BISENTIENT, page 4
“Please, make yourself comfortable. Mary, may we have some coffee please?”
Gatts noted the unwavering politeness, even to his staff, that he had heard about from those he’d interviewed before.
“So, Mr. Gatts, how can I help you?”
After all Gatts’ preparation and the pages of notes he still carried in his battered briefcase, being in the same room as the Reverend Daniels was causing some unexpected reticence.
“Well, Reverend Daniels, I’m writing an article about you, now that you’re standing for the US Senate seat, and I wanted to just explore why you think you’re the right man for the job.”
This wasn’t the hard-hitting approach to this interview that Gatts had practiced but it was all he could manage for now. Twenty five years as an investigative journalist and this was the big one. He had something, something big, on a prospective US Senator. But he’d have to handle it right. Seated at his imposing dark wood desk Reverend Daniels leaned forwards with his forearms resting on the enormous blotter. The pose and poise could have been taken directly from a State of the Union address or a party political broadcast, even to the point of having the flag of the United States of America in the background.
“All my life, I’ve tried to follow what my momma used to tell me when I was a kid. ‘Ethan,’ she’d say, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.’, Proverbs 3 verses 5 to 6. In my life I’ve found that following that simple guidance has led me through any adversity. It has shown me that I can help people find their own way and that way leads to the Lord.”
“Does that mean that your actions, if elected, will be driven by your faith and not by the will of the people that elected you?” asked Gatts, moving closer to his pre-game plan.
“Now Mr Gatts, we both know that many, perhaps most, of the good people of the state of Texas that will vote for me will be voting for me precisely because I will let the Lord be my guide as I prosecute the office of Senator. I think many folks see the people that claim to represent them on TV and feel betrayed. Once some men get power, they forget how they got it and the promises they made.”
“Alright, so let’s come on to experience, what skills will you bring to public office? You’ve never run a company or held public office of any kind before, do you think you’re up to the job of running a large staff and still being an effective representative of the people?”
Gatts detected the faintest hint of a smile from Rev. Daniels. You may not be smiling in a minute, he thought.
“I may not have run a company or held public office in the past but you are sitting in the home of the Church of the Reclamation. We have a worldwide membership of more than two and a half million spread through forty countries. Now that does require a certain level of leadership and organizational skill and since we are still growing at a rate of more than two hundred thousand new members each year, I would say that this has provided me with some valuable experience. Not only that but the ministries of the Church in foreign lands have given me the opportunity to travel extensively and meet many foreign leaders, who support the work we do in their countries. In many ways, Mr Gatts, I have more relevant experience for helping this country rediscover it’s destiny than any corporate executive, self-made man or lifelong politician could call on.”
Gatts shifted in his seat. He was about to drop his bombshell and he was totally unsure of how the 280-pound giant sitting opposite him would react. If some of his racier research was to be believed he might find himself cowering before a screaming madman in fear for his life. He was unlikely to get another invitation, so this was his only chance.
“Do you know a man named Darrell Vance?” queried Gatts.
There was just the slightest hint of a pause before the Reverend came back.
“What has that got to do with your article, Mr. Gatts?”
“Darrell Vance is the son of the Republican Senator Rupert Vance. According to my sources Darrell had a problem with controlled substances. Two years ago, he was contacted by members of your Church and was a member for a time.”
“I can’t see where you’re going with this, Mr. Gatts.”
“Well, it seems that while he was a member of the Church, his father began to discuss your nomination as a future Republican Candidate for high office with others in the party. Now you will know that Rupert Vance is one of the most respected Republicans of the last forty years and so to have him endorsing you probably ensured your nomination for the Texas seat.”
Rev. Daniels turned his palms upwards.
“I would have to agree that Senator Vance has become a close colleague since I’ve begun to embrace politics. We see eye to eye on most issues. That’s no secret.”
“No, Reverend, that is no secret. What is less well known is that while Darrell Vance was a member of the Church the person who supplied him with the controlled substances, one Ignacio Rodriguez, was found shot dead in his home in North Miami Beach. By a strange coincidence, according to police reports, eyewitnesses saw Rodriguez talking to two men the afternoon before he was killed. Further investigation shows that these men were members of the Church of the Reclamation, working for the Miami Beach branch of the Church at the time.”
Rev. Daniels’ right hand closed into a fist although his demeanor remained calm.
“I’m not aware of any of this.” said Rev. Daniels.
“It’s also true isn’t it that the Church paid for the drug rehabilitation that Darrell underwent in California?”
“That is true, but whenever a member comes to us with problems, we strive to help in any way we possibly can. The evils of drugs are well known but, by the grace of our Lord, we have ways to cure people of this terrible addiction. It was our duty in the name of the Lord to help his fallen son.”
“Perhaps so, but if I was to tell you that these very police reports that described your church members associating with Rodriguez the day he died had mysteriously disappeared, then I’d say we have some interesting areas for speculation, wouldn’t you agree Reverend?”
