 
Ducie

Chris Freeman

(Smashwords edition)

Published by Chris Freeman at Smashwords

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Royal law of Ducie Island - Section 32

Maintenance of Demographic Stagnation

By the order of the Gods and the current reigning monarch, the people of the island of Ducie without disdain or exception will adhere to the following prescription:

The population of Ducie shall remain at a level of 61 persons or less without exception.

\- For the purpose of comprehension, the word 'population' refers to permanent residents of Ducie. The following will _not_ be considered part of Ducie's population count:

1) Non-human species, including amphibians, birds, fish, insects, mammals, reptiles and plant life.

2) Unsolicited arrival of human life on our shores for the purpose of either invasion or acquaintance. (Any such arrival however, should be addressed and disposed of as soon as is physically feasible.)

\- The return of our Saviour for his inevitable and glorious second coming.

\- A foetus contained wholly within another human being, from the point of conception to the moment the child leaves its carrier's body entirely.

All island residents must attend the Monarch Estate in person every Wednesday in order to sign the Ducie Demographic Register (DDR). Adults will also be expected to sign on behalf of children under 5 years old upon satisfactory presentation of the child. Anyone failing to sign the DDR before midnight on Wednesday will be declared missing. All island residents have the responsibility to inform the Estate of any reason they are aware of that another island resident may be unable to attend the weekly DDR. This includes, but is not limited to the reporting of deaths.

Missing persons

Anyone, failing to sign the DDR before midnight each Wednesday will be declared missing. For the purpose of population calculation, missing persons will be counted as part of Ducie's population indefinitely. A Right To Birth (RTB) vacancy will only open up as a result of the missing person being confirmed as dead.

CPT (Compulsory Pregnancy Testing)

From the age of 12 years, all female residents shall undergo a CPT examination by the island doctor on the 4th, 8th, 12th, 16th, 20th, 24th, 28th, 32nd, 36th, 40th, 44th and 48th week of every calendar, in order to detect for pregnancy. Upon the discovery of foetal presence not pre-agreed through the appropriate Right to Birth application process, the Element of Anti-Expansion shall be put into immediate force.
The Element of Anti Expansion

Upon the discovery of foetal presence not pre-agreed through the appropriate Right to Birth application process, the King shall call an island union at his estate or any location he sees fit. This meeting will take priority over any event scheduled to take place in any location at any time. Attendance is compulsory. The King will address his people and confirm their entire presence by way of an impromptu DDR roll call. Following the confirmation that all residents are present, the King will draw one name of an island resident at random. He or she who is drawn from the cup will be executed at a time specified by the King, but no later than 1 week from the date of the draw in order to restore the population to its rightful level. In the interest of the foetus the name of the Mother of the forthcoming child shall be removed from the draw.

Population Vacancies and Right to Birth (RTB) Applications

Population vacancies created by the death of one or more island residents are to be filled at the discretion of the current reigning monarch. In order to be considered for the right to fill the vacancy by reproducing, a couple must undergo an interview with the monarch to determine their suitability for RTB. The decision given will be final and any attempted appeal will be given no consideration,

All of the laws within this doctrine are interpreted at the discretion of the current reigning monarch. Any situations arising that aren't covered by the prescription above will be dealt with at the discretion of the current reigning monarch and used as a precedent to be included in future versions of the Ducie Law Doctrine.

Chapter 1. I kill you last!

Kate Gaffney's room at the 'Two-Steps-Forward Drug Rehabilitation Institution' backed directly onto the concrete quad where patients would go to inhale a mixture of fresh air and cigarette smoke throughout the day. A steady coming and going of staff and patients from morning onwards cascaded a therapeutic ebb and flow of sound into Kate's room throughout the day. It didn't make for a peaceful dwelling, but she'd grown to take comfort from the definite presence of others outside her window, safe in the knowledge that these muffled, reassuring verbal exchanges required no input from her whatsoever, and could therefore never lead her into troubled relationships, of which she'd already experienced too many.

On the shelf above her television, four books in pristine condition were piled in descending size order from bottom to top. A red Gideon's Bible sat on top of 'L'etranger' by Albert Camus, The Buddhist classic 'The Three Fold Lotus Sutra' and a cellophane wrapped copy of Slaughterhouse-Five. A deep and well rounded world knowledge worthy of any academic accolade, and a sensitive heart nourished by years of absorbing tales of moral and philosophy were mere by-products of her literature addiction; what she really read for was solitude and escape.

Reading is sometimes an ingenious device for avoiding thought

She'd been at the Institution for a while now. She didn't count the months or years. There was little point. There was nothing for her on the outside any more, so she didn't plan on going anywhere soon. Not that she could up and leave if she chose to anyway.

Some time ago now, Kate had responded to an advertisement at one of the local drop-in centres asking for volunteers to take part in a drug trial. The criteria was pretty simple: You had to be a heroin user and be willing to sign a document of informed consent, which basically constituted your agreement to the risks involved with an untried medicine. The goal of the experiment was to test the effects of a new drug on the addiction-riddled candidates. Whilst the advert made it clear that there was no promise of a cure, there were strong hints that this was the ultimate aim of the project.

She wasn't sure why, but Kate had kept that poster to this day. She took it out of her bedside drawer and stared at it like it were a love letter from an old forgotten boyfriend, full of promises of eternal care and adoration that he'd ultimately never kept. Her eyes scanned the blurb and pulled out a sentence.

" _At any point in the trial, volunteers can withdraw their consent of participation without explanation or consequence"._

That may have been true from the start, but it certainly wasn't the case any more. Not since the project had grown arms, legs and a huge metaphorical dick, with which Kate had been royally screwed over. It was true that nobody could be blamed for the trials taking the catastrophic course that they eventually did, but to say the various developments were handled unethically by those in charge would be a polite way of putting it.

\- Why are you always poring over that poster Katie?

The croaky voice of the man freshly emerged from sleep belonged to Adam Trundle. A wiry, bearded man around the same age as Kate, who had arrived at the Two-Step-Forward Institution a few days after her as part of the same trials. Kate still hadn't decided whether his tendency to hang around her like a scruffy, anaemic shadow was a curse or a compliment. She crumpled up the poster into a ball to give the impression it meant nothing to her and instantly regretted doing so.

\- I'm not poring over anything, dickhead! And now you're finally out of your coma, is there any danger of you pissing off back to your own room, so I can get some sleep of my own without you constantly in my face?

\- Alright Katie! Chill out. What's wrong with you? You've been like a dog with a sore head all day.

\- A _bear_ ....

\- Huh?

\- Like a _bear_ with a sore head, you ejit!

\- What difference does it make? A bear....A dog.... They'd both be as tetchy as you if they had a sore head.

\- Can you just go please?

\- Yeah, yeah, I'm going. I'll save you a seat in the canteen at breakfast.

\- Oh yes, golly, would you do that for _me_ Adam?

He was used to Kate's sarcasm and his slapstick laughter was enough to force a smile out of Kate. He was a good sport if nothing else.

\- You a funny girl Katie.... _I kill you last!_

Adam made that joke in the voice of what presumably was meant to be a Middle Eastern terrorist far too often. One of the many things about him that annoyed Kate.

\- See you tomorrow Katie, yeah.

Kate waited until the door slammed shut before muttering to herself:

\- No you won't.
Chapter 2. Marinated rope

Kate had prepared the knot in advance the night before. As she retrieved the multicoloured, makeshift rope out of the cistern of the second ladies cubicle from the left, it looked exactly as she had remembered when she had hidden it there the night before. A large loop at one end, with nine thick coils winding up towards about a two foot length of rope beyond the knot itself. Kate thought it looked impressive; sinister. So synonymous was this method of knot tying with the gruesome demise of so many condemned souls throughout the ages, that just the symbolism of it made Kate shudder. Kate wasn't the type to shudder, but here she did. The rope was wet from a night marinated in toilet water, and she briefly considered how this might hinder or help matters. There was only one way to find out.

It had taken thirteen weeks to accumulate hundreds of lengths of material and assemble them together into something of suitable length for her suicidal intentions without arousing suspicion. Now the many smaller, individual knickknacks were tied together in all manner of directions to form a length with the thickness and strength of a rope. Shoe laces of various colour and condition conjoined with scrap lengths of material she'd pocketed from the various textiles and craft sessions held at the Institution. Each individual knot was small and tight, but their collective strength came from their sheer quantity. Kate had modelled the main knot on a picture she'd seen on the cover of a paperback novel in the Institution library, called 'Alex Cross's Trial'. The cover featured a yellow and orange sunset, behind the title of the book, which stood prominent in bold, black letters. The 'I' of the word 'Trial' was represented by a rope, ending in a hangman knot similar to the one which Kate now held in her hands. After many failed practices on small pieces of cotton, Kate had eventually mastered the technique of securing this style of knot, which featured an adjustable noose that allowed a flexible loop size, but would tighten when the relevant weight was applied. The relevant weight being Kate.

Kate had raised the two-tiered bunk bed about half a foot off the ground, using stacks of A4 paper underneath the corners. She had collected the paper from various posters, letters and magazines over the same period of time that she'd collected the materials for the rope. It stood high enough now. Taking the saturated rope, she tied it around the highest bar of the guard rail on the top bunk of the bed. The loop end, she placed over her head, so it rested on top of her ears. The metal stool beneath her wobbled a little, owing more to its poor construction or condition than any nervous disposition on Kate's part. She knew exactly what she wanted from this.

She paused and listened. The jumbled drone of dinner time chatter was broken up occasionally by the metallic chime of dropped cutlery. The source of it all was distant enough to give her the reassurance she needed. She would have enough time. She checked the knot on the bed frame one last time with a tug, before she slipped the loop around her neck and began rocking the stool. Gently at first, the less noise the stool made when it fell, the less chance that someone would come by to investigate. Now a little harder, as the left to right momentum was helped along by the rickety condition of the metal stool. This basic piece of furniture on which she stood, would have been manufactured by some factory operative or workshop engineer somewhere in the world. Little would they have anticipated at the time, the tragic use it would later be put to.

Kate rocked the stool left, then right, then left... then just air.
Chapter 3. Some time later

The word 'Ducie' had never been far from the thoughts of the British Prime Minister since he'd given the project his sign-off, but today the word made his stomach cartwheel with fear, the way your stomach tends to when the severity of a situation dawns. Ever since this project began he knew he was only ever one wrong turn away from a crisis. True to character, the Prime Minister kept his fears under lock and key, the way a tranquil, floating duck hides feet that paddle frantically below the water. This well practiced act was enough to convince everyone but himself that there was nothing to fear. Somewhere deep beneath these layers of hologram bravado however, lay an acceptance of the fact that things would never really be the same again from here. The whole project was out of hand. _Way_ out of hand! Lex cursed his own naivety for allowing himself to become tangled up in all of this. He'd accepted the risks involved with such a flimsy, fragile venture were the price to pay for the chance of becoming the centrepiece of an historic milestone in human discovery. Easy to say now that it was a stupid thing to do, but the bright lights of eternal adoration can prove too much of a honey trap for even the most level headed amongst us, and for Lex that was no different.

As with anything sensitive in nature, Steve had kept the details of the project between himself and his trusted friend and Director General of the Security Service, Steve Towerbridge. Steve was a military man. Stout in presence and clinical with his words. He saw no use for emotions or niceties that didn't serve towards achieving a goal. He'd been the PM's right-hand-man in a number of sticky situations and they'd always found a way out. None like this though. None like Ducie. The Prime Minister massaged his brow firmly, as if by doing so it might somehow stir the ideas in his head into something more ingenious.

\- We did the right thing Steve.

\- Yes sir.

Steve's affirmation was as to-the-point as ever.

\- We _did_ do the right thing, didn't we Steve?

\- Sir, we had no other choice.

\- So what do we chalk these deaths up as? Collateral damage?

\- It's inevitable Sir. It was bound to happen sooner or later. We've done well to keep it contained this far.

\- It's hardly contained though is it Steve? We've caused havoc in 2 corners of the globe. Innocent people Steve. Innocent people suffering, not through war or through famine, but through....

The Prime Minister struggled for a description. Steve helped by finishing his sentence.

\- Through science Sir. Progress and human evolution.

\- Human evolution happens on its own Steve. There's nothing natural about any of what we're doing here.

\- Sir, there's no point dwelling on this. We've got to keep moving forward.

The Prime Minister ignored Steve's advice and instead began scanning a manifest list in front of him. Names of people known to him not by sight, or acquaintance, or a handshake, but just as inanimate components of this dirty scheme he was embroiled in. One name leapt out at him.

Adam Trundle.

\- Trundle. Trundle. Tr – undle.

The Prime Minister played with the word as if it were part of a new foreign language he was learning. He rolled it around his mouth and tried to imagine a face to put with the name.

He'd never met Adam. And now he probably never would. The Prime Minister pondered it for a moment and quickly came to the conclusion that not knowing the face of this man was probably a good thing. A good thing since this was the man that he had just ordered to be killed.
Chapter 4. Time moves slowly from a distance

The fall wasn't smooth and Kate's neck didn't break. The toppled stool tangled in her feet and in her brief struggle to free herself, she broke her momentum further by catching the bottom bunk with the rubber grip of her right trainer. Too much noise. Not enough speed. It had all looked so much more polished when she had run the film of it through her head countless times the night before. She'd seen a blue flash when the rope had finally tensed, but she was painfully aware of her own consciousness, which sent a wave of panic through her body which she hadn't planned for. The uneven contour of the makeshift rope had prevented the contraption from tightening as well as it should have. It wasn't efficient, but it was slowly doing its job. Kate was barely aware of Adam's frail body desperately trying to support her weight. The noise, the silence, the movement, the mayhem all blended into one frightening, chaotic fog. Kate began to watch herself dying from a distance, as her awareness slowly detached. It was all so fast, but seemed to have been going on for years. In reality, it was less than 30 seconds in total, before the room began to fill with people responding to Adam's feeble cries for help.

Chapter 5. Welcome to the island

Lucas had walked the sands of Village Coast more times than he could attribute a number to. The short, thin stretch of coast that connected Capital Village with the King's Estate was easily the most pleasant walk on the island. The surf there was gentle at all tides and the tropical vegetation was home to cuckoos that sang the theme tune to your stroll.

The warm, thick evening air rumbled with muddled conversations a few hundred yards ahead. An explosion of collective laughter crackled, then fizzled out before being consumed by the rumble again. The pop of a champagne cork forced an ironic cheeer, quickly followed by more laughter. Hearty and genuine cackles. Someone was tickling their audience. It was probably Vasco, with his unrivalled ability to tell the same story seven times and make each recital funnier than the last. Lucas often wished he could make people laugh like that. On an island of 61 people, popularity could take you a long way. People did like him, but not like that. He wasn't known for his charisma or his humour.. He'd always been... What was the word...? "Smart!". A word his Mother liked to use a lot:

\- Lucas, if you could find your way to 'Merika (America), you could make enough money there to buy this stupid island. You're the smartest creature on this rock Lucas, and you're put to waste fixing every damn thing in Ducie that breaks. A Handyman they call you? Yeah, I'll say! It's handy for Eduardo that you're stupid enough to take the degrading work he gives you without a murmur.

That was ' _King_ Eduardo' to everybody else, but not to Paula Medina. She was old school something or other, but Lucas had never quite worked out what. Lucas knew that his pensive curiosity that his Mother called 'smart', basically made him a glorified daydreamer.

\- Not one employer in 'Merika' or the rest of the world for that matter would pay a chump to stare out of the window all day, cooking up answers to questions that nobody asked Mother.

There were a lot of questions that nobody asked...

As the gentle tide nipped in to steal his footprints again, the smell of barbeques filled the muggy air. Lucas idly began to ponder the champagne cork he'd heard. Nobody asked how it got here. Nobody seemed to care. The same could be said for any of this material stuff that seemed to magically appear from lands afar for the consumption of Ducie residents. Certain things were just accepted by the people as 'part of the deal'. But Lucas was in the habit of allowing his mind to lazily question what others saw as normal. _Paradise with no questions asked._ No questions asked, yeah... but with one rather large string attached: 61! And these were the sort of things that Lucas pondered.

-Hey Lukie, there's a dead bird here with your name chargrilled on it!

-Lionel my man, I told you before I left that my appetite's gone

-Mrs Medina, your son... he takes this life too seriously. Little Lukie! Always wondering, always pondering, always something putting you off your food. Eat my friend! We're celebrating.

-Can't someone just have had their fill? What makes you say......

-I've seen how you're looking at her Lukie! Who wouldn't? She's a beauty!

Lucas couldn't deny that Daniela was sublime. If she were created for a purpose, it must have been as the perfect matching accessory to this beautiful island backdrop. Daniela was Ducie and Ducie just enhanced what Daniela already was. In reality there were only 14 girls of a realistic age on the island that Lucas could conceivably and legally have romantic thoughts towards. And even then, the closely entwined spirit of this tiny community tainted any romantic notion with an ever so slight sense of incest and guilt. Daniela felt like a sister.

Residents of 'normal' areas of a healthy population take for granted the 'boy meets girl' and 'love at first sight' scenarios. Never a thought is given to the sheer scale of a normal sized city or society that allows chance encounters to take place. Ducie wasn't a normal society. And there were no chance encounters. Ducians knew Ducians.

-The bird, Lukie... I see the way you're looking at her. She's a beauty! Fresh today! Eat!

Lionel thrusted the grilled duck at Lucas in a wicker basket.

Lucas ate.
Chapter 6. Ducians know Ducians

Daniela Diaz was a pretty girl. You probably worked that much out for yourself already. I wouldn't say it was a sea shell pretty, a palm tree pretty or a sunset pretty; she was more like an institution. A complex matrix of angles, shimmers and smiles, ghosting her way effortlessly around the scene, the very dust of her personality providing welcome infection to those around her. She lived for the social side of island life. Tonight was her perfect stage.

King Eduardo's birthday celebration was the only real semblance of what I suppose you and I would call a public holiday. The island would grind to an uncharacteristic standstill for two days; one day to celebrate, and another to recover and reflect, then back to work for another year. Except for the miners! The miners never stopped. Vasco was the exception this year. As the winner of the annual 'KEMP' award (King's Elect Miner's Prize), he was free to spend the following day as he wished lazily seeing off the effects of tonight's alcoholic shenanigans. A day off! A privilege bestowed each year upon the miner deemed to have contributed the most to Ducie's lucrative mining and extraction industry. Every year, the award triggered an element of bitterness amongst the miners, but in true Ducie fashion, this took the form of playful banter.

\- Hey King's pet! You making the most of your free pass I hope?

Andrea Fuentes hadn't hidden the fact that he resented Vasco's good fortune. It was a safe bet that he instigated the rumour that Vasco only won the KEMP award by virtue of the fact that King Eduardo enjoyed his comedic nature and knew as well as anyone that a drunk Vasco was a dancer, a singer, a clown and a comedian rolled into one tidy package; free for hire at parties! Basically, giving Vasco a free pass to drink the night away would give him enough incentive to make the party swing.

\- Get off my back man! I can't help that I'm the modern day Hercules of the mining world. I'd offer to teach you my ways, but you can't break pure genius down into a curriculum.

\- Well why don't you just teach me how to lodge my head up Eduardo's rear end the way you do? That'd cover it!

\- Stop hating Andrea. It's not a good look for you.

\- I'm messing with ya' tiger. But in 9 hours time, I'll be rolling out of bed and slipping on my bread-winning uniform. You think about that when your sleeping off your wine overdose with King Eddie's blessing.

\- Work is work big man. You know the drill. Work to play... the Ducie way. I'll be thinking of you.

Lucas was sitting on Pendulum rock when Daniela came over carrying two glasses of champagne. He recognised her confident strut at the very edge of his peripheral vision, enough so that he could take the cool option of pretending not to see her come.

-Lucas, darling. I come with a gift for you.

Being addressed in this way by a girl that looked like Daniela would probably be a big scoop for many a man, but Lucas had been here long enough not to lavish his ego with undue flattery. Daniela was always this nice to everyone.

-Hey Daniela! How you enjoying yourself?

\- It's ok I guess.

\- Just ok? But isn't the tonight the night that the more socially capable of our bunch get their chance to show the rest of us how it's done? We're in your world tonight.

Lucas cast a stone absently into the water. It skipped twice, then vanished.

\- It's what you make of it Lucas. It's not like you're an outcast. How could you be in a place this small? You're just an intelligent guy. A thinker. The _strong_ and silent type.

\- It's not about me being intelligent or strong. You sound like my Mother. I just think these people act like a herd of sheep sometimes.

\- There's nothing wrong with that. Herds stick together!

\- Herds are dumb. They follow each other blindly without questioning why they're doing it.

\- What's to question Lucas? Look where we live. It's paradise. Do you know what some of the big places across the seas are like. Big smoking cities that you could easily get lost in. With killers and robbers and strangers and.....

\- Don't you ever wonder why it is that we never see anyone from those places? Why don't they come here?

\- Erm...the law...Lucas...hello?...remember? 61 people. It keeps us safe. You know that.

\- Oh yeah, excuse me! The law that doesn't make any sense. I mean ok, so people can't visit Ducie. Erm... Why? Are you telling the island would explode if someone from outside set foot on our sands or something? Come on! And people can't have babies. Erm...Why exactly? What exactly is a baby going to do that puts Ducie in danger? Nothing that's what!

Daniela hadn't backed off or even flinched in the face of Lucas's ever increasing aggravated tone. She sat perched next to him on the rock, one foot dangling idly, dragging to and fro across the surface of the water, as she nodded a sympathetic beat to his ranting.

\- You've never mentioned the baby thing before.

\- Well, it's not like I'm planning it.. It would just be nice to know that if I met the right girl...

Daniela's interruption coincided with a severe change of her tone.

\- Nobody _meets_ anyone here Lucas. Ducians know Ducians! There are 61 of us. If there is a love of your life, then she's at this party right now, and you've met her a thousand times already.

\- Maybe you're right. Maybe she is here.

Lucas broke his gaze that had been fixed on the horizon to catch Daniela's dancing green eyes. They eyed each other, almost suspiciously for a long two seconds before Lucas leaned forward. Daniela followed instinctively...

A voice echoed across the waves to them.

\- Hey love birds! Smoochy, smoochy! This is a party, not a fishing competition. Get your little backsides off that rock and come and talk with uncle Vasco.
Chapter 7. Two Spice Girls and three Power Rangers

Lucas knew the Estate was empty, but paranoia had his senses primed to a hallucination-inducing level. The Portia tree outside the office window cast moving shadows into the room, causing him to flinch at the thought of an intruder. Ironic, since here, Lucas himself was the real intruder.

Since he'd stopped taking his pill, Lucas felt different somehow. Physically he was as healthy as ever, but his mind felt driven by an agitated curiosity. Something didn't stack up about life on Ducie. About Eduardo. _About 61_. Why had he never considered it before? And why was he the only one that could see it now? The pill. He knew it had to be the pill. He hadn't consciously decided to stop taking it. It'd happened by accident after he'd lost his monthly batch. By the time he'd gone to see Eduardo to get them replaced, he got distracted by something or other and it was the next day before he remembered he'd missed a dose. By then his mindset was already beginning to alter and the idle questions he'd always had about Ducie began turning into ferocious itches he needed to scratch until they bled.

Lucas guessed that whatever was hidden wouldn't be on full show in the main office. Ducians regularly came into that office for various reasons. It would be too risky to leave stuff lying around. He wasn't entirely sure what his plan was, but he'd considered finding the entire stock of pills and dumping them in the ocean just to see what happened to people if nobody had them to take any more. Eduardo was shipping them in from somewhere though, so no doubt he'd just get the supplier to bring a replacement batch. Pointless.

Lucas tried a few drawers that turned out to be locked. They were fragile locks that would have succumbed to a sharp tug, but he didn't need to be leaving a trail of broken furniture in his wake to arouse suspicion. A grey two-drawer filing cabinet in the corner caught his eye next. Lucas pulled the bottom draw. Locked. Inside, a number of hanging files filled the entire capacity of the drawer, each labelled with a name he recognised. Quickly realising they were arranged alphabetically, Lucas scanned the labels for his own name.

\- ....Daniel Maldonado, Jennifer Martinez, Lionel Martinez, _Lucas Medina_

He pulled the file out and sat at Eduardo's desk, pausing briefly to check for the noise of anyone about to spoil his fun. Nothing.

The first page was a form of some sort:

Name – Lucas Medina, Date of birth – 07/12/1990

Subject reference number – 00017, Counterpart – Paul Addison

Counterpart reference number – 00041 ...

Lucas paused and found himself talking to himself out loud. Something he didn't do as a habit.

\- Who the hell is Paul Addison?

He jumped out of his seat and returned to the open filing cabinet. This mass of paperwork inside a hulk of metal potentially containing information that Lucas sensed could change his whole perception of life. He didn't know why precisely; he just sensed it. His heart fired out deep thuds of energy around his body, his palms clammy, his forehead carrying the heat of a borderline fever.

Addison was the first file. He took it to the desk and was greeted with the same form as he'd seen in his own file.

Name – Paul Addison, Date of birth – 19/05/1990

Subject reference number – 00041, Counterpart – Lucas Medina

Counterpart reference number – 00017 ...

The next section read like a short biography of sorts:

" _Paul Addison was born in Birmingham, England on 19_ th _May 1990. He joined the project on 17_ th _August 2007 as our 7_ th _recruit. We have classified Paul's addiction as grade 4, placing him amongst the most severely dependant of the recruits"_

Lucas was now in full dialogue with himself.

\- An English guy? Who the hell...?

The paranoia about being caught in the act had now given way to acute intrigue and confusion. Fleeting thoughts came and went through Lucas's head, as his mind fought to rationalise this bizarre discovery. A dream! It had to be a dream. Lucas took a paperclip off the top of the file, unwound it and jabbed the point of it into the back of is hand. The pain was instant, but subsided just as quickly, leaving behind a slight pulsing sensation in his hand. His mind offered up another straw to be clutched at: Perhaps this was a set-up. The documents were planted there to keep him distracted, because somehow someone knew he was coming.... He dismissed the idea out loud.

\- You're talking crap Lucas. Get a grip! Get a grip!

He returned to his own file.

" _Lucas Medina was born in Mar del Plata, Argentina on 7_ th _December 1990..."_

Lucas thought he'd imagined the voice at first, but then it came again. A crackle, like that of a radio walkie-talkie preceding it the second time.

\- What the hell man?

Then footsteps coming down the stairs. Lucas scanned the room for an escape. The window was one solid pane with no hinge. The door into the room was the same direction the noise was coming from.

\- Shit! Shit! Shit!

The voices were getting closer. He could make out words now.

\- _Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm on my way down there. Give me chance. I'm not bleeding Superman you know._

The walkie-talkie crackled as the response came in.

\- _Just get a move on son, yeah?_

\- _They're all at the beach party anyway mate. I don't know what you're even shitting yourself for._

The voice sounded like it was almost outside the door. The files! Lucas scooped the documents off the desk, hastily filing them away again and gently closing the cabinet drawer. The minimalist office with its locked cupboards and single entrance didn't lend itself well to a game of hide and seek. He took the only option he could see and wedged himself underneath the desk, pulling in the chair as close in as he comfortably could to conceal himself.

The door opened....

Lucas tried to suppress his breathing, but the more he did, the more the urge came to take a huge gasp. Torture. The walkie-talkie crackled once more.

\- You downstairs yet Superman?

\- Yep. I'm in the office.

\- Well...anything?

\- Yeah, there's 2 of the Spice Girls and 3 Power Rangers in here. They look like they're having a ball though. I think we'd best leave them to it.

\- Don't get lippy with me Baz.

Lucas briefly revisited the idea that this was all one hell of a messed up dream, but the cramp in his legs quickly convinced him otherwise.

\- Well of course there's nobody down here you fool. All the guinea pigs are down at the beach celebrating king guinea pig's birthday.

\- Just check the other rooms and get back up here, ok?

\- Yes, Sir! Anything you say Sir! Three bags full Sir!

The door closed, but to be safe, Lucas waited a good while before taking a huge gasp of air to refill his lungs. He could still hear the man in the distance exchanging banter with his walkie-talkie. After a few minutes that seemed like longer than the rest of Lucas's life to date, the man could be heard going back up the stairs and silence returned.

Lucas checked the corridor and when he was sure there was a safe route out he took it, gently closing the front door to the Estate and sprinting up the drive towards the beach. With every step, he expected a voice to call, a gun to fire, to be grabbed from behind. Nothing came. He was out of there.

He'd come on a speculative whim, looking for a batch of pills or anything else he could find, but had stumbled on more than he'd bargained for. Who were those people? Were they part of the 61? They couldn't be! They didn't sounds like anyone he knew. Everyone was at the beach anyway. His immediate instinct was to tell someone. To go back mob handed to confront the men. No! He'd wait. Bide his time and continue not taking the pills. The right time would come to do something with what he now knew. Whilst in reality, he didn't actually _know_ anything, other than that his suspicions that something about this place didn't add up were looking more and more like a safe bet.
Chapter 8. There are no dogs in Ducie

In an uncomfortable rattan wood bed on the North, West coast of Ducie, Andrea's unconscious mind fought desperately to accommodate the shrieking drone of the miner's wagon alarm into his dreams. First as music, coming from the corner of a small courtyard which he didn't recognise. It wasn't in Ducie. A fat, bald, happy looking man playing trumpet, which faded. The noise came back louder now, as the happy bellowing of a young boy he'd seen on the beach the night before. He was running towards Andrea, holding a fish he'd caught. Shrieking more wildly, excitement, fear. He vanished. The same sun that had given such grace to yesterday's celebrations seeped through the gaps of the window black-out, piercing an unwelcome preview to the gruelling day that lay outside.

That drone had been the precursor to Andrea's day for as long as he could remember, but today it seemed to impregnate his gut, giving new life to a sleeping belly of wine and duck meat. His habitual autopilot guided him on a surprisingly smooth trip through the morning self-preparation routine, leaving him to focus on taming the rowdy, banging creature that had seemingly commandeered the inside of his head as its temporary home. It wasn't often he worked with a hangover, but if he could just get through today...

15 minutes after waking, which could have been 15 seconds or hours, Andrea was stood at the door of his hut ready for the day. He eyed the pill on the wooden side-table and watched as the two digits on the capsule merged into a messy blob. He covered one eye to realign his vision.

A '2' and a '2', no, hang on, a '3'. Twenty three! He summoned what saliva he could to the pit of his dry mouth, popped in the pill and swallowed.

On a normal day, keeping the wagon waiting for 15 minutes would have been punished by a journey of loutish insults for the entire journey to the pit. It could have been because the usual chief of taunts, Vasco wasn't on board today or because the other men were suffering in much the same way as Andrea. Either way, today's late arrival was greeted with little more than grunts and raised hands in scant acknowledgement of the wagon's newest passenger.

As the wagon wound its way inland, leaving the Island Circular Road, onto the well beaten track and through the off-road greenery, the clattering of the chassis began to rouse the slumped men in the open trailer.

The wagon protested with a groan as it came to a standstill at the entrance to the main shaft, giving birth to a cloud of dust that escaped with the wind as quickly as it had rose. Then silence. Andrea had been awake for the whole journey, so he was on his feet before the others who were just rousing. As he stood, a black dog darted across the main entrance of the pit and fled into the undergrowth. There were no dogs in Ducie.
Chapter 9. I wandered lonely as a clown

Dinner at the Institution was never to be sniffed at. If I have thus far painted a picture of the place being akin to a prison, then you are owed a better insight into some of the finer aspects of life there, and mealtimes is where I will start.

Where food was concerned, especially dinner, the Institution more resembled a hotel restaurant than a prison. That said, there were no waiters, no elegant cutlery and no soothing background music. The food was wheeled out on service trolleys that clattered a weaving path in and out of the three long and parallel dining tables. The canteen staff, in their sky-blue uniforms and hair nets were couriers of culinary delights, delivering each unique meal to its intended recipient. Antipasti, seafood starters, roast dinners, risotto, profiteroles, ice cream... It all arrived on request and there was always more where it came from. Anything! You just had to ask!

Using a fistful of his own sleeve, Adam made a rough attempt to wipe his beard clean of the mini-Sunday lunch that had accumulated there. Kate looked on with an equal medley of pity and disgust.

\- I know the rough-diamond thing is a big part of your image Adam, but are you intentionally this much of a tramp?

\- Fucking hell Katey, relax! I've got a bit of gravy on my sleeve. I'll still sleep ok tonight, will you?

\- I have more things to keep me awake at night than your vile table habits. It's just... this place is depressing enough at the best of times, without having to watch your melancholic existence unfold before my eyes.

\- Melan' what? Jesus Katey! Everything that comes out of your mouth sounds like you're reading one of them poems or something... "I wandered lonely as a clown".

\- A _cloud_ , Adam.

\- Huh?

\- "I wandered lonely as a _cloud_ ".

\- Really? Well it should have been _clown_ , it sounds better.

\- Are you doing this on purpose?

\- Well... clouds aren't even lonely, are they! There are shed loads of clouds in the sky. But clowns...! Who the hell wants to be friends with a clown?

\- Funny, I was just thinking that.

Kate couldn't work out what degree of Adam's stupidity was just for show. He thrived on the attention he got for his lackadaisical attitude towards everything. He not only _embraced_ the age-old role of jester, he dragged that role by the scruff of its neck into a current context and wrote his name all over it. A modern day, fully-licensed fool. And proud of it! Confusingly though, you almost had to be clever to maintain that level of stupidity on the constant basis that he did. Despite this, Kate was determined not become the latest addition to his fan club. She would never admit it to you, but she did sometimes struggle to keep up this priggish front around Adam; she found him hilarious!

Why Kate and Adam had spent so much time together since the day he intervened in her suicide attempt was probably something only she knew. They were never really that close in the first place. Adam certainly hadn't forced his company on Kate and he was sensitive to her less than subtle hints when she was becoming annoyed by him, making himself scarce accordingly. Somehow though, it would never be long before the two of them found themselves deep in conversation over a meal or a cigarette somewhere in the Institution. As if the suicide incident had installed some sort of opposing magnetic currents in them, they just sort of found each other at various points throughout each day, without planning and without purpose. Kate's best attempts to act aggrieved by Adam's presence were made a mockery of by the sheer amount of time they spent together. She could have walked away from him whenever she chose, but she rarely did, and that spoke volumes.

The smoking courtyard was at its busiest after mealtimes and today was no exception. The enhanced pleasure of smoking a cigarette after dinner is a largely unexplained phenomenon, but this bustling outdoor quad was testimony that it was no myth. Patients flocked to this foggy haven after finishing their meal, in order to tick the next box on their list of bodily needs; nicotine. Kate didn't class herself as being a nicotine addict. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure why she smoked; but then again, not many smokers are.

As they approached the automatic doors that opened to reveal the courtyard's bricked flowerbeds, Adam's pace quickened, climaxing in a bout of juvenile skipping that was an outward expression of either his childlike personality or his eagerness to inhale smoke, neither of which Kate found endearing. Before they made it to the exit, a grey Wood Pigeon careered through the small open window above the doors and after falling limp, it succumbed to gravity and flopped an undignified descent to the floor.

Adam's fear of birds was irrational, though not uncommon and the scream he released when the bird arrived at his feet was as genuine as it was piercing. The shrieking seemed to rouse the slumped bird, as it realised its predicament and flapped an erratic and pointless path around its new, man-made environment, thudding into walls and ceiling tiles and sending a pile of leaflets about some upcoming workshop or other cascading around the foyer like wedding confetti.

Kate threw a telegraphed punch that clipped Adam's left arm, just enough to disturb his delicate sense of gravity and send his frail frame spinning to the ground. The punch was intended to calm Adam, which was typical of Kate's clinical and often warped logic. Adam's screaming and the pigeon-induced chaos had been contagious enough to draw screams from other patients, most of whom knew little of why they were screaming, but were likely responding in general panic to this rare disruption to the tranquillity of the placid Institution.

Two guards emerged from an adjacent office, sensing commotion, but oblivious to its source, wielding batons with implied intent. The bird by now had found its freedom, like an avian pinball that had ricocheted off every available surface before, by the law of averages it had found the direction of the now open doors. The taller and more malicious looking of the two guards swung his baton at nothing in particular; more a warning shot than a specific attempt to inflict injury.

\- Evaree-wahn a stay where ya be. Ya move and I-man a start striking!

There was something in the naturally laid back tone of his West Indian accent that made even a threat sound jovial. The baton in his hand suggested otherwise.

Before the guard had even reached the end of his threat, back-up had arrived in the form of two further men, one holding a shield and the other a small pistol, which he was clearly inexperienced and unconfident in using.

Then nothing...

The riot that the guards thought they had come to diffuse had never materialised, making their heavy handed response embarrassingly apparent. They glanced at one another, then at Adam, dazed but unharmed on a floor littered with paper, a broken vase and an overturned coffee table. The guards' paranoia was potent and there for all to see, leaving a sinister tinge on the silence that now consumed the corridor. Fifteen or twenty patients that had witnessed the whole incident were united in their surprise at the military-like hostility displayed by Joe McKenna and Harrison Morgan, the two Institution security staff, who before now had been a friendly feature of the institution. More disturbing to Adam was the fact that he didn't recognise either of the two men that had arrived on the scene after Joe and Harrison. It was as if they had been hiding away on standby all this time, waiting for the first sign of trouble. And now they had flinched prematurely and unprovoked, exposing their presence which would now require one hell of an explanation.

The pigeon whose brief and unsolicited arrival at the institution had opened a bigger can of worms than he'd ever realise, sat on a fencepost a mile or so from the institution, looking out onto the English countryside. A mile or so from the institution and just over nine thousand miles from the Island of Ducie.

Chapter 10. As good a day as any

The Ducie copper mining industry was essential to the running of the island, and this was a fact ingrained into everyone that worked for Ducie Extraction and even more so into those that didn't. The miners were Ducie's breadwinners, though not many people properly understood the logistics of how what they were doing actually translated into the luxury commodities that Ducie eventually enjoyed in return.

For a relatively small open pit mine, the working conditions were modern and safe; a far cry from some of the ramshackle, independent mines on the South American mainland. Fatality statistics in the United States suggest that modern day mining is only slightly more dangerous than driving a car, and looking at this mine, you would probably believe it. The recent Chilean earthquakes had slowed the regular flow of copper out of Chile to the East. With leading consumer China looking to build on their depleted inventory for use in appliances, automobiles and the like; demand and price were high at a time that supply was not readily available; an ideal opportunity for a small mine like the one in Ducie to thrive.

But enough about that...

Andrea banged the back of the haulage truck in an attempt to halt the reversing vehicle, which was creeping its way towards the edge of the collection reservoir. The water was bright blue, which belied its polluted state and made you think of semi-naked holiday makers snorkelling in the clear, blue sea water of a tropical cove somewhere. Less exotically, the blue tinge on this water was a residue of the copper itself. Basic, bonafide contamination. The truck kept coming.

\- Woah... Hey!.....Enough!

Andrea banged harder. Another few metres and the back wheels of the truck would clear the edge of the dusty embankment, sending the vehicle along with its human contents plummeting into the giant, polluted bathtub below. The ultra-acidic water in and around the mine was always the subject of many a far-fetched tale about burn holes instantly corroded in work boots, coats, sticks and the infamous silver pen, which when dropped in the liquid was blue when retrieved. Lionel Martinez was about to become the latest object to be dunked in the glorified battery acid and added to this bizarre catalogue of accounts. Andrea pushed his thumb and middle finger beneath his tongue and let rip a deafening whistle, which he reserved for situations just like this. The truck stopped and the engine died. Lionel Martinez emerged from the cabin, oblivious to the temporary panic that had just subsided.

\- Lunch time, yeah?

Still bubbling with a stomach full of redundant adrenaline, Andrea resisted the urge to make an issue of the near death experience that Lionel didn't know he'd just had.

\- Time to go partner. I'm famished!

The two friends exchanged back slaps and headlocks, as they made their way across the uneven terrain and over the wood bridge towards the wagon. An honest morning's work, great friends for company and only a fraction of the hangover they'd woken up with. It didn't seem like a day to die, but in hindsight, I suppose it was a good a day as any.
Chapter 11 - There's something about Sally

The gutter above Kate's window held rain water from the storm that had long since reached its conclusion. Raindrops fell in pairs from either side of the brown, plastic tubing. Perfect liquid crystals that reflected the world at every angle, plummeting to their tragic and simultaneous demise.

They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.

\- So what are you suggesting exactly? That there's a secret room where they keep the heavies and then draft them out at the slightest sign of any commotion?

Kate's tone was loaded with sarcasm. She wanted this conversation over fast, but knew that her avoidance of the topic would attract unwanted suspicion and further questioning from Adam. Or perhaps she was just being paranoid.

\- Well Katey, you were there too. Did _you_ recognise those guys then?

\- Who, Joe and Harrison?

\- You know I don't mean Joe and Harrison. I'm referring to the other two bruisers that came after.

\- They're probably just agency relief staff.

\- Relief for who? Joe and Harrison? Joe and Harrison who just happened to be there as well? Joe and Harrison who were thrashing big sticks about the place...?

\- Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah... I get the picture! They overreacted. They didn't kill anyone.

\- How can you be so relaxed about this Katey? This is big news! Something's up here!

\- It's big news if you're pathetic enough to let it be. I know this place can get boring, but creating your own entertainment by over-dramatising every little thing that happens outside of the normal routine is just low.

Kate purposely faced away from Adam and stared through her barred windows out onto the smoking quad, as she struggled to summon a convincing facial expression to accompany what she was saying. She tried to detach from herself, as she listened to her own voice and tried to work out if she was coming across as sincere.

\- It wasn't so long ago that you insisted that Sally Hibbert was a government spy, because you'd apparently seen her with _'listening equipment'_.

\- I still think there is something funny about that woman.

\- She had just got a fucking hearing aid fitted Adam! The poor woman is as deaf as a door post.

The short silence that followed, gave Kate fleeting hope that she'd stopped Adam in his tracks. She hadn't...

\- But what if we're not here because of the drugs? What if it's all to do with something else altogether? None of us here have much of a memory left anyway, the state we're in. What if they _want_ us to be drugged up? What if they _gave_ us the drugs in the first place?

That last suggestion of Adam's hit Kate like a punch to the stomach. Her insides churned in such a primal and immediate way that she felt that she was lucky to have escaped an involuntary bowel movement. She knew that Adam wasn't as stupid as he liked to act, but how the hell had he pulled this off? In this sinister game of Battleships, Adam had blindly launched a pop- shot missile, and it had landed squarely on Kate's ship, rocking her to the core. No amount of verbal gymnastics would make her lies sound convincing now. With an instinctive urge to smother his mouth, so no more trouble could pour from it, Kate grabbed the back of Adam's shaven head and covered his bearded lips with hers. The dense bush of his facial hair tickled her every pore, like an army of unkempt spiders attacking her face. It all happened too quickly for her brain to translate all this into feelings of disgust, then a second or two later, she found that she was enjoying the moment. It may not have even been Adam, but just the intimacy and the contact that she had intentionally deprived herself of since... well... since when exactly? Since long before she'd even heard the word 'Ducie', that much was certain. In her quest for solitude and escape, this is what she had been missing.

Do not do all you can,

Do not spend all that you have,

Do not believe all that you hear,

And do not tell all that you know.
Chapter 12. Money can't buy me drugs

Adam didn't really have a plan as such. And that statement applied as much to his life in general as it did to his intention to break into the security office at the Two Steps Forward Rehabilitation Institution. He'd been at the Institution long enough to know that the office wasn't manned after 11pm, when the on-duty guard retired to his dormitory and wasn't replaced by a counterpart until 6am the next morning. Beyond this, Adam had established neither how he would gain entry, nor what he would actually do if he managed to breach the wooden office door and its hinged wire mesh guard. The dark, lino-floored corridor looked like it should have been colder than it actually was. A thick, muggy texture coated the air and reminded Adam of the times when smoking in public houses was permitted.

Adam stood in front of the office door and made a final check over both shoulders, surveying the shadows for any signs of humanity. A sensible betting man would have heavily backed the door if asked to rate its chances in a physical confrontation with Adam. We'll never know if his weenie body could have defied the odds to physically force open a locked barricade, because as he turned the bulky, gold knob, the door crept ajar and with the gentlest of pushes, swung fully open. A green lamp illuminated the surface of a large desk, but was dim enough to allow the rest of the office complete darkness. The arrangement of the papers that carpeted the work surface was indicative of a work in progress, or perhaps abandoned at the close of a shift. Adam picked up a letter: A scrappy, handwritten invoice from the gardening contractors. £319 + VAT . He'd never given much thought to the running costs of the Institution before, not least the upkeep of something as incidental as the gardens, but here it was. Adam grabbed again at random. Another letter, another invoice: Kentish Town Pharmaceuticals. The product breakdown may as well have been in a foreign language. His eyes skimmed the gibberish medical jargon and arrived swiftly at the bottom of the page and the total amount owed. £126,955.11 + VAT. Adam's grasp of figures was never legendary and he'd been out of the real world long enough for his concept of monetary value to become rustier still. Even so, this colossal sum registered enough to force a sharp gasp of disbelief. Who on earth funded this set-up? Ever-reliable Mr Taxpayer? A six figure sum to look after a bunch of ex smack heads though? Really? Adam's intelligence level and state of mind didn't lend well to drawing educated conclusions from the information in front of him, but he knew as much as something didn't stack up quite right.

He observed the desk once more. Silence drenched the office and there was a stillness that offered a small slither of comfort to Adam in this nerve-wracking and unfamiliar new role of stealth intruder. Still, there was something about this deserted office scene that felt alive and current to him, but somehow he couldn't quite place it. Then came the clincher: The faintest wisp of steam and an undeniably familiar aroma. Adam followed his senses to the darker side of the desk, where shadowed from the glow of the lamp by a box file, sat a cup of machine-made coffee. The intoxicating smell of caffeine seemed to grow in pungency from the moment Adam noticed the cup and now seemed to reek around the small office. He dipped a bony, sweaty finger in the liquid and retracted it immediately as the scolding sensation ripped its way to his brain. The drink couldn't have been more than 5 minutes old.

Then footsteps.

In reality, his only crime was entering an unlocked room, which was hardly cause for panic and could easily have been reversed by stepping back outside and prudently closing the door behind him. Through paranoia or stupidity however, Adam flapped around pointlessly at the sound of the approaching feet, like a Wood Pigeon that had just found its way through an open window and into an unfamiliar room. Frantically trying to re-organise papers that he hadn't even touched in the first place, scrubbing the desk with his sleeve in a misguided attempt to remove fingerprints, straightening the green leather swivel-chair back to what he guessed was its original position. If he'd turned and ran at the first sound of life approaching, he'd have been back in his dormitory by now. But here he was, performing an erratic and random re-arrangement of objects that didn't belong to him, and now looking for a place to hide. The steady rhythm of footsteps was now laced with a whistled melody, as the coffee drinker drew close enough that Adam could hear that familiar polyester rustle of a jacket moving in time with its owner's body pendulum. Adam felt his way to the unlit end of the office, thumping what felt like a filing cabinet with his knee. As the door opened, Adam dropped to the floor instinctively landing amongst a pile of unfathomable objects. He slumped in the corner, hidden more by the darkness than by any object in particular. The coffee drinker took his seat and let out an exasperated sigh. The smell of stale nicotine found its way across the room to Adam, which explained why the office had been left empty for a short while; coffee drinker had taken a well earned cigarette break. The chair creaked a little as its occupant leaned back and stretched.

\- Brrrrr! Oy, oy, oy! Now, now, now, now, now. What next ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, tiger?

Funny, the way speech changes when the pressure of anyone listening is removed. Coffee drinker thought he was alone and clearly felt no need to adhere to normal patterns of speech.

Adam immediately pinpointed the voice as Joe McKenna, the Institution security guard who had produced a baton during the earlier pigeon incident. Joe picked up the pharmacy invoice and spun himself a full 360 degree rotation in the chair.

\- One hundred and twenty six thousand smackeroos! All in the name of science and progress. What a fucking waste! Man, what I would do with half of that money.

Joe broke into song:

\- Money, money, money...It must be funny... In a smack head's world!

For the first time since entering the office, Adam was amused. He cupped his hands over his face to contain the risk of involuntary laughter. The impromptu cabaret continued:

\- I don't care too...

