34

Clive was shaken. His resolve was severely tested. He fitted a description of the odious guy they claimed him to be.

His accidental encounter with the Winchurch girl had been a catastrophe. Not only did it plunge her back into a nightmare experience, it put him into the situation as well. But not clearly enough to know the exact circumstances.

Should he continue to investigate the deal? Could he believe in himself, enough to exonerate himself? Did his bad or weak character undermine his case against the firm? Could principles be obliterated by emotional flaws and monstrous behaviour?

He was tempted to share the view of his enemies.

Pitt imagined that he understood himself fairly well; at least as well as anybody does. But was that self-knowledge no more than a false belief system? Did he really know himself at all? This was the crux of it.

He felt intensely ashamed of running away. He was conscious of his renegade isolation. Every breath oppressed him, through the cage of his chest. Apparently he didn’t have an emotional support system; any true friends or family. This was not self-pity, but a glance at shattered pieces left on the hard floor.

Pixie would have to abandon him, delete her links to him, before it was too late. She was already leading a charmed life at the company. Clive had objected to cheating in the global casino, but he was a criminal himself. Her previous sympathy towards Clive had been dangerous. Any loyalty at this stage would be lethal, not simply hard to justify or explain.

Was there any belief in his innocence, or any hope he was not culpable? If he was just running to save his own skin, there was no point. Maybe he should be done with everything by handing himself over at a police station in London. He could present himself and explain his involvement with the rape of Emmy.

However this would only work if the police believed his story. They didn’t have any record of such a crime taking place. Septimus chose not notify them to start an investigation. His attitude was not going to change, as he still had the same motives. So what was Pitt’s incentive to talk to the police, or even to remain within the law? He didn’t think handing himself to the authorities would progress his case. Clive preferred to remain elusive rather than to surrender to private security firms or psychopaths with air miles.

Was this the moment to relocate internationally? Why insist on his British life when powerful figures were hunting him down? He potentially had the information to destroy them, but where had he placed it? Apparently his files were lost, yet his enemies didn’t understand or wish to understand. But as soon as they tested this fact, they would dispense with his services altogether. It was much more difficult as a fugitive. They were surely alert to any move to the ports. Did he have any ideas? Any contacts?

Pitt reached the edge of the grounds again and found a gap in the perimeter fence, as he read that dark legend again, The Sir Septimus Winchurch ZNT Research Hospital.

What if his extreme behaviour was induced by drugs or hormonal injections? His mind was troubled, confused and under duress. He had absorbed information about his character and investigation. Amnesia made him biddable. As ZNT marked his cards his mental images and ideas had shuffled into a confusing sequence. If Emmy had been calmer she may have explained more. The picture was more complicated. Could she recognise other men who may also have been present?

It was hard to contradict the firm opinion of other people. They formed convincing views about his character. Was it worth struggling to prove them wrong? Trying to roll back all those events?

His enemies had induced this flaw. But unwittingly he had been participating. This began when he considered pulling the pin on ZNT. They had recognised the immediate danger of his insider subordination. They calculated his toxicity and decided he must be dumped, as if for drums of cyanide in an African landfill. He had to be quietly rendered harmless, through disgrace at home and work. They were skilled at removing executives who proved incompetent or undependable. It was better to expose a traitor than to contest openly with him (or her).

But those guys in Geneva wouldn’t have tried this without good material to go on. They must have probed for his flaws, in order to reveal them, just as you can’t buy out a company that hasn’t a viable product or service, even if you are going to break them apart as soon as you acquire a majority holding.

He could be the victim of brain washing here, or an equivalent intervention. They had messed with his head, just as they were doing with Emmy. They wanted to put him out into the dark, by persuading him to act against his own interests to undermine his own case. Unfortunately the case had vanished into hyperspace.

Septimus and his clients needed to erase all evidence and protect themselves fully.

Until then it was just one man and his missing memory.

Returning to Pixie’s wheels Pitt was astonished to notice somebody waiting on the passenger side. Drawing nearer Clive noted a handsome young guy. This character was looking sharp and relaxed. The dapper character reclined in the soft white leather, laughing crookedly through the windscreen. It seemed as if he was expecting Pitt, or even knew him. Far from looking nervous the character was super confident and mocking. He resembled a preening fashion gigolo.

