Replica

by Lexi Revellian

  With no street lights or nearby houses, the night was darker than you ever get in London, which made the going hard. The hedge thinned, but when I tried to climb through, barbed wire snatched at my clothes and scratched my hands. I turned and struck out across the field, running upright, hoping he wouldn’t notice me in the blackness. The further I got before he realized I’d scarpered the more chance I had. Looking over my shoulder I saw with a jolt torchlight playing along the hedge. The field was enormous and empty, with no sign of the cover on the far side I’d hoped for, but at least I was out of reach of the torch’s beam.

  I heard the sound of an engine starting. For an insane second I couldn’t believe my luck – he was leaving – then undipped headlights swept across the grass. He’d driven into the field. A few more moments and the lights found me, bright as a spotlight. I could see the hedge now and ran for it, while the car bumped fast over the grass, inexorably closing the gap. It overtook me and stopped. Nick leaped out. I knew he’d get me, but I dodged and kept going until he grabbed my arm. I lashed out with my free hand at his face, and found myself flying through the air. I landed on my back in the soaking grass, winded. He rolled me on my front and fastened my hands once more, saying nothing, his knee pinning me to the ground, hauled me upright and bundled me back in the passenger seat.

  I was wet, muddy, bruised, out of breath and angry. He was grim-faced, a scratch on his cheekbone showing where my nail had caught him. He drove out of the field and on to the road.

  We both stared straight ahead, racing through the night in a hostile silence.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 35

  Reprimand

  Nick cursed himself for letting her fool him. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for it. If she’d got away, he’d have had to tell Pete and look a complete prat. Probably because the real Beth was so gentle and honest, he hadn’t thought her capable of turning on the tears like that to get her own way. Though perhaps it was genuine, and she just took her chance when it came. For a moment or two back there, he’d felt so sorry for her, he hadn’t been sure he could hand her over. He gave her a sidelong glance. She wasn’t crying now, she looked furious. It was a relief in a way; he had felt bad while she was sobbing her heart out. To be honest, he still felt bad, but he wasn’t going to let it get to him.

  He glanced at the sat nav. Almost there; that collection of buildings looming ahead in the first light of a grey dawn must be the place. He wanted to get shot of Beth Two, collect Beth and get out as quickly as possible. He pulled in at the brightly-lit security post beside the steel gate and showed his I.D.. The man made a phone call and bent to the car window, pointing.

  “Follow the drive round to the left, that white building, B block, and you’ll find a covered entrance. They’re expecting you.”

  He pressed a button and the gate slid open. Nick drove through landscaped grounds, past car parks and various houses and offices, and parked immediately outside a double door in a two storey modern flat-roofed block. He got out of the car and went round to the passenger side and opened the door. For a moment her eyes met his, her face as white as paper. He was thinking he’d have to carry her, when her chin lifted and she climbed out on her own and stalked ahead of him. The double doors slid open, and two hefty men in matching drab shirts and trousers stood up.

  Nick cut Beth’s wrists free and looked around. “Where’s Sir Peter?”

  “He’ll be in his office. Wharton House, you’ll find it if you follow the road round. You can leave her with us.”

  “I understood he’d be here. Just wait one moment while I call him.” Nick got out his phone. Pete answered on the first ring.

  “Nick, you found us, excellent.”

  “Yes. We’re in B Block. I thought you’d be here. Where’s Beth?”

  “Sitting opposite me, having a cup of coffee, waiting for you to take her back to London.”

  “Can I speak to her?”

  “Best not while you’re with the other one. The men will tell you how to find my office.”

  The line went dead. Nick hesitated, wondering if Pete was up to something, wishing he’d got Ollie with him. Beth Two stood a little way apart, her eyes flicking round the room, not looking at the two men. But she had no value as a bargaining chip. With her at large, the case for disappearing Beth permanently was overwhelming.