Joe slapped the desk to represent the drop-beat in this Beatles classic.

\- ...much for money... 'Cause money can't buy me drugs...Can't buy me dru – ugs!'

Adam managed to suppress the laugh yet again, but not the muffled cough that was following it out of his mouth and into his cupped hands. In reality it was the merest of sounds, but in this quiet setting, it was enough to reverberate around the darkness, all the way to the nearest ear. Joe's ear.

Joe stopped, silent, he stared straight ahead and listened. For a second, Adam thought he'd gotten away with it, until Joe reached under the desk and pulled out what looked like one of those bulky plastic guns, belonging to a 1990s arcade game. This device however, was not designed for firing bullets, but for delivering electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of muscles; a taser! In a smooth swipe, the same baton produced at the pigeon-scene was released from somewhere around Joe's waistline and was now gripped by his other hand. In fairness, all of this was an excusable reaction to the threat of a potential intruder. It could have been anyone!

Adam was literally cornered now, and his brain even at its optimum, adrenaline fuelled efficiency, could not think of a valid excuse for him being there. It was about three metres from Adam's squatting position to the door. Even if he could cross that threshold quicker than Joe could react, his options once he exited the office would be limited to say the least. Especially if by that point, Joe had identified him. With no better alternative offering itself to Adam however, it was that or nothing.

Adam felt around his feet and located what felt like a running shoe. He took aim and lobbed it in the general direction of the light. Under the circumstances, it was a decent effort, as the shoe hit the desk lamp, tipping it onto its side throwing most of the side of the room where Joe stood into darkness. The extent of Adam's plan was merely to cause a sound that made Joe turn the other way, buying him a precious second to dart for the door. This disorientating change in lighting he'd now caused was an unexpected bonus! He leapt in a blur and stumbled to the door, his hand landing fortuitously on the gold knob. As the door opened, he defied his athletic limitations, sprinting furiously, pumping arms and legs, gasping heavily. His only compass was an instinct to keep moving into open space. In spite of his own blind panic, Adam became aware that he heard nothing behind him. No footsteps, no heavy breathing, no cry for him to stop. Adrenaline can dull the senses, creating tunnel vision and impairing hearing, but that wasn't it. Adam felt a sharp, sour pain that he could almost taste the flavour of, erupt around his torso. Then a dull thud inside his head that he heard more than he actually felt, before a peaceful darkness came and consumed him into a heavy sleep in the middle of the block A corridor.

Guardians of secrets are in the thankless business of preventing the inevitable.
Chapter 13. Duties of a spaceman

If Adam was still in the Institution, it was in a part of the building he did not recognise. He'd awoken in a white, clinical looking room that seemed far too spacious for the furniture it actually contained. An unmanned computer terminal resided on the wall opposite where Adam sat, slumped and slowly re-tuning into consciousness. Somewhere near the middle of the room stood a beige, elevated couch, reminiscent of physciatrists probing patients about their childhood for an extortionate hourly rate. Two doors on opposite sides of the room caused a disorientating symmetry that was only cured by looking back at the computer monitor as a reference point. As he struggled to his feet, Adam was the room's only occupant.

The only other feature of this bare dwelling became apparent to Adam, as a muffled crackle followed by an unfathomable snippet of conversation echoed around the room. As his bleary eyes squinted up at the source of the sound, he noticed two megaphone-like speakers protruding from the top corners of the room. After a moment, the muffled voices faded and the crystal-clear voice of a well spoken, female came to the forefront.

\- Adam. Adam, it is important that you stay calm.

\- Where the fucking hell am I? You sick bastards! Let me out! I wasn't doing anything.

The long pause that followed seemed to mock Adam.

\- Adam, the steps we are taking here are just precautionary.

\- The office was open, you wankers! I didn't take anything. You'd know if I did. You shot me down as soon as I left the room, you fuckers!

Another pause. Longer this time. Adam felt patronised by the silence. Like a child being given time to cool down from a tantrum by his Mother.

\- This isn't about what you took Adam.

The injustice of it all was sending his temper into overdrive. There is something degrading to an inhumane degree about being criminalized like this with no justification. Adam swung a kick that was absorbed with insulting ease by the wall at which it was thrown. Falling to his knees and clutching his toes in pain, he began banging his head repeatedly against the solid perimeters of this clinical chamber. Each strike of his head against the plaster sent a bright blue flash around his vision, which quickly dissipated, before he struck again, and again, and again.

An alarm droned around the room at an offensive volume, likely made to seem louder by the exclusively solid surfaces off which the piercing sound rebounded. Adam continued to inflict self harm.

\- Bastards! Bastards! Bastards! Bastards! Bastards! Arrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!

One of the two doors clicked loudly as its long disengaged, and two identical souls resembling spacemen, their descriptions hidden behind white protective suits and masks rushed in to the room. One restrained Adam with quite amusing ease, even finding two spare hands to place shackles on him, whilst pinning him to the floor with one knee, as he struggled. Spaceman number one secured a crash helmet to Adam's head, presumably for protection, but in his heightened state of emotion, it felt to Adam more like a dunce hat; a further, unnecessary humiliation.

Spaceman number two stood at the computer terminal and after entering a few brief keystrokes, strode back towards the door he had entered through, followed quickly by his accomplice.

The door closed and the lock clunked back into its engaged position. The voice returned.

\- Adam, are you conscious? Can you hear me Adam?

He squirmed his way backwards towards the wall, his bound feet and his back working in unison to walk his body up the wall into a sitting position. Through gritted teeth and driven to comply only by a desire to get answers, Adam responded.

\- Fuck...you! I can hear you. Can you hear me? Fuck...you!

\- Adam, this isn't about what you took.

Breathing heavily, more through anger than exertion, Adam could not find a reply in himself.

\- Adam, this isn't about what you took...it is about what you might have seen.

Confusion rioted inside his wounded head, as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Still he couldn't find the energy to respond. If this whole episode was designed to relieve him of his will and integrity, it was close to succeeding. At that, the door opposite the one that the spacemen had just exited through clunked and swung open. Adam stared towards it, a defeated, breathless expression defining his face. He briefly entertained a hopeless fantasy of wriggling his way towards it, hands and feet bound, helmet ricocheting off the cold, hard floor as he wormed his way to freedom. A silhouette appeared in the doorway. Not much more could shock, hurt or humiliate him further, so he thought.

So he thought until Kate Gaffney walked gingerly to the middle of the room, close enough that he could hear her, but with an obvious desire to keep a cautious distance.

\- Hello Adam. This isn't what you think. Everything's going to be fine. Just do what they say, ok?
Chapter 14. Hugo Boss

As far as copper mine's went, Ducie's was small by comparison, but it still made a man feel dwarfed to stand in the middle of it all. The dyke embankment on which Andrea stood was a man-made hill that ran a complete circle round the perimeter of the tailings pond, keeping the bright blue liquid from escaping from this giant bath tub and flooding a large part of the island. As Andrea looked out over the pond, the afternoon sun had cast two of its ultra violet beams down towards the lake in a 'V' shape, appearing as lines so prominent in the sky, that the scene looked more like a child's drawing of a beach. A yellow blob with lines coming out of it representing the sun, and an overzealous shade of blue mass beneath it for the sea.

The soft, yet pungent voice of Lionel Martinez jolted Andrea from his brief daydream.

\- Come on buddy, we're on the home straight now. Just a couple more hours and we're back on the wagon home.

Andrea shuffled down the embankment, gathering momentum with each mini-step he took, heading straight for Lionel who waited with open arms, imitating a parent catching a child.

\- Come to Daddy! Sleepy time's over honey!

Andrea squirmed away from Lionel, changing direction to escape his attempt at a hug.

\- Get off me you gay boy! I know you get excited when the end of a shift is in sight, but come on man...

Lionel pouted his lips in mock seduction and began chasing Andrea.

\- Hey, come here lover boy. I'll show you the time of your life!

The pair chased each other around the dusty rock surface, before one of them slipped and the two friends collapsed on the floor in fits of hysterical laughter. The fun came to an abrupt stop when the imposing voice of no-nonsense Shift Leader Hugo Valerendez boomed down to them from the site office at the top of the rocky gradient behind them.

\- What the fucking hell are you two sad-acts playing at? Get your immature backsides up here pronto. We've got issues of gargantuan proportions developing here.

The two men helped each other to their feet.

The site office was a tight squeeze on a normal day for Valerendez, his desk and his ever-growing library of arch-lever files. With 15 men now jostling for space and impatiently awaiting unknown news, the room was now at bursting point. The anxiety and curiosity amongst the workers was so real that Lionel thought he could feel it polluting his nostrils as he and Andrea squeezed themselves into a barely available cranny on the left flank of the office. More likely however, his nose was experiencing an onslaught of 15 different kinds of body odour, all with the sickly sweet fragrance of a hard day's work in common. The room hummed with heat and emotion as the jumbled conversations hit a peak, then lagged into relative silence as Valarendez bustled through the crowd to take his post at the front of the room.

\- Men!

Everyone in the room conducted their own personal micro-analysis of this first word to leave Valerendez's mouth; analysing tone, pitch and accompanying facial expression in an attempt to forecast the nature of what would follow. They needn't have bothered, as the Shift Leader soon rattled into the rest of his delivery.

\- About an hour ago, I received a report of a visual account of slight liquid seepage from the south-west perimeter. Since then, site investigation and liquid behaviour analysis have confirmed that there are 3 related fractures in the dyke perimeter of the tailings pond. Each fracture is growing at a rate of around 500% each hour. Without remedial action, total collapse of this section of the perimeter is around 80 minutes away.

The congregation didn't gasp collectively, nor were there whispers of worried conversation. The room held a strong silence that spoke of the men's readiness for this type of situation rather than any kind of collective shock. They had drilled this scenario regularly and each was well educated in the lurking layers of danger that lay beneath the work that they did. In this small, clammy office stood the dream team to deal with this exact kind of emergency.

\- Men! Disaster recovery protocol 1.A is now in force. You know what you have to do.

1.A was the primary response protocol to any real degree of risk of the blue sludge escaping the tailings pond and engulfing Ducie. Each man had an assigned role. Lionel would man the bulldozer, which would dump rock and soil around the fracture as a first line of defense. The pressure of 300,000 litres of water seeking its lowest available level however, would not be curtailed by rock and soil alone. The materials Lionel deposited would merely stem the tide, whilst 7 other workers constructed a permanent concrete solution behind him.

Andrea took his place on top of the dyke embankment, where he would orchestrate proceedings like a concert conductor drawing exquisite sounds from the talented musicians below him. The sound of Lionel's bulldozer was not exquisite and it was not music, but Andrea conducted him anyway.

\- You've got to come in from an angle pal. You're too straight on! Veer out to the left a little when you reverse.

Lionel was usually a cool customer and a competent operator of the bulky, offensive machinery on which he sat, but the pressure of an emergency situation seemed to make the bulldozer louder, his face become hotter and Andrea's bellowed instructions grate more and more on his ever fraying nerves.

\- Do you want to get down off your little perch and come drive this frigging thing then? It's a bulldozer, not a kid's tricycle! I can't make it jump through hoops like you're asking me to.

As uncharacteristic an outburst as this was for Lionel, most of its pungency was swallowed up in the din of clanking machinery and bellowing workmen.

Andrea, oblivious to Lionel's frustrations, had now turned to the right and was barking orders at 3 men trying to navigate a cement mixer into position.

\- Woah! Woah! No more! We're trying to patch up a crack here, not build a fucking sand castle! It shouldn't take all 3 of you.

You'd be forgiven for thinking Andrea ran the shift. He didn't! Somehow his assigned position on top of a lofty embankment seemed to give him a self-imposed reign of authority. As if being physically higher than the others made him superior. It didn't!

One of the men retorted.

\- How about you get the fuck down here and give us a hand Andrea?

\- I'm up here for a reason. Reason being so I have a bird's eye view of you failing to do basic crap properly.

\- Well you come and do it then if.... Woah! Andrea! Pal!

Whilst Andrea's back had been turned, Lionel hadn't hung around and waited for directions. With a steel plate full of rock and soil, he drove the bulldozer towards the embankment, thudding the heavy load against the already fragile perimeter with way more force than he'd intended. It wasn't enough to cause it to collapse completely, but the resulting tremor rocked the precarious ground upon which his good friend Andrea stood...

By 5pm, the operation to seal the crack in the dyke perimeter was a success, and Ducie was spared the unthinkable onslaught of the blue sludge.

The 15 men involved were all heroes.

14 of them would later return to receive praise and recognition from King Eduardo for their efforts.

Andrea Fuentes lay dead at the bottom of the tailings pond.
Chapter 15. Tell it to your king

Physically, the wagon returning the workers to their homes that night was a man lighter than the one that carried them to the mine that morning. Emotionally however, the wagon's chassis seemed to sag under the weight of the heavy grief and sadness that replaced Andrea Fuentes.

The bumps in the road coated the men in a thick, but fleeting cloud of dust that for a second masked the sombre reality of the day's events. A small rock, unearthed by the moving vehicle had somehow found its way airborne and struck Lionel on the left cheek, leaving a dust riddled scrage on the surface of his skin. Lionel's gaze, void of any real point of focus, was not interrupted. He stared into the approaching distance and felt neither physical nor emotional sensation. Classic stage-one grieving. Classic Lionel.

The beach that had been the scene of manic celebrations the night before now lay silent and eerie. A lone couple of figures in the distance held silent forum out of earshot. Lionel recognised them as Lucas and Daniella, but they may as well have been anyone for all he cared. The two prospective lovebirds heard the familiar rattle of the wagon as it passed, turning to wave enthusiastically, the way all Ducians greeted the home-coming of the breadwinners. When nobody returned their salute, Lucas and Daniella stared perplexed at the moving vehicle. They turned to each other and exchanged confused dialogue, before turning back to the sea and their conversation. The wagon rattled on towards the King's Estate.

\- You ok buddy?

Vasco knew how pathetic his question sounded, but pathetic seemed the lesser of the two evils; the other being the crippling silence that the men had shared for the journey up until now.

\- I'm good. I just can't shake the image of him disappearing over that embankment. He didn't make a sound, man. He was just....gone.

\- It wasn't your fault Lionel. He should have been on his guard. He was trying to run too many shows at once. He was doing what he thought was right, but at the end of the day, it cost him. But hey, that's Andrea!

\- That was Andrea... He's gone now! One bump of a bulldozer and there ends a life

\- Buddy, it wasn't your fault and you know it. You might have been at the wheel, but he should have been directing you, instead of sticking his unwanted finger into everyone else's pies.

\- And his punishment for that is death. Justice done, right?

\- Come on man! I didn't say that.

Lionel returned to the comfortable solace of his silent trance. He knew Vasco was trying to offer comfort, but this brief exchange of words had done nothing but exhaust him. If he felt like this after a few hours, then how would he deal with a lifetime of watching this mental video of Andrea falling backwards into the tailings pond? Over and over. The shortest, scariest movie of all time stuck on a never ending loop, playing on the cruelest TV set in the world, with no 'off' switch. Taunting him...forever!

Lionel's mind interrupted itself, now offering him thoughts of Andrea's wife. Jennifer Martinez had overlooked years of Andrea's antics, including one instance of physical violence, which left her with a broken jaw, courtesy of Andrea's alcohol propelled fist. Still, she adored the man and willingly played the doting housemaid role with poise and elegance. Andrea and Jennifer spoke openly and regularly about their eagerness to start a family whenever the next Right to Birth Vacancy opened up. A running joke amongst their friends was that Jennifer would actually consider murder in order to dispatch of one of the island's current 61 residents to make way for their future bambino. This led to their guests joking that the food that Jennifer dutifully served them with was filled with poison. It wasn't! She just loved people. None more so than Andrea.

This tragic news of her husband's death would break her world into unfathomable little pieces.

The wagon seemed to become a different, more luxurious vehicle as it left the bumpy, uneven terrain that was typical of most of the island's roads and drifted smoothly along the silky tarmac of the driveway of the King's Estate. Lionel sat bolt upright at the sudden change in scenery. This felt real now! He'd never been to the King's Estate for anything that wasn't routine island business. Now here he was, approaching the dwellings of his Highness to report the death of his closest friend. The first opening of a Right to Birth vacancy since...well, since anyone could remember.

Mobile phones and such methods of remote communication did not exist in Ducie. Well...that is, they did not exist as far as Ducie's residents were concerned. In reality, it would have just been too risky to allow Ducians access to an electronic version of the outside world in the palms of their hands. Far too risky! Because of the lack of communication devices, King Eduardo had had no prior warning of either Andrea's death or the visitors now approaching his Estate. The first he knew of it was when the low chug of the wagon reached his ears, as he sat amongst an endless pile of paperwork in his carpeted study. Rising to answer the door, King Eduardo groaned as his ageing body protested against the unexpected exercise being inflicted on it after hours sat at a desk. There were no locks to disengage in opening the door; why would there be? Eduardo simply nudged the door open, letting in a rush of warm sea air and a chorus of cuckoo song. He was visibly surprised when he was greeted by this somber looking entourage that had crossed Ducie in an open-back wagon to see him. Even on an island this small you could still be surprised at who you find standing at your door sometimes. Shift Leader Hugo Valerendez took a step towards King Eduardo.

\- Sir!

This simple word was how King Eduardo was addressed by Ducians. Not 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Highness', just 'Sir'.

Eduardo's eyes were still squinting as they struggled to adjust to the wealth of daylight that he hadn't seen for the long hours he'd been indoors.

\- Sir! I am sorry if we woke you, but unfortunately, we had no choice.

\- Of course you didn't wake me. It's only....

Eduardo looked at a wrist at a watch that wasn't there. He looked as confused and disheveled an old man as he was beginning to feel.

\- What time is it exactly Hugo?

\- It's 7:30 in the evening Sir.

\- Ok, ok. So what brings everyone here at this hour? I have nothing scheduled do I?

King Eduardo knew he was in far from prime condition at the moment and was more than capable of forgetting an appointment or an event he'd planned. The stress of running Ducie had reduced him to less than a quarter of the intelligent, driven man that he was when he accepted his role in all of this.

\- We are here reporting an incident Sir.

\- An incident?

At that moment, a piercing, high pitched sound echoed somewhere inside the estate and as it did, Eduardo let out a pained groan, grasping his temples as if trying to stop his head tumbling from his shoulders. Hugo and Lionel stepped forward to steady a shoulder each of the King.

\- I'm ok, I'm ok. Just tell me about this incident.

\- Sir, there's no point me drawing this out for longer than I need to. We lost a man at the pit today.

\- Lost? You mean dead lost?

\- Dead lost, perished lost Sir. Andrea Fuentes. During the execution of an A.1 prevention exercise, Andrea fell into the tailings pond.

\- A.1? What? How?

The King's eyes darted left to right as if he were watching a tennis rally in double time, furiously scanning Hugo's face for some clue that might reveal answers quicker than Hugo could spit them out.

\- A fracture in the dyke perimeter, which I am happy to say is no longer a risk to Ducie, thanks to these men standing behind me... and thanks in some way to Andrea himself Sir.

\- So your efforts to rescue Andrea were...

\- Fruitless, Sir! I made the decision not to risk further loss in any futile efforts to save him.

\- What? You mean you didn't even try? You just left him to...

\- Sir, with the greatest of respect, that pond is full of liquid far more sinister than water. Andrea vanished below the surface instantly and any attempt to retrieve him would have put more of my men at risk. Not to mention that the fracture was still growing at that point. Ducie itself was at risk Sir.

\- I understand Hugo. I just can't... I just... Hugo, you made the right call. Everyone involved will be recognised for this. Please, come in and help me file the papers to make this official. The rest of you, go home to your beds! The mine will remain closed tomorrow. Spend time with your thoughts. Spend time with your loved ones. We are 60 for now, but we stand together and we will stand firm.

Hugo turned to his troops and nodded an unspoken validation of the King's instructions. The men trudged obediently back to the wagon.

Hugo followed King Eduardo across the Sisal rug on the stone floor of the hallway and into the study, closing the door behind them. As the door closed, Hugo noticed Eduardo seemed to shed his weathered look of fatigue and take on a more nervous, fumbling version of himself. The King stopped dead in the middle of the study, as if he'd forgotten what they'd come in there for. He shook his head vigorously as if dismissing a crazy idea he'd just had. It was as if he had never given a thought to what would happen if a Ducian ever died. He was in uncharted waters. He spoke as his well-trained fingers spun a swift combination into the dial of the safe on his study wall.

\- So...A Right to Birth Vacancy. I never thought I'd see the day! I just presumed it'd be me kicking the bucket to make way for the next Ducian before anyone else did.

\- Sir, you're in good shape for a man your age.

Hugo wondered how convincing he'd made that sound.

\- Ahh, good shape, bad shape. It's all irrelevant in the end, old boy! We're all just here waiting for the holy one to say the word and then, zuupp....!

Eduardo made an upwards gesture with his hand that was presumably meant to represent someone being beamed up to the sky, or heaven, or somewhere.

\- You're a wise man Sir. But with many years of wisdom ahead of you still. It was Andrea's turn to go today. He's in a good place now. I know he is!

\- Where his spirit is, nobody knows. What matters here for you and I, Hugo, is that his body lies at the bottom of that pond. That's the real stuff! That's why this Right to Birth Vacancy opened up. This is the business we must attend to.

The following couple of hours saw King Eduardo and Hugo Valerendez sink deeper and deeper into a sea of necessary paperwork and dull administrative tedium, as they persisted to document the loss of a close friend into a neat little package, suitable for filing away in a cupboard as part of Ducie's short, but eventful history.

If the truth be known, well...some of it at least, King Eduardo was making up most of this process as he went along. The protocol for registering Andrea's death didn't even exist. At least not the process for registering the death in Ducie. The news would create enormous ripples elsewhere in the world however.

And with that, almost an hour after Hugo had left the estate and returned to his bed, the piercing, high-pitched sound echoed around the building once more, as the only telephone on the island of Ducie demanded the King's attention. As Eduardo dragged his frail body in the direction of the hallway telephone, fighting to override the lethargic protests of every muscle in his body, he already knew who was on the other end of the line. Eduardo wasn't psychic, nor did his telephone have a caller ID function. The reason he knew the identity of the caller, before he even lifted the handset was because the telephone in Eduardo's hallway was not linked to any normal kind of telephony network. Rather, it was one half of a two-way designated line, linking Ducie Island to number 10 Downing Street, London. As he lifted the receiver, Steve Towerbridge skipped all the usual niceties and introductions common to normal phone calls and got straight to the bone.

\- Pass code please...

Eduardo responded without a pause for thought.

\- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.

There was a brief pause on the other end of line, presumably as the password was verified by somebody; perhaps by Steve himself.

\- Thank you Eduardo. Steve here. Can you confirm that the e-mail we received regarding the death of Andrea Fuentes, timed at 2103 hours Ducie time, 0503 hours UK time was sent by you?

\- Yes Sir, I can confirm I sent it.

Eduardo was familiar with the security protocol he had to endure every time this telephone rang.

\- And can you confirm Eduardo, that you are currently alone at the estate, you are speaking of your own free will and are not being forced to answer under false pretences in any situation similar to, but not limited to a hostage situation?

\- Yes Sir, I can confirm I am alone.

Eduardo's crippling headache was there again, but now the nervous adrenaline numbed it to the level of a minor irritation buried somewhere under the layers of his subconscious.

And from this Ducie evening and London morning onwards, a complicated, yet tightly bound secret began its sinister and deadly unravelling.
Chapter 16. The humanity of Kate Gaffney

As Kate walked forward, Adam adopted a cowering, defensive stance against the wall, as if he were expecting the roof to cave in at any moment. This was his friend standing in front of him. She might have been a grumpy little thing most of the time, but she was still his friend as far as he was concerned. He scanned her eyes rapidly, trying to find the familiar look of acquaintance from somewhere behind that icy, clinical gaze.

The overhead speakers crackled into life once more. Cold and to the point.

\- Kate, step back from Adam please.

Kate continued to walk towards Adam. She desperately wanted to reassure her old friend that everything would be ok. If she was honest though, she didn't know herself that everything would be ok. He'd be told about everything soon enough though and at least that would be one less person to hide all of this from. How he'd react to what he heard was a different matter, but this wasn't the time to be worrying about that.

Again, the speakers.

\- Kate, you know what's at stake here. Take a few steps back please.

Kate edged forward even closer; close enough to feel the heat radiating off Adam's body and to catch the sweet smell of his fresh perspiration. Up until now, she'd stared straight ahead; avoiding eye-contact at all costs, for fear that seeing Adam's vulnerability would kick start an emotional side of her that she hadn't seen for years. Some part of her that she couldn't control made her catch Adam's scared eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room. The churning in her stomach was all that she expected it would be; but she somehow held firm. No tears.

Kate stopped moving forward now, as if she'd now got close enough to see what she needed to see. She broke eye-contact and looked away solemnly, but before long, couldn't fight the urge to re-engage with those eyes of his. Those pretty, vulnerable eyes that had seen a lot more in his life than Adam himself realised. He only knew of his poxy little reality at the Institution and that thought ripped Kate up every single time she saw him.

\- Katey, what's this about? Katey, I'm scared. Please. Whatever it is, tell them I didn't do it. It wasn't me Katey, I swear!

Adam had shifted from anger to pleading and these were just two of the many, many states that he would be forced to experience today. Kate couldn't help but put herself in his shoes. He knew nothing. Nothing at all! And now all this chaos was descending on his simple little world out of nowhere! What must he be thinking? He might have asked for it. Well...kind of asked for it. He broke into the office after all, but that didn't warrant the treatment he was getting here. She couldn't take it any more. Kate quickly covered the remaining few feet of ground between her and Adam by sliding on her knees towards him and embracing his trembling body in her arms.

The robotic voice behind the speakers seemed to disapprove.

\- Kate, get away from Adam now or we'll be forced to intervene.

Something flipped inside of her, as she began directing her rant toward the speakers on the ceiling. She knew that the voice didn't really live inside the speakers, but she needed some sort of inanimate object to vent her anger at.

\- Oh, just fuck off will you! He's a human being, you heartless bastards. I've played by the rules for you long enough. We're people. We're not fucking lab rats that you can prod about any way you like. I'll tell him everything here and now if you want. Shall I? Shall I? Huh? Do you fucking want me to? I'll tell him everything. I'll tell him about Ducie... I'll tell him about...

Kate felt a sharp, sour pain that she could almost taste the flavour of, erupt around her torso. Then a dull thud inside her head that she heard more than she actually felt, before a peaceful darkness came and consumed her into a heavy sleep in the middle of the Institution's Situation Room.

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
Chapter 17. Are you sitting comfortably?

The beautifully comfortable, cotton wool-like texture of unconsciousness dissipated quickly as Kate's brain began leaking in the first few snippets of sight and sound. First she heard voices. Calm, unhurried, in-control voices. No commotion, no haste. Then a whisper of light trickled in, as she forced her eyes to open just a little. The room was dark, bar what seemed like perhaps a dim lamp. As her mind fumbled through the hazy filing cabinets of her memory bank, she was close to placing this room that she almost recognised when Harrison Morgan's distinctive West Indian accent seemed to jolt Kate up to the next level of awake.

\- Joey boy! Carry yaself over 'ere. Sleepy 'ead a starting to come arowund

Kate felt the presence of two, maybe three people move closer towards her. Opening her eyes some more, her view was dominated by Harrison Morgan and Joe McKenna. Her eyes were still adjusting, but the fact that Harrison was black and Joe was white made the job of distinguishing between the two straight forward. She watched helplessly, void of energy, as Harrison turned and went about some business or other across the room. The departure of his hulking body from Kate's immediate vision made way for the features of the room. A desk, a chair, a TV or monitor of some sort and a clock. A black and white, oversized analogue clock that looked like it should have sat on the wall of a London train station. There were probably other clocks like it in the world, but the only one Kate knew of sat on the wall of the exact same security office that was the scene of Adam's disastrous break-in. As the rest of the room came into focus, it became obvious that that was exactly where they were.

Kate felt her chair being raised into an upright position and a feeling of nausea swept through her, as she struggled with the concept of sitting vertically. A sudden, strong waft of coffee enhanced her desire to be sick. She felt too lifeless to move, but then again, where would have been a suitable place to hurl up vomit in this tiny office anyway? The bin perhaps I suppose, but it was too late. Kate quickly lost the battle to hold down the rising assault of her stomach contents up through her esophagus and out through her mouth. She let out a short, involuntary retching sound, as the watery liquid cascaded down into her lap. Instantly, as if having expected it to happen, Harrison lifted her up into the air like a waitress lifting up a salt shaker to clean the table underneath it, as Joe scurried around with paper towels mopping up the mess. Kate didn't protest at being manhandled. Her bullish personality all but destroyed under these exhausting circumstances. She began to feel the nausea lifting, as she glanced around the room and noticed Adam sitting in the green, swivel chair to her left. He looked calmer and more at ease than he had done in the Situation Room; as if he'd accepted his fate. Though he couldn't possibly have anticipated what was to come. Kate began putting herself in Adam's proverbial shoes again and it made her ache with sadness for him. The trauma triggered the reappearance of the nausea, so she quickly put these thoughts to bed and reverted to the simplicity of gazing at her surroundings some more.

A mismatched array of chairs, a couple of which she recognised from the canteen had been brought into the office. She knew why they were here. A conversation was to be had. A conversation long enough and serious enough to warrant pulling in spare chairs from around the Institution.

Joe and Harrison took their seats, forming a diamond shape between the four of them. The silence that followed became instantly awkward, as three of four excruciating seconds limped by. Joe spoke first.

\- Adam, I'd like to start off by saying sorry to you for the way you were handled today and for the trauma you've suffered.

Adam was slightly taken back by this sudden appearance of Joe's sympathetic side, having been forcefully ushered into the office by him without a word just moments earlier. Joe's brash Birmingham accent made the soft nature of his words seem even more surreal. The apology continued.

\- Take my word for it mate, if we could have done it an easier way, we would have done.

A silence fell on the room as if Joe expected a response. 'Oh yeah, that's ok Joe. Don't mention it. All's well that ends well and all that, hey mate. Fancy going for a beer?'. Hardly! Adam said nothing. Joe went on.

\- Adam, you might be wondering what Kate has to do with all of this.

\- I'm still wondering what _I_ have to do with all of this to be honest Joe! In fact, I'm still wondering what the fucking hell ' _this_ ' is exactly.

Adam had discovered a newfound sense of cockiness from somewhere, now that Joe appeared a lot less scary than before.

\- I understand Adam, I really do. But I'm hoping that when we've finished giving you our explanation, you might understand a bit more.

\- Explanation? For which bit of this circus do you have an explanation Joe? The bit where you shot me down outside the office maybe?

\- We didn't shoot you Adam.

\- Or that space-age computer room you have back there? Or the fact that you two used to be quite nice chaps before you suddenly decided to turn into Tweedle-Nutcase and Tweedle-Psycho? Which bit of it _do_ you have an explanation for exactly Joe? Huh?

Up until now, Kate had been a silent bystander, but for the first time since waking in the room, she spoke in a low, strained voice.

\- All of it Adam. They'll explain all of it. Just stop ranting and let them talk.

Adam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in an unspoken challenge to Joe to live up to Kate's promise of an all encompassing explanation . Joe went on.

\- Adam, four years ago, the British government sanctioned an operation that involved the patients in this Institution; yourself included.

\- Sally Hibbert! I knew it! She's a spy for them, yeah?

If Kate didn't know Adam better, she'd have thought he was cracking a joke at the most inappropriate of times. But as well as Ducians knew Ducians, Kate knew Adam. And Kate knew he was being serious. As her croaky voice broke suddenly, the old sarcastic Kate made a brief return.

\- Not Sally Hibbert, you fuckwit! That's always going to be a hearing aid in her ear, no matter how many times your thick head tells you otherwise.

Joe continued.

\- Adam, four years ago, a group of neuroscientists discovered that all drug addictions involve the action of a certain substance in one specific part of the brain. They discovered that both the pleasure generated by drugs and their adverse effects on withdrawal are connected to the same substance. They then developed an inhibitor that removes the craving for drugs and the pleasure obtained from them as well as the nasty withdrawal effects that I'm sure you're familiar with. The team created a drug based on a naturally occurring enzyme known as CROP intended to act on the part of the brain where many drugs unleash that feeling of pleasure you get when you take them.

Adam looked perplexed.

\- Are you on crack _now_ Joe?

Joe ignored the wisecrack.

\- The experiment was intended to cure addicts like yourself Adam. To change your lives for the better. Unfortunately however, the experiment produced some unexpected results.

\- It didn't work, no? Ah, bless the little eggheads. At least they tried, eh?

\- It worked Adam. Just not in the way they expected it to.

Joe paused, as if waiting for the next sarcastic quip from Adam that didn't come. He was relieved at the short, silent break in this stressful exchange.

\- You see Adam, the test patient experienced some quite remarkable side effects, which...

A high pitched alarm wailed around the Institution and within seconds, two pager-like devices belonging to Joe and Harrison began vibrating in tandem on the desk.

\- Wait there, the both of you. Don't move. Don't panic.

Joe and Harrison darted out of the office, quickly followed by Adam and Kate, who completely ignored their instructions to stay put. The four of them sprinted down identical looking corridors, careering round corners before Joe, who was leading the pack finally settled on a dormitory. The door was being held open by a traumatised looking nurse, who beckoned Joe and Harrison into the room, whilst offering Kate and Adam only an inquisitive, yet ultimately polite look of confusion.

What greeted them as they entered the room was the limp body of Harry Dunne, a patient of the Institution and a mildly familiar friend of both Kate and Adam. A pool of blood lay underneath his head, like a sticky, crimson pillow. His legs were bent at an awkward angle beneath his body, probably evidence of a fall from the top bunk of the metal bed.

Kate's nausea returned, stronger this time, and for the second time tonight, she vomited.
Chapter 18. A Ducie vacancy

In Ducie, Jennifer Martinez was battling two feelings from extreme opposite ends of the emotional scale. Like everyone in Ducie, she had known Andrea and was grieving his death. On the other hand, she'd waited as long as she could remember for a Right to Birth vacancy to open up, and whilst she always knew that this could only come about as the result of some poor soul dying, she'd have preferred that it wasn't the untimely death of such a close friend. Then again, what did she expect? They were all her close friends. However she justified it to herself, this joy she felt at such a tragic time, it wouldn't change a thing. The facts are the facts, and at that moment in time, the fact was that the island only had 60 residents. Ducie had a vacancy!

Her husband Lionel Martinez had said very little on the walk to the King's Estate. He wasn't ignorant by nature, but he was having his own private battle with conflicting emotions and the silence was his coping mechanism. Jennifer had other ideas.

\- Have you got the RTB papers there honey?

\- Uh hu.

Jennifer's tone was excited, rushed and ever so slightly irritating.

\- Good, good, good. So remember, the King's not just going to take our application and say, "go ahead and make a baby". He's going to ask us things first. You know, like an interview. To check we're suitable. You know?

\- Yeah, I know.

\- So let's go over it once more. I'll be King Eduardo and you be...well you just be yourself, ok?

Jennifer took on a pompous English sounding voice that sounded nothing like the King whatsoever, but succeeded in moving her from 'slightly irritating' to 'worthy of a slap'.

\- So Lionel, what do you think your future child would bring to the Ducie community?

Jennifer chuckled and patted her stomach as she imitated the King, presumably in an attempt to convey an old, rotund sort of chap, which was confusing, as the King actually cut quite a frail figure these days.

\- Look Jenny, I know what we've got to do, ok! Can you just drop it now please?

Such an outburst at his wife was rare for Lionel, but the pain of seeing his friend fall to his silent death in a pool of copper tailings was still as fresh as the present moment. So many pointless questions presented themselves to the forefront of his thoughts, like catwalk models flaunting outrageous outfits that nobody would actually be seen dead in: Why did he disappear below the water so quickly? Where was his body now? Did he suffer? Did he even know what was happening to him? Had the copper eroded his skin away by now? Did he still have a face? Was he still Andrea?

\- Baby, I know you're still cut up about it all. We all are! I knew him too remember. But don't you think that a nice man like Andrea would be up there in heaven, looking down on his buddy, saying "Go for it Lionel! Make sure something good comes of my death. Go and have yourself a little baby and when he's grown up, tell him stories about Uncle Andrea".

Jennifer had suddenly assigned herself some sort of authority, which apparently now gave her permission to speak on behalf of a dead man.

\- "Bring him up to be as strong as Uncle Andrea...as funny as Uncle Andrea.... as..."

Her voice trailed off, as she lost her momentum.

\- Heck Lionel, we could even call our baby Andrea! What better tribute to the man? We can't mope around like this forever. We have an opportunity here to make something good come of all this. Are you telling me you don't want to take it?

\- Of course not, honey, but...

Lionel had no 'but'. His wife was right. Andrea would have loved that little pep talk she just gave. If there was a heaven, he was probably sitting there right now, nodding in approval with that "you know I'm right" smirk that he did so annoyingly well. In reality though, Lionel knew that his friend wasn't really sitting on a cloud in the sky watching over them. The grim fact of the matter was that he was lying at the bottom of a pond, rotting!

King Eduardo looked as if he had just woken when he pulled open the door of his Estate to greet the couple. Each second that passed seemed to shave another gram of flesh off his ever diminishing body. He offered the limpest of handshakes to Lionel and beckoned the couple into his office. The office had only one guest seat, so Andrea stood behind Jennifer, placing his hands on her shoulders in a show of solidarity. King Eduardo took his seat behind his desk and stared at the couple for a second or two, as if catching a breather after exerting all his energy answering the door.

\- So... You have the papers there?

\- Yes Sir!

Jennifer, as always, had assigned herself the role of the couple's spokesperson. She clumsily fumbled the papers together into a rough pile, straightening them on the desk with a tap, as she handed them to King Eduardo with such haste, it was as if she believed that if she didn't move quickly, another couple could rush through the door at any moment and steal this Right to Birth vacancy from under their noses. The King flicked lazily through the pile.

\- You've read the conditions in detail I trust?

\- Word for word Sir. I'm... err...We...are more than agreeable to everything we've read.

Jennifer glanced up at Lionel in an attempt to make him feel involved. Lionel merely nodded in obligatory agreement.

\- Well...I'm pleased to hear it. So all I now need is a couple of signatures right about...

The King looked like he was choosing a page at random, as he shuffled through the document.

\- ...here!

The King pointed to a general area of white space at the bottom of one of the pages. There was no dotted line for a signature. Jennifer appeared dumfounded and almost slightly disappointed that the interview answers she'd rehearsed so well didn't appear to be relevant any more.

\- What? That's it? So we just sign there and we can just go ahead and make a baby?

\- Well, I'd appreciate it if you at least left my office before you got down to your frisky business, but yes. Sign the papers and the vacancy is yours.

Eduardo may have lost a bit of his physical prowess over the years, but his sense of humour hadn't yet failed him. Lionel spoke for the first time since arriving.

\- But what about the interview process? The parental competency checks? The genetic evaluation? The...

\- Nobody else applied for the vacancy Lionel. Where only one application for an RTB is received, the applying couple are entitled to the vacancy by default. Providing of course that they're in fit and proper condition to raise a child, and you look to me like you are dear boy!

Jennifer began fanning her face with her hand and bobbing excitedly on the chair. She stood up, pushed the chair to the floor and jumped into Lionel's arms, wrapping her legs around his torso.

\- Baby, baby, baby! Lionel. We're having a baby!

\- Hey, steady on you two. I did ask nicely if you'd mind not conceiving in my office.

Jennifer dismounted her husband and smiled manically at Eduardo. Could she hug the King? Was that allowed? She didn't care. She wrapped her arms around the frail little man that had just made her dream come true, immediately recoiling apologetically as Eduardo flinched weakly. Jennifer tried to compose herself a little.

\- So nobody at all applied for the vacancy? How can that be?

\- I don't know Jennifer, perhaps the news of Andrea's death has taken a bit of the lead out of people's pencils. People deal with things in different ways. Maybe nobody feels like getting down and dirty at a time like this.

Jennifer looked at the floor, ashamed that she wasn't grieving more for Andrea right now.

\- Sir, it's not about the sex though. You know that! It's so much more. It's a new life. A new little person, who calls me Mommy. Who relies on me. We're going to call him Andrea.

\- That's a fitting tribute. I'm very happy for you both.

The King's short response was accompanied by a yawn and a stretch; more than enough of a hint that he considered his work here to be done.

\- We'll be getting out of your way then Sir.

Andrea began shepherding his wife towards the door. Concerned that she might never leave if he didn't get her out of there soon. Jennifer shouted back to the King all the way to the front door.

\- Thank you Eduardo, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Eduardo....thank you!

Eduardo was exhausted, but managed to summon his best attempt at a shout back.

\- You take your time in the production process Jennifer! Sometimes the journey's as much fun as the destination. Enjoy yourselves!

As the Estate door slammed shut, Eduardo breathed a sigh that he seemed to have been holding the whole time Lionel and Jennifer were there. He needed sleep and was weighing up the pros and cons of abandoning the walk to bed and nodding off to sleep right there in his chair.

Then the telephone rang.
Chapter 19. A _little_ story?

There was a surprising lack of activity at the Institution for a place that had just hosted an unexpected and slightly sinister looking death. This was what struck Adam as he and Kate sat alone in the security office. The corridors seemed quiet and the earlier commotion appeared not to have woken anyone. Adam and Kate were again under instruction to stay put in the office, but given that the day's events had sent Adam past the point of caring what happened to him, he rose from his chair, wincing at a sudden pain somewhere on his spine and optimistically gave the door handle a tug.

\- And you really expect them to have left it open?

Kate was recovering and spoke with a strain.

\- You really think they'd leave the door open for you to have your wicked way broadcasting your little story to any mug that'd listen?

\- 'Little' story did you say Katey? Little fucking story? Just how little is all this exactly Katey? What more would have to happen before this was a big deal to you?

\- Look, Adam...

Kate rarely showed Adam any degree of outward sympathy. She may have felt it, but to show it would be to appear weak, and to appear weak might offer the slightest crack for her true heartache to come gushing out. She felt she owed him something here though.

\- ... I know all this must have rocked your world. I honestly understand that. I'm begging you as a friend to co-operate with them though Adam.

\- I don't have much of a choice do I? If I don't play along, they'll stick their little saber light toy in me again and zap me back into line.

\- They're going to tell you everything anyway, once they've finished scraping Harry off the floor. Then you'll know what I know and trust me Adam, I can't wait for the moment I don't have to have these conversations with you any more.

\- So why don't you tell me yourself. Huh? Come on! Right here and now. Save them a job and just tell me what's going on here. So what is it? Oh yeah...some egghead scientists tried to come up with a cure for addiction and they ended up testing it on some poor sod. Blah, blah, blah... Then it all went wrong and something else happened. What happened Katey? What's all this about?

Kate would never have contemplated giving him the ending to his story that he was craving, but she paused as if she were thinking about it.

\- Adam, if I told you anything whatsoever, I'd be breaking my the oath I swore not to breath a word, and you've seen what they're capable of.

\- But they're going to tell me anyway you said, so how does it matter if you save them the trouble?

\- It'd be better coming from them. You're a paranoid mess at the best of times Adam and for once, you probably have good reason to be, but please just trust me on this one.

Adam looked like he was thinking about what Kate had just said, and cocked his mouth to one side, as if to signal that he wasn't completely on board with it. The sound of the key in the lock arrived at an opportune moment, where neither of them quite knew what to say next. Harrison Morgan entered the room carrying a look of exhaustion that told you all you needed to know about how low down this Institution was on the list of places he'd actually like to be right now. Although Harrison and Joe were both employed in security at the Institution, Joe was Harrison's senior, and it was only in situations where Harrison worked without his friend that he allowed bits of his natural West Indian twang to seep out from beneath the well-spoken, professional mask that he wore when Joe was around. With Joe nowhere to be seen, this was one of those situations.

\- Kate, Adam. Joe a ask that we pick up dis business inna di marning. You two get some rest now and we'll be arowund t'see you first ting.

Kate's objection was instantaneous.

\- Oh come on Harrison! You can't do this to him. Adam's cracking up here. You're going to mentally scar the man if you're not careful. Just sit down here with me right now and we'll tell him the basics. It'll take ten minutes, tops! You owe him at least that much.

\- Sorry Kate, Joe wanna be there when we speak t'Adam . It be inna di marning now.

\- You're fucking sick, you know that? This is all a game to you isn't it? Prolonging the agony unnecessarily to give you your sick power kicks. You fucking love this don't you Harrison?

Adam broke from his pensive gaze to offer a rare show of support for Harrison.

\- Katey, I'm ok, just leave it. I've gone this long without knowing, another few hours isn't going to change anything.

She shot Adam a confused look that in an instant begged a thousand questions about why Adam had suddenly changed his tune from feeling pretty hard done by.

\- To be honest Katey, whatever this show-stopping news you have for me is, I think I'd take it a whole lot better after a few hour's kip. I'm so tired that even normal things aren't making sense to me any more.

Harrison was clearly grateful of the unexpected and probably undeserved cooperation he was suddenly getting from Adam.

\- Man just mashed his 'ead 'cross the floor, Kate. Jah be witness, I'm just doing what need to be done. I-man, nah gettin' pleasure from a dis.

Having lost the backing of the very person she was trying to argue for, Kate didn't see the point in continuing. She downed the cold dregs of tea from her plastic cup and threw it at the bin, rather than into it. As they stood to leave, Adam picked up the discarded cup and placed it next to a stack of familiar looking invoices on the desk.

Harrison led the pair back to their respective rooms and advised that he'd be back around 7:30am to pick up where they'd left off. They were under orders not to leave the room and of course not to speak to anyone.

Unlike Adam, Kate would sleep soundly for the remainder of the night. She entered the kind of sleep where the night just passes you by and for those hours of deep slumber, somebody had pressed the pause button on your very existence. No tossing and turning, no dreaming, no nightmares. The kind of sleep that is so hard to wake from that you often feel less rested than you did before you nodded off. Harrison had promised to wake Kate around 7:30am, but in fact he woke her at 6:43am. As she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the infuriatingly bright digits on her digital alarm clock, she felt robbed of those 47 minutes sleep between now and 7:30am. Feelings of injustice quickly evaporated however, as she quickly learnt that Harrison was coming with the news that Adam was gone.
Chapter 20. Adam escapes

By the time Joe and Harrison were standing in Kate's room breaking the news to her, Adam had made it about a quarter of a mile away from the Institution. It was only at this point, after 20 minutes of disorientated staggering that he finally deciphered where in the world he actually was.

The basis of his escape had come with relative ease, having pocketed an unlabelled set of keys from the security office when he and a semi-conscious Kate were left alone in there for a short while the previous day. Adam had noticed one of those flimsy drawer keys that looked like it belonged to a suitcase padlock, rather poorly hidden behind the computer monitor. After using it to open the lock on the top drawer, which was so delicate that he could have probably broken it with a quick yank anyway if required, sitting in the drawer he found a set of 6 or 7 more substantial looking keys.

The night before he'd broken out, Adam had made a list of 6 potential doors around the Institution that he believed the keys could belong to: The main entrance, the external gate to the smoking quad, the kitchen, the store room, the shutter door of the adjacent goods entrance and the door between the male and female toilets in the east wing, which appeared to be a janitor's closet, but was one of the many things around the Institution that Adam harboured a paranoia about. At around 6am, he'd begun his creep around the building, working his way through the list of potential exits he'd drawn up. To quench his own curiosity, he began with the supposed janitor's closet. By far the least logical option in terms of an escape route, but also the option that most stoked his penchant for a conspiracy theory. Even he wasn't sure what exactly he expected to find in there. Dead bodies? A stock of weaponry? The entrance to another realm? After fiddling unsuccessfully with 2 keys that appeared to be the right size for the lock, the third one made a satisfying clunk as it shifted a quarter rotation to the right and disengaged the lock. At first, darkness veiled whatever lay beyond the first few feet of the entrance. Opening the door a little further allowed moonlight to seep through the corridor window, revealing the contents of the room. A blue plastic mop and bucket, 2 wooden brooms, a host of cleaning fluids and around 15 tins of white matt emulsion paint stacked against the right hand wall in three equal piles. Adam stared a while, amazed at how unamazing the contents of the room were. He peeled back the lid of one of the paint tins slightly and sniffed inside, as if still clinging to the vague hope that even the paint tins themselves hid something sinister and exciting inside them. To his disappointment, the tins contained nothing but cheap, standard-issue, clinical, corridor-covering white paint. Adam finally conceded that paranoia had gotten the better of him this time and closed the door quietly.

