Avatara

Jazz was used to stake-outs. As Detective Inspector Jasminder Singh, he had become a specialist in undercover operations in the Metropolitan Police Service. He had worked in tracking down and capturing drug traffickers using the dark web as well as cybercriminals stealing millions from citizens online. His skill as a programmer and computer scientist made him a unique asset. Many in the force found it weird that a tech whizz decided to change track and become a police officer. However, his skills afforded him a mighty salary and a penthouse.

Sat in a common, unremarkable, functional black car, by a Japanese manufacturer, that was the model often used by taxi drivers. He parked on Old Broad Street, across the street and about thirty yards away from the Sheldrake Enterprises entrance. Jazz lamented how his Avatara looked almost exactly like him in real life; because it meant that if he got picked up by Sheldrake security cameras, Knightmare-Grimm could possibly identify him if he saw the video. In any case, Knightmare-Grimm had seen him already in real life anyway when he broke into Jazz's apartment via the window. He hoped being thirty yards put him out of good range of the cameras. It probably didn't. But it was a tradeoff between being so close that he would be noticed and being too far away to notice anything. He cracked open a can of coke. 'First of all, we play the waiting game.' He thought.

Seven in the morning. Daylight is not the best of times to be snooping around trying to catch nefarious activity but what choice did he have?

He had to do something. Something that would fix all of this. The mess that he blamed himself for.

He felt the buildup of gas from all the fizz build up in his throat. And then he burped. No one else around, so no harm.

He sighed. Thinking of ways he could get Grace to forgive him, stumped him. 'I had it so good with Grace and I allowed my work ambitions to override our relationship. Being so obsessed about Sheldrake and Avatara. No wonder she felt that I was using her. Maybe I did use her without realising it?' He wasn't so sure, his ruminations going into overdrive.

'It's just that I know Sheldrake is just part of a bigger global problem, a conspiracy to control people across the world by martial law. Grace never seemed interested in dealing with that. Not wanting to take responsibility for the impact that technology can have on a person's freedom to think, to vote, to choose. She said she just wanted to live a happy life and not worry about all the problems of the world. But it's already happening now. All the apathy. People not caring anymore. Just wanting to live lives on the internet or in Avatara, or some other virtual reality. Am I the only one who cares about humanity?'

Suddenly, two huge long black vans sped past him at incredible speed and ground to a halt in front of Sheldrake Enterprises. The shock of their arrival nearly made Jazz spill his coke can, as he hastily tried to put it back in the drink holder. He strained his eyes to look ahead. Two burly heavily muscled men in black t-shirt tops with buzz cuts emerged from each car. They opened the sliding side doors and from the Sheldrake entrance about a dozen men all wearing the same uniform of black t-shirts, combat trousers and boots came out to enter the vehicles. However, one of them was covered in metallic armour and wore a purple cloak. Jazz realised immediately that he was the one in charge.

Is that? It can't be. Is that Knightmare-Grimm? It's definitely not Rylan Spector. Who else could it be? Where are they going?

The vans zoomed off and Jazz decided to follow.

He pressed the push start ignition on his car, revved the gas and with a spin of the wheel he was out on the road behind them as his tyres screeched.

Well actually he was several cars behind them. A safe distance to follow. A set of traffic lights held them at the end of Old Broad Street. Jazz thought that it might be a good time to call Grace and update her. But he thought better of it. She needed to sleep. He could do this by himself.

Several people flew overhead in avatara form. Some walked by on the street pavement. A police car stopped by the walking avatara to hold them for questioning. But there was little they could do as the avatara simply flew away. Jazz watched with resignation as he saw this. Its too difficult to do police work with uncatchable avatara.

As the lights turned green the black vans moved off slowly, turning right onto Wormwood Street. Probably to avoid the attentions of the police car they kept a slow pace but they took a sharp left after the next crossroad junction, going fifteen miles above the speed limit.

Shit!

