The article was more marketing than scientific research. There were seven comments attached to the article. Aaron also studied these. Most supported the conclusions of the article.

One did not. An anonymous reader. Interesting. Some sites banned anonymous entries, while some would adjudicate and delete if not suitable. How had this comment survived the adjudication process? And why be anonymous? Either scared or being protective of others.

Aaron’s technical support team soon located the IP address of the anonymous comment. The Rose property. This presented an opportunity to explore what was stored on Mrs Rose’s computers. Now to get the authority to confiscate the computers.

<°)))><

He told Mackenzie he’d be home late as he needed to make a quick trip out of the city.

Mrs Rose’s computers were packed away with the other housing furnishings in a self-storage unit not far from their home. The manager unlocked the roller door of the Rose’s storage unit and pulled it up. “I’ll let you go about your business. For protocol, we need to record anything you confiscate. You can do this when you leave,” the manager said.

“No problems and thanks for your help.” There was a funny smell, like vinegar. He went back to his car and got out his personal protective equipment, namely his facemask and gloves.

Aaron stood and looked into the storage unit. There was a bundle of old notebook computers and tablet devices sitting on top of a large filing cabinet, along with a newer desktop computer. They must have been into games or heavy number crunching—maybe, the dad was an engineer. He’d need the power cords for all those devices and imagined a tangled mess of black cords sitting in a box somewhere. He’d leave that to the technicians back in the office. He carried the notebooks and tablet devices out and loaded them into the boot of the car.

Power cords hung loosely from the desktop computer and monitor. He looked around and saw there was a power point in the storage unit. He decided to power up the computer and see if there were any files of interest—it could take days for the technicians to fit this into their schedule, and Aaron did not have days to spare.

Once powered up he was greeted with a message advising that the last backup to the ‘Bunker’ was successful. The computer wasn’t password protected. He took off his gloves so he could use the keyboard and mouse. He clicked to find out more details about the backup. There was a ‘General’ tab. He clicked it and discovered that the files were backed up to a remote disk in the bunker each week. This family preferred to backup their data underground as opposed to in the cloud. Good. That meant a backup was done before the computer was mothballed.

He located some file notes and draft documents. His attention was drawn to a document named ‘Thoughts Aloud’. It was a personal journal covering Mrs Rose’s gradual realisation of the real business she was in—although she believed she was working for a company that researched and developed new drugs to help people, some drugs did the opposite and her company wasn’t overly concerned about this. It appears the bottom line—money—was more important.

She was seeing more and more proof that the side effects of the psychotropic medicines were becoming frightening—murders, suicides, with comments along the lines of ‘she wasn’t herself’, ‘he was in a dark place’, ‘demon chatter’, ‘the demons had control’. Why was the world so blind to this? She had to do something.

One journal entry spoke of a batch of pills going missing during the trial period. Mrs Rose confronted the Perdus and was told to do what she was paid to do and leave the trials to them. Not long after, her daughter, Isabella, told her she saw the Perdu’s daughter taking a pink pill at school. Isabella asked her school friend what she was taking them for. The daughter, Madeleine, said it was a new wonder drug that would help her. Help her with what? Her dad believed she had an attention disorder problem or something similar.

In another journal entry she wrote about Isabella’s concern for Madeleine. Isabella said Madeleine’s behaviour had changed. She was having mood swings and even said she was hearing voices in her head. This was when the teasing started. They called her the ‘Demented One’. Mrs Rose was greatly saddened by this and believed the Perdus were feeding their daughter an untested and unapproved drug. This is what killed her.

That was her last journal entry.

There was a folder labelled ‘For Dad’. Aaron started reading some of the documents in this folder. It was like this woman was expecting something to happen to her and was giving instructions to her father regarding the protection of Isabella and a plant. Aaron decided it would be good to copy them, but they wouldn’t copy. He tried a few things, but they still wouldn’t copy, and now other icons were changing shape and colour, resembling a fire. He’d triggered a virus. He pulled out his USB flash drive so it wasn’t affected.

There was little he could do. He stared at the screen and watched the virus devour all the files and folders. He looked at the back of the computer and saw a small device lodged in one of the spare ports. Someone had already been here and elected to set a virus instead of deleting the files themselves. The former being the most efficient for not missing hidden files.

He turned off the computer, opened up the computer case, and removed the hard disc. He would take this back to see if the technicians could recover any data. He doubted it—whoever did these things knew what they were doing, professional. The virus used probably overwrote all the files with blank data. He thought about the notebooks and tablet devices—did she do something to them as well? Why not just set fire to the place? He looked up at the ceiling. Sprinklers. A fire would be extinguished quickly.

But the data had been backed up. They didn’t know this and would most probably assume that the cloud wasn’t used for backup as the media attention given to cloud security breaches by hackers had been epidemic. Perhaps the backed-up data was stored on the missing storage device.

The filing cabinet wasn’t secured. The smell of vinegar was at its strongest around the cabinet. He put his gloves back on and slid out the top drawer. He was glad he had his facemask on, as streams of vapour escaped from the cabinet. The documents in the cabinet had been sprayed with some kind of acid. He stood back and waited for the vapour clouds to disperse. He looked in the drawer—the documents were in different phases of dissolving.

