Toxic Treacle (12 page)

Monkey moved away slightly and looked at her, surprised. ‘You've never said you wanted to know who your provider was before.'

Angel shrugged. ‘You've never asked. Anyway, all this has got me thinking - that's all.'

The idea that they now had to spend time looking up the details of
two
providers unsettled Monkey. And why had Angel never expressed any interest in finding her father before? He could feel suspicion beginning to grow in his mind again. No - he was being stupid. He'd had doubts about her before, with the code and the map, but she'd always proved herself safe. All this subterfuge was getting to him. He was being paranoid. He leant forward again and returned her kiss but it lacked passion and he broke off quickly when the Professor's voice sounded through the intercom.

‘I'll let them know now.' From his tone, he was obviously talking to someone on his ring-cam.

A crack of light broke across the loft as the wardrobe was moved out and they heard footsteps on the stairs. When the Professor appeared, he was carrying a bundle of clothing. He dropped it on the mattresses, then sat down facing the two fugitives.

‘We need to move you out of here,' he said, matter of factly. ‘It's not safe to stay in one place for too long.'

Monkey felt a band of apprehension grip his chest. ‘When? Where to?'

‘Tonight,' said the Professor.

‘Tonight!' They couldn't go tonight - not when he'd just been given the key to finding his own father.

Angel stroked his arm. ‘It's OK,' she said, trying to soothe his sense of panic. Then said to the Professor, ‘We just feel very safe here.' Any doubts he might have had about her dissipated and he squeezed her hand.

‘I know, but that's why we need to move you on - so that you can stay safe. We have neighbours and not everyone is a sympathiser. It's suspicious enough that I've been here three nights this week. Sooner or later, I could be seen and someone could talk.'

Monkey nodded. His head was spinning, trying to think of a way round this unexpected turn of events. ‘Where will we be moved to next?'

‘I can't tell you that,' replied Professor Reed, handing them the bundle of clothes. ‘These are Security suits and there's ID with each of them. Put them on and familiarise yourselves with your new identities.' Monkey's heart sank; he was only just coming to grips with being Aston Holmes; now he was going to have to be someone totally different. The Professor continued with their instructions, ‘We'll need to look like a foot patrol, so we'll jog into town. You'll have to keep in step, so follow me.'

‘What - now?' Monkey was shocked at the speed with which things were happening. ‘We can't go now - we...' He searched his mind for an excuse to stay. ‘... haven't got our new ring-cams yet.'

‘Your new contact has them. The professor left them to get changed and Angel turned to Monkey. ‘What are we going to do?'

Monkey's head was spinning. He wanted - no,
needed
– a new ring-cam. But he also wanted to find his father. There had to be a way to achieve both.

‘I don't know,' he said pensively.

Slowly, he picked up the larger of the two Security uniforms and stepped into it. He pulled it up round his waist, then pushed his arms into the sleeves. Angel did likewise. Monkey zipped up the front of the dark grey, stab-proof garment, then slipped on the flak jacket and fastened it securely.

Once Angel was similarly attired, she spread her arms and gave a twirl. ‘What d'you think?'

Monkey caught his breath. He thought she'd look good in anything, but he limited himself to a simple, ‘Whaled!'

There was a small plasma-card in his top pocket. He pulled it out and read the ID on the card, then sighed. ‘Royston Ashley James - aged nineteen. I'm getting older by the minute!'

Identity Crisis

It was almost three in the morning by the time they left the house and ran, military double-march style, along the disused loco track. There had been no goodbye to Danger; no opportunity to let Beth know that the arranged break-in to the Breeding Centre would not take place. Professor Reed had remained in the loft with them until the call came for them to leave.

They jogged towards the centre of town - the opposite direction from their jaunts out to the village. The loco depot was at the far side of Eastway and, as they approached the station, Professor Reed drew them to a halt. Monkey was out of breath. He doubled up with a stitch in his side from the exertion but Professor Reed barked at him to straighten up. Under his breath the provider added, ‘We're supposed to be a crack security unit - you mustn't let the cameras pick up on anything suspicious in your behaviour.'

Monkey straightened up again and steadied his breathing. He shot Angel a sideways glance; she was standing to attention, head high, shoulders back like a real security officer. He followed suit to the best of his ability - there was something to be said for all that gymnastic training, he thought.

‘Wait here!' the Professor ordered as he looked round the deserted station, then added
sotto
voce
, ‘Pretend you're searching for something or someone.'

