Insequor (8 page)

The coffee was hot, strong and aromatic. He snapped a cookie and it crunched satisfyingly in his mouth mixing in to create a delicious hot sugary mush.

“They’re Secret Service, aren’t they?” said Brooks.

“Who?”

“Those men with you. They’re not your bodyguards.”

“They might be,” said Daniel. “I don’t know. CIA. NSA. Who knows?”

“So tell me,” said Brooks, “who are you really?”

Daniel sighed and looked down at the carpet. Toby had said he shouldn’t speak to anyone. Jones had warned him too but it felt good to chat to somebody who wasn’t involved. Someone from the other side of the world. Someone who didn’t work for the government.

“My name is Daniel Loman and I’m an ordinary guy but it’s me the thing’s after. Nobody knows why.” He felt his chest ease, air pour out of his lungs.

Brooks shot forward. “It’s
following
you?”

He nodded. “I don’t know why, before you ask. I’m not important. I don’t work for the military or government. I work in an office…used to, until the damned thing walked straight through it.”

“Are we safe?” Brooks looked around the room.

“Yes. It’s at the bottom of the sea right now. You see it just follows me. Never speeds up, never slows down. Doesn’t stop for anything. Walks through walls, buildings, mountains, oceans. So that’s where they’re planning to keep it right now; at the bottom of the Atlantic. It’s why they’ve flown me over here.”

“And then what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re meeting with your government this afternoon, I think.”

Brooks was staring at him like a kid at a Christmas tree. The two sat in silence for a few moments, neither acknowledging the other. Eventually, Brooks stood up, ran his fingers through his hair and got out his phone.

“I’m going to call someone, a friend. We have to get your story out there.”

“No,” said Daniel. “I’m not ready to tell everybody yet. I don’t want to be all over the newspapers and TV.”

“We have to get your story out there.” Brooks stood up and took off his jacket. He leaned across the table, his breath hitting Daniel in the face; it stank of cigarettes. In his eyes was an intensity that hadn’t been there before.

“Who are you?” asked Daniel.

“I’m a reporter,” said Brooks, holding up both hands. “Don’t worry, I’m a good guy. I normally just report on celebrities staying in the hotel; a friend of mine works here. He put me on to you guys when you arrived. I thought you were a movie star.”

“I think you’d best leave,” said Daniel, getting up. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you.”

“Now wait a minute, mate,”

“Don’t make me shout for security.”

“Okay.” Brooks nodded. The hunger left his eyes and he flattened down his coat. “If you want to talk though.” Brooks handed him a card.

He felt a chill running down his chest. “Go, now.”

Brooks turned, took one last look over his shoulder and then walked straight out, leaving the trolley and his jacket; they probably weren’t his anyway.

As the door closed Daniel slammed his fist on the table. What had he done? A reporter! What would Toby say? What would he do? He could deny it, say the guy must have overheard something, perhaps even bugged the room? Where was the proof?

He rubbed his hands across his face and looked down at his watch. Not long now before Jones would be back to collect him. He tried to breathe slowly and calm down, but he felt like a child who had been caught doing something very wrong.

He took a quick shot of whiskey. As it kicked, in his mind slowed down and he felt his breath lengthen. For now, he figured, there was nothing he could do. They were off to a meeting, anyway; maybe even leaving the country again. He got changed, brushed his hair back without drying it properly and grabbed his things. Then he sat waiting by the door. It was one o’clock when Toby knocked.

He was on the phone and flanked by two agents who nodded for Daniel to follow. He walked outside just as Jones emerged from his room quizzically looking to see who had knocked on his door.

In the elevator he panicked some more about Brooks. What if he slapped a microphone in their faces? Jones was already on to him.

“You okay?” The old cop smiled and gave him a wink. Toby was on the phone deep in conversation about some coordinates.

“I need to tell you something,” said Daniel, “but not here.”

“No problem,” said Jones. “Wait until we get to the car.”

The elevator doors opened to reveal the lobby which, thankfully, was empty. Toby, still on the phone, strode forward and waved them all after him; his black leather shoes snapping on the marble floor.

Outside the cars were waiting. Jones and Daniel took the front one, Toby and one of the agents got in the one behind still on his phone. As soon as they turned the first corner Jones spoke, but in a low whisper so as not to alarm the agent in front.

“The reporter, right?”

“How did you know?”

“I’m a cop. What did you tell him?”

“He asked me who I was, he saw me looking at the newspapers. I told him it was following me.”

Jones breathed in deep. “We’re going to have to tell Toby. This will change everything for you.”

The car turned sharply and made its way under a grand stone archway, past some spiralling towers and out along the river. Gradually, the buildings got closer and closer until the sky was practically hidden. They pulled up alongside an enormous white building with grand steps and columns.

