WATCH but don't TOUCH

By Anya Ison Wallace

When emotional surveillance analyst William Zane is ordered to spy on detective sergeant Tabitha Marquis, it sets off a chain of events that leaves their lives irreversibly entwined.

With Zane forced to control his emotions in order to stay alive, and Tabitha going on the run to save a kidnapped girl, their adventure propels them between London, Scotland, Malta, the Pacific, and the International Space Station. Who can they trust with their dangerous secrets? Can they avoid the very surveillance that Zane has been trained to use?

Against an expanding backdrop of lies, betrayal, family secrets and murder, and just when they both think they are out of danger, things take a very bizarre and deadly turn for the worst…

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. L. Ison Wallace
• Release date: Jun 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9789198658637

Book preview

Chapter 1: Day Zero – The Start of Everything

THE STREET in Kensal Green, North West London, was fairly quiet for an evening in late March. A man walking his dog was just turning the corner at one end, and a car was taking off at the other. The grey clouds overhead formed a lid, as if strategically placed there to keep all the fresh air out. A black door half way up the street quietly opened and a ginger cat ran out. It jumped up onto the wall at the front of the tiny garden and sat there, completely still.

This was the day when everything began. The destinies of two people, 250 miles apart, were about to become irreversibly intertwined.

Inside one of the houses on the Kensal Green street, a thirty-two-year-old woman called Tabitha Marquis was just finishing dinner with three of her closest friends.

Tabitha had short, brown hair, had an androgynous look about her and wore easy clothes, suitable for cycling home in.

The house belonged to Nina, who Tabitha had met at work.

That was delicious, Nina, said the friend called Simon, dressed in his normal black jeans and purposely scruffy-looking black t-shirt.

I’ll put some coffee on, Nina said.

Not for me, said Tabitha, immediately taking the opportunity to follow Nina and her little black dress, which together with her new haircut gave her somewhat of a Grace Jones look, into the kitchen.

Safely inside the kitchen, Tabitha lowered her voice and spoke secretively to Nina.

I’ve done it, Nina!

Nina opened her mouth slightly in surprise, before whispering back.

I can’t believe it, Tabitha! I bet they didn’t see that one coming. The famous Detective Sergeant making her way swiftly up the ranks. You’re the last person they would ever expect to resign.

Tabitha shook her head. It wasn’t easy. I turned it over in my mind a hundred times, but I had to do it. It’s the only way I’m going to find out exactly what’s going on.

How did D.C.S. Charlemaine react? asked Nina, speaking more normally again.

When I met him in the corridor, he said all the normal things about being sad to see me go. But when he shook my hand, he held on to it just a little too long. It was a bit creepy actually, and there was a funny look in his eyes.

Well, you’ve still got three months to endure before you can leave, so you’ll just have to keep your head down. Remember, you can always rely on me to try and access any confidential information if you should need it.

Thanks, Tabitha sighed with relief. And Nina, there’s something else. We can’t tell Simon or Alex the real reason I’m leaving. Not yet. It could be too dangerous.

At that moment Alex came into the kitchen, bowing his head slightly to get through the doorway. Tabitha turned to him and smiled as he went over to Nina and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Anyway, said Tabitha, I’d better be off.

A few moments later, Tabitha pushed her bike outside and into the grey-lidded street. She put her helmet on, and glancing overhead, wondered if she would be able to beat the rain, before cycling off down the road.

Telling Nina she had handed in her notice had brought an unwanted, distant memory to the front of Tabitha’s mind.

The fourteen-year-old Tabitha had gone to the shops after school and used all her savings to buy a suitcase for her mum.

She had waited for what seemed like forever for her mum to finally get home from the haberdashery where she worked, and when she did, Tabitha had presented her with the suitcase.

Now you can leave, she had said.

But her mother hadn’t.

Making difficult decisions was something her mother had never been able to do.

That’s why Tabitha had decided to be different.

She pushed the memory away and continued cycling in the direction of Bayswater.

Chapter 2: Day 1 – 250 Miles Away

250 MILES above Tabitha’s head, was the International Space Station.

Attached to the space station was a module owned by a company called Facing Forwards. Inside the Facing Forwards module was a twenty-six year old man called William Zane.

A few months earlier, William Zane would never have predicted he would be in space, but he had been headhunted by Facing Forwards to work for them as an Analyst.

Unfortunately, after only a month and a half on the space station, he found himself in a rather precarious situation.

He had been summoned to his boss’s personal office, and was waiting in the corridor to be let in.

As he floated inside the compact space, backpack on his back, he couldn’t help but remember a similar occasion at school.

