Connected (26 page)

“I’d like to try you on a low dose of Gabapentin
to start with,” said Singh, scribbling a prescription and handing it across the
desk. “It’s one of the standard anti-epilepsy drugs now - particularly
effective for partial seizures. There’s a slight possibility of some associated
drowsiness, but generally the side-effects are very mild. Of course, if you do
have any problems, then you need to let me know immediately - if necessary, we
can look at switching you to something else.”
“So how long will I have to take these?”
“Well, that depends. If you stop having seizures then after some time, we could
try gradually reducing the dose and then maybe stop it altogether, but we
mustn’t withdraw too quickly.”
“So do you think this was caused by my head hitting the post?”
“Given the timing, it seems likely that there is some connection, but it’s
quite rare to see this kind of thing resulting from a recent specific head
trauma. It could be that there was already an underlying problem though - and
then the bang to your head just brought it to the fore.”
“But what about the scarring you saw on the MRI? The hippocampal sclerosis?”
“Yes, well that kind of cell loss is definitely linked to temporal lobe
epilepsy, but there is still some debate as to whether it’s the cause of the
problem, or its effect.”
“What - so you’re saying that the scarring could have been caused by the
epilepsy - rather than the other way round?”
“It’s possible, which is one of the reasons I want to put you on medication.”
“And what if the medication doesn’t work.”
“Let’s not go there for now. In some extreme cases, where seizures become
debilitating, and medication proves ineffective, then we sometimes consider
surgery, but with you, we’re nowhere near there yet. In most cases it can be
treated very effectively with drugs. Let’s just take things one step at a time
for now and see how we do.”

It was just starting to spit with rain as Doug
left the hospital. He turned up the collar of his donkey jacket and trudged off
down the long wet path towards campus. Cindy, or rather Nadia, had left a
number of new messages on his mobile, but as yet, he had returned none. He
wanted to hate her - to forget her - to move on, yet no matter how much he
thought of the lies and betrayal, he was unable to dismiss the incredible way
she had made him feel. Looking back, he could see that everything prior to
Sunday night had been a lie - albeit the most sexy and enjoyable lie he had
ever encountered - but last night had seemed different. He had sensed something
deeper between them and this, he supposed, is why in the end, he had not
mentioned her to Bullock. The inspector had conveniently shown up on campus
just as Doug had been getting ready to leave for his appointment with Singh, so
once again he had found himself in the policeman’s old Mondeo on his way to
Colchester General Hospital. En route, Doug had explained his theory about
Markov ordering the computer hack and subsequent theft of Martin’s PC in
pursuit of Dream-Zone. Whether Bullock had believed any of it was hard to
gauge, the bushy face, as usual, giving little away, although when Doug had
mentioned visiting the club, the man had made clear his disapproval. Of course
this might just have been a general disapproval of strip clubs, but somehow
Doug doubted that.