Clive pounced on the driver’s door - the security was disabled - tearing it back to reach inside and try to pull this fellow out of the car.

“Hey, Clive! What kept you? Don’t mind me dropping in, d’you?”

Pitt intended to get into the guy’s face, but instantly regretted it. He knew at once that he wouldn’t succeed. Like eyeballing a psycho in the rugby scrum, Clive felt that it would be a mistake to attack. Pitt wouldn’t come off best in such a tussle.

“Calm down Clive!” the guy urged. “You intolerant sonovabitch! Your anger gets the better of you.” His swarthy handsome face creased into a sarcastic smile. “You’d better get out of here. Let’s burn some rubber, man. You can ask questions later!”

“You’re coming with me?” Clive challenged. He leant into the ergonomic shell of the driver’s seat.

“Here for the ride!” the guy jeered; twinkly eyes narrowed sarcastically.

“Did you see security guards around here?” Pitt enquired.

“Don’t take any chances.”

Pitt’s metabolism was hammering. He was drenched in adrenaline. It was painful to remain still. He slammed the door, belted up and ignited the car impetuously. The Porsche’s back wheels screamed under stress and tossed up a plume of suffocating dust into the baked air behind.

“Fucking way to go!” the intruder shouted.

In no time the hospital site was behind them and he was snaking the lanes, sliding on gravelly corners.

“Trying to frighten me? How fucking pathetic.”

“Are you enjoying yourself? Who are you?” Pitt challenged.

“I enjoy sharing the fast lane with you banker boys. You know how to live fast and retire early. I’m getting a kick out of this,” he said, punching Pitt’s arm.

“What do you want?” Clive returned.

“You know what we want, Clive,” he leered. He gazed into the driver’s mirror and perfected his quiff of jet black hair.

“You belong to the ZNT board? Your face is somehow familiar.”

“That’s excellent Clive,” he exclaimed, laughing disproportionately. “You gotta head for faces after all!”

Pitt tried to concentrate on the road and also to observe his unique passenger.

“How did you manage to get in here? Into the car?” he pressed, darting his glance across.

“Are you for real?” the man scoffed.

“You think you’re God’s gift, is that it?” Pitt scoffed.

“Get back on the motorway,” he suggested.

“You’re too big for your short breeches, mate,” Clive retorted.

“Last time I was with Mr Di Visu. You lost track?”

“You’d better start explaining yourself, pretty boy.”

“That’s right, you’re not really handsome yourself.” At this the young guy thrust forward his jaw. “Go on then, Clive. Don’t like it? Be my guest! Violence brings strangers together. So let’s get close.”

“Okay... don’t want to be unsociable,” Clive retorted, gathering his energy.

Clive took a hand from the wheel forming a fist. But the guy grasped his wrist. Pitt suffered excruciating pain, as if all the nerves up his arm had been ripped. He was suddenly unable to do anything, other than wait for the agonising pressure to stop and to try to avoid crashing his girlfriend’s Porsche.

“Got that shit out of your system? You won’t pull any chicks with that face.”

“Did you just give me an electric shock?” Clive asked, panicked.

“I’m wired up,” the young guy explained.

Clive threw a throbbing hand back on the wheel, to avoid slamming into an approaching bridge.

“You want to get us both killed?” he demanded.

“Who paid your fat salary and fatter bonuses? If you’re such a virtuous shit, me old marrow, why enjoy the rewards so much? Why wine and dine, travel and have fun?”

As Clive was provoked a rough electrical current shot along his arm and gripped his entire body.

“Give this shit a break!” Clive urged.

“I think you’re going to come!” the man exclaimed. “Hey, look at you, you’re orgasmic!”

The Porsche lurched; swerved, careened across lanes, ending up bumping along the slipway. Pitt was going into hyper panic, while his passenger laughed and had fun.

Then the car practically stopped in the first lane. Effectively they were parked on the motorway, with HGVs bearing down on them from behind. Trucks screeched and snaked, loads slamming and sliding inside containers; drivers going apoplectic; blasting their sirens, shouting through windows. Until Pitt was shocked back to the present moment, scurried to fire the engine and gain speed.

