by Colin Wade
As he got closer, his anger grew. The car was outside but there didn’t seem to be any life going on in the house. He risked getting a bit closer, straining to see through the front windows. It was quite a dull morning. The sort of morning where people might have had lights on, but there was nothing. They weren’t in.
He walked away trying to work out what to do. Had they just gone out or had they not yet returned from their game of cat and mouse that he had most emphatically lost? Were they hiding? He had been played. They knew about him. They must do. It just added to his rage.
As he carried on walking trying not to totally lose it in the middle of the street, his phone beeped. His father.
‘Have you found out who is helping them yet? My digital spies say they have been shopping in Reading over the weekend. We need a result.’
Reading? So, that is where they went and almost certainly where they are hiding.
He decided to watch the place in Goring for a bit. If they didn’t return by lunchtime, he would drive to Reading. A big place, but he did have some chance of finding them if he was at least in the right postcode.
73
Anya was frantic. “What do you mean, you think you know what happened to me?”
Clark was suddenly incoherent. Words tumbling out of his mouth like some mixed-up dictionary.
“Designer babies. The cold boxes. The drugs. The money. The secrecy. It all makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
Rob walked back into the man cave to see what was going on. The pitch of their voices had suddenly reached a decibel level that only dogs could hear.
“Anya. Clark. What is going on?”
“He says he knows what happened to me but he is talking gibberish.”
“Do you Clark? Do you know what happened to Anya?”
Clark looked at both of them. Seemingly immobilised by the sudden epiphany, he just sat there, staring at them.
“Jesus. Sorry. Just give me a minute.”
“I don’t have a fucking minute. If you know where my baby is, tell me.”
“OK. OK. Look, I guess you could argue this is just another one of a number of possible theories but the more I talk to you Anya, the more the bits are falling into place. I am convinced I know what happened.”
“What? Just tell me!”
“It was the bit about the addicted babies. The clients won’t have paid half to three quarters of a million for babies that were addicted. That just doesn’t make sense. If this is about stealing babies, the clients would want designer babies.”
“What do you mean designer babies?”
“I think it is really obvious. You weren’t pregnant when you went in there. The doctor cured you of your addiction and when you were clean, he created designer babies for the clients using you as the surrogates.”
“Eh. How does that work?”
“Think about it. The cold boxes. I reckon they contained sperm samples from the men. The clients chose you to be the mothers of their babies. I bet they wanted a certain type of woman and Bradley found them. Someone wanted you Anya because you fitted a particular profile. I mean, you are incredibly beautiful and all the other girls were not bad to look at either. The ethnic profiling fits as well.”
Anya was speechless. Clark was blurting out a mad theory but something about it was making sense.
“I… I… just don’t know Clark. I guess it could make sense. What do you mean about the ethnic profiling?”
“Well, again, think about it. Is it a coincidence that Hassan Chandra is one of the clients? Marjit is the same ethnic origin as Hassan. If the doctor is creating babies for cash, this would seem to be a logical conclusion. And, one of the new clients is Greek.”
“That Bianca girl. She must be Greek with a surname like that.”
“Exactly.”
Anya sat there. Trying to process it all. Rob and Clark just sat there in silence. They both knew soon the penny was going to drop, if Clark’s theory was right. A minute later it happened. Anya had just worked out what Clark’s theory meant.
“Fucking hell. My baby is alive and one of those bastards has him or her,” Anya shouted as she pointed at the pictures of the clients that Clark had pinned on the board.
“Clark. Find pictures of their kids. One of them must be mine.”
Rob interjected. He knew where Anya was going with this. “Anya. Don’t. It is not going to help.”
“And what the fuck would you know about it Rob? Of course it is going to help. If Clark is right, one of them has my baby.”
“But, you won’t be able to tell. Surely. You are just making more pain for yourself.”
“I will know Rob. Clark, find those pictures. You can find everything else from this little criminal enterprise of yours. Find the pictures and find my baby.”
With that she walked out of the man cave and sat in the living room. Clark and Rob looked at each other. They knew she would not let this go. They could hear her crying.
Within twenty minutes, Clark had found pictures of the children of each client. They were all the right age. Three years old. Exactly the right timescale to fit with when the girls were in the clinic. Clark knew this strengthened his theory but none of that mattered. What was important was that Anya believed it and now nothing was going to stop her finding her baby.
Clark had pinned the children’s pictures up on the board underneath the men that they had identified as the clients. Five men. Five children. Five girls in the clinic. His theory had to be right.
They called Anya in and she jumped up like shot. Stony faced but determined. She went along the board like an identity parade. She walked along the line, taking in the features. She stopped at the picture of James Hardacre’s ‘daughter’. She stared for a while and then put her hand against the picture. The tears began to flow.
“Oh my God, this is my baby. Look at her. She looks just like me.”
