Connected (24 page)

The door opened and in came Doug followed by four
new customers. Taking the drinks back to their table she watched affectionately
as he took a large swig of beer. He was a loveable great thing really. Not
exactly her usual type, but the well muscled body, together with that rugged
boyish charm, had made the task of seduction quite enjoyable, albeit not
particularly challenging. At first she had taken him for one of those shallow
sporting types - full of chauvinistic machismo and therefore easy to exploit
with a clear conscience, but the better she had got to know him, the fonder she
had grown. For some reason, she felt a powerful urge to blurt out the truth, although,
thinking rationally, she could see no useful outcome in doing so. He would be
justifiably livid, she would most likely feel terrible, and Dream-Zone would
still be in the hands of the Chinese, thousands of miles away from anything
they could do about it. Even if Sergei’s deal with Wong had yet to be
concluded, the chances of being able to influence it now were next to zero. In
his present frame of mind, he would probably just as soon beat her up as look
at her, and there was no way hypnosis would work again, now that he was ready
for it. The pub was starting to fill, and she felt a sudden desire to be
elsewhere - away from people who could judge or accuse her. She finished the
second spritzer and looked up. Doug was half way through the pint, and appeared
to be writing a text on his mobile.

During his smoke, Doug had been thinking hard
about the possible consequences of Dream-Zone. Like the act of smoking itself,
he knew it might ultimately have the potential to damage his health, but he
still felt compelled to continue. What puzzled him was that so far, the effects
of Dream-Zone, while often bizarre, had been overwhelmingly pleasurable. Even
the combo file created by Kal and Martin, they had described only in extremely
positive terms. It was clearly an enjoyable experience. But then, by all
accounts, so was intoxication by drugs. Perhaps, over time, as with drugs, Kal
and Martin had craved ever larger doses of Dream-Zone in order to satisfy their
addiction. But that still didn’t explain why they had committed suicide. So
what if they found themselves watching and listening to these videos over and
over again? It wouldn’t do much for one’s social life, but he couldn’t see how
it would make anyone leap from a window. That would just put an end to the very
thing that was giving so much enjoyment. Using his mobile phone to connect to
the internet, he was checking to see if there had been any email response from
Peter. There was nothing yet, so he put the device away and looked up. “Sorry,
have you been waiting for me?” he said, seeing her empty glass and downing the
rest of the pint in one.
“Do you mind if we get out of here?” she asked, looking fidgety.
“Of course, anywhere you want.”
“I was … erm … wondering whether you fancied coming back to my place
tonight?“ she said hesitantly.
Doug’s face lit up. “Really? What, you mean the whole night? You mean I’m
finally going to see where this beautiful femme fatale actually lives?”
She nodded, frowning at his choice of words, but looking at him with something
close to vulnerability.
“Does this mean we’re…you know…?”
“It means I want to try and make it up to you for last week,” she said, leaning
over and kissing him. “I’m sorry. I had some things going on that I needed to
work through - things I promise to tell you about sometime - when the time’s
right.”
“Okay!” said Doug, too excited to really care what things had been going on,
just so long as they were together again.

Nadia had no idea why she had suddenly decided to
risk taking Doug back to the apartment. She knew she had to get away from all
those people, and yet she didn’t want to be alone. A suspenseful, yet
comfortable silence filled the car as they drove through the early evening dusk
towards the lights of town. What was happening to her? For someone who had
always fought so hard for independence, and with an almost pathological fear of
vulnerability, all she wanted now was to curl up in a strong pair of arms.

The Porsche came to a stop in front of an
expensive-looking apartment building. Cindy reached into the glove box and
pulled out a remote. The garage door rolled up, revealing a gentle slope down
to a dozen brightly lit subterranean parking spaces. The Porsche slid neatly
into the last space at the back, next to a dark green Lexus.
“Well, here we are!” she said finally, with a humble shrug of the shoulders.
Cindy’s apartment was on the top floor, and looked to Doug like something from
an interior design magazine. It was also huge. The living room was at least
twenty five feet long, with cream leather furniture and a dark blue rug
covering about a third of the teak wood floor space. Full length sliding glass
panels covered one wall, beyond which a narrow balcony looked out over the
flood-lit grounds of Colchester castle.
“This is amazing!” he said, looking around in awe. Cindy was standing in the
kitchen, a predominantly black, white and stainless steel affair, separated
from the living room by a black granite bar and dining table.
“Beer or wine?” she asked.
Doug would normally have stuck with beer, but in these surroundings, wine
seemed somehow more appropriate.
“Red wine would be great if you have it,” he said.
Cindy pondered a moment, her hand hovering over the twenty or so bottles, whose
necks peeked out invitingly from the rack at one end of the bar, before pulling
out a Burgundy. She handed him a corkscrew and produced a couple of large-bowl
glasses. “Do you like Thai food?” she asked suddenly. “There’s a really
excellent takeaway I discovered - and they deliver.”
“I like everything,” said Doug, opening the wine and pouring a little into the
glasses.
“Here, take a look, and see what you fancy,” she said, passing him a pink
leaflet and bending over to open a cupboard under the counter.
“I can already see what I fancy without even looking at this menu,” said Doug
in a low voice.
“Are you staring at my bum?” she asked playfully, resurfacing with a large
packet of crisps.

