Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
The cold water seemed to awaken my senses a little. I had to get back to Susan and knew I would have to play up the ulcer to end the evening. All I wanted to do was get home – alone.
Her eyes held the question as I returned to her.
‘It’s no good,’ I lied. ‘It will keep me awake all night and ruin your sleep. Perhaps we can make up for it the next time?’
She nodded trying not to show her disappointment. ‘What about your cold drink?’ She invited.
‘Pass.’ I answered. ‘It’s best we get a cab and quit. For sure it will get worse as the night goes on.’ Susan agreed and hailed a cab. Within minutes, we were on our way home to Colliers Wood which was not a long journey. Mustering the best passionate kiss I could raise, we parted at her door leaving me to promise her a phone call tomorrow. I now directed the driver to take me home but not to my front door.
I could see the lights of my house were still on as the cab pulled up at Brunswick Place. The driver got paid without me waiting for change. It was now 3am in the morning.
All the ghosts of the night came to meet me as I looked warily at my house. Beneath the street lights the sudden dash of a cat broke the silence as my solitary figure walked around the side to my back garden. Then with experience fostering me with caution, I crept along the garden path and hastily entered my kitchen window with the minimum of noise.
Like an intruder, I tiptoed in, half expecting to find somebody there. I checked the inside door bolt, assuring myself I was alone. Yet the silence irritated me. The comfort of Susan’s body was missing. Only an urge for the bathroom confirmed my safety as I let flow the waters of diluted wine. Somehow, the world seemed big and powerful as I pitted my wits against the coming day. It was already Friday, and my meeting with the sisters was for 10am. Feeling washed out, I dimmed the lights and crashed out onto the settee.
At 7am, I awoke to the jovial laugh of mouse coming from upstairs and wearily moved like a robot to execute him. But still feeling sleepy, I turned the alarm forward two hours and again crashed out onto the bed. The extra two hours soon passed but it made a big difference to the way I had felt before.
I left mouse to laugh while I psyched myself up to get up and did my morning ablutions. It was kettle, radio, shower, and post box in that order before a 9.30am chime saw me eating my toast. There was now just half an hour before my meeting with Lisa and Laura in the back room of the Hoopla Hoop café in the Old Kent Road. It was owned by their Auntie whose mind was broader than Broadway, USA.
The new lab pass was to be my ID if challenged at the bank. The vault pass only had to be filled in with Bruce’s signature copied from the flower invoice I had used, so I filled in Bruce’s client pass number DBX147 which the weasel had given me. Together with the close up photos of Bruce they went into my pocket. A can of spray-on plastic skin was going with me too. Finally, the two deposit box keys were put on my door key ring. They were the last things I wanted to lose. Satisfied my head was in order; I switched on the answerphone and left by the back door. I planned to leave my car where it was at Surrey Quays shopping centre. Again, I was going the short journey by cab as it was only fifteen minutes away to the café.
Being conscious of watchful eyes, I cut through blocks of flats to meet my cab outside the Rascal pub about half an hour away and reassuring myself as I did so. Within twenty minutes, I was inside the café to find the sisters sitting at table drinking coffee. We all shared a smile and disappeared into the back room.
I produced Bruce’s photos and watched the girl’s study his features while I sat chaired in the middle of the room under a bright light. A wide range of wigs and makeup were displayed on a table nearby. Between them, the sisters made confidant remarks, that by the time they were finished, even Dr Bruce would believe I was him.
‘Close your eyes Jack and believe you’re a movie star,’ said Lisa. ‘You want to be this person, right?’ I nodded. ‘OK’ she continued. ‘Then from this moment on, you must see and be him in your mind.’ Again I nodded.
‘Good’ added Laura. ‘We will transform you to look like him but only you can act him out.’ On hearing that, I thought back over all the tapes and listening to Dr Bruce’s voice. His face was vividly in my mind now. The girls then wrapped a sheet around me and told me to mind my own business while they got on with their job of transforming me.
I sat like a statue, unable to avoid their show of legs, bums and tits as they hovered over me. My face got pulled this way and that way after my hair had been tinted, pulled, combed, cut and shaped. My face got slapped with creams and powders, while through closed eyes, I could hear scissors snip here and there followed by sprays and the buzz of a hair dryer.