Jazz struggled to maintain the tail. He sped up in return. Luckily, he also had excellent memory of London's roads and recognising that he could judge their overall direction of travel easily, he didn't panic by following too closely.

The black vans roared down a road that had two curving corners, and both of them took those bends as if they were on a race track. Jazz noticed how the large vans grabbed the attention of a few pedestrians, who must have been wondering what the hell is going on?

The cars slipped left onto Whitechapel High Street but got held at another set of lights at Aldgate East station.

Just as Jazz had applied the brakes to slow down he received a phone call.

"Hey man, how's the weather?"

"It's all right John I'm alone," Jazz replied.

"Good," the tone of voice changed, sounding harsher and more gruff. "Where the hell in god's name are you?"

"In my car sir," said Jazz with a flatness of voice.

"Doing what?"

"Driving."

"Jasminder I am simply not in the mood for glib responses today. I need an update and quickly."

The traffic lights turned green.

"Sir, I-," said Jazz, but John interrupted.

"And where the hell is Brian!?"

Jazz could do without an argument right now. When following a target, the last thing you need is a distraction. The black vans sped off ahead on the right lane, moving with intent to turn into Commercial Road. Jazz indicated to encourage other cars to give him way to move right and follow.

"I've got no idea where he is sir," said Jazz.

"What do you mean?" said John.

"He's not picking up his phone."

"Good grief," said John. "I expected a report on my desk yesterday from one of you." Jazz sensed restraint in his superiors voice. Clearly the man wanted to shout. "Have you managed to find anything tying Sheldrake to the massive financial holes at the four largest banking groups in this forsaken bloody country!"

"There's so much more to this story than that," said Jazz. He zoomed down Commercial Road keeping up the pursuit. The vans swung a right again to go in the direction of the 'Limehouse Link Tunnel.'

"No Jazz, that's the story. That has been your job to find those links and give me something to work with and bring those bastards to court. Where's the report, you have had more than a year?"

Jazz swerved around two other cars to go faster and get a bit closer to the black vans. They may have noticed him but there was no helping the situation now. This conversation with his boss ruined his focus.

"I'm onto something," said Jazz.

"Onto what?"

"I can't say yet but it's about Avatara. It has to be shut down."

"That is MI5 jurisdiction Jazz! What the hell are you doing? Get back to the office now!"

"Sorry boss, I'm busy."

"Wait, what are you doing?"

Jazz didn't answer

"I'm calling time on this investigation Jasminder. I think you have got lost in this. Get back--"

Click. Jazz ended the phone call. He realised he needed to focus and concentrate. The vans sped round a circular junction and Jazz managed to get through before the lights changed. Now on the lower lea crossing, heading towards North Woolwich Road, Jazz knew where they were headed.

London City Airport.

Two avatara on motorbike, one looking like a human sized lizard and the one in front, with a human face but with body and tail, making it look like a humanoid tabby cat, sped past at incredible speed. Made fearless by the Avatara program. Though if they get hurt there is a risk that their souls might not make it back to their real bodies. Jazz concluded that this attitude of fearlessness was why Knightmare-Grimm had not given Avatara access to his own men despite the hub being at Sheldrake-the madman wanted absolute control. Jazz kept in mind that no matter how bizarre it was that Knightmare-Grimm's men were going to the airport, it had to be in the name of that goal.

But just as he got onto the slip road that leads to North Woolwich Road, Jazz found himself stuck behind a tow truck. The traffic light at the junction turned red. It wasn't official police business, so he had to stop. Further down the carriageway he saw the two black vans, fading into the distance.

At the airport he illegally parked on the main road outside. He burst through the departures entrance. Doing a quick calculation in his head, he realised that these men must be taking a private chartered flight, in which case meant they would drive their vans directly to the planes on the tarmac. He demanded assistance from one of the airport security staff, who happened to pass right in front of him.

"Hello, my name is DC Jasminder Singh of the city of London police and I need to get onto the tarmac."

"You mean the apron?" replied the man.

"Yes," said Jazz.

The official, a tall man with a bulging belly, screened Jazz's police badge.

