5. The Circle Guard 

Senga pulled away from the gas tower compound and headed east towards the nearest slip-road up to the raised, eastbound expressway. The whole area around the tower was a wasteland of corroded crane gantries and derelict warehouses. Towering piles of grime covered, rusting containers lines the wide unmarked roadways. It was prime brown-field land according to most network-agents that had tried to sell plots of it. Thirty years ago this entire area had been a thriving industrial park catering for everything from steelwork to sportswear factories. Britain didn't make anything anymore because everything could be imported cheaper. Manufacturing in the UK was a memory by the early twenties. That was one of the reasons that Rosh was able to pick up the gas tower compound at the price he did. No one wanted it.

Rosh sat looking out of the passenger window of the black Mitsubishi saloon. He glanced down at the GSP readout on the dash. He reached out and clicked the audio to `on`. A monotone digital voice began to give traffic density figures for the areas shown on the little screen.

"Westbound on the M602 primary, Salford, Barton, Halfedge, density twenty percent, slow moving, no delays. Beta, density ninety two percent. SevenK tail. Relief ETA sixteen minutes." The report reminded him of World Service shipping forecasts that he used to hear on the radio in Kuwait. The report moved on to another stretch of road but Rosh had heard enough. He turned to Senga.

"No use, blocked as usual."

"No surprise there then." As she spoke she was already indicating to turn off to the right. There was very little traffic down here below the towering road networks and she knew that if she carried on towards the access road they would end up sitting for at least an hour.

They lived in a Mill apartment overlooking the ship canal. It was only four kilometres from the gas tower but it could take an eternity to get home some nights.

"You hungry?" She knew what his reply would be.

He smiled.

"Okay Mr. How about we head out for a Take out. We've got nothing in anyway."

"Fine. What you got on tomorrow? You out at Ny-net again?” He was happy when she had work in the area. Quite often she would get contracts that could take her away for weeks at a time.

"Yeah. I saw the subject today. He`s a nice kid with big problems. Ny-net contacted the agency five weeks ago. This guy who runs the Northern Services from a little back office at the local site. Seems he's a bit of an introvert and only deals with a couple of people. He's been going a little off the rails lately and their HR people think he needs help. Do you know Rosh, this kid was identified at seven as having all the right characteristics for the job. What they don't realise with these kids is that all the qualities that they pick them for can be dramatically effected by the psychological pressure that is applied. By the time they reach twenty they are in the top of their field but riddled with emotional problems and personality disorders."

"Like the Russians with the steroid kids." Rosh was staring out of the windscreen, watching the first drops of rain that meant the impending storm had arrived.

"Like the what?" She didn't think he had been listening.

"Steroid kids. Gymnasts. You 'member. The Russians would take little kiddies and pump 'em full of steroids and have 'em win all the gold medals in the gymnastic events. Soon as they reached seventeen they just used to disappear." The rain got heavier.

"You've been watching the 'Conspiracy' channel again. Remember last month when you said that the Genesis had been brought down by a guided meteorite" The Genesis was the X39 Shuttle that had mysteriously exploded on a routine re-entry the year before.

"It was!" Rosh sat up, interested now. "They have proof. Them big buggers go up and come back down every day. They haven't had an accident since the eighties." His English improved when he was challenging someone or angry.

"Rubbish. Did they find the rock?"

"Well..." He stuttered.

"Have they got images?"

"Well...."

"No they haven't. It's Rubbish. Its pulp TV designed to boost their flagging ratings. Russians and steroids indeed." She had heard about the generations of little gymnasts and the problems they had in later life but she wasn't going to let him win. The X39 story was rubbish and they both knew it. Nearly every week a Boeing would leave Manchester with an X39 strapped on it’s back heading for Selafield or Cambletown. The downed one was pilot error and it had been proved.

"I only ask about your work and you rip my head off." Rosh had his arms folded now in a mock sulk. The rain was lashing the side of the car now, the wiper arms and blowers were fighting to keep the screen clear. The sky had darkened now as true night had settled in. It was nearly ten.

