Identity X (17 page)

As the car
snaked through
the roads towards Headquarters, Mark sat isolated on the backseat, encased in
the impenetrable cocoon around him.  He sat with his arm resting against the
heavy set door.  It was almost as thick as the door of an aircraft, and he
slumped into his seat with his elbow propped up against the inch thick glass
that shielded the passenger from external harm.  The reflection of his face
rippling in and out of view with the passing shadows offered none of the
familiarity or security that he came to expect.  Instead he saw dark eye
sockets and ruffled hair, he felt smaller
,
and disarrayed like his plan.  He felt
weaker, a man cut down by a virus, consumed as a host, unable to function. 

He felt the vehicle draw to a halt, and
the sound of both front doors opening prompted him to ready himself for his
exit.  He had loosened his tie on the journey on account of his throat feeling
constricted and his breathing difficult in the expensive custom made but
tightly fitting suit, and he straightened himself and his clothing up.  In the
centre of his head he felt a similar pressure.  It was a tight knot that had
positioned itself directly between his eyes and fed off his stress.  The patch
of eczema on the palm of his hand was itching, and it had got worse this last
week, which he had repeatedly told himself was coincidental.  He had a new
patch on his foot too, and he could feel it itching in a location that was
utterly inaccessible without the removal of his shoe.  This was not an option,
and he therefore crunched his toes up and rubbed the side of his foot against
the other as if trying to stimulate a spark between two dry sticks in the
search for a snippet of relief, but yet found none.  He rubbed his forefingers
against his forehead as he waited for the sound of the door handle to indicate
it was time to leave, to flee from his isolation and be comforted in the crowd
of people and responsibility.  Left on his own for too long, it was easy to
allow the mind to wander.  His skin conditions always bothered him more when he
was alone, when he would find that his palms would sweat for no reason and the
itching would take control of his thoughts.  Caught up in the moment,
surrounded by action, it was easier to forget these other botherations, and in
the last twenty four hours specifically, convince himself that they were doing
as much as they could to rectify the failure of the operation.

The heavy door opened, and he slipped out
his feet in one steady motion.  He heard the raindrops first on the umbrella
that had been opened and was waiting for him, casting his exit in shadow. 

“Sir.”  He was greeted by a faceless
agent, somebody that he didn’t know.  He said nothing in reply and walked at
his usual quick pace, not once considering the umbrella holding agent beside
him who quickened his pace unnaturally in order to shield him from the falling
rain.  The steps that lead up to Headquarters were innumerable, and his quick
pace continued as he proceeded towards the main entrance door.  Above him the
rows of identical windows offered no view in.  They appeared reflective like
mirrors, and yet as black as the raven that he could hear cawing in the trees
which
en
circled the building.  They
offered no clue to the presence of hundreds of Civil Servants that existed
behind the walls.  The rain began to fall heavily as he approached the front
doors, and the flanking agents at
Mark’s
side stepped up their pace to move ahead now that
he
was covered by the elaborate entrance
held up by a balustrade of columns.  They stood with their hands on the covered
keypad, and as they simultaneously entered their private key codes they looked
at each other to indicate that it was time to press their respective buttons
together
.  They did so and the doors
opened, and with second perfect timing, Mark approached the thick mirrored
glass doors to see his wavering reflection disappear into the recess as they
slid away, permitting him entry into the belly of Headquarters.  He looked
tired and dishevelled, and the usual sense of self gratification that he
relished by seeing his reflection in front of these doors was lost on him
today.

The heels of the crowd of agents
resonated as they walked through the foyer with each step vibrating up to the
high level ceiling.  Captain White greeted them as they neared their
destination of the rear door, his arms laden with papers.  His usually neatly
coiffed hair appeared tousled, scruffed up, like he had either had a really
rough night’s sleep or had been running his oversized hands through it this
morning.  It was probably a mixture of both.  He looked spent.

