2 comments/ 8347 views/ 1 favorites Conspiracy Theory Pt. 01 By: Starscream_UK Conspiracy Theory Pt. 01 "Yeah, he'd contacted our publication about giving us an interview regarding comments he'd made in the news media recently," Crossman answered. "And before you ask I have no idea what it was that he wanted to talk about." "Mmm, so you said," Simmons answered as he looked down at the statements that the two journalists had written independently. Inwardly he didn't expect anything from them other than to corroborate each other's stories, however process and procedure had to be adhered to. "How did he die?" The redhead -- Amy -- asked. Simmons looked at her. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that yet -- the medical examiner hasn't completed the autopsy." He replied. Dan seized on the words. "Autopsy? So there's something suspicious about it?" Simmons instantly regretted his previous comment. "It's just standard procedure Mister Crossman," he answered, then a brief flash of recognition rolled across his face. "Wait a minute, you're Daniel Crossman the conspiracy nut aren't you?" "I prefer the term investigative journalist," Dan responded. "But, yeah, that's me." Simmons smiled. "It's a small world after all." He muttered as he stood up and opened the door to the interview room. "Look folks, you're free to go -- I've got your contact details if I need anything else from you." The harsh light of day stung their eyes once they were outside the subdued lighting of the Police Station. Amy looked around and seemed somewhat lost as Dan tried to locate his car keys. "So what do we do now?" she asked. "You still got that file on Close?" Dan countered. Amy nodded. "We start digging -- I know someone down at the ME's office that we can talk to in a bit to see if we can get a heads up on the autopsy results. I'll drop you back at the office on the way." Yotsubishi Industries, Tokyo Yuriko Obato waited patiently for the elevator doors to open. When they finally did her heels made a surprisingly loud noise as she walked towards the ornate doors that shrouded the rest of the sixty floors of Yotsubishi Industries from it's mysterious president, Taku Kuro. As she reached the doors Midori Uragi greeted her. A slim woman in her late twenties, many suspected that her duties went far beyond that of being Kuro's chief assistant. "Yuriko-san you are expected." Midori said as she motioned towards the doors. There was a faint clicking noise as the doors began to open. "Thank you Midori-san. You are as efficient as always." Yuriko replied as she bowed her head slightly to Midori. Neither woman truly trusted each other; it was more like a ritual politeness that existed between them; after all they both had secrets. Yuriko entered the large penthouse office. She had been inside this room once before -- and the darkness inside failed to be anymore comforting on this second visit. "Report Obato-san." The voice was slightly distant, almost ethereal in nature, yet instantly recognisable as that of Taku Kuro. Yuriko stood upright and looked towards the desk at the far end of the room. "The program is incomplete," she said. "It appears that the version we have is primitive." "Have your team been able to extrapolate to a full version?" Kuro asked. "No," Yuriko replied. "However I have identified a complete version that we can acquire." "Are you sure it is within your reach?" "Absolutely sir," Yuriko's confidence shone through. "Very well Obato-san, proceed with your plan, but remember that failure is not an option." Muro said. "Thank you Muro-sama." Yuriko bowed her head and turned on her heels. She exited the penthouse office and went straight into the waiting elevator. Offices of The Voice, Ludgate Circus, London Amy rubbed her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. As they opened again they saw the clock on the wall that seemed to be dominating the whole room. 6:14 pm She shook her head and switched off her computer. Next to the keyboard was a pile of paperwork -- a combination of printed notes and articles from the Internet. As Amy stood up and stretched her back the door to the office opened and Dan walked into the room. "Where the hell have you been?" Amy asked. "You've been gone nearly five hours." He sat down on the edge of her desk. "Have you been drinking?" "Hey, one drink -- I suffer for my art you know." He replied as he pulled a file out from inside his grey trench coat and dropped it onto her desk. "There you go -- that's cost me five pints so far." "Is that…?" Amy started. "The preliminary autopsy report on Doctor Donald Close." He finished. "They're ruling it a suicide, but I don't buy it." "What? Why?" Amy said as she picked up the report. "I've gotta go -- I owe someone dinner," Dan said as he stood up and headed out of the building. "However, read that report and cross reference it against Marilyn Monroe." And with that he was out of the door. "Marilyn Monroe?" Amy mused as she picked up the autopsy report and sat back down at her desk. After a few moments of surfing the Internet she glanced at the report -- underlined in black ink on the third page were the words lack of gelatine capsules in stomach