 

 They were heading towards the city now, passing beneath the congested high rise roads. Every time they criss-crossed under stretch of road the rain would halt for a couple of seconds and then slap back down as they came out from the other side. The industrial area changed into residential. A mixture of old and new but all in the same state of urban decay. Red bricked buildings with dirty grey tiled roofs, stood in long rows, all the same, all falling into differing states of disrepair. Towering above these were the tower block rings, massive grey blocks, set in circles made up of six or seven at a time. A mile ahead was the Salford Circle, the largest tower ring in West Manchester. It consisted of twelve, twenty-four story housing blocks arranged in a circle. Running through the ring of towers were the two main expressways that entered Manchester from the west. At the 'Circle` the roads were as high as five stories and had numerous slip roads and ramps to enable the PSV's and taxis into the blocks. The slip roads all entered the blocks at the same level. This fifth story of each block was reserved for parking and for lines of PSV's to stand waiting for fairs before returning to the main carriageway. The saying in the Circle was 'If you own a car, you don't belong'. Public service vehicles were the most commonly used mode of transport, mainly because free passes were part of the benefit agencies latest scheme. The ground floor level of each huge building was made up entirely of small shop units facing into the ring or into the narrow road canyons between each block. These units were populated by off licenses, small independent grocery shops and takeaways of every description.

 

The back roads that Senga had taken brought them out into the Circle on the western side. She turned onto the road that snaked around the Circles inner ring, it was essentially a large, ground level roundabout made up of four lanes. In the centre of the ring stood the main support column that held the expressways. It branched out at around three stories high, each of the massive branches became the main support for one of the PSV ramps. It rose up out of a bland cylindrical building which Senga new to be the central shopping arcade. The building had been constructed of large concrete blocks with small windows and vents all around the outer wall. Over the years since it's construction it had been painted with every conceivable colour. Although it was a dark shape nestled beneath the carriageways Senga new that in the daylight it was a sickly looking building with peeling paint that changed colours as you drove around the ring. From the ground up to a height of around four meters it was covered in graffiti that covered the walls like a fungus. Surrounding the cylindrical arcade were the out-door market stalls which, during the day were packed with market traders of every type and origin. At this time of night they were deserted. The empty scaffold stalls with stained neopropeleyne tops standing vacant, rain sweeping through them from the side, running down the scaffold legs creating rivulets between the cracked flagstones.

 

Senga drove about a quarter of the way around the Circle. All that Senga could see from the driver side window were the covered stalls. Dark shapes moved under the canopies, darting in and out of the scaffolding, leaping from stall to stall. Looking upwards she could see dark looming silhouette of the central column, a massive black tree in the middle of a concrete cage. High up she could see the lights from the crawling traffic, making it's way slowly along the expressways through the rain. She thought it must be terrible for the people who lived level with the road sections, then she remembered, last time they had driven through on the Expressway she saw that the level five and six flats had no windows at all.

 

"Indian Turkish or Chinese?" Rosh made her jump.

 "What?" She had been concentrating on driving through the downpour.

"What do you want? I fancy Turkish. Lamb Kofu special.

"Whatever. I didn't think this rain would come down so heavy. I wish we had just gone home now." She was thinking about the dark shapes under the canopies.

"You want Kofu?"

 "Sounds fine. There's the 'Odyssey' just down between Cancer and Gemini." She used the correct names that had been given to the block when they were erected.

  "That's just here on the left. Pull in and I'll place the order." The dark night and heavy rain had dampened his spirits. He wanted to get the food and get home as quickly as possible. Senga indicated to the left and pulled of the inner roundabout road onto a narrow street sandwiched between the two towering blocks. The traffic down at ground level was fairly light now. In her mirror she could see the high bank of lights from a PSV. It pulled out from behind her and passed her on the outside when she slowed outside the takeaway. It showered the already drenched Mitsubishi. The PSV's were large, slow moving rectangular vehicles, which looked even more box like than the older trams and buses because of the boxed in wheels. The one that passed was daubed with advertisements for a myriad of products, from game consoles to washing machines. They had very tall, rectangular windows, which showed the whole body of any passenger that was sat adjacent to one. A dark faced man with a yellow luminescent jacket drove this particular vehicle, his face was deadpan, staring out into the driving rain. He was encased in a Perspex cage to prevent attack for the indigenous youth population. At his chest height the cloudy Perspex had a white spider web of fractures spreading from an inch wide white circle, evidence that protection from stud guns and bats was an essential.

