Altered Egos (10 page)

Nash sat pondering the news. Jessica had been taken from the school by Military Intelligence, on the strength of a letter signed by Dr Dunning. So, where had they taken her? Presumably to the same house where Dr Dunning had arrived. So, what had the panic been about after her arrival? What was it Major Smith had said? ‘To the best of our knowledge Jessica is alive and well’. Or in other words, we don’t know where she is. Nash had a mental image of a man carrying a bundle out to a car. A man whose face he hadn’t recognized, although it was familiar. Not just to a car, but to Dr Dunning’s car.

The connections came, thick and fast. It was the front page of the newspaper visible on Mironova’s desk that did it. It carried the picture of the new, charismatic American president. Nash realized whose face he’d seen. The man carrying the bundle had been wearing a Ronald Reagan mask. And he’d posed for the surveillance camera. But why use Dr Dunning’s car? Of course; to allay suspicion. The guards would be expecting Dr Dunning. He picked the phone up. ‘Jack, do me a favour. That car you checked out. See if any others of the same make, model and colour have been reported stolen in the last seven days, will you?’

The reply came back within minutes. An identical car had been taken from Netherdale the day before the incident at the laboratory. Nash was convinced he was right. So what had been in the bundle? With a jolt that was almost physical, Nash realized he’d used the wrong word. Not ‘what’ but ‘who’. Someone light enough to be carried by a fit young man. A soldier perhaps? Now he knew why Smith had hedged when asked the question.
Of course they didn’t know where Jessica was. That was what the panic had been about. She’d been kidnapped. Right from under their noses.

Jessica hadn’t expected to get any sleep. Not after what he’d told her. But then, she didn’t know she’d been drugged. Then, memory returned. He’d said that her mother and brother were dead. He’d told her that he’d killed them. Was that true? Or had he been feeding her a line? Thinking about the gun he wore she doubted that. If it was the case, if what he’d told her was true, why didn’t she feel terrified? Or distraught?

Two of her three closest relatives were dead. They’d been killed by the man who was holding her prisoner. Surely she should be in tears. More than that; hysterics. But then again, she’d told him how much she despised her mother, how little she cared for her brother. That had been true, but it didn’t mean she shouldn’t be upset to hear they were dead. Did that make her unnatural? A cold-hearted monster? As unfeeling as, she paused in her thought process, as, well, as
he
was?

He’d shown no emotion as he’d told her of the killings. No remorse, no regret. Neither had he glorified in it, or tried to explain or justify his actions. He’d just told her. As a fact; like telling the time. And what was all that about her father? Why had he wanted to know so much? About him: all her family? What was his agenda?

She heard a noise. Slight, the merest whisper of sound. She looked across the room. He was standing in the doorway, staring at her. Assessing her. Suddenly, she felt afraid. A level of fear greater than any so far.

‘So, you’re awake.’ His voice was remote, distant, cold even.

‘Yes, I’ve just woken up. Do you want me?’ Silly question. Worse, a dangerously leading question.

His expression changed, relaxed. ‘Time to get up,’ he told her, obscurely.

Slowly she swung her legs off the couch. ‘I need the loo.’

He helped her to her feet, guided her to the tiny compartment that served as toilet and shower combined. As she was
unbuttoning her jeans, she looked up. He hadn’t closed the door, hadn’t turned his back. He was standing watching her. She waited for him to avert his gaze. When he didn’t she asked, ‘Can I have some privacy.’

‘No,’ his tone was neutral. ‘You have no privacy. Not from me. And when you’ve finished I want you to take a shower. I have some clean clothes for you.’

‘Clothes? Where from?’

‘I bought them, when you were out of it. Took the sizes from what you were wearing.’

He slid the shower curtain across in front of the toilet. ‘The controls are self-explanatory, bath towel’s hanging there.’ He pointed to the pegs on the wall.

She turned her back on him and started to undress, slowly, unwillingly. As her fingers fumbled with the bra strap, she wondered, was this it? Was he going to rape her? She looked round for somewhere to put her clothing. A hand reached over her shoulder and took the garments from her. He was standing close to her now, really close. So close she could smell him. A clean, soapy smell. She turned slowly to face him, taunting, striking a deliberately provocative pose, head to one side. He looked her up and down, slowly. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. After what seemed an age, he smiled. ‘Very nice,’ he pointed to the cubicle. ‘Now get your shower. You need it.’

In the shower she felt her fear recede marginally. He didn’t want her. Not that way. Although, when he’d looked at her, standing naked in front of him, she thought she’d seen a glimmer of something in his eyes. Not lust, something she was unable to place. Was it sadness?

