The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller Read Free Page A

hallway as he said it.
    “What erm, what can I do for you?”
    “I have an envelope for the gentleman in room 308, which I assume means it's for you.” Jack took it and thanked the man. A small but polite cough followed, reminding him that a tip was expected. After fishing out some change from his pockets he slowly walked back inside and started tearing open the envelope, wondering if it was from the mystery woman in the bar. Midway, he became distracted by his navy blue quilt cover, noticing the formation of a small dark mauve patch.
    He took a few more steps towards the bed and glanced at the package. It was enclosed within an expensive looking red bag, but peering in he saw a far less expensive looking parcel, crumpled and wrapped in cheap brown paper. His face formed a pensive frown as he looked closer: it was darkened all along the underside. Carefully removing the twine, he folded open the shoddy covering. The woman was no longer on his mind. Peeling back the last of the sticky paper revealed a scruffy and badly worn olive green shoebox.
    This was beginning to get a bit too peculiar for him; evident in the way his hand had started to gently falter. Not quivering but not steady either. He pried open the top of the box and immediately took in a short, sharp gasp, springing a step or two backwards. Having given way to rasping, deep breaths now, he leant over to check what he had seen, nice and slowly. Laid out in a row, amidst a haze of festering stench, were five bloody, shrivelled human fingers.
     
    His hand began to quiver violently, a sickly feeling taking over his gut. It was like the bluntness he experienced in his stomach when he felt guilt. As his hand wretched from side to side he noticed the envelope was still in it. Trying to steady himself against the wall he opened it fully and with some effort managed to remove a sheet of off-white paper. Unfolding it, there was a simple message written in a typewriter font.
    BE AT JENNY'S, TO THE WEST OF THE HOTEL, IN 1 HOUR. COME ALONE AND UNARMED.

Chapter 2
     
     
     
    Pete looked at himself in the mirror one last time. He was a tall man, with rugged good looks. Thick auburn stubble enveloped his strong jaw line and his hair stood short and spiked up. He sprayed on some deodorant and finished buttoning up his blue striped shirt. “Neesh, I'm off to work now, I'll be back for the game.”
    “Have fun Pete, see you later.” Anisha heard the door rattle shut as her flatmate left for work. Not that Pete really called it work: photographing models all day was more of a paid hobby to him. In contrast, Anisha was a surveillance worker; one of the many unknown faces keeping the city safe from crime and ensuring justice for all.
    After buying the new time booths, the government had had to pay out a tax to their inventor, the largely mysterious and equally reclusive Liam Fuse. He was now easily the richest man on the planet, even owning several countries. Every year the government paid a small percentage of the time booth business' projected profit, directly into Liam's pocket.
    For complex financial reasons, it had saved money during its start-up by building a surveillance network as part of the time travel project, and it was currently enjoying the higher profits as a result.
    Surveillance was a fundamental necessity for the project; with time travel having all manner of inherent implications for crime and deceit. As such, there were cameras throughout the entire city, and within every single room of every building. Even people's bathrooms. Interfering with them or turning any of them off was the highest taboo, and potentially punishable by death. Anisha, along with thousands of others, monitored the daily events in the capital. She followed the activities of its inhabitants and was the first step in stopping any potential problems. It was big brother all over again, but dressed up as public security.
     
    With the faintest yawn, Anisha ran a comb down her coal black hair.