Rather than catch Dick and propel him over their heads as he leapt off the stage, they panicked and performed an impromptu impersonation of the Red Sea. Dick remembered hurtling towards the unyielding floor and then, nothing. He’d been unconsciousness for about a minute before being revived and examined by a medical doctor in the audience who diagnosed the dislocated shoulder and kindly relocated it for him.
‘I’ve just seen the official report,’ Vera said, resting her hand on his shoulder.
Dick recoiled in agony.
‘Sorry!’, Vera exclaimed. She replaced her hand much more gently and gave Dick’s shoulder a soft, almost sensuous, rub. An anxious Dick turned his head to look at her hand but in doing so cricked his neck, causing him yet more pain.
Vera spoke as she continued rubbing, ‘The Party observers found your methods severe, yet satisfactory, and have made unconditional recommendations that Jack should be sent, ‘into the field’, as it were, to commence his work’.
Her caresses continued in gentle circles. ‘I like brutality in a man’, she said in her low voice. ‘It’s a very appealing trait…’
The rubbing was soothing and Dick gently closed his eyes, enjoying this temporary release from pain. He knew his solution was brutal. Taylor had told him that the Party was ruthless which is why he felt they would approve of his solution. The display was frightening in its violence but Dick didn’t have any qualms about sending Jack out to perform his dirty deeds. These were only robots after all, robots that were being decommissioned, as Jack would be, after his work was done. Dick suddenly shook himself alert and opened his eyes. He saw Vera a few inches from his face, staring into his eyes. In a reflex move he let out an involuntary scream and an equally shocked and alarmed Vera screamed back.
Dick’s dislocated shoulder turned out to be a good cover for his protracted absence from work. In addition to wincing whenever he twisted or turned in an awkward way, Dick spent the rest of the day going about his normal duties; drafting reports, poring over statistics and analysing research findings. Project Gladstone was still very much under cover and as far as Dick was aware, no one in the department knew anything about it apart from Vera. She’d left early for a meeting and the office was empty apart from Dick who was just finishing his work for the evening, and Benjamin who sidled up to him.
‘I’m glad you’re back at work Jeremy. I’m pleased you’re recovering’, he said. ‘What exactly happened?’
Dick gulped. A gulp which said, if it was at all possible to interpret gulps, ‘Fuck. I’ve just realised I never checked with Vera about the cover story for my illness and my time off’. ‘Er, I fell over at home’, Dick said rather unconvincingly. ‘Clumsy accident really. I slipped getting out of the shower and dislocated my shoulder’.
‘Dislocated it, eh?’ Benjamin gave him the sort of look that indicated he didn’t think this was a serious enough injury to warrant two weeks away from work.
‘Yes. Dislocated it and also fractured it. In eight places. Cracks everywhere. Terrible mess, terrible. Lucky I still have use of my arm. And my shoulder’. Dick switched off his computer terminal. He wanted to leave before Benjamin asked any more tricky questions. Unfortunately he was too late.
‘Really?’, said Benjamin. ‘We were told you were ill in hospital’.
‘I was’, Dick said, completely and utterly forgetting that this had been part of the cover story. ‘There were, er, complications’.
‘Such as’, Benjamin enquired.
‘Pardon?’, said Dick anxiously, playing for time.
‘What sort of complications were there?’, pressed Benjamin.
‘Pardon?’, said Dick again, playing for more time.
‘What complications occurred?’. Benjamin wouldn’t let this go.
Dick said the first thing that came into his head and for once, it was quite a good first thing, ‘I got an infection from the fracture and it caused problems’. He pointed to his lap and whispered, ‘Down there’. Benjamin raised an eyebrow. Dick knew he had to say something about his condition that would put an end to Benjamin’s prying and this meant something so personal and so unpleasant that no one would want to say something like, ‘Let’s have a look, then’.
‘I got acute blood poisoning of my testicles’, Dick explained. ‘They swelled up like footballs and secreted a thick greenish crispy pus out of my scrotum that smelled of vinegar and stilton. It was awful Benjamin. Just awful! It’s still weeping a bit now’.
‘I see’. Benjamin’s tone indicate he didn’t believe a word of anything Dick had just said but his expression implied he certainly wasn’t going to call his bluff and ask him to verify it. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Anyway…’, he added, ‘Congratulations!’
‘On my recovery?’, Dick enquired, as he attempted to find a pain-free way of putting on his jacket.
Benjamin sidled even closer to Dick and lowered his voice. ‘No. On your recent demonstration. I hear it was quite a success’.
Dick frowned as Benjamin continued, ‘News travels fast, especially, if like me, you’ve got a close relative in the Party’. He looked at Dick more intently. ‘Yes, that’s right Dick. You’re not the only person to have this sort of association. It seems your solution to Project Gladstone has been highly regarded.’
‘Glad-what?’, asked Dick, this time frowning more severely to try and elicit the right degree of surprise.
‘I know all about it!’, exclaimed Benjamin, with more than a trace of annoyance in his voice. ‘And I know a lot more, too’.
Dick gulped as Benjamin continued.
‘I’ve used my connections and I’ve been digging. Believe me, I’ve dug deep, really deep. Subterranean almost. You know what’s really odd? Despite what you told me, I can’t find any trace of you having a relative in the Party. None whatsoever’. Benjamin’s voice was now raised. ‘I thought if you’ve lied about this, what else have you lied about? The annoying thing is that your personal record checks out. It even confirms you were hospitalised last week. But I’m certain you are not who or what you seem and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it’.
Dick shrugged his shoulders and after wincing again from the sharp pain that shot up his back, immediately wished he hadn’t.
What Benjamin said next came out sounding like a threat. Not the sort of threat like ‘Unless you give me the map to the hidden treasure I will introduce you to Mister Pliers and his companion Señor Red Hot Poker’, but a more subtle form of intimidation.
‘The Party obviously values your successful solution but I know something they will value even more’.
What Benjamin said next filled Dick with dread.
‘The unmasking of an impostor in their midst’. Benjamin leant close to Dick and narrowed his eyes. ‘Need I say more?’
Dick knew Benjamin didn’t need to. He’d said enough. More than enough in fact. On a scale of one to ten, if ‘enough’ was five, then Benjamin had said thirty-two. Dick was very worried. There was no knowing how high in the Party Benjamin’s connections were or even what resources he had at his own disposal. Working alongside an annoying prick of a work colleague was one thing; he could tolerate that. Working alongside an annoying, jealous, interfering, suspicious, distrustful prick with access to his records, who was determined to reveal Dick’s real identity was another.