Chapter 4

 

Benjamin Stone

    The sun makes it all shine like a new pin. And the day began like most days in the village. Already people were promenading around the pool and fountain in the Piazza, whilst others were enjoying themselves in a game of Croquet on the village green. Citizens all dressed in bright coloured attire, striped capes, straw boaters, piped blazers, some went about carrying open umbrellas acting as parasols against the sun. Cyclists peddled their bicycles this way and that, a man riding a tricycle rang his bicycle bell when pedestrians got in his way.
    “Good morning, good morning one and all” began a cheery female voice over the public address system “congratulations on yet another day. It’s another day of sunshine and blue sky, although there is a danger of intermittent showers later in the day. Here is a special announcement, the local Town Council, and remember it’s your local Town Council, has announced a great new sandcastle competition which is just three weeks today.”

     There was a sudden disturbance of the violent kind. Two men had started an argument, about nothing at all. They grappled with one another, punches were thrown resulting in a split lip and a bleeding nose. One got the other in a deadly Dervish death grip that struggling against it sent the two men ending up in the fish pond.

   Suddenly there was the sound of a siren, and a light blue Jeep was quick on the scene. Two men in grey overalls, white helmets and white gloves and boots jumped out brandishing white truncheons, leaned over the low stone wall, and hauled the two men out of the water. They were quickly bundled into the back of the jeep and driven away.
    No.4 had been watching the scene from a nearby bench “What will happen to them?” he asked one of the citizens watching the scene.
    “They’ll be given treatment” No.90 told him.
    “At the hospital.”
    “No, in the Therapy Zone” No.90 said sternly.

    The Therapy Zone is a cold dank place, with no mod-cons although there is running water! Candles light the interior of the cave, where a hermit has lived since the war. A figure dressed in robe and cowl sits at a table filling three opium pipes. Suddenly there is a commotion outside and two men are dragged into the cave and pushed onto the floor.
    “Be calm friends, be calm” the hermit said to the two men as the security men left.

    “Where are we?” asked No.50.

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    “We are all friends here” a man in a straw boater said “this is the Therapy Zone. Come, smoke a pipe, and the village will look a different place” said the hermit.
    “What smoke that filthy muck, not on your life!” said No.52.

    “You are both troubled, here I can take your troubles away, for a few hours at least” was the hermits offer.
    50 and 50b looked at each other, the one tipping the other the wink, they got up and made a dash for the opening of the cave and the night beyond. Just as they reached the mouth of the cave, a steel door slid shut, effectively cutting the two men off from the outside. The hermit stood facing them, an opium pipe in both hands.
    “You were brought here for a reason, smoke a pipe or not, you are going nowhere, this is the Therapy Zone, where I shall bring out your worst fears.”

   It was a chilly, grey Wednesday morning, and just after breakfast it began to rain. It was the kind of morning that one wished to remain indoors behind a comfortable desk. But go out into the damp and cold he must, because an appointment had been made and must be kept.
    A short walk in the chill air was a bracing one for Benjamin Stone as he made his way along to the bus stop to catch the C15 which would take him into the city. He only had to stand waiting for a couple of minutes before a green and cream single-decker bus appeared out of the gloom. He stuck out a hand, the orange indicator flashing the bus pulled over and came to a stop, the door opened and he stepped aboard. Paid his fare, took his ticket, and a seat about half-way along the bus. He glanced at his watch it said 9:31, the bus had been on time. Surprisingly there were no passengers which he thought strange considering the time of day. The bus was usually filled with people on their way to work. The fact of the matter was he was the only passenger, but surely others must have taken the previous bus, they do run a regular service. So he thought no more of it, and settled himself down to enjoy the ride, wiping the condensation off the window with a gloved hand so he could see out.
    The bus began to slow down, and pulled up at a bus stop, no-one got aboard. The driver closed the electrically operated door, and the bus went on its way. It travelled a mile or so, then stopped at another bus stop, the door opened. Looking out of the window he saw a woman and child standing there. The woman waved her hand, the door closed once more and the driver steered the bus back into the traffic, cars, vans, other busses all heading in and out of the city. The bus stopped again, a tall man in a long raincoat, and wide brimmed brown hat got onto the bus.
    “Do you know the way?” the man asked.
    The bus driver muttered something incomprehensible, took the man’s fare and dispensed a ticket.
    The man had a smile on his face and walked along the bus as the