Senga pulled up in one of the parking bays that were at ninety degrees to the takeaway. There were six other parking spaces reserved for Odyssey customers. Four were filled including her Mitsubishi. There was a low, flat looking family car of some description, the drivers door was black, the rest of the body work finished in a lime green covered in patches of white plas-coat repair. The other two were coal black high specification Mercedes. Senga looked at Rosh. He had been looking at the two dark cars, glistening in the streetlights the rain cascading from the bonnet and sides. He was thinking the same as Senga. The green saloon matched it`s surroundings but why were two extremely expensive motors parked here at this time of night, apparently unattended?

 

"I'll have the same as you." Senga didn't want to hang around one minute longer than she needed to. Rosh jumped out of the car and darted across the pavement with his black leather jacket thrown over his head. He made it to the brightly-lit doorway of the takeaway and quickly entered. Senga could she very little inside the window. It was obscured with condensation on the inside and sheets of rainwater pouring down the glass from a damaged piece of pipe above. She could make out the large rotunda with a rounded hunk of kebab meat skewered onto it. She smiled at a little, peeling, label stuck to the inside of the window. She could not read the little acetate but remembered, from a daytime visit, that it read 'AbraKebabra'.

 

The PSV had stopped a few yards beyond the parking spaces. A group of kids jumped down from the front of it and sprinted to the cover of a canopy above a Mini-mart. The lights were on in the window of the little shop but it was obvious that it was closed for business. It had a slightly recessed double doorway, which during trading hours held the little blue plastic shopping baskets. There were four of them. Senga thought that one was possibly a girl. They all wore the same style of baggy trousers with variety of logos and emblems painted on them. They all looked dishevelled and badly in need of clean clothes. They seemed to be wearing layers of badly co-ordinated, badly fitting, second hand shirts and jackets in various states of repair. She could see the luminous flash of a Nike logo on the base of one of the kid's pair of trainers. They weren't always as poor as they wished to appear, but they almost certainly came from families residing in one of the Blocks in the Circle. They all huddled together into the back of the doorway, just out of Senga's line of sight. She wiped her window with the sleeve of her jacket removing some of the condensation that had accumulated. She looked back through the large window of the takeaway. Rosh was about three back from the counter and looking very impatient. She couldn't see him in detail but she could read his mood by his stance, arms folded, his weight shifting form leg to leg. She smiled. When she looked back at the doorway she caught a flicker of light and saw the tiniest whisper of smoke drift out to be obliterated by the rain. Was it tobacco or grass? Either way, she thought, there was no great harm being done.

Halfway down the street was an entrance archway into the Block. As Senga watched a drab shape exited from it and started to amble it's way up the street towards her and the kids in the doorway. She squinted her eyes and rubbed at the window with her sleeve again. The dark figure seemed large and misshapen. She pressed the window button enough to give her a five centemetre gap. She stared down the dark wind swept block-vally with a vague feeling of apprehension rising in her stomach until she spotted the flat, peeked cap of a Circle security guard. He was wearing a large waterproof poncho, which, through the rain stippled window, gave him an eerily cumbersome silhouette. She started to relax, still watching the now soaking guard make his way towards the oblivious doorway occupants. She imagined them hunched over a shared cigarette, each taking his or her fill as if smoking a pipe of peace around a campfire on an Indian reservation. The guard was almost upon them now, his face grim and clearly not happy having to venture out on a night like this. It was going to take more than a peace pipe to placate this sour looking man. Senga, always happy to be studying people, couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene. The guard had the element of surprise. Some one in a flat opposite would have seen the kids jump off the PSV and within seconds of them settling into the doorway they would have called the centre management to send a guard down to move them along.

