Insequor (9 page)

“Really?” said Mitchell. He pulled out a tablet and flicked through some screens. “Not even Tom Lanigan?”

“He’s not my friend,” said Daniel, with a lowered brow.

“He’s giving an exclusive interview to your American Channel 9 News. Says he knows you better than anyone and thinks you could possibly be a communist.”

Daniel emptied the wine glass.

The next few days felt like being submerged in a Jacuzzi as Daniel was pushed and pulled from one place to the next with no understanding of what was going on. Toby got someone to give a press conference where he was wheeled out like specimen at a lecture. The cameras were intense, the questions deafening. He was instructed to say nothing and just sat there as Toby and some Government officials talked about how they were trying to unravel the connection between him and the robot.

But ‘Yes’, they admitted, it
was
Daniel the thing was pursuing. The question of liability was raised, with millions of dollars of damages already incurred back in the states; this was dismissed by Toby who said there wasn’t a court in the world that was going to be interested in prosecuting Daniel right now, nor any government. At this time, they were keeping the robot out of harm’s way and working with Daniel to establish the link.

Was it from outer space? That question was one of the first and Toby reluctantly admitted it was most likely extra-terrestrial. Had a nuclear option been approved? Toby, again, responded that it was not something that was being considered at this time.

After the conference an orchestrated ‘one to one’ interview with a leading TV anchor-man from back home and then another with a senior British journalist. ‘One to one’ in the sense that it was just the journalists and Daniel on screen, but there were about forty other people in the room.

They both asked pretty much the same questions; but Daniel had Toby at his side ready to halt the interview and stop the cameras at a moment’s notice.

“I’m afraid he can’t answer that,” he would say, politely raising a hand or “Could you change your line of questioning, please.”

The interviewers got flustered but they knew gold when they saw it and respected any of Toby’s requests. Daniel felt like he was being pulled along with a current he couldn’t quite feel the direction of and just tried to answer as best he could. Whenever things got too personal Toby would be there again, swiftly moving things on.

Those two interviews did the rounds on all the channels; each trying to pass it off as their own exclusive. YouTube went into overload and the videos were watched hundreds of millions of times; with hundreds of parodies, skits, jokes and dubbed versions all appearing in minutes. #robotman was trending permanently and everywhere he looked he saw a commentator, journalist or his own face bouncing back at him off a screen.

Behind the scenes Mitchell had been coordinating press releases and statements on behalf of both Daniel and the British government whose official stance was that Daniel was a guest who was welcome to stay as long as he required; they would be working closely with him. If the robot arrived from its sojourn under the sea, they would then have to discuss whether he would still be welcome.

Mitchell had assured him this was just to give the papers something; in truth nobody knew what would happen if the thing did get here. Daniel had been moved from the hotel to another one outside of London. After a few days of trying to relax, he was once again summoned to a meeting with Toby, this time in a nondescript coffee shop.

As they sat down Daniel immediately got the feeling they were being watched. “Are we?” he said.

“Well, there are at least three of our guys here,” said Toby, looking around, “possibly more.”

Daniel scanned the room; it was a busy, small high street independent. A counter with cakes and sandwiches, efficiently attended by two baristas. Around him were maybe ten tables, mostly occupied by couples, mums struggling with toddlers or office people getting a quick cup of Joe in before the daily grind.

As he looked, he recognised a couple of the men in suits reading newspapers who both nodded softly. A nervous mum smiled and winded her baby, her soft eyes catching his for only a little too long.

“It’s not just your guys, it’s everyone,” said Daniel.

“That’s part of the price of fame I’m lead to believe.”

They sipped their coffees idly for a moment, the loud hissing from the coffee machines occasionally breaking the silence. The smell was strong and he breathed it in deeply. Coffee shops always made him feel at home.

“Daniel, have you ever heard of the Boston Molasses Disaster?”

“No, can’t say I have. What is it?”

“Not ‘is’…’was.’”

“Never heard of it.”

Toby glanced around the room from over the top of his coffee. “Back in 1919 there was a molasses tank in the north end of Boston; thick, dark, nasty, syrupy stuff. They used it as a sweetener, to ferment alcohol even in making munitions.”

“Sounds useful.”

“One day, one hot day, about noon the tank collapsed. A couple of million gallons of molasses rushed out into the streets killing people, horses and even knocking down buildings. Anything in its path.

