2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (8 page)

Emerging from the tiny room she bumped into a large youth who towered over her. ‘Watch it!’ she said, her foot crushed beneath his size twelve.

He mumbled an apology and disappeared into the filthy lavatory she’d had the misfortune of entering earlier. Jessica’s stature was diminutive but she had never paid it much heed or let it hold her back in any way. She had a fearsome reputation if riled and would not let anyone take advantage of her, regardless of their size or position.

Back in her seat and a few monotonous hours later, the plane touched down at Heathrow airport and Jessica collected her luggage and made her way through customs without incident. Despite her general inner self-assurance and sometimes hard demeanour, Jessica found herself welling up as she caught sight of her family waiting for her at Arrivals. Her two daughters – Victoria, five, and Daniela, seven – ducked underneath the railing, unable to contain their excitement at seeing their mother for the first time in many weeks. Detaching herself from the main cavalcade of passengers, Jessica veered towards her two girls, dropped her luggage and knelt to embrace them. Evan, her husband, soon joined them and she found herself wrapped in his strong arms and sharing a long, lingering kiss.

‘It’s good to be home,’ she murmured in his ear.

He held her tighter. ‘It’s good to have you home, we’ve missed you.
I’ve
missed you.’

Jessica leant back from him and looked deep into his eyes before the girls drew her attention back to them.

The journey home was a pleasant one as she caught up on the trivia of family life while their black cab wove them through the congested traffic of West London and on into Kensington. Exhausted after her trip, she slept well and with a fresh vigour upon waking, she instigated lovemaking with Evan as they renewed their physical bond after their enforced separation. While the passion Evan returned towards her matched that of her own, she sensed his tension throughout and after they had uncoupled he left the room without a word to go into the en-suite. Normally they settled into a fulfilled cuddle after sex so she was acutely aware of his unusual behaviour. Sliding out of bed she padded naked and bare of foot into the bathroom after him. He stood, head bowed, in front of the sink unit.

She approached from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I lost my job last week,’ he said without turning round, his voice taut with stress.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What? How? You’ve worked there for years; you’re a damn partner in the company for god’s sake. They can’t just sack you!’

He turned round and her grip on him fell away. ‘They didn’t, the firm folded, our business dried up overnight. One minute we had corporate clients lining up out the door and the next, nothing, apart from the odd small case.

‘Do you know why?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Why do you think? The GMRC apparently don’t take kindly to public airing of their business and they like to spread the pain to anyone involved, or just involved by association.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ Jessica’s mind was reeling in despair as she enclosed his clasped hands within her own.

He grunted something unintelligible. She drew him to her and he encircled her with his arms. Leaning his head on her small shoulder, he heaved a deep sigh. ‘I suppose we should have seen this coming.’

Jessica didn’t reply as her guilt had already set in for ruining his career. Now they were likely to both be out of work by the end of the week. Her disciplinary hearing with her bosses at the BBC was scheduled for two days’ time and, all things considered, its final outcome was almost a forgone conclusion.

Her hand stroked his hair. ‘I’ll make this right,’ she told him but her words, while said with heartfelt conviction, rang hollow in her ears.

♦

Jessica, in a crisp blue suit, made her way into work as she always did. Catching the London Underground from West Kensington, she changed at Green Park onto the Victoria line and got off after one stop at Oxford Circus. Making her way through the station and past the ticket gates, the usual press of bodies accompanying the commute, she emerged out into the street. Overhead floodlights installed for daytime simulation glared down as she made her way along the crowded pavement towards her destination, passing cars creating miniature tsunamis as their tyres cut through the pooling rain. Saving her from a drenching, newly erected awnings lined the roads of London town, protecting commuters and shoppers alike from the ferocious weather that had been battering Europe for the last few months. Mirroring the sunless brooding sky above, grim-faced armed police officers stalked the roads, adding a sinister air to the UK’s capital city.

Jessica crossed a narrow road and walked past a stationary armoured military patrol vehicle, then on into the familiar building of BBC Broadcasting House, leaving the noisy bustle of the city behind. Usually she would have taken another entrance, but as an enquiry into her actions on air was pending, she had to report to the main desk. Leaning atop the counter, with its illuminated white signage bearing the famous BBC logo, Jessica waited for one of the receptionists to finish helping someone else. The man was soon with her and handing her a temporary security pass. He gave her an understanding smile before she turned and left to enter the building proper.

As she strode along the functional carpeted corridors, her anger at her treatment and at Evan’s forced redundancy, which had been simmering for the last two days, rose to the surface. Jessica’s presence moved before her like a wave and people parted at her passing like the red sea preceding Moses. People called out greetings to her, some even clapped while others merely nodded to her in grim recognition of her personal sacrifice for their lost colleagues. Jessica’s face was set and steely when she banged open the doors to the executive offices. Following her arrival at the room designated for the hearing, she didn’t have long to wait before being told to go in.

Jessica stood up and prepared herself for what was to come.

A woman from Human Resources gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Good luck, Jessica.’

Jessica nodded to her, opened the door and went inside. A lot had changed since she had last been at work. It seemed the senior management team had undergone a rapid transformation of personnel. She only knew one of the four people present and none of them showed the support she had witnessed on the way up. This was likely due to the fact that one of the four, and the only one she did recognise, was not a BBC employee at all but an MP from the Prime Minister’s Cabinet Office.

‘Ms Klein,’ the Member of Parliament said, after Jessica had taken a seat opposite the disciplinary panel, ‘thank you for coming here today. You understand the gravity of your situation. Shall we begin?’

