The Fall (16 page)
‘Is my face freaking you out?’ he asked.
‘A little.’
Not true
, she thought
. You’re totally freaked out.
‘Can I be honest?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Yeah OK go on. Just don’t say I’m pretty or I’ll know you’re full of it.’
‘Your face is a bit scary.’
‘Fabulous.’
‘I don’t mean it in a bad way.’
‘Well it certainly isn’t good.’ She tried to wriggle out of his arms.
He held on tighter. ‘Hey, I didn’t say you’re pretty.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ she said, still struggling.
‘You wanted me to be honest.’
‘Not really.’
‘Can I kiss you?’
‘No, you look like a brick.’
‘A brick?’ he laughed.
‘It’s all square.’ She pointed at his forehead, laughing too. He leaned towards her, his mouth slightly open. She closed her eyes and felt his tongue push through her lips. His hand surfed up her neck, fingers curling around her hair, tugging gently.
‘Kissing you still feels like kissing
you
,’ he murmured.
‘You too,’ she said, folding her arms around his neck.
He kissed behind her ear and across her swollen cheeks. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping rough?’ His voice sounded hoarse, as though he was having trouble breathing.
She pressed her chest to his, wanting to feel the weight of him, his heart pounding against her. ‘Together beneath the stars in a pitch black field? Sounds good to me.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ he mumbled, like he’d forgotten what they were talking about. Did he mean her face or sleeping outside? She didn’t care. She loved the feel of his stubble scratching lightly across her skin, the pressure of his lips, the way her body quivered at his touch.
‘We really need to find somewhere before it gets dark,’ he said.
‘Mmm,’ she agreed. But instead of pulling back, he kissed harder, and neither paid any attention to the daylight slipping away.
Later, when they’d found a secluded patch of land in an overgrowth of shrubs, Cole built a fire from some dead bush and twigs and they sat watching the flames, the sleeping bag wrapped around their shoulders. Using Cole’s interface to access an aerial map of Three Mills Island, they studied the layout of the mental rehab home and discussed ways they could break in.
Formerly working mills on the River Lea, Three Mills was an island which had only two possible access points: one, a cattle bridge for cars; the other, a footbridge. Ana showed Cole where the patients were housed, pointing out the wash-block near the footbridge access. Orderlies ferried special therapy patients through the wash-block when they were going in and out of the compound. That was the entrance Ana intended to use. The orderlies operated the door with metal keys, rather than electronic ones, which meant if they could get their hands on the right kind of skeleton key, Ana should be able to enter the wash-block without too much difficulty.
As they discussed how they could sedate the security guard without him raising the alarm, Cole took out a toolkit from the bottom of the camping rucksack. Lila must have packed it for him the night they left the Project, Ana thought. She watched him take a pair of tongs and a thin piece of metal that looked like a shred of tin can.
‘Are those what you make your wind-chimes with?’ she asked, remembering how the first time she’d met Lila was at the Winter family’s market stall in Camden. Lila had told her that it was her musical elder brother who made the wind-chimes.
‘Yeah,’ Cole said, stretching the tongs over the fire.
‘How did you learn how to do it?’
‘I began building mobiles from scraps as a kid in the orphanage. Passed the time. And sometimes when we were allowed out I managed to sell the odd one or two – twisted bits of metal and useless old coins, hanging down from sticks or pieces of string. Then in the Project there were workshops where you could learn to build stuff the Project uses or sells on. Richard thought I showed promise, gave me my own workbench.’
Ana listened and watched, trying to get used to the changes on his altered face. When she looked hard enough, she could still see Cole beneath the gels and the inky irises.
He hammered the metal on a stone. After a minute he said, ‘Close your eyes.’ She closed them, felt his rough hand on hers. Something hot slipped onto her ring finger. When she opened her eyes, she saw he had fashioned her a neat, thick ring from the metal he’d heated. An image of the diamond ring she’d given to Stitch crossed her mind.
‘One day I’ll buy you a nice one,’ he said.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to.’
She smiled, but it felt like a fantasy. Pures weren’t allowed to divorce.