His next visit would be to the kitchen and for no other reason than it was closest by. Generally, Adam's logic was never centered around anything more intricate than convenience. The only time his reasoning strayed from this simplistic approach was when he was caught up in the self-made hysteria of his latest attempt to prove that all authority and structure in the world was one big conspiracy.

The kitchen was accessible directly from the dining area, which itself was never locked. One too many expensive meals had found their way onto the floor courtesy of a hastily opened door over the years, which had led the kitchen staff to request that it be removed completely. The door on Adam's mind however was at the back of the kitchen. He'd never actually been allowed into the kitchen, but he knew that the staff disappeared out of that door for long periods, so he knew something was back there. He'd have probably been more curious in the past if it weren't for the fact that people came and went through the door quite indiscreetly. There seemed very little to be suspicious of.

Sometimes, hiding in plain sight is the best camouflage of all.

Adam walked into the kitchen and patrolled his way around the different workstations. He ran his hand across the smooth metal counter and opened the serving hatch doors, looking out onto the empty dining hall. He felt a certain fascination with the unfamiliar view from the opposite side of the same counter he'd stood at every day for years. There was no time for this though. The grey, digital clock that sat on the shelf above the cooker advised 06:15. He walked over to the door and weighed up his options on the key ring. It was a Yale lock, so he narrowed it down to three identical looking keys. Picking one at random, he forced it into the keyway and felt it jam before the bow of the key could fall flush against the lock. He released the failed key with a tug and immediately tried another. This time the blade slid all the way into its rightful home. A rotation to the right produced a satisfying click and the door opened outwards without as much as a creak. Adam stepped through and noticed a concrete stairway to the left, leading down into darkness and uncertainty. There was no light switch offering relief from this temporary blindness. Adam allowed the weight of the door to push his hand back and shut of its own accord. There was no banister and the descent was steep, so Adam took the first few steps with his arms stretched wide, touching both walls for guidance. After a while, he accustomed to the gradient and depth of each step and descended with slightly more grace now. As he neared what he sensed was the bottom of the staircase, a light became apparent at the end of what seemed to be a long corridor. Adam stopped at the bottom of the staircase and considered what might lie ahead for a brief second. Though the adrenaline was to be expected, he actually felt no fear. Living in the safe confines of the Institution for so long had numbed most of his primitive responses to danger. He knew that if his previous encounter with Institution security was anything to go by, being caught snooping around like this would end in much unwanted pain and confusion. He also knew however, that he wasn't the one with anything to hide here.

Adam continued towards the light, one hand stretched out in front of him as his guide. As he drew closer to the lit room, its brightness illuminated the last few yards of the corridor, revealing uneven surfaces on both walls and floor, void of any décor or character; essentially, a tunnel. He entered the room with scant regard for potential occupants and scanned his new surroundings. A bare cavity with uneven rock perimeters. It's only notable feature a suspended electrical light bulb hanging below a ceiling rose; essentially a poorly lit cave. Directly opposite him was another opening, which on closer inspection revealed another staircase, identical to the one he'd walked down when he left the kitchen. He briefly entertained the idea that the corridor had brought him in an unexpected full circle, but dismissed it on account of the fact that he hadn't seen this light or this cave before. Adam began climbing the stairs that felt identical to the set at the other end of the corridor he'd came down, still half expecting to see the kitchen door when he reached the summit. After 20 or so steps, he looked for differences between the two staircases, before his legs quickly screamed the answer to him. After around fifteen steps, the lactic acid burned his calves and with no end in sight, it became obvious that this staircase was longer. Twice as long in fact; perhaps more. The stairwell again had no light switch, but the light from the room below was just sufficient to reveal another door. The door was identical to the one he'd exited the kitchen through, which seemed to throw Adam into complete disorientation. He fumbled the bunch of keys from his pocket and ran through the Yale keys again. At the third attempt, he found success. The Yale keys were identical, so he had no idea whether it was the same key that had opened the kitchen door. One thing he was sure of was that this wasn't the kitchen. Another corridor now, fully lit this time. Much shorter than the first one. No opening at the end of this one either. A dead end. Adam scanned his claustrophobic surroundings and quickly noticed two pieces of rope about half a foot long, hanging from the ceiling. When put in a situation with such limited visual scenery, the mind obsesses with the few things it can see. As such, Adam's paranoid mind returned, offering him visions of what might happen if he were to pull one or both of the ropes. An explosion? An alarm? An apocalypse? With an effortlessly small jump, he was able to grab both ropes and instinctively, he tugged at them. There was some resistance there, but certainly a bit of give too. He pulled again, harder this time. The rope lengths became a little longer. A third tug, full force now. Adam tumbled backwards as his force won over whatever was resisting at the other end of the rope and he hit the floor with a force that his body wasn't prepared for. Wincing, he gazed up at the sky above him, as his eyes struggled to process the sudden transition between tiny dark cave and infinite blue sky. It was a dark blue. An early morning dawn blue, but a blue nonetheless. Adam's focus turned away from the sky and back to his immediate surroundings. He was on the floor of an underground tunnel, a rope ladder dangled before him, leading up to a small square opening that leaked daylight. The hole had revealed itself due to the opening of what Adam could only describe as a trapdoor. A trapdoor that he had unknowingly opened with 3 tugs on what he now knew was the rope ladder. The door now hung downwards and Adam could see the outside cover of it, which was coated in something he could more easily describe; grass! Clearly the trapdoor was not meant to be seen from the outside, which stoked Adam's curiosity towards what or where the outside was exactly.

The thin rope ladder was flimsy and the skinny rungs put enough concentrated pressure on Adam's feet for him to feel it through his slip-on shoes. At around 8 and a half stone though, Adam's body weight was never going to threaten the ladder too much. He climbed 5 or 6 rungs before he could get a grasp on the edge of the hole to hoist himself up. As he did, the smell of damp soil hit him in a way that he'd never appreciated before. He exited the hole and managed to roll his whole body clear of it. Fresh morning dew gave his clothes a modest coating of water, sending a cold shiver through him. A harsh wind careered into his ears with a howl, as each aspect of nature seemed to be introducing themselves to him one by one. Light, water, cold, now wind. Adam surveyed the trapdoor and struggled to replace it, given that there was nothing to grip from the outside. He succeeded eventually after getting a fistful of the grass attached to its outside cover, the door clicked back into place and Adam was free. After a quick glance around and an examination of his geographical options, based on nothing whatsoever, Adam picked a direction and began running. He eventually began following the noise of traffic for guidance, which in his disorientated state was often misleading.

From what he could tell, he seemed to be in a park of some sort. Staggering away from the trapdoor, he encountered at least one early morning jogger, a couple of dog walkers and a cyclist. Wherever this magic door had led him to, it certainly wasn't a secret place. Joe Public was out in force! To these passers by, Adam probably looked like the local lunatic, on the run from his latest drug-induced demon, not a sight uncommon in most parks up and down England. And for this reason, Adam didn't turn a single head.

And so as his friends back at the Institution slept soundly, Adam had successfully escaped through the tunnels that connected the hidden underground Institution to the front lawn of Pype Hayes Hall; the eerie looking, disused mansion in the middle of Pype Hayes Park. The cold, misty Birmingham park he now sprinted away from quickly as his spindly, aching legs would carry him.
Chapter 21. Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor Alpha

Joe McKenna knew that pursuing Adam into the crisp, misty Birmingham morning was as pointless as it was foolish. He'd established from the security footage that Adam had been gone for an hour and fifteen minutes now and though he was no athlete, that was enough of a head start by anyone's standards. Each minute that passed, even if Adam only staggered a small distance in that time, added more roads, more buildings, more parks, more factories, more shelters and more random, inanimate locations to the list of places he might possibly have found his way to by now.

Losing Adam in and of itself was not the issue. Given time, Joe was confident that his team would have no trouble eventually locating him, dead, alive or more likely somewhere in between the two. The real concern for Joe was who Adam might come into contact with and what he might tell them. Even Adam's sketchy pieces of information about trapdoors, drugs testing, government conspiracies and whatever else he might have come across on his merry way, would be more enough to turn a head or three. Worse still, if Adam dragged someone back to the Institution to see for themselves, it would take one hell of cover-up to divert prying eyes.

Whilst there was no getting away from the gravity of the situation, Joe knew there were certain things working in his favour. Adam would eventually find someone to unload his blockbuster story on; there was little doubt about that. But if you were on your way to work in a big city when suddenly a skinny, bearded guy with an odour problem ran up to you, panting and perspiring his way through a vague tale of a secret tunnels, government conspiracies and taser guns, would you take him by the hand and say 'Ok son, let's go back there and take a look together'? Joe hoped that there wasn't a soul in Birmingham who would answer 'yes' to that question.

The real reason Joe kept such a calm, unflappable exterior throughout all this however, was because he knew that he had another option. An option that was fraught with moral and ethical considerations of the most disturbing variety. An option he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, should he elect to put it into action. An option that would put an untimely and tragic end to the lives of at least two people. An option that wasn't really optional at all. It was an option that he had to take now.

Behind the Situation Room that had housed an erratic and confused Adam just a day earlier was another office. Slightly bigger and a lot less organised than the office that was visible to the patients, this chaotic jamboree of administration sat behind a concealed vault door that was accessed through a removable section on the filing bay where less sensitive materials were held. All of this security was in addition to the fact that only Kate and Adam knew that the Situation Room itself existed, and even they didn't know that anything sat behind it. When the heavy steel door is closed, the side fixed locking bar engages. Turning the operating wheel wedges the locking bar into the jamb of the vestibule, providing a complete deadbolt locking action.

Harrison sat on a cheap, grey swivel chair in the middle of the room, repeatedly spinning a few degrees left, then the same distance back to the right. Joe paced the floor around him and did most of the talking.

\- We don't have a choice do we pal?

Harrison gazed at Joe, as if he might just be experiencing the hatching of an idea. Nothing materialised. Joe continued.

\- If we make the call, then wherever Adam is right now is where he'll die. We'll still have to locate the body of course, but it's not going to be long before someone phones it in when they see a man croak it like that in the middle of the street.

\- How quick we can mek dis 'appen?

\- There's obviously a process they have to follow at the other end, but I reckon a few hours, tops. Once I explain the urgency, then they'll do whatever they need to to make it happen fast.

\- So why we sit 'ere tarking abowut it?

\- These are real people Harrison. Adam might be a total fuck up with the IQ of a ham sandwich, but he was born to a mother one day, god help her. And we both know Adam's not the only one who will suffer here Harrison.

Harrison nodded a knowing accordance.

\- You say it yaself though Joe. We nah have choice inna matter.

Joe sat at his desk and tapped a pendulum beat with his index finger on the telephone receiver, as if he were exploring the last dregs of the possibility barrel in vein hope of a last minute brainwave before making the dreaded call. Eventually, he conceded the inevitable. With a quick glance up towards the heavens that presumably constituted a plea for celestial forgiveness, Joe lifted the handset and carefully punched a numeric series into the phone from memory. He waited, listened, then spoke in response to some automated instructions.

\- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha

Joe waited once again. The line was quiet for a few moments. Then a click and a brief shot of interference which faded. There was an audible clearing of the throat at the other end of the line.

\- Can you confirm Joe, that you are currently alone in office B of the Institution, you are speaking of your own free will and are not being forced to answer under false pretences in any situation similar to, but not limited to a hostage situation?

Joe was familiar with the security protocol.

\- I am in office B of the Institution with Harrison Morgan, who as you'll be aware is also privy to the project. We're alone.

\- Thank you Joe. It's Steve Towerbridge here.

\- Hello Steve.

\- So what can I do you for?

\- We've had an occurrence of a B12 in the early hours of this morning Steve.

\- Can you confirm, that's a bravo 12?

\- Uh,hu. Confirmed. Bravo 12, Steve.

\- Patient number?

\- 32.

There was a pause on the line.

\- Adam Trundle?

\- Indeed.

\- I thought as much after our conversation last night. How long since he got out?

\- About an hour and a half now.

\- Was anybody in pursuit when he fled?

\- No Sir. He left through a secondary exit with no sign of a break out. I'd suggest he got himself a key from somewhere. All exterior gates are in tact, so he may have scaled the fence, though that seems a tall order and would probably mean he's carrying an injury.

\- Have you checked the immediate vicinity?

Steve's line of questioning was expertly precise and left no room for chewing the breeze. Each laser beam question he asked probed clinically down to the nitty gritty of the situation. It was as if he was working from a script, but his questions were too bespoke to have been referenced from a premeditated list. Steve lived this project. And he was simply that good.

\- Yes, we've checked the surrounding area. No sign of him.

\- Ok Joe. If he's mobile, which I'm guessing he is. He could be anywhere by now. What does he know or what has he seen that might leave us exposed should he start running his mouth?

\- Well that's the thing Steve. He was already suspicious. Fortunately, we hadn't got around to telling him the full extent of things before the incident with Harry.

\- So he knows nothing?

\- He knows about the experiments. Only that they happened though. He doesn't know what they caused. Fucking hell Steve... I knew it was a bad idea bringing him into the loop. I said that to you on the phone last night.

\- I disagree. He was onto something, so he would have snooped until he found enough dirt to cause mayhem. Even then he would probably have made the same escape anyway. At least this way, you've tried to tell him on your terms. He up and left before he got the full story. That was his choice. It's probably a good thing for us now.

\- Uh hu.

\- Look, Joe. You know what comes next. We can't take the risk of what he may or may not achieve on his little day trip. CP1 protocol is our only option now.

Joe put his head in his free hand and let out a short traumatised sigh. Harrison was sitting close by and though he could only hear Joe's side of the exchange, he guessed the outcome from his reaction.

\- Joe, I don't feel any better about this than you do, but we all knew the deal when we signed up. It's a privilege to be working on a project like this, but it doesn't come without its trauma. You must have known this would happen eventually Joe.

Joe ignored Steve's rationale. He didn't need to hear it. Not because he objected to it, but because he knew Steve was right.

\- Who is the counterpart Steve?

For the first time in the conversation, Steve was caught unprepared for Joe's question. He paused, then stuttered, then paused again.

\- Just treat the counterpart as a number Joe. As an ingredient of an experiment. An experiment that's going to do so much good in the long run. This is just early collateral damage Joe. You know that eventually we will...

\- Tell me the name of the counterpart Steve!

Joe's interruption was so neutral and void of emotion that Steve stopped dead in his tracks. What difference did it make to Joe anyway? He didn't know anyone in Ducie personally. He'd joined the project after the last of the counterparts were shipped to the island. He'd never even been given their names. They were just a list of numbers. 1 through to 61.They could have been bingo balls for all it really mattered to him. But it did matter to him. And Steve knew that now.

\- In Ducie, the counterpart goes by the name of Lionel Martinez.

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

\- Joe, we're pushed for time with this. I'll make the call and get things moving. All I need from you is to keep the place running business as usual.

\- And if anyone asks where Adam is?

\- He's been a bit unwell and he's with the doctor. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm presuming Kate knows the deal, so you'll need to brief her of the cover story. Other than that my friend, it's just another day at the Institution.

\- Uh hu.

\- Joe!

Steve's calm tone momentarily raised to almost a shout.

\- ...you know what's at stake here don't you? I know it's a tough gig, but you can do this for me can't you?

Again, a pause.

\- I've got it Steve. Business as usual.
Chapter 22. First contact

" _What we call chaos is just patterns we haven't recognised. What we call random is just patterns we can't decipher. What we can't understand we call nonsense. What we can't read we call gibberish. There is no free will. There are no variables. There is only the inevitable."_

It was Adam's choice to run from the answers. It can't be told whether sticking around to listen to them would have made him feel differently. As it was though, at that time, Adam decided it was time to run. It could be fair to say that he may have still ran, had he stuck around long enough to learn the true fabric of the story behind the story. And that is the story that I'll now share with you. Had he stayed put and accepted what he was hearing, or reacted in some other way, fate may still have sought out the ending it desired in one fashion or another.

4 years earlier...

Kate Gaffney lay horizontally in a reclined, hydraulic pump-operated chair in a bare white room that would later become known as the Situation Room, in a previously disused building, adjacent to a drug rehabilitation centre. For now, it was their temporary study lab, but eventually, this entire complex would come to be known as the Two Steps Forward Rehabilitation Institution. 15 hours earlier she had been administered a dose of a previously untested drug containing an enzyme to which its developers had assigned the name 'CROP'. Shortly after receiving the dose by way of injection, the administrators of the drug had been surprised by what they called the initial evident pharmacodynamics they were witnessing. In short, Kate had rapidly and unexpectedly lost consciousness, and once it had been established that she was in a stable semi-comatose state, she was left to rest under the watchful eyes of 3 doctors who monitored her as she slept. The doctors offered a variety of stimuli intended to rouse Kate and after 6 hours of unresponsive sleep, Kate's eyes opened and she began responding coherently to some basic polar questioning. Having responded with 'yes' or 'no' about a dozen times, she quickly and visibly appeared to become exhausted by these basic interactions and within fifteen minutes, her eyes closed once again. Another 15 minutes or so passed before her eyes began to flutter in a way that resembled the REM stage of sleep where the large voluntary muscles of the body are paralyzed, but brain activity remains intense. This passed after a short while and her breathing and movement settled once more.

One of the doctors, Frank Gilbert had set the stopwatch function of his wristwatch to monitor the time elapsed since the drug was administered. He watched the hour digits flick seamlessly from "14" to "15" and continued to stare a while at the busy numbers, obliviously rotating their way to infinity or whatever time limit his wristwatch could handle. The numbers knew not what they were counting towards. They simply performed their function without question. Frank imagined the target market that the designers of the watch must have had in mind when they decided to include the stopwatch feature: Joggers, swimmers, bobsleigh coaches...How he longed for the simplicity of being involved in one of these innocent everyday pursuits right now. The counter turned through 15:01:35 when his daze was broken by the sudden and unfamiliar sound of words, sentences in fact, flowing from Kate's mouth.

\- Who's this? What are you doing here?

It was Kate's voice, but the tone and flow of it somehow wasn't her.

\- Kate, this is Doctor Frank Gilbert.

\- Donna who?

\- No, Kate, this is Doctor Frank Gilbert.

\- And who's Kate? Is she here too?

Frank was alone with Kate in the room and was torn between running to fetch his colleagues and not missing what he already sensed was an important twist to this fledgling story. His decision was made for him when Kate resumed talking.

\- What are you here for Doctor?

\- I'm here to help you. Tell me how you feel.

\- I feel sleepy. Drained. Like when you're in bed with a cold. Sick, but...but not too sick, you know. It's in a nice sort of way.

\- Kate, just relax ok? Everything's going to be just fine.

\- Who's this 'Kate' you keep talking to?

Frank's medical training led him instinctively to the diagnosis of amnesia, but something didn't sit quite right with him about it. Kate was so calm. There was none of the panicked hyperventilating and wild-eyed confusion that usually came with this type of case. Rather than appearing distressed, Kate seemed as intrigued and keen to push for answers as Frank himself did. They were two strangers, on the opposite side of some sort of gulf between their respective realms, both willing to work a little to gain an insight into the other's reality. Looking for a way to connect.

Frank hadn't had time to set up the full lab recording equipment, but had instinctively hit record on his pocket Dictaphone the moment Kate had begun talking. He took the device out of his pocket and watched as the digital display continued to count the minutes and seconds since he'd hit record. He carefully placed the device on the grubby, once white work surface, conscious of not hitting any button that might stop the recording inadvertently. Somehow though, Frank felt that even if he had missed this recording opportunity, there would be plenty more to come. He got the overwhelming feeling that this was just the start of something big, rather than a tantalising flash in the pan. High on the thrill of being the first to see these new developments, Frank kept going.

\- So you aren't Kate Gaffney?

\- No I am not.

Kate almost sounded offended, as if she knew of this Kate Gaffney and wanted no association with her.

\- So who are you then?

A pause.

\- Well...who are you first?

\- I have told you that already, I'm Doctor Frank Gilbert.

\- Oh yeah. Sorry.

Another pause.

\- Well, why are you here Doctor?

\- I'm monitoring a patient. A young lady named Kate.

\- Is she sick?

\- Sort of, yes. She has a problem with...

Frank trailed off. Was the world where this woman lived familiar with drug addiction? Would she even know what heroin was?

\- ...She has a problem inside her head...I mean...with her brain, kind of.

\- Oh, ok. Poor girl.

The responses from Kate were so casual. Though supposedly, this wasn't Kate at all. There was a longer pause this time, as Frank considered his next move. Kate appeared happy to take the break in conversation as an opportunity to rest some more and lay silent. As he paced the floor of the makeshift operating room, sipping from a white polystyrene cup of weak, caffeine flavoured water, an idea struck Frank from nowhere. He chucked the disgusting hot beverage, cup and all, down into a deep metal sink basin at the far end of the room and paced back towards Kate excitedly.

\- Kate...erm.... Sorry....m'am, madam?

Frank struggled in the absence of an agreed alias for the lady that lay before him.

\- Madam, are you still there?

A pause.

\- Yeah, I'm here. How you doing?

\- Yeah, I'm er... I'm good. Yes. Thank you. Can I ask you a question please?

\- Of course you can.

She was so polite, so accommodating, so not Kate! Frank continued.

\- Can you tell me what year it is please?

\- What year is it? What? Don't you know yourself?

Frank fumbled around his head for a quick answer to this perfectly valid question.

\- Erm, no. I don't really... I mean... I just wanted to check.

\- Okaaay.

Kate chuckled to herself at the stupidity of it.

\- It's 2007, silly!

Frank's brow contorted, as his master plan hit an immediate dead-end. He half expected her to reveal that she was living in the 1930s or better still the 22nd century. Now that would have given him somewhere to go with the conversation. As it happened, Kate, or whoever this lady was, was living in the present. It was indeed 2007.

\- Yeah, I think you're right.

Frank was reluctant to be completely derailed, so quickly shifted his tact from time to place.

\- So, where are you exactly?

\- I'm here with you. What do you mean? What is this exactly? What do you want from me?

Kate was becoming suspicious and the polite compliance appeared to evaporate quickly and was replaced by a harsh, accusing tone of confusion.

\- No, I mean... I mean... where do you live? Where do you call home?

\- This is my home. Here in Mendoza.

Frank flew to the nearby workstation and clicked repeatedly over the Internet Explorer icon. He tapped his mouse repeatedly on the desk, as if that were the secret to improving the machine's performance. He waited impatiently, glancing back at Kate still asleep, then back to the screen, as 2, 3 and 4 windows all opened consecutively with the same semi-loaded internet homepage. Frank clicked on the first window to fully populate and directed the cursor to the search bar. He made his best effort at the spelling and quickly keyed in 'mendosa'. The search engine offered a number of articles on diabetes, by a medical writer called David Mendosa. Frank scanned through them and let out a frustrated sigh. As it were, Google had second guessed his intentions and kindly offered an alternative search option for 'Mendoza'. God bless technology! He clicked the link and waited for the new page to load. When it did, Frank's eyes finally sought out the one snippet he was interested in.

Mendoza is the capital city of the Mendoza Province...

... in Argentina
Chapter 23. The other side of Kate Gaffney

As you already know, Harrison Morgan and Joe McKenna would later be known as the 'Security' of the Two Steps Forward Drug Rehabilitation Institution. It's probably worth noting here though, that this role is a cover up. They were both recruited from The Woolington Centre in Birmingham, a nationally recognised provider of specialised Neurosciences services. Government official Steve Towerbridge was responsible for their arrival on the project, which owed in no small part to a colossal salary offering and promises of Christ-like legacies upon successful completion of the task. Of course, 'the task' that they ended up being a part of was not the same one that they signed up to. Had they known at the time what they were getting involved in, it is likely that they would have rapidly retreated to the safe haven and structured shift patterns of Wollington, regardless of the monetary sweeteners on offer. Once they were through the door however, the job of keeping them on the project got easier with every lie and every cover-up that they became involved in. The goal of curing drug misusers from their misery, quickly turned into something bigger than any of them could have anticipated. It's safe to say that by the time that 61 intoxicated and unsuspecting subjects were shipped out to a new life on the island of Ducie, Joe and Harrison were too emotionally invested in this whole circus to ever consider returning to their humdrum careers...

...but they wouldn't have known any of this at the point when Frank Gilbert burst into the staff room, rambling something about Argentina and Kate Gaffney not being Kate Gaffney.

\- Boys, you've got to come and see this! Kate's flipping out in there. She's saying she's not who she is and she's in Mendoza. It's in Argentina, man! It's unbelievable!

Harrison was holding a good hand of cards and with £7.50 in the pot, he was in no mood for abandoning the game. He dismissed Frank's request for urgency without breaking his gaze from the ace and jack of hearts that he clutched between his thumb and index finger.

\- Chill brother. We be down in 5, yeah. Dis game just got inta-resting.

\- Forget the game Harrison, you need to see what's going on down there.

\- And you a need see the look on Joey boy's face when he finally realise that raising I-man is arlways a big mistake.

Harrison chucked a five pound note onto the pile of shrapnel in the middle of the table and shot a challenging look at his opponent.

\- Wha' ya say now big man? Still feeling confident?

Joe knew he'd come too far with this one. Harrison never raised like that unless he was sure. Suddenly, his interest in the game was waning. He glanced up at Frank.

\- Come on buddy. I'll come with you. Show me what's going on down there to get you so excited.

Harrison grabbed Joe by the sleeve and tugged him back towards the table, being careful to conceal the hand of cards he seemed so proud of.

\- Woah, woah, woah. Me nah tink so, Joe! Not 'less ya say the word 'fold' to mek dis ting official. 'Less dread feeling a lickle brave of course.

Frank was losing patience, knowing that Kate was probably downstairs blurting out all sorts of gold dust, whilst he was up here in this grim, low-budget, amateur casino.

\- He's got a full house of jacks and aces mate, now can we go?

Frank instantly felt bad for his rash blurting out of Harrison's potentially winning hand.

\- Raaas! Ya pussy 'ole Frank. Why ya tell a man me hand a card?

Joe was trying his best to suppress his chuckling. He knew how seriously Harrison took his cards.

\- I fold by the way mate.

\- Yeah. I-man betya do fold now Joey. Frank, you a debted to I-man ferra five pound I just raised. Joey was rah tempted den ya know dread.

\- I'd have paid a fiver to get you downstairs if you'd have just asked me to begin with. Now can we please hurry up. Kate's down there talking like one of those past life regression hypnosis cases or something.

Harrison swept his winnings off the table and dumped them in his jacket pocket. Suddenly, he was a little more interested in what Frank was saying. The men headed towards the room where Kate was housed.

\- Past life regress-ion, sight? What year is shorty sayin' she be in?

\- Well that's the thing you see. She's saying it's 2007, but....

\- _2007_? It _is_ 2007, ya clown!

\- I know that, but....

\- Well why ya tark aboot a past life regress-ion den Frankie?

\- She's saying she's in Argentina and that she's not Kate Gaffney.

Harrison interrupted.

\- Gal be dreaming!

Frank looked disgusted at such an insultingly basic explanation.

\- People can't respond when they're dreaming can they?

\- I-man read aboot dis _lucid dreaming_. Dread be dreaming, but dread know ex-hactly wah gwan. Dread know dat him dreaming. He create arl sorta different worlds in his 'ead. No limits. No boundaries, sight?

By this point, even Joe was able to spot the flaws in Harrison's theory.

\- But she hasn't created a world in her head though, has she? Frank was actually there with her in the room. He wasn't a figment of her imagination. So she's not creating worlds. She's interacting with this world. She spoke to you clear as day, right Frank?

\- Right.

The whole subject was becoming confusing and the men were making it no clearer for each other, so they had arrived at the room at an opportune moment. They could see it for themselves now.

Inside, Kate lay motionless on the reclined, black chair. Now curled up in the foetal position, she looked a lot smaller and more vulnerable than Frank had remembered. Joe and Harrison moved over to her, leaning in to get a closer look, as if somehow they could peer inside her mind by getting close enough. Though they made no contact with her, Kate seemed to detect the breach of her personal space and flinched a little, letting out a gasp in the process. Frank intervened immediately, pushing Joe and Harrison aside. His brief interaction with Kate earlier had apparently given him superior authority over the other two.

\- Give her some space boys.

Frank tried to resume where he'd left off.

\- Madam. Can you hear me? Are you still with me?

Kate's response was as if she'd never been away.

\- Yeah, I'm here. How you doing?

\- Yeah, I'm good...erm thank you, yes. I just remembered that you didn't answer my question earlier.

A pause.

\- Sure I answered it. I told you... I'm in Mendoza.

\- Of course. But I was talking about my other question. You remember? I asked you your name.

There was a longer pause this time, during which Frank looked over at Joe and Harrison who were both perched on the edge of the worktop and both sporting intrigued if not slightly dubious expressions. Harrison leapt forward and broke the silence abruptly.

\- Whatya name lady?

Kate's brow ruffled at the sound of a new voice. With her eyes closed, it was hard to read whether the reaction was one of fear. She wriggled back to the foetus position as a kind of self-protective reaction. Frank wasn't a fan of Harrison's brash approach.

\- Very tactful, you lemon! Could you be a bit blunter next time?

Harrison was irritated by Frank's reaction, which prompted his West Indian accent to become thicker as it did when he was annoyed by something.

\- Well, arl ya doing is acksing dees lickle pitter patter questions like she be a child or some ting.

Kate interrupted both of them.

\- Who are you?

\- I told you before madam. I'm Doctor Frank Gilbert.

\- No, no. Not you, the other man that just spoke. He sounds nice.

Harrison shot Frank a smug look, as Kate's preference for him swelled his ego a little. Joe McKenna remained perched next to the deep, metal sink basin and shook his head in disbelief at the randomness of what he was seeing. His colleague had started talking in an accent he never even knew he had, and they were now all talking to an unconscious drug addict claiming to be in Argentina. Beyond surreal!

Harrison turned on the charm as if he was chatting her up in a club.

\- Heya shorty. Me name a 'arrison. It's just me you and I-man now, sight?

Kate responded.

\- Hi Harry.

Frank and Joe sniggered in unison. Partly at the fact that Harrison was flexing his lady's-man voice to an unconscious drug addict, but more so at the fact that she'd just called him Harry. Harrison ignored the set-back and continued.

\- Arl we want to know is your name gal. We don't mean you no 'arm. I arl-ready told you I'm 'arrison.

\- And I'm Daniella.

Even Harrison himself didn't expect such an instant breakthrough.

\- I'm Daniella Diaz. Have we met before?

\- No darling, we nah met before.

Harrison returned to his perch on the worktop. His work here was done. Or more likely his point here was proved. He was happy with that.

In the meantime, Frank had engrossed himself in the internet again and was making various futile attempts to pin down some information on the girl. Typing "DANIELLA DIAZ ARGENTINA" returned nothing more than a few Twitter and MySpace accounts for people of that or a similar name. He tilted his glasses towards his forehead and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. If they were going to track this girl down, they would need to press the girl herself for more details and at the moment, Frank was finding that process exhausting. He stopped for a moment, as he realised how ludicrous his own thought pattern sounded. A heroin addict was under the influence of an unproven substance that had stripped her of her consciousness. Now the sleeping girl was claiming to be someone from the other side of the planet and his instant reaction was to believe her and go looking for this girl? When did he become so irrational? Not an ounce of logic was to be had anywhere amongst all of this. Yet somehow, Frank knew that going to Argentina was exactly what they needed to do right now.

And at that moment, the real Kate Gaffney awoke.
Chapter 24. Time of the month

Ducie Island – 2011....

The Ducie CPT was compulsory to all females on the island over the age of 12. This month, like every month, the short queue for the compulsory pregnancy test started at the doorstep of the King's Estate and didn't even reach the end of the short, gravel path that crossed the moderately healthy lawn nearest to the front door of the Estate. Like an embarrassingly small queue for the concert of a pathetically unpopular rock band. The grass was a rich, lush green where it was close enough to the building to be offered a healthy timeshare between shade and sunlight. The further away from the house you got, the more the grass sprawled a depressing patchwork of yellow and brown, where the persistent scorch of the sun had stripped all that was wholesome and vivacious from it. King Eduardo had once had a lawn watering routine, but that was before the demons of time and worry had begun their slow, but definite siphoning of his energy levels. Even back in his fitter days however, Eduardo tended to take better care of the lawn close to his Estate. The lawn he could see when he sat in the leather, green swivel chair in his office and gazed towards the oblivion of the forest and somewhere just beyond that, the sea. The lawn that mattered to him. The rest of the lawn didn't really serve a purpose. No business occurred there, so why should it matter? The grass, like so many other things, was neglected or maintained in line with the importance of its role in the story.

Out of sight, out of mind. The absent are always in the wrong.

Daniella Diaz and Paula Medina occupied the first two places in the queue, as the line of women waited for Eduardo to call them in one at a time for testing. The mood in the queue was buoyant and relaxed. The CPT was no cause for concern. It was little more than a part of life in Ducie. Like you or I would stand untroubled, if not a little impatient in the line at the post office to renew our car tax. If you had nothing to hide, then it was pure procedure. On the other hand, for a woman who suspected that she'd indulged in enough careless bedroom antics for pregnancy to be a real possibility that month, I can imagine that this wait in line must have been excruciating. All Ducians, especially the women could probably have recited the Element of Anti Expansion word for word:

The Element of Anti Expansion

Upon the discovery of foetal presence not pre-agreed through the appropriate Right to Birth application process, the King shall call an island union at his estate or any establishment he sees fit. This meeting will take priority over any event scheduled to take place in any location at any time. Attendance is compulsory. The King will address his people and confirm their entire presence by way of an impromptu DDR roll call. Following the confirmation that all residents are present, the King will draw one name of an island resident at random. He or she who is drawn from the cup will be executed that same day at the Memorial Coast by way of drowning, in order to restore the population to its rightful level. In the interest of the foetus and to ensure adequate early parenting is in place, the names of the Mother and Father of the forthcoming child shall be removed from the cup prior to the draw.

Though nobody ever did recite it, for fear of tempting fate. But then again, what did fate have to do with it? Someone on the island would be selected for execution, sure. But not just for the fun of it. Only to make way for a baby that nobody had accounted for. For a foetus to appear in utero like that, two people must have had sex. The conscious actions of two people engaging like that can't possibly be the workings of fate. It's absolutely down to human choice and action.

Anyway.... As it were, neither Daniella nor Mrs Medina had anything to hide as they waited for Eduardo to pull back his front door for the first test. As ever, Mrs Medina had a bone to pick with something.

\- I don't know why I even have to do this any more Daniella, I really don't. I'm 68 for goodness sake. Unless we're talking Immaculate Conception, then how am I going to get pregnant exactly? Look at my legs Daniella. Look at them! You find me a man who would want to see these grotesque things in their full glory, never mind the rest of me.

Paula Medina hitched up her skirt and underskirt to reveal the shiny, firm, browny-blue skin and bright blue baby snakes that were her varicose veins.

\- Ah, Mrs Medina. Don't talk silly. They are beautiful....You are beautiful!

Daniella rubbed the old lady's legs and planted a gentle kiss on them to illustrate that she for one was not disgusted by them.

\- You're a good girl Daniella. Kind....

Paula paused as if wanting to say something she shouldn't, but finally gave in to the urge.

\- Have you seen much of my boy Lucas lately?

Daniella retracted into herself with a coy smile.

\- How do you mean Mrs Medina?

\- What do you mean "How do you mean Mrs Medina"? Just because I'm his mother, doesn't mean I'm trying to hook you two up together. I'm just asking if you've seen him lately.

Mrs Medina wasn't stupid.

\- Yeah, I was talking to him on the beach the night after Eduardo's party. You know.... The same day that we found about....

Daniella's voice trailed off solemnly, her head bowed towards the floor a little. Mrs Medina made the ritual hand motion echoing the shape of the cross from the Christian crucifixion narrative, as they both spontaneously acknowledged in their own way this unexpected mention of Andrea's death.

With this, the door of the Estate drew back, revealing Eduardo looking somewhat more energetic than of late. A certain spark about his expression that although noticeable, was not enough to distract from the beaten posture of a man careering towards the twilight of his years at a frightening pace, propelled by issues and bother.

\- Good afternoon ladies. Who will be seeing me first today?

There was no definite order to the now scattered queue, but Paula Medina was keen to get on with her day and was not shy in coming forward.

\- I'm first today Eduardo. You've about as much chance of finding wine bottles growing on a coconut tree, but if you insist on checking every month, then who am I to stop you?

\- Come on in Mrs Medina.

Before entering the Estate, Paula leant towards Daniella as if to whisper something, but didn't possess the tact to lower her tone.

\- Daniella....Daniellla.... My Lucas.... He's a good boy you know. Needs a little encouraging mind, but he's all heart. You at least bear him in mind darling.

\- I already do Mrs Medina.

And with a smile, Paula Medina closed the door behind herself, leaving the other 12 women to wait their turn.
Chapter 25. Familiar to millions

Birmingham, England – 2011.

Adam no longer felt the need to run. He'd been moving for half an hour now and had made it to a place called Wylde Green, about a mile from the park he'd just escaped. He knew nothing about this small collection of shops either side of a busy main road. The road signs indicated that Birmingham and Sutton Coldfield were to be found left and right respectively. This meant nothing to Adam. There was nothing of note that stood out as a distinctive landmark in this place. Some shops, a road, traffic lights, a petrol station, some tall buildings that looked like grim residential dwellings, the smell of food being cooked nearby. He recognised the intoxicating aroma of Indian cuisine. Adam was a big lover of mealtimes and that particular smell reminded him of the curry served at the Institution canteen. Fragrant, spicy sauces, served up in sort of mini wok bowls with metal handles on either side. A delicious thought under normal circumstances, but here it just served to remind him of the place he'd escaped from and that turned Adam's stomach enough to make him wretch a little.

An elderly gentlemen in a flat cap, with a strange smell about him that Adam didn't recognise as stale alcohol leant over him as he spat the last of the vomit remnants onto the damp pavement.

\- Are you alright son?

Adam flinched at first, half expecting to see someone he recognised and was relieved, as the blur of watery eyes cleared to reveal this complete stranger.

\- I'm fine mate. Thanks. Just ate something that didn't quite agree with me.

\- You know what'll sort that out for you, don't you son? A good fry up and some hair of the dog.

Adam had no idea what the man was talking about, but nodded his appreciation for what he presumed was medical advice and resumed walking, guided only by what he thought was the opposite-most direction to the Institution.

As he realigned his bearings, he struggled to remember which direction he'd come from originally. He looked back at the man in the flat cap, who was now flagging down a bus. Had he been walking the same way as that man originally, or had he crossed his path? The struggle for a reference point made Adam feel woozy. Then he noticed behind him, a shop with a sign that had caught his eye as he'd originally entered this little village or town or whatever it was. At the time, it had only registered as vaguely familiar, but this second glance made him curse his brain for not placing where he'd seen that large, golden letter 'M' on a red background before. Something inside his head was trying to offer forward the correct memory, but it just wouldn't come. Suddenly realising that he was wasting time, he quickly gave up on this frustrating conundrum. He knew which way to go now at least.

Adam turned and made his best effort to increase the pace of his walk to a light jog. He trod a few unsteady steps at first, but gradually found a bit of momentum, as he made steady progress away from the Institution, away from Pype Hayes Park, away from Wylde Green and away from what you and I know would instantly recognise as the famous golden arches of a McDonald's restaurant.
Chapter 26. Who the **** is Alexander Fleming?

Birmingham – 2007

Despite all the logic to the contrary, Frank Gilbert had never been so sure of anything in his life. He sensed something massive. Something life-changing, perhaps even world-changing, just around the corner. Not literally around the corner of course. And that was the problem. Nearly 7,000 miles separated Frank from Kate Gaffney's dream-state alter ego....

\- Daniella Diaz.

Frank whispered the name to himself as if experimenting with how it tasted on his tongue. Exotic, sophisticated, pretty. He closed his eyes and tried to put an imaginary face to the name, but came unstuck when his brain failed to offer forward anything other than Kate Gaffney's stern looking, freckle ridden face bordered by her two greasy curtains of ginger hair. Daniella had spoken using Kate's voice, while she slept of course, so it was understandable that Frank associated Kate's image with Daniella. There was something about the words she used though, something in their tone and the pauses she used in between them that made Frank certain that what he has hearing was neither Kate, nor any subconscious manifestation of Kate's thoughts and feelings. This was Daniella Diaz, her own person, and she was already starting to feel like an old friend to Frank.

Giddy feelings of delirium coursed through Frank at an intensity that made him want to kick his legs in pathetic excitement or punch the air and say 'yes!' repeatedly. A feeling of uncontainable enthusiasm that made him panic that every second that went by was an opportunity escaping his grasp. Like the head-rush he used to get from that first glimpse of the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, the fairy lights casting a shadowy spectrum of pure atmosphere around the gift-wrapped grotto that was his living room. Or like that kick in the stomach you get when you're in love. The type that motivates you to be everything you can be, but robs you of all perspective and rationality, the power of it all enough to set the contents of your stomach free. The thing was, Frank wasn't exactly sure whether he was in love with Daniella Diaz herself, the thought of discovering something to change the world or simply the thought of a little boy's adventure to Argentina. Whatever it was, by now it had Frank deep in its clutches and however the inevitable debate about it played out with Joe and Harrison, one way or another, Frank was going to go looking for Daniella in Argentina, with or without the approval of the project. True to his skeptical and sometimes rather obstructive nature, Joe McKenna was proving the biggest resistance to Frank's plans of a South American excursion.

\- So how are you going to sell this to the chiefs exactly Frank? You gonna tell them the truth?

\- Well... why shouldn't I? I don't have anything to hide, do I?

\- What, so you're going to bowl in there and say, 'yeah, by the way chaps, you know that project to cure drug addicts that you kindly sponsored out of your budget, well....we kind of ballsed it up a bit and now our first test patient is tripping out more than when she was actually on smack and thinks she's a different person, living on the other side of the world'

\- We didn't balls anything up Joe....

\- 'Yeah, and anyway....Sir.... erm....me and my buddies here were wondering if you'd like to pay for us to go on holiday to Argentina, so we can visit this person on the other side of the world that we're not even 100% sure actually exists. We just want to see if she's Kate Gaffney's foreign, sleeping, alien alter-ego or something. You get it, right?'

\- Grow up Joe!

\- You grow up, you soft bastard! You live in a dream world. This isn't some school project where you can swan off to Snowdonia to dig up sedimentary rock just for the hell of it.

\- So if we found Daniella, you wouldn't see that as progress then Joe?

\- You talk about her as if she's your pal or something Frank. Have you even took time to stop and ask yourself what you're basing her existence on exactly?

\- I heard her speak. We all did. That's what I'm basing it on.

\- We heard Kate speak Frank. Granted she was away with the fairies at the time and all that, but that doesn't mean it wasn't Kate.

\- Think what you like Joe.

\- It's just an inkling you have mate. Probably blown out of all proportion by boredom and your tendency to wet yourself whenever you notice something slightly out of the ordinary.

\- So was Alexander Fleming 'wetting himself' when he noticed that the notatum could destroy Staphylococcus aureus?

Harrison had been quiet until now, but his attention perked at the sound of a name he didn't recognise. He sucked his teeth as a precursor to his interruption.
\- Who dis bad man Fleming anyway?

Frank rolled his eyes in belittling disgust.

\- How exactly did you find your way through a medical degree without retaining the name of the inventor of Penicillin? Are you sure your certificate is legit?

Harrison sucked his teeth a second time in place of a suitable answer. Joe resumed.

\- I tell you what then Frank, you go for it pal. You ring the chiefs and propose this nonsense to them. It'll be entertaining if nothing else. As long as you don't mention my name in any of this.

Frank paused, as if he were getting cold feet now he'd been given the go ahead.

\- Yeah, but I bet you'd want your name all over it if I turned out to be right, eh Joe?

\- That's irrelevant my friend, because you won't turn out to be right about anything. And to be quite honest, I'll be surprised and disappointed if the board are naïve enough to sign off your little foreign goose chase anyway.

The argument continued a good while without any notable progress towards a consensus. Frank slept uneasy that night, nursing contradicting thoughts towards his own sanity. He was so sure that there was more to this than just a sleep talking smackhead, but Joe had got inside his head now and made him doubt himself.

Around 8:00am the next morning, Frank awoke to the sight of Harrison's hulking frame towering over his bed menacingly. He looked wide-eyed for that time in the morning, a look that Frank could only really label with the word 'determined'. Initially, Frank's primitive fight or flight response sent an unwelcome shot of adrenaline around his heavy limbs and into his stomach.

\- Er...Hello....Hi Harrison.

Frank fumbled at his bedside table for his glasses, knocking a tatty paperback copy of Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan onto the floor in the process. To Frank's pleasant surprise, Harrison bent down helpfully and handed the book back to him. As he did, his eyes darted back and forth from one of Frank's eyes to the other, scanning him like a barcode, as if the details of his life story lay encrypted behind his eyes. There was a good 10 seconds of silence, during which Frank equally entertained the ideas that he was about to be hit and that he was about to be hugged. Eventually, Harrison ended his misery.

\- I tarked to da bigwigs last night Frankie.

The thought of Harrison calling the project sponsors in the wee hours of the night only served to confuse Frank further. He quickly considered a third idea that this whole thing was a dream.

\- Talked to them about what exactly?

\- Aboot your idea Frankie.

He hated being called Frankie.

\- My idea?

Harrison sucked his teeth in frustration, as if he fully expected Frank to have understood his intentions from these few cryptic sentences.

\- Your idea abowut our gal Katey being in Argentina.

That wasn't his idea at all, but Frank knew what he was referring to. Had he really phoned the project sponsors with that pile of shit of a description? Please, no!

\- So what did you say to them exactly Harrison?

\- What it matter what I say to dem?

Harrison smiled a knowing look of smugness and self-satisfaction.

\- What? So they said they'd fund the trip? Harrison you....

Frank searched his embarrassingly low stock of West Indian lingo for a word that suggested camaraderie.

\- ....you....brother. You pulled it off? You got their buy-in?

\- Only a brother should carl a brother a brother. And no....I didn't ex-hactly get dare buy-in Frank.

\- Huh? Well what then? Are they considering it?

\- No Frankie. The ball 'ead mon laugh at me and tell me to nah come a bodda him again until it's to tell him abowut some real progress.

Franks bubble popped unexpectedly, just as he was revelling in a vision of rushing into Joe's room and waking him up by ramming this story down his smug know-it-all throat.

\- Bastards!

Frank was sure the bigwigs would have listened more had they heard his more diplomatic explanation instead of Harrison's bull-in-a-china-shop rant. He was too scared to tell Harrison that to his face though.

\- Thanks for trying though pal, yeah?

\- That's not why I a come to see you dis marning Frankie!

\- Right. So why did you come to see me?

\- Because you and I Frankie, we gonna go find dis Daniella gal in Argentina anyway.

\- You want to come with me?

\- T'would be an honour Frankie! I av a cooool feelin' aboot dis.

\- Yeah....I do too Harrison.
Chapter 27. Memories

My name is Daniella Diaz. I live on the beautiful island of Ducie. We have a saying here: "Work to play, the Ducie way". It kind of means that you get out what you put in. We're like one big working family here, which sounds sort of cheesy, but it's also kind of true.

