Identity X by Michelle Muckley Page B

only exception a few
weekday shoppers.  He watched from the shadow of a corner as the red arrow
flashed downwards to indicate the imminent arrival of the lift.  He waited for
the doors to open and made a quick dash inside.  The elderly woman next to him
eyed him suspiciously as he snuck in the lift, and she clung to her shopping
bag a little tighter.  He knew if the doors weren’t already closing she would
have been out of that lift without a second thought, running from the weirdo
man who had frightened her merely by breathing.  He realised from her reaction
that he must be starting to look and act suspiciously, and perhaps appear a
little bedraggled, and he reminded himself of the need to go unnoticed and to blend in .  He smiled at the old woman, and she smiled back
because she was polite and that’s what a woman of her generation was supposed
to do, but he knew that she was just hoping that he didn’t hit her over the
head with whatever it might be that he was hiding in his jacket and steal her
Friday fillet steak treat.  He pressed the button for the first floor and
waited for the lift to deliver him to his destination.  He allowed her to exit
the lift before him, and then slipped out behind her.  The first floor cafe
that he had alluded to on the telephone was visible from his vantage point just
behind the lift shaft.  He stood with his back to the wall, and concealed
within the green foliage of the abundant planters, he hid his six foot frame
for a third time that day.  He scanned the cafe, and could see Mark sat waiting
at a table outside.  The cafe was surrounded by ornate and oversized planters,
the same as the one he was stooping behind, and that was another reason that he
had considered this to be a good place to meet.  He had correctly anticipated
that it would be quiet on a weekday, and with the greenery blocking the
majority of the view it would give them plenty of space to speak privately. 
Mark was too visible though.  They would have to change seats.  He scanned the
room for anything suspicious, although he knew he had no idea what that might
actually be, and after deciding that everything seemed to be safe he took the
first step out from behind his cover when the telephone that he was still
clutching in his pocket began to buzz.  He snatched it out and with urgent and
fumbling fingers, answered the call.  It was Ami.
    “Ben,
stay behind the lift.”  Ben looked over his left shoulder, and then his right. 
He felt as if he had been touched by a person who had immediately disappeared,
like a person who swears they have seen or felt a ghost but have no physical
proof. 
    “Ami,
are you...” She didn’t let him finish.
    “Shut
up, there’s no time for this.  They are tracking this call.  Look behind the
plants on Mark’s left.  Recognise him?”  Ben looked out from behind the lift
and took a second glance.  This time he saw what Ami was referring to.  A man,
blond hair, wearing nothing but black.  He was sat motionless with his legs
crossed, with his foot dangling about in front of him and weighed down by a
heavy looking black boot.  It was the same familiar boot from the rooftops
earlier on that morning when he had been hiding for the first time behind the
flimsy broken door that offered zero protection.  His stare was fixed ahead at
the entrance to the cafe, but tucked behind the foliage to camouflage his
presence.  Just the sight of him made Ben’s shoulder hurt again, and he pressed
at it with the palm of his hand.  “He won’t kill you here, but they will take
you.”
    “Does
he have Hannah?”
    “Sssshhhh,
listen.  Do exactly as I say.  Call Mark.  Tell him there is a change of plan
and you are across the city.  Tell him to meet you at Twenty Second Street. 
Then hang up.  I told you trust nobody.  But do this, and then trust yourself. 
The next move is up to you.”  She hung up the telephone, not leaving him time
to answer. 
    She
spoke at such a