The Legacy (9 page)

‘Of course they are,’ Richard said impatiently, ‘but if the Underground has its way there won’t be anyone left to be in charge of. We have to destroy them, Hillary. We need to do it now.’

Hillary nodded uncomfortably. ‘Very well. I’ll let the Chief of Police and the Catchers know,’ she said, her voice quieter. ‘So what do we say? What do we tell the people? Foreign governments?’

Richard allowed the corners of his mouth to curl upwards. ‘We tell the truth. A population gripped by fear is a good thing. It will help us. If we encourage people to suspect their neighbours then it will make them welcome police swooping in at the dead of night. We will take bodies at the first sign of illness instead of when it’s taken hold. A slight fever and we’ll swoop. If there are protests, we’ll take the protesters. We’ll take anyone who challenges us, Hillary, and the ones left will let us do it because they will be afraid.’

Hillary nodded silently. Then she looked up at Richard tentatively. ‘The batch that was contaminated,’ she said. ‘Is there any way of knowing . . . who might be . . . where the batch might have . . .’

Richard nodded seriously and did his best not to smile. It had almost been too easy. She was afraid, just as everyone else would be, and in fear she turned to him, the benefactor, the saviour. He reached into his desk drawer, took out a blister pack of tablets and handed them to her. ‘Take these. You can be sure they’re safe,’ he lied. The contamination may have been fabricated, but if the drugs had been weakened by endless copying, who knew if this batch was any safer than another?

Hillary took them. ‘Obviously it’s because of my job,’ she said quickly. ‘And we’ll need more safe batches for all key workers. Police, Catchers, and so on.’

‘Yes,’ Richard nodded smoothly. ‘They’ll be with you tomorrow.’

‘And you’ll find out how many? We need to be prepared. I need to talk to my counterparts around the world.’

‘Of course you do,’ Richard said. ‘You’ll be the first to know when we’re sure of the scale of this disaster. I’m very grateful, Hillary. I know this isn’t easy for you.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Hillary said, standing up. ‘But at least you have finally told me the truth.’

‘I’d have told you sooner if I could,’ Richard said, looking at her earnestly, ‘but a whiff of this could turn to mass panic.’

‘It could,’ Hillary said, nodding, frown line etched into her forehead.

‘However, mass panic would enable more pressing measures to be taken,’ Richard continued. ‘We have to prevent another attack. We need to focus all our resources on crushing the Underground once and for all. All its supporters. Anyone who has ever shown any sympathy for their cause.’

‘Road blocks, more police, limited movement, more surveillance – yes,’ Hillary nodded.

‘Protesters taken into custody, gatherings banned,’ Richard suggested. ‘Opt Outs and suspected Underground sympathisers rounded up.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Hillary said, standing up. Richard pressed a button on his desk and immediately a guard appeared to escort her out of the building. ‘Well, thank you, Richard,’ she said as she left. ‘We’ll work together on this. From now on. You tell me everything.’

‘Everything,’ Richard assured her, waiting until the door had closed behind him before he picked up the phone. He had bought some time; now he had to use it wisely. ‘Derek,’ he said. ‘Come up, please. We have some work to do.’

.

Chapter Eight

Julia Sharpe poured herself another gin and tonic and returned to the plump cushions of her sofa. It was 4 p.m. – an in-between time that Julia had, lately, begun to fill with a drink and programme downloads. In truth she’d have preferred wine, but that wasn’t an option nowadays. Nothing that had travelled more than fifty miles was allowed, and the recent cold summers had put a stop to the south-east’s wine production. But gin was OK. It did the job.

She’d already been to the gym, had her hair done, made sure that the house was in order, organised supper, popped round to a neighbour’s for coffee and read a chapter of her book, but still the afternoon and evening stretched out in front of her like a long journey. Her husband would not be home for another four hours and even when he did return, he would bring little to alleviate the monotony. He would pick up the paper, sit on his chair, put on a CD, and wait to be called for dinner. Then they would eat, perhaps talk about their day, retire to the sitting room for more reading, watching, listening. Then bed. Then morning again. But at least he would be there. Few people were married these days – monogamy seemed almost laughable when lives stretched out indefinitely. But Julia didn’t like to be alone and her husband had no time to find anyone else to fall in love with. And they were fond of each other. They offered each other comfort.

She took a large gulp of her drink and enjoyed the kick, followed by the warmth that seemed to fill her body – every bone, every vein. She felt her spine relax, felt her shoulders fall back. She switched on the computer. Immediately she heard tense and agitated voices on the news feed, but she quickly navigated away. Too depressing – full of stories of whole populations starving to death, of water restrictions being increased. Nothing, of course, on the subject that was on everyone’s lips: the Missing. Stolen away in the middle of the night, Julia had heard. There were rumours of screaming, of disease, of plague. But that was ridiculous – why people insisted on suggesting such things when everyone knew that illness didn’t exist any more was a mystery to Julia. Were they so bored that they had to invent catastrophes just to keep themselves going?