contents? She looked at the reference then back at the computer screen in front of her. "My God…" Amy whispered as she began to make copious notes. The Home Office, Westminster Rachel stood and admired the lavishly decorated hallway. It was much better than the concrete box in Marsham Street where most of the department worked. A portrait opposite her looked like a Goya, presumably on permanent loan from the national Gallery. She ran her fingers through her hair as she waited. As she glanced over her shoulder she saw his guest depart. Smiling inwardly, she picked up the bag that was by her feet and walked into his office. Once she was past the door -- and she was certain that it was secure -- her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. Sitting behind the desk at the opposite end of the room was a silver haired man who reminded her of her late grandfather. As she approached him, his eyes locked with hers with a devilish glint in them. "Lord Denby," Rachel said as she placed the bag on the desk. "In there you'll find everything that Erickson had compiled over the last six months." "Really? Everything?" Denby replied in a rich, warm tone. Rachel nodded. "All the files, all the interviews, all the transcripts -- the lot." She smiled as she perched on the edge of his desk. "How do I know that you haven't retained copies of this for your own…amusement?" Denby asked as he opened the bag and took a quick peak inside. "You should know me well enough by now to realise that this," she indicated towards the bag, "really isn't my sort of thing." Denby laughed. "Indeed I do Rachel." He said with an assurance in his voice that betrayed the truth. "I'm led to believe that the unfortunate Doctor Close has taken his own life in despair over our recent smear campaign, and that young Erickson was ambushed by a radical fundamentalist group that he had been tracking on my behalf." Denby paused for a moment to look out of the window and across the Thames. "Such a shame to lose two such dedicated public servants on the same day." "It would seem to be the case," Rachel replied -- her hand idly fondling the paper knife that sat on the desk. She picked it up and examined it, admiring the ivory handle and how well it was balanced before returning it to the tray. "Any more loose ends that you'd like taking care of?" "It's funny you should mention that," Denby said as he opened a draw to his right. "There are a few…" Tokyo, Shibuya ku As she walked up from the subway along with the teeming hordes of commuters, Yuriko found her nostrils assaulted by the smells of the street vendors. Ordinarily she would have stopped off at the first noodle bar she found a stool at but time was against her. She darted through a narrow opening in the crowd to bridge the gap between the entrance to her apartment building and the edge of the sidewalk. Once inside the gleaming glass and steel construct she entered the elevator at the far end of the lobby and pressed the button for the twenty-first floor. The ascent was rapid, far quicker than the industrial elevator in the Yotsubishi building. Exiting the elevator she reached into her jacket pocket for her e-key. Once inside and in the relative privacy of her apartment she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. "Shosa." The word brought her back to the moment -- her eyes scanning the darkness as her body tensed. A faint red glow flared up momentarily before disappearing, followed by the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke. "Detective Miyamoto," Yuriko called out. "How did you get in here?" a finger flicked a light switch and she saw him. Despite his reputation for heavy-drinking Ryoma Miyamoto carried his forty-five years of age well in his features. His dark, cropped hair was peppered with white at the temples and his features reminded Yuriko of the actor Ken Takura in his prime. "You'd be surprised what people will do to avoid paying a few parking fines." Ryoma replied. "I didn't mean to startle you." "No, I know you didn't, however it's not safe to meet here," Yuriko replied as she made her way through the living room towards the bedroom. "Or to use that name either." She referenced the term he had addressed her with when she entered the room. "Have you found anything yet?" Ryoma asked as he stood up. "I hope you don't mind me smoking." "Of course not." Yuriko said as she struggled to lift her suitcase down from her wardrobe. "Nothing yet -- the files on your wife are still classified at my security clearance." She returned to the living room. "But I will find out what happened to her for you Miyamoto-san -- once I get back." "Get back? From where?" Ryoma asked. "England." She replied as she opened a draw and removed her passport from it. "Interesting road trip." Ryoma answered. He finished his cigarette and made his way into the kitchenette to douse it under the tap. "If you bump into Pryke tell him I said hello." "I shall do Miyamoto-san." Yuriko said as she continued to pile items up in her arms. Ryoma watched her methodically picking up various things and disappearing into her bedroom with them before returning to collect some paperwork. "Look, you're busy so I'll