  He made up his mind and headed for the exit. Something made him look over his shoulder; Beth Two was passing through a door held open by one of the men, looking slight and vulnerable, her head turned, watching him go out of big scared eyes. Their gazes locked, and his stomach churned as if he was witnessing the real Beth being taken to a disagreeable fate. He reminded himself she was a duplicate, an anomaly, for his purposes merely a trade-off for the original, and walked away.

  Job done; but he experienced none of his usual satisfaction. A sour taste lingered in his mouth.

  Wharton House turned out to be comfortable red brick with bow windows and gables, lone representative of the Edwardian era among modern purpose-built blocks. Nick parked beside a Range Rover he imagined was standing in for the wrecked Jaguar. He sat for a moment, rubbing his hands over his face. He could do with a shave. The grey sky was probably as light as it was going to get; rain fell steadily. He shook off a feeling of foreboding – he needed sleep and food, that was all – and got out of the car.

  Sir Peter answered the bell himself, immaculately attired as ever in a hand-made suit. “Well done, Nick, you did it in the end.”

  This unprecedented approbation increased Nick’s doubts. He followed Sir Peter into a spacious room on the ground floor and looked around. Its large desk and antique furnishings stirred memories of school days and his headmaster’s study, only ever visited for reprimands. It was empty. He’d been running on adrenaline all night; now he felt suddenly tired, drained and sick. He turned accusingly to Sir Peter.

  “Where is she?”

  Sir Peter was no longer smiling. “I’m afraid I’ve been disingenuous with you. It’s not going to be possible to release Miss Chandler at this time.”

  “Why the fuck not? You told me you would.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Nick. Sit down.” Sir Peter settled behind the desk. After a moment, Nick sat opposite him, his face rigid. Sir Peter fixed him with a cold eye.

  “I’ve been meaning to have this talk with you for some time. You’re an able officer, a good member of the team, a hard worker, and I wouldn’t want to let you go; but I’m not happy with your attitude. You seem to think you know better than anybody else. You are mistaken. I tell you exactly enough to enable you to do your job, no more. Without the full picture, it’s not possible for you to appreciate why I make the decisions I do, neither is it my business to tell you. Is that understood?”

  Nick forced himself to keep quiet. There was nothing he could usefully say, given he wanted to stay employed. His fingers itched to grab Pete by the scruff of his expensive jacket and hurl him through the window.

  “Your performance lately – I’m not talking about Musab Khan, I’m talking about the hunt for the replica – hasn’t been up to scratch. During the course of a week when you had plenty of leads and sightings, you repeatedly missed making a capture. Possibly because you were distracted by an involvement with Miss Chandler. You knew that is against the rules, but still elected to indulge yourself while on duty. Then there was Oliver’s accident. I blame you for that. You were in charge, his safety was your responsibility.”

  Nick refused to lower his gaze. He didn’t need Pete to rub in his guilt. It would stay with him for life, even if Ollie made a full recovery.

  Sir Peter sat back. “It’s not good enough, Nick. If you want to continue to work for me, you’ll need to buck your ideas up. Drop some of the cockiness and start doing what you’re told. I won’t have you acting alone without authority. Do I make myself clear?”

  Nick nodded, hoping he’d finished. Sir Peter stood, his expression grave, and moved
towards the door and into the hallway. Nick followed, inwardly burning with impotent rage.

  “I would remind you you are not at liberty to disclose any damaging information to which you are party by virtue of your position. I’m sure your own common sense tells you you’d have difficulty proving any allegations you might make in connection with this case.” He opened the front door and Nick walked through. “The Security Service does not forgive officers who break the line.”

  Nick considered his options on the drive back to London. He could do what he was told, leave Beth to her fate, and attempt to forget the whole episode. This course of action – or rather, inaction – had its advantages; he’d keep his job, and wouldn’t risk two years in prison for an offence under the Official Secrets Act. The downside was he’d feel like shit about Beth for the rest of his life. Or he could find out where she’d been taken (which wouldn’t be where he’d left Beth Two, and they’d be moving her for a certainty) and spring her. Advantages: he’d feel less of a shit. Disadvantages: Pete would know he was the culprit; job loss, jail, and what would become of Beth? He wasn’t able to give her a new identity, and if she returned to her old life, Pete would get her some way sooner or later, most likely by arranging a fake suicide. Rumour had it that had been done before on more than one occasion.