Suddenly, the throaty roar of a large decelerating
engine announced its presence behind him. He looked round as the silver Porsche
drew up alongside.
“Get in!” shouted Nadia. “Please.”
Doug glanced through the open window, but continued walking.
“Please Doug! It’s important. I have to talk to you.”
He stopped, looked up at the darkening rain clouds and back at Nadia. He still
had a good forty-five minutes walk ahead of him, and was already soaked. He
opened the door and climbed in.
“How was your appointment?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned.
“I have epilepsy,” he replied.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yeah, well…”
“I’m sorry for everything, really.”
He looked at her for a few seconds. “Do you promise that neither you nor Markov
had anything to do with Kal’s death?”
“Doug, I swear on my mother’s grave. When Kal backed out of selling Dream-Zone
to him, Sergei just asked me to try and get a copy from you instead.”
“Steal a copy from me,” Doug corrected.
“Well, maybe… although at the time, I think you’d have probably given it to
me,” she said with a tentative smile.
Doug tried to suppress a smirk, but failed.
“Am I wrong?” she asked, now grinning broadly.
“I would have given you just about anything that morning,” he replied, finally
breaking out a reluctant smile.
She placed her hand on top of his. “I know I lied to you, and I’m really sorry,
but I was being offered a chance to finally put my past behind me – to get rid
of the last piece of leverage he had over me – the tape. I never wanted for
anybody to get hurt.”
“So that’s all it was for you – a chance to get your precious tape back.”
“Well - initially maybe, but it was kind of fun too, you have to admit. I mean,
I wouldn’t sleep with just anyone, but you’re a sexy guy…”
“And Brian?” he asked with a frown.
“Yeah, well that was a mistake, as you’ve probably gathered. And if it’s any
consolation, he’s not a patch on you!”
Doug smiled briefly, then turned serious again. “So the rest of it - that story
you told me about stripping in his club as a student, and your mother being a
Russian ballerina…”
“All true,” she said.
Doug gazed through the windscreen as the wipers tried frantically to keep pace
with the worsening downpour. “It’s just the thought of Kal committing suicide
over some bloody computer file - made no sense - so when I saw his phone in
your drawer…”
“I just saw the thing lying there in the grass, guessed it was his and thought
it might contain a copy of Dream-Zone.”
“I assume it didn’t.”
“No, just music and photos mainly.”
“How did you get past the security code?”
“Dmitri hacked it for me. Only took him about an hour.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
“So what now?” asked Doug finally.
“Well there’s an untouched Thai meal for two in my fridge,” she responded with
a hopeful smile, “unless you need to get back to campus for some reason.”
“I meant…”
“I know what you meant,” she said quickly, keeping her eyes on the road, while
a complex gamut of emotion rolled across her face. “I’m very fond of you, Doug.
I find you attractive. I like spending time with you…” She hesitated.
“But?” offered Doug, grudgingly.
“But we have more important things to consider right now than our feelings for
one another.”
He looked at her, waiting for elaboration.
“As you correctly guessed. Markov now has Dream-Zone, and he plans to sell it
to a man named Wong.”
“Who the fuck is he?”
“Have you ever heard of Massively Multi-player Online Gaming, or MMOG for
short?”
“You mean those nerdy role-playing games like World of Warcraft?”
“Well they might be nerdy here, but in China they are very, very big business,
and Wong runs one of the largest conglomerates of MMOG providers across Asia.”
“So?”
“So, there’s a lot of competition out there and it’s getting ugly. These
companies will do just about anything to buy themselves an advantage.
Initially, they were content with attacking each others’ websites – disrupting
service over the weekend – that sort of thing. But recently, there have been
rumours of them burying subliminal messages - flashing lights – hypnotic
sounds…”
“Oh shit!” said Doug, seeing where this was heading.
“Oh shit is right! If Dream-Zone really is what caused Martin and Kal to commit
suicide, and we let Wong embed it in video games with tens of thousands of
subscribers, then we’re going to have a very real problem on our hands.”
“We have to tell the police,” said Doug emphatically.
“Which, the Chinese police? How do you plan to do that?”
“Well, we tell the police here and let them figure out how to tell the Chinese.”
“Can you really see Blighty’s bobbies being able, first, to understand what
we’re trying to tell them, and second, to influence the authorities of a
foreign communist state fast enough to make a difference?”
“So what do you suggest we do?”
“I suggest we start by having a Thai lunch at my place, and then try to come up
with a cunning plan.”
After stopping in the High Street to pick up Doug’s prescription, they returned
to Nadia’s apartment to eat. Through forkfuls of noodles, she filled in the
missing chapters of the unfolding drama, in which Doug now found himself a
player.

“Okay, so there’s a chance Markov might not have
sold it to Wong yet,” said Doug, helping himself to more chilli prawns.
“Right! He thinks he can get more money,” she said, “so with luck they’ll still
be negotiating. He knows Wong wants it badly, so Sergei will be stalling, and
pretending he has an alternative buyer.”
Doug looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “You really know this guy well,
don’t you.”
“Well enough to know how he operates. He may be smart, but he is predictable.”
“And you don’t think it’s worth trying to appeal to his conscience?”
She threw him a condescending look. “Not a chance. He wouldn’t know one if it
came along and bit him in the arse.”
“Okay, so how much do you know about Wong?”
“Other than what I’ve told you? Nothing. Dmitri introduced them through one of
his hacking buddies.”
“And how well do you know Dmitri?”
“Too well – or at least - better than I’d like. He’s a creep.”
“You haven’t - you know…?”
“God no! He’s the last person on earth I would ever do that with – although
I’ve never quite been able to convince him of that!”
Doug was smiling at her.
“What?” said Nadia. “Are you suggesting I try to seduce Dmitri? Forget it!”
“Doesn’t sound like you’d need to try too hard.”
“I’m not sleeping with that prick!”
“But if he thinks you might…?”
She looked pensive for a moment, then conceded, “It’s worth a try I suppose –
he’s certainly not going to let you anywhere near him after that brick you put
through his window – if there’s one thing in this world he loves more than
himself, it’s that car! You know, he even named it after some video game babe!”
“Oh yeah – what? Lara Croft, the Subaru?” said Doug with a laugh.
“Oh I don’t know – Keelie – Kylie - Carlene – something like that.”
“Well, maybe by the end of the night, he’ll have one more object of desire…”
“For someone so disapproving of my means yesterday, you seem happy enough to
make use of them today!” she said, looking peevish.
“But this is for the greater good!” said Doug, with a cheeky grin. “Besides you
probably won’t even have to kiss him!”
Nadia wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Okay, just give
me a few minutes to get in character.”
“Ah, finally a chance to watch the famous femme fatale at work!” he said.
She frowned at him, gave him a kiss, then picked up her mobile and dialled. He
leant back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head and watching, as
her face magically transformed into that of the sexy siren seductress he knew
and loved.
“Dmitri! It’s Nadia. How are y…”
The expression changed to confusion and then concern. “What do you mean, you
know everything?” she continued, looking increasingly worried as the reply
came. “How? Sergei will kill you! … Of course it matters! - Look, Doug and I
are going to find a way to stop it from happening – you just need to let us
know how to reach Wo’…  What? How do you know about the pills? … Dmitri?
…Dmitri!”