In the morning, I get up when the miner's wagon alarm goes off. It's a horrible, shrieking kind of noise, like somebody blowing a really long, dud note on a trumpet. I suppose over time, I've come to like what it represents though. The start of another day in paradise. I don't have to get up when I hear it. It's just a noise to let the miners know that the wagon's waiting. But I hate to think that the day's beginning without me, so most days, I roll out of bed and watch the miners haul their gear onto the back of the wagon. They look so worn down, so tired. Some of them look like they didn't bother washing the dirt away from yesterday's shift. But I suppose what's the point? They're only going to get grubby again in a few hours. Then the old wagon rattles off to its next pick-up and I hear the trumpet again in the distance. I've learnt to tell who they're stopping off for from how far away the trumpet sounds. The trumpet alarm that wakes me, that's for Lucio. His house is in the same row as mine. He always keeps them waiting a while. He's a big man, with muscles. You know, like a wrestler or something. His rucksack looks so small on his huge shoulders, like his back is going to break through the straps at any moment. It never does though. I like to imagine what he carries in that bag that he could possibly need down a mine. A book perhaps, for when he's on his break. Or a sandwich or two for when he needs to get his strength up. Whatever it is, he carries that bag every day, then he's in the wagon and he's gone with the rest of them. I love to go outside when they're gone and just smell the fumes that the wagon left behind, while I watch dust and the sand settle its way back to the earth.

I'd like to tell you about my life, about my parents, my childhood, my past, but I wouldn't know what to say. My memory isn't the best and I don't like to worry about it. Perhaps three years, or four I could tell you about. Before that though, I get a little confused. I know I was a child once, because this adult body must have grown from something. I just don't remember. It's a bit like when you're dreaming and you're in a place, but how you got there, well.... that bit wasn't part of the dream. You're just kind of there and you don't really question it. I love this place though; everybody does, so why would anyone question it?

Today's the first time I really felt sad on this island.

Every month, we go to King Eduardo's Estate for a pregnancy test. It always seemed a bit pointless for me, because I've never....you know....done anything like that, anything to even warrant needing a pregnancy test. I'm not stupid. I know how it all works. I just....never found myself in that sort of situation yet, you know? They're just a bit jumpy about it, so everyone has to do it. Nobody's ever shown up positive before as far as I know. We all know the rules. One in, one out. It's horrible really, to think that someone would have to die to make way for the baby. Someone at random too. That's the most horrible part about it. One of your friends would have to be put to their death and it's all your fault. I've heard that they have a small cage, like the ones they keep the ducks in. Just big enough for a man inside, if his knees are tucked up under his chin. And with a lock so firm that he'd never stand a chance of getting out even if he did have room to struggle. Then they take him out on a boat, where the waters are deep and a little murkier and they just push him overboard. I don't know how true it is, but Vasco swears that King Eduardo told him that on the beach one night after he'd drank a bit too much wine.

The Element of Anti Expansion they call it. Their way of keeping the population at 61. They don't believe in abortion. And why should they? Why should a precious unborn baby suffer for somebody else's mistake.

And I swear to you this was not my mistake!

When Eduardo said that I was pregnant, I thought he was joking. But then he started stuttering and stammering and he looked like was trying not to cry. He laughed a little, but it was that nervous sort of laugh. He wasn't joking around.

He told me that there was a chance nobody would have to die. That Andrea's recent death would balance the new baby's arrival. That the baby would simply take his place and we'd still be an island of 61. But it all depends on one thing....

Whether Jennifer and Lionel have made a baby of their own yet. They were given the Right to Birth vacancy fair and square after Andrea died. Everyone knows they've been at it like rabbits ever since. They were meant to have a baby; I wasn't. So if someone has to die, then it's my fault. I'd accept that if it weren't for the fact that I've never done anything in my whole life that would cause me to be pregnant.

I would know if I had.
Chapter 28. 'Flex'

Buenos Aries, Argentina - 2007

Had Frank been able to pick his ideal partner to travel across the globe with, he could categorically say that it would not have been Harrison Morgan. Right up to the moment they touched down in Buenos Aries, Frank still toyed with the nagging suspicion that Harrison was just there for a holiday. But then again, he couldn't exactly afford to be fussy when it came to the not-so-bulging list of candidates to be his sidekick. The stocky West-Indian doctor understood the plan, and that was enough for Frank right now.

Their budget twin room at the Hotel Bolivar reminded Frank of the dingy hostels he used to stay in on school trips as a kid. Two narrow, hard single beds sat parallel to each other, occupying most of the room. Both had a towel and a toilet roll at the foot of them, as if these were the bare necessities of hygiene and this was all that this calibre of establishment was willing to stretch to. For the equivalent of £18 per night, it was fair enough I suppose. Bare white walls painted for function not fashion were punctuated only by a grimy, once-white dado rail that sprawled an offensive perimeter around the room, providing the sole depressing example of décor. Frank stood on the modestly sized balcony that was fenced-in by spiked iron railings. Presumably they'd rather you impale yourself on these than fall to your dusty death below. He tried to take a deep breath of unfamiliar air, but it felt more like he was inhaling the noise than anything else. Several motorcycles thrapped beneath his window, all driven by happy looking folks somewhere on the right side of 25 years old. A siren in the distance sounded half familiar, but Frank noticed the subtle differences in pitch and tone compared to sirens back home. A young child of 3 or 4 yelped in pain, as what Frank hoped was the boy's Father followed the disciplinary smack up with a rumbling and frantic ticking-off in Spanish. Frank glanced down at the hotel sign, as it swung gently below his balcony in the warm evening breeze.

"Hotel Bolivar – Para Pasajeros"

Hotel Bolivar \- For passengers....or travellers. Or something like that. Frank wasn't here to learn Spanish. He looked at his watch. 10:35pm local time. Too late now to start navigating their way through an unfamiliar foreign conundrum. They had a week before their return flight anyway. Joe had agreed to hold the fort back at the lab. They were officially 'analysing results' that week anyway, during which they were unlikely to have anyone come around checking up on them. Nevertheless, Joe was armed with the pre-agreed excuses should any of the project sponsors drop by. Harrison was at home sick; gastroenteritis. Frank was in London at the Institution of Cognitive Neuroscience bouncing some new theories off some boffin or other down there. In reality, as long as the progress reports went to the project sponsors every week and they actually showed some degree of progress, then nobody really cared what they did in the meantime. After a 15 hour flight, it would have been sheer martyrdom not to get some sleep anyway. Frank wasn't grumbling at the thought of a rest. He just hoped Harrison was as enthusiastic tomorrow when the cheap Tequila had worn off as he appeared to be now.

\- I fucking love dis place Frankie! Some-ting aboot it mek me wanna party 24-7.

\- That'll be the Tequila Harrison.

Frank should have been annoyed at the state of Harrison on such an important trip, but he kept reminding himself that it was good of Harrison to come along at all. He couldn't have done this alone and Joe certainly wasn't interested in his ideas. Besides, after a journey as long as that, who didn't need a drink or two to take the edge off the jetlag? Problem was, Harrison was closer to 10 drinks than he was to 1 or 2. Frank took a bottle of beer from the mini-bar.

'Quilmes?' Never heard of it, but it's cold, so it will do.

He cracked it open with the bottle opener key ring hanging from his belt buckle.

\- Ya such a geeeeeek Frankie!

Harrison slapped his own thigh repeatedly, as if his own humour was just too much for him to bear.

\- How do you mean, I'm a geek?

Harrison gasped for breath as he struggled to balance laughing and talking.

\- I mean, ya come arl dis way t'Argentina carrying a damn bokkle opener on ya pants!

Tears were rolling down Harrison's cheeks now and his torso seemed to lose control, as he buckarooed around the bed laughing.

\- So what? It came in handy, didn't it?

Frank's sensible reply heightened Harrison's enjoyment of the whole episode. He was breathless, gasping for a space to fit a reply between the laughing fits.

\- I-man a call ya Handy Frankie from now on man!

Harrison's Tequila-induced laughter was now so intense that it was almost silent, his body flipping into involuntarily spasms, as he groaned at the workout the laughter was giving his abdomen.

\- Call me what you like Harrison. Don't you think you've had enough to drink now though? You know we've got to hit the road first thing.

Harrison's laughing fit stopped abruptly and his eyes took on a sterner gaze.

\- I-man got some-ting to tell ya Frankie...

Frank despised the drunken slur in Harrison's voice, but was eager to find out what had pulled him back from the brink of hysterical oblivion. The look in his eyes now scared Frank a little if he was honest.

\- Go on....

\- I-man nah wanna be karled 'Arrison no more.

\- Right.... So I shouldn't call you by your name? Does this apply, when you're sober too?

Harrison sucked his teeth in disdain of Frank's sarcasm.

\- It apply arrl da time Frankie.

\- Ok, ok. So what should I call you?

Frank was mocking with fake excitement now.

\- I-man wanna be karled Flex.

Frank spat a mouthful of beer over his black leather jacket.

\- Flex?

\- Uh,hu.

Harrison had a look of smug satisfaction that almost demanded that Frank be impressed with his new creation.

\- Fucking.....Flex? What, like a ruler or something?

The sucking of the teeth again.

\- Not Fucking Flex. Just Flex. Ya karl me Flex from now on Frankie and every-ting a be fit 'n frock.

\- I'll do you a deal Harrison. I'll call you Flex, if you call me Frank. Not Frankie....just Frank. Ok?

\- Are-right man! I'll drink to that one, partner.

Harrison offered his glass up to Frank's bottle for a toast. Frank had surprised himself with how quickly his beer bottle had emptied, but he accepted the toast anyway before putting the bottle on the bedside table and pulling the thin, white bed sheet over himself to wait for sleep to come.

\- And Frankie...

\- It's Frank!

\- Sorry, Frank.

\- Yes....

Frank deliberately left a pause to amplify the ridiculousness of Harrison's insisted nickname.

\- .....Flex.

\- Don't go fretting about nuttin, sight? Flex be on top form inna di lights?

It may well have been the jetlag, or perhaps the swiftly necked bottle of Quilmes, but by now this Caribbean lingo was lost on Frank.

\- Inna di what?

\- Inna di lights. In da marning!

\- Oh, yeah...of course. In the morning. Yeah, yeah. Ok. Good night Flex.

\- Seen, dread! Jah bless!
Chapter 29. The audit

The first time they saw Daniella, Frank knew it was her. Up until now, when he thought of Daniella's sweet tone, he could only picture Kate Gaffney's tough, freckled face to go with it. Here she was though, working at the exact street market in Mendoza that Kate's sleep-state alter-ego had predicted when she was administered a dosage of CROP a second time. Her dazzling green eyes seemed to welcome the world right into them. Her auburn hair as natural and flowing as the cycles of nature itself. This image of her seemed to be the picture Frank's mind had been trying, but failing to paint for him all along. He watched as she handed over an ornament of a small boy with a dog to a customer, along with a smile so genuine and infectious that it could change the course of a man's day. He felt like he'd met her before. He felt that he already knew her.

Frank hadn't exactly planned what he'd say to Daniella when he first saw her, but he needn't have worried. He had the master of smooth talk in-tow with him. Even nursing a hangover, Harrison's inhibitions were usually close to non-existent.

\- Right then Flex, are you going to talk to her or am I?

Harrison was a million miles from his Tequila fuelled nirvana the night before. It was a sweet place he'd been in when he arrived at the hotel, high off jetlag and neat liquor. But now all that remained of that bliss was a thumping headache around the eyes and an absolute desire not to be called Flex. He cringed, as Frank reminded him of his new self-imposed nickname.

The suck of the teeth was almost mandatory now.

\- Arl do ya anudda deal Frankie.... You stop widda 'Flex' ting and arl keep on karlin you Frank. Sight?

Frank sensed a lot of mileage out of this puppy and wasn't planning to let it go lightly.

\- I dunno mate. I think it's nice. It's got like an MC Hammer feel to it. You know.... Down with the kids and all that? Shows off your youthfulness, Flex.

Frank moved his arms and legs in a jerky awkward fashion that could well have been intended to represent someone with a limb-based disability, but given the context, was more likely to have been a poor MC Hammer impression. He added a robotic sounding "Can't touch this" to confirm that it was indeed his attempt at imitating the 90s rapper.

\- Look Frankie. If ya want me to tark smooth t'dis shorty, Daniella, den don't come wid none of dis funny-man shit. Sight?

\- Talk smooth? We're not trying to shag her Harrison. We just need to get her to agree to meet us for a coffee or something.

\- See Frankie, dis is where dem big ball head brain cells of yours let you down.

\- How?

\- Tink about it Frankie. Take a look around dis market. Da gal dem going about daily business. Selling wares. Making money. Then a dread like me appear out of the shadows and start tarking about coffee and biscuits? What she gonna tink Frankie?

\- Well....

\- She gonna tink I-man be a samfi.

\- A samfi?

\- A trickster, a conman. Gen-e-ral hustler!

\- I suppose...

\- Dread need a lickle bit of decorum and flair for a job like dis.

\- Well you'll need to tone down the homeland talk for starters.

\- And you know I can do dat Frankie.

\- Good, because our chances are already running at 50/50 on whether she speaks English at all, never mind your version of it.

Harrison sucked his teeth for the umpteenth time in place of an answer to Frank's question. He waited for the man with the boy-and-dog ornament to finish talking to Daniella, then he made his move. He strode across the market with an exaggerated spring of confidence in his step that appeared to scream, "Yes, I'm different to all of you and I'm on your patch...You got a problem with that?". In reality, Harrison barely turned a single head, as he bounced his way over to Daniella, his thick dreadlocks following in-tow behind him. Noisy traders and punters around him were far too wrapped up in making a living to even notice his approach. As he reached her proximity and caught her eye, Daniella smiled a smile so sweet and inviting that it threw Harrison off track for a second.

\- Erm...hello, Madam. Hola, signorina!

His opening line came out like someone doing a poor impression of a middle class English person. And with some bad Spanish thrown in for good measure. That was the problem when he spent too long embracing the Caribbean dialect; the switch back to standard English sometimes took a little while to fully click.

\- Good afternoon Sir. Can I help you?

Her gentle words seemed to caress Harrison's aching head like his Mother had done when young Harrison had a fever. He cleared his throat and prayed it came out better this time.

\- Yes, Ma'am. Madam....

\- It's Daniella, Sir.

Wow! It really was her. He trusted Frank's plan, but to hear it confirmed like that made this feel all too real.

\- Yes...erm.....Daniella.

\- My colleague and I....

Harrison gestured to the spot where he'd just left Frank, but could have been pointing at any number of people in that corner of this bustling food quarter. Daniella squinted in that direction and smiled politely as she turned back to Harrison, despite still having no idea who his colleague was

\- We're here to audit your market stall.

Harrison hadn't planned that line, but he was improvising now having been derailed early on in the conversation by Daniella's endearing sweetness. Did market stalls even have audits? He was familiar with clinical audits, but that was about it. He cursed his own brain for offering his mouth such a stupid word at such an inappropriate time.

\- Ok, what do you need from me Sir?

Daniella took payment for a small statue of two blue dolphins that touched at the nose and tail to form a sort of circular shape. She spoke briefly in Spanish to the buyer, as she handed him his change. Again, she gave that perfect smile that seemed to come free with every purchase. She turned back to Harrison.

\- We just need to see your takings records for the last week and we just have a few forms for you to fill. We can do it over a coffee if you like; away from this noise.

\- I close up at 2 for siesta. Will that be ok?

\- Perfect!

\- My stomach's rumbling for more than just coffee though.

\- Whatever you like then.

\- Have you ever tried Empanadas?

\- Dem wrap arowund pastry tings?

\- Ahhh....but have you ever tried _real_ Empanadas?

\- I'm not sure.

\- Head to the end of the market where the crazy guy with the grey beard is slamming fish down onto scales and shouting....

Daniella pointed in the direction they'd arrived in. Harrison remembered seeing the mad fish man.

\- ....When you're clear of the stalls, if you look slightly left, you'll see a clock tower across the street. The far side of that clock tower there's a row of shops. One of them has fresh flowers outside. Two doors down from there is Fortunato's café. I'll see you at 3 in there?

\- Ok.

\- Don't be late, as I have to be back on the stall for 3:30.

\- It's a date.

\- No Sir, it's an audit.
Chapter 30. Coincidence in Nowheresville

Adam spotted Kate before Kate spotted Adam. Her masculine strut of intent and her matted bright orange hair was not an image Adam would forget easily. And here it was, that aggressive scowl contorting her freckled face into a plethora of wrinkles like the contour lines on an ordinance survey map. She somehow looked different in the vast expanses of the outside world. Not so cocky and sure of herself, a little more vulnerable perhaps. Adam looked on as she frantically scanned every person, every shop, every inch of the street, systematically sniffing out her next move by a process of elimination, before her eyes finally landed on him. He wasn't well hidden, nor did he intend to be. Perched in plain sight on the hard metal seating rail of a bright green bus shelter, amidst the juvenile graffiti that adorned the cracked Perspex windows. He wasn't exactly waiting to be found, but he certainly wasn't disappointed when he saw her.

He'd run from the life he'd always known at the Institution and fully intended never to look back. Whatever secrets Joe and Harrison had up their sleeve, they had vowed to share with him the very same day he escaped. Ironically, these answers should have finally afforded some peace and closure to satisfy the conspiracy theorist inside of Adam. But when the time came to hear it, he chose to run instead. Only he knew why.

Kate covered the twenty or so yards between her and Adam quicker than he'd ever seen her move before. He flinched, as she approached, half expecting a slap. It wouldn't have been the first time. Instead, Kate flung her arms around him, knocking them both off balance slightly, Adam's flimsy posture not near enough to withstand the speed and enthusiasm of her advance. An elderly couple at the bus stop glanced down their noses disapprovingly at two scruffy looking twenty-somethings, old enough to know better, probably the same pathetic sort of youth responsible for the graffiti on their bus stops.

Kate took Adam's hand and helped him to his feet, catching a waft of stale body odour overpowered only by the thick scent of damp clothing. She ushered him along, keen to keep moving. Not that she thought anyone would be in pursuit of them, she knew better than that. She needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from the disapproving glances of strangers. These people that thought they could tell Kate and Adam's sorry story just by looking at the state of the two of them, but who actually knew nothing.

\- How did you know where I'd be?

\- I didn't. I guessed.

\- Guessed? You guessed this exact bus stop on this particular street about eight miles from Joe and Harrison's funny farm back there?

\- You haven't come eight miles Adam. About one, probably not even that.

It felt like a lot more to Adam.

\- I didn't even know where I was going myself, so how the hell did we end up in the same place?

\- I knew the hatch you left the Institution through, so I just started from there and put myself in the shoes of a skinny, paranoid little fuck up having a panic attack.

\- Fuck off Kate, even you can't say it's me this time.

\- They were going to tell you the lot in the morning anyway. Why would you pick today for your great escape?

\- Why would you give a shit?

\- Well try me Adam. I gave a shit enough to come after you didn't I?

\- I didn't ask you to follow me. Go back there if you like.

As they walked, Kate almost supporting Adam, her arm locked in his, they passed a traditional looking church with a brick tower that's defining feature was masses of bright white bird mess scattered about it like a child's first, sweet attempt at a painting. Kate's eye was drawn to a sign on the roadside

' WHAT IS MISSING FROM CH CH?

U R'

The joke was lost on her for a second, but her usually reliable sense of wit quickly caught up. She guided Adam through the archway into the graveyard. Two rows of yew trees leading a sheltered, but chilly path to the building's entrance. The door didn't succumb to a push. Locked. A pristine looking red bench on the pathway held a plaque: 'In memory of Shannon McLeod'. Adam took a seat and the brand new bench rocked backwards slightly. So new, it was yet to be secured into position, if indeed this was even its intended resting place. Kate put herself next to Adam and for a fleeting second they both reveled in the eerie calm of this unfamiliar peace.

\- You need to go back Adam.

\- Bugger do I need to go back. Have you lost it? They were horrible to me when I wasn't doing anything wrong. Imagine what they'd be like now.

\- Worse will happen if you stay here.

Kate's response was blunt.

\- How do you figure that one Katey?

\- There's more to all of this than you think Adam.

\- Oh yeah....the _big secret_ , of course. Trust me, I don't underestimate whatever the messed up truth is behind that underground hell hole.

\- So why did you run?

Adam paused as if evaluating Kate's trustworthiness.

\- I was scared.

\- And you weren't scared when you were roaming through secret tunnels trying to get out of that place? You weren't scared when you found yourself in the middle of a park, running through streets you didn't recognise? Sitting at a bus stop in the middle of fucking nowheresville. How's this any less scary Adam?

\- It just is.

\- Ever since I've known you Adam, all you've ever done is preach to me about how something wasn't right about that place. Theory after theory after theory. None of them were anywhere close to the truth, but you were persistent with it.

\- I was right in the end though, wasn't I?

\- In a way, yes. And they were about to give you the answers you'd always wanted. So why run off from it?

Adam's bottom lip quivered just slightly. He fought for composure, but the ice cold wind ripping through the yew tree tunnel seemed to help extract the tears from his eyes.

\- Because I didn't want to end up like you Katey!

\- How flattering. Thank you.

\- Whatever it is that they're hiding from me.... that you're hiding from me; I just know it must be some fucked up shit if knowing about it made you the way you are.

Kate could see his point entirely. The evasiveness, the cold-heartedness, the nasty quips of a bitter and twisted woman dismantled by the constant strain of living a lie. She knew why she was like it, and it now appeared that Adam did too.

\- So what if I offered to tell you everything here and now? No mean security guards around, no taser guns, no interruptions. Just you and me in this church garden. How about it Adam? You still saying you'd turn down the answers you've always wanted just to avoid 'ending up like me', as you so kindly put it?

Almost as is to eavesdrop on his answer, a pigeon fluttered down from nowhere onto the path in front of them. Adam froze as his disabling phobia stole his rationality and got to work on his dignity. His legs tucked up under his chin now, as the oblivious bird bobbed its way towards them. Looking for scraps of food no doubt, but about to get more than it bargained for. In an unexpected move that only served to pluck at Adam's already over-tightened nerve strings, Kate leapt up, flailing a clumsy leg in the general direction of the pigeon. Adam let go a scream as the wing flapping, Kate's cursing and the rocking of the unsteady bench combined to turn his world on its head momentarily. The bird was gone. Kate put her arm around Adam.

\- It's ok, I've got you now. No more nasty Kate, yeah?

Adam looked skeptical, as the class geek would when offered a handshake from a bully intent on dragging him to the floor the minute he walked into his trap.

\- Why are you so bothered Katey? You acted like I was an inconvenience most of the time I was around you.

Every fibre of Kate was geared towards the "well fuck you then, you ungrateful bastard" response, but she fought it. New Kate.... new Kate.

\- You need someone Adam. You can't do this on your own.

\- But you're telling me to go back to that place. Why? Have they sent you to bring me back? To sweet talk me around with this new nicey, nice Katey, so I would follow you back there? Then Joe and his laser gun can have their wicked way with me again, only worse this time? I'm not stupid Katey!

\- You're stupid if you stay here.

\- You would say that. I'm not going anywhere. Tell them to come to me. I'm not moving. Go on! Tell them I'm waiting right here. I'm not scared. See how hard they are when they're out of their little conspiracy dungeon. Out here in the real world with me. This is where I live now!

Kate felt the conversation and Adam's sanity slipping away. She had hoped not to have to play her trump card, but she was running out of time and options.

\- Adam, the reason I'm trying to get you to go back there is because I know for a fact that if you stay here on this bench, you'll be dead before the day's out.

\- What? So they're gonna send someone out to kill me? Have you got one of those satnav radio things down your jumper telling them where we are? Well thanks Katey mate, that's real loyal of you.

\- They won't come after you Adam. They don't need to.

\- Well that's nice to know. So I take it you're going to be the one doing the killing for them then? Ah, bless ya! You should have just said, "Come back or I'll kill you Adam". You didn't need to go around the houses with the whole nice Katey act.

Kate was working hard on the new attitude, but patience was one thing that you couldn't teach yourself overnight. Unfortunately, that was the one thing she was rapidly running low on as Adam continued his misguided ramblings. One last appearance for blunt old Katey. Out of necessity more than anything. Then she'd change for good, she swore it to herself.

\- Will you just put a fucking cork in it, nob head? You think you know it all, but you don't. Whether you like it or not, you need to go back there or you're going to die. And you're going to die soon. I'm not gonna kill you, but they will. And they don't even need to leave the Institution to do it.

Adam was suitably silenced. Job done.

\- Now I'm going to explain it all to you Adam and you're gonna have to take off your Mr Mardy-arse hat while I do. I know you need convincing, and I understand that. You've every right to think what you do. But every second I waste arguing the toss with you is a second closer to them pulling the plug on you. Are you listening to me?

\- I'm listening.

The pigeon perched on the edge of the church tower, a little shaken. He'd only been going about his day when he stumbled on trouble. He wished he hadn't bothered now. As he sat amidst the dried white mess of the birds that had been there before him, he would have probably cursed his luck if he could. But then again, it was that which led him to swoop up to where he now perched. Alive and well, enjoying a loftier view.
Chapter 31. Fortunato's

At Fortunato's café, Frank paid for two espressos and made his way to a table on the far wall underneath a huge painting of two lovers dancing the tango on a deserted beach. Harrison, who had been slouched at a spine straining angle between chair and wall sat bolt upright as Frank approached. He enthusiastically snatched the coffee, nodding an acknowledgment of thanks, before necking the scolding little beverage in one. He winced as the burning sensation passed down his throat, then returned to his slump and waited for the inspiration of a caffeine hit to find its way to his brain Frank glanced at the television on the opposite side of the room that was showing one of those news channels that rehashes the same tired nonsense every hour, 24 hours a day. The clock in the corner of the screen advised 3:03pm. That's when she arrived.

Harrison saw Daniella first. He clambered frantically to a more civilized sitting position and exhaled a sharp breath onto his hand. He sniffed the resulting odour. The smell of espresso had lingered on his mouth and now in his hand. The sharp, distinctive scent of fresh Arabica coffee beans seemed to leave a much less offensive aftertaste than the cheap instant coffee back at work. Harrison caught Frank's eye and nodded towards the door.

Most people in the room seemed to know Daniella, as she ghosted a weaving path between the tightly packed-in tables, receiving a mixture of Spanish and English greetings along the way. She noticed Harrison across the room, his beefy posture and thick, heavy dreadlocks making him a difficult feature of the room to overlook. She shot him over a smile. That smile. There it was again. Harrison melted momentarily, before quickly reminding himself of his less than smooth performance in the market earlier, the last time he was enchanted by that smile. He muttered a mini pep talk to himself.

\- Focus dread.

The two men waited in silence, as Daniella chatted with the man behind the counter. She pointed out Frank and Harrison in the corner and the café owner raised a hand in salute to them, before cracking what must have been a joke or a one-liner to Daniella. She giggled cutely as she took her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and made her way to the table. As she approached, Harrison shot to his feet and pulled out a chair for her, tucking it in as she sat, in an overly polite gesture of hospitality that made Frank cringe.

\- Thanks for coming to meet us Daniella, we really do appreciate it.

Franks opener was an instinctive gap filler, but on reflection it probably didn't set the scene very well for a supposed compulsory audit Then again, he didn't plan to sustain that illusion much longer. They had her where they wanted her now. Well.... not exactly. Where Frank really wanted her was back at the Institution, so he could reconcile the real Daniella with the one that Kate Gaffney was apparently becoming every time she slipped into sleep under the influence of the CROP drug. Daniella was polite as ever.

\- That's ok. It's my pleasure. Where should we start?

Harrison's confidence was still sore from his fumbling exchange with Daniella at her market stall, so he was happy to let Frank set the tempo.

\- We need to be straight with you Daniella. We're not here for the audit.

Harrison had expected a little more conversational foreplay and was shocked as Frank wasted no time going for the money shot. He wished he'd have taken the lead now and he sucked his teeth, as his way of expressing this.

\- Frankie! Ave a lickle more decorum widda gal.

Daniella seemed to take the news about the non-existent audit in her stride, but the full broadness of Harrison's accent visibly threw her. She sat up a little straighter, offering Harrison a puzzled look that almost invited an explanation. Harrison stayed quiet. Frank continued.

\- Forgive me Daniella, I appreciate that we might not have gone about this in the most prudent way.

\- Gone about what exactly?

\- My colleague and I are part of a research project based in Birmingham in the United Kingdom. We've been doing some work focused on helping drug addicts overcome their addictions.

\- Oh. Well.... that's fantastic! Good for you both.

Frank marveled at her patience and composure, given that she was now well within her right to demand some clarity; or worse still, to get up and walk off, leaving this pair of chancers to find some other mug to play their silly games.

\- Thank you Daniella.

Frank took a sip of his espresso, sucking air through his teeth to quell its bitterness. In truth, part of him hadn't even expected to get this far.

\- So how can I help you? I'm sorry to waste your time, but I'm not one of them if that's what this is about.

\- One of whom?

\- You know....

Daniella tapped the top of her arm with her fist, as if she were far too sweet and innocent to even say the word. Frank wasn't following this impromptu game of charades.

\- Frankie. She tink ya sayin she a smack head.

\- Oh....No, no, no, no, no. Daniella, please no. Of course not. You've misunderstood. That's not the reason we need you.

\- You need me?

Frank realised that he hadn't mentioned that part yet, and dropping it into conversation like he was referring to her as a piece of lab equipment they needed probably wasn't doing much for her confidence in him.

\- Smooooooth Frankie!

Harrison saw his chance to take the baton and restore some personal pride.

\- Look darling. What my friend ere is trying to say is dat we arl-ready ave our addicts back in England. And we med a drug dat work on der brains to stop dem nasty demons dat mek dem want more and more and more. Yeah?

\- Ok. Oh.... wow! That could be huge, right?

Harrison had pitched it perfectly in laymen's terms that Daniella understood completely, but Frank couldn't resist elaborating.

\- Well, it's a lot less basic than my colleague makes it sound, but....

\- Yeah, I know. Doctors jargon though, right?

\- Erm...right.

\- But I still don't get where I fit into this.

Harrison had been on a roll up until now, but the whole 'our little druggie friend back in England think she's you when she's asleep' riddle was more than his hangover could handle right now. He gestured to Frank to continue.

\- Well, Daniella.... Where do I start with this? Oh....Ok....Wow!

Frank was stalling for time to compose himself. They'd come half way around the world for this and although he still couldn't shake the feeling that this was all destiny somehow, he never actually pictured himself sitting in front of Daniella, about to tell her about Kate and her sleep talking episodes.

\- Ok. There's a girl called Kate back at our Institution in England. She's about your age in fact.

Daniella clasped her glass of juice in two hands as if she were warming from the heat of a steaming cup of cocoa. She leaned forward, her interest as genuine as her smile.

\- Kate was the first patient to trial the drug we created.

\- Did she know what you were giving her?

\- Yeah, yeah. It was all above-board and legit. She signed the papers. She hated her addiction. 'The greedy beast inside her' she called it.

\- The poor girl.

Frank broke off for a second to marvel at the depth of sincerity Daniella somehow managed to cram into those three words. This young woman was a real life angel.

\- Yeah, I really felt for Kate. She spoke about her drug problem in the third person, as if it were totally separate from her. She was desperate to beat it. Spoke about getting her revenge on the beast when the cure was ready.

\- So she took the drug....the cure?

\- Yeah, she bit our hands off for it.

\- And it worked?

\- Not exactly.

Harrison leaned back in his seat and exhaled a long sigh towards the ceiling, or perhaps towards the heavens. He knew how the next part of this story went and he knew how it sounded. Even he still struggled with it and he'd seen it unfold fist hand. Daniella was still on board though, for now at least.

\- So nothing happened to her then? The drug didn't make her better?

\- Well.... the jury's still out on that one. The results were definitely not what we expected though, that part's for sure.

\- How?

Harrison absently wondered to himself what it must be like to be Daniella. So trusting, So quizzical. So genuinely intrigued by it all. Two absolute strangers from another country invited her to coffee under false pretences, having already admitted lying to get her there. Now they said they needed her. Needed her. And their explanation so far involved a drug addict with a greedy beast inside her. Yet here sat Daniella, her twinkling green eyes surely too perfect to have ever seen trouble unfold before them. Engrossed .Pushing Frank for more information. Her naivety made him fear for her, but he also imagined it to be a liberating way of approaching life. Fearless. What will come will come. Frank went on.

\- Kate lost consciousness shortly after she took the drug. Wouldn't respond to anything at all. She was out cold.

\- She died?

\- No, no, no. Gaffney is very much alive and well.

\- She doesn't sound too well.

\- Ok, not exactly well. But....

\- Was it a coma?

\- That's where it gets interesting Daniella. Someone in a coma is unconscious and won't respond to any sort of stimulus. You know, voices, sounds, activity nearby. She ticked all of those boxes.

\- So what makes you think it's something else?

\- When someone's in what we'd class as a traditional sort of coma, brought on by a head injury, a seizure or even a drug overdose; their brain is operating at the very lowest stage of its alertness. That wasn't the case here.

\- You've lost me. You said she was unconscious. So what was her brain doing exactly?

\- She was talking.

\- In her sleep? Like part of a dream?

\- Kind of, yes. But not exactly. What she was saying suggested that she was living the experience of somebody other than herself.

Daniella took a moment to process it. She'd finished her juice now, but she ran her finger around the inside of the glass to mop up the pieces of orange pulp. Not a smidgen of nourishment wasted.

\- But that can happen in a dream, right? I once had one where I was a pilot flying a plane. I can't stand flying. I've only ever done it once. But this dream felt so real. I could see the dials and instruments in the cockpit. They were spinning around and flashing and bleeping. 'Warning! Warning!', I was flipping out. Everyone was relying on me to land that plane and I had no clue how to.

Frank resisted pondering too much on the revelation that Daniella wasn't a keen flyer, but banked that information for later reference. For now it was just one in a long line of hurdles he had in front of him.

\- Of course. Dreams are just a series of images and sensations that happen involuntarily when we sleep. Nobody has properly established what they represent yet. Although there are a few chancers that see themselves as qualified enough to write books on the subject. Dream Dictionaries I think they call them.

Frank scoffed at the term, shaking his head, as if the very concept of it was beneath his level of intellect.

\- Anyway....we're pretty sure that this wasn't any normal dream.

\- So did Kate say who it was, this person she was experiencing in her sleep? Was it someone she knew?

Such a far-fetched concept, yet Daniella already appeared to grasp it as if they were talking about someone with hay fever or a common cold. Having got this far without scaring her witless, Frank was beginning to get cold feet about dropping the punch line on her. He lifted a finger to Daniella to buy himself a moment. She looked on inquisitively, as he used his other hand to rummage the inside of his jacket pocket, which hung on the back of the cheap, collapsible aluminum seat. The Dictaphone. He placed it on the table between them and plugged in a pair of earphones, handing one to Daniella and forcing the other into his own ear. She scooted her chair a little closer to Frank to ease the stretch on the wires. Frank clicked the play button and ran his finger over the volume dial. Even at maximum output, the feint recording was tough to follow amid the noise of the busy café. It was audible though, just about. Frank pointed to his ear and twisted his bottom lip at Daniela, which seemed to be unofficial sign language for 'Sorry about the rubbish recording'. She returned a thumbs up and cupped her hand over her ear to block out background noise. There was a crackle and ten or fifteen seconds of clunking sounds where Frank had been positioning the recorder. Then footsteps. Frank could picture himself walking over to Kate. Her reclined hydraulic pump chair. The gormless expression on her face as she slept. The cold, white tiled floor. The smell of fresh paint that had always reminded him of nursery school. The tape went quiet for a second, before the gruff sound of Frank clearing his throat signaled the start of the real action. Harrison's voice was the first to kick this little Dictaphone soap opera into life.

\- Whatya name lady?

\- Very tactful, you lemon! Could you be a bit blunter next time?

Frank smirked at Daniella, proud at hearing his own put-down of Harrison on tape. Harrison's response was more aggravated than Frank had remembered. So much so that his first couple of words caused a loud spluttering sound on the recording.

\- Well, arl ya doing is acksing dees lickle pitter patter questions like she a child or some ting.

\- Who are you?

Frank nudged Daniella, 'That was Kate' he advised. Daniella nodded firmly. No smile this time. Her eyes were squinted in concentration, as if somehow that helped her to hear better.

\- I told you before madam. I'm Doctor Frank Gilbert.

\- No, no. Not you, the other man that just spoke. He sounds nice.

\- Hey darling. My name's Harrison. It's just me and you now, ya see. -

\- Hi Harry.

There was a splutter on the tape again, which quickly morphed into what Frank recognised as his own laugh. He cringed at how feminine his gentle tittering sounded. Did he always laugh like that?

\- Arl we want to know is your name girl. We don't mean you no 'arm. I arl-ready told you I'm Harrison.

\- And I'm Daniella.

\- I'm Daniella Diaz. Have we met before?

\- No darling, we haven't met before.

Silence.

Frank clicked the stop button on the Dictaphone and removed his earphone, as he turned to Daniella. Realising the recording must have now finished, Harrison's attention spiked as he sat forward. All eyes were on Daniella. The smile. That smile, it was gone now. Replaced by a look of grave meditation, focused somewhere in the centre of the shiny, silver aluminum table. She bit her lip gently, a slight twitch in her left eye failing to interrupt her intense gaze. Somehow the light reflecting and glimmering off the table at infinite different angles seemed to hold the answer that she was in the process of calculating. Both men considered breaking the silence at least once, ultimately thinking better of it. Then she rose from her seat with the same grace and politeness that no situation seemed able to take away from her. Just the smile was missing. She tucked her chair in and turned without making eye contact with either man. No words, no anger, no clue to what had changed inside her after hearing the recording. She simply left the café in silence, taking the upbeat vibe she'd created with her. The subtle scent of lavender that she carried with her lingered momentarily as they watched her walk away down the beaten, heat-punished street; a lot less crowded now than when they had arrived. An old blue bus destined for 'Esquina Pescadero' pulled in to collect a solitary passenger, its bodywork dominated by a picture of an ice cold beer, under the advertising slogan ¡Qué Servida! Daniella disappeared momentarily behind the vehicle, as she continued her progress away from the café. The smell of coffee quickly replaced the scent of lavender, the sight of a gigantic glass of beer gave new life to Harrison's hangover, and when the bus pulled away Daniella was out of sight.

The café owner had been in conversation with another of his regular customers and noticed Daniella's swift and silent exit. He muttered something to his friend, before throwing an accusing scowl at Frank and Harrison. Frank felt the hostile glare piercing a hole in his face, promptly causing his cheeks to turn a cherry red. Harrison remained oblivious, as he studied Fortunato's food menu in search of a culinary cure for his Tequila illness.

He sucked his teeth, a habit that was fast beginning to grate on Frank's nerves.

\- Da gal forget aboot dem Empanadas!

\- I think we'd better leave pal.
Chapter 32. Where should I begin?

By 2pm, the fresh misty promise of morning had given way to the cumbersome drag of a gloomy afternoon. A razor blade breeze slashed sporadically through the churchyard, cascading autumn leaves around the tarmac pathway like giant, mouldy confetti. Adam fought off the chill with a shudder, shoving his hands down to the depths of the pockets of his Berghaus fleece jacket. He hadn't noticed the cold until now, but it bit hard into his heroin-perished body now he had time to feel it. His mind on the other hand buzzed with the heat of whirring information cogs, stoked up to full pelt and eagerly ready to process the truths that Kate had promised him.

\- So come on then Katey. Spit it out! How are they going to kill me without leaving the Institution?

\- It's not as simple as that.

\- Oh, here we go with the excuses already. If you say you know the truth, then why isn't it that simple? You tell me, then I'll know what you know. It sounds simple to me.

\- There's just a lot to understand before you get to the part about what they can do to you.

\- You mean the experiments Frank mentioned? The tests?

Kate was struggling for a place to start, but that sounded as good a place as any.

\- They weren't tests as such. They were meant to be, but they never ended up that way.

\- Come on Katey! This cryptic crap of yours is frying my head. You owe me answers. I never asked for any of this shit you gave me.

Adam hadn't intended to raise his voice like that. He immediately wished he could chase the words out of his mouth and smother them, but was forced to watch as they made their way through his mouth and out into the world, intent on wreaking havoc as they frolicked their way mischievously towards Kate. As her stare morphed into a more intense gaze, an involuntary tear escaped her eye and ran a wet slalom down her cheek. That single droplet of emotion alone was enough to sink Adam's heart with a ton-weight of guilt. He'd never seen Kate's strength succumb to the normal sadness of mere mortals before. In his eyes, even her earlier suicide attempt was a sign of her strength. Of taking back control over a situation that dared threaten to overwhelm her. By saving her life, he'd denied her that. Perhaps it was he that owed something to her now and not the other way around. He scooted across the bench and clutched her as she wept, fully now, the seal of her resilience broken, allowing her emotion to come gushing through. She was as thin and frail as Adam; perhaps more so, but something about her, her aura, her complexity, her stoutness made her feel big to hold. Adam clung on until her release subsided, Kate now just taking occasional gasps of breath as her state normalised.

\- I'm sorry Katey. I shouldn't have....

\- No, you should have. I mean.... You have every right to be angry. To hate me. But I need you to know Adam that I didn't ask for any of this either.

Adam stayed silent, which seemed to imply both that he understood, but that he also expected Kate to continue.

\- When they first gave me the drug, I went to sleep. They didn't expect that part. I was off the planet they said. Wouldn't wake up for the end of the world. But fine, breathing, peaceful, you know?

Adam's brow ruffled in a way that questioned what she was saying, but he said nothing. He'd quickly learnt that keeping quiet gave Kate momentum, forcing here to fill the void in conversation by elaborating.

\- About three hours in, that's when it started.... The talking.

\- What? Sleep talking?

\- I suppose so, yeah. I don't remember any of it, but they have it all on tape.

\- They showed it to you?

\- I've heard it, yeah. It's fucked up. It's me talking, but it's stuff I wouldn't say. The words I use....The way I say them. I dunno....I just know I wouldn't have said that stuff.

\- Said what exactly Katey?

The silence again.

\- I was saying that I was this Argentinian girl.... Daniella..... That I lived in a place called Mendoza. Worked on a market stall. The recording goes on like forever. You can hear Frank asking the questions. Loving every second of it, like he's uncovered some sort of big story or something.... In the end, I gave them everything down to the address where I lived....Where she lived. Daniella.

\- Did they check it out?

\- Oh yeah! They flew out there. Frank and Harrison. And they fucking found her Adam. Daniella Diaz. The exact girl Working on a market stall in Mendoza. I led them right to her.

\- And what, they just waltzed right up to her with the whole sleep talking story?

\- Pretty much yeah.

\- So which one of them did she slap first? Please say Frank.

\- Well, she actually listened at first, but in the end she wasn't having any of it.

\- Good on her, I say! They could have been any old fraudsters.

\- But they weren't though, were they. They were telling the truth.

\- So what did she do?

\- She shut them out after the initial conversation. Just walked right out of the café. Never even said bye.

\- So did they give up on her and come home?

\- Not exactly....
Chapter 33. Plan B

Her brown woodbound storage trunk had definitely seen better days.

As she loaded the last of the trinkets and ornaments into the decrepit old suitcase and prepared for the exhausting slog of dragging it home, the tiredness consumed Daniella in a way that seemed to put a layer of invisible fog between her and the real world. The sound of friends bidding goodbye to one another, the clatter of canopy frames being collapsed for the night and the whisper of the evening wind all seemed to be reaching her through a thick layer of cotton wool. Muffled, tired interpretations of otherwise ordinary sounds. The thought of a warm bath and the sweet, comforting smell of her Mother's carbonanda stew seemed an impossible fantasy. Twenty minutes though, and she'd be there. Only one of the two gold clasps on the old trunk still worked. She clicked it shut, took the handle and began the trek across the market square towards the shops behind the clock tower. She passed Fortunato's café, which was now quiet and in the confusing no-man's-land somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. Three old men drank wine and perched on barstools, debating something with slapstick enthusiasm; probably nothing worth debating at all, yet a part of Daniella was intrigued to know what it was. The rest of the shop was deserted now. She peered through the window and picked out the table where she had sat with Frank and Harrison two days earlier; now unoccupied.

In the two days since she'd met with Frank and Harrison, Daniella hadn't told a soul about their encounter. When she walked away from them at café that day, she'd gone back to her store and done her very best to forget about the whole episode. Daniella's world was a simple one. A world where trust and happiness reigned supreme. The very idea of something complex; something unusual and sinister that Frank's Dictaphone had presented her with, was like a herd of elephants invading the quaint, simplistic tea party that was her life. She'd been intrigued at first, swept along by the innocent curiosity of a small child exploring the world around her. But when she heard Kate Gaffney.... a girl from England that she'd never met, speaking her name with such cold certainty on the tape, well then....then it felt personal. Her Mother had been in a narky mood that night when she got home, complaining as she often did about everything from the state of her floor to the state of the country; usually without pausing to separate the two subjects. It just didn't seem like the time to bother her. So Daniella compartmentalised it; wrapping up the whole incident in a cute little package and popping it in the section of her mind marked, "not worth bothering anyone about". Then on went the smile, that smile.... and her wonderfully clear-cut life continued.

Frank and Harrison had already decided the spot they would snatch her from. They'd spent the previous two days getting familiar with her route home from the market, since she'd deserted them at Fortunato's after the whole Dictaphone disaster. I suppose the actual spot they took her from didn't matter too much, as long as they could get her in the car quickly enough and without anyone seeing. Harrison's brawn would be more than enough to keep her restrained enough to slip her the pill.

Frank looked at the tiny half-pink, half-red capsule of Palcranolol in his hand. Such an insignificant little thing to look at, but unlike the other weapon at Frank's disposal, Harrison Morgan, the pill's strength came from within, not from size or muscle.

Sat inside the silver Renault Kangoo hire-car, Harrison's hands banged a rhythmic beat on the plastic dashboard. Habits like this usually irritated Frank, especially habits that belonged to Harrison, whose company was slowly starting to drain him. Much as he hated to admit it though, Flex's stickless drumming was impressive. A lively pattern with subtle little accents on the offbeat. Too quick to be reggae. Perhaps ska or something. Impressive though. He listened a while, as Harrison drummed out the theme tune, to the coming drama.

\- Will you knock that racket on the head now?

The suck of the teeth.

\- Tis my way of releasing ten-shiorn, Frankie.

\- Tension? I thought you Jamaicans were meant to be laid-back sort of folk. Like on the Malibu adverts.

Harrison didn't resent the stereotype, but was more put out by Frank's general mardiness.

\- Us Jam-ayer-cans still get a lickle tetchy when we aboot to stuff a woman into a car and feed her up widda pill dat no man never erd of.

\- What do you mean, no man's ever heard of it? You and I both know what the pill does and we both know it's the only way we have left of getting her to come back home with us.

\- I-man didn't ave t'come ere widyoo, y'know Frankie. So ya stop widda big-boss-man ting, sight?

\- You didn't have to come with me, but you did. I don't know whether it was for a free holiday or on the off chance you'd get a slice of the glory, but since you're here, you may as well play house with the plan or we're both going to end up in the shit.

Frank only caught the word 'dollar' as Harrison mumbled something under his breath. It didn't matter now....

\- Here she comes!

Daniella looked more haggard and faded than Harrison had seen her before. Even under the deceiving combination of a dim sky and the occasional glare of a street lamp, the effects of a long day were evident on her face. Even that smile appeared to have gone home for the night, replaced instead by a battered look of fatigue. She crossed the road right beside their van, even glancing at them briefly, but seeing only her own reflection in the tinted side windows of the lifeless vehicle. Harrison made his move.

She was surprisingly feisty for a girl so small, but Harrison swept her into the van with relative ease as Frank held open the back doors, checking for watchers in the darkening streets around them. The kidnap routine hadn't been rehearsed, but somehow they'd made it look smooth and synchronised. Hardly a sound was allowed to come from Daniella before Harrison straddled her on the hard wooden floor in the back of the van, Frank sliding her wooden trunk full of jangly market wares alongside them, before shutting the doors and returning to the driver's seat.

Even during kidnap, Daniella somehow maintained a sort of dainty grace, flipping around like a caught fish, her mouth covered by Harrison's huge, black hand. She murmured and groaned a little, but nothing erratic. No biting, no kicking, no real retaliation. It just wasn't in her nature, even now. Her pretty green eyes bulged, her pupils dilated as they expanded and grew in an attempt to take in more visual data. More detail, more colour, anything that might yield a clue to what was happening to her. Confusion reigned. The van was dark, making the task of identifying her assailant almost impossible. Then she saw the pill.

