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The Little Devil
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image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-003-01.jpg]
Grace scanned through Pattie’s computer records, not really knowing what she was looking for. The team had gone through to the Field now, and things wouldn’t be as hectic for a good few hours if everything went as planned. She felt a little guilty, but something was troubling her, and when the little devil nagged, she couldn’t resist it.
Pattie wouldn’t have thought anything was out of place when Grace had scheduled the medical just before the Field entry. They were random checks that all the team underwent at some point, just to make sure the journeys to and from the Field were not having any adverse physical effects.
But now, after the incident with Sally Aimes, Grace was suspicious of lots of things she would have once let pass. So she went through the tables and figures, X-rays and charts, desperately hoping to find nothing amiss.
Sally Aimes had been a biological scientist with whom Grace had worked for about two years. They weren’t that close, but she was fond of her nevertheless. Sally was a fun, intelligent girl with a loud, infectious laugh, always the centre of male attentions. One night she was partying in town with a group from the facility. Towards the end of the night, her friends had noticed her talking to a man, with whom she eventually left, much to the chagrin of many of her male companions.
She’d turned up dead in a canal a week later after an extensive police search. The labs were devastated; in such a close-knit group, the loss hit everybody hard. The man she was with had never been traced.
But what now worried Grace was the way Sally had behaved shortly before leaving the club. Her friends spoke of how she had seemed vague and forgetful even though she hadn’t drunk much.
The way Pattie had looked so puzzled when she had tried to recall her weekend with Alex, could there be a connection? But no, thought Grace, stop being so damned paranoid. Poor Pattie, she had probably been as drunk as a skunk, and good for her.
But Grace scanned the records anyway.
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-003-02.jpg]
* * *
Alex had walked with Pattie the short distance from the hotel to the bus stop.
“Oh bugger, I’ve missed the seven-twenty,” Pattie cursed, biting her fingernails as she consulted the timetable. “Oh, I’m going to be late for work; I’ve never been late, ever. You’ve corrupted me already, you terrible man.” She giggled nervously and hugged his arm.
“I told you; phone in sick, and we can go back to my hotel room,” he smiled, kissing her again.
“You’re incorrigible,” she hissed, embarrassed at the looks the other people in the queue gave her. “No, here comes the bus now. I can get this one and change at Eastfield.”
“You will call me, won’t you, Pattie?”
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“Of course I will, silly.” She jumped back down from the bus, and hugged him, not caring that she held up the queue. “I’ll ring you tonight when I get back, promise.”
“Promise,” whispered Alex to himself as the bus disappeared into the traffic, Pattie still waving through the grimy window.
He walked off towards the centre of town with a spring in his stride. He’d decided that he would buy himself an expensive suit; something different, he was sick of wearing jeans all the time.
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-003-03.jpg]
A few hours later he was barely recognisable. He sat at a table outside a smart coffee bar; a double espresso and a newspaper in front of him. His shoulder-length hair was gone, replaced by a neat short-back-and-sides, and he wore a dark linen suit and black tie.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting surreptitiously at the passing faces. He took a sip of his coffee and savoured the strong, bitter drink.
A short, shrew-like man appeared from out of the crowd on the busy street and approached Alex’s table. He looked like any anonymous business type; possibly a banker, or a solicitor — grey, balding, wearing small oval spectacles. He carried a black leather briefcase, and an overcoat, folded over one arm.
“Alexi, my good friend! It is fine to see you.” The man, in his mid-fifties, had a thick East-European accent. He held out his arms in welcome as he reached Alex’s table.
“Dragor; welcome,” said Alex, rising and embracing the man, kissing him on both cheeks. “Please, sit, sit. Waiter! Another espresso. And for you?”
“Mineral water,” replied the man as he seated himself opposite Alex.
The waiter returned promptly, and set the drinks between the two men, who regarded each other in silence.
“So, you are successful?” said Dragor eventually. He spoke in a clipped, economical tone; much like some indifferent bank clerk.
“We must of course wait and see, but I am very confident.” Alex spoke slowly; his accent was more pronounced than it had been earlier.
“So there will be no repeat of the Sally Aimes fiasco?” The thin lips of the man seemed to inflect coldness into the words.
“We had all this out before, Dragor. She was just not susceptible to the conditioning — some people aren’t.” He paused as the waiter cruised past on his way to another table. “This one is perfect. I have been working all weekend. There will be no error in the plan; though I still do not agree with it. There must surely be some way, less extreme; less violent?”
“You are fond of the girl perhaps?” asked Dragor, his grey eyes peering over the lid of his briefcase, which he had opened upon the table in front of him. “We must all make sacrifices, Alexi; I do not need remind you of that.” Alex flinched as if the man had stuck a pin in him. Dragor brought out a set of air tickets from the case and handed them to Alex. He closed his case and placed it on the ground beside him.
“The girl is of no consideration,” replied Alex, taking the tickets and placing them inside his jacket. “I am talking about the dangers that will arise if we are successful. If they should bring one back from the Field by mistake — have you considered the consequences?”
“You are rambling again, my friend,” sighed the grey man, holding up his hand to silence Alex. “You seem to forget, we are at war — this very instant. The risks are great; but the prize is greater. If anything should be brought back by mistake, then — certain steps have been taken. You are just a part of a greater machine, as am I; we do not need to know how, but I have been told that it is all taken care of. Nothing will return from the Field, and we will buy time for the battle to come.” He collected his coat from the seat next to him, and picked up his briefcase. “Oh, by the way; just out of interest, what did you use as a trigger in the end?”
“An apple,” replied Alex, his eyes downcast.
“Very poetic,” smiled Dragor as he stood. “God be with you, my friend.” They solemnly embraced once more.
Alex sat back down, and watched the little man hasten away, easily melting into the bustle of people that filled the pavement.
Alex called for the bill, and left a twenty pound note in the saucer.
“Your change, sir!” shouted the waiter, as Alex strode off through the tables. He turned, and stared long into the waiter’s eyes. He was a thin, pasty-faced youth, nervously holding the money out towards Alex.
How long would he last, when the time came, Alex thought to himself.
“Keep it,” he heard himself saying.
“Why, thank you, sir, thank you,” replied the waiter with a grin, and hurried off back to the bar.
Alex, grim-faced, made his way to the taxi-rank nearby, and got into the first car in the queue.
“The airport,” he said in a detached voice, still gazing at the people milling about, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them.
“Off on your holidays?” asked the taxi driver, as they cruised through the streets, Alex still staring morosely out of the window. “Or is it business?”
Alex, shaken from his thought, looked at the reflection of the man’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Business,” he said quietly. “Most definitely business.”