Outside Toby stood still and slipped his mobile phone into his pocket. “It appears we have a problem.”

“Meaning?” said Jones, unconsciously positioning himself between Toby and Daniel.

“A reporter has gotten hold of the story. Says he interviewed Daniel. Is this true?”

They both turned to look at him; Toby with displeasure, Jones with pity.

“He didn’t interview me. We just talked and I hardly said anything.”

Without saying a word Toby turned and started to walk inside, taking out his phone again; this time he was texting. Jones put an arm around Daniel and they followed.

They walked through another palatial reception, except this time there was a metal detector where Jones had to leave his gun. Toby led them upstairs, the two agents with them monitoring the flanks.

After another metal detector they reached a set of offices. Toby knocked on one and let himself in, beckoning for Jones and Daniel to follow. The agents remained outside.

Inside was an older gentleman, sporting grey hair and a bushy moustache. He sat at a desk with a laptop; around him were old cabinets and books. The room was big and well lit, with several chairs and a table by the door. The man gestured for them to sit.

“Toby, how good to see you.”

“Doctor Perry, it’s been a while. May I introduce Detective Jones and Daniel.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened as he turned to Daniel. “Ah, the subject.”

Toby grimaced slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “Doctor Perry is forgetting his manners.” He turned back to the Doctor, “Something I thought you English were so fond of?”

The Doctor nodded before gesturing to the chairs. “I apologise, but must confess I am a little excited.”

They sat down, Daniel’s chair making a horrible scraping sound as he shuffled under the table. “What’s going on?” he said.

“We’re here for some tests,” said Toby. “The Doctor will be looking at you physically and mentally; painless and non-invasive.”

“What kind of tests?”

Doctor Perry rested his arms on the table. “Just the usual; MRI, CAT and I’ll probably want some fluid samples.”

“Which ones?” said Jones.

“All of them.”

Jones twitched his nose. “Can I ask why this is necessary?”

The Doctor shrugged, “I want to confirm he is human.”

“
He
has a name,” said Daniel. “Toby, I’m not comfortable with this.”

“Me neither,” said Jones.

“Gentlemen, please,” Toby caught everyone’s eyes. “I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot. Doctor Perry, you have to understand Daniel is very fragile. We’re all a little nervous in fact. So, your best bedside manner, if you please.”

The Doctor exhaled, nodded and then went across to the desk. He reached over and picked up a folder and started to leaf through it.

“
A
ccording to your medical history you’ve never had any serious illness or surgical procedures. Is this true?”

“Yes, but how do you know that?”

“It’s all in your file; your government sent it over this morning.”

“That figures.”

Toby hushed a finger to his lips and gave him a friendly wink. “Go on, Doc.”

“Our primary focus from today is to discover if there is anything unique about you.” The Doctor forced a smile as he looked Daniel up and down.

“For whatever reason this entity is pursuing you across the globe. We must ask ourselves ‘why?’ We have ruled out your importance, your access to intelligence or top secret information, your very position in life.”

“He is in the room, you know,” said Jones, shaking his head.

“I apologise for being frank,” said the Doctor, “but he wants to understand our thinking. Where was I?”

“You were saying I’m not important in any shape or form,” said Daniel.

“Ah, yes. So our challenge then is to understand what makes you different to everybody else. Once we rule out the social, political and economic reasons all that remains are the physical differences.”

The examination lasted most of the afternoon. Daniel had been taken through to a clinic, of sorts, that was adjacent to Doctor Perry’s office. He’d had x-rays, MRI scans, some other things he didn’t know and then had samples taken of his hair, blood, urine and even faeces.

After that they’d measured him, weighed him and then had him on a running machine; his breathing and heart wired up to a computer. Finally, as he got dressed, the Doctor invited him back into his office; Toby and Jones were nowhere to be seen.

“Please, sit,” said Perry, and Daniel took the seat on the other side of the desk. As the old man leafed through a notebook Daniel looked around at the books on the shelves.

“What are you a doctor of?”

Doctor Perry looked up over his reading glasses. “Genetics and Psychology.”

“That’s a strange combination.”

“I have strange patients.”

Perry laid the notebook down, took a pen out of his jacket pocket and leaned back, tapping it against his teeth. “Tell me, about your childhood.”

“What about it?”

“Was it normal? Happy? Did you spend a lot of time with your parents?”

He shook his head. An image flashed before him, two coffins being carried across a cemetery. A young boy holding an old lady’s hand. “No,” he said, “they died when I was a kid.”

“So who raised you?”

“My aunt, until she got cancer.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“I was twenty-one, just got out of college. She left me some money and an apartment; she didn’t have any kids of her own. I got a job and the rest is history.”

