Replica

by Lexi Revellian

  He looked in the cupboard for something to eat, found a packet of Pom-Bears he’d got in for Josh, and ripped it open. Realistically, he was going to have to go. Fuck. He’d have to let Sandra know he wouldn’t be able to see Josh on Sunday. And Saturday he had a date with Beth; he supposed he’d better ring and tell her he’d be away for a bit. He checked his watch. She’d still be in bed, about to get up for work. He dialled her number; she sounded ridiculously pleased to hear from him. He told her about the job, and said he would ring when he got back. Wide awake now, he went and had a shower, then dressed and put a few things in a holdall. Nick travelled light.

  He reached Thames House at eight fifteen, spent over an hour in an almost empty department going through the files on the suspected terrorist he’d be tracking, transferred them to his iPhone, then set off for the motorway.

  From Manchester Nick rang the hospital each morning and evening; they said Ollie had now regained consciousness, and was out of intensive care and making steady if slow progress. Nick missed Ollie. He liked having someone to talk things over with. However, he was soon absorbed in the new challenge, and put the replica Beth to the back of his mind. He had never been taken off a case before and didn’t want to think about it; he didn’t ring any of the team to find out how they were doing. For a few days, apart from buying Josh’s Christmas present, an iScoot mini scooter in black, he focused entirely on work. But the Manchester job proved short-lived. Contrary to expectations, at nine fifteen Wednesday evening, Musab Khan got on a plane back to America, becoming once more the FBI’s concern. This reported, Nick made his way to the anonymous room in his hotel, and slumped in front of the television, looking for something mindless to stop him thinking until he was tired enough to sleep. He’d wait till the morning to drive to London.

  Fiona Bruce behind a desk; the news. Nick had clicked to another channel just as a face he knew flashed on to the screen. He jabbed at the remote to go back, hit the wrong button and took a few seconds to return to BBC1.

  Beth’s close-up had been replaced by a reporter standing in Canonbury Close talking to camera. “ … six days. Her father says it’s quite untypical of her not to contact him on his birthday, and that was last Monday. There are no signs of a struggle in her flat. She had recently split with her boyfriend of four years, and started seeing another man. Police would like this man to come forward so he can be eliminated from their enquiries. He is described as about thirty years old, five foot ten, dark haired, of muscular build. Detectives are investigating the possibility Miss Chandler was abducted, but that is only one of several lines of inquiry. This is Tom Conway, BBC News at Ten.”

  Nick swore, got out his phone and rang Sir Peter.

  “Nick. How’s it going?”

  “Where’s Beth?”

  “Ah, I take it you saw News at Ten. I’m sorry your description came up, Miss Chandler’s father came to London and has been making a nuisance of himself digging around. I’ve spoken to the BBC and they won’t be using it again.”

  “Fuck that. What have you done with Beth?”

  Sir Peter was at his most suave. “What makes you think I’ve done anything with her?”

  “Okay.” Nick’s tone was of open hostility. “If that’s how you want to play it. You’re asking me to believe she was abducted while under round-the-clock surveillance by the Security Service. The Manchester job’s over, I’ve got leave owing to me, and I’m taking it. As of now. I might do a little digging of my own.”

  After a short silence Sir Peter spoke. “You’re right, Nick, forgive my levity. We have taken Miss Chandler out of circulation, and for very good reasons. You and the team failed to find the replica, in spite of repeated sightings over very nearly a week, and I simply can’t take the risk any longer of two of them being on the loose. Plus I’ve had twenty operatives on this case, who are needed elsewhere. May I remind you JTAC rates the current UK terrorist threat level Severe? I have a duty to the public to use resources efficiently in their best interest.”

  “So what happens to Beth?”

  “I appreciate you take a personal interest in Miss Chandler’s well-being.” Sir Peter’s tone was acid. “She’s safe where she is.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “What happens if Beth Two turns up and everyone assumes she’s the real thing? What are you going to do with Beth then? Make her disappear?”

  Sir Peter laughed briefly. “Really, Nick, you’re being melodramatic. This is England. In that eventuality, we’ll simply switch the two girls. Problem over.”

