Chapter 3
The man recovered briefly.
It was brief, to be sure; only for a matter of seconds, but it was enough for him to recover his senses and hurl abuse at his tormentors.
“You bastards!” he roared. “You evil bastards! Let me go at once!”
If his hands and feet were not shackled to the table, he would have jumped up and smacked them all in the face; as it was, he could not, and was forced to content himself with mere verbal attacks. Though his words stood no chance of gaining him freedom, they gave him a sense of power, however small and ineffective, over his captors. Perhaps it would have been more sensible to remain silent and wait for an opportunity to escape, but he had always been an emotional man.
He had always been an emotional man. Ah yes, the memories came flooding back: his childhood, his home, his girlfriend, his dog. In a matter of milliseconds, all that had been hidden from him was revealed and his identity restored.
Eighteen seconds, to be exact, he was conscious. It took no time at all for the surgeons to re-administer the injection and sedate him once more. His outburst shocked them. In all, there were five surgeons crowded around him. None of them had been giving their attention to him: he understood this was a long term procedure requiring complex chemical calculations, and so the team had been busy preparing instruments and solutions to keep him in the required state.
All around was chaos:
“Nurse, the pipette!”
“Stimulate the gland!”
“Where are my gloves?”
“On the table, Miguel- now quickly, inject him!”
Once again, he felt the cold metal penetrate his skin and the now familiar solution coursing through his bloodstream towards his brain.
“Who did it? How did it happen?”
“It’s that bloody TGN again.”
“Shit. It’s happening more and more often these past few days… we’ll have to do something about them.”
These were the last words he heard before the process began once more.
Memories faded into nothingness; notions of identity began to blur; the world around him began to change. It would have been a familiar sensation to him, except memory is required for the concept of familiarity to work, and this procedure was designed specifically to wipe out memories and even reality.
Blackness enveloped: then a flying sensation, as if a being of energy or soul, free from bodily restraints…
Then he found himself in another facility, equally as sinister as the first but with different people and a different layout.
A man with the air of a Victorian dandy sat before him with a relaxed smile.
“Hello,” said the man. “My name is Douglas. What’s yours?”
It was the day following Kathy’s meeting with Jeff and Barbara. It was eight o’clock in the morning and she was on her way to work. Her first business was to liaise with the police and to put out a missing person story about Thomas. But work cannot be done on an empty stomach, and, despite the urgency of the matter, she was following her normal daily routine.
At eight o’clock every morning, she would visit a café on an obscure street in London and have her breakfast. Every day it was the same: a full English breakfast consisting of two rashers of bacon, one fried egg and beans. The café was a small, family-run affair called “Coffee stop”. It was nothing special: a small, plain white shop front with its name written in large yet inconspicuous letters above the main shop window. Inside were about half a dozen tables with four chairs around each one. It didn’t get much business: Kathy was usually the only customer when she went there.
Despite appearances, Coffee Stop’s full English breakfast was one of the best Kathy had ever had. She had found this small, nondescript place two years previous when she had been working on a story about a local teenager who had started a small campaign against mosquitoes- those devices attached to shop fronts that emit high pitched noises which only under 18s can hear, designed to prevent youths hanging around outside- which had gone national. He had argued that they were discriminatory against young people in general and could harm babies and toddlers too. After covering that story, Kathy had felt a little bit peckish and sought out somewhere local to eat. She had noticed this place and had gone in, although the appearance was unimpressive to say the least. Nevertheless, she had instantly fallen in love with their cuisine and ever since she had taken a short detour every day on her way to work to enjoy their breakfast.
She had obviously become a local and was one of their favourite customers. This effect had been bolstered by the fact that she was also one of their only customers. Sometimes Kathy wondered whether it was her daily visit alone which prevented Coffee Stop from going out of business.
The shop was run by a kindly middle aged married couple called Hannah and Pete Winkleman. Both had an appearance typical for someone who worked in the food industry: Pete was fairly portly while Hannah was verging on obese; yet both fulfilled the stereotype of the “jolly fat man”. It was a rare occasion to see either of them without a smile on their face, beaming out at every customer who chanced to enter.
