The boat ran ashore with a crunch. Torrential downpour obscured the view of the boardwalk promenade. Wint saw haloes of street lights ahead, and heard the distant howl of traffic underneath the machine gun patter of rain on the hood of his parka. He jumped onto the pebble beach, followed by Ada, the hard, round stones slipping under their feet as they supported Rob off of the vessel. Wint could feel Rob’s body shivering from the shock of the cold surf that had nearly swallowed him.
“We need to get him out of these wet clothes”, Wint said.
“That way”, Ada pointed towards the arches beneath the turquoise railings of the Victorian promenade. They pulled Rob along with them, pebbles crunching underneath their every step until they reached cover.
It was still dark, and the bars and shops under the promenade arches were closed. A small wooden oyster shack was opening up, its owner winding an awning with one hand, holding a mug of tea to his lips with another, looking curiously at the wet trio collapse against the stone wall.
Ada helped Rob out of his raincoat and jumper, and teasing open the black plastic bag Wint thought he had left behind on the boat, pulled out a grey sweatshirt. Wint removed his own coat. His shirt was moist, but his skin still held onto some heat. He would be fine. Looking at Rob struggling to pull on the dry shirt, his limbs stiff from the cold, he couldn’t say the same for the northerner.
Wint’s skin itched. It was the same, imaginary itch you got after you swatted off a mosquito, and for some time afterwards your skin prickled all over with imaginary bloodsuckers. He couldn’t imagine a drone so small it couldn’t be seen with a naked eye, yet could follow them in this deluge of a rainstorm. Either way, whatever had tracked them down couldn’t be far off their tail. Wint glanced at Ada. She was preoccupied with Rob, rubbing his chest in a circular motion, softly whispering something to his ear. They were of no help now.
Wint ran across road to the oyster shack, beating its closed door with his fist. The door opened, and an amused-looking shopkeeper motioned him in. A few minutes later he emerged from the shack with an umbrella and a cup tea. He pushed the potion to Rob’s quivering lips and poured some in his mouth. With a bit of help, Rob managed to close his fingers over the mug and hold it for himself, tremors splashing a bit of black tea over the rim. “Drink it up. We have to get going.”
Wint grabbed the umbrella and climbed up the stairs to the promenade. He looked at his watch: the digital screen read 06:43. It was still dark out, and the streets were deserted due to the downpour. They needed to get off the streets and in somewhere warm. Where could they go this early on a Monday morning?
He saw the orange light of a radio cab glow in the distance. He raised his arm to wave, but wasn’t sure if the driver could see him in the obscure weather, so he stepped onto the road and into the cab’s headlights. The cabbie slammed his breaks and the car screeched to a halt. Wint knocked on the driver-side window. The cabbie, a fat arabic man with moist red lips, rolled down the window. “Please, wait here”, Wint said to him, and without waiting for the driver’s response, rushed off down the stairs to fetch Ada and Rob.
The cab pulled to a halt in front of the yellow and red facade of a squat, slant-roofed building on a small side street just off of Grand Parade. The windows of the building were lit and promised warmth.
“I told you, it’s always open”, the cabbie said, satisfied with his recommendation. “Market Diner. Best breakfast in Brighton. Biggest at least.”
Wint paid the cabbie a good chunk of his remaining cash. He had twenty quid left, just enough to buy them three warm breakfasts off the bright yellow menu at the diner’s till. Wint pocketed the few coins the gruff turkish diner cook threw at him from behind the counter before disappearing into the back to fry up their meals. The quest for untold riches had left Wint in poverty.
The Marketplace Diner was of a different era. Having ordered at the till, the wet group squeezed around a small booth in the corner of the diner. The wooden tables were painted dark green, permanently affixed to wooden benches close enough to the table for Wint have to uncomfortably squeeze himself in between. The lights were bright halogen, the coffee instant. The muted television above the table was tuned to a news channel, its digital signal garbled, the faces of the talking heads fractured into grotesque, flickering artefacts. It was exactly the kind of caff Wint loved.
