Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

happened at the West Lothian Centre. The Chairman is Lord Gilbert. Lib-dem guy. He’s fair.”

Saskia looked at the Houses of Parliament. “What are you telling them?”

“Me? I’m singing like a bird.”

She nodded. “That’s good. Don’t worry about me. I am no longer called Saskia Brandt.”

“So what do I call you?”

She linked her arm in his. “I suspect that you are under surveillance. I’ll say nothing. What would be the best outcome?”

David sucked air through his teeth. “They’d advise the CPS – the state prosecutors – not to proceed with a criminal trial. Unofficially, that is. And they might clear my name. Then I could get my job back at the university. I’ve got another ten years before I retire.”

Then walked in silence for a while. “Tell me about Jennifer,” she said.

“She’s back in America. I’ll see her again at Christmas, I hope. Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

“Some.”

They continued towards parliament. The Westminster Bridge was quiet. The sky was the colour of pigeons. The Thames was grey-green. A wind had blown in from the north sea. It was bitter and they turned against it. After ten minutes they came to a fenced, elderly building near the Ministry of Defence. “I’ll see you very soon, David.”

“Where?” he asked.

In reply she placed a finger to her lips. Then she touched his with the gloved tip.

“You know,” David said, “I could do with some help in there. Another witness.”

Saskia bowed. “I have to go, David. Take care.”

He waved. “I understand. You take care too. And thanks.”

He showed his pass to the duty officer and walked through into the main courtyard. He found the committee chamber. It was a small room with an oval set of chairs for the MPs. There was one in the middle for David.

“Ah,” said Lord Gilbert. He looked at David over the top of his glasses in the same way that David would look at a late student. “The star of the show.” Gilbert chuckled. The men on the panel chuckled back.

Tony Barclay, the MSP for West Lothian, took a nod from Gilbert. “Perhaps we could go back to the man who you met on the internet, Professor Proctor. The man called Mr Hypno.”

The stenographer watched his computer screen. David sighed, ready to begin again.

“Just ‘Hypno’. Mr or Mrs I don’t know.”

David’s hosts were confident that he would not try to leave the country. His hotel was a small one north of the river. It was dingy but, he guessed, not cheap.

He entered his room and locked the door. He was making progress with the committee. They were less enthusiastic with their accusations, anyway. He threw off his coat and walked into the bathroom. “Lights,” he said.

He took the measure of himself. A slightly saggier, more worn version of the man who had arrived at the West Lothian Centre two months before. But he felt no different. He looked good for his age. He washed up and walked back into the main room.

There was an envelope on the floor near the jacket. He remembered Saskia linking her arm in his. On the envelope were the words: “Open in private.” He opened it and withdrew a single sheet of paper.

D

Down in Marseilles there’s a nice bar run by a man called Dupont. It’s famous for its cat, which turned up one day and never left. See you there.

S

David watched the text fade until the paper was blank. He stuffed it in his mouth and chewed.

The End