She leant back on the sofa and closed her eyes briefly, allowed herself to remember sun-drenched holidays, decorating her house, spending time with friends. Her life had always been comfortable. Enjoyable. And yet somehow, at some point – she couldn’t remember when – something had happened. Perhaps it was simply external factors – tighter and tighter rationing of energy didn’t help – but Julia knew that wasn’t it. It was inside. A growing dissatisfaction. A growing gnawing in her stomach, questioning . . . but questioning what? The point of it all? Of the endless days, the endless trips to the hairdresser’s, the endless reading of newspapers that rarely had anything new to say? Did she use to find them interesting? She didn’t know.

And it wasn’t just her. She saw it all around her. The enthusiasm people had for high-risk sports. The way some, like Julia herself, obsessed over every new wrinkle as though it were a sign of a more fundamental decay, while others had given up, letting everything go, becoming heavy and grey and wrinkly because they just didn’t care any more. Perhaps they couldn’t care any more; perhaps the demands of eternity were simply too much.

And then there were those who had given up completely. The very few who took extreme sports to the true extreme – jumping out of buildings, jumping off bridges. There had been more of those recently, Julia couldn’t help noticing. Perhaps that was what the missing people really were – people giving up hope, giving up their own existence because they didn’t know what to do with themselves any more.

Julia shook herself. This was why she didn’t like to be alone, she reminded herself – because she thought too much. It was something that had crept up on her. A few years ago, thinking about things usually entailed trying to decide which outfit to wear to an event, or which neighbours to invite to a party. These days it meant allowing dark, disturbing thoughts to wash over her; it meant questions that made her uncomfortable, conclusions that left her despondent and numb. Ever since the Surplus girl . . . Anna . . . Ever since she’d discovered her hiding in her garden room, such fear in her eyes, the boy with all his bruises . . .

No. Stop, Julia told herself firmly. What she needed was something cheerful to focus on, to keep her vaguely entertained without worrying her unduly. After all, her husband, a senior Authorities manager, had assured her that everything was under control, that she shouldn’t listen to gossip. And what were the newsfeeds if not serious gossip?

No, a chat show was a far better idea. The presenters felt like friends; they were more familiar than anyone else she knew. She enjoyed their company.

She found the channel and sat back, smiling.

‘It just shows, doesn’t it, what a difference a bit of extra care can make.’

‘It certainly does. In fact, it’s inspired me to get myself fit again.’

‘Again? You were fit once?’

The audience laughed – or perhaps it was canned, Julia wasn’t sure. The presenters were like an old married couple – a couple who still held affection for one another. Like Julia and Anthony, only . . . better. They flirted, they bickered, they laughed. They made it look so easy. Perhaps she should try harder, Julia thought to herself. Perhaps she should be more coquettish.

‘But now to a more serious subject.’

‘Serious? You can do serious?’

‘Of course I can do serious.’ The man affected a hangdog expression and there was more laughter.

The woman shook her head, rolling her eyes and smiling. ‘Come on, Michael. Now you may have heard rumours about people going missing – or perhaps you’ve read about the Missing in a newspaper. There are lots of theories doing the rounds regarding who these people are and why they’ve been taken away, aren’t there, Michael?’

Michael nodded gravely but there was still a twinkle in his eye. ‘There certainly are, Sophie. You know, I heard one rumour that people are being taken to trial a new civilisation on the moon!’

Julia squirmed slightly in her chair; she’d heard that particular rumour and had even asked her husband about it.

‘Now that I would like to see.’ Sophie smiled. ‘But more seriously, we all want to know what’s going on. Just yesterday, lawyers acting for the families of an alleged Missing person said that the failure of the Authorities to inform them of what was happening and the denial of any access visits was a breach of human rights, which have fallen down the agenda in recent years.’

‘That’s right,’ Michael said, shaking his head – Julia wasn’t sure whether it was in incredulity or sympathy. ‘So we thought we’d get Hillary Wright, the Secretary General of the Authorities, on the show, to tell us what’s really going on. Didn’t we, Sophie?’

‘That’s right, Michael. So, shall we get her on?’

Julia’s eyes widened. Hillary Wright? On a chat show? She rarely appeared on television and when she did it was a carefully orchestrated Authorities press conference. Perhaps it was the only way to quell the rumours once and for all. Yes, that must be it.

‘I think we’d better, don’t you?’

Sophie smiled and the camera panned over to a door, through which Hillary Wright walked. Julia recognised her – hers was a familiar face anyway, but Julia had met her in the flesh once at one of the Authorities’ Christmas parties. She had seemed a little cold, Julia thought, her handshake a little limp, but then she supposed a little coldness was probably required for such a high-octane job. Hillary was looking tired, a little ragged around the edges. It just showed, Julia tutted to herself – being busy might seem appealing, but it was probably utterly exhausting. Really, she was very lucky not to have many demands on her time. She could have a nap whenever she wanted.