The Doctor nodded; whether through sympathy or comprehension Daniel couldn’t tell. He wrote some notes and then looked back up, fixing him squarely in the eye.

“Would you say you have a normal sex life?”

Daniel felt his cheeks flush. “Excuse me?”

The Doctor had gone back to his notes and wasn’t even looking at him. “Your sex life. Is it normal?”

“Define normal.”

“Do you have a partner? Do you masturbate regularly? Have you ever had sex with an animal?”

“No. Yes. No. In that order.”

The Doctor finished writing before putting the lid back on his pen, slipping it into his tweed jacket and then smiling. “Thank you. Your associates are outside.”

For a moment he stayed in his seat, Perry had pulled a book down off the shelf and was already cross referencing something with his notes.

He stood up, waited to see if there was anything else, before letting himself out. In the corridor he found Toby deep in conversation with Jones, the latter getting a little agitated. As soon as they saw him walk out of the door they both lowered their voices.

Jones strode over and lifted his head back to get a look at him, “You okay?”

He nodded. “What were you talking about?”

Jones turned to look at Toby who was back on his phone. “The media’s outside.”

“How many?”

“All of them. You’ve been in there for hours.”

“I won’t have to talk to anyone will I?”

“No, maybe. Toby’s trying to get a local PR man over to the hotel to coordinate things as he’s not too familiar with the British press.”

One of the agents gave the order to move and then went ahead along the corridor. Toby and one of the men up front, Daniel and Jones in the middle with another agent behind them. As they got to the lobby and walked through the metal detector the flashes started up outside. Daniel tried to guard his eyes and Jones threw his arm around him. At the door the agents formed a human shield and slowly pushed through the throng.

People shouted, more cameras flashed and there were even spotlights. People were yelling his name. How did they know his name? The car door was just ahead and he leapt the last few feet and ended up on the back seat. The doors shut and off they sped. When he managed to pull himself up he was surprised to find not Jones, but Toby.

His dark hair was stuck to the side of his face and his glasses were at an angle. He straightened them and brushed back his curly locks. He put his phone in his pocket and looked down.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on.” He let the words hang in the air, before turning and looking out of the window. Shapes and shadows flashed past on his skin as the daylight turned neon.

“Have you ever heard of ‘Pheme’, Daniel?”

He pulled himself up and adjusted his back into the seat. “No,” he said.

“In Greek mythology she was the Goddess of rumour. It’s where we get the word ‘fame’ from.”

Daniel too looked out at the streets racing past. The city was just as before but now he felt as if he was being watched.

“The Roman’s called her ‘Fama’ and say she had many tongues, eyes and ears. She lived in a house with a thousand windows so she could hear everything being said. According to Virgil, she had her ‘feet on the ground, and her head in the clouds; making the small seem great and the great seem greater.’”

Daniel touched the glass, squeaked his finger downwards on the condensation. Fama’s eyes were already gazing upon him. But what could he do?

“I’m sorry I spoke to the reporter,” he said, finally.

“You don’t have to apologise to me. It was bound to happen eventually; something like this can only stay a secret so long. I just want you to be prepared for it.”

“What will happen? Will I have to do interviews? Go on TV?”

“All of that, and more.”

They drove in silence for a little while longer and he noticed they passed by the gates to Hyde Park. “Are we not going back to the hotel?”

“No, we have a briefing with the British Secret Service.”

Daniel felt his head hit the back of the seat; it was early evening and he was exhausted. “Can we get something to eat?”

“We’ll be having dinner there.”

By the time they arrived, about forty minutes later, his stomach was already grouchy. Jones joined them from the car in front and they went straight inside another vast and ancient stone structure. He couldn’t see the top as it was too dark but it felt more like a cathedral as they walked through more corridors, up wooden carpeted steps and onto a magnificent landing.

Finally, they reached a dining room in the middle of which sat a grand table adorned with crockery, silver candlesticks and glasses. An older, uniformed man, with a grey beard and a bright red military jacket sat at the table; behind him a man also in uniform but at attention and clearly a subordinate.

The gentleman stood up and introduced himself. “General Ford-Mitchell, pleased to meet you.” Toby introduced everyone before asking if they could be seated.

“Of course,” said the general, “you must be famished.”

Toby sat down and pulled a napkin out of a silver holder; Daniel and Jones followed suite, the general too, smiling softly at Daniel before addressing his plate.

“What are we having, Watkins?” he said.

“Shrimp, sir,” said the man behind, without moving a muscle. “Followed by a chicken ballotine and chocolate fondant.”

“Sounds lovely,” said the general, and winked at Daniel.

Wine was poured and Daniel watched the general sniff and study the glass. He wasn’t like the other soldiers they had met. The American generals were like pit-bulls. Full of testosterone, thick necks and sour faces. Mitchell looked more like an amused boy.

