The Selfless Gene

Chapter 13

Three years ago...

It hadn't taken The Intern long to take control of Sir Henry's organisation. The will wasn't so much a bequiving of ownership as it was an instruction manual of what to do next. The two year anniversary marked the end of the project's first stage. The Intern sat alone in the boardroom, fielding calls through the big screen. All of the sharks that circled had been dealt with swiftly, just as Sir Henry wanted, so that The Intern had complete control. He made himself a cup of tea before sitting back for the daily briefing. The screen sprang to life, the faces of Sir Henry's minions gazing out at him, eager to please.

"Nothing to update here, except that the facility is now fully staffed. Professor Patel has taken the funding and starts on Monday."

"Also, the Monk and whole family have vanished. They're re-ordering their ranks, but he disappeared when his daughter gave birth to an illegitimate. It's a weird one, you know, given he was so powerful, but he's known for having a soft spot for his daughter and wouldn't want the scandal. We're continuing to hunt him down, to see if it's possible to turn him to our means."

The Intern started clicking with his pen. This wasn't important, the final update was, but it peaked his interest.

"No man would give up on power and money like that. The baby? No father? It could be used against him, be leverage to turn him. Why fight when we can join together to defeat a combined foe? Send a team to find them, and sweep up his people."

The Intern pauses, mulling over the information.

"Something about baby doesn't sit well. Why isn't there any information about the father? Make sure this is a priority and put resources into finding them. We must ensure the baby isn't His."

The Intern hisses the final word, the taste of his enemy's name still bitter in his mouth.

"We've sold shares in..."

The words of the organisation fade into the background as he focuses on the one person on the screen he wants to hear from. Finally, the update had run its course.

"All updates you asked for on the encrypted cloud, Sir."

The Intern shoots up and curtails the call quickly.

"Thank you all, have a good day." He forgets his tea, ends the video conference and picks up a tablet, heading to the back of the room where a Kazimir Malevich original hangs. Looking straight through it, a lock clicks and the painting pops towards him. The Intern strides through to his personal room, lights automatically flickering on to greet him.

His obsession smears the walls. Countless photos are stuck to every inch of metal, plaster and paint. Movements, friends and family are tracked on pinned maps, all of Thame's life laid bare in the dimly-lit bolt hole, home to the workings of the deepest realms of The Intern's mind.

He drops his increasingly muscular body into an office chair and swivels to a screen that looks like a flower desperately reaching for light in a thick undergrowth. Using his tablet to bring the screen to life, he logs into his secure server and clicks on the video file marked with the day's date.

"Sir, he's settled back to life in the city and has been promoted to run his department. We've seen LinkedIn changes that match."

Thame's perceived success rankles The Intern.

"The Cult haven't made contact and don't seem to be planning to. Seems that they're licking their wounds, or maybe they have another plan in play. We've got our mole inside who says there's a civil war going on in the ranks. With Sir Henry gone, Thame's less important than money and power to them.

"His personal life hasn't changed, but we think there's a weak point we can exploit."

Agitated, The Intern's ear prick at the update.

"He hasn't spoken to his ex-girlfriend once since they broke up. Not a peep. It's been a year and they have mutual friends. Not one angry text let alone a meet up. Doesn't feel right, unless he genuinely feels too emotional to handle any contact. If that's the case, perhaps that could be a weakness for you to exploit further."

The Intern pauses the update and moves around the room running his fingers over pictures of Thame. The man who took the loves of his life away and whom he vowed to destroy, slowly and thrillingly, inflicting the utmost pain. He needed to methodically work through how to get him: hand-to-hand combat, even a knife won't do it. He needed Sir Henry's army to rise to finish him off.

He found the sections of Isabella and Thame on the holiday where it ended. Laughing, playful, definitely in love. He traced his hand around Isabella's images and especially her on the beach in a bikini. He knew her basic info; name, workplace, emergency contacts. But he wanted to know how how she laughed, argued, smelt and tasted. He slowly moves his finger tip and covers up Thame on the picture with his now ringless left hand. Holding his breath in gleeful anticipation, he feels the tingle in his trousers like a shockwave. The Intern loads a video of curated highlights from their social media on the screen from his laptop.

He begins to mimic Isabella and then Thame in the videos, playing the role of his nemesis with exaggerated, grotesque features. Using his mobile, he calls his contact.

"Get me everything on the girl. I want to know her inside out. Where she drinks coffee, when she gets a bus, goes to bed. By first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir."

He throws his mobile to the side and replays the video montage, settling down into the depths of his obsession.