  Reluctantly, Nick faced the fact he needed to rescue both Beths, and somehow – no idea how, but it must be possible, with such a sensational story – arrange huge publicity. Then they’d be safe, and he’d feel okay. He decided not to worry about prosecution. He’d risk it to get his own back on Pete, the lying bastard.

  Nick drove to his flat by the river, parked the Audi, went inside and made himself a strong cup of coffee with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. He had a quick wash, cleaned his teeth and didn’t bother shaving. Ten minutes later he crossed Lambeth Bridge on foot to a nearly-deserted Thames House, and went to his desk. Fraser was there catching up on a report, and told him all the team had been taken off the replica job a week ago. Nick made up a list on his computer, printed it out, then got the lift to a small private office two floors up, tapped on the door and walked in.

  To his relief Trev was on the phone, listening and nodding. He glanced up at Nick as he said, “Was that last bit 5GT, Golf Tango? Thank you, I’ll update our records,” and put the receiver down. “Not today, Nick, I’m up to my ears, I really don’t need any extra jobs. It’s Christmas Eve, for Pete’s sake.”

  “How d’you know I didn’t just drop in for a chat?” Nick sat on the edge of the desk. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine till you appeared. Been up all night? You look like death warmed up.”

  Nick ignored this. “Danielle as gorgeous as ever?”

  “She is.”

  “Kids okay?”

  Trev sighed. “Just tell me what you want, then I can tell you to get lost and get on with what I’m doing.”

  “I need to find out where someone is being kept. Off the record.”

  Trev rolled his eyes. “Nick, you never ask me to do anything on the record. One of these days you’re going to get me into trouble.”

  “It won’t take long.” Nick held out the list. “Ring these labs and find out whether Beth Chandler is there. There’s half a dozen, arranged in order of likelihood. I’ve put the names of the people in charge. You’ll probably only need to ring the first two.”

  “Beth Chandler – she’s the woman gone missing on the news, isn’t she? Used to be a secretary at the Marling Institute.” Nick nodded. Trev took the piece of paper, scanned it and raised his eyebrows. “Er … Nick, why are you investigating these? They’re government defence labs. On our side.”

  “That’s why it’s off the record.”

  “You think they’ve got her? If they have, that would be Sir Peter Ellis’s pigeon …”

  “Yes. Pretend to be him and they’ll tell you. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll do it. How long has she been there?”

  “Not sure, but between a day and a week.”

  “Hmm.” Trev considered. “Okay, I’ll give the first two a quick ring, but remember you owe me big time.”

  He tapped in the number. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Michael Franks.” Nick smiled. Hearing Moira Smailes’ voice issuing from a small gingery man was bizarre. He shut his eyes. Every inflection was perfect. “Good morning Mr Franks, Sir Peter would like to know how Miss Chandler is settling in.”

  … … … … …

  “I do apologize, I’ve dialled the wrong number. Good bye.”

  Trev hung up and looked to see the next on the list. Nick said, “Hang on, Trev – on second thoughts, forget it. I’m being dumb.” He took the paper back. “Thanks. See you.”

  He went down the staircase back to his desk. Anger and lack of sleep had slowed his wits. Pete wasn’t a fool; he might hope Nick would drop the whole thing as instructed in order to keep his job, but he couldn’t be sure. Nick had known Beth wasn’t at the place he’d dropped off Beth Two. She wouldn’t be at the Marling Institute, either. Nor would she be anywhere that could be found in a quick hunt for defence R & D laboratories on Nick’s computer. Pete might have set up a new unit somewhere. It needn’t be enormous; a safe house in an isolated area would do. It didn’t necessarily have to be a Security Service property, either, making it almost impossible to find. But on reflection, that would take time; it would need extra security put in, floors that would take the weight of equipment, a heavy duty electrical supply, high-quality drainage, and so on. Much more likely he’d adapt part of an existing government unit which had most of the facilities needed and use its normal activities as a front. Preferably somewhere that did animal experimentation, so with security already in place.

