“I suppose I could make a detour on the way to the clinic – I have to take Freddie on Monday afternoon.” Monday afternoon – the day after tomorrow. My face must have fallen, because she added, a little defensively, “I can’t do it Sunday, we’re going to my mother’s, in Guildford.” The baby finished his milk and began to cry; Jenny burped him and offered him a teddy bear. He settled again. She looked up. “Leave it with me, I’ll do what I can. There are never enough hours in the day any more, since I had Freddie. I don’t know how people manage with more than one – I’m exhausted all the time and never seem to get anything done – at least Will has a break when he goes to the office. But I’ll try to get your letter to Rob over the next few days. Of course, he may be out when I call.”
I gave her the letter; she looked a bit puzzled by the homemade envelope, so I muttered something about running out of stationery and having to improvise. That done, I didn’t want to outstay my welcome, so I got up and retrieved my shoes and socks. They were not much drier, but felt nice and warm as I put them on. I thanked her and left. Given that I couldn’t tell her the truth, she’d been quite helpful; understandably, she thought my request to a comparative stranger a bit weird, but at least she’d said she’d try to deliver the letter. At least I’d done something positive that might sort things out.
I emerged on to the dark wintry street, and was suddenly seized with an overpowering longing to go home. It would only take ten minutes from here. I imagined letting myself in with the keys I still had safely in my pocket, the comfort of seeing all my familiar belongings again; then explaining to the other Beth. She was the one person who’d believe me. I’d have a bath, wash my hair and put on my own clothes, and together we’d sort out what to do next. My feet had set off towards home on their own initiative while this alluring vision ran through my mind. I hesitated, then kept going, unable to resist. There couldn’t be any harm in checking it out, could there, if I was really careful? Maybe, if anyone was watching the house, I could sneak past somehow. Faced with two or three days and nights living outside in sub-zero temperatures with no money or food, it had to be worth a try, didn’t it?
I slowed as I got to Canonbury Close, made sure all my hair was tucked under my hood, and peered warily round the corner railings, aware of my heart banging about like a wind-up toy. Down the end of the road, the lights were on in my flat. The other Beth would be there, curled up on the sofa with Inky; or maybe getting ready for her date with Rob. I surveyed the quiet cul de sac, dismayed to see how bright the orange glow of the streetlights was – I’d imagined it being quite dark, so I could sneak along in the shadows and no one would see me, but the shadows weren’t big enough to hide anything more sizeable than a cat. Vehicles were parked the length of both sides as usual, some with a light topping of snow – mine hadn’t, she would have gone to Sainsbury’s as it was Saturday – and there was no cover at all. I couldn’t see anything untoward. The only activity was at the house with scaffolding, two along from Mrs Bramley’s, where the builders were loading their van. I hovered, uncertain what to do. If there were watchers in a car, would it be best to stroll past and hope they thought I was someone else, or make a dash for it?
Part of me wanted to forget it and leave, but having come that far … It was just possible the men weren’t there any more, and my flat called to me, a beacon of safety and comfort. Go for it. I set off fast down the pavement, head bowed, eyes flicking from side to side. Half way, keep going. Just before I got to the builders, I heard a creak behind me. I jumped round. The door of the shabby white van I’d passed was open, and a burly man with rough dark hair stood beside it blocking the pavement.
“Beth,” he said, his eyes fixed on mine. “It’s over. Get in the van.”
I froze, terrified. “No. Who are you?”
“Sir Peter sent me.”
I turned to run for the flat. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I pulled away and he twisted my arm bending me forwards. His grip was like steel. “Let go!” I kicked at his shins and flailed at him ineffectually with my free fist.
“I’ll let go if you get in the van quietly.” His other hand reached for something under his jacket. “Don’t make me have to force you.”
His eyes moved and focused behind me. A voice said, “What’s going on? You all right, darling? Is he bothering you?” It was one of the builders.
“Yes!”
