The doctor and Ollie’s family moved away. Nick sat again, on his own. He didn’t feel entitled to go in. If they didn’t blame him, he didn’t know why not. Two uniformed policemen appeared through the swing doors, heading in his direction. He should have expected this; A & E departments were always swarming with police. He got up, and they had a brief conversation. Nick showed them his genuine I.D. card. Their initial concern for a fellow policeman turned to the usual lack of enthusiasm for anyone impersonating a police officer, even a member of the Security Service, and they didn’t linger.
Shortly after they’d left, the doors opened again and a petite blonde woman walked quickly up to Nick, her face ashen. He stood. “Lisa. The doctor said she thinks he’ll be all right. They’ve just gone through. Why don’t you join them?”
She nodded, and went to see her fiancé. Nick slumped in his seat once more.
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 32
Matt
My finger was excruciating. Perhaps it was broken and needed setting – when I tried to straighten it, the pain made me stop. It required professional help. At Archway, not far up the road, was the Whittington Hospital, but that was undoubtedly where the ambulance would take the two men, and I dreaded bumping into Nick. No good telling myself hospitals are big places; we could all end up in A & E together – even dreadful injuries presumably start off there. Unless the poor man was dead … don’t think about it, that won’t do any good, I have my own problems.
The Royal London was the next nearest hospital. I set off, cutting through back streets, the rain increasingly heavy. After twenty minutes I had to rest on a wall because I was going to faint. The pain was the worst I’d ever experienced, and every step jogged my finger agonizingly. The hospital began to seem an impossible goal; I didn’t see how I could keep walking for another half hour without passing out. I breathed deeply, remembering the tramps; a shot of rum would help. Or perhaps I could knock on doors and hope someone with a car would take pity on me and run me there …
Stop being feeble, you can do it. Just keep going.
Right. I got up and plodded on. The canal, that’s good, I must be halfway. I paused and stared into its inky blackness, then dizziness overcame me and I sat on the wet pavement, leaning against the brick wall of the bridge, feeling ill. I wasn’t going to make it on my own. A thought came to me. I was only a couple of streets away from the flat I’d broken into, the doctor’s flat – if he was in, he would know what to do about my finger. He’d been helpful before even though he thought me mad, and he hadn’t rung the police or tried to detain me or forced me to go to hospital. I pulled myself to my feet, and headed for his road.
I wasn’t sure which was his basement. No one came to the door of the first one I tried, and I prayed that wasn’t his, because I couldn’t face going any further. At the next flat, the light came on after I rang the bell, then Matthew Reeve opened the door, crisp, alert, this time fully-dressed. In the background, Bach was playing. His eyes ran over me.
“Alex. You’re very wet. Are you all right? Do you want to come in?”
I nodded, followed him into the living room and sank on the leather sofa while he surveyed me. “Can I get you tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
He didn’t go to make it. Something was worrying him. “What’s that in your pocket?”
“Nothing.” He waited, clearly not going to leave until I showed him. I pulled out the squashed and greasy McDonald’s carton.
“I’ll take that, shall I, and throw it away?” His voice was professionally unemphatic. I held it tighter. “Would you like some food? Not sure what I’ve got, but I can find you something.”
“Yes please.” I gave him the carton.
He went into the kitchen, and I heard a bin lid flip, a tap run, and cupboards opening and closing. I took off my hood and hat; not my hoodie, though it was soaking, because of my finger. Two minutes later Matthew returned with steaming mugs and handed me one, staring at my black hair. “Do you take sugar?”
I shook my head, and he sat at the other end of the sofa, waiting for me to explain the reason for my visit. Carefully, I withdrew my left hand from my hoodie. It was more swollen than before. “I’ve hurt my finger. I thought you might be able to help.” He moved nearer and held my wrist gently, turning my hand over while I tried not to wince. I noticed how grubby my fingernails were.
“It’s dislocated. You should go to A & E to have it realigned.”
“Can’t you fix it?”
“Well, maybe, but you really ought to have it X-rayed, in case any bones are broken. They can give you an anaesthetic, too, to make it less painful.”
“I’d rather you did it. It would be quicker than going and queuing.”
He frowned. “Tell me what happened.”
He wasn’t going to believe me, but I told him anyway. “Two men were chasing me through a building site. One of them had a taser and he fired at me twice. The second time I ducked out of sight really fast and landed on my finger.”
His eyes on mine were not trusting, but not sceptical either; he was withholding judgment. “How did you get away?”
Without warning, my mouth trembled and turned down; my eyes overflowed. I wanted to wail like a child. I sniffed and wiped my good hand over my face, but having started crying I couldn’t stop. Tears poured down my cheeks. Suddenly it was all too much. Matthew Reeve left the room and came back with a box of man-sized tissues. After a minute or two, between sobs, I said, “One of the men following me fell three storeys … off the ladder I’d crawled across … and he didn’t move when the other man went down to him. Ollie, his name was. And he held the ladder steady for me when I was crossing, though he was chasing me.”
I turned away and covered my face, overcome. Matthew went over to a cupboard and poured me a large glass of brandy.
