The Chrysalid Conspiracy (15 page)

“You all right, love?” the checkout girl enquired. “Nice to see someone smiling,” she said, not waiting for an answer. “Bloody miserable round ’ere.”

Bridie scooped up her change. She resented the intrusion but was grateful that someone had noticed. Back on the street, she picked up her train of thought.

She had been awesome that night. The argument and battle she’d put up reminded her of the young Katja, not conceding any point and burying his excuses in an avalanche of pure reason.

Needless to say, George had caved in and told her about the organisation he was part of. Bridie heard him out. Afterwards, she wasn’t just speechless – she had been both terrified and intrigued. It was as if someone had taken her apart and very carefully put her back together again. He told her of the desperate struggle by his organisation to save her and her baby. But her questioning revealed that he knew nothing of her agreement with Dr. Lucille Jaxson’s dubious medical procedures and the possible repercussions.

Instinctively knowing this was for real, it brought a new sense of purpose to her. Physical and emotional borders came crashing down and it made more sense than any religious dogma she’d ever been exposed to.

She had nagged him, oh how she had nagged him, for every little piece of information, ideology, criteria, ethics, philosophy – every aspect she could think of.

One day, he told her they were having guests for dinner. A neighbour took baby Rayn and they set about cleaning and polishing the caravan.

Three people turned up. An Asian-looking man and woman and a young teenage girl. The three of them had dusky skin, jet-black hair and incredibly bright eyes. She could see those eyes now as she struggled with her carrier bags back towards the garage, her stomach in knots.

George had made the dinner that night. Stuff she had never seen before, but it had smelled good and tasted even better. She just didn’t have the courage to ask what it was. After the meal George had put out some more wine and glasses, ashtrays and cigars and left without a word. The idle chit-chat had finished and she told them everything about her life. For once it was the absolute truth. The hatred, the horror, the betrayal – she spared herself no shame with the details. She spoke of her religious bigotry and the deaths she had been responsible for because of it.

The young girl had sat there expressionless throughout Bridie’s outpouring. The only time she moved was when Bridie was describing her love affair with Father Barry. The girl had suddenly put her hand to her head and winced as if in pain. The other two had just sat there, listening. Bridie hadn’t needed any prompting, she told them everything, and she knew they wanted to hear it.

George had come back and handed baby Rayn to the young girl. She had cradled her in her arms, closed her eyes for a moment and the look on her face had been one of sheer delight.

She remembered asking him why they hadn’t questioned her and he’d explained that the girl was a ‘sensor’, and was there to listen in to her emotional sincerity on a subconscious level. “Better than a lie detector,” he had said, adding that Bridie had really impressed them, especially the young girl.

She’d heard nothing for a couple of years, then, a couple of months after George had been reassigned she received an offer of a ‘mission’ of her own. Just a blank envelope and an unsigned letter left at her door. There had been no conclusion, no time frame, just a course of action, which had left her bewildered. Aware of the awesome responsibility it carried, she had accepted.

She’d followed it for over ten years and it had led her here, – standing in the rain with two bags of shopping, outside a shabby, run-down garage and the man she owed her life to. She had to tell him what she’d heard the girls discussing, she didn’t know what else to do. Was it anticipated? Was Rayn really a part of this? But most of all, had he known about Rayn all those years ago? Had she been just his ‘mission’ or a real friend?

Taking a deep breath, she walked through the open roller door, comforted by the knowledge that she still had a vicious left hook.

***

Amelia, having left her mother in the ‘safe’ hands of Mrs Orugo, took Rayn out to the old stables, a large, two-storey building which, like the main house, was showing its age. The top storey had been a hayloft and there were huge wooden supports holding up one end of the crumbling brickwork. The slate tiled roof showed signs of intermittent repair and most of the windows had been boarded up. It stood at the edge of a wide yard which had been used to turn the carriages in days gone by. Once inside, Rayn was amazed. “Wow! I’m officially impressed,” she gasped, looking round.

The middle floor had been removed, turning the place into a huge barn. The walls had been painted white and the floor was covered with rubber mats. Climbing ropes, hand hoops and a trapeze hung from the wooden beams in the roof. Isometric bars and parallel bars stood at one end with a vaulting horse and a set of lifting weights. In one corner were some shelves containing skipping ropes, dumb bells, boxing gloves and protective headgear.