“It’s a private matter. D’you mind leaving us alone?”
The builder moved forward. He was not young, but solidly-built. “Look mate, if she says you’re bothering her, you’re bothering her. Take your hand off of her.”
The man’s grip on my wrist didn’t slacken, but he allowed me to straighten up. In some way difficult to define his aspect became threatening; his body looked harder, his face darker. The builder gave him an assessing glance, and called, “Dylan!” over his shoulder. A younger builder appeared and stood beside him, looking from face to face, then a third joined them.
“I’m a police officer.”
The builder didn’t even glance at the card the man got out of his pocket; he laughed. “Oh yeah? If you’re the law I’m the Duke of Edinburgh.” He took a step forward, shoulders squared, not laughing any more. The other two builders moved with him. “If I were you, mate, I’d let go of her right now.”
The atmosphere was thick with testosterone; a fight seemed certain to break out. If so, he couldn’t hang on to me, and I’d be able to escape. For a few tense moments no one moved or said anything; then he released me. I dodged past him and ran, down the street, straight over the main road in front of a car that hooted and swerved to avoid me, and into the maze of quiet roads and walkways of a big council estate, running as if competing for gold.
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 15
On not getting lucky
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
If Ollie had been here, he’d have her now in the van, on his way to Thames House, mission accomplished. Why couldn’t those idiot builders stay out of it? They’d jostled him when he went to chase after her, and there had been a scuffle, so she got a start on him. A brown belt in Jitsu, he could have dealt with the three of them, most likely, but she’d still have got away and there’d have been hell to pay after. People didn’t just accept being flung to the ground, they tended to sue and want compensation. Impromptu demonstrations of martial arts in public are apt to draw a crowd, the last thing he needed. Then when he’d succeeded in getting the builders off him and jumped in the van, the first guy came and stood in front of it, arms folded. Nick knew it would not be a good idea to run him over, but that’s not to say he hadn’t been tempted.
Nick got out his phone and thumbed in the number without enthusiasm, brooding. He should have tasered her, then bundled her into the van; and if the builders noticed, say she’d collapsed and he was rushing her to hospital. He’d also got it wrong, not saying he was police straight away when challenged. They might have believed him if he had. He didn’t like getting things wrong. The police ploy was one he tried to avoid, since something about him didn’t tally with the public perception of what policemen look like. Nick blamed his louche looks on his Italian mother. Ollie said even if he wore a P.C.’s uniform complete with helmet, squad car and police dog they’d still think he was a villain. Ollie didn’t have this problem; he was invariably believed and trusted when he flashed his fake I.D.. Pity he hadn’t been there.
Pete wouldn’t thank him for getting into even a minor brawl outside the mark’s house. He’d play that aspect down, easy when the main part of what he had to communicate was so unwelcome.
And he’d now have to swap shifts with one of the other teams so he wasn’t there the same time as the builders, and they’d want to know why, and take the piss about that as well as about letting the replica slip through his fingers.
“Peter Ellis.”
“Hi.” Get it over with. “Beth Two’s been here, left five minutes ago.”
“W
hat? And you and Oliver just sat there and let her?”
“Ollie isn’t here, he went for coffee. Some builders intervened, I think they know Beth by sight. Nothing I could do.”
“Didn’t you say you were police?”
“Yes. They didn’t believe me.”
“So a total cock-up. Nick, you’re going to have to do better than this.”
“I’ll go after her now.”
“Wait until Oliver returns. I don’t want any more mistakes, though I doubt she’ll be coming back to the flat after a brush with you.”
“I’m not so sure, it still has to be her best bet.”
“Oh, I’m not going to remove surveillance. Not yet, anyway. Appraisal meeting at HQ first thing Monday. And while I’ve got your ear, Nick, I’d like to remind you that in this business you’re only as good as your last job. Don’t get above yourself and start thinking you know better than anyone else just because you got lucky with Sahir al-Qasim. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just part of the team, and right now, an under-performing part.” A click as Sir Peter disconnected.
