CHAPTER 3
What persuades a person to give up everything of the life he has known to work for a man he has only just met? Six years after the fact, Brian was still not entirely sure although he felt certain that it had something to do with loss. Whereas at the age of seventeen Brian’s unkempt ambitions were unconstrained by the shackles of reality, three years later his desire was singular and uninspired. He wanted her to return.
Certainly he would never have given up the chance of a life with Nathalie, even for someone who promised him the opportunity to "save an unknowing world from an unthinkable fate."
Brian had once read of a tribe who viewed the process of falling in love as akin to pouring water from two separate jugs into the same bowl. Furthermore, they expressed this idea literally within the marriage ceremony. While he considered this idea romantic, it also made Brian contemplate the fact that he had less to offer Nathalie then she would give him. On the scales of love, his money weighed far less than her beauty. If Nathalie had tried to quantify the unquantifiable in such a way she would have reached the very opposite conclusion, but Brian would never know this since he felt expressing these thoughts in actual conversations could only be to his detriment.
Nevertheless, after two months of excruciating loneliness Brian was ready to be proactive and if fate decreed that his proactivity necessitated saving the world then so be it. Picturing his imaginary scales, Brian had estimated that saving an unsuspecting world from malign influences might well equate to the softness of Nathalie’s caramel skin, or perhaps the gentle lilt of her voice.
He did not know how the Englishman had found him, nor could he guess how he had managed to come equipped with knowledge of his experiments. Neither mattered. He simply let him in, offered him a cup of coffee, agreed to make him a cup of tea, realised he had no tea, was told that coffee was fine, realised he had no coffee, was told not to worry, sat down and listened to all that the patient Englishman had to say:
"There are over six billion people on this planet. Fewer than half a dozen of them know that which I am about to tell you. Do you believe in any conspiracy theories, Brian?"
Brian said nothing. The Englishman continued.
"Do you believe that the Apollo Moon Landings took place in a television studio? Do you believe that Oil Companies have sat upon the discovery of a fuel-source which is cheaper, cleaner and safer than any other in order to guarantee their profits? Do you believe that the Catholic Church has deliberately and systematically concealed information for the past two thousand years?"
"No."
"No? Good. The reason why the vast majority of conspiracy theories fall down is that they rely on large numbers of people being able to keep a secret. The truth is that secrecy is a skill which very few people master. If the moon landings were faked, how many of the workers at NASA would have had to have kept that secret? Just imagine how much money newspapers would pay for a scoop like that. Nevertheless there are people who can keep a secret. And there are secrets worth keeping."
The Englishman paused and studied Brian. What he saw surprised him, but it pleased him immensely. He saw hope. Brian had chosen to wallow in self-pity for sixty-seven days in a row, even though he had decided to follow the path to self-improvement after a mere seventeen days reflection. Self-improvement would ordinarily require internal motivation and self-discipline. Here there seemed to be a chance that it might just mean doing whatever the Englishman told him to do.
"Do you recognise the phrase ‘the sum of human knowledge’?"
"Yes."
"What do you take that phrase to mean?"
"Well, it means all of the information that mankind has discovered over the course of his existence."
"Does it? Would you say that the ability to make visible matter invisible ought to be included in the sum of human knowledge?"
Brian’s face had turned a whiter shade of pale at this question. He now wondered why he had let this man into his house.
"Please don’t be alarmed Brian. Your secret is quite safe with me. I was simply making the point that there are discoveries that man has made that are far from common knowledge."
"How do you know about that?"
Brian realised that his initial reaction had given him little or no chance of bluffing ignorance. He had only ever told one person of his discovery. Nathalie had reacted in the most wonderful way imaginable. She had been genuinely fascinated.
"It is better that you don’t know."
At the time, that had seemed by far the least satisfactory answer that Brian had ever received. Arguably the slap he had received from Lydia Seymour after he had drunkenly been persuaded to ask her if he could "see more of Lydia" came close, but at least that had had the virtue of being straightforward and honest. If Brian had discovered the answer, he would have known why Nathalie had to leave. Six years later he was still wholly ignorant. The Englishman continued as if nothing else had been said:
"Who do you believe keeps you safe at night?"
"Well, the police."
It sounded wrong as Brian said it, but he had a feeling that obvious yet incorrect answers would please the Englishman more than if he had answered ‘Secret forces with secret powers of secrecy.’
"They play a part, of course, as do the security services, but they are not alone. There are those who operate away from the mainstream. They aim to disrupt the normal workings of society in ways that are subtler and more insidious than the regular security services could possibly imagine. The purpose of the organisation that I run is to ensure that these forces fail. I believe that you have a role to play in our team."
*****
Helena stared at the man who had removed her freedom and tried hard to reconcile his actions with his personality. She had seen plenty of films in which a witty, urbane Englishman had kept hidden his diabolical character behind a sophisticated mask of charm and yet such a stereotype did not sit comfortably on this man’s shoulders. He spoke matter-of-factly. Having decided that he required her for a job, he had done what was necessary to have her brought to him. His tone was not threatening, but respectful.
