The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller (29 page)

Frank was wiping himself off with a tissue now and Jack was deep in thought. “What about the machine?”

“Most of the machine is easily replicable. Several of the parts are extremely rare though. He keeps them in special safe boxes hidden somewhere.” Jack looked across at Anisha and she furrowed her eyebrows at him.

Another look at his assailant’s pistol and he cleared his throat and said, “What if I found them and destroyed them?”

“You don't understand. Green has spent most of his life planning this out. He won't quit until his dream is realised.” Jack looked down at the floor and Kim patted him on the back

“You want me to trust you? Even though you shot my brother and you’re planning on killing me?” Ortega's face grew fearsome once again and with a fiery scowl he bellowed out,

“I'm not asking you to do anything. Every single one of your friends is going to die unless you do exactly what I tell you.”

Jack's eyes bulged. He looked across at Anisha and he could see in her gaze, she was urging him not to listen. The world seemed to freeze for a second, as Jack found himself drowning in his own thoughts.

He had never believed in complete idealism. He knew that the ends sometimes did justify the means. When he had let Frank torture Tomlinson or when he had punched Pete in the nose; he understood that those were necessary evils. It was clear he wasn't a perfect man, but Jack liked to think that at heart he was a good person. If he had to weigh up his own guilt and the death of a downright evil man with the lives of his friends, let alone the world, there was only one thing he could say. “Okay. I'll kill Green.”

The air was whipped into a delirious frenzy as helicopter blades slashed through the serene, calm, sky. On the other end of the docks, Milo was stood on the pier, squinting out at the sea and whistling a jolly tune.

An intense gust of wind roared up behind him, creeping over his clothes and then lashing at his weathered skin. He jerked as it’s storm-like sound began burrowing into his ears. Minute pieces of dust and dirt were flying around everywhere and he felt as if he was trapped inside a tornado. He grabbed his head as a shrill siren pierced through the air, pounding at his brain.

Clouded by confusion, he turned around to the docks to see a barrage of police vehicles swarming to the scene. Curiosity took a hold and he walked across the path to find out what was happening. By the HMS Excalibur was some sort of black object: a bag maybe. Police officers rushed in from all sides, like spiders gathering to a carcass, and the green suited paramedics followed right behind.

Over the tearing sound of the helicopter blades, Milo could still make out someone barking orders. The rotary sound faded and immediately the officers began spreading out around the perimeter. A stretcher was being wheeled up to the bag and several men with huge silver rifles ran over to assist.

A gleam of sunshine ran off the weapons, making them sparkle under the gorgeous scarlet red sky. There was poetry to the way all the men on the dock were organised. Some running, some standing still with weapons trained. Some screaming orders, others unquestioningly following them.

An officer cut open the bag and jumped as he saw Green's bloody face staring back at him. Cutting off the rest of the bag, he was pulled out of the way by a feisty Latino paramedic, with a torch in hand. More tactical officers gathered behind her as she worked, the wind lashing away the sweat on her forehead as soon as it formed. She shone the light directly into Green's eye and he flinched backwards at the intensity. After trailing it and seeing if he followed, she was convinced he was responsive.

Three more paramedics moved in now and the four of them together gently pulled the beaten man up onto the stretcher. Picking him up, they moved along as a further two continued to palpate him and shout technical sound bites.

The police had organised into a tight confirmation, and they started widening the perimeter now as they searched for anybody in the vicinity. A few hundred metres away, around where the ambulance was parked, was a dirty white security van with the back door wide open revealing a mass of computer equipment. Police scrambled in and out, relaying information from the tactical officers and trying to play back camera footage from the area.

As soon as Green was in the ambulance the vehicle stormed off, two squad cars providing an escort.  The helicopter preformed two more laps and then landed as a second barrage of cars screeched up to the scene.

The Crime scene investigators and surveillance teams were here. A curly-haired man in his early fifties ducked out of the chopper and shook his head at the operation leader across the dock. He stamped his foot in annoyance. There was nobody suspicious anywhere nearby. Whoever it was that dumped the body had escaped for now.

FORTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER

Green hobbled into the department building and was met by a sea of smiling faces. With all the blood cleaned and wiped off, he wasn't in terribly bad health, and with the country’s finest medics on his payroll; he was already well enough to have been released.

Struggling to his office, he was encouraged along by his loyal staff and a few even began shedding tears at their friends’ safe return. The fallen casualty of war returning to a hero's welcome.

Slamming his office door shut he collapsed into the burgundy leather chair and closed his eyes. The police were still trying to sift through the video but it had been altered and finding the vehicle that transported him was proving difficult.

Green knew full well that he only had to make one call and he could have his own private company look into it and eradicate the perpetrators. He took a stretch and grimaced as it pulled on his wounds, his skin burning. The temptation was there, the urge for revenge certainly fresh; but he had to think about his position now.

He couldn't let anything jeopardise his becoming Prime Minister; it was imperative for his plans. With this kidnapping he had been thrust into the spotlight and now wasn’t the time for foolish risks.

His mind flashed back to the details; the four faces so vivid in his head. He wasn't sure about the location but he could picture the building and snippets of their conversations. Somebody called Neesh sprang to mind. Possibly another prisoner too, he couldn't remember. Most of the events were a mess, the memories all bleeding together every time he tried to access them. The whole experience made  him shudder.

For now he was throwing himself back into work and there was still a lot to be done. Hoards of politicians awaited him for urgent but ultimately unimportant meetings, and there were still several speeches he had to look over. There was also the matter of getting his contract for a time machine verified, and assembling the machine based on the work of his lab.

Although he tried to think through it all logically, he was distracted. He couldn't get the kidnapping out of his mind. There had been no ransom, no theft of his property. It was completely without motive or reason. Yet he was sure in his gut that it was connected to the traitor at the laboratory.

Realising he hadn't found out about Leeroy’s progress yet, he got out his phone and sent a text to the number. In a few minutes he had a reply. Everyone's reliability had been accounted for on that day except for one person: Kim Bexley. One man had been killed during her escape but they were tracking her down and were prepared to finish the job.

Frank's ear was pressed against the solid pine door and everybody in the room was silent. He couldn't tell if there was a guard outside and he didn't want to risk picking the lock if there was. The four of them had been stuck in this room all of last night and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever escape.

Anisha was feeling around the walls, looking for any way out. She hadn't found one after several hours last night and she didn't expect to now. But they had to try to break out: there was no guarantee that Ortega would keep them alive after Jack was done. All they could do was hope he took long enough killing Green for them to plan an escape.

The room had the sharp smell of artificial lemon and conjuring up thoughts of washing up liquid and cheap air-freshener, which Frank found incredibly distracting. With its soft white beds, grand sconces and light bulb holders, and beautiful wallpaper, this was the subtlest of prisons, and as the hours went by, it seemed to taunt its captives.

Frank listened closely now and thought he heard the shuffling of feet. He had an idea and waved at Anisha to start smacking one of the walls. Feeling very self-aware and also rather stupid, she began doing what Frank asked.

He pressed his right ear harder to the door now, trying to block out the racket from the left and was convinced he heard footsteps. He motioned for her to stop and focused more carefully. Hopefully the guard would worry about the ruckus and get some backup.

The footsteps also stopped for a second then began again in the opposite direction. Frank listened intently to the intricate thudding, stepping and quiet clicking, and, using his detective’s brain to make coherent sense of the sounds, was convinced that the guard had left and returned. He was certain that there were now two guards at the door. Frank now began looking around for something he could use to subdue them.

He could probably incapacitate one, but while he did, he had to stop the other one running for help. He walked over to Anisha in the centre of the room and whispered his idea. Kim looked up from her sulking on the bed to find out what was going on.

Soon the three of them were searching for some sort of projectile. The problem was that apart from the three beds, the room was baron. The hardwood floors were stark empty and all that sat under each bed was an extra sheet. Frank looked up and spotting a fluorescent light tube, pulled it out of its holder. Smashing that against somebody's head would definitely hurt.

The building looked normal enough from the outside. Just another dark bricked office in London, complete with large glass doors and brass-trimmed windows. Jack watched the sun glisten off the door and his gaze travelled over the shimmering glass to the receptionist at the main desk. Either this would work perfectly or fail miserably. As the front reception cleared out he casually strolled through the open door.