  “So if I bring in the replica, you’ll release Beth Chandler?”

  “Naturally. If you want to spend your own time on this, that’s entirely up to you. I respect your zeal. Might I suggest you do it within the next forty-eight hours?”

  “Why forty-eight hours?”

  “We wouldn’t want Miss Chandler to start suspecting we’re not telling her the truth, would we? That might make our position a little awkward. Good hunting, Nick.” He hung up.

  Nick packed immediately, a process that took two minutes. He had little faith in Sir Peter’s reassurances about Beth’s safety. He’d worked for the Service long enough to know things didn’t always get done by the book; that expediency was all, and Beth was expendable.

  There was one lead he hadn’t yet tried. Matthew Reeve, junior doctor at Barts, who’d lied about meeting Beth Two; and Nick had his address. He checked out of the hotel and set off for London, driving fast through the rainy night.

  When no one answered the bell, Nick kicked the door until the lock loosened and gave way. Reeve stood in the hall in pyjamas, mobile in hand, keying in numbers. As he began to speak, Nick seized it and turned it off. He strode past him into the flat, snapping on lights, flinging open doors, scanning each room and on to the next, ignoring the doctor who followed him, protesting. The last door banged open, and there she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing men’s pyjamas and the maroon hoodie, pulling on her trainers.

  “Get up! Face the wall, hands behind you!”

  Beth Two stared at him, her skin growing paler, till it was almost white against the unfamiliar black hair. “I’m doing up my shoes.”

  Nick got out his taser and pointed it at Beth. “Up, now! Move!”

  She stopped tying her laces and got slowly to her feet. Behind him the doctor said, “You’ve no right to break down my door and trespass in my flat. I want you to leave. Give me my phone. I’m going to call the police.”

  Nick spoke over his shoulder. “Save yourself the bother. I’m Security Service. They won’t want to know.”

  Beth Two turned to the wall, putting visibly shaking hands behind her. Nick took a step forward.

  “Leave her alone!” Reeve grabbed his wrist, Nick flung him off, then threw him so he slammed into the pile of cardboard boxes and fell to the floor. His spectacles spun to the far side of the room.

  “Stay out of this, if you don’t want to get hurt. Beth, you’re coming with me.”

  Reeve scrambled to his feet and stood between them, flushed and outraged. “You have no right to behave like this. You’ve got no warrant, you’ve shown no I.D., Beth hasn’t done anything. If you’re going to take her, you’ll have to take me too. Get out of my flat, you unpleasant bully.”

  Nick swung the taser to point at Reeve, and pulled the trigger. The metal darts hit his chest and he collapsed to the floor. Nick dropped the weapon and went over to Beth Two. He patted her down, found the keys in her pocket, and took them.

  “Get dressed. Quickly.”

  Beth Two picked up a pile of clothes from the floor and put them on the bed. She pulled her jeans on over her pyjama trousers, did up the belt, and hesitated. “Look away.”

  “No. Just do it.” Guidance from some interrogation manual surfaced unbidden in his mind: Forced nakedness creates a power differential, stripping the victim of his identity …

  Turning her back, she slipped hastily
out off her hoodie and pyjama top and reached for her bra. He watched her while she did this. She looked just the same as Beth, except for the hair; every line, angle and curve. It was essential to remember she was not Beth. Ollie had had that terrible fall chasing her.

  “Hurry up.”

  When she’d finished, Nick fastened her hands behind her with a single-loop plastic restraint. He bent and picked up the taser, pocketed the used cartridge, and pushed Beth towards the front door. He left Reeve’s phone on the hall table.

  “Do as I say, if you don’t want a few hundred thousand volts through you.”

  Behind them, Matt Reeve began to stir.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 34

  Journey to an unknown destination

  I stumbled up the dark steps in the wind and rain, the taser nudging me in the back. Hair blew into my eyes and I couldn’t brush it away. The worst had happened, he’d caught me, and it was a very bad worst; my future about as promising as a laboratory mouse’s. But at least a mouse didn’t know what was coming to it. Why hadn’t I climbed straight out of the window the moment the banging woke me? Fuddled with sleep, I’d stopped to put on my hoodie and trainers before jumping out into the rain, and I’d pay for that mistake with my life.