There had been only one loco route into and out of town from the capital since the Oil Wars, so most of the old platforms had long since fallen into disrepair. Monkey and Angel began looking under seating and behind pillars purposefully. It was eerily quiet. The wind whistled through the ornate Victorian brackets that were peeling reminders of the station in its heyday. Discarded paper tumbled along the concrete walkways and a large clock, dating from the last century, creaked precariously on one rusting hinge.

Monkey sidled up to Angel and, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, whispered through the side of his mouth, ‘I've been thinking - soon as we've got the ring-cams, we'll make a dash for it and we can still make it to Broadwalk by six. Once we've got the information from the Centre, we'll take it from there.'

Angel nodded anxiously. She reached down to lift a battered cardboard box as though searching under it, but it moved and she leapt back, startled. ‘Aaaggh!' A pigeon fluttered its disapproval at being woken in the middle of the night and Angel jumped again.

Professor Reed appeared from another part of the station. ‘Keep the noise down!'

Angel looked subdued. The cardboard moved again and a filthy knitted hat emerged. Below it, a grimy face with stubble, followed by grubby fingers in worn, partially unravelled fingerless gloves clutching a large duffle bag. A wide grin spread across the vagrant's face as he pushed the box to one side.

‘Orright, Monk? Jack?'

Monkey looked startled. He recognised the voice but he screwed up his eyes, trying to match the features to it.

‘Daz?' It was the one-time leader of the Mooners, arrested a year previously. ‘I thought you'd gone to The Farm.'

‘Good - that's what you were supposed to think.' The young male struggled to stand up. ‘Now, make like you're arresting me.'

‘Are you our contact?' Angel asked.

But Professor Reed cut her off. ‘No more questions. Let's get him out of here.'

The group made an elaborate show of arresting and frogmarching Daz from the station. Once outside, they found a disused shed that had previously been identified as being in a blind spot between two cameras.

Professor Reed proffered Monkey a hand. ‘Good luck, Mickey. And you, Angelina.' He told them that Daz, or Darren as he was called these days, was to escort Monkey to another safe house before he would be transferred to a community in the north. There, he would be trained as an undercover operative, as Daz had been. ‘Angelina, you will lie low for a couple of weeks and then you will return to your family. I'll inform your nurturer that you were coerced into going to the village with Mickey but a short spell in The Sanctuary has allowed you to see the error of your ways.'

Monkey looked at Angel in panic. ‘No way!' he clutched her arm. ‘We're in this together.'

‘Not anymore,' the Professor said, curtly. ‘Now, Darren, I'll leave these two in your hands. I must get back to the zone before lights-on.' With that, he slipped out of the shed and disappeared into the shadows of a delivery duct, leaving Monkey, Angel and Daz alone.

Monkey turned to his one-time leader. ‘Listen up, cuz. And listen up good, ‘cos I ain't goin' nowhere without Angel. She's my goody! Sav?'

Angel turned on him, affronted. ‘I'm not
your
anything! I am my own person - s
av?'
she added, ferociously.

‘Shut it! The both of you,' Daz interrupted. ‘You can sort out your little lovers' tiff later. Right now, I gotta get you outta here.' He pulled items of clothing from the duffel bag. ‘Ditch the uniforms - we'll burn them later - but keep the IDs. The more identities you can gather, the better.' He produced a couple of ring-cams from his pocket. ‘Here - use them sparingly. The Assembly's combing the airways for underground frequencies. They're more so that we can contact you rather than the other way round.'

In the distance, they could hear the clock in The Plaza chime five. Monkey glanced at Angel. They had an hour to make it to Broadwalk if they wanted to break into the Breeding Centre as planned.

‘Look, Daz,' Monkey said, as casually as he could manage. ‘There's something me and Angel have to do. It won't take long - a few hours max. How ‘bout we meet you somewhere, say about ten-ish?'

‘Nice try,' laughed the breeder. ‘But, right now, I gotta get you to safety before lights-on. Here.' He handed them more identity cards; this time, Monkey was Ricky Kelly, aged eighteen, a breeder and student of education and Angel: Nigel Chellow, who was studying engineering.

‘Jeez!' Monkey grumbled. ‘I'm getting younger again, and now I'm a wannabe teacher? How come
she
gets a better job than me?'

Angel raised her eyes and smiled. ‘It's not real.'

