Alan caught a tube at St James’s Park, hoping for a few minutes of relaxation following the day’s relentless strain. The police interview in particular had left him shattered, but the revelations of earlier still formed the nub of his anxiety. Right now, all he wanted to do was ride a tube with his eyes closed, and his thoughts shut down. Unfortunately his timing was off, and he found himself standing, grappling with a dense mass of evening commuters. There was also an atrocious armpit smell. Oh God! To Alan’s horror, he realized that he was the source of the stink!
Nineteen unpleasant minutes later he alighted at Tower Hill and rode an escalator to fresh air.
His apartment was part of a recent build on the north bank of the Thames near the Tower of London. He entered and gratefully closed the front door behind him. He sighed and closed his eyes but then promptly reopened them again to study his surroundings, as though seeing them for the very first time: how remarkably sterile, he thought. No pictures on the wall, minimal furnishings, a pristine kitchen completely devoid of food, except for the leftovers of takeaways. No neighbours. No one above or below him, either. Most of the units in the building were owned by speculative Chinese property companies that bought this kind of stock all over London. They never bothered to live in them and often did not even rent them out, in case there was an opportunity to sell again at short notice.
This had been his life. No, work had been his life. This was where he slept his dreamless sleep. He took a long shower and changed into some fresh clothes.
His intercom buzzed.
‘Agh!!!’ he screamed. He could not take another session with the police, but… he’d have to answer it:
‘What!!??’
‘Hi, Alan, it’s Helen, can I come in?’
‘Huh? How did you– oh, never mind… come on up.’
Helen Warner entered the flat and appeared to reach the same conclusions as Alan.
‘Ah, the bohemian lifestyle of the carefree hybrid! You must put me in touch with your interior designer.’
Alan nodded. ‘I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t have anything in. Err, what is it you want, Helen?’
‘Right now? To get out of this apartment. I also want to apologize for my rudeness earlier. What is it they always say: don’t shoot the messenger? I believe I was guilty of that.’
‘Hmm,’ said Alan, regarding Warner, ‘forget it. Have you had time to consider things, come up with any solutions, maybe?’
Warner shrugged: ‘“Solutions” is perhaps too strong a word for it but I have decided to go down fighting. I’ve come around to your view regarding “interventions” with the you-know-what…’ She cast another disapproving eye over Alan’s apartment: ‘Let’s get out of here!’
Alan agreed and followed Warner out of the apartment block. They both walked over to the quayside and took in the river scenes ahead: a small boat puttered about nearby; diesel fumes hung in the air. Warner idly regarded The Shard directly across the water.
‘Got anything over there?’ asked Alan.
‘Hmm? No. I considered buying one of the luxury apartments near the top, but they’re like your flat, just more lavish and with worse vertigo. Oh! By the way, talking of “interventions” did you enjoy mine earlier?’
‘…My legal team?’
‘Your legal team! It was a chance to road test our psynet. You noticed how quickly it forged a path through their bureaucracy? In seconds they were turfing you out the front door, haha!’
‘Good timing as well! Things were just starting to get– you weren’t behind the mirror, were you?’ asked Alan.
‘I tapped into the cameras. No audio, but it looked like you needed rescuing. Besides, only after you left the restaurant did it occur to me that your new tendency to blurt could land us all in hot water. We can’t have the British state getting its hands on the psynet! Can you imagine the carnage!?’
Alan shrugged in agreement.
‘However,’ continued Warner, ‘I have changed my view regarding how we deal with the state, all of them.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, before, I intended to reintroduce something similar to the Sponsor programme, leaving the state continually tangled up in legal red tape.’
‘Yeah, that still sounds good to me,’ remarked Alan.
‘Yes, but it’s too slow for our needs. If we are going to build expensive Sponsor technology and put it into space, we’ll need a strong state that itself can push aside bureaucracy.’
‘I see,’ said Alan.
‘The levers of power now reside with our Prime Minister, and he seems to know it. The fella’s not as dumb as I thought. We need to nurture his power, and direct it where it is needed.’
‘Hmm,’ said Alan, noncommittally.
‘I’m wondering whether he, and he alone, should be brought into the loop,’ remarked Warner.
‘I don’t like the sound of that, Helen.’
‘If I’m honest – neither do I all that much! But I think we have no choice.’
‘So what’s your immediate plan?’ asked Alan.
Warner thought for a moment: ‘My immediate plan? How about Soho?’
***