get out of your way." Ryoma said. Yuriko accompanied him to the door of her apartment. "And, there's no need to be formal with me, its just Ryoma." And with that he left, leaving Yuriko with a mountain of questions to accompany her long journey ahead. Yardell Street, Central London Tuesday, 8:32 am As he closed the front door to his townhouse Dan found himself juggling his briefcase in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Realising that he'd have to sacrifice one of these to fish the keys out of his jacket pocket he tried to cradle the briefcase between his knees -- only to find it starting to slip out the moment he took his hand away. "Need a hand?" Amy's question startled him, causing him to drop the briefcase. "Jesus…" Dan said as he twisted to see her standing at the foot of the small set of steps that led down to the pavement. "Yes -- can you have my briefcase while I just lock the door?" Amy's heels clicked against the stone steps as she reached Dan. She reached down between his legs and grabbed the handle of the briefcase, lifting it to safety. "Cheers." He said as he inserted the Yale key into the lock and rotated it one hundred and eighty degrees. He put the key back into his jacket pocket and then retrieved the briefcase from Amy. "So, what do you know?" "You think that Close was murdered don't you?" Amy countered. "I read that autopsy report and then cross checked it like you suggested." "And?" Dan asked as they made their way down the steps and onto the pavement. They walked the short distance to the offices of The Voice at nearby Ludgate Circus. "While I'll admit that you may have something of a point -- and the autopsy report does raise more questions than it answers, the amount of tablets needed to achieve an overdose would leave some sort of residue in his stomach and there are no needle point marks on his body -- I'm at a loss to understand who might have anything to gain from Close's death, let alone making it look like suicide." Amy said as they crossed the busy street, with her avoiding the puddle in the street that Dan simply stepped straight into. "That's the sixty four thousand dollar question." He said. "We'll start with the most recent stuff." "The comments he was making about Iraq?" Dan nodded in response to her question. "And pay particular attention to who is saying what about Close from the government's side of things." Dan said as they reached the main door to the magazine offices. He held the door open for her before entering himself. "I'll start with interviewing the members of that survey team -- we'll see if they upset anyone with the report they submitted." They began to climb the stairs to the first floor where the "bullpen" area was. "One step ahead of you," Amy said as she fumbled inside her own bag for a small notepad. She handed it to Crossman. "Here's a list of the folks who are still around from that group -- closest one appears to be in Birmingham." Crossman looked at it and nodded, pleasantly surprised at his young colleague's foresight. "Great -- I'll make my way up there this afternoon." He said as they reached the first floor and the series of desks that littered the open space. Each desk had a computer and a telephone on it -- many of them were filled with the other members of The Voice's permanent staff. "Do you fancy coming along?" "I'd love to but Mister Ackland is here for the next couple of days. Mister Dixon thought it would be good for me to meet him." Amy answered as she turned away from Dan to reach her own desk. "But we can catch up when you get back if you'd like?" "Sure -- I'll speak to you later then." The Neutral Zone Comic Book store, Birmingham 2:12 pm Tim scratched his head. He'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to reconnect the pipe he had removed from the bottom of the boiler in the basement of the shop. The torchlight wobbled slightly as a faint humming or buzzing noise from somewhere to Tim's right. "Jesus Moz, will you keep that thing still -- how the fuck am I supposed to see what I'm doing if your waving that thing around like a bloody light sabre?" he chastised his friend. "Sorry -- couldn't resist." Moz replied as he refocused the beam of light on the junction between the two pipes. "It's okay -- I do it all the time because of the dust in here -- but there's a time and a place for everything, and this ain't it." Tim muttered as the pipe slipped out of the joint again. "Bollocks!" he cursed. "That's it -- I'm calling an engineer." The door of the shop opened -- Kelly looked up from behind the counter and took stock of the person entering. He wasn't someone she immediately recognised, however as she had been here just over a month that wasn't too unusual. However, he seemed to be looking for someone -- or something -- with an intensity that was uncommon for a normal patron of the shop. She could feel her body tense slightly as her heart rate increased momentarily. "Excuse me," the interloper came across to the counter and addressed her. "Do you know where I might be able to find Tim Smith?" As he stood closer to her she evaluated him -- her mind registered the fact that the large coat he wore could easily obscure