Gatts was warming to his task now and could feel the adrenaline kicking in.
“I don’t know what you’re implying Mr Gatts and I don’t see how this can be relevant to your article. I thought you came here to talk to me about my ideas for improving the lives of our citizens in this great country of ours not to try a poor attempt at scurrilous muckraking.”
Gatts noticed a new edge to the Reverend’s normally mellow tones.
“On the contrary sir, I see it my duty to outline what I see as at best a piece of opportunism and at worst a piece of coldly calculated manipulation of an elected member of the Senate in pursuit of personal advancement. Until Darrell Vance became a member of your Church, he did not have a drug habit. Nor had his father ever even heard of you, let alone believed you to be the reforming force the Republican Party was looking for.”
“Ok, Mr Gatts I don’t really see any point in continuing this interview.”
The huge frame of Reverend Daniels stood up and moved around his desk.
“Isn’t it true that you persuaded, duped, forced, somehow got Darrell Vance into the Church, then hooked him on drugs and knew you could use it as a lever to influence his father?”
Reverend Daniels now loomed over Gatts and extended one long arm towards the door.
“Mr Gatts, I think we’re done here, if you’d be so kind…”
“Those police reports in Florida. Isn’t it true that a member of the Church, Martina Ruiz, was sleeping with the Lieutenant investigating the Rodriguez murder? What she didn’t know, or the Lieutenant, was that a Sergeant on the investigation made copies of those reports because he thought something was odd and wanted to follow up in his own time.”
A heavy hand landed on Gatts’ shoulder.
“Please, Mr. Gatts, I’m sure the police will investigate if there is anything wrong here. I have nothing to hide but I would ask that you not publish unsubstantiated rumour. I think that someone has seen an opportunity to slur my name and that of the Church, that’s all. Sadly, the forces of evil are abroad, Mr. Gatts, and we must be ever vigilant to avoid their clutches. Have a safe journey home Mr. Gatts, it was nice to meet you.”
No vice-like clasp of the hand, but a powerful arm guided Gatts to the door.
“What about investigating what happened in Miami? Members of your Church implicated in a murder and a conspiracy….how’s that going to play with the electorate?”
Gatts found himself addressing the polished surface of the closed door to Reverend Daniels’ office. He glanced sideways and noticed the receptionist staring at him. After a moment, she returned to her work. Gatts slowly turned and made his way to the elevator. He switched off the digital recorder in his pocket. Daniels was clever, he’d have to give him that. There was nothing on the recorder, but his body language betrayed him. He knew all about it, thought Gatts, but linking him tangibly to this would take more digging.
The pole dancer had already picked him out as a good tipper. Her energies now focused on the tall slim man with the steel rimmed John Lennon glasses. Instead of dollar bills, he was adding tens to the dancer’s thong whenever it was offered within tantalizing reach. Perhaps he’d go for a private dance, real money to be made with this guy. He moved his hand to his shirt pocket and took out a phone. He left his seat and disappeared. Shit, thought the pole dancer, back to the cheapskates and drunks.
The man stepped out a fire door into a deserted alleyway.
“Yes.” he said into the phone.
“We have a problem. I need to see you.”
The man with the John Lennon glasses thought Reverend Daniels sounded worried and that made him worried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ROOM WAS almost completely featureless. Just the basics- floor, ceiling and the regulation four walls to keep them apart. A table and three chairs in the middle and a single door, which Plater was on the inside of.
No texture to the walls, thought Plater. It looked as if they were perfectly smooth. With nothing to look at, Plater began to wonder how the surfaces were so smooth. Whenever he painted walls at home they never looked as good as this.
The door opened and a woman came in. She was striking, with long dark hair. Plater thought he recognized her but couldn’t place where from. She sat on one of the chairs and said:
“Mason, why don’t you sit down?”
“I’m sorry, I know we’ve met but I can’t quite remember where?”
Mason sat opposite the woman. Not having a reliable memory for names was a constant annoyance to him.
“We talked about how it would be hard for you to remember in the beginning. I want to try something to help you.”
“Okay.” said Plater.
The door opened again and a man came in. Small and a little overweight, with bushy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
“This is Raymond.”
“Raymond.” said Plater, shaking hands.
Raymond was wearing some sort of rucksack and he helped Plater put one on as well.
“We think what Raymond has in mind will help you to remember Mason. It’s very important that you remember, okay?”
Plater wasn’t really sure what was going on, but he knew he liked this woman even though her name escaped him.
“Mason, we’re going for a little trip now.” said Raymond.
“It’s very important that you concentrate, can you do that for me?” asked the woman.
“Sure.” said Plater as Raymond took his arm and led him to the door, “I’m sorry but what is your name? It’ll bug the hell out of me if I don’t ask.”
Raymond opened the door.
“It’s Gail, Gail Hartston.”
