Insequor (15 page)

“What’s happening?” he said, into the radio.

“We’re just retreating to a safe distance.”

“Safe distance. What about me? Am I safe?”

Toby’s soothing tone was quick to respond. “Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe. It’s just if there is a spillage onto the beach; liquid nitrogen can be pretty.”

Somewhere a motor started up and the sound of liquid could be heard travelling along pipes. A hissing noise from below drew his attention toward white wisps of smoke rising from the edges of the box. His eyes scanned the huts and trucks below but he couldn’t see Toby at all; in fact, he couldn’t see anyone as a white mist crept out of the box and clung to the beach.

“Damn you, Toby, and your bunch of nerds!” His eyes looked down at the walkie-talkie and it shrugged back. When did he start calling people nerds?

Minutes went by, Daniel searching amongst the buildings below for any sign of movement or life, finally a head popped out from one of the cabins. It was Toby making his way closer. At one point he stumbled, a hand reaching out to break his fall, but all the while his eyes remaining fixed on the box.

He raised his hand above his head flapped it towards the cabin he’d left. “Readings, please.” Someone must have been responded because he held his hand against his head forcing the headphone on one side closer. He walked closer toward the box.

Toby’s eyes stared forward at once amazed and slightly fearful, he kept nodding as the voices in the headset presumably fed back information. Daniel craned his neck over the edge to look down but could only see the metal lid, the vapour now gone.

“Toby,” he said, “what’s happening?”

“One second.” Toby nodded his head again, whispered back into the microphone at the side of his face before flicking his head up sharply. “We’re done!” His eyes were now wide and his hands outstretched like a preacher. Even from this height Daniel could see he was breathing rapidly, his mouth now curled into a smile. “Okay, we’re going to swing you down and I want you to make your way quickly to the jeep, ok?”

“Is it frozen?”

“The temperature inside the box is close to minus two hundred Celsius. If he is still active he almost certainly can’t move; we pumped in some water too, so he should be behind at least six feet of solid ice.”

Toby turned away and started talking into his headset again, around him soldiers started to appear in formation, two stood together about six feet apart then another two and so on until a path was created for the one hundred yards to the jeep. In the background, Davis was talking into a phone and it looked like he was angry.

“We’re all set,” said Toby.

He stepped back from the edge and held onto the rails. The box looked closer now; had they started to lower him? His eyes drifted out to sea once more; again he heard the gulls and the explosions of waves. His mind seemed to float high above him and he felt his neck strain as he prepared.

His head jilted back as his breath finally came to him. “I’m ready!” he said, and then braced himself. He heard the sound of an engine starting and then the whole platform shook, Toby started to drift backwards and the soldiers readied their weapons.

At first the descent was slow, but then the platform gathered pace sending him to the back. It swung outwards away from the box some thirty or forty feet before plunging downward sending his stomach up against his lungs. It hit the beach with a muffled thud, spraying sand into the air. For a moment, he was blinded by grit and salt streaming from his eyes.

“Go Daniel, go!” It was Toby.

He stumbled forward, the railing of the platform catching his thigh and sending a sharp pain through his leg. Coughing, and wiping his eyes, he started to jog toward the first soldiers he could see. They were waving him toward them and when he neared they waved him past to the next two.

As he got further through the corridor of men his breath came back to him and his eyes gradually became less blurred. He rubbed them on the collar of his jacket, stopping to spit out sand. The soldiers kept shouting at him to move but he couldn’t help but turn back. The box was still there, motionless and squat. Toby appeared in view from the side waving him away his eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” he said, his clipboard flapping.

Daniel looked back beyond him at the metal. Was it still in there?

Toby came closer, stood right in front of him and Daniel had to step to the side so he could keep his eyes on the box.

“I need you to get in the jeep. We don’t know how long this will contain – “

An almighty metal groan, like a ship leaving a dry dock cut him off. Toby and Daniel caught each other’s gaze. “Good God,” said Toby. “Run!”