"Why do you want to get to the planes?" he drawled.

"I have to stop a criminal leaving the country."

The man didn't seem to share Jazz's sense of urgency. I continued to give laboured responses.

"Do you have a name for the criminal sir? I can check on the system and see what flight he or she is on."

''He won't be on a normal flight," said Jazz, irritated. "He has to be getting on a private jet. He's very powerful."

"What's his name?" said the official.

"His name is Knightmar---," Jazz realised how ridiculous it would sound. "Just get me on the tarmac now, this is an emergency!"

"Listen sir, I've got to do the due diligence, I need a name. In fact have you got a warrant?" The expressionless face of the steward told Jazz one thing. He picked the wrong staff member. He should have gone for one who looked anxious and eager to please. The type that would at least accommodate the pressure from a police officer and take them to their manager.

"Listen," said Jazz, his eyes pleading. "I need to--." Jazz noticed the man's lanyard. It said 'senior security official.' "What's your name?" he continued.

"Andrew," said the man.

"Andrew, please I need to get out to the planes now, there is a dangerous man out there that I need to arrest. I have been investigating him for months and if he gets away, he may never be caught again."

"Is it terrorism?" said Andrew, his eyebrows raised, but otherwise still expressionless.

"No," said Jazz.

"Thank goodness, we'd have to close the airport if that was the case. Ok listen, let me speak to my manager, just wait here."

"Sure," said Jazz.

The man walked off towards the check-in desks, probably aiming for an office behind them to get advice. Jazz didn't hesitate. The official disappeared behind a pillar and he decided to move. In the right lower pocket of his jacket, Jazz had a swipe card. The official's swipe card. Stolen during his act of begging, Jazz took it off the official in plain sight. You don't spend time undercover without learning the ways of criminality yourself.

He took an escalator down from the departures level to 'arrivals' and skirted around with eyes to guess where the private terminals would be.

An educated guess told him he would experience less resistance here than at the upper level, airport staff seem less vigilant at the arrivals level after people have been cleared through border control than at departures level before security. Then he realised something.

Damn, this swipe might not be able to get me access to the planes. Just because it belongs to a high level security officer is no guarantee.

Clueless of where to go, he needed a guide and by sheer luck, an opportunity revealed itself with such clarity as time seemed to slow. A young man with a buzz cut, probably, no older than twenty-three walked past him. Skipping through the concourse listening to music. A rucksack slung over his shoulder, with a luminous jacket poking out between the zips and a set of protective headphones in his swinging right hand.

A Ramp marshal.

"Hey." The young man startled by Jazz's intrusion took out his earphones and stretched up his right hand with the headphones to keep distance between him and Jazz.

"Can I help you mate?" he said.

Jazz held up his badge and the swipe. "My name is DC Jasminder Singh, of the city of London police. You're a ramp marshal?"

"Yes I am," said the man, his looks boyish and a little smile that somehow reminded Jazz of Knightmare.

"I need you to take me to your manager now. Andrew--." Jazz looked at the badge. "Andrew Field, a Senior security personnel, gave me his badge for access but said that it might not work and I need to speak to the ramp manager."

"Cool, I'll take you to him," replied the marshal.

"The thing is mate, there isn't much time, I need to stop a criminal leaving the country and he is on the apron right now. Hold on one sec--." Jazz took out his phone and made one swipe across the screen. "Cool, back up is coming," he continued. "But we need to get to the apron right now."

At that moment, an announcement was made over the tannoy. 'Due to necessary security checks all flights are being delayed until further announcement.'

"Yep, that's the announcement," said Jazz.

"This is like in a movie," said the Marshal. "Ok, this way."

The excited marshal took Jazz further through the foyer. Jazz guessed what the announcement was really about: the security officer had realised he'd left and the swipe card had been stolen. To avoid any panic in airport they made a discreet announcement. Luckily, the marshal was young and fit, running quickly. He swiped his own card at a set of double doors, which took them into another corridor with cold concrete floors.

