Replica

by Lexi Revellian

  We walked in line along the broad pathway. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw no one had followed us, we were alone with Sir Peter. Why was he bringing us here, when he could have got the spec ops to bundle us into the jeep and spirit us wherever he wanted? Wasn’t he worried that Nick might overpower him and we’d all run away? He turned off on to the grass; we reached the middle of an open space bordered by trees, their trunks circling like pillars in a Greek temple. We could still be seen from the path; a man pushing a buggy made me think of Freddie. Nick stopped and said, “This is far enough. Get on with it.”

  “You’re on your way to meet Mick Fletcher at the BBC. I could, of course, stop you doing that, and if necessary, I will. But I have another suggestion. How much have you told Fletcher?”

  “Enough.”

  “Nick, it’ll help if you put your cards on the table. Knowing you as I do, I suspect you told him the minimum required to arouse his interest, for the simple reason he’d check any specific details you gave him, which would risk my getting to hear about it.”

  “How did you get to hear about it?”

  Sir Peter gave a bleak smile. “After you contacted him, Fletcher consulted his chief, who happens to be my brother-in-law.”

  “Nice.”

  “The obvious solution, I’m sure you’ll agree, would be to get rid of you four, but–”

  Matt flushed and stepped forward. “This is England, not some tiny African state run by a power-drunk megalomaniac. Are you seriously telling me you’d have four people murdered? Just because they are inconvenient? That’s outrageous!”

  “Three people,” said Sir Peter. “Let’s be accurate. Three people and a replica who has no official existence.”

  Three of us spoke at once. “I am a person even if I’m unofficial!”

  The other Beth said, “She is a person even if she’s unofficial!”

  Matt said, “You’d never get away with it.”

  “He would,” Nick said. “He’d arrange a car crash with no survivors, maybe fake a suicide for Beth. Let him tell us his alternative.”

  Sir Peter didn’t deny it. He glanced over to the path, where a Dalmatian and its owner were passing, then round the group. “You don’t know it yet, but you’ve had a stroke of luck. Last week Richard McKinnis achieved what he set out to; a human replica with no independent autonomy, animated and controlled by its original. He’s proved he can repeat his results, too; he’s done it with six test subjects.”

  The other Beth and I looked at each other. That would be the Fubars …

  “Originally the plan was to secure a military advantage without disclosing our modus operandi. But the P.M. feels this not to be workable in the field, and besides, with the current government unpopularity, he wishes to go public personally with the good news. He’ll be doing that tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’m going to suggest you give a slightly different story to Panorama from the one you planned, one more in line with the P.M.’s triumphant announcement. I’ll tell you what to say, and you’ll agree to say it. With conviction.”

  Realpolitik was anathema to Matt, judging by his belligerent expression. I had to admire his complete disregard of the odds stacked against him. “What if we don’t?”

  “I think we’ve already covered that contingency, Dr. Reeve.”

  Nick took a more pragmatic view. “What’s in it for us?”

  “Apart from survival? Let’s take you first, Nick. I’m prepared to overlook your activities of the last couple of days; breaking the terms of your employment, assault, illegal trespass, theft. No tribunal, no prosecution under the Official Secrets Act.”

  “I’d keep my job?”

  “You’d keep your job.” Needle-sharp blue eyes turned my way. “We’d set you up with an identity; passport, P45, driving licence, etcetera. In addition, we’re prepared to offer you a one-off payment in compensation, shall we say a hundred thousand pounds?”

  This sounded pretty good to me; I could get a job and even a mortgage for a small flat, if I had a lump sum as a deposit. Just a studio flat somewhere central would be great …

  “What about me?” said the other Beth. “Would I get my job back with the Professor?”

  “Richard is most anxious to have you working with him again. He has not found your replacement to be satisfactory.”