Harrison kept his right hand pressed firmly down on Daniella's mouth, whilst forcing the pill underneath it with two fingers of his left hand. The adrenaline dump inside Harrison threw his co-ordination off kilter and the resulting clumsiness caused him to force his fingers a little too far down Daniella's throat. She gagged momentarily before he retrieved them quickly, a handful of stringy saliva for his troubles. The pill was in. He pushed his hand down harder onto Daniella's mouth. She squirmed as the discomfort of his weight threatened to crack her cheek bones. A muffled scream that had an under-water quality to it barely even registered amongst the chaos of the van. The suspension squeaking at every bump, the engine revving, the clunk after clunk of struggling body parts thudding against the van's perimeters.

Harrison locked his eyes on hers, continuing to push downwards, almost his entire weight now, close to reducing that delicate little face of hers to dust. He hated himself for it. He wanted to let go and cuddle her. Tell her to take the pill and everything would be ok. She wouldn't understand though. He didn't understand himself completely. But he trusted Frank. He pushed his face close to hers to get within a whispering earshot. Her eyes grew even wider now, whether from the pressure on her face or the fact that he was now close enough for her to recognise him as the man from Fortunato's café two days earlier. The smell of his own stale breath intensified as it rebounded back off Daniella's gorgeous, petrified little face, now just an inch from his. He felt dirty, like an ogre raping a baby doll, but he was here for no such cruelties. He tried to whisper, but adrenaline didn't cater for the intended subtleties, so it came out more aggressively than he'd have liked.

\- Swallow the pill, darling!

Daniella stared wildly into his eyes. A look of submission overtaking her face. She knew there was no other way. His hand came down harder still Something would break soon. Her spirit, her face...Daniella swallowed.

Harrison eased the pressure off her mouth now, leaving his hand in place to stop any screaming before the pill took hold. It wouldn't be long. He watched her drift, stroking her face as every bump in the road seemed to rock her further towards sleep. He was surprised at how quickly unconsciousness had grabbed her. He removed his jacket and propped it underneath her head as a pillow.

He looked up to the roof of the van and muttered a prayer that began, "Jah no judge..." before it trailed into incoherence and he began to sob.

Frank glanced back to Harrison from his driving position, barely batting an eyelid before turning back to concentrate on the road ahead. He never doubted that Harrison would take care of the task in hand and he knew the pill would take care of the rest. The sobbing though.... he hadn't expected that from Harrison. Flex was human though, I suppose. He flicked his headlights on to full-beam, as they turned into an unlit lane. The hotel wasn't far now. He pressed the play button on the CD player and eased the radio volume dial to the right slightly, as the sound of Frank Sinatra's 'At Long Last Love' took over the van, causing Frank to tap a little beat of his own on the dashboard.
Chapter 34. What goes around comes around

Rain had begun to fall on the churchyard. And not the fine stuff either. The cold, thick type of rain that made you arch your neck if a drop went down your collar. The yew trees sheltered the path a little, but not entirely. The occasional droplet would find its way through the web of branches, splatting dramatically onto the path below like a projectile launched towards Earth by some sort of intergalactic weather Lord.

The conversation was awkward. Disjointed and cringe worthy almost. It didn't feel fluent or natural. But then it wouldn't, would it? Sharing something she'd sworn not to share like this. But the relief of finally getting it out seemed to change Kate's whole complexion. Her stern face had been given an injection of personality. The pressure of a secret finally being released seemed to peel back the robotic mask, revealing the face of the young girl that lay beneath. The difference was hope. She knew Adam had put them both at risk with everything he'd done to escape, but she now saw that if he hadn't, there would never have been this hope. She'd have had nothing, but the depressing certainty that she would keep this secret to herself forever until Joe and Harrison got their orders that the time had arrived to dispose of her. Adam hadn't just put a cat in amongst the pigeons; he'd released the lions to maul the filthy little bastards! If she could get Adam back to the Institution in time, Joe and Co would have some big changes to make now that somebody else knew the real reason that they were keeping people in that hell hole!

And with change, there was hope.

Someone tore a hole in the sky and the resulting crack set free a rumbling cascade of thunder that caused the rain to come heavier now. Still the yew trees offered Kate and Adam relative immunity from the downpour. Cold, but dry at least. Kate hugged her knees in an attempt to make herself less of a target for the bitter elements. Adam went on, oblivious to the mini-apocalypse going on in the sky above.

\- So they tranquilised her?

-Well, they say she was out cold, so I suppose so, yeah.

\- And they stuffed her in a van?

-Uh-hu

Adam's tone was naturally suspicious, accusing even; but he no longer had reason to question the validity of what he was hearing, the way the old paranoid Adam would have done. This wasn't him cornering Kate in the Institution, forcing his latest crackpot theory on her any more. She'd come following after him, offering the answers on a plate. She'd come to save his life apparently.... Save his life? He'd temporarily forgotten about that part. Lost in the tales of a sleep-talking-Katey and an Argentinean kidnapping. Stories of the past that he listened to from the safe haven of the here and now. But Kate was here to save his life?

\- Sorry Katey, but fascinating as this trippy little fairytale is, didn't you say that I'd be dead soon?

\- I said they'll kill you before the sun goes down if I don't get you back to that Institution, yes.

\- Oh, excuse me for leaving out the details. I just heard "Yak, yak, yak, yak.... dead soon!"

\- Adam....

\- How the bastarding hell is this kidnap anything to do with me?

\- It's to do with all of us.

\- Us?

\- The Institution. Everyone there. We're all a part of this story Adam.

Something in the calm certainty with which she insisted on his involvement in all this caused some circuit breaker or other inside his brain to trip, sending currents of rage fizzing through his inner wirings. Adam's his face begin to radiate heat. Pins and needles danced inside his head, as the angry confusion relieved him of his usual senses. How could she paint him as a character in all of this without real explanation? Dancing around the answers, taunting him with pointless snippets and sub-plots.

\- My arse am I a part of this story! I'll show you what I think of your fucking story.

He had to let it out somehow. He surveyed his surroundings. Katey. A church. Trees. That pigeon, now long gone. His instinct took the reins and he bolted towards the cemetery gate, Kate in confused pursuit behind him. The rain seemed to sense the commotion, lashing harder as Adam reached the roadside. In reality, the rain sensed nothing, but they were out of the yew trees and exposed to the downpour. Open to fire.

Adam looked right along the dual carriageway, allowing two, three cars to pass. Further up the road, a double-decker West Midlands Travel bus stopped to pick up a couple of wet stragglers The red, white and blue giant hissed as its air-break system did its work. Interior lights dulled by the steam covered windows suggested a certain cosiness was to be had inside. Kate grabbed Adam by the arm and tried to pull him away from the road as the bus left its stop and began moving down the drenched road towards where Adam stood, perched on the curbside. He pushed Kate away, his own strength surprising him, as she fell back onto the puddle riddled pavement, letting go an undignified groan. He thought about helping her to her feet, but the bus was approaching faster now.

Kate knew the look that dominated Adam's eyes. She'd also been that determined to end her own life before. Experienced that level of certainty that not a single event that the world could conjure up would ever change her mind. She was on her way. Away from this hell. Ironic that here she was now, watching the same man who saved her from taking her own life, now about to take his own. And he didn't need to. He didn't have to. He didn't have as much reason to as Kate had when she tried it. She wracked her brain for the one sentence, the one-line summary she would wrap this mess of a story up in that would sell it to Adam and make him come home. She spoke from her seat in the grimy, leaf littered puddle.

\- Don't do this Adam!

Adam stared dead ahead. Glancing briefly to his right as the bus approached. Trying to look casual enough not to arouse the suspicion of the driver, nor to give the impression that he wanted the bus to stop for him, but poised and waiting for his moment to step out in front of it.

\- Just come back with me Adam. This'll all work out.

The squidge of tyres on wet tarmac now accompanied the low hum of the bus. Close enough to see the driver's face through the window. An Asian man, perhaps 50 years old. Bald head with greying beard. No moustache. Something to tell his grandchildren perhaps?

\- Get away from the road you selfish prick!

Adam didn't flinch.

\- The reason this whole story is to do with me is because I am Daniella Diaz! And Daniella is me! When you stopped me killing myself back at the Institution, you didn't just save me, you saved Daniella too. If you kill yourself now, you also kill a man on the other side of the world called Lionel Martinez. He is your Daniella, Adam!

Kate couldn't see Adam's face, but as far as she could tell, he continued to stare out onto the road. The humming and the squelching grew louder.

\- Right now, Joe McKenna is making a call to the Prime Minister's office to arrange for Lionel Martinez to be killed. If he dies, you die! They're killing Lionel to stop you dead in your tracks Adam. They can't have any of this shit get out into the world.... The Institution, The tunnels, the conspiracy theories. None of it! And now you're running around the streets armed with a sack-full of suspicious circumstances and a tendency to exaggerate. They're panicking Adam!!

Adam turned to Kate for first the time since reaching the curb. He scanned her eyes, but had no idea what he was looking for in them. He didn't even know what he thought any more.

\- Come back with me Adam.

A few smudged faces flashed by as the steamy bus left Kate and Adam a shower of road water as a parting gift. Kate watched the advertisement on the back of the bus get smaller and smaller, as it trundled obliviously into the distance:

"What goes around, comes around! Get around this Autumn, with bus and train travel from £9.99 per month"
Chapter 35. Change of clothes and an open mind

Getting her here had been the easy bit. An ultra-efficient kidnap witnessed by no one at all; not bad for their first ever attempt at such a hazardous crime. A quick dose of palcranolol, with the dual benefits of both sedating Daniella and preparing her for what was to come when she finally woke again. Minimal struggle and no injuries. Stage one had been a modest success, beyond what Frank could have hoped for.

It would have been unwise to have left a market trader's storage trunk lying suspiciously in the street after Harrison snatched Daniella, so Frank had loaded it into the van along with her. Now, the contents of the giant suitcase were strewn across the back of the Renault Kangoo, after Harrison had clumsily emptied them out on the way to the hotel. A tidal wave of ornaments and trinkets had surrounded Daniella, as she lay deep in the clutches of a palcranolol-induced sleep. On arriving in the hotel car park, they had loaded Daniella into the wooden trunk, closing its one working buckle and carefully lowered the box and its new human contents down onto the pavement. From there it was just a case of looking casual, which Harrison almost always did as a matter of habit anyway. He had wheeled Daniella through the barely supervised hotel lobby, a slightly exaggerated spring of overconfidence in his step, as he whistled a perfectly tuned rendition of 'Israelites' by Desmond Dekker and did his best to make it appear like the load he was pulling did not weigh around 110 pounds. As a distraction, Frank had tried to engage the old, bearded Argentinean man behind the reception desk in a conversation about bus times, but seeing as the man appeared reluctant to lift his eyes from his copy of today's edition of 'Los Andes', Frank probably needn't have been too concerned about whether the man would notice the six foot, three inch dreadlocked Jamaican wheeling an unconscious Argentinean market girl through his reception in a giant suitcase.

Frank felt a pang of guilt about tying up Daniella. As he looked at her flimsy little wrists tied to the hotel room bed posts with cable-ties that were normally used to prevent hub caps falling off car wheels, he considered for a second whether restraining her was really necessary. Yes.... it definitely was. An essential part of the process. What if she screamed when she woke up? What if she flipped out and trashed the place? What if her survival instincts took over and she started swinging punches and flailing kicks at them? The thought of Daniella trying to inflict harm on his man-mountain partner Harrison with those dainty little arms entertained Frank for a moment, making him smirk to himself like a cocky teenager. He popped a white, rolled-up cotton sports sock into her mouth and marveled for a second at how her body automatically made the adjustment to breathing through her nose. She didn't even stir.

The palcranolol would probably have kept her out for another hour or so, but it was time Frank didn't want to waste. The ammonium carbonate smelling salts would take care of that. Frank gave Harrison the nod and on cue, he produced the little brown, glass bottle. Another deceptively small package of chemical magic. Frank passed the smelling salts under Daniella's perfect little button nose and as if he'd pressed the 'wake up' button on one of those realistic, hi-tech, modern dolls, her eyes sprung open and stared blankly to the ceiling, her brain yet to catch up with the visual stimulus her eyes were now trying to process. Frank caressed Daniella's forehead with caring, reassuring strokes of his hand, as her eyes began to widen, the panic taking hold. Her scream seemed to fill her whole face, causing it to bulge with indignity, its exit path through her mouth blocked by the rolled up sock.

\- Just relax Daniella. The only person who is going to harm you is yourself. Just listen to what we have to say and this'll all work out.

As Daniella's breathing quickened, Frank spoke with the casual confidence of an airline pilot reassuring his passengers that the violent jolting that rocked the plane was just a routine pocket of turbulence.

\- Calm, calm, calm. Ok.

Daniella eventually gained a rudimentary control over her breathing. Doing her best to relax as Frank had instructed. Her eyes continued to bulge however, betraying her brain's intentions to stay as calm as possible.

Frank smiled at Daniella in acknowledgement of her compliance. She was listening to him. That had to be a good sign at least.

\- I'm going to take this gag out of your mouth now Daniella. It's important that you don't do anything stupid now, ok? Any noise, any sudden movements, and we'll be back to square one. Do you understand me Daniela?

Daniella nodded. Her eyes containing a new level of fear now, as if the removal of the gag signified the next chapter of this drama, the details of which she didn't want to entertain. Harrison was poised and ready to smother her if necessary, as Frank carefully slipped the white sock out of her mouth. She gasped as she took her first mouthful of the dirty, stale hotel room air, whimpering a little, as she struggled desperately to contain her emotions from spilling out all over the room. Her bottom lip protruded and quivering in a way that sent a twinge of sympathy for her through Frank's stomach.

The beta blocker had been injected into Daniella's arm while she slept and by now was busy coursing its way through her system, lying in wait to work its magic. On its own though, the drug would be useless as far as memory tampering went. Currently, it was floating aimlessly around Daniella's system like a blind sniper with a loaded gun, but no notion of exactly what or where it should attack. To delete or remould the relevant memories, Frank needed to bring them to the forefront of Daniella's mind. Once he'd got the memories out into the open like this, Frank could bend and manipulate them into a new form with an expert blend of programming language and phraseology that he had mastered through his research. A second dose of the sedative would whisk Daniella off on her second trip to sleepsville in the space of a few hours, giving the new, modified memory time to 'set' in her brain. Frank called this part of the process 'sealing'. The new memory would be given time to integrate itself into her brain while she slept, mingling in amongst her real, genuine memories and her sleep state brain activity, a.k.a dreams. The idea was that upon waking in a few hours, the new memory would be 'sealed' into Daniella's mind. Her chances of knowing about what had happened to her not helped by her confused and disorientated state, caused by a series of erratic, induced sleeps, a barrage of neuro linguistic trickery and of course the effects of the beta blockers.

Frank then planned to load her back into the van and drive back to the exact spot they had taken her from. When she approached consciousness again, Frank would give Harrison the nod to carefully unload her from the van, along with her giant trunk full of market stall trinkets and place her in the exact spot they'd taken her from initially. She'd then wake up to a party of confusion, unable to account for the time that had elapsed since she apparently collapsed in the middle of the street on the way home. The new remoulded memories would be buried somewhere inside her head, just waiting for the moment that something or someone triggered Daniella to try to recall them.

But first things first, there was one more side story to this experiment that Frank needed to straighten out to cure his own curiosity....

\- Daniella, do you remember what happened to you? How you got here....

Frank spoke as if he didn't know the answer himself. As if he and Harrison hadn't bundled her into the back of a van on her way home from work.

\- It was you, wasn't it?

Daniella looked accusingly at Harrison, who had lost all of his lady's-man charm and was understandably doing his sheepish best to remain inconspicuous, given his new kidnapper status. He stared at the floor, under instruction from Frank to leave the talking to him. Frank continued pulling the memory to the forefront of Daniella's mind.

\- What do you remember Daniella?

\- I'd finished work. I crossed the piazza. I had my trunk with me. I remember passing Fortunato's.... Someone grabbed me.....He grabbed me!

Daniella pointed a calm, nit accusing finger at Harrison who continued his intimate gaze with the floor.

\- What's all this about? What do you want from me? If you want money, then you've got the wrong girl. I work on the market, selling little bits of tack mainly.

\- We know what you are Daniella, and we don't want money.

\- What is it then? The tape? The recording you showed me? I won't tell a soul, I swear.

\- So you remember that? What exactly do you remember about the recording Daniella?

\- The girl. Kate was it? She was ill, right? She said my name. She thought she was me.

\- That's correct Daniella. And you remember the dog that burst into Fortunato's and went wild?

\- A dog?

There was no dog at Fortunato's that Day, but Frank was multitasking here. Whilst his main objective was to coax the real memory to the forefront of Daniella's mind, so he could remould it into something new, he was also slipping some false memories into the mix. Frank called these phony decoy memories 'Wallys', after the children's book character 'Where's Wally?', who would hide himself discreetly in a scene on the page that the artist had purposely designed to be chaotic and difficult to navigate. Slipping the Wallys into the subject's mind was an important part of the remoulding process Frank had devised. The purpose of implanting these false memories was twofold: In the short term, it would serve to add confusion to a mind that at this point was very impressionable, having had the emotion stripped from its recollections by the beta blockers. She was also in a traumatic situation, which would lead her to a natural state of survival driven obedience and compliance, making it all the easier to sell these lies to her. Later, when they drugged her unconscious again and dropped her off at the spot they'd snatched her from, any vague recollections of strange occurrences like a dog trashing a restaurant would just add to the notion that she had been dreaming.

\- Yeah, you remember the dog. It just waltzed through the door as someone was leaving. Barking, panting, knocking over tables and stuff.

Daniella paused for a moment.

\- Right, the dog....Yeah.

\- That's why you left. We never got a chance to finish our chat.  
Harrison looked up from the floor for the first time in a while. He was impressed by what he was seeing. Frank had outlined his remoulding techniques to him in dumbed down terms, but to see Frank in action like this; well that was something entirely different!

\- So that's why you snatched me? Why you put me in a van and brought me here? Just to finish our chat?

The way Daniella spoke about her own kidnap was so calm and unflustered. A sure sign that the beta blockers were hard at work manipulating the functions of the amygdale, the part of the brain responsible for memory consolidation. Amongst other things, the beta blockers lessened the effects of adrenaline release while the amygdale was activated, making the memories appear less traumatic to Daniella. They were now merely a mass of raw, indifferent information. Whilst they were in this raw state, and seeing how Daniella now had no emotional attachment making her cling to the real version of events, the memory could be tampered with and altered. Frank got back to work on just that.

\- We saw you on your way home and we thought we could talk to you. Wrap this whole thing up, y'know? But when Harrison here tapped you on the shoulder, you screamed and shouted for help.

Daniella's eyes offered no clues as to whether she believed what Frank was saying. He continued.

\- I don't know if it was the dark night or what. I don't blame you though.... I mean, look at him.

Frank gestured an open palm from Harrison's head all the way to the floor, indicating his size.

\- He scares me to look at in broad daylight most of the time.

He slapped Harrison on the back, letting out a high pitched chuckle that opened a peephole to the nervousness that he'd been burying under his mask of confidence. Harrison responded with a brief spasm of his torso, which vaguely resembled a silent, unenthusiastic laugh. Daniella forced a blank smile, which moved to a frown, her eyes narrowing as if this somehow channeled the memory better.

\- I can't.... I mean.... I don't.... It's fuzzy..... You know....

This was Frank's favourite part of the show. They always started off so sure of themselves. But then there was always a point. This point, where you could almost see the internal dilemma of the person, as they began to doubt their own recollections, sometimes even their own sanity. The beta blockers had softened the memories to putty and Frank was slowly reshaping them into something Daniella didn't recognise. It was child's play from this point. The more he could control the conversation, and the less he allowed her time to try to introspectively retrieve the original memory, the more quickly he could make the new memory harden, meaning the truth would be buried and irretrievable. Frank quickly interrupted Daniella, before she had chance to think.

\- It's ok mate. You're bound to be confused after blacking out like that.

\- I blacked out?

\- We put you in the van to get you out of the way. Calm you down. We didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. What, with the screaming and everything. Two foreigners and a young girl. We knew how it looked, but we would never do a thing to hurt you Daniella.

\- It's kind of coming back to me.

It wasn't coming back to her at all. In fact, it was slipping further and further away from her with every expert layer of deceit that Frank was weaving into her now deluded mind. Silence grasped the room for a few moments, as all parties seemed to be taking stock of where they were at.

\- A pill !

The sudden outburst was like an alarm calling Frank back to work. He'd relaxed for a second, but there was a loose end that was screaming to be tied up.

\- I remember a pill ! You gave it to me.

Daniella's tone seemed more excited than skeptical or accusing.

\- For your head. You banged it on the floor of the van when you blacked out. I knew you'd wake up with a pounding skull, so I got Harrison here to force a tablet down you, so it kicked the pain out before you woke up.

Daniella hit Harrison with a coy smile that melted away the tension that had kept him silent up until now.

\- Thank you.

\- No problem gal. Ya near-ally tek me 'and off widya teet.

Harrison mimed the action of biting off his own hand, which cleared up the confusion his accent had caused for someone whose first tongue wasn't English. Daniella smiled again, before pointing down one corner of her mouth apologetically. She turned to Frank.

\- How long have I been asleep?

\- About an hour. Maybe a little more. Do you have family that will be worrying about you?

\- My Mother, perhaps. I sometimes stop at Fortunato's for a coffee after work though. It'll be another hour or two before she starts fretting.

\- Do you think she'll be cool with you coming back to England with us?

Frank had been picking his moment to drop that bomb. He wasn't sure whether it was a step too far for the first remoulding session. They had another couple of days in Argentina tops though. They likely didn't have time for a second session. Daniella paused for a second, her skeptical frown has gone, replaced by a look of only mild confusion. Then acceptance washed over her. The momentum was with her now.

\- To meet Kate you mean? The sick girl?

Bonus! Frank hadn't expected her to build on the lies with her own additions. This was getting too easy.

\- Yeah, of course. We leave tomorrow.

\- I won't tell her. Probably best I don't. She'll only worry about me.

Daniella adored her Mother, but the beta blockers had stripped her of any emotional preference. Be with her Mother, get on a plane and fly to the opposite side of the planet to her Mother, it didn't matter. It was simply what was.

When Daniella awoke on the pavement of Piazzo Tiartino, a young, good-looking gentlemen she didn't recognise stood over her. His maroon skin and side-parting seemed made to sit alongside eachother. She thought she was being mugged at first, but she soon realised that he was acting way too calmly for that. He was talking into a mobile phone, occasionally glancing down casually at Daniella, like she was merely an incidental feature of the pavement. When he noticed her waking up, his talking quickened, as he said his goodbyes to the person on the other end of the line.

\- Stay where you are girl. The police are on their way. Did you get a good look at them?

Daniella felt a strange fizz at the top of her right thigh, which immediately drew her hand to the spot to feel out the source of this bizarre rumbling. A mobile phone. She dug it out of her pocket, flipping open the folding display. She sheltered the text message from the glaring sun light with a cupped hand.

Airport taxi rank. 11pm. Passport. Change of clothes. Open mind. Frank.

The pretty boy was on the other side of the street talking to an elderly couple as he smoked a cigarette. He had his back to Daniella, but gestured towards her occasionally, pointing out his prized discovery, as he waited for the police to arrive.

Daniella picked her moment and ran.
Chapter 36. The Sundance Kid

Frank checked his watch, as he threw the last of his belongings into the black, leather hold-all.

\- Frankie-bwoy! Ya come ere and pull a perfect lickle stunt like dis and den ya gotta goo draw 'tention t'yaself by dressing like ya gonna teef a bank or some-tink.

Frank glanced down at the bag. It did have an air of The Sundance Kid about it if he was honest.

\- It's just a bag Harrison. Do you have yours ready?

\- Irie!

Harrison patted his Adidas hold-all. They'd both travelled light for a reason. The reason being that Frank knew that when the time came to leave, it would likely need to be a sharp exit like this.

\- Ya tink da gal a gonna show Frankie?

\- I'm not sure mate. I did my best on her. I've had worse remoulding sessions than that that have turned out just fine. If she doesn't show, we go home without her. What can I say? We tried.

Harrison looked pensive as he surveyed the room for any of his possessions he'd missed.

\- So she just gonna wake up on the pavement and tink she bin dreaming, yeah dread? She nah gonna memba me bustin her up in the van?

\- You didn't bust her up Harrison.... I don't know. I've had some interesting results in the past. The best case scenario is that the new memories I planted inside her have set so firmly that she retains all the bullshit I fed her after the drug wears off.

\- So alr dem tings aboot the dog in Fortunato's....Aboot her coming back t'England widdus.... Shorty gonna buy arl dat non-sense and forget aboot I-man bustin her up widda shackles?

\- She'll wake up a little confused when she comes round. Her instinctive reaction will be to try to remember how she got there. And the idea is that when she does that, when she delves through the snippets of memory and tries to piece them together, she'll bring forward the information I put there, and hopefully realise that she's meant to be coming with us.

\- And if she nah wanna come?

\- I remoulded it to have her believe she'd already agreed to come. That it was already part of the plan. The betas will have stripped out the emotion from that thought, so when she recalls it and when she reads the text message telling her to meet us at the airport, it'll just be fact. No more or less than a cold, hard, soulless fact.

\- Sight.

Frank knew Harrison either wasn't convinced nor did he have any idea what he was talking about. He just didn't have time to go into it much more.

\- Look, if it goes the way it should, she'll just feel compelled to do what her head's telling her to do. You know, like when you put a CD into you CD player. The disc is just a set of instructions. The player doesn't start getting emotional or worrying about whether or not playing the CD is the right thing to do; it just.....

The knock on the door seemed too surreal to be true. There was no reason for anyone to be visiting them. They hadn't had a maid the whole time they'd been there. Such was the level of service in bargain-basement accommodations like this. Frank's mind flew on a whistle-stop tour of all absurd possibilities. Did his session not go as well as he'd thought? Was Harrison right? Did Daniella remember getting 'busted up' and brought to this very hotel room? Did she somehow direct the police back here? She was drugged out cold in the van. But someone was out there knocking.

\- Who karlin?

Harrison's blunt request for the visitor to identify themselves left Frank feeling obliged to clarify.

\- Erm.. Who.... Who's there please?

It came out so timid and pathetic. Like someone doing an exaggerated impression of a quaint English accent.

There were two, maybe three seconds of suspense-filled silence before the crash of the door being kicked through sent Frank flinching backwards, tripping over his bag and ending up in a heap at the bottom of the same bed he'd been sleeping in since they'd arrived.

Frank had never given much thought to whether Harrison could fight. I guess on a subconscious level he might have just presumed he could handle himself on account of his physical stature. It wasn't a given though.

There seemed to be no time gap between the door being kicked in and Harrison standing face to face with the intruder, who ensured a non-intimate distance remained between them by brandishing a 9mm semi-automatic hand gun. The intruder couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the weapon, his focus darting frantically from the ridged barrel of the gun and then to Harrison, and then back to the weapon, as if he himself couldn't really believe that he was holding such an item.

Harrison's inner fight-or-flight meter always defaulted to fight mode, but there's something about having a lethal weapon pointed at you that sort of takes that decision out of your hands. Harrison's life journey until now was one that hadn't crossed the path of many guns; this was the first in fact. He analysed the guns components in detail, the names of which he wasn't weapon-wise enough to know. Barrel, bullet, trigger. I suppose that's all you really needed to know. He shared his focus equally between the gun and its master. Desperately looking for a sign that the trigger was about to be pulled, but not wanting to hold his stare for long enough to be considered a challenge to pull the trigger.

Enough time passed for the stand-off to become a little awkward. The onus in a situation like this should have been on the assailant to make his motives clear. That sort of came with the territory of would-be marksman.

\- Wuddis arl aboot? Ya wah cash?

In Harrison's mind, money was about the most logical reason he could think of that would justify someone doing something like this.

No response.

\- Money? Cash? Ya wahn cash? Frankie, whaya got der dread?

Frank wasn't listening. Distracted by where he'd seen the man's face before. They hadn't been in the country that long, so there wasn't that many people he could recognise. His mind skipped through a highlight reel of their trip in fast forward, eliminating faces he'd seen along the way. Fortunato! The owner of the café. And with that revelation, his mind flicked to motives. Motives for bursting into their hotel room and pointing a....

\- Frankie!

Harrison's voice rocked Frank back in line with the present moment like the shrill of a morning alarm clock.

\- Gidda man what he come for Frankie.

Frank fumbled his pockets briefly. Nothing. He knew there was nothing there. He slowly edged towards his bag, never losing Fortunato's gaze. His eyes desperately trying to convey his submission. Fortunato saved him the bother.

\- I didn't say money. I'm not here for your money. Don't go any nearer the bag there.

Frank was grateful to be spared the embarrassment of offering his measly 90 Argentine Peso and 45 British Pounds in exchange for his life.

\- On the bed....both of you!

Both men edged towards the bed, Harrison holding his hand out in a 'stop' gesture, as if that would be enough to deflect the bullet should their new friend decide to shoot.

\- Talk!

Both men looked at each other in genuine confusion.

\- Erm.... Talk about what.... Sir?

There was no need for the Sir. Harrison kissed his teeth in pity of Frank's dismal weakness. It was humbling enough being bossed around by this clown, but giving him a title was a step too far.

\- Let's start with Daniella....

Frank's heart sank.

\- How do you know her? And what did you say to her in my café that made her hit the road so fast?

Harrison looked to Frank for the answer. This required craft and thinking, and it was clear by now that that was his department.

\- We were interviewing her as part of our research. She was on a break from the stall. She had to dash back before the afternoon rush started.

\- What research is it?

\- We're working on a university project based out of Birmingham, England. Looking at how unskilled workers in foreign countries make ends meet on a low income.

A pause. The gunman offering no input. A clear indication that Frank's explanation would need far more meat than that if it were to wash with him.

\- Our country's on its knees at the moment. Even the middle class are struggling to make ends meet. Petrol costs the earth, the housing market's a mess. We need to get back to basics if we're going to....

\- And this research required you to chuck the market stall girl into your van and bring her here to this hotel

Busted!

\- We dunno whaya tark aboot!

If it was in Frank's nature to suck his teeth, then this is the point he would have done so. Fortunato had found the hotel easily enough. The only way he could have known where they were was if he'd followed them there, which meant they didn't have a leg to stand on. Not as far as kidnapping Daniella went anyway.

\- Why don't you ask Daniella for yourself what happened?

\- So you're telling me she's not here?

Distrust dripped from Fortunato's words.

\- Tek a look around, badman. Be our guest.

The invite to have a mooch around seemed to appeal to Fortunato, despite the fact that in possession of the firearm, he could have pretty much done what he pleased anyway. He squinted at the pair suspiciously, as if he were trying to derive from their eyes the location of the booby traps and banana skins they'd planted around the hotel room. Fortunato backed up toward the door he'd entered through, the gun's aim never shifting from the foot of the bed where the unlikely duo were perched. He swung open the wardrobe door with drama that was verging a little too much on slapstick for such a tense situation. Nothing. He checked under both beds, which gave the whole episode an air of a juvenile game of hide and seek that forced Frank to internalise his amusement. No Daniella under the beds either. Fortunato looked at the bathroom, then back at the men with a knowing look of 'now I've figured it out'. He stuck his head around the bathroom door, while his arm remained outstretched, pointing the gun. He couldn't reach the light cord without taking the gun off the pair.

\- You! Little guy....

Frank wasn't particularly little, but sat next to Harrison, there was only one of them he could have been referring to.

\- Come in here and pull the light cord for me.

Frank did as he was told. Across the room, eyes on the gun. There was a brief moment when Frank crossed his path to enter the bathroom that Fortunato hesitated as to where the gun should be pointing. Momentary panic set in as he darted his aim back and forth between Frank and Harrison, before he settled on a compromise. Gun pointed at Harrison, eyes fixed on Frank, who calmly pulled the light cord in the bathroom and gestured almost smugly at the lack of Daniella in the room. There was nowhere else she could be hiding.

\- Join your friend back there on the bed. Don't do anything stupid now.

The order was barked now. The gunman clearly stressed by the conclusion that he had come here on a whim and had now run himself into a bit of an awkward cul-de-sac. Frank stopped in the middle of the room. His hands raised in surrender, desperately trying to free himself from blame for the fact that Harrison was nowhere to be seen.

\- Where the fuck is the black one?

The bark was a full-on shout now. Part anger, part fear. He'd dropped a clanger taking his eyes off the main threat.

\- Mate, please. I don't know. He must have.... He'll be back. I swear. We'll find him together. Just.....

\- Where the _fuck_ are you negro?

He pointed the gun around the place manically. Scoping out even the most ridiculous nooks and crannys of the room.

\- Get the fuck back on the bed now negro, or I will shoot your friend right here and now.

Frank's stomach twisted. Death was a familiar concept to him, but only in safe, journalistic theory and medical textbooks. A direct threat to his life from a complete stranger sent blood rushing to his face. He felt violated. How did anyone have the right to threaten to put a stop to his being? He wanted to act, to go down fighting, but to move would be to invite gunshot. A dilemma. Horrible. Fortunato pulled back the slide to load the gun's chamber.

\- Come out here negro. Don't think I'm fucking around here.

Frank contemplated the dingy, muggy, Argentine shit hole that was about to become the location of his final chapter. Why here....? Of all places? He'd firmly believed that coming to this place was a calling. But now.... A calling to what? To the end of his days? Perhaps he was meant to go. Perhaps fate compelled him to follow this crackpot lead half way across the world because it was his time to die. He didn't quite catch where Harrison sprung out from, but he saw him before Fortunato did. Frank braced, expecting gunshot, as Harrison wrestled Fortunato to the floor, smothering him flat onto his stomach, the weapon trapped somewhere between the heap of body parts and the carpet. Fortunato was beaten all ends up for strength and position, but one finger on that trigger would give him the ultimate leveller. Harrison postured up and smashed a hooked right fist to the side of Fortunato's head, producing a dull thud which disappointed Frank, who for some reason had expected the 'thwap' sound he'd heard in fights in movies and computer games. The gunman's body went limp and Harrison carefully extracted the weapon from under his redundant body, handing it to Frank, who pinched the barrel between thumb and forefinger, placing on the bed at arms length like he was putting a dead spider out into the garden.

Harrison granted himself a moment of calm to absorb the relief, before getting back to work.

He fired off the same hooked punch that had put Fortunato to sleep, but the fact that it was now aimed at a lifeless target seemed to add to its brutality.

\- Whedda bad man karlin I-man a negro?

Harrison pulled Fortunato up into a sitting position, his head flopping with the indignity of a dead chicken.

\- Tark bad man! Tark t'me! Karl I-man a negro now. Karl I-man a negro, bad man!

Smack!

Harrison was punishing the same spot adjacent to Fortunato's eyebrow for a third time.

\- Tark, bad man! Fucking tark!

Harrison telegraphed six or seven carbon copies of the punch to the exact same spot on Fortunato's head. He was probably dead by the third or fourth, but killing was more an incidental side-effect of Harrison's main intention, which appeared to be to physically hammer his point into Fortunato.

The Renaullt Kangoo hire-car that had yesterday played a starring role in a kidnap routine would now morph seamlessly into its next function as a corpse wagon, carrying Fortunato Colombo to his final resting place. Disposing of the body was a task that their already tight schedule could barely accommodate, and with the luxury of more time, they would probably have come up with a more thorough way. As it were though, the body was wrapped in a hotel bed sheet, along with two 20 kilogram kettlebells purchased from a sports and fitness store in the square. In the shop, Frank and Harrison had argued in hushed voices about how much weight would be needed to do the job. As Fortunato disappeared beneath the cold, still lake in General San Martin's Park, it was clear that they had calculated correctly. Harrison was surprised at how quickly the water consumed the parcel. Within seconds, vague, gentle ripples gliding across the moonlit lake were the only evidence of the sinister dumping. Before long, the water found its own level again and settled back to a silky plateau, masking any sign of misdemeanour.
Chapter 37. Lex's will

Adam was defeated in every sense. Exhausted past the point of being able to beg for answers any more and embarrassed by the fickleness of his own empty suicide threat. He was confused by the urgency Kate was insisting on that seemed to conflict the excruciatingly long-winded way she was drip feeding him information. As much as he wanted to walk away from it all, his inner detective couldn't be suppressed in its quest for information and answers.

\- Maybe I should just sit here and wait it out. Doesn't all that philosophy bullshit you read say that everything happens for a reason? Perhaps I'll just hang around and see what happens. If I'm meant to die, then that's the will of Jesus or whatever isn't it?

\- If you're referring to God's will, then no, it isn't. It's Lex McGivern's will.

\- The Prime Minister bloke?

\- Yep. Well, ultimately it's his call. In reality though, he's probably got a load of skivvies doing his liaising with Joe and Geoff.

\- What? Our Joe and Geoff?

\- Yep. Our Joe and Geoff. Institution Joe and Geoff. Zap you down with their taser guns Joe and Geoff.

\- They know the Prime Minister? Why? How?

Adam felt a sudden rush of potential questions stampede through his head, threatening to split his brain into unfathomable pieces.

\- I knew it man! Government conspiracy....what did I say to you? And what's with this Lionel chap? And Daniella? The kidnap! And how's it anything to do with me? What did I do? Lionel and Daniella? Where are they now?

\- Ducie.

The word felt smooth and satisfying, as it left Kate's lips. Those two little syllables seeming to contain the answers to the problem, and perhaps to the entire universe. In a funny way, Ducie was all anyone need know about all this. That wouldn't be enough to get Adam back to the Institution though.

\- Who the fuck's Ducie?

\- Where is it, you mean... An island. South Pacific. Uninhabited.

Kate abbreviated the description, excluding any word not crucial to comprehension.

\- Uninhabited?

\- Yeah, you know.... as in, nobody lives there.

\- I know what it means, Katey. But you said Ducie was where Lionel and Daniella were.

\- It is. I meant it was uninhabited. Before....

Kate stumbled. Every word of every sentence seemed loaded with the potential to burst open a new can of worms for Adam to waste time flapping over.

\- Before they got there.

\- Got to Ducie?

\- Uh,hu.

\- What did they go there for?

\- They were taken there Adam.

\- What, just the two of them?

\- No.... 61 of them!

Another bombshell that stopped Adam dead in his tracks at the ideal moment when the conversation had become a punchy interrogation-like exchange.

Kate wasn't sure whether Adam had made the link that 61 was remarkably similar to the number of Institution patients. He was pretty slow in the academic sense, but he did have a knack for hitting a lucky bull's-eye every now and then.

\- Who are they all?

\- They call them counterparts.... Of the people in the Institution. I don't know them all by name, but there's one for each of us. Yours is Lionel. Mine is Daniella.

\- Like twins or something?

\- Not really. This is the thing.... It all goes back to the experiments.
Chapter 38. Squirrels, crows and a single frog

When our brain makes a memory, it's not like making a cake. For one, the memory itself isn't tangible. You can't pick it up and hold it, and you certainly can't eat it. People often talk about 'having a bad memory' like they talk about 'having a bad back' or 'having bad eyesight'. Rather than being an object or a physical body part though, a person's memory is a process; the process of remembering. And like all processes it can be changed. The process of remembering can be changed, and by that token so can the memories themselves. The market is flooded with a million and one methods ranging from herbal enhancers and hypnosis to borderline witchcraft, all claiming to improve your memory in exchange for a slice of your wealth.

For the same reasons the process of memory can be improved, it can also be deteriorated; or as Frank Gilbert liked to call it, "memory remoulding".

At the time Frank became interested, the ability of beta blockers to dull the emotional memory of a trauma was an accepted, if not slightly sketchy piece of scientific fact. Beta blockers work by inhibiting the body's normal sympathetic nervous system; they do this by blocking the binding of the stress hormones epinephrine and norepinephrine.

It had begun with tests on lab rats who were taught to associate the sound of a particular tone with a fear response. The tone would be played into the box containing the rats and after a few seconds, the box would be shaken vigorously and water sprayed onto the little rodents, causing them to scurry around the box in a panic. After a while, the rats learned to associate the sound of the tone with the chaos that was about to follow. Eventually, just playing the tone was enough to cause the rats to scurry for their lives around the box, such was the fearful association they'd now created with that particular sound. After being administered the beta blockers, the fear response in the rats disappeared completely, suggesting that either the traumatic, emotional element had been removed from the memory, or that the entire memory itself had been deleted.

Tests on humans soon followed, but on much more humane terms than those that the rats had endured. Subjects were taught to associate the image of a spider with slightly uncomfortable, but ultimately harmless electric shocks administered to them. Inevitably, before long most of the subjects were uncomfortable with the image of the spider without the shocks, even where no arachnophobic tendencies had previously been present. Half of the group was later given the beta blockers, whilst the other half took a placebo and their fear response to the spider image was measured through the force of their eye blinks. The eye blink can be measured with small wires placed under the eye that detect contraction of the eye muscles and send a signal to a computer. When people are afraid, they startle more and ultimately blink harder. This is called "fear-potentiated startle". As expected, the group that took the beta blockers showed less of a startle response than the group that took the placebo, suggesting that the emotional element of the memory had been eradicated.

It wasn't long before the project became shrouded in controversy around the ultimate purpose of the research. The rumour mill churned out stories of the government's plan to create ruthless, armies of emotionless soldiers, void of conscience or regret; robotic human fighting machines on the military frontline, doing the country's dirty work without fear of the government receiving hefty medical invoices to fix the post-combat trauma of the survivors.

Evolutionists quickly joined the debate, arguing that our built-in fear responses were the result of thousands of years of natural progression, teaching humans throughout the ages to store vital memories that reminded them to stay clear of ancient predators and beasts and in a more modern context, oncoming lorries, ruthless muggers and other potentially fateful situations. Toying with or removing these crucial memories would be disabling this self-protective instinct that had helped get the human race to where it is today. Devolution. Regression. The opposite of what nature intended.

It started as a side hobby. A trainee neurologist trying to hatch a theory in a field of much speculation, but very little concrete fact. Frank had tracked the development of the research with great interest, disappointed when the objections coming from various quarters eventually jammed the wheels of project, causing it to fall silently off the radar of the scientific community. Determined, and still believing that there was mileage in the findings so far; Frank launched a private and unsolicited study of his own. He quickly became hooked on the idea that if the beta blockers could completely strip a memory of its emotional attachments, then the raw mass of information and images that was left behind in the subject's mind could be carved into a different memory entirely if the subject was nurtured with the right neuro-linguistic treatment. In other words, Frank believed that it was possible to convince the subjects that they had experienced things that they had not.

Even without the beta blockers, Frank had had some success in proving this to be true. One of his early experiments saw him take a group of 10 students to a nature reserve, where they were each given a camera and asked to take photographs of any wildlife they could find. At the end of the session, they were asked to hand their cameras back to Frank, who would go away and develop all the pictures. The group got back together the following week to discuss the exercise. Before the students arrived, Frank pinned 300 photos around the room; photos that the students believed were the ones they'd taken at the nature reserve. In actual fact, they were an entirely different set of photos that Frank had taken at the same nature reserve when he'd returned there the following day, armed with a camera and a van containing 3 chickens, a rabbit, a woodpecker and a pig; none of which were animals photographed by the students. All 10 students claimed to have taken at least one of the photographs, with some laying claim to several of them. 2 of the students distinctly recalled seeing the pig in the nature reserve, despite there being no pig of which to speak at the location. To Frank's knowledge, there were no chickens there and there may well have been no woodpecker either. His experiment already a success, Frank's final blow was to produce the real photographs taken by the students, which contained nothing more than a dull sequence of squirrels, crows and a single frog.

Fooling someone into thinking they remembered seeing a pig is something in itself, but as entertaining as he found it, Frank knew that it only proved part of a point. He spent the next 12 months nurturing similar tests, some involving beta blockers, which heightened the impact of the memory remoulding by voiding the emotional elements of the subjects' recollections.

Frank's next project was cigarette smokers; unleashing his ever-improving Neuro-Linguistic Programming skills, combined with a drug that Frank had named Crop (an enhanced version of the beta blocker that Frank had developed himself) to convince his subjects that they had never smoked in the first place. His patients would be bombarded with cleverly chosen words and loaded phrasing, which effectively brainwashed them into remoulding the memory once the beta blockers had done their job of removing all emotional attachment to cigarettes. It wasn't long before word got around about this magic cure for the addiction and Frank had a queue of nicotine reliant acquaintances demanding his services. Reluctant to fall into a career as a fag shrink, Frank taught his techniques to Billy Masterton, a friend and fellow student, under a sort of franchise agreement that saw a cut of the takings go directly to Frank, with day to day patient management taken care of by Billy. Freed of the time burden and with a steady income to finance his other research, the deal suited the pair perfectly.

Things ticked over nicely for a few months with Frank amassing a modest little fortune in exchange for doing not much at all. Then in the August of 2006, Frank got the call that would set off a chaotic chain of events, ultimately leading him to this budget Argentine hotel room, where he now stood over an innocent, unconscious market-stall girl. A state sponsored research project was assessing alternative solutions to the country's spiraling bill for its methadone program. By hook or by crook, they had discovered Billy Masterton's stop-smoking clinic and Billy in turn had pointed them to Frank. The noble idea of changing lives on a nationwide scale appealed to Frank's scientific ambitions, even if the thought of a career as a smack shrink didn't strike him as a destiny fulfillment. And so from spraying water at confused rats, Frank's persistence had eventually led him on to the government founded 'Two Steps Forward' project, where he began adapting his methods to fit an entirely new purpose of making junkies forget that they were the desperate, pathetic little lowlifes that they were.
Chapter 39. It could be you

Eduardo cleared his throat to address his people. He was about to sentence someone to their death, but strangely, that disturbed him a lot less than the lie he was telling in the process. It had all happened a lot quicker than he'd imagined since he got the call informing him that Adam Trundle had gone on the run from the Institution. From the phone call to the faked pregnancy and now to this sinister death lottery he was about to host. Eduardo looked out over the ocean. A huge blue, green, black monster, waves constantly moving, never resting, always hungry to find their own natural level, but never quite achieving it. He pictured that somewhere across that incomprehensible sea, in one direction or another, was England....was Birmingham.... was the Two Steps Forward Drug Rehabilitation Institution.... was Adam Trundle in a street or a gutter somewhere, running scared, panicking, clueless, causing more trouble for himself and for others than he would ever realise.

He pictured Daniella's face, the inevitable tears that had flowed when he'd told her the news that her pregnancy test had come back positive. He knew it was a lie. A horrible, repulsive lie. But a necessary one. All part of the original plan he'd signed up to. As best he could, he'd kept an emotional distance from these people since he'd come to Ducie, and knowing he'd eventually have to kill one of them was as good a reason as any for this. The killing part he'd made his peace with a long time ago, but the lie still bothered him. He knew that there had to be a way of justifying it to these people and to send out a warning shot that would keep them playing the game for the foreseeable future.

He glanced down at the pot of numbered balls, each one representing a person that sat before him. Real people, with lives, and thoughts, and opinions, and experiences, and feelings, all represented by a corresponding piece of spherical plastic. Ball number 23 had been refrigerated overnight to make it distinguishable from the others by touch alone. That particular ball represented Lionel Martinez. Eduardo had practiced picking it out of the pot without looking several times. It was stupidly easy. He didn't have time to waste now though. The ball would soon work its way back to room temperature, meaning he'd have no way of successfully rigging the draw.

\- Ladies and gentlemen. Fellow Ducians. I don't plan to prolong this get-together longer than I need to. You all know why we are here. Today, Daniella Diaz had her unsolicited pregnancy confirmed. This detection of foetal presence without the relevant Right to Birth permissions means I am obliged to enforce the Element of Anti-Expansion, meaning one of you will be selected at random to make way for the new arrival.

Someone in the crowd began weeping. Eduardo couldn't see who it was. A woman, distressed and wailing. He'd have rather not known who.

\- I'm now going to select the person who will have the noble privilege of sacrificing their life for that of another.

A snap of chatter ripped through the audience, which was cut dead the moment Eduardo plunged his hand into the bowl.