“Drink this. Then I’ll have a go at your finger. It’ll hurt.”
“Okay.” Still gulping and sniffing, I swallowed half the brandy, mopped my face with a handful of tissues, blew my nose, and slowly drank the rest.
When I was calmer, he said, “Shall we get it over with, if you’re still sure you want me to try?” I nodded. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll take you to A & E.”
He held the base of the finger firmly with his left hand, and touched the joint with his right. Then he pulled the end – agony, and I couldn’t help crying out – twisted it slightly, and let go. I felt the joint slot back into place; it looked and felt more normal, and hurt a lot less. We both smiled, me with relief, him with satisfaction.
“Thank you!”
“Wiggle it. Not bad. Hang on a minute.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a towel and jug of water with ice cubes. “Dunk your hand in there to help with the swelling.” He watched me do this, apparently thinking. The Bach came to an end, and I could hear the rain beating against the windows. “Er … you weren’t at Ikea on Sunday, by any chance, were you?”
“No, why?”
“You’re sure? With a dark haired man, and a trolley full of stuff, and you wanted a blanket the same as the one I gave you?”
“You’ve seen her! And that man … Now you’ve seen the other me, do you believe I’m telling the truth?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He passed me the towel. “Dry your hand and I’ll tape it up.”
“I bet she was buying a lamp. I’ve been meaning to for ages. Was she?”
“I didn’t notice. Hold your hand out. The man seemed very interested when I went up to her.”
I gave him my hand, alarmed. “You didn’t tell him who you were? The man who’s been chasing me has dark hair.”
His head was bent as he concentrated on taping my middle finger to the index finger. “No, Alex, I said I’d made a mistake. I didn’t much like the look of him.”
I was in his debt. I said, “Matthew, my name’s not Alex Rider. It’s Beth Chandler.”
“All done.” He g
ave me back my hand, and looked up, a smile transforming his face. “Beth, then. Call me Matt. I’ll get you some food.”
After five minutes he returned with a tray, neatly laid out with a bowl of steaming chicken and vegetable soup, slices of buttered wholemeal bread on a plate, an apple and a banana. While I ate, he asked me questions about the past week, and this time I didn’t get the feeling he was discounting my answers in favour of his own conclusions as he had before.
I polished my bowl with the last piece of bread. “So you don’t still think I’m having a psychotic episode, then?”
Matt’s face wore its consulting room expression. He deliberated, so as to say precisely what he meant. “Er, probably not. You are, though clearly exhausted, more alert than I would expect of a person suffering from mental illness. What are your plans?”
I peeled the banana. “Before they … before those men found me, I was going to walk up the A1 to Scotland, Arisaig, where my Dad lives.” He blinked. “I know that sounds a bit mad, but everything’s been going wrong here for the last couple of days. I just thought, if I could get to him, he’d sort it out. You think it was a crazy idea.”
“Not one of the sanest I’ve heard, frankly. It’s more than five hundred miles. If you walked twenty miles a day, which I doubt you could in this weather without proper food or somewhere to sleep, it would take you a month.”
“I might have hitched a lift.”
“So you might.” He added, in a tone of polite enquiry, “So will you be resuming this plan tonight, now your finger is no longer at an angle?”
I shot a look at him. “I don’t know. I’ve gone off the idea a bit.” I waited for him to say, “You can stay here, and I’ll speak to the other Beth for you tomorrow,” because I had no idea at all where I would sleep that night, let alone anything more long term. I’d reached the limit of my resourcefulness; I badly needed help. I could see from his point of view that if he took me in, it would be the thin end of the wedge. He’d be accepting a measure of responsibility for me. Hard for him to turn me out the next day, and maybe he didn’t want a penniless stranger with unwieldy problems he’d probably get dragged into staying in his flat. Let alone the prospect of coming up against Security Service agents, who were much less entertaining in real life than in fiction.
He didn’t say anything. The silence grew. I swallowed the last bit of banana, and pocketed the apple. I got to my feet, my whole body protesting, and picked up my damp hat, trying to sound confident and matter of fact.
“I’ll be off now, then. Thank you for the food.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“I don’t know. I’ll manage.”
He sighed. “I suppose you’d better stay here overnight. I’ll make you up a bed in the spare room.”
“Can I have a bath?”
“Why not? Don’t worry about getting the tape wet, I can do it again.”
“Have you got a toothbrush I can use?”
That was the best bath I’d ever had in my life. Deep, and the water almost too hot. I washed my hair, soaped myself twice all over and lay back, every now and then running out some water and running in more hot. Bliss.
Eventually I got out, and cleaned my teeth for four minutes with Matt’s electric toothbrush, using the new head he’d given me, till they felt polished against my tongue. I left the steamy bathroom, and asked Matt, who had his feet up on the sofa reading a medical journal, if I could borrow his hairdryer. He didn’t have one, but my hair would be all right drying on its own. He had made up the bed in the spare room, and put out a pair of his pyjamas for me. The broken window pane had been replaced. I snuggled into bed, smiling at how soft and warm it felt. On top of the duvet lay the Ikea blanket, replica of the one I’d had and lost. It was curiously comforting to curl up under it, running my fingers over the soft texture, listening to the rain outside.
