“The state calls its own violence law, but that of the individual, crime.”

Max Stirner

Jacob Trials stared down at the body of former Lieutenant Jessica Cooper, holder of the Military Cross, an identity they had confirmed on the way back up to the bunker. She had indeed served, in a confidential and classified capacity, in the Royal Marines before moving into the private security industry. Her throat was cut.

Trials had no words to say, so he stood there silently as the Coroner’s Officer made his inspection. She was still bound to the chair, the chain looped through keeping her from raising her hands in defence, the cut clean and straight. The weapon, whatever it was, had not been left behind.

“There’s no log of anyone else entering the facility,” said Ray, coming over from where he had been giving his statement to the CTC officer, to what Trials still thought of as Special Branch.

Trials looked up at him.

“It was him. It must have been. He slit her throat then walked out of here, cool as anything. The entrance camera shows no-one with him when he left,” continued Ray, filling in the silence.

“I’m gonna find him. I’ll find him, and I’ll make him talk. I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” said Trials in leaden tones.

“No-one knows where he is. He’s disappeared off the grid. We'll get both MI5 and the CTC looking into it, but I don't know how much luck they'll have. The guy has been protected for years. He has no file, nobody he reported to regularly. That was the whole point; the whole Ministry is deniable, including its staff.”

“Everyone leaves a trail.”

“I know, I know,” replied Ray conciliatorily. “It just makes no sense, you know. The whole thing’s gone to shit, and now The General murders the only lead we have and takes off? I can’t figure any of this out.”

Trials remained silent, waiting for the rest.

“He tried to wipe the security footage.”

“Tried?” asked Trials.

“I don’t think he knew about the backup feed. We have a separate camera in there for close-ups; good to record facial tics and any other tells during interrogations. No sound, though.”

“That sounds about right.” The exhaustion in Trials’ voice drew a concerned look from Ray.

“Let’s go over it. It ought to tell us something...”

The only hint of the presence of the camera lens was a small black indentation in the table, positioned to be below and in front of a captive’s head. The video was focused on the underside of Lt. Cooper’s face, her expressionless features filling the screen. She stared straight ahead and up, presumably focusing on The General. Every so often her lips moved in response to some question, her eyes never changing from their grey, dull stare, broken only by blinking at regular intervals.

“We need someone who can figure out what she’s saying,” said Trials, not taking his eyes off the video.

“On it,” replied Ray, calling someone over with one eye still on the feed.

The scene didn’t change for a while, just the silent view of the Lieutenant speaking, until abruptly the image shook. It was over in an instant.

“What was…?” Ray’s words were cut off as the image jumped again.

“He’s hitting the table.”

This time a pink blur was clearly visible at the edges of the video, the sides of The General’s hands out of focus but identifiable. The image shook with increasing frequency, increasingly violently.

“He’s pissed about something,” said Trials, leaning in as if willing the silent feed to give up its secrets.

Whatever anger he was displaying, however, nothing changed in the Lieutenant’s emotionless visage. Despite the lack of sound, it was clear her words remained in the same monotonous tone they had heard from the viewing room.

The Lieutenant’s head turned, and The General came into shot. He had walked around to stand beside her, bending down so his eyeballs were level with hers. His features seemed oddly distorted by the angle of the camera, until Trials realised it wasn’t the camera, but his expression. A furious look on his reddened face, a look Trials had never seen before, had warped it, making it as lined and craggy as rough granite. Trials barely recognised him as he spoke.

“Where is he?” came a voice from behind.

Trials and Ray turned around suddenly, pausing the video. A young, bespectacled man stood there, peering over at the video between them. He coughed and straightened up under their stares, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Um, Callum Nye?” stammered the man. “You asked for a lip-reader? I’m your guy..?”

His nervousness made every phrase sound like a question.

“That’s what he said? ‘Where is he?’” asked Ray, getting straight to the point.

“Um, yes? I mean…” and Callum seemed to pull himself together, “Yes. Yes, ‘where is he?’ That’s what he’s asking her.”

“Ok, play it,” said Ray to Trials, who was already turning back to the video to do just that.

“Uh, ‘he moves around,’ she said,” continued Callum, as the Lieutenant spoke. “Ah… next it’s ‘where did you see him last’” said Callum, as The General raged onscreen.

Lieutenant Cooper’s mouth moved as she answered, side on to the camera, then froze as Ray paused the video at the very moment the knife was brought up to her throat. Trials and Ray stared at the scene, then looked to Callum.

“I, uh, I… don’t know. I can’t see – her mouth’s at the wrong angle now, see? There’s not enough of it to see what she’s saying.” His words faltered at the looks from the others. “I’m sorry, sirs, there’s nothing I can do. If you let me go back and watch the rest of the recording, there must be more. Let me…”

Trials was looking distractedly down at his phone, a short message he had received before entering the bunker visible on the screen. He began walking towards the exit.

“Ray,” he called as he left, “Work with this guy and let me know what else she said. I’m going to find the mercs, I’m going to find Mike, and then I’m going to find out who The General is looking for.”

“How?” called Ray towards his departing back.

“By finding the people they were working with.”

Jacob Trials left the building.