The Unseen (27 page)

After thirty minutes he drove back passed the house. The alarm was silent, no police, no security firm, no-one. Zoby swung round at the next road junction. This time he opened the double gates and parked on the front lawn so the van was left hidden behind high hedges.

To be extra safe, he searched out folding steps from the garden shed, then using them to reach the bell box, he prised it off the wall with his bayonet before throwing it into the adjoining woods. Once inside the house he went to the living room and stood by double French windows which overlooked the back garden. “Enemy position secured, Colonel,” he said into his head radio.

“Roger that, Zoby. Assess for provisions and ordnance.”

Zoby did as instructed and checked the whole premises. “Some food in the freezer and a kitchen full of knives. But I’ll bring my own, I work best with my own. Proceeding back to base.” Zoby spoke into his own head and heard the crackle of static inside before the Colonel replied.

“Roger that. Crystal should have delivered your mission funds by now. Pick up when needed.”

“Will do, Colonel. Over and out.” Zoby was impatient for his cash. He liked to count his money. Certain it would be there, he drove straight to the graveyard. Nothing.

The black mist came down on him. He felt the pressure of it inside his skull, felt it eating his mind. “Damn you, Crystal. Where’s my cash? If you want me to proceed as ordered, I want my cash.” He called up on his radio. “No money or I.D. on the hostiles. What the fucks wrong?”

“Crystal must have screwed up. Leave it with me.”

“Will do, Colonel. Over and out.” Zoby kicked at the grave and scattered the marble chippings. “Shit head Crystal.” He went back to the van and drove to his council estate where he spent ten minutes changing number plates. It calmed him, having something to do. Only when the pressure had gone did he go up to his flat.

The Nose was sitting four doors down on the communal balcony. He hated the Nose, always watching, prying. One day he would cut the Nose off.

“The police were looking for you,” the Nose said, staring over the railings to the buildings opposite.

Static flared and scrambled Zoby’s mind, the black mist was instantly back, filling the void with jagged images. He saw the door to his flat, its surface covered with soft flesh and mutilated entrails. He could smell the shit. He clutched the handle and steadied himself. The Nose was staring at him, mouth wide, like the stupid, crazy old fool he was. Zoby thought of killing him.

“How do you know it was police?”

The Nose narrowed his eyes. “I can tell the Old Bill a mile off.”

“MI5,” Zoby corrected. “How long ago?”

“Ten minutes. Sorry to hear about your mother.”

“We all get to die.” He pushed open the door, closing it as he clasped his head. What had he done? Each mission had been a success. The fucking police weren’t in on this. This was Crystal, this was Crystal fucking up. The black void was now burrowing through statics, forming a hollow core in his mind. “Crystal, fucking Crystal,” he said, his cheek against the floor. The Colonel had stopped answering his call sign.

Zoby was unsure how long he floated in the war zone but finally the static faded. He stood up from the floor and immediately switched on his head radio.

“Zoby to Colonel. Have reports of hostiles snooping base camp.”

“We can’t jeopardise mission, Zoby. Take for a long haul.”

“Will do, Colonel.”

Zoby’s two bergens had cost one hundred and eighty pounds each. He figured the situation demanded both. Shifting base because of hostile activity was now routine. The pigs were always sniffing. He packed a full set of fatigues, blazer, slacks and other clothes wrapped round a dismantled shotgun. The Samurai sword was slotted so the handle protruded upwards. Laptop and game disks he pushed to outside pouches along with a stolen mobile. The bulk of one bergen he packed with cash plus a roll of hunting knives. Into the second bergen went makeup and wigs, chemicals, police uniform, police and chauffeur’s caps, false number plates, waterproof combat coat, then crash helmet on top. He hated leaving his trophies, hated leaving his bulky PC. He checked e-mails then deleted everything. While packing he considered burning the place but figured the Nose would have the fire brigade around before he was down the steps. Nothing he could do about prints, but they hadn’t caught him yet, and they wouldn’t catch him now.

He humped one of the bergens into the back of the transit van followed by his moped. The Nose watched him leave but said nothing. Zoby knew the guy would soon be gathering his stick, taking his insect body back to his flat so he could phone the police.

“I’m going to my mother’s funeral, I may be away three, four days. Keep an eye on the place will you?” Zoby asked him.

The Nose raised his finger but said nothing. Zoby hoisted the last bergen onto his back. Time to go to war, he thought. Within the hour he was back at Hollyoaks.

With a platform bra and white Lycra sweater under a fitted jacket, Victoria felt like a two-pronged bumper bar. Standing self-consciously in PKL’s reception, she expected to spend the day as the sole companion of Richard Caswell. Dangling a million pound investment while dressed to give no doubt of what lay beneath and on offer, she hoped to distract Caswell enough to build psychological pointers. Faced with sexual opportunity, most men begin to stalk and in doing so, become overbold, boastful and careless. Judging from Caswell’s attentions the previous day, she had no doubt of his interest and she felt safe in exploiting it. What could he do in a busy office, even if he was Crystal?

After announcing herself to the receptionist she unbuttoned her jacket and waited for her target to appear. Instead a fat-waisted man with hooded eyes came down the stairs. His gaze immediately latched onto the prominence of her nipples and remained there until he offered his hand.

“Hi, I’m Snibbard, PKL’s project manager. Richard asked me to show you around.”

