The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller (12 page)

The head was sunk low and the suit that held it to the hanger was looking worn. It swung gently, leaking on the other suits as it pressed against them. Afraid to touch it, and fighting the urge to vomit, the doctor arched his head to the side to get a better view. It was Dr. Lewis.

Ruhbaker knew straight away that it was a threat, a message telling him he should refrain from asking too many questions. The way Dr. Lewis had done.

Jack trudged home disheartened, brimming with additional facts yet no closer to finding out who was blackmailing him or why. Instead he now had a whole other part of the jigsaw to consider, one he was certain was relevant. Whatever Green was up to, whatever this weapon was for, Jack was certain someone was out to stop it at all costs.

Maybe it was terrorists out to control the weapon, or maybe it was spies from whatever country the weapon was being primed for. These worries didn’t concern Jack nearly as much as the question: why him? Of all the agents, spies and killers walking the streets, why blackmail him into murder?

              The complexity of the situation was growing exponentially and he wasn't sure how long he could keep doing everything himself. It was time to tell someone what he knew, and to Jack, Gina seemed like the safest bet. The way he reasoned it, there were only two feasible theories to reasonably explain what was going on.

Firstly, it was possible that whoever wanted Green dead was also the force helping him to create the illusion of killing the MP. In that case either the Dextrafizene was a lethal drug that didn't just mimic death but caused it, or Anisha was going to do something at the last minute to wreck their plans and leave them with no choice but to kill Green.

The alternative was that two separate groups were coercing him. One was, in a roundabout way, trying to assassinate Green, while the other was a group from the future trying to protect him. Neither explanation felt complete, nor entirely convincing.

             
Walking back into Anisha's flat, he was greeted by the usual hub of activity. The chancellor's security details were laid out across the floor and the whole group was chatting away. “Any luck with the hall?” asked Green senior.

“No, Pete was right. It's impenetrable. I think Green's party is going to
be our best shot. I scoped it out just now, after the hall. He left the windows open again.”

“Great. We were trying to think of ways to administer the drug.”

“Well if it's at a party then can't we just slip it into the punch?”

“No,” cut in Anisha. “With the fractional dose we have, the drug has to be made into solution and taken intravenously.”

Jack scratched his chin. Was she being helpful or deliberately antagonistic? It was near impossible to tell. He turned to Green senior.

“After the injection, how long until the drug takes effect?”

“In about five minutes. It isn't a gradual reaction. He'll be feeling fine and then all of a sudden he'll start to feel the effects. Within a few seconds more it'll appear as if he's dead.” Pete frowned, confused by how easily the time traveller referred to himself in the third person.

             
With the basic outline set, it was now up to the group to find a plausible way of executing the plan. The party was pencilled in for next Monday. They had exactly one week left to organise themselves.

The rest of the night was spent talking about approaches to the crime and by the end they had a simple list of goals. They needed to get into the building undetected, mingle with the guests without being spotted, somehow get the drug into Green's blood, commit the 'murder', escape without being followed or captured and hold captive Green's body so that even when he woke up, the national press would still believe he was dead. It was going to be a strenuous week.

             
Green stood in the old closed down construction site, the smell of sawdust and ground asphalt agitating his nose. It was cold now and the fresh breeze numbed his skin. He could see his own breath in front of him, and for a moment he watched it take shape and form a fine, listless mist over his face. Most of the machinery around him was locked up but the site had been surprisingly easy to walk into.

Huge piles of various abandoned materials sat in heaps around the site, in the dark giving the impression of towering mounds from which all manner of vile creatures could slither out. Green wasn't afraid; it took more than shadows to rattle him. Having complied with all the instructions so far, he was assured that this last meeting would give him
some useful information.

Eventually he heard the crunch of rubble being trampled and saw a shadow appear from behind a stack of timber. “Mr Walsh-Robbins.” The voice had a thick, posh accent.

“It's me,” replied Green confidently.

“As you're aware, access to the surveillance network is impossible to obtain. What you asked for wasn't easy.''

''If it was easy, I'd do it myself. That's why I'm paying
you
.”

“And I assure you, the cost will more than justify the results.”

He stepped closer now and Green could vaguely make out some details of his face. It was hard to tell because the light was quite poor, but he seemed far too young for this line of work, and his strawberry blonde hair only added to his boyish visage. “The information contained here is not strictly guaranteed however I can personally assure you it is reliable.”

He stepped even closer now and Green could clearly make out his face, complete with chubby cheeks and large saucer shaped eyes. The man leaned over and held out a small document holder. Green took it and with that, his informant turned and trudged off, his footsteps crushing small shards of glass as he left. Green had nothing more to say and let him go.

Standing there, waiting for the man to leave, the icy air once again sent a chill to his core. Opening up the file he saw that it had a small data pad inside. Not being able to make out much more, he closed it up  for later and casually strolled out of the construction site.

The glare of glowing sunshine washed over Tony' face as his deafening alarm snapped him awake. Willing himself out of bed, he massaged life back into his tired muscles, and cursed Frank under his breath. He could've had an afternoon shift today but Frank was pulling them in for nine to fives every day until they cracked this thing.

Tony wasn't a morning person and his cranky demeanour persisted from waking up right to the point where he walked into the station. He had spilled coffee on his badge this morning and even though he'd wiped it off, it still had an unwholesome scent to it. “Damn
Frank,” he yelled across the room, “Why do we gotta be up so early?”

“The early bird catches the worm.”

“I don’t wanna catch no worms,” he whined

“It's a simile, or something like that. You know what I mean. Anyway, have a look at this.”