The Navy were first on the scene. Then the Army, Police, Red Cross. It was chaos. The molasses was knee deep, the dead choking or suffocating in the goo. The horses struggled more and more and just found themselves pulled even deeper. It took them four days before they stopped searching for survivors. Bodies turned up but they were so glazed it was impossible to identify them.”

“Sounds horrific.”

“It was,” said Toby. “The local residents claim that on a hot summer’s day, even after all these years, you can still smell molasses.”

As Daniel scanned the floor, another secret serviceman looked over the top of his newspaper and there were at least two photographers outside.

“What’s your point, Toby?”

“My point is some things never truly go away. They’ll always leave a trace. The robot is like that. Sure, we may stop it, even destroy it. We’ll keep the parts in some lab and probably figure out how to make tanks out of its skin. Heck, we may even build our own.”

Daniel’s eyebrows leapt up.

“That’s what we do, Daniel. That’s what governments do until the next piece of tech comes along. But you? This will never go away; you’ll always be
that
guy.”

He felt a pressure on his chest, like someone was pushing on it. He breathed in and out, slowly. Knowing he was always going to be recognised wherever he went suddenly felt like a very bad thing. This wasn’t Hollywood celebrity with red carpets and complimentary restaurant seats.

At the moment he was big news. Everyone wanted to talk to him and see what he could tell them about the robot. But what if things started to go badly? What if the robot did harm someone? Supposing it did walk through a hospital, or knock down an apartment block. They wouldn’t want him on ‘The Late Show’ after that.

A vision started at the back of his brain and slowly shuffled forward. He was running down the street from screaming people. But these weren’t adoring teen fans chasing a pop star; these people were trying to kill him.

“Where can I go?” he said.

“Did you bring me here on purpose?”

“No.”

“It’s going to be like this from now on. I won’t even be able to grab a cup of coffee.”

“Perhaps.”

He shook his head and looked down at the frothy mess left in his cup. “How will I cope?”

“Maybe ask the Vice-President how he manages. We need to head back to the States,” said Toby.

“Won’t that mean more attention? More interviews?”

“I’m afraid so, but we’ll have our people at hand.”

Daniel, unable to think of a response or anything he would rather do, merely nodded. Within two hours he was on a private jet to New York.

“We’ll be right back after this break, folks. Don’t go away.”

A saxophone sprang in to life along with the sound of a studio audience starting to applaud. In the Green Room, Daniel had sat through twenty minutes of ‘Tonight!’ with Jimmy Jones and was now ushered onto the set. The two earlier guests shuffled along so he could sit on the edge of the sofa next to his host.

Jimmy Jones stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks for doing this, Daniel. We’re all real excited about your story. How are you coping with all this pressure?” Had the interview started?

“Don’t worry,” said Jimmy, noting his look, “We’re at a commercial break. Back on in a few minutes.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” The question had thrown him as it was not the first one on the list Toby had provided. The whole interview was going to be scripted; he had seen and rehearsed all the questions. The first was to ask him to introduce himself to the world. They’d prepared an answer that summed up his life in a soundbite making him sound an ordinary guy from a small town; which he was.

“I’m okay,” he said, “I just want to get this over with.”

“Sure,” said Jimmy, “I know the script here. Don’t worry you’re in safe hands.”

He turned to look at the other guests who both smiled benevolently; he couldn’t recall either of their names. One was a washed up Hollywood actress who had been pretty big some years ago; the other was a young guy who looked like a model. Daniel wasn’t sure, but he thought he was off a scripted reality show. They’d exchanged brief pleasantries beforehand but Toby had kept everyone well away.

Jimmy seated himself back behind his desk and looked across at someone behind the cameras. There was a nod from a young female producer holding a clipboard. There was no studio audience, laughter and applause would be added afterwards, but there was an army of cameramen and engineers rushing about. The music struck up again and a voice announced, “On in five, four, three…”

“Welcome back, folks,” said Jimmy. “Now my next guest isn’t well known to any of us but he’s one of the most famous people on the planet. Tonight we have an amazing exclusive for you.”

Cameras swung and Daniel was sure he felt the lights get a little brighter. “Daniel Loman, who I’m all sure you’ve heard of, is with us tonight.” Applause came from speakers, somewhere. The actress and the TV star clapped too.

“Daniel,” said Jimmy, “tell the world who you are.”