“Sir, all of the arrangements for Agent
Sadler have been completed and Seventy Fourth Street has been cleaned.”  His
words came spluttering from his lips, all breathy and eager like he was talking
to a really hot woman, each word jumbling into the next.  He fidgeted the
papers about in his arms waiting for a response, hoping he had impressed.

Mark stood quietly in front of his
subordinate, his crowd of underlings waiting anxiously for his reaction to
Agent Sadler’s name.  Sets of eyes twitched left and right, looking for comfort
in another man’s gaze at the uncomfortable mention of Ami.  They had all heard
by now what had happened.  The news had filtered through like Chinese whispers,
bringing with it sorrow and disbelief.  Then the second wave of gossip had
spread, she was a foreign agent, a double agent, working for both sides. 
Oh
in that case, good job.  It was for the best. 
Even the ones who didn’t
really mean it kept their grief to themselves.     

“It is quite clear to me now that Agent
Sadler was not at all what she seemed.  Amena Saad was in fact the daughter of
Abdel Salam Saad, a well know buyer of weapons who feeds not only the east, but
the west, the north and the south.  Had they have successfully stolen the data
that we have tried for many years to acquire he would have undoubtedly made a
fortune from the nearest buyer and we in the near future would have been the
victim of our own success, and failure.

“It is your department that manages
recruitment and dissolution of contract, is it not, Captain White?”  The whole
crowd knew the meaning of dissolution of contract.  It was a phrase that made
even the most secure of agents fearful.  There was not a single agent who would
have wished for ‘dissolution of their contract’ and the discomfort rippled through
the ten pairs of feet as they shuffled uncomfortably under the tension of the
confrontation.

“Yes Sir.  It is indeed.”

“Then you are as I understand solely
responsible for her recruitment.”

“Yes Sir.  That is my responsibility.”

“Then you and I will discuss matters
regarding Amena Saad at a later date.  Right now I want to know the location of
Ben Stone.  What do you have?”  Mark began to walk towards his office, through
the corridors and hordes of eyes that gazed upon him as he walked, startled at the
presence of their boss after the rumour of the operational failure had began
its diffusion throughout the department.  Captain White turned on his heels and
followed in the footsteps of his superior.  He glanced repeatedly from the
papers towards the corridor, reading as they moved through the crowds,
sidestepping the other agents in order to get close to Mark.

“Sir, Agent Mulligan tracked him to the
underground station on Sixtieth.  He shot an agent and disappeared into the
tunnels.  Her team followed him but came up with nothing.  We picked up a
signal from his phone line briefly, and we have sent agents in that direction,
but it was a very brief signal, and has subsequently not been identified
again.”

“You mean you haven’t got anything on him
since he left the underground station?”

“For half an hour it looked as if he was
heading in an easterly direction, but the last activity we recorded was over
forty minutes ago.”

“Tell me, Captain White, how is it
possible that a man with no identity, no financial strength, and approximately
one hundred agents at our disposal to be placed on his tail as and when we
choose to do so should evade our grip.  We have tracked this man successfully
for many years and controlled his life down to the decision of what breakfast
he might eat.  What holiday destination he may visit.  Short of controlling
when he goes to the toilet we knew everything about him, and suddenly we know
absolutely nothing?”

“Sir we have every agent out looking for
him.  We have every underground station sealed.  There is no exit he could take
that doesn’t go through us.”

“Find him.”  They had reached his office
door and he held up his access card, another heavyset door opened giving access
to his office.  He turned to look at Captain White for the first time since
they had started walking together.  “Find him and kill him.”  He turned to
another agent on his right just before he closed the door behind him. 
“Mulligan is on her way in.  When she gets here, send her directly to me.”