Kathy was sitting in her usual spot by the window where she could look out at the world around her. Of course, this being a small suburban establishment, that ‘world’ merely consisted of a few semi-detached houses, a traffic light and- on the corner of her vision- a small park. Still, it was a nice view if only for the people. She knew this neighbourhood now like the back of her hand and she knew its people well too. Just like her, there seemed to be a routine to everything in the lives of the locals.
At five to eight every morning, Kathy would arrive. Her breakfast would be served by eight o’clock and it would take her half an hour to eat it, finish her tea and leave. At seven minutes past eight every morning, an elderly gentlemen would pass Coffee Stop on his morning run. At nine minutes past eight every morning, a group of three schoolchildren would rush past on their way to the bus stop. At seventeen minutes past eight every morning, a married couple would stroll past in the opposite direction in a stony silence- they clearly argued frequently and barely got on; Kathy wondered what kept them together at all. Finally, at twenty two minutes past eight every morning, a young woman in her thirties would walk past towards the park with her dog.
Perhaps it was the incessant, clockwork-like rhythm of this neighbourhood that Kathy enjoyed. In a job as varied as journalism, it is sometimes nice to have something constant and reliable as part of your day.
Something was different about today, however. The normally empty café had some newcomers: on the other side of the room were three men crowded around a table having breakfast and tea. They could not have looked more mismatched: one wore a suit befitting one who worked in finance in the City; another wore a lab coat, spectacles and a badly fitting toupee; the other had long hair styled into dreadlocks, the beginnings of a beard and looked as if he had been part of the ‘flower power’ generation of the seventies and had never grown up.
Kathy’s thoughts normally occupied her head during her morning meal. Presently, however, she found herself immersed in the conversation of the three strangers.
The hippy, as she had decided to call the dreadlocked man, was in the midst of discussing something which, by the looks on the faces of his two companions, seemed to thoroughly bore the businessman and frustrate the scientist. The businessman- as she had named the suited man- appeared uncomfortable in general with both of his companions, including the scientist (the name she had given to the man in the lab coat). He seemed to be preoccupied by something and was regularly checking his watch and his mobile phone- a blackberry, of course- and then glancing haughtily back at his companions as they continued their animated discussion. The scientist, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to his friend’s nonchalance and was thoroughly engaged in the discussion. His expression indicated concern and irritation as he attempted to show the hippy the error of his ways. There was something slightly arrogant in the stance of
the scientist, as if he thought he knew best and would not suffer fools gladly- and he clearly considered the hippy to be a fool, unacquainted with the latest scientific knowledge. Equally, there was something child-like and naïve about the hippy- a willingness to bounce from idea to idea without so much as a shred of evidence or proof, simply because the idea sounded good. Kathy stared quite openly at their lively conversation; the businessman noticed her attention, but clearly had other things on his mind. He made a quiet grunting noise and glanced back at his phone. The hippy and the scientist were too engaged in their own matters to even notice the attention of the stranger in the café.
“…I’m telling you, it’s true!” said the hippy insistently. “At the very least, Arnold, you cannot discount the possibility.” (Kathy had begun observing them mid-conversation and at this point did not know what the trio were discussing.)
“Of course it’s possible, but it’s not probable. Not in our lifetimes,” urged the scientist, who Kathy had worked out was called Arnold. “Look, Reg, since I last met you I’ve been scouring the scientific journals for any hint of what you mention. If it was possible…” he paused. “If it was discovered, I mean, I would have found it by now. But there’s nothing there. Not even an article discounting the possibility. Nobody within the scientific community has even begun any kind of research into it. And if they had, it would have made big news- national, probably even international.”
“So why not look into it yourself?” urged the hippy, whose name had revealed itself to be Reg. “You’re a scientist- you work in the government laboratories- you have ample opportunity to find out how it’s done!”