He had been summoned to the Headteacher’s office and subjected to a monotonous monologue about the need to respect your elders, all because he had complained about one of his sister’s teachers spending more time in the store cupboard with a bottle of whisky than teaching the class.

William Zane glanced through the space corridor window. The blue and white curve of the silent planet Earth was truly beautiful.

On Earth, Facing Forwards was famous for its facial recognition computer software, but when Zane had been headhunted to work on the space station as an Emotional Surveillance Analyst, he had been surprised to find out exactly what he had been employed to do. By hacking into any surveillance that existed on Earth, he was ordered to spy on UK citizens without their consent.

There was a buzzing noise, the red light outside the office switched to green, and the office door slid open.

Zane reminded himself not to say too much to Whitehead.

Taking a confident hold of the doorframe, he gently propelled his body into the office until he reached Whitehead’s desk, placed his feet under the toe-rail to stop himself moving away, and put his hand up to his forehead to move his dark fringe away from his eyes.

Whitehead was the only person on the station who had insisted on having normal furniture, screwed to the floor. He was Head of Space Station Operations, in his late forties, and had pale skin and brownish hair. Instead of acknowledging Zane, he kept reading through some paperwork he held in front of him.

Zane stifled a sigh and waited patiently for Whitehead to finish.

Suddenly, Whitehead looked at Zane. So, we’ve agreed to let you go! he said.

That was exactly what Zane had been hoping to hear. They’d made a quick decision, though. It was only the day before that he had handed in his notice request.

Quite frankly, said Whitehead, "I can’t imagine why you would want to leave Facing Forwards."

Zane bit his lip. This was not the time to speak.

Whitehead carried on. Here’s the agreement you need to sign regarding your three months’ notice. You are going to be given a completely new assignment.

It sounded ominous, but Zane did his best not to react.

He bent his body over the desk and studied the paper clipped to it. It didn’t say much. After checking the date, 1st April, he signed the paper. Whitehead extended his hand and Zane shook it firmly.

Thank you, Zane said, keeping a professional tone to his voice.

Whitehead declined to say any more and just looked at Zane with a steady stare.

As Zane turned to leave, he wondered how suspicious he should be about Whitehead. What role did Whitehead have in the shocking events he had stumbled across just three days earlier?

He floated back into the corridor and recalled the conversation he had had earlier that morning with his roommate, Gunson.

"What in heaven’s name do you want to leave Facing Forwards for? Gunson had asked him, clearly shocked. Do you really want to go back to all that trouble trying to pay off your bills and having only two measly square feet to live in? Not to mention having no more thrill of the chase, and being able to get inside someone else’s head!"

But that’s just it, Zane had replied, grabbing Gunson’s suggestion as an excuse. It doesn’t feel right anymore, getting inside someone’s head. When I started, I bought into that whole spiel about developing education and business tools to realise the so-called human potential. But the longer I’ve worked here, the more convinced I am that the information we collect is used for other things, far beyond what we signed up for.

Maybe you should be careful what you say while you’re still here! Gunson had laughed.

Zane had realised afterwards he had probably said too much to Gunson. He wouldn’t be letting his guard down again. After what he had discovered, he wouldn’t be surprised if his life was now in danger.

A voice shouted out behind him. Zane! It was Whitehead.

Instantly unnerved, he turned himself around and propelled himself back inside Whitehead’s office.

You forgot your protocol card, Whitehead said, pointing to his desk.

Zane moved forwards to retrieve the card that was clipped down next to the signed agreement, and exited the room once again.

Not only did the card open access-approved areas in the space module, it also displayed instructions concerning Zane’s new assignment: Proceed to Debriefing Area.

The melody and lyrics from a 1960s Animals song intruded upon his brain: …gotta get out of this place…

The door that led to the Debriefing Area came into view. Zane held up his protocol card, and the door made a clicking sound before swishing open. He moved inside and his eyes took a quick look around. This was obviously the initial Scanning Area, with scanning equipment that would ensure Zane took no unauthorized equipment or files into the Debriefing Area.

There was also a sturdy, metal box, about the size of a small safe, straight ahead of him. This had to be the IT Security Hub. Its size certainly belied the amount of material it continually processed and guarded.

Just as the door swished closed behind him, Zane realised he wasn’t alone. His body did a small, startled jump, as Drew Tanner, the Security Officer, suddenly appeared next to him.

Tour of duty almost over, William? the red-headed Tanner barked at him, not seeming to notice Zane had been startled.

Yes, that’s me nearly done, Zane replied, quickly recovering his calm exterior.

Tanner’s pale face looked as if it had spent far longer than the maximum six-month stay on the station, and he looked much older than his thirty-nine years.

