Brock Steele Sphere Page 3

  Inside, he threw his body onto the bed. Jolts of pain pulsated through his leg as he eyeballed the ceiling, watching it rotate strangely as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Chapter 4

  Sighrus climbed into the white van, perching on a small black leather chair in front of a tiny metal desk filled with equipment and a microphone. Two operators sat at other small desks inside the van, glancing into blinking black-and-white screens. The detective, in his grey suit, stood upright towards the back of the van, gawking at the sight in front of him. Sighrus stood up, straightening his black suit. He was tall at six foot three inches, and he arched his head as he manoeuvred himself towards his assistant, Martha. She was an attractive woman in her thirties with thick dark-blue spectacles. A blue ribbon was tied across her long blonde hair to hold it into place. She pulled off her black jacket, adjusting her white blouse for comfort, and shot Sighrus a glance.

  “He’s entered 13a, sir.”

  The detective coughed, squinting at Sighrus. “This is highly irregular. You should have allowed my officers to pull him, take him down the police station.”

  “He’s a very dangerous man,” said Sighrus.

  “Then he should be in custody. Not gallivanting around his apartment.”

  Sighrus ducked his head stomping back to his seat. He picked up some notes and examined them closely. The detective anxiously hovered over him. Martha fiddled with her earpiece and aligned her CCTV screen so it faced her dead on. The other assistant shot Martha a glance, and she clicked several buttons.

  “It’s all set, sir,” said Martha.

  “This man should be questioned in an interrogation room,” the detective blustered. “Who gave you this authority? I’m pulling police support.”

  Sighrus ignored him, twiddling with some earphones and leaning forward to tap a microphone sitting in front of him.

  “OK you’re live, sir.”

  Sighrus leaned into the microphone, and his finger pushed one of the earphones in further. “Mr Steele?”

  There was silence. Martha fiddled with some wiring underneath her desk and studied the monitor.

  “Everything is live, sir.”

  “Mr Steele, are you there?”

  Crackling sounded through their earpieces and a faint voice spluttered out. Sighrus briefly closed his eyes and pulled the corner of his mouth into a slight smile. He shot a glance towards the detective and continued into the microphone.

  “What’s your terrorist name, Mr Steele?”

  Sergeant Reece’s mouth fell slightly open as he glared at Sighrus. Martha glanced over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows at him. A prominent beep sounded through the earpiece and all three of them shuffled around on their seats. Sighrus flicked the microphone off.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  The assistant pulled at the wires, inspecting them.

  “Not sure,” Martha said. “Probably just a glitch in the system, sir. It should be OK now.”

  “Well, try and find out what it is. We don’t want him to snap out of this or he might remember.”

  Martha nodded at the assistant frantically running his hands along the wires, closely inspecting them. Sighrus cleared his throat and leaned forward, flicking the microphone on again.

  “Mr Steele? Who is the MI5 mole?”

  The faint, panicking voice spluttered through the earpiece, “Oh no, the wall is talking again. Please stop.”

  “Mr Steele, tell me who the mole is.”

  The detective’s posture stiffened as he watched Sighrus’s every move. The earpiece crackled again and a series of bangs came through it.

  “He’s off the bed throwing items around. Sir, we need to cool down a bit or we will lose him.”

  “Are you feeling alright, Mr Steele?”

  “I don’t know … it’s my head. I think I’m crazy”.

  “Tell me where the USB is and everything will be OK.”

  “Who the hell are you? And where are you? What are you people talking about? Leave me alone.”

  “You’re lying, Mr Steele.”

  The detective stepped forward. On the black-and-white monitor in front of him, several men were on a street holding guns.

  “Why are you asking him these kind of questions? This kind of thing should be done in a controlled environment. And would someone like to explain to me why armed men are patrolling this street? I didn’t authorise this.”

  Sighrus gave him a withering stare. “Shh. Mr Steele, tell us where you hid the USB or we will kill you.”

  The detective’s eyes widened and he stamped across the floor towards Sighrus. “This is outrageous. The poor lad isn’t in a stable state as it is. I suggest you pull this operation immediately, and if you are so concerned about him, have him arrested or sectioned instead.”

  “If we pull him,” Sighrus growled, “we could lose track of his accomplices.”

  Chapter 5

  He pressed the buzzer eagerly, anticipating a voice blasting out the intercom at any moment. But holding his ear against it to shield out the wind and traffic, he barely heard the woman’s voice crackling through.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Audrey.”

  The door gave out an almighty click followed by a buzz, and Brock pushed himself through the bright white hallway, stepping onto a staircase in front. As he started to climb, the door behind banged shut, silencing the deafening traffic outside. Climbing further upwards, his pulse beating faster, he reached the first floor. He pushed the door marked Missing Persons Bureau, but it was locked. He knocked and another buzz let him through.

  “Hello, Brock. Please take a seat. Audrey will be with you momentarily. I do hope you found us easily.”

  “It was alright.”

  Perched on the beige settee in the dazzling lit reception area, he gazed at the huge paintings on the wall. A woman in a grey suit and bold black glasses appeared in the doorway, smiling.