Arnold sighed. “It’s not that simple. I don’t work alone, I’m part of a team, and we’re already in the course of a long term research project about the neurological causes of Parkinson’s disease. To delay that research, to can it in favour of… of your ludicrous idea… well, it would be monstrous! Our work at the moment is vital to hundreds- nay, thousands- of people. If we are successful, we may be one step closer to curing a debilitating condition. I cannot give all that up to follow your fanciful whims!”
Silence reigned for a moment. Then Reg spoke up, in a timid voice, “They’re not fanciful whims.”
“Oh, shut up!” said Arnold, irritated. “Of course they are! What you propose is absurd!”
Reg continued, “I do not propose it. I merely report it. I’m telling you, I’ve heard from people who know about these things. You say it’s not in any scientific journals- well, it wouldn’t be! It’s been discovered by a private company- and why would they want to share it with the world? What advantage would it be to them?”
“You just don’t understand science,” said Arnold, condescendingly. “The essence of science is a search for truth, for the benefit of the whole of mankind. A true scientist who had embarked upon a discovery as colossal as you claim would feel duty-bound to tell the whole world.”
“And you, Arnold,”- by this point real irritation was beginning to show in Reg the hippy’s voice and mannerisms- “don’t understand the world. Can you honestly be unaware of secret scientific discoveries hidden from the public by governments and private companies for years? They usually justify it with non-reasons like “national security”; or they don’t even bother to hide their selfish motives and just come out and say they’ll keep the formula secret to boost profits. Whatever their reason, it is not unheard of for scientific discovery to be hidden for a long, long time.”
“Perhaps you are right,” conceded Arnold. “Perhaps it is possible”- this word was spat out with such venom that Kathy could not understand- “that this discovery, the procedure, was kept hidden from us for some dark reasons. But tell me, Reg- what evidence do you have that it has been kept in the dark, that it even exists, that people can- and even if they can , that they would- do this? I mean, even if it’s possible, it’s a monstrous possibility! To deprive a man of his identity, his soul- and against his will! Honestly, Reg, where have you heard these rumours?”
“I have sources.” The words came out of Reg’s mouth in a tone that would have seemed comical or mysterious, had his expression not suddenly become more serious. “It must be kept secret, though.” At that point Reg glanced around the café suspiciously and his eyes arrived at Kathy. An instant understanding passed between them and Kathy quickly turned her gaze down to her food in a vain attempt to hide her eavesdropping. She knew that she had been seen, though.
“Anyone could be watching,” uttered Reg mysteriously, although Kathy knew he was talking about her. Her face flushed hot and red and she busied herself with her breakfast as if her fried egg was the most fascinating thing in the world.
She was aware, despite her attempt to make herself as small as possible and hide from the hippy’s accusing glare, that he had begun to speak in whispers to his companion. Occasionally she would hear Arnold exhale gasps of breath or utter incomprehensibly and barely audibly phrases such as, “No!” and “Surely not?”. She was also aware, as she could not control the irresistible urge to glance up every so often, that the businessman remained absent from the conversation and was absent mindedly playing with his mobile phone. One time he looked up and met her gaze, but appeared thoroughly uninterested by the stranger’s interest.
After that point she made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the strange trio. She had intruded on their conversation enough and did not want to arouse the suspicion of any of them, especially Reg- for he seemed the most paranoid and attentive of them all when he was not busy advocating his cause in the heat of argument- and so she decided to gaze out the window. The view was exactly the same as it had been for the past two years.
At seven minutes past eight, the elderly gentlemen jogged by. At ten minutes past eight, the three schoolchildren rushed by on their way to the bus stop. ‘One minute later than usual,’ remarked Kathy to herself. Soon after, she saw the same three schoolchildren walking dejectedly past the shop in the other direction. Evidently their one minute discretion has caused them to miss their bus.
Presently she heard a loud guffawing from the table with the three gentlemen on it. Reg the hippy looked offended; the unnamed businessman had been broken out of his boredom and sat there in astonishment. The sound had emanated from Arnold the scientist: clearly, whatever Reg had been whispering in his ear had amused him greatly.
