The Knowing: A thrilling horror fantasy Page 16

  “I don’t wanna tell tales, Ms Jenkins, but there was a hit-and-run on the way here,” Dale heard Steve say as they were waiting for the elevator.

  “Indeed,” Ms Jenkins said, with a casual toss of her hair. She continued staring straight ahead at the closed door. “Collateral damage happens, Sergeant. Coming from Kansas, Missouri with its history of tornadoes, you must be aware of that.” Her hollow chuckle sent shivers down Dale’s spine. This was her home territory and she was making sure they knew it.

  As with every other public space they’d encountered in London, there were signs dotted around banning cell phones. Dale wondered whether the internet had actually been some sort of leveller for human excesses and greed. The world seemed wide open to corruption in high places now that infelicities could be kept hidden from public scrutiny. The WikiLeaks dude had tried to prove that, but look where that got him: holed up in the spare room of some backwater embassy and costing the Metropolitan Police $20 million for three years of surveillance. Some things just weren’t right and the same applied to some people. But, hey, all that maudlin talk wasn’t for now. It wasn’t every day that KCPD cops were offered lavish hospitality at the expense of MI5 – plus a close-up view of Ms Jenkins as she examined her complexion in the elevator’s mirrored walls.

  “About those police officers ...” Dale said.

  Ms Jenkins put a finger to her lips. Dale noticed her glance up at a strategically placed camera. The elevator continued its slow ascent to the top floor. Dale had expected a smoothly efficient whoosh, but the mechanism was probably Grade II listed as well. By the time the door opened, the pint of freshly-squeezed orange juice he’d consumed at breakfast had completed its inexorable passage into his bladder.

  “I’m sorry, Ms Jenkins, I need to go to the restroom,” Dale said as they stepped onto the parquet flooring. It was like being back in first grade all over again.

  “Hmph,” she vocalised suspiciously. “This way, please, gentlemen.”

  Dale looked at Steve for support, but he was already in hot pursuit of her bow-like posterior as she sashayed across the polished floor towards a nearby corridor. Dale shrugged and considered the sphincter visualisation technique that KCPD advocated to prevent embarrassment at stakeouts. That had been Steve’s bright idea and it had earned him a commendation.

  The room they entered seemed to be an amalgam of all the worst British spy clichés. Dark wooden panelling was interrupted by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The tar-coloured ceiling hinted at a lifelong nicotine addiction. A mahogany desk and matching chairs without an ounce of padding gave the impression of an occupant that enjoyed the ambience of a gentlemen’s club, but without any of the comfort. A birch branch for selfflagellation had to be hidden somewhere.

  “Please sit while I fetch a colleague,” Ms Jenkins said, going out the door they’d just entered.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna find the restroom,” Dale said, even before they’d sat down. “You coming, sweets?”

  “Sure, why not,” Steve said. “You could do with someone keeping an eye on you,” he added with a smirk.

  The restroom was just around the corner. It couldn’t have been more different from the office they’d just vacated. It was starkly white, and looked like a place for cleansing the soul as well as the body. Condom dispensers were conspicuously absent. High-power hand dryers seemed destined to strip flesh from the bone in an instant. There was no communal urinal and the cubicles had walls that went from floor to ceiling.

  Peeing behind closed doors made sense when you were an uptight spook with a neurosis about having your cover blown. Colonic irrigation was probably available as an optional extra. Dale noticed that MI5 even provided miniatures of mineral water so that spies wouldn’t have to sully their over-cleansed guts with London tap water. Steve had just poured some into a plastic cup. He still hadn’t had his breakfast coffee, of course. He must be real thirsty.

  The helpful folks at Ma Bell took that opportunity to slam home a missive. It wasn’t good news. And they still had a plane to catch. Oh fuck! Dale thought. This can’t be happening to me!

  “Steve, don’t move an inch,” Dale said. “And for Chrissakes, don’t inhale.” The cup was just inches from Steve’s mouth, the contents glistening and sloshing gently under the bright ceiling lights.