What really threw her were the mirrors. All down one side, full-length mirrors had been installed, joined together like a ballet studio, but when she spotted the cupboard with a big red cross on the front next to a sink, her confidence began to sag slightly.

“Crikey Amelia,” she said. “This must have cost a fortune.”

“No. Nigel put it together, but George supplied all the apparatus. Mention to him that you need something and it has a habit of turning up. The trick is not to ask questions.”

“Hmm, I wonder why?” said Rayn, looking at Amelia.

Amelia gave her a quick warning look as Nigel arrived. “Hi Nigel, how are you doing?”

“Hi guys, I’m fine. You’re here then?” he said to Rayn.

Rayn turned; secretly pleased at the way he was looking at her. She watched him slip his shoes off at the door and walk towards them. It was when he saw some footprints left by the girls that his manner left Rayn a little uneasy.

He said nothing. He just looked at Amelia and pointed at the offending marks. She silently ran to the kitchen area and returned with a dustpan and brush. She dropped to her knees and started sweeping, avoiding Nigel’s stern gaze. He turned to Rayn. His eyes ran down her body and back up to her face making her pulses started to quicken. “I thought so,” he said gruffly. “How can you expect to train in jeans?” He opened the bag he was carrying, pulled out a pair of tracksuit bottoms and threw them to her. “Here, put these on. There a bit grubby and they smell, but if you can’t take it you shouldn’t be here.” With that, he turned away.

Rayn felt a bit deflated and more than a little angry, more at herself than anything. She watched as Nigel stripped his tracksuit off, revealing immaculate white shorts and vest. His body showed not an ounce of fat, with every muscle clearly defined. He sat down to put on clean white trainers then bounced up, looking the athlete he was.

“Sorry Nigel.” Amelia had finished sweeping. “It won’t happen again.”

He nodded and turned to Rayn again. “Come on girl!” he said. “Haven’t you changed yet? At this rate we’ll be sending out for breakfast.”

Rayn literally scuttled to the kitchen area and drew the old curtain that surrounded it.
Okay
, she thought,
if he needs to be in charge, then that’s the way it’ll be.
“I don’t have a vest, only my jumper,” she called out.

“It’s okay,” Amelia said. “I’ve got a vest on under this.” She peeled off her T-shirt and threw it over the curtain.

“Thanks,” Rayn called back. She swung the curtain back and threw out her arms, singing “Tarah!” Amelia laughed, but Nigel failed to see the humour. “At last,” he grunted. “Now, warm up and once round the circuit. And get those rings and watches off!”

While the girls stretched and jumped he dragged out the horse, fitted some weights to the lifting bar and checked the cables on the isometric bars.

“Right! Amelia, you go first. Rayn, watch what she does then follow her. Let’s see what shape you’re in. Go!”

Amelia dropped to the floor face down. She executed ten perfect push-ups; body straight, arms wide and head up. She flipped over and, with Nigel holding her ankles, she put her hands behind her head and did ten fast sit-ups, breathing steadily, controlled. Rolling over, she went to the weights. They weren’t particularly heavy and she did curls to her chin, then squats. Back straight, head up. Smooth, controlled and professional.

Nigel, who was spotting her, ready to avert any mishaps, kept up a constant stream of encouragement, advice and insult. “Move! Move! You’re like an old woman! That’s better! Great! More! Again! You can do it! Yes!” When Amelia landed after a perfect somersault off the horse Nigel was there, his hand in the small of her back.

“Yes, yes, you can fly. Now, move!” he shouted as she hit the isometric bars, turning and twisting at a terrific speed. She somersaulted off the high bar and Nigel was there again. As he lifted her up to the hoops it was like a ballet movement and Amelia was dancing in the air. Her transfer to the trapeze was flawless. Rayn had a moment of panic when Amelia fell backwards. Nigel was there again, but she hung by her feet and laughed. Standing up again, she swung herself onto the rope and, with no hesitation; she went up one, crossed over and down the other, legs straight out and toes pointed.

