Fic: Resistance (chapter three)

[mjartrod]

Title: Resistance
Rating: Mostly PG-13 (will warn if a particular chapter has a higher rating).
Feedback: Is always welcome in any form.
Warnings: Slash, language and sex.
Summary: Matt Bellamy has always been a conspiracy theory enthusiast. But what happens when one day, as Muse are leaving Hong Kong after a gig for a month’s break, what is supposed to be a routine interrogation before boarding a flight turns into a manhunt operation where Matt unwillingly plays the main role?

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.

Author’s note: The idea came to me after picking up an amazing book in a bookstore a couple of months ago – Stieg Larsson’s first book of the Millennium trilogy. Go read, they're absolutely fantastic.
Would also like to thank Anya for being my beta again and for putting up with my rants and insecurities about this :p


CHAPTER 3

Paranoid personality disorder.

Mild Tourette’s syndrome.

Untreated ADHD as a child; still exhibiting symptoms as an adult.

Caught several times over the years snooping around top secret government projects, several references to brushes with the authorities in the past, some very particular sexual preferences... Nothing scandalous, though, the man concluded as he read the subject’s file with moderate interest. Granted, this guy was a bit of an oddball, but hardly one of the worst cases he had ever encountered.

He would concede that it was intriguing how the subject had all the ingredients to be a well known and controversial celebrity, but still managed to stay under the radar. Potentially dangerous ideas were contained, the cult and his following restricted to a community that was more interested in his band’s activities than his theories.

Still, this type of subject wasn’t necessarily the most harmless; in fact, they could prove to be the opposite, because they were often underestimated and could strike when it was least expected. This was why they were kept under surveillance. With a low risk rate in this case, but under control nonetheless.

Matthew James Bellamy’s risk rate had been upgraded quite recently, though. He shook his head at the idiocy of recent events; it was almost out of character for someone so paranoid to leave so many clues behind. The man was about to start typing, entering the newest information but before he began, he re-read one of the latest entries in the file, dated December of 2009. Bellamy’s name had appeared on a list they had been privy to. At first sight, there was no relation, no link between the names it contained. Of course, the document was still being analysed; perhaps they would have answers soon.

Sitting back in his chair, he picked up his glass of rich amber-coloured whisky and took a sip. Glenlivet XXV, a special gift from an old friend. The aroma alone made him feel like he’d walked into an antique shop.

He looked again at Bellamy’s file. Coincidences did not exist; he had learnt a long time ago that nothing happened without a reason. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to prepare for an intervention in this case. Just to make sure things didn’t go askew.

***

Matt and Dom wandered the streets of Hong Kong, more specifically the mainland, north of Kowloon, as they had gathered through the GPS function of their iPhones. It was relatively quiet and they decided to find a café where they could sit, maybe drink something to settle the nerves, and check Matt’s laptop. Every siren and car honk startled them and more than once they abruptly changed direction after spotting in the distance someone that appeared to be dressed in uniform.

“You should get rid of that coat,” Dom said after noticing yet another person giving Matt a head to toe glance. “It attracts too much attention.”

Matt immediately took the grey and white coat off without a word, folding it to carry under his arm. It was a little cold to be wearing only a v-neck black jumper with a t-shirt underneath and grey suit trousers, but best not take any chances. He suddenly stopped.

“D’you have any money?” Matt started rummaging through his pockets.

“Just...” The drummer pulled some crumpled bills and a few coins out of his own pockets. “I don’t even know how much this is. I’ve just used my cards. Or bummed cash off Anderson.”

Matt was the same. “We don’t have any money, you realise that? We can’t use any cards or they’ll know where we are. It’s most likely they’re cancelled already.”

“Shit, hadn’t thought of that. How expensive is this place?”

They both slowed their step, looking around in uncertainty at the almost chaotic number of neon ads and signs, the majority in Cantonese, without any English translation.

“Whatever, we’ll think about it later. Why don’t we go and sit over there,” Matt pointed to a café across the street, small, curtained windows offering what seemed like an ideal spot to sit inconspicuously.

After crossing the street and tentatively stepping inside, pleased to see a lack of patrons, they chose to sit in a recessed corner that was still near a window, ignoring the ample choice of pastries and other snacks at the counter and what the TV on the wall above was broadcasting. Matt’s white Macbook was out of its bag and on the table even before one of the waitresses had reached them to take their order. They absentmindedly requested tea, their attention focused on the task at hand.