“Trying to take yourself out, Clive?” The guy rested his head and chuckled, as if he reminiscing on a sun lounger.

“What the hell, why don’t you end this?” Clive said.

“You’ve lost your memory. Don’t you remember?”

“You were with me that evening? When we attacked Emmy? Is that it?” Clive accused. “I have a witness account.”

“We have shared memories! How romantic.”

“You are going to pay for this,” Clive replied.

“You think driving fast can frighten me? In your girlfriend’s pink Porsche?” he mocked, with contempt in his voice.

“This is how I normally drive,” Clive said.

“Then you need fucking lessons. You need a fucking refresher course, Clive.”

“You can say that again,” Pitt replied.

“Viktor wants to help. We mean to help you get your memory back. We buy you a nice meal, you see that, and that don’t mean you own the restaurant. Do you understand the principle?” he sneered.

“Who’s Viktor when he’s dining?” Pitt asked.

“Mr Di Visu wants the files back... or the copies that you made of his information... which you stole from your employer. He likes you...or he used to.”

“He sounds barmy. You’re a friend of his, are you?”

“I’m who you want to be,” he said.

“A narcissistic poser like you?” Clive scoffed.

“Yes, come on, Clive!” he said, gesturing.

“Come on, what?” he declared.

“Aren’t I everything you despise in a man? When women look at me they swoon. You’re fucking envious. You want to smash my face in.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, mate,” Clive replied.

“My looks, my charm, my wealth, my power. I’ve got everything you ever dreamed about.”

“My whole life was on credit,” Clive noted.

“Admit it. You think I need a pussy pink car like this one? We drink champagne out of a car like this,” he said.

“Be my guest,” Clive said.

“What chance do you stand with the pretty women, when I’m around?”

“My aim is to end ZNT. I’m not competing. I’m going to get you kicked off the FTSE.”

“Nobody is going to listen to a deviant like you, Clive,” he insisted.

“That’s your idea?”

The guy laughed loudly and exorbitantly. “We understand you better than you ever understood yourself. We have you by the short and Achilles heel.”

“How can you know me like that?” Clive asked.

“What a loser you are!” he growled.

“But I’m the bloke who has the evidence. It can be retrieved,” Pitt warned.

“Just couldn’t keep your hands off that lovely young girl, could you? Shame on you, Clive,” he jeered. “You wanted revenge, but your throbbing dick got in the way. Big tits and a come-hitcher look, that’s all it took to sink you and your campaign. What a disgrace, you fucking weak minded little cunt hound.”

Every word reverberated in Pitt’s left ear. “I just want to find my wife again,” Clive insisted.

“A woman? Your wife? How are these going to help you? The world’s most untrustworthy banker?”

“She’s my strength,” Pitt argued.

“Huh, don’t make me laugh. You dropped her for that secretary in the office.”

“She isn’t a secretary,” Clive insisted. “She’s a respected professional.”

“You couldn’t wait to rip through her underwear and have sex with her.”

“That only happened because my wife left me. Don’t ask me why that happened. She went off to America... with some guy.”

“Your pretty girl secretary doesn’t have the full picture. Not like Emmy Winchurch.”

“What are you trying to say?” Clive replied, glaring and squeezing the wheel.

“What I’m trying to say is that you hate women too. That’s right, you hear correctly. No need to get upset. You think women are another race! Another species! “

“That’s utter crap, mate. There are some women who wouldn’t agree,” Pitt retorted.

“Maybe you don’t understand how much.”

“You’re talking bollocks,” Clive said.

“Shall we ask Emmy Winchurch?” the guy laughed.

“I think women love me,” Clive argued.

“You fuck them, all right, but you don’t love them,” he grinned.

“What do you know about it? About me?” Clive shuffled uneasily, shifted his slick hands and stared towards the crest of the road.

“Come on, you’re a City boy. Testosterone makes you boys tick. Big decisions and big bucks give you a big erection. You went to after-hours parties where the lovely girls were drunk and drugged up? They’d do anything, everything for a rich banker...and not remember a thing. You’ve partaken in illegal games and adventures, with all those other guys, haven’t you?”

“That’s never really been my scene,” Pitt insisted.