  Steve turned his head in bewilderment. Dale knew the look. ‘What the fuck?’ was one way of putting it. Steve still held the cup. A fraction of a millimetre of the cheapest polypropylene separated his skin from the liquid. Dale reached out with both hands and grasped the cup above and below Steve’s fingers. “That’s it, let me have it,” Dale said, carefully taking hold of the container as if it contained something precious. Frankincense and myrrh came weirdly to mind, although the contents were better suited to making an exit rather than an entrance, and at the opposite end of one’s existence.

  “That’s hydrofluoric acid,” Dale said matter-of-factly, once he’d placed the cup safely on a flat surface. A teacher in chemistry class had once demonstrated its properties. Even glass hadn’t stood a chance. It was the sort of experiment that stayed with you for life. Hydrofluoric acid wasn’t as good for dissolving bodies as portrayed in Breaking Bad, but it was definitely lethal. An alien with acid blood was a walk in the park in comparison. “We ought to step back. Inhaling the vapour is dangerous,” Dale cautioned him helpfully.

  Steve was on the other side of the restroom before Dale knew it, cowering against the wall. “Jeez, dude, are you sure?” he spluttered, frantically rubbing his nostrils and lips.

  That question required some quick thinking. Would I stand up in a court of law, swear on the bible, consider the balance of probabilities and state that it was beyond reasonable doubt? “Yeah, I’m sure,” Dale said, shrugging helplessly.

  Steve slumped to the floor. “Oh fuck! Now I’ll have to go to an ER and we’ll miss the flight. And I’m meant to be inducting new recruits tomorrow ... Chief Scanlon will never believe it. Oh shit!”

  Dale knelt and wrapped his arms around his partner. “Sorry, sweets. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  Suddenly, there was an insistent knock on the door. “Lieutenant Franklin! Are you and Sergeant Abrams in there?” It was Ms Jenkins’s voice and she definitely wasn’t in the best of moods. “You’d better not be getting up to any hanky-panky,” she added sternly.

  Dale and Steve looked at each other ruefully. “As if,” Dale murmured, scrambling to his feet to get to the door before she forced entry into their male domain.

  Ms Jenkins had her hands on her hips and she looked all set to deliver another rebuke. A man in a shiny dark suit stood next to her, his hair severely buzz cut, military style. He smiled thinly, seemingly relishing Dale’s discomfort. His ID tag read: ‘Major Damian Carruthers’. He was glancing at Dale’s hands, as if searching for something to incriminate him with. Dale’s mom had made damn sure he washed his hands after going to the toilet. The major’s glassy stare was like being discovered emerging from behind the baseball pavilion, fastening one’s pants with the star jock sneaking off in the opposite direction.

  “Well, Lieutenant? We are waiting,” Major Carruthers said, his upper lip curled at the corner. His voice was reedy and high-pitched. It had to be hard pulling off that attitude with everyone falling about laughing.

  Dale glanced back into the restroom. The bottles of acid looked so innocent. Had they been intended for him? “Major, you have a situation,” Dale said, looking him straight in the eye.

  The major cocked an eyebrow. Ms Jenkins frowned. “We know that, Lieutenant,” she said. “That’s why you were diverted here. And we need to know more about the threat. So, if you’ll just return with us to – ”

  Dale shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. The situation is in there.” He pointed into the restroom.

  “Oh, you mean the toilets,” Ms Jenkins said. “They’re always getting blocked. It must be the food in the canteen.” She laughed. Major Carruth
ers didn’t bat an eye. He looked like the type who’d prefer having his nutrients fed intravenously.

  “No, I mean over there.” Dale pointed at the bottles and disposable cups in front of the mirror. “They’re not what they appear to be.”

  The major looked affronted. Perhaps he also chaired the restroom committee and had been responsible for procuring the water.

  “The bottles contain acid,” Dale said. “Hydrofluoric acid, to be precise. It’s highly toxic. And Steve may have inhaled the vapour.”

  Ms Jenkins and the major peered nervously into the restroom. Steve still crouched in the corner. He raised a hand feebly in acknowledgement. He looked as white as one of Dale’s 800 thread Egyptian sheets.