♦

The Human Resources receptionist leaned forwards, perched on the very edge of her chair, straining to hear what was being said in Jessica Klein’s hearing, which had sounded heated from the outset. The occasional swear word and raised voice was easily discerned as emanating from the well-known newsreader as she fought her corner with an expected vigour.

When the duration of the meeting neared the one hour mark, a sudden barrage of swearing and shouting erupted from the room. This time it wasn’t just Jessica’s voice to be heard. The receptionist, however, still couldn’t make out the gist of the exchange and in her eagerness to find out what was going on she rolled her chair closer. At which point the door to the room flew open, making her jump in surprise.

Jessica Klein stood bristling with fury in the doorway and looked back into the office. ‘—well you know what you can do with your job!’ Jessica bellowed at her tormentors. ‘You can stick it up your fucking arses, you pathetic, snivelling wretches. I hope you and the GMRC are happy with this cover-up. The blood of all those journalists is on your hands now as you are all a party to this shit!’ Jessica’s finger, which pointed accusingly at the people in the room, shook with enraged tension, an emotion mirrored in its owner’s face.

The receptionist, who had stood up, gawped at the scene unfolding before her. The former renowned BBC presenter heaved the door closed with an almighty effort. The heavy fireproof door smashed into its frame with a loud bang, sending it rattling in its hinges and near tearing it from the wall. Jessica Klein, dishevelled yet defiant, all but flew out of the office leaving a deathly silence in her wake. The receptionist watched for some time to see if anything else was about to happen, but all was quiet once more in BBC Broadcasting House. The show was over and yet another BBC icon had made their last bow.

♦

‘I’m surprised you didn’t punch him,’ her husband said as Jessica relived her experience with him.

‘Believe me, I felt like it.’ Jessica poured herself another glass of wine and took a long draught. ‘That smug piglet-eyed MP’s face really got my fucking dander up. The piece of shit is totally a GMRC puppet and the bloody idiots now in charge of the BBC might as well have
cunt
written on their foreheads.’

Evan nearly choked on his drink at his wife’s unexpected use of the C word. Jessica rarely used profanity and when she did it was only ‘shit’ or ‘bugger’. To hear her curse like that was a queer experience for him.

A melodic undulating ring tone drew Jessica’s attention to her bag, which sat perched on the central worktop in the kitchen. Taking out her phone she saw she’d received a text message from Martin, her old producer, who’d himself been sacked from the BBC for gross misconduct two weeks earlier. It read:

need 2 TLK 2nite. Come aloN.

hav som important news.

Meet @ Colton Arms @ 8

Strange
, Jessica thought; she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Martin since a brief video call she’d made when she was stuck out in Russia. If he was all the way over in West London in person it must be important.

Taking her leave of Evan a few hours later, Jessica sat alone, as requested, in the Colton Arms pub, located a few streets away from her home. Nursing her second glass of wine, she looked at her watch: nine o’clock.
Where the hell is he?

Her mind wandered and she found herself studying a rather nice wooden cabinet positioned next to where she sat. One particular carving portrayed lions pulling a chariot. Above this, winged angels blessed the vehicle’s occupants while all around other strange images of semi-naked men and women cavorted and leapt.

A hand touched Jessica’s arm, making her jump. Martin sat down in a seat next to her. He looked out of breath. Droplets of sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his temples. Wiping them away with the back of his sleeve, he picked up Jessica’s glass and downed the contents in two swift gulps. The Colton Arms was quite a small place and a couple of the locals eyed Martin with interest before turning back to chat with the barman.

Jessica looked at her empty glass, feeling a little aggrieved. ‘What happened to eight?’

‘Had a tail, had to shake him,’ Martin said, and then asked the barman to bring over two more drinks.

‘Tail?’

‘GMRC spook, probably.’ Martin removed his coat and placed it on the back of his chair as the drinks were brought over. He took a big sip of his lager and rested it down on the table with a sigh of satisfaction.

Jessica was confused. ‘Why would they be bothering to follow you round now? You were sacked, like I was today. We don’t have the means to give them anymore trouble.’

Martin took another sip, eyeing her over the top of his glass before lowering it back down again. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You really think I was going to give this up? My brother is still missing, and many others too, some dead.’

‘I know, but our hands are tied. Evan’s lost his job, I’ve just lost mine. I did what I could and it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference, apart from ruining my family’s prospects.’

‘You’re not listening to me.’ Martin lowered his voice and leaned in towards her. ‘I have a lead, a good one. It could deal the GMRC a big blow if we could get it into the public domain, but I need your help to do it.’

‘Why me? What can I do that you can’t?’

‘Speak German, for one.’

It was true Jessica could speak German fluently. Her father had insisted she take lessons as a child to please her grandparents who were both born and bred in the Fatherland. She hadn’t used it for years, however, and didn’t know Martin even knew about it.

‘What kind of lead?’ she asked. ‘What sort of blow? Do you have proof they targeted journalists?’

He looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. ‘Better, I think we can find out what they’re covering up. Why the media is being gagged in the first place.’

‘And how do you propose to do that when so many have failed before?’

‘Because my lead is a hacker and he says he can get us what we want.’ Martin grabbed Jessica’s hand, his eyes intense. ‘We can still break this story, you and me – together.’

Jessica couldn’t help but be drawn in by Martin’s fervour, but due to what had already transpired she knew the risks of taking this further were great.

‘I don’t know—’ she said, her heart telling her to go for it while her brain warned her to let it go.

Martin didn’t seem to acknowledge her reticence and slid a grubby piece of paper across the table to her. She picked it up. Scribbled across its centre, a German address and a set of numbers: