Black List (2 page)

He was staring right at Alex now with those intense, hawk-like eyes as he spoke. All pretence of nonchalant disinterest was gone now. Alex could scarcely recall seeing him so excited.

‘All the amazing things we’d planned to do, all the times we used to get pissed together in the pub and talk about doing something important,’ he went on. ‘Well, this is our chance to make it happen. It’s a second chance to finish what we started, and they don’t come along very often.’

Alex should have expected this from a man like Sinclair. Always an idealist and a believer in freedom of information no matter the cost, age clearly hadn’t dulled his passion. If anything it was more intense than ever. The years he’d been forced to bide his time and wait had clearly made an impression on him.

‘That’s why you want me involved,’ Alex said, realizing that his particular talents would be vital to such a scheme. ‘You need me to crack the firewall.’

‘Nobody can break encryption codes like you, Alex. You can do things that make the rest of us look like rank amateurs.’ Sinclair sighed, looking at his friend across the table. ‘I’m asking for your help, mate. I
need
your help. And I’m willing to pay for it.’

Another piece of paper made its way across the table. Unable to help himself, Alex unfolded it to read. Yet again, what he saw left him stunned.

One hundred thousand pounds, payable either as cash or into an account of his choice.

‘Half up front, half on completion,’ Sinclair said when Alex finally looked up at him. ‘Enough to get your life back on track. And believe me, there’s more where that came from.’

Alex felt like the world was spinning around him. The sudden arrival of Sinclair had turned his life into a maelstrom of possibilities, of opportunities long since abandoned but now suddenly real once more. One hundred thousand pounds could change his life, could pull him out of the mire he was slowly sinking into, could save him.

But Sinclair’s offer carried with it something far more valuable. A chance to get back in the game, to do something meaningful with his life, to be someone he was proud to be.

For an instant, he saw the incredible future that was there for the taking. The accomplishments, the achievements, the power to do things that people all over the world would talk about.

It was all there, just waiting for him. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

‘I can’t. I’m sorry, mate. But I can’t do it.’

The words came out almost before he was aware of them, the rational part of his mind reasserting its dominance over the wild, ambitious young man he’d once been.

‘I almost lost everything the last time I tried something like this.’ With a trembling hand, he slid the piece of paper back across the table to his friend. ‘I can’t go through that again. I can’t help you.’

‘Alex, I know there are risks.’ Sinclair’s voice was gentle, calming now. ‘There are always risks, but sometimes they’re worth taking. I know you. I know who you are and what you can do. You’re not like all these people around us,’ he said, his keen eyes taking in the thronging crowds traversing Trafalgar Square. ‘You, me… we were made for something more.’

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking sadly at his friend.

‘If you want to go back to selling TVs and living in some shitty flat, that’s your choice 
–
 I can’t stop you. But think about what you’re giving up. I’m offering you a chance to do what you were born to do, what we both know you want to do. Isn’t that
worth
risking everything for?’ He let that question hang for a moment, sensing Alex’s wavering resolve. ‘One way or another there’s no going back from whatever answer you give me now. So I’ll ask for you for the last time, mate. What’s it going to be?’

‘Well, what’s it going to be?’

Alex blinked, drawn reluctantly out of his thoughts like a man surfacing from the depths of a murky pond. The memory of that meeting in Trafalgar Square three days earlier receded and reality took over again, however reluctant he might be to let it in.

Glancing up from the TV he’d been staring at absently for an unknown time, he found himself looking at the fleshy, amiable face of his co-worker, Mike King.

A few years older than Alex and a good few stones heavier, Mike, with his dishevelled hair, less-than-designer stubble and perpetually creased shirts, somehow looked like a delinquent student who had been plucked out of high school and thrust unwillingly into adult life. He’d been fighting against it ever since, and in that sense at least, he was winning.

From what Alex knew of him, his life outside of work consisted of sustained bouts of drinking 
–
 about which he was always willing to provide a lengthy anecdote 
–
 and even longer spells of online gaming. The only reason he was even able to hold down a job as a sales assistant was because of his almost supernatural ability to make people buy things they didn’t want. Nothing fazed him and because of that, nothing seemed to stop him.

‘Sorry mate, what were you saying?’ Alex said, realizing he’d missed most of the conversation as his mind continued to replay every detail of his encounter with his old friend.

Mike rolled his eyes, feigning wounded pride. ‘My conversation that fascinating, eh? I was asking where you fancy heading for drinks on Friday 
–
 Dirty Dick’s or the Witness Box? The beer’s not as good in Dick's, but at least the girls make a bit of effort. It’s all munters and grannies in the Box.’

Alex shook his head. With everything else going on in his life at that moment, going out and getting plastered with Mike was the least of his concerns. Anyway, the last time Mike had persuaded him to go out for ‘a few quiet pints’ after work, he’d woken up the next morning on his kitchen floor with a splitting headache, a black eye and a traffic cone sitting in the corner of the room. To this day, he had no recollection of how any of those things had come to pass.

