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Thirty-Two

Graham waited for Annalise to say something. She put the phone down in a daze and shook her head.

"That was Kevin," she said. "He wants us to meet."

"He got away?" Graham couldn't believe it. He'd heard the struggle. Had Kevin managed to fight them off and find a way out?

"It's gotta be a trap," said Annalise. "You know how paranoid Kevin is about his calls being scanned. But this time he mentions you and the resonance wave in the same breath."

"You think someone forced him to make the call?"

"I think they were listening to every word. The only thing Kevin could do was drop a few clues to warn us off."

"So they know about you," Graham said quietly.

"Yes," said Annalise. "They know about me. Now let's get this web page loaded and get the hell out."

* * *

A car pulled up as Graham and Annalise left the cafe. Two men jumped out—grey suits, thirties, well-built—two car doors slammed in quick succession. They left their car double-parked in the center of the street and ran ahead of Graham and Annalise, squeezing through the gaps between the line of parked cars to head them off.

"Graham Smith?" said the stockier of the two men.

"No," said Annalise, grabbing Graham's arm and trying to steer him past the two men.

A hand rested against Graham's chest. "I'm Detective Sergeant Tucker, Mr. Smith." He flashed his warrant card with his other hand. "We have a Miss Tamisha Kent at the station. She's told us everything. We need to get you into protective custody at once."

Annalise stared at them blankly. "Is this some kinda joke? We don't know any Tamishas."

Graham looked down at the hand on his chest and then at Annalise. What should they do? Were these real policemen or part of another trap?

Annalise pulled Graham back and led him away in the opposite direction. The two policemen hurried after them. A hand grabbed Graham's shoulder and pulled him back.

"We've got to take you in, Mr. Smith. It's for your own safety."

Annalise turned on him. "Where's the camera? We're on TV, right? Some guy gonna come out and tell us all about it?"

The two men exchanged glances, the first hint of uncertainty. At the head of the street, a truck turned in from the main road and almost scraped the paint from one of the parked cars opposite.

"This is no joke," said the man calling himself Sergeant Tucker. "We've got orders."

"Good for you. Now go and find this Mr. Smith you're looking for and leave us alone."

Annalise was getting louder. A few faces peered out from the cafe window. A woman stared from the street corner. A horn blared—a truck driver impatient at having his path blocked by a car parked in the middle of the road.

The two men exchanged glances again.

"I see our friends down there on the corner," said Annalise, waving. "Do you want to have a word with them? They'll tell you who we are."

The truck horn blared again. A head leaned out of the cab. "That your car, chief?"

Annalise pulled Graham towards the corner. "Ally!" she shouted. "Wait for us," and started to run.

Graham didn't look back. He heard the truck driver remonstrating with the two men, raised voices, two car doors slam and the squeal of tires. By the time the truck roared into life Annalise and Graham were on the main road and heading away fast.

They crossed over at the lights, took a left at the next junction, then a right, then another left. At each junction they stopped and glanced behind, looking for the car, the men, someone paying them too much attention.

Graham felt paranoid. The whole world was chasing him. He couldn't trust anyone except Annalise. Everyone else was suspect. The police, Kevin, Tamisha, Howard—all of them compromised.

Annalise's phone rang. She stopped and flicked it open, trying to listen and pant at the same time.

Graham stood beside her, doubled over and thankful for the rest. He tried to listen to whoever it was on the other end of the line but couldn't hear a word above the rush of passing traffic.

"Hello," said Annalise, clapping a hand over her other ear.

"Hello," she repeated a few seconds later.

Finally, she pressed the phone shut and looked at Graham. "No one there."

"Kevin?" asked Graham.

She shook her head. "Don't know. Whoever it was couldn't or wouldn't speak."

Graham glanced around. They were in Knightsbridge from what he could see. The streets were packed; rush hour would be starting soon. Shouldn't they be looking for a place to hide out?

Annalise agreed. They'd get out of London, take the tube, the train—anything—find a cheap room and hide out for as long as they could.

A plan that lasted less than a minute.

A car passed by and screeched to a halt twenty yards ahead. Two men jumped out. The same two men as before. Graham and Annalise turned and ran. There was a large department store on their right—two, three entrances—a sea of people pushing into and out of each exit.

"In here!" shouted Annalise. Graham followed, slowed by the press of people. Annalise bounced ahead, he could see her hair shining like a beacon through the crowd. Away from the doors the crowds thinned. Graham caught up with her as she snaked past intricate displays of handbags and scarves, gloves and belts. Did she have a plan? Were they running blind?

They found an escalator and ran along the outside, pushing past the line of stationary shoppers. Graham glanced back the way they'd come. The two men were forty yards behind and heading for the escalator.

They flew into Ladies Fashions. Annalise hesitated for an instant before turning right then left. They ran down an avenue of manikins, past circles of dresses and skirts, then turned right into a small section separated out from the rest of the floor. Tops and blouses adorned the walls on two sides and on the back wall—a line of changing rooms.

Annalise slowed to a fast walk, picked up a dress from a rack and, grabbing Graham, pushed him into the changing room on the far right. She pulled the curtain closed behind them.

An age passed. Maybe it was only a few seconds but it felt like hours to Graham. The anticipation, the fear, the certainty that any second the curtains would rip apart and two men would barge in.

Annalise hung the dress on the hook at the back of the cubicle and opened the curtains a crack. Graham held his breath.

"Can't see anyone," she whispered, letting the curtain fall back. "We'll give it five minutes then head for the nearest exit. I . . ."

She stopped and inclined her head to one side.

"What is it?" whispered Graham.

"Shhh!" said Annalise, her eyes becoming unfocused. She smiled, the smile gradually fading as her muscles relaxed.

Graham watched. It had to be important. A message from one of the girls. Maybe something to give them hope?

Strange, he thought to himself, he was being chased all over London, his life was in imminent danger and yet . . . and yet he wouldn't have swapped that moment for any other in his life. It was like he'd lived for years in a dark, airless room and suddenly the shutters had been thrown open. He felt alive and happy and, strangely, safe. As long as Annalise was with him nothing else mattered.

Annalise nodded once, twice and then frowned as her eyes refocused on the world around her.

"That was Annalise Six," she whispered. "Your DNA results are starting to come through. They've analyzed data from a thousand worlds so far and," she paused, "they're all the same."

She looked confused. Graham couldn't understand why. "So?" he whispered.

"So, a thousand Graham Smiths all have identical DNA—even when they have different parents."

"Because I'm adopted. Isn't that what you'd expect?"

"Maybe so, but Gary seems to think there's more to it. They've been cross-checking the DNA of your close relatives and they're finding similarities."

"What kind of similarities?"

"They think you're related. Annalise Six wasn't sure about the details—Gary went scientist guy on her. But it looks like your real parents might be someone in your family."

 

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Framed