  “You must be Brock. Nice to finally meet you. Please, follow me.”

  She led him into a white corridor, paintings hung either side, and he followed her through a hallway with doors leading off both sides. At the end of the corridor, Audrey pulled open a door. “This way.”

  They stepped into a tiny office. Audrey reached up to the files on one of the shelves; they were packed full. A computer screen and keyboard faced them, and they both sank into the two cushioned chairs.

  “Hope you found us OK. I noticed you were limping and you have a cut on your face. None of my business, but is everything alright?” she asked.

  Brock nodded ; he didn’t know what to expect, but Audrey seemed nice enough.

  “Please let me know how I can help you,” she said.

  “Well, err, I’m looking to track my parents down,” says Brock. “And, err, Meriden said you might be able to help.”

  “Oh him, I know Meriden.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, then grabbed some files on her desk and straightened them up. “Quite an unusual request. Normally it’s the other way around. When was the last time you saw your parents in the flesh, so to speak?”

  Brock rolled his shoulders and leaned towards her. “Ah, you see, it’s a bit difficult, because I don’t know.”

  “So, you have never seen your parents?”

  “Not exactly. Maybe … I’ll start from the beginning. About nine months ago, I was badly attacked on Hampstead Heath. I ended up in a coma for about three months.”

  Audrey looked up, her eyes wide.

  Brock continued to talk. “Thing is, I cannot remember a thing—who I am, who anyone is. And nobody has been in contact with me. And I don’t know where my parents live. The whole fiasco feels strange.”

  “I can imagine. This must be an awful experience. What can you tell me about them?” Audrey wrinkled her forehead and gla
nced at Brock, who was perched on the chair with a blank look on his face. She leaned over to the desk, clicking the computer on.

  “Let me input some details into our computer. What’s your address?”

  Brock took a pen and scribbled it down, then passed it over to her. She whizzed her fingers across the keyboard.

  “We’ll have to give it a moment, I’m afraid. This stupid computer is really slow. What about photos and documentation?”

  Brock shook his head. “You know what? No, nothing. I never realised this before—there is absolutely nothing on them at all. Either I’m a minimalist or it’s all chucked. Strange …”

  Audrey swept some files away from her, glancing at the computer screen. “Mm, your address didn’t generate anything. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal in a place like this. The boss has probably been messing with it again. I’ll try it again in a minute. Tell me about your work. Did you go straight back to your job?”

  Brock gave Audrey a look of disbelief. “My job? I … it never crossed my mind to go back. I wouldn’t have known what it was. Nobody contacted me. Several weeks after leaving the hospital I met a couple of Russian guys in a bar in Camden. We got into conversation, turns out he was manager of a gym in central London. He was looking to train up a personal trainer, and me being desperate jumped at the chance.”

  Audrey started typing and staring at the computer screen. “I’ve input your data again and it’s still not generating anything. The computer has formed us a case. In the meantime, perhaps have a chat with your neighbours and anyone else who comes to mind. Maybe even pop to the police station—they might be able to throw some light on something. Our system usually throws up old employment, schools and the like, but it appears to be throwing up nothing in this case. Our computer system does have a mind of its own, though.

  “Hopefully soon we should acquire some in-depth information. If it doesn’t, we can do it manually. I suggest you leave it with me, I’ll be in touch very soon,” she said.

  “I’ll try to chat with the neighbours. The truth is, I never see them.”

  “Don’t worry, London is like banging your head against the wall sometimes.”

  Brock forced in a deep breath, screwing up his forehead and glaring at the wall. He’d completely forgotten something, something he urgently needed to check.

  “You OK, Brock?”

  “Everything is fine. Thanks.”

  Brock’s feet sank into the soggy grass of the park. An occasional leaf fluttered into his face as he stood examining the police station opposite. Holding his voice recorder tightly to his ear, he pressed the button. It beeped, setting it in motion, and there it all was. Everything that had happened yesterday had happened. It wasn’t the wall; it wasn’t him. Somebody had been talking to him through the wall.

  He stepped slowly from the park onto a quiet pavement, staring at the police station, standing in anticipation. He meandered across the road up to its big glass door, stepping in. A strong whiff of detergent met his nose. Signs and information stickers were plastered across the walls, and to his left was a thick glass screen. Behind it, a woman in police uniform attire sat.

  “What do you want?” She glared at him as he wandered towards the warm air stream from the blow heater directly above.

  “I wondered if you would be able to assist me. I was attacked about nine months ago …”

  “Shame they never killed you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Even if I wanted to help you, which I most certainly don’t, our system is down and we’re locked out until the engineer arrives.”

  “Who said we need the system? I only want to talk to someone.”

  “No one is available.”

  Brock clocked a man hiding behind one of the doors, stepping back to where he came from quickly when he caught Brock’s eye. Brock glanced at the CCTV above the desk window and then looked the policewoman right in the eyes.

  “I want to see someone.”

  She shrugged. “You got a problem, Brock, go see a doctor. We’re busy. Get out.”

