Chapter 2 Zain I watch the big hand make its journey around the circle of numbers, 10, 20, 30, 40... In turn the hand graced all of them, a fleeting dance, a light touch; the hand quickly progressed round the circle. 60, 80, 120, 200. I was going fucking fast. Window open, the wind battered me, hair whipped chaotically around my face. I could see the blur of grey in my peripheral vision, here the whine of horns protesting my superior speed.
“Jealous bastards” I thought, shit-eating grin plastered to my face as I watched the cars fading in the side windows.
It was a good day, the grey clouds had infiltrated the entirety of the sky, and not a hint of blue had escaped the dreary prison. On days like this there was always a heightened excitement in the population, people prepared their buckets and prayed for a downpour. With the price of water being what it was nowadays I couldn’t blame them, nor could the law enforcement as they turned a blind eye to this “illegal” activity.
I nonchalantly rested my arm outside the window; still driving I watched the city fly past my sight as if in a dream.
The city was a shambles, buildings had been left to perish, crumbling at the edges, and homes had become decrepit, yellow lawns, boarded up windows, no evidence of which were occupied or had been abandoned after the first of many riots. In the distance a dull tall building loomed over the city. The bad omen of the city, its large towers dominating the skyline, disappearing within the dark clouds. This was my destination.
As I continued at my reckless speed towards the malevolent tower I noticed three things, one, the houses became more decrepit the closer I got, two, the lack of any pedestrians willing to get near to the building and three, the sudden influx of surveillance in the form of cameras and armed guards. If you hadn’t realised that my destination meant trouble by its cheesy horror movie view, dark ominous tower disappearing into the skyline (I could almost picture the added lightning) then the angry looking guards with the angrier looking dogs was a big hint. They paid me no heed as I sped past them.
Considering how ominous the building was from outside pulling into the entrance labelled ‘Car Park’ was sort of anticlimactic. It had the normality to disappoint a teabag at Buckingham Palace. White spaces covered the majority of the dank, dull floor; reminding me of a crime scene for the mass murder of squares. I drove around the large car park.
“Where to park... where to park?” I deliberated as a passed the hundredth empty space.
I spotted the only other car parked neatly in a bay of the much-too-large car park. I couldn’t help the grin as I ignored the organised white lines and parked horizontally behind the vehicles bumper blocking all chance of this guy leaving before me.
Leaving behind my shiny car I made my progress towards the door leading to the rest of the building. A beeping echoed throughout the car park. The screen of my phone had filled with a text message from a number I did not know:
Hi agn! lst nyt wz realy gr8! I dnt normaly put ot on d 1st d8 bt lst nyt wz an xception! mayB we cUd rendezvous agn 4 sum mor fun.
Images of last night came unbidden to my mind. A sultry smile, the slap of skin on skin, glistening bodies contorting against one another. It was a good night. I briefly contemplated another get together however the thought of receiving another of these grammatically challenged texts overturned that thought. It was a one night stand, a one night stand it would remain.
The entrance of the building looked like any generic reception, white marble flooring, a blue carpeted seating area, a variety of magazines laid skewed upon the table, blue chairs , blue walls, a wooden desk where a receptionist clad in a blue blouse sat tapping at the keyboard, I daresay, they might have been going for a bluish theme. To anyone who did not live near this building, they might consider this all very ordinary, dull even. However the locals understood, they wouldn’t say it aloud but they weren’t stupid, this was no ordinary building. Can anyone spell government conspiracy?
Walking towards the reception, the marble floor protested my every step with an annoying squeak. The receptionist distracted from her tapping by the noisy floor gave me a charming smile.
“Morning Mr Taylor.”
“Good morning, um....” Shoot I had forgotten her name again. I could see the smile melt from her face as she realised this.
“My name is Rose, Mr Taylor.” She introduced herself to me for the 7
th time.
