The Cloned Identity (11 page)

“What about if I could offer you a bed and food for a few days?”

“No, no, I can't do any work cos of my back,” he whinged.

“No, it wouldn't involve any work; just like now, we would just ask you questions for our research.”

He sat there thinking – well, I think that's what he was doing. It was difficult to tell by the expression on his face.

He looked at me. “What about money? Would I get paid?”

I smiled. “Yes, I am sure we can sort something out,” I said.

He sat there with that bland expression, probably wondering what else he could ask for.

Before he could say anything, I said, “And we could sort you out with some new clothes – anything like that.”

I regretted saying that as soon as I said it because his face changed and he looked at me suspiciously. I realised that it was all right for him to ask for things, but my offering made it look as though I would say anything to get him to do what I wanted; so I sat quietly and waited, wondering if I had blown it.

‘Perhaps I should arrest him and take him away in handcuffs,' I thought.

He still sipped his tea. He didn't look directly at me, but I could see he was watching my movements. He was avoiding all eye contact, yet when he had been begging he used his eyes almost as a weapon. So why had he gone all shy now?

My thoughts were interrupted as he put his cup down and, without looking at me, said he would stay just for a couple of days. I tried not to sound too exuberant as I said how pleased I was. I got him another tea and a sticky bun to keep him occupied as I made a call to the Professor. I returned to the table and watched him munching away.

“That's all fixed, Jack. The room is still available.”

He didn't seem to take any notice of what I said, but I am sure he was quicker on the uptake than he appeared to be. He had obviously been surviving on his wits for a long time. I thought I would warn the Professor not to be taken in by his appearance. For all I knew he could have been a highly educated man.

He was finally ready to leave, and we made our way towards my car. I had deliberately parked out of sight of the café so the proprietor wouldn't be able to clock my number plate. I didn't want him reporting what, after all, must have looked a trifle suspicious: a well-dressed man in a new car going off with a tramp.

As we neared the car, Jack suddenly said, “'Old on a mo,” and disappeared into the bushes.

I was just about to chase after him when he reappeared clutching a bag – well, more of a blanket tied up with string. I opened up the car and suggested he put his bundle in the boot. I thought that might stop the fleas from getting inside. I don't think he had been in a new car before, and he seemed thrilled by the electric windows. He recoiled when I tried to put the seat belt on him – I think, from his reaction, he thought I was tying him up, so I put mine on first and explained that it was illegal not to wear one.

It didn't take too long to reach the research station. I pipped the horn at the main gates, hoping the Professor had warned the guard. He looked out and I waved. The big gate started to open.

Jack looked amazed. I just hoped he wouldn't notice the high fence around the place.

I drove up to the front of the new building. Good – the Professor was waiting, and thank goodness he wasn't wearing his white coat. I turned the car so Jack would get out facing the Professor, who opened the door and greeted Jack like his long-lost brother. Jack was struggling to undo his belt, so I helped. I looked at his seat as he got out – I was half expecting to see that a flea circus had taken up residence. While the Professor was doing his Dr Livingstone act I retrieved Jack's bundle from the boot. With some effort, due to the weight, I held it at arm's length and passed it to Jack, who held it tight against his stomach as though protecting it from theft. Well, I suppose there could be someone worse off than him who might take a liking to the grubby bundle.

The Professor led Jack inside and I followed. He showed Jack his room. The Professor was behaving completely over the top, even turning the taps on in the bathroom and flushing the loo.

I could see that Jack was getting worried by the Professor's behaviour, so I said, “OK, Jack, we will leave you to settle in. Just make yourself at home. When you are ready, pop down to the kitchen and we can have some tea.”

I then grabbed the Professor by the arm and steered him out of the room. I waited until we reached the kitchen before I spoke.

“For goodness' sake, Professor, you're frightening him to death. Just calm down.”

“I am sorry, Roger – it's just— Well, I feel so excited. It's like a dream come true.”