Like an artiste’s model, I sat there conscious of the sisters stopping to admire their work. A touch here and an alteration there until finally, after two hours, away came the sheet. Now a mirror was thrust in front of my face. I stared back at Dr Bruce! It was an amazing impersonation, I thought, while the sisters beamed in mutual admiration. ‘Crikey’ my voice said, ‘How can I tell the difference?’
‘We’re not finished yet Jack’ said Lisa. ‘Part of a personality change is a psychological change. Now take off your clothes and lay upon the table.’
‘What everything?’ I enquired.
‘Yes, everything but your pants’ smiled Laura.
Off came my clothes and onto the table I laid. My eyes looked down at my finger nails as I felt four smooth hands stretch and pull at my muscles. Aromas of oils and colognes were splashed upon me as a string of sexual remarks filtered through their giggles. I tried hard not to respond as I felt a stirring in my lions. On turning over, I imagined I had blinkers on and lay with my eyes closed while I sensed their eyes take measure of the one part I could not relax. But in spite of all this, the sisters were right. I felt rejuvenated and alive with a new energy. It would have been nice if I felt this way with Susan last night, I thought. But today, I knew it would end one way or another.
‘That’s it then Dr Bruce,’ said Laura. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Great. Just great,’ I answered.
‘I’ll get some coffees while you dress,’ she added.
As the make ups were packed away, I assembled into my clothes and compared myself to the photos of Bruce as I looked in the mirror. My impersonation was faultless. ‘The acting profession don’t know what they are missing,’ I told them. Satisfied with my compliment, they gave me the rundown on the theatre’s and how close they had come to being famous. But I had heard it all before. Yet I did offer a surprised smile for them.
When Laura returned with the coffee, I counted out £200 for each of them. It was a good day’s work, they agreed. Hopefully it would be the same for me, I thought.
Now I was ready for Barclays bank. The time was 1.30pm. My plan was to arrive there about 2.30 and by cab it would take all of that to get through into the city. But now I was on a high. It was shit or burst! I looked good, felt good and smelt good. The scam had to come off. It will work, I promised myself. The sisters knew I was up to something, but knew better than to ask. A cab was called for, and then 5 minutes later I was on my way to the city depository of Barclays bank.
Hardly a word was spoken on the journey. The driver did not blink when I paid him off outside the bank. From my pocket, I sprayed the plastic skin all over my hands. Then with a measure of confidence I skipped the two steps up into the bank and made my way to the chief of cashier’s desk. An ashen faced hawk nosed voice answered my question.
‘I would like to visit my deposits,’ I told him. The face looked at me with a matter of fact expression. I was obviously familiar to him. ‘Have you got your deposit pass, sir?’ His hand flipped over ready to inspect the vault pass in my pocket. I made sure that I had the lab pass flush beside it, hoping his trained eye would not miss the photo upon it. ‘Ah yes, Dr Bruce,’ he pronounced. ‘Please come this way.’
I followed him to a door at the side of the cashier’s tills. A bell was pressed and the door opened by a uniformed guard. Ashen face handed over my vault pass to him. ‘Admit Dr Bruce to the depository, please.’ He told the bored guard. I followed him to a barred door which he knocked upon. A small window slid back to expose an enquiring face. Again the order was passed on. ‘Admit Dr Bruce, one person only.’ He said. The paper was handed through the door. Then my client pass number DBX147 was examined and punched into a computer which came up with a photograph of Dr Bruce. Looking from me back to the computer he acknowledged identity and saved me the panic of wondering what to do next.
A button was pressed to release an electronic lock on the door. As I entered, the first guard left and the pass was handed back to me once I was inside. Then a short passage to another door was unlocked by the guard, where he left me alone.
With the door closed behind me, I observed the banks of steel like lockers; each numbered and divided with a partition for privacy. There were three other people in there attending to their dark secrets in silence. I realized it was no longer any big deal. I had done it! I was in! So like an authorised depositor I took out the box keys, having located the deposits A48 and A53.
