Identity X (5 page)

As
soon as the guards eyes had spun around Ben placed both hands onto the wall,
and with as much force as he could place on his hands, propelled his body
weight over the wall in one giant hurdle.  Arriving on the other side he
scurried away, turning back only once to check whether the guard had noticed
him.  If he had, or if somebody else pointed out his misdemeanour he would know
about it in seconds.  If it had been two or three hours earlier the guard would
have been standing closer to the doors, controlling the crowd where necessary,
rendering Ben’s top-of-the-head-plan useless.  But fortunately the guard’s
attention was focussed towards the outside of the building, distracted by a
fortunate altercation, and Ben was within minutes of boarding his train.  The
lusty smell of pastry was ever present in the station.  He rummaged in his
pocket as he passed, and could feel a few stray coins.  He thought about
stopping, but he wanted to get on the train and get away as fast as he could. 
It would take only one person to mention that they had seen him skip over the
wall.  People who had problems with their identity cards made people nervous. 
It was the same for people who paid with money, if a shop would still permit
it.  If you weren’t using your identity card there was a reason, and that
reason usually meant trouble. 

Ben
could hear the train approaching and he could feel the gust of cold air as it
filtered up through the tunnels.  He quickened his pace, his footsteps
resonating on the ground like a ticking clock counting down the last seconds before
his escape, and he casually looked over his shoulder every now and again to
ensure that he wasn’t being followed.  Ducking his head as he boarded the
platform, he jumped straight onto the waiting train and sat down in a quiet
corner.  He wanted to be invisible.  He wanted to blend into the seat so that
nobody would be able to see him.  He was unnerved.  He had seen the gates
working perfectly for the other commuters. 
What was wrong with his card? 
What the hell did unregistered mean? 
As the train pulled out of the
station he looked back at the platform to see nothing but silence.  Nobody had
followed him.  Nobody had reported him.  Nobody had seen his illegal jump, or
they had chosen to ignore it.  

He
slouched down in his seat, half trying to hide from the other people that were
travelling in the same carriage, and half to continue his efforts to soothe his
throbbing head.  His brain felt like it had been on fire, charred and brittle,
rubbing angrily against his skull.  His stomach too felt like it had been
pulled inside out.  He was gripped in a hunger and thirst that he had never
before experienced, and needed something to counteract it fast.  He was at
least a twenty minute ride from the office.  The effects of the earlier coffee hit
had worn off and he could feel the sensation of tiredness starting to wash over
him again.  He wanted desperately to close his eyes and take advantage of the
next twenty minutes, but it was a stupid idea and he had to fight it.  If he
missed his stop he would be even later for work.  Plus he was going to have to
sort out his identity card and that meant a trip across town to the Central
Government Offices, which could realistically take the best part of four
hours.  He also couldn’t stop thinking about the pile of broken wood and glass
on the hallway floor and the puddle of his stomach contents at the side of the
bed.  He needed to be home by five to stand any chance of being able to clear
it up before Hannah got home.  Hannah arriving home to an unwelcome clear-up
job with the smell of vomit wafting down the stairs after she had already had
to, if he remembered correctly, carry him up to bed the night before could just
about be the final nail in their coffin.  To get everything completed he would
have to go to the Central Government offices now, and that was simply
impossible.

Putting
it to the back of his mind, he considered the more pertinent, but equally
problematic dilemma that he had to contend with.  He had to decide how he was
going to get out of the next station.  When he had hopped over the wall he
hadn’t much contemplated what he was going to do at the other end of the line. 
You needed an identity card to get out of the station as well.  There was no
chance of hopping over the wall at a quiet moment at his next stop.  That was
Central City.  There would be security guards on the gates, and the walls were
high.  The only way out of the station was through the gates, and the only way
out through the gates was with an identity card. 