He breathed in and looked down a camera lens for a second and saw the black hole widen. “My name is Daniel Loman. I’m thirty-six years old and I come from a town called Mountplace. About four weeks ago the entity, you all refer to as the Robot, landed on our planet and started to follow me.”

Jimmy stared, open mouthed, as if hearing all this for the first time. “My God. Daniel, tell us, what do you know?”

“Very little,” he said. The actress tilted her head; thin hair that had seen too much peroxide was flicked behind an ear with concern.

“It seems impossible to stop. It has literally walked through buildings and tanks. Its sole purpose seems to be something to do with me. But I need to be clear it has not attacked anyone.”

“Yes, that’s true isn’t it? It hasn’t attacked.”

“Absolutely. It just wants to get to me, but for whatever reason we don’t know.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“No. I’m working with our government, the army and navy. We keep a tight schedule and I’m moved about a lot so as to keep the entity at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Tell me, Daniel, why you?”

He sat back in his seat and scratched his head. “Jimmy, that’s a question I ask myself every day. If its intentions are peaceful, maybe it wants to deliver a message for example. But then why not the President? Or the Head of the United Nations? The intelligence required to make whatever journey it did is far beyond our own, so we can only assume there is something about me that we are not aware of.”

The words he had prepared with Toby flowed freely. The answers were what people wanted to hear; it was almost as if he could feel the whole country relaxing in their seats a little.

“Jimmy, could I ask something?” It was the Hollywood actress; she wasn’t supposed to ask anything. Jimmy looked at Daniel as if to ask permission but she had already started to speak.

“Perhaps, the robot is from the future,” she said, “Perhaps it knows something about you that you don’t even know yourself.”

“Like what?” said Daniel.

“Maybe it’s here to warn us about something you might do? Or even your children might do in the future. Like in that movie, what’s it called?” The TV star shared a thoughtful look.

“I don’t have any children,” said Daniel, “and I don’t like the idea of being punished for something I haven’t done yet.”

“But you
might
have children,” said the TV star. “You’re one of the most famous people on the planet. I can’t imagine you staying single for long. Are you in a relationship?”

This was getting uncomfortable.

“Yes, Troy,” said Jimmy, “that’s a good question. Daniel, do you find time to have any relationships outside of your travelling?”

This also wasn’t part of the script. “I don’t.”

“Well ladies,” said the actress, putting her hand on his lap, “Right here I’d say we have the world’s most eligible bachelor. They’ll be making movies about you very soon.”

“I’m not sure I want my life turned into a movie.”

“Daniel,” said Jimmy, “have you thought about all this publicity? Do you have an agent?”

Again, another question that was not on the list. His eyes searched rapidly through the crowd in the studio to see if he could spot Toby.

“No.”

“You should get a publicist,” said Troy, the actress nodded in agreement.

“Have you been paid for your stories?” said Jimmy.

“What?”

“Have you been paid?” said Jimmy, “It’s an honest question.”

He grimaced. Jimmy Jones idly tapped his cue cards on his oversized desk. The actress tilted her head again and opened her mouth slightly; he could only assume she thought the look was endearing. Troy just looked vacant. After several moments he finally spoke.

“Look, we’re sitting here like we’re all buddies. We're not. He's plugging a book and she's trying to save her career after rehab.” Daniel glared across to the sofa next to him; Troy had bright teeth and an absurd tan, his face wore a confused smile, the fading Hollywood star was looking down her nose.

“I'm not selling anything. Don't you people ever want to do something real?”

For a second there was silence. Troy and the actress shifted in their seats, a few people made hand signals behind cameras. Then the chat show host nodded his head, placed the cue cards down; all that is except the last one.

“What is your reaction to recent revelations about Detective Jones?”

He stared at Jimmy; the bronzed skin and white smile shining back. He looked past his head toward the side of the stage where he finally caught sight of Toby who stood shaking his head.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

The smile was gone now, but the teeth were still bared.

“He was assigned to your case, correct? And he’s remained as Police Liaison Officer?”

“Yes.”

“There was a recent leak by a whistle blower in the LAPD. The di Conti affair?”

He caught sight of Toby arguing with the producer over Jimmy’s shoulder.

“I’m not aware of any story,” said Daniel.

“It’s been alleged that Mr Jones mishandled the Griffith Park murders; that he fouled up evidence that could have led to a conviction. That’s why he was transferred out East. A lot of conspiracy theorists are saying it was a major player in Hollywood and that there was a cover-up. Did you even know he used to be LAPD? What do you have to say?”

