Identity X (22 page)

Mark
had watched how the death of Ben’s
father had both simultaneously destroyed and cemented Ben’s life path, and this
shared grief would, in his mind, secure their partnership and provide an
authenticity to her placement that the previous attempts had failed to
achieve
.  She was beautiful
too
and he knew that Ben would like
her
. 

Closing the file, he picked up his glass
of whisky.  He pulled the glass up to his lips and knocked back another
measure, the warmth of which slipped down his throat, burning him with a sense
of masochistic pleasure.  It was impossible to think of Catherine without
thinking of the man he once would have stood alongside until the end of the
earth, and it was impossible to think of Ben without feeling the sense of loss
and guilt that hung over his success as heavily and stationary as a dust
storm.  Like Catherine, Mark too had taken choices that were difficult to live
with.  His appointment into the position of power that he occupied had been
questioned time and time again by those that sat underneath his umbrella of
control, always questioning if his background in science and position of trust
was enough to counteract his lack of military experience.  He promised himself
when he took the position that he would make the right decisions, and that he
would consider the aspirations of
T
he
A
gency and hold their
intentions in higher regard than any feelings of guilt that he may feel.  In
all truth, everyday life had changed little.  He went to work, called Ben
regularly, and played football with him and Matthew most weekends.  They still
hit the bar together at the end of a long day
.
 
Ben still watched as Mark fool
ed
around with any girl young and
inexperienced enough
not
to realise that
behind the expensive suit and the fine set of wrinkles that made him look
distinguished rather than aged, hid a married man who offered them nothing more
than a quick fumble and a morning full of regret and broken promises.  It was
as it always was.  He celebrated the birth of Matthew, even though his very existence
almost threatened the whole operation and brought into question his choice of
agent and her ability to maintain her role.  It was only
during
quiet times, when he was alone
that he couldn’t prevent the aimless wanderings of his mind as it permitted thoughts
of what he had lost, and what he was set to lose in the future as the bells
rang in his success.  He wondered once Ben was truly gone how his life might
be.  He knew the casual trips out and beers in a bar would be nothing but a
memory, and he hoped that over time he had trained himself well enough not
to
mourn his loss, but
rather to
revel in the glory of his
accomplishments. 

He reached down inside the drawer and
could see the dark wooden frame that encapsulated his much younger face.  His
hair was still brown in the photograph, without a hint of grey, and his skin
smooth and fresh.  His smile was wide and honest, and his arms brown as he
clutched a beer in his left hand, raising a toast to the photographer.  At his
side Ben stood there showing off his skin, equally tanned and youthful, his
hair bleached by the sun.  They could have been no more than seventeen, and it
was a photograph taken on a holiday months before the death of Ben’s father and
after their final examinations.  It was one of the happiest times in Mark’s
life, and every memory that they created together at this time held a special
meaning in his heart.  But to him now it was the past, and it was only today as
he knew he would say a final goodbye to his onetime best friend, and the child
that he was once too, that he allowed himself to think about the happiness that
they had shared as this photograph was taken.  He knew that the boy in the
photograph would be lost to the past.  He knew that the life that they once
shared would not exist anymore.  Ben Stone would be erased from file,
as if he
never existed.  He knew that
with
Ben’s
death part of him would be
gone too, but trusted that its loss would make room for success, for money, and
for the power that he craved.  He would take Ben’s research and build it as his
own.  NEMREC would become known as Mark’s work, as his creation, for it would
be him that would deliver it to its true and faithful purpose.   It would achieve
exactly what Ben intended as it
infiltrated Mark’s life.  It would root out the weak links, and through its use
he would heal and grow, and somewhere in that process he would become a newer,
better version of the boy that he once was. 

He threw the photograph back into the
draw and slammed it shut.  Kicking back his chair, he stood up pulled open the
door.  As he pulled it shut behind him he made his way up the corridor and back
to the Surveillance Centre.  As he neared the corner and began his turn the
proximity and speed of the other body travelling in the opposite direction
startled him, and he felt his heart skip as its presence took him by surprise. 
In unison they both gasped, Mark a deep rasping bellow, whilst the voice of the
other individual was nothing more than a soft controlled gasp for air.

“What the hell?”  Mark breathed a sigh of
relief as his cognitive senses kicked into action, delayed temporarily by the
visions from the past and influence of whiskey.  His short burst of fear passed
him by.  “I thought you’d had an accident?”

The response was almost automatic as she
smiled.  “We really weren’t very far away.  I came in by the underground to get
here quickly.  I left my agents there.”  She hoped that her thinly veiled lies
were not detectable.  She relied on the same training that The Agency had
taught her to cover the truth and to lie convincingly, so that even the people
that knew you couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what was
fabrication.  She knew she was good at it.

“Oh right, OK.”  He glanced down at his
watch and she tried to remember if she had told him where it was that the false
accident had occurred, and if there was any conceivable way that she could have
managed to arrive already.  “I’m heading back to the Surveillance Centre.  You
don’t need to be here when they bring him in.  You are staying in one of the
safe houses, right?”  She knew the plan.   It was isolated, and far away from
the city, where she should await instruction with Matthew.

“Yes, and I was hoping to take Matthew
now if you deem it a good idea.  Unless there is anything you need me to do
first?”  She had learned a long time ago never to try to intervene with Mark’s
assumption of power, and at all times to positively reinforce his level of
control.  Given any chance to ask his permission to ensure the completion of a
task that she already knew that she would do, or to ask his approval for
something that didn’t need it she would take it.  She had established early on
in their relationship that to disagree with him and to question his position
was a futile and senseless position
in which
to
find oneself.  However, to pose your own ideas as his own and give the air that
he had been the one to make the original suggestion or grant permission worked
very nicely in her favour.  Many times she had managed to avoid an unwanted
conflict or situation, or to secure a more favourable position based on this
one technique alone.  With her training and his lack of it Mark was very easy
to manipulate, and she wondered just how it was that more people didn’t
seemingly take advantage of him in his senior position.  She hoped this time
her plan had not backfired, because the simplest request for her time now would
throw everything away.

