The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller by Malhar Patel

outlining Michael's Green's expected public appearances over the next twelve days, and the level of security assigned to each. Dropping that for now, he rummaged deeper and picked up another one: a small olive green combat guide. It was full of black and white diagrams and showed a number of simple moves to quickly disable a range of opponents.
    Stopping for a second, Jack closed his eyes to soak up the scene. He felt strange being in this room again. It made his skin itchy and his scalp tingle. There was something about this room that filled him with unease. He'd already found out that Gina's flat wasn't much safer and now neither was Anisha's, not with Pete around. He considered where else was left. Since nothing came to mind, it seemed Gina's was as good a place as any. He grabbed a medium sized travel bag off the floor, still unpacked, and zipped it open.
    Looking across at the shoebox on the bed he wondered if he wanted to mix his nice clean clothes, clothes that he had to wear, with something like that. Rancid and bloody and once alive. He didn't really have much choice so he placed the sullied box inside. Hooking the bag over his shoulder he closed the briefcase and took a deep calming breath, before walking out of the room with it, locking the door only out of habit.
     
    Gina and Anisha sat on the couch, chatting excitedly about what had happened at the office. “We were this close to being completely caught. Then Bob sneezed and it was like Oh My God! I thought it was over.”
    “But you must've got away in the end.”
    “Yeah we finally managed it but I've never been so scared in my life. It was like being a professional cat burglar or something.”
    “God, I'm glad I was at work.” A small pause hung over them. “So what are we going to do about this Pete creep?”
    “I don't know. But all of this suddenly happening and then Pete's name like that. It doesn’t seem like its random. It seems like you meeting Jack after all these years can’t have been a co-incidence; it must’ve been forced. Pete has to be involved in what’s going on. If only we could work out how.”
    They were interrupted by Jack knocking on the door. Exercising her newfound caution, Gina checked through the side-window before letting him in. With a dry voice he proclaimed, “I've got the fingers.” Anisha was waiting with her mobile, which was now loaded with the correct format of Jack's fingerprints. It identified certain characteristics in the image that then made a quick match detectable, even from a partial print. They all moved into the living room and slumped to the floor.
    From the moody atmosphere and the shifty look the girls were trading, Jack could tell they'd been talking about Pete. It was a problem that everyone had put to the side for now. The proverbial elephant in the room. As the mobile beeped to show it was ready everybody avoided eye contact. Eventually Jack whispered, “One of us has to fingerprint the fingers.”
    “They're your fingers,” retorted Gina, and Anisha nodded in agreement.
    Jack sighed. He knew they were perfectly right but it didn't make the task any more pleasant. His stomach began to reflux at the thought of touching the bloody stumps. A quick scan of the room revealed some tissues and grabbing out a wad in one go he draped them over each of the five fingers.
    As he worked, the girls watching him intently; almost with morbid fascination. Jack now began pressing each tissue on the surface of a finger, checking it was thick enough to stop any unwanted juices from leaking through. Finally he picked up the first finger and pressed it on the screen.
    Anisha squinted in disgust. Her phone was never going to be clean again. Soldiering on, Jack picked up the next one to print and then did the same with the third and fourth fingers. At times he felt his grip on the digits loosening and it took all his willpower not to drop them completely. He finished with the thumb, which was smaller and more awkward.