He needed fresh air. There was a green plastic garden chair by the wall. He picked it up and went outside. He sat down, annoyed that he didn’t check the back of the computer, annoyed that they didn’t secure this place, annoyed that he nearly poisoned himself. And he wondered whom he was dealing with and understood why Mrs Rose had believed her life was in danger.

Mrs Rose’s dad was an old man. Who loved his daughter, who loved his granddaughter, who he knew would need some help.

But they still needed proof. He knew the CCTV cameras in this self-storage place would’ve recorded someone entering the unit, but it would be a hooded person in dark clothing. The missing recordings from the Rose’s property contained some critical evidence for a police investigation but offered no help to what Aaron was pursuing.

He needed to update his intelligence report. He looked around. All was quiet. These places were away from the hustle and the bustle of life. People only check on their junk occasionally, if ever. Aaron got up and went and retrieved his tablet device from his car, sat back on the green plastic chair, embraced the quietness and recorded his findings and observations.

Aaron stopped recording. A thought shot across his mind. Were these people looking for the same thing he was?

51 – A safe house

ISABELLA TURNED THE KEY TO HER UNIT DOOR. It wasn’t her normal abode. The Defence people asked if she’d stay with friends, or somewhere different. They weren’t sure if she was being followed or not. She wanted to keep her friends out of the picture, so she decided on her parent’s investment property, which was going through renovations although they’d come to a grinding halt. That would be the perfect spot.

The furnishings were made up of a bed, a few chairs, and a fridge, really all she needed. She did feel lonely, but she didn’t want to bring friends into whatever was going on.

As she closed the door she noticed a soft glow beneath the front door of the adjoining apartment. Good, neighbours. A bit of protection too. She hoped they were nice people. She placed the keys on a hook next to the video intercom, put her backpack and overnight bag on the floor, took off her long brown coat and placed it over one of the old wooden chairs. She was exhausted.

She checked out the kitchen cupboards. The renovators had left some tea bags and a container of biscuits. There were some long life milk sachets in the fridge. She bit into one of the biscuits and was surprised it was still fresh. It would all do until she found the shops. She put the kettle on and it sounded like a steam train had entered the room. At least the floor wasn’t vibrating. She started her search for a cup.

She sat down, sipping her tea. Gramps appeared to be in the early stage of dementia. The Defence people were getting quite stressed with him and were hard on Isabella because they didn’t believe she was telling the truth about where the transporting device was. Really, she had no idea. Maybe it fell out of her backpack somewhere. She had to back track and tell them everywhere she’d been with her backpack.

She missed Lucas.

Apparently they sent in specialist ‘trackers’ to trace the steps Isabella and Lucas had taken up the track and around the house. For some reason, they wanted to know what type of footwear Lucas had been wearing. She had no idea. They’d have to ask him. Their approach softened a little and they told her Lucas was missing. Would she have any idea where he may have gone? Again, she had no idea.

Lucas missing? Was he zapped or something? This puzzled her.

“Why the interest in footwear?” Isabella had asked.

The interviewer had looked up from her note taking. “Just some fresh boot marks. Looks like treads from newish bushwalking boots. Could be someone found the device. Did you come across anyone on your walk?”

The messenger? What could she tell them? She chose not to tell them about the messenger. She remembered his sparkling new bush gear. His boots would have been new too. She could tell them little about him, anyway.

They told her they found a drone device on the ground and their technicians were currently working on retrieving information from its flight recording system. Apparently most drones can record on board, in addition to streaming what they’re seeing.

Should she have told them about the messenger?

She heard a door close and looked up at the monitor near the door. She caught a glimpse of her neighbour walking down the passageway. There was an air of familiarity about him: the messenger or Lucas. Mum would tell her that her brain was seeking familiarity over the unknown or trying to pacify the heart.

But what was going on? Yes, she was weary. The Defence people acknowledged that there was something else going on, in parallel to their objectives. Mrs Perdu and why she was pursuing Isabella with such venom. They’d passed information on to the appropriate people and concluded that she had stress related attention issues when she told them she also misplaced a device that had recorded Mrs Perdu’s activities.

And then there was the escaped prisoner thing, but they believed that was under control. Someone commented it was like all her Christmases had come at once, but only if you had a negative view of Christmas.

Aaron Fitzpatrick, the man who seemed to be in charge of the investigation, provided her with a number she could contact if she felt in danger, and advised her they’d keep an eye on her but she may not notice it—a clandestine type of thing. An interesting strategy—how would she know if she was being protected or not? She thought of the messenger and that brought some comfort. She wondered if he was outside.

He was.

52 – Blood red wine

A BLACK AND WHITE AWNING COVERED the entrance to the restaurant. Ava wondered if the owner gave much thought to the old associations connected with striped cloth: prisoners, court jesters, clowns, even madmen. Modern thought had long forgotten such connotations, as stripes were everywhere. She smiled as she thought of her husband’s bedtime attire. His striped pyjamas reminded her of a court jester but sadly, there was no comic relief from her husband.

Red wine sat in the glasses next to the dinner plates. Anthony had Ava’s hand in his. They were both dressed in jeans, Ava with a blue turtleneck top and a string of pearls, Anthony with a white shirt and navy blue jacket. His shirt was open showing off a gold chain around his neck.

“Let’s relax tonight, Ava. Too many things have been going on.”

The menus were large and covered their faces.

Anthony lowered his menu and looked at Ava. “Good, lots of nice saturated fat there. I wonder what our Mrs Rose would have thought of the French Paradox?”