I popped my head out of the door and looked down the corridor towards Jack's room, expecting to see him making a bolt for it.

Turning back to the Professor, I said, “Well, what do you think of him?”

“He looks all right, Roger. Mind you, a good bath would be an improvement. What's his background?”

“Well, he reckons he has got no family, doesn't remember ever going to school, and has been on the road from the day he was born. I think he must be in his mid-forties. If we could get a surname and date of birth out of him, I could do a check on him.”

The Professor looked at me. “He sounds perfect. I wonder if he can read or write.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I had never thought to ask – I mean, I automatically assume everybody can read and write (or I did until I moved up here).

We sat talking for a good two hours, then a bleeper went off in the Professor's pocket.

“That's Jack's door,” he said.

I quickly put my head out of the door, just in time to see Jack peeping out nervously.

“Hi!” I called. “We are in here.” I stood out in the corridor and beckoned him.

He came along looking sheepish. I smiled and ushered him into the kitchen. The Professor was just putting the kettle on, and at least he now tried to behave normally. We got Jack to sit down at the table and joined him. The Professor started his cross-examination. I watched Jack's face, and at any sign of distress or agitation I would butt in and change the subject. At first the Professor looked a bit annoyed at my interruptions, but then he realised what I was up to and followed my example.

The kettle boiled and the Professor made a pot of tea. Just then a phone started to ring in another room somewhere in the building, and the Professor left to answer it.

“What do you think of him?” I asked Jack.

“Blooming well talks a lot, don't he?”

“Yes, I suppose he does, but he is a very nice chap – always helping people, very kind.” I piled on the compliments. “He's very pleased you agreed to help us.”

“Well, it will be all right for a few days; then I will have to be off,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

“Is your room all right?” I asked.

“Suppose so. The bed's no good – too soft. The floor will be better.”

The Professor came back. He went to a wall cupboard in the corner and fetched a mug. From a different cupboard he took two cups. I watched him as he poured out the tea. He placed the mug in front of Jack.

“I thought you would prefer a mug, Jack.”

He placed a cup in front of me, then brought his own cup and the sugar bowl. He placed the sugar bowl in front of Jack and sat down. “I don't know if you take sugar, Jack. Please help yourself.”

We both watched, with some distaste, as he put at least six heaped spoons into his mug and gave it a lazy stir. The Professor and I chatted away, trying to draw Jack into the conversation, but we found it hard work as Jack didn't seem to have much to say – or, indeed, have any opinions about anything. His ignorance – no, it would be nearer the truth to say ‘his innocence' – about the world around him was a revelation. After about ten minutes Jack yawned, displaying a mouth full of discoloured teeth.

I said, “You look tired. Do you want to go to bed?”

He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open as he nodded.

I saw him back to his room and returned to the kitchen. The Professor was at the sink, washing the cups.

He turned as I walked in and said, “Is he all right?”

I nodded. “What did you give him?” I asked. He looked at me as if to say, “How did you know?”

“Oh, just a strong sleeping tablet. I must have him relaxed, totally. I'll give him some more sedatives in the morning.” I must have looked concerned. “Don't worry, Roger, I know what I am doing. I'll be sleeping in the lab, so I won't be far away.”

I looked at my watch. “Well, I might as well go home. I'll come back first thing in the morning.” The Professor came to the door with me. We both stopped outside Jack's room and listened. I think we expected to hear him snoring loudly, but it all seemed quiet.

“Do you think he is all right?” I whispered.

The Professor nodded and we carried on. He showed me how to operate the security door, and I left.

I was back early the next morning. I crept quietly past Jack's room – which was a bit silly really because I didn't even know if he was in there or not. I found the Professor in the lab at his desk, which was piled with sheets of paper.

“Have you seen Jack?” I asked.

“I popped in earlier, but he was still sound asleep, so I left him.”

We talked generally for a few minutes, then I asked him what he intended to do. He said he wanted to try downloading information into Jack's brain to boost his intelligence and general knowledge.