a variety of weapons. However, his premature double chin and the bags under his eyes made Kelly think otherwise. "Yeah -- he's downstairs at the minute." She said. "I'll get him for you if you like?" she stepped around the counter and walked backwards down one of the aisles, never allowing the stranger to leave her eyesight. "Who's after him?" "I'm Dan Crossman -- I need to ask him a few questions about a former colleague of his." Kelly reached the back of store -- only then did she avert her gaze from this unknown factor. She opened the door to the cellar and called down. "Tim, someone to see you." It took a few minutes for Tim and Moz to climb the stairs and reach the main shop floor. Kelly could see that Tim's hands were covered in a mixture of oil and dirt. "Have you fixed it yet?" Tim shook his head. "Nope, bloody thing just keeps slipping out." He replied as he looked at the man at the counter. "Who's the spook?" "He's no spook." Kelly countered. "But he said he wants to talk to you about something." She paused for a second. "Do you want me to take a look at the boiler?" "Knock yourself out gorgeous!" Tim said. Kelly jabbed him playfully in the ribs as she descended the stairs, pausing only to swipe the torch from Moz. Tim walked up to the trench-coated man. "I'm Tim Smith," he smiled as he extended his hand. Dan shook it, then realised it was now covered in grime. "How can I help you?" "My name is Dan Crossman, I'm a freelance journalist investigated the death of Doctor Donald Close," the mention of the dead man's name wiped the smile of Tim's face. "I was wondering if you could spare me some time to talk about him and your work in the UN Inspection Team." "Sure, but we'd better go upstairs." Tim said. He turned to Moz. "Moz, she's all yours mate." Dan refused the offer of a drink as Tim pushed a chair over to him. The journalist sat down on the opposite side of the desk from the comic book storeowner. They looked at each other for a moment. Crossman then pulled out a small Dictaphone from his pocket. As he placed it on the desk he activated it. "You worked with Close as part of the UN Weapons Inspection Program in Iraq a few years ago?" Crossman asked. Tim nodded. "Yeah -- I was on loan to the UN from the MoD -- we were assigned to investigate the northern regions of the country; primarily the Dahuk, Ninawa and Arbil regions." Tim said as he got up and went to the refrigerator. He opened the door and pulled out a can of coke from inside. As he sat back down he opened it. He took a drink from it before continuing. "There were seven of us assigned to the field group -- we'd go into the facilities and evaluate their current use against what it could be utilised for. You know, the Iraqis would say it's a water treatment facility but they'd have all the gear there for producing chemical weapons as well." "Did you encounter any problems while you were there?" Crossman asked. "I'm assuming you've done your homework, so you'll know we did." The terse reply made Crossman feel uneasy. "We walked into a site thinking it was a safe area and it turned out that it was anything but -- four Republican Guardsmen were ready to shoot us if we didn't turn around and leave immediately. Close argued with them and they opened fire -- leaving four of the team dead." "Do you blame Close for the situation?" "I'd blame him for getting us into a situation that we didn't fully understand, but not for the Iraqis reaction -- they just started firing indiscriminately." Tim responded. "Look, if you're trying to figure out who might have an axe to grind with Close then I'll admit that I'm on that list -- but I wouldn't want to hurt the guy, jeez, I mean, he was this well meaning, holier-than-thou bible bashing Catholic who was in way over his head." Tim said. "And I made that perfectly clear in my report -- however we both agreed on the fundamental issue that there was nothing there that even remotely resembled a weapon of mass destruction -- he just chose to go public with it when I cautioned against that course of action." Neither man said anything for a moment. "How did he die?" Conspiracy Theory Pt. 01 "It appears that he took an overdose of sleeping tablets." Dan said. Tim almost choked on his drink. "Suicide? Bullshit!" he shot back. "No way -- that's not the Don Close I knew. He was trying to convert everyone and anyone to Catholicism while we were out there." "So you don't believe he took his own life?" Dan asked. Tim shook his head vehemently. "Never -- I can't relate to the religious mind set, but he was the kind of guy who would go out of his way to talk to you about his beliefs with a big beaming smile on his face. It was almost like some sort of insidious conversion process, I swear." Tim glanced down at his watch. "Look, I've got to get back downstairs -- is there anything else I can help with?" "No, I think that's about it really," Dan scooped up the Dictaphone and placed it back in his pocket. "But you might want to be vigilant, in case anything does happen." "Hey, I've got more than my fair share of problems at the moment," Tim replied as he escorted Dan down the stairs. He noticed Kelly at the bottom of them. "But thanks for