Ben
looked around at the people in his carriage: an old lady carrying too much
shopping, and one other guy like him, dressed smartly and carrying a
briefcase.  It was quiet in this carriage.  He stood up and moved through to
the next, where he found a woman with a child and a young girl of no more than
twelve years old wearing plaits and a pinafore dress and far too young to be
riding the underground on her own.  Ben moved methodically through the
carriages until he found what he was looking for.  The difficult element of his
search was that he didn’t know what it was exactly that he was looking for. 
Yet as he stumbled into the fourth carriage along, busy and crowded, he saw
it.  A teenager, no more than eighteen.  Alone.  He was wearing headphones like
the kid from the night before and oblivious to what was happening around him. 
He sat listening to his music, bopping and nodding his head in time with the
electric beat.  To Ben he looked like he might be a trouble maker. 
Yes, got
to be.  Might even be in a gang. 
As he sat watching him, willing him to
stay sitting down at each station that they passed, he virtually managed to
convince himself of his assessment.  He had him down as the type of teenager
who would help a fallen pensioner only to kick their stick out from underneath
them once they were back on their feet, just to snatch their wallet as they
fell. 
Little bastard,
he said to himself, as if his thoughts had become
the boy’s depressing real life story.  They passed Western Two, and then
Western One.  They rode through Central Four, Three, and Two.  The boy with the
headphones was still sat there.  He was young but he was big.  This was
important.  Ben’s plan was useless if he was just another kid.  The train
pulled up into Central One.  Ben waited.  The kid looked up at the screen.  He
stood up.  If he got off the plan was ruined. 
What should I do?  Get off
with him here?  Walk the rest of the way? 
Ben knew that his plan was only
going to work in a busy station, and nobody used Central One.  It was so close
to Central City that everybody got off there.   He braced himself, ready to
follow if he stepped off at the last minute.
  Does he realise I have been
watching him?  Is he trying to lose me? 
Just as the kid looked like he was
going to disembark, the bell sounded and the doors closed in front of him.  Ben
eased back in his chair.  His plan was still on.

Ben
stood up as the train pulled into Central City station.  The alarm sounded and
the doors opened automatically.  The kid slouched his way to the exit.  There
was a crowd; at least thirty people all getting off at the same time.  Ben
followed the kid, keeping back a few paces but staying close enough not to lose
him as they negotiated the narrow corridors and neon theatrical
advertisements.  He could see the exit gates coming into view and there was
already a small queue forming.  Central City station was always mayhem, and if
ever there was a problem it was dealt with.  Quickly.  With that many people
coming through the gates decisions were made fast, and action was swift.  Ben
was counting on that today. 

He
could see the kid in front of him, with only a few people in between them. 
They were about fifty meters or so away from the gate.  He had to time it just right. 
It had to be perfectly timed so that any other variables were rendered void. 
As the crowd of people approached the gate, Ben darted his way through,
stepping in front of other suited men and perfectly made up women.  Thirty
meters.  Two people to pass.  He darted in front of a particularly burly man,
only just missing treading on his foot.  Fifteen meters from the gate.  A head
of blond hair skipped along in front of Ben, her walk zigzagging in front of
him, making it harder to get in front of her.  Ten meters.  He made one last
push, almost knocking her down as his arms brushed past hers and suddenly the
kid was in front of him, his hunched shoulders and headphone covered ears
oblivious to the plan in place.  One last move.  Just before the gate Ben
pushed past him and got in front, ensuring that as he filtered into the queue
the kid was behind him.  There were two people in front of Ben.  A woman and a
man.  They didn’t look like they were together.  The woman scanned her identity
card and Ben saw the flash of green light.  The man in front was reaching
inside his pocket and pulling out his identity card too.  As he held it towards
the screen and Ben saw the second flash of green and the words good morning he
seized his moment. 
Carpe diem, motherfucker. 
He shoved the man in
front of him with all of his force, sending them both flying forward and
through the gateway.  They landed on the floor, Ben directly on top of the man
in front of him.

“What
the!” the man yelled as he hit the floor.

“I
know!” Ben bellowed, feigning disbelief and immediately pointing at the kid
behind him.  The security guards were at their side already.  Ben was quick on
his feet and already helping up the other man.  “What the hell did you do that
for?” he shouted back at the unsuspecting kid.  All eyes were on the youth, who
was thanks to his headphones, still unaware of what was happening and of the
mounting guilt heaped at his feet.  The man who Ben had landed on was still
straightening out his suit and tie.  He hadn’t seen anything of what had
happened but his instincts told him that the unfortunate and well dressed
fellow who had landed on top of him couldn’t possibly be to blame.  Not with a
suit that looked that expensive.  The security guards were also staring
squarely at the kid, making the very same assumptions.

