“Copy that. Go ahead, over.”
“Can you confirm for me what’s there at the scene? What type of transmitter have you found?”
“Is Mr. Ballantyne still there?” said the agent, having no other choice but to use his name.
“We are both listening,” confirmed Mark.
“The transmitter. It’s one of ours, Sir. Over.” Mark looked at Forrester, who mirrored his expression of gormless astonishment.
“Jedi, what are you saying? That it’s our equipment there?” Mark couldn’t believe that. Who would be there from his team?
“That’s what it looks like, Sir.” Mark raced over to the station where the technician was still desperately working to get the satellite up and running. He wanted to know where they were. Exactly.
“I want eyes on the ground. Get me that location,” he ordered as he approached the workbench. Forrester was joining him, and as respectfully as he could with his frayed patience, he nudged the technician out of his seat and took over. Within moments he could see the clarity of the image improving as the pixels increased in number, bringing the cottage into view. “Where is that?” asked Mark.
“Just a moment, and we’ll have it better.” Forrester played with the settings, and sure enough, his years of experience were put to good use as the image of the white cottage came into view. As the picture loaded and Forrester rotated the image in order to bring the walls and the once perfectly constructed front door into view, Mark took an audible breath in as he realised the familiar sight before him. “Where is that?” Forrester asked.
Mark didn’t have time to answer as he pulled the headset from his ears and tossed it back down on the table. Racing up the steps he burst through the double doors, leaving behind him nothing but a room full of confused faces.
TWENTY
With every step that Mark took towards his office, his anger grew to a capacity that he had never expected or felt the presence of before. As he paced through the bright white corridors devoid of life with almost the whole department on the tail of nothing more than a transmitter, there were no other sounds to muffle the clip clop of his footsteps. They ticked along like a second hand counting down time, a constant reminder that it could be too late.
As he turned the corner into the corridor which connected to his office, he breathed. At the other end of the corridor stood Hannah, Matthew in her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist. Mark quickened his pace, and he saw that as he inched closer towards her, she too took longer strides. But Hannah was burdened, and Matthew slowed her down.
There was only one set of stairs between them, and it looked to Mark that he was closer than she was. The brow of the stairs became his only focus, a way to block her exit. His best weapon for negotiation was in her arms, and there was no way that once he had her, that she or Ben would escape him again. He knew it was Hannah that had betrayed him.
As Mark reached the top of the staircase Hannah hesitated, realising she would no longer be able to get there before him. Her pace stuttered and she almost tripped over. Her feet came to a sudden stop only a meter and a half away from the stairs. It was her only safe exit. She looked at her watch. She had less than five minutes left.
“Catherine, are you in a hurry?” His voice was kind, amiable, but the simplicity and softness of his words was a mere mask. The ice cold sensation they instilled as they picked up the hairs on her arms seemed more menacing than anything she had experienced in his presence before. She knew something was wrong immediately.
“Um, no. Not in a hurry,” she lied. “Just want to get this little man home.” She smiled a half smile and ruffled Matthew’s hair. His fingers gripped like claws around her shoulders. As Mark approached them she instinctively took a step backwards, but it was foolish for it betrayed her fear and simultaneously her guilt. Matthew however had no such guard, and giggled affectionately as Mark reached out to touch his face.
“You’re a bit of a big boy to be carried aren’t you?” he said to Matthew. From the grumpy frown that spread across Matthew’s face, he agreed with Mark’s sentiment.
“Mummy said I had to be carried.” He hung his face to cover his shame at the overbearing nature of his mother’s control.
“Come on,” Mark said, as he reached out to place his hands under Matthew’s armpits. Hannah held on tight and took another step backwards. She hitched Matthew upwards and as her hand cupped the back of his head, she pulled his face in towards her.
“I just want to get him home, as you said. It’s best for him now.”
“Sorry, Catherine,” he said as he took another step closer. “We have a few minor details that need to be rectified before you leave.” His eyes lingered on the back of Matthew’s head as he picked at the locks of his hair with meticulous precision. He turned back to face Hannah. “Before either of you leave.”
