find it. The machine began its task and flashed up a series of options for the names. Philip began the painfully slow job of working through each file type. There were quicker methods, but Philip knew that nothing was as thorough as the human brain at this.
Two hours, and several glasses of JD later, he sat looking at the details he’d found. Deon appeared to be a 26-year-old and brought up in various foster and children’s homes until he was 14. There were a string of convictions up until he was 22, although nothing major: a few minor credit frauds and a couple of run-ins with the police related to fraud and theft, but nothing significant. He’d records for theft, pick pocketing, and had evidently been cautioned on several occasions for minor muggings and shoplifting offences. There were a couple of records for selling contraband hallucinogens, and a minor assault. Then he saw found something that really caught his eye: a charge for arson when he was 18. It appeared to have been dropped, but it was in keeping with the idea of causing the fire at Burlington. Deon had been arrested, but not charged, a couple of years previous for his involvement in a disturbance relating to a group of Christian communists, after which he largely disappeared from any database Philip had access to.
Nasreen Freeman was from a very different background. Brought up in an area in east central London, she was from a wealthy family and had been the perfect daughter, with records of her prowess with horse riding, tennis and commendation for a chess tournament when she was 11. Then she had moved to university at 18, but obviously left half way through her second year. From then on her records showed links various social-rights movements and links to several men with affiliations to ever-more extreme, left wing groups. Philip had been about to stop the search for the night when a list of groups and organisations that she had been personally associated with caught his attention. The group at Fort Burlington were hardly listed anywhere, except for a handful of brief notes on various people’s personal IDs and some complaints from local people about the Fort, mainly related to the clearing and burning of trash, but Nasreen had belonged to another, far more notorious organisation previously: The Islamic Foundation and Freedom League.
Philip looked at the name. It didn’t make any sense. “She’s a Muslim,” he said to himself. “Why would a member of a fanatical Islamic group turn up in a Christian commune?” The Foundation had been linked to attacks on churches and high-profile Christians over the past decade. And although Nasreen might not have been one of their most active members in the past, why on Earth would she be one of the only survivors of a massacre on a large but peaceful Christian group.
“I think I’ve got an angle,” Philip said to his c-pac and started dictating notes into the machine.
12
For the second time in a fortnight Rei was sitting in the cold corridor outside Warwick’s office. She tried to appear casual, but was aware that she was constantly fiddling with the chain around her wrist. Her patient was apparently doing well; when he was conscious at least. Although he was prone to using strange phrases that seemed remarkably anachronistic, and he appeared to have less idea about his condition than she did. But she did feel a strange rapport and a sense of empathy with this man. Somehow they both seemed lost in the wrong place. Sometimes he seemed younger than he looked, and he appeared to be alert but confused in a child-like way that Rei found endearing. He evidently hated the food that was served up to him, although there seemed nothing wrong with it; Rei ate the same food every day at the clinic. Her original diagnosis, that he’d been living abroad for a lengthy period, still seemed the best, if not only, explanation to all of the evidence. It was just that he seemed so…what was it? Rei searched for word, but
Two hours, and several glasses of JD later, he sat looking at the details he’d found. Deon appeared to be a 26-year-old and brought up in various foster and children’s homes until he was 14. There were a string of convictions up until he was 22, although nothing major: a few minor credit frauds and a couple of run-ins with the police related to fraud and theft, but nothing significant. He’d records for theft, pick pocketing, and had evidently been cautioned on several occasions for minor muggings and shoplifting offences. There were a couple of records for selling contraband hallucinogens, and a minor assault. Then he saw found something that really caught his eye: a charge for arson when he was 18. It appeared to have been dropped, but it was in keeping with the idea of causing the fire at Burlington. Deon had been arrested, but not charged, a couple of years previous for his involvement in a disturbance relating to a group of Christian communists, after which he largely disappeared from any database Philip had access to.
Nasreen Freeman was from a very different background. Brought up in an area in east central London, she was from a wealthy family and had been the perfect daughter, with records of her prowess with horse riding, tennis and commendation for a chess tournament when she was 11. Then she had moved to university at 18, but obviously left half way through her second year. From then on her records showed links various social-rights movements and links to several men with affiliations to ever-more extreme, left wing groups. Philip had been about to stop the search for the night when a list of groups and organisations that she had been personally associated with caught his attention. The group at Fort Burlington were hardly listed anywhere, except for a handful of brief notes on various people’s personal IDs and some complaints from local people about the Fort, mainly related to the clearing and burning of trash, but Nasreen had belonged to another, far more notorious organisation previously: The Islamic Foundation and Freedom League.
Philip looked at the name. It didn’t make any sense. “She’s a Muslim,” he said to himself. “Why would a member of a fanatical Islamic group turn up in a Christian commune?” The Foundation had been linked to attacks on churches and high-profile Christians over the past decade. And although Nasreen might not have been one of their most active members in the past, why on Earth would she be one of the only survivors of a massacre on a large but peaceful Christian group.
“I think I’ve got an angle,” Philip said to his c-pac and started dictating notes into the machine.
12
For the second time in a fortnight Rei was sitting in the cold corridor outside Warwick’s office. She tried to appear casual, but was aware that she was constantly fiddling with the chain around her wrist. Her patient was apparently doing well; when he was conscious at least. Although he was prone to using strange phrases that seemed remarkably anachronistic, and he appeared to have less idea about his condition than she did. But she did feel a strange rapport and a sense of empathy with this man. Somehow they both seemed lost in the wrong place. Sometimes he seemed younger than he looked, and he appeared to be alert but confused in a child-like way that Rei found endearing. He evidently hated the food that was served up to him, although there seemed nothing wrong with it; Rei ate the same food every day at the clinic. Her original diagnosis, that he’d been living abroad for a lengthy period, still seemed the best, if not only, explanation to all of the evidence. It was just that he seemed so…what was it? Rei searched for word, but
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