  Now both of us were trying not to look pleased. It all sounded too good to be true, after what we’d been through. Matt was still scowling, his sense of fair dealing offended, and Nick looked wary. Of all of us, he was likely to have the best understanding of what was going on. I shivered and edged closer to him. Standing around in the cold reminded me of my time on the streets. I wondered what passers-by thought we were up to.

  “Dr. Reeve, I assume you will go along with the majority decision?”

  “He will.” Nick spoke for Matt, who glared at him and answered on his own account.

  “Not necessarily. I think it’s a preposterous idea. I’ll discuss it, but I’ll take some persuading.”

  Nick said, “Of course we’ll discuss it.” He turned to Sir Peter. “But first give us proof what you say about McKinnis is true.”

  “He’s waiting in my car. I take it you’ll believe his word? I’ll bring him over to talk to you.”

  “We’d also be interested in exactly what you’d want us to say on Panorama.”

  “It’s more a question of what you don’t say. Nothing about the abduction or capture of Miss Chandler or the replica, nothing suggesting there’s been a cover-up. Nothing that will reflect badly on the Security Service, in short, or government personnel. An alternative version of reality, if you like. I’ll give you a minute or two to think it over, while I fetch Richard.”

  He walked away from our group. We all looked rather bemused.

  “It’s going to mean a lot of lying,” the other Beth said, crinkling her brow. (Did I do that?) “I suppose I’d have to say I was working with Ben Pearson, and forgot to tell my father where I was … would anyone believe that?”

  “Easier for me,” Matt said. “I’d just say I befriended you when you were homeless, and apart from that stick to I Know Nothing. Though I’d rather bring that man to book, given a choice.”

  I said, “I’d have to say I got the wrong end of the stick thinking I was in danger, ran away, then luckily Nick found me.”

  “I reassured you that you were in no danger, Two. And were you grateful? No. Ingrate.”

  I grinned at Nick. He wasn’t so bad after all. I noticed that the other Beth had gone a bit quiet. She’d hung around with me rather than him at Matt’s sister’s house. I could understand why, even though she’d said very little about him that morning. He’d hunted me, but he hadn’t lied to me, whereas he’d told a pack of lies to her, and maybe this was harder to forgive. She hadn’t really spoken much to Nick since the row at breakfast. I’d got the impression he had tried and failed to get her on her own, and felt a bit sorry for him. But she’d relent: she was obviously dead keen on him.

  I said, “Can they possibly get away with this?”

  “Assuming Sir Peter’s levelling with us, why not? We’ve all got a pretty good incentive to play along. It just means being very careful what we say. As long as Matt doesn’t go all simple sword of truth on us.”

  “I’d prefer to stick to the facts,” Matt said, “but I can see I’ve got less to lose than the rest of you – apart from my life, of course – so I’ll go with the majority verdict.”

  I was beginning to feel less stressed. Maybe it would work out after all. I stamped my feet and looked around, wondering what was keeping Sir Peter and the Prof. The sky was darker and the air colder; the wind had dropped and nothing stirred in the fading light. It struck me how odd it was that I should be standing in a deserted London park on Christmas Day with two comparative strangers and my doppelgänger discussing lying on television at the behest of MI5. It would be nice to see the Prof again. No one was about; the dog owners had apparently had enough and gone home. I wondered if it wa
s going to rain. The other Beth wandered a couple of paces from our little group, looking up at a sky the colour of slate. I asked Nick what the journalist would make of the shift in our stories – he’d surely think it odd that we’d been so secretive when we turned up with Sir Peter, all the best of friends.

  A small noise, a pfft! sound, made me turn. The other Beth frowned and put a hand to her chest. Her legs buckled. Nick leaped past me and caught her before she hit the ground. He lowered her gently so she was lying on his knees, looking at her with shock and fear. Her eyes met his and she reached for his hand.

