Clone, page 12
TWENTY-TWO
Shortly before 0800 hours the next morning Professor Poynter was roused by Norbert informing her that a man describing himself as a P.I.D. sergeant was at the door and wished to speak to her.
‘What does he want?’ she whispered, sitting up in bed and reaching for her wrap.
‘He wouldn’t say, ma’am. Shall I let him in?’
‘Show him into the study, Norbert. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
She leant over and kissed Hortense who was still deep in a drug-induced oblivion, then she slipped out of bed and tiptoed from the room closing the door softly behind her.
As she entered the study the visitor turned to her, introduced himself as Sergeant Atwell from the Political Investigation Department of Urban Security, and asked if she was Professor Poynter.
She nodded. ‘You wished to see me, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, madam. I’m at present engaged on the Langridge investigation under Chief Superintendent Tugwell.’
‘The what investigation?’
‘Langridge, madam. Miss Cheryl Langridge, the only daughter of Sir Harold and Lady Langridge, was kidnapped by terrorist apes at approximately 2200 hours yesterday evening and—’
‘You did say Cheryl Langridge, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, madam. She’s being held to ransom for £100,000. Now we have been informed that at approximately 0030 hours this morning you videophoned the Samaritans and asked very particularly to speak to Miss Langridge. You phoned again about an hour later. Would you mind telling me why?’
Professor Poynter blinked. ‘I—er—wished to ask her something,’
Tes, madam,’ said Atwell patiently, ‘we rather imagined you did. Now would you be so good as to tell me what that something was?’
Professor Poynter was silent for five long seconds. ‘I hoped she might be able to help me locate a person I am particularly interested in,’
‘And who is that?’
‘His name is Alvin—Alvin Forster actually—but at present he is answering only to Alvin,’
‘I see,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Can you describe him to me?’
‘I can show you his stereograph if you’d prefer it,’
‘I certainly would,’ said Atwell.
Professor Poynter fetched her album from the desk, opened it and pointed to Desmond. ’That was taken three years ago,‘ she said, ‘but it’s still a very close likeness,’
‘May I?’ said Atwell, and producing a miniature camera he rapidly snapped three quickies of the clone. ’This lad, he was a friend of Miss Langridge’s?’
‘Not that I know of,’
‘A client, perhaps?’
‘I hardly think that likely.’
’Then why should you have hoped to contact him through her?’
‘Because I have every reason to believe that Alvin was last seen in her company.’
’Oh yes?’ said the Sergeant. ‘What reason?’
The Professor hesitated momentarily. ‘Norbert, the anthropoid who let you in just now, was Alvin’s closest companion. He reported the fact to me.’
Atwell’s eyebrows twitched. ‘You mean he was there? With them?’
Professor Poynter nodded.
‘Where was this?’
‘In Hyde Park.’
‘Well, well,’ said Atwell enigmatically.
‘I can assure you that Norbert is absolutely blameless in this matter, Sergeant.’
‘In that case you won’t object to my questioning him, then?’ ’Of course not. Shall I call him?’
‘I’d be obliged, madam.’
The first thing Atwell’s trained eye noticed when Norbert entered was the eavesdropper adhering to his belt. ’Excuse me,’ he said and, reaching out, picked it off and examined it. Then, without speaking, he circled slowly round the mystified chimp and peeled off the second bug. Pressing them so that they clung together he turned to the open window and flipped them out. ‘Someone’s obviously interested in you,’ he said. ‘Any idea who?’
‘No, sir,’ said the astonished Norbert.
‘You know what those were?’
Norbert shook his head.
‘Body static micro-transmitters.’
Norbert and Professor Poynter eyed each other in dismay. ‘What were you doing in Hyde Park yesterday evening, Norbert?’ asked Atwell.
‘He was trying to—’
‘Please, madam, let him answer for himself.’
*We were in this protest march, sir,’ said Norbert.
’Oh yes?’ said Atwell. ‘Who were you with?’
’The Crewys Road Anti-Vasectomy League. But all we were doing was trying to get to the Suburban Expressway.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t the U.A.B. crowd?’