Tony walked over to his partner's desk and looked over his shoulder at the screen. It showed a log file for a time traveller and the name on the top of the screen was JACK WINCHESTER.

“I had a hunch that there was a reason the mobile wasn't reported stolen. It was still active, but being used by the other Jack.”

“So yesterday we were kind of interviewing the wrong person!” Frank chuckled.

“Yeah seems like it. I'm trying to get through to surveillance about the guy right now, but they're not picking up. If he travelled then they should have a tracking bulletin for him”

“In the mean time, I have an idea.”

Tony reached over and began typing and Frank moved off to give his partner more space. “He probably isn't using his credit card as his time travelling self, but he might have booked into some sort of hotel. He pulled up two lists now and the computer began cycling through them. A dialogue box came up with one hit, and an address. “He's booked in at the Stravenoff-Marigold Hotel.”

“Nice work Tony,” exclaimed Frank proudly. “We'll make a great detective out of you yet.”

With Frank grabbing his faded leather jacket and Tony picking up the suit jacket from his chair, the two men headed out, fingerprinting kits in hand.

Another day dawned, and as usual it was an early start, with half the group off at work. Jack was left with Green senior and Pete, who had the morning to work at home. Jack hadn't had a chance to talk to Gina yet, the assassination having been the hot topic last night. This morning, him and Senior were working on splitting the task up and assigning the relevant tasks to members of their group, based on capability as well as flexibility of schedule.

Green had a solid knowledge of his contacts, actions etc. in this time period, so he was the one in charge of counterfeiting the actual murder. Pete photographed a lot of celebrities and the like, and was convinced that he could think up some sort of trick to make their group look like the sort of people who would be invited to this party. Anisha's background in security made her the ideal choice for engineering the break-in. Jack and Gina were left to plan all the other relevant parts.

Gina was a lowly receptionist at a mechanic's out on the edge of central London and Jack was in the contracts department of a large business. Neither of them were entirely sure what pertinent skills they brought to the table. It was a depressing feeling, as if they were inferior in some way. Jack was well trained at going over documents and he sat down in front of the briefcase full of them, resolving to do just that. He might find some small piece of information he could exploit.

Jazz music gently wafted through the twenty-four hour bar; creating a calm mood complimented by the soft, dim lighting. Showing the bartender a photograph, he vaguely recognised the man but hadn't seen him for a few days at least. Frank thanked the bartender and walked back over to Tony shaking his head. So far nobody knew where Jack was.

Tony was used to the bureaucracy of the job but he also knew how to exploit it. Frank watched as he rang the chief and smiled in awe at the subtle way Tony manoeuvred the big man round. Hanging up he got another nod from Frank. He'd just asked to issue an official missing person's warrant, which gave the police access to his hotel room, and it was now ready and on record in the legal archive. They took the elevator up and walked to suite 308.

Entering with the
key card the hotel had provided, they found the room empty and devoid of any and all signs of life. Sighing, they began to sweep for fingerprints. Frank was leaving no stone unturned and he scanned everywhere. Tony tagged every print he found, and checked each one individually. Frank's expert eye could tell which ones looked the same as all the others and he didn't bother with Jack's prints. Even so, it was a slow, scrupulous process and as the hours passed they were still coming up empty.

Frank peered at the toilet seat and noticed a chiselled area
where it had been chipped. The surface was still rough and appeared to be coated with some sort of powder. With a focused blast of his EM beam, the computer began gathering data. Shaking his head he turned back to Tony and shouted “forget it Tony, I don't think we're going to find anything. I have trace compounds here from ammonia disinfectants and polyvinyl gloves. The cleaners have beaten us to it”

Tony was discouraged, although deep down, the prospect of finishing the forensic analysis early was appealing. It was tiring work requiring enormous concentration and he wasn't sure if he could have lasted much longer. As they packed up their things, Frank spotted something out of the corner of his eye. On the cream bed sheet, there was a small trace of purple-brown powder. Reaching over, he took a sample. It was their only clue for the whole morning.

Kim checked her phone for the umpteenth time today. She was hoping Jack would call her with some news. He had said he was going to help her, but so far she hadn't heard squat. Given that a whole day hadn't even passed since they spoke, she knew full well she was overreacting. But it didn't sit too well with her, having to come to work despite knowing that she was building something so evil.

Today was just a continuation of what she was doing yesterday and she was in the process of making up some excuse to head to her office when Dr. Ruhbaker approached her.

Small beads of sweat formed on her forehead: it was rare for the director to see her personally. Ushering her over to a corner she immediately feared the worst, worrying about how much he knew of her investigation and the extent to which he was involved. She also knew it was just pure speculation on her part, which helped ease her anxiety. Slightly.

The senior doctor leaned in until he was so close she could smell the bitter stench of coffee from his breath, and quietly explained to her that Dr. Lewis had quit, feeling the project wasn't fully suited to his individual needs. “When did you find this out?” she enquired.

“Oh he phoned me last night to tell me.”

That confirmed it. Dr. Lewis was dead and now Ruhbaker was helping to cover it up. She shook her head and hung a solemn look on her face then slowly walked off, disgusted at the man that she'd held in such high regard just a week ago.

They all met up for lunch on the small public garden outside Charing Cross metro station. The grass was sparse and lifeless and looked insignificant compared to the huge brick and concrete monstrosities surrounding it. It was the place equidistant from all of them and hopefully they could evade cameras as they talked: weaving in and out of the crowd that always formed around this time.

Jack began by telling them where they stood. He and Green senior had looked through the medical history and had so far come up with a possible way of administering the drug. Pete had some theories about mingling at the party but he was far from ready to present anything.