“Mummy,” Matthew asked, “why is Uncle Mark calling you Catherine?”
“It’s just a silly game, baby,” she said, smiling as much to reassure herself as Matthew.
“No, Matthew, Mummy is wrong. It’s not a silly game.” Matthew, encouraged by his inclusion in the conversation fought against the weakening grip of his mother, squirming with the willowy flexibility of youth. Soon Matthew was looking at Mark, but found no common meeting point, and instead saw that Mark’s eyes were fixated on Hannah. Matthew looked back up to his mother’s face, white as an Ionian villa. He was too young to recognise the presence of fear in the face of another, but her pallor and latent expression made him uneasy. “But she will realise her mistake now, and will come with me so that we can solve our little problem. Anyway Matthew, you must have missed Daddy, and he is on his way now to meet us here.” Before she could summon the diminishing strength in her arms, Matthew had contorted his way free, wriggling wormlike to the ground.
For a moment she watched in shock as Mark led Matthew away, dumfounded and clinging to the rail of the stairway that should have been her getaway only moments before. She looked at her watch. Four minutes. She had no choice but to follow Mark. Up until now she had pushed forwards like a rampant tsunami wave, pushing onwards bringing forth destruction, flattening any object that stood in her path. Yet now as she stood as a lifeless victim watching Mark spirit away her son, she was the one left behind amongst the debris, the tatters of life laying scattered about her feet. But with their backs to her and some distance between them it gave her enough space to think, and reconsider a new path. It gave her enough time to remember the steel holstered on her hip, and how she was faster than Mark every single time. She picked up her pace, and with only a hairs distance between them, she drew her weapon.
“No further, Mark. Stand where you are.” He heard the familiar click as she slid back the top section of the weapon, engaging the bullet in its rightful position. She pressed the barrel of the gun into his side, pushing it deeply, directing the nose of it up inside his shoulder blade. She angled it so that in a single shot she could strike his heart with a trajectory that would miss Matthew in any of the scenarios that she calculated. He stood still, but Matthew had not comprehended the situation, and looked back towards his mother. “Matthew, don’t turn around. Close your eyes.”
He did instinctively as his mother told him, whipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, wrinkling up the youthful skin around them. Mark also turned his head, just enough to get a side eye glimpse of Hannah. He could see her bent up arm and clenched jaw, and the pushing that he felt in his side was unmistakable as she thrust the gun in a little harder. It was a sensation that he had never felt before, but knew without any doubts what it was.
“Do you think I am stupid, Catherine?” He allowed a tiny smirk of a smile to creep over his thin lips, and the sight of them made her feel physically sick. “Actually, don’t answer that,” he scoffed. “Just take a look underneath my jacket, on the left.” Her first thought was that Matthew was also on the left side of him. Immediately she feared what she may discover as she realised that Mark’s right arm
was not hanging by his side, but instead was wrapped around his belly in the direction of Matthew. She lifted up the flap of his jacket to see his milky white hand curled around a gun, his bony fingers placed on the trigger and the nose angled towards Matthew’s body. Every thought of escape fell away from her, peeling away like old paint and crumbling to the floor. Her right hand fell away from Mark’s body, knowing there was no more room for negotiation. There was a gun aimed at her son. No matter what else happened, she could not so blatantly risk his life.
“That’s better. Matthew,” he said, as he ruffled his fingers through his hair, “you better open your eyes now.” He stood there, eyes clenched, disobedient of his command.
“It’s okay, baby. Do as Uncle Mark says.” Her words repulsed every fibre of her body as she told her son to obey his command. She watched as Mark patted his fair curls back into place, and then rested his hand down onto Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew opened his eyes, and for a moment Hannah felt she could see the look of understanding on his face, that somewhere in the moments of blindness he had seen the truth, and that Mark was not to be trusted.