‘No, sir,’ said Norbert. ‘I don’t think there was one.’
‘But if there had been you’d have been with it, eh?’
‘Sir,’ said Norbert with impressive dignity, ‘I am a branch leader of the Anthropoid Scientific and Technical Workers’ Union. We do not recognize the U.A.B.’
Atwell sniffed sardonically. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go on from there.’
Norbert described his adventures of the previous night with such unaffected sincerity that even the cynical Sergeant was finally convinced that he was telling the truth. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if they haven’t maybe got your young friend as well,’ he muttered. ‘But if that’s the case why haven’t they put the squeeze on for him too?’
’On whom?’ enquired Professor Poynter. ‘Alvin is of absolutely no political significance.’
Atwell looked at her and decided not to say what he was thinking.
‘I’m most anxious to get him back,’ she Said. ‘Do you think that if I could get in touch with these guerrillas myself they might be prepared to release him?’
‘We aren’t even sure that they’ve got him, are we, madam?’
‘But if he was with Miss Langridge…’
‘We don’t even know that for sure, do we?’ -
‘How would one set about getting in touch with them?’
‘If you’ll take my advice, ma’am, you won’t try it. Believe me, I know how these U.A.B. jokers tick.’
Norbert turned and looked gravely at the Professor. ‘I will find him for you, ma’am.’
’Oh, Norbert! How?’
‘God will lead me to him.’
Atwell coughed. ‘Well, I’d best be getting along. You’ve both been most helpful. We’ll get in touch with you the minute we hear something definite. In the meantime my advice would be to sit tight, cross your fingers and pray.’
’Thank you, Sergeant.’
Professor Poynter saw him to the door. As he was going out he turned to her and murmured: ‘It’s none of my business, I know, madam, but I’ll take a bet with anyone that those bugs I found on your friend were MOSS standard hi-fi. Good day to you,’
As soon as she had closed the door behind him Professor Poynter hurried through into her bedroom and began a meticulous examination of her clothes. Since she now knew what to look for it did not take her long to locate the two eavesdroppers Pinkerton had planted. With her heart racing she peeled them off and dropped them down the kitchen disposal. Then summoning Norbert to assist her she. inched her way round the apartment searching for others. The fact that they found none did nothing to dispel her profound sense of foreboding. ‘It must mean they’ve heard every word we said last night,’ she said.
Then they will know about Alvin, ma’am,’
‘And not only about Alvin,’
‘What are we going to do?’
’Find him before they do, Norbert. It’s our only hope,’
TWENTY-THREE
The Cheryl Langridge story erupted on Europe’s breakfast screens that morning and followed the sun around the globe. By lunchtime her exquisitely wistful stereoscopic features had unloosed enough tears to float a medium-sized rocket carrier, while on the other side, close to forty thousand apes had flocked to join the illicit ranks of the U.A.B.
From Freemantle to Finisterre a billion mums drooled and snivelled as the cameras panned pathetically round the little empty apartment in Bristol Street, lingering on the empty A.G. harness; on the knapsack of variegated venoms; on the Adonis Mk V paramour (a seventeenth birthday present from her dear old granny); before fading out on the inevitable close-up of Cheryl’s graduation stereo-still of herself in full flight, administering the kiss of death to a plummeting stockbroker over Hounslow.
By 2200 hours it had become plain to the professionals that they had stumbled once again on the age-old winning formula —the truly human sob story. Cheryl’s young life was opened up like a can of seafood and the processed titbits forked out on to the plates of the starving multitude. They gobbled them up, sucked their fingers and howled for more. Sir Harold and Lady Langridge were hounded from house to House and put on an award-winning performance of tight-lipped Anglo-Saxon nobility—the tightness of Sir Harold’s lips certainly accentuated by the fact that he had been forced into accepting a last minute compromise of 55% instead of the 60% he had hoped for.
