The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller (11 page)

By way of an apology the airport worker offered to send him the video feed of the locker over the last few minutes, which Green accepted without appreciation. Pulling up his video player he began to watch the file in double speed. He slowed it down as he saw a man approaching his locker and whacked the pause button to freeze it.

On his screen was a grainy image of the perpetrator stealing a small palmtop. Green rubbed his eyes, and began to feel light-headed. His face drained of all colour, projecting the visage of a ghost; which also appeared to be what he was looking at. The man who had just stolen his access-code-files was the lab report deliveryman, Klaus. The
same Klaus he thought he'd killed in the car explosion.

Kim stood motionless, a statue's body with a ghost's complexion. In front of her was a glistening silver monstrosity. A perfect interlocking of different pieces of machinery, spanning all imaginably sizes and shapes, and leaking wires every colour of the rainbow. She felt a sharp tugging and her shoulder yanked backwards.

It jolted her concentration back to the present and for a fleeting split-second she saw a spark protrude from the spinning cone shaped piece of equipment in front of her. Turning around she was greeted by Beppe, sporting a look of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Erm yeah thanks, I must've just zoned out for a second or something. You know how boring this job is.” She let out a small, forced laugh and trying her best to flash her corporate smile. “Erm thanks again.”

She turned around hurriedly to get back to the experiment, despite being wholly aware of what she was doing. She had fallen asleep last night in front of the schematics and she was surprised that the police hadn't stopped over this morning.

Her head was still reeling from what she had found out. She was helping to build some kind of time weapon she wasn't even aware of. Could she go to the police? Or would she be implicated in whatever was going on? The police idea hadn't really appealed to her, given her involvement in the events at the museum.

She kept wondering who the person was that had been killed yesterday. A shudder ran down her spine. No matter how many times she thought about it she couldn't get used to it. Closing her eyes, she could still visualise it in crystal detail, from the deafening shot to the point where she looked over as his body just lifelessly sank to the ground, dropping without dignity.

She was convinced that whoever it was had worked at the lab, but so far she hadn't had a chance to check who wasn't in for work today. Once she knew that, maybe she could work out who it was that had given his life to help her expose the truth.

Her lunch break had been severely put back today so that the lab could finish their electrochemical experiments. They still had to run a second simulator afterwards and lunch would have meant wasting time setting up the same machines again. Looking down at her pad of scrap-note and the datasets on her laptop, she deliberated on if she should doctor her results, to try and sabotage this weapon if possible.

It was probably too late to make any difference by now, after having delivered five months of results to pinpoint accuracy. She decided to save the real data for now. She could always alter it later before she sent off the report. With a final pull of a lever, that was it. All her work was done. She could finally take an hour off. Quickly skulking out of the lab, she headed straight to the front desk to check employee turnout.

With surveillance and monitoring specialists now in higher standing than the police, it was imperative that they followed protocol to the letter. Every action was double and triple checked by random workers from any random office, especially with anything regarding video files. It was extremely difficult to abuse your power in the surveillance sector, and as a result it was almost unheard of for Internal Affairs to find a mole in the organisation. Green was a well-connected person but even he didn't have a man on the inside.

He frowned now, not sure what to do next. He could report the crime to get his machine back, but that would mean the police capturing Klaus, which would expose him to all sorts of problems. The alternative was to do nothing, which wasn't an option. Those access codes were vital to his plans, and without them he had nothing.

In Green's view there was only one logical way to proceed. He had to find Klaus himself. Without video feeds, he knew that it would be a far from auspicious task. Getting out his palmtop again, he logged onto the messenger service.

>>> It's Mr. Walsh-Robbins. I need a containment scenario.

A beat went by as he waited for the reply

>>> Outline

Green thought about it. He didn't want to give away too much and his web of conspiracy was already a little too large for comfort.

>>>  Fifteen minutes ago, a package was removed from Gatwick airport locker 180204. Target is Klaus Scholz. Request location or vector of package and log of target's movements.

>>> You will be contacted in an hour. Send the payment to the same account.

The machine blinked to show the connection had been severed and Green began rubbing his goatee. The group he hired to plan through various scenarios were generally very good at what they did. The problem was they weren't very hands on. They provided contacts, connections and a strategy to overcome whatever problem you gave them, but it was up to the client to actually go ahead and do everything. That meant that once again, Green was going to have to get his hands dirty.

Jack was looking back through the papers for Green's security when Green senior hobbled his way through the door. Jack smiled at how easily the old man grew weary, but as he remembered how cagey Green senior was being with vital details, the smile was quickly replaced by an expression of agitation.

Here was a man who had travelled through time just to help them, whose health looked to be fast deteriorating but remained determined to provide assistance. Nonetheless, he was wouldn't tell Jack the most important thing he needed to know, the details of his death. He didn't understand a word of that excuse he had given, but what he did understand was the basic rules of leverage.

Green was looking out for number one, ensuring that they didn't try and kill his younger counterpart, and therefore himself in the process. The only way to do that was to by having something they wanted, and dangling it in front of them like the proverbial carrot. It was basic power politics and Jack was getting tired of it.

As Senior walked up to him he could see a smile hovering over the old man's face. “Guess what I got?” Jack was surprised but couldn't resist a smile himself.

“You got the Dextro- whatever it is?”

“Dextrafizene. I managed to get some. Firstly I had to meet my contact in private and negotiated what favours we owed, what to wipe et cetera. I pretended to be a representative of Michael Green and eventually he agreed to use one of his test labs to make a small batch of the drug as a one-off fabrication. Since I had all the R&D notes it wasn't even as complicated as I thought. They had the technology to do it there and then. The tablets I got are over ninety percent pure.” He seemed overly eager to explain how laborious it had been, and Jack concluded he was fishing for some sort of praise.

