“So what brings our favorite political scientist down to the fomenting activist bowels today?”
“Leon, this is Zav.”
We shook hands.
She said, “I don’t want to hear about your regime meddling schemes today. We’re here about a large data project that you might be able to help with. A little cash job we hope.”
She looked at me to check that I hadn’t had second thoughts.
I nodded agreement.
“Come right this way.” Leon led us to a dark side office.
Lights came on as we entered and sat down at a round table. Moments later an eager intern brought a tray of drinks.
Leon poured pungent coffee from a cafetiere and asked, “What do you need?”
I said, “Could you do some data collection and analysis on accidental deaths, murders and suicides?”
“Yes, probably. We’ve done stuff in that area before when we’ve been putting the fear of God into people. Actually, mostly fear of foreigners, but whatever.”
Christmas rolled her eyes.
“What exactly do you need?” he smiled affably.
“All the murders, suicides and accidental deaths for the last five years for the UK, showing the location on the UK map where the death occurred and weighted for local population density with a ten-step gradient.”
Christmas looked at me, a little surprised.
“We can do that. Let me check what you mean though. So what I’m imagining is that a death in a rural spot would have a very high weighting, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“And a death in the middle of a big city has a very low weighting. So if we did it in monotone, the city deaths all piled up on one another might end up with a dark block eventually. A rural death would already be dark, but might be a single small dot. You’re looking for a graphical representation of places with a disproportionate level of fatalities. Correct?”
“Exactly.”
“Well I’m guessing there’ll be a lot of those; accident black spots on roads, harbors, seaside towns, hospitals of course.”
“Yes, but I’m only interested in murders and accidents and suicides, not the ones for illness and natural causes.”
“No problem. Easily available data. There are about twelve thousand accidental deaths a year in the UK. Suicides amount to about six thousand and murders add five or six hundred more. So we’re potentially looking at a data set of a little under a hundred thousand for five years. We can do that with a couple of researchers and adapting some software. Maybe three days’ labor. Cash?”
I nodded.
“Three thousand then.”
Christmas pushed him at the shoulder, “I’m not paying for it. He is. Can you help Zav out?”
“Super-mates rates then. One thousand and you both owe me a favor.”
I looked at Christmas and said, “Deal.”
“We’ll have to squeeze it in between everything else we’re doing.” He shrugged at Christmas, “Political change doesn’t take a day off you know. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
We shook hands.
Christmas and I clanked back up the stairs.
Leon went to the far end of the room and made a quick double handclap that bounced round the walls. “Alright everyone, I need two willing volunteers for a bit of data collation and analysis. Nicky, a little coding from you…”
Out in the street, Christmas asked, “What’s that going to tell you then?”
“I’m wondering if Aleksy is just the tip of a murder iceberg. There could be two hundred of Ariadne’s grandchildren and their parents in the UK by now. Maybe even more. If they can all kill with a bite, there should be hundreds of deaths somewhere.” I stepped off the curb and hailed a cab coming toward us. “Those murders might be hidden in the statistics for accidental deaths because the murder rate hasn’t gone up much for years.”
“But we’d have heard something by now, surely?”
“Not if they’re living in a community where people don’t talk. A place where no one thinks it’s remarkable if they find a molted human skin or their neighbor gives birth to eighteen children in one go. A community where superhuman strength is commonplace and men die suddenly during sex.”
The cab stopped at our curb and we got in.
“You’re assuming they’re all killers.”
“Let’s see if they are.” I told the driver to take us back to the West End.
“I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for. I just don’t see how that kind of thing can be kept quiet.”
“Then I’ll have spent a thousand on being able to sleep well at night.”
We arrived at Tottenham Court Road where I got out. I needed to buy a trustworthy computer. Just north of the tube station there were a dozen shops selling electronic equipment.
“Do you need help straightening up your place?”
“Thank you, but no. I’d rather throw my broken possessions away on my own. Let’s meet for dinner later.”
“Alright. Stay safe.” Christmas reluctantly stayed in the cab and went about her business.
* * *
I took a taxi home, laden with a new desk-top computer, tablet computer and phone to replace the equipment that had been smashed by a bullet and compromised during the burglary.
In my apartment, I filled refuse bags with broken objects, plaster, wood and glass, and threw them into the large communal bins for my block. I emptied my vacuum several times, straightened up the bookcases and furniture, and returned some kind of order to my home.
The next few hours disappeared online, setting up the new computers and then ordering furniture, crockery and glassware, a new mattress, a washing machine and lighting. I booked tradesmen to repair the interior décor and install a steel front door and door frame, new window locks and a burglar alarm. In a day or two it would look as though I hadn’t had the entire population of the zoo living with me for a month.
* * *
In the evening I went round to Christmas’s apartment for dinner. A package had arrived from her father.
She said, “You’re going to feel a lot happier now that this has arrived.”
TWENTY-THREE
Christmas laid out the contents of the package on the dining table; a lot of tubes with bright end-caps.
