and her skin blistered and burned. Screaming out as loud as she could, Sarah sat bolt upright in her bed, feeling traumatised and confused, her breathing shallow.

Sarah Morgan placed her hands over her face, which felt cold and sweaty. Her mind cleared, but the emotions evoked by the horrific dream lingered. She sank back onto her bedroll as the cruel reality of her situation re-asserted itself in her now fully conscious psyche. A single powerful, bright LED lamp hung suspended high above the bed, shedding its crisp light over the confined space. The small area, spartan, cold and unwelcoming, smelled of bleach, and a musty neglect, which hung in the stale air. Rough linen clung to the small bed on which Sarah lay and harsh grey tiles lined the floor and walls. A formidable steel door dominated the room, a small slit in its centre the only means of access to the outside world.

Sitting back up on the cot, Sarah pulled her knees up to her body to keep warm. The ill-fitting bright orange jumpsuit she’d been forced to endure itched and scratched at her skin as she moved. She felt tired, exhausted, but couldn’t sleep now, not after that dream. The dazzling light on the ceiling also didn’t assist her condition. She’d been imprisoned for weeks, perhaps months now, living on rationed food and water. She must have lost quite a few pounds during her captivity and her stomach had definitely shrunk in size during that time.

Her body clock told her it was nearly time again – time for more questions – time for the same answers. She wondered when they would stop these endless interrogations and mental mind games. She had told them everything she knew – well, almost everything. She wasn’t prepared to let them have it all their own way; it was one of the only things left that was hers to control and she wouldn’t give it up lightly.

Sarah’s head came up when a muffled bell sounded outside of her cell. Footsteps followed and a key was inserted into the lock and turned, the clank and click of metal on metal echoing in the enclosed space. The door slid to one side in one fluid motion, accompanied by a grinding noise and a heavy boom as it hit the end of its rails.

‘Morgan. Let’s go!’

Sarah glared at her guard, a burly, shaven-headed U.S. marine dressed in loose-fitting combats and black, steel toecapped boots.

She didn’t move.

‘Don’t make me come in there again, Morgan,’ he said in warning.

Sarah sighed, swept her unkempt blonde hair back, unfurled her long legs and dropped to the floor, her thin plimsolls squeaking on the shiny surface. Once she’d emerged the guard slammed the door shut and relocked it. Stowing the bunch of keys on his belt, he moved past her, leading the way down a passage and up a flight of stairs she knew only too well. A left and right followed by another left and they were entering a large room, empty except for a plain table and two functional chairs.

Sarah pulled out one of the seats and sat down on it while the guard left to stand outside the door. It wasn’t long until her tormentor, one Sergeant Major Collins, appeared and sat down opposite her. He had with him the same red folder he always had and opened it the same way he always did, arranging it just so on the desk and then placing a white plastic pen alongside.