Within twenty seconds I was fast asleep.
I didn’t see Matt the next morning. He was out at work before I woke, but he’d left me a note on the kitchen counter saying he hoped to be back by seven, but couldn’t be sure as they had staff shortages at the hospital due to the snow. He left a set of keys, which made me smile – because that meant he trusted me, not because I wanted to go out. I felt safe from the dark-haired man inside the flat. I spent a lazy day curled up with one of Matt’s thrillers; just existing, warm, rested and fed; luxury. My finger felt a bit sore, but really not bad.
He came back at eight thirty, put rice to boil and made a stir-fry. I did more watching than helping. Over the meal I filled him in on what had happened, which took some time, and we discussed what would be best to do. The problem was, after the encounter in Ikea, the man chasing me would recognize him if he went to see the other Beth. Matt wanted to chance it.
“He can’t be there twenty-four seven. The man has to sleep. And what can he do if he does see me? He didn’t do anything last time.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know … it’s uncanny, the way he kept popping up all over the place. Sod’s law he’d be there. And he might strong arm you, like he did me, or follow you or something. Then he’d come here. Is there anyone you could ask?”
“No. I haven’t been in London long enough to make friends. My sister would do it, but she’s in New York till the week after next. I suppose I could always drive you to your father’s, if you don’t mind waiting till next Thursday when I have a couple of days off.”
I brightened at this. That’s what I’d wanted, Dad to take over and sort things out. Matt was being very helpful, but I already felt indebted and didn’t want to take advantage of him. If he got me to Arisaig and contacted my father, he wouldn’t have to worry about me any more.
“Do you mind if I stay here meanwhile?”
Matt smiled. “It’s only a week. You’re welcome.”
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 33
Change of plan
Nick had been in bed for two and a half hours when Moira Smailes rang at seven a.m. that grey and chilly Thursday morning. He groped for the phone while still half asleep, his mood darkening as the memory of Ollie’s fall flooded back. The Smailes was her usual crisp self, as bright and impermeable as polyester. Perhaps she never slept; if told that one of his acquaintances was really an android, she’d be his first guess.
“Nick, Sir Peter wants you to come to Thames House to pick up details of your new assignment in Manchester. He’d like you to get started as soon as possible. I’ve booked you a room from tonight in the Gardens Hotel. Shall I see you here at nine o’clock?”
“How do you mean, new assignment?” Groggy with lack of sleep, Nick assimilated the significance of this information gradually. “What about my current job?”
“He’s taken you off it.”
Nick sat up, his hand tightening on the phone. “Look, he may think I don’t want to carry on after what happened to Ollie, but actually, I’d like to see this thing through. More than before, even.”
“You’ll have to talk to him about that, Nick.” Moira didn’t ask what had happened to Oliver; she knew everything that went on. “I can’t discuss it.”
“He’ll be there this morning?”
Moira Smailes paused, as she always did when asked for information she had no reason not to disclose. “No, he’s out of London today.”
“I’ll ring him.”
Nick swung his feet to the floor, thinking about Ollie. Before trying Pete, he rang the hospital. Oll was stable, and in intensive care; no change. He went to the kitchen and made himself a strong coffee, then keyed in the number as he drank.
“Nick.” Sir Peter sounded resigned, as though he’d been expecting his call.
“Moira says you want me off this job.”
“Yes. In your office you’ll find details of a foreign national who came through Manchester Airport yesterday. We’ve had a tip off about him from the FBI. I want a full assessment and report on his movements and contacts a.s.a.p., usual thing.”
“Other people will take care of that. It doesn’t have to be you. After all, you haven’t shown much in the way of results. And now Oliver has had this unfortunate accident …”
“But this makes no sense! I know more about Beth Two and what she’s thinking and what her next move is likely to be than anyone. Give me forty-eight hours, that’s all, and I’ll bring her in.”
“No. You’re too emotionally involved, one way and another. It’s affected your work. I should have moved you days ago. Go to Manchester and forget about this. It’s no longer your concern.”
“Twenty-four hours, I know I can do it, you have to give me a chance –”
“No. I’m not discussing this further, Nick, you’ve only –”
“– yourself to blame,” Nick finished, after ending the call mid-sentence. He suddenly wanted a cigarette though he hadn’t smoked for years. Did Pete really think that Fraser, Katie, Paul, Dario and the rest of the crew were going to find her? Maybe it wasn’t much to boast about, but he’d had more near misses than any of them. Because of Beth Two Ollie was in the Royal London, fighting for his life, and he wanted to find her with a passion that bordered on the obsessive. What he didn’t want was to pack a bag, check in at Thames House, and leave for Manchester. On the other hand, if he disobeyed orders, even if he found Beth Two and brought her in, Pete might get him fired. It was not possible to deduce the exact level of animosity Pete had towards him from his manner; but Nick certainly wasn’t his favourite operative. Nick was not sure what jobs were available to spec ops who’d got themselves the sack, and he was committed to paying a big chunk of a not-too-bad salary over to Sandra in child maintenance.
Replica Page 18
