‘That’s Bert,’ the old man said. ‘He’s not stupid, knows when he’s got a good thing.’
‘Big Greg?’ Larry asked.
‘He used to read to me sometimes.’
‘What did he read?’
‘Anything that I had. I’ve a few books.’
‘You’ve plenty of everything here,’ Larry said. He was attempting to move away from the smell, but it was everywhere. Either it was the dog or the man, but then there were also the old bags, even some rotting bananas visible in one corner of the trolley.
‘I always had a few books in case Big Greg came around.’
‘Did he sleep here?’
‘Sometimes, but most times he’d be under the bridge. They’ve got a fire down there, but I like to be alone.’
‘What else do you know about Big Greg?’
‘He doesn’t like to talk about himself, I know that.’
‘How about you? What’s your story?’
‘Life’s easy, no bills to pay.’
Larry realised that the man showed the signs of alcohol abuse, a bottle in a paper bag nearby. ‘Will Big Greg be there?’ he asked.
‘Is he in trouble?’
‘You’ve heard about Bob Robertson?’
‘Him down at the hostel?’
‘Yes.’
‘He didn’t like Bert.’
‘Does that mean you never stay there?’
‘I take the meals, not that they’re much.’
‘Everyone else says they’re fine.’
‘Maybe, but I have to sit out on the street with Bert. No way they’d let him in.’
‘There are rules, government rules, not only Bob Robertson’s.’
‘What need have I for rules? Bert doesn’t cause any trouble.’
Larry realised that the conversation with the man and his dog was going nowhere fast, and it was typical of others he had had. An unwritten rule out on the street, you minded your own business.
***
Big Greg knew that whatever happened the future was not safe either for him or his family. That morning, the third time in the one week, he had observed his daughter from across the road where she lived. He had wanted to tell her that he was her father, but he knew that was not possible. Her safety, as that of her mother, lay in their ignorance. For him, he could see no hope. He faced a dilemma.
There had been a progression in his life through childhood, then academia, and then a position with the government research department. As he observed his daughter fussing over her child, his granddaughter, he could see that it should have been different.
To work for the government on such a project had been inspirational, exciting, a great benefit to mankind, but what had it become, and why? He had been determined to take the project to the next level, to discover the solution that would ease the suffering of millions, but it was the men in uniform who had seen another use.
He had surfed the internet at Robertson’s hostel using the computer in the cafeteria. It was there for all to use – he knew how to conceal the IP address – and it was old and slow, and the mouse barely worked, but it had been good enough for him to keep a check on the scientific papers related to the subject, and by those who had formed part of the team. Dullards the lot of them in his estimation, and judging by the quality of their papers none had acquired the additional intellect to complete the solution, a solution that remained hidden in his head and in a secret place that only he knew. If that fool Robertson had not been so nosy, he’d still be alive.
Big Greg knew that his death had been necessary. If one man had to die to save the lives of millions, then the cost was acceptable. If others had to die as well, then he would do what was right. It was a philosophy that had allowed him to endure the deprivation of the street, the foul smell that he oozed, the scratchy beard and the unruly hair, both which he wanted to remove. He knew that when the time came, he would do that, and he would reveal himself to his daughter and finally hold his granddaughter. His wife, he knew, was long gone, married to another man after he had been declared missing, presumed dead.
He wanted to talk to her again, to apologise for the hurt he had caused her, to explain his reasons, but that would not be possible. Those that had tortured him would be back, he knew that, and this time, they would be more violent than before. He had to protect his family.
***
‘It makes no sense,’ Katrina Ireland said. ‘I need it to run this place and now someone’s stolen it.’
Isaac had come at her request. He could see what she meant. The computer in the small office was missing, although the monitor was still there.
‘I don’t know why anyone would want it. It was old, not worth anything. All it had were the financial records, the ordering details on it. I’m stuck without it.’
‘Can’t it be replaced?’ Isaac asked. He understood the difficulty the woman faced.
‘I suppose so, but it’s not so easy to replace the information.’
Isaac wasn’t sure why she had asked