They opened file folders and quickly searched the hard drive, but at first glance there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you online? Why don’t you check your e-mails?” Dom suggested, peering at the screen from his seat adjacent to Matt.

“Of course I’m not online, you arse. Ever heard of geolocation? You know how easy it can be to trace someone’s IP?” Matt berated him, eyes flicking across the screen. “But yeah, I can still check what I had in my inbox up until this morning... though I don’t see anything odd...” A gut feeling prompted him to direct the cursor to the ‘sent’ folder.

“Jesus, you’ve got a shitload of messages there.” Dom decided that perhaps it wasn’t the best moment to ask Matt how long he was spending online lately when he was alone.

Matt narrowed his eyes and leant closer to the screen, twitching in his seat. “What the fuck is this? I swear this wasn’t here earlier!” Dom’s bum was nearly off his chair as Matt clicked one of the sent e-mails open. “I don’t recognise this address, I can tell you that. It’s from the other week...”

“Here you are.” The waitress arrived with the teapot and cups and Dom sat back down, smiling pleasantly at her and then checking over his shoulder, all too aware that had it been the police he wouldn’t have noticed. Matt had a better position to be keep an eye on whoever came through the door, though. “It’s 1,900 HKD.”

Paying quickly and willing the girl to leave as fast as possible, Dom returned his attention to the computer, Matt reading the e-mail with an apprehensive air.

“Well? What is it?”

Matt pointed a long forefinger at the screen. “Apparently I emailed this Hongbo Zhang guy to... hey, how do you say this?” His blue eyes widened. “Dom, it’s the name they mentioned at the airport!” He lowered his voice. “I mean, what the fuck is this? Who the fuck had access to my bloody e-mail account to send this shit?” And he almost slapped the laptop, leaning back in his chair in frustration while Dom hurried to spin the item towards him so he could read it for himself.

Deadline is tomorrow. Have you made your decision or do you need more persuasion?

It was the continuation of a threat of some sort. He read it several times in bewilderment before looking at Matt, whose arms were crossed with a pout on his face, total outrage and indignation brewing.

“Noticed the date?”

Dom checked the header again: 27th January, local time 2am. That was Melbourne. Matt definitely wasn’t at the computer at the time recorded...

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, as much as he had tried to be optimistic and not imagine the worst, Matt was right - someone was trying to set him up. It was undeniable. For the first time since this ordeal began, the reality of the situation and its possible consequences hit Dom hard, shaking him to the core. It made him feel small and insignificant; in the middle of a situation which was being revealed as intricate and all-encompassing and over which he had little control. Someone had put a lot of effort into this, going to great lengths to involve Matt. But who? Matt could be a little ‘out there’ sometimes and was often taken seriously when he was only messing around, but for someone to actively seek him out, to conspire and plot against him? To create a scenario that could lead to the ruin of his career, his life? Why? Had he messed with the wrong people? Who could hate him so much?

“You think the police have seen this?”

“Deleting it now won’t make a difference whether they’ve seen it or not.” Matt straightened in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “It could always be recovered and besides, if I sent it, then someone got it.” He drew the laptop to him again, nearly knocking the teapot over, the beverage cooling without them touching it. “There’s probably more. Who is this bloke, anyway?”

There were a couple more e-mails. Short, slightly cryptic, but clearly intended to instil some sort of fear, alluding to an undisclosed demand made previously. For what purpose, they didn’t know. Matt didn’t have anything in his inbox nor could he recall ever deleting something that could be connected, but at least one of the e-mails in his ‘sent’ folder quoted a message he had apparently received. He had obviously been hacked.

They were going through all the e-mails again when Matt’s phone came to life, he and Dom immediately exchanging a look. It was an anonymous call; could be his financial manager. Could be someone else.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon again, Mr. Bellamy.” On the other end of the line, a deep male voice spoke English with a foreign accent. Matt recognised him right away - it was one of the pair who had interrogated him at the airport, the less nasty one with the glasses. “I didn’t introduce myself before. I’m Chief Superintendent Liu of the Hong Kong Police. I was hoping this wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He could see the drummer staring at him, trying to follow the conversation. “Someone set me up.”

“Then come to the police station, show us your proof and let the courts decide.”

“Ha!” Matt leaned back, releasing a hollow laugh. “Decide what? You’ve already decided everything, haven’t you? You didn’t even bother to listen to what I said! I don’t even know what I’m accused of!”

