Replica

by Lexi Revellian

  “He stood them down after they missed you at the Institute. He’s had a change of heart, decided brute strength isn’t the way to go, he wants to sort this out amicably.”

  “But he could just be saying that …”

  The yelp of a dog came down the line. “Fred, George, get out from under my feet. It’s your own fault if you get trodden on. Sorry, Beth, stupid dogs … What about meeting me first? You know you can trust me.”

  “Okay, where?”

  “Where would suit you? It’ll take me an hour and a half or so to drive to central London and park. Better allow two hours.”

  I thought. “Paddington Station, under the clock.”

  “Is there a clock in Paddington Station? Okay, then, I’ll meet you there at midnight or a little after.”

  “Pat Fred and George for me.”

  He laughed. For the first time in the conversation his voice warmed, and he sounded his normal relaxed self. “I’ll do that. See you, Beth.”

  I replaced the receiver, and left Kings Cross station to look for a chip shop. No rush, plenty of time to get to Paddington, had I intended to go there.

  The Prof might be absent-minded, but he hadn’t forgotten what he’d called his own dogs. He’d been trying to warn me.

  I left Kings Cross and wandered around the crowded Friday night streets till I found a fish and chip shop. A portion of chips cost one pound fifty. I counted five pences and handed them over.

  “Break into your piggy bank, did you? Salt on them?”

  I smiled nervously. “Yes please.”

  I returned to the bus stops outside the station. Lots of people were standing, sitting, or milling about in an irregular sort of queue, so I felt fairly safe. I leaned against the bus shelter wall and opened the paper bag. The chips were the most delicious ever; almost too hot, salty, just the right mix of crispness and squashiness. I made myself eat them slowly.

  A bendy bus drew in before I’d half finished. This was the bus the crowd had been waiting for; they surged forward, and I noticed several went to the third door at the end of the bus. Suddenly I remembered one of my friends at uni. Scott used to call bendy buses ‘free buses’, as you could get in via the exit and most likely the driver, thirteen metres away taking fares, wouldn’t see you. If he did, he probably wouldn’t make an issue of it. I drifted away from the front of the bus and slipped inside, passing passengers coming off. The bus started. As I sat in the corner seat at the back after this illicit act, a feeling of elation and well-being surprised me and made me smile. I’d avoided paying a fare I couldn’t afford; I’d still got plenty of chips left; I was nearly warm; and they hadn’t caught me yet.

  I decided to get off the bus as soon as I’d finished the chips and assessed my financial situation. Central London was as safe as anywhere. I’d be one of millions, lost in a crowd, on familiar territory. I had friends here who might help me, vital because I doubted I could survive on my own. My pursuers knew I knew they knew I was here, so they might well think my impulse would be to go elsewhere – staying would be a double-bluff.

  Once I’d eaten the very last crispy bits from the corners of the bag, I screwed it up, fished out my coins and counted them, transferring them twenty at a time from one pocket to another. Fourteen pounds thirty-nine, less than I’d hoped; but surely this mess would get sorted out very soon, perhaps tomorrow. I got off the bus at the next stop. The biting wind hit me; I had a quick change of plan and turned to get back on. Too late, the doors closed in my face.

  The lit up dome of St Paul’s shone against the night sky. Turning my back to the cathedral I set off down city streets deserted apart from the odd bar or restaurant. I seemed to have reached the end of my resources; I couldn’t think what was best to do; my mind had stopped working. Maybe ideas would come to me tomorrow. Better find somewhere to sleep. What I needed was an empty building to hide in, some disused place no one would find me. There was nothing like that; everywhere was corporate and well-kept. I trudged on, so weary I’d have been tempted to lie down on the pavement had it not been freezing. The Barbican loomed ahead of me – a good place to go tomorrow for a wash, and I could lurk in the big public spaces and spend time in the library on their comfy chairs. But closed now. What about their car park, though? That would be out of the wind.