“Oh come on!” he bellowed at the top of his voice. “You base your claim- on that?” he continued incredulously. “You hear the testimony of two drunk hobos and now you’re telling me something along the lines of ‘Invasion of the Body-snatchers’ is happening? You seriously believe them?”
“They weren’t just two drunk hobos,” said Reg with his tail firmly between his legs. He looked restless, as if he wanted to prove his point and had just the killer argument to defeat his rival, but was for some reason prevented from using it. He spoke in a rushed manner which indicated his excitement and frustration. “I mean, they were when I spoke to them, but I’ve known them for years. One used to work as a research physicist for Cybertech Industries. They fired him two years back when he went to the papers about their research.”
“Oh really? Did they now?” continued Arnold, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle of mocking his friend. Yet Kathy began to detect something under the surface with Arnold- something uncomfortable, as if he were beginning to believe that his friend had actually stumbled upon something. Or… or as if he already knew that something, and was worried that someone else had found out. “And did any of these papers publish anything as a result of his whistle-blowing activities?”
“Well, n-no,” stammered Reg. “They didn’t believe him.”
“Of course they didn’t!” roared Arnold. His discomfort vanished in an instant and he went back to his gloating. “Who would? It’s such fanciful nonsense that nobody in their right mind would! And-” he nearly couldn’t speak for laughing at this pointed- “And you did!”
Suddenly all of Arnold’s hostility
and aggression vanished and he grabbed hold of Reg in an affectionate embrace. It must be said that Reg didn’t appear comfortable with such physical contact with his friend, who had only recently insulted his intelligence.
“Oh, you are funny!” continued Arnold through laughter, almost patronisingly. “I knew there was a reason we kept you around! Here, Dave, what do you think of this?”
Evidently ‘Dave’ was the businessman who had kept silent until now. He did not seem pleased to have been dragged into the conversation and had been viewing Arnold’s sudden outburst with confusion and puzzlement.
“Yeah, funny, real funny,” he said in a noncommittal way. He quickly glanced back at his watch and tried to bow out of the conversation once more.
“Do you know-” continued Arnold, unaware of his friend’s disinterest, “Do you know what he’s been telling me?”
“No,” said Dave, in the way that a man speaks when he had no wish to partake in a conversation but has resigned himself to the fact that he has no way of getting out of it; much like when a drunk accosts you in the street and talks incessantly to you about a certain subject, despite your obvious wish to leave and get on with your day.
“He thinks-” continued Arnold through hales of laughter, “He thinks that it is possible, and indeed commonplace, for people to have body transplants, whereby they are taken from their own body and put into that of another person! He thinks science has found a way to transplant the soul- and all on account of the testimony of two drunks he met in the street one Friday night!”
Dave, evidently, did not find this as hilarious as Arnold did. “What’s so funny about that?” he asked bluntly.
Arnold seemed blustered and stopped dead in his tracks. The laughter stopped as he realised that everyone was looking at him and had been doing so since his outburst. The Winklemans were staring in disbelief from behind the counter; Kathy had started staring again, this time without any shame or attempt to conceal it; Dave was looking at him with an expression of utter disinterest and Reg’s expression was nothing short of forlorn.
Arnold attempted to explain: “Well, er, it’s funny because it’s ludicrous. It’s ridiculous. We’ve been arguing about it all morning and just now he has told me his evidence for his view. I thought it would be something colossal- indeed, I was hoping for that- but it is merely the testimony of two drunken tramps.” He paused. “That’s funny, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
Arnold looked thoroughly shamefaced and embarrassed. “But come on, it’s ridiculous!” he suddenly said, louder than intended. “There is no scientific way that is possible! It’s impossible! It can’t be done! And he’s an… er…”
He had clearly been about to insult Reg’s intelligence but thought better of it. Instead he grew silent and sat there sullenly with his arms folded, while Reg retreated into his thoughts and Dave again busied himself with his phone.