the warning, I figure I've got more than enough protection right now." "Fair enough," Dan said as he made his way to the exit. "But tell me, how does a top-flight scientist like yourself end up running a comic book shop?" "Probably in the same way that a high flying fleet street journalist ends up being drummed out of the mainstream for printing something he should have checked out properly to begin with." Tim countered. "Shit happens." He added. "Good day to you Mister Crossman." As Tim watched Dan Crossman walk away from the store he felt a presence behind him. "How much did you hear?" "Enough." Kelly responded. "Do we need to be concerned?" "No, it's nothing we can't handle if it comes to it," He reassured her as he closed the door. "Now, did you manage to fix the pipe?" "Of course I did," Kelly said. "Did you think a piece of pipe would stop me?" "Nope, not for one second." Tim replied. Conspiracy Theory Pt. 02 Conspiracy Theory Pt. 02 "I thought the original was lost?" He asked. She nodded. "As did we – however last week something tried to access the mainframe within the Otaku research facility," She said. "Kyushu recognised it immediately – it was nearly identical to the program we tried to acquire five years ago, only more…polished, more inventive in its nature." "How do you know it's the same thing?" He asked as he took his turn to take a drink. "I mean, couldn't it be those hackers that you had trouble with a couple of months ago?" "Togusa thought that initially, then we realised whatever was trying to get in was attempting to do so by duplicating an access code of someone who was already logged in." Yuriko paused for a moment. "My access code in fact. It had identified me as being the highest ranked member logged on and used that to circumvent most of the security protocols. Kyushu reacted by disabling the only connection it could have come in from; the Central Government network. It took three days for Kyushu to reconstruct the firewalls in our system." "Great," he muttered. "So, not only was our attempt to grab it five years ago a balls up someone else got hold of the finished program and is using it." He shook his head. "Jesus…" Yuriko looked at the clock on the wall. "I'm sorry Gideon, but you need to go." "Okay," he said as he got up. "I'll see what I can find out and I'll be in touch." He moved away and then stopped. Gideon looked back at her. "It's nice to see you again Yuri." The use of the pet name he'd made up for her one night six years ago made her smile. Then he turned and left the establishment, leaving her alone again. Conspiracy Theory Pt. 02 "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting Mister Crossman," Anita said as she closed the door and sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Now, how can I help you?" "Well, first of all can I just say thanks for taking the time to talk to me," Dan said as he switched on the Dictaphone and placed it on the desk. "I appreciate that you're a busy person and it's a hectic time for you. I'm looking into the death of Donald Close – I understand that you knew him a few years ago?" "Donald? Why, yes – I read about his death in the paper yesterday – very tragic," She said. "We were on Inter Departmental Committee for the Evaluation of Software together for awhile – I was the clerical help. I took the minutes and typed them up." "Was there anything particularly interesting or sensitive about that particular committee?" Dan asked. Anita shook her head. "Not particularly - mind you there wasn't anything much to remember. A cross-departmental database project I think. Very lofty goals from what I can recall, but a couple of Departments already had projects on the go so it was never really going to get off the ground." She said as she looked over her schedule in her diary. "It was canned." "That was it? A cross departmental database?" Dan asked. Anita nodded. "Although, I recall one of the presentations was quite groundbreaking," Anita added. "And, of course, there was Denby, that's Sir Lucas Denby. He was a racist and sexist bastard but he knew how to play the game all right. He made sure control stayed with the Home Office and I was with them at the time." "What was so memorable about that particular presentation?" Dan asked, suddenly finding something to pique his interest. "It was called Oracle," Anita said, a wistful smile crossing her face for a second. "The author wasn't one of the regular suppliers. He never had a chance." She paused for a second. "I do remember one thing though. Denby had a look about him. Something about Oracle was a big turn on for him." "Couldn't it have just been something else on his mind? A mistress perhaps?" "For a lot of people you might be right. But not him. Only one thing turned Denby on. Power! Trust me on that. It's the one thing we had in common. When I was a typist at the Home Office I had two degrees and spoke five languages. But I was an Indian from Goa and so I typed letters and minutes while he enjoyed the power and enjoyed patronizing wogs like me." She sat back in her chair. "So after a while I used my contacts to get a job as a researcher for an MP. I paid my dues and now I'm the candidate