‘Not sure I can make it on Friday, mate,’ he said apologetically. ‘Maybe next time, yeah?’

Mike eyed him suspiciously. He might have been an immature, lazy bum and a borderline alcoholic, but he could be a surprisingly shrewd judge of character at times. Something was up with Alex, and he knew it.

‘You up to something on the sly, son?’

‘Just busy,’ he evaded.

Then, just like that, suspicion gave way to a knowing smile. ‘It’s a woman, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘A man?’

‘No!’ Alex clenched his teeth, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. Mike was relentless when it came to things like this; Hercule Poirot didn’t even come close. Alex leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘I’m thinking about doing a bit of freelancing.’

Mike’s smile was conspiratorial. ‘You planning to move to greener pastures?’

Too fucking right he was, Alex thought as he surveyed the bland, cheaply lit electrical showroom around them; the disinterested customers, the dry, air-conditioned atmosphere, the coffee machine that made a weird noise as it brewed, and the bored employees, most of whom were students working here for drinking money. Just getting through the day, probably counting down the minutes until they could leave this dump behind.

How had he ended up in a godforsaken place like this? He knew the answer even before he’d asked the question. Because they were the only people who would take him on. A university-educated computer expert who knew more about coding than Bill Gates, and here he was selling laptops to kids half his age.

‘It’s a one-off,’ he said vaguely.

Mike was about to reply, but the bleep of the nearby desk phone brought a welcome respite. Alex’s relief was cut short however when he saw the caller identity. It was Tim Dixon, known less-than-affectionately as the Dick by those unlucky enough to serve under him.

Dixon’s office was scarcely twenty feet away in the back area behind the showroom, yet he always insisted on summoning people instead of simply walking over to talk to them, like it somehow gave him more power.

Sighing inwardly, Alex picked up his phone. ‘Yeah, Tim?’

‘Alex. Just the man I wanted. We need to have a little chat,’ Dixon announced without preamble. ‘Would you mind coming into my office?’

Alex’s heart sank. Being called into Dixon’s office for a ‘little chat’ meant only one thing – he was about to be chewed out for something.

‘No problem. I’m on my way.’

As he hung up the phone, Mike gave him a look of feigned sympathy. ‘Remember to lube up beforehand, mate. It’ll make things easier.’

‘Piss off,’ Alex fired back over his shoulder.

Some people in life you just never seem to hit it off with. Whether it’s because of differing backgrounds, incompatible personalities or plain old dislike, there are always one or two you can’t ever see eye to eye with. And when that person happens to be a middle manager who enjoys throwing his weight around with his subordinates, you know you’re in for a difficult time.

Such was Alex’s lot with Tim Dixon.

After swiping his way out of the staff-only exit from the showroom and negotiating the warren of bare-brick corridors behind the main shop, he stopped outside Dixon’s door and, pausing only to smooth down his tie, knocked once.

‘Come in!’

Swinging the door open, Alex found himself facing into a small, cramped office not much more spacious than the average bathroom. The decor was just as cheap and the chair was just as uncomfortable as any other in the building, but it was still a private office. A little privilege that elevated its owner above the rest of the workers. And Dixon was the kind of man who relished little privileges.

Early forties, short, stocky and perpetually fighting against all three things, Tim Dixon was dressed in a shirt that was too small for his bulky frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the muscular forearms and bulging veins that came from heavy weight-training.

Pretending to be working, he glanced up from his computer wearing the kind of bland smile Alex supposed a movie star would flash an eager reporter.

‘Alex, how are you?’ he asked in a tone that made it plain he didn’t give a shit. Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on, ‘Close the door and take a seat, would you?’

Alex did as he was asked, taking a seat without saying a word. Dixon said nothing either, just sat there looking at Alex with that same bland, soulless smile. The seconds seemed to stretch out into hours as Alex sat there, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the tick of the clock mounted on the wall.

Finally he could take it no longer. ‘You wanted to have a talk?’ he prompted.

Dixon leaned back in his chair, surveying him thoughtfully. No doubt he wished it was some expensive, high-backed leather affair, but the company wasn’t going to spring for it. ‘Alex, I’m going to ask you a question, and I’d like an honest answer. Do we have a problem here?’

He frowned. ‘Not that I know of.’

‘Hmm,’ Dixon remarked, reaching for a sheet of paper on his desk. He slid it across to Alex. ‘Do you know what this is? It’s an email from the head 
–
 the
head 
–
 
of customer services, asking why one of our sales agents deleted a day’s worth of credit-card transactions instead of filing them. He wants to know why his team are having to waste their time contacting every customer by phone to undo that agent’s mistake. He wants to know who’s responsible.’ He left the paper resting on the desk. ‘So, what exactly should I tell him, Alex?’