The shrimp arrived but it was a tiny portion; delicious and most probably fine dining but not enough to satisfy the hunger that had crept up on him. Scanning the table, he found some bread and helped himself.

“So your medical reports came across before,” said Mitchell. “Looks like you’re human at least.”

“That’s good to know,” said Jones. He too had found the bread and was mopping up the shrimp sauce.

Mitchell acknowledged him briefly before returning to his plate; he delicately chased a prawn around it with his fork before giving up and signalling Watkins.

“We have to check these things, detective.”

Watkins came and collected the plates. Toby hadn’t said a word throughout. It was unlike him; normally he was the one leading the conversation, in charge, but perhaps over here he wasn’t.

When the main course arrived Daniel began eating immediately; the chicken was delicious and served with fine gravy and delicately roasted vegetables. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and some wine was poured, a soda for Jones, which helped Daniel relax. Finally, as the waiter topped up his glass and the rest of them cleaned their plates he decided he wanted to know what this particular game was all about.

“Can I ask what we’re doing here?”

“I beg your pardon?” said Mitchell.

“Why am I here? We’ve had the x-rays and scans, the questions about my mother. Is this the interrogation?”

“Daniel, please.” It was Toby. “The general is an old friend and he offered to host us this evening. I thought it would be easier dealing with him than a room full of politicians.”

“Hear, hear!” said Mitchell, raising his glass.

Daniel smiled, looked the man dead in the eyes. They twinkled back from above his bushy moustache; his warm face somehow filling up the room.

They all raised their glasses, the toast breaking the tension and they began to relax again and even make a little chit chat.

The general was from London, he had two daughters who were at University and his wife was a teacher. He asked about Daniel’s home, his job and his own school. The general placed a lot of importance on schooling.

Daniel gave him the answers he’d given Toby when they first met. An average high school, an average college and an average job. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“You must wonder though?” said the general.

“Wonder?”

“Why you?”

“Constantly,” said Daniel.

“And now the whole world is going to wonder with you.” The general’s eyes widened and just for a moment he stared at Daniel; a cavernous gaze that seemed to probe the inside of his head.

“Just what kind of general are you?” It was Jones, always direct. Toby rubbed one hand across his eye and made to speak but the general raised a hand.

“I’m commander of the M.O.G.” There was a brief silence whilst Daniel and Jones shared a look.

“The Media Operations Group,” said Toby.

“I wondered when it would come to this,” said Jones, placing his glass on the table.

“Meaning?” said Mitchell.

“Meaning now you want to take control of what Daniel says and how he says it.”

“That’s not true,” said Mitchell. “I want to help. To train him. The next few months, at least, are going to be a maelstrom.”

“And you don’t want any bad PR.”

“Detective Jones,” said Toby, “you of all people should recognise the value in teaching Daniel basic media skills. We’re not going to be able to keep him behind closed doors any longer. People are going to want to talk to him, hear what he has to say.”

“And then they’ll twist it,” said Mitchell. “They always do. Like in the di Conti case.”

Daniel noticed Jones stiffen; his jaw dropped even though his lips remained tight. “How do you know about that?” said Jones.

Mitchell smiled slightly and picked up his folder, before pulling out a piece of paper. “Good lord, detective, you don’t need to be in the secret service to know about that one. I only had to ‘Google’ you.”

“What are they talking about?” Daniel looked across at Jones; but the old cop was staring at Mitchell.

“I always check who I’m meeting,” said Mitchell. “Your friend Jones here has a few skeletons in a closet of his own.”

Daniel looked at Jones and saw the only person who he could trust. Looking at Toby and Mitchell he saw deception, antagonism and plots.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Detective Jones is my only friend right now.” He looked across and the wily old cop gave him a smile and nodded.

“Gentlemen,” it was Toby, “before this escalates can we please return to the very real issue we have.”

Mitchell nodded, picked up the piece of paper he had dropped on the table, and placed it back in the folder. He smoothed his moustache before turning his chair slightly to look at Toby who had moved over to stand by the fireplace.

Toby cleared his throat. “Today word got out about who Daniel is and, perhaps more importantly,
what
he is; I don’t mean any disrespect you understand?”

“I understand.” said Daniel.

“We are now faced with an intense media focus which has begun here in the UK but already, I’m told, has spread across the globe. They have a name, some pictures from social media accounts and probably already interviews lined up with any friends or acquaintances.”

“Jesus,” said Daniel, “should I call them?”

“Unwise,” said Mitchell, “they’re probably already trying to contact you so they can get more information to sell to the reporters who, by the way, pay handsomely.”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t think any of my friends would do that.”