here. I've got the Asian vote and the woman's vote pretty well sewn up while my Labour opponent's haemorrhaging votes to the BNP. I'm twice as bright and work three times as hard as him. And I only need a 2.7% swing to take the seat. Next year I'll be the MP and the parliament after that I'll be a junior minister in the department where I once worked. Then Sir Lucas Denby will find out a bit about power!" The determination was clear in her voice as Dan listened to her – he could see how her forceful nature could win over the voters in this area. "So Oracle meant power to Denby?" he rationalised, more to himself than anyone else. "Nothing else fits." Anita answered. The rapping on the door signified that Dan's time with the prospective Member of Parliament was now up. He said his goodbyes and departed her office, leaving almost as unclear on what he was getting into as when he arrived nearly an hour ago. The Voice, Ludgate Circus 4:35 pm The shrill tone of the mobile phone rang twice before Amy picked it up. She looked at the display for a moment before flipping the lid. "I hope you're ringing with some good news for me." She said into the mouthpiece and dispensing with the normal pleasantries. "Yeah – I've just spent an hour talking to Miss Rodriguez. She seemed fixated on something called Oracle on a software board that she and Close worked on a few years ago…" "The Inter Departmental Committee for the Evaluation of Software, right?" Amy interrupted. "Yeah," Dan said. "Look, before you go any further," Amy said as her fingers danced over the keyboard. "Two more members of that committee turned up dead this morning." "What?" the shock was evident in his voice even over the static filled connection. "Sally Williams and Brenda Jameson – looks like some sort of murder/suicide thing." Amy added. "I'm just about to fire off an official request for the minutes of their meetings to see if there's anything in them." "Good – I'll be back down there in a couple of hours, dependent upon the traffic." Dan said as he reached his car. "I'll see you when I'm back." West Jesmond, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 7:22 pm He couldn't believe that Rachel wanted to see him again. To him MI5 was glamorous and to have a MI5 agent round to ask him about his work was an exciting change. To have any woman spending time with him was noteworthy, but an intelligence officer was really…He didn't have a word for it. For Stuart Boyd, life had taken quite a dramatic turn for the better. She'd originally come to question him about some boring committee he'd subbed on a couple of times. Then they'd got talking about computer systems and she'd been really interesting and perceptive, listening to his explanations and asking the odd intelligent question. And when she'd had to leave she'd asked if she could return, so he could explain some more over a drink. He didn't really frequent pubs so she had suggested one down the road where they could have a meal as well. As soon as she'd gone he'd leapt into action. He'd found a clean shirt and tie. He'd had a bath and changed into clean underwear and socks. Like the Navy did before they went into action. He'd picked that up on a role-playing forum somewhere. He was supposed to be joining a 'World of Warcraft' boss hunt with a group of online gamers, but he'd just have to take the penalty, and he could catch up on that over the course of the next two weeks annual leave he was about to take. Dinner with a spy just didn't happen. There was no way he was going to blow this off. He even remembered to use the body spray his sister had sent him for a Christmas present about eighteen months ago. Driving off for the pub meal Rachel had to have her window open. Boyd had rather overdone the Lynx! Still she was pleased. Everything was going well again. She confirmed her assessment when she removed her coat and he could see her carefully chosen outfit. She'd picked a satin blouse with a low neck and Lycra to make it cling properly, above a knee length black leather skirt and three inch black patent high heels. She'd added a faint fragrance, which shouldn't be too distinctive by the time she got him back to his bed. Her lipstick was a darker red than normal and she'd mascara'd her eyes. She'd added big earrings and a velvet choker to complete the look. Stuart had looked gob smacked. Throughout the evening his eyes had regularly been drawn back to the swell of her breasts as she leaned forward to listen to something he said. Her eyes had been less mesmerizing than she'd hoped, but appeared wide and attentive to his conversation. She'd laughed at his jokes. For once he hadn't wanted to talk about computers. But his social chat was lacking so he just spent a lot of time looking at Rachel. She'd told him a few amusing stories about her work but as the evening wore on it became more and more a matter of looks between them. "Can I come in?" said Rachel quietly as she pulled up outside. "Sure," said Stuart nervously. She put her arm through his as they walked up the path to his front door. He fumbled for the key and she squeezed his arm gently. He almost dropped it, but eventually managed to get them both inside. 