“You have to let off steam. With an unlimited bank account the imagination is no limit. Wealth fires your lust. The adrenaline of the floor. It’s an aphrodisiac for the lovely girls. Why have riches when you can’t satisfy your lust? Pretty girls wanting a handsome pay out. What female resources available! After you’ve finally left the office at night,” he remarked.

The youngster revealed perfect squared teeth in a ridiculing smile.

“I’m a married man...was a married man....”

“There was a lot of fun around the East End,” he recalled.

“Girls are another commodity to be traded?” Clive said. “You’d give them a share price if that was possible,” he remarked.

“Rather, as you might say, you don’t have your third leg to stand on!”

“You remind me of a woman yourself,” Clive remarked.

“Yes, yes, and do you like me?” he asked, beaming victoriously.

“Not very much,” Clive admitted.

“Way to fucking go. But don’t worry because we’re guys together. We’re fucking drunk and out of control, sticking notes into the girls’ g strings. Don’t be one of these ridiculous hypocrites.”

“I guess there’s a certain truth in that,” Clive admitted.

“We are the perfect companions of beautiful young women....of any nationality,” the man argued. “We are what they want!”

“I don’t want to be like you guys,” Clive told him.

“Oh no!?”

“You only have your fun because... you fear you may be dead in the morning.”

“Life is killing you now, in your boring existences... sweating to cover your heating bills. You have your mouth on the tit of our oil and gas.”

“Not until the fat lady sings,” Clive said.

“Oh God, the fat lady just had her last orgasm. Now she’s on dying on her back,” he joked. “How shall I put this?” the young guy considered. “Mm, let me see... you are properly fucked, Clive, my man.”

Pitt was silent. He tried to focus on driving, keeping to the lane, as normality slipped by at regular speeds.

“We liked you at first. We had respect for your abilities. You were, y’know, almost a brother to us,” he mocked.

“How exactly?” Pitt wanted to know.

“Just don’t go around boasting of being such a lady killer.”

“I lost more than my inhibitions,” Clive reminded him.

“If you turn traitor, City boy, then you have to pay a surcharge.”

“You failed to cover your tracks, mate.”

The guy leant closer to the driver’s side. “You’re speaking total bullshit,” he shouted. Saliva flicked off his tongue, burning Pitt’s dry cheek. “We wanna bring a little sadness and confusion into your life... and to the Winchurch girl.”

“You’ve succeeded,” Clive observed.

“Didn’t we! Didn’t we, just.” He nodded as if to salute himself.

“You are the experts.”

“As for the rape of that girl,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. Then he chuckled.

“What are you implying?”

“She was a real little slut,” he snarled. “We wouldn’t fuck with your life, without a reason. Why does that old man think so much of her? Well, that’s all right with us, if he wants to be the sentimental father. You broke our security and stole our thoughts, okay. We didn’t know your secrets until you had ours. Isn’t that true?”

They came into London. Pitt didn’t know how much longer this guy was going to stick around. Clive wanted to know if the missing year could be restored, or at least if his life could be repaired.

“It’s time for me to go! ... I’m sure you have your plans.”

“You are going to leave me here?” Clive was incredulous.

“You have a job to do. Didn’t you realise that?” the guy told him.

“You’re using me to damage Winchurch?”

“You’re still an employee? Why did you decide to duplicate your memory, anyhow?” he demanded.

“I’ll get my memory back,” Clive promised.

“We will help you,” promised the sharp young man.

“You intend to catch up with me again?”

“We shall meet again...wasn’t that a little war time song of the Brits? Blue bird over the white cliffs of Dover. Is there even a fuckin’ blue bird in this country?”

“When exactly are we supposed to meet again?”

“Dig a bit deeper my friend,” he said.

“You’re not taking me out?”

“Won’t you play like a gentleman, Clive?”

“You don’t think I can invalidate your UK assets? If I can turn my dossier over to the relevant authorities?”

“Who’s listening? Go watch another football match. Think hard about your memory. Then we’ll ask you for our stolen property.”

Traffic streamed and shoppers went about their business along the high-street, just as normal.

“What if I refused to let you?” Clive suggested. “Maybe I should drive you directly to the police station.”

The guy found this threat most hilarious.

“So long Clive. We’ll meet again!”