‘Yes’, Maxx said with an air of confidence so absolute that it was scary. ‘Half the people in this building have been taken off their various projects to provide assistance’. Maxx put a friendly arm around Dick and the two of them walked along. ‘Now, what are your plans today Dick?’
‘I’d like to see Jack. For old time’s sake’, Dick answered nervously.
‘What a splendid idea’, Maxx said. ‘I think he’s kept on one of the sub-levels but ask any of the staff here. They know you’re my special guest and will only be too pleased to assist. After you’ve finished, join me at four o’clock in the main test laboratory for one of the bomb’s final trials. You’ll find it very educational’.
At the next intersection Maxx and Carter turned left and Dick turned right. He didn’t go right for any reason other than that he wanted to get away from Maxx who continued to make him feel very uneasy. Dick wandered around for a while until he’d put some distance between him and the Leader and then asked a white-coated woman where he could find Jack. She made a few enquiries and then directed Dick to a room down on sub level four. A few minutes, and a convoluted route later, Dick reached the room in question. He hesitated before opening the door.
His expectation was of seeing Jack presented in some sort of glass showcase, perhaps cordoned off by a thick blue rope, with a plaque explaining his background and the valuable contribution made by Jeremy Brunel. Dick pushed open the door and turned on the lights. After their flickering became a steady glow Dick realised he was in what appeared to be less of a museum environment and more of a glorified storeroom. Jack was standing in the corner surrounded by an assortment of de-commissioned, or just broken, mechanical equipment. In fact he wasn’t even standing. He was leaning against a wall and his suit, while free of the stains of hydraulic fluid and fake blood, was covered in dust. His posture, appearance and environment were certainly not in keeping with his character of a rich, well-to-do man about town, and definitely didn’t reflect the success he’d recently enjoyed.
Dick hop-scotched over an assortment of metal junk and old cables to reach Jack. With some difficulty he managed to stand the heavy figure upright then brushed the dust from its shoulders. A bulge in Jack’s jacket pocket revealed a long knife in a sheath. Dick withdrew it. The blade was tarnished but still deadly. He replaced it and then felt the operating switch concealed under Jack’s collar. Dick really wanted to flick it on to see what happened but he wasn’t sure if this was wise. While he was deliberating, a nasally voice echoed in the room.
‘Turn him on if you like’. Dick spun round to see Dr. Hargreaves standing in the doorway. ‘He’s probably still part-charged up but he can’t do anything. We had him de-programmed after his work was done’. Dr. Hargreaves negotiated his way over to Dick and limply shook his hand with the same degree of contempt he’d shown at their last meeting.
‘I’ve just been with the Leader. He told me where I might find you’. Dick knew Hargreaves had been sent to keep an eye on him. ‘Jack was a tremendous success and a real feather in our cap. Should he ever need to, he’s ready to go into action again at short notice; all he needs is re-programming, re-charging and a quick wash and brush-up’. Dr. Hargreaves continued in a begrudging tone. ‘Your contribution to the project was highly regarded’. Speaking under his breath, but still loud enough for Dick to hear, he added, ‘by some’.
The two men continued with small talk about Jack and his mission but any bonhomie between them was very phoney and extremely awkward. In fact Dick wasn’t even listening to what the doctor was saying; he was trying to think of a way to get rid of him so he could be alone. Dick needed time to think and work out a plan of action. Hargreaves, likewise, wasn’t listening to what Dick was saying; he was thinking of an excuse to leave so he could get back to his real work. After all, he was a chief scientist, not a spy. And besides, Dick was pretty harmless in this storeroom, lost in his memories and the junk here. The solution to both of their wishes came via a knock on the door followed by a familiar voice.
‘Dr. Hargreaves?’.
The doctor turned to the tall, distinguished looking man standing in the open doorway and smiled. ‘Kelvin? Come in. Let me introduce you to someone you obviously know by reputation’.
Turning to Dick, Dr. Hargreaves said ‘Jeremy, this is Kelvin Huntley, a Grade 3b programmer on Project Gladstone. He was one of the back-room boffins. I don’t think you two ever met’.