  “Nick …”

  Matt crouched by her and opened her jacket. Scarlet blotted her grey top. An indefinable change came over her face, a sort of dullness. Matt sat back, and I didn’t need him to tell me she was dead.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 43

  Realpolitik

  Sir Peter Ellis watched from a discreet distance as the ambulance drove over the grass to the three people crouched about the body. It stopped and six men jumped out. Nick put up a fight, as expected, but he had no chance against so many. They got control of him fairly quickly. Two of them held his arms while the body was moved into the ambulance and driven away in the growing dusk; two more checked the turf for blood, then stood by in case they were needed. Sir Peter walked over to the group and met three accusing gazes.

  Nick dragged his captors forward. He shouted, “Why did you do that? You didn’t have to do that!”

  “I’m afraid it was necessary. The problem is, Nick, I don’t think you can be trusted to do what you agreed. You might have decided on total disclosure after all. I couldn’t afford to take the risk. I always intended to terminate the replica, you knew that – the unintended result of a flawed experiment.”

  “You didn’t kill the replica! You killed Beth!”

  “Ah …” The girl pulled off her hood, exposing black hair, looking as if she might hit him. But Fraser and Sean would prevent her. He’d intended the sniper to pick off the replica; time passed and she’d stayed in a huddle with Nick and Reeve, so he’d told him to take the easy shot. “I’m sorry about that. Still, the crucial point is, we are now back to one Miss Chandler.” He turned to the replica. “You can take over where she left off – isn’t that what you wanted? A family, a flat, a job … The whole unfortunate business is over.”

  Dr. Reeve said icily, “I’m curious. Was there any truth at all in what you told us?”

  “Oh yes. Richard McKinnis, though he’s not here with me today, has indeed succeeded in achieving what he set out to do. He’s been working day and night. And the P.M. will be making his announcement tomorrow.”

  “If he’s going public, then why would it matter if people knew about the two Beths? That makes no sense.” After a moment’s thought, Reeve said, “Unless … Beth died to keep you looking good, didn’t she? In case the media got to hear about the way MI5 behaved. You didn’t want your reputation damaged. You didn’t want anything to spoil the Prime Minister’s announcement. But it happened, and we can still tell people.”

  “I’d advise you to think very carefully before you do that, Dr. Reeve. Making public a story you’re unable to substantiate can only lead to embarrassment. In any case, without proof, no one will print or broadcast what you have to tell them. They’d take the advice of their lawyers. Even a rag like Private Eye won’t touch it. Don’t think of trying to persuade Richard, by the way. He’d sympathize, but he has too much to lose to get involved in a forlorn hope.” He felt in his pocket. “Nick, your car keys and phone.” As both Nick’s arms were held in arm locks, he handed them to the replica – perhaps he should start to call her Beth Chandler – and returned his mobile to Reeve too. “Take some time off. You can report to me on the tenth of January.”

  “No. You think I’d work for you again? I quit.”

  Sir Peter was unsurprised by this. “I shall be sorry to lose you, Nick, but I understand and respect your feelings. Dr. Reeve, Miss Chandler.” He turned and walked across the grass towards the road and his car.

  Once Sir Peter was out of sight, the men relaxed their grip and retreated a couple of paces. “Sorry about that, Nick. Will you really not be coming back?”

  “Just fuck off, why don’t you?”

  The men exchanged glances and left. Nick took his keys and phone from Beth Two, not meeting her eyes. The lights along the path had come on, shining through bare branches, making the park darker by contrast. His voice was flat as he said, “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “He had her shot.” Her face was white, her eyes huge. She was shaking. “We’re not going to just let him get away with it, are we?”

  Nick said, “We’d be on a hiding to nothing. He was right.”

  “Perhaps we should do it anyway,” Matt said. “Democracy relies on people speaking out, corruption on them keeping quiet.”

  “A futile gesture? What’s the point?”

  “D’you think he’ll have cancelled our appointment with the journalist?”

  “No idea. Why?”

  “I think we should go and meet him, or someone else who doesn’t work for his brother-in-law. Because it’s not true we have no proof. I filmed the two Beths this morning, while you were using the computer.”