“Now you run towards my office and go and sit in the big chair. My chair. Mummy and I are following.” He handed Matthew his access card and told him to swipe it against the screen outside the door. Matthew looked towards his mother, who nodded her head reassuringly, and although he remained hesitant, Matthew walked towards Mark’s office. Mark turned to face her, the real Mark, the one she had never known existed.
“Catherine, get the fuck in my office.”
He pulled her forwards and she began to followed Matthew. She sneaked a glance at her watch and could see that she had only three minutes left until she was supposed to call Ben. She thought about him sitting in the car, the three passports to a new life in his hands, watching his wrist as the seconds ticked down. She thought about the plans of the building which she had studied extensively as a student and tried to recall all of the exits and the corridors that potentially could lead her to safety. She knew that with Mark behind her and Matthew just entering his office her options were limited.
Matthew stood and watched his mother only meters behind him, and turned to her for approval before he entered the office. Before she could nod her head, Mark was at her side, and gripped her arm in his fist.
“In you go,” he shouted to Matthew. Mark pulled Hannah forwards, and within seconds they were all in the office. Matthew ran as instructed and sat in the oversized leather chair, and Mark pushed Hannah’s shoulders with just enough force to make her sit down in one of the smaller, more uncomfortable visitors chairs. Matthew sat still, his knees together and feet dangling beneath him, his hands gripping the armrests. Mark slammed the door shut behind them, encasing them in the office.
Mark peeled off his jacket and threw it against the leather sofa that lined the far wall. It fell in a heap, but it left a trail of tension that hung over the room like an oppressive smog. He placed Hannah’s gun on top of the cabinet in the corner of the room, amongst photographs of important political figures. He holstered his at his side. Mark had beads of sweat forming on his brow, and he turned, one hand placed on his hips, the other across his mouth. He looked at Hannah first, and then towards Matthew, who was staring back, wide-eyed and terrified.
“Matthew,” he began as he sat on the edge of the desk, facing him. “I’m going to tell you a story. It’s very interesting, and it’s about a little girl called Catherine Marie Mulligan. Have you ever heard a story about her before?” Matthew shook his head in denial. Mark turned to Hannah, and with a false sense of shock, cupped his hand across his mouth. “You never told him about Catherine Marie Mulligan? Well, Matthew, let me tell you about this very clever little girl.
“Catherine was born in Ireland. You know where that is don’t you?” He nodded his head. “Catherine’s daddy was a very important man, and he did lots of very important work. And do you know, Matthew, that her daddy was so clever that the Queen of England asked him to leave Ireland and come back to England to work. In this very office. He would come in everyday, do lots of important things that helped to keep lots of people safe, and Catherine and her mummy would stay at home. Sometimes Catherine didn’t even have to go to school.”
“Every little girl has to go to school, Uncle Mark.”
“Not if they are extra special. Like you, Matthew. You haven’t had to go to school this week have you?” Matthew thought for a moment, and shook his head. “Because you are very special too. Like little Catherine. But she had a problem, Matthew. Do you know what that problem was?” Mark stood up and placed his hands on the desk and leaned in so that he could speak quietly. He looked at Hannah and then back to Matthew. “Secretly, Catherine’s daddy was a bad man. He was a very, bad man.”
“But the Queen asked him to come to England. She wouldn’t ask a bad man to come to England.”
“But she did, Matthew. It didn’t matter that he was bad, as long as it was a secret. But he forgot that it was supposed to be a secret, and Catherine’s daddy made lots of other men very angry.” Matthew looked towards his mother, who sat uncomfortably in her visitors chair as she relived the story of her youth, which had an end that she had no desire to recollect.
“That’s enough, Mark. Matthew doesn’t need to hear this.” Hannah looked down at her watch. The ten minute window that she had was almost up, and she thought of Ben sitting in the car checking his watch, counting down the last moments.
“I’ll decide that. Matthew wants to hear the story, because afterwards he will get to see his daddy again. You want that, don’t you, Matthew?” Matthew was nervous, his smile sheepish. He was excited at the prospect of his father’s reappearance but he was uncertain if he should really trust Uncle Mark. But he was scared enough not to question him. He nodded. “So one day, when little Catherine Mulligan was playing at home, a very angry man came into her house. Catherine was very clever though, and she hid away in a cupboard so that he couldn’t find her, and she stayed there for two days.”