As though reading her thoughts, Cole said, ‘When the Pure split is over, things will go back to the way they were before the test. People will be able to divorce and marry who they want.’ He paused. ‘And one day, if you want, we could get married.’
She stroked the ring, legs hugged to her chest. If they weren’t still hiding from the authorities or her father. If there ever came a day when she could use her real name again in public and get a divorce. Right now she couldn’t even use her real face.
‘Sorry,’ he said, beginning to pack up his tools.
‘What for?’
‘I thought you’d like it. I thought . . . never mind.’
She studied his face, trying to gauge if he was annoyed or embarrassed. Offended, definitely. ‘Cole,’ she said, gently touching his arm. ‘I love it. And . . .’ Her throat grew husky. The last time she’d spoken these three words was eight years ago, before her mum died. ‘I love you,’ she said.
He knelt down in front of her, eyes glistening in the firelight. ‘I love you, Ana.’ He pulled her close and she held tightly to him. Unease stirred in a dark corner of her heart. How would all this end for them?
Ana stood outside the locksmiths, hugging her arms to herself. It was chilly, the low sun barely breaking through a grey bank of cloud. She wore Lila’s grey hooded top again, and a pair of jeans Lila had lent her which were too small. A gap between her socks and the frayed hems let the cold air dance around her ankles. Cole was on his interface in live chat mode with Stitch. It was only 7 a.m. but Stitch was up with her baby and had been texting him information for the last fifteen minutes. She’d already accessed the Three Mills finance records, identified the name of the security company they used, and learned that Giles Farmer was the footbridge security guard on duty that day from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Last night she’d had Ana’s joining ring authenticated and was prepared to put herself at their disposition for ‘whatever they needed’, no questions asked.
Cole switched off his interface, happy because Stitch had hooked them up with a supplier of black-market sedatives, syringes and muscle relaxants who would meet them outside the locksmiths in half an hour. The locksmith, who they’d chosen because he had the earliest opening times in central London, and because he was close to Liverpool Street Station’s left luggage – one of the City’s two remaining short-term baggage storage services – was three minutes late.
‘We should do it today,’ Ana said.
‘Maybe,’ Cole answered, not quite looking at her.
‘You said you thought if the Wardens were serious about negotiating with the Project, they’d do it within the first twenty-four hours. As far as we know, they haven’t made any attempts. So what are they waiting for?’
‘They’re figuring out how to get in.’
‘Or perhaps they’re trying to ensure that public opinion really is on their side. They won’t want to seize the Project if it makes the protests worse. Either way, we haven’t got much time before they act. We need to turn public opinion against the Board before the Wardens attack.’
Cole nodded.
‘So is that maybe yes, or maybe no?’ she pushed.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘I have the home address of today’s Three Mills security guard, Giles Farmer.’ Ana raised her eyebrows. ‘Stitch is very thorough,’ he continued. ‘And happy about that ring.’
She touched the metal on her ring finger and felt a twinge of guilt about Jasper.
‘If we’re going to do it today,’ Cole said, ‘we’ve got enough time to get the Tube to Giles Farmer so that we can follow him to work and figure out how to sedate him. As long as this locksmith guy shows up soon.’
‘So it’s maybe yes?’ she asked. Cole pursed his lips and nodded once. Fear and excitement thumped in Ana’s chest. As she moved to kiss him, a short man with olive skin and slicked back hair walked up the empty street, smiling at them.
‘Customers already,’ he said, pulling out a huge bunch of keys, one of which he used to lift the grill on the front of his shop. ‘It’s my lucky day.’
*
By 9 a.m., Ana and Cole were ducked down in an abandoned car outside Giles Farmer’s home. The locksmith had sent them away with a ‘bump’ key, guaranteeing it would open ninety per cent of all traditional early-twenty-first century locks. They’d also successfully purchased the sedatives. And all with Cole’s money, which meant Ana still wore her moon necklace concealed beneath her sweater. She was pleased they hadn’t been forced to sell it quickly. A part of her wanted to hold onto it. It was a reminder of who she was, where she’d come from. And when this was over, it would still fetch enough money to get them far away from the City.