  “Not very conclusive, an amateur video of two similar women.”

  Beth Two said, “He didn’t just film us. He filmed us making fingerprints with shoe polish, and holding the paper up to the camera side by side.”

  “All in one take, in ultra high definition,” said Matt.

  Nick said, “Was it in your bag? They’ll have searched the car.”

  Matt shook his head. “It seemed foolish at the time, but I transferred it to a flash drive and put it in my shoe, just in case.”

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 44

  Enough

  We walked to Nick’s car, now neatly parked by the side of the road. I felt vulnerable and twitchy, afraid we might be being watched from the shadows, afraid the sniper would pick us off too, but I didn’t want to admit my fear. Matt’s bag was still under the driver’s seat, but his laptop and camcorder were missing. They hadn’t taken a folder containing notes, nor his copy of The Lancet. He opened it and there was the sheet of paper with the fingerprints. We drove back to Matt’s sister’s to look at the video. Matt went to put the key in the front door, and it swung open at his touch. The lock had been forced. Inside there were signs of a search; all the drawers were pulled out, bedclothes disturbed, cupboard contents on the floor.

  “Oh dear,” said Matt, “Manda’s not going to like this.”

  “They won’t have damaged anything, just taken any computers or cameras,” said Nick, fastening the chain on the door. “We can put it all away again.”

  Matt rang an emergency locksmith, who agreed to come immediately to repair the door, even though it was Christmas Day. He arrived within twenty minutes, and by the time he had finished and Matt had paid him an eye-watering sum, we’d put everything back – not necessarily in the right places, but at least the house looked tidy once more. It was probably a good thing we had something to occupy us. Then Nick drove us to his flat by the river and got out his laptop.

  Matt connected the memory stick. I noticed his fingers trembling as mine were. We sat in a row on the sofa, the laptop on the coffee table in front of us.

  “It’s only five minutes long. I wish I’d filmed more.” He clicked Play. My eyes filled with tears when I saw the other Beth sitting beside me at the dining table in the Clapham Common house earlier that day, grinning at me. How pretty her hair was, nicer than mine. We’d been so light-hearted, not taking the recording seriously, teasing Matt. It was hard to believe she was dead. I glanced at Nick. He looked haggard, watching her. A throat clearing, then Matt’s voice: “When you’re ready … would you introduce yourselves?”

  We said together, “I’m Beth Chandler,” then burst out laughing. She said, mock-soberly, “I’m the origin
al Beth Chandler, and this is a replica of me, made in Professor McKinnis’s OMD7 unit at the Marling Institute. You can tell she’s not me because she dyed her hair black.”

  “D’you think it suits me?” I asked her.

  “Yes, in a way … makes you look really goth. But you’ll have terrible roots to cope with when it grows out.”

  Matt’s voice again. “Apart from the hair, you are identical?”

  “Yes,” we both said. “And she has …” “And I have …” She waved at me to continue. “I have exactly the same memories as she does of our entire life, apart from the past two weeks when I went on the run from MI5. The Security Service.”

  Matt’s voice: “I’ll ask you about that in a minute, but first let’s demonstrate that you are physically the same. Unlike identical twins, your fingerprints exactly match. I’d like to get that on video. Can you hold your right hand up to the lens in turn? ”

  Fingers filled the screen as I held my hand up for several seconds – you could see the scratches I’d got from the barbed wire in the field – then she did the same.

  “Both hold your right index fingers up together. Great. Now let’s do the fingerprints.”

  I took the lid off a new tin of black Cherry Blossom, and we both carefully blackened all our fingertips. Matt had laid out a sheet of A4 in front of us on the table; a ruled line divided it, on one side of which Matt had written BETH 1, on the other BETH 2. First I then the other Beth pressed our fingers and afterwards our thumbs on the paper, rolling them the way Matt had shown us when we practised, trying to get the best possible marks. We finished and sat back.