Cheryl’s neighbours were interviewed singly and in groups and, after drawing their word-pictures for an enthralled audience, drew their appearance checks for themselves. Brother Dominic pronounced his solemn curse on the U.A.B. and his equally solemn benediction over his missing acolyte before using the rest of his slot to plug the selfless dedication of the Samaritans.
Then, as the So-Vi sleuths buzzed back and forth like bluebottles over the golden carrion of Cheryl’s last hours before the snatch, the vital element of mystery without which the story would never have earned its place in the temple of the truly greats, miraculously appeared—‘Mr. X’! Yes, her transvestite neighbour had heard voices from Cheryl’s apartment that evening ( ’these walls are as thin as paper you know, dear’); no, she,‘he hadn’t heard what they were saying (‘What do you take me for, love?’); but, yes, it could have been a man’s voice —well, a boy’s, anyway.
Tally ho! and the hunt for the villain,‘lover,‘go-between was up. The camera hounds sniffed their way down the Bristol Street arcade and accosted the natives. ‘Yes, Cheryl had been with a boy. A fair-haired chap. No, they hadn’t noticed him particularly. Ordinary seemed to describe him best. Gone towards the Park they had. Well, into the Lane, anyway. Oh, a lovely girl, Cheryl! Such a shame! Her poor mum and dad!’
A Security Guard with his back to the camera (no faces: no reprisals). ‘Yeah, he remembered her. Wearin’ a sort of hood thing she was. And the bloke wiv er? Moon-faced sort of a git, wiv stickin’ aht ears. He’d told ’em t”op it quick afore they got copped.’
An I.V.S. exclusive with Chief Superintendent Reginald Tug-well of Urban Security and (wholly coincidental therefore unmentioned) the husband of a major shareholder in the So-Vi company conducting the interview. ‘Yes, undoubtedly these kidnap cases were very, very tricky. One false move and you could have Miss Langridge’s pretty head in a plastic bag. He could assure the public that every possible step was being taken and a number of positive leads were being followed up. No, he wasn’t prepared to say what they were at this stage. What was his personal opinion of the U.A.B.? He would rather not say. Was he not on record as having referred to them as “misguided idealists”? No comment,’
Sir Harold Langridge M.P. (cornered in the conveniently photogenic portico of Chuffles’ Club): ’These blackguards must be brought to book. Until that happens none of us could sleep safe in our beds. Was he going to pay up? He was being advised by Chief Inspector Tugwell. Had the U.A.B. contacted him personally? No comment. Was it true he had gone into the “No” lobby against the “Vetoes for Apes” motion last June? He had never made any secret of his opinion on these matters. Did he consider his daughter had been singled out because of his extreme views? Young man, I do not consider my views extreme. Well, good luck, Sir Harold. Thank you. Good day,’
So finally back to Brother Dominic again for a background fill-in. ‘Well, now, that’s quite true, she was out on a call earlier yesterday evenin’. No, they hadn’t recorded the call. Why hadn’t they? Well, it wasn’t Samaritan practice, that’s why. Well, yes, he supposed it might have thrown some light on what had happened to her, but there, he was hardly in a position to say, was he?’
TWENTY-FOUR
Some hours later the Captain walked into the room where Cheryl and Alvin were sitting playing chess. It was far better furnished than the first cell they had occupied. He contemplated the game in silence for a moment then said to Cheryl: ‘I’ve just had ‘em on the phone again.’
‘Lucky old you,’ she muttered.
They say the bloodstained messages aren’t emotive enough.’
‘You’re really breaking my heart.’
The Captain sucked his teeth noisily. ’They’re asking for something tangible. An ear, maybe?’
‘Well, they’re not getting one of mine,’ said Cheryl firmly. ‘Let them find their own if they want one.’
The Captain examined the dead end of his cigarette and nodded towards Alvin. ’One of his wouldn’t do, I suppose?’
‘Definitely not,’ said Cheryl. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
The ape contemplated Alvin’s remarkable aural appendages which promptly turned a delicate rose pink under the scrutiny. ’They don’t look real, do they?’ he said at last. ‘Well, how about a finger then?’