She groped for the towel. It was placed in her hand. So he’d been there all along. She stepped out onto the mat. He continued to watch her, standing no more than a couple of feet in front of her as she dried herself. When she’d finished he reached out for the towel. She stared into his eyes. Had she been wrong? Had he been waiting until she was clean?

He took the towel from her trembling hands. ‘Turn round.’

She obeyed, moving slowly, reluctantly. Didn’t he want her to
look at him whilst he was raping her? The towel flopped over her face, over her head. He began to rub, vigorously.

Jessica realized she was as far as ever from understanding this man, or gauging his emotions or motives. She stood still as he dried her hair; not even flinching when he felt it to make sure it was dry. He hung the towel back on its peg. ‘Come on,’ he took her hand.

Jessica sat down on the couch, knees primly together, hands across her breasts. He ignored her and walked across to the wardrobe compartment. He took out a pair of jeans and tossed them on the bed. From a drawer he took out a top, bra and pants, then stood watching as she dressed.

When she’d tied her trainers, he helped her to her feet. ‘Breakfast time.’ He kept hold of her hand as they went across to the kitchenette. Why? she wondered. He’d not attempted to assault her, had given no sign that was in his plans. There’d been nothing lecherous in the way he’d looked at her, even when she’d been naked, tempting him. She felt comforted by that, and by the warmth of this human contact. And then she realized, with a fresh degree of shock, that she was holding hands with a self-confessed killer. With the man who’d murdered her mother and brother. It should have repelled her. Oddly, it didn’t.

He asked her what she wanted to eat. She opted for toast. Jessica looked round. The closed curtains reminded her of the house. ‘That place we were in, before you brought me here. Was that your home?’

He nodded, preoccupied.

‘Don’t you ever draw the curtains or blinds? They were closed all the time I was there, now you’ve done the same here.’

‘It wasn’t safe at the house. You never know who might be watching.’

‘The police, you mean? Is that who you’re afraid of?’

He swung round in surprise. ‘No, not the police.’ He laughed. ‘And I’m not afraid.’

She waited for him to explain, but it appeared he wasn’t ready to.

‘But won’t people think it’s odd? The curtains being closed
when it’s broad daylight?’

That expression was back in his eyes, a kind of sadness, sadness and anger combined. ‘They won’t think it’s strange. Not in the circumstances. Not round there.’

When they’d finished eating, he stood up. ‘Come on.’

‘Where to?’

‘We’re going to watch TV.’

‘Television? What’s on television at this time of day that you’re so keen to watch?’

‘Nothing on TV, we’re going to watch home movies.’

He walked over to the portable TV/DVD player and switched it on. He sat alongside her and pressed the remote control. What followed was a collection of film clips obviously taken with a camcorder. Almost all of these featured a young woman with two small girls, presumably her daughters, Jessica guessed.

The setting for the clips varied. Some had been taken in the garden of a house. His house? Some were on beaches, some at theme parks and a few taken in and around a motorhome, this one she guessed. From time to time Jessica glanced sideways at her captor. His eyes were fixed on the screen, his expression a compound of rage and sadness.

The last clip was taken indoors, and from the furnishings, Jessica recognized it as the house she’d been kept in. On this occasion the camera was being operated by someone else, the woman perhaps. It had obviously been shot on a Christmas morning, for there was the tree, in front of the window, with the two girls squatting on the carpet, opening present after present. The camcorder microphone picked up their squeals of delight.

Watching them with obvious pride was a man. As the girls jumped on him and hugged him with gratitude, he turned to face the camera. It was the man sitting alongside her, but for a moment Jessica failed to recognize him. He looked so much younger, little more than a boy, his expression happy and carefree. Jessica was still trying to come to terms with this when the screen went blank.

She looked at him. He was staring at the screen, as if willing it to show more.

‘What happened to them? Where are they?’

He turned away, his reluctance obvious. When he faced her his expression was of hatred. ‘They died,’ he told her, teeth gritted, each word a fresh torture. ‘There, in that house.’

‘How? When?’

‘Carbon monoxide poisoning is what they called it. Murder is what I call it. They died because the MOD didn’t maintain the appliances. They died because I wasn’t there to protect them. They died because we were so short of money I volunteered for a special tour of duty. A tour that involved me in something I found out was horrific. Something the intelligence creeps dreamed up using your father and others like him. Taking his skills and corrupting them for their own perverted ends.’

‘But my father isn’t involved in weapons or anything to do with warfare. He’s not an engineer, he’s a chemist. What on earth could he provide that would be useful to the military?’