 

The guard turned into the doorway obviously trying to fill the gap to prevent the kids from running. It didn't work the way he had planned it and as soon as his bulky shadow crossed the huddled group they bolted like frightened rabbits, scattering a little tin of dark brown powder out into the street. One darted to his left, two of them pushed their way past his right side leaving the fourth one, possible the girl Senga thought. The escapees all ran in different directions.

 

The one that darted to the guards left aimed himself out into the road via Senga's car. As he passed her, beneath his dark hood, Senga could see the laughing face of a mischievous little boy, she guessed, no older than thirteen. He saw her staring out through the rain streaked window, he turned his hooded face and spat. Senga instinctively recoiled, his aim had been good and the saliva projectile hit the window just below the opening. The rain began to remove the dirty brown smear within seconds but not before Senga noticed the little brown flecks mixed in with the mass.

"Rapture." Senga whispered the word and a flicker of memory made her feel liking spitting herself. For the second time today her dark past was dragged from it`s hinding place, deep in the back of her mind.

The boy was gone.

Looking back at the doorway Senga saw that the guard and the remaining child were alone. He was standing like a goalkeeper poised to make a save. Senga couldn't see the girl and deduced that she must be cowering at the back of the doorway.

Suddenly, the maybe-girl made a bid for freedom trying to dive past him. He moved his bulk to the side and trapped her between himself and the corner of the shop front window frame. He turned his body out into the street clutching at the girl with large powerful hands that reached from beneath the poncho. She struggled and twisted in his grasp but only succeeded in tiring herself out.

Senga had only been watching as an idle passer-by watches the scene of a motorway accident, not wanting to get involved but interested enough to slow down. Suddenly she felt the touch of stomach-knotting panic when the guard looked up and down the street. She could not be sure but there was something in the way that he looked around, almost like a car thief does just before he pops the stud into a car door lock. He looked around, then turned back to face the doorway, still holding the girl. Senga saw his elbow rise out of the side of the rain poncho and stab sharply down with his fist to where, Senga thought, the girls face must be. She couldn't see clearly through the rain and mist. The guards back was towards her but the way he had moved, striking so swiftly, Senga felt sure that her had struck the girl in the face.

Senga's felt a surge of emotions ranging from disbelief of her own eyesight, to a sickly, dizzy feeling. Did he just slap the scrawny little thing full in the face? Surly not!

The girl was not struggling at all now. If fact, Senga noted, she was limp in his arms. The guard looked around once again. Senga, who tried to be very analytical in her approach to life, thought she saw a smirk of pleasure in his face. She had seen some extremely deprived people in her time with the agency. The most shocking thing about this incident was the blatancy of the act in such an open environment. It had all happened so quickly.

The guard started to make his way back towards the building entrance with a now unconscious child under one arm.

Senga looked into the Takeaway. No one else had seen the incident in the doorway. They couldn't have from inside the shop. Rosh was at the front of the queue and seemed to be engaged in a conversation with one of the other people queuing. The guard had reached the entrance and was about to disappear inside. There was no one else in sight, even the other kids had completely disappeared not wanting to get into trouble with a block guard who no doubt had good contacts with the local police. Senga was out of the car and sprinting towards the tower entrance. She had no coat and within seconds she was drenched through to the skin. She had grabbed her little shoulder bag, she now held it above her head in a vain attempt to keep some of the rain off. She thought about calling out for Rosh but decided she would challenge the guard first then call for Rosh if needed. She reached the tower entrance in seconds. She was faced with steps leading to a large set of aluminium and smoked glass doors. She could not see through the glass and saw no sign of the guard. She took the steps three at a time, regretting it as she slipped on the top one nearly tumbling forward into the doors. She righted herself and made for the central door of five. It swung inwards plunging Senga into a dismal corridor leading into the ground floor of the Gemini tower block.

 

The entrance corridor was lit by banks of parallel fluorescent strips, half of which were missing or a least were not working. The ceiling was high and where the lights were out it was hard to make out any detail at all. There was no sign of the guard or the unconscious girl. A fear had risen in Senga. Not for herself, for the girl. She had seen a look in the guard's eyes that had reminded her of a hungry animal knowing that food was just around the corner. The guard had knocked the girl unconscious with one slap. It had shocked her but the thought of what the guard may be planning to do next worried her. She remembered studying a case of a convicted child killer who would pose as a painter and decorator. He had lived a nondescript working class English life style early last century. He had a wife and two children which, by all accounts, he looked after well and never ill treated. He would go out to work in a morning dressed only in a pair of shoes and an overall. He would lure his victims, children aged nine to thirteen, into derelict buildings, slip out of his overalls in seconds, commit his horrendous crimes and be on his way in no time. Could the poncho be used in the same way? A cover?

