The Whitehall Syndicate: A time travel conspiracy thriller by Malhar Patel

a deadpan expression plastered on the face. Stunned into submission, all his senses told him he was sinking. Betrayal bubbled inside his stomach. Trying to steady himself, he blinked a few times and took in several deep breaths to calm himself. It didn't help. Still reeling, his gaze began to wander until he was again confronted by the mobile.
    There was no doubting it was Anisha's fingerprint. It was an extremely accurate system and someone would've needed access to her fingerprint information if they wanted to duplicate it. Jack knew from random chats to his brother that security officials were awarded high level security status on their own fingerprints, so the duplicate theory was unlikely.
    Scratching his head, Jack considered what to do now. His first thought was to simply storm over to her and smash her pretty face in with anything he could find. He imagined how satisfying it would be to watch her writhe in pain, the way she had watched his brother. From the searing thoughts of retribution, a new, more logical idea was born.
    He could use her. Trick her into thinking he was planning the assassination. He could follow her and maybe find out who she was working for. An mendacious smile sprouted across his face, as he revelled in the thought of beating her at her own game.
    Checking his watch he felt a shock at the time and the realisation of how long he had been away helped lift him up from his cozen despair. He splashed water over his head to make it look as if he had just showered, and opened the door. He reasoned this was best left a secret for now: there was no guarantee of how everyone might react. It would probably come down to taking sides and the divide would only mean losing people willing to help him: losing friends.
    As he thudded down the stairs he made a show of looking at his mobile. Reaching the entrance to the living room he hung a panicked, shocked look on his face, which didn't require much acting. “What's wrong?” asked Anisha straight away. Jack reflexively clenched his fists, knowing full well that she knew the answer.
    “It's Bob, he's in hospital. Someone tried to kill him.” Simultaneously, a barrage of questions were all fired at him. When, where, who did it and a few others in the same mould. Anisha started telling them to ease off, to give him some room.
    If he didn't know she was trying to protect herself, he would've considered it a caring gesture. Staying composed he thanked her with his sweetest smile. Suddenly realising something that chilled his blood, he cleared his throat and improvised, “they think he should be okay but he won't be awake for a long time, and he'll probably have some retrograde amnesia, between a week and a month.” He could only hope it would be enough to stop Anisha trying to finish what she had started.
                  It was early evening but he declared that he wanted to be off to bed early, and since the hospital wasn't allowing visitors at present, no-one forced him to stay up. Clearing the living room they all wished him goodnight and headed upstairs. As he turned off the lights and lay there on the floor, he began plotting what he could do next and how he could get this situation back in his control. Somehow, he had to make things right.
     
    A list of phrases lay in front of Kim, written on a once fresh sheet of paper, since attacked by rings of coffee. The clues followed no discernible pattern, so she was making her way through all the reports from the beginning, bearing in mind the new information. The flat was deathly silent now, her curiosity having carried her well into the night.
    She bobbed her head up all of a sudden and realised that, for a moment, she had drifted off. The fluorescent tube lamp bathed her in weak, artificial light and the room was crawling with strange shadows that morphed from shape to shape and crawled over the walls. She jumped again as her home mobile suddenly pierced the silence with a shrill beep.
    She walked