Wrong+Signal

=Wrong Signal= =By Jessica Verbeek=

Fourteen years ago. At the Epitelle Communications Testing Centre; a telephone network testing centre. A short, middle-aged man was walking in through the sliding metallic doors at roughly the centre of the complex. He had dark hair, the shadow of a bald patch beginning on the top of his head. He was recently married and he now had a one year old girl and his wife to cater for. This was the sole reason he had decided to accept the job offer into the network company. The result of his recent uproot from his relaxed country life to a busy city one was evident in the dark bags under his eyes and the recently formed stress lines on his forehead. The man was confused, he expected the complex to have some form of security, but thick metal doors that could only be opened by a fingerprint sensitive number pad that changed codes every 12 hours? Ten foot high barbed wire fences around the entire complex? Hundreds of guards covering the perimeter of the centre twenty four hours a day? It seemed as though they had something to hide, but what would it be? He didn’t know. The man escorting him into the complex punched in the code and accompanied him into a plain white room furnished with only a sturdy looking metal desk with a chair on either side of it. The door slid closed behind them. There was a man sitting at the desk. He was quite young and had light skin and sandy coloured hair. He was wearing simple rectangular glasses and a grim expression. No one knew this man’s name, but they called him Commander. ‘Sit down, please,’ Commander spoke in a cold, hard voice. A voice with no emotion, but at the same time seemed to cut through the air between them like a ninja’s shruiken, slicing the air towards its victim. The squat man sat. ‘You - leave,’ Commander spoke again, with the same harsh tone and the squat man’s face whitened a little bit. The escort hurriedly left the room, the metal doors sliding soundlessly shut behind him. It was silent for a moment. ‘So, Mr. Brite, welcome to Epitelle Communications,’ the Commander said. ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mr. Brite. ‘Yes, well, you seemed perfect for our needs, that’s why we picked you for this job...It’s a special one, you know, and it was lucky that you did decide to take the job, if you had declined, things mightn’t have turned out too well for you...’ his voice trailed off mysteriously, he continued on without waiting for an answer, ‘Now, back to business, you signed a contact upon entering the complex,’ it wasn’t a question, yet Brite still felt the need to answer. ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘Well, then I should let you know what you’ve signed yourself into,’ Commander took a deep breath before continuing, ‘As you have probably heard on the news, there have been questions over the possible harm of mobile phones. Electromagnetic radiation,’ Commander looked up, Brite nodded, ‘Now it is not our company being interrogated, but we don’t want it to be either. ‘We’ve always known that it is probable that our customers could be a subject to electromagnetic radiation exposure, but we’ve never bothered to investigate or stop it because, well, no one knew and we are making billions, it would be a huge loss... ‘I mentioned how nobody knew about the danger before, but now, that’s changed. And that’s where you come in.’ Although there was no immediate danger in sight, Mr. Brite felt is heart beating quite fast, and his shirt was sticking rather uncomfortably to his chest; it was soaked with sweat. Why was the Commander telling him all this? ‘You, Mr. Brite, are going to be our guinea pig,’ a trickle of emotion entered Commander’s voice as he said this, as though it gave him pleasure to see the terror which gripped Mr. Brite, who had understood the situation perfectly. ‘What? No! That’s not fair! I have a wife! My daughter Bridget, what will happen to her?!’ Brite pleaded. Commander pulled out a silver syringe which was filled with a substance that would force Brite to fully believe that what he was getting into was right. Commander shoved the tip of the syringe into Brite’s neck. Brite swayed for a moment and then passed out, falling to the ground. ‘He’ll come round,’ Commander muttered to himself. He stepped over the body sprawled on the ground and walked out. ​Fourteen years had passed. Bridget Brite and Tom Winchester were sitting by a tent at a campsite in Noosa. Tom’s arms were wrapped around Bridget’s waist and her head was resting on his shoulder. Their horrified eyes were staring into the remains of their fire. They were seated on a termite-eaten log out the front of their tent, facing their rapidly deteriorating fire. The storm was heightening, and with it, so was the rain. It was trickling down their tent flap, and creating a small puddle of muddy water at the entrance. There was a rustle and the bush a few metres away wobbled as a small echidna waddled out of it. Neither of the best friends noticed it as it stared up at their grief-stricken faces, nor had they noticed the small echidna when he had stood in the bushes, watching them receive distressing news. The echidna had seen the girl answer her mobile phone as it rang; her face full of carefree happiness. He had seen it change to shock and pain after a few inaudible words had been uttered from the other end of the conversation. She hadn’t even replied, the girl had just thrown the phone with terrifying strength at the nearest tree, the echidna had watched it smash, the shattered pieces falling to the ground in a rain of glinting silver. Then the boy had come out of the tent, having heard the sound. ‘Bridget!’ the echidna had seen him cry, ‘Bee, look at me! What happened?’ ‘It’s dad,’ the girl had said, tears sliding down her face, ‘He’s dead.’ And then the echidna had watched as the boy had pulled her up, sat her down on the log and held her for what seemed like an eternity as she cried silently and the storm and the rain began. Now the echidna walked away, without knowing the terror and pain that they would soon be heading home to face. An hour later, the two friends were on a bus, having just caught it from a stop just outside the campsite where they had been camping for the weekend. After Bridget had calmed down, Tom had roughly packed up the tent, ripping out the tent pegs and shoving them into the bag filled with a mess of tent poles and weathered canvas. He could see Bridget a few paces away, standing just outside the cover of the trees, being pounded by the rain and staring unseeingly at the surrounding caravans and tents at the campsite. Her clothes were soaked, and she was beginning to shiver uncontrollably. Tom walked over to their bag of clothes, searching for a jumper she could put on and cursed as he realised he had left it open; all of their clothes were now drenched. He sighed and began to unbutton his shirt; Tom had been packing up the tent under the cover of the trees, so his clothes were practically dry. He took off his shirt and walked to Bridget and pulled her back into the cover of the trees. He was right, she was ice cold. Tom looked into her eyes, ‘Bee,’ he said gently, ‘you’re soaked; you need to put on some dry clothes.’ She began to grope numbly at the buttons on her shirt. Tom softly pulled her hands away and began to undo them for her, she dropped her hands. He worked his way up to the top and slid his hands down her arms, taking off the drenched shirt and leaving her with her singlet. He then slid his own, dry shirt through her arms and rested it on her shoulders. Tom slid his hand down to the small of her back and buttoned up her shirt with his spare hand, which lingered at her neck after he reached the top button. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and grabbed her hand, ‘Come on gorgeous, let’s go catch the bus back home.’ The bus driver now glanced at the two teens through the mirror at the front of the bus. The fifteen year old pair was sitting halfway down the bus and the boy was holding the girl around the waist. The boy had tanned skin, dark hair and dark eyes; European background perhaps. His face had an attractive quality, with a square jaw and strong cheekbones, but still, somehow, it had a soft look about it. He was tall and thin, yet muscled, the typical build of a soccer player. The girl had a similar build; tall and thin, but with less muscle. Her skin was tanned, too, though it was a little less dark. Her eyes were hazel and she had freckles on her skin. Her hair was gorgeous. It was long, down to her waist, and blonde, the colour of a peeled banana. The two teenagers sat there for over an hour, the bus driver assumed that they must be headed for Brisbane; the bus’ final destination. The only time they moved was when the girl shivered and the boy instantly pulled her closer, his hand running through her hair and down her back again and again. At last, in the late afternoon, they arrived in Brisbane and the bus driver watched as the pair, laden with their heavy bags and camping gear, exited the bus and slowly made their way towards the Brisbane Hospital. ​By evening, they had reached Brisbane Hospital, where Bridget’s mum had told her to wait. Bridget was sitting by her father’s bed, holding his hand and staring at his unmoving face. She had demanded to see his body, and the doctor, though unwilling, had eventually agreed. He had led them into the ward and then left, telling them he would give them a few moments alone. Ten minutes passed and then the doctor returned to the room. Walking slowly across the room, he rested his hand on Bridget’s shoulder. She looked up at him with pain in her eyes which would never really leave them for the remainder of her life. ‘I am so sorry Bridget, we did everything we could, really. You know that he’s been fighting this brain tumour for a while, but his condition suddenly just deteriorated this past week. There was no way that he was going to make it.’ ‘But just a week ago, when we came to visit him before our camping trip, you told me that he was getting better,’ Bridget said, shaking off the doctor’s hand and standing up, ‘Did that theory just go out the window, did it? What changed? What did you start doing differently?’ ‘Bee,’ Tom murmured, a warning; he sensed her oncoming anger. The doctor became flustered, ‘Well, no, I never really said that, not really,’ he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead, stepping backwards, ‘We never changed anything, there was nothing!’ Bridget and Tom exchanged a look, they knew they were both thinking the same thing; the doctor was hiding something; they could sense it in the way that he backed away. His eyes kept darting to the right; Tom knew that this was the body’s involuntary movement when it was working hard to make something up, or to lie. Both he and Bridget had picked up these seemingly insignificant details, but they told them the truth. ‘Tell me, what did you change?’ Bridget asked quietly. ‘I told you, we didn’t change anything, it just happened!’ That was when Tom’s head snapped up, his eyes alight with nothing other than pure anger. He took a step towards the doctor and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, slamming him up against the wall with such force that it would have cracked the man’s skull, had it not been for the curtains hanging between the doctor and the wall. ‘She asked you what you changed,’ he growled in the man’s face, ‘so tell her, what did you change, you lying piece of scum?’ The doctor looked fearfully at the boy’s face and swallowed, ‘Okay! Okay! About a week ago, the day after you came to visit, he started using a mobile phone again. He said that it was part of his work or something, part of his assignment. That’s all, I swear!’ ‘But what would the phone do to make a difference?’ Bridget asked, curious. ‘Well, they can sometimes interfere with the equipment we use, and...’ he hesitated, looking down, and that was when it happened; a single shot. It cut through the air like a knife, shattering the window of the ward and continuing straight through the chest of the doctor, right through his heart. A splatter of dark blood stuck to the wall behind him. He slid down to the floor and was still. ​

​It was all over the news; an innocent doctor murdered; sniped in broad daylight in the middle of a hospital with a single bullet straight through the right ventricle of the heart. It was evident that the sniper was a professional, but was he acting on his own terms, or had he been paid off? No one knew. However, the source of the shot was clear; a single slug casing from a Barrett .50 Cal had been found on the third floor of an abandoned building across the road from the hospital. The assassin had, of course, disappeared without a trace, perhaps pulling on a disguise and entering the busy train station or maybe jumping into a getaway car and disappearing into the peak-hour traffic of a Brisbane weekday. Either way, the assassin was off the map, and they had no leads on the person’s identity or their motive for the murder. It was a straight out shamble. As for Tom and Bridget, they had been lucky enough to be dropped straight home after being questioned by the police. None of the reporters knew that any teenagers had been present. They were in shock, but they knew they had very nearly uncovered some portion of truth about Bridget’s father’s death. The doctor had been about to reveal something; something about the dangers of mobile phones. Then he had been shot. They were up against dangerous people; today’s events had proved that. ​Bridget and Tom were now curled up together on the couch at Bridget’s house. It was late at night and Tom was sleeping over because Bridget’s mum was working a night shift. They were both curled up on the sofa bed in front of the fire watching a movie. They were sitting side by side, leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch. The room was bathed in the warm light of the crackling fire and despite the chill outside, it was cosy and warm inside the house. The movie they were watching finished, the credits beginning to slide down the screen. Tom reached out and grabbed the remote. He clicked a button and the room went dark but for the light of the fire. Bridget pulled a blanket over them and lay back, closing her eyes, almost falling asleep. Tom lay down next to her and she spoke quietly, still keeping her eyes closed, ‘Look, Tom, I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I owe dad that much at least. So, I’m going to go to dad’s work tomorrow and try and find out some stuff, whether you come with me or not.’ Tom replied without a beat, as though he hardly had to think about what he was saying, ‘Of course, Bee, I’m coming with you. Andrew was as much a father to me as he was to you.’ Bridget opened her eyes and smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Tom, it means a lot.’ Tom smiled back, gently grabbing her chin and turning it towards him so that their faces were millimetres apart. He smiled to himself and leaned even closer, letting out a slow breath which slid over Bridget’s face, the smell of peppermint toothpaste filling the air between them. Though Tom didn’t know it, Bridget’s heart was beating fast, she breathed in his musky smell, inwardly sighing. Tom was amazing and after today’s events, especially, she was beginning to feel something more than friendship between them. However she didn’t think that Tom felt the same way, and asking him would just make it awkward between them, so she stayed silent. ‘‘Night, Bee,’ he murmured. ‘’Night, Tom,’ she muttered back, leaning back into the couch and drifting off to sleep. ​The next morning Tom woke early, blinking sleepily at the morning light streaming in through the windows. He got up quietly, trying not to wake Bridget and her mother who was now sleeping upstairs. He picked up his shirt from the table, slipped it over his head and padded out of the lounge and into the kitchen. He put two pieces of raisin toast into the toaster and sat down at the table, opening Bridget’s laptop. He pressed the on button and drummed his fingers against the tabletop as the machine whirred to life. It finished loading and the screen was still, a dog waiting for its master’s command. Tom double clicked the Mozilla Firefox icon and while he waited for it to load, he went into the kitchen and buttered a piece of toast, placing it on a ceramic plate and sitting back down at the table. He took a bite of the toast and placed the plate down beside the laptop. Tom then pulled the cursor up to the URL bar and typed in google.com. He pressed enter and waited for it to load. When it had loaded, he typed into the text bar Epitelle Communications and clicked the Google Search button. He clicked on the first link and as the company’s website loaded, he was bombarded with blinking advertisements of the latest prepaid offers and bright pictures of their new phone models. He quickly scanned the page and found what he was looking for – the locations page. He entered the page and scrolled down to find the Brisbane store. He scribbled the address and phone number onto a piece of crumpled paper he found in the wastepaper basket by the fridge. As he shut the laptop, Bridget emerged from the lounge, her hair wavy and knotted. ‘Morning,’ she said, yawning widely. ‘Hey, beautiful,’ said Tom, ‘there’s a piece of raisin toast in the toaster for you. And I’ll make you a glass of Milo, if you want?’ ‘Thanks, Tom, that’d be great.’ As they worked in the kitchen, Tom told Bridget he’d found the address for the Brisbane store. ‘So do you reckon we could just go in there and say I’m Andrew’s daughter and ask to speak to his boss?’ asked Bridget. ‘Yeah, I’d say so. I mean, they’ve just lost one of their employees, surely they’d talk to their family...’ They finished their breakfast, both silent, their thoughts far away from the kitchen in which they sat. They washed up the plates and glasses and crept upstairs to get changed. Tom pulled a pair of Adidas soccer shorts and a white v-necked shirt from his duffel bag and got changed in the bathroom as Bridget changed into similar attire in her bedroom. They headed back downstairs and Bridget wrote a quick note to her mother, explaining where they had gone: Mum, Just to let you know, Tom and I have gone out for the day. Probably down to the beach and shops and stuff or maybe a surf. I just need to get out of the house a bit – too many memories. We’ll be back in the afternoon sometime and if you need to contact us, we’ve both got our phones on us. Love you, Bridget xxxxxx They had already decided that they wouldn’t tell Bridget’s mum – she might stop them from going. Tom grabbed the creased piece of paper with the store’s address on it, roughly folded it, shoved it in his pocket and headed out the door after Bridget. ​Tom and Bridget caught a fairly empty bus from down Bridget’s road to Brisbane Shopping centre which was where the store was located. They entered the shopping centre and made their way up to the second floor. All of the shops they passed were just beginning to open; their bleary eyed owners sliding up the metal roller doors at the entrance. The Epitelle Communications store was already open as they reached it. The store was at the end of the aisle, facing out into the street below – an amazing view of the beach just beyond the shopping district. They walked up to the empty counter and rung the small silver bell, the sound filling the large store as it rebounded off the shiny walls and glass architecture. A small man popped his head around the door leading out the back. ‘Oh, hello there, Bridget! A pleasure to meet you, your father used to speak a lot about you...’ he said in a squeaky voice, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as he formed the last sentence, ‘A great loss, I was very sorry to hear the news, he’d been out of work for almost a month before, before it happened, but still, he was of great value to us while he was still working here. But you’ll be happy to know, he was still working in his last days, an assignment he’d been given – he died doing what he loved.’ Bridget and Tom exchanged a quizzical look as the man looked down. How did he know who Bridget was? ‘Oh, but of course! I haven’t introduced myself! I’m John Larynx, I was your father’s boss. I used to see your photo on his desk everyday.’ ‘Oh, I never knew that,’ said Bridget, her eyes welling up with tears. She brushed them away and turned to Tom, ‘I don’t think you’ve met Tom, here.’ ‘A pleasure, Tom,’ said Larynx, holding out a pudgy hand to Tom, who gripped it briefly, ‘Now do come into my office for a chat.’ ‘Alright, Mr. Larynx,’ said Tom as he grabbed Bridget’s hand and followed Larynx out the back of the store. ‘Oh, please, call me John!’ he cried, ‘Yes, my office is just down this hallway...very convenient actually. We were able to find a store which had office blocks behind it, so we knocked down the walls and made it into one! So now we have a store and Brisbane offices all in one.’ He reached the end of a corridor and pushed open a door on his right, leading them into a wide and lightly furnished office overlooking the shopping district and Brisbane beach, just as the store did. However, part of the view was blocked by a window cleaner who was standing on a platform with a large bucket and squeegee. ‘Don’t mind him,’ said Larynx, taking a seat behind his desk, ‘He’s just from maintenance, cleaning the windows. We get them cleaned each month. Though we only cleaned them a fortnight ago...’ he said, frowning, ‘But they must have been a little more dirty than usual this month.’ That was odd, thought Tom. Why would they waste time and money cleaning the windows after two weeks when they would just do it again in just over a week? Silly big businesses. They should have spent the money on hiring a cleaner that was a little better looked after. This one was tall and black skinned, he was wearing an oversized t-shirt and trousers which were covered in grease and an old looking beanie. He needed a shave and had bloodshot eyes. He had grubby earphones in his ears and was whistling along with the music as he cleaned the windows. As the man leaned down to dip the squeegee into the bucket of water in the corner, Tom noticed a small lump in the man’s back pocket. Probably just a phone, Tom thought, redirecting his concentration to the conversation which John Larynx and Bridget were having. ‘...doctor mentioned that he’d been doing an assignment for work in the few days before he – before it happened, and he needed his phone for it.’ Bridget was saying, ‘The doctor had been about to tell us something that the phone would have done to affect his death, but then he was shot. Do you have any idea what it might have been?’ ‘Yes, I heard about that on the news. Quite distressing. But I don’t really kn–‘ ‘I only ask because I know that being a manager of the whole Brisbane sector of the company, you must be pretty smart.’ Tom smiled inwardly as he noticed the way that Bridget had used careful flattery to make the manager tell her what she wanted him to. ‘Well, I’m not totally sure, but it might have been something to do with one of the investigations we’ve been doing for the past few years,’ said Larynx, his little head bobbing a little above the back of the chair, ‘I don’t know if you knew, but your father was a part of one of our big investigations, in fact I think we just got the report back today...’ Tom and Bridget exchanged an excited glance, sensing that they were just about to find something out. Larynx walked over to a nearby filing cabinet, twisting the key and pulling it open. He ruffled through the papers inside for a moment and then found what he was looking for. ‘Aha!’ he said, straightening up, ‘Here it is, got just it this morning.’ As the man took a step back towards his chair, Tom saw, out of the corner of his eye, the window cleaner make a sudden movement. He realised what was happening a second too late. ‘NO!’ he yelled, standing up. But his warning had been too delayed. The window had already shattered and the silver throwing knife had already planted itself in the man’s neck; killing him instantly. Bridget screamed and ran over to Larynx. Tom, however, ran over to the window, which was now shattered, and looked down. A man had just landed on the ground. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt and trousers and an old looking beanie. He was dark skinned and tall and had grubby earphones in his ears and he was nodding his head along to the beat as he disappeared into the morning work crowd. He had just killed the head of Epitelle Communication’s Brisbane sector. ​Tom ran back over to Bridget, ‘Bee, there’s nothing you can do, but we can’t be found here. At the scene of someone’s death – again,’ he said urgently, ‘We’ll leave straight away, but first, I just want to have a look around...’ Tom quickly stooped down and picked up the piece of paper that the boss had been bringing over to them. He looked at it closely. About two thirds of the page was taken up by the Epitelle Communications logo; one that any Australian would recognise. Below the logo, there was a return address: Epitelle Communications Testing Centre, 24/144 Tindals Road, Brisbane, Queensland. However, this was about all that was on the page. At the bottom, there was the beginning of a letter: Mr. John Larynx, You will be pleased to hear that we have finished our investigation involving Mr. Brite. The results and conclusions are attached. However, there was no sheet attached. Tom’s heart was beating fast, there was little time left until they would be discovered here. He sprinted over to the filing cabinet and speedily looked through the draw’s contents, searching for the next page of the letter, but it wasn’t there. Geez, these people cleaned up after themselves very well, he thought. Just then, he heard he door to the store open and close and footsteps heading down the corridor. There was someone coming. Tom shoved the first page of the letter in his pocket. Bridget jumped up, looking alarmed. They both looked around the room searching for a place to hide as the sound of the footsteps grew louder. ‘Lenny, could I have a word please?’ a voice drifted out from one of the offices in the hallway, speaking to the man who had just exited the store. ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Lenny, walking into the office and closing the door behind him. This was all that Bridget and Tom needed. They sprinted back down the hallway and emerged into the now busy store, blending in easily with the other shoppers. They headed out of the store and into the shopping centre which was now full of Saturday morning shoppers. Bridget grabbed Tom’s hand and led him quickly to the bus stop exit of the centre, running to catch the bus which was just about to leave. They gratefully scanned their tickets and sat down at the back of the bus as it rumbled towards Bridget’s house. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes both reflected the shock of what they had just seen. They couldn’t get rid of the image – the dark blood spurting out of Larynx’s neck as the knife penetrated its way through the spinal cord and the tip revealing itself at the centre of his throat. A single tear escaped Bridget’s eye and descended down her cheek. Tom reached out and brushed it away. ‘It’s alright, Bee, we’re safe now,’ he whispered, kissing the top of head and hugging her shoulders. He was scared about Bridget; she had lost her dad, seen a man sniped, and seen a man get a knife straight through his neck all in the space of under two days. Bridget was usually going non-stop, flat out and never slowed down. But every few months the would just deteriorate and travel through life so slow that she was almost unmoving before gathering herself up again and beginning the fast life again. It was unfortunate that she had slowed this week, which gave her even more to carry on her shoulders. Tom knew that he just needed to be there for her and help her carry some of the weight that was slowing her down. ​Later that afternoon they sat down on Bridget’s bed and tried to work out what was going on. The man at the hospital; why had he been killed? It certainly wasn’t a coincidence, but had someone been listening in on their conversation and killed him as they heard that he had been about to reveal something? Or had he just simply been on the list to be killed just because he had some knowledge that they didn’t want to get out? Neither Bridget nor Tom had any idea. They left that one there and moved onto John Larynx. ‘I reckon that he was just on their list to be killed. They had the window cleaner there at a set time this morning to kill Larynx and I guess we just happened to be there. They couldn’t have had the window cleaner hanging around for days to make sure that Larynx was killed if he tried to talk. And if they had they would have killed him before he got up to get the letter from his filing cabinet, because that has given us some vital information that they probably wouldn’t want us to have! These people are ruthless, Tom, they had him killed just because he knew one small puzzle piece of the whole picture,’ Bridget said. ‘I know, you’re right. I think that whoever we’re up against had planned to kill him at that exact time...But on the other hand, I think that there was someone listening in on our conversation at the hospital, because that was perfect timing, nothing could have happened that perfectly timed if it was a coincidence...But how could they hear what was going on?’ ‘Just add it to the list of things we don’t know,’ Bridget said sourly, ‘But...hang on, what about the radio in the room? The ones that the doctors and nurses use to communicate if there’s some massive problem going on! That could have easily been bugged!’ ‘Yes! You’re right! The doctor was killed in perfect time and that was because the sniper had him lined up in his sights the whole time, waiting to see whether he needed to be killed!’ Tom said excitedly, sitting up straighter, but then his face fell, ‘Geez, these people must have good resources. Professionals. God, what have we gotten ourselves into?’ ‘I know,’ Bridget replied, ‘We’ve gotten ourselves into a right mess, we have. But we’ve got something on our side that they don’t expect us to have, and that could very well be our advantage.’ ‘The letter,’ Tom said and Bridget nodded. ‘We’ve got to get inside the testing centre, it’s the only way we’re going to find the truth.’ ‘I know. And I think we should do it tomorrow.’ ‘Alright – tomorrow it is. But this is going to need a lot of planning...’ ‘We need some background information, and I think I know where we can find it.’ ​Bridget led Tom into her father’s private study. ‘God, it’s weird being in here. He never used to let me come in here when he–‘ Bridget gulped, ‘when he was alive.’ Tom saw that she was about to fall apart. He lifted her up and sat her on the desk, so that their eyes were level. ‘Bridget, listen to me, he would have wanted you to do this, to find out the reason why he died. He would have been disappointed if you hadn’t. Right now, I know he’s watching over you, leading you in the right direction, giving you hints and clues. He’s on our side, Bee. You just have to trust him,’ Tom said earnestly. ‘You’re right, Tom, I know. We’re doing the right thing here. Thanks for doing it with me,’ Bridget said. ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ said Tom in a western accent, winking at her. Bridget laughed, the smile lightening up her face and loosening the knot of worry in Tom’s chest. He gave her a tight hug and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. He opened his eyes and found Bridget staring at him with a strange look, almost as though she wanted to kiss him. But no, surely she didn’t – Tom was the only one who felt that way, who wanted more than a friendship. But he didn’t want to say anything; it would just make it awkward between them. So he stayed silent. He stepped back, breaking the strange moment between them and pulled her to her feet. ‘Now its detective time,’ he said, ‘You start looking through the filing cabinets on that side of the room and I’ll start over at these filing cabinets.’ Yet, after half an hour of searching through the cabinets they had found nothing of interest. Both cabinets were full of old tax receipts and electricity bills – nothing that would help them in their quest for truth. So at 3:30pm, they both plonked themselves down on the shagpile rug in front of the desk and paused only to employ a few of their parents’ choicest swear words, letting out their frustration. But then Bridget sat up straight, struck by a sudden idea. It was so obvious, yet they had still overlooked it with astonishing stupidity. ‘The desk,’ she said, looking at Tom with wide eyes, ‘How did we not think of looking in there?!’ Tom and Bridget ran over to the desk and knelt down on the right hand side of the desk, in front of the drawers. They started at the top, pulling out the highest draw. In there was nothing but a simple, rusted gold key. They shut that one and moved onto the next. In the second, they found the Brite family’s latest water and electricity bills. They shut that one and moved lower still. The third and fourth drawers were empty. Neither could hide their disappointment. ‘He was left handed,’ said Bridget, allowing a small trickle of hope to enter her voice, ‘Maybe he kept the important stuff in the draws on the left.’ They both knew that this was highly unlikely, but they had nothing to lose, so they checked anyway. The topmost draw was full of envelopes and writing paper. The second had a series of newspaper cuttings, from years ago, though there were only headings. The two teenagers curiously pulled out the yellowing cuttings and began to read. They were all on mobile phone studies. W.H.O. RAISES CONCERN OVER SAFETY OF MOBILE PHONES MOBILE PHONES – ARE THEY GREAT OR ARE THEY HARMFUL? MOBILE PHONE DANGERS – IS IT TRUE OR IS IT TRASH? Bridget and Tom looked up at each other in horror; they’d looked in the right drawers, alright. But none of the cuttings actually had the articles with them, so it gave them no idea of what kind of dangers the phones might have posed. But now they knew it was something that was a danger to a person’s health; otherwise the World Health Organisation wouldn’t have been involved. Silently, they turned towards the third and final drawer. Tom reached out with a shaky hand and pulled open the drawer. To their dismay, there was only a single book inside the drawer. The bright pink book was emblazoned with the title The Force. ‘Great,’ exclaimed Bridget, ‘we’re left with nothing. Again. A big fat zilch.’ ‘Wait, Bee, what’s this?’ Tom said slowly. ‘What’s what?’ ‘This. Look, Bee, on the underside of the desk here, there’s a little square with a keyhole.’ They both leaned forward, looking up at the underside of the desk. Tom was right – there was a small square of wood that slightly jutted out from the rest of the smooth wood. There was a small, rusted, golden keyhole in the corner of it. ‘The key, in the first drawer we looked into. Grab it, Tom!’ Tom pulled open the drawer and grabbed the tiny key, passing it to Bridget. She pushed the key into the small hole and turned it to the right. There was a small click and the little trapdoor swung downwards, and a little white envelope floated down after it. Bridget caught it and ripped it open. It was a letter. From her father. She unfolded it and was silent as she read the letter. Dear Bridget, If you are reading this, it probably means that my time has finally run out or you are in my office without permission, in which case, I ask you to leave immediately. And don’t take a Freddo frog from the box in my desk, I do count them daily. If my time has finally run out, then you deserve to know the truth, and I must warn you – it is not pretty. Your mother and I have told you the story of my job offer when you were one. We lived in the country and we lived a simple life, quiet and peaceful. One day, however, a man visited my small painting business and offered me a job in the big city – in a telephone networking company. He told me that I had been personally recommended and that he had heard great things about me. He told me that I would be payed over $100,000 a year. My painting business was good, but was hardly making enough money to support a family, so I took the job and we moved into the big city. It was my first day of work and I was brought to a network testing complex where a man told me my fate. I was to be their guinea pig. They were to test whether the electromagnetic radiation emitted from the phones they produced was actually harmful. Well, now you know – they were. I was to work each day, doing day to day errands for the company, but regularly using a mobile phone and completing tests every fortnight to check my health. And, well, I think you can guess the rest. But the reason I wrote this is not to just tell you the reason for my death, but to tell you that you must go to the media or the police over this. The truth must be uncovered, so that more people do not die from it. Because I can guarantee you, the company will not tell anyone of the dangers of their network. They are making too much money. So you need to get inside the testing complex and get to the Head of Operation’s office (room E5). He has all of the information and results in his desk – third drawer down on the right hand side. It is not locked, but security on the complex is high. It will not be easy. But I have enclosed a few things that might help you – a floor plan of the complex and a security worker’s ID card I stole while I was there. These will help you to enter the complex and find what you need. Lastly, my Bumble Bee, I just want to tell you that I love you and your mother more than anything on this planet. I am watching over and I will love you forever and wait for you to join me up here in the clouds. Do not forget to live your life. Do not feel guilt if you have forgotten about me because you are having a good time. You need to forget sometimes. This is my last piece of advice do not dwell on the past and forget to live, for you will waste away to nothing more than nothing. I love you, Bee, Dad xxxxxxx Bridget looked up at Tom, her eyes full of tears. Tom stared back, his eyes watery too. ‘Oh, Bee,’ he said, as Bridget threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Tom did not know how long they sat there, only that they with each tear, they were letting out a little bit of the pain and grief inside them and preparing themselves for the huge journey ahead. ​They woke at 6am the next morning, ready to carry out the plan which they had stayed up late into the hours of the night preparing. By 8am, they had both put on their disguises and they just hoped that they would work well enough to get them into the complex. Bridget’s appearance was changed to fit the appearance of the woman on the ID card her father had given her. Bridget now had the same eye colour, lipstick, skin colour, and hairstyle of the woman in the picture. They had borrowed a pair of her mother’s blue contacts and also her lipstick. The woman had had a sunburnt quality to her skin colour, so they had simply brushed on a little of Bridget’s mother’s blush and now she looked as though she’d spent a day at the beach without any sun cream. The woman’s hair, thankfully, had been blonde, though a little darker than Bridget’s, so they’d styled it into a tight bun and put a little hair gel in it to darken it. As for Tom, he would be entering the complex as a workplace inspector, so he was now wearing one of Bridget’s father’s old suits and had gelled his hair to the side to make him look older. Thankfully, he hadn’t shaved for a week, so he had a little bit of stubble growing around his chin and above his top lip which succeeded in adding a few years to his age. He would be entering the complex with a clipboard and a visitor’s badge. They caught a taxi to the complex and waited the hour long trip out silently. There was nothing to say; they’d either make it and come out alive, or be discovered and not come out at all. Finally, they arrived at the complex, thanking the driver and paying him with some money they had taken from Bridget’s mother’s purse. The driver seemed to think that they were a lot older than they were. He kept throwing winks and smiles in Bridget’s direction; although it was repulsive, it proved that their disguises worked, which made them feel a little better. Then it was the moment that they had worked so hard towards. The huge silver complex loomed above them, surrounded by a ten foot high barbed wire fence and hundreds of armed guards. They exchanged a glance of determination and began to walk toward the complex. ​This was the most nerve racking part of the plan; the entrance. Bridget walked purposely toward the guarded gate as Tom and a few other workers lagged a little behind. Bridget approached the gate first, as planned and flashed he ID card at the inspector by the gate. ‘Mornin’ Miss Alfredo, how are we today?’ the fat inspector asked brightly. ‘Quite well, thank you, how are you?’ she replied, beginning a conversation which would allow Tom to catch up and casually latch onto Bridget as she entered the complex. ‘I’m quite fine, though, I gotta say, I hate the ruddy early mornings they make me do ‘ere! They must think I’m nocturnal!’ ‘Yes, it’s quite crazy, isn’t it? This morning I –‘ Bridget stopped and turned around, a scornful look on her face, ‘And who are you?’ she asked Tom as he approached. ‘Oh, I’m Matt, Matt Georgio, workplace inspector. I’m here to inspect for the day,’ he replied stonily. The inspector reacted just as they’d hoped, ‘Oh, well, then take this visitor’s badge and Miss Alfredo will escort you in! Have a nice day.’ Tom and Bridget walked through the gates breathing a sigh of relief and into the main reception, where they greeted the receptionist before heading over to the lifts. Bridget punched the second floor button and they made their way up to the second floor. The lift doors rattled open and they entered an empty room. Tom glanced up and noticed the security camera in the corner of the room. ‘Alright,’ he whispered, pulling the floor plan out of his pocket, ‘where are we?’ ‘Here,’ said Bridget, pointing to a square on the corner of the map, ‘So the Head of Operations’ office is just down that hallway.’ she said, pointing to a long corridor on their right. They began to walk towards the corridor, but before they reached it, and alarm started ringing, screaming all across the complex. ‘Intruder alert! Intruder alert! We have unidentified persons on floor two! I repeat, we have unidentified persons on floor two!’ The voice echoed through the room, and Bridget and Tom were gripped with horror. ‘How did they know we were intruders?!’ screamed Bridget. ‘I don’t know! But we need to get out of here!’ Tom yelled back. But before they could reach any kind of escape, the lift doors opened and two armed guards walked out, their AK-47s pointing straight at Bridget and Tom’s heads. ‘Try to run, and we’ll blow a bullet straight through your brains,’ one of the guards growled menacingly. So Tom and Bridget did all that they could; raised their hands and allowed themselves to be handcuffed and walked into the Head of Operations’ office. After all this work, they had made it to the place where they had planned to, but under totally different circumstances. The Head of Operations was sitting at the desk. He was a middle aged man, with light skin and sandy coloured hair flecked with streaks of grey. ‘So, my little friends, you decided you would break into my complex did you?’ he laughed to himself, ‘Foolish, very foolish...Now, may I ask, who are you?’ ‘Go to hell,’ growled Tom, anger rippling through him. He could tell that this man was the kind who thought himself superior to others, more important and Tom wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. ‘Feisty,’ the man remarked, raising his eyebrows, ‘well, then, I’ll tell you who I am. I have no name, my colleagues call me Commander, and I expect you to, too. But that is all that you may know about me. So I will ask you again, who are you?’ as he asked them again, he pulled out a Mini Uzi and pointed it at Tom’s heart. But it was Bridget who answered. ‘Fine,’ she spat, ‘I’ll tell you who we are. I’m Bridget Brite, and he’s Tom Winchester. I don’t know if you realised yet, but I’m the one whose dad died from a brain tumour this week. And you know why? Because of you.’ ‘Oh, yes, I see who you are now; your personality is quite like your father’s – rude and stupid, I’m surprised I didn’t realise who you were earlier. But why have you come here? Simply to ask me a few questions? I think not. But nevertheless, I shall give you some answers, because you will die soon anyway, just like your father, and also like your father’s death, it will be my doing. ‘But back to the answers. Well, to start off, yes. I did kill your father. But it was for the good of the company. We needed to look as though we were investigating whether electromagnetic radiation affected the health of our customers. And what better way to do it than hire a daft idiot from the country and test it on him?’ ‘My dad wasn’t an idiot!’ shouted Bridget, pulling at her handcuffs. ‘I will have to ask you to shut up, little girl. Your stupid remarks will only get you killed faster. Anyway, back to my story. So yes, we started getting him to regularly use a mobile phone and we tested the affects. They were just as we expected; it was frying the brain, killing it. And soon your father had a brain tumour, and a horrible one at that. So his health began to deteriorate and we knew his end was coming. ‘So he died, and we knew the truth. But of course we weren’t going to tell anyone, we’d lose millions, and we can’t afford that. We would’ve been fine, if you two hadn’t have gone messing around and looking for answers. So then I had to get all the people that you could contact for the truth killed –‘ ‘That was you! You hired all those people to kill the doctor and Larynx!’ cried Tom. ‘Yes, it was, actually. And I paid them a fair bit as well, they were professionals. But that’s beside the point. I still don’t understand why you came here. Perhaps your father told you about what we had done to him and now you want revenge?’ ‘Damn right!’ screamed Bridget, ‘You killed him! What d’you expect me to do? Just sit back and take it? No, I want to find out the truth and expose you for the lying madman that you are!’ ‘Well, isn’t that cute. But I’m afraid that that will never happen, because in a few hours, you will be dead. But before I send you away, I will permit you to ask one question, which I will answer honestly,’ he looked at them expectantly, as though he were watching a mildly amusing television programme. ‘I want to know how you knew there were intruders in the complex,’ demanded Tom. ‘You know, I am glad you asked me that, actually, Thomas. You see, we actually have a very advanced security system here and he thing that set alarm bells ringing was the fingerprint sensors in the lift buttons. Bridget’s fingerprint registered in our system and wasn’t one of the workers’ fingerprint. So we immediately knew that she was an imposter. Then you looked straight at the security camera on the second floor, and it scanned your eyeball, which also did not register as one of our workers’. So both f these seemingly harmless things stopped you from entering the complex undetected. ‘Though I must congratulate you on your ownership of a genuine ID card. If I may ask, where did you get it?’ ‘My dad stole it while he was still working here,’ Bridget spat at him. ‘Impressive,’ Commander said, although he sounded completely bored, ‘Well, this has been great, but I really must get on with things. Guards, take them to the beachside cellar,’ he said, a smile playing at his lips. ‘The beachside cellar?’ asked Tom. ‘Yes, it is a rather smart invention of mine which I am quite proud of. You see, it is a little box right on the edge of the water, and when the tide comes in, it becomes completely submerged in water, drowning the prisoner inside. Quite a painful death, I must say.’ Commander stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Bridget and Tom staring with horrified eyes at the guards. One of the guards smacked his gun across both of their heads, knocking them out. ‘That’ll make them easier to transport,’ he said gruffly with a chuckle. ​When Bridget and Tom woke up, they were in small wooden box which was damp and smelt of algae. The planks were spaced apart with just enough of a gap to be too small to fit through – enough to make anyone go mad. Tom woke first, and stared out between the gaps of the wooden planks. There it was, the sea. There were small waves coming into the shore which filled the bottom of the box with water. He examined the walls, rising fear bubbling up in his chest, and realised that they were all slimy and covered in slippery green growth. Becoming more scared by the second, he glanced out at the sky; the sun was already beginning to set and soon, in about an hour probably, they would drown. He sat down hopelessly and felt useless. They had wasted all that time planning and getting into the complex, and where had it landed them? In some stupid box in the sea where they would soon die a horribly depressing death. About twenty minutes later, Bridget came round. She sat up and looked around groggily. ‘Why is it all wet?’ she asked. ‘Because we are in a god-damn box at the edge of the beach and the tides coming in!’ Bridget looked around at her surroundings, with terror in her eyes, ‘I didn’t think he was serious about that! How long do we have until the tide comes in?’ Tom looked out at the sky again, ‘About half an hour.’ ‘What have you got on you?’ Bridget asked, standing up. Unlike Tom, she wasn’t going to accept this death, she was going to do something about this situation, she was going to do it for her dad. ‘Huh?’ ‘What have you got on you? Like, in your pockets?’ ‘Oh, um, my iPod, phone, and my Swiss army knife,’ he replied. ‘Check the signal on your phone.’ ‘Zero bars. I should’ve known. I’m with Epitelle.’ ‘Alright, forget that. The iPod wont do anything. Give me the army knife,’ Tom passed it to her and she examined it, a look of surprise and pleasure springing up in her face, ‘You still have this?’ ‘Yeah, you gave it to me for my birthday in year six, I carry it with me everywhere,’ he replied. Bridget stepped forward so she was inches from Tom, the army knife long forgotten. ‘Tom, I don’t know if we’re going to come out of this alive, or not. But I’ll never forgive myself if I die knowing that I never told you this,’ she took a deep breath, ‘Tom, I love you. Like a brother, but also more than that, like a lover. I’ve felt this way for a while now, and I didn’t know whether you felt the same way, so I stayed quiet. But I think now’s the time to change that,’ she looked down, embarrassed. Tom grabbed her chin and lifted her head back up, ‘You did it again, Bee, you took the words right out of my mouth.’ And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, hugging her body to his. He pulled his head back slightly and moved his mouth to her ear. ‘I love you, Bee,’ he whispered. ‘I love you more, Tom,’ Bridget murmured back. ‘Impossible,’ he chuckled. But just then, the wind picked up and a huge wave crashed into the box, filling it up to their waist. It had begun. The tide was coming in. They were going to die. ​‘What are we going to do?’ screamed Bridget, as another wave pounded the box and filled it up to their waist once more. But Tom was standing still, his ear tilted upwards, listening. ‘Bee, can you hear that? It’s creaking. The box isn’t as strong as it used to be, it’s been eroded by the salt in the water. That’s our way out. Of course! I didn’t even consider the salt!’ Bridget knew he was right, ‘What do we do, captain?’ ‘We need to kick at the places where the planks are nailed together. The nails will probably be rusty too.’ So they began to kick at the edges, the wood slowly weakening. But all the same, the tide kept coming in, fast and hard. Soon it was filled up to their necks and they had to swim under the water to attack the planks. A huge wave, over four metres high crashed into the box and it gave way. The planks scattered into the water as the wave pounded them. But Tom looked under the water and saw Bridget slowly floating to the depths of the sea. He had though that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. She had been knocked out by one of the planks and she was going to drown. Tom swam down reaching out and grabbing Bridget’s arm, he began to pull her up. But the current was pulling him down, his lungs were bursting; he had been under for almost three minutes. He could see the light of the sunset just above him, but his vision was fading, he needed oxygen. He couldn’t do it. NO! he thought to himself, he was going to save Bridget, even if he died doing it. So he gathered up the last of his strength and pushed upwards and finally broke the surface of the water. He pulled Bridget up and looked toward the shore, cursing. It was over fifty metres away. Tom began to swim in earnest, fighting through wave after wave, current after current. And all for the girl whose arm he held in his hand. But as he looked over at he and placed a hand on her neck, he realised she had stopped breathing. She was dead. Hopelessness washed through him. He had killed her, and it was his entire fault. Tom gave up, twenty metres from the shore. He let the current pull him under as he lay to rest with the love of his life. ​The next thing he knew, he was lying on the beach. He felt the burn of salt water in his throat and sputtered it out, struggling to breath. He felt a pounding on his chest. ‘Aaron! I’ve got his heart beating! Is the ambulance here yet, mate?’ Tom heard someone yell as the pounding on his chest stopped, ‘That’s it mate, keep breathing, you’re gonna be fine,’ the voice said in Tom’s ear. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Bee?’ Tom murmured. ‘Well, you nearly died mate! We were just headin’ in from our surf and then we saw ya out there getting ripped by the waves, so we grabbed the jet ski and headed out there, we got youse just in time, though. You was just about to go under!’ ‘Where’s Bee?’ Tom insisted. ‘Bee? Is that the girl that was with ya?’ Tom nodded. ‘Well, mate, I’m sorry to say this, I really am, but I dunno if she’s gonna make it. She hadn’t been breathing for about five minutes when we got youse out. But we’re doing all we can...’ Tom drifted off again. He had nothing to live for. Bridget was dead. He might as well be too. ​Five days later, Tom and Bridget sat on the couch in Bridget’s lounge eating a packet of chips. They were watching the evening news and the top story was the discovery of mobile phones causing brain tumours. The whole story of Bridget’s father’s death along with those of the doctor and John Larynx was being broadcasted live all over the world. They both watched silently, appreciating the fact that they were alive. Their story had been a miraculous one. After Tom had been revived, he had been taken in an ambulance to Brisbane Hospital. He had been given stitches and bandaged up. The waves had thrown him into the rocks and ripped him apart. As for Bridget, she was also lucky to be alive. The paramedics had arrived at the beach just in time, being able to save her with advanced CPR knowledge. She had also needed to get a fair few stitches and now had a bandage across her shoulder where she had smashed it on the rock. They had both remained in intensive care for three days and were then sent home. While they were in the hospital, there had been a police constable who had come to visit them, questioning them about the events at the complex. They had told him about the whole investigation and Commander. That very afternoon, the police had raided the complex and found all of the evidence they needed to shut down Epitelle Communications. The media had then got wind of the story and relentlessly investigated until they had the full story, and that was how it was being broadcasted on the TV now. The report ended and the Ten News song blasted through the lounge. Tom reached out and switched off the TV. He turned to the girl sitting next to him, with a look of such tenderness that she blushed and looked down. ‘You know, Bee, despite everything, I’m glad we looked into this,’ he said to her, ‘You know why? ‘Cause I got you out of it.’ ‘I know,’ said Bridget, ‘I never could have lived with myself if I had known that faced with death, I never even said anything to you about the way I felt.’ ‘Well, you did, and look where we are now. Best friends and going out as well. Which reminds me, I was wondering, do you want to go out for dinner next Friday?’ ‘Oh, Tom,’ she said, lost for words, ‘Of course I do.’ ‘So we’re officially going out?’ Tom asked, excitement creeping into his voice. ‘Yes, I’d say so.’ They both smiled at each other as Tom leaned in and rest his forehead on hers, breathing out a soft breath which slid over her face softly. Bridget smiled and leaned upwards, their lips making contact with a smile. ‘I love you, Tom,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘I love you more, Bee,’ he muttered back. ‘Impossible,’ she chuckled, leaning in to kiss the love of her life once more.