“I like you too,” Nick muttered, pocketing his phone. He hadn’t got lucky with Sahir al-Qasim, he’d worked out what was going through his mind, so he and Ollie were there waiting for him when he came to set the bomb at Liverpool Street Station, while everyone else was keeping a fruitless watch in bleeding Romford. It rankled that Pete had never given him the credit he deserved. It would be difficult for him not to, once Nick had found Beth Two – mark you, he’d thought that with al-Qasim, and it had been a case of, “Well done, team, a successful operation by all concerned,” without even a nod in Nick’s direction.
His thoughts turned to the second Beth. She’d looked scared stiff when he grabbed her, absolutely petrified. He’d seen this reaction before on a couple of similar occasions when he’d nabbed people, but those had been men, and terrorists to boot, and he’d not wasted any sympathy on them. The replica hadn’t done anything, just shouldn’t exist; simply by being alive she’d got in the way of some government project, that was all. Not her fault. Bit of bad luck for her, but it wasn’t his problem. The real Beth Chandler was sitting in her flat right now, watched over by him and the guys round the back of the house, no doubt fretting about her worthless boyfriend.
Nick gazed at the door he was watching, his mind elsewhere. He’d applied nothing like the pressure required to snap a bone; strange how fragile the girl’s wrist had felt in his hand.
Ollie hove into view, carrying two cartons and a paper bag. At last. Nick got out of the driver’s seat and ran down the road, speeding straight past Ollie who’d opened his mouth to say something. Not much hope of finding her now, to be honest, but he had to try. If he did, he’d take no chances, give her no warning. He wasn’t going to fail twice.
Beth sat on her sofa, curled up with Inky Pink, staring at a novel without reading it. What was happening? One minute her life had been safe if dull, the next she was the target of terrorists, with relays of secret service men parked outside watching over her. Her last night had been spent in a Security Service safe house, while her boyfriend had been in bed with another woman. And now she had to start a brand new job, with no notice at all.
Cradling Inky, she got up and walked to the window. Nick and Ollie’s van was still parked in the same spot, though it was facing away from her so she couldn’t see them. Beth wasn’t sure whether their presence was more disturbing or comforting. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Rob about the terrorists, and now she thought she wouldn’t. She didn’t even know when she was going to see him again. He hadn’t said. She’d been a bit short with him; perhaps she should have been more understanding about his mother … she would have been, but for what had happened.
As far as Rob was concerned, the Chloe incident appeared to be closed; he’d explained and apologized, she’d forgiven him, and everything was back to normal; he’d think it unfair if she ever referred to it again. But she couldn’t just forget it, could she? Surely she was entitled … to what? A good sulk? Rob buying her presents and looking crestfallen for a while? What about him putting her first for a bit?
In a way she’d have felt better had they had a row, much as she hated rows. Rob was almost impossible to quarrel with, which was one of the reasons Beth liked him. But at least a row would have marked his infidelity as important, not a minor transgression like turning up late for a date or forgetting a birthday, where you say sorry and it’s over. As it was, she felt like one of those politician’s wives wheeled out on television to stand by her cheating husband, having to pretend not to mind.
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 16
Criminal activities
Running was becoming painful, and the best I could manage was a slow gasping jog. Somewhere to hide while I got my breath … hopping on a bus would be ideal, get right out of the area, but waiting at the bus stop would be insane, and unless I was on the main road, I couldn’t see them approach. The underground would be good, too, but the nearest station was ten minutes away down a main road. I can’t go much further … That group of big black recycling bins; if I crouched between them in the shadows near the wall no one would see me … but was it too obvious? A staircase leading to upper flats seemed a better bet. I’d be off the street, and could see without being seen. I ran up the steps and slumped behind the wall at the top hidden from view, panting like a dog and rubbing my sore arm.