Victoria smiled and tried to hide her disappointment as he pressed clammy skin against her palm. Of the three principal suspects within PKL, she rated this guy as second; and by his manner, it was clear he had a sexual obsession bordering on anti-social. But having set herself up, she gritted teeth and left her jacket open.

Snibbard raised an arm to usher her forwards but as she stepped passed his other hand brushed the stretched fabric of her jeans. She glowered annoyance but Snibbard appeared unaware of the contact. She had his measure then.

“I have another lady here, you’ll be doing this tour together,” he said, leading her behind office partitioning which divided the open floor. “Allow me to introduce Mrs Zellar.”

Mrs Zellar rose from her chair and looked Victoria over with the curiosity of one assessing the opposition. She wore a smart trouser suit and about a kilo of gold in various adornments around her throat and fingers. Victoria smiled, lifted her chest in a deep breath and shook hands. Zellar was clearly a professional piranha.

“I expected to meet Richard,” Zellar said.

Snibbard grinned a full set of teeth and clasped his hands together. “He’s out on an emergency call to our unit in Milton Keynes. The main server is playing up and we’ve had to re-install some programmes. As number two in PKL, I’m deputising for Richard.”

“He will not be back?” Zellar asked, looking at Snibbard as if he emitted some loathsome crepitation.

“He also has to arrange extra share certificates, Mrs Zellar. He hoped you would understand.”

Victoria watched the woman’s plastic smile which for moments gave the appearance of a blow-up doll. “OK. So what do you show us?” Zeller asked.

Snibbard led them back out into the main office. “I’ve two DVD interactive chairs in the conference room. You can view up there without interruption.”

“Tell me, Mr Snibbard,” Victoria said as they walked towards a staircase. “What exactly do you control here?”

“I put it all together.” He followed them up the stairs, Victoria conscious of his eyes burning into her from behind. “Without boasting, everything you see in the finished products of PKL and WorkWell are the results of my engineering.”

“Everything?”

“Well, plus the team of course, also there’s input from Derek Faulkner who you may have met yesterday at Milton Keynes. He’s responsible for the animation. Richard is creative and administrative director but also with technical input. But I assemble and collate everything. The final effects are all mine.”

Victoria suppressed a shudder and turned at the top of the stairs. “I’ll be interested to see these effects.”

She suffered Snibbard to help fasten her into the games chair. His arm brushed her breasts, his fingers fumbled at her waist and on her legs. She watched Zellar allow the same with an attitude of bored indifference, which for Victoria, confirmed she was there to make rather than to give. Snibbard just indulged himself. Would Crystal be so blatantly obvious? Victoria kept her mind open. At least with others around he could do no more than irritate. She wondered if that was why Caswell was absent; so Snibbard could vilify himself. Not the best way to treat potential investors. Or was he testing her?

Two hours were given to video games, mainly the new version of Princess Kay-ling. Then they toured the design office directly below Caswell’s flat. Again the space was open plan with moveable screens. It housed a team of ten industrious young geeks of both genders. Victoria judged none capable of hurting a fly, never mind another human being. All appeared happy.

“All staff are eligible for a substantial bonus on account of completing a WorkWell project ahead of schedule,” Snibbard said. “Richard is generous that way. PKL has researched part of WorkWell for Starways. The system will hit worldwide. By next year every institution will be affected, my work again.” He smiled, chin back, smug.

“So how much work do you do for Starways?” Victoria asked, snatching at Snibbard’s indiscreet revelation.

Snibbard expression became cautious. “PKL have a minor sub-contract for insertion of WorkWell updates, it’s insignificant really. Our lucrative areas are PKL and Killing Field. Forget Starways, it’s nothing.”

“Killing Field is not exactly a name for family entertainment,” Victoria said. “Who thought that up?”

“It came when we bought the licence. PKL is for families, Killing Field is for the TWs. Short for testicle wavers, that’s what we call them.”

You’re one of them, Victoria thought, but said, “I’d like to view WorkWell and try some of the programmes. If I put in money, I want to know all your little activities, no matter how insignificant, Mr Snibbard.”

“No problem,” he said, suddenly distracted from her body. His face had coloured as if he realised his boasting had gone too far.

“If you could set it up for me, I’d like to discover what it’s all about,” she said.

“It’s of no real interest.” He waved dismissively.

“Let me be the judge of that.” She heaved her chest at him and regained his full attention.

“I have done this already,” Mrs Zellar said, and checked her watch. “I go back to my hotel. I wait for Richard there.”

Ten minutes later Victoria was left in the conference room with a plate of sandwiches and coffee. She felt certain Snibbard wasn’t Zoby, but he could be Crystal. Equally interesting was Snibbard’s caution over her reference to Starways. It indicated he knew of WorkWell and SPI. A minor sub-contractor, who had the ability to insert programmes containing SPI, that was some influence. No wonder Snibbard had tried diverting from the subject. She switched on her buttonhole camcorder, connected it to the open line on her mobile then selected a flash drive from a wallet on the desk. The basic programme was child’s play. Within minutes she knew how to download pre-designed packages. She chose one for stock control, another for traffic control. She sensed no SPI effects. By late afternoon she was satisfied with the programme’s condition. With no-one to overhear, she switched on her mobile and used voice mode.

“It’s clean, Alice. They’ve erased everything, even the games kept for visitors. You can bet the same has been done at Milton Keynes.”

“The images you transmitted were not good but our first analysis suggests you are right.”

“I spent hours this morning on PKL and Killing Field – nothing. The police would have no case.”

“Is WorkWell complete?” Alice asked.