The corridor echoed and amplified Senga's heavy breathing. She moved along the wide tower tunnel looking into the rows of closed down shop fronts. Most of the outlets in here were boarded up and used for storage units for the shops that faced out from the block. At the far end of the corridor Senga could see the first bank of lifts that serviced the Block. It seemed well lit around the lifts and from where she stood, Senga could see lights coming from open shops facing the lift column. The guard couldn't have got that far, and anyway, there would be people milling around the lifts and shops. He would have been spotted. He must have gone into one of the boarded shops or perhaps one of the side doors that were dotted along the walls. Senga was cold, she had no coat on and she was damp from the rain that caught her before darting into the tower. The rain? She backtracked to the doorway and looked at the dirt streaked floor. She had trailed a fair amount of dirty rainwater into the corridor. The bulky guard would have been drenched. She looked around the shop front to the left of the entrance. She was looking for the wet trail that she felt sure the guard would have left. The floor was littered with cigarette ends and chewing gum. In the corner of a boarded shop doorway she saw two, discarded, blackened needles. She hurried along the wall scouring the area for signs of the guard's passage. Nothing. She crossed to the right side of the corridor, her hurried steps reverberating from the stained floor, and immediately found signs of freshly made rainwater footprints heading for a set of double doors with no handles. She felt certain that he had gone through these doors as the prints went under the door as if the owner had not stopped to open them, simply barged through. She looked up the corridor and back to the entrance, not a soul in sight. It was a grim night outside and most sane people would be safely in their flats at this time. She glanced at her wrist. Pressing the little `light` button on the side of her watch she saw it was nearly eleven. She looked back at the entrance. Should she go and get Rosh? Would he still be queuing? She thought of the unconscious child being dragged along by the guard. No time. She pushed hard on the doors and they gave easily opening out into a surprisingly well lit set of stairs leading down. The large muddy prints lead her down the steps and round a corner which revealed another flight. She grasped a smooth, cold handrail and plunged forward. Round again, down, around again. She came to another set of double doors this time with push bars at navel height. The bottom of the stair well was lit as well as the top and only served to show how dirty the place really was. The bottom of the stair well had accumulated years of paper and street debris brought in on a thousand shoes. The double doors had a transparent Perspex sign with opaque green letters which read 'Circle Personnel only'. It had been smeared with dirt at some time in the past and someone had made a vain attempt to wipe it off. They had only succeeded in scratching the Perspex and imbedding the dirt into the grooves.

Senga pushed on both doors with her arms outstretched. Only the left-hand door gave way. It swung open and Senga walked through. The inside was only partially lit. She walked into a bare walled, concrete corridor stretching to her left and right. Looking up at the lighting she could see that, as with the entranceway into the block, there were strips of fluorescents with every other tube out or missing. The dark roof of the corridor was a mass of ancient pipes and ductwork that must service the entire block. As she stood and looked for the wet trail she became aware of the creaking and grinding of the overhead pipe work. A shiver ran down her spine and she automatically shook her shoulders in an attempt to throw it off. She allowed herself a little smile. She remembered when, in numerous old horror vids, she had watched the victim, usually a young, vulnerable women walk into a dangerous situation, unarmed, and apparently oblivious to the waiting horror. She also remembered saying how it just wouldn't happen in real life, would it? No women (or man for that matter) would go charging into a potentially dangerous situation unprepared and unarmed, would they? So why the hell was she down here, alone in a tower block basement chasing what could be a psychotic child killer?