At the corner of the small room, a group of hungry construction workers in bright orange safety vests shoveled bangers and toast into their mouths. Two tables over, two drunk guys, reeking of booze and old cigarette smoke argued loudly. Wint hadn’t had a drink since Friday, and looking at the disheveled pair, he wasn’t sure he could see the appeal of having one, either.
Color was beginning to return to Rob’s face. The fry cook appeared from the kitchen and dropped off three plates of Market Special on the table — a full English. Rob looked at his food.
“I’m a vegan”, he said, absently.
“Fine”, said Wint and grabbed a thick slice of Bacon from Rob’s plate. “Just eat your beans.”
Wint pushed his plate aside, untouched. “Ada. We need to talk. You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Can we do it later?”
“No. We need to do it right now. What’s Struct?”
Ada snapped to attention. She looked deadly serious. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, betraying tired eyes, her usually teased fluffy hair lie wet and lifeless on the side of her head. The look was severe. “Where did you hear that word?”
“It doesn’t matter, Ada. What is it?”
“It matters. If someone on the outside told you about Struct… if someone knew about it, well, that would be very big problem.”
“I heard it from you. I overheard you speaking with Rob.”
“Wha — wait. The only time I’ve… you were spying on us… in my bedroom?”, Ada looked horrified.
“No, I overheard it through the ventilation ducts. Anything you said in your room was audible in mine, especially at night.”
“Shit. Really? Shit. That explains so many things”, Ada said.
“No more secrets, Ada. What’s Struct?”
“Ok… just… wait a second”, she said and pulled a small foil-covered bag from her backpack. She unzipped the bag and took out a black smartphone. She squeezed the power button on its side and waited until the a password prompt came into view. She took out a set of keys from her pocket and stuck a tiny memory stick, no larger than a child’s fingernail, into the phone’s power port. She typed something rapidly, then placed the phone back into the its foil pouch, and turned her attention to Wint.
“Struct is what they are after.”
“The Irishmen?”
“Yes, and whoever they work for. Struct is why we went underground, and why we’ve put up all these security measures. As far as I know, nobody except I and Rob know about the Struct. But somehow, they must have learned. That’s the only reason why hired guns of this calibre would be after us. As soon as I heard they were using rubber bullets, I knew they wanted something from us. If they wanted us dead, they would have just shot us for real.”
“So, but what is Struct?”
“Wint. Are you sure you want to know? Coming here has turned out to be a very dangerous situation for all of us. I don’t think they are after you, they’re after me. Now that they’ve found me, I think they are done with you. You can just go home.”
Wint thought about it.
“No. I’ve put you in danger. I’ve led them to you, somehow… if something were to happen to you, I’d be responsible. I’ve already hurt you enough.”
“William…”, Ada looked at him sternly, then grabbed Rob’s hand and squeezed it, signalling to Wint that if his goal was to rekindle their romance, he was barking up the wrong tree. “What we had was then. Way too much has happened since that, I don’t think I can ever have a normal life again. Before the end of the year, this will be over, or I’ll never stop running.”
Wint thought about it. He could go back. Back to the mundane problems of his life. Back into his perpetual dissatisfaction. No, that would not do.
“I want to know, Ada. We’re in this together.”
“Fine”, she sighed. “I will tell you about Struct. But before that, there is one small piece of business we need to take care of. Now, eat your breakfast, it’s going to be a long day.”
The rain had ceased and the sun had risen. Puddles dotted the potholed car lot. The Uber sped away, leaving them at an address few blocks north of Brighton railway station. The three-storey building looked like any other residential block of flats. They located a keypad at by the entrance. Ada looked at her phone and pressed in a 6-digit security code. The door buzzed open, letting them into a hallway. They climbed the stairs up to the third floor. Counting doors from left to right, Ada settled on the third door, and slid her fingers through the mail slot, locating a small lock box. She fiddled with the box that opened with a snap. Inside was a key that opened the door.