  “How did you know my name?”

  She didn’t answer. He raised his eyebrows at her, snatching at some leaflets hung from a box attached to the wall and throwing them violently into the air.

  “Tell me what happened. I just want to get on with my life!”

  She stood up, gaping at the leaflets falling to the ground. “So do we. Now get out! You’re not welcome here.”

  Brock slammed the leaflet box with his fist, causing it to rip. She scowled at him, pressing a red button on top of the desk.

  “You people make me sick!” he shouted. He yanked open the glass door, storming out and taking a huge gasp of autumn air. He’d barely made it from the door to the pavement when a man of average height in a smart grey suit walked directly in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

  “We need to talk. But not here.” He dug into his grey suit pocket, pulling out a card and wafting it in front of Brock’s face. “Take this and give me a call tomorrow. It’s important. You’d better go.”

  Chapter 6

  Brock was limping around the gym like crazy all day. Gunner phoned in sick, the cleaner didn’t show up, and Sergei was acting his usual self: a total ass. Brock was sick of this rigmarole. Decision made: he would write something up this week and officially hand in his notice. As he ploughed around the gym, his sore body was in near collapse. The gym floor doors flung open and Lacy stomped through for her 6 p.m. yoga session, raising a few eyebrows with the guys. He didn’t know how she’d got the bare cheek to show her face, but he waited. She sneered at him, pulling her mouth into the semblance of a smile, sashaying across the floor as though she was doing a mocking tap dance at him. He made his way over to her, but the main doors flung open and a red-faced Sarah stormed into the gym floor.

  “I followed you to work this morning. You were limping all the way!” shouted Lacy.

  “Just leave it, Lacy,” interrupted Sarah, barging towards them. “I’ve had a great day out at my favourite place and I don’t want to hear this.”

  “I hurt my leg because you put something illegal into my drink,” Brock said. “Why did you do it?”

  “Talking about illegalities … you’ve been doing something illegal. The police were following you this morning.”

  “Utter claptrap,” said Brock. “They were probably looking for the random drink spiker.”

  “I think you should both shut up.” Sarah said. “Let’s get to class or we’ll be late. Stop encouraging her, Brock, she’s been on about this rubbish all day. I don’t believe her anyway.”

  “I’m telling you, the police were all over him this morning. Four undercover plain-clothed officers talking into their radios. He’s a person of interest. Seriously!”

  “You’re a liar and the only criminal around here, spiking innocent people’s drinks. I could have died that night, and what you’ve done is disgraceful. You bring shame on Sarah.”

  “I doubt she spiked your drink, “ Sarah said. “She wouldn’t do a silly thing like this, and I don’t believe police followed you this morning either. Now we should go to class. Come on, Lacy.”

  Sarah headed in the direction of the changing rooms, and turned to shoot Lacy a look. “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”

  Brock grabbed the kettle, pouring its hot, steamy water over a spoonful of coffee in a fat white mug. What Lacy had said bothered him—and bothered him a lot. When he slipped into the practically empty gym after he had finished his coffee, it was getting late. With only a few minutes of his shift left, he’d no intentions of staying on. The locker room door swung open and Sarah appeared in a white dress as though she was going out to a club.

  “I could have sworn I saw you both leave earlier,” Brock called from the other side of the room. “It’s unusually late for you to be here. Lacy in the changing room
s, is she?”

  As Sarah moved closer to him, he looked deep into her eyes, his heart uncontrollably pumping faster as he scrambled for something else to say.

  “We both left. I came back, fancied a hot sauna. I let Lacy believe I jumped onto the Tube. She was rushing home to feed the dog.”

  “You OK, Sarah? You sound a bit …”

  “Not really. Me and Lacy had a blazing row.”

  “I’ve about finished my shift. Do you want to go out for a little drink and a bite to eat? I’d like to buy you a drink.”

  “No, Brock, I told you earlier. I have to concentrate on my career. I don’t want to be a crappy dogsbody all my life.”

  “I’m only offering you a drink, and you look like you need one. And I thought you were a qualified medical receptionist.”

  “I wish! I’m far from qualified, just a mere assistant in that hospital. With all my knowledge I could do the community a great favour, but instead I feel so wasted. Fine, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “Great, I’ll get my stuff. Wait here.”

  Brock dived across the floor into the staff room. Sergei was slumped over the grey chair, sipping a can of cola, his empty pizza box thrown across the worktop.

  “Where do you think you’re going? We need to close this gym, and there’s only me and you left.”

  “Good luck with that one.”

  Brock pushed himself through the door, catching his leg, and limped across the gym floor and back to Sarah.

  “Ready?”

  She picked up her bag and they headed towards the reception, Sergei hovering over the office door and screaming at Brock as they went.

  They stepped out into the colourfully lit square and its bustling nightlife. As they battled through the crowds at a snail’s pace, they finally exited the square into a busy main road.

  “We could take a stroll over that beautiful bridge down there. There’s a nice restaurant, and I could easily get a table,” Sarah said.