  Street lights shone on parked cars and deserted silent pavements. What time was it? Night time, that’s all I knew. I hoped Matt was all right. He’d call the police, but Nick had said they wouldn’t want to know … He told me to stop. We were beside the black car I’d seen him in before, with the long scratch and dent down the front panel. He opened the passenger door and I sat uncomfortably, hands behind my back, then he slammed the door and got in the driver’s side. He did up my seat belt and his own.

  “Where are you taking me?” My voice sounded frightened.

  He started the car, not answering, its acceleration pressing me against the seat back. I twisted my head to look out of the rear window. I thought I saw Matt appear on the pavement just as we screeched round the corner. When we stopped at a red light Nick got out a phone and speed dialled.

  “Where do you want her?”

  … … … … …

  “Yes, I told you I would.” The lights changed and the car leaped forward.

  … … … … …

  “Haggerston.”

  … … … … …

  “Okay. And Beth’ll be there?”

  … … … … …

  “See you shortly.” He put the phone away in his pocket.

  “Why is the other Beth going to be there?” He didn’t answer. “Does she know about me? Was that Sir Peter Ellis you were talking to?”

  He faced the road ahead, his expression impassive. I was a non-person, he wouldn’t talk to me, just order me around as necessary. Anger and adrenaline fizzed through my veins, extinguishing fear. I wanted to hit that unresponsive profile, break his straight Roman nose and make it bleed. I couldn’t do that with handcuffed wrists, the seatbelt stopped me head butting him, but he was forced to listen whether he liked it or not.

  “I take it you know what Sir Peter plans to do?” My voice was cool and clipped, no longer trembling. “Imprisonment, experiments in some high-security laboratory to learn all they can and see what went wrong, then once they’ve no more use for me they’ll kill me. Because I don’t officially exist, there’s nothing to prevent them. I’m not a real person. And you’re taking me there.” Not a flicker. “Well, I think that’s despicable. Men like you worked for the Nazis, rounding up innocent people into death camps. You’re horrible, devoid of any human feeling, you’re just contemptible. A moral runt with no redeeming features. A complete shit.”

  At last I’d got a reaction. He gave a small snort of laughter.

  “You think it’s funny? You think it’s amusing that I’m going to die? I suppose that’s only to be expected from such a pathetic apology for a human being.”

  He spoke, still staring ahead, hands tight on the steering wheel. “Beth’s opinion of me is rather different, that’s all.”

  “It may change once she knows what you’ve done. In fact, I can say with authority it’ll change.”

  “No it won’t, because she’s not going to meet you. She doesn’t know you exist, and it’s going to stay that way.”

  “What’s she doing there, then? Why isn’t she at home?” He didn’t reply. Presumably he was taking me to another government research agency, not the Marling Institute, a higher security location. Why would she be there? I’d often worked late for the Prof, but never overnight. I suddenly knew. “Sir Peter’s got her. You’re going to trade my life for hers.”

  “Yes.”

  “She won’t like that.”

  Nick said savagely, “She won’t know.”

  We were passing King’s Cross, moving fast, heading for the M40, I guessed. There was very little traffic. Euston Road looked alternately wavery and distinct as the windscreen wipers swished the rain aside.

  “Why are you doing this?” He said nothing. “Why should you care about her?” I just didn’t get why this seemed to be a personal issue for him, rather than a professional one … then a suspicion sidled into my mind. Surely she couldn’t have … even if she’d found out about Rob and Chloe … she wouldn’t … “Oh God. I don’t believe it. She can’t have …” I stared at him. I suppose, if you didn’t know what he was like, you might think he was attractive, in an obvious sort of way. “That’s … repellent.”

  He twisted right round to face me, and glared. “She didn’t think so. She found me a nice change after Rob, if you must know. And if you haven’t been screwed by anyone except him, then you don’t know what you’re missing, because from what I gathered, his ineptitude was matched only by his brevity.”