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door closed. The driver glanced in his mirror, engaged first gear, released the clutch while pressing down on the accelerator, and turning the steering the bus merged once more with the traffic. The sudden movement of the bus momentarily sent the man off balance forcing him to grasp hold of a leather strap hanging down from the roof. After steadying himself the man in the wide brimmed hat walked passed the seated Benjamin Stone, who looked at the tall man from the corner of his eye, who sat in the seat behind him.
   Leaning forward in his seat the tall man said quietly “Do you know the way?”
    Benjamin Stone, a man of medium height, dark brown hair, 34 years of age, an altogether unremarkable man, looking out of the window at the buildings as they passed by, was taken aback for a moment at hearing the quiet voice in his ear. He turned his head slightly, he didn’t turn round because he had no desire to see the man’s face underneath that wide brimmed hat.
   “I don’t know what you mean” he said almost clandestine, as though he didn’t want to bus driver to see him in his mirror speaking to the man sat behind him.
    “Do you know the way?” the man asked once more.
    “The way, the way to where?” Benjamin asked in reply.
    “If you don’t know the way………” the man began.
    “But surely the way lies ahead” Benjamin suggested.

    “You’re on your way to work.”
    “Yes.”
    “You have a black leather document case, I have one like that” the man said and held up an identical one “Would you like to make a swap?”
    “Swap?” Benjamin asked turning his head a little more to see the black leather document case.
    “Mine for yours” the man suggested.
    “Why should I want to do that?”
    “Because you know the way” the man said with a smile.
    “But I don’t know you, you could be just anyone. You sit there and calmly ask me to swap my case for yours. What’s in it anyway?” he asked turning and looking at the face under the hat.
    The man had a narrow face, with sharp features, “hatchet faced,” with a grim expression.
    “What day is it?” the hatchet faced man asked.
    “Wednesday.”
    “Then they’re spam” the man replied, his grim expression suddenly replaced by a broad grin.
    “Spam?” Benjamin asked.
    The man tapped his black document case and said “Spam sandwiches.”
    “I don’t like spam.”

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    “What’s in yours?” the man asked from below the brim of his hat.
    “Blueprints!”
    The hatchet faced man had his chin on the back of Stone’s seat, his eyes looking down at the zipped black document case on the seat.
    “Now why did I say that?” Stone asked himself trying not to betray his thoughts then said “I think this is my stop” easing himself out of his seat, he picked up his document case and pushed the bell for the bus to stop.
    The bus didn’t stop! In fact the bus had failed to stop at any bus stop remaining on the route. The driver had been keeping his two passengers under observation in his mirror.
    Stone rang the bell again, and again, and once more “I say driver I want to get off.”
    The bus driver made no response.
    He walked to the front of the bus and told the driver in no uncertain terms to stop the bus and let him off. The driver simply ignored his request. But then the bus stopped in traffic at a set of traffic lights. This was his chance, and he took it, pressing the emergency button he waited for the door to open…..it didn’t! He pressed the button repeatedly.

    “Open this door” Stone demanded of the driver.
    The bus driver turned his head, and nodded to the back of the bus.
    “I’m afraid he won’t do that.”
    “And why not?”
    “Because I told him not to!” the hatchet faced man replied “Not until you have exchanged document cases” and to help emphasize the point he produced a gun from his coat pocket “nerve gas.”

    Benjamin Stone looked startled “You’re going to kill me?”
    “Not unless you force me. This is a nerve gas gun” the hatchet man explained.
    “One squirt you’re paralyzed, two squirts you’re…….dead, or you could simply exchange document cases. Which is it to be?”
    The hatchet faced man pressed the stop bell, and the bus pulled smartly to the side of the road at the next bus stop. He walked smartly to the front of the bus and nodded to the driver, who opened the door and let his passenger off.
    “This is H48 to control” the bus driver said into a small radio transmitter “the plans for the electronic defence system have been acquired; the courier is on his way now.”
    The green and cream bus pulled smartly into the road and went on its way.