  The ramp was bright with lights. I went down the dark steps cut through the banked shrubbery, which brought me out beside the attendant’s booth. I walked past, trying to appear brisk and normal as if collecting my car. The man didn’t even look up. Onwards to the furthest corner, up stairs and into an area with bicycle stands, where the air was warmer. Strip lights came on. Next to a stack of bricks, two huge Mitsubishi Electric fans hummed, the top one breathing hot air, and I held my hands up to thaw them.

  At the far side, steps led down to a locked door with a notice, DANGER 475 VOLTS AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY. In the too-small space in front of it, I curled awkwardly on the dusty concrete floor, my head on a newspaper I’d found abandoned on the bricks, and waited for sleep. The lights went off. The fans were noisier in the dark. I wished I had a sleeping bag. I thought of the other Beth, snug in bed in my cosy flat; safe. I wondered if she’d bought fish and chips as planned, and perhaps drunk a glass of wine with it.

  I didn’t feel good; maybe the Prof had been wrong, and this body wouldn’t last long; maybe it was already decaying and breaking up. I sat up. A hot wave of panic raced through me, and when it passed I felt frail, vulnerable, and considerably worse. Please don’t let me die … I breathed deeply, and reasoned with myself. The Prof was probably right, there was nothing I could do either way, and if I died at least my problems would be over. Not the most cheering of thoughts … lie down, go to sleep.

  Cold, misery, fear and discomfort battled with exhaustion, but exhaustion won in the end.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 9

  Back home

  Beth passed an uneasy night alone in the strange room in the safe house, and woke to the clunk of central heating pipes and a steely grey dawn. Now she sat, showered and dressed, on the side of the bed waiting to be told what to do next, trying to read one of the novels and hoping Inky Pink had been all right without her. A sharp rap on the door made her jump.

  “Come in!”

  Sir Peter Ellis entered the room, holding out her mobile phone, house keys and car keys like a birthday present. “Beth! I do hope this hasn’t been too dismal for you.” He glanced around. “It’s certainly not the Ritz, but the main thing is you’ve been safe.”

  Beth smiled and took her keys and phone. She could ring Rob. “Can I go home now?”

  “Indeed you may. Fraser will deliver you to your doorstep. Are you ready?” Relieved, Beth picked up her handbag. Sir Peter took her plastic bag and they headed down the stairs. “If you don’t mind, if it’s not a terrible bore, I’d like you to meet some of the chaps working on this thing. They’ve been up all night. They’re downstairs having a cup of coffee, and I know they’d like to meet you.”

  He led her into the office on the ground floor. Sitting around at the computers or perched on the desks were a dozen men in dark clothes, holding mugs and eating digestive biscuits. The buzz of conversation died as she walked in. They all stared at her, which she found embarrassing. Sir Peter took her round the room, introducing each of the men. Beth didn’t take in their names; she kept saying thank you, not knowing what else to say, blushing and feeling awkward. She’d never been subjected to so many intense gazes in her life, not even the time she’d joined a new school mid-term and the teacher introduced her to her classmates; or that worse time she’d been singing the solo at a school Christmas concert and forgotten the words. One man took photos of her on his phone, as if she was a celebrity or something. It all seemed a bit odd. She was pleased to get out of the house and see Fraser sitting at the wheel of the jeep.

  Turning to say goodbye, Beth asked, “So did you find the terrorists?”

  “Yes and no.” Sir Peter
frowned as he opened the rear door for her. “The police have made a couple of arrests, but I’m afraid we haven’t yet discovered who’s behind it.”

  “Oh. So does that mean I’m still at risk?”

  “I’ll be completely frank with you, Beth; I don’t know. But I can tell you we’ll be taking steps to ensure your safety, and that of your friends and family. So don’t worry. If you should notice one of our men hanging around, you’ll know he’s there to protect you and won’t be alarmed. That’s one reason I wanted you to meet them. When you telephone a friend or relative, you may be asked for a password. It’s Heracles.”

  “Heracles. I’ll remember.” Beth got in the car; Fraser started the engine and eased it on to the road.