He felt around, allowing the balls to fall across his fingers, waiting for that distinct sensation of the chilled ball that he'd tried to make his fingers memorise during the trial runs. At first nothing came. Just a wash of samey, lukewarm plastic objects stroking the tips of his fingers. As the seconds ticked by, Eduardo became aware that every moment was adding to the tension, perhaps even making the whole thing appear a little suspicious. And as each second added further weight to his shoulders, a hot flush swept from his legs to his armpits, his belly, his face. Panic. Had Lionel's ball reached room temperature quicker than he'd anticipated. Pulling the wrong ball out would derail the whole plan. Sure there was the memory-remoulding option if it all went wrong, but that would take time. Time he didn't have right now. Adam Trundle could cause a world of problems in the time it would take to remould all 60 Ducians. In that moment, he hated Trundle for his escape. For putting him in this position. All said and done though, he'd chosen this life for himself. He'd accepted the risks for the potential rewards and here he was, bang in the middle of the exact path he'd chosen for himself. No complaints. Nobody to blame. Still, he willed the universe to align some freak circumstances that would see Adam Trundle run into fatal trouble. To be hit by a lorry, to drop dead of a heart attack, for the effects of a lifetime of heroin abuse to catch up with him in an instant and zap his body to dust as he ran his scaggy little path around the streets of Birmingham. He was wishing an innocent man dead, and for that, he hated himself more.

Then it came....

Subtle at first, almost like a slight wetness caressing the tip of his middle finger. He stopped his hand, dead still. The audience sensed that the big moment was imminent; that Eduardo had settled on a ball. Eduardo moved his finger around the perimeter or the ball, and there it was. The smooth, sinister coldness of the killer ball. Lionel. He cupped his hand around it and clutched, pulling his hand from the bowl and raising it in the air in a fashion that looked far more grand and inappropriately dramatic than he had intended.

He cleared his throat again.

\- Lionel Martinez. My dear friend. God has chosen you to leave this physical world and join him in the afterlife to make way for another of his children.

Eduardo held the number 33 ball out in front of him in a pincer grip between his thumb and middle finger, as if this somehow constituted proof that it was all beyond his control. That the killing of an innocent man was in fact just a random act of nature.

Jennifer's scream came on a delay, as the news took a couple of seconds to register. She threw her arms around Lionel, wrapping her legs around his torso and clutching his head and turning it away from Eduardo, as if smothering him or hiding him would save him from his fate. Wide eyed, Lionel stood firm, as disbelief morphed into a look of suppressed anger, then bewilderment, and finally a brave, accepting acknowledgement of the end of his days. He smiled, though it was clearly forced, and nodded towards Eduardo, almost bowing towards him in respect, as he carried the full body weight of his hysterical wife without flinching. The man sentenced to his death appeared the calmest amongst the audience.

Dignified at the most undignified moment of his tragically cheated life.
Chapter 40. Knock, knock

At 6:40am, Lionel woke with a start. As his mind moved into the shallower stages of sleep, he'd somehow sensed Jennifer sitting over him; watching him. He sat up and offered her a weak smile. A brave effort to comfort the woman who would watch his execution in a few day's time. Unfortunately, what Lionel had intended to be an outward sign of strength to sooth his wife's grieving for him, caused her to weep instantaneously. Jennifer let out a restrained whimper at first, triggered by the heartache of seeing her husband's painfully forced smile in the face of this grave injustice. In a few hours those handsome blue eyes would close forever and although she adored his bravery, she knew that truthfully, the brain inside that head of his would process its last thought as one of resentment. Her angel, her brave, brave angel making a bitter departure from the physical world, exiting with the reverberating last thought lingering in his head that now shouldn't really have been his time to go. The thought of her husband's final, tormenting mental struggle made Jennifer physically gag with sorrow. The whimpering quickly grew into undignified wailing, her own tears wracking her with untenable guilt, as she realised that she had no right to cry while her condemned husband was holding together such a plucky front for her. She should be the one keeping his spirits up. As she sobbed, never taking her eyes off her husband for fear that any glance away from him was a precious second of his image wasted, she saw in this moment that her husband was and always had been a real man. All of his violence towards her, his infatuation with alcohol that had always bothered her so much, his quiet, strong, silent persona all amounted to the same thing: He was a man. And a real man! And here he was, facing his final ordeal with a smile for her.

Lionel had refused the offer of a final meal. He was a food lover, and could have probably listed a thousand things he'd love to devour under any other circumstances, but he didn't see the point in nourishing a body that would soon be a lifeless shell, stripped of its soul and energy. It was almost an insulting offer.

The deed would be done at 9:00am, but they'd been told to arrive at Eduardo's estate for 8:30am to go through the necessary formalities. He'd be put in a holding room where Eduardo would read him his last rites, his will and testimony would be finalised before he was left alone to say goodbye to his wife. As his acting witness, Jennifer would then have to sign the Anti-Expansion Execution Document, which amounted to her acceptance of the fact that she knew the reason he was being put to his death. This was the part that worried Lionel the most. In Ducie, everyone signed the standard Anti-Expansion Agreement annually, as an indication of their continued acceptance of the sort of terms and conditions of living on the island. It wasn't as if they had any other option in reality, but by doing so, everyone was officially locked in to the agreement. The document that Jennifer would sign in the holding room was effectively asking her to put the final nail in her husband's coffin. She could refuse in theory, but what would happen from there was unclear. Lionel wanted nothing less than for his final moments to be plagued with controversy and drama, although essentially, that was exactly what was happening whether she signed the document or not.

8:30am seemed about right to Lionel. He needed time to prepare, but any longer would be unnecessarily prolonging the agony of his final chapter. He wanted time to say goodbye, but he didn't want enough to time to really absorb what was happening to him. In that way, he was kind of glad of the distraction of his wife's dramatic mourning that had so far kept his mind busy enough to prevent him from thinking himself into a state.

He'd said his goodbyes to the rest of his friends the night before, having humbly requested to be left alone with his wife on the morning of his execution. The couple had planned on staying awake all night to maximise the time they had left together, but as the night wore on and tiredness brought with it a hint of delirium, the conversation became disjointed and awkward, often bordering on nonsensical jibberish, as exhaustion and emotion collided to produce a messy collage of random words and unfinished sentences. The worse it got, the more Jennifer became annoyed with herself that she was not doing her husband justice by spending her last hours with him in such a wasteful slumber. To Lionel it was perfect though. He wanted to be with his wife, to feel her, to experience her, to revel in the moment of co-existence with her. He wondered whether by looking at her hard enough, long enough, by feeling the natural heat radiate from her skin and by breathing in every subtle scent of her strongly enough, he could perhaps create an experience of her so strong and so real, that he might actually be able to carry it over with him to the afterlife.

The bang on the door cut dead Jennifer's crying. Lionel frowned slightly at her, silently questioning who on earth would be at the door interrupting them at such a time. Neither of them moved, as if only a further knock would confirm that they had really heard what they thought they had.

\- Lionel?

The voice has hushed, but laced with urgency.

Lionel sprung from his bed and walked sideways towards the door, his ear leading the way; never taking his eyes off his wife, who was mirroring his look of confusion. He couldn't place that voice just yet.

\- Lionel? Are you in there pal?

The voice wasn't childlike, but it had that quiver of uncertainty belonging to a young man, who hadn't yet had enough adult conversations in his life to have settled on a permanent tone for his voice.

Lucas Medina! Lionel opened the door.

\- What are you doing here Lucas? There's nothing here for you. We said our goodbyes last night,

Truth be known, a part of Lionel was glad of the distraction.

\- I know you don't have much time Lionel.

Lucas nodded at Jennifer, a belated acknowledgement of her presence.

\- It's messed up Lionel, the whole thing is....

\- Spot on it's messed up, but it is what it is now my friend. I'm at peace with....

\- No, no, Lionel. I mean, it's really messed up. There's stuff you need to know before you let Eduardo put you out to sea.

Lionel had no time for yet more pointless resistance. He had enough of that coming from his wife. Go quietly, he'd told himself. If there was some place beyond this murky riddle of a world for him to go to, then leaving it with dignity would surely score him some points in the afterlife. If all that awaited him was eternal sleep at the bottom of the ocean, then he'd rather enter that infinite abyss peacefully. Fighting it only gave rise to resentment, and as far as he could see, that was only serving to blemish his final hours with a disgusting sourness.

\- Let it go Lucas.

Jennifer shot from her chair, getting closer to Lucas than she'd intended, invading his personal space beyond the normal realms of what felt comfortable.

\- Let it go yourself Lionel. What stuff do we need to know Lucas? Talk to me. I'm not at peace with any of it this crap.

Lionel gave his wife the look. The same look he gave her just before he'd eventually used his fists to hammer his authority into her in the past. "Shut up, or else" his face screamed. Jennifer wasn't scared. He wouldn't raise a hand to her. Not now. Not here. And if he did, he would be dead soon anyway, so what did it matter?

\- I've seen things. Things that explain things. Things that could stop all of this. We're not meant to be here!

\- Who's not meant to be where Lucas?

Visible moisture was forming on Lucas's brow. His voice temporarily took on a dry croak, as he buckled under the pressure of condensing chapters of craziness into bite size nuggets of useful, coherent information.

\- Us! Here, Ducie. Eduardo. There's more to it than they say.

\- Who's they, Lucas?

\- That's just it. Eduardo. His Estate. There's people there.

\- What, right now?

Andrea took a seat on his bed and clutched at the skin around his own temples, letting the words of his wife and his friend wash over him. The drama, the upheaval, the pointless debate raging on around him. Marring the sacred time he had left with poisonous controversy.

Lucas went on.

\- All the time Jennifer. There are people there all the time. Eduardo has people over there Jennifer. I'm telling you! People none of us get to see.

\- Like a team or something?

Jennifer was already sold, regardless of where Lucas was going with all this. Anything to distract from the hurt.

When the door slammed, a surreal moment of silence swept through the room and at that moment, the humidity of the place became apparent for a second. The thick, muggy air that you could almost take a bite out of. Tangible tension or just the climate of a sub-tropical island? A sinister humidity that wasn't noticeable before.

By the time Jennifer made it outside the little wooden house, screaming his name across the island, Lionel was out of sight.
Chapter 41. ¿Habla Español?

The concourse of Mendoza bus station oozed a sickly stench of freshly ground coffee that subsided only temporarily every time the glass automatic doors slid open to welcome a new visitor, followed by a waft of muggy, exhaust-fume-filled air. A small press shack, packed to the rafters with every conceivable type of printed reading material, from trashy magazines to international broadsheets lay proudly just inside the entrance doors; the first sight to greet each new visitor to the station. The shopkeeper sat on an impossibly raised serving counter, like a Buddha statue at the top of a paper mountain.

Although Frank had been quietly confident that Daniella would show up, he couldn't hide his surprise when he and Harrison wheeled their suitcases towards the departure door and were greeted by the sight of a relaxed looking Daniella in a floor-length, floral dress, sitting on a pink, plastic travel trunk beneath the glowing digital departures board. She'd not only showed up, she'd beaten them there!

Harrison blind-sided Daniella, poking a playful finger into her ribcage from behind, which made her flinch and rise to her feet. She smiled sweetly and patted her chest as a gesture of relief, as she recognised the unmistakable pair.

\- You been waiting long?

Frank asked her casually, as if he were slightly late for an innocent evening at the cinema with Daniella.

\- No, no. You're not late. I was a little early. The buses on the other hand....

She gestured up towards the departures board, which was awash with digital orange place names and mainly red departure times. The red ones were delayed. Some for hours rather than minutes.

Harrison sucked his teeth.

\- People complain aboot dem peasant wagons in England. I-man a gonna bring dem people t'Mendoza and see if then they a still a fussin and whining aboot a one bus every tirty minutes back home!

Daniella caught about every third word of what Harrison said, but it still sounded funny. She liked the way Harrison didn't hold back his frustrations. It was something she wished she could do more herself, instead of defaulting to damn politeness all the time.

\- It's always been the same here. You're better off turning up half an hour after the time on your ticket. Do you guys want coffee?

\- Dis dread inhale aboot 6 cups when we a come tru da door!

Frank had been equally as overwhelmed by the smell of caffeine when they'd arrived, but they had time to kill now.

\- Yeah, I wouldn't mind a caffeine kick up the arse. The bus ride was six hours coming from Santiago.

Daniella extended her suitcase handle and wheeled it back and forth, as if to confirm its functionality.

\- It'll be more like eight going back, when you see how slow the border control work at night. We'll be sitting there for another two hours at least.

\- Coffee it is then!

Frank and Harrison filed in behind Daniella and the pink suitcase she was pulling, following her as she toddled towards a rather trendy and modern looking café that had taken the rustic step of writing its menu on a blackboard with chalk.

Harrison and Daniella took a table overlooking the tarmac forecourt where the arriving buses performed huge sweeping turns to align themselves with their designated terminus shelters. As Frank waited in a small queue at the counter, he wondered how much of Daniella's willingness to come home with them was due to the remoulding procedure he'd performed. He knew nothing about this girl in reality. He still didn't understand what had made her get up and leave when she heard the Dictaphone recording back at Fortunato's. Now Fortunato lay dead at the bottom of a lake and Daniella was about to board the bus with them to Santiago, where they would catch a flight to Charles de Gaulle, Paris, followed by a connection back to Birmingham; all of this apparently of her own free will. If nothing else, they'd certainly made their mark on this place in the short while they'd been here. A kidnap, a murder, the dumping of a body and the corruption of an innocent young girl's mind to the point that she now thought that coming back to England was exactly what she needed to be doing right now. They were certainly past the point of no return now.

As he trod soft steps between the café's wooden tables with their quaint, blue gingham tablecloths, carefully balancing the 3 drinks on the serving tray, Frank wondered exactly what the remoulding had done to Daniella's memory. What exactly did she think she remembered now?

\- Fifty minutes, Frankie!

Harrison's unique way of acknowledging the drink Frank had bought for him was apparently to angrily blurt out how long their departing bus was delayed for

\- You're welcome Harrison.

He was beyond being annoyed by Harrison now. In truth, he felt a level of trust and camaraderie with him now that wasn't really there before. Perhaps it was the fact that they were well on their way to overcoming the odds and achieving exactly what they came her for. Albeit with some collateral damage along the way. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were now embroiled together in a story of criminal proportions. The success of this project, and in fact their avoidance of a lifetime behind bars depended on each of the men supporting the story of the other. They were well and truly in this together, and Frank continued to remind himself that Harrison chose to back him up on this venture. He was grateful for that for sure.

\- So, you've got your passport, Daniella?

Daniella patted a neon bum-bag that looked like it belonged in the 1980s in response to Frank's question.

\- Uh, hu. Passport, travel sickness pills, money.... Bloody hell! Money! What money will I need over there? Pounds, right? I didn't....

\- Woah, woah, woah.... Don't worry about all that. We've got it all covered. You need anything, you just tell us, ok?

Daniella nodded, hesitantly at Frank's reassurance.

\- Take this for starters.

Frank stuffed five folded 20 pound notes into Daniella's hand. She examined the unfamiliar currency for a moment or two, before sliding them into her bum-bag. Frank took a precursory sip of his drink.

\- So, you remember the plan?

Harrison shot Frank a concerned look at this unscripted question that he hadn't been pre warned about.

\- The plan?

\- Yeah, you know. What we talked about at Fortunato's. Before the dog ran riot about the place, you remember?

Daniella's eyes widened with realisation and that smile that Harrison loved so much radiated across her face like sunshine.

\- Kate! Back in England? Of course. I want to help her Frank.

\- I know you do. I know you do. And we will. You will!

\- How long will we be gone?

\- A week. Maybe more. I can't be sure yet. It depends how it goes.

\- Me and Frankie a tek good care'ya when you widdus Daniella. Ya nah need fret boot a ting, sight?

\- Right.... I mean....err....sight.

\- It's seeeeen....

\- Huh?

\- I say "sight?", you say "seen!". Jamaican, yeah?

\- Oh....right. Ok. Seeeen

Harrison smiled with satisfaction at the thought that he'd filtered a piece of his own lingo down into Daniella's English vocabulary.

Frank saw the terrified look on Harrison's face only a fraction of a second before he felt the firm double tap on his shoulder from behind. He turned to see a tall, bald man, with oversized sideburns and an olive skin that crinkled and sagged in a way that suggested an outdoor employment and excessive exposure to the daytime sun.

\- Señor. Habla español?

Frank stuttered in response to the sudden Spanish inquisition from a stranger who wasn't dressed in a way to suggest he held a position of authority.

\- Son Inglés señor

He was grateful to Daniella for picking up the conversation baton with her compatriot.

\- Ah, Inglés. Bueno.

The man cleared his throat audibly, as if this was a procedure he was required to do in order for his brain to switch languages to English.

\- Where's Fortunato?

Frank's stomach did a cartwheel, as he fought hard to stop his inner shock seeping out to spoil his poker face. He let the shower of instinctive questions wash through his brain without trying to answer them. Who was this man to Fortunato? Did he know he was dead? Did he know that they had killed him? How the hell had he traced them to the bus station?

\- Furtunato?

Frank tried to load as much confusion into the name as possible.

\- Yes. Fortunato.

\- As in the café owner?

\- If you like.... Or Fortunato, as in the man who came looking for you, because he saw you and your funny-looking friend here giving Daniella trouble in the café. Right before Daniella didn't show up on her stall the same afternoon. And right before Fortunato then didn't show up to open his café tonight. Where is he?

\- What makes you think....

Harrison was already on his feet and assessing the quickest route around the table to destroy this clown. It was neither the time nor the place. Daniella's timely interruption kept the conflict from moving from verbal to physical; for now at least.

\- They aren't giving me trouble, Gabriel. We're fine here. You've got it all wrong.

Frank suppressed a smirk of smugness, as he looked towards Gabriel, gesturing towards Daniella to back up her point. He wasn't too taken back by the fact that these two appeared to know each other by name. The brief time they'd spent in Fortunato's café was enough to see that Daniella was a well-liked face about town.

\- So ya tek ya big mout and go run it in some udder rasclat's face dickhead! 'Fore I smash ya lickle ball-head across dis shop 'ere and now.

Harrison's size alone was intimidating, but when accompanied by a tirade of threats, most of which Gabriel didn't even understand, he went from intimidating to utterly terrifying. Gabriel wasn't interested in conflict. At least he wasn't now anyway. He'd initiated this though, so he'd feel stupid just walking away. He eyed the three bus tickets on the table amongst the empty coffee cups and opened packets of sugar.

\- You three going somewhere nice?

\- And what bidness be that of yars, fool?

Harrison stretched out the vowels in 'fool' and tagged on a scowl and a sucking of the teeth for good measure.

\- No one...Nothing. I er.... I was just....

Daniella was becoming adept at stepping in at the right moment.

\- Have you tried Fortunato's phone?

Gabriel looked relieved at the change of subject, but still eyed the two men and the tickets suspiciously, glancing from Frank to the tickets, then only briefly to Harrison who he was fast becoming afraid of.

\- No....I mean.... Er.... Yes. His cell phone, we called it. It's switched off. His wife said he hasn't been home. Nobody has seen him.

A speaker above their heads crackled into life and a young woman's sweet voice, spoiled by the bloated echo of the tannoy system began reeling off the details of some journey or other. Frank tuned in carefully to the announcement, listening carefully for the word 'Santiago'.

\- That's us! It's here.

Daniella began wiping sugar granules from the table and placing the discarded blue sugar wrappers into the empty cups, before pulling up the handle of her suitcase. Frank edged gingerly past Gabriel towards the door. Harrison stayed rooted to the spot staring straight at Gabriel, pushing for a reaction. For any excuse to attack. Frank didn't need this now. He just wanted to be on that bus to Santiago. He gave Harrison's arm a gentle pull.

\- Come on man!

Harrison shoved a chair to one side with unnecessary force, edging his way around it towards the door. All the time keeping his gaze on Gabriel, who by now appeared as if he may be close to an involuntary bowel movement. The big Jamaican purposely walked an indirect route to the door that took him right into the face of Gabriel, where he paused briefly, sucking his teeth and looking down to the man's feet, before returning his gaze slowly up to his face, meeting his stare with an imposing scowl. Gabriel held Harrison's gaze for less than a second, before doing the wise thing and looking away and down at the floor like a schoolboy being chastised for bad behaviour. Another pull at the arm from Frank and they were on their way to the bus terminus, Daniella and her pink suitcase on wheels leading the way.

Daniella slept most of the way to the border. Leaning her head against Harrison's broad torso, as her body rocked and swayed with every bump in the road. Stirring, but never waking. He resisted the temptation to put his arm around her, or to stroke her precious little face. Instead Harrison shared his gaze between Daniella and the stunning countryside out of the bus window, before sleep eventually took him into its clutches too.

Frank resisted sleep, despite the ravaging tiredness that was sweeping through him, causing his face to blush, sounds to become muffled and mild fatigue-induced hallucinations to blur his vision occasionally. He looked at Harrison and Daniella across the aisle. An unlikely mismatch of a pair, but both appeared as vulnerable as each other in sleep. He meditated a little on his feelings, without dwelling on them or assigning them any emotion. He just labelled them as they rose inside him. Guilt. Excitement. Uncertainty. Fatigue. Heat. Weakness. Fear. He reclined his seat as far back as it would go and let the overhead fan blow a pointless lukewarm breeze across his face. He wouldn't sleep, but it would be rest at least. Frank allowed his eyes to close, as the coach rattled along a narrow valley towards its Chilean destination.

Those with the privilege to know, have a duty to act.
Chapter 42. McChavs

Modern additions to British colloquial language have led to them being labelled "chavs". Whilst not an entirely accurate comparison, the closest American equivalent would probably be "rednecks" or "trailer-trash". Either way, in England, you'll know one when you see one, and Birmingham has its fair share. Sprightly folk, aged anywhere between young enough to make your toes curl, and old enough to know better. Invariably dressed in an ironic blend of sportswear (ironic since their scrawny bodies and cannabis dulled eyes are a clear giveaway that competitive leisure pursuits are the last thing on their corrupt minds) and jewellery so big and vulgar, it wouldn't look lost in a low-budget Henry VIII theatre production.

A mile up the road from the Institution, the chavs were running amok in the car park of a McDonald's restaurant in Wylde Green this evening. Kate and Adam nursed a watery tea each at a table next to the window, beneath a huge sign advertising the restaurant's latest attempt to sex-up the concept of what was basically a burger, by preceding a ludicrously random word with the letters "Mc...". It was "McRodeo" in this instance. Adam took regular, nervous glances at the youths outside the window, long enough to remain weary of them, but not long enough that it might invite the classic chav greeting of, "What the fook you looking at, ya prick?". He rightly feared that the pane of glass between them would not provide sufficient sanctuary from them, should he catch their eye. The youngest looking of the bunch was busy letting a green McDonald's dustbin feel the full force of his boot, presumably for no other reason than the fact that it was there. His colleagues selectively heckled passers-by that looked vulnerable enough not to retaliate. Female ones would receive a charming invite for sexual intercourse, whilst a few unfortunate males that crossed their path were treated to the challenge of a fight. One man carrying his food and drink purchases across the car park got a cigarette end flicked at his head, just for failing to confirm whether he thought he was "hard", when he was less than politely asked the question by the chavs. He timidly scampered back to the safety of his vehicle, pulling away with a screech, as he sped away into the misty night without looking back.

\- We should get out of here Katey!

\- Don't worry about them. They're just kids. Someone will send them on their way in a minute.

\- What's their problem anyway?

\- It's just what they do....kids.... you know. Cause trouble. Have fun. Tear the place up a bit. They're just learning about themselves.

\- Learning about themselves? You're a clever girl, I'll give you that, but you do talk some shit sometimes, Katey.

\- Whatever! You wanted somewhere warm to get yourself together before we head back, so I found you somewhere.

Adam looked thoughtful as he dangled the teabag on its string above the cup, letting the drops of concentrated tea fall into his drink, darkening its overall colour.

\- So where did you get the money from for these?

\- What, the teas?

\- Well yeah, the teas. Or anything really. How did you get money for anything at all is what I'm asking.

\- Harrison.

\- Harrison? What? Is pocket-money one of the privileges you get for being their favourite girl as well now then?

\- I stole it from him if you must know. And I'm not their favourite girl, Adam.

\- Mmm.... Yeah, sure.

The restaurant Manager had caught sight of the trouble unfolding on his car park now and was watching the tearaways terrorising his customers. He went for the door, then appeared to think better of it, simply shaking his head in disgust and returning to his station.

\- So these counterparts....

Adam said the word 'counterparts' in a mocking tone, as if he were saying the word 'gaboobledumplin' for the first time.

\- .... So everyone in the world has one, right?

\- Not necessarily. Not everyone they've tried it on has been able to lead them to their counterpart.

\- But they could still be out there, right?

\- It's possible.

\- And when our counterpart dies, we die?

\- Basically, yeah.

\- So answer me this then Katey: Why hasn't anyone noticed before now that people are croaking it in pairs? Millions of people die every second in the world, so....

\- It's not millions of people every second Adam, that's ridiculous!

\- Well, ok, but it's a lot, isn't it! So why hasn't anyone noticed yet that every time someone kicks the bucket, someone else dies with them at exactly the same time? It'd be bloody obvious wouldn't it?

\- Well, no, not exactly. The world's a big place.

Adam frowned deeply, as he sipped from his tea again. He was trying to compute what the size of the world had to do with anything, but was coming up blank. Kate continued.

\- So if that boy right there were to die now....

Kate pointed at one of the hooligans outside the window, who was busy shouting obscenities through the drive-through speaker, mainly relating to the sexual exploits of the Mother of whoever was on the other end of the line.

\- .... his counterpart would die too, but his counterpart might live in say, Australia or somewhere. So who would ever make the link between the two deaths?

Adam necked the rest of his tea and turned his cup upside down on the table as if to confirm its emptiness.

\- But what if he didn't?

\- Didn't what?

\- Didn't live in Australia. What if he lived in England? What if he lived just up the road? What if that boy dropped down dead now and his counterpart happened to be, say....

Adam scanned the car park.

\- ....That boy there!

He pointed at another little cretin a few feet from drive-through-speaker-boy, who appeared to be urinating into a nearby flower bed.

\- What if one got hit by a car and then the other one dropped down dead for no apparent reason?

\- Chance would be a fine thing.

Adam chuckled in agreement, before quickly realising his line of questioning had been derailed.

\- But seriously, Katey. Surely someone would spot that. What would the cause of death be for the other chap? Counterparteritis?

Adam chuckled again, this time at his own joke.

\- It doesn't work like that.

\- But it's possible, right? They could be standing right next to each other when one of them dies.

\- That's not how it works Adam.

The store Manager was prowling the inside perimeter of the restaurant now, clearly reluctant to engage with the mob, but duty-bound not to ignore them. An awkward position.

\- Eddy, go in the office and ring the police.

Eddy, a young, spotty-faced cashier looked up at his boss with wide eyes. Startled at the sudden dramatic deviation from his normal serving duties. Frozen with indecision, as the customer he was about to serve waited expectantly to be dealt with. The Manager raised his voice.

\- Now Eddy!

As Eddy scarpered off into the back, the Manager walked over to the window nearest the drive-through lane and gave the pane of glass three dull thuds with the heel of his hand. The chav closest to him looked up, startled, before his wide-eyed shock quickly dissipated and was replaced by a sneering look of confidence, which only increased as he turned to beckon his mates to come over and support him.

\- What's your problem dickhead? You got summat to say to me nobhead?

The chav's voice was muffled through the glass window, but this only served to make it sound more sinister and threatening. With each member of his gang that arrived from across the car park, the lad's confidence grew yet more. By the time they were all there, laughing, sneering and encouraging the conflict, he was more or less invincible in his own eyes.

The Manager's fear was visible, but he was the captain of a ship under attack and was therefore obliged to show some stout in defending it. He pointed a finger away into the distance, doing a cross between a whisper and a murmur, as he screwed his face up into a snarl to convey his anger through the window.

\- Piss off you little shits!

The chavs were buoyed by the fact that they'd finally got a reaction out of someone. The ringleader spread his arms and legs apart in a star-jump pose that oozed cockiness and seemed to non-verbally ask what the Manager planned to do about the fact that he refusing to move. His friends laughed hysterically, some patting him on the back, proud of their hero. One made a theatrical gesture towards the window that appeared to resemble him masturbating a giant penis. Another turned around, pulling down his Adidas tracksuit bottoms to reveal his pasty, white backside to the restaurant. An appetising site for anyone that in the restaurant that was tucking into a McRodeo burger.

As the sound of the police car drew closer, the boys sensed that their window of opportunity for making their mark was closing fast. The way a boxer tries to land a later flurry of punches to impress the judges before the final bell sounds, the boys stepped up the aggression a notch for one last rally of nastiness. The ringleader landed a flat foot onto the window of the restaurant, which shook with a thud, but stood firm. The flowerbed urinater produced a black marker pen from somewhere and wrote the letters 'i-n-g-e' after the McDonald's 'M' logo that was stained into the window to form the word 'Minge'. Others generally bobbed up and down with excitement, shouting irrelevant obscenities as they retreated out of sight, just as the police car pulled on to the car park, marking the end of this unfortunate episode.

Kate and Adam had been unhelpful spectators throughout the whole incident, and wisely so. Whilst Kate was a gutsy little thing, neither of them were built for physical confrontation, but more importantly, they didn't have time to be caught up in any sort of kafuffle, given Adam's impending situation.

\- Actually, I think you're right. We should get moving.

Kate began putting her coat on. She looked more harassed and uneasy than Adam had ever seen her before.

\- I dunno Katey. I think I'd rather stay here now. Them lunatics are roaming about the streets now. The way my luck's going, we'll probably run into them.

\- And if we don't get your arse back to the Institution pronto, then they're going to kill your counterpart, Lionel. Then you won't have to worry about getting beat up by a bunch of school kids, because you'll be dead too!

Adam bit his lip, as he contemplated the idea of a man being put to his death halfway across the world because of him. He wasn't sure whether he was more concerned for Lionel's life or his own. Either way, he knew Kate was right. He stood from his chair and headed towards the exit. As they walked through the car park and onto the main road, Adam's head filled with a sudden pins and needles sensation, his centre of gravity shifting and his vision becoming patchy, before it began to blur and he felt overwhelming nausea invade his body. Kate grabbed him before he fell and led him to a wall that surrounded a block of residential flats on the main road. Any passing motorist who saw the pair of them on the road side would have mistaken them for a pair of down-and-outs.

\- I need a fucking hit Katey man. I feel weak. It's killing me. Do you have more of that money still?

\- Get a grip, you clown. We don't have time for that. If we get you back there, they'll give you your pills.

\- No they won't. They'll beat me up for running away. I want gear Katey.

\- Bullshit Adam! And where the fuck are you expecting me to get it from even if I wanted to? McDonald's?

\- Them boys in the car park looked like they know the score. They'd probably sort us out.

\- What? The same boys you were shit scared of a few minutes ago? Come on! You're not making sense. We need to get walking. Can you stand up?

\- What if I don't want to go back there.

\- You'll die Adam.

\- What if I just want to take my chances?

\- Come on babe. Please listen to me. What else can I tell you that will make you believe me? They are probably frog marching Lionel to the slaughter house right now over in Ducie. Lionel is your counterpart. When they kill him, you will die!

\- How will they kill him?

\- That I don't know. It doesn't matter how anyway. The point is, if he dies, you die! You two are linked in spirit! Even if you don't care enough about yourself, do it for him! Don't let an innocent stranger die because of you Adam.

\- What, like you would have let Daniella die if I hadn't have stopped you hanging yourself by the neck from a rope that day? I mean, you two are linked in spirit too aren't you?

Silence. Adam was beginning to piece things together now and his latest discovery hit her like a kick to the solar plexus. He was right; she was a hypocrite. She had no right to preach about caring for the lives of innocent strangers, when she had come within seconds of killing herself and her counterpart with one swift and selfish act. Kate had no defence.

\- Yes. Exactly like that. You're a hero Adam. You didn't just save me that day. You saved Daniella too. She'll never know that, but....

Adam interrupted in a way that would be considered rude under any other circumstances, but they were way beyond the point of niceties and normal conversation etiquette.

\- You didn't answer my question earlier.

\- What question?

\- You said it didn't work like that. That two counterparts couldn't possibly be standing next to each other when one of them died. You said that's not how it works. Why isn't it how it works Katey?

Kate's heart sank at the realisation that she had more explaining to do. She'd forgotten about that part. The proximity factor. How could she have forgotten that part? It was after all the proximity factor that had nearly killed her when all this started. Caused her to descend into an episode of uncontrollable fits, lose control of her mind and ultimately to spiral into a vortex of unconsciousness. She thought she was dying at the time. She was certain of it. She could still remember that urge she had to get out of the Institution. To get as far away from the place as possible. She hadn't understood why she needed to get away, she just knew she had to. But she couldn't. She was stuck there in the Institution. Her sanity slipping away.

The doctors put her breakdown down to the drug trials. Or perhaps the long term effects of the heroin. Maybe even an underlying medical condition or a critical defect in her psychological make-up. It was only much later that they would discover that Kate's sudden bouts of fits were to do with the fact that her counterpart Daniella Diaz was getting closer. Too close. Somewhere 35,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean on an Airbus A330 passenger jet bound for Charles to Gaulle Airport in France, from Santiago Chile, Daniella drifted closer to Kate. And the closer she got, the more both girls began to deteriorate.

Kate took a deep breath and began once again to try to explain the impossible to Adam.
Chapter 43. Pedro Prima Vez

Frank leaned over the sink basin of the aeroplane wash room and splashed cold water on his face. He clutched tiredly at the tissue dispenser and succeeded in removing its entire contents in one clumsy swoop. In his attempt to stuff some back in, masses of the stuff stuck to his wet hands. Tiredness was bringing carelessness, and in turn frustration. He shook his hands vigorously in an attempt to rid himself of the clingy, white inconvenience, before quickly giving up and wiping his hands on the grey wall of the wash room. Job done.

There was a rattling sound and the aircraft took a sudden dip in altitude. A scream came from the cabin. Frank knew who it belonged to. Daniella wasn't kidding when she said she wasn't good at flying. The engines whirred persistently in the background; another of the many noises on this turbulent nightmare of a flight, but an ongoing reassurance that the mechanics of the plane were apparently in tact. That was something at least. The seatbelt sign above the toilet door illuminated. A knock came at the door.

\- Sir or Madam. Please can you return to your seat now? The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign.

The stewardess's voice was chirpy and polite. Another reassurance that they weren't about to plummet to their deaths, but then again, these ladies were trained and paid to sound like that in a crisis.

\- Yeah. I'm on my way.

Frank disengaged the lock and smiled at the impossibly tanned stewardess as he left the wash room, scanning her eyes for signs of panic beneath that cast-iron make-up grin she sported so professionally. Nothing.

It had been tough this far. At Santiago Airport, Daniella had twice tried to bail out of getting on the plane. In the departure lounge, Harrison had suggested that Daniella spend some time watching the regular flow of planes leaving and touching down safely to calm her nerves. This had worked like a charm, right up until an Air Comet Boeing 737 attempted an ambitious landing through a strong crosswind and was suddenly swept like a crisp packet to the left of the runway, before the pilot managed to realign and touch down safely; just! Wind gusts like this known as microbursts are relatively commonplace in aviation, but it was enough to make Daniella's bottom lip protrude, as she fought back tears and insisted that she wanted to go home. Whatever memory Daniella associated with aeroplanes that was giving life to this fear of hers, Frank didn't have time to remould it now. Especially not in the middle of an airport. Having calmed her down by the time they were called to the boarding gate, Daniella had point blank refused to enter the passenger boarding bridge, delaying the boarding procedure, as the stewardesses did their professional best to balance their concern for her frantic wailing with their need to show urgency in closing the gate and getting the plane on its way. The hero of the hour eventually came from an unlikely source; a man dressed as a dog, handing out goody bags, who appeared at an opportune moment to save the day. 'Pedro Prima Vez' (or First Time Pedro) was one of a number of new characters employed by the airport to entertain mainly younger flyers in departure lounges and to generally take the clinical edge off the airport environment for any passengers who might be nervous about their upcoming flight. Silly as it seemed at first, being comforted by a huge dog in red dungarees did make it hard for Daniella to take the whole situation as seriously, and in the end she and Pedro laughed together, albeit through stifled tears. Although she ultimately turned down the offer of a goody bag, she did walk away with a model replica of the A330 and an illustrated list of what the 'normal' noises were she could expect to hear on the plane. More importantly though, she agreed to board.

As Frank made his way back from the toilet towards his seat at the rear of the plane, he caught Harrison's eye just long enough to catch his piercing glare that screamed, "Don't you dare leave me alone with this psycho for that long again". Daniella was curled up with her head on his lap, sobbing softly; Pedro the Dog's reassurances seemingly a distant memory.

\- How's she doing Flex?

\- How it look like she doing Frankie?

Frank looked up at the monitor that marked the plane's destination with a red icon in the middle of a vast expanse of blue, indicating that they were still above the Atlantic Ocean.

\- We've a way to go yet. We could do with getting her to sleep the rest of the way.

\- Well ya wanna try ya luck widdat Frankie? Dis dread need to go water di herbs!

Harrison gently lowered Daniella's head down onto the seat and squirmed out into aisle, heading towards the toilet. The stewardess quickly intervened.

\- Sir, please can you return to your seat now? The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign.

The exact line she'd given to Frank moments earlier. Like a well-programmed robot.

\- I need a piss madam.

Harrison said 'piss' in a well-spoken English accent, as if that made it an acceptable way to express his need for the toilet.

\- Sir. The plane is going through turbulence pockets and you're required to remain in your seat with your seatbelt securely fastened.

\- Who say dat?

The stewardess's drawn on make-up face almost cracked at the shock of this unexpected show of non-compliance.

\- The....Er.... captain, Sir.

Frank stepped in quickly.

\- Harrison, sit down mate. She's just doing her job.

The suck of the teeth.

\- How boot you just carry'arn do yar ting widda trolley, and ya nah blabba mout to no captain boot me going to piss. Sight?

His homeland talk got harder to understand when he was angry. Frank was getting good at understanding it, but he briefly imagined what it must have sounded like to a French air stewardess.

\- Sir.... I....

Daniella made a low groaning sound and her body jerked once. A normal sleep twitch. Frank took the seat next to her and stroked her head with the back of his hand. She was clammy, wet, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked undignified and actually rather ugly. Her tongue lopped out of one side of her mouth. One eye began its descent into the back of her head, leaving just a creepy, white eyeball on show. The groan again, but this time longer, more sustained. Her body jerked again, her limbs contracting and relaxing in rapid succession. Not a normal sleep twitch! She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, and a slither of blood seeped across her lips that had now turned a pale shade of blue. She was fitting! The plane took another momentary dip in altitude, which served only to add a layer of drama. The stewardess, now miles away from her list of pre-scripted phrases in her training manual, cried out for assistance.

\- Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a doctor on board?

No response.

Strangers from around the plane had left their seat to get a closer look, the seatbelt sign now a little academic in the context of the situation. Harrison waded back down the aisle, shoving the first person in front of him, a short, ginger haired man with spectacles and boyish freckles. The man fell backwards, creating a domino effect as he careered into the people behind him.

\- Nuttin t'see 'ere. Sit back dorn. Dis man 'ere a doctor.

Every person on their feet took Harrison's intimidating advice immediately and returned to their seats. As Daniella's seizure began subsiding, Frank turned into the recovery position.

\- Daniella. Daniella.... Can you hear me darling?

For a moment, Frank's mind jumped to the Palcranolol, then to the memory remoulding. He'd done it loads of times before with no side-effects, but what's to say this wasn't to be the first? If the remoulding had been undone.... If she remembered the truth.... That they had basically kidnapped her....then they'd be in all sorts of bother.

\- Daniella.... Do you know where you are darling?

A smile that was more eerie than it was endearing crept across Daniella's face, as her focus finally settled on Frank.

\- Are we.....

She coughed as she winched herself to a more upright position.

\- ....Are we nearly at Kate's house now Frankie?
Chapter 44. Big Issue

\- So let me get this straight. Daniella had a fit on the plane because she was getting closer to England?

-. Well...more like because she was getting closer to me, and I am her counterpart. Yes, I happened to be in England, but wherever I was, if she got too close to me, she'd start flipping out like that. Trust me, it took me long enough to get it straight in my own head

\- So two counterparts can never meet each other?

\- Exactly, yeah.

\- Who designed it that way?

\- Nobody designed it Adam; it's just nature!

\- It doesn't sound very natural to me.

\- That's because the whole thing's new to you now.

\- Ok, so if Daniella was having fits on the plane, why weren't you doing the same back at the Institution? I mean, she's your counterpart, just like you are hers, right?

\- I was. Exactly the same. And the closer she got, the worse the fits became. Nobody knew why it was happening to me at the time. They assumed it was a bad reaction to the drug trials. I thought I was dying Adam.

\- Shit man!

For the first time since he'd known Kate, Adam was beginning to understand her. Each piece of her past fitted perfectly together to form the picture of what she was today. Moody, on-edge, evasive, bitter. It all made sense now he was learning the story behind her complex personality. He felt a wave of sympathy for her. And guilt. Lots of guilt. He'd always thought that he was the cheated one in their bizzare friendship. That he was somehow hard done by for how Kate pushed him away and snapped at him every time he tried to force-feed her a conspiracy theory. He now understood why she had hidden all this from him.

\- You were right Katey.

\- Right about what?

\- Right to hide it from me. I mean.... there you were, out on your own, hiding all this hurt away. This whole story, keeping it to yourself. It must have been torture for you. And there was me, Mr Paranoid, banging on your door with my crazy ideas about government cover-ups and all that....

\- They didn't turn out to be such crazy ideas in the end though did they?

\- I guess not....No.

The day had been well and truly swallowed by the night now. A quarter moon floated impossibly in the sky in front of them. Adam caught sight of his own breath lingering in the cold air in front of him. It reminded him of a puff off smoke and it was at that moment that he realised that he'd gone a long time without a cigarette. A slight nicotine pang teased his already over-occupied brain.

\- Can I ask you something Katey?

Kate laughed at the pointless question.

\- Ask me something? Isn't that what you've been doing all day? It's a bit late for niceties now, isn't it?

\- Why didn't you just turn away from me? When I was pestering you back at the Institution. I mean.... I could tell you were annoyed by me. But if you were battling these demons and I was just making it all worse by pushing you for answers, why did you keep on being my friend?

Kate stared out at the passing cars, as they pulled away from the traffic lights. Each driver just one wrong move away from killing themselves and their counterpart on the other side of the world. The way that Andrea's mining accident made Harry fall to his death off the top bunk back at the Institution. The way that Kate's own suicide would have killed poor Daniella. The way that by killing Lionel Martinez, the powers-that-be would be killing Adam too. She wondered how much of her fear was to do with the fact that she didn't want to be with Adam when he died. It was selfish, but it was also partly true.

\- Because you didn't ask for any of this Adam. Just like I didn't. Just like nobody back at that hell hole asked for any of this. And....

She hesitated, as she scanned Adam's eyes. Double checking that he was worthy of this next compliment.

-....And because I do actually like you Adam.

Flattering as that was, Adam had no time to dwell on it. He had a decision to make: Try his luck out in the big wide world and take his chances that what everything Kate was saying about them killing him by killing his counterpart was in fact a load of nonsense, or go back to an Institution that he was genuinely terrified of and face the wrath of the powers-that-be for causing them so much trouble by escaping. His fear was that they'd probably kill him either way. To decide, Adam needed to hear more, but to hear more would take time, and if he took too much time, the decision might end up being taken out of his hands.

Adam threw his head back, exhaling a long breath towards the deep blue night sky, as if it were his offering to the stars in return for salvation.

\- I like you too Katey, which is why I find it hard to think you'd make any of this up, but you must see how crazy it all still sounds from my side.

\- I do, Adam. Believe me, I do.

Kate bowed her head. Almost appearing ashamed, as if the whole concept of counterparts, of Ducie, of everything that had caused this mess was her idea in the first place. It wasn't of course.

\- Answer me something Katey.

Adam shook his index finger towards the sky to signify that an idea had just struck him.

\- If this counterpart thing is true....

\- It is true Adam, whether you like it or not.

\- Ok then. Well then what about this.... Take any of the big disasters. Chernobyl....the Twin Towers.... Even World War 2....

\- Ok....

\- So when the planes hit those buildings and how many passengers died? A hundred?

\- More like three hundred.

\- Even better....

Kate loved the way that Adam classed two hundred more deaths as 'even better', just because it illustrated his point. She wasn't in a position to be pointing out his selfish flaws right now though.

\- .... Not to mention all those poor sods walking around New York that got crushed when the towers gave way. What's that? Another few thousand?

\- Probably, yeah.

It suddenly clicked in Kate's head where Adam was heading with all of this.

\- Ok. So about four thousand people die on the same day, most of them within the same hour or so. And all of these people have counterparts on the other side of the world, yeah?

\- Adam. I know what you're....

\- So you're telling me their counterparts all died at that same moment? Four thousand counterparts just going about their shit on the other side of the world. They just dropped down dead randomly because their counterparts had just been crushed by a sky scraper? Oh come on man!

\- The world's a big place, not every death makes the news Adam.

\- Yeah, but if four thousand people dropped down dead for no fucking reason, that'd have been bigger news than the Twin Towers themselves!

\- But you wouldn't see them all drop down at the same time would you. They'd be spread out, so they'd just go down as normal, every-day deaths. Four thousand's not that many in the big picture.

\- It is if they all drop down dead for no apparent reason.

\- But it's not like that. The world sort of....I don't know.... finds a way for them to die.

Adam afforded this point a few seconds' consideration.

\- What.... Like fate or something?

\- I suppose so. Take Harry for example. To me and you it looked like he just fell off the top bunk of his bed and cracked his head open in the night....

\- But he didn't! Joe and Harrison fucking murdered him to kill his counterpart didn't they? The bastards!

Adam tutted and shook his head in disgust.

\- No, you dickhead. Nobody murdered Harry....

Kate hadn't spoken to Adam in that tone for a while. She'd been too busy trying to be nice, new Katey. It felt good to let it out again though.

\- ....What I mean is that at first, it looked like Harry falling to his death was just an accident. A coincidence. Just one of those things that happens. Sod's law or whatever.

\- Well if it wasn't, then what happened to him?

\- After you went to bed that night, the night we found Harry dead, Joe and Harrison took me into the office and told me about Andrea Fuentes.

\- Let me guess, Harry's counterpart....

\- Uhhu.

\- ....Who lives in Ducie with the rest of our counterparts.

\- Uhhu. Now you're getting it. He lives in Ducie with the counterparts of everyone at the Institution, who were shipped out to Ducie to be monitored, and....

\- And they needed to kill Andrea, so they pushed Harry off his bunk and made it look like an accident?

\- No Adam. Jesus! It's like talking to a little kid.

It wasn't like talking to a kid at all. In fact, a kid would have probably fainted with confusion, or ran off to lick a window somewhere by now.

\- Andrea had an accident over in Ducie that same night. Fell into a lake or something. Nothing dodgy about it. He genuinely slipped.

\- He drowned?

\- Well it was a chemical lake apparently. So yeah.... drowned, sizzled to death, whatever. He's dead is what matters.

\- Well what are they doing letting them loose with chemicals over there? Shouldn't they be housing them up in padded cells? I mean....if they do harm to themselves, then one us dies too.

\- Oh no. They've got them working, mining for copper out there.

\- What? The government are making money out of this shit at the same time? That's practically slavery. The fucking cheek of them!

\- Well the copper's there to be had and the exports of it fund the project. Pays for the Institution, the nice food there, the staff, everything. Everything here and everything over there in Ducie. It makes sense if you think about it.

Adam briefly considered it, but quickly came to the conclusion that given everything he'd heard so far, how they'd funded it all was probably the least amazing part in comparison.

\- So Harry falling off the bunk was the world's way of killing him off to balance Andrea's death; because the two of them were each other's counterpart.

Kate mockingly made a sign of the holy cross and whispered thanks to the heavens.

\- You're getting it now.

Adam's face had shed its scowling look of scepticism and interrogation, replaced by a genuine look of awe. He stuttered a couple of times, trying to speak, but quickly deciding that the words he had lined up didn't do justice to his amazement at the situation.

\- Fucking....fucking....wow Katey. I mean....just ....fucking.... just wow!

\- Tell me about it.

Kate thought she'd feel elated at this point, having finally seen signs that Adam got what was happening. She just felt exhausted though.