“So these,” she held up two tubes, “are auto-injectors containing anti-venom serum, and VX antidote. They’re the same as these adrenaline-shot auto-injectors that people use to stop anaphylaxis from allergic reactions,” she pointed to some green-capped injectors. “Have you ever used one?”
“No.”
“Ok, we’ll tackle that in a minute. This thinner one with the yellow end-cap is the anti-venom, in case you run into Ariadne or one of her descendants and they bite you. It’s a large, adult-sized dose. This other one with the red end-cap is the VX antidote. It’s a two-in-one shot. Atropine and pralidoxime chloride in separate vials, delivered through one syringe. Red for VX, yellow for venom. Can you remember?”
“I’ll try.”
“Confusion is a common symptom when you get hit with these toxins. You won’t be able to start reading labels when your blood pressure’s dropping and you’re fighting for breath. If you get hit with VX, you’ve got just seconds in which to save yourself. You’ve got to remember the process now.”
“Ok, I’ll work on that.”
“I’m going to help you. This one with the gray end-cap is a training auto-injector. It’s almost identical to the others but doesn’t have anything inside. We’re going to use it for practice.”
“What, actually stick needles in?”
“There’s no needle in the trainer and the nozzle doesn’t lock. But it’ll help you memorize the actions; taking off the end-cap, pressing it into your thigh until it clicks, holding it there for ten seconds. When you press the real auto-injector against your thigh, the needle comes out and the contents inject automatically. But you must keep the tube against your body. If you take it aw
ay before the contents have injected, the nozzle locks over the needle. You can’t put it into your thigh a second time.”
“Do I need bare skin?”
“No, it’s designed so the needle goes through your clothes.”
“Ok, how do I know if I’ve been hit with VX?”
“Everything looks darker because your pupils shrink. You’ll feel very hot and perspire a lot. Your skin will feel irritated. You’ll have convulsions, although if you get to that point you probably won’t be able to save yourself. The symptoms are virtually the same for the spider venom.”
“But no one will be biting me with VX.”
“Precisely. If you’ve been bitten, it’s the yellow-capped injector. Remember, you’ll only have seconds to act before you become too confused to do anything. Soon after that you’ll be unconscious and if no one injects the antidote for you, you’ll be dead in minutes. Here’s the trainer. Hold it in your fist.”
I stood up and held the tube.
“Keep your thumb away from the ends.”
I adjusted my grip.
“Good, now take off the end-cap. Now it’s ready to inject. Push the other end against your thigh firmly. Harder. Till it clicks. Keep it there and count to ten slowly.”
Christmas made me go through this about a dozen times until I’d committed the actions to “muscle memory”.
Then she kept shouting to me, “Venom! What color?” and, “VX! What color?” until I could remember yellow for venom and red for VX.
“So now you can save yourself. And after you’ve saved yourself, I might need you to save me. These green-capped injectors are adrenaline. After you’ve injected the antidote, you apply these the same way. Gets the heart beating harder. Restores circulation and guards against a heart attack.”
Christmas gave me three injectors, one for VX, one for venom and adrenaline for both.
“I’ll keep one of each on me as well, and leave the spares here in this cupboard.” She showed me where she was putting the remaining auto-injectors.
“Okay, I’m hungry now.”
We ate in. I cooked chicken and Christmas made the salad.
I stayed with her overnight.
I’d felt strangely vulnerable without her near me during the day. Seeing police officers in the street below my apartment hadn’t given me much reassurance. Feeling protected by a woman wasn’t something I was used to. But then I’d never had a girlfriend whose typical clothing accessories included a nine-millimeter pistol. Plus nerve agent antidote.
In the morning, Leon phoned. They’d finished the project already. Christmas and I took a cab to his underground lair.
TWENTY-FOUR
We stood at the end of the bustling video-lined room, looking up at the big screen.
“Nicky, put the map up here please.”
A map of the UK showing cities and major towns appeared, mottled with tiny gray and black dots.
“Over ninety thousand deaths across forty-eight thousand towns and villages. Each one of these dots marks a death. We weighted the death value of the geography from one to ten and then wherever each dot fell, gave it the corresponding shade from our one-to-ten population gradient. So this smudge of light-gray for London, a bit darker in places as the deaths accumulate, is still largely light-gray dotted all over.”
I pointed to a dark patch on a seaside town in the south-west. “What’s happened here?”
“Small area, small town, several sports related deaths, mainly from out-of-towners, but this is where they occurred, so black dots and quite a number of them, making a dense, dark patch.”
I looked all over the map for a death circle but couldn’t make one out against the confusion of smudges, lines and individual dots on the beaches, roads, industrial areas and popular nightspots. I stared at the dark patch over London’s West End and wondered for a moment whether Christmas was responsible for any of the dots.
Leon followed my gaze. “Drink, women and testosterone. A fatal combination unfortunately. Do you see what you’re looking for?”