The box shattered like glass; chunks of metal and ice flew into the air before raining down upon the soldiers. One fell to the floor clutching his face whilst another was speared by an icicle through his leg. One of the cabin’s windows was taken out and the metal side of the box flew ten feet out toward the beach. The robot ploughed through the maelstrom like it was a paddling pool.

He ran. At first stumbling backwards, until a soldier barrelled him forward by the shoulders. The car was close and he knew he could run faster, but it never stopped. On some base level that was the source of all his fear, knowing that it could keep on going forever and he couldn’t. It was the only thing he could be certain of.

The door of the jeep swung open and Jones stepped outside only to bundle him in and then jump back inside; the jeep already moving before the door was closed.

“You ok?” Jones sat opposite Daniel, his eyes staring beyond him through the rear windshield.

His chest was still heaving, his legs shaking. He nodded before turning around to look back himself. It was walking after them but now getting smaller with each step.

“That was a bit
too
close.” Jones had one of the frowns on he reserved for truly special occasions.

“It was my fault,” said Daniel, turning he eased himself back down into the seat. “I just haven’t seen it in so long, it was strange. I had to stop and look.”

A phone rang and Jones fished it out of his jacket pocket. “Hello? Yes, he’s here, we’re ok.”

His Head of Security looked up and mouthed ‘Toby.’ Daniel made a sign across his mouth to indicate he didn’t want to talk.

“He’s a little shaken right now. Ok. I’ll tell him. We’ll see you in Paris.” Jones slipped the phone back inside his jacket.

“Paris?”

“More problems with the Spanish.”

The drive to the aircraft was uneventful, only once more did Toby call and Daniel still wasn’t ready to speak to him. As they pulled into the airfield he spotted a car already waiting by his jet. Out of it stepped Mr Davis Jones intercepted him.

“We’ve got a flight to catch,” said Jones, “or didn’t you see that mess back there?”

“I’m aware of the situation, Mr Jones. Daniel, could I have a word?”

Jones turned, his face a mixture of distrust and impatience. “Go on ahead,” said Daniel, “I’ll just be a minute.”

Jones squared his shoulders at Davis, took a look at him up and down before climbing the half a dozen steps into the plane.

“I don’t think he likes me,” said Davis.

“Don’t take it personally,” said Daniel, “he distrusts anyone who works with the government; which is what I like about him.”

“Cute,” said Davis.

“What do you want? I take it Toby doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Oh it’s not like
that
,” he said, the eyes zipping around again, just like when they had been sat in the car. “I’m here on official business; to make sure you get on your plane.”

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially, I’m here to tell you what Toby doesn’t want you to hear.”

“Namely?”

“Namely that there are other options. Other voices. Scientists. People who disagree with his methods.”

“Well why don’t they give me a call?”

“Because Toby keeps a lid on everything,” said Davis, shaking his head. “Don’t you get it? Nobody can touch you. He has the President’s trust and whilst he has that nobody is going to suggest otherwise. But there are other ways, other people. I know one such person and he’d be very interested in talking to you and I think you’d be interested in what he has to say.”

“Go on.”

Davis looked around again; they were completely alone, but he didn’t seem satisfied. “Not here. In Paris. I’ll get him to contact you through Jones. His name is Professor Grey. Hear him out and then decide if it’s something you’d like to take further. That’s all I ask.”

The plane’s engines started to whirr; a low grumbling sound that would soon be replaced by that all too familiar screech. God knows how many flights he’d taken in the last few years. With his air miles he could probably pay for a trip to the moon.

“Okay,” said Daniel, “tell him to contact Jones.”

The agent nodded as he started up the steps. “You won’t regret it,” said Davis.

He stopped inside the doorway and a stewardess began closing the door. “We’ll see,” he said.

On the flight he was fidgety and restless, unable to get to sleep. He didn’t feel like drinking and so started to check his emails. After he’d reviewed the latest contracts and proposals he looked at his social media reports, marketing briefs and IT strategy. Before he knew it they were descending.

Paris was still asleep when his plane touched down. He decided to take a car into town himself; it had been while since he drove and even with his security team behind him he enjoyed the freedom and emptiness of the early morning roads.

