Images of his brother flashed across his mind. The little respect he’d ever had for Vincent had more or less ebbed away over the years, and certainly since his father had died. He hadn’t even seen or spoken to his brother since then.
Could Vincent really be responsible for such abhorrent crimes? He might be a shit, but could he have done this?
Vincent had always been a loner as a child. But then he’d always had a steely determination to succeed in whatever he did. Simon knew he was ruthless. But a killer? Despite his own views on UKCitizensNet, could he stand by and really let his brother be killed to placate Michael’s wrath?
Michael waited patiently as Brown and Simon Trevellion discussed the app and the role R.I.G could play. Brown certainly sounded persuasive in his assertions that R.I.G could be the final piece of the jigsaw. And giving them a genuine chance of bringing UKCitizensNet and Trevellion down. Maybe it was the need to protect R.I.G that had been the Horsemen’s real motivation all along? Had they been using him as a means to save the entire group?
But if so, why hadn’t any of them mentioned the Real Internet Guardians earlier? Clearly they weren’t sure whether they could trust him or not.
The time they’d spent isolated from the rest of civilisation seemed to have redefined their paranoia. It was ironic really given Michael no longer trusted Brown. He certainly didn’t yet trust Dr Simon Trevellion. How could he, given his blood ties? The Horsemen may have seen him as a means to an end. Maybe Simon Trevellion did too. Maybe they even saw him as expendable in their fight - one life in the pursuit of their academic freedom and sharing of knowledge and information.
But he was on to them all. And he would have to watch Simon Trevellion as closely as he was watching Brown. If they could help him get nearer to Vincent Trevellion then he would play along with whatever their charade was for now. But his finger would always be close to the trigger of the shotgun.
As the conversation between Brown and Trevellion moved backwards and forwards Michael caught the odd phrase and technological term. But most of the meaning was lost on him as the two men explored the possibilities of the semantic web. The only portion of the conversation vaguely understandable was the combined view that if the app was distributed to other R.I.G groups then a coordinated attack would be their greatest chance of success. To do this they had to upload the app to a secure R.I.G FTP server so other groups could access their work and reconfigure the app according to their intentions.
“
Are the rest of the Horsemen OK with the fact that you came to see me? We all know this sort of personal contact is a strict taboo within the groups. I wouldn’t have come myself if you hadn’t sent me that sample of code.”
“
The other three are dead,” Michael said flatly.
Simon Trevellion’s eyes widened before he reached for another cigarette. The dangers of their undertaking becoming more apparent by the second.
Michael watched with interest as the initial hard-edged, disdainful persona Simon Trevellion had initially displayed began to erode, revealing a softer more vulnerable character. He clearly wasn’t as tough as his brother. And despite the dark, almost emotionless eyes Michael could see a glimpse of the same insecurities the Horsemen had honed to a fine art in their time as fugitives.
Lighting his cigarette Simon stood up from the bench, rubbing his back from where it had pressed into his spine.
“
The equipment we need to look at the app with and then send to the others isn’t on this campus. There’s an office on the Med campus, a few minutes up the road, which we’ll need to use. We’ll need to wait until after 10pm when the library closes. The building will be virtually deserted then, other than for a few of the night shift and security guards. But they won’t bother us if you’re with me.”
Michael and Brown nodded their approval as Simon shuffled past them on the narrow path and back in the direction of the Students’ Union bar.
“
I don’t know about you, but in the meantime, I need a drink.”
13
th
September 2007
Douglas Trevellion’s coffin sat to the left of the simple altar. A plain mahogany box with a subtle gold trim running round the lid, meeting on either side at the handles for the pall bearers. Standing on a sturdy metal frame it was positioned at the exact same height as the altar.
The altar itself was covered with a plain white cotton covering, a small blue cross embroidered on the front, facing the congregation. A simple chalice, lacking any form of decoration, stood in the middle of the altar, two large white candles dwarfing the vessel either side.
It was a simple scene. Certainly one his father would have approved of Simon Trevellion reflected as he sat in the pews, his gaze fixed on the coffin. His father could hardly have been called a religious man, and a simple, non-fussy, Church of England funeral was far more in keeping of the man than the added pomp and idolatry of a Catholic church.
His father had been a quiet, unassuming man. Plain-speaking without question. But a man who didn’t like a fuss to be made. Not in life, and certainly not in death either.
Looking to his mother, sitting to his right, a tissue firmly held in her hand and already moist from her tears, his gaze moved discretely to his watch. The service would start in less than five minutes. But still there was no sign of Vincent. His muscles tensed involuntarily, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
Not that he was surprised. Why break the habit of a lifetime? It was only their father’s funeral after all.
Fighting back the scowl he didn’t want his mother to see, on today of all days, he cast a look around the small village church and the assembled congregation. A combination of relatives and family friends filled the narrow aisles. Some of the people, family included, Simon knew well. Others were just casual acquaintances he’d seen at family functions over the years, although he couldn’t quite place their names. But no sign of his brother.
During his father’s long and painful illness he’d been there. Every step of the way. Through the radiotherapy and the chemotherapy. In the brief period of remission, when for a few weeks they’d dared to believe that maybe the aggressive cancer had been stopped in its tracks. And then through the desolation of knowing it had spread again and that there was no way back for his father. He’d been through all of it. Comforting his mother. Supporting his father.