'Has anyone told you that you have sensitive eyes,' asked Rachel. Then she kissed him. After a moment her tongue pressed forward against his lips. When they parted she looked him directly in the eyes. "Take me to your bed," she said, her voice husky. "I want you to make love to me!" "It's a bit messy upstairs," he offered weakly. "I don't care," she responded, loosening his appalling tie. "I want you. Now!" It wasn't that messy. The worst part was the miasma of stale and unwashed clothes. But the thought of what she was going to do to him was enough to keep her aroused. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and knelt to release his jeans, kissing his body as she did so. He had problems getting the jeans off over his erection so she stood and let her skirt slither to the floor. She stepped over it still in her stilettos and started to unbutton her sleeves at the wrist before lifting the shirt over her head. "Do you like what you see?" she enquired, taking a pose. "Oh yes!" he almost stammered. His underpants were bulging. She walked forward and pushed him to the bed. Then she sat stride him and leant forward. "Why don't you kiss my breasts?" she invited. Conspiracy Theory Pt. 03 Conspiracy Theory Pt. 03 "I'm sure I could arrange something if the Department felt it necessary." Rachel found her mind suddenly alert. "I have the details here. How is it going with the regular members of the Committee at the time?" "Three down, two to go." Rachel replied. "Excellent," Denby paused. "You know I find it rather thrilling to be engaged in all this top secret shenanigans. It's such a long way from my usual activities. Oh yes, my contact asked me to say that a further ex-gratia payment will be arranged. You should find a passbook in the post." It was a sore point that she was only on 27K a year. But even more than the money the knowledge that she was part of a super secret inner group within the Security Service really fed her ego. 'It's some low level press hound by the name of Hemmings." He said. "I'll forward the specifics to you." whatever he thought of her she was efficient. "I understand Sir Lucas. Please tell your contact that I'll get to work on it as soon as the others are taken care of." The call ended as abruptly as it began, allowing Rachel to return to her bed. However, her thoughts were turned to matters beyond sleep. After he'd put the phone down he considered matters briefly. He'd paid her three thousand pounds of his own money, ostensibly on behalf of his 'highest level MI5 contact'. He didn't have that much use for money. The children were all grown up and making their way in life, and Marjory had gone off with her lover to some ghastly place in America. Texas or Milwaukee or somewhere. That had been a real godsend. So finding a few thousand pounds for this greedy bitch hadn't been a problem. And now thanks to Oracle there was no problem in providing any level of income he needed. He could imagine her eyes gleaming as she opened the passbook and realized what she had. . Conspiracy Theory Pt. 03 Quickly she shed her coat and pulled out the knife she always carried. As she stood outside she could hear Amy singing quietly to herself. She sounded pleased and happy. Rachel pulled the shower door open. Amy's eyes opened wide in shock. Rachel sent the knife in a perfect upward strike between Amy's ribs and into her heart. Amy's face twisted and she leaned back against the wall. The water and foam flowing down her body abruptly started to turn red. A crazed killer wouldn't strike just once, nor would they be that precise. Rachel started to stab Amy again and again. Now she was striking downwards. The ribs overlapped against such an attack and so Amy's breasts were quickly covered with shallow bleeding slashes. Amy tried to say something but the dangerous eyes of the woman who was attacking her mesmerized her, and her strength was ebbing fast. She slid down to the ceramic floor. Rachel punched three hard deep penetrations into the swell of Amy's stomach then stood back as Amy let out a gurgling sigh and her head fell forward. The water continued to flow away pink. Rachel looked at herself. Her front was pretty wet. She used the water flow to rinse away the splatter from her arms and front and to clean off the knife. Only a professional would leave it. Stepping back onto the mat outside the shower Rachel removed her wet shoes. The bottoms of her feet were still dry and she didn't want to leave any moist footprints for the police forensics to find. After that she slipped her coat on over the wet clothing. A quick search found the ready pile of documents. She replaced the minutes and attendance list among the rest of the parcel's contents making sure they were in order, using a pair of disposable gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. The list that Amy had made went into her pocket. She checked her face in the mirror before leaving and removed a spot of blood she'd missed. She slipped back into her wet shoes on the front door mat and left. She'd done a brilliant improvisation, and it looked as if she'd been just in time. Now it was just Priest to take out. And the other reporter; Crossman.