  Sir Peter returned to the office, shut the door behind him and scanned the room until he was sure everyone’s eyes were on him, apart from the burly dark haired man who continued to download photos from his phone at a computer in the corner.

  “So now you know who you’re looking for. That girl, but in men’s jeans and a maroon top with a hood, unless she’s had the chance to change again. Forensics have put together a full set of fingerprints so we’ll be alerted if she breaks in anywhere else and update our description of what she’s likely to be wearing. We’ll circulate those photos to every man on the ground and prime the CCTV cameras to recognize her. Remember, with no money or home, she’s most likely to approach someone she knows for help. She’s done this once already – what we don’t know is why she didn’t show up at Paddington to meet Professor McKinnis. Most probably because he sounded strained and she smelt a rat. With luck we’ll intercept her at the next attempt, before anyone sees her or talks to her. Back at Centre Katie is monitoring phone calls to everyone on the list of friends and relations, and Ian’s doing the emails. We’ve got physical surveillance on all her contacts within a ten mile radius.”

  “Why ten miles? She got to London with no money, and that’s the best part of twenty miles.” The man in the corner switched on the printer and spoke without looking up. “If she hitched, she can do it again. She could be in Scotland by now.”

  Sir Peter’s mouth tightened. “Thank you, Nick. We have her father’s house under observation.” He addressed the room once more. “She must have got lucky, but luck doesn’t last for ever. You’ll be spending part of your time on surveillance, you’ve been given your shifts, but what I also want you to do is outsmart her. That shouldn’t be difficult. She’s just a secretary – a secretary who dropped out of university. There’s no reason to believe she’s particularly resourceful. I want this cleared up fast. Your job is to think yourself into her mind, work out what you’d do in her position, and get there first.”

  The dark haired man murmured, “We could’ve asked the real one what she’d do. Might have saved time.”

  Sir Peter gave him a quelling glance. “Yes, Nick, at the expense of spelling out to her exactly what had happened. You don’t need to be a genius to put two and two together.” He turned to the others. “Remember to be careful what you say on open lines.” His mobile rang and he got it out. “Yes? … … … Right.” He put the phone away. “It appears she does have a limited amount of money. The owner of the flat saved five pence pieces in a bottle. Some of them are missing, about fifteen pounds’ worth, he reckons.”

  “Only some of them?”

  “Too scrupulous to take them all, I expect. With that attitude she won’t get far. But she might have caught a coach, train or tube out of London. Better get going.”

  Nick had the air of addressing no one in particular, as he moved round the room handing out photos. “So she got herself to London, gave Paul and Dario the slip, stole some practical clothes and a little money, and didn’t fall into the trap we set for her. Maybe she’s better at this than you think.”

  After a silent journey, the jeep reached Islington and streets she knew. Beth smiled when she saw Inky Pink on her doorstep, watching their approach down the cul de sac. Her car was parked nearby; they’d driven it back for her like Sir Peter said they would. She thanked Fraser.

  “No problem.” He put the jeep into gear, turned it and departed.

  How nice to be home … Beth looked around the familiar cul de sac. One of the builders at number twenty-two gave her a wave and she smiled shyly back. Inky Pink ran to her and rubbed against her legs. “Inkers …” She picked him up and tickled him behind the ear. “Did you miss me last night? I missed you.” The cat purred. Carrying him, Beth walked to the front door and fished for her keys. A smell of gloss paint … something was different – the door frame was new. The door was the same, with the dents and scratches of a hundred years, but it now had a coat of fresh shiny black like the frame. When she touched it, the surface was slightly tacky, just dry enough not to show the mark of her finger. She frowned. Something must have happened last night Sir Peter hadn’t told her about.

  Beth went up the stairs and let herself in. It looked reassuringly just as she’d left it, nothing out of place; the central heating had turned itself on and the flat was warm and cosy. Lovely to be home. Inky Pink knew strangers had been in, though. He paced delicately round the carpet, his nose twitching.

  “It’s okay, Inky, they’re on our side. And they’ve gone now. Would you like some breakfast?”