What a fool I was to think I could get to the flat, I won’t survive long if I behave like an idiot …
When I could breathe again, and the cold was beginning to get to me, I got up and ran along the walkway, ignoring the protests of my aching legs. The path zigzagged up, then I reached a gate; a steel gate, locked, with a cage around it and razor wire to stop you climbing over. I turned, thinking I’d have to go down again; then I saw him, Sir Peter’s man, pacing the pavement like a panther on the prowl. Fear shot through me. I shrank back, but kept looking to see which way he went. He crossed over to the bins I’d nearly hidden beside, and moved a few of the black bags piled against them. My stomach did a disagreeable flip. He stepped out, then dodged back behind the end one; he dropped to one knee and peered round it. His right hand moved stealthily, and reappeared holding something black. Was it a gun? Would he shoot me if he saw me? Surely he couldn’t do that in the middle of London … A few seconds later his shoulders relaxed, and he replaced the weapon, if that’s what it was, and stood. A boy about my height in a maroon hoodie and jeans, hands in pockets, slouched by. I waited, praying my pursuer wouldn’t come up the steps. He paused, glanced around, then walked away from me. Once he’d gone out of sight I darted down the walkway, turned left and headed as fast as I could towards Highbury & Islington tube station, weak and shaky with fear.
Huddled in a corner seat, reassured by the indifferent Saturday evening crowd around me, I felt safer. I’d gone to Victoria and changed on to the Circle line, and was doing a slow circuit of London, in no hurry to get off. The ticket had cost four pounds. Only my fear of that man made me part with the money. That left one pound, and sixty-four pence. I fervently regretted going home. Sir Peter’s people might have believed I’d left London and relaxed their guard, if they’d had no further sightings of me. Knowing I was in the area for sure would make them extra vigilant, and that was a terrifying thought.
Gazing past the reflections at the black inside of the tube tunnel speeding by, I came up with a strategy of sorts. The plan was to lie low for a day or two, stay out of the way and give Jenny time to deliver my letter, definitely not make any more efforts myself. If the letter idea failed for some reason, I’d think of some other way to get to the other Beth – with the advantage of knowing her normal movements and how she thought, this might be possible. Short term, I needed a place to live and food, so I didn’t die of hypothermia and starvation. If I changed my appearance, it would be more difficult for those men to recognize me. This was really important, even though it would cost money; but
I needed to buy food as well, and had to face the fact that meant begging or stealing. I didn’t see what other options were open to me. And begging involved sitting in a populous area in full view for hours at a time, not a good idea.
Little as I liked the prospect, and frightening though it was, I’d have to break into someone’s home and steal their things. Really carefully, so the police didn’t catch me and hand me over to the Security Service. Using gloves, so they wouldn’t know it was me – okay, socks, I had no gloves. How difficult could it be? Most of the burglars round my area were fourteen-year-olds, and few of them got caught.
I decided to find somewhere to stay, spend the last of my money on a portion of chips, and burgle another basement that evening. Over the next few hours I’d plan the break-in with extreme thoroughness, so as to be ready for all eventualities.
The canal was dark, its surface black except for the rippled reflections. As far as I could see, no one was in sight. Trembling with fear and hunger, I climbed from the canal path up the rough bank, over the wooden gate and across to the darkened building. This particular ground floor flat was unlit both front and back (I’d checked) so its owner must be out for the evening or away. One of the rear windows was half hidden by a bush, which was another reason I’d chosen it. I got close to peer through, and saw a spare room; a narrow bed not made up, its ticking-covered mattress bare, cardboard boxes neatly piled against the far wall. I glanced around: no movement. Behind me some small creature splashed into the canal, and there was a soft tink! from the bell of a cyclist about to pass below the bridge; the other side of the terrace a car’s engine faded into the distance. I hesitated. This burglary felt worse than the first one; at least that had been in the heat of the moment, with no time to think. Now my major worry was that I’d faint or throw up.
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