movement.
Now nothing could happen to his golden nugget, his prize. He was no doctor or scientist, but he had read stories of clones being erratic emotionally when they were first produced. Finding a random person lying amongst them was too high a risk for him to take.
Now they could do nothing.
In fact their motionless state gave him an idea.
He felt warm inside.
The man pulled a little machine out of his desk with a card swipe slot in it and a green screen. The wording on the screen read ‘please insert PIN’. As he pushed another key, the message changed to ‘please insert code’. The man pushed the digits three and four, and took his leather wallet from his breast pocket. He removed his black American Express card from it, swiped it, and was again greeted with the ‘please insert PIN’ message. He dialled his pin and the screen read ‘thank you’.
He placed the card back in his wallet and tucked it away. He put the machine back in his desk and looked at the screen. He guessed it would take about nine minutes or so to happen.
He topped up his wine, an exquisite merlot, and sipped.
Quick toilet break , he decided.
The man strode across the room to his en suite bathroom, the bright light shining against his three–thousand-pound suit. His socks, that had cost ninety pounds, thudded lightly on the mahogany floor.
Eight minutes.
ELEVEN
In the gloom, it had taken Francisco De Goya about a minute to locate his house.
Pushing his way through a broken fence and some trees wasn’t his habitual method of reaching home. Once he located his dwelling, it had taken him a further three minutes to make his way there unnoticed.
Staying in shadow not only meant staying safe, but it kind of gave him an adrenaline rush. He felt as if he was in the army or taking part in a clandestine night invasion. As the street was empty he managed to use the cover of cars and bushes. Once he was in his backyard he knew he was safe. The tall fence, designed to keep his kid safe, worked wonders in keeping his daughter from wandering out into the path of cars. In the darkness, it provided vital cover.
Sitting on his garden bench, he caught his breath. Being inconspicuous was tiring. Sweat poured off his brow onto his chest and down the back of his neck. He made a mental note to change once he was indoors. He spotted his daughter Sadie’s playhouse across the garden; it was lying on its side. He broke out in a smile. But the smile disappeared when he realised how much he missed his family.
And he realised that if he had been kidnapped, he had no idea of what had happened to them!
No, it’s fine, he reassured himself. They will be alive. They’ll be tucked up in bed now, sleeping. They will never hear of what happened to me. I’ll think up some excuse later to explain why I'm late in getting home.
Besides, he thought, for the streets to be this empty, it must be knocking on four or five o’clock in the morning. In which case I have been missing for maybe seven hours, five hours spent on that stinking bunk, and the rest getting my bearings and coming home. Maybe it’s later than that , he wondered, but who knows? The main thing is that I’m home now.
But you never know , he calculated warily. Anyone could be in the house. After all, the door was unlocked, and whoever had kidnapped me had to get to me somehow.
Be careful!
His breathing was more laboured now, Francisco stepped up to his patio doors and pulled the handle. They were open, not an unusual occurrence under the circumstances. For all the flaws in the people he knew as his neighbours, for all their confusions and various foibles, none of them were criminals. The neighbourhood was safe. His family rarely locked their patio door.
The panels rolled along the rollers with a dull roar and he stepped into his home. He shut the sliding doors behind him and locked them.
Things had changed , he reminded himself. I’ve just been kidnapped.
He made a mental note
Now nothing could happen to his golden nugget, his prize. He was no doctor or scientist, but he had read stories of clones being erratic emotionally when they were first produced. Finding a random person lying amongst them was too high a risk for him to take.
Now they could do nothing.
In fact their motionless state gave him an idea.
He felt warm inside.
The man pulled a little machine out of his desk with a card swipe slot in it and a green screen. The wording on the screen read ‘please insert PIN’. As he pushed another key, the message changed to ‘please insert code’. The man pushed the digits three and four, and took his leather wallet from his breast pocket. He removed his black American Express card from it, swiped it, and was again greeted with the ‘please insert PIN’ message. He dialled his pin and the screen read ‘thank you’.
He placed the card back in his wallet and tucked it away. He put the machine back in his desk and looked at the screen. He guessed it would take about nine minutes or so to happen.
He topped up his wine, an exquisite merlot, and sipped.
Quick toilet break , he decided.
The man strode across the room to his en suite bathroom, the bright light shining against his three–thousand-pound suit. His socks, that had cost ninety pounds, thudded lightly on the mahogany floor.
Eight minutes.
ELEVEN
In the gloom, it had taken Francisco De Goya about a minute to locate his house.
Pushing his way through a broken fence and some trees wasn’t his habitual method of reaching home. Once he located his dwelling, it had taken him a further three minutes to make his way there unnoticed.
Staying in shadow not only meant staying safe, but it kind of gave him an adrenaline rush. He felt as if he was in the army or taking part in a clandestine night invasion. As the street was empty he managed to use the cover of cars and bushes. Once he was in his backyard he knew he was safe. The tall fence, designed to keep his kid safe, worked wonders in keeping his daughter from wandering out into the path of cars. In the darkness, it provided vital cover.
Sitting on his garden bench, he caught his breath. Being inconspicuous was tiring. Sweat poured off his brow onto his chest and down the back of his neck. He made a mental note to change once he was indoors. He spotted his daughter Sadie’s playhouse across the garden; it was lying on its side. He broke out in a smile. But the smile disappeared when he realised how much he missed his family.
And he realised that if he had been kidnapped, he had no idea of what had happened to them!
No, it’s fine, he reassured himself. They will be alive. They’ll be tucked up in bed now, sleeping. They will never hear of what happened to me. I’ll think up some excuse later to explain why I'm late in getting home.
Besides, he thought, for the streets to be this empty, it must be knocking on four or five o’clock in the morning. In which case I have been missing for maybe seven hours, five hours spent on that stinking bunk, and the rest getting my bearings and coming home. Maybe it’s later than that , he wondered, but who knows? The main thing is that I’m home now.
But you never know , he calculated warily. Anyone could be in the house. After all, the door was unlocked, and whoever had kidnapped me had to get to me somehow.
Be careful!
His breathing was more laboured now, Francisco stepped up to his patio doors and pulled the handle. They were open, not an unusual occurrence under the circumstances. For all the flaws in the people he knew as his neighbours, for all their confusions and various foibles, none of them were criminals. The neighbourhood was safe. His family rarely locked their patio door.
The panels rolled along the rollers with a dull roar and he stepped into his home. He shut the sliding doors behind him and locked them.
Things had changed , he reminded himself. I’ve just been kidnapped.
He made a mental note
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