"Why me?"
*****
"I still don’t like it, sir."
David lay flat on his stomach, looking down on the small, blonde woman as she prepared her escape. He still did not entirely approve of the plan but as he had been unable to devise a better alternative, he was fully committed to it. It had been his idea that Helena should dispose of Brian’s impersonator. There was a pleasing symmetry to the idea. On the same day that Helena was to be brought into the fold, another ‘temporary activist’ would be removed. The timing was right.
When Brian had joined the organisation, the Englishman had decided that it would be productive for ‘Brian Taylor’ to remain an active member of mainstream society. Thus Brian’s first job was to train the man who would take his place. It was helpful, from the Englishman’s perspective, that Brian’s parents were dead and that he had very few friends. Moving city would be quite enough to ensure that he was unrecognised. Brian had protested that his face was a matter of public record, but the Englishman had quietly explained to him that no one would assume that the man who began work at Neurocorp was anyone other than Brian Taylor:
"People only start looking for something when they’re given reason to believe that there is something to hide."
*****
Certainly he would never have given up the chance of a life with Nathalie, even for someone who promised him the opportunity to "save an unknowing world from an unthinkable fate."
Brian had once read of a tribe who viewed the process of falling in love as akin to pouring water from two separate jugs into the same bowl. Furthermore, they expressed this idea literally within the marriage ceremony. While he considered this idea romantic, it also made Brian contemplate the fact that he had less to offer Nathalie then she would give him. On the scales of love, his money weighed far less than her beauty. If Nathalie had tried to quantify the unquantifiable in such a way she would have reached the very opposite conclusion, but Brian would never know this since he felt expressing these thoughts in actual conversations could only be to his detriment.
Nevertheless, after two months of excruciating loneliness Brian was ready to be proactive and if fate decreed that his proactivity necessitated saving the world then so be it. Picturing his imaginary scales, Brian had estimated that saving an unsuspecting world from malign influences might well equate to the softness of Nathalie’s caramel skin, or perhaps the gentle lilt of her voice.
He did not know how the Englishman had found him, nor could he guess how he had managed to come equipped with knowledge of his experiments. Neither mattered. He simply let him in, offered him a cup of coffee, agreed to make him a cup of tea, realised he had no tea, was told that coffee was fine, realised he had no coffee, was told not to worry, sat down and listened to all that the patient Englishman had to say:
"There are over six billion people on this planet. Fewer than half a dozen of them know that which I am about to tell you. Do you believe in any conspiracy theories, Brian?"
Brian said nothing. The Englishman continued.
"Do you believe that the Apollo Moon Landings took place in a television studio? Do you believe that Oil Companies have sat upon the discovery of a fuel-source which is cheaper, cleaner and safer than any other in order to guarantee their profits? Do you believe that the Catholic Church has deliberately and systematically concealed information for the past two thousand years?"
"No."
"No? Good. The reason why the vast majority of conspiracy theories fall down is that they rely on large numbers of people being able to keep a secret. The truth is that secrecy is a skill which very few people master. If the moon landings were faked, how many of the workers at NASA would have had to have kept that secret? Just imagine how much money newspapers would pay for a scoop like that. Nevertheless there are people who can keep a secret. And there are secrets worth keeping."
The Englishman paused and studied Brian. What he saw surprised him, but it pleased him immensely. He saw hope. Brian had chosen to wallow in self-pity for sixty-seven days in a row, even though he had decided to follow the path to self-improvement after a mere seventeen days reflection. Self-improvement would ordinarily require internal motivation and self-discipline. Here there seemed to be a chance that it might just mean doing whatever the Englishman told him to do.
"Do you recognise the phrase ‘the sum of human knowledge’?"
"Yes."
"What do you take that phrase to mean?"
"Well, it means all of the information that mankind has discovered over the course of his existence."
"Does it? Would you say that the ability to make visible matter invisible ought to be included in the sum of human knowledge?"
Brian’s face had turned a whiter shade of pale at this question. He now wondered why he had let this man into his house.
"Please don’t be alarmed Brian. Your secret is quite safe with me. I was simply making the point that there are discoveries that man has made that are far from common knowledge."
"How do you know about that?"
Brian realised that his initial reaction had given him little or no chance of bluffing ignorance. He had only ever told one person of his discovery. Nathalie had reacted in the most wonderful way imaginable. She had been genuinely fascinated.
"It is better that you don’t know."
At the time, that had seemed by far the least satisfactory answer that Brian had ever received. Arguably the slap he had received from Lydia Seymour after he had drunkenly been persuaded to ask her if he could "see more of Lydia" came close, but at least that had had the virtue of being straightforward and honest. If Brian had discovered the answer, he would have known why Nathalie had to leave. Six years later he was still wholly ignorant. The Englishman continued as if nothing else had been said:
"Who do you believe keeps you safe at night?"