     “So it was you No.52 who let your bag get swiped!” No.90 said.
    “It wasn’t my fault. I simply got on the wrong bus.”
    “You should have taken a taxi” was the suggestion.
    “I realised that a long time ago.”
    “And so they sent you here. What did they do, put you in charge of

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the secret files?!”
    “You’re mocking me” 52 said accusingly.
    “My privilege, do you know what happened to those plans after you lost them?”
    “No, how could I?” 52 protested.
    “Shall I tell you?”
    “You’re going to anyway, so just get on with it.”
    “They were brought here to the village, but we need the electronic engineer who put the plans together.”
    “Too bad” No.52 said with a wry smile.
    “We need the inventor of this defence system. Tell me where he is, and I’ll put a good word in for you with Number 2.”
    No.52 thought for a moment.
    “If you don’t tell me openly, I’ll simply take what I want to know.”
    “He’s at the research establishment at Stavely” 52 admitted.
    No.90 shook his head.
    “Well that’s where I was to return the plans” 52 admitted.
    “You do not know where he is, this electronic’s expert?”
    Reluctantly 52 shook his head, he knew what was coming.

    “Don’t tell him!” No.50 shouted.
    “Shut up, I’ll get to you in a minute.”

    “You know what you are don’t you Benjamin.”
    Benjamin Stone stood looking at the floor.
    “Look at me Benjamin, not at the carpet, but I said I’d have you on the carpet, and here you are.”
    “It wasn’t my fault sir” Benjamin protested.
    “If it wasn’t you’re fault I don’t know whose fault it was” PR12 said from behind his desk.
    “I carried out my instructions to the letter.”
    “Yes, but you got on the wrong bus. How did you make that mistake?” PR12 wanted to know.
    “I was waiting at the bus stop, and the bus came along and I get onto it.” Benjamin explained.
    “You were instructed to order a taxi the night before” PR12 said “you were fiddling your expenses I expect, you kept the money and looked to be reimbursed for the taxi fare when you took the bus!”
    “Sorry sir.”
    “You will be Benjamin, we had better return you back to general duties.”
    “General duties sir!”
    “Its all you’re good for Benjamin. Now get out of my office.”
    If there were two things which got Benjamin’s back up it was not having been issued with a code name, and it was others using his first name for his surname. As he left the office, closing the door behind him, he turned facing the door he pulled a face

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    “And that was your worst fear, being reduced to general duties?” No.90 said with an air of disappointment turning to No.50 “and what about you?”
    “Now don’t you start on me, my instructions were to pick a fight with him.”
    “No you didn’t, I was the one who picked the fight!”
    “On whose instructions” No.90 asked.
    “On Number 2’s instructions, after which he would see I was released and put back into circulation” No.50 explained.
    “Is that a fact?”
    No.90 turned his attention back to No.50 “So what have you got to hide?”
    No.50 looked nervous “N…nothing, nothing at all.”
    “Everyman has something to hide, otherwise there would be nothing to find” 90 said staring 50 in the eye.

    “If you don’t get a wiggle on darling you’ll be late” the brunette haired middle aged woman told her husband, who was still hiding behind the morning newspaper.
    “There’s no rush, I’ve time for another cup of tea yet” he told her.
    “It is a quarter to.” She told him as she began to clear the breakfast table.
    There was a sudden clatter of the letter box, and the sound of post dropping onto the rug.
    “There’s the post” she said and went off into the hallway to retrieve the three brown envelopes and one blue envelope “Three bills and something for you, its marked urgent.”
   Putting the newspaper down he picked up the blue envelope and looked at it.
    “Whoever would be sending you something that’s urgent?” she muttered opening the first brown envelope, it was the gas bill.
    Opening the envelope he brought out the half of a postcard of Trafalgar Square, curiously it was cut at an angle. On the reverse side it simply said ten thirty.
    “What’s that?” his wife asked putting down the final demand, and opening the second brown envelope.
    He quickly put the half of the postcard back into the envelope, and the envelope into his wallet. Looking at the wall clock he went into the hallway collecting his grey overcoat, umbrella, bowler hat, and briefcase.
    “You’re in a hurry all of a sudden” she said waving a final demand from the electricity board “what about that second cup of tea?”
    “Not now Norma, I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late” he told her opening the front door “goodbye” he said closing the door, and with that he was gone.
    Little did Norma Jenkins know at the time, standing there watching her husband leave, the final demand for the rates in her hand, that it