  Back in his office, Nick spent a couple of hours making a longer list of all government research institutes not ostensibly dealing with defence. The place he was looking for would have recently ordered lab equipment and clinical supplies, probably through the usual channels, and he couldn’t access the admin department’s computers until the token member of staff working on Christmas Eve had finished for the day. Nothing to be done now. He went home to try to get some sleep.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 36

  Not good, not good at all …

  I didn’t want Nick to leave, which given my feelings about him demonstrated the all-time low my life had reached. I’d thought I’d been at rock bottom before, huddled on the icy streets, but at least then I’d had my freedom. And things were likely to get worse …

  The two men’s manner was distant, and they didn’t say anything to me. The older man put an impersonal hand on my arm to guide me. I wanted to shrug away; he only touched me because I was a prisoner without rights. I tried a half-hearted smile at the younger of the two, and he smiled back when his colleague wasn’t looking. Perhaps if he liked me he’d lower his guard and I could escape … They showed me to a small room with a barred window on the ground floor, and locked me in. It was empty, a space the size of a bathroom with no furniture at all unless you counted the radiator.

  They couldn’t be planning to leave me there, surely, with no bed or lavatory? They’d have to feed me … I examined the window, which pivoted open for only a few inches before the frame met the bars attached on the outside. I felt a twinge of claustrophobia, and breathed deeply to counter it, staring at the grey daylight on the windowless back of another building three metres away.

  I sat against the radiator feeling very bad indeed. To distract myself, I thought of all the escapes I’d read about or seen in films. I needed guile and ingenuity, patience and brute strength. The important thing was to keep a grip whatever happened, not to despair or become intimidated. They wouldn’t kill me immediately, and if a chance to escape materialized, I wanted to be ready for it.

  An hour later the door opened and I scrambled to my feet, heart thudding. The same two men took me through the building to a back door, letting me visit a lavatory
(unfortunately without windows) on the way. Outside, a rusty white van waited. They told me to get in the back, then locked me in. The engine started. I braced myself against the walls in the near darkness, wishing I could see out, because I couldn’t predict the movements of the van, and it was difficult not to be flung around. I hadn’t been car-sick since childhood, but within minutes was feeling queasy. I banged on the metal division between me and the cab without result. I kept right on banging; they wouldn’t put up with the deafening row for a long journey, and it gave me something to think about other than being sick. Eventually the van stopped. The older man opened the door, looking annoyed. I told him I was going to throw up. He locked the door, then returned and handed me a supermarket plastic bag. The van set off once more.

  I didn’t see our destination when we arrived, because they backed right up to the entrance before opening the doors. I staggered out feeling terrible; the last time I’d been this sick Rob and I were on a cross channel ferry in rough weather three years ago, with ninety per cent of the passengers throwing up. I’d got over caring where they were taking me, as long as it didn’t move.

  The corridor had glass windows showing a laboratory with two lines of counters, shelves above them and sinks at the ends. Lights were on by a desk at the far side, where a man sat at a computer. We went upstairs to another corridor, and they showed me through a door into a room with computers, and from there into a smaller room.

  The smell of emulsion paint fought with the smell of vomit clinging to my clothes and hair. The walls were pristine white, the carpet grey, the temperature slightly too warm. The room looked like a student’s in a hostel; quite bare and basic, with a wooden chair and table. Beside one wall was a single bed with mattress, pillow and duvet, in the corner a Kampa Portaflush behind a low screen. The window had white-painted bars on the inside. I walked in and the men turned to go. I said,