Christopher Fowler - Disturbia

'Neither do I. I'm afraid I can't help you in your physical search. That's Doctor Masters's department. All I can do is dig further into Wells's background history and hope something turns up in time.' He rang off as Jane Masters downloaded a fresh set of files on her PC.

'I'm absolutely convinced that the solution to this conundrum is right here in front of us, Jane,' said Bryant. 'It's not out there, it's somewhere in the past. This is my area of speciality, you know.'

'I'm sorry we're making you work on your sabbatical,' Jane apologised, although she knew that Bryant welcomed any opportunity to break with routine while he waited for May to return from abroad.

'If we assume Sebastian has a hidden agenda, what's his method for implementing it? Suppose he and his father fell out after the Melanie Daniels inquest. I find myself wondering whether the old man fixed the coroner in order to save his son from a murder charge, but if that was the case, Sebastian would owe his father a huge debt of gratitude, not be angry with him. Let's suppose for the sake of argument that he has a powerful reason for hating his old man. And by doing something tonight he can take revenge, for the League and for himself.'

'But how?'

'What would hurt his father most? Making the League strong again? He's certainly been trying to do that these last few years. Call up Sir Nicholas's file once more.'

Jane returned to the Internet address and waited while further information downloaded onto her screen. 'Here we are, full biographical details, current positions held, boards on which he sits – or publicly admits to sitting on, no current social background.'

'Can we pull information on each of these groups in turn and get work agendas and calendars from them?'

'I suppose so. Of course, it will be limited to knowledge they're prepared to make available to press and public.'

'How long will it take?'

'I'm not sure. It depends on who holds the information and how much of it they release. How soon do you need it?'

'Let's put it this way; Vince finishes his challenges at dawn, which I suppose will be around 7:45 a.m. this morning. Something will have to happen then; either Sebastian will keep his promise and let him go, and he'll be free to publish his book, or he'll break his word and stop Vince for good. Or he'll implement some kind of action that fulfils his plans. Whichever route he takes, we'll know soon enough. I don't like surprises, Jane, they make me nervous.'

He glanced back at the screen and saw that the screen had filled with dense blue type. At the top was the yellow circular star logo of the EC.

'The EC's Without Borders Initiative,' said Jane. 'Sebastian's father is founder and present chairman. There's an access address for their manifesto if you can be bothered – member countries, outline of objectives, information pack, stuff like that.'

'Part of the answer is right here,' said Bryant suddenly. 'We know Sir Nick had a change of heart, from old Tory to new Liberal. Imagine: he sets up this initiative, ready to exploit the pants off the labour market, then has a pang of conscience and drops the hidden agenda in favour of doing genuine good.'

'It would explain the rift between father and son.'

'Sebastian is betrayed, and the initiative from which he'd hoped to profit becomes the new enemy. What about a listing of their meetings, their monthly schedule?' asked Bryant. He had remembered seeing European flags lining The Mall only yesterday. 'Confound this thing. How do I move to the next page?' Bryant sat before the computer helplessly.

'Click here, Arthur. It makes the copy scroll. Look.'

WITHOUT BORDERS is an EC initiative aimed at reducing and ultimately eliminating immigration restrictions between member communities.

'Little Englanders won't like that at all. Member countries presently in London for annual conference. Odd coincidence.'

'What is?'

'It starts today. Even better. Officially opens this morning. What does it say next to the address?' Bryant's nose was almost touching the screen. 'Why do they make the print so small?'

Jane read for him. 'This important conference is attended by all key member delegates.'

'Highlight those nationalities, would you?'

'I'll have a go.' Jane was beginning to wonder if they were wasting their time, so close to Vince's deadline. She flicked the cursor to the sections of the schedule that were marked in a deeper shade of blue. A series of names and titles began to scroll down. 'Ten of them.'

'Ten men. Ten challenges.'

'What?'

'Oh, nothing. How about a list of their registered offices? Not in their resident countries. London addresses someone might use if they wanted to help, or needed press information.'

'Hang on.' Jane backed up to Information Packs: UK Contact Addresses For Member Countries and clicked on the blue title.

'There's your answer.' Bryant sat back, as smug as a cat.

'I don't see -' Jane began, stopping as she studied the office locations. The screen shone rectangles of cobalt on her eyes. 'Good God.'

'Victoria. The Strand. Muswell Hill Broadway. Puddle Dock. Red Lion Square. Vauxhall Bridge Road. St Martin's Lane. City Road. Bedford Street. Covent Garden.'

'It's a list of all the places Vince has visited in the night.'

'Do you see? Sebastian had to make Vincent carry out all the challenges alone. He needed him to unravel each of the clues in turn. I thought it odd that he should get rid of everyone who's been at the boy's side, and yet allow us to continue helping him.'

'I don't see how he could have stopped us -'

'With the resources at his command he could have done so very easily, but he didn't dare. We were making sure Vince reached each of his destinations. Besides, he didn't need to stop us.'

'Why not?'

'Because we couldn't be seen. Don't you understand? He only had to stop the ones who could physically be seen.' Bryant stabbed a bony forefinger at the air. 'Up there. All very clever.'

The revelation, such as it was, escaped her. 'I'm not sure I follow, Arthur.'

'The surveillance cameras. All those closed circuit television networks. All those security monitors busily cutting crime statistics in the capital. In the course of one night, Vincent Reynolds has been photographed at every single one of the official addresses of the members attending the conference. So if anything bad happens when it opens, guess who's the perfect scapegoat? And short of smearing his hands with blood, we've unwittingly helped to pin the blame on him.'

'But surely if something did occur, Vince could explain what's really been happening…'

'How? By relating some half-baked story about being persecuted through the night, with no one to back it up, not even us. After all, we haven't seen any of these supposed self-destructing 'notes' he's been finding, have we? No one will believe him, Jane. There's no evidence. The League is adept at covering its tracks. Even if he's kept the remains of the letters, they mean nothing by themselves. No wonder Sebastian was so careful in his selection of a dupe. A working-class man with a dodgy background! In his eyes, Vince is just the sort of person who would resent an organisation dedicated to ending immigration restrictions. How better to show that it's the will of the common people to remain an island? How better back up his inflammatory speeches with an "I told you so", to prove that the working classes are dangerous and must be controlled?'

'Vince is still out there collecting the details of the final destination. Won't Sebastian want to place him at the site?'

'Crikey, that's a thought. Does it specify the location on the EC schedule?'

Jane checked the screen. 'No. I don't suppose they would post the conference location in public view for security reasons.'