After this incident, Kathy returned to her almost finished breakfast. It was nearly half past eight and time for her to go to work. It seemed the three men also had to leave. With their conversation over, it was clear that Dave had no interest in remaining in the company of the two other, and Reg and Arnold seemed to have thoroughly fallen out.
Dave’s phone finally rang and his expression, which had been constant boredom and disinterest until this point, elated into a smile. He answered it excitedly. The conversation was brief and private; when it was over, he said to his companions,
“Listen, I have to go now. Can I give either of you two a lift?”
Arnold just looked at him sullenly. Reg said, “I could do with a lift to work, if you‘re offering.”
“Sure!” said Dave, spirits suddenly raised. “You coming, Arnie?”
Arnold didn’t even consent to answer. He simply gazed at both of them with a look of pure malice and shook his head. Dave shrugged and went to leave.
“You still work at the same place, Reg? It’s been a while since I last saw you, so…”
“No, same place,” answered Reg. “TGN limited, corner of Oxford Street…”
With that, the two men were out the door and walking towards a parked red car on the side of the street.
Kathy started. TGN Limited. That man worked for TGN Limited. And… and the man who had come for Thomas on that fateful day… didn’t he say he represented a firm called TGN?
She rushed out after the two men. As she exited the shop, she could see them both getting into the red Ford Focus on the side of the road. Behind her she heard Mr. Winkleman shouting her name and mentioning an unpaid bill; she would return later to pay, but right now more important things occupied her mind.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey, wait, I need to talk to you!”
The two men were already in the car and Dave was turning the ignition.
“Hey! Stop! Please!” she yelled again. This time, she caught their attention.
One of the car windows opened and she was Reg the hippy’s face looking back at her.
It was a kindly face, despite the injury and insult it had so recently suffered. He smiled at her and asked her who she was and what the problem was.
“My name is Kathy Turner and I am a journalist. I’m looking for my friend- he went missing over a week ago and one of the last people he met said he was from a firm called TGN. Can you help me? Please?”
The kindly hippy’s face suddenly turned. It was no longer friendly; instead, it was now serious, almost threatening.
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss any element of my work or company with you,” he said harshly.
Kathy was taken aback by this sudden change of character. Nevertheless, she continued, beseeching him: “Please, you have to help me. Please!” She knew this was unlikely to turn him around and change his mind, but she had nothing else to say.
“Really, I am sorry, but your friend is gone. I advise you not to investigate further. For your own sake.”
Kathy was shocked. “Is that a threat?” she asked aghast.
Reg didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away from her.
“Drive, drive!” he ordered Dave, who obeyed without question.
The car sped away. Kathy tried in vain to run after it, to follow it; she then thought it would be more logical to follow it in her own car (given that cars can travel at much higher speeds than feet alone) and rushed to where she had parked it. She got in and turned the ignition, but realised to her dismay that she had already lost her prey.
She racked her mind for a clue, a lead, anything. She had been so close to a lead- and she had lost it! But there must be something she could do… something else…
Suddenly it hit her. Arnold, the scientist, Reg’s friend- perhaps he knew something!
She exited the car in a hurry and returned to the café just in time to see Arnold walking out the door. She also saw an angry Mr. Winkleman waiting outside for her- no longer was he a jolly fat man; rather, his face resembled that of the enraged sumo wrestler found on the side of some Japanese restaurants.
“Hey, you!” he shouted. “Pay up! Now! You owe us three pounds!”
“Later!” Kathy yelled back. “Later, I promise!”
She reached Arnold and grabbed him by the shoulder, breathless and barely able to speak for panting.
The scientist looked at her startled. He had been the only one of the three to not notice her eavesdropping- it had positively infuriated Reg when he discovered her interest in their private conversation, while the businessman had noticed from the start but had been so disinterested by the whole affair that it had been of no concern to him. For that reason, Kathy appeared as a stranger to him- he had not even been aware of her sitting in the coffee shop.
