Secrets

He’d just returned from college for summer holidays, and after having dinner and enjoying the company of his parents and younger brother, Harry lay down in his bedroom. He had left his computer and PlayStation 5 back in his apartment in Leeds, where he had moved in September to study Economics at Leeds University. Right away, he felt remorse for leaving them behind, as he realised his parents' house had limited options for entertainment. To make matters worse, his childhood friends, who had also moved to other cities to study and work, would return to London later that week. He needed to find something to stay occupied.

One thing that Harry strongly disliked was boredom. The young man enjoyed staying active throughout the day, whether engaging in physical activities or mental exercises. He fancied playing video games, reading, and hanging out with his mates. During his first year in Leeds, he had already made friends with most of his class and been to almost every bar and club in the city. There were few things he had missed from his former life in London, obviously excluding his family and his two childhood friends, Sadiq and Rob. The first one had gone to study in Bristol. The latter one was in Birmingham, where he had moved to study along with working as an apprentice for his uncle’s company. Although Harry knew that both his best friends would be there in only five days, he wished he had at least brought his PlayStation back home. Or at least he could’ve bought a new book, as he had already read every interesting book in the house. He thought of downloading some games on his iPhone, but he never truly enjoyed using his phone for anything else, apart from calls and messages.

While lying there in his bed, staring at the empty white ceiling, he remembered of the old computer in his dad’s old study, on the second floor. He recalled his father spending most of the day working there in strict isolation, even after his retirement. It was one of them obsolete, big, and heavy white computers that the younger generations considered ancient technology nowadays. It was possible that the old machine still functioned. Harry had nothing to lose if he just looked at the old device, to see if there was any interesting old-school game, to keep him busy for the next few days at least.

Harry knew little about his dad's job. Mr. Pearson used to be a Police Officer in the Armed Units. Soon after Harry’s birth, he retired from the Force and found a better-paying role in a private security firm in Central London. Most of his work took place at home, in his study, behind the old computer. He would only go away twice or thrice per year, for two to three days per time, to attend some meetings or exhibitions. What made him be so secretive about his job was a fact unknown to Harry and perhaps the rest of the family. Harry scarcely ever questioned his father about it. He presumed his dad was primarily engaged in the corporate aspect of the company.

Just after midnight, Harry cautiously snuck out of his room. He eavesdropped, making sure everyone was asleep. He knew his parents used to go to bed around ten in the night, and that Billy, his younger brother, could hardly stay awake after eleven. With hurried steps, he made his way to the stairs, and then on the second floor, where his father’s study was. One last time, he ensured no one else in the house was awake before attempting to enter the room.

To his surprise, Harry found the door locked. He knew his dad had been quite enigmatic about his job, but Harry didn’t expect that he would go as far as locking the room. Luckily, the locker was old, and Harry was familiar with a few techniques to open it. Back in high school, one of his classmates once he demonstrated to Harry and the rest of the "gang" how to exploit old lockers to break into a room. Their goal was to break into the teacher’s office and find the exam papers ahead of the Biology test. Although their plan didn’t end well, Harry and the boys learned a valuable skill.

After rushing back to his room, he returned a few minutes later with an old Monzo card in hand. Without making a sound and with great skill, the cunning young man opened the door by sliding a card between the door and frame. He skilfully maneuvered the card at the lock connection, all while subtly manipulating the doorknob.

The room had remained unchanged since he last saw it. This happened a few years ago, when Harry offered to take a snack up to his father’s study. It was one of them days when Mr. Pearson had been working from dawn to late in the evening. After he had knocked, his dad asked the young boy to enter and leave the plate on his desk as fast as he could. After he had thanked him, again he asked him–politely but with a hint of strictness–to leave and close the door behind him. The boy quickly took a glance at the man as he left, noticing his furious expression.

Like an ancient spell being activated, Harry's body experienced a sudden wave of anxiety. His body felt numb, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the entrance of the room, expecting his dad to get there any second and kick him out of there. But his father never came and the only sound still echoing on the walls was the one from his own heavy breathing. Over time, he mustered up the courage to open the computer.

A table with the command “Please, enter the 4-digit password” appeared on a blue screen. Of course, Harry had expected that. He couldn’t know how many attempts he would have, so he made a list, as shoer as he could, with a few entries. The first one was the year his father was born. He entered 1978. Denied. Also denied were the years of his and his brother's birth. It had to be the next one, he thought. Thomas Pearson, except for being an amazing husband and father, had another passion. This passion was called West Ham United. Every conversation he had with his friends or kids would inevitably conclude with discussing the last game of "the Hammers," their new signings, and how useless the current manager was. Harry typed “1985” in the box. The screen opened along with the welcoming windows sound. The password that Harry entered at the end was the year of West Ham United's foundation.

“Of course,” muttered the young man, with a hint of sarcasm in his whisper that no one else was around to notice.

Interestingly, the computer's operating system was the latest version of Windows. After wandering around with the cursor, Harry noticed it was as if someone had camouflaged a modern machine, into a heavy, obsolete pile of old crap. The internet speed was unexpectedly fast, and all the programs had been up to date. Going back to the main screen, he noticed a file named “Work.” When he opened it, he found countless more files, every one of them named after people that Harry didn’t recognise. Only until he got to the end of the long list.

“What the actual fuck!?” grumbled Harry, shocked.