“Yes, I want you to take Matthew.  It’s
not appropriate for him to be here when we bring him in.  Follow the plan.  We
will have you escorted to the safe house.”

“No, no,” she interrupted, hoping that
she hadn’t made too rash a response or in her haste belittled his ideas.  “It’s
an unnecessary use of resources when we have him being captured as we speak.” 
It had worked.  Mark checked the passage of time on his wrist watch, and
promptly moved towards the other side of Hannah, suggesting the conversation
was already coming to a close.

“Yes, quite right.  I can’t afford to
spare anybody for you.  Get on with it yourself,” he said as he waved his arm
towards the direction of Matthew’s room.   “I’ll make a call to let them know
you are coming.  You’ll have to organise the car yourself.”  He stepped back
into his office and she saw him reach for the telephone receiver.  She heard a
mumbled conversation as the door closed behind him.  She tried to listen in by
moving closer, desperately wondering if he really was calling the room where
Matthew was being held, or if somehow he knew what she had done and was making
other less favourable plans on her behalf.   As he came out of the office she
jumped away from the door.  “It’s done.  Go pick him up,” he said as he was
already starting to walk away backwards on the balls of his feet before turning
and stepping into a proper stride.  He called out to her as the distance
between them reassuringly grew, “he’ll be OK you know.  I spoke to him
earlier.  It’ll be hard at first, but he will be OK.  We’ll speak tomorrow.”

With that, Hannah began walking away
towards the opposite end of the corridor whilst Mark smiled
to himself
and stepped towards the
Surveillance Centre.  Pushing open the large double doors again, one with each
hand he announced his arrival with an immediate question.

“So where are we?  What have we got?”

Forrester looked over his glasses and up
towards the back of his theatre towards Mark.  Mark didn’t notice his
exasperation as he took a coffee from the refreshments table, pouring himself a
large mug of oily black fluid and tipping in a couple of sugars.  He would tell
people that it was tiredness, should they be rude enough to ask, but in truth
he felt the effects of the large whiskey that he had just knocked back which he
thought had been such a good idea at the time, and now was regretting.  He
began walking towards the station where Forrester was working, considering each
step and proceeding one at a time. 

“Well Sir, the first team will be within
one hundred meters of the transmit site within the next minute, and the rest
are only minutes behind.”

“Good.  Have them stand by and await
their colleagues.  Wherever he is holed up I want a perimeter around him.  No
escape this time.  This time he is ours.  This time, he is dead.”  Mark
listened as Forrester relayed his instructions to the teams as they drove
through the outskirts of the forest.  Mark sipped on his coffee and pulled up
an empty seat alongside Forrester.  He wanted a prime viewpoint to watch the
birth of his success.  He watched the screen as the newly identified blue
marker flashed continuously in its stationary position, marking the newly
detected signal.  The
Ben
signal.  They all watched as it became
encircled by a series of red lights as each of the field agents moved in closer
and closer.  Mark could feel his pulse racing as he listened to the radio
transmission from the leading team.

“Jedi twenty one, do you read me?  Over.”

“Loud and clear Jedi, what is your
position?  Over,” relayed Forrester, speaking as he held down the transmit
button of the intercom, clearly in his element.  One of the days he lived for.

“In position approximately twenty meters
from target.  It’s a boathouse.  I repeat.  Boathouse.  Over.”

“Standby Jedi twenty one.  Standby. 
Over.”

Mark sipped his coffee and stood up.  He
began to pace around the workstation, clearly annoying Forrester who was
listening to a steady relay of messages from the rest of the workstations as
one by one each of them announced their position of readiness.  He was enjoying
the action and Mark’s jitteriness was compromising it. 
He was never right
for the job.  Too young.  Too hot-headed. 
Soon enough he had ten teams in
place, over half of his company, and more than enough to encircle the boat
house.  Forrester looked across the room towards Mark, who was stood with his
arms folded, one thumb brought up apprehensively tapping on his lips.  He
looked again at the blue marker flashing in the same position.  It hadn’t
moved. 
Could he be asleep,
Mark wondered.  He imagined an image of Ben
sleeping and trying to rest after the events of the day.  He sensed the first
thoughts of pity, and without hesitation tried to brush them aside.

“Sir, we have enough teams in place to
have the building surrounded.  When you are ready.”

Mark looked up at Forrester knowing that
it was time to fit the final piece of the jigsaw in place.  “What about the
satellite?  I want the satellite image.”  Forrester looked towards his
assistant for an update.

“About five minutes Sir,” said a
bespectacled head from behind another workstation.  Mark looked back up to the
primary screen which filled almost a whole wall in front of them.  He saw the
blue marker, surrounded by red dots, the other side bordered by the river. 
Wherever they were, there was no way out.

“What the hell is taking so long with
it?”  Mark’s patience was wearing thin. 
Was it really necessary to have the
satellite images?

“He is surrounded Sir,” coaxed Forrester,
trying to divert the heat away from his aide and eager to see the strike.  It
wasn’t often he got a day like this, and his impatience was poking him. 
It
wasn’t necessary,
Mark thought
.  They could manage without it. 
“
T
here really is no way out this time,”
Forrester offered.  It was the last push Mark needed.