  Beth gave the cat his food, watered the weeping fig, then changed into comfortable jeans and a sweater and opened the cupboard door to make herself a cup of coffee. The teabags were in front of the sugar instead of their usual place. She moved them back and switched the kettle on, slightly unsettled. Coffee made, she took it to the sofa with a packet of Hobnobs and opened her laptop. No Microsoft fanfare – for a moment she thought, darn, has the sound gone again? Then she saw it had been turned off, and it occurred to her that Sir Peter’s men had gone into her computer while they were in the flat as well as making themselves a hot drink. She felt indignant beyond all reason. She tried to argue away her anger; of course if they were trying to protect her contacts it was quite reasonable to search her emails; it was for her own good, and the laptop contained nothing very private anyway. Her life was so ordinary, what they saw of it had probably bored them into a coma. It really didn’t matter, and there was no point getting in a tizz.

  She opened her inbox. Just one from Ros with a funny story about her latest disastrous date. Beth felt too cross and unsettled to be amused. She decided to tell Rob all about last night, and see what he said. Rob was good at making things all right. He seldom got in a state over anything, and Beth found his easy-going, calm approach to life soothing; it was his main attraction, apart from his good nature. She smiled as she pictured his smiling face; she was lucky to have such a nice boyfriend.

  She picked up the phone and dialled his mobile, glancing at her watch.

  “Bethie, hi.” Rob sounded half-asleep. “You’re ringing very early. What time is it?”

  “Nine fifteen.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  In the background Beth heard, indistinctly, a murmured protest. Her heart raced. “Who’s that? Where are you?”

  “No one. Don’t get paranoid, Bethie.”

  “I heard a voice! A woman’s voice.” Pause. “Are you at Chloe’s?” Another pause. “You are, aren’t you?”

  “Now Beth, don’t make a big thing of this. We got talking last night, that’s all, and it got late and Chloe suggested I stayed over.”

  For a few seconds Beth sat, motionless, as anger, resentment and a sense of betrayal boiled within her. Then she put the receiver down and burst into tears.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 10

  Chloe

  I had a terrible night. The cold woke me, and I don’t think it’s possible to sleep with freezing feet, particularly when you are worrying about not having a life any more and sinister secret police-type people hunting you. Now and then I had to get up and jump about to warm up, and whenever I did the lights came on. I dozed fitfully on and off until two security men shone
a torch on me and told me to go. At first I thought they were Sir Peter’s spec ops, and was so relieved when I realized they weren’t I didn’t mind being turfed out of my hiding place. I wandered around for the rest of that interminable night, crouching in sheltered corners till the cold forced me to move.

  As the sky paled to grey, I made my way to the Barbican Centre and waited outside for it to open, which it did at eight o’clock. The Ladies on the first floor is really good because the cubicles are quite big, with no gaps under the door and their own wash basins. I washed my face in blissful hot water, then drank from cupped hands, water trickling down my sleeve. I slept curled up, warm if uncomfortable, and only emerged when a cleaner did her rounds. Anxious eyes stared back at me from the mirror as I checked my appearance for respectability. My hair, squashed all night by the hat, was dishevelled and flattened to my skull, my face pallid and my eyes anxious. I felt grubby. Nothing to be done about it. I pulled the hat back on, put up the hood and went and sat on a sofa to think. The wide public areas were busier than when I’d arrived. I noticed a CCTV camera; then saw they were all over the place. But I’d worked out a plan. I got up to go.

  My prime objective had to be to get to the other Beth, and tell her what had happened. She’d help me, and together we could find a reporter, appear on television and in the papers, and then I’d be safe. But they’d guard her more closely than anyone, so I needed an intermediary. Rob was risky because he was obvious and would be watched, but he would be best because he knew me and cared about me. So, to get to Rob in order to get to the other Beth I needed a friend of his who wasn’t on any of my lists of friends and relations. Not in my diary, not on my phone, not on my computer.

  Chloe. I didn’t want to ask her for help, I wished there was someone else, but there wasn’t.