It felt surprisingly good to have Doug here in her
home. It actually wasn’t very often that she had brought men back to her place,
and on the few occasions when she had, there had always been an awkwardness,
which tonight was pleasantly absent. She had sensed his eyes on her ever since
entering the apartment, and while this was nothing new in itself, there was
something different about the way it made her feel tonight. Something that made
her want to relinquish control. She took him by the hands and led him slowly
into the bedroom. Standing silently by the bed, she raised her arms above her
head, and looked at him expectantly. He understood immediately, removing her
jumper, and began to undress her, tenderly kissing each part of her body as it
was revealed. She then lay on the bed, propped up on one elbow and gestured for
him to strip. She watched intently as he slowly removed each item of clothing,
then she stretched out on her back, hands behind her head and shut her eyes.
She felt the mattress depress next to her, followed by the sensation of lips
and stubble on her face and mouth. With a sudden intake of breath, she arched
her back, letting out a plaintive moan as the sensation descended down her neck
and towards her breasts. A hand was now on her thigh and she slid her legs
apart, while his tongue flicked lightly across the surface of her nipple. The
femme fatale had been temporarily banished, her powers of seduction,
manipulation and control, locked away in a drawer. In her place was a lonely,
vulnerable girl, who wanted nothing but to submit to the young man above her.
Instead of simply granting the illusion of power, this time it was his to take.
Yet rather than fear and anxiety, this concession brought feelings of comfort
and safety. Waves of conflicting emotion began to assail her from all sides and
she screamed as days, weeks, maybe even years of suppressed tension flooded
from her body like the tears running down her cheeks.

It had been different this time, thought Doug, as
he dressed in preparation for receiving the takeaway. In one way, it had been
less sexy, not of course, that he had had any trouble getting aroused, but it
had been somehow more natural, more real. The predatory self assurance she had
shown before had played to his fantasies, and that experience had been more
intense, but this time, he had felt a closeness to her that was as unfamiliar
as it was pleasant. He had lain holding her for at least ten minutes, while she
had cried softly into his shoulder. He hadn’t even had to ask if anything was
wrong. The way she clutched him told him everything he wanted to know, that for
this brief moment at least, she needed him.

As soft contented humming rose above the gentle
patter of the shower, Doug paid for the takeaway using the twenty she had
insisted he take. It smelt delicious. He popped the containers in the oven with
a couple of plates, and turned it to a low heat. He then set the table with a
pair of mats, the wineglasses, and some knives and forks he had found in the
top drawer. He looked around wondering if she had any chop sticks. He tried the
other drawers one by one. A variety of knives, various kitchen utensils, and
tea towels presented themselves, but no chopsticks. The bottom drawer contained
mostly odds and ends: light bulbs, batteries, jumbo matches, and a box of
candles. Oh well, he thought, a little candlelight will help set the scene. But
as he reached into the drawer and started to remove them, he noticed something
else. At the back, and partly hidden behind a second box of candles, was a
small black leather case. He took it out, and to his surprise, discovered
inside, what looked to be a brand new iPhone. Why would someone continue using
a clunky old Nokia when they had a chic new iPhone at the bottom of a drawer?
he wondered. Doug had been immensely jealous when Kal had first shown him his,
just a few weeks before, and had wanted one ever since. Perhaps it was faulty,
he thought to himself, depressing the power button. The sleek black rectangle
sprang to life immediately, its bright colour display showing no sign of damage
and asking instead for a pass code. He tried the standard default four zeros,
but it objected angrily with a beep. He felt some kind of engraving on the back,
and flipped it over wondering if the device might be a generous present for
someone. Then his whole sense of reality performed a somersault. Engraved neatly
into the shiny stainless steel backplate were the words ‘Kal Gupta.’