As Kelvin approached, Dick’s eyes popped out of his skull on coiled springs to the accompaniment of a klaxon. His jaw dropped to the floor and his tongue unrolled all the way across it. Of course, these things didn’t actually happen — but they would have if Dick had been a cartoon character. The reason? The two men
Taylor (aka Kelvin) shook Dick’s hand warmly but he gave no indication whatsoever of any previous meetings. ‘I’m so pleased to eventually meet you Mr. Brunel. This was a great project to work on. We pushed the boundaries on programming, creating new cybernetic algorithms as we went. I’d really like to tell you all about the complexities of the project and how we overcame the problems along the way’.
‘That’s a splendid idea Kelvin’, said an enthusiastic Dr. Hargreaves, realising this was the excuse to leave he so dearly needed. ‘I’m sure Mr. Brunel would love to hear all the intricacies about Project Gladstone. Don’t spare him the detail though!’ Turning to Dick the doctor added, ‘You’re in good hands Jeremy. You’ll find what Kelvin has to say truly interesting’. He looked at his watch. ‘I have to go now but I’ll see you at four in the test lab. Kelvin will show you the way’.
Dr. Hargreaves left, closing the door behind him.
Taylor put his fingers to his lips and mouthed, ‘Shhhhh’ before continuing. ‘Let me start at the beginning Mr. Brunel’, he said, still with no hint of recognition in his voice or in his expression. ‘We had four main obstacles to overcome with the programme starting with a logarithmic inexactitude that needed addressing and a conflict in the hexadecimal point syntax. And when we considered the concurrent logic circuits, it transpired there was a procedural paradigm in the source code!’
Taylor went on like this for seemingly ages. Then again, it might have been for just a few minutes but all the talk about coding linguistics and programming hypotheses made it seem like ages. Still talking, Taylor quietly pushed the storeroom door open as quietly as he could, peeked out in both directions and then closed it again. He took out his pocket watch and opened the back to reveal some sort of gauge, pointing it all around the room.
‘OK, it’s not bugged. We’re clear!’. Putting the watch away Taylor hugged Dick but in a manly way, the way a leader of the Resistance would hug his key operative.
‘It’s great to see you’, Taylor whispered. ‘I can’t thank you enough for giving Alice that warning about Parnell’. Taylor shook his head. ‘In the back of my mind I knew his defection was too good to be true. I should have listened to you. Yes, I know I was too hasty and I am truly ashamed of my actions’.
‘That’s OK’, said Dick, still recovering from the shock of seeing him. ‘Is everyone OK?’
‘Yes. Thanks to you’, said Taylor. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here. I had to find you!’
‘And I can’t believe you worked here all along. And on Project Gladstone too!’, gasped Dick. ‘How come we never met when I was here before?’
‘There were a couple of occasions where our paths could have crossed but I made certain I kept right out of your way. If you ever saw me or knew what I did here it would have compromised my position’. Taylor continued. ‘That time in the library when we discussed Alice, I told you I knew about the scheme and that I had an engineering background. I couldn’t tell you any more in case you were ever captured’.
‘I wouldn’t have revealed that sort of information’, Dick said confidently.
‘But what if you were tortured?’
Dick gulped. It was a big gulp. A gulp in direct proportion to the enormity of what he was about to say. ‘Ah… yes…
‘That’s right. How do you know you wouldn’t have cracked? I’ve heard of the strongest-willed men and women crumbling under Party torture’.
‘Theyweregoingtogetwaspstostingmynob!’, blurted Dick.
‘Pardon’, said Taylor.
‘Wasps. On my nob. Crawling over it. Stinging it. Time and time again. Venom entering my penis. Attacking the nerve ends. Burning. Burning. I couldn’t take it!’ Dick was hysterical. Taylor slapped him across the face.
‘Pull yourself together man! You’re talking jibberish. You’re no use to anyone like this. Tell me everything that’s happened since that Ruling Council meeting’. Then he slapped him again, this time really hard. This slap wasn’t actually necessary; it’s just that Taylor still had a tiny, lingering amount of seething resentment as a result of what happened between Dick and Alice and this was his way of finally getting closure.
So, perched on a large cable drum, Dick told Taylor all the recent news, each subsequent disclosure being