\- So you see now why we need to get back there quickly, Adam?

\- Yeah....I mean....well. They're going to kill me anyway if I don't. So what have I got to lose?

\- Exactly!

Adam hauled himself to his feet with the arthritic groan of someone much older than him. He didn't see or hear the chav come from behind him, but he felt a subtle, yet sinister shift in the atmosphere, a split second before the dull pain reverberated around his left buttock, caused by the full force of a stranger's boot.

\- Fucking woah dickhead! You got a spare fag?

The car-park chav barged into Adam with his shoulder, as if the fact that he wasn't technically laying a hand on him made this invasion of his personal space acceptable. Adam 's stomach collapsed under the weight of a sudden adrenaline dump, making him feel like he was literally about to shit himself. The amazing thing about the body is that it gears you up for flight or fight mode by delivering a cargo dump of adrenaline as soon as it senses danger. It's a product of evolution, designed to make you ready to fight harder or run faster. It doesn't matter if you're a seasoned professional fighter or a wimpy, scrawny little drug addict with absolutely no desire for physical conflict, the process that occurs is the same. The body is trying to help prepare you to survive, but if you don't recognise that sudden arrival of bulk adrenaline for what it is, it can be a terrifying experience, as your stomach turns itself into painful knots of apprehension. Needless to say, Adam wasn't a fighter. He turned his back and staggered away, clutching his left buttock.

\- Don't turn your back on people, gay boy! Didn't your Mom teach you manners dickhead?

Another boot, thrown with the grace and expertise of a disabled chicken, but nonetheless landing with surprising consistency on the same spot on Adam's buttock, which was now covered by his hand. His knuckles cracked, sending a sickly feeling to his head as his hand absorbed the blow.

\- Fuck off you idiot.

It was instinctive, but Adam immediately regretted his choice of words. He thought about running, but knew his speed and stamina would fail him, likely resulting in a guaranteed kicking.

\- Oh yeah! Oh yeah! He's a big man now.

The chav threw his head back in mock laughter.

\- Oh my gosh! Danny, Danny. Come here man! The Big Issue tramp thinks he's a big man now innit!

At that point, the cavalry arrived in the form of another sneering youth, who was apparently called Danny. Kate recognised him as the lad kicking the bin outside McDonald's. The ringleader was under pressure to entertain his mini-audience now. Danny waited expectantly.

\- Call me an idiot again, bell end! Go on, dickhead! Call me an idiot again.

Kate stepped in between them.

\- Just leave him. He's done nothing to you.

The ringleader's eyes lit up with delight at Kate's intervention. This added a whole new dimension of possibilities to his stand-up routine now. Ringleader looked Kate up and down, nodding ferociously.

\- Hello sexy. You got a fag?

Kate shook her head timidly. Ringleader had cleverly dismissed her very presence with his random request for a cigarette.

\- Well unless you've got a fag for me, then fuck off.... Unless you want a shag that is.

Danny saw a poetic opportunity that was too good to pass up.

\- A fag or a shag.... You fucking slag!

Ringleader reeled backwards in laughter at this impromptu piece of poetry. He swung his hand back and forth, making a snapping sound that was seemingly intended to express his appreciation towards Danny.

\- Leave her out of it. It's me you've got a problem with, isn't it?

Adam's unexpectedly bold interruption changed Ringleader's mood. Hysterical laughter quickly morphed into an intimidating glare.

\- Oh finally, Big Issue man is going to fight his own battles. You want some then do ya, dickhead?

Ringleader's arms were spread wide, inviting Adam's advance. His chest puffed out like a proud cockerel. Head nodding furiously to confirm his fearless intentions.

\- He doesn't want anything. Just leave us alone, ok.

Kate's request for peaceful resolution was effectively dismissed by Danny, whose next contribution to proceedings, following his earlier poetic input, was to summon the contents of his throat into his mouth with a scratchy growl and to launch a batch of projectile green spit into the air, which after looping through the night sky in slow motion, eventually came to rest on the breast pocket of Adam's jacket. The boys rocked around the pavement in laughter once more, but had their moment of self-appreciation cut short once again by Adam, but this time he was charging for Ringleader.

\- You dirty bastard!

Adam moved quicker than he thought he was capable of, clutching himself around the waist of Ringleader, before the boy was even aware he was in a fight. And that's where Adam's upper hand ended. Without a notion of what to do from this advantageous position he'd miraculously forced his way into , Adam leaned and groaned with little effect. It didn't take Ringleader long to realise that Adam was now a sitting target. First he rained five thumping blows into Adam's back, stopping after the third and fourth to ensure he had Danny's full support. Danny egged his friend on accordingly, whilst keeping a close eye on Kate, who for now at least showed no signs of coming to Adam's rescue. Ringleader's focus the switched to the head. He reached a hand around Adam's hunched over body to find a path to his face, before raining two hooked blows to his face. The second one made Adam release his grip on Ringleader's body and collapse in a pathetic heap on the pavement.

\- Fucking yeah mate! That's what I'm talking about! Mess with the Cooksy and this is the sort of shit that happens to you! I fuck people up! You get me?

The boys had their brief bravado-fuelled celebration at having overcome a 9 stone drug addict that didn't really want a fight in the first place, before realising that they better not stick around too long, lest be held accountable for the condition of the scrawny, bleeding man lying on the floor in front of them. A final few parting obscenities were shouted for good measure, and the delightful pair of youths disappeared into the night.
Chapter 45. Protection

As she approached the cluster of 4 Eucalyptus trees that Lucas had picked as their middle-of-the-night meeting spot, Jennifer Martinez felt guilt and indecision forcefully tearing apart her heart. It was 3am on the morning of her husband's execution and instead of being in bed, curled around his warm body, riding the calm waves of his steady breathing for one final time, she found herself creeping around Ducie on her way to meet Lucas Medina. The dark calm that cloaked the island at this ungodly hour seemed to suck the life out of the place, leaving just vague outlines and murky shadows of trees and buildings that she would recognise again when the sun rose.

A rogue, cruel thought sneaked into Jennifer's head. A thought of Lionel dying, drowning, screaming for help under the water, as he slipped away from her into the afterlife, his eyes slowly closing as he drifted. She batted away the tormenting premonition and tried to focus on the woods ahead, her eyes sifting through deceiving shadows of leaves and branches, trying to pull out a human silhouette; trying to see Lucas waiting for her. She was here instead of with her husband on his final night, because Lucas assured her there was hope. Hope of stopping this injustice, hope of saving her sweetheart Lionel. She hadn't believed him when he told her, but that didn't exactly matter, as if there was even the smallest chance he was right, which there was, then she couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least try. She was doing it for her sweetheart husband. Even if by doing it, she was sacrificing their last night together. The thought suddenly struck Jennifer, that there was a chance that if something went wrong; if they were captured or even killed, then she may never see Lionel again. Was she being stupid? Lucas's hushed voice springing from somewhere in the trees stopped her answering her own question.

\- Ay. Jennifer! Over here.

Lucas had a sharpened stick in his hand, which he clutched and wielded in an offensive way that left little doubt that he intended it as a weapon.

\- What the hell's that for?

Jennifer gestured towards the makeshift spear.

\- Protection!

\- Against what? You haven't even told me what we're doing out here yet. I don't think I like this, Lucas.

\- Eduardo's going to tie weights to Lionel and drop him in the ocean in the morning, isn't he?

Jennifer had heard the rumour that drowning was the execution method they'd use, but she had refused to entertain the idea. She shrugged coyly.

\- Well, I can tell you now that they will Jennifer. So do you want to do something about it or not?

An urge to defend her husband swamped Jennifer.

\- I guess so. I mean...yes! Of course I do. But killing Eduardo? Lucas! It's crazy!

\- Who said anything about killing Eduardo? And even if I did, how is that any more crazy than Eduardo killing Lionel.

\- So you're not going to kill him?

\- Not if I don't have to.

\- So what then? Why did you bring me out here? What was it that you said I needed to see?

Lucas gestured towards the Estate, about 100 metres the other side of the thick, fragrant vegetation that surrounded them.

\- In there... There's stuff you wouldn't believe in there Jennifer.

\- In the Estate?

Lucas nodded with childish enthusiasm that he was clearly struggling to contain.

\- And how do you know all of this?

\- Haven't you ever wondered about any of this Jennifer?

\- What? Eduardo's Estate?

\- Not just the Estate. The island. The stupid rules. 61 this, and 61 that. Must be 61 on the island or some poor soul dies...Your husband dies....Lionel dies Jennifer. Lionel dies tomorrow. Why? For what? Because Eduardo said so?

Jennifer looked upset and bewildered. She knew it was wrong, but the law of 61 was right. It was life. It was the law. She didn't know why it made sense, but it did. She couldn't justify it. Even when the thing she couldn't justify was about to take her husband's life for no reason. It still seemed right. There was no other way to live.

\- See! You have no answer. And you want to know why you have no answer?

Jennifer said nothing.

\- Because you're programmed!

Jennifer frowned, but didn't dispute.

\- Programmed for what?

\- To accept this crap! Not to question it. To live the Ducie life like you're supposed to.... Or at least, like you think you're supposed to.

\- How would they program us Lucas. You're being stupid.

\- When did you last take your tablet Jennifer?

Lucas cocked his eye up to one side in a way that indicated that something smart and intuitive was about to follow.

\- This morning of course. We have to....

\- And why do we have to?

Lucas's questions were fast and interrogating now, as he pushed to prove a point that Jennifer still couldn't see.

\- We have to take them, because....

\- Because what?

\- Because....

\- Because what? Because we'd die?

\- Well....yeah I guess.

\- Man! You really believe that shit?

\- Well why then Lucas?

\- You take them because you're programmed. The tablet keeps you programmed to comply. And the tablet keeps you programmed to keep taking the next tablet. To keep believing there's a reason you should keep taking it.

\- So why aren't you complying then Lucas? If we're all so programmed? Why are you out here in the middle of the night with a big stick about to take down Eduardo?

Lucas lowered his eyes to Jennifer in a way that implied that she already knew the answer.

\- You stopped taking your tablets?

Lucas felt a sharp, sour pain that he could almost taste the flavour of, erupt around his torso. Then a dull thud inside his head that he heard more than he actually felt, before a peaceful darkness came and consumed him into a heavy sleep.
Chapter 46. Pass codes please

Prime Minister Lex McGivern sat at the end of a long mahogany boardroom table in Cabinet Office Briefing Room 'A'. (C.O.B.R.A). 'Emergency COBRA meeting' was a dramatic sounding phrase that the British press liked using to conjure up images of the Prime Minister and his COBRA Crew getting together, dressing up as snakes and hatching plans to save the world in superhero-like fashion. In reality however, the acronym COBRA merely referred to the room in which these meetings were held, not any fixed group of people that this fantasy gang consisted of. Lex had called two COBRA meetings during his time in office. Well two official ones anyway. At that time, the extended fire-fighter strikes and the London petrol-price demonstrations seemed like a big deal. Though in comparison to what was on his plate currently, they seemed like minor inconveniences in hindsight.

Director General of the Security Service, Steve Towerbridge adjusted the volume of the speaker on the telephone that was currently connecting Downing Street to both Eduardo's Estate on Ducie Island and Joe McKenna's office at the Two Steps Forward Institution. This 3-way conference call begun with Steve executing the regular security protocol.

\- Passcodes please Joe....

Steve hit the button that temporarily cut the connection to Ducie, preventing Eduardo from hearing the passcode said by Joe.

\- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.

\- Thank you Steve. Eduardo....

Steve hit the button to patch the Ducie line back into the call.

\- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.

\- Thank you both. I have the Prime Minister with me here and we are alone. Can you confirm that you are both alone and in secure privacy.

Both men confirmed.

\- Right, good.

Steve was like a robot. He motored on without even a pause in acknowledgement of the gravity or pressure of the situation

\- Eduardo. You initiated this call, as you said there had been developments in Ducie?

There was a brief pause and a crackle on the line. The Prime Minister looked at Steve, momentarily concerned that the connection had dropped before Eduardo's gruff voice dropped in.

\- Yes. We have developments.... We're currently holding residents 12 and 32 at the Estate.

Steve consulted his manifest sheet before responding.

\- Eduardo, can you confirm that we're talking about Jennifer Martinez and Lucas Medina.

\- Yes. Uhhu. Confirmed.

\- And they are in the Estate with you now?

\- Yes, sir. 3 of the support team are currently holding them in the cellar.

The Prime Minister muttered an obscenity of disbelief to himself, before interrupting.

\- Eduardo, it's Lex....

\- Er...yes...Hello Sir.

\- Are you telling me that 2 Ducie residents are now aware of the presence of the support team on the island?

\- They are currently in the custody of the support team in the cellar of the Estate, Sir, yes.

\- How the bloody hell did you let this happen?

\- We took them in Sir. Our team took them into custody when they were spotted roaming suspiciously outside the Estate.

\- You took them in, because they were outside the Estate?

The Prime Minister banged his fist on the table and threw himself back in his chair, uttering the word 'Shit' with such venom that even the usually robotic Steve seemed a little unnerved by his reaction.

\- It was 3am in the morning Sir, and they were armed?

\- And where the well did they get arms from on the island Eduardo?

\- Home made, self-fashioned. A stick...sharpened, Sir. The cameras picked them up and we feared an attack was imminent.

The Prime Minister took his frustrations out on the table a second time with his fist, causing the phone to scoot across the table, the line crackling momentarily.

\- They're doped up to the fucking eyeballs with CROP Eduardo! They shouldn't be questioning a bastard thing!

Steve quickly interrupted, keen to keep the conversation on course.

\- Eduardo, how are the captured residents behaving? Are they physically resisting the support team?

\- Initially yes. They fought and tried to escape when they woke up. One of the support team suffered a minor blow to the head, but the residents have now been secured with rope and are complying with us.

The Prime Minister had feared something like this all along. It was only really a matter of time before something went wrong. The whole project was flimsy. Too fragile. Too open to things going wrong. He'd know it. But he had been blinded by the potential legacy that might come with success.
Chapter 47. Easy pickings

The police car had arrived too quickly for someone to have reported the thugs that had just beaten up Adam and scarpered into the night. They must have just been passing by at the right time. Or perhaps Kate had lost track of time in the blur of action that had just occurred. Two policeman got out of the car with a synchronised opening and shutting of doors that almost looked rehearsed. They approached Kate with what appeared to be more a look of faint amusement than one of concern.

\- Is he alright?

The first policeman, a tall chap with roguish good looks that were somehow enhanced rather than spoilt by his ultra-pale complexion, gestured towards Adam who was still groaning on the pavement.

\- He's fine officer. He's just....

Kate hesitated.

\- ....He's just feeling a bit poorly.

The policeman looked at his partner with a raised eyebrow that mocked the likely story. His partner, a shorter black man who didn't give off the same air of confidence and cockiness as his colleague crouched down to where Adam was lay.

\- Are you ok son?

\- Fuck am I ok! Why aren't you chasing the little shits that did this?

The policeman looked confused.

\- Who did what , son?

\- What do you mean who did what? The little baseball cap scum that beat me up.

\- We've just been called to a disturbance at the restaurant here....

The policeman gestured towards McDonald's, where there was now a flurry of activity on the car park, involving a further patrol cars and the restaurant manager, who was flailing his arms and legs about, imitating the destruction that the chavs had caused earlier. The youths were long gone. Kate afforded herself a moment of amusement at the thought of McDonald's being referred to as a restaurant. Even though, technically that's what it was.

\- Were they the same chaps that were causing problems over at the restaurant that assaulted you?

\- How the fuck should I know? They all look the same to me with their hats and their big ghetto attitudes.

The shorter, black policeman had clearly taken a disliking to Adam's tone. He was only trying to help after all. He stood up and began walking away from Adam, abandoning the very same person he'd initially shown concern for. His taller, pale partner intervened.

\- Watch your language son. If you're well enough to talk to us like that, then you're well enough to get your scrawny little arse up off the pavement and move along....Before someone sees you down there and really does give you a kicking.

Adam leapt to his feet, almost squaring up to the taller officer.

\- So what, you're going to do nothing?

\- What do you want me to do exactly? Go running up and down the street, waving my truncheon at every person in a baseball cap?

Kate sensed that this conversation had gone far enough. Adam's attitude was upsetting the officers and they had nothing to gain from talking to them, even if they could track down the idiot that beat up Adam. Besides, time was running out to get Adam back to the Institution before they pulled the plug on his life by killing Lionel. Whilst offering an apology to the policemen, she tugged at Adam's arm, trying to lead him away from the officer's personal space, which he'd clearly stepped too far into.

\- Come on Adam, we should get going. I'm sorry Sir, my friend's just a little shocked by the whole thing. We'll be on our way now.

Adam had other ideas and yanked his arm back violently, causing Kate to stumble forward and almost lose her balance. He re-entered the taller officer's personal space, this time adding a scowling look of disdain to his face that was unlikely to help matters.

\- Why don't you just do what you're fucking paid to do and fight some crime, instead of picking on the victims to make yourself look like a big man?

The taller officer smirked to himself with an air of self-satisfaction that assured you that he'd seen it all before. A scraggy little down and out, claiming he'd been hard done by. Standard-issue. Boring! He glanced an assured look at his colleague in a way that said, "watch and learn from how I handle this"

\- Look, you little shit! I'm going to give you one chance to turn around and piss off back to the hole you crawled out of, before I make you my first arrest of the night.

Kate pulled harder at Adam's arm this time, succeeding in moving him back a few yards before he resisted and pulled free again, squaring up to the officer once more.

\- Arrest me then! Go on! I know how your lot work. Take the easy pickings to get your arrest stats up. You don't want to do any real work though! Real work....you know....like arresting people that have actually done something wrong. That would mean you getting off your arse and actually doing what you're paid to do wouldn't it.

The taller officer grabbed Adam by the arm, twisting it up and behind his back with the ease of a trained professional. Kate momentarily tried to intervene, but was stopped by the shorter officer, who stood in front of her with his arms spread wide, allowing his colleague to get on with his business of handcuffing Adam and shoving him in the back of the patrol car.

It was instinct that made Kate dive through the open door of the patrol car after Adam more than any true belief that it would achieve anything. Rather than try to remove her, the taller officer shrugged his shoulders. He was just as happy to take both of them down to the station. As they drove back, Kate tried once or twice to talk to Adam, but her friend stared ignorantly out of the window. The two policemen joked to one another about the rumoured sexual exploits of a female colleague back at the station. This was nothing more than another job to them.

So as Adam was escorted further away from where he needed to be, Ducie was preparing to execute his counterpart, Lionel Martinez.
Chapter 48. Front desk girl

Kate examined the offerings of the vending machine in Erdington Police Station's waiting room. She had no appetite, but knew she needed a boost to keep her flailing mind functioning properly. Energy-levels were not the issue. Urgency and panic had got her all hyped up and ready to run anywhere or fight anyone that she needed to to get Adam back to that Institution before his counterpart was executed. Despite feeling lively and switched on, she felt unstable and weak, like she had little control over her own body. Like the room could spin its way into oblivion at any moment. Her finger trembled as she hit the digits on the vending machine's selection panel and watched a bag of Maltesers squirm its way free from its circular steel restraint and fall ungraciously to the collection area at the bottom of the machine. She collected her purchase after struggling with the machine's rubber flap contraption briefly and began to mechanically shove the chocolate balls into her mouth without pleasure or enjoyment. She crunched and swallowed, before placing the next one into her mouth. Crunch, swallow, crunch, crunch swallow. Not once pausing to savour the experience. She cleared the remnants of honeycomb from her mouth half way through by necking the remainder of her luke-warm machine coffee. It was probably disgusting, but it didn't even register. Within 30 seconds, she'd consumed the bag of chocolate and replenished her energy levels for now at least. Right, time to force the issue!

Kate strode over to the front desk where a young, blonde lady in her thirties was leafing through paperwork in an attempt to appear busy. She noticed Kate and instantly switched on the look of resentful disgust that she reserved for all visitors of Kate's ilk. Admittedly, with her gaunt cheeks, her matted greasy hair and her stained vest-top, Kate was less than pristine and didn't exactly scream 'Respectable' or even 'Innocent' for that matter; although technically, she hadn't been arrested and was convicted of nothing, so from a police standpoint at least, she was wholly innocent. This didn't stop the front desk lady playing her usual game of 'Guess the Criminal Record' of every scruffy looking scumbag that walked into the station to pass the time. Having clocked Kate when she initially arrived, front desk girl had speculated to herself that Kate might have a history of repeated shoplifting, along with a few hair-pulling cat fights and perhaps a drug possession charge or two. She also guessed that she might have a child that was taken into care at a young age, but she stopped at that point for fear she was being judgmental.

\- Can I help you?

Front desk girl's tone was professional, but the smarmy, fake grin that accompanied her words told more truth about the opinion she'd already formed of Kate.

\- Adam Trundle....

Front desk girl frowned and said nothing, prompting Kate to quickly realise that Adam was just one in a long line of people the young girl would have checked in tonight.

-....Sorry, my friend. Adam Trundle. He was arrested. He's been here hours.... _I've_ been here hours.

The young girl looked no more impressed than she was a moment ago, continuing to chew her chewing gum with an intent, if now slightly pitiful look on her face.

\- What do you want from me?

\- How long is he going to be?

Front desk girl's eyes widened at the directness of Kate's question.

\- Look love, this is a police station. I'm not here to give you or anybody else running updates. What's going on back there is none of your business quite frankly.

She gestured behind her to 'back there', like it were some sort of behind-the-scenes torture chamber that she was fronting.

\- Whatever your boyfriend has done....

\- He's not.... my boyfriend....

The girl's eyes widened again.

\- ....And he's done nothing

\- Look love, I'm not a court judge, ok. It's no good telling me what he has or hasn't done. I take their names, their addresses, confiscate any belongings and send them through....

His address! Front desk girl carried on talking, but Kate zoned out so it was a blur of noise behind her thoughts. What the hell had Adam given them as his address? Would he tell them about the Institution? They'd never have heard of the place, surely! No police forces were aware of the set-up as far as Kate knew. It was government-level confidence. Had he made up an address? She didn't even think Adam had the capacity to invent something on the spot like that. She felt that pang of sadness and guilt for Adam again, just as she had when Joe and Harrison had roughed him up at the Institution. She pictured him back there with the police, that wide-eyed look of disbelief and anger on his face, as he tried to convince them of an underground Institution they didn't believe existed.

Another thought careered into Kate's head, turning her stomach a sickly rotation. Would Adam tell the police what she'd told him? That the people at this imaginary Institution wanted to kill him? About counterparts? About Ducie? Momentary panic was quickly replaced by the comforting thought of how ridiculous it would all sound to a police officer who had just picked up a down-and-out at a crime scene.

Half an hour past, in which time Kate consumed a further cup of weak machine coffee and narrowly avoided any sort of real conversation with a persistently annoying woman who was sporting a swollen eye; a fresh blood scratch on her cheek and a wrinkled complexion that suggested that she was old enough to know better than whatever the hell she'd been up to tonight. Kate regretted the coffee the moment she downed the last dregs. Her stomach knotted and gurgled under the pressure of caffeine, stress and hunger. Her nerves were fraying. Every voice in the busy station seemed louder and more offensive than it actually was. Every light assaulted her eyes and threatened to burn a hole in her face. Walls, floors, chairs and people were closing in on her rapidly. Claustrophobia! She was breaking down, but knew she couldn't afford this now. Time was running out. They could have killed Lionel already. Adam could have dropped dead already whilst he was being questioned. Would the officers even come out and tell her if he had? "Excuse me Miss. You can be on your way home now. Your friend is dead". Kate felt tired and overwhelmed. She approached the desk again. Her co-ordination was shot to pieces, causing her to stumble a little, catching the edge of the desk just in time to steady herself.

Front desk girl's smarminess turned to impatience, as she recognised Kate instantly.

\- I've told you love, you're wasting your time. They can keep him up to 24 hours. Longer if they get approval to. I'd go home to bed if I were you.

\- He hasn't done anything though. He just ran his mouth a bit at an officer. Not exactly terrorism, is it?

\- Like I said, love; I'm no judge! Once they're satisfied, they'll let him go. I'll tell you something though....

Front desk girl leaned a little closer to Kate, a knowing look took over her face and her tone hushed slightly, as if she was about to share a big secret with her.

\- .... A lot of them talk themselves into deeper shit than they were originally brought in for once the plods take them back there.

She gestured again to 'back there' like it was a sinister, hidden underworld.

\- If your boyfriend's got a mouth or a temper on him, then he's probably making his own life difficult. The plods won't want to prolong things unless he's getting cocky, which is most probably what he's doing right now.

Kate didn't know whether front desk girl was winding her up or just trying to offer friendly advice, but she didn't have time to worry about that any more than she had time to correct the stupid cow when she kept referring to Adam as her boyfriend.

\- My friend's going to die if I don't get him out of here quickly.

Kate skipped straight to the point, but the moment the words left her mouth she knew she sounded like a nutcase. Front desk girl rolled her eyes.

\- Oh, here we go! The old stories about the plods roughing up the criminals round the back of the station. It's a load of bullcrap, love! It's bullcrap made up by people like you and your friends. You all act like gangsters out on the street, but the minute we drag your arses back to the station, suddenly you're all poor little victims.

\- Get me the officers talking to Adam. Bring them here. I have to talk to them urgently.

Front desk girl looked annoyed and slightly embarrassed that Kate had completely ignored her arrogant little summary of Kate and 'her friends'' gangsterish tendencies.

\- I'm sorry. You're going to have to take a seat or leave, love.

Kate felt her face grow hotter, as her body summoned all available blood to her head to maximise her brain's thinking power in this increasingly urgent situation. Her mouth had other ideas.

\- Get....me....the....fucking.....officers....that....arrested....Adam....Trundle.....Now! You snooty bitch!

Front desk girl coiled back a yard in her wheelie office chair, her mouth wide with disbelief at Kate's forceful outburst. It was nothing new in this job. She'd been screamed at, threatened and had things thrown at her in the past, but something about Kate's manner up until now meant she hadn't expected such a tirade from her. Kate's commotion had attracted the attention of a tall, black police officer who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

\- Is there a problem here Becky?

Front desk girl, evidently known to others as Becky, tried to disguise her smugness at the fact that big strapping police officers apparently came to her rescue the moment Kate raised her voice. She shot Kate a 'this'll teach you to mess with me' look, before launching seamlessly into her best traumatised routine.

\- Yes there's a bloody problem! This lady here is being aggressive to me, whilst I'm just trying to do my job. Take her away. I don't get paid to work with this sort of kafuffle.

Arguably, whilst her job description outlined her work location as 'Police Station', she was paid to work with exactly this type of kafuffle, but admittedly she had the right not to be abused. Even if she happened to be a snooty bitch! The police officer made no attempt to disguise that he was looking Kate up and down before deciding how to address her.

\- What's the problem here Madam?

His voice has stern and authoritative, in a way that said, "Try running your mouth at me the way you just did at my lowly little admin colleague then....I dare you!"

Kate rather wisely ignored the overwhelming urge she had to tell the officer what she thought of Becky, instead choosing to stick to the point at hand.

\- My friend's been taken in by two of your officers and I need to speak to them about him urgently.

\- And why might that be then?

Kate paused whilst she considered how to yet again condense this spider web of a story into something compact and understandable. She was rapidly tiring of all this and coming up void of ideas.

\- I have some information for you!

She had no idea where that line came from. Perhaps she'd subconsciously derived from police TV shows she'd seen in the past, that the way to a policeman's heart was to feed him information. She wasn't far off as it happened.

\- Information? Information on what exactly?

Becky was appearing increasingly frustrated that defense of her honour, Kate hadn't been frog marched out of the door by her burly protector.

\- Kevin! Are you honestly going to listen to this little chav? Just send her on her way. I have a job to be getting on with.

Kate allowed herself a semi-humorous thought, "A chav! How ironic given the sequence of events that led them here". Officer Kevin shot Becky a look that somehow by itself drew out the station hierarchy with huge arrows indicating her at the bottom and him somewhere way above her.

\- I'll deal with this Becky thank you.

Officer Kevin turned back to Kate.

\- Information on what exactly?

\- My friend, he's.... he's at risk. They've taken him in for something minor, but there's stuff you need to know about him.

\- He's at risk from whom exactly?

\- Can we talk in private please Sir? Just give me 5 minutes of your time.

Kevin studied his watch as if it contained his entire schedule for the day, before nodding towards the double door to his right indicating that Kate should follow him. She was in! This was something at least, although it didn't stop the hands of the clock moving on. They trudged off 'back there' together, leaving front desk girl alone to perfect her latest facial expression, which was one that did little to distract from the tail which now sat firmly between her legs.
Chapter 49. The last walk

Lionel had sensed that Jennifer wasn't there, even before he opened his eyes on the morning of his execution. Not just that she wasn't lying beside him in bed, but that she wasn't in the house at all. That she wasn't close by at all. He ate breakfast alone. A modest bowl of porridge, which he enjoyed as much as he always did. As he dressed himself, he considered the possible reasons his wife was not here with him on the morning of the day he was scheduled to die. Had she gone to fetch food, or water? Gone for a walk to clear her head? Or perhaps something more serious. He hoped she hadn't done anything silly on his account. He knew Jennifer was struggling with the idea of him dying. It was an idea he'd made his own peace with over the past couple of days. He was ready to go. Ready to die for reasons he didn't understand, but fully accepted.

The time seemed to pass quickly, despite him being alone. He checked the clock: 10:37am. He had to meet Eduardo at 11:00am. The walk to Eduardo's Estate was ten minutes at most; even taking the longer route he had planned to walk to take in the full beauty of the coast for a final time. Lionel took the two capsules off his bedside table and swallowed them using just his own saliva for lubrication. Jennifer was still nowhere to be seen, but it was time to leave. He had no choice. The thought suddenly struck him that he might have seen his wife for the last time. Admittedly, he was slightly surprised that she would sacrifice seeing him one last time, but he was sure she had her reasons. Perhaps she was too upset to face it; and that was ok if she was.

On route to the King's Estate, Lionel contemplated the idea of death for what it really was. Eternal nothingness. Forever. An endless road with absolutely no perspective from which to decide whether the time was passing quickly or slowly. Because he wouldn't be around to see it. He didn't believe in a God or a heaven. Lionel's logic led him to the sobering conclusion that the afterlife would feel exactly the same as the before-life. He didn't remember what it was like before his life begun, therefore why on earth would he be aware of anything after it ended? For the first time, the thought of what death really was dawned on Lionel. The absolute permanence of it. The total obliteration of his consciousness. Simply forever.

He knocked the door to Eduardo's Estate and as if he'd been standing on the other side all morning waiting for him to knock, Eduardo swung the door open instantly. The frail King of Ducie looked like he hadn't slept in days. He squinted at Eduardo through glazed eyes that looked like they held the moisture of fresh tears, though Lionel couldn't be sure.

\- Lionel, my boy. Come inside.

Lionel took a deep breath of that sweet island air. Not his last breath by any means, but he knew they were numbered. He savoured the sensation of the open space for one last time before following Eduardo inside.

Lionel took a seat in Eduardo's office and waited for the old man to make his move. Part of him wondered whether he might be killed here and now. As Eduardo fumbled in his desk drawer, Lionel half expected him to pull out a gun and shoot him without warning. In an odd way, that would probably have been preferable to the torture of living these lingering and tormenting final moments of his life.

\- How will you do it?

Lionel's question surprised even himself and seemed to come from a voice inside him over which he had no control.

\- The execution?

In reality, Eduardo knew exactly what Lionel was referring to.

\- Yes.... How will you kill me, Eduardo?

\- Gunshot....

Eduardo's eyes welled up with moisture again. His voice cracked, as he struggled to stay in control. It felt far too real now it was happening. As bad as he'd pictured it when he'd lay awake through the small hours of the night.

\- ....It will be multiple shots to the heart. You'll go instantly Lionel. Peacefully. I know it doesn't sound peaceful, but please trust me when I say you won't know anything about it.

\- Will it hurt?

\- Lionel...no. You'll be in the arms of God before the last shot is fired.

Lionel nodded acceptingly. His head bowed.

\- Eduardo....Sir. I don't want you to feel bad about this. When you pull that trigger, do it with pride. With certainty. Do it knowing you're fulfilling God's will. Ducie's will.

Eduardo took on a disturbed look, which added a further impossible layer of torment to his already traumatised mind. He almost had to force the next words out.

\- It won't be me pulling the trigger Lionel.

\- Then who?

Lionel's mind tried to embark on a whistle-stop tour of other candidates that might have been assigned to pull the trigger to end his life, but came up blank.

\- There's something you need to know about Ducie, Lionel.

There was a lot Lionel needed to know about Ducie, but the drugs had kept him from questioning any of it up until now. He nodded a nervous, unspoken invitation for Eduardo to continue.

\- I have a support team living with me, here in the Estate.

\- You what? Here? Where?

Lionel seemed confused, offended almost. Eduardo rose to his feet and limped to the door they'd entered the study through, motioning to someone outside. A group of men entered the study one by one. Each man seemingly larger, broader, more stern looking than the last. Lionel watched, amazed at what his eyes were seeing, but his brain knew couldn't be happening. The 5th man entered the room and closed the door behind him.

\- What....Who.....

Lionel's words got lost in a tidal wave of confusion that was all-consuming.

\- Meet my support team, Lionel. These men will ensure your execution runs smoothly. These will be the men to pull the trigger.

\- What? All of them?

Lionel laughed at his own suggestion, but he was far from amused. Nerves were ruining him.

\- They'll all fire a shot to your heart, Lionel. 5 men. 5 shots.

\- Who are these men?

\- Charles, Luis, Stanford, De......

\- I don't care what their names are. Why are they here? Are they part of the 61? How does this work? I thought the law said...

\- They're visitors, Lionel.

\- The law says no visitors to Ducie!

Lionel hadn't meant to shout, but he was past being concerned about his manner. He was about to be killed by these strangers, so what did it matter?

\- Lionel, be at peace my boy.

\- Fuck you at peace! You lied! You bastard! And where's Jennifer? Where's my wife. My baby?

As the questions flowed from Lionel, so did the tears, as despair morphed into confusion and then to anger.

\- I don't know where your wife is Lionel. I'm sorry she couldn't be here for you.

Eduardo heard his own words and they sounded believable, despite the fact that he knew they weren't true. Despite the fact that Jennifer was in fact being held with Lionel's friend Lucas in the basement below the very room in which they sat.

\- Bullshit! Bullshit, Eduardo! If there's room on Ducie for these punks, there's room on Ducie for me too. Fuck all of you!

Lionel leapt from his chair and charged towards the door at lightening speed, like if he moved quickly enough, he would somehow pass through the wall of 5 men currently guarding it. Needless to say, this didn't happen. The shortest of the 5 smothered Lionel to the ground with an equal amount of care and force. It was clear that he didn't intend to hurt Lionel unnecessarily. Lionel let go a deafening scream that was more a war cry than a scream of pain or despair. A war cry that indicated that his intentions were to go down fighting.

\- Fuck yoooooooooou! Bastards! Bastards! Bastards!

He lashed a blow that glanced the face of the man pinning him to the floor, prompting his 4 colleagues to swarm all over Lionel. After what could only have been 2 or 3 seconds of struggle, 4 of the 5 men had secured one of Lionel's limbs each in what seemed like a pre-rehearsed restraint technique. The shortest bruiser stood up, a small drop of blood seeping from his right eyebrow as a result of Lionel's fight-back attempt. The man looked to Eduardo for his orders on what to do next.

\- Take him out to the quad, Frank
Chapter 50. Questions and answers

Naively, Kate had expected to be taken straight to the room where Adam was being held. Instead, Constable Kevin ushered her into a small office a few doors down on the left of the corridor. He did so quickly, looking around anxiously as he closed the door behind them. Inside, the office was small in size, the clutter made it feel more like a store cupboard then a workspace. A mountain of boots

\- Look. I'm not exactly meant to be bringing you back here like this....

The way he phrased it, along with how shifty he was acting lead Kate to think for a moment that he was about to start kissing her. She caught a glimpse of herself in a small, unframed mirror on the wall of the office, which she imagined the Bobby's used to straighten their hats; her fringe was bodiless and plastered to her forehead with sweat, her vest top an eye-catching patchwork of stains and blotches; perhaps he wasn't planning to kiss her after all.

\- .... I mean, we haven't technically brought you in for anything yourself, and this isn't like a hospital where we have visiting hours for the crooks, you know....

\- Adam's not a crook!

\- Ahhhh. Adam! Adam Trundle, yeah?

Kate nodded.

\- Ok, so he was telling the truth about his name at least.

\- Where is he?

\- He's in a cell down the way here.

\- A cell? Oh come on! He only gave one of your PCs a bit of jip about cherry picking easy arrests. This is all a bit much for that isn't it?

\- It's for his own good. Just until he sobers up. The streets are rough enough at the best of times, never mind when you're seeing space monkeys like he is.

\- Space monkeys?

\- Well....close enough! He's seen everything but space monkeys according to him!

PC Kevin switched to a blurry, psychedelic, stoned American hippy voice as he impersonated Adam:

\- "Woah dude! Like...my name's like, Adam 'Flower Power' Trundle, and like....the people who live underneath Pype Hayes Park are trying to kill me and my partner in crime who lives on this super secret magic island in the middle of the ocean man......Oh! Sure dude! You want my address? It's 7777, the Institution of Underground Mayhem and Make Believe Islands". Ha ha! I don't know what that boy's been shoving down his gullet, but I might just ask him if he can get me some for the weekend!

Kate wanted to laugh, but she resisted. It did sound like an acid trip when the Constable mocked it like that, but essentially what Adam had told them was true. She still couldn't believe that Adam had tried to sell the concepts of Ducie and the Institution to them. Bless him! He was going down fighting, despite how screwed and hopeless it seemed right now.

\- So what do you know about this kid? I'm genuinely intrigued. It is LSD? Ketamine? Is he a smack-head?

\- He's telling the truth officer.

\- Ah, come on! No! Not you as well....

The officer let his head fall right the way back in mock exasperation.

\- What the hell are you pair taking together? Come on, knock it on the head now. What's his game? Is he a bit.... You know....Special?

PC Kevin did a 'tweet-twoo' whistle, whilst pointing a finger towards his own head and rotating it clockwise to indicate a mental illness.

\- I said he's telling the truth!

\- That's the 'information' you've got for me on him? You call that information? That he's telling the truth?

\- Uhhu.

\- Well....Then you're a fruitcake just like him!

\- Look....are you arresting him or not? If you're not, then we need to get out of here, because he's in trouble.

\- Trouble from who? The evil magic island doctors?

PC Kevin spoke in a mocking child's voice. Kate didn't find him funny any more. He was milking it now!

\- Look. You know Pype Hayes Park?

PC Kevin eyed her with a suspicious glint. He clearly thought Kate was mental, but he was having too much fun with this to let it go.

\- Yeah, Pype Hayes...What about it?

\- Can you take us there?

PC Kevin burst into that type of laughter so consuming that it takes a second or two for any sound to come out. He tried to speak, but was suffocating on his own amusement. When the laughter finally made its way out, it was theatrical and deafening. The office door suddenly opened and a Sergeant with a bushy moustache that didn't belong in this decade and a scowling frown that made Kate feel like she were back at school walked in, looking unimpressed.

\- Webster. What's all this about? Get yourself together.

Kevin gasped and battled with his composure, standing tall and staring straight ahead, as if this show of excessive compliance would be enough to contain his hysterical amusement. His face creaked under the pressure of the laughter that was building up inside him. Then he burst. Spilling his juvenile giggling across the room. Across his sergeant. He slapped his superior on the back.

\- Oh Sarge! You need to hear this. It's bloody priceless! You know that nut job in the Sober Cells, Adam. The one that's rambling about the doctors that want to kill him and the island in....

\- I know the one, yes.

Sarge was less than impressed and his abrupt interruption was designed to convey exactly that.

\- ....Well this is his friend....

PC Kevin gestured to Kate to fill the gap by introducing herself.

\- Kate.

\- Kate! Of course.... This is Adam's friend Kate, Sarge. And you want to know something interesting about Kate.

\- Just get to the fucking point will you Webster! If I wanted unnecessary drama, I'd buy myself a box set of The Bill.

Kate couldn't stop a small smile seeping out of the corner of her mouth. She liked this guy.

\- Of course Sarge! You see, Kate here.... She tells me that everything her friend Adam said to us is true....You know....about his partner in crime living on a desert island. And the doctors that live under Pype Hayes Park wanting to kill them both. She wants us to take her to the Park Sarge!

PC Kevin looked to his superior for validation that this was indeed hilarious, but Sarge's expression was deadpan and fixed like it were carved from wood. A few uncomfortable seconds trudged by before he eventually turned to Kate, pushing her back through the office door. He spoke with the calmness of someone who had seen much worse.

\- Get out of my station and stop wasting my time, you scraggy little slut!

Kate didn't like this guy any more.

\- He'll die in there! And his blood will be on your hands. This is happening on your shift you know.

Sarge was above all this. He quickly delegated the sticky task of getting rid of Kate before marching off to deal with far more important business.

\- Take her outside Kevin. I don't have time to listen to this crap.

Kate didn't resist physically as Kevin frog marched her back out into the waiting room, but she continued to plead.
Chapter 51. Some plants will find a way to grow

The quad of Eduardo's Estate was an outdoor area in the middle of the building, similar to the hole in a doughnut. High walls surrounded the small, concreted area that housed a handful of hardy, green plants, which somehow seemed to be thriving, despite sunlight only finding its way into the quad for a small timeslot each day.

Against one wall of the quad was a wooden chair held in place by scaffolding-like stanchions that appeared to have been fashioned by hand out of tree branches and other scraps of wood. Behind the chair were 2 piles of sandbags that stood a foot or so higher than the chair itself. These were in place to absorb the bullets and to stop them ricocheting around the quad should they pass through Lionel's body or miss their target completely. A single brown sack lay on the seat of the chair, its purpose more focused on dignity than function. The sack would be used to cover Lionel's head to prevent him having to look his killers in the eye before they pulled the trigger. The shots themselves would be fired from a small, raised platform in the middle of the quad. A horizontal bar ran across the length of this small stage and would serve for the marksmen to rest their guns upon to steady their aim.

The 4 men carried Lionel to the chair that would be the location of his final living moments; Frank and Eduardo followed a few feet behind this procession, overseeing matters. Each man kept a firm grip on each of Lionel's limbs, so he was stretched out like an undignified starfish, gyrating his torso in a vein attempt to free himself from the grip of his captors. On the realisation that physically, he was no match for the men, Lionel resorted to using his mouth to fight off the men.

\- You're sick! The lot of you! Sick, I'm telling you! Fucking sick!

The men continued their work without pausing to acknowledge Lionel's summation of them. They lay him down on the floor, each man pressing down on his assigned limb to ensure that Lionel was going nowhere. In reality though, even if he'd been given a window of opportunity, it's unlikely he would have outrun the men. And if by some miracle he did, where would he hide on this tiny island? As the men restrained Lionel, Frank prepared a number of lengths of rope, laying them out carefully on the floor next to the chair like a mother would lovingly lay out her child's school clothes for the following day.

\- You're going to hell, the lot of you? You hear me? People will hear about this. I know people you don't know. People will know you killed me. I know your faces....I know your names....

Lionel didn't know anyone that Eduardo and his men didn't know. He also didn't believe in hell, despite claiming that that's where Eduardo and his men were going to. Desperation brought about by a survival instinct was causing him to clutch at increasingly thin straws on the-off chance that something would resonate with these animals and force them to stop.

The men hoisted Lionel up in one smooth motion into the sitting position and onto the chair. Frank immediately dived on Lionel, straddling him with both legs wrapped around him to secure him, whilst his hands got busy tying the rope around Lionel, the chair and the supporting stanchions. The other 4 men worked on similar projects at the foot of the chair and before long, Lionel was secured in place without the need for them to hold him down. The men took a step back, dusting their hands off and exchanging looks that ranged from relief, to nervousness, to accomplishment.

Lionel wriggled, but was moving nowhere. The men retreated to their platform, where Eduardo had positioned four 30-30 calibre rifles, which now leant against the raised podium. Sensing that this episode was now approaching its grim finale and at the conclusion that neither his physical strength nor his words were enough to stop this, Lionel's survival instinct led him to the next stage of desperation; he simply screamed.

\- Aaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh! Aaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh! Help me! Somebody help me! Pleasee! They are killing me! Aaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh

Tears streamed freely down his face, as the four men took their positions on the podium. Before picking up their guns, they performed what seemed like a little ritual of solidarity. Each man touched the closed fist of the other men with his own, before they leaned together in a huddle, like a basketball team's pre-match pep talk. What were they saying? What were they promising to each other? That they would never speak of this atrocity once Lionel was dead? That they would never turn on each other one drunken night in years to come, using their involvement in this killing to drunkenly accuse one another of murder?

Eduardo walked towards Lionel and his screaming lowered to nervous, shakey sobbing. Punctuated with little flinches, as if he expected the killer shots to be fired at any moment. Whatever Eduardo was approaching him for, he was powerless to stop it, his arms bound behind his back to the chair, to the network of stanchions that held him firmly in place. When Eduardo got close enough, Lionel spat at him. Gooey saliva dribbled down the King's cheek, which he calmly mopped off with his sleeve. He expected this. In fact, he expected worse than this. Frank and his team had done well to make this as efficient as it had been. And they were nearly there now. Eduardo leant in and kissed Lionel on the forehead, causing him to flinch, part fear and part disgust.

\- Good night Lionel, son. God bless you, my boy.

Eduardo placed the brown sack over the condemned man's head and secured the bottom of it around his neck with string tied in a loose, but adequate knot.

The time had come.

Eduardo nodded towards Harrison, before retreating towards the far wall and turning his back on the whole scene. The King had fulfilled his supervisory duties; he didn't need to watch this part. Harrison addressed his team.

\- Men! We do dis ex–hactly how we rehearse. Count of tree. Aim true. Be strong. Jah bless you all.

Even Lionel's survival instinct had surrendered now, as he simply sobbed gently beneath the hood. There were a couple of occasions during that agonising wait that he thought he might already be dead. Would he hear the shot? Would he feel the pain? Harrison ploughed on with the count....

\- One.........

Lionel's body tensed up involuntarily, he was a two and a three count away from his end. He tried to breath through the panic, to re-discover that place of acceptance he'd been in the previous day. He thought of his wife

\- Two.....

The quad took on a surreal atmosphere as a deadly silence swallowed all sense of reality.

\- Tree....

The perception of justice as a vehicle for necessity is as unjust as it is unnecessary.
Chapter 52. Hippy wants tea

PC Kevin was three quarters of the way through a bag of McCoy's Cheese & Onion crisps when he heard the groan coming from one of the cells at the far end of the corridor. It was a short, intense yelp; the kind of sudden, involuntary noise that a person would let out in reaction to an unexpected impact to the abdomen. Like a football to the stomach. Or a bullet to the chest. He'd heard no gunshot. Kevin stopped mid-crunch, a whole crisp resting on his tongue, the tangy cheese flavour intensifying on his tastebuds, as his eyes darted in the direction of the noise, as if to assist his ears in conveying the sound to his brain. Most of the drunks and troublemakers they'd taken in for the night had collapsed in sorry, unconscious heaps in their cells by this time, but it wasn't unusual that one would vomit or piss himself, or find some other reason to start causing a fuss and demanding attention. He reluctantly put down his crisps and began a quick tour of the cells. As he walked the corridor, he listened for a repeat of the sound he'd heard, but there was just an eerie silence. Too quiet almost. He checked one cell, sliding open the wicket hatch to reveal a long-haired hippy-looking man asleep on the floor. The man woke at the sound of the hatch opening and squinted towards Kevin, catching his eye for a brief moment before the hatch was snapped shut. Kevin moved on, checking a further two cells, before the hippy man eventually called after him.

\- Ay! Plod! What d'ye have t'dae t'get a cuppa tea and a smoke round here?