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would be the last time she would see him.
    It was but a short walk to the railway station, one he had taken many times on his way to work, but this morning it was different. He was sorry for his wife, she had had much to put up with over the years, and now he was about to leave her to it. And yet there was nothing for it, no other way out not after what he had done. Walking down the road towards the station a car passed him, and stopped a few yards ahead. He walked on, his mind on other things. The half of a postcard nestled in his pocket. Obviously it was a recognition signal, so they knew they had the right man, without it he would be going nowhere. But when would the other half of the postcard be presented to him so that the two halves could be joined. On the platform at the station, or on the train? Perhaps the picture meant he had to go to Trafalgar Square and be met by someone there.
    “Excuse me sir, I wonder if you can help me?” a voice asked
    This brought George Jenkins back from deep in his own thoughts, to be faced with a gaunt looking man, with a long thin face, and dressed all in black.
    “Well I don’t know, what do you want?”
    The man said nothing, he simply stood there brandishing a strange looking gun. Pulling the trigger a vapour cloud was released, and George Jenkins stumbled forward and collapsed onto the ground.
   One undertaker opened up the back of the hearse and together they took the coffin out and laid it on the ground, placed the unconscious body inside and replacing the lid put it back into the hearse, then drove off.

    “Who knows where you would be now, what say you Number 50. It’s not very nice behind the iron Curtain, especially for defectors. Once you’ve told them all they want to know, they leave you to live out the rest of your life in misery, so lucky for you we managed to get to you first!”

    There was a sudden announcement over the public address system “Would Number 4 please go to the Labour Exchange where Number 2 is waiting. I repeat, “Would Number 4 please go to the Labour Exchange where Number 2 is waiting.”
    No.90 looked at the man’s badge “I think that means you.”
    “Then he can go on waiting as far as I’m concerned.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because I’ve no intention of going.”
    “I would if I were you, it doesn’t do to keep Number 2 waiting you know.”
    “As if I care!”
    The foyer of the Labour Exchange was a hive of activity, workmen were busy putting up a number of framed slogans on the walls. “Humour is the very essence of a democratic society” read one,

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another “Of the people, by the people, for the people,” taken from one of the Abraham Lincoln quotes. “And the government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth. ... The ultimate rulers of our democracy are not a President and senators and congressmen and government officials, but the voters of this country” 1863. Then a more curious one, “Questions are a burden to others, answers a prison for oneself,” he’d have to think about that one. And “A still tongue makes a happy life,” the meaning of which was not difficult to grasp, keep your mouth shut and you’ll be alright, or words to that effect.
    “Ah there you are Number 4, sorry about he mess. If you would step this way” No.2 said pointing the way towards the manager’s office with his umbrella shooting stick.
    As No.4 stepped behind the counter, avoiding the workmen, the grey haired man standing behind the counter at “Enquiries” looked on him with suspicion.
    “Don’t worry, I’m not after your job, I’m not after any job!”
    No.2 stood at the manager’s door with a hand on the door handle, he turned it and both men stepped into the office.
    Through the door were a set of steps leading up to a pair of thick steel doors, they opened and the two men stepped into a large domed, green walled chamber. A few feet in from the wall, another circular wall, but made up of a number of dark and light grey arches, which gave the room a sort of German expressionist look as in films of the 1920’s, such as ‘The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari.’
   Crossing the floor No.2 sat down in a chair while No.4 approached the semi-circular grey desk, behind which stood a man a grey morning suit, on the lapel of which was a badge denoting the No.20.
    “Now Number 4, if you would just fill in the questionnaire” he said indicating the sheet of paper on the desk with a pen.
    No.4 looked at the single sheet of paper, and took the offered pen.
    “Its not difficult, just indicate what you like to eat, to drink, what you like to read, what you were, what you’d like to be. Any illnesses, disabilities, race, religion, politics” the manager told him.
    “You don’t want to know much do you? Why not ask him sat over there, he knows all the answers!” No.4 said in protest, “I’m issuing a nolle prosequi!”

    “You mean you refuse to cooperate?” asked the manager.
    Turning, No.4 marched briskly across the floor, up the ramp, and out through the opening steel doors, out through the manager’s door, and out of the Labour Exchange and into the bright sunshine of the village.
    “You didn’t put him through the aptitude test” No.2 said casually.
    “No” came the reply.

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