Jessica listened as he told her. Listened, and learned for the first time the dreadful nature of what her father’s work produced. What she was unaware of was that her captor was in the process of brainwashing her. The solitary nature of her captivity, the lack of contact with anyone apart from her captor were the first stages in a process designed to bend her will to that of her abductor. The real reason behind the closing of the curtains and blinds was not to avoid detection, but to heighten the sense of isolation. Showing the film clips was calculated to engage her sympathy.

The next stage would involve increasing her dependency on him. Over the next few days and weeks, aided by the drugs he was feeding into her system, Jessica would come to realize that every action she took would need his blessing. Everything, from eating, drinking, sleeping, washing, using the toilet, dressing and undressing, could only be done with his involvement and approval.

It mattered little to him whether Jessica was aware of what was being done to her or not. His objective would be unaffected. He was going to use Jessica in the same way as he had been used. And in doing so, he would create a weapon as potent as
he had become. He’d used the short time they’d been together to study the girl closely. He already knew far more about her, both physically and mentally, than she could have guessed. Her physique was ideal – tall, with a good figure and a suitable level of fitness. That would be honed by the training regime he would introduce until she was as strong as he could make her. Mentally, she was tough, with all the strength of character her father lacked. She’d not once cried, or had hysterics, even when she’d been certain he was going to rape her. He smiled inwardly at the thought. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been tempted. She was attractive enough. He couldn’t be sure quite what had stopped him. Perhaps it was down to respect. His respect for her courage; the unconscious display of spirit that showed in a refusal to break down. He knew he would never be able to break that spirit. So his only option was to bend it to his will, pervert all those qualities she possessed for his own use.

The bar of The Horse and Jockey was crowded when Nash and Becky walked in. Busier than usual for a Friday night. Nash fought his way to the bar and got their drinks. He found Becky in the corner, where she was sharing a table with Jonas Turner. ‘Evening, Jonas, what’s the crush for? Not another darts tournament?’

Turner grinned. ‘Not likely, most of this lot couldn’t hit double top if they were standing next to t’ board. There’s a load of regulars from out of t’ tap room come in here because they don’t like the company in there.’

‘It’s a bit early for tourists, isn’t it?’

‘They’re not tourists,’ Turner snorted. ‘It’s a load of those animal rights activists.’

‘What are they doing round here? Helmsdale’s a bit off the beaten track for anything like that.’

‘Nobody knows for sure. Although somebody started a rumour the Bishopton Hunt were starting up again and might be holding a meet this weekend. I happen to know that’s nonsense though, ’cos ’ave a couple of friends who are followers.’

‘So, if it isn’t the hunt they’re interested in, what do you think is the real reason they’re here?’

‘T’ other whisper ah heard were that they’re planning to break into that laboratory out on t’ Bishop’s Cross road. The bloke who told me said they’ve found out the company have been experimenting on animals.’

Becky saw the change in Nash’s expression. ‘That’ll be Helm Pharm you’re talking about, I take it?’ she questioned Turner. ‘Do you know anything about them, Mike?’

‘Let’s just say they interest me,’ he said, ‘and leave it at that.’

Later, as they were walking back to Nash’s flat, Becky took up the subject again. ‘What’s your interest in Helm Pharm?’

Nash thought for a moment. ‘They employ the father of that man found murdered in the stocks. They do a lot of work for the military. Everything there is so hush-hush I’m surprised the animal rights people got to know anything about them. I think I ought to warn our uniform people and put the company’s security on alert that there might be trouble over the weekend.’

Becky slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Mike, I need to talk to you.’

Nash looked at her, remembering how they’d met. He’d thought she looked beautiful then. She looked even lovelier now. ‘What about?’

‘There was a meeting at
The Gazette
today. My uncle’s decided to retire later next year. That means they’ve to find a new editor and they’re reluctant to let it go out of the family. So they’ve asked me to consider taking over when he goes. The thing is,’ she hesitated, ‘they want me to go to London for twelve months, to work on one of the nationals to get experience.’

‘Oh, I see. What was your answer?’

‘I said I’d have to ask you before I made any decision.’

He stopped and turned her to face him. ‘Look, Becky, if it’s a question of your career, don’t let me stand in your way. I’ll miss you like hell, but twelve months isn’t forever.’

‘Are you sure, Mike? It’d mean we’d have very little time together. They made it pretty clear when I got down there the work would be fairly hectic. We might go months without seeing one another.’

‘I understand.’ He took her hand. ‘I really do, Becks. It’s just come as a bit of a shock.’ He smiled at her. ‘When do you start?’

‘If I say yes, they’ll want me down there in a month’s time. The arrangements will have to be finalized before then.’