“Hi there.”

“Hello sir, how can I help you?”

“I'd like to see Michael please. I'm Joe, here to see him about Kim.” A beat went by. “ It was really great news yesterday wasn't it. I'm so glad he's okay.”

“Yes, definitely,” she said with something approaching a smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No he told me to stop by whenever. You know Michael.” She nodded her head, knowing full well.

“It's the third office on the right. Shall I tell him you're here?”

“No I'll make it a surprise.”

Jack smiled mischievously and headed forwards, eager to escape further questioning. Walking up the linking corridor he saw Dwayne and his sweat ran cold. If he was spotted then it was all over. He turned his head away and stared at the floor as he slowly shuffled along the corridor, making a wide arc to keep as far away from him as possible.

Looking up he saw Juleen heading down the stairs and towards him and his heart rate shot up. He was surrounded; blocked from both ends. He hunched down again, staring hard at the floor. His palms were getting clammy and his breathing was erratic. Blinking a few times to try and calm himself, he slowly walked up to the huge pot plant in the corner to hide his face, then crouched down to ‘tie his shoelaces’.

His stomach felt sick and he was beginning to quiver, knowing what was at stake if things went wrong. Straining his ears he heard the pair say something about crisps, then breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of their footsteps trailing off.

After another second he slowly turned his neck a little and saw they were gone in the opposite direction. Without a moment’s hesitation he quickly paced down the corridor to Green's office, his mind racing and petrified. Finally he reached the door.

             
              Jack's heart was pounding so fast it was emitting its own low pitched hum. In a rush of blind panic he felt around his waist for the blade. The handle felt cold. With the grim nature of his circumstances, it ran a trickling tremor down his back. His head snapped sharply; left then right, down the long corridor. There was no one around. This was it. He kicked open the solid mahogany door with his wet, worn shoes while trying to dislodge the six inch blade held in place by his jeans. Without so much as a word he pounced at the oncoming man and swung.

Arnold was bored as sin and his body lay limply slouched on the chair. Across the hall Bruce looked equally fatigued. Arnold sat up sharply as he heard a scratching sound chisel at the silence. Walking up to the door he could make out tiny metal clicks and chinks. The handle started wobbling and his mind snapped into focus. In a second he had his gun un-holstered and trained on the door.

As quickly as it had started, the clicking stopped. Arnold frowned in confusion, his bushy brown eyebrows bunching up in the centre of his face. Motioning to his partner, he walked even closer to the door now, until he could practically smell the pinewood. Still there was silence.

In a flurry of action the door swung open and a heavy fist crashed into his sternum, bringing the big man down to the floor with a whimper. The other guard began to get out his gun and radio at the same time and Frank threw the light tube at him. Bruce yelled as the shards of glass sliced apart his face, dribbling bright red blood onto the floor.

Frank wasted no time and threw a right hard hook. As his fingers
dug into Bruce's ribs, he felt a sharp jolt in his stomach that made him screw his face up in pain. It was Bruce’s knee. Both men staggered in confusion and Frank collapsed to his knees.

With a demonic grin Bruce pulled up his elbow and waved it around Frank’s trachea, toying with the man before he finished him off. Frank’s eyes were hazy and Bruce knew he had won.

Raising his arm up, his chest became unguarded and Frank saw the opportunity he had been waiting for. Roaring, he pounced from his spot, spearing the man directly with his head. Bruce let out a wheeze and fell to the floor and Frank collapsed too, his head throbbing like someone was playing the drums on his skull.

There was no time for rest though, him and the girls had to move. Running across the corridor they got to the stairs and ducked down to a halt behind a pillar, checking below to see if it was all clear. It looked safe to proceed and Frank grabbed the banister, ready to go. He didn't even see the heavy baton hurtle into his neck, causing him to sprawl over.

Jack sat on the white couch in the same position as last night. The rest of his friends were gathered around him, downbeat from their failed escape attempt. There was a sick feeling lingering in his stomach and his eyes were still blurry from crying.