Rewired: Project Insula

Chapter 12

George felt frantically for the latch, his fingers prickling with everything they touched thanks to the small shards of glass everywhere.

“Come on, come on, come on” He muttered to himself, now falling to one knee to get better leverage over the triangle of glass that sat pointing upwards, under his arm. Noticing the sharp obstacle thanks to his new position, George pushed the glass with his fist, snapping it in two and cleanly slicing across his knuckles.

Ignoring the blood that now trickled from the painless cut, he finally managed to feel the metal latch and he pulled it across.

George's shoulder was pressed against the door as it swung open, he ended up on his side, his face just inches from the wooden floor.

The bar was styled as an old American bar. Wooden stools and tables stood innocently round the large room; neon signs displaying different beers and spirits lit up behind the bar, buzzing slightly. George pushed himself off the ground slowly, the smell of dry beer and mixers invaded his nose as he felt the sticky layer of a night out under his hands.

Now up to his feet, he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away a thick layer of sweat. His short greying hair clung to his head in a greasy mess of dust, sweat and blood. The combination of the three was a product of the huge explosion that had occurred not far from where he had been waiting.

The note he had left with the fat officer was to be given to Daniel and only Daniel. George had decided on his way to the scene that he wanted Meera away from this, he wanted her home and safe.

…

“Hello?” George spoke loudly at the screen in his car.

He had left the station about 20 minutes ago and was to meet Daniel and Meera at a checkpoint in the city. They had decided to wait for a taxi, due to the closing of the roads, but would meet George there later.

There was a slight noise of ambience coming from the car's speakers - shuffling feet and distant conversations; before a definitive voice spoke clearly through the car.

“George?” Said the voice.

It was a man, he sounded panicked but spoke clearly. His quick breaths began to rumble through the speakers.

“Yes, speaking.” Replied George formally.

The breathing continued to cause disruption through the speakers before the man replied.

“Hi George.” The man said clearly.

“Could I ask who's calling please?” George asked, getting a sudden itch to check his rear-view mirror.

“Just to absolutely confirm…” The man replied before pausing.

George stayed silent, awaiting the continuation of the sentence.

“This is Super Intendent George Triller that I am speaking too?” The man asked.

George could now hear the American accent, forcing him to go over in his head, any American who would have reason to call him.

“And who is this calling please?” George asked again, staying formal.

“I love the police here.” The man replied nonchalantly.

“Sorry?” George asked, not knowing if he had genuinely misheard the man or not.

“You should get them out of there George.”

A sinister tinge, twanged harshly on each syllable.

“I'd prefer that they watched from their homes.” The man continued.

George looked up to see some digital writing glowing in the distance. He could make out some flashing police lights and shadows moving around the lights. That's where he was to meet Daniel and Meera.

“George? Still there?” The voice spoke again, noticing George's silence.

George shook his head, gritting his teeth in frustration.

“Oh I hope I haven't scared you” continued the eerie voice.

George pulled up at the side of the road, the digital writing easily seen from where he was. The last lot of evacuating pedestrians were walking their way down the street and past George's car.

George could still hear the breathing come through the speakers, this helped him know that the man was still on the other side.

It had been a while since George was involved in a threatening phone call, but the clear intent shown by the man on the other side was revealed through George's decision to go quiet, as soon as he sensed danger.

This was an effective way to gauge the main reason for the call quickly and accurately.

If George was to keep on talking to the man, he may have given away some valuable information or allowed the man on the other side of the road to keep George distracted long enough to pull off some sort of mission.

Going silent allowed George to not only listen to the man, but also allowed him to check how long he would stay on the phone with no response. Considering the man had been breathing down the line for a considerable amount of time after George went silent, meant that he clearly has something to tell him.

It also allowed George to decide how much information he actually “heard”, allowing him to “play stupid”, meaning the man must repeat himself possibly opening himself up to giving something away.

This was a method that George himself had come up with and had taught it for many years to his detectives. Now was time to put it into action.

George stretched over to his glovebox and removed a banded diary from it. Taking the book, he opened it up to the middle and quickly ripped a page out.

“Ever so sorry” George finally said.

