Gross Domestic Product:21

Chapter Twenty-One

Ernie stood back and slapped his hands together. Smiling, he looked at Connor and said “Done.”

“So what now?” Connor asked. All the technology was beyond him. He’d spent years on intuition, gut instinct and witnessing first hand uncanny events, now it was all done by computers. He felt old.

Ernie shrugged, “We turn it on and it measures ambient particles in order to predict probability distribution.”

“I don’t even want you to explain that further. Will it work?” Connor asked and wondered if he should have spend his teenage years studying physics rather than archaeology.

Once again, Ernie shrugged. “Probably.”

“Turn it on then.” Connor said.

Ernie nodded, pressed a button and then started typing into a large clunky keyboard. One of the small monitors on the antique table flared into life as long strings of letters and numbers streamed down the screen. Within a second or two it ceased and a large set of letters and numbers were emblazoned on the screen and flashed rapidly, accompanied by a high-pitched beeping.

“Well,” Ernie said, “I didn’t expect that.” He looked over at the screen and after a second his eyes widened and he shouted “Evelyn! Come here.”

“Problem?” Connor asked.

“Not a problem, a result, an unprecedented result.” Ernie replied. “This thing, whatever it is, is tearing through reality like scissors through a bed-sheet.”

Connor didn’t like the simile on many levels, especially what it implied. “So we have a confirmation?”

“We have a unique result which would suggest something vastly unusual happened here.” Ernie said, cautious with his language, just like a scientist.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Connor said.

Evelyn had a book in her hand and walked over casually. “You got it started?” she asked, still looking at the book.

“We have a result already.” Ernie answered.

Evelyn looked like he was speaking nonsense. Unconvinced, she slammed the book shut and looked at the monitor screen. “Oh my God!” she replied.

“Yeah.” Ernie stated, almost as if he was proud of it.

“Please tell me you’re recording these results.” She demanded.

“I’m not an amateur, Evelyn.” Ernie snorted.

Connor was getting impatient, there was something loose in Glasgow, something dangerous, it needed contained and contained quickly. “So what now?” he asked.

“Well, now we take the data and log it and...” Ernie began.

“No,” Connor said, interrupting “I meant what do we do about this thing? I’ve now got two bodies, a missing artefact, potentially more bodies and a bloody crime syndicate that might be up to their ears in this.”

Ernie and Evelyn glanced at each other. Eventually Evelyn spoke, “Not really our department.”

Connor sighed. “I need to phone HQ.”

Evelyn, with a smirk on her face, pulled out a large black brick from her jacket and yanked up a long thing gleaming metal aerial. “Here, use mine, it will get you straight through.” she said, equal parts magnanimous and patronising.

As she offered him the phone it began to ring. She took it back and answered it. “Yes?”

There was a pause. “Yes, yes he is...”

She handed the phone to him, this time unhappy about doing so. He took it and said “Hello?”

“Connor,” His boss said, “Funny thing just happened old boy, I just got a call from a friend of yours, a Miss Emily Carter, she was looking for you.”

“Why would she call...”

“Seems she’s found the Ghost Light, in the possession of one Gordon Skinner. I’ve checked our records, he’s another one of those gangland thug types. I have the details, I want you over there as soon as possible, retrieve the thing, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” Connor answered, remembering that coincidences were most usually a path one should follow.

After the details were passed, HQ asked to speak to Evelyn again, so Connor passed her large wireless phone back to her and went over to Baird’s phone he used earlier.

“What you doing?” Ernie asked.

“Calling a taxi, I’ve got someone to interview.”

“And what about this mess?”

“I’ll leave it in your capable hands, you might want to call the local police, tell them it’s a six-sixteen.”

“You… You want us to clean this up?”

Connor shrugged. “Not my job.”

Fifteen minutes later he was getting out a cab in the city centre, outside a pub called “The Sleeping Laird” which looked as if it hadn’t been redecorated since the Victorian era. It was a grubby hole with a fat frowning barman. He scanned across the dozen or so empty tables to find one individual, a man in his thirties with a shaved head and large bulging eyes staring at him. Upon the table he sat at there was a large box. He guessed this was Skinner, ordered a gin and tonic and went over to join him.

“Gordon Skinner?” Connor asked.

“Aye. You from the OA?” Skinner replied with a smile, he had two long rows of tiny teeth.

“Connor Yeardley.” He replied offering his hand.

Skinner didn’t get up but shook it anyway. “Sit, mate.” He offered.

Connor took a seat and nodded towards the box. “Is this the Ghost Light?”

“Is that what you call it?” Skinner asked.

“Apparently so. May I see it?”

Skinner nodded and opened the box. “Take a look.”

Connor tipped the box slightly to look inside. The interior was faintly illuminated by the crystals of the ornament. The light was a cool white, the same colour as the milky crystals. The object itself was heavy, its base and settings all gold, which looked almost fluid in its curvature. There was no doubting it was genuine. It was the Flames of Iraal. “Impressive.”

“Aye? How much do you think it’s worth?”

Connor gave a small laugh. “Millions, Mr Skinner. This is potentially one of the most valuable objects in the world.”

Skinner slumped back in his chair. “Seriously?”

“Indeed. It was why I was here in the first place.”

“D’ye mean?” Skinner asked, suspiciously.

“Well twenty or so minutes ago I came from the house of one Rupert Baird, a former art historian of Glasgow University. He called us the other day saying he’d managed to procure this exact item. Mr Baird is now in pieces all over his house, having been butchered by, lets call it a visitor to this realm.”

Skinner winced. “Fuck. I knew this was too good to be true.”

“Care to explain where you got it?” Connor asked, slipping his Department 23 identity card onto the table so Skinner could see it.

Skinner picked up the card and sighed. “You lot are involved, eh? I might have known. That serious?”

“Worse than you could imagine. Funnily enough, I did only come here to appraise the lamp, believe it or not.”

Skinner nodded, seeming to believe him and then he told him everything he knew, from Pete and Brian robbing the house and selling it on, through to his experience with Olivia, the bookies and eventually Morton and the demon, now hosted in Tommy Bryce.

“Morton.” Connor hissed. “I knew he’d be up to his neck in this.”

“He wis as surprised as everyone. This whole thing came out of the blue. I did tell him we needed to sort this out but, well, he had other ideas. Tried to negotiate with it. I put a stop to that. So then he let it go, after making sure a few of his heavies were following.”

“Did he?” Connor asked, slight annoyance in his voice. “Well it looks like you and I need to pay him a visit.”

“No No No, I’m done with this.” Skinner said.

“No, you’re really not,” Connor replied. “And you know that.” It wasn’t so much as a threat as an appraisal of Skinner’s character.

Skinner’s head dropped forward looking at the table. “You’re going to kill it, right?”

“We need to find it first, but yes Mr Skinner, we are going to get rid of this blight and, if all goes well, then we can proceed with auctioning the Ghost Light for you.”

“Fair enough, I’m in.” Skinner said, grinning those rows of tiny teeth at Connor.