“Right, Rose.” I grinned as I bypassed her desk all together and pressed for the elevator behind it. The doors opened with cheerful ting. I waved at Rose’s not-to-impressed face as the door closed in front of me.
The lift ascended. Red numbers flashing at the top of the lift, only briefly appearing before the next took its place. It got to 20 before the doors opened again.
Now this floor screamed “something fishy is going on”. The area appeared as an office space. Rows of computers and desks lined the great hall whilst the drones typed away at their stations. Everything from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling was painted white. So, what made this area so fishy? Well, perhaps it was the x-ray at the entrance of the office, or perchance the metal detector each employee had to go through before entering, or even the high level security locks at each closed door might seem a slight oddity, but no, if I was to put my finger on it, it was probably the armed guards stationed at every corner, guns honed in on the employees, sharp eyes watching their every move, emotionless face. Not really good for office moral, but hey it’s not my place to question the higher ups.
A few guards had turned their attention to me. There cold stony gaze probably kept most people in line, but I was not most people. I bypassed the x-ray and made my way through the metal detector. As expected I was greeted by angry beeping. Instantly all heads in the office were looking in my direction.
The guard closest to me made his way over. He was new, I could tell, his stance was more alert then the other guards, his face more hard-set. The other guards had mellowed out over the years, nothing ever happened in this office, but this one, he wanted to dominate, to bully, to prove something, how do they say it here? He was gung-ho.
“Sir, make your way back through the metal detector.” He barked at me.
I gave him my most charming smile, walking around and back through the metal detector. The alarm continued it shrill whine. The guard’s eyes narrowed. He was far too easy.
“Sir, stand facing the wall, legs apart. I am going to frisk you” He practically spat at me.
“Fuck that.” I returned, continuing my journey towards the door. I got about two steps before the guard’s arm pulled at my shoulder.
“Get back here, fucking Paki!”
Upon the unwanted contact I gripped his fingers, pulling it taut towards his shoulders. With my other hand I grabbed at my shotgun planting the barrel directly between his eyes. He didn’t look so confident now. I could almost hear his little brain exert itself as he tried to work out what just happened.
“If one more of your unruly digits so much as scuffs my coat again I am going to fill you with so many bullets you’ll make Swiss cheese look whole.” My tone didn’t even waver; I pronounced each syllable with care, watching his eyes go from confused to downright terrified as they scanned the room looking for assistance from the guards. Of course they had not moved an inch; politely ignoring the ruckus being created. Sweat was pouring from his forehead now; I could feel his hand tremble in my grip. I lowered my gun and released his arm from its strained position.
The guard flew back from me, determined to put as much space between him and me as possible. I couldn’t help the grin that reasserted itself upon my face before continuing my way towards the door.
“I recommend that you familiarise yourself with your superiors, their race might be a start.” I heard the silence from behind me and punched my code in the door. Not sparing the guard a glance back I walked through the office to another door.
This one had far more security then the previous one in the form of a hand shaped scanner and an eye retina scanner which was slightly too low for my 6’6 stature. I bent down placing one eye in line with the scanner and my hand in the hand shape. The computer screen flashed up with my identification card. Name: Zain Taylor. Age: 27. Nationality: British. Ethnicity: Mixed White Egyptian. The photo on the card is old. Must have been when I first joined. My skin was darker; the lack of sun in England had since caused it to fade, now looking like a really nice tan. My hair was dark brown, though my former self had it cropped short, probably regulation or something, it was now past my shoulders. My face had a slightly more babied look; it had trimmed down since. Cold eyes glared at me from the picture and my mouth was set in a stern grimace. My features had hardly changed in the last 10 years other then my then long thin nose was perfectly straight, nowadays it had a slight tilt to it from a rather nasty break. I liked it this way, my face prior to the break could be described as handsome but now I had been promoted to ruggedly handsome, that’s a whole extra adverb to describe me.