“I have terrible signal in my car, could I ask who is calling again?”

George sat back, clicking a ball point pen against his temple primed to write on the piece of paper. He quickly jotted down what he could hear in the background and in a way that would be understandable from a random reader.

He wrote:

“DANIEL,

GET MEERA HOME.

MAN THREATENING ON PHONE, COULD BE RELATED.

MAY BE CLOSE. KNOWS POLICE ARE OUT. CAN HEAR PEOPLE IN BACKGROUND, MAY BE CLOSE…”

After jotting down these notes, he looked up at the screen in the car. Waiting for the breathing to turn into a response.

“You finished writing now?” The voice suddenly spoke.

George's eyes widened as he gulped down his fearful response.

“Let me help you write down some information.” The man continued, sounding upbeat.

Without thinking, George primed his pen, ready to jot down whatever this unknown voice was to say.

“There is a barbers at the beginning of this road you are on. I am there and there is a car outside.”

George began frantically scribbling down what the man was saying.

“I wont go into too much detail on this to save your hand muscles, but there is a bomb attached to said car, outside the barbers.”

George froze and exhaled softly. A bomb? Why?

“The tower block is ours too. Just in case you start getting your cases mixed up detective.” The man continued.

“What do you want?” George asked.

“I told you earlier. I want everyone to see it all unfold from their homes. I want them to watch on from their TV's, their glasses, their phones, their watches. From the comfort of their technology driven homes. That's what I want… We want.” The man said, passion beginning to burn through his voice.

“Get them home George. Get them home before we kill them all.” The man spoke before finally ending the call.

“f**k” George shouted, laying his head back into his headrest.

“f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k” George muttered to himself as he finished scribbling down the message.

“s**t, s**t, s**t, s**t s**t!” He continued, as he put the paper in his pocket and opened his car door.

George stepped out of his car and took one look down the street on the right, the direction of the barbers, and then looked left, towards the nearby police checkpoint. He pulled out the piece of paper and jotted down the name of a bar directly in front of him.

“DANIEL,

GET MEERA HOME.

MAN THREATENING ON PHONE, COULD BE RELATED.

MAY BE CLOSE. KNOWS POLICE ARE OUT. CAN HEAR PEOPLE IN BACKGROUND, MAY BE CLOSE HE IS IN A BARBERS AT THE BEGINNING OF STREET, THERE IS A CAR BOMB, HE IS RELATED TO THE TOWER BLOCK.

GET MEERA OUT OF THERE, MEET ME AT THE NO.6 DINER BAR, 5 MINS DOWN ROAD. OPPOSITE MY CAR.

PS COULD BE FAKE SO DON'T TELL ANY OF THE OTHERS. WE MIGHT NEED THEM.

GEORGE.”

Satisfied with the words, George set off towards the police checkpoint, checking his surroundings for watching eyes.

…

“Ahh Superintendent Triller!” An irritating voice with a cockney accent spoke, as George arrived out of breath at the checkpoint.

George stopped and squinted his eyes at the man who had talked, trying to catch his breath.

“You.” George said with a tired gulp, pointing a lax finger at the round shaped man with a ponytail.

“How are we doin' sir?” The man said, now approaching.

“You look knackered!” He continued.

George's hands where on his knees at this point, his left clutching onto a piece of paper.

He outstretched his hand with the note and placed it into the man's hand.

“Is Daniel Green here yet?” He said, still panting.

The man looked confused at the note in his hand, and without looking away answered “Nah, haven't seen him”.

“Shit.” George muttered.

“Well give him that note as soon as you see him, it is vital.” He said, clearing up any questions from the large man.

The man went to open up the piece of paper but was met with a bellowing “NO” from George.

“DO NOT OPEN IT.” George said.

“It is folded in a certain way, so don't try and pull any tricks either.” He added.

The man put his hands up in front of him, pouting a sarcastic remark.

“Course!” He said, still standing in his meek surrender pose.

“It's f*****g vital.” George continued, now standing straight.

“Y-yes sir! Will get this to that private detective guy Green straight away. No worries.” The man said, almost bowing to George.

George nodded and turned back towards the way he came, no time for niceties.