“What? 
What did I do?” the kid asked, pulling his headphones from his ears and
suddenly realising that he was at the centre of the commotion.  Ben had relied
upon the fact that nobody behind them would have been able to see clearly
enough to counter argue his claim.

“You
pushed me right through there,” Ben said as he pointed back at the plastic gate. 
Ben’s other victim was angrily shaking his head, his cheeks bloody-red,
beetroot with rage, never once doubting Ben’s story.  “Right on top of this
good man.”

“Officers,
did you not see what happened?” the burly chap reiterated as he inspected the
knees of his trousers whilst dusting himself off.  Ben and his suited friend
had formed an immediate alliance.  The officers were stood either side of the
plastic door, and the rest of the underground station remained perfectly quiet,
save the shuffling of feet and the odd whisper, as it waited for the situation
to resolve.

“Place
your identity card against the screen now and walk slowly through this gate,”
the first officer ordered to the kid.

“But
I....”

“Do
it!”  The boy did so and walked through.  The officers snatched his identity
card from his shaky and sweat drenched palm and held it against their card
reader.  This would tell them everything about him, and since the moment he
hatched his plan Ben had been praying that they didn’t do the same with his. 

“Mr.
James Priest.  It seems that you have got quite the record for causing
trouble.”  Ben felt a twinge of guilt knot up inside of his stomach,
temporarily rising over the hunger.  His plan was working perfectly so far, but
he hadn’t counted on feeling so awful about it.  The twinge of guilt had been
totally washed away by a flood of self directed disappointment.  He swallowed
down hard and tried to suppress it.  The officers turned to Ben and the other
suited man who had no idea what had really happened.  “Thank you gentlemen. 
You can be on your way.”  Behind him, he could already sense the other man
leaving, and he knew it would only arouse suspicion if he did not walk away
with the same level of annoyance that he had so perfectly demonstrated as this
situation began.  Swiping a final palm stroke down his sharp black suit and
straightening his tie he turned to walk away.  He caught a final look at the
eyes of the boy, whose age he had probably overestimated as he saw him now in
daylight and without the hood or headphones.  He felt the same guilt as only
moments before rising up.  The kid’s venial face pleaded with him for help, for
him to tell the truth, but instead Ben bowed his head and turned to walk away. 

Feeling
repentant, Ben walked towards the entrance and out into the daylight.  He
needed to breathe.  He could hear the boy’s feeble protest as he left the
station, and it wrenched at his otherwise empty gut.  He absolved his
responsibility by reminding himself of the utmost importance of his attendance
at work today, and the impact that his work would have for all mankind.  He
wondered if his thoughts were self indulgent, but after very little
consideration concluded them to be reasonable in the grand scheme of the day,
and certainly easier to deal with than guilt. 

As he
stepped onto the pavement he noticed that there was less wind here in the
centre of the city, the gusts kept at bay by the height of the towering skyline
and he was grateful for the respite.  The road was heaving with cars and buses
and he could no more see his office from here than he would have been heard
across the street if he had shouted as loud as he could.  He dodged the
oncoming traffic as it glided past him.  It would take days of early summer
sunshine to dry out the roads after last night’s storm, and he skipped past the
puddles, anxious not to ruin another pair of expensive leather soled shoes.  He
didn’t want to spend the day with wet trouser cuffs again.  Bionics
Laboratories was on the first floor above another shop that sold sandwiches and
salads.  The first of the lunchtime traffic rush was already appearing, and
there was a queue forming outside the shop door.  Ben had eaten from here
hundreds of times over the last four years, and he understood why people would
wait in a queue that snaked outside the shop, wasting precious moments of their
lunchtime just to get one of these sandwiches.  It was the best pastrami
mustard combo he had ever tasted, and he didn’t know if it was physical hunger
putting thoughts in his brain, but he was certain that he could taste the
peppered steak slices already.