Cole flexed his injured knee. He was sore from sitting with it bent for the last fifteen minutes. The car smelt mouldy. A faint odour of cat’s pee cleaved the interior. Ana tried not to breathe through her nose as she watched the parade of Georgian town houses across the street. Built one against the next, they bore the similar plain style of the era, but varied in height, window size and detail.
Cole was running a web search on Giles Farmer, when the battered door beside a shop front opened. A middle-aged man jostled out. From inside, the distant sounds of children screaming, shouting and bashing things around echoed across the street. The man closed the door and visibly loosened up. He stomped along the path in his blue uniform.
‘That’s him,’ Cole said, comparing the man to the photo he had on his interface. ‘He’s leaving early.’
Ana quickly put her arms through the straps of the black rucksack with the Stinger – they’d left the camping rucksack at Liverpool Street Station left luggage – and flung wide the car door. She scrambled out, leaving the door dangling on its hinges. Giles Farmer didn’t so much as blink in their direction. He was far too busy escaping the family home.
She followed him down the street, staying on the opposite side of the road. Cole struggled to keep up on his crutches. After a couple of minutes, the security guard crossed over to their side of the road and with a furtive glance backwards, jogged into a fast-food restaurant. Ana waited for Cole before following.
They stood behind Farmer in the breakfast queue. The security guard activated his interface and used his hand as a screen to search the net. He found a TV sports channel broadcasting a game of table tennis. He quickly put in an earpiece, shutting out the restaurant.
As he shuffled forwards in the queue, Cole spoke to her in hushed tones. ‘We’ll try and get him here. Once he’s ordered, I’ll follow him in case he leaves straight away. Buy whatever he buys. We can put something in the coffee and switch them.’
She nodded – she didn’t want to become separated from Cole. ‘If I can’t find you afterwards,’ she said, ‘meet me outside that furniture shop we passed.’ The anxiety must have seethed through her voice, because Cole’s gaze became questioning.
You’re sure you want to do this?
his eyes asked her.
‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly. He squeezed an ID stick into her hand and left the queue. Farmer reached the counter and ordered a coffee and a doughnut. Ana didn’t dare look for him again until after he’d gone and she’d placed her own order. To her relief, she found him sitting down at a high stool facing frosted windows that overlooked the high street.
The server returned to the counter with a paper bag and her coffee cup.
‘Fourteen pounds,’ she said. Ana handed over the ID stick. The server stuck it into her interface and Lila’s face projected up through the semi-transparent counter panel. Ana kept her expression blank. She didn’t look anything like Lila even without eye dye and gels. The server blinked at Lila’s picture without showing the slightest hint of anything but boredom.
‘Thank you very much. Next.’
Relieved, Ana joined Cole by the door of the restaurant. He took the coffee, popped off the plastic top and slipped in a sedative. The dissolving, timed-release pill would take around half an hour to enter Farmer’s bloodstream; an hour before he fell into a deep sleep.
‘Now to swap them,’ Cole murmured. As a customer vacated a stool beside the security guard, he moved swiftly across the restaurant and nabbed the free space. Ana stayed where she was, keeping an eye on them.
Farmer’s interface projected on the milky frosted windows. The image was eight times the size it had been on his hand. He split his screen to watch two sites at once – the English table tennis championships on one side, BBC News Live on the other. Ana honed in on the news. They were showing an image from two days ago when Wardens with rifles deployed around the Project. The camera cut to a dark saloon arriving at the Highgate Community checkpoint. Protestors barred the Community entrance. Four armed Wardens appeared from the other side of the barrier and pushed them back, allowing the vehicle to pass through.
Meanwhile, Cole placed his coffee cup with the sedative beside the security guard’s, switched on his interface and begin surfing the net. She edged over so she was within hearing distance. After a minute, Cole reached across the table and picked up the wrong cup. As he raised Farmer’s coffee to his lips, a hand clamped across his wrist.
‘That’s mine,’ Farmer said.
Cole pulled a charming, self-assured smile. ‘Don’t think so, mate.’
‘Yeah it is,’ Farmer insisted. ‘I distinctly remember I had a cup with red writing and a white bun.’ He pointed at the cup with the sedative. ‘That one’s got white writing and a red bun. So the one you’re holding is mine.’