Funny, said Tanner, "I’ve never heard of anyone wanting to leave Facing Forwards before."

Zane knew it was safest not to offer up any explanations. Just one last assignment left, he said.

You should count yourself lucky. I gather you’re in for some special treatment.

It would seem so. Zane wasn’t able to entirely conceal the note of sarcasm in his voice.

Through the scanner first, Tanner concluded.

Zane removed his backpack and overalls and placed them inside the horizontal scanning tube. The tube extended through the wall and into the Debriefing Area beyond.

I’ll let them know you’re on your way, Tanner said, as Zane floated through the adjoining scanner gate, and into an enclosed space beyond.

Thanks! Zane shouted back.

He heard the scanning tube start to operate behind him, and could make out the sound of Tanner’s voice, presumably calling ahead about his arrival, before the small space seemed to completely close in on him.

The Debriefing Area door was right in front of his nose and he was aware of the sound of his breathing. He held up his protocol card and the door slid open.

Zane hesitated slightly, wondering what his final assignment was going to be.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to float confidently into the Debriefing Area, as if it was any other ordinary day.

A woman was waiting inside. Zane was surprised to see it was Joanna Gilder, the Senior Analyst attached to his own surveillance shift. He didn’t know her that well as she normally kept herself to herself. Her light-coloured hair was tied back sharply away from her face, and she had a particularly penetrating stare, as if she could use it to reach directly into your soul.

William, Joanna said, in her naturally forceful voice. Welcome to your work space for the next three months.

What’s my assignment? Zane responded, giving the impression he wanted to get straight down to business.

We want you to watch a woman called Tabitha Marquis.

Zane tried to look interested.

We detected her through routine searching, Joanna carried on, because her emotions hit all the key areas of our analysis scale within just twenty minutes.

Zane started to wonder if this was all he was going to have to do. It seemed like just his normal work. He responded in the way he normally would. Could you find a particular reason why?

After searching all surveillance, we discovered she had been listening to a piece of music, by Alfred Schnittke.

Zane didn’t respond, and Joanna paused slightly before carrying on.

However, there’s another reason you’ve been given Tabitha Marquis as your subject. Yesterday, she handed in her notice at the Metropolitan Police in London. Because you also handed in your notice yesterday, William, we have a golden opportunity to conduct an extremely interesting experiment.

Zane’s heart began to speed up – the crux of his assignment was about to be revealed.

While you analyse Tabitha’s emotions during her three month resignation period, said Joanna, we will analyse your emotional signatures during exactly the same time frame."

Zane tried to understand exactly what Joanna had just said. He was pretty sure no Facing Forwards employee had ever been subjected to the complete emotional analysis treatment before. Alarm bells were going off inside his head. Did someone know what he had discovered?

Okay, said Zane, maintaining a calm tone, so you’ll be comparing both sets of surveillance?

Correct. We’ll monitor how your emotions are affected by the emotions of your subject, while both of you are in a similar situation. Come with me.

Joanna propelled herself towards one of the two vertical workstations that were inside the work area.

This will be yours, she said. On your left are the dining area and your sleeping quarters, complete with training equipment.

Zane posed his most nagging question. So, who will be analysing me?

I will, alongside my normal duties of course, and I’ll be doing it from the Aerial Office behind you.

Zane turned and saw the Aerial Office for the first time. It was raised higher than the work area, on its own mezzanine level, and it projected over the top of the scanning equipment. It also had a see-through wall, so Joanna would have the perfect view of everything he did.

There’s a CCTV camera pointed at the work area, Joanna continued, and the emotional recognition equipment is already installed at your workstation. Your emotional responses will be directly transmitted to my workstation for analysis.

Zane was silent.

Don’t worry, said Joanna, with a rare, wry smile. I’ll only be analysing your every move and your every emotion during your every working hour!

Zane tried to smile as if what she had said was a joke.

Needing a chance to gather his thoughts, he pushed himself back towards the scanning tube that protruded out of the wall and set about retrieving his backpack and overalls. He needed some time to try and camouflage the feeling of intense unease that was welling up inside him.

Can you tell me more about my subject? he asked Joanna, as he returned to his workstation and put his overalls back on.

Certainly, said Joanna, pressing the screen that had been waiting in sleep mode.

Name, Tabitha Marquis; occupation, Detective Sergeant with the London Metropolitan Police; age, thirty-two; residence, Bayswater; no close family, but apparently quite a cosy group of friends.

Zane looked at the picture of Tabitha that had come up on the screen. He saw a slightly stocky-looking figure with shortly cropped brown hair.

Joanna carried on. Our research has shown that her spare time includes squash in the basement of a semi-derelict building, and as far as we can tell,  she and her three closest friends might have some other agenda than just being friends.