The sports car that had been waiting for him was lively in his hands; his body being squashed into the sides of the seat as he took the corners at speed. Once or twice the car behind flashed its headlights; Jones telling him to slow down and he could hear his phone vibrating in the glovebox.

They arrived at his apartment where electric gates swept back effortlessly and one of his assistants was already at the door. He brought the car to a sudden halt, the tyres juddering. He made his way upstairs to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. He was just about to start on the second when Jones walked in.

“Were we in a hurry?”

He shrugged, “I just wanted to drive. Fast. I’ve been in a plane all day.”

“I understand, but maybe next time do it somewhere else. I don’t want to have to peel you off a lamppost.”

“Sorry,” said Daniel, before offering a glass to Jones.

“No thanks, I’m going to bed. Get some rest.”

“Listen,” said Daniel, Jones turned. “Davis is going to put us in touch with someone called Professor Grey. He’s going to come through you; Toby can’t find out about it. Is that okay?”

Jones turned around and his gaze fell on Daniel. “Who is he?”

“A scientist,” said Daniel, before noticing Jones’s eyes and quickly adding, “but someone who has a different approach. I said I’d hear him out. Do you trust Davis?”

“I don’t trust anybody,” said Jones, “least of all Toby and his cronies.”

“Good,” said Daniel, pouring another whiskey. “Then I’ve got my best man on the job.” He dropped in a cube of ice and gave the glass a swirl.

Morning brought breakfast, an American newspaper and subdued, but noisy daylight. Daniel perched himself up against his pillow and reached across, noticing immediately he was on the front page. This time, somehow, a reporter had managed to get pictures of him fleeing the beach yesterday. That meant another statement and probably more interviews. He sighed and threw it to the end of his bed before reaching for the coffee. His cook had also prepared salmon and eggs, along with a selection of freshly made breads which he began to devour.

He flicked on the TV and started searching through the satellite detritus until he found an English news channel; the BBC. They’re dedicated ‘Entity Correspondent’ was Rupert Brooks. The journalist had done well for himself since his world exclusive all those years ago. Now heading up a robot news desk and hosting several TV shows, Brooks had made a pretty healthy living out of Daniel’s extraordinary life.

He wasn’t the only one, of course. Each major channel had someone who focused on updates from the robot like they had a sports correspondent or a weather person. Most of them were supervised through Daniel’s PR team. Each press release carefully worded and managed to keep his life private, yet give the public what they wanted. Each photo
opportunity
carefully
presented, the intimate pictures of Daniel relaxing at home vigilantly stage-managed. Last month’s magazines had him out walking his Rhodesian Ridgebacks around an ‘exclusive South Californian ranch, popular with celebrities and politicians.’ He didn’t even own any dogs.

None of the correspondents dared cross him else they would lose their only source of exclusive stories. It was a relationship that worked well. Yet, occasionally, a freelancer or the paparazzi would intrude. For this he usually turned to his lawyers; all twelve of them at the last count.

Whoever had taken this picture of him diving, rather ungracefully, into his car on the beach would face his full fury. It wasn’t only the intrusion into his life he had to think about; it was his sponsors, his image rights. Anything that made him look less than the cool, calm and collected ALister he was could cause people to rethink their branding or attachment.

He decided to drop an email to his team and ask for a response first thing tomorrow morning. They were used to working Sundays. These things were happening more and more now with so many cameras everywhere. Already, he’d taken the precaution of banning mobile phones from Toby’s staff whenever they had dealings; he’d once caught one of them filming him eating a hotdog. After the email was sent he took a shower and got dressed before heading downstairs to see if Jones was around so they could check out today’s schedule.

He found the ex-detective at the breakfast bar reading
Le Monde
, one of France’s daily evening newspapers. It was last night’s so the front page was free of Daniel’s image.

“I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“I’m learning,” said Jones, peering over the top. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, you?”

“I think I slept too much on the plane so I was up early. I might go for a run - that usually helps. Will you be needing me?”

“What have I got on?”

“Nothing,” said Jones. “Schedule is empty.
Carpe diem
.”

Daniel pulled up a stool. There was more coffee here. “Latin now?”

“‘Seize the day’. What are you going to do?”