Wint looked at the operation, amazed at the lengths the Org went to secure their locations. “What’s this? Another Hub? A safe house?”
“Nae”, Rob said, pushing past Wint and entering the apartment, leaving wet foot prints on the wood-panelled floor. “An AirBnB.”
“Oh.” Wint felt silly having jumped to conclusions. “What are we doing here?”
Ada circled the front room, opening curtains and turning on all the lights. Satisfied at the level of illumination, she paused and said: “I will tell you about Struct, but before we go any further, we need to find the tracker.”
“The tracker?”, Wint asked.
“I’ve thought about it, and it’s the only logical explanation. The club, the tunnel, the Hub… the only way they could have tracked you through the tunnel without breaching it is that they have you tracked. That tunnel doesn’t exist, William.”
“But — what — you already took my clothes and my stuff. You already checked…”
“I know. That’s why it took me this long to figure out what was happening. The tracker must be somewhere on your body, in a place where you wouldn’t notice.”
“I think I’d notice something like that.”
“Would you really?”, Rob interjected. He looked miserable, leaning against the wall of the room for support. The room was clearly decorated by an older woman, centred around a beige satin couch covered in tastefully placed pastel-colour throw pillows. Rob pushed the couch aside, creating an open space in the middle of the room. “Have you forgotten the first lesson?”, Rob asked. “You never know when you’re being watched.”
“He’s right, William. There is no other explanation.”
“So, what do we do.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“What!?”
“The tracker is somewhere on your body. It might subcutaneous, small as a tick. It could be a transparent chip stuck to the heel of your foot.”
“It could be up yer arse”, Rob said and burst out laughing, waggling his finger in front of his face.
“Rob!” Ada said,, chastising him. She reached into her backpack, dug out a small flashlight and switched it on. “This is serious. We can’t keep on going with them on our tracks. I think we lost the swarm, but there’s no point going on if we’re just going to be bringing bad news along with us.”
Wint closed his eyes. For the second time on this journey he was getting undressed. “Do you need to be here?”, he turned towards Rob.
“Need? No. But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Rob, please. Get out of here. Go into the bedroom and lie down. I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
Rob shrugged and sulked out of the room, slamming the bedroom shut like a petulant teenager.
“What’s the problem with that guy?” Wint asked.
“We can talk about that later. He doesn’t like you because he thinks you’ve hurt me. He can be very protective. So manly”, Ada said, not even attempting to mask her disdain for the word. “But that can wait. Now, take off your shirt.”
Reluctantly, Wint did as he was told. Ada began examining him in his scalp. “I’m glad you’ve shaved. Otherwise we’d have to do it now.” She moved the flash light beam over his skin slowly, taking care to look into each ear, twist his earlobe to check behind it. She brushed every skin blemish and irregularity with her fingertip, trying to see if it could be an embedded chip. His skin had no shortage of blemishes. After his head, she moved down to his shoulders, running her palm along on his skin. Against his cold skin, her hand felt warm and coarse. When she reached his chest, Wint closed his eyes. There was something sensual about the care she took to examine every square inch of his body. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this, and since the last time his body had grown older, his skin looser, and the shapes of his body more rounder. Normally, he would have shuddered at the thought of being under the examining eye of a woman, but with Ada, he felt completely comfortable, trusting that she was not quietly judging him. With his eyes closed he could almost imagine them at a different time…
“Take of your pants.”
“Uh —” The comfort Wint had felt evaporated instantly. He stalled.
“Come on.”
Wint dropped his wet jeans to the ground. His legs were freezing, the hairs on his shins standing on end, at least the ones that weren’t stuck to his wet skin. He closed his eyes and tried to get himself back to the happy place, but the magic was gone. Now, her fingers crawling his body, moving aside his body hair to inspect spots and moles, felt like unwelcome intruders, cataloguing his every imperfection, both external, and also somehow, those of his character. He squirmed as Ada moved her hands upwards on his thighs. Having gone as far as she could, she put her finger into the waistband of his boxers.