I was curious what else other than the formula may be secreted in the boxes. But my first priority was the red bound formula. Box A48 was opened first and that was immediate bingo! With all the care of handling a sacred icon, I lifted it from the box and stared at the bold black letters on the red cover. XP42. The folder was about half an inch thick in A4 size. I quickly looked through the pages but the scientific jargon got the better of me. At the same time I knew I was holding the power of life and death in my hands. But I had the prize.
Curiosity got the better of me to look in the other box A53. It was about three steps away. After locking the first box, I did a systematic search through a bundle of papers in the second box. There was nothing that my mind could make sense of in them. I locked it shut, then made tidy my effort to leave the depository.
Nobody gave a second look as I walked to the guard’s door and pressed a buzzer. It was soon opened. Once again I was asked for my client’s pass. He checked my number against the photo on his computer then waited for a few brief seconds until clearance was announced. This time the first guard came to the barred door to escort me back out into the bank. I emerged as a buzzer sounded to let everybody know the door was opening. Old ashen face gave me an antique smile as I passed by. ‘Goodbye Dr Bruce,’ he called. I nodded politely. It was over and done inside half an hour. The next thing I wanted to do now was get home.
A sense of relief came over me as the cab I had hailed drew further and further away from the bank. Well I hadn’t been arrested by MI5/6, so perhaps I had been too paranoid, I thought. Now everything depended on how I boxed it with Ahmed. I looked forward to the £50,000 he owed me. It had been a good day, thanks to the talents of Lisa, Laura and all the other people who had unwittingly helped in my plans. Yet still at the back of my mind, I knew there was no way I could allow this Iranian plot to be carried out on the British people. There had to be something I could do to thwart it.
I was miles away in thought when the cab pulled up at Brunswick Place. ‘We are here,’ shouted the driver as my thoughts came back to earth. I squared him up, holding firm onto the red bound formula as I walked on towards home.
It was fast coming on 6pm as I made my way up to the rear garden. A few manoeuvres with the kitchen window soon had me inside with the folder.
There was stillness in the house as I made my way into the sitting room. Then all hell let loose!
From behind the door jumped two large men, and then a woman entered from the hallway. I was gobsmacked! Surprised! Afraid! Frightened!
‘Good evening, Jack! Or should we say Dr Bruce?’
My legs were turning to jelly. The formula dropped to the floor. Then it hit me! The perfume, that distinct smell!
‘Don’t panic. Just relax.’ Ordered one of the men.
I sat down looking from left to right at them all. ‘What is going on?’ I pleaded with unconvincing innocence.
‘Do you want to tell us?’ ‘Or shall we tell you?’ asked the woman.
‘What is the point?’ I muttered, unsure what to say.
‘Ok. Let’s start from the beginning,’ she continued. ‘I am Inspector Elaine Morton. We know you have already guessed who we are. And I am sure you appreciate there is very little we don’t know about you.’
I looked from one to the other. My nightmare was coming true. ‘Ok, ok.’ I answered. ‘I’ve known for a while that I was being watched but I couldn’t read your minds. You are from British Intelligence, right?’
‘Correct.’ said the Inspector.
I couldn’t help notice how dammed attractive she was with her blond hair. She was remarkably similar to Marylyn Monroe, the film star. But her eyes were fixed firm and poised with the next question.
‘We can arrest you for numerous offences, including burglary, theft, espionage, impersonation amongst other things we know about. But we would rather your cooperation in the interests of state security. You don’t have much choice.’
I sat transfixed, hanging on to every word she spoke. My thoughts galloped away into prison. How many years would I get? 10, 20, 30, life? I dared to move then heard myself ask, ‘Do I have an alternative?’
‘Good,’ began the commander. ‘I think you may well prefer our proposition. It comes with immunity from prosecution.’ There was a pause in the air.
‘I am all ears.’ I said with a perk of hope rising.
‘We don’t know how much precisely you know about the formula, but the genuine one is not for sale at any price. You will be disappointed to learn that yours is a fake one.’ He paused for effect.
My body jerked forward from the armchair. My ears strained. Was I hearing right? The formula was a fake? ‘Not the real thing?’ I spluttered.
‘Precisely. Surely you did not think that state secrets are so easily come by!’