Straight away Alex felt the colour drain from his face. Normally the mundane task of filing the day’s card transactions through the till was a simple one, but he’d been rushed, distracted and tired when he’d done it yesterday, and hadn’t bothered to check his work. Since it had always worked fine before, he’d assumed he could easily skip the double-checking and save himself some time.

Clearly he’d been wrong.

Beneath the table, his hands slowly clenched into fists. Of all the bloody rotten luck, this was the last thing he needed right now.

‘Tim, that was—’

Dixon held up a hand, silencing his excuse before he could even get it out. It was just as well really, because he didn’t have one worth listening to. ‘To be honest, I don’t want to hear it, Alex. If you’d done your job properly and checked your work, this never would have happened. You were sloppy and careless, and you’ve been here long enough to know better. And let’s face it, with your… 
record
, any kind of problems with money and accounting are bound to draw attention. Am I wrong?’

Alex said nothing. No response was expected.

‘And that’s not to mention your timekeeping,’ he went on. ‘Arriving late, leaving bang on five, making basic mistakes that cost the company money…’ He shook his head in mocking disappointment before fixing him with a hard look. ‘Let me ask you something. Do you think you’re better than this job, Alex?’

That was the real crux of the matter, Alex knew. The real reason Dixon disliked Alex with such a passion. It was because he sensed in Alex something he didn’t possess himself 
–
 the ability to do more with his life. And that frightened and angered him.

Dixon wasn’t naturally intelligent, didn’t have a great understanding of the people working beneath him and probably hadn’t done particularly well at school, but determination and the ability to feign knowledge had nonetheless carried him into a position of minor power. In all likelihood he wouldn’t rise much further than this, but for now he was higher in the food chain than Alex, and he never let the younger man forget it.

‘Do you think you deserve something more than this, that you’re special somehow?’ he went on, the veil of genial professionalism slipping aside. His years of festering resentment had at last found an outlet, and he wasn’t about to let it go now. ‘Or do you think the rules shouldn’t apply to you because you’re so much smarter than the rest of us? Maybe you even think you should be the one sitting in this chair instead of me. But you’re not, are you, Alex? For all your fancy university degrees and your high-flying jobs, you’re still sitting right at the bottom of the pile now. And that’s where you’ll always be, because you don’t have it in you to work for anything better.’

Alex said nothing, because he could think of no response to such an outburst. Such was the thinly veiled hatred in Dixon’s voice and the vitriol in his words, he was left genuinely shocked by it. He’d always sensed it on some level, but to sit there and listen to the man openly berate and belittle him was like a slap across the face.

His boss let out a sigh, his mask of professional detachment returning, and surveyed him for a long moment as if pretending to agonize over what to do. They both knew he’d decided what to say long before Alex had walked into his office.

‘There’s going to be an official discussion about this,’ he said. ‘I’ll let the people in HR know, and we’ll set up a meeting for later in the week.’ Already he was typing out an email to start the process. ‘I suggest you take some time to think about what you’re going to say, because a lot of people will be reading the transcript.’

Alex slumped back in his chair, feeling like someone had just driven a fist into his gut. Official discussions with Human Resources on the case made it pretty obvious where this was heading. Dixon had clearly always resented the fact that he’d been obliged to take on a convicted criminal 
–
 even a rehabilitated one 
–
 and for some time now had been looking for an excuse to cut him loose. And Alex had handed it to him on a plate.

Alex could almost imagine his glee as the angry email arrived in his mailbox.

Glancing up from his computer, Dixon motioned towards the door. ‘You can go now.’

Mike King was waiting for him as he shuffled back to his desk. ‘How did it go, mate?’ he asked, his expression caught between sympathy and amusement.

Alex didn’t even spare him a glance as he picked up his coat from the back of his chair and shuffled out, broken and defeated.

That was it for me 
–
 the beginning of the end of what was laughably called my life. Burning bridges and all that.

I suppose if I’d been braver, I would have marched back into Dixon’s office, pinned him against the wall and told him to shove his crappy job up his patronizing arse, told him that he was a pathetic, narrow-minded prick who was only one step higher up the shit pile than me. I would have told him that, unlike him, I’d at least got to fly before I crashed and burned.

But I didn’t do any of those things. I just went outside, smoked a cigarette in gloomy silence, shuffled around the showroom floor until 5 p.m. and slunk out of the building with my tail between my legs.

I’d like to say I did this because I was taking the moral high ground, because I wouldn’t stoop to Dixon’s level, but that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is, I did nothing about it because I knew deep down that he was right. He was a petty, vindictive arsehole, but he was right about me.

I was at the bottom of the pile, and maybe I didn’t have what it took to climb higher.

So I let it slide.

Story of my life.