“No—, wait. Is that necessary?” He could see Rob’s finger waggling in front of his face. “I don’t think it’s very likely…”
“No, I don’t think it’s likely. But maybe you sat on something…?”
Wint sighed. “It’s very cold here…”
Ada rolled his eyes. “Can you stop being such a little baby? You know I’ve seen what you have in there before, up close and personal.”
“Yeah, but —”
“Come on, William, let’s get this over with. For christ’s sakes, I know about shrinkage. Everyone who’s seen Seinfeld knows about shrinkage. Besides, don’t forget, I used to have one of these things…”
Wint looked down at Ada, who was half kneeled in front of him, still one thumb under the waistband of his underwear. He knew how much she hated any mention to her past self. She must have paid a heavy emotional price for the joke she just made, just to make him relax. He nodded.
“Nope, not there either!”, she said, frustrated. Wint pulled his pants back on. They were still wet from the rain, and felt glacial against his skin.
“I was so sure…”, she was speaking to herself. “How could they have… when did they… how…”
Wint couldn’t do anything but look on helplessly as she paced the room, forming fists with her hands, then releasing, getting more agitated with every step. Wint remembered this was what happened when Ada’s brain got overloaded. She could not handle the feeling of not understanding something, and she would spin out of control.
“Hey, hey… Ada… come here. She reached his arms around her rigid body and hugged her tightly against himself. The contrast of his bare skin against her fully clothed body made Wint feel tingly all over. He squeezed her hard, until he could feel her muscles relax and stop spasming. “Ada”, Wint said and held her at arm’s length. Tears of frustration streamed down her red cheeks. He looked into her eyes. He could barely keep from kissing her. What if he did? Semi-consciously, completely under the control of the animal part of his brain, he closed his eyes and began leaning towards Ada.
“Wait —”, she said urgently, jolting him awake. He opened his eyes. Hers were fixed on a spot just up and to the right of his gaze. “Where did you get that scar?”
“Oh, it was a bus accident…”
“The stitches look fresh.”
“Yes, that was Friday morning.”
“Friday… before or after you received the anonymous comment on your article?”
“I don’t know… around the same time I guess. I came to work late and…”
“Which hospital did you go to?”
“None, — I was treated by the ambulance medics.”
“…”
“What?”
“…”
“Shit.”
“What!?”
Ada pulled herself off from his arms and went to the backpack. She took out a metal case and opened it. Wint could see a roll of gauze, plasters, pills… it was an emergency kit. Ada closed the kit and threw it onto the couch, raising her hand towards his face.
It took Wint a moment to realise what Ada was holding in her hand. The blade of a medical scalpel protruded out of her closed fist.
“What… what are you doing with that?”, Wint asked, panicking.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any anaesthetic”, Ada said. “Lie down”, she motioned him to the beige couch. He saw what was about to happen, and he wanted to protest, but deep inside he knew she was right. Applying the Occam’s razor, it was the simplest, most elegant solution. And now, she would use her razor to test the hypothesis.
He lied down and saw her hovering behind the couch, her hand and the shiny steel scalpel entering his field of vision. He felt the pressure on his skin as she snapped open each stitch on his forehead. The wound had healed, and didn’t open without prodding. She’d have to cut it open. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded for her to proceed.
The pain was hot. It shot outwards from his forehead and ran down his face… to his lips. He tasted blood. His body jolted when she pulled the wound open, and he felt a gush of blood shoot down his neck and down his bare chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not the get blinded by his own blood. He could only hear the emergency kit open, and then her applying pressure onto his wound. Wint took the wad of gauze from her and held it against the wound.
He opened his eyes.
He saw Ada and Rob standing above him. He looked down on his bare chest, and saw he was covered in streams of blood that ran onto the beige couch and onto the pastel throw pillows.
“Did you find it?”, Wint asked.
“William —”, Ada said, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
The last thing Wint saw was Rob raising a black rectangle, slightly thicker than a smart phone, and press it against his neck.
Lights out.