"Well, the police."
It sounded wrong as Brian said it, but he had a feeling that obvious yet incorrect answers would please the Englishman more than if he had answered ‘Secret forces with secret powers of secrecy.’
"They play a part, of course, as do the security services, but they are not alone. There are those who operate away from the mainstream. They aim to disrupt the normal workings of society in ways that are subtler and more insidious than the regular security services could possibly imagine. The purpose of the organisation that I run is to ensure that these forces fail. I believe that you have a role to play in our team."
Sitting in his parents’ house – it was technically his now although he still felt no sense of ownership – Brian lacked the stomach to move on with his life. His moment of clarity was not based on a desire to make a difference, the promise of a state of the art laboratory or the opportunity to harness his talents for the forces of good. Rather it was based on a profound belief that, with no knowledge of when he might hope to see Nathalie again, he was unlikely to ever find the motivation to go outside ever again unless he did as the Englishman suggested and joined his organisation.
*****
Helena stared at the man who had removed her freedom and tried hard to reconcile his actions with his personality. She had seen plenty of films in which a witty, urbane Englishman had kept hidden his diabolical character behind a sophisticated mask of charm and yet such a stereotype did not sit comfortably on this man’s shoulders. He spoke matter-of-factly. Having decided that he required her for a job, he had done what was necessary to have her brought to him. His tone was not threatening, but respectful.
"Why me?"
"You had the right profile."
"What sort of profile?"
"You’re a woman. You’re highly secretive. You hold a preference for utilising knives as opposed to guns, you have no previous agenda –"
"- And you’re white."
Helena turned to see the six foot four inch black man whose entrance she had failed to notice. She recognised him as the man who had shot her. She had not initially realised quite how physically imposing he was. He was smiling. Helena was reminded of the last time she had seen that smile. Clearly this was a man who loved his job.
"I’m white. So what?"
"Well, you see my dear, the invisibilisation process –"
The Englishman pursed his lips slightly as if to indicate that he found ‘invisibilisation’ to be a grammatically ugly word which he chose to avoid using whenever possible.
"- that we use does not work for those with black skin."
He spoke delicately, as if anxious of causing offence. Evidently murder and kidnap were less troubling to his conscience than a perceived racial slight. The next voice was more confident:
"Do you know what melanin is?"
Helena nodded.
"It’s the pigment that causes black skin to be black."
"Right. Melanin blocks the process. Seems that it acts as a counteragent. That’s why we needed you."
*****
Three Months Earlier
"I still don’t like it, sir."
"You’ve registered your objection, David. I accept that bringing her in will be a risk, but I believe it to be a worthwhile one. We must have that information. Without it all of the work that we do here would be for nothing. The COA cannot possibly be allowed to gain any further ground."
"I agree, sir, but this cannot be the only option. Are we absolutely certain that we have exhausted all other possibilities?"
"There are no other options."
It was so rare for the Englishman to raise his voice that David found himself momentarily taken aback.
"I’m sorry David, but I have made my decision. Once we have made the other arrangements we will bring in this woman, persuade her to help us and gain the information we need. It must be done."
*****
Thirty-six Hours Earlier
David lay flat on his stomach, looking down on the small, blonde woman as she prepared her escape. He still did not entirely approve of the plan but as he had been unable to devise a better alternative, he was fully committed to it. It had been his idea that Helena should dispose of Brian’s impersonator. There was a pleasing symmetry to the idea. On the same day that Helena was to be brought into the fold, another ‘temporary activist’ would be removed. The timing was right.
When Brian had joined the organisation, the Englishman had decided that it would be productive for ‘Brian Taylor’ to remain an active member of mainstream society. Thus Brian’s first job was to train the man who would take his place. It was helpful, from the Englishman’s perspective, that Brian’s parents were dead and that he had very few friends. Moving city would be quite enough to ensure that he was unrecognised. Brian had protested that his face was a matter of public record, but the Englishman had quietly explained to him that no one would assume that the man who began work at Neurocorp was anyone other than Brian Taylor:
"People only start looking for something when they’re given reason to believe that there is something to hide."
Brian was not to know that the COA were behind Neurocorp and that over the last six years, the Organisation had been able to benefit greatly from having a man on the inside. Nevertheless, it would now be even more useful if Brian Taylor did not officially exist and so the move was made.
Gaining sight of the blonde for the second time, David was able to affirm to himself that he liked the way she moved. Then he shot her in the shoulder. Given the range, visibility and necessary accuracy of his shot, David allowed himself a quick surge of pride. Having fired two shots at the fire escape – in order that Helena should not realise that his real task was already complete – he quickly packed away the tools of his trade.
*****
At close quarters, David considered that Helena was indeed a very fine looking woman. It would be a shame to have to kill her, but his boss was right. It must be done.
posted by Edward Mann at 10:09 AM
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