Before him was the flustered visage of a woman in her late twenties. Kathy’s big, green eyes gazed up at him with a sense of urgency and panic: an impression emphasised by her reddened cheeks and crumpled brow. Her long ginger hair, shoulder length, which had been so meticulously done up and put into a bow only a few hours before, had become fr
azzled by her efforts to catch him. Evidently this was not a woman on friendly terms with exercise and fitness: nevertheless, her form, though not muscular, was lean, fit and not unattractive: her body was shapely and curved, and what little skin was showing- after all, this was a cold, autumn morning- betrayed the pale complexion common to most people of her hair colour.
Kathy could not have known this in the brief time she was standing before him, but Arnold had quite taken a fancy to the young stranger standing before him. In his late forties and having recently come out of a divorce, he was on the market and on the look-out for some hot young thing to have some fun with. After all, who wouldn’t want him? In his mind, he was convinced that he could have anybody he wanted, that he was some sort of sex god. Kathy’s approach to him- indeed, whenever any woman spoke to him- only appeared to him to be evidence of this fact.
In truth, Arnold was quite an arrogant and obnoxious man- he viewed himself as a man of science, endowed with knowledge the common plebeian could scarcely comprehend. This, in his mind, set him above most other people he came across in everyday life- a sort of übermensch- and at the same time, perversely, made him the ultimate sex icon. For some reason he was endowed with the idea that, were he to simply divulge his scientific knowledge on the common man- or woman- they would bow down at his feet and give him whatever he desired. This was one reason Reg had irritated him so greatly: not his ignorance, but his refusal to bow to his companion’s superior intellect. Yet the contradiction between his universal loathing of those ‘beneath’ him and his desire to have power- particularly sexual power- over such people had never become apparent to him.
This was, of course, all in his head. While his thoughts were a constant cycle of self gratification and praise, to others he came across as condescending and unpleasant; a greasy old man with no sense of style and a blindness to his own faults. Style is mentioned because of that most conspicuous of his vestments: his toupee. To him, it was a subtle and successful way to hide his lack of hair; to everyone else, it was obvious two miles away and didn’t even match his natural colour. Close up, Kathy could see he wasn’t very keen on personal hygiene either: he had an odour about him like that of old cheese and his skin was greasy and unpleasant to the eye. Yet Kathy was not one to judge, and had more important matters on her mind.
“Please sir I heard you talking in there- I heard you say your friend, who just drove off, works for a company called TGN- I’m a journalist I need to know about that company can you please help please?”, Kathy said. Her words blurted out in an almost incomprehensible rush, such was her urgency. She suddenly became aware that her tone had been rushed and utterly unprofessional.
She calmed her emotions and proceeded more slowly, “I am not just doing this for a journalistic piece, sir. My friend has been missing for over a week now and my investigations have led me to believe that TGN may be able to help me find him.” Knowing that the scientist before her was acquainted with an employee of TGN, she was wary of saying too much.
Arnold’s expression had become stony. Kathy interpreted this as hostility to her question- perhaps she had asked something wrong, too close to the bone? Perhaps he, too, was affiliated with TGN and the vow of silence extended to him as well?
In truth, Arnold was completely unaware of anything to do with TGN; indeed, he had no interest in it. His expression was borne from disappointment- he had been expecting her to proposition him, or at least begin flirting with him. Her real reason for approaching him had been less than he had been hoping for. Nevertheless, the cogs of his randy mind began turning and he decided to help her.
“TGN?” he said disinterestedly. “I don’t know much about the place. I know it does something to do with investigations, but of what kind I am unaware. I know where its offices are, though. I… I can take you there, if you like.”
Had these circumstances been different, Kathy would have thought twice before accepting a lift from a stranger. Had she been calmer, she may have noticed the look in his eyes, the expression on his face, his general agitation and sudden excitement. Had she been more observant, she may have said no. But this was for Thomas. He was currently her only link to her missing friend: this scientist called Arnold, friend of an employee of the organisation who had taken Thomas and potential taxi driver to its headquarters. He could be the link to finding him. He could be the key to the mystery of Thomas’ disappearance.