“Is there a risk that you will damage his brain if you try to put too much data in at once?” I asked.

“No, I don't think so, Roger. I think confusion is more likely than damage.”

Just then the bleeper went off in the Professor's pocket.

“Ah, Jack's out and about.”

We both hurried from the lab. Jack was standing outside his door, yawning and having a good scratch. We both approached him. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the day before, and he seemed to have slept in them.

“Good morning, Jack. Did you sleep well?” the Professor asked in the kind of voice you might use talking to a three-year-old. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Jack was still looking a mite confused, probably wondering where the hell he was. We led him to the kitchen and sat him down. I sat opposite, smiling at him, trying to reassure him, settle him down. The Professor made himself busy, putting the kettle on, turning the cooker on, putting some bread in the toaster. Jack seemed to be waking up, although it was difficult to tell by his face. The Professor placed a plate in front of Jack – beans on toast. I hoped he liked beans. The Professor had obviously decided he not only liked them but lived on them, judging by the amount he had piled on the plate. Jack seemed to pep up as he looked at the plate in front of him. He was soon tucking in. The Professor brought over the tea and sugar bowl and sat down. He and I chatted between ourselves, trying to draw a response from Jack, but he was too busy eating. I don't think he realised we were there. He did stop eating a couple of times, and looked thoughtful, but then just carried on eating. Finally, when his plate was empty, he pushed it away and sat back in his chair, his mug of tea in his hand.

“Had enough?” the Professor asked.

He nodded. There was no thanks – still, he probably never had much use for manners.

I looked at the Professor, who was watching anxiously as Jack took a sip from his mug. Jack grimaced and leant forward, dumping his mug on the table. The Professor looked horrified.

“Not enough sugar!” wailed Jack, and he proceeded to add another couple of spoonfuls.

The Professor heaved a sigh of relief. I grinned to myself. Jack wouldn't have a clue he was being drugged – the thought would never enter his head. Jack tasted the tea again. Satisfied, he drained the mug in several noisy gulps. We sat in silence, waiting for the drug to take effect. It seemed ages before Jack started to look drowsy. His eyelids started to flutter as he struggled to stay awake. We helped him to his feet and, supporting him between us, we walked him into the lab and settled him on the couch in a semi-reclining position. The Professor asked me to remove his hat. He fetched an instant camera and took several photos of Jack. He placed them on a table to develop, then wheeled a trolley over. He removed the white cover to reveal neat lines of gleaming surgical instruments.

“We have to make an incision for the probe to enter the skull.”

The Professor was talking to me as he thought out loud. He asked me stand behind Jack and to hold Jack's head on its side.

“I will make the incision just behind the ear.”

He pushed Jack's hair away from the area, and asked me to hold it as I held the head. He then swabbed the area with an antiseptic, then he selected one of the vicious-looking instruments from the tray. I looked away. I could feel the pressure he was using, and had to use quite a lot of effort to keep the head in place.

“That's it,” he said as he dropped the instrument back on the trolley. He pointed to the area and said, “See – I've made a tiny hole and fitted a self-sealing membrane.”

I looked down. “It's not very big,” I commented.

“No, it doesn't have to be. The probe is only slightly bigger than a needle. I've made a small cover, so it will look just like a spot.”

“I hope he doesn't decide to squeeze it,” I said.

The Professor ignored my remark. “I've numbed the area round the membrane, so he shouldn't feel the need to have a scratch.”

“Can I take my hands away now?” I asked.

The mention of the word ‘scratch' reminded me that I was probably holding a fleas' nest in my hands. I examined my hands carefully for any signs of creepy-crawlies. The Professor wheeled his trolley away, then came back with another one with a computer on. He switched on and the screen glowed green. He took the top off a clear plastic box and lifted out an object about five inches long. From one end a delicate-looking cable disappeared into the housing at the side of the computer. While I watched he removed a cover from the opposite end to reveal a gold needle, about three inches long. He held it up to show me.