74
After the bombshell, Clark and Rob had left Anya alone. They had to admit that the Hardacre kid did look like Anya. Clark hoped he hadn’t set Anya down a path that would ultimately cause more pain, especially if he was wrong. What if the Hardacre kid wasn’t Anya’s after all and they had got this conspiracy all messed up in their relentless pursuit of what they thought was the truth?
After about half an hour they went back into the living room to find Anya looking at her phone. The next thing she said made Clark realise that there was no turning back.
“They called her Sophie. I like that name. I won’t change it when I get her back.”
Rob and Clark looked at each other, not knowing what to say next. Anya was living this nightmare minute by minute and they had to tread carefully. Be guided by her highly emotional state.
“We have to go to the police. I can’t stand another day without my daughter.”
Clark guessed this was coming. He tried to deflect it.
“We need more Anya. You can’t just rock up to the prime minister and say ‘give me your kid as it’s not yours’. Remember, if our theory is right, he is the father.”
The look on Anya’s face told them both that she hadn’t assimilated that information when Clark had been blurting out his epiphany.
She stood up and started to pace.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. The father of my child is the fucking prime minister. What… what… what do I do? Shit!”
Normally this would have been the moment when Rob would have leapt in to comfort her but suddenly it didn’t seem right. He just sat there and watched her dealing with the trauma, alone and in her own way.
“Clark. What about birth records? Surely, they would have to record me as the mother. Wouldn’t they?”
Clark opened up his browser and started to tap away. In the words of Han Solo – he had ‘a bad feeling about this’.
“I’ll
see if I can find a copy of the birth certificate and registration.”
Anya stood hovering over him, ready to pounce on any information, like a praying mantis ready to snare its next meal. A search of the birth records found the name easily, Sophie Jennifer Hardacre, born the 28th March 2015. Clark looked at the birth certificate. Father – James Horatio Hardacre, Mother – Annabelle Emma Hardacre.
“This is what I feared,” Clark exclaimed.
“What?” shouted Anya impatiently.
“They have faked the birth certificates as well.”
Anya sat down. Deflated. The depths of this conspiracy were beginning to reveal themselves. She was convinced this put the Hardacres right in the middle of this nasty, sordid, heart-breaking situation but she knew Clark was right. They needed more evidence.
She started throwing more questions at Clark. Desperately searching for something they could take to the police.
“How have they got away with this? He is a famous person. Did nobody wonder how they suddenly had a kid?”
Clark started to tap away again.
“The thing is he wasn’t the PM when this was done but he was a Cabinet minister. It might be that despite his role at the time, him having a kid just wasn’t newsworthy.”
“But what about his wife? Did nobody think it strange that she wasn’t pregnant and they suddenly get a kid?”
“Hmm, you are right. Let me have a look.”
Clark continued to mine information from various places.
“There are no pictures of her around that time. I remember Snap’s report said she shunned the limelight. Maybe that is how they did it. Just kept her out of public view.”
“That just seems ridiculous. Impossible. Can these people really cover up everything?”
Clark suddenly stopped. “Hold on. What is this?”
Anya leant over his shoulder to get a closer look.
“I have found an announcement in the Telegraph. ‘James and Annabelle Hardacre are delighted to announce the birth of their first child, Sophie Hardacre, born on the 28th March 2015. A gift from God’.”
“A gift. A GIFT! You bastards. My baby was not a fucking gift.”
With that the tears began to flow again and Anya slumped in the chair. With every new revelation Clark and Rob felt more and more helpless. Not knowing what to do for Anya or how to comfort her from the horror that was unravelling before their eyes.
As they sat, waiting for Anya to guide them towards their next step, an email pinged into the fake email address that Clark had set up with Rob’s fake ID.
“Oh my God Rob. It bloody well worked. The Loughborough Clinic have invited you in for an interview on Thursday morning at 9 a.m.”
75
He had driven around Reading for most of the afternoon the day before and was now sitting in his hotel, eating breakfast, wondering what the fuck he was doing. How was he going to find them in such a large place? He needed a better plan but he knew he would need his father’s help to get what he needed. He just couldn’t bring himself to go there. He decided to walk into the main shopping area, where their credit cards had been used. Hoping to get lucky.
*
Anya was still livid with Clark and Rob. They both kept pushing the clinic invasion as the only way forward. To catch the conspirators in the act. She only cared about Sophie. She wanted to go to the police and force them to get Sophie away from the Hardacres. Do a DNA test. Prove that she was her daughter.
She sat eating what breakfast she could stomach and had to listen to Rob and Clark plotting. At least they seemed to have stopped shouting at each other.
“Right Rob, your new identity is watertight and I have called you Rob Stapleton. I thought it would be a good idea to give you the same first name to avoid confusion. You have a new life backed up by all the relevant online records. If they review your employment records they will find they all check out. If they offer you a job, say you can start straight away. We need to get this next stage done quickly.”
Clark had furtively glanced at Anya when he said the last bit, conscious that she was not happy with their plan. He was worried she was going to bolt and take things into her own hands. She didn’t react and he ploughed on.