…

Up until this point, George didn't have much time to think about the situation he had wound up in, but now he had a moment to himself, a menial task of pouring a glass of bourbon set off the delayed chills down his back.

As he tilted the bottle, the golden-brown liquid spilled out into the lone tumbler placed on the bar. His shaking hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle as he put it carefully back on the shelf behind him.

With his hand gripped on the lower half of the glass now holding some liquor, George leant forwards against the bar and watched out the broken door, waiting.

He wasn't particularly sure what he was waiting for. Even if Daniel had survived the blast and received the note, why would he want to meet with him? Speaking of Michael like that was something George would find very difficult to forgive himself for.

At least the phone call and explosion had managed to take up most of his thoughts.

George picked up the small glass of bourbon and took a sip. As he raised and lowered it from his lips, George noticed that his hands were beginning to shake even more.

The harsh bite of the bourbon, ran down the back of his throat, watering his eyes in the process.

It had been 9 years since George had taken a sip of alcohol, but his preoccupied mind and natural shock decided that now would be an ideal time to break that; to help with the pain in his head and his sliced knuckles.

“Why am I hiding?” George asked himself out loud, after placing the glass back on the bar.

“Hiding and drinking.” He muttered further, shaking his head.

Not fancying any sort of rest, George quickly picked up the drink again, this time finishing the brown liquor off. Following the bite this time was a guttural retch that caused George to consider vomiting for a few seconds.

“How is this related to the towerblock?” George said outloud suddenly, surprising himself in the process.

He placed the glass back on the bar and walked out from behind the bar.

“Motive?” He said to himself, pulling up a stool to the bar.

“Could be drugs. Could be terrorism.” He mumbled as he clumsily sat himself on the stool.

His eyes widened frantically.

“Is anyone in danger?” He asked himself. This time this was spoken inside, but it was deafeningly loud.

“What am I doing here? People could be in danger!”

He suddenly got up off the stool and began to pace around.

“No.” He said.

“The blast has happened, there's nothing I can do about that anymore.”

George continued to pace up and down in front of the bar, stopping every now and then to think.

“The attackers are still in the tower block, otherwise I would have been to-.” He stopped himself here, standing still and eyes wide with worry.

The 5 minutes of plainer thinking allowed George to remember that Daniel had his smartglasses. This would mean that George would have no updates at all regarding the situation. He knew nothing about the tower block's status and the residing attackers, nor about who or what was on their way to help with the blast.

“f**k” He screamed, turning and slamming his fists on the table.

“What do I do?” He frantically muttered to himself.

George ran over to the front door and peeked outside. The road was dark and heavily blanketed with smoke. He could just make out some flashing lights on the other side of some smoke to his right, but he could not see any movement. He was unsure if he could hear sirens or whether his ears were still the ringing from the blast.

Looking left revealed slightly thinner smoke, but still more than enough to restrict his vision.

George wanted to go out there. He wanted to march into the cloud of ash and help anyone he could, but he also wanted to see Daniel and more importantly ensure that Meera was safe from the explosion.

Him leaving his position could result in Daniel arriving and the two missing eachother, whereas if he just stayed until he saw the backup arrive, Daniel should hopefully meet him where the note specified - at the bar.

Besides, the Anti-terror brochures that were renewed and sent around every year, told all police officers to hide and await armed support if they are involved in a major terror incident and are unarmed. This situation would easily call for armed support, even without the blast, George thought to himself.

“You're injured George” He reassured himself, wiping yet more blood from the top of his head.

George stepped back into the bar, coughing and spluttering as he came away from the polluted air. Waiting for backup was the most logical approach to the situation he now realised, plus it also meant that Daniel might meet him there, if he had received the note.

George walked back over to behind the bar and picked up the same bottle of bourbon from earlier. He stood with his back to the door, examining the bottle.

“Would it be wise?” He said out loud, questioning his own thoughts.

The ringing in George's ears had been going on for long enough, that he didn't even realise it was happening anymore. The thoughts in his head were loud enough to occupy his senses for the time being.

This allowed the noise of fast, sprinting footsteps to go past the broken glass door, whilst George stood behind the bar, debating with himself whether to drink away his headache.