Becca XXX - Hard Time Ch. 11

I slipped on my new threads and then searched the wardrobe for a coat and some footwear. Whoever these clothes belonged to had good taste and I was soon sporting a pair of knee-high black boots and a short leather jacket. I looked like a trendy young girl, stepping out on London fashion week, apart from my hair. I had that tied back in a pony tail so that I could wear the baseball cap that Sasha had given me the night before.

After a quick twirl in the mirror, I wandered back into the other bedroom to find Sasha searching the wardrobe for something to wear. She heard me come in and turned around jiggling her naked tits at me.

"Are you sure you don't want a quickie?" she teased, squeezing her melons and wobbling them from side to side.

"No thanks. You're not my type," I joked.

"Yeah right. That's not what you said last night when you were cumming all over me," she laughed.

She dragged a few items out of the wardrobe and started to get dressed. Her outfit consisted of denim jeans, a short-sleeved T-shirt and a puffer jacket that mountaineers might wear. She also found a beanie hat to cover her hair and a pair of knickers, but no bra. I laughed as she made a show of slipping her white panties over her sexy booty.

"That's not going to work," I giggled. "Hurry up."

"Fine," she huffed playfully. "Suit yourself."

I left her to get dressed and went back downstairs to sterilise the building. Although we'd broken in, stolen food, wine and clothing, I didn't want to leave any other trace of our presence. I wasn't going to go to the degree of wiping down fingerprints, but I didn't want to leave anything that might suggest that two escaped convicts had stayed the night.

I switched the TV on to check the news as I washed the plates and glasses, putting them back where I'd found them. The news was just as I expected. The top story of the morning was the fire at Bronzefield, but the story now had a new headline running across the banner at the bottom of the screen.

It read: Possible escape of three prisoners from Bronzefield Prison.

I threw the pizza box and empty wine bottle into a bin bag as the news reporter started to do her thing. It was the same reporter from several hours earlier and she must have been there all night.

"It is still unclear what happened at Bronzefield Category A prison last night, but we have been informed this morning that three prisoners are unaccounted for. It is thought that they may have been involved in the fire which broke out in the basement of the admin building