Raymond suddenly shoved Plater hard through the doorway. The rush of air and the shock of falling caused Plater to cry out. His arms flailed as if trying to grab onto something, his legs thrashing against nothing. The noise of the wind rushing past his ears was overwhelming. He tumbled and spun, then seemed to steady for a moment. As he stared at the ground rushing up to greet him, he could see words written in what must have been huge letters to be readable so high up. As he wondered why someone had written words on the ground like that he woke up.
In less than a second or so, Plater had realized that he was sitting up in bed, was sweating enough that he could taste a drop on his lips and that he had to remember something.
He grabbed his watch off the side table. It was approaching four a.m. He felt an urge to write or draw or something. He leapt off the bed and scrabbled around the bedroom looking for paper and something to write with. Finding nothing, he ended up in the sitting room with an old ballpoint and the back of an A4 envelope. For some time, he drew on the back of the envelope, just adding lines and shapes with quick, comfortable strokes of the pen. When he was done, he looked at it. This had something to do with what he had to remember but it just looked like shapes and lines on paper to Plater. He turned the envelope around to each different angle but still made no sense of it. Angry and frustrated, he threw the pen against the wall and clutched his head. The ache was better, not so ever present as it had been but still there. He took another pill with a handful of water from the kitchen tap. He splashed cold water on his face. Whatever he did, he couldn’t shake the belief that he had to remember something and the shapes on the envelope were the key.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZACH PICKED UP the letter again and glanced through it. He wasn’t sure whether he should do it or not. It sounded like a promotion; it certainly involved more cash but there was something about it that sounded dodgy. Braberson’s signature was on the bottom, and it was on official stationery, but this didn’t sound like your typical Civil Service project. Mind you the current project was hardly normal. Trying to detect some sort of telepathic communication between humans wasn’t what he’d expected to be doing after his Computer Science degree at Cambridge. Especially when he’d signed up for the Government. He thought maybe something in defence doing battlefield simulations or perhaps in some sort of cyber security role.
“You got one too.” said Meek, who had wandered up behind Zach without him noticing.
“Jeez! Shouldn’t you wear a bell or something….” said Zach, instinctively folding the letter.
“You gonna do it?” asked Meek.
“Dunno.” replied Zach.
“Where the hell is Blythburgh?” asked Meek, unfolding his letter from Braberson that he’d been carrying in his rear jeans pocket.
“Suffolk.” said Zach.
“Middle of nowhere then.” said Meek. “Bet the net access is lousy out there.”
“So, you gonna sign up?” asked Zach.
“You kidding? Dunno about you but they’re offering me 20% more. I could use the extra cash, there’s a circuit board I need from Korea but it’s five hundred quid, not counting shipping.”
“But it means spending…” Zach looked at the letter again “…eight weeks to start with and then there might be additional periods ‘…as the work dictates.’ Whatever that means. Since Government projects never finish on time we could be stuck out there for months.”
“Afraid your little orcs and dwarves won’t be able to manage without you?” said Meek, already taking evasive action as Zach reached for his nerf gun. He loosed off a single sponge missile but it flew harmlessly out the office door. Meek was retreating along the corridor to his workshop.
Zach picked up the letter again and looked through it. So Meek was getting 20% more. Zach was promised 30% more and an additional bonus of 15% if the project was completed ahead of time. He grinned and folded the letter into his pocket. Worth a shot. Surely, they had decent broadband in Blythburgh, right?
Zach needn’t have worried. The new location just outside Blythburgh was an old radar station that hadn’t been used since the 1950s. It held a group of three buildings; one housed the laboratory, one the patients and the other was living quarters for the twenty or so personnel. Zach only recognized three of the others, including Meek. Once he’d been shown his own room, he was quick to plug his laptop into the fast Ethernet connection. Impressive. Apart from being behind the standard UK Government firewall, the detected speed was hovering around 10Gbps, certainly faster than the best public networks. Cool. Zach had no reason to believe that his homegrown software would have any more difficulty slipping out of the firewall onto the internet from here than he’d had in London. He tutted to himself. They should have assigned me to cyber security, he mused. He decided he needed some food and that meant exploring the communal kitchen.
Meek was already monopolizing the four-ring stove; the smells from the three saucepans were mysterious to Zach, but not in a good way.
“What the hell are you making?” asked Zach.
“Something that is healthy, nutritious and organically grown.” said Meek, “I wouldn’t expect a carnivore such as yourself to appreciate a balanced diet.”
“I wouldn’t call an obsession with beans and lentils all that balanced.” said Zach “Ah, the four major food groups…”
He pulled a meat-laden pizza from the chest freezer and ripped open the box.
“What’s your setup like?” inquired Meek “My lab’s pretty well stocked.”
“It’ll do.”
“Do you know that guy with the limp?” asked Meek.
“Nah, seen him before though, he came in when we had that out of band result last August. What’s his speciality?”
“That’s the thing.” said Meek, stopping his incessant stirring and facing Zach, “He specializes in implants.”
“Implants?”
“Yeah, he was the guy that put chips in his own body back in the day, remember?”
“You mean before it became standard issue for the spooks?”