He poured an espresso and sat back. “I might do some sightseeing; well, as far as I can. I might take a walk over to the Louvre.”

“Want me to phone ahead?” Jones was already standing up.

“No. I’m fine. I’ll just put on a baseball cap and take a couple of your guys, okay?”

“Sure, but be careful though. Even though I’m reading this,” said Jones, rattling his paper, “I’ve seen the news on TV.”

He nodded. “I’m going to speak to Toby. From the shots it looks like one of the soldiers must have had a cell phone with him. I’ll see you later.” He drained the espresso before grabbing a cap, some sunglasses and heading off.

Downstairs a security detachment grabbed their coats and fell in behind him. From his apartment on the Left Bank he could walk along the river, over the
Pont du Carrousel
and be at the Louvre in fifteen minutes.

The Parisian air was fresh, vibrant and alive. He had only gone one hundred yards before he lost count of all the different smells; fresh coffee wafts floating out of cafés, warm sweet pasty odours escaping from patisseries. He was almost tempted to pick up a croissant or pain au chocolate but decided to press on. Half way across the bridge he paused and looked down the river. To his right the Louvre stood bold, it’s fortress like walls defended by tall trees; on his left the rest of Paris sat before him. He continued across, eyeing at the islands of Saint-Louis and the larger Île de la Cité. They said the city was formed like a great ship stuck in the mud, beached downstream in the middle of the Seine and it wasn’t hard to imagine.

Behind his dark glasses and baseball cap he looked like just another tourist taking it all in. Parisians going about their daily errands ignored him; sightseers gave a friendly smile or at the most a look of acknowledgement.

It was sunny, but muggy and inside the museum he was grateful of the cold air emanating around the gigantic stone halls. Queues were already forming and he gladly slipped into one; enjoying the anonymity. The security team kept their distance, already blending into the crowd but ever present.

Here, amongst the statues and paintings, the connections with the past, nobody was interested in the robot. He headed straight through the main hall, up some stairs, left to the
Département des Peintures.
He knew where he was going. He’d been here before. Ever since he first stepped foot inside the Louvre a year ago, alongside the French Foreign Minister carrying out some dreadful PR stunt, he’d been captivated by one painting.

He remembered the first time he had set eyes on it. The Minister had been boring him through a translator, something about France’s ‘open arms’ he recalled, when they had taken a turn into the nineteenth century gallery where pictures hung obediently on the walls; mostly allegorical and often abundant with religious symbolism. Boy with goat and apple. Boy with harp and lion. Woman with dove and goblet. Every time he looked at one he felt he had to refer to the Old Testament to really understand what was going on.

But then he saw another picture in the far corner. A dark and fiery landscape which he had been compelled to inspect further. In it a city, surrounded by lakes of fire, was watched over by a triumphant demonic figure. The body stood tall, spear and shield raised in victory but it was dwarfed by the great walls that overlooked it from behind the flames.

He remembered how he had felt the first time he had seen it. It was almost a familiarity; as if he’d somehow seen it before. But he couldn’t have. The picture was called
Pandemonium
and had been painted in 1825 by an Englishman named John Martin. It depicted the capital of Hell in all its flaming glory; Lucifer himself no less, looking on with triumph as he returns to tell the other fallen angels of the banishment of Adam and Eve.

“You know, this is a depiction from Milton’s Paradise Lost,” said a voice.

Daniel didn’t break his gaze from the painting; the dark black and red oils seeming to absorb the light. Maybe it was the illumination in the museum but the painting never seemed to have any reflection on it.

“Hello, Toby,” he said. “You got here quick.”

“Yes, well we had to have a wash-up after yesterday’s events.” Toby appeared at his side, a guidebook thrust under his armpit. He leaned in, peering at the canvas.

“I’ve always liked Martin’s works. They’re so dramatic. Why do you like this painting so much?”

“What makes you think I like this one more than the Mona Lisa down the corridor?”

“Because I think it has an effect on you. I’ve seen you stare at it before; that day with the French Minister.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it reminds me of something.”