Mark didn’t wait for a response.  He
didn’t need the confirmation from his staff that his instructions would be
followed.  He knew that there was not a single person working in this
department that would dare go against his will.  He expected his commands to be
followed as if they were in a military battlefield.  There had been many
whisperings that his appointment into his position had been misguided, a gentle
nod from most of the staff with military experience that his lack of exactly
that made his position untenable.  They had all been professional to his face
of course, but he knew what they were really thinking.  He knew they were
talking about him.  This one flaw, some believed, would be the downfall of this
operation.  It had until now been an unfounded idea, a hypothesis courted by
those he believed suffered at the hands of their own jealousy and envy.  After
all, who wouldn’t want his job? 

He was more than aware that his failure
to see through his final task, one that he had both requested and guarded
against delegation to others in the scientific team surrounding Ben, would add
fuel to such beliefs.  To fail in Ben’s elimination at the final hurdle had the
potential to show weakness and undermine everything he had ever achieved.  It
would render years of his work worthless.  He knew people were already
talking.  They were wondering if his friendship had prevented him from
delivering the fatal drug, and that somehow Ben’s unbelievable escape was part
of a covert plan.  They wondered if it was their leader that had warned him,
and that had somehow ensured his escape. 
How dare they question me?
 
Was it even Ben Stone that they were tracking now?  Perhaps he was already out
of the city, or the country?  The only proof of his dedication to the agency
now was Ben’s body, cold and dead and on a slab for display like a witch’s head
on a stake.  It was his only option.

As he sat at his desk, his arms folded
defiantly in front of his chest, tapping his top lip with his forefinger, he
gazed at the computer screens around him.  He saw the multitude of red lights,
each representing an agent in the field, and corroborating Captain White’s
account that there was indeed no underground exit that wasn’t covered.  The red
lights blinked in uniform straight lines following the course of the train
system, equally spaced and in pairs as his team sat guard at the stations. 
There was also a small collection of dots forming an arc around the eastbound
perimeter of the city, a backup team in case Ben’s travel eastward had in some
inexplicable way been successful.  He rested his heavy head on the palm of his
hand, as if his muscles couldn’t cope with the weight of it, which served only
to make his painful headache feel worse.  He took several deep cleansing
breaths, safe from view of his team on the other side of the reinforced wall
where such a display of tension he had forbidden himself long ago.  His private
office was a fortress within a fortress.  It acted as an instant reminder to
all who work there of the level of risk and secrecy in which they had chosen to
live their lives, perhaps naively and years before they had begun to crave the
love and security of a family, or a real connection to the world. The walls
were reinforced against radiation and built with an aluminium and steel layer. 
The building had the potential to keep everything out, but should it fail, the
walls to his private office offered him at least a secondary line of defence. 
From here he had his own passageway towards the underground bunker.  It wasn’t
for him, but he had access to it.  Under no occasion had a senior member of the
state been forced to visit Headquarters, to learn of its existence, and all
involved in The Agency’s operation hoped that fact may remain for years to
come, for it was their secrecy and invisibility that permitted their ongoing
survival.  Once it was compromised, it would be the end of the system as they
knew it, because for it to survive, first it had not to exist.

He pulled the top file from the pile on
his desk and after pushing aside the large glass paperweight he placed the pale
beige coloured cardboard folder in front of him.  It was marked three of ten,
which meant that the pile had become irritatingly disarranged, no doubt by the
staff that he had ordered to transfer the most recent files to his desk rather
than the storage area.  Mark had ensured that when the equipment had been
removed from the laboratory, the one that Ben had called home for such a long
time, that the equipment be placed in storage but for the documents to be
entrusted to his own safe keeping.  In truth, he wanted to read through them. 
He wanted the words to lift from the page and transfer into his own mind,
reawaken his scientific abilities and transcend their ownership by Ben. 
Eventually he intended for them to become his own words, his own work.  He had
decided to read them repeatedly, until it made sense to the point that when
requested to do so he could paraphrase it in a way that would instil confidence
to his audience, but with just enough mystery that they would undoubtedly
realise that without him the future application of the findings would remain an
ambitious dream.  First, he had to replace something that had until now proven
irreplaceable.  Ben.