“Not yet.”
He handed me a cardboard tube and a memory stick. “That map is printed on a poster in here,” he patted the tube in my hand, “and the data and the resulting electronic version of the map are on this stick.”
I thanked him and gave him a thousand pounds in ten-pound notes. His sheep musk odor wafted around me. I had a feeling I might have wasted the cash.
Christmas and Leon hugged. She murmured thanks. Then we left him and his team to get on with their subversive activities.
Outside, Christmas looked enquiringly at me. “Are you happy with your purchase? Did you see an X marking the spot?”
“I didn’t see what I was expecting to see. I need to look harder.”
We took a taxi to Trafalgar Square and walked up Charing Cross Road to the National Portrait Gallery.
Christmas said, “This is nice. Whose portrait are you going to show me?”
“No one’s I hope. We’re going to the top floor for lunch.”
We sat by the window in the gallery’s restaurant, looking out across the roof of the National Gallery next door, past Nelson’s Column and down Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament.
“Have the police been in touch about the stabbing? Do you know who’s trying to kill you yet?”
“No and no. I assume it’s someone connected with HomEvo. I’ve been to the zoo, HomEvo and your dad’s cosmic home. The zoo keeps its murderous types in cages. Your dad isn’t a killer as far as I can tell.” I squeezed her hand.
She said, “So that leaves HomEvo, but they’re not killers either. They pay people off. It’s cheaper than assassinations long-term. And asking them about a spider, even one found beside a dead body, isn’t any kind of a scare by their standards. They’ve paid out fortunes before now on drug trials that’ve gone wrong, compensation for faulty and mislabeled products, accidents and all sorts.”
“So that leaves none of the above. Or to put it another way, everyone else.”
A waiter brought menus. We ordered wine and main courses. He bustled away.
“Hiring a six-person team to stab you and poison you with VX; that’s an elaborate project. Doesn’t make sense does it?”
“Perhaps it’s something to do with talking to your dad then. That’s when the shooting started.”
“I don’t follow.”
“He’s being watched. He thought it might be shareholders in HomEvo, worried about their investment.”
“Who exactly?”
“You could ask him, but I imagine that if he knew he’d have acted on it by now. I’m guessing you have shares in the company?”
“Yes, but I’m not so worried about them that I’d kill you. Although I might change my mind if you keep asking me questions like that.”
“That’s not why I’m asking. Would you ask for a copy of the shareholder register? As a shareholder you’re entitled to see it.”
“Alright. I should take more of an interest in the business; the dividends cover my mortgage.”
“That’s nice. My dividends pay for my phone bills.”
“Then perhaps you’ve chosen the wrong investments?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
The waiter returned with drinks. Soon after, the food arrived. We ate quickly.
On leaving the gallery we went to our respective homes. Christmas had a Jiu-jitsu class in the afternoon. I had a plasterer coming to fix the ceilings, and the security firm fitting the new door and other security measures. But most of all, I was keen to take a very close look at the map.
* * *
While the tradesmen drilled and hammered around me, I put the death map poster on the wall above my desk. I stared at it for an hour, looking for the circle of death that I’d imagined would be there as plain as a tarantula on a Bakewell tart. I looked without blinking until a black cloud accumulated in my peripheral vision and slowly worked its way toward the center, blotting out everything. I blinked and the ma
p was back. A misery pockmarked country. But not in a circular way.
Christmas called and told me that she was making good on her promise to Darren. They were having dinner that evening. She read my thoughts and told me unprompted that she wouldn’t be sitting on his lap.
Later that night, she phoned from her apartment to give me an update on events at Flaxbury. “If it were possible, you’ve become even more unpopular at HomEvo.”
“What’s happened?”
“Ariadne’s pregnant!”
“What?!”
“Just joking. Wanted to hear your reaction.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Alright, the real drama is that the police have raided the administration center, asking questions about the livestock inventory, couriers and all sorts. Apparently they were with Mike Joplin for four hours.”
I felt momentarily pleased that Joplin had finally been compelled to find the best will in the world and spend a little time on one spider and one box.
“Apparently, they went to one of the labs and were asking lots of questions. Everyone’s got a bit excited about it.”
“With luck, I won’t ever have to go back there.”
“I don’t think you’ll be getting a choice on that. You’re definitely persona non grata.”
“Did they talk to Ariadne?”
“No, of course not. You don’t realize how lucky you were to see her. No one from outside talks to Ariadne unless she happens to be on one of her random excursions. At least no one knowingly talks to her. And besides, she has nothing to do with the running of the place. That would be like doing an audit at the zoo and insisting on a conversation with the Bengal tiger.”
“It was a stray thought. I appreciate what you did for me there. I’m guessing that dinner with Darren wasn’t a terrible sacrifice.”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying not to be.”
“Try harder. He’s lovely, but he’s just a friend. How’re you getting on with your thousand-pound map?”