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss. Stepping through, I arrived at my destination, ‘Control Centre’. This room was much like the last, rows of computers were occupied, however the people here were more relaxed in what they were doing, they laughed and joked or sat sternly forwards eyes glued to the monitor, their dedication akin to that of a sentry on duty. No armed security littered the room, no this room was for the highest officials in the company, the beset of the best and yes I was one of them.
At the back of the hall was a meeting room. I could see through the partially closed blinds that the meeting was currently in progress, the meeting which I was currently very late for. I realised I had three options. Option 1, walk in the room, act very apologetic, and make up some excuse. Option 2, I could nonchalantly enter the room, pretend I’m not late, if I am confident enough maybe they’ll believe me. Option 3, I could infiltrate the air vents, go down air vent 32 which happens to lead me to the air vent directly above the meeting room, release the virus via my phone which I had specifically designed to attack the Control Centres computers, this would immediately trigger the Control Centre’s defence mechanism in the form of a power cut. I can then whilst the meeting room is in the dark climb down, take a seat, pretend I was there the whole time, genius. I was leaning towards Option 3 just because of the added cool points but it seemed like a lot of hassle to go with Option 2.
Opening the door, my very late entrance only turned a few heads. Commander Mckenna, a small mousy man, briefly met my eyes but continued speaking. I made a little bit of a show checking my watch before taking the nearest free seat at the back, this fortunately happened to be next to my good ol’ chum, Simon Marwick.
Simon Marwick was at first impressions a dull individual. He did not do drugs, never ever drank, was happily married and had no dark pasts as to speak. It was almost as if God had intended him to be the most ordinary individual alive gifting Simon with the most ordinary face. Not good looking, not hideously bad, just okay. Marwick would always keep his voice neutral when he spoke and would often be the voice of reason in my crazy antics. This was the reason why I liked Simon so much; I felt that Simon was my conscience. He was the closest thing I had to family, I spent Christmas and New Years round his and his wife, I would not spend it with anyone else nor would I listen to anybody else.
He did not bat an eyelid when I plonked myself in the chair next to him. Instead he moved close to my ear and said:
“I saved you a seat. Now this is concerning you. You’d better pay attention.”
Concerning me? I had not realised this was a mission briefing. At the front projected upon the board was a picture of a male, possibly in his late teens, he was fairly nice looking but in an asexual kind of way, his face portrayed no emotion but I found myself helplessly transfixed by his haunting glare, it seemed to stare out from the picture straight into me. Next to that was the name Arden O’Hare.
“Little is known about Arden O’Hare but are mole in Weregild ensures us, for him to be unable to access information we are dealing with a extremely dangerous individual. Mr Taylor you are the known target of Mr O’Hare.”
Eh! Target? I kept the alarmed expression from revealing itself on my features.
“Mr O’Hare mission is to seduce Mr Taylor in order to gain access to information for Weregild. We are fortunate to have learned of this. ”
I could hardly resist the smirk on my face as a realised that the said male on the board will be attempting to throw themselves into my arms and I could not resist commenting on this fact.
“Weregild must be confused, if I wanted to fuck a woman I would. That... ” I indicated towards the board, towards the image with the cold eyes, “...is ridiculous.”
A wave of laughter emerged around the room, but quickly died down after a glare from Commander McKenna.
“Your taste isn’t under scrutiny Mr Taylor. Your mission is to supply Arden O’Hare false information, lead him into a sense of security, study him, his ways, and his routine, how he contacts Weregild, everything you can. You understand?”
“Yes Sir.” I responded neutrally. A file was dropped into my lap, the brown paper labelled Arden O’Hare in bold lettering at the top. Opening I was again stunned into silence by the accusing eyes. He was rather attractive; I ran my fingers over the photo, tracing the outline and contours of the pale face.
I’d never been embroiled in a honey trap before. I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of enthusiasm for the next mission, the way I understood it was that Arden O’Hare was going to have to act like the perfect boyfriend and I was not going to make it easy.