“Nice going. What's the catch…or catches?” he asked suspiciously. Green senior looked a little sheepish.

“Just one. Without the right machines and without an accurate specifications for the drug, the lab was trying to do a year’s worth of R&D in one afternoon, and produce it without the correct equipment. They could only make enough of the drug to use once so we have to be completely accurate when we do this.”

Jack had expected nothing less. It was getting later into the afternoon and he thought maybe it was time he paid Kim a visit. He had only popped home to change into some more menacing clothes, the run-in with Green an unexpected side-bar. As they talked, he was sat in his black trousers, Pete's intimidating black duster and his wrap around shades, to hopefully hide the nervous, amateurish look in his eyes.

Green senior placed a small, translucent orange container of Dextrafizene on the coffee table and Jack told him he was doing one last sweep of the Royal Hall. Pete had said yesterday that it was too heavily guarded but he told senior he wanted to check again. As he predicted, the geriatric was tired from his long day's work, and allowed Jack to leave quietly without further question.

It was another shattering day drawing to a close for Kim and she was relieved it would be over soon. She had the printout of the attendance list in her bag but there had been too many people around and too much work to find sufficient time to inspect. Instead she'd opted to read it when she got back home.

The lab was already dark; only her corner remained lit as she and a few colleagues finished off the last test for the day. When Kim had originally been asked to head a team for the project she'd expected more freedom and delegation and less monotonous lab work. The reality though, was constantly having to dip into everything, and always being the last to leave each night.

At least it would be over soon, and then maybe she could take a trip with some of the extra money she'd saved up. Having worked during her time travel, she hoped that she could now rest during on her return to the present. Of course this fancifully assumed that everything would be resolved that easily. With time weapons and dead bodies to contend with, her dream wasn't looking very likely.

Locking down the main beam splitter for the night, the few friends she still had around were quick to jet off, their day contractually over now. As she secured the remainder of the lab she checked the entire inventory and everyone's report material. Finally, having done everything on her check-list, she left for her car.

The drive home was as slow and infuriating as usual. The roads were always packed at this time, and the congestion of the capital had once again taken her prisoner. As she crawled by the streets she saw Londoners slowly pooling out of every tube station, ready for a night of excitement. Just the thought left her fatigued and she massaged her stiff, sore neck with her left hand. She was glad when she finally turned into her road and saw her flat approaching.

Kim was a svelte woman, lean and healthy but habitually tired. So far, the last few days had really tested her. As she walked up to her door she saw it muddy footprints littering the floor and trailing off to the alley that ran alongside her house. Slightly confused, she entered and nearly had a heart attack there and then.

For a second she felt paralysed. There was someone sitting on one of her dining room chairs, facing her head on, with the intimidating expression of a man who wanted to get down to business. Kim choked, unable to speak. The door was behind her; all she had to do was run. The tension in her muscles, the fear pulsing through her veins, the guilt clouding her mind: they were all stopping her, holding her hostage.

“Kim? I think you and me have a lot to talk about.” Jack rose up from the chair and slowly walked over, trying to re-assure her that nothing bad would happen if she co-operated. Kim was no hero and nodded compliantly.

He gestured for her to take a seat on the black leather couch and she followed, still tired and glad to be off of her feet.  Slowly, Jack proceeded to tell her everything that had happened to him, and how she was connected. As Kim listened, empathy melted away her initial fear  and instead her interest peaked.

More and more light was being shed on her employment with every word Jack spoke. Finally he asked her if she had anything to say. She was silent for a moment, struggling to collect up thoughts, and then cleared her throat to speak. “Just recently I've been noticing strange things about my job. Things that I thought might be ... Illegal. So I started looking into them.”

Thus Kim filled Jack in on her story so far and soon the two of them both had a clearer picture. Jack could tell Kim wasn't a bad person. Everything she said made sense, and from the documents on her desk, which he'd noticed earlier when he was alone, she seemed to be telling the truth.

He apologised for sneaking into her house through the back door she'd forgotten to lock, but it already seemed to be a thing of the past. “I have to work out what's going on here,” said Jack.

“Me too. You and me seem to be connected to the same thing.”

“Well I'm willing to help you figure this thing out,” said Jack cheerily. Kim smiled, letting him know she would do the same. He felt slightly safer now. He had another ally; one with undeniable motivation. As the conversation went on, the mood eventually lightened, never quite reaching the rapport of good friends, but closely approaching it.

It was beginning to get late and Jack announced that he had to leave. Despite him breaking into her flat, and the fact that they only met today, Kim actually felt safer having him nearby and was sad to see him leave. Just as he was ducking out of the door she remembered the staff roster in her bag and got it out for him to look at. Checking through the list for males that might be involved, she saw only one senior doctor who hadn't reported for work today.

“It's Dr. Lewis. I think that's the man who was killed. I can't be sure, and I don't think we could check now. His body's probably not there
anymore.” She cringed at having to say 'his body'. It was too detached, too cold and clinical.

“You're probably right,” said Jack. “Someone must have moved the body otherwise the police would have found him by now. He may have had more information on him, more discs maybe. Do you have any idea where they could have moved him?”

“Not a clue.”

The huge mock-Tudor mansion was the height of lavish style. Huge, echoing rooms gave the feeling of spaciousness while the mixture of warm reds, subtle pinks and fiery oranges gave the home a cosy, intimate feel. It was without doubt a house that only a doctor could afford.

Dr. Ruhbaker was home slightly early today and his afternoon had certainly seemed much shorter without the rambling moral arguments he had become accustomed to over the last few days. As he opened his huge closet he let out an uncensored, feminine scream.  Hanging in between the black Italian pinstripe and the thirty-two long navy blue business suit was a body propped up with a coat hanger.