“Like Harry Potter.”
“Yes, like Harry Potter, Matthew. You’ve got it.” Mark crouched down at the side of Matthew’s chair and his knees creaked like an old door as he leaned in closer to whisper in Matthew’s ear, loud enough for Hannah to hear. His eyes fixated on Hannah who squirmed in her chair. “But do you know what happened to her mummy?” Matthew shook his head, uncertain that he wanted to hear the end of the story.
“The bad man took her away. Forever. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because she wouldn’t tell them where Catherine’s daddy was. All she had to do was tell them where Catherine’s daddy was, but she wouldn’t.” From inside the desk Mark revealed a beige cardboard file, and instantly Hannah feared it to be her own. He turned it around and slid it across the desk, his hand stretched out, pushing her past towards her, imprisoning her with it. He opened the file, and confirming her worst fears she saw her own young naive face staring back at her. He leafed through the papers, turning them over for her to see. She had no time to read them, but she didn’t need to, she knew what was there. It was her whole life in written form. As he worked through the paperwork, she saw the photographs tucked underneath the psychological assessments. She saw records of her schooling, her university days, old boyfriends and extended family. First job. First car. She recognised the image of her father without a second glance, when he was younger and larger, and didn’t live in hiding. She saw the photograph of the boathouse cottage just coming into view as he moved other papers from the top of it. Matthew was watching a scene unravel before him which he didn’t understand, and he fiddled with the armrests for a distraction, picking at the leather trying to make a hole as if he were Alice and could escape down it.
“Matthew, I don’t know where your daddy is. That’s the truth. But I want to know. I want to help him see you again. Your mummy doesn’t want to tell me where he is. She doesn’t want me to help him.”
“Mark stop it.�
� He ignored her plea.
“She doesn’t want to tell me. Do you remember what happened to Catherine’s mummy when she wouldn’t tell the bad man where Catherine’s daddy was?”
“My daddy is not a bad man like Catherine’s daddy was.” Pride and fear for her son welled up inside of Hannah. She looked at her watch and knew ten minutes had passed.
“I need to know where he is though. And only your mummy knows. She has to tell me, Matthew.”
“My daddy is not a bad man,” Matthew repeated, summoning all of his bravery, his teeth clenched, chest puffed out. He could barely breathe. “Why do you want to know?”
Mark leaned in closer still, almost resting his chin onto Matthew’s shoulder as he whispered again in his ear. “Because your mummy has been very bad, and if she doesn’t tell me where he is, you will never see her again.”
As he uttered the final words, he turned his head back to look at Hannah who he expected to see sitting at the desk opposite him. He wanted to make sure that she had heard every single threat that peppered his lies. Instead he found an empty chair. Hannah had slipped out of it and with her had taken the agency regulation paperweight from the desk. She raised her hand in the air, but Mark lunged backward, unsteadying her, sending the paperweight tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud. He thrust his hands forward and took her by the neck, his fingers slipping around the shape of it, forcing her backwards onto the leather settee. They fell together, him on top of her, his knee falling heavily into her side, winding her.
“Where is he, Catherine!” he screamed, as he pushed harder into her neck. He felt her struggling for breath beneath him. “You’re playing with your lives! It’s over, just tell me!” Suddenly aware of movement behind him, he turned to see the door that leads to the underground bunker closing behind him. “No!” he screamed as he leapt up to catch it. In his haste he tripped over Hannah’s foot, and as he fell to the ground he landed on the sharp edge of the paperweight, opening up a gash at the level of his ribs. Through the small opening that was gradually closing he saw Matthew running down the white corridor towards the safety of the bunker. He had discarded Mark’s access card on the floor of the corridor, just out of reach. Before he could get to his feet the door had locked shut, sealing Matthew away from either his or Hannah’s grasp.
Identity X Page 18