The Zima Confession - страница 9

Everyone shook their heads disapprovingly and smiled a little. Darion was always joking but, whatever his troubles, at least Mitchell did seem to have had a pretty cushy, well-paid job. In the short time they’d known him, he’d acquired the nickname of “The Invisible Man” because hardly anyone ever saw him. It seemed he just travelled from place to place, doing very little except occasionally chatting to his subordinates. In the end, none of them were able to sympathise with what he’d done. They all considered it to be a selfish and unnecessary act.

“Christ!” said Darion, suddenly serious.

“What?” asked Steve.

“Don’t you remember? Andy thought he was psychic. I wonder what shit he saw in our future.” Darion drifted off, leaving the others wondering if he was still joking or not. Steve just shrugged and wandered off too.

But Richard was slightly disturbed by this. He remembered Andy mentioning this in Helsinki. And now he remembered that Mitchell thought that he, Richard, was also psychic.

And suddenly it slithered into view. The thing that he had been trying to remember.

Mitchell had actually said, “When the stranger returns you must wake up.” He could practically see and hear him saying it. Yet it was not Mitchell and it was not Richard. It was a kind of film of them talking together. They were just actors playing roles in a film. It could not have been anything real because, no matter how drunk he’d been, he would’ve recognised that phrase immediately. Unless, through drunkenness, Mitchell hadn’t said it properly.

There was one more reason why it couldn’t be true: if Mitchell was his contact, and he was now dead, the last hope of the plan he’d been waiting for had already disappeared.

The meeting was taking place in a building in Mayfair belonging to Her Majesty’s Government of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Those present were Mark Osbourne, Jim Callan, Dr Joseph Skinner, Jack Logan, Graham Wood and Tom Brookes, all of whom had arrived almost simultaneously with great urgency and seated themselves around a tatty government-issue table. Last to arrive was Mark Osbourne, who took his place at the head of the table and began talking immediately.

“OK gentlemen, thanks for coming, sorry about the short notice. I guess you all know why by now. Anyone not heard the news?”

Everyone shook their heads except Tom Brookes, who looked round the table in alarm. What was going on that he wasn’t aware of?

“What news?” Brookes blurted out.

“Mitchell just killed himself.”

“What?”

“So we need to know why and clear up any loose ends he left lying around. He was handling several cases at the time of death, most of which are ticking along smoothly, I believe. The only item that gives me cause for concern is the work he was doing on Winter.”

Osbourne paused for a moment as though expecting someone to contradict him. He looked down at his laptop and continued:

“So, let’s talk about the suicide first. Any ideas?”

There was stony-faced silence.

“He left a note. I doubt if it means anything though. It seems utterly confused, quite frankly.” Osbourne passed photocopies of the note around the table.

Callan read aloud: “I occupy this crevasse – the realm of nothingness which lies coiled in the heart of being – like a worm, but existentialism is a false dichotomy, and therefore metaphysical hope is impossible. I have seen through the illusion. I know what it’s like to be dead. I already know. When I walked into the room to see him I was dead then. He didn’t notice but I knew.