She touched down and turned to Rayn. Crossing her legs and spreading her arms she gave an exaggerated Elizabethan bow. Rayn responded with polite applause, while Nigel looked very pleased with himself.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” he said to Rayn.

“Far better than I imagined,” she answered. “So clean and precise. I’m afraid I go for speed more than quality.”

“Why’s that then?” he asked.

“Because I’m usually running away from something,” she said, with a knowing nod to Amelia.

“Okay then, let’s see what you’ve got,” said Nigel.

Rayn hit the floor and went straight into press-ups. Then she flipped over and followed with sit-ups, catching Nigel by surprise. On the weights, her curls were clumsy but she aced the squats just struggling with the last one while Nigel, thrilled and surprised, urged her on. Her run-up and cartwheel off the horse was so fast she had landed before he could get there. She didn’t slow or weaken or show any sign of effort.

Looking at the bars, she shook her head and made a dive for the parallels. She gave an amazing display at speed, and finished with a double somersault. Avoiding the hoops, she leapt up to the trapeze and swung so high it made Nigel shout a warning. She pulled it under control and was up and down the climbing ropes like a monkey, a monkey in a hurry. Standing in front of her audience she did her little jig and another “Tarah”.

“That feels better,” she said, not in the least out of breath. “I don’t get much chance to show off like that.”

“Wow!” Amelia was overwhelmed. “Do that at school and they’d burn you at the stake! Rayn, that was fantastic, and my private thoughts owe you an apology.”

Nigel scratched his head. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “It looks like G-Dad was right after all.” Rayn decided to re-tie her laces, giving Amelia time to explore this unexpected opening.

“He usually is. What did he say when you told him she was joining us?” Amelia asked casually.

“I didn’t have to,” he said. “He suggested it first. He said she was good but needed tidying up a bit.”

“Anything else?” said Amelia, gently coaxing him on. Both girls were wondering how George could have known.

Nigel thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah. It’s a bit strange, though. I didn’t understand what he was on about.”

“And?” Amelia said gently.

“He asked me to get her up to your standard so he could get on with the hardware.”

“What!” said Rayn, straightening up quickly. Amelia gave her a warning look and a slight shake of her head.

“I dunno,” continued Nigel. “To me, hardware means weapons, but G-Dad hates guns, so I don’t know what he meant.”

Rayn spoke up. “Perhaps he’s going to teach us to be blacksmiths.” Her laugh was a bit forced as she looked at Amelia.

“I doubt it,” said Nigel, “but you never know with him.”

“Well, I trust him anyway,” Amelia said, and in a bid to veer off the subject. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Actually, he’s chatting up some woman in the workshop. Very nice, and more his age bracket too,” answered Nigel.

“A customer?” Amelia gently fished for more information.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think so. I got the impression that they knew each other. They were chatting away like old friends. I’ve never seen her before.”

“What did she look like?” Rayn asked, her voice shaking.

Nigel gave the girls that knowing grin and a nod. “Very nice. Really comfy. I didn’t get a good look at her face, but she’s quite tall, and she’s got hair like yours. All pulled up and dark red.”

Amelia cleared her throat loudly. “Shall we get on with something, Nigel? We don’t have a lot of time tonight.”

“Let’s do some boxing,” said Rayn. “I need something I can hit.”

“Okay,” said Nigel. “We’ve only got two pairs of gloves. Amelia, give yours to Rayn and you take mine. Don’t forget your head guards.”

The two girls squared up to each other. Rayn slightly shorter, slim and compact, like a tightly coiled spring, wiry and confident. Amelia had the wider shoulders and her body showed a controlled aggression.

Rayn dived straight in. A flurry of punches left and right. Amelia managed to parry, duck and roll in her efficient clinical manner. Rayn, frustrated at being unable to land a punch, redoubled her efforts.

“Rayn! Stop!” shouted Nigel. “You’re all over the place. Fight with your mind, not just your fists. Amelia, give me those gloves a moment.” Rayn stood there, glowering at him.

“You’re too fast,” he continued. “You won’t last till the second round at that rate!”

“When I fight they don’t come back for the second round,” Rayn snapped back at him.

“Okay,” he said. “Now come on. Use your left, probe; look for a weakness in your opponent’s defence. Create an opening, then use your right. Don’t forget, watch that right.”