‘A month? That doesn’t give us much time.’ He slipped his
arm round her waist. ‘So we’d better make the most of what we’ve got.’

What Jessica had seen from those film clips made her even more bewildered. All right, the tragedy he’d suffered would knock any man sideways. But what she’d seen pointed to him being a decent, caring family man. So what was it turned him into a self-confessed murderer? One who’d killed two of her family, and had been within an ace of killing her. What made a human being into a monster? The thought of what he might be capable of made her shiver. He’d been restrained, so far. Would that end? Would something trigger off another blood lust? And what would it be? A word? A gesture? An unthinking remark?

He switched the TV off. ‘Lunch,’ he explained curtly.

She watched him making sandwiches. It was hardly lunchtime. She risked a glance at the clock: 11.30 a.m. If she’d been less afraid of him she might have questioned the timing. He put a plate containing chicken salad sandwiches in front of her and turned to brew tea. She ate, slowly at first; then realized in spite of the hour, in spite of her fear, she was hungry. When she’d finished he took her plate and replaced it with a mug. She was three quarters of the way down the tea when she felt a sudden cramp in her stomach. She almost gasped aloud with the pain. She waited for a moment until it eased. She looked up to find him watching her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘It’s just, there’s something I need.’

How could she explain? To a stranger, to someone she was in fear of? His expression didn’t change, but he crossed to one of the wall units. He opened the door and rummaged inside. Without a word he took out a small cardboard box and passed it to her. She stared from the box, with its distinctive logo, to her captor. He gestured towards the toilet. If his understanding of what was wrong had led her to hope for privacy to do what was needed, that was soon dashed as he followed her.

She completed the operation, scarlet with embarrassment and shame, and turned to wash her hands. The room went dizzy. He caught her as she fell, hoisted her up and carried her to the couch.

When she started to regain consciousness she was aware something had changed. She could feel the soft cotton of the duvet covering her, against her skin, and realized she was naked. He’d undressed her; that much was obvious. Why? If he’d assaulted her, she felt sure she’d be aware of it. Besides, he wouldn’t, surely, knowing what he knew of her state.

She turned onto one side. In the semi-darkness she could just discern another figure, on a bed similar to hers, only two feet away. Her captor? Or another victim?

The figure stirred, stood up. A second later he pulled back the curtain and a small amount of light filtered into the compartment. She turned her head away. There was enough light for her to see that he too was undressed. She heard movement and risked a sideways glance. He was pulling a shirt over his head. A second later and he was dressed. ‘Come on, time to get up.’ He switched a light on. He was wearing a camouflage shirt and combat trousers. He held out a small bundle of clothing. She swung her legs off the bed, keeping the duvet wrapped round her body. He laughed. ‘No false modesty. I said before, you have nothing to hide from me.’

He pulled the duvet from her and hoisted her to her feet. She swayed slightly, knew he must have drugged her again.

He held on to her for a moment, watching her face. ‘All right now?’

She nodded and turned to get dressed. She looked at the clothes, questions racing through her mind, tumbling over each other. The sports bra and Lycra leggings were similar to those she used in gymnastics class at school, but why did he want her to wear them? And where had he got them? She straightened up and he held out a pair of trainers and sweatshirt. ‘Come on, no time to waste. Training starts in five minutes.’

He walked a couple of paces to the rear of the compartment and opened a door. He steadied her as she stepped out. She took a deep breath. The air felt clean and cold. She looked around; there was snow on the hilltops. Dawn was just breaking, which
explained why it had been so gloomy inside. The moorland stretched as far as she could see.

‘Let’s get started. See that peg?’

She followed the line of his pointing finger. She could just make out a stake driven into the ground about two hundred yards away. She nodded.

‘You sprint as fast as you can to the peg. You touch down, count to fifteen slowly; then run back here as fast as you can. Got it?’

‘How do you know I won’t run away?’

‘Three reasons. One, you’ve nowhere to run to. There’s no human habitation within ten miles of here. That’s why I’ve chosen this spot. Added to that, I doubt if your time for two hundred metres is within three seconds of mine, and I can maintain that pace, or close to it for almost three miles. More when I’m in peak condition. And finally, most important of all, you want to know what this is all about, who’s behind it and what I intend to do, with you and everything else. If you did manage to get away, you wouldn’t get to find that out. If you come back to the van, I’ll tell you after breakfast.’

When he was like this, as she’d seen him on the film he’d shown her, she wasn’t one bit scared of him. She even found herself questioning his claim that he’d killed her mother and brother. After all, she’d no proof they were dead, only his word.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, ‘They didn’t tell you, did they?’