One difference she thought reaching into her little shoulder bag. She pulled out a palm sized chrome cylinder. It had a black rubber button on the side which she rapidly slid upwards along the tube. A small red light came on just above the button and the tube gave of a low hum. Five seconds later the red turned to green and with a 'snick', two, ten centimetre telescopic rods emerged from the top near her thumb. The rods ran in parallel and at the end turned in to face each other leaving a small gap. Senga was issued with the stun rod as an essential piece of equipment for her job. Some of the clients that she dealt with occasionally turned violent and would need to be restrained. The 'shockblock' as she called it, bought her enough time to get help. Usually. All councillors were licensed to carry them. She reached back into the bag and from an inside pocket withdrew another similar sized cylinder. She slid the button on this one and a narrow beam of light struck the ceiling. More standard issue, she was always prepared.

 

Scanning the floor again using the torch Senga saw the signs of the guard's passage going to the left. The prints had lost most of the rainwater now and were composed mainly of muddy shapes from the imprint of his boots. She moved forward at brisk pace, her eyes wide in the semi-dark, alert for any sounds other than the mechanical utterances of the services above her head. The corridor came to a tee intersection and the prints turned right. After a three of four meters it turned sharply to the left. Where the corridor turned the facing wall had a solid metal door. It had a partially corroded lock on the latch and judging by the accumulated dirt and flaking paint, it hadn't been disturbed for some time. Senga could still see muddy footprints on the concrete floor heading off down the corridor but something unnerved her about having a door to her rear. She looked at the rusted hinges. They hadn't been moved for some time. She plunged onwards into the semi-dark. Every so often a section of the tunnel had a run of four or five tubes missing which plunged that area into near dark. Her torch and shockblock gave her a confidence boost. Senga looked at the walls as she passed. They were constructed out of concrete blocks that had, years before, been given a coat of some type of grey plastic paint. It gave the walls a greasy look which, combined with the grime of age gave the corridors the gloomy, tomb-like feel. Senga had noticed sections of wall, every two or three strides, which were made of a dark plastic honeycomb material. She presumed that they were something to do with the air conditioning or heat control. The corridor must have stretched thirty of forty meters beyond the rusted door before Senga came upon a left-hand turn. The corridor carried on straight but the traces of footprints, now hard to see, veered to the left. Senga became aware of another mechanical noise now above the pipe noises. It was a dull thumping which started and stopped repeatedly and seemed to be coming from the left-hand corridor. Senga looked back down the corridor that she had just come along. She imagined the layout of ground floor level where she had spotted the illuminated lift in the distance. Backtracking in her mind she figured that this corridor in front of her lead to a place directly below the main bank of lift shafts. Her thoughts returned to the unconscious girl and what possible fate she may have in store. Senga ran towards the sound of the lifts. Within twenty meters the corridor branched out into a cavernous chamber which housed the main drives and rams for the ten or so lifts above. The noise level had risen with every footstep nearer to the room. Now, standing in the large room Senga was surprised at how loud it had become. Looking around the walls she could see that they were constructed entirely of the black honey comb material and suddenly it was obvious. Soundproofing. The lift drives would be working at all hours and without these vibration dampers the sounds would carry throughout the tower. What better place to bring a potential victim than a sound proof chamber? Around the room Senga could see a number of doors, the top half of which was made of a frosted Perspex allowing light in or out without being transparent enough to see through. Looking at the wall to her left she could see a light coming from the third door along. She looked for footprints. There were none. As the corridor opened out into the chamber the floor had turned to the honeycomb material which, being made up of little hexagonal holes, allowed the watery mud to slide away. Senga flicked the torch to 'off` not wishing to announce her presence. She glanced at the shockblock to ensure it was still on 'green'. It was. A lift drive thudded in the centre of the room making her jump. She was beginning to wish that she had waited for Rosh now. Walking slowly into the large lift room she walked in a straight line across the room to the door. As she approached it she made out a dark silhouette just inside, and to the right. It had to be the guard. She had seen no one else since entering the building. The prints lead into this chamber. She tried to relax, taking deep, controlled breaths. She had told her patients to practice just this whenever that felt anxious or nervous. She would think twice next time. She pushed her back to the wall at the side of the door, plucking up the courage to enter the room.

"Three, Two………...." She gritted her teeth and whispered the numbers almost without sound.