0513485001343534196 christopher fowler (17 page)

'What about?'

'I don't know. Work, I suppose. They didn't get on.'

'I thought everyone got on here. Isn't that the point?'

'In theory, yes. Did you ever hear of a theory that fully worked in practice? Thought you might like a copy of this. More useful than the office bible.'

Ben accepted the proferred pamphlet and turned it over in his hands.

It bore the title GOD IN THE WORKPLACE.

'Er, thanks.'

Swan pointed to the small gold crucifix he wore over his tie. 'The devil and his works are all around us, Mr Harper. Better safe than sorry.'

•

That night, as everyone worked late, an exhausted secretary swept into the office of her supervisor, Mr Meadows, and dumped a stack of papers on to his overflowing desk. The executive argued into his headset while signing papers and returning them: 'I know it was late because I checked with security, and if it doesn't reach me in time my client won't pay so we all get shafted. Well, fuck-you-very-much but an apology isn't recognisable in fiscal terms - you're hovering, what is it?'

'Accounts on 2,' said the secretary. 'Wife on 3 and Mr Clark on the internal.'

'I'll call them all back. Close the door, Norma - close it.'

She reluctantly left, pulling the door shut behind her. Meadows kicked back, yanking off the headset and thumbing the remote on his stereo unit.

Classical music began playing, Smetana's
Libuse
, the volume increasing.

He stared at the phone, still trilling, and suddenly yanked it out of the wall.

Then he shook the buzz from his ears, locked the door and returned to his desk, slipping off his jacket, removing his tie, kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his trouser belt.

Outside the office, two secretaries noticed him through the glass and started to giggle. Meadows continued to strip until he was completely naked. A crowd gathered as he stood at the picture window behind his desk. Everyone yelled when he raised his chair and hurled it through the glass. They hammered at the locked door as Meadows climbed over the broken shards on to the ledge.

He raised his arms high. It was a hell of a drop. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he executed a graceful swan dive out over the glittering city.

The office door caved in seconds too late. The secretary screamed.

Bouyed by the crosswinds, Meadows fell slowly through the starry sky -

fell and fell - and laughed, until he smashed thunderously through the glass canopy of the station roof amid hordes of homegoing commuters.

•

Ben pulled open the glass doors. Far above him in the sensor room, electronic dials registered the change in temperature and compensated for the sudden fall with a boost. In the reception area, the screens continued to run endless plugs for Symax. Already the words sounded repetitive and hollow. The receptionist was holding her head in her hands. It looked like a bad start to Tuesday.

'You okay?' asked Ben as he passed.

'The monitors are giving me a headache,' the receptionist replied.

As Ben reached his work station he could see staff members discussing something very intently. The broken glass in front of Meadows'

office was being swept up, the area sealed off.

'What happened here?'

'Just after you left last night, Mr Meadows went for a walk outside the building and missed his train. By about three feet,' Marie explained.

'Thirty-five floors. They scraped him off the tarmac like a dab of strawberry jam. The police are still looking for his teeth.'

'He must have been - really stressed out.'

'That's an understatement. They're sending people to counsellors.

Perhaps now you'll believe me. I have to talk to you.'

'Not again.'

'Remember, I know your little secret.'

Reluctantly, Ben followed her away from the steady gaze of the cameras to the stairwell, and then up four flights of stairs to one of the deserted floors. Heat dials and movement recorders flickered as they crossed the grey carpet tiles. 'They haven't sold this floor yet. No-one can hear or see us.'

Ben felt guilty. 'We shouldn't even be here.' He paused and looked down at his shoes. Dozens of tiny dead insects were arranged in neat curving rows across the floor.

'I need to trust someone,' said Marie. 'I don't want to spoil your chances with the company. I mean - look at you. All freshly scrubbed and innocent.'

'Matthew Felix didn't go missing, he got fired.'

'Nobody knows that for sure. I was due to meet him that night, but he never showed up.'

'Did you talk to the police?'

'They said they'd let me know if they heard anything. It's not like I'm a relative. I'm sure something terrible has happened to him. You're new, you could ask around.' The big appealing eyes swayed him. 'Please?'