‘Tell me what? Who didn’t tell me?’

‘The people who took you away from school. They didn’t tell you that your mother and brother were dead, did they?’

She stared in confusion.

‘Like I said, eventually you’ll start to think and act as I do. That’s part of it.’

Part of what, she wondered. She wasn’t to know that the reason she was so relaxed was the drugs in her system. This was the first stage of the treatment. And that was why he was able to gauge her thoughts and emotions so accurately. Because he’d been through the same process. Not once, but many times.
Indeed, he was going through it again. Because it was pointless feeding her the drugs that would turn her into a warrior, such as him, if he was unable to match her aggression when the time came.

At first she enjoyed the sprints, whilst trying to avoid the small patches of ice. He’d made her go through a rigorous fifteen minute warm up programme of exercises before she started. He stood alongside the van, stopwatch in hand and shouted, ‘Go.’ She ran, reached the peg and stopped, one hand resting on the top. She counted to fifteen, turned and ran back. ‘Again,’ he told her. ‘And this time run as if you mean it. As if you’re late for a bus. Not out for an afternoon stroll.’

So, she tried again. And again. After five laps, she turned on him. ‘Let’s see you do it faster.’

He reached out and grabbed her hand. Before she was properly aware, she was running, half-towed along by her captor. She was running faster than she thought she was capable of. They reached the peg, quicker than she’d managed alone. He kept hold of her hand, and together they raced back to the van. Again and again they ran, until her muscles ached and her chest heaved as she fought to get air into her lungs.

Eventually he stopped, and she was pleased to see he too was a little short of breath. Surely now they’d rest?

‘Right, now we’re going for a bit of stamina training. Your muscles are like jelly. They need toning up.’

Toning up, in his terminology, involved a seemingly endless long distance run, over patches of snow interspersed with moorland turf; through peat, that came over the tops of her trainers and squelched uncomfortably against her toes. She was by now in a haze of exhaustion. Unable to see, she knew she’d have fallen several times were it not for his hand, steadying her, guiding her, pulling her with him. She wasn’t aware they’d turned round, and it was a shock when he slowed them to a halt outside the motorhome. He glanced at his watch. ‘Not bad for a beginner,’ he commented.

Was that praise? And would she have some rest now? Seemingly not, for he opened a small compartment on the side
of the vehicle and took out some objects she recognized, her heart sinking. ‘You need building up,’ he told her, ‘and this is the quickest way, short of steroids.’

The weights weren’t too bad. Not at first. But as the exercises got repeated time after time, the strain on her already tired muscles got worse and worse. His insistence on adding weight to the bars didn’t help. Eventually he called a halt. ‘That’s enough for this morning. We’ll go through the same routine this afternoon.’

‘Oh good,’ she panted. ‘Something to look forward to.’

He ushered her inside and opened the door opposite the tiny kitchenette. ‘Get your clothes off. I’ll rinse them through whilst you’re showering.’

The water was hot. As she was soaping herself down, she realized she’d stripped naked in front of him without even thinking about it. She was puzzled, but accepted it. When she got out of the shower, he was standing outside the door. He too was naked.

He smiled at her. ‘Clean clothes on the bed.’

From inside the cubicle she could hear the water running. She had the opportunity to escape if she wanted to. She hesitated, before sitting down. The clothes he’d put out for her were a T-shirt and jeans, bra and pants, alongside which was a clean pair of trainers. In fact they looked brand new. Everything did. She dressed slowly, thoughtfully. Why hadn’t she taken the chance to make a run for it? She knew the answer even as she asked the question. He’d promised to tell her what it was all about. She was keen to know. He’d also promised to tell her what was going to happen to her. She wasn’t as desperately keen to hear that, but she knew her curiosity would keep her here until she’d found out.

He emerged from the shower and strode across to the bed next to hers. Without glancing at her he dressed, in much the same outfit as he’d given her. Minus the bra, she thought, and realized with a shock that she’d made a joke. He turned and smiled, she wished he wouldn’t. It confused her. She knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t. She knew she shouldn’t
sympathize with this man, but she did.

He stood directly in front of her. He lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. ‘The training is part of the process. Part of your new life. How long this will take I don’t know. But whilst it lasts, you belong to me. To do with as I think fit. Spoils of war. And this is what I’ve chosen for you. You will become like me. You will think and act like me. You will eat when I eat, drink when I drink, sleep when I sleep. Every action of yours will mirror mine. Don’t try to fight against it. There’s no point. That isn’t a threat. It’s a natural result of what’s happening to us. Now, breakfast. Then I’ll tell you what this is all about. I’m afraid you’re in for some shocks.’