The name reflecting on his pupils was the one of Alasdair Grant. The director of the Economics Department, and a lecturer at the University of Leeds, where Harry was a student. What the hell was his professor's name’s business on his father’s computer, particularly in a file called “Work?” He opened the file and what he saw next was shocking. A description under his professor’s picture stated: Alasdair Grant. Member of Northern Cross since 1994. Rank: 27^th grade. His current address and documented information from a pattern of the academic’s daily activities followed this information, covering at least the last three years. The last line, marked in bold, red colour, made Harry sweat. His eyes opened wide, and a knot tied in the insides of his stomach, causing him to feel a sense of unease.

Assassination date: 03 Oct. 2024.

Two weeks had passed since the night Harry sneaked into his dad's study and opened the old computer. He had ensured that his father had noticed nothing, but his discovery caused him to maintain some distance from Mr. Pearson. To prevent disclosing the fact that he had discovered his father's secret, Harry tried to bring them close again. One weekend that his friends could not gather anyway, he organised a camping for him, his little brother, and their dad. It appeared to be the best way for him to observe and learn more about the man whom he thought he knew his whole life, and maybe make him reveal this secret part of his life that had to do with his job.

On the way to the camping site, they had a blast jamming into music and playing games. The trip didn't go on for too long. It didn't take over two hours to arrive at the site they had booked for the weekend. It was still early in the summer, so not too many people were around. The only tent near them was about ten meters from them. The people appeared to be already inside the tent or exploring the area. It was still afternoon, so there were no fires started around yet. Spreading near them was a vast forest with tall trees and thick plantation, perfect for exploring and having an adventure.

Upon finding the ideal spot on the ground, they set up the tent, had sandwiches they brought from home for lunch, and went to explore the forest. They still had one or two hours remaining until sunset, when they had planned to be back to set the fire and later prepare hot dogs and listen to Mr. Pearson tell some frightening stories. He was an amazing narrator. He could truly give you goosebumps with the way he transformed his voice and how deeply he delved into each character of the story.

They ventured deep into the forest. They merely paused when they reached a glade that almost formed a perfect circle. Harry lay down on the grass and admired the sky, which had become flooded with orange and red colours. What a beauty, he thought, not being able to take his eyes away from the wonderful sight. The shadows of the tall trees grew eerie and ominous, trying to spread darkness around the place as soon as the sun would hide behind the horizon.

"It's time to go back, boys," declared Mr. Pearson.

Harry stayed still. The amazing view still captivated his eyes.

"Let's go Harry!" "It's getting late," exclaimed again his father.

“It’s already too late, dad,” spoke Harry in a steady and serious tone.

Mr. Pearson laughed awkwardly. He didn’t appear to comprehend his son’s behaviour.

“What are you saying, son? Come on, get up and let’s go back to the tent, or some animal might smell the hot dogs and mess the place up.”

“We’re not going back, dad. It’s time to reveal our secrets, and this seems to be the perfect place for that, isn’t it?

“Harry, what the hell…” Mr. Pearson didn’t finish his sentence. From the edge of the woods on the other side of the glade, he saw the figures of two men approaching them. They wore black clothes and had their faces covered. They both appeared tall and athletic, with muscular bodies.

"Son... what is going on?" Before he could utter another word, Mr. Pearson felt overwhelmed with dizziness. He shielded his face with his right hand while bending down on one knee. He was dripping with sweat.

“Come on dad! Don’t tell me you didn’t like the sandwich I specially made for you,” said Harry sarcastically to the man who was now standing on both knees and hands, barely able to lift his head and see his son and his two accomplices standing above him, merely watching him suffer, appearing to enjoy his torment. Unable to use his arms and legs, he fell to the side and laid down, now facing the sky. The vivid colours had disappeared, giving to the firmament now a deep purple colour, ready to accept the absolute darkness. He strived to see his younger son, who by now he was lying on the ground, sleeping. A tiny amount of his older brother’s drug was enough to make him think all this was a dream. Once he was awake, he wouldn’t remember any of this. Harry’s timing had proved perfect.

“Rob, mate, you take my little brother and go to the nearest hospital to ask them to send an ambulance. Our father has suffered a heart attack,” Harry dictated to his friend and comrade.

Rob affirmed, carefully took Billy in both arms, and strode away.

“Don’t think I’m enjoying all this, father. I never meant to hurt any member of our family. But you have proved to be an enemy of our cause. You have been planning to kill our brother one by one. But I found out who you really are, so I’m taking you out first, before you hurt more of our people.” Harry was neither angry nor upset about any of his actions. His voice was steady. No one could say if he felt any pain or regret watching his own father die slowly before his eyes. The junior members of the Northern Cross carried the body back to the tent and waited for the ambulance that would arrive there soon.

“Come back tomorrow to take down the tents,” Harry gratefully said to Sadiq.

Sadiq and Rob had been there since the previous day. They set up the tent next to the place Harry and his dad would set up theirs. This way, when the time came, they would be able to follow them closely into the forest and intervene if the drugs in Mr. Pearson’s and Billy’s food hadn’t acted on time.

While he waited for the bad news from the doctor at the hospital, Harry received a call. On the phone was his mentor and leader of the 2nd Regime of the Northern Cross.

“Good job. It must’ve been hard for you,” said Alasdair Grunt.

“I did what I had to do, sir,” replied Harry. And he added, “The cause comes first.”

“The cause comes first,” repeated the voice on the other line.