"What did he do?" said the marshal, catching his breath.

"Huh?" said Jazz.

"What did this criminal do?"

They'd stopped at another set of double doors, this time it required a code.

"Cybercrime and espionage," said Jazz after taking a breath. "I would tell you more but it's classified."

"Cool," said the marshal.

"There's no time to talk with your manager," said Jazz. "Need to get out there."

"The police should be allowed to use Avatara," said the Marshal."Would make their work much easier."

The doors opened and marshal took Jazz past a few rooms without windows to a locker room.

"This is the fastest way to the tarmac," said the marshal.

See they do call it tarmac.

The marshal grabbed headphones off a coat hook.

"Here, take this to protect your ears officer," said the man.

"Thanks," said Jazz. "I'll take it from here."

"What do you mean?" replied the marshal. "I'm coming with you."

"No, this is dangerous, this man is known to kill."

"I can't tell my manager that I let someone through here, even if you're a police officer. So I've got to stay with you for security purposes, so I can explain myself if I have to later. I could get fired."

Jazz had no reply on the tip of his tongue for this.

"But more importantly, I can be like your cop partner in the movies!" said the Marshal.

Jazz made a move for the last door, he didn't have time to argue.

"At your own risk," he said.

"Boom boom," said the Marshal.

The sudden brightness dazzled Jazz. The dimly lit rooms of the ramp offices and common rooms left him unprepared for the strip. If he'd looked at the time he would have seen it was eight-thirty. The rising of the sun for the morning met the movement of planes on the ramp, some changing their positions to connect to jet bridges, collecting passengers for morning take off.

Facing the expanse of concrete with trucks circling planes to carry out cleaning, fuel exchange and sewage removal, Jazz felt overwhelmed for a moment.

"Let's take a buggy," said the Marshal.

The unmanned vehicle, looked like a large golf cart and not capable of any speed. The marshal got in on the driver's side and took hold of the huge steering wheel.

"Come on," he said. "Let's took for them."

"They must be at the private terminals, can you go fast on this thing?" said Jazz.

"Can I go fast?" said Marshall. "Detective officer, you're sitting next to a former Ess.e.x go-kart champion."

The buggy moved faster than expected and with a mild roar it moved forward at top speed; the marshal with his foot fully pressing the gas. Whizzing around trucks and avoid pipelines on the ramp, the skittled ahead to the destination. The sound of air turbines and trucks, as well as planes

"The private terminal is right ahead," said the marshal.

"Ok slow down," said Jazz.

The marshal reduced the speed from a gallop to a gentle trot. The engine hummed and the buggy jerked as it came to a stop. Ahead, approximately fifty yards away, Jazz saw an aircraft hangar with a jet plane and many men dressed in black. The men he'd seen leaving Sheldrake; looking like they were making ready to board the plane.

"Wait here," said Jazz.

"Do you need a back up?"

"No," said Jazz.

"Man, this is so exciting," said the Marshal. "I can't wait to tell my boys about this."

Jazz had a moment of thought, he didn't have time for this.

"Listen, this is a very serious situation, don't think of it as fun. I need you to stay here or just go back. You seem like the type that wants to get involved, but don't get involved."

Pep talk over, Jazz approached the hangar carefully; he checked at his right hip. For his gun. Secure in its holster. He'd never had to use it before. The thought of this made his heart beat faster. Until 2029, only specially trained firearms officers could carry guns in the UK. However, due to reform changes, which protestors argued were tantamount to enforcing martial law, all police officers were allowed to have guns from 4 August 2029. Jazz got his own as standard.

He scuttled to the right side of the hangar out of open view of the men and crept up slowly. He leaked a look back to the marshal, who Jazz noticed hadn't moved.

He heard mild chatter and peered over the frame edge of the hangar wall. He saw several of them, at least their black trousers and boots. Their upper bodies were hidden by the small white jet. They appeared to be loading bags. Jazz withdrew his gun.

It's now or never.

In a single spurt he was in front of them.

"Stop! Police!"