“Staring at Pandemonium, the capital of Hell, is not a good thing to find familiarity in.”

He turned and looked across the gallery; an old man and his grandson idly made their way from picture to picture but his security men were still by the door. A quick thumb up from Daniel and they nodded before blending back in with the scenery.

“You read it?”

“What?”

“Paradise Lost,” said Toby.

“No.”

“‘Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light.’ That’s what Martin drew his inspiration from.”

Daniel turned to look at Toby; he was slightly dishevelled but much his usual self. They turned and carried on walking together, side by side, occasionally stopping to look at a picture.

“We need to do a review of yesterday,” said Toby, “what went well, what didn’t go well, lessons learned, corrective action and so forth.”

“What exactly did go well?” said Daniel.

“Even though we didn’t manage to freeze him, and let’s be honest it was a long shot, we did get some really unique readings.”

“I’ll need copies of your data.”

“Of course. Are you free to attend this afternoon?”

“Not really,” he said, “but I’d appreciate if you could send Davis over to take me through your findings.”

He didn’t notice Toby pause and walked on a few steps before turning around.

“Davis is off the team,” said Toby.

Without missing a beat and feigning disinterest Daniel said, “Fine, send somebody else.”

Toby considered him for a moment before nodding and then turning to a picture on his right. It was a table strewn with fruits and exotic foods, glasses and goblets.

“Ah,” said Toby, “Jan Davidsz de Heem. ‘A Table of Desserts.’ Fascinating piece.”

Daniel stepped closer to inspect the painting. The oils were hard, cracked and old; on the panel next to it he saw the artist’s name and the year; 1640. A table dominated the picture on which a huge feast had been laid out and leaning against it what looked like an old-fashioned guitar. In the background, behind a curtain loomed a globe.

“It’s a moral,” he said, “but I don’t get it. The food, the mandolin; are they meant to represent earthly pleasures?”

“It’s actually a lute,” said Toby, “But more importantly that’s not just food. It’s the forbidden fruit; back to Paradise Lost again. The globe, revealed behind the curtain, tells us how universal this message is.”

Daniel shrugged. “What’s the message? Don’t eat the forbidden fruit? It’s a bit late for that.”

“Moderation,” said Toby, “Material things are just…material.”

He nodded and looked more carefully at the delicately painted fruit. It almost looked real. His eye caught a blue ribbon hanging off the table in the picture. “What’s this?”

“A watch strap with no watch,” said Toby.

“What does that mean?”

Toby caught his eyes. “Time is fleeting.”

They both stared at each other for a second, the silence of the gallery hanging around them.

“We’d best get moving,” said Daniel. He indicated to his security men it was time to leave and they quietly crossed the room and stood beside him.

“Don’t forget that report,” he said.

Toby nodded and they said farewell. Back outside the hustle around the Louvre was starting to intensify and they weaved their way through the crowds back to the bridge.

It was approaching lunchtime in Paris and people were pouring onto the streets in search of food and company. A young and beautiful woman paused and looked across at him as she spoke into her phone. Another man turned his head as they crossed on the bridge.

Dammit! He’d forgotten to put his sunglasses back on. He quickly stepped into a doorway to replace the shades and pull down the baseball cap whilst his escort covered him. Then, bracing himself, he stepped back into the throng. The anonymity was immediate and most welcome; he didn’t turn one head as he made his way along the Left Bank.

Back at the apartment Jones met them downstairs. “Any trouble?”

“No,” he said, placing his baseball cap on the hat stand. “We bumped into Toby though.”

“Bumped into?”

“He found me at the Louvre. He says they’re doing a wash-up about yesterday. I told him to send over the report.”

The security men headed back upstairs leaving Daniel and Jones alone in the cool hallway.

“You had a visitor. He came over this morning.”

“Who?” said Daniel.

“He said he was a friend of Davis; name was Grey. Do you know him?”

“Not yet,” said Daniel, heading up the stairs. “But can you get him over for dinner tonight.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll need you too.”

“Not a problem. Mind if I ask what it’s all about?”

“Time is fleeting,” he said, before winking and carrying on up the stairs leaving Jones scratching the back of his head.