Identity X (24 page)

“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 lent in so that he could speak quietly.  He looked at
Hannah and then back to Matthew.  “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.”  She looked down at her
watch.  The ten minute window that she had was almost up, and she thought of
Ben sat in the car checking his watch frantically 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 also 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 lent in closer to
whisper in Matthews’ 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 and 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
computerised 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.  His eyes followed Mark as he turned to
face him, like a headmaster about to deliver his judgement. 

“Matthew,
I don’t know where your daddy is.  That’s the truth.  But I want to know.  I
want to help him.  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
leant 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
sat 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.  As she raised
her hand in the air in preparation to bring down the paperweight onto the back
of his head, 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, and 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 try to catch it, releasing Hannah behind him as she
tried to catch her breath and sit forwards.  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, with his access card discarded
expendably on the floor of the corridor and 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.

“Matthew!”
Hannah choked as she realised what had happened.  She turned to Mark, still
lying on the floor as she scrambled to her feet.  “Mark, open the door!”

“I
can’t,” he said as he struck his fist into the ground.

“Open
it,” she screamed, grabbing the gun from his hip as she knelt on top of him,
tearing open the fresh wound.  He recoiled.  “Open it now!”  She trained the
gun at his head, and with her other hand rubbed at her bruised neck.

“I
can’t!” he repeated, as he pushed his way out from underneath her, standing up
in the face of his own gun.  “I can’t open it for another ten minutes.  He has
my card,” as he pointed at the door.

“You
can override it.  I know that.  Do it.”  She was stood above him, and held the
gun in a strong grip aimed at his face.

“I
just told you, I can’t!  Not for ten minutes.”  He sat back on the settee and
leant his head against his hands.  Hannah moved in closer towards him.  “It’s a
safety mechanism.”

Hannah
could feel the effects of the adrenaline charging through her system, and her
hand was shaking as she held the gun out in front of her, and so she gripped it
a little tighter with both hands.  She was trying to think of another way out. 
She knew that there must be an exit from the bunker other than through Mark’s
office.  It was only logical, but she didn’t know it.  “Get up.  Come on.”  She
waved the gun towards him, its nose hovering around in front of his face, as
she motioned for him to move towards the desk.  “You must have plans for the
bunker.  Show me them.”

“There
are no plans.  Why would there be plans?”

“Because
there are plans for everything in this place.  I’ve seen them before.  Nothing
is left unplanned.”

“Not
this.  This place is supposed to be a secret.  It’s supposed to be known about
by no more than a handful of people.  I’m your only hope down there, otherwise
he will never find a way out.”  She looked towards the door as tears swelled in
her eyes, unable to cover her terror at the thought of his entrapment.  “Now
stop being stupid, and tell me where Ben is.  I’ll let you go if you tell me
where he is.”

“Never.” 
The first one fell, streaming down her cheek.

“Catherine,
I just don’t get it.  Two days ago you were set to hand him over.  What the
hell changed?”

“Shut
up, let me think.”  She looked again at her watch.

“Catherine. 
Your son is trapped.  You just have to tell me where Ben is and you and Matthew
can walk out of here like nothing happened.  I won’t even try to stop you. 
I’ll let you go.”

“I
said shut up,” and she looked at her watch again.

“Why
do you keep looking at your watch?  Is he waiting for you?  Is he close?”  The
excitement in his voice almost got the better of him, before she interrupted
him again.

“I
said shut up,” she repeated as she hit the side of his head with the barrel of
the gun.  He recoiled a little, and clutched at his head.  As he brought his
hands away, there was a streak of blood across his finger tips.

“Fuck,
Catherine,” he spat through gritted teeth, pain and anger smothering him in
equal measures.  “You know if they come in here and find you with a gun at my
head, they’ll shoot you on the spot.  They won’t think twice.  Then Matthew
will have no parents.  Do you realise what you are playing with?  He’ll be an
orphan.”  The words burnt her like acid.

“I
can’t let you have him.  Either of them.”

“Why? 
It’s so easy.  Just tell me where he is.  If he is close it can all be over in
minutes.”

“No. 
You see, you don’t know me as well as you think.  You think I am just a cold
bitch that joined this agency to make up for the past.  For my mum.  You
thought that I could just live with him and not feel anything.  You think that I
am the same person as I used to be.”

“You
are Catherine.  You are the same.  You are the same girl who walked in here who
said that she wanted to kill the same people who killed her mother.  You think
every bullet that you have fired, every person’s life that you have taken somehow
makes up for the loss of her life.  And you are right, Catherine.  It does.”

“It
doesn’t.  You’re wrong.  It just destroys my life, and Matthew’s life.”

“And
Ben’s life.”  It was a blameless sarcastic response, as if he was an outsider
looking in, judging her from his ivory tower of morality and perfection. 
Look
at what
you
did.  You.  All you.  How could
you
live with
yourself?

“You
won’t take them from me.”

“I
will Catherine.  You are holding that gun up to my head shaking like a little
girl, pretending that you’ll shoot me.  But you won’t, because you need me. 
And you need this.  This agency.  This life.  This is all you know.  It’s not
Ben you need.  It’s this.  All of this.  You won’t shoot me.  Tell me where he
is.”  She looked at her watch again.  At least six minutes had passed since the
door had closed and sealed Matthew inside the cocoon of the underground bunker.

“Open
the door.”

“I’ll
open the door when you tell me where Ben is.”

“Open
the door, or I’ll shoot you now.”

“If
you shoot me you’ll never get in and you’ll never get Matthew back.”  Mark
started to stand up, forcing her backwards.

“Open
the door.”  She pushed the gun into his forehead unsteadying him a little, and
he felt the cold metal hard up against him.

“I
said tell me where Ben is and I’ll open the....”  Suddenly Mark let out a gut
wrenching scream as he felt a bullet pierce his flesh just underneath his
shoulder, and the force shot him backwards, landing on the settee.

“You fucking shot me!” he said as he
clutched his right hand across his left shoulder.  He doubled up in agony
pushing the heel of his hand into the open wound and the blood oozed out
through the gaps in his fingers.  He pulled his hand away to relieve the
burning pain from where the perforating wound had ripped through his skin, and
where after forming a sooty and blistering cavity had erupted through his
shoulder in spectacular volcanic fashion.

“And I’ll shoot you again. Open the
door.”  She pushed the tip of the gun back against his head, steady this time
without the shakes, and hoped that he wouldn’t call her bluff.  She knew as
well as he did that without him that door wasn’t going to open.  But she also
knew that after making a bullet sized hole in his shoulder and threatening his
life, the balance of power was in her favour, reinforced by every nervous
transmission of his pain and fear.  He raised his head and watched her staring
at him.  All it took was for somebody to walk through the door, but the chance
of that happening without his express invitation was unlikely. He knew that he
was cornered and that he had to go along with her plan.  He had underestimated
her.