The classified files of the State.

Hidden crimes

Part One

At a quarter to four, the city was already blanketed in an immense fog, a sure sign that winter had arrived. Nonetheless, the reflection of the Thames River could still be seen, illuminated by the lamps from a bygone era that lined its shore. This historic sight was a perennial draw for tourists.

Though I passed this street every day, I had never before noticed such sublime beauty. It wasn’t until I was on the bus, headed home from work, that I truly appreciated the sight. The driver had slowed down as we crossed the Vauxhall Bridge, the traffic in the area being notoriously chaotic due to the numerous intersections and traffic lights that forced drivers to turn left to avoid the US embassy, which lay on the other side of the river. On the opposite corner, just in front of the bridge, stood the MI5 building, the headquarters of the British Secret Service.

As I gazed out the window, my eyes were drawn to one of the windows of the many buildings that lined the river. A transparent curtain was partially drawn, as if intentionally left that way to allow the breeze from the southeast to rest there, or perhaps for an easy escape route to the old metal bridge, a place from which there was no return.

From my seat, I could make out the silhouette of someone inside the building. Due to her long hair, I assumed it was a woman, and possibly Russian, I mused to myself. I continued to watch, as if I were in a James Bond movie. She seemed to be holding something, and a red dot, similar to the light of a fire alarm, was reflected from it. Though it was impossible to confirm at that distance, it certainly piqued my curiosity.

The woman was dressed in a semi-concealed disguise, as if preparing to flee from a crime scene. She appeared to be ready to jump into the Thames, as if she had only seconds to escape. In a flash, she jumped from the window and plunged into the chilly river. I thought to myself, “Yes, she must be Russian. They are accustomed to swimming in frozen lakes.” Meanwhile, the alarms at MI5 headquarters were blaring, awakening the city from its slumber.

But before the bus could move on, a group of uniformed men, armed with military weapons, stormed onto the bus. They were not dressed like the officers of Scotland Yard, but instead resembled marines, with some men in suits who could have been from the Secret Service. They quickly cleared the way for other buses to exit the area.

When I reached my final destination, it seemed as though everything had calmed down. However, I received a notification from X, informing me that the activist Julian Assange had been arrested at the Ecuadorian embassy. This news did not surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was another notification stating that some classified files from the British government had been stolen on the same day. Strangely, the security cameras showed no sign of a break-in. The only evidence of foul play was the two marines who had been guarding the entrance to the bunker where the documents were stored. They had been murdered inexplicably, with only a small hole in their heads, as if they had been attacked with something extremely sharp.

As I read the news, my heart began to race. I wondered if I would be called in for questioning, given that I had been in the vicinity of the events at the precise moment they occurred. I questioned what I had seen, whether it was a figment of my imagination or a premonition of something that had already happened or was yet to come. All sorts of excuses flooded my mind until I questioned the reality of the news itself.

To be continued…