Monkey sighed, ‘I know - but even so...'

‘At least you're the right gender,' she pointed out.

‘It's only till we get to the holding site,' Daz explained. ‘A pre-nurturer on the streets at this time would arouse suspicion. As it is, we're just three of the hood roaming. Once we get to the plant, we'll sort everything out.'

As they adopted the swagger of hood members to walk through the dark streets, Daz continued to fill them in on their futures. ‘Like the Prof said, Angel, you'll be staying with us. Monkey, we've got an active cell in Burlington. They're really keen to have you, so we'll make all the arrangements. It might take a couple of days to get you outta town.'

Burlington? Monkey's heart plummeted. That was right up in The Ridings. There was no way he was going that far from Angel. And what was this
plant
Daz was talking about? Was the holding site in some factory somewhere or were they hiding out in the undergrowth of a giant shrubbery? He longed to hold Angel's hand but any indication that she was other than an ordinary pre-breeder looking for trouble would be too dangerous, so he loped alongside her, trying to contain the ache inside.

He'd always liked Angel - everyone knew that - but the feelings he'd had for her since they'd absconded to the village a few days ago, seemed to have exploded. There were times when his feelings were so powerful, they terrified him. He didn't understand. Was this what breeding was all about? Having feelings you could barely control? And, if so, did the females feel the same way? He longed to talk to Tradge about it, find out if he'd experienced the same with that Zoë he'd introduced as his girlfriend, but he couldn't - he didn't even know where he was. He assumed he'd been arrested in the village that night, but he didn't know for sure. There were so many unanswered questions. Angel was his only stability and he would not relinquish her - not under any circumstances.

The threesome strutted along the southerly route of the disused loco track that ran above the deserted streets of Gardener's Grove - the one-time scene of Monkey and Tragic's illicit football escapades that now seemed so insanely innocent - and out towards Broadwalk. Eventually, the track would go across the river in the direction of Wessex and out into the south-westerly rurals. Was that where they were going, Monkey wondered? To another village? He checked his new ring-cam; it was O-5:45. Still time.

Below the track, the low-rise housing of Gardener's Grove, a zone for working pre-movs and spins, became the high-rise towers of Broadwalk, a manual zone and heartland of the hood. Suddenly, Daz veered off the track, slid down the embankment to street level and led them towards the walkways and alleys of the Broadwalk Estate. Monkey tensed. There was no one around that he could see, but that meant nothing. There were footpaths, delivery ducts, maintenance yards and other concealed spaces that, at one time, would have been car parks, where any number of hoods could be lying in wait for such a small, unsuspecting and unprotected group as they were. He looked round, constantly on edge. Visions of Fuse lying dead in his arms flashed into his mind, and he struggled to bite back the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

It was as he was scouring the desolate urban landscape for any sign of ambush, when he saw it: a sign above the open-plan lobby of one of the blocks: de B a vo r Tow r. This was de Beauvoir Tower; the place where their trolley of cleaning materials and disguises would be left. And there it was - unless Monkey was very much mistaken - standing in the doorway of a maintenance cupboard. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

‘I need a pee,' he said to Daz.

‘We're nearly there - can't you wait?'

‘No.' And he walked purposefully into the entrance lobby.

‘Hey, wait!' Daz called in a half-whisper.

But, as he followed Monkey into the building, Monkey turned, pulled Daz's hood down over his eyes and stuffed his neckerchief into his mouth as a gag. Angel quickly unfurled her own scarf and helped Monkey to tie Daz's hands behind his back, whilst using Monkey's scarf to tie his feet.

‘We're getting quite good at this,' Monkey said, trying to muster a smile and lighten the enormity of their actions.

‘We haven't sprayed the cameras - won't they have seen us?' Angel asked anxiously.

‘Just another hood brawl to them,' Monkey reassured her.

When Daz was fully restrained, they pushed him into the cupboard, then, making sure their faces were concealed, sprayed the lenses of the cameras in the lobby. When they were sure they were safe, they quickly changed into the cleaners' uniforms, put the clothes Daz had provided in the duffle bag next to him and pushed the trolley of materials away from the metal door, allowing it to grind shut.

‘Sorry, cuz! We'll be back at about nine,' Monkey said through the closing door. ‘Nothing personal - this is something we have to do.'

And, with that, Roxanne Spall and Aston Holmes headed towards the Breeding Centre to begin their morning shift as cleaners.