‘So, Hillary!’ Sophie looked at the Secretary General, her face full of concern. ‘Can you tell us what’s happening? Are the Missing just the result of rumours, or is there something going on?’

Hillary smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid to say that what’s going on here is that there are people out there, evil people, who wish to take away our basic freedoms – people who for various reasons want to see us suffer. These people, the terrorists who call themselves the Underground, will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, including attempted and real sabotage of the source of our freedom, Longevity drugs. At a time when we should be focusing our minds on the strategic plan that the Authorities are working on to improve the health, well-being and standard of living for everyone who lives in this great country, these people are hell-bent on creating mayhem and unrest even, I’m afraid to say, to the extent of taking away people’s lives.’ She looked into the camera and Julia’s eyes widened in fear. Longevity drugs? Longevity drugs had been sabotaged? Her hand moved involuntarily to her throat.

‘That sounds very serious,’ Michael said, looking rather taken aback. ‘Are you saying that Longevity drugs have been tampered with?’

Hillary nodded gravely. ‘I am sorry to say so, yes,’ she said. Julia took a sharp intake of breath. ‘We have been investigating this for the past two weeks, which is why we have been unable to say anything until now. Obviously this is devastating news. But the Underground – the terrorist organisation that hates science and life – managed to break into Pincent Pharma and sabotage a batch of the drug.’

Michael and Sophie looked at each other blankly. ‘But . . . but . . .’ Sophie stammered. ‘But what does that mean? Are we safe? How do we know which drugs?’

Hillary cleared her throat. ‘We are safe, Sophie – let me make that absolutely clear,’ she said. ‘It was a one-off event, and security is now even tighter at Pincent Pharma. But the criminals who perpetrated this crime are at large and the Authorities will not rest until they are caught.’

‘The Missing?’ Sophie gasped. ‘Are they . . . Did they . . .’ She appeared unable to end the sentence. Death was not a word used lightly; it didn’t happen, except to Opt Outs, soldiers fighting wars and people in faraway countries with bad sanitation. It was dirty. It was alien.

Hillary shot her a tight smile. ‘An investigation at Pincent Pharma has revealed that Underground supporters did in fact break through its highest security during a power cut and managed to tamper with one batch of Longevity. The drugs have, of course, been withdrawn, although tragically some innocent people have been made very ill. But our investigation has revealed that the Underground could do this because they have their tentacles in every street of this land. Far from being a small group, the Underground has grown in numbers and is a real and present danger to our civilisation and, indeed, our lives. They hate our freedoms, hate our right to live indefinitely. They want only to cause havoc, to destroy innocent lives. And so we are upping surveillance, increasing our number of raids – because it is only by stopping the Underground that we can protect our citizens.’

‘Answer the question,’ Julia heckled anxiously. ‘Have people died?’

Sophie seemed to have the same thought. Regaining her composure slightly, she sat up a little straighter. ‘So, to get this straight, what exactly are the Missing? Are they people with Underground links who’ve been taken away or are they people who’ve been affected by the sabotaged drugs?’

Hillary smiled tightly. ‘As we understand it there have been just over two hundred people affected by the Underground’s despicable actions,’ she said, ‘and these people are receiving state-of-the-art medical attention from the doctors at Pincent Pharma. Their families are being kept informed at all times. But in the main, what we are seeing with the so-called Missing is anyone with suspected links to terrorist organisations being questioned and held until we have a clear picture of the Underground’s network. Naturally we have had to suspend our usual rules and laws governing the arrest and questioning of suspects. The day these terrorists attacked Longevity, the day they tried to end our way of life, was the day they lost any right to the criminal justice system that was established to protect our citizens. These are dangerous people and what we need is to get them off the streets, to question them, to find out what they know and to prevent this kind of catastrophe from happening again.’

Sophie and Michael glanced at each other. They looked pale and Julia felt a sudden kinship with them. They were sharing this moment – this moment that had changed everything. ‘So the rumours of men turning up in the dead of night, taking the ill away?’ Michael asked.

‘Are actually our security forces turning up to take away suspects,’ Hillary said tightly.

Michael looked at her searchingly. ‘And there really is evidence that all these people are associated with the Underground?’ he asked. ‘Because we’ve had calls from hundreds of people who say that the Missing are friends of theirs, innocent people who –’

‘These are not innocent people,’ Hillary interrupted angrily. ‘They are terrorists. And as such, we are not interested in calls from people who think that they are their friends. Terrorists do not have friends – they have targets and people they use. But we will not allow them to achieve their aims. We will do whatever is necessary to protect the sanctity of human life.’