PC Kevin ignored the request, along with the subsequent banging on the cell door and incomprehensible rant that followed in a thick Scottish accent. Hippy wasn't happy! Kevin moved on. There seemed to be little to report from the fifth cell he checked. A skinny little wretch curled up in the foetal position in the middle of the floor. He was the kind of frail and gaunt that was severe enough that it had to be owing to some sort of addiction or disorder rather than just a genetic slimness. It was a good few seconds squinting at the man before he noticed him twitch; spasm almost. Just once. Then he lay still. Then once again. Now still again. Then repeatedly gyrating in an erratic, rhythmless fit. Kevin unlocked the cell door and flung it open with enough of a clatter to intentionally shock the man out of his episode if he were faking it or just twitching in his sleep. Then he saw his face. Eyes wide, but pure white, bar a glimpse of the bottom of his pupils that hadn't quite made it to the back of his head yet. A white foam seeped from the corner of his mouth. A trickle of blood escaped from the ear furthest from the floor.

\- Oh shit man! Fucking hell.

Kevin covered his mouth and ran to get help.
Chapter 53. Numb

Frank crossed the quad to Eduardo, who stood facing the wall, like a school boy sent to the corner to consider his behaviour. Harrison rested his hand on the old man's shoulder and felt his legs buckle slightly, even under such a slight touch.

\- It's all right Eduardo. It's all over now.

Eduardo allowed himself a further moment of composure before turning round. When he did, the courtyard somehow seemed bigger than he'd remembered. He must have lost some sense of perception in the few moments he'd closed his eyes and took himself away to a happy place; a world exactly the same as this one, but only one where he was fitter and stronger; a world where he could hold his head high each morning and face whatever the day brought with pride. A world where he had never become embroiled in this corrupt, fatal web of lies and cover-ups that was the Counterpart Project. Somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the daydream, Eduardo had heard the 4 gunshots rattle into Lionel's heart. Quick enough in succession to pass as a single noise, but far enough apart that you could count them if you were quick enough. He'd detached from what he knew was the meaning of that snap of noise. So loud, yet so brief and insignificant in the context of passing time, but enough to remove Lionel Martinez from this material world.

Eduardo walked over to the chair where the hooded figure sat. The ropes had kept him upright, meaning only his head slumped forward out of line with the rest of his body. Harrison checked for a pulse. Nothing.

\- He's gone.

Eduardo stared at the dead man in the chair. He was void of emotion, which surprised him somewhat. He felt no sadness. No guilt. Why did he not feel anything? And then he realised. While he couldn't see the face of the man he'd killed, it could have been anyone. His mind was protecting him from the truth; the ultimate in straw-clutching. Could the man under the hood be some insignificant other? A mannequin, or a bag of rags and rocks? He knew the face that lay lifeless under that hood sack, but Eduardo allowed himself the fantasy that it was someone else for a moment or two.

\- Take the bag off his head, Harrison.

\- You don't need to see his face without his soul in his eyes, Eduardo.

Frank was wrong. He did need to see it. Didn't want to see it. Needed to see it.

\- I want to see his face. Take the bag off!

\- I don't think....

\- I said take the fucking bag off him....

Eduardo lost patience and started to pick at the string fastening around the hood with his boney fingers, the slenderness of which leant well to picking the loose knot apart. He threw the length of string to the floor and went to remove the hood, but couldn't bring himself to. He paused a second, breathed out sharply to gain composure, then nodded at Harrison to do the honours.

Lionel looked like he was sleeping. His eyes were closed and the expression on his face looked far too peaceful than one of a man who knowingly met his end, screaming and shouting at the hands of 4 gunmen. Even now, numbness grasped Eduardo. A dam of resistance inside him seemed to be holding back emotions that he dared not grant escape to for fear that they would ruin him.

Then he thought of Adam Trundle and the first of many tears ran a winding descent down his cheek as the King fell to his knees.
Chapter 54. Witchcraft

\- Get a fucking ambulance, Sarge!

PC Kevin wouldn't normally burst into the office without knocking.

\- What's up with you Kevin?

\- With me nothing Sarge...It's Trundle.

Sarge shrugged at Kevin, incredulous at the fact that he expected a man of his position to have time to remember each small-time tearaway by name.

\- The weirdo kid from the sober cells!

\- The one whose girlfriend I told to scarper?

\- Yeah. An attack or something, Sarge.

\- Attacking who?

\- No, like a fit....a seizure. Foaming at the mouth and everything.

Sarge calmly picked up the phone, refusing to be flustered by such drivel. His thick, steady finger slowly pushed a single button on the phone's panel. He checked his fingernails as he waited for the connection.

\- Becky, get me some meds to the sober cells ASAP please poppet....

There was a silence as Front Desk Girl must have been responding. Sarge chuckled a little at whatever she said, before speaking again. He had bigger fish to fry than this.

\- Uhhu...Yeah, one of the stragglers choking on his vomit probably. Just tell them to put a rush on it....Ok, cheers petal.

Sarge checked his watch resentfully.

\- Come on then...Let's go and take a look at him.

Kevin lead the way, breaking into a momentary jog, before quickly realising that Sarge wasn't running anywhere for anybody; whether they were foaming at the mouth or not. He waited for him to catch up.

\- Sarge....Do you think there's anything in it?

Kevin's tone was part excited, part worried.

\- Anything in what Kevin?

\- His missus....The one you told to piss off. You remember what she said to you?

Sarge gave that shrug again. His memory and attention was precious storage space, reserved for issues far bigger than the ramblings of a stupid junkie and his junkie girlfriend.

\- She said to you that Trundle would die on your shift, Sarge! You remember? She said his blood would be on your hands if we didn't get him out of here.

\- Give me a break Kevin! You expect me to think she's some sort of fortune teller as well now then? And besides, we don't know he's even dead yet.

\- He looked like he wasn't far off when I left him.

\- Well, he's a bloody junkie isn't he? You say a junkie's going to die, you've probably got a 50% chance of being right at any given moment. It's not exactly witchcraft is it!

Kevin broke back into that jog again, as they approached the sober cells, struggling to hide the excited skip in his step. The angry Scotsmen must have heard their footsteps and began to bang and demand attention once more. Something down the corridor behind them clattered and a door slammed. A pained groan came from another cell. Was that Adam? It was difficult to tell which cell the noise had come from. At least he was still alive if it was. Kevin fumbled with the key of the door to Adam's cell. He glanced at Sarge in a way that asked, "Are you sure you want to see this". The Sergeant was unmoved and conveyed nothing but blankness and a hint of impatience through his expression. Kevin finally swung the door open. As his eyes adjusted to the room, the heap in the middle of the floor was smaller than he'd remembered. Sarge marched right over to it wasting no time.

\- What's going on here Kevin?

Kevin looked perplexed, as the Sergeant held aloft Adam's blue Berghaus fleece jacket, like a magician that had made his assistant impossibly disappear into thin air.

\- What the.....? How's that even....? The little bastard! The door was locked, Sarge! You just saw me open it!

To the Sergeant, it didn't matter how Adam Trundle wasn't there any more. The fact was that he was gone. And for a man that based his professional decisions on cold, hard evidence, the empty cell that they were currently standing in was all the evidence he needed to arrive at the conclusion that the nutcase junkie wasn't there any more. Case closed.

In the middle of the floor, underneath the spot Sarge had retrieved the coat from was a wet patch. Saliva, urine, something or other. The cells smelt musky anyway, so it could have been just about anything. Alongside the wet patch was a drop of blood. Tests on this sample compared against his Institution medical records would later confirm that the blood definitely belonged to Adam. For now though, it was just blood. Sarge chucked the fleece jacket onto the bed.

\- That little feisty woman....His missus wasn't she?

\- I think so, Sarge, yeah.

\- She still outside?

\- That's where I left her Sarge.

\- Let's go and fetch her. She's got some explaining to do!
Chapter 55. Spot the difference

PC Kevin was surprised to see Kate sitting in the waiting room looking relatively calm and unflustered. He had expected her to either be raising hell and spouting her sob story about the nasty police officers to anyone that would listen, or to simply be gone; nowhere to be seen; done a runner; scampered off back to whatever hole she normally spent her days in, possibly with a police cell escapee in-tow. But no.... there she sat in the waiting room, casually reading a leaflet that carried the headline, "Lovers' tift or domestic violence....Would you spot the difference?", as if she were waiting for a routine dentist check-up.

\- Where is he?

On reflection, Kevin would have picked a less bullish opener.

\- Excuse me?

\- Your friend.... He's not in his cell. Where is he?

Kate's wide-mouthed expression was as much confusion as it was shock; but all genuine.

\- What do you mean he's not in his cell?

\- Look, whatever your game is, lady, you'll end up getting yourself into trouble as well. This isn't worth your bother, believe me! Now where is he?

Kate gestured towards herself incredulously, as if to indicate that she'd been here the whole time.

\- Maybe one of your power-mad cronies took him somewhere. Or maybe he went to the toilet?

\- The cell door was locked!

Kate laughed, but it wasn't out of amusement.

\- And you're saying what exactly? That I've got the key and I busted him out? And then I thought I'd come and sit here and read a few pamphlets to celebrate?

Kevin realised how stupid it sounded and had no logical response. He strode towards the front desk.

\- Becky....that scrawny, little runt we took in a couple of hours back....

Front desk girl consulted her computer screen, a few key taps apparently giving her the information she needed.

\- Trundle?

\- Yeah, that's him. Has he been out here?

\- Not since you took him in, no.

\- And she's been sat there since we brought her through?

Kevin gestured towards Kate, like she was just an irritating piece of a jigsaw he couldn't quite put together.

\- Erm, yeah...she hasn't moved.

Front desk girl would have loved the opportunity to incriminate Kate, but she couldn't see a reason to lie right now.

As he turned back to Kate, Kevin for the second time tonight didn't see the person he'd expected to see. Just a chair with a domestic violence promotional leaflet on it. Becky gestured towards the exit that Kate had ran through. Kevin knew that there was no chase to be had here. It was pointless!

\- What the bleeding hell's going on in this place tonight?
Chapter 56. Not a bottle top!

The phone rang just twice before Steve answered it, but this was still too slow a response for a tetchy Prime Minister who 80 minutes earlier had been given the news that Lionel Martinez's execution had been a success.

\- Get with it Steve! Answer the blasted phone.

Steve Towerbridge understood that Lex's anxiety levels were what were causing him to act so harshly. He'd been in this game long enough to know when something was personal and when it wasn't, and in politics it rarely was. He pressed the speakerphone button on the phone and waited for the crackle on the line to settle.

\- Joe?

\- Yes Sir. - Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.

The moment Joe finished reeling off his identifier, the Prime Minister drilled to the core of what he wanted to know.

\- Joe. Lex here. Give me some good news.

The line went quiet for no more than a couple of seconds, which was enough for the Prime Minister to assume that this meant that Joe was considering how to break bad news. He banged the desk in premature frustration. Steve shot him a rare look of contempt. He nodded reassuringly and gestured towards the phone in way that said "At least give the man a chance to speak".

Silence.

\- Joe. Steve Towerbridge. Is your line ok?

\- Yes, Sir.

\- Joe, we got word from Ducie that Resident 32 had been successfully executed, we need news that Patient 32 Adam Trundle has also perished as expected.

Steve spoke about the deaths without a crumb of feeling or humanity.

\- I can't give you that news exactly, Sir.

The Prime Minister raised an upwards palm to Steve, gesturing "I told you so". Steve quickly dived in fearing an outburst from his chief.

\- Are you saying Adam's still alive Joe?

\- That's unconfirmed just now, Sir.

\- Are you saying he hasn't yet been located?

Steve's attempts to hold back the Prime Minister were short lived, as Lex's inevitable outburst arrived only slightly behind cue.

\- You said Gaffney would find him and bring him back or at least oversee him drop dead so we had confirmation. You gave me your word that that letting her go and find him was the best tactic.

\- I didn't exactly say....

\- So where's Gaffney now Joe? What on god's earth has she been doing all this time? She's still on board with us, right?

\- She's on board, Sir. She's just....

\- You fucking lost her too didn't you?

\- Sir....With respect, if you'd let me explain.

\- You better had Joe! I'll order the lot of them to be wiped out if I have to. I'm losing it with this counterpart bullcrap!

\- Sir....Gaffney found Trundle. They were heading back here. Then they got themselves arrested....

\- Arrested? What the hell for?

\- Trundle gave the officer a face full of verbal or something like that. Minor stuff! Point is they ended up back at the station and....

Steve interrupted.

\- So someone would have been with Trundle around the time that Lionel's execution took place? A bit more than an hour ago? Someone can confirm that he didn't perish?

\- He was in a police cell at the time, Steve....Sir. A locked cell.

\- He got out?

\- He can't have done. It was locked the whole time. The police officer came in and found just his jacket on the cell floor.

\- And you're sure he didn't escape?

\- As sure as the officers are and we've no reason to distrust them.

The Prime Minister was keen to inject some more urgency into proceedings.

\- Gaffney. You said she'd gone too.

\- Yes, Sir. She ran from the station when they confronted her about Adam. They assumed she's busted him out somehow, but she was sat in plain sight the whole time.

\- And she's not arrived back to you?

The Prime Minister knew the answer to his own question.

\- As yet, Sir no. She called from a payphone near the station. She's confused and distressed, Sir. I've sent someone out to pick her up.

\- Joe. Get off the phone and use whatever resource you need to get them both found. We need to work out why Adam didn't perish when his counterpart did and we need Gaffney kept firmly onside. If anyone has the potential to bugger this thing up completely for us it's her.

\- Yes, Sir.

The phone disconnected and the Prime Minister wasted no time resuming his frustration.

\- We placed far too much trust in Gaffney. I said it from the start, Steve. I said I had issues with it.

\- We had no choice, Sir. She was the linchpin to the whole thing. We discovered the whole counterpart theory through her sleep connection to Diaz. We took a risk on her, but we had to or else there would have been no project.

\- Am I the only one thinking that no project mightn't have been such a bad thing?

\- Sir.... You know the gains we can get from this if we hang in there. The lab team say there's a location pattern with the counterparts. If they nail it, then the sky's the limit with what this can do with this.

\- Taking out elusive terrorists by tracking down their counterpart and blowing his brains out seems a long way off still Steve.

Steve couldn't argue with that, but whilst it was a possibility, it was a reason to keep this project going.

\- And what about Trundle?

Steve's change of topic threw Lex.

\- Well....We don't know he's dead or alive do we? This whole thing's a mess. We could have got his counterpart wrong, then we killed a man for nothing today. I already have enough blood on my hands, Steve. Lionel Martinez....Andrea Fuentes....

\- How was Andrea your fault, Sir?

\- It's all part of this same mess all said and told. I was about to add Adam Trundle to that list until Joe called.

\- But Sir, you knew there would be casualties. That's why we set up the RTB element.

\- Steve, we made up the 'population of 61' crap because we didn't want them churning out little offspring that we didn't have the counterpart for back at the Institution. It would have added a layer of complexity we just didn't need.

\- Of course Sir. But as a side benefit, it gave us a reason to kill one of them off by forging the results of a pregnancy test if we needed to.

\- Ah yes.... _The Element of Anti-Expansion._

The Prime Minister said it with a mocking tone of grandeur that contradicted the fact that he had thought up the concept in the first place.

\- Sir, Trundle's escape only proves that we were right to put the Anti-Expansion stuff in there. This is _exactly_ what it was put there for.

\- We had the memory remoulding option Steve. We could have ripped the baby out and remoulded them to forget they were ever pregnant.

\- Immoral Sir. You're not thinking straight. Not to mention the fact that shipping Frank Gilbert out there to perform a remoulding session on the entire island any time something went wrong would just have been impractical.

The Prime Minister held Steve's stare, checking his eyes for signs of a crack or a weakness in his argument. There was none. Steve has right. Lex was grateful to his steadfast sidekick for keeping on track, using the steer of cool headed logic.

\- But what about Trundle? All these plans we put in place, all these rules....They didn't keep Trundle at bay did they?

\- You heard what Joe said, Sir.... A locked police cell he was in.

\- _Was_ in, Steve. _Was_!. He's not there now though is he! He's running loose with all the facts he needs to bring this crashing down around our ears, as soon as he runs his mouth to the first person that takes him seriously.

\- So you really believe he....what....? Teleported himself through a solid cell wall then?

\- You know I don't like sarcasm Steve.

\- Well what then? You tell me how he got out?

\- Do you want to tell me what you're getting at instead of playing these stupid guessing games?

\- My guess is he didn't escape at all....

The Prime Minister frowned. He was losing touch with what was realistic and what wasn't. A few years ago, the idea of symbiotic, mutually perishing counterparts would have had him ridiculing such a concept. But here they were, orchestrating a project entailing exactly that. In reality, he figured there wasn't much that wasn't possible any more. Steve continued.

\- .... Think about it. People vanish into thin air all the time. Jim Gray, Amy Fitzpatrick, Madeleine McCann. No reliable sightings, no body, nothing. Sure we waste a load of police resource trying to pin it on the most suspicious looking person who was last seen around them, or even accuse their parents of foul play. But what's to say that now and then, when your counterpart dies and the universe can't find a better way to kill you off, you just...well....

\- What? Vanish into thin air?

\- Exactly! Or you're transported to another realm perhaps?

\- It's crazy, Steve!

\- And what part of the counterpart theory isn't crazy, Sir?

And with that, the telephone on the desk in front of them squealed out a promise of more developments. The Prime Minister rolled the 'Here we go again' look at Steve, before gesturing for him to hit the button. The caller ID indicated that the call was being made from the office of the Estate in Ducie.

\- Eduardo?

\- Uhhu.

\- Pass code please?

It was the same protocol they'd just gone through with Joe, but the snappiness and urgency just wasn't on the other end of the line this time. Eduardo sounded dejected, almost disorientated.

\- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.

\- Thanks Eduardo. What can we do for you?

They weren't expecting news from Ducie as such, as Lionel's execution had already been confirmed, so the Prime Minister felt no need to add his forceful interruptions to this particular conversation. He sat back in his chair, swishing the remnants of Old Fitzgerald's Kentucky whiskey round and round the bottom of his tumbler as he observed Steve handling the call. Sharing his gaze between Steve, then the glass. Steve, then the glass. Steve, then the glass.

Silence, a crackle on the line. Steve quickly considered whether Eduardo could be subject to a hostage situation, forced to read the security code at gun point to get telephone access to the PM's office. The usual check that the caller was still on the line. He was. Eduardo spoke.

\- You can get me out of this corrupt circus, that's what you can do. I don't want part of this any more.

Eduardo's words sent a rod up the back of the Prime Minister. He shot up straight in his chair, a look of startled fear draining the colour from his face.

\- What are you talking about, Eduardo?

\- The project. I want out! I want to go home. Send me some transport. Do whatever you've got to. I just want out!

Steve was momentarily dishevelled by Eduardo's demands, but regained control by reverting to his comfort zone of efficient security-spiel.

\- Eduardo, are you in the office alone and speaking of your own free will?

If Eduardo replied with "Absolutely", Steve would know he was using the code-word to signal that he was being held hostage and forced to lie.

\- Yes, I'm alone and I want to go home, Steve. Is Lex there too? Lex, I want to go home! You keep your money....You keep your....

Eduardo broke off into what sounded at first like coughing down the muffled line. It soon became clear that he was sobbing.

The Prime Minister looked at Steve for salvation. The hard-nosed leader didn't really entertain emotion. He dealt in facts and progress. He had no time for snivelling. Steve took his cue.

\- Hey, hey...now Eduardo. You don't mean that. You know what's at stake here. You're our star player in all of this. We just need you to hang in there doing a great job for a while longer until the lab techs nail down some definite progress.

Flattery. The line stayed silent. Steve continued.

\- We've placed a lot of trust in you Eduardo. We need you with us on this. And think about your family back home. The life you'll be able to give them when all of this is over.

Guilt. Still no response from the other end of the line. The Prime Minister lost patience and interrupted angrily.

\- You fucking well listen here, Eduardo! You know why we picked you for this and you know that my arse is on the line as much as yours, but you don't see me bawling about how I want to end it all. There's too much resting on all this. We're about to change the world for the better, and even if you're too narrow minded to give a damn about the progress of humanity, at least you can take your fat cheque at the end of all this and go snivelling back to Ecuador. But only when I say it's over.....You go now, you get nothing! You hear me? Nada! Not a frigging bottle top!

There was a slight popping sound on the line before Eduardo's response came.

\- We tied a man to a chair and shot him in the heart today. 4 bullets. Dead, gone. He was screaming. Begging us not to kill him.

Eduardo's voice carried the deadweight of shock. The gravity of realisation, the aftershock of the day's events weighing heavy on his words. The reality had hit him hard and it was hurting. It would have hurt more if the numbness wasn't protecting him like an anaesthetic.

\- You think you're the only one with blood on your hands, here? It's collateral damage! In the grand scheme of things Lionel is nothing. Look what we're trying to achieve here.

There was a scoff, a choke, a cough or maybe even a laugh from Eduardo's end of the line before he spoke.

\- Nothing? You can sit there in your ivory tower on the other side of the world telling me that my people are nothing! You didn't have to hear him plead for his life, you selfish pig! And all because your incompetent fools over at the Institution couldn't keep a lid on their patients.

Steve could sense that the situation was about to erupt out of hand, but he feared his boss too much to intervene. The Prime Minister leapt from his chair, leaning over the phone on the desk, as if that would somehow intimidate Eduardo, even though he couldn't see him.

\- And if you'd have kept better watch on your miners, then Andrea wouldn't have drowned in fucking copper slush, meaning my _"incompetent fools"_ over at the Institution wouldn't have had to scrape his counterpart Harry Dunne off his bedroom floor. It's swings and roundabouts, Eduardo! You aren't a bastard innocent in all this you know!

The Prime Minister kicked the leg of the table. Steve put a sympathetic hand on his boss's shoulder, which was instantly slapped away in frustration, bordering on blind rage. Eduardo was unmoved and spoke with more calmness and confidence than before. Perhaps satisfied that he'd rattled the Prime Minister.

\- Swings and roundabouts it may be gents, but I want to get off this playground ride now. I'm done here. Now send someone to get me, or I'll sort this out my own way.

Steve took this momentary air of calm as his opportunity to re-join the discussions.

\- You know it's not as simple as that. We can't just pull you off the island and leave the residents to their own devices.

\- Well then replace me. One of the support team. One of your own men. I don't care who, just get some other fool to run this barbaric shift for you.

Steve looked to his boss for guidance. The Prime Minister bit his lip hard, then shook his head vigorously.

\- No. The answer is no, Eduardo. We can't pull you off Ducie. I'm sorry. It's just not happening.

The Prime Minister was developing a hatred for that crackle on the line that punctuated gaps in conversation. This particular gap was a relatively short one, ended by the final words that Prime Minister Lex McGivern would ever hear Eduardo speak.

\- Well then, I'm going to tell the world the truth then.

\- Now you know how stupid that would.....

The high-pitched, monotone squeal on the line indicated that the call had ended. Eduardo had hung up.

\- The little swine! Get him back on the line.....

Steve fumbled with the phone, pressing a wrong button, then another. Lifting the receiver, then replacing it. Rattled.

\- NOW!

The Prime Minister's bark shouldn't have helped matters, but it seemed to. Steve hit another button and after a short silence, the phone rang. They were connecting to Ducie. One ring....two rings....Nothing! Six, seven, eight.....still no answer.

\- Pick up the phone you FUCKING OLD COWARD!

The Prime Minister scream was simultaneous with him picking up the phone and launching it against the boardroom wall. Surprisingly, it didn't shatter and remained in one piece, but the ringtone stopped and the LED display screen went blank. The Prime Minister put his head on the desk. Shattered with exhaustion, shock, disbelief. He lay there for a moment, and for that moment, he wished he were dead.

\- Sir, he won't do it. He won't spill anything. He's as incriminated in all this as the rest of us.

\- And you think we can take that chance?

\- Think about it.... Who's he going to tell? The residents? They'll eat him alive if he tells them they're part of this experiment.... This project. That they're popping pills to keep them in check. That the law of anti-expansion, the CPT, Lionel's sacrifice....that all of that is a lie. A ploy. A means to an end.

\- Well then, he'll tell someone else...He'll....

\- He'll what ,Sir? Ring someone? Who exactly? All he has is a closed phone line that links him to us. Nobody else. It's impossible!

Steve was being more overbearing and forceful in his tone than he ever would have dreamt of being in any other conversation with his boss. He didn't care. He knew what has at stake here. He would see the Prime Minister falling apart as they approached what was looking increasingly like the end-game.

\- I can't risk it Steve. We both know what needs to happen now. Eduardo's counterpart needs to die, so we stop him in his tracks before he causes any real damage.

\- No Sir....Just....Just.... no!

\- DON'T YOU TELL ME NO STEVE! You knew that this might happen the minute we got involved in all this. What needs to happen needs to happen. There's no room for selfishness now.

\- Well, we'll replace him then; just like he asked us to. We'll get someone else out there to run it and we'll bring Eduardo home. I'll go there myself and do it.

\- We can't even reach him now. He's cut off our one line of communication. And even if we could...and we did let him go home, then what? We couldn't have him roaming the streets with that sort of knowledge. He could hold us to ransom for his silence; he could destroy us! We'd end up killing him anyway in the end.

\- But Sir, it's not to say that....

\- Enough Steve. My mind's made up. We're taking him out!

The Prime Minister calmly rose and walked towards the door. He stopped and got a good look at Steve before he spoke the last words he would ever speak to his trusted right-hand-man.

\- I'm sorry Steve....Good bye my son. Thank you for everything. Truly....thank you. I'm sorry! You know what to do.
Chapter 57. Smoking kills

Prime Minister Lex McGivern sat in his office chair, nursing a glass of Fitzgerald's Kentucky whiskey. He sipped at the sharp, bitter, pungent liquid. His upper lip tingled with heat. He necked the entire glass in-one and quickly poured another twice the size. He walked to his door. He knew it was locked, but he needed to be sure. He sat back at his desk and rummaged in his drawer, quickly locating what he was after; a pack of Marlboro Lights cigarettes. A throwback to his 20-a-day habit before he took office and he'd forced himself to quit. He hadn't wanted to stop the smokes; he'd enjoyed the place of release they gave him. But he needed that element of control. He needed to make that statement. To show everyone who knew him that Lex McGivern didn't let himself be controlled by anybody, anything, any chemical habit, any cigarettes; even when he'd just taken on the most stressful job of his career. He flipped open the packet. 3 cigarettes rested at different angles at the side of the box. He withdrew one and let the filter rest between his lips. Lighter and smaller than he'd remembered. He lit the cigarette and pulled the smoke down into his lungs. It felt like an old, warm, familiar cuddle. He necked the glass of Fitzgerald's Kentucky. One more....He poured.... Any more than that and he'd risk being in no state to carry out what needed to happen. The cigarette burnt down to its nub quicker than he'd expected. He'd smoked most of it without even realising. He lit another. Sipping at the whiskey this time; making it last. Savouring, but still hurrying. Always against the clock. He stubbed the cigarette out and walked to the drinks cabinet. Reaching behind the wine section that contained bottles he'd received as gifts from diplomats around the globe, he pulled the lever of the hidden hatch. Down it fell, the clatter of the gun against glass seemed amplified. Lex carefully manoeuvred the weapon through the maze of bottles and out into the open. This was it. He sat back down, necked the remainder of the whiskey and instantly regretted doing so. Another? Yes....No....Yes....He poured a final glass. The whoozy feeling that came with drinking strong alcohol too quickly snuck into his reality without him even realising it was on its way. If he passed out, it'd all be over. He needed to stay awake and in control. There wouldn't be another chance. A final cigarette. He watched the tobacco paper intently. Every microscopic curl and distortion of plant and paper against the heat as he smoked. The hiss and crackle of the burning, so unnoticeably slight that it would never even register with the ears under any other circumstance. But here was the Prime Minister, taking in every last sensory offering the world had to give, no matter how slight.

There were no more excuses. 1 cigarette remained in the box and the whiskey bottle was far from its dregs, but he wanted neither. The time had come.

The barrel of the gun felt warmer on his temple than he'd expected. He held it there for a second and closed his eyes, imagining the blackness. The noise. A rush of adrenaline went through him, but didn't quite reach the part of the brain that pulled the trigger. A thought stopped him. What if he didn't die? Was this the right way to shoot? He put the gun in his mouth momentarily, quickly changing his mind and resting it back against his temple. This was the way.

\- Our father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thine will be done.....

The Prime Minister wasn't a religious man, but it's surprising what the thought of impending, eternal nothingness can do to a man's beliefs.

\- ....Forever and forever. Amen.

Silence. Was he dead? A tingle in his foot and a churn in his stomach advised him that he was still very much part of the material world. He tried to focus. Pull the trigger. He wanted to. Needed to. He just couldn't send the signal from his brain to his finger.

The door knocked. The handle rattled.

\- Sir....Sir.....

Steve.

It was now or never.

Lex shut his eyes tight and allowed himself to drift.

\- Sorry Eduardo.

He heard no bang, he felt nothing. He was gone.

\- Sir...Eduardo is back on the line. Open the door. Sir....

Steve was too late.

Eduardo Rey died of a heart attack on the island of Ducie, a couple of moments after his counterpart had taken his own life at 10 Downing Street, London. It was at Prime Minister Lex McGivern's insistence that his own counterpart be tracked down in order to run the island. A moral safety net that afforded him the ability to live with what he was doing to the test subjects, but which arguably had credentials no more honourable than that of a suicide bomber. Ultimately though, his plan had served its purpose. The Prime Minister was able to take his own life to stop the man who was threatening to pull the plug on Ducie; his counterpart Eduardo Rey. Had the Prime Minister been one of the many test subjects over the years that didn't seem to have a locatable counterpart, the whole story might have played out very differently, but as it was, the Prime Minister's CROP-fuelled sleep state led them to Eduardo. The equivalent of £3,000,000 up front and a further £5,000,000 on completion of the project and Ducie had itself its first leader. Eduardo had strongly suspected that he'd have been killed anyway had he declined. He may well have been right about that.

Chapter 58. Into the abyss

Adam Trundle isn't the first person to seemingly disappear without a trace. History is fraught with examples of inexplicable disappearances that are accepted for no other reason than that there is no answer. Or more so, that there are _too many_ possible answers and not enough evidence to support the logical theories of murder, abduction or the simple fact that someone just didn't want to face life any more and decided to hide away from it instead. Is it possible therefore that when the universe cannot find a logical way to dispose of a counterpart when his opposite number dies, it simply sucks them into the abyss or some alternative existence? This is the question that Steve Towerbridge vowed to get to the bottom of in memory of his friend the Prime Minister, of Eduardo, of Lionel Martinez, of Andrea Fuentes and in what he assumed was the memory of Adam Trundle. This would be the next stage of the counterpart project. Whether to take the project public or to keep it under stress-inducing lock key would be another decision Steve would have to make. All in good time though.

First, he had one phone call that just couldn't wait....

Chapter 59. Do not do all you can

PC Kevin recognised Kate instantly as he steered the patrol car around a traffic island and onto the dual carriageway

\- That's her there.

He pointed to an unfathomable figure in the distance.

\- You sure Kev?

\- Yeah, I'm sure. I know that walk.

\- Bingo!

Paul reached for the siren, but Kevin slapped his hand away firmly.

\- She'll run if we start flashing blue you idiot. Pull over just short of her there and follow me out.

Paul brought the car to a stop and the two men jumped out. Kate turned round at the sound of car doors slamming and shaped to run away, but instantly thought better of it, whether due to sheer fatigue or the fact that she was still a good half a mile from the Institution, the only safe haven she knew of. She stopped dead in her tracks and waited for the officers to catch up.

\- Ok. Do your thing boys. Take me to the station.

\- We're not going to take you in Kate. You haven't broken the law as far as we know.

\- They think I busted Adam out though don't they.

\- They _did_. Becky said you hadn't moved from the waiting room though.

\- So what do you want from me?

\- This place, the underground prison.

\- The institution.

\- That's the puppy!

\- What about it?

\- Take us there.

\- You're wasting your time.

\- So you made it up?

\- If you like.

\- Something tells me you didn't.

\- Well you had a good laugh at me earlier when I mentioned it.

\- Well since then, your buddy has apparently teleported himself out of a locked police cell. I'm entitled to think anything's now possible. So you'll take us there?

\- Why?

\- Well if what you're saying about the place is true, then it's something we need to be looking into. Check it's all legit, you know. The place isn't showing up on any register, so something must be up with it. Who's running the gaff? Immigrants? Squatters?

\- Government.

\- Give me a break!

\- It's government run. You can raid the place if you like, but you'll be overridden once they call on the PM. Then you'll be part of it, because you know the secret.

\- What's the secret Kate?

\- Look, you're better off turning round and going back to the day job. Look for Adam. Whatever. You don't want part of this, trust me.

\- But what if I _do_ want part of it?

Kate looked Kevin in the eye, searching for some sign that would validate her trust in him.

\- Just go, Kevin.

\- But, Kate, I....

\- _Just go!_

Kate shot Kevin a look that he recognised all too well. A look that spoke of underlying truths. That all was not what it seemed. He got it.

\- Well, ok. We're going. But if you change your mind....

He handed her a card with his name and number on. Kate took it and feigned disinterest. Kevin gestured to his colleague.

\- Come on pal. We're out of here.

And with that came the beginning of the end.

Chapter 60. Permission

PC Kevin felt the satisfying, warm buzz of his mobile phone in his trouser pocket. Sooner than he'd expected, but he'd known the message was coming. He put the phone to his ear and navigated the maze of robotically spoken options that eventually lead him to one that advised, "You have one new voicemail". The line crackled and what sounded like wind or traffic dominated the line for a few seconds before it was punctuated by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

\- Hello? Has it started?Right.... If you're sure you know what you're getting into. Exactly where you just pulled the car in. 11pm. Tomorrow. Just you though, ok? Ok...erm.... bye.
Chapter 61. It's always the quiet ones

As Daniella Diaz's eyes opened, they were met by rays of the Ducie sun that didn't offer a soft and welcoming illumination of the day to come like they usually did, but instead attacked her retinas and pierced a cold tunnel of reality into her consciousness. The weight of recent events fell on her from a height, crushing her under a torrent of bad memories. Eduardo, Lionel, Andrea all dead. Lucas missing, maybe even dead himself. She couldn't allow herself to believe it. She reached under her bed and retrieved the hand made box that Lucas had given to her the night of the beach party. His words from that night replayed vividly in her head like a tape recording:

\- If anything happens to me Daniella _, anything_. If I die, go missing or start acting strange in some way, then you open this box and follow the instructions inside to the letter. Until then, you just put it somewhere safe and don't say a thing to anyone about it. Promise me Daniella!

His voice had been more serious than she'd ever heard it before. Too clear and particular for him to have been under the influence of a glass of wine too many.

She didn't know what to expect when she opened the box, but since Lucas had mentioned instructions of some sort, the lone piece of paper she found inside made sense. That was until she unfolded it and began to read:

Daniella,

Since you are reading this, it may mean I am in trouble or that I am dead. Firstly, I need you to put any thoughts of worry or sadness about me to one side. I never got chance to tell you how much you meant to me. I suppose the chances were there, but I was too scared of what you would think if I told you that I loved you. Wherever I am right now, in this life or the next, please know that I am holding you in my heart as much now as I did always. I just wish I'd had the courage to tell you how I felt before.

A tear escaped Daniella's eye and began a descent down the perfectly smooth gradient of her cheek and rested on her lip. She could see that there was more of the letter to read, so fought back a full release of emotions for fear that she would otherwise not make it to the end of the page.

You know I was always curious about Ducie and I know that you hated that about me; told me just to accept it as paradise and live in the moment. I couldn't do that Daniella. Not even for you. On the night of the Eduardo's birthday party on the beach, I slipped away to the Estate and went to look for answers. It's crazy, I know! But it's not as crazy as what I found there. Daniella, I chose you to leave this letter to, because I trust you more than anyone on this island. Even more than myself! I need someone to break into the Estate and get every last document out of the top drawer of the grey filing cabinet in the main office. Once the documents have been stolen, they need to be shared with everyone in Ducie. You won't understand them, nobody will. But the whole island need to go to the Estate as a joint force and demand answers from whomever the leader of the island is. I don't want you to go yourself Daniella, there are people in that place. People that aren't part of the Ducie that you and I know. I know it's crazy, but I wouldn't lie to you. The reason I gave you the letter is because you are the only person I trusted not to open it until the time was right. I may be wrong about all this, but if something has happened to me, then the chances are I'm right. I trust you also to pick the right person to do the job.

I ask only one more thing of you Daniella and that is that you do not shed a tear for me, no matter what the reason for you deciding to open this letter is.

Strength and love, Lucas x

Daniella had already broken one promise; she had shed a tear for Lucas. She was determined to keep it at that and fought hard to bury her emotions and focus on what the letter was saying. The filing cabinet, the people at the Estate. It made no sense, but at the same time she knew it had to be true. She trusted Lucas. A sudden wave of sickness passed through her, tugging at her heart and turning her stomach at the thought of what her and Lucas could have had. They could _still_ have it. Lucas could be ok for all she knew. The feint hope was enough to keep her spirits from collapsing completely.

She knew what she had to do....

Chapter 62. Do not tell all you know

Rain was falling hard as Daniella arrived at the Estate, clutching the box tight like it contained the hopes of all humanity inside. She wanted to carry out Lucas's instructions, but she couldn't bring herself to delegate the task to anyone else any more than she backed her own chances of successfully pulling off a filing cabinet smash-and-grab herself. Lucas would have hated to see her in such a dilemma, but a dilemma is what it was. She knocked the door and waited for Ducie's new leader to answer. The rain continued to fall, occasionally increasing in intensity briefly, before quickly returning to a steady shower. Weather was seasonal in Ducie and the glorious cycle of the rain's ebbs and flows brought a sense of renewal to the island. Daniella felt this; whether because of the rain or because of what she was about to do, she sensed the cusp of a new era. When the door finally opened, Ducie's new leader looked as surprised as he did welcoming to see Daniella.

\- Daniella gal! Whatcha be frolickin round in dis mad-ness for?

Harrison signalled to the sky and the chaos ejecting from it.

\- Come gal, come!

He opened the door wider and waved her in.

Inside, Harrison handed Daniella a towel, which she idly dabbed her face with. Being wet wasn't what she was concerned with right now. She shifted nervously in her chair, her hands intertwined with each other repeatedly as she fidgeted with them, watching the room, corner to corner, as if she were waiting for something to happen.

\- Norw I-man know, ya not be traipsing round inna di downpour just a come say hi t'me.

Harrison nodded down towards the wooden box resting in Daniella's lap. She held it, shaped to offer it across the desk to Harrison, but appeared to think better of it.

\- I am....I mean.....I want..... I.....

\- Ya comin widda lickle pres-ant for uncle 'Arrison, yeah?

Harrison smirked. His relaxed and jovial manner was taking the edge off the nerves that were still making a good job of eating Daniella from the inside out.

\- It's not a present. It's....It's....

\- Daniella....

Harrison's eyes were sharper, more intent now. Daniella tried to read them. Not urgency. Impatience perhaps.

\- ....Give me the box Daniella.

\- It's nothing. I'm just.... It's just....

Each word that left her mouth quickly ran itself into a lonely cul-de-sac, failing to connect to anything else of meaning.

\- I'll be going now.

Daniella stood up to leave, fumbling the box as she did. She watched it clatter to the floor in slow motion. The lid didn't fall open, but the sickly pain shot through her hand like an acute torpedo, as Harrison's huge boot pinned her dainty fingers to the floor, as he reached over and took the box away, calmly retaking his seat and examining each face of the box like he were an antiques expert trying to put a price on it. Daniella considered running, but quickly thought better of it. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Honesty was the best policy, she'd thought. Be straight, come clean. She had nothing to hide. Harrison was cool. He'd take it in his stride. Ducie's new leader unfastened the makeshift latch on the box and looked inside, as Daniella prayed that somehow the note inside might have vanished; it hadn't.

The silence as he read felt like the empty void of death. A formless mass of nothingness that seemed to have no sign of an end. She studied Harrison's face, as his expression went from deep concentration, to a slight frown, before a lone tear escaped from his eye and he put his head in his hands. Daniella was numb and confused, as she watched his body vibrate subtly in a way that could have been mistaken for laughter, if not for the occasional sniffle that punctuated it.

\- Sir....

Harrison put his hand up, signalling her to go no further, his head still bowed, as if he were too ashamed to look at her.

\- Sir what does this mean? What does Lucas....

\- I sorry Daniella.

He finally lifted his head to look her in the eye; his face contorted into an ugly, strained expression, as if somehow looking at her was causing him physical pain. He looked away again.

\- Sorry for what? What is all this about?

There was a slight sob laced into Daniella's voice now too, as she got swept away with the emotion of seeing a grown man, a big man like Harrison cry. Harrison reached into a drawer underneath the desk and removed something, which he held in his lap. What on earth could fit inside a single drawer that would hold all the answers to this? Daniella waited.

\- God Selassie , Jehovah God Rastafari, Almighty God, Rastafari great and terrible God Rastafari. Forgive I. Forgive I God.

Harrison moved quickly. Much too quick for Daniella to react, as he revealed the brand new semi-automatic handgun from his lap and shot Daniella just off-centre of her moist, olive forehead.

She knew little about it. She was gone.
Chapter 63. Back to the old house.

\- You sure you're not taking me on a goose chase Gaffney?

Kevin's tone was jovial, but laced with the hint of a serious question. As the pair walked across the sludgy, un-mown grass of Pype Hayes Park towards the old house.

\- _You_ begged _me_ to take you here, didn't you?

\- I guess.

\- Well pipe down with your moaning then.

\- So it's exactly as Adam described it at the station? An Institution underneath the old house and all that.

\- Yep. And when we get there, you just let me do the talking ok?

\- Of course. I wouldn't know where to start anyway.

Kate stopped as they reached the foot of the short gravel driveway. A green Ford Fiesta that looked like it hadn't been road worthy this side of the turn of the millennium sat desolate and redundant in front of the house.

\- So this is it?

\- This is the house, yeah.

Shouts of young children could he heard from a nearby play area. Wholesome, uncorrupted little souls, living in the purity of the present moment. Kate had always envied that about children. A dog barked excitedly in the distance. A young couple walked past Kate and Kevin, their arms bound in a knot of affection.

\- So, this is _it_? Right here? In the middle of a public park? Kids and dogs just milling about?

\- Trust me, they would never suspect a thing. It's gone unnoticed this long hasn't it.

\- So what do we do, knock on the door and wait?

\- There's nothing behind the door Kevin.

Under normal circumstances, this would have sounded like crackhead talk to Kevin, but he had primed himself for the wacky and unexpected.

\- You mean the house is empty?

\- More than just empty; it's a shell.

Kevin tried to compute what he was hearing to formulate a response, but the stringy logic of the conversation caused his brain to short circuit and return nothing but mush. Kate continued.

\- The inside of the house is just air. No roof, no floor. A tube going underground basically. Looks the part from the outside, but it's just 4 high walls that look like the outside of a house.

\- No floor?

\- Nope. Just a void that leads down to the Institution. A direct line of fresh air and sunlight. The Institution's smoking quad is at the bottom. Makes it a slightly more palatable experience being inside having somewhere you can be exposed to the elements and kill yourself with a cancer stick.

\- So how do we get in?

Kate didn't answer the question, but began walking beyond the house and into an open field. Kevin quickly followed.

\- That's it? You're showing me the outside of the house and walking off?

Kate ignored Kevin once more and continued walking for a while and then stopped. She bent down and patted the grass with her hand.

For the first time since she'd brought him here, Kevin was starting to think his hunch was wrong. That he should never have believed Kate and Adam's story. Perhaps they _were_ just tripped-out druggies who had created a fantasy land in their heads, just like everyone back at the station had said.

\- What the hell are you doing fondling the grass?

By now, Kate was reaching around, yanking at handfuls of grass. Pulling and straining to the point where the grass uprooted in her hand, then moving on to the next patch.

\- Kate! What the fuck?

She ignored him and continued pulling up lumps of grass, before eventually giving up with a frustrated sigh, throwing the last clump of grass into the wind. She walked to the nearest tree and stood with her back flat against it, as Kevin looked on bemused and now resigned to her ignorance of him. After a moment's pause, Kate took 8 large strides forward. She stopped. 6 large sideways strides. She stopped again and looked down.

\- This has _got_ to be it!

\- Got to be _what_ Kate? What the hell's going on with you?

She ignored him for the umpteenth time and began to pull at the grass between her legs. Bingo! A square of the grass opened like a trapdoor. She looked around at Kevin.

\- Welcome to the Institution!

\- You've got to be joking me?

Kate began lowering herself into the hatch with a grace and smoothness that Kevin suspected owed to the fact that she'd done this before.

\- Look, I'm going in to check there's nobody kicking around down there. You wait here. Watch the hatch. When you're clear to go, I'll nudge it from the inside and you follow me, ok?

Kate heard no response from Kevin as she was preoccupied trying to find a foothold to complete her descent into the hatch.

\- Kevin?

She hoisted herself back up, but there was no sign of Kevin. At that moment, Kate felt the rigid barrel of Kevin's gun resting on the back of her head. She knew it was over. Her thoughts raced. How could she have been this naïve? She barely knew Kevin, yet she'd trusted him enough to lead him to the Institution. What did she think he wanted with the place? Did she really believe he was just satisfying his own curiosity? _"Fuck, fuck, fuck....you idiot!"_. She closed herself off to Adam for so long and yet she knew him so well, but here she was, strung up like a kipper for being too accommodating to some Kevin bloke she hardly knew....and a copper to make it worse!

\- I'm sorry Kate.

Despite the fact that Kate knew that he wasn't sorry, his words sounded surprisingly genuine.

\- Do it!

\- Look, it's just business. It's nothing personal. You did what you had to do. I'm just doing the same for myself here. You know how it is.

\- Shut your mouth and just finish me, you prick! You got me. You win. I was stupid! Just do it!

Kevin scanned his surroundings nervously. They were in a public park and Kate's raised voice was threatening to attract attention. The gun carried a silencing device, but he didn't plan for noise from Kate. For now though there was nobody around.

\- We're gonna storm the place and catch them off guard Kate. I have a team over there waiting for the word.

Kevin signalled towards a collection of trees that was probably slightly too small to be labelled a forest.

\- We just needed you to lead us here, but we couldn't risk having you around to blow the cover. You understand, yeah?

What did it matter if she understood? In a few moments she wouldn't exist any more.

\- Do what you need to do Kevin. _Do it!_

A small part of Kate expected Kevin to bottle it. Something in his voice, a lack of authority, his need to explain himself, something told her he wouldn't do it.

\- Goodbye Kate!

A flash, a whir, silence, memories, calm, chaos. The whole universe in an instant, but over too quickly for any of it to register. A spectrum of emotions poured into a vacant mind that no longer housed a soul to appreciate them.

She was gone.

Chapter 64. Magnets

Coincidence.

Misfortune.

Ambition.

Curiosity.

Greed.

Compassion.

Destiny....

The list goes on.

The reasons that led people to become embroiled in this tale of tragedy were wide-ranging. Whether by choice or by chance; by hook or by crook, each of those involved was drawn into it by a powerful and relentless force. Their lives reluctantly woven into patterns they never intended to make. Some never to return, the rest with their soul and psychology disfigured forever.

Kate Gaffney, without whom the counterpart theory may never have been discovered, had perished along with Daniella Diaz, Lex McGivern, Eduardo and so many others. In whatever realm Kate's soul now resided, it can't have been any less at peace than it was in the material world.

Adam Trundle was neither dead nor alive. Having seemingly morphed into a formless existence, disappearing through some blemish in the fabric of reality that _for now_ was unknown.

The Institution had been rumbled. Chaos would follow. And with those with most to answer for no longer around to be held to account, the pressure on Steve Towerbridge, Frank Gilbert and Harrison Morgan to carry the burden would become immense.

The counterpart project. Such a feat in human discovery that was now in danger of being erased, having systematically disposed of most of those that knew its secret. But of all the unfathomable possibilities that lay ahead; of all the uncertainties, Steve vowed to make sure of just one thing: The death of his friend the Prime Minister and everyone else that fell with him would not be for nothing.

This was not the end of the counterpart project.

This was not the end of Ducie.

In the midst of progress a soldier falls,

And nobody flinches, a means to an end,

Nature persists and the cycle goes on,

Over and over, until everything's gone.

Chris Freeman.