‘Look,’ said Cheryl, ‘I’m telling you straight. It’s not on. They can get a whole fistful of fingers if they want them. Arms, legs, the lot. You aren’t trying to tell me it’s beyond the wit of those So-Vi phonies to fix a simple thing like that. Either they make do on our heartbreaking messages and find their own bits and pieces or the whole deal’s off. Got it?’
The Captain sniffed. ‘You capitalists are all alike,’ he grumbled. ‘When it comes to a question of principle, it’s always self first. Selfish, that’s what you are. What could sacrificing a bit of yourself for a noble cause mean to someone like you?’
‘Not much if you must know,’ said Cheryl. ‘And if it’s a cause as phoney as the U.A.B., nothing at all. All you’re interested in is power.’
‘All politicians are interested in power,’ replied the Captain blandly. ‘That’s why they’re politicians.’
Cheryl snorted. ‘And what do you suppose you’ll do if you ever get it?’
‘When we get it,’ he corrected. ‘It’s simply a question of time. The dictatorship of the proletariape is an inevitable historical process.’
‘And what we’re doing here now is a part of that, I suppose?’
’Of course. Wasn’t it your Chairman Mao who taught us that to reach the top of a mountain you travel by a winding road? U.A.B. membership has already increased by over two hundred thousand, thanks to you. You’re our biggest recruiting boost since we rubbed out the Lord Chief Justice in ’68!’
‘And I thought it was a good idea,’ muttered Cheryl disgustedly.
The Captain shrugged. ‘Another week of this and I reckon we’ll be strong enough to come out into the open. That means you’ll have helped the species struggle to skip a whole generation. Enfranchisement’s the next step. Come the election after next I’ll be leading the U.A.B. into Parliament. It wouldn’t surprise me to end up holding the balance of power in Brussels.’ He relit his cigarette, jutted his lower lip and blew a jet of smoke over the table. ‘That offer I made to you is still open, by the way.’
Cheryl burst out laughing.
‘I mean it. You mark my words. As the man said: Nothing succeeds like excess. The moment we reach the million mark we’ll have the liberal pinkies falling over themselves to identify with our cause. It’s only a question of time.’
Alvin, who had been listening in fascination to this exchange, decided the time had come for him to put in a word. ‘But you still haven’t told us what you’ll do when you do get power, Captain.’
’As a matter of fact I’m in the middle of drafting a new party manifesto,’ said the Captain. ’The old one’s a bit too rough and ready seeing as how we’re broadening our base. I’ve turned up some useful material from one of your 20th Century pinkie demagogues. How d’you like this? I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat! Got just the right sacrificial ring, don’t you think?’
‘But isn’t that just what you’ve always said the apes have got already?’ objected Alvin.
‘When will you grow up, simp?’ groaned the Captain. ’Of course it’s what they’ve got already. Apes are bom to suffer— it’s the only thing they know how to do. What I’m offering them is the sense of purpose to go with it.’
‘And what is the purpose?’ enquired Alvin deferentially. ’Freedom, of course.’
‘But freedom from what?’
’Oppression,’ said the Captain. ’Tyranny and oppression.’ There was a sound of running feet in the passage outside. An anthropoid aide burst into the room and saluted perfunctorily. ‘We’ve scooped a pinkie and an Albert, Captain,’ he panted. ’Found ’em wandering around in the Green Park tunnels.’ He jerked his head in the direction of Alvin. ’They say they’ve come to find him,’
‘Armed, are they?’
‘No; Captain.’
‘All right, I’ll come.’ The Captain took a pace towards the door then changed his mind. ‘No. Bring ’em along here.’
The aide saluted again and ran out.
‘I wonder how they got through the So-Vi screen?’ mused the Captain. ‘All the exits are supposed to be covered. You can’t trust anyone these days.’ He walked over to the washbasin in the corner of the room and peered at himself in the speckled mirror. ‘D’you know who they are?’
‘I suppose it could be Norbert,’ said Alvin.
’That the A.S.T.W. chimp you told me about?’
Alvin nodded.
The Captain smoothed back the hair over his ears. ‘And the pinkie?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
