The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller by Malhar Patel Read Free Book Online Page A

away. He was gone. They all remained a while longer just in case then eventually shuffled up from their hiding place. No one said a word after that; they simply went back to work.
     
    Green washed off his hands, rubbing the soapy lather in and scrubbing ferociously. There was probably nothing that could trace him to the explosion but he wanted to remove all doubt. It was nearly lunchtime, which meant he still had half a day of meetings left. He frowned at the impending ritual of smiling like a puppet while he listened to lowly politicians drone. What made it was worse was being forced to disagree with them and regurgitate the opinions of the cabinet heads.
    Still, that was nothing more than a mild irritation, and only one issue currently occupied his mind. Klaus' report from his privately hired science group. The pieces were all coming together. All he had to do was stay alert and soon his grand plan would be complete.
     
    Riding back up the elevator they laughed about how close they'd come to getting caught. Everyone was fine now, and Bob was heading back to his cubicle. He wanted to go with them but he knew he couldn't, the same way Gina had known she had to go to work this morning. The law was clear that you had to work. If you called in sick it was inevitable that you were checked on, so taking days off was a risky business.
    With the new right having entirely taken over, your job was all you had. You weren't going to get any government support and with mean education and qualification levels constantly rising, finding a new one would be nearly impossible. All Gina and Bob could do was go back to work, to keep their jobs and their livelihoods. There was no need for Bob to go with them anyway. Anisha had already downloaded Jack's fingerprint onto her phone. All that was left was to say their goodbyes and leave.
    On the way down the colossal glass elevator, a bolt of inspiration struck Anisha. If the shooter was at the Café during the incident, then the cameras might have recorded him in action. She was authorised to access the logs from any branch so she quickly explained the idea to Jack. With his approval, she pushed the button marked thirty-five to go and search them on the top floor. The lift seemed to climb up painfully slowly, taking them closer and closer to the clouds. Finally it chimed to a halt and the duo walked out.
    Flashing her badge to the large African lady at the desk, she headed through to the computer room, Jack in tow. She logged onto the machine and after inputting the area, date and time, a 'SEARCHING' banner came up. There was a pause and Jack began nervously drumming his fingers on the desk. Finally the screen flashed: NO RESULTS FOUND. “That can’t be right,” muttered Anisha and tried it again. Jack had a bad feeling about this that sunk down into the pit of his stomach. Again, NO RESULTS FOUND.
    Springing up without so much as an explanation, she went back to the woman at the help desk and asked her for the user log file. The woman passed her an FLD.
    “What's going on?” asked Jack dumbfoundedly.
    “There's no video for the cameras we want. The data is supposed to be stored for at least a month; it's a strict legal requirement. It should be there.”
    “So what are you doing now?”
    “There's no log for each camera so instead I'm looking at who accessed camera's in a one mile radius in the last twenty four hours.” The machine beeped, causing her to frown. “The log's been emptied as well. Wait let me try the backup.” Jack watched in admiration as her fingers shot over the keys. Beautiful and smart. “Okay I think I have it,” she said.
    “One of these people deleted the camera pictures. That means one of these people is working with those men that shot at us. Have a look at the list.” Jack's eyes scanned over the set of eighteen names. He didn't recognise a single one. “I don't see anyone familiar,” he said grudgingly. A hard lump formed in the back of Anisha's throat