“As soon as you start working there, I need you to get down to the secret part of the clinic. We need to find a way in. Something like a fire door would be brilliant. Once we have mapped the place out we can devise a plan to get Anya in there.”
At the sound of her name Anya looked up and delivered her next line with a scarcely veiled touch of sarcasm.
“And what, Grandmaster Clark, is your plan for me then? How do we get the evidence?”
He ignored the obvious dissent.
“As soon as Rob gets the plans of the place I can guide you in. I will set you up with a device that records sound and pictures, relaying and recording everything back in real time to a secure server. I can disable the security as we go. No problem at all. They won’t even know you have been there. We can get you in, capture all the evidence and get you out. Then we can send all we have to the police. I have already identified the private email address of the Met commissioner. I am praying he is clean and not on William Hardacre’s payroll.”
“And what if I get caught?”
“You won’t. Trust me.”
“Trust! What a fucking ironic word to use. I can’t trust anyone. No one seems to know how I am feeling. No one knows the pain. If you did, you wouldn’t ask me to trust you.”
“OK, I am sorry. I will be listening in the whole time. If something goes wrong I will text Rob and if necessary ring the police. I won’t put your life in danger Anya.”
She didn’t seem placated but just looked away and drank her coffee. Rob tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“I don’t have a suit for the interview. I am going to have to buy one.”
“That is fine. Just go into the shops today and get yourself kitted out.”
Rob looked at Anya expectantly. Hoping for something.
“Do you want to come and help me find a suit?”
The response was emphatic.
“No. I want to stay here and help Clark put this evidence file together. I am not going to let anything slip. If we are finally going to get something to them, I am not leaving anything to chance.”
Clark looked at Rob and raised his eyebrows. They both knew they should leave it there.
*
He was wandering around the centre of Reading, in the main shopping area, scanning the crowds hoping for a break. He knew this was a bad plan. Needle in a haystack time but he was not going to let his father know how much he had cocked this up. He would find a way somehow.
As he sat on the outside chairs of a non-descript coffee shop, a tall blonde with an amazing arse walked by and smiled at him. The sort of ‘fuck me’ smile he had gotten used to. He just had it. That electrifying combination of good looks, good breeding and confidence that seemed to draw women in. He wanted to go for it. More sex and maybe another chance to feel the buzz of… he stopped himself as he suddenly caught a glimpse of something he’d seen before. Someone he had seen before.
He leapt up from his seat, straining to see through the masses of people moving in front of him, obscuring his view. He had seen a man wearing a distinctive red jacket coming out of a clothes shop. The type of red jacket he had seen Rob wearing, almost every bloody time he had been watching him. He started to move through the crowd shoving people out of the way, ignoring the exclamations and expletives as he went. Could this be it? Had he been lucky or was he just seeing things? He kept straining to see as he navigated the crowds. Yes, there he was again. Walking away from him towards the river. He couldn’t see the face but it looked like Rob from the back. Was he just willing it to be him?
He pushed on trying to close the gap but the crowds were
stifling his progress despite his aggressive, desperate nature. He ploughed on; a gap opened up and he tried to break into a run but he bumped into an old lady, sending her bag flying. People started to look over. “Oi mate, leave that old lady alone,” one concerned citizen shouted. It drew a reaction from others. They went to see if she was hurt. He just bolted. He had to. Hoping that no one would be brave enough to chase him. It wasn’t as if he had mugged her. As he reorientated himself, he realised ‘Rob’ had gone out of view. Where had he gone? He ran to the point where he had last seen him. A covered walkway leading to the long path that skirted the river. He ran through it. Looked left. Look right. “Fuuuuuuck!” he screamed. He had lost him.
*
Rob crashed through the front door of Clark’s flat, sounding like some bull elephant in must, breathing hard. Clark and Anya leapt up to see what the commotion was.
“Rob? What the hell are you doing?” shouted Anya accusingly.
He tried to catch his breath.
“Brad…” Huff, puff. “Bradley. He was in the shopping area. Chasing me.”
“What!” exclaimed Clark. “Where? Did he follow you?”
“No, I think I shook him off.”
“You think! You think!” shouted Clark. “You had better bloody well know. If you have blown my cover, we are done. Finished.”
Anya looked at Rob. Horrified. The doorbell rang. They all jumped out of their skins. A look of terror suddenly etched on all their faces. Anya’s expression changed from horror to a look of hatred that Rob had never seen before.
“What have you done?”
They all looked at each other. Paralysed by fear. The doorbell rang again.
Clark moved towards the door and risked looking through the spyhole. Wasn’t this where the assassin shot him in the eye as they predicted his move? The bullet didn’t come. The shape in the doorway was not Bradley. It was the postman. Clark opened the door and took the parcel. He shut the door and slumped, sliding down the back of the door as all his energy sapped out of him. Rob and Anya just looked on, trying to get their heart rates back to normal. Clark started to laugh. Terror replaced by hysterics.