For a second he stared past the chat show host at the fake skyline. Jones was the only rock he had in the world at the moment. He wasn’t about to let someone topple him.

“I don’t comment on internet rumours.”

“Really, that’s a shame because there are some great ones about you.”

Daniel tried to not look interested. “I don’t – “

“One is that your real name isn’t Daniel and that you are in fact an extra-terrestrial; part of a scouting mission to check out our planet’s resources. Another, is that your part of a secret government spy programme. My favourite is that you’re actually one person split into two. Any thoughts?”

Daniel felt the urge to punch the waxing jawline and grab the slicked back hair. Jimmy Jones had never felt pain. Never had to endure or suffer; this guy was so smooth. His face was on buses and billboards across the country. Somehow, someone, somewhere had decided he was the voice of America and nobody argued.

Why did nobody stand up to him? Tell him he was wrong? His wasn’t the voice of the people; he was merely passing on the message of his masters. And what did they want? They wanted us to keep watching. Keep spending. Consuming.

He stood up and took off his microphone pack. “This is over. All of this.”

As he walked off the stage the last thing he heard was the band striking up and the host saying they’d be “…right back after these messages.”

Backstage he was flanked by security and then ushered to a car outside. As he got in Jones dismissed the guards. They shrugged and got in the car behind.

“We need to talk,” said the detective, as the car heaved off.

Daniel shook his head. “Your past is of no interest to me.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” said Jones, “but I’ve been speaking to Toby. He’s worried about the PR my
circumstances
might bring. Says your position is a tricky one, right now. Half the people think you’re fantastic and the other half think you’re here to destroy the world.”

“People are fickle.”

They turned onto the freeway and started to leave the tall buildings and studios of Hollywood behind them.

“It was around here, wasn’t it?” said Daniel. “He mentioned Griffith Park and I only just remembered. All those girls that got killed.”

Jones nodded and looked out of the window himself. Maybe he saw the distant green tree tops, or maybe he saw something else. “I had just made Detective and it fell on my lap due to resources. I was young and inexperienced so I handled it badly.”

“The case?”

“No,” said Jones, his eyes falling. “Finding him.”

He noted how Jones was sat back, unassuming, his eyes gazing out across the roads and houses. He looked older than the last time he’d seen him. But still, those gentle deep brown eyes, that soft and friendly smile; always hovering there, no matter what his mood.

“You found him?” he said.

“Damn right I found him.” Jones scoffed, “In fact, he found me.”

“He found
you
?”

Jones scratched his chin; a few days without shaving had made him dishevelled. “Around that time a rising actor had requested access to LAPD interrogations and police time. ‘Method acting,’ they called it. The guy wanted to look at how we worked, immerse himself in our world for an upcoming role. You ever hear about how De Niro did it with Taxi Driver?”

Daniel nodded, “Sure. He worked as a cab driver for a time before the film. Can’t say I believe in it much; acting is just dressing up and pretending to be someone else…and we all do that.”

Jones scoffed and nodded his approval. “So, this actor has some pull in the Mayor’s department and next thing, being the youngest detective, he ends up with me as nobody else wants him around.”

“So he worked with you on the case?”

“No, at first he just shadowed me. I was working on a homicide; pretty open and shut so he accompanied me when I took the statements, visited a scene…that kind of thing. He was no more than a kid but always asking questions. What time did I work till? Where did I buy my clothes? What did I do when I finished? I guess, in his own way, he was trying to understand what it was like working homicide. We’d go out and have a few beers, he was nice enough.”

“I thought you didn’t drink?”

“I quit when I moved out East. Anyway, everything changed when I got the first Griffith Park murder. I knew straight away I was out of my depth. I told the actor we’d have to part ways as I’d be too busy to spend any time with him. But he insisted.”

“Insisted on what?”

Jones shook his head, “Sticking around.”

They pulled up at airport security, flashed their papers and were ushered through; the car drove straight for their jet on the tarmac. It was getting dark now and the wind had picked up; the jet engines were already spinning in anticipation of a quick departure.

Inside drinks, as usual, were waiting; scotch on the rocks for Daniel and a soda for Jones. There were also the day’s papers and a memo from Toby. Daniel glanced at it before knocking back his drink.

“So what happened? The actor contaminated your crime scene?”

“You don’t remember the Griffith Park murders, do you?”

“I remember them being on the news. A lot of young girls. Strangled, right?”