But Vincent’s involvement had been few and far between. And the role of emotional crutch to both of his parents had been down to him alone. What irony.
His mother had, as always, taken a charitable view of his brother’s actions. Choosing to believe he couldn’t cope with the emotional stress of terminal illness and seeing his father fade away. He smiled bitterly. Even after all these years, and through this bereavement, his mother still believed nothing Vincent ever did was wrong or with bad intention.
Maybe being the baby of the family just reinforced this behaviour he’d wondered on so many occasions. How could his mother not see his brother’s interests were elsewhere? And always selfish. Vincent had never been a family man. He was too busy pursuing his own career to care about what happened to any of them. It had always been that way.
It was only a chance meeting with a former acquaintance of his brother, Vincent didn’t tend to keep friends long, not after they’d served some sort of use, that had given him some recent intelligence. Apparently, his brother had just secured a major appointment at one of the biggest semantic computing companies in the country. The post of Vice President apparently. Of course he’d heard of SemComNet by reputation. Who hadn’t? Another blue chip company with a thirst for expansion and the bottom line. And as far as he was concerned one of the many enemies of freedom of information sharing.
Sadly, the appointment hadn’t surprised him, just reinforcing the gulf between their two ideological stances on computing and information delivery.
Needless to say his parents had been full of it for weeks, telling everyone they knew about their successful son. Quite a different response to his PhD and post at the University. That had been merely met with the comment: ‘Nevermind. Perhaps you’ll make Professor one day”.
“
Is Vincent here yet?” his mother asked softly, dabbing her eyes again as the vicar appeared from a hidden room behind the pulpit, approaching the altar.
“
No, not yet,” Simon replied through gritted teeth.
“
He’s probably just very busy,” his mother said, smiling at the thought of her other son.
“
I’m sure he is,” Simon replied caustically, unable to withhold his feelings any longer.
“
Simon please. If he could be here he would.”
“
This is dad’s funeral. If he can’t make it on this day, when can he?”
Turning to face his mother Simon watched as his mother’s eyes brimmed with tears again. Not sure whether she was crying for the loss of her husband of 44 years or Vincent’s no-show, he put a comforting arm around her.
Squeezing her son’s hand she wiped away the tears, conscious the vicar had begun speaking to the gathered mourners.
Simon listened as the vicar eloquently and humorously talked about his father’s life. From his early days as an engineer on the railways through to time spent designing wind tunnels, his journey had never been dull. And there was always a story to tell. Simon smiled as anecdotes were shared and the congregation laughed appreciatively as the vicar celebrated his father’s life.
Drawing to its conclusion the vicar turned his attention to the family. Squeezing his hand Simon’s mother wiped away the tears again as he described the loving wife and their long marriage. Simon could feel his own emotions rising, his own sadness engulfing him as the vicar spoke of his father’s pride and joy: his two sons.
But as he grappled with his grief and own sense of personal loss he felt his anger rise. Anger at the snub to his father. Anger that his own brother couldn’t find the time to attend their father’s funeral.
As the vicar’s word echoed around the small church Simon cast another look across the congregation. His sorrowful gaze stopped on the back row, just inside the church door. In the pews, wearing a smart dark suit, a black tie and sunglasses, Vincent sat, silently watching the service.
A sense of confusion rushed through him. A mixture of surprise that his brother was there. A sense of anger that he was sitting there at all, given his absence during the illness. And a feeling of relief, however misplaced, for his mother. Whatever his own opinion on his brother, he wanted everything to be right for her. Today of all days.
As his brother sat, emotionless, another thought struck him. Were the sunglasses intended to conceal his emotion, hide his grief? Vincent was never one prone to sharing his emotions, even as a child. Or was it just a bizarre fashion statement? Another statement of his own individuality. He was weary of trying to second-guess his brother motives. He’d never really understood what made him tick. Why would now be any different.
Aware her son was distracted by something his mother turned also. A wide smile crossed her face and she raised a hand in acknowledgment to where her younger son sat. Vincent turned, nodding in her direction, before turning back, seemingly listening to the vicar’s continuing eulogy.
“
I told you he’d be here,” his mother said quietly.
Scowling, Simon looked away also, focusing his attention back to his father’s memory. He’d save what he had to say to his brother for later.
With the service completed and the cremation carried out, the funeral party had returned to the family home, a short car journey from the church and crematorium. Simon’s mother had been busy, preparing a feast of food that would have fed twice the number of mourners if required.
His parents’ house was a modest bungalow, with a long narrow back garden. If the weather hadn’t been so favourable for early autumn it would have been a real push to get everyone inside the bungalow. But with the garden everyone could mingle easily and comfortably, stopping to pay their personal respects to his mother and himself. And to Vincent.
Suppressing the glower as mourners expressed the sympathy to his brother, who had barely even acknowledged the illness and its progression, he nodded his way through comment after comment. Everyone was warmly thanked for attending, assured that his father would have been proud of the send-off.
Finally, with the vast majority of people standing in the garden, Simon approached where his brother stood, alone, in the dining room, looking out onto the well-kept garden.
“
Why did you bother coming? You couldn’t spare the time when dad was actually dying. What’s so different about today, especially as the old man wasn’t even here?”
Vincent turned, still sporting his dark sunglasses, a thin smile crossing his face.