Mr Carmichael was a fussy time-server most people avoided, and today he had an appalling head-cold. 'Of course he was stressed,' he told Ben,

'he'd just had a terrible argument with Clark. I don't know where he went, nobody knows. I liked him, he was a nice man. Punctual. I liked Meadows, too. Never thought he'd do something like that. They say it's always the quiet ones, but Meadows... Mind you, everyone else hated his guts.'

In the ceiling corners, gleaming cameras recorded all movement as the air-mixers raised and lowered their pitch. Ben tapped the pencil on his teeth, trying to work it out. Worry made people overdose on sleeping pills, but what could make you hurl yourself to your death? Rainclouds the colour of drain-water rolled past the windows. He looked over at Marie's work station. She briefly glanced up and gave him an absent, tired smile.

'Want to go for a drink tonight?'

'By the time I'm through there won't be anywhere open. Besides, we shouldn't be seen together. Office fraternising is discouraged.'

Her changes of mood were unpredictable. The day passed at a crawl.

Ben concentrated on drafting the press releases Carter had outlined to him. When he left the building that night, the thousand storm-streaked panes that looked down on him seemed far more sinister than they had yesterday morning.

•

Clark had been summoned to the director's office, an elegant low-lit suite that was more like a private apartment. Inside, the greying, debonair Temple was checking his watch impatiently, ready to leave.

'I hear the police were trying to get in again, Leonard. This is getting to be a habit.'

'I've told them this is private property,' said Clark, 'that we have our own security force.'

'We're still subject to the laws of the land. Anyone know why Meadows did it?'

'I've asked around. He seemed fine, a little hyper, but so is everyone else with this presentation looming...'

'It's not a wonderful advert for a stress-free environment, is it?'

'An unfortunate coincidence. And now these rumours...'

'You're saying we have -
grumblers
?' Temple made the word sound sinister. 'If we do, keep an eye on them, report back to me. New York is the big one, the make or break contract. Nothing must jeopardise that.

Do you understand? This is more than war. This is business.'

In the reception area of the 35th floor, the monitors were still spewing out their 'Peace and Harmony' sales pitch. Ben passed two managers who were shouting at each other, and another dropping papers everywhere who looked like she'd been up all night.

Lucy, his PA, startled him. 'Can cellular phones give you cancer?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Ben answered. 'Why?'

'I get these headaches all the time. Can you get cancer of the head?'

'Have you seen the company doctor?'

'He thinks I'm faking. Maybe it's these things.' She tapped his monitor.

'Tell me something, Lucy. What was Mr Felix like?'

'Really cute. She soon got her claws into him.' She pointed at Marie's chair.

'Before he left, did he seem strange to you in any way?'

'Not strange. Angry. He'd had an argument with Mr Clark.'

'They didn't get along?'

'Mr Clark hated him. He hates everyone. He already hates you.'

Later that morning, Ben attempted to requisition a file from a harassed Human Resources Officer. 'I told you,' insisted the officer, 'you can't see Mr Felix's medical history without proper authorisation.'

'What about absenteeism?' asked Ben. 'Does Symax have many people off sick?'

'What do you expect? Germs travel through the heating system. There are a few repetitive strain injuries. Always more when we're busy. There's a flu virus decimating the place. All companies get them, but this is particularly bad. We've a bigger health problem, but it doesn't make any sense.'

'What do you mean?'

'Hard to explain.' The officer pulled a pen from her hair and scrubbed something out on a form. 'I don't have any figures. Deadlines produce stress, which increases blood pressure, causes headaches, heartburn, sleep disorders... standard stuff. But there's an instability here. People overreact, flare up, lose their tempers, burst into tears. It's something peculiar to this building. You know the hand dryers in the toilets? They're supposed to be more hygienic. They're not. They incubate bacteria. You can get pneumonia from them. Nobody really knows what's good for you. Or what's harmful. And my clock's running backwards.'

Ben was momentarily thrown. 'Sorry?'

'My computer clock. They shouldn't do that, should they? Run backwards?'

'Could you give me a print-out of the sickness figures?'