Nadia stepped out of the shower and wrapped the
soft warm towel tightly around her body. She looked into the mirror and
realised she was still grinning like a lovesick teenager. She felt happier than
she had in years – maybe even since before the death of her parents. She had
heard the doorbell ring and was starting to feel quite peckish. Slipping on
some leggings and a T-shirt, she went to join Doug in the living room. As she
saw the lighted candles and heard the fan of the oven warming the plates, she
suddenly felt like crying again. Then she looked at Doug. In place of that
unconditional adoration he did so well, was a look of anger and betrayal. In
his hand was the iPhone she had found on the grass some yards from the Golf
Cabriolet on that first fateful morning.
“I can explain,” she said, as the tears finally came.
He looked at her and then averted his eyes immediately. “Please do,” he said
nastily.
She sat at the table, holding her head in her hands, and closed her eyes. “I’m
so sorry.” she sobbed. “I never wanted to hurt you I promise!”
“And Kal?”
“I had nothing to do with that, I have no idea why he killed himself, I swear!”
“But Markov…”
“He hired me to get hold of Dream-Zone from you - but I had no choice, you have
to believe me.”
“What - he put a gun to your head?” he asked sarcastically.
“He had this tape. A video tape showing me dancing –
stripping…and…well…other stuff.”
Doug looked her in the eyes again, the anger subsiding a little.
“At first, I was happy enough to work for him. A little creative accounting
here and there – first for him and then for his associates. It was mostly money
laundering at the start. I had a respectable position with a firm of
accountants in the city, but he kept giving me work that paid so much better. I
cut my hours at the firm so I was only working part time, but Sergei wanted
more. One day he showed me the tape and threatened to have it posted on YouTube
with links to my boss and all the people I worked with. I would have been
ruined. I resigned instead and started working almost full time for him and his
Mafia friends.”
“So you’re a bean counter for the Mafia. How does that involve sleeping with
university students? You’re a whore is what you are!”
The word cut deep, and she scowled at him.
He stood up and walked to the window. “I loved you, Cindy!” he said, looking
out into the darkness.
She followed him, hesitated a moment, then gently laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Actually, it’s Nadia!” she said sheepishly.
He spun round, his eyes red and puffy. “Just stay away from me whoever you
are.” His voice full of loathing. “You got what you wanted. Now leave me
alone.” And with that he stormed out of the apartment.

“You have reached the voice message system for…
Inspector Bullock… Please leave your message after the tone.”
“Inspector! This is Doug Richards, from the University of Essex. I have
information regarding Sergei Markov. You can reach me on my mobile.”

The breakfast things had been cleared away, a freshly
filtered mug of Columbian coffee sat on the lamp table to his right, the
unsullied sheets of the Sunday Times lay across his lap, and most importantly,
Abigail and her insufferable friends were elsewhere – presumably trying to shop
their way to a more fulfilling existence. Peter sipped the coffee and opened
the paper, savouring this rare and precious moment of quietude.
“Daddy? What’s it like in heaven?” came the inquisitive little voice of
his daughter, her impish face suddenly appearing between the newsprint and his
knees.
He folded away the paper and pulled her up onto his lap. “Oh Kate, my dear,
you’re not still worried about your uncle Martin are you?”
“No,” she said happily, “Mummy told me that uncle Martin was ill and so it
doesn’t count – so he is in heaven and we will see him again.”
“That’s right. That’s good isn’t it,” said Peter, relieved to have been spared
that one.
“But what’s it like?” she persisted.
“Well, I don’t know - no one can really ever know until the time comes.”
“Mrs. Allgood, my R-E teacher says it’s the most beautiful place in the whole
wide world and we can have anything we want and we never get told off and
people are never mean and there’s beautiful music all the time.”
“Well that sounds wonderful,” said Peter, taking another sip of coffee and
looking longingly down at the Sunday Times.
“But I don’t think I like the same things as Mrs. Allgood,” said Kate, with a
worried frown. “She likes everything yellow and pink and flowery and she likes
music that’s old and churchy and boring.”
“Well maybe it’s a different experience for everybody,” he said, stepping onto
the slippery slope of consolatory fabrication, “but like I said, nobody really
knows.”
“Mrs. Allgood says we know, because Jesus told us. It says so in the Bible.”
Peter couldn’t recall ever meeting this Mrs. Allgood, but he was already
beginning to dislike her.
“Yes, well a lot of people believe what it says in the Bible, but lots of other
people have their own different kind of Bible, which says a lot of different
things.”
“So which is the right one?” asked the little girl, clearly unsatisfied with
this apparent ambiguity.
“I don’t know. Maybe none of them, or maybe they each have little bits which
are right, and other bits which are not right.”
Kate stared into space for a while, as if trying to incorporate this radical
new concept into her understanding of the cosmos, and then the impish grin
returned to her face. “Can I have some chocolate cake?”
Peter laughed. “I’ll do you a deal: if I make you some hot chocolate, and let
you each have a small piece of cake, will you and Sam leave me alone for half
an hour while I read this paper?”
“Yay, hot chocolate!” cried Kate excitedly.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Deal!” she said pushing herself off his lap and scurrying out of the room.
The deal Abigail had struck was that if he would just keep an eye on the kids
that morning, and give them lunch, in the afternoon she would take them
ice-skating, leaving him alone to pursue his work. Of course, the choice
between spending a morning with the children or making small talk with their
small-minded house guests was an easy one. After breakfast, he had shaken their
hands and bid them farewell with such alacrity, even they had found it amusing.