Why do you say that? Zane asked.

"Some of their most recent meetings have produced emotional signatures far more indicative of serious intent than of recreation.

Otherwise, Tabitha Marquis doesn’t often venture outside of London unless it’s work related; and everything else is in the files. You’d better make a start, William!

Joanna moved away from Zane and floated straight up to the Aerial Office.

She’s clearly not hanging about, thought Zane.

He took hold of the narrow and curved metal stability plate that was attached to the workstation by three short security lines, and clipped it over the front of his belt. This was to ensure his body stayed as still as possible, while his facial expressions were registered by the analysis software.

The next line of the Animals song clicked into his head: …if it’s the last thing we ever do.

On Earth, Facing Forwards was a well-known company because of its huge advertising campaigns for facial recognition volunteers. Slogans such as: Your response is our future and Volunteers from all walks of life are making a difference for the future of our children, could be seen in countries all over the world.

A volunteer could check in to one of Facing Forwards’ seven Earth-based research centres, have their emotional responses to visual and audible stimuli recorded and analysed, and then be paid handsomely when they checked out.

However, Zane and the other space station analysts had been told by Facing Forwards that the volunteer system didn’t provide enough usable data. By using the space station to cut legal corners and gain access to all kinds of Earth surveillance that would otherwise be off limits, they could gain access to people’s emotional responses without them even knowing.

Attached to his workstation, William Zane was feeling worried. He would have to control all the emotions caused by his precarious situation, at the same time as he was being analysed, for a long ninety-one days.

He’d never felt so trapped in all his life.

He turned his thoughts to Tabitha Marquis. He needed to concentrate on her instead.

He knew she would be in London, and British time was the same as space station Coordinated Universal Time, so that would make his job easier.

He began to search for any available surveillance of Tabitha that could be used to analyse her emotional behaviour.

There she was! She was inside her small, one room flat, on a grey April morning in Bayswater.

The street CCTV camera directly opposite Tabitha’s window was providing a clear enough image for him to see that her hair was wet, presumably from having had a shower. She was sitting at a small breakfast bar, crunching on a piece of toast. He also found it easy to hack directly into the camera on her laptop, which was open right in front of her, giving a clearer picture of her face.

Zane’s analysis software immediately started to collect Tabitha’s emotional data. It logged all her minute facial expressions and assigned them to specific emotions. The emotions started appearing as corresponding blocks of colour on Zane’s secondary computer screen. The colour-coding made it easier for him to make his own analysis observations.

Zane watched Tabitha’s emotional information as it came through.

He recognized the stable, light grey background colour, signifying that Tabitha was performing a routine task, in this case getting ready for work.

After about three minutes of shifting greys, a strong orange spike suddenly appeared. Zane knew this normally signified anger. Anger was often accompanied by other underlying emotions, so he zoomed in on the details of the analysis to try and de-cypher what ‘kind’ of anger it was.

There was definitely distrust there, as well as disbelief.

What is she so angry about? Zane wondered.

In London, Tabitha cleared away the breakfast things in a very determined manner.

She had been going over the events of the last few days in her mind and still couldn’t believe she had been forced to resign. As yet, Nina was the only person who knew the real reason.

Until that morning, she had been in pure problem-solving mode. It was only now that everything had begun to sink in, and she

was feeling angry.

She had been cornered in more ways than one. Not only did she feel forced to resign in order to expose a terrible truth, she was going to have to work, right under the police department’s nose, for a whole ninety-one days before she could leave.

On the space station, Zane continued to watch Tabitha as she left her flat and cycled to work. By moving his surveillance via a succession of CCTV cameras, he could keep his eyes on her all the way.

When Tabitha arrived at Police HQ, near the Thames, and he had successfully hacked in to the police station’s internal CCTV, he saw her settle down to some apparently run-of-the-mill report writing, something that went on for the rest of the day. The only significant change of pace Zane experienced was when he left his workstation to do his daily physical workout.

He hoped the rest of Tabitha’s days were going to provide him with a bit more excitement.

It was six o’clock that evening when Joanna Gilder clocked off work. She said goodnight to Zane, and left him alone in the Debriefing Area to return to her own quarters.

As she did so, the lights went out as part of the space station’s energy saving routine. Zane instinctively put his hand down towards where his torch was attached to his belt, and looked behind him to check the light on the CCTV camera had gone off too. It had.

He was now completely alone in the Debriefing Area.

He looked at Tabitha on his screen again, and any feelings of loneliness subsided slightly.

She was arriving back at her flat, and her emotional readings displayed tiredness interspersed with indications of déjà vu.

Zane