'It's against regulations. Haven't you read your manual? Head office don't like it.'

Ben fooled around with his computer, but any management files of importance were sealed with passwords. He tried different keys of his own devising, but nothing worked. He watched Marie at her desk.

Knowing she could be seen, she crossed her long legs and gave him a sexy look. He drew a heart on a piece of paper and folded it into an airplane. Throwing it in her direction, he was dismayed to see it sucked into the air-conditioning unit that sat between them. The sun suddenly broke through the clouds, causing the photo-sensitised windows to compensate for the changing light density and darken, while the illuminated ceiling panels grew perversely brighter to compensate for the windows.

Ben despairingly studied his monitor, typing slowly, but his attention drifted to Felix's belongings. Rechecking the desk he felt something, a flat square stuck at the back of the bottom drawer. The computer disk was labelled
Property of Matthew Felix
. He pocketed it just as Clark appeared beside him.

'You never seem to be doing any work, Harper.'

'I was - going to ask your advice on the press releases,' said Ben. 'I take it we gloss over Mr Meadows' first diving lesson?'

Clark glowered at him. 'I don't like you, Harper. Why is that?'

'You haven't tried my cooking yet?'

'Just do your job and I won't have cause to lose my temper.'

Marie helped Ben load the disk after Clark had moved on. 'You'll need the password,' she warned. 'Everyone is expected to enter and remember their own five-letter code.'

'Didn't he tell you what his was?' asked Ben. 'I mean, you were friends.'

'I liked him, but I didn't exactly get inside his mind. Besides, we aren't supposed to tell each other things like that.'

'Then maybe he kept it written down somewhere. You okay?'

'It's nothing, just a headache. We'll have to keep looking.'

He studied Felix's belongings again, trying to make sense of it all. In a travelbag beneath the desk he found a dog-eared book of horoscopes.

'You'd think the police would have taken his belongings away.'

'They never came up here. Our security firm wouldn't let them.'

'What birth-sign was Felix?' he asked Marie.

'Gemini, I think.'

He flicked through the horoscope book to Gemini, and found a drawing of Janus.
The Twin-Faced Guardian Of Doorways, Entrances
And Beginnings
, read the asterisked caption. He typed in 'Janus' and pressed ENTER. The disk started to open its files, but as quickly as it did, the contents corrupted. Damn the magnetics in this place...

One newspaper clipping was legible before the screen contents vanished. A photograph of the building captioned
Father of 'smart'

architecture commits suicide
. Then the item dispersed into the ether.

'Maybe he realised something was wrong with the building and killed himself,' suggested Marie.

'Maybe somebody else realised something was wrong and shut him up.' They exchanged alarmed looks.

Swan suddenly appeared beside them, looking pleased with himself.

'Want to see something really strange?' he asked. Before they could reply, he unclipped the steel biro he kept in his jacket pocket and slapped it against the wall above Ben's desk. When he removed his hand, the pen stayed there by itself. 'Some days the whole blessed place is magnetised.'

'We need your help,' said Ben. 'Who designed this building?'

'That kind of information isn't available any more,' Swan complained.

'I'd be breaking company rules. Punishable by instant dismissal.'

'Who's going to know?'

'In an environment with total information control? Are you nuts? Look, it's not a good idea to get too involved with the work. You could lose your job, your credit rating, who knows what else. Those cameras up there probably lipread.'

'You're being paranoid.'

'You're right,' agreed Swan. 'That's good. It's healthy to be paranoid.'

The sun set beyond the vast windows as Paula, the typist, put down her coffee and slopped some of it on to her desk. Tutting with annoyance, she dug out a paper towel and started mopping up the mess. At her feet, one of the recessed floor plugs emitted sparks. Just beyond her field of vision, a wall circuit was scorching a live path to her computer, tiny white flashes jumping across the keyboard. The spilt coffee reached her mouse just as she mopped it. The resulting electric shock threw her across the room.

Several people saw the burning lines shortcircuiting in the walls, passing from one computer to the next, rendering each one live. 'Where's the mains switch?' someone shouted. 'Keep away from the machines!'