  “Oh Christ,” the major said, “that’s all we need!” Ms Jenkins glared at him. “Okay, okay,” he sighed. “I’ll call for back-up and an ambulance. And I’ll get the tech lab to confirm what’s in the containers. We’ll need to cordon off this area for the time being.”

  The major sprinted off along the corridor, leaving Ms Jenkins to minister to Steve. Her designer trouser suit strained at the seams as she squatted close to him.

  “Oh, poor boy,” she cooed. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

  Steve gave a wan smile. “I don’t think so. I didn’t drink any of the liquid and Dale told me not to breathe, so ...” He started shivering. Ms Jenkins took off her jacket and put it over his shoulders. Dale couldn’t help noticing a tattoo on the back of her neck that had been hidden by her shirt collar. He couldn’t identify the image, but it looked like a pair of upside-down wings. She stood up and helped Steve to his feet. Dale would have offered to take over, but Ms Jenkins’s nature was too mercurial to be trusted: all cookies and candy at one moment, and then a karate kid at the next. Her fluid movements reminded him of a well-oiled machine. All she needed was a black helmet and a light sabre. His testosterone level had to be peaking again. There was definitely more to her than met the eye. In fact, according to Ma Bell, a newly created zygote had just started its descent along the fallopian tube. Her boyfriend’s situation hadn’t been disclosed. What was it that female black widow spiders did to their mates? Dale hoped that it’d been a swiftly delivered bite for her boyfriend’s sake.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Back in the top-floor office, Deborah Jenkins watched Steve like a hawk. He’d recovered most of his colour and her jacket was back where it had started the day. Dale hadn’t managed another peek at the tattoo, but bats and graveyards had sprung to mind.

  “Now, you’re sure none of it splashed on you, Sergeant?” Ms Jenkins asked with motherly concern.

  Steve nodded.

  “And not a drop between your lips?”

  He moved his head from side to side again.

  Ms Jenkins had already examined Steve’s mouth and fingers for the tell-tale whitening associated with exposure to the acid – rather too closely, Dale thought. He had to admit to feeling jealous of the attention she’d been giving Steve. And he was still trying to decide whether she was a femme fatale or a woman with death on her mind.

  “Apparently, it can cause heart attacks if swallowed,” Ms Jenkins added, confirming his morbid suspicion. “It’s something to do with depleting the body of calcium.”

  That had to be what Steve called a double bind: behave all cosy and nice, and then slam home a fucking whammy. Whatever she was up to, it was a powerful ploy. The sucker punch had to be coming up next.

  “Oh, by the way, Lieutenant, how did you know about the acid?” Ms Jenkins asked, turning to give him the benefit of her penetrating look, her deep dark eyes melting him like his mom’s home-churned butter on a hot summer’s day.

  It wasn’t quite the move Dale thought it’d be. She was still gathering information like any good spook. He touched a finger to his head. The right temporal lobe, in fact. Steve had given him a crash course in brain anatomy. Ma Bell was being strangely quiet, too. Typical when you’re being interrogated, he thought.

  “Aha ... And you’re sure you didn’t have a portable mass spectrometer hidden on you?”

  This was getting into cat and mouse territory. The goddamn bitch is playing with me, Dale thought. He’d never understand the British habit of belittling intelligence with sarcasm. And he hadn’t even gotten around to pointing at his testicles yet.

  “Sorry,” Ms Jenkins said, looking flustered. “I don’t know what’s got into me. After all, I wasn’t questioning your ability yesterday. It must have been – ”

  “The chocolate nemesis?” Dale suggested. “I’m told it’s extremely high in serotonin.”

  Ms Jenkins blushed. “Yes, well ...”

  The door burst open. Major Carruthers verged on animated. His forehead bore a sheen of sweat and his hair stood on end. “Well, that’s certainly got the tech chaps excited,” he said, his voice squeaking. “In fact, I haven’t seen them that interested since the polonium scare back in – ” he floundered, “ – well, whenever it was. Of course, they’re disappointed it isn’t the real thing. Personally, I’m just relieved we won’t have to evacuate the entire building.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Major?” Ms Jenkins said, looking pointedly in Steve’s direction.

