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

head to avoid the security cameras and he paid with cash. Using paper money was risk, but he had to assume that the credit card, in the name of David Harrison, was blown. Thankfully, the passport was in a different name.

The shopkeeper nodded goodbye as he left. Once outside, he removed his old jacket and lay it across a homeless person. The recipient appeared to continue his sleep – not easy with the sharp north-easterly – until a tanned hand snaked out from underneath and gave David the thumbs-up.

He walked on. He bought new clothes, item by item, and gave their old counterparts away. Nothing was to be thrown away. Ego was insistent. In a gentleman’s outfitters he bought a suit. In another he bought a beige leather briefcase. He bought a pair of tinted glasses, a shaving kit, some paper overalls, a wedding ring, and a hugely expensive belt. In each shop he lamented the loss of his bankcard and shrugged wistfully at the need to carry so much cash. The shopkeepers made little clicking noises and were sorry to hear that, sir, and said no more. Finally, he bought some aftershave and a universal storage crate for the bike. Bemyguested by the sales assistant, he stuffed his shopping into the box. Both he and the assistant stared at the crumpled suit for moment.

“Travel iron, sir?”

“Yes please.”

David wandered back to the bike. The universal box was not quite as universal as its manufacturers had enthused. It took fifteen minutes to attach. Once done, he sat on the bike and felt the old bruises meet their angles on the seat. David rode away with his new clothes and his bike that was nearly green. A different person.

Different enough?

He was still a man on a bike.

“Ego,” he said, pulling into light traffic.

“Yes?”

“Does it strike you as odd that I haven’t been captured?”

“Repeat that, please.”

David lowered his voice. Because Ego listened to his voice via vibrations through the earpiece, the bike engine made communication difficult. “I have not been captured. Discuss.”

There was a pause. “Yes, you have been lucky, but it is not surprising that you have evaded capture. I have been monitoring the internet and the radio. It seems there is an All-Points Bulletin for your arrest. However, the description is inadequate because it is rather average. I have read two more espionage novels in the past hour. I do not believe that the British police have the manpower to locate you unless you make a serious mistake: that is, break the law. They do not know your location, your destination, your purpose, or your correction physical description. So, if you continue to ride under the speed limit and use minor roads, your chances of reaching locker J327 are good.”

David snorted. “I’m sure I broke the speed limit once or twice.”

“No, you did not.”

“Hmm. Maybe up near Sheffield. I was going pretty fast.”

“I can testify that you have not broken any speed limits.”

He turned onto the southerly road, out of town. “Testify? You sound like a witness.”

“Indeed. I have taken the liberty of recording all our conversations. I have also interfaced with the motorcycle’s rear- and front-mounted cameras. Your journey has been recorded.”

David said glumly, “You’ve saved me.”

“I do not understand.”

“Like a data file. Saved.”

“It is a precaution designed to provide an objective source of information. It will guard against evidence tampering and deliberately fictionalised scenarios by antagonistic parties. Perhaps I may also act as a ‘black box’ in the event of an accident. The probability of my survival is many hundreds of times higher than your own.”

“Ego, how much battery life do you have?”

“Thirty hours.”

“Switch off for now. Recharge.”

“I am still monitoring ten radio stations and several internet sites.”

David revved the engine and accelerated. It was time to break the speed limit. “Switch off. Now.”

Saskia asked to be excused. Hannah gave her a questioning look, but she waved him away. The headache was strong. It could be a migraine. Did she get migraines? She walked into the toilet, which was, incredibly, colder than the office, opened a cubicle and collapsed on the seat. She held her head and pushed at her temples. If she pressed hard enough she could override this pain with another.

Somebody walked in. She wore heels. They tapped on the tile floor like a knife against a glass to call polite attention. Saskia’s eyes sprang open. She had heard that sound before. Where?

The hawk that returned.

“Which hawk?” she asked. “What returned?”

The footsteps stopped as the owner paused to listen. Saskia watched the shadow. It began to move again. The owner just washed her hands and left the room.

Spin, measure, snip.

She closed her eyes. What did these things mean? Think, Detective Brandt. Detect. The memories were islands. They were an archipelago. She could only access them when she had a bridge: the Zippo lighter in Hannah’s hand, the statue of Prometheus at the West Lothian Centre. Phrases. More memories returned: the smell of smoke. Cigarette smoke at first, which changed to acidic, burning-plastic smoke. A building was on fire.

The hawk that returned.

Somewhere in the boiling mist of yellow-red, somewhere in the blood in her eyelids, she saw a flame. The flame grew. Underneath it was green cloth. The cloth was on fire.

Ute.

Snip.

Snip snip snip.

“Detective Brandt?”

Saskia gasped. She looked around. Still in the toilet cubicle. Not in...

...in Cologne.

“Detective Brandt?”

She made a fist. A victory. The fire had taken place in Cologne. It had involved burning green cloth. Green curtains maybe, or a suit. There were men there. One of them had a lighter. He had said something. Saskia smiled.

But what was she remembering?

The scene of the crime. Her crime.

Her murder.

The smiled switched off.

“Detective Brandt, are you OK?”

It was Charlotte from the office.

“Yes, Charlotte, I am fine. Is there a problem?”

“DI Hannah says that he’s organised the flight. You have to leave right away.”

“I’m coming.”

David sneezed, and when his head rose he could not remember the past few hours. He did not know what time it was. He thought