There was an impatient sigh. “We know you’re a member of the Sun Yee On Triad, Mr. Bellamy. That you blackmailed and coerced Mr. Zhang into creative accounting. There’s evidence. Don’t play dumb with us, it will lead you nowhere.” The voice was colder now. “It is in your best interests to cooperate. The sooner you stop running, the easier it will be for you.”

Standing up, Matt paced next to the table, hissing into the phone. “Easier for you, isn’t it? This is absolutely ridiculous; I don’t belong to any fucking triad. You’re all out of your fucking minds and I’m not going to turn myself in until you find out that this is all bollocks!”

“There is evidence. How long do you think you’ll survive like this? Before you get shot or-”

“I’ll stop hiding as soon as I find out what the fuck is going on!” He’d reached the hall to the toilets and he kicked the wall with his boot. He would not let himself be scared off or threatened, fucking hell.

There was a rustling noise at the other end of the connection and then another voice spoke. “Matt?”

Matt also recognised this voice, but the sentiment it invoked in him was very different this time. He opened and closed his mouth several times before a croaked sound came out, barely resembling a word.

“Chris...?”

“You must... you must do what’s best...” The voice was unnatural, the words contrived. Matt pressed his forehead against the cold wall, heart clenching as he wondered what had they threatened Chris with. Had they blackmailed him, telling him he would never see his kids again unless he participated in this charade? “They want you to turn yourself in.”

Matt shook his head, as though Chris could see him. He couldn't do that, Chris knew he couldn't. “Chris...” The lump in his throat didn’t allow him to talk.

“You know what to do, man.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth. Yes, Chris was right. He knew exactly what to do. “I’m so sorry.”

And he ended the call, tearing the phone away from his ear, striding to the table where Dom waited.

How was he going to tell Dom that Chris and perhaps everyone else who’d been at the airport with them were being persecuted because of him? The blond was focused on the laptop screen, one hand around a cup of tea... and completely oblivious to the car with odd red stripes stopped outside.

“Shit, shit, shit...” Matt muttered, bolting forward and shutting down the laptop before Dom’s confused grey eyes. Two men in dark navy uniforms were crossing the road. “Get up, get up now, the police are outside, they know we’re here!”

One of the waitresses behind the counter craned her neck to follow the two Englishmen as they rushed to the toilets. It only took them two seconds to acknowledge that there was no way out through there. Dom cursed low, turning around and stopping for a moment before Matt grabbed his arm and guided them to the ladies’ room. A quick scan told them there was no one inside - but this time there was a small window on the back wall above the last stall.

“Come on,” Matt mouthed, scampering forward, Dom locking the door behind them and following suit in the stall.

Matt was already standing on the toilet seat and reaching for the window; it was rusty but opened with a shove and he climbed onto the sill. There were loud voices coming from inside the café now, Matt hurriedly peering below - two metres to the floor, he calculated. Easy enough to jump and even if it wasn’t, they had no choice. He beckoned with his head to Dom, who was waiting expectantly, and the drummer swiftly clambered up to follow him. The voices speaking Cantonese became louder and clearer, doors being kicked open nearby.

They jumped down in quick succession and landed at the back of the building; Matt tripping and sprawling clumsily, right on top of the laptop, wincing when he felt his knee come in harsh contact with the ground. The adrenaline cushioned the bigger sting, though, and Dom was already helping him up, his head spinning as he searched for a way out. Creeping down a murky alleyway, they soon found themselves on the main road again, where they could see a second police car parked behind the first.

“Oh fuck...” Dom breathed.

They couldn't go up the road or they’d go straight past the police cars at the front of the café; if they turned back they would end up face to face with the police officers searching the building for them. Running down the street would just attract attention and make them easier to identify.

“Dom! Dom, the tram!”

There was a tram at a stop only a few metres ahead, Matt already sprinting past an old tourist couple consulting a map. They leaped inside just as the doors were closing, squeezing amongst the other passengers in the crowded compartment, both breathing hard and staring at each other in disbelief. Matt took his iPhone out as he looked out the window: two uniformed men were joining another two who were leaving the café through the front door, none of them making a move in the direction of the tram.

“Turn off your phone. Quick!”

“What?” Dom goggled.

“Switch off your phone! That’s how they knew where we were!” He hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

Dom complied; Matt holding on to the laptop bag and leaning his head back against the sliding door, closing his eyes. He had been so thoughtless and dumb it was embarrassing. If there was the technology for the owner of a phone to easily locate it in case of loss, then of course others would be able to utilise it to do the same.

They had to cut off all means of communication, there was no other way.

They were on their own.