  The major looked momentarily puzzled, but then he seemed to make a connection. “Of course, how remiss of me.” He crossed to Steve and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re fortunate, Sergeant. It was only a dilute solution.” He paused to extract a slip of paper out of his jacket pocket. “Hmm ... a mere one per cent, in fact. But it’s puzzling that it turned up here in the toilet. I believe that it’s commonly employed as a rust remover. Perhaps there was a slip-up at the suppliers. It isn’t good enough.” He tutted his displeasure.

  Dale gave Steve a thumbs-up. He’d have preferred to hug him, but MI5 wasn’t KCPD and the major wouldn’t have approved. Steve smiled wanly and allowed himself a deep breath. The air might be tainted with conspiracy theories and military suppression, but at least it was clean. Then Steve frowned, as if something had just crossed his mind. He raised a hand. “Er, Major, I was just wondering whether there’ve been any unexplained deaths among employees ... like people dying in their sleep, I mean.”

  The major bristled. “I’m not sure what you mean, Sergeant. As far as MI5 is concerned, all deaths are explainable.”

  Ms Jenkins raised both eyebrows, but she seemed to be keeping her own council on the subject. Chief Scanlon would have loudly guffawed and said, “Jeez, if only!” Dale agreed with him; sometimes deaths just happen and there was shit-all to be done about them. There’d even been the occasional case of spontaneous combustion.

  Steve shrank back into the seat. “Well, I was just thinking that if the acid is in all the restrooms and perhaps the cafeteria as well, and people have been drinking it for days ... you know, a cumulative effect ... and their calcium level is getting lower and lower ... well, people could die in their sleep.” He looked at the floor. That hadn’t been his most authoritative explanation ever, but it did it for Dale.

  Ms Jenkins broke a brief moment of silent contemplation. “Oh my God! You’re absolutely right! Thank goodness I’ve been bringing in my own water.”

  The major collapsed onto the nearest chair. “Oh Christ! You’d better take over, Deborah. I believe I have need of the ambulance.” He undid his necktie and reached for the phone on the desk. “We’ll need to check every fucking bottle of water,” he groaned.

  “Follow me, gentlemen,” Ms Jenkins said. She shot the major a critical glance and walked towards a bookcase stuffed with valuable looking titles. She pressed the spine of an edition of Macbeth and a section of the wall swung out. The room they entered couldn’t have been more different to the unremitting maleness of the previous office – and it was double the size. Large windows gave a commanding view of the Thames and buildings on the far bank; Dale wondered how MI5 dealt with the threat of snipers equipped with scopes and high power rifles. A sleek flat screen monitor on the desk displayed an image of the UK similar to
the one they’d seen in the Brain Lab. Next to it was an ancient black telephone, with a brown braided cord, that looked straight out of an old black-and-white movie. And then Dale noticed their luggage from the hotel. The building seemed to have a surprise lurking around every corner.

  “Impressive view, Ms Jenkins,” Dale said. “Bulletproof glazing?”

  “Guaranteed to resist a Hellfire II, apparently,” Ms Jenkins said, looking smugly proprietorial. “And there’s stealth technology, too.”

  “The more you look, the less you see?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “An electro-optical seeker would be totally fooled. Of course, it’s never been tried out apart from in simulations.”

  “Nice phone, too. State of the art, by the look of it.”

  Ms Jenkins chuckled. “Oh, it’s only a reproduction. Left by the previous incumbent, I’m told.”

  “And our luggage?” Dale said, glancing at their bags.

  “Well, we rather thought you’d outstayed your welcome at the hotel,” Ms Jenkins said. She gestured Dale and Steve to sit down on the white leather chairs. “It was the quantum computer that gave us the alert.”

  “Oh?” Dale said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, there was the CCTV feed from the hotel dining room plus the call you made about Dai.” She leaned forward to pat him on the knee. “That was spot on, by the way. We’d never have thought of looking in the middle of Green Park. Thankfully, he seems to be unaffected.” Ms Jenkins got up to perch on the edge of the glass desk. “Of course, then there was your rapid exit from your hotel this morning and yet more CCTV from outside Downing Street. It was all a bit obvious. Also, I believe you encountered one of our officers in the breakfast room.”