“What is it?” asked Doug, as she hung up, staring
at the phone in her hand.
“He sounded weird - says he sabotaged the file.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he knows what will happen if Wong gets it,” she said slowly, “he says
he can’t let that happen.”
“Hmm! Perhaps he isn’t such a prick after all!” said Doug. “What was that about
pills?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “When I mentioned your name, he said I should make
sure you take your pills.”
“What the fuck? How does he…”
“You must have mentioned the epilepsy in one of the emails he snooped,” she
said quickly, but without much conviction.
Doug thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible – maybe I told Peter in an
email – I don’t remember. No other explanation really though is there?”
“No, it’s just funny he should mention it right after we get your prescription
like that though.”
“Just a coincidence - I mean it’s not a huge leap from knowing someone’s got
epilepsy to guessing they’re on medication. Talking of which, I suppose I
should follow his advice and take one.”
Nadia shook her head slowly, her mind clearly churning over the other more
pertinent points of her conversation with Dmitri.
“We have to get over there!” she said suddenly.
“And do what?” asked Doug, popping one of the Gabapentins from the container
and washing it down with red wine. “As long as Wong doesn’t get the file …”
“You don’t know Sergei like I do. Dmitri may be his cousin, but if he crosses
him…” She trailed off mid-sentence. “It was almost like he didn’t care.”

The traffic was light that afternoon and within
forty-five minutes they reached a row of sooty red-brick London terraces. Nadia
slowed down, peering out at the house numbers.
“There!” said Doug, spotting the Subaru on the other side of the street.
“Huh!” she said, “It’s usually shinier than that! I didn’t even recognise it
without the hey-look-at-me wax job.”

Dmitri’s house, like all the others, appeared to be
a modest two-up-two-down with original bay windows, one above the other. The
oak-effect front door however, with its ostentatious brass fittings and faux
leaded lights, was completely out of keeping with the rest of the property –
though not perhaps, with its inhabitant - thought Doug. Nadia swung the knocker
while he stood back looking up at the windows for signs of movement. Nothing
stirred. She tried again. Still nothing. Doug peered through the first floor
window. A huge flat-panel TV and assorted home cinema gear occupied most of one
wall. Facing this was a small, red, two-seater sofa upon which lay a couple of
petrol-head magazines and a games controller. At the far end, opposite the
window was an archway leading through to what was presumably the dining room.
In stark contrast to the relative tidiness of the living room, this area
resembled the aftermath of a tornado through a trailer park. Among the debris,
just visible between a broken computer monitor and the overturned dining table,
was the partial yet unmistakable form of a track-suit clad leg.
“Call the police!” said Doug, looking round and finding himself alone. He
stepped back onto the street and glanced up and down. She was neither in the
road, nor the car. At that moment, the front door swung open and Nadia quickly
beckoned him in. “The back-door was open,” she said, closing the door quietly
behind him.
“Look, we should wait for the police,” he whispered, stepping into the hallway,
“there’s someone on the floor through …” Doug froze. Entering the house, he
had tried to prepare himself for the sight of an unconscious, or possibly even
dead Dmitri Zhirkov, but the bloody pulp situated above the shoulders of this
otherwise human form was beyond any such act of preparation. Were it not for
the metallic piercings glinting from within the gore, the face was barely
recognizable.
Nadia bent over and pressed three fingertips against Dmitri’s neck. “There’s a
faint pulse!” she said quickly, “Call an ambulance!”
He did so, while Nadia cradled the man’s bloodied head and gently spoke his
name again and again. Gradually, the bruised eyelids flickered a little, the
swollen lips parted, and there was a short intake of breath.
“Car – key,” he croaked, lifting his right arm off the floor, as if pointing to
Doug, and then letting it flop back down with a thud.
“What about your car key?” asked Nadia softly, “Is there something you want us
to see in your car?”
Dmitri’s chest raised a few times in short succession accompanied by low
rasping sounds. “Key - is…” he said and then let out a long sigh.
“Dmitri!” she said more loudly, shaking him by the shoulder. “Stay with us!”
She then reached into his right pocket and withdrew a plain silver plated key
fob attached to which were two keys: one to the Subaru and the other presumably
to the front door. “Here! Go and take a look in his car before the police and
ambulance get here.”
Doug took a quick look through the curtains to check all was clear, and then
jogged out to the Subaru. He let himself in and sat in the driver’s seat,
scanning the racy interior with a mixture of envy and distaste. As he opened
the glove compartment, a jumble of wires and small electronic devices tumbled
out. The guy was definitely a geek. Doug placed them on the passenger seat, and
rummaged through the papers beneath – a parking ticket, a few petrol receipts,
maps and various hand-written directions – nothing of any apparent
significance. The siren of an ambulance could now be heard, not more than a few
streets away. He hurriedly stuffed the contents back into the glove box and
checked the other compartments. Other than a panoply of car pampering products
in the boot, Doug could find nothing worthy of the injured man’s laboured
gasps. Locking up the car, he just managed to make it back to the doorway as
the ambulance arrived. Nadia opened the door and shook her head grimly. “He’s
dead,” she said.