  He turned back just in time to avoid hitting a truck. We swerved into the right hand lane, the car rocking, and pulled ahead of it.

  “Thank you for that information,” I said, icily. “I’ll just have to hope one of the lab assistants takes pity on me before they finish me off, won’t I, because my opportunities from here on in are going to be strictly limited.”

  Neither of us said anything for a while. His face was calm, his driving anything but. The band on my wrists was cutting into them, and my arms ached from being behind me in an awkward position. It occurred to me I shouldn’t have annoyed him, I should have pretended to be acquiescent and lulled him into a false sense of security, then waited for a chance to escape. My best hope was now, on the journey, not once I’d arrived and been locked up. Not that it was much of a hope. We left the Westway and joined the M40, cutting straight to the fast lane in front of drivers who braked and hooted and flashed their lights. I glanced at the speedometer. Eighty-six miles an hour. If we got stopped for speeding, I might get away.

  I flexed my shoulders. Sitting like this really wasn’t comfortable. My hands were getting pins and needles. I wasn’t going to ask any favours of that arrogant, loathsome bastard though; I had my pride. How long was the journey going to take?

  Eventually we left the motorway. My apprehension increased; we must be nearly there. The pain in my arms prevented logical thought, but gave me an idea. I ditched my pride for the sake of subterfuge.

  “My arms are hurting. Can you unfasten them? Please?” I’d meant to sound subdued and pleading, but it came out haughty.

  He gave me a quick glance. “No.”

  “But they’re really painful, tied behind me.”

  “I don’t want you grabbing the steering wheel or hitting me,” he said, guessing my strategy with uncanny accuracy. I’d planned to do both. I persisted.

  “I need to go to the loo. I haven’t been since I went to bed.” This was not true; I’d got up in the night.

  “We’ll be there within the hour.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  He ignored this, just drove even faster. We’d turned off into a narrow country road. I sniffed. Perhaps if I cried, he’d feel sorry for me. Then it hit me; my pathetic attempts to escap
e weren’t going to work; we would shortly be driving through a security gate to some secret government facility, and I wouldn’t be coming out again. The last months of my life would be spent there, and it would be frightening and unpleasant, and then they’d give me a lethal injection and that would be it. I’d never see my father again, or Inky Pink, or Zoë or Ros or any of my friends. I’d never get married and have children, never live in my own house, never fall in love. What I’d had of life was all I was going to get. A terrible sense of sadness overwhelmed me.

  My eyes filled, and hot teardrops spilled on to my cheeks. When my brief existence was snuffed out, nobody would know or care. My mouth pulled out of shape and I keened like an animal, rocking to and fro, tears pouring down my face, nose running, lost in grief. Dimly I could hear him saying something, telling me to stop. Having started, I couldn’t stop. He pulled the car in to the side of the road, switched off the engine and jerked the handbrake up. Sudden silence; the only sounds were the beat of the rain and my sobs and wails.

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll take off the handcuffs.” He released the seat belt. “Lean forward.”

  I leaned forward, still shuddering and sobbing. He flicked out a knife and cut the tough plastic. I wiped my face, awkwardly because of my stiff arms and numb hands. He hovered over me uncertainly, his expression troubled, and passed me some tissues from the glove box. This tiny act of kindness made me cry more.

  After a minute, he said, “If you really can’t wait, you can go in that field.”

  I sniffed and blew my nose. “You’re not to look.”

  “All right.”

  The central locking clicked undone. Gradually, my sobs subsided. I peered out into the rainy darkness. He’d stopped by a lane between fields; a dripping sign said CHRISTMAS HILL FARM. I climbed out of the car. So did he. Rain blew in my face, and I pulled up my hood. I walked slowly round the far side of the shoulder-high hedge for a few metres, the long wet grass brushing my legs. He kept his word and stayed by the car. I crouched so he couldn’t see me, and began to run, bent double, along the hedge, slipping and stumbling, as fast as possible. I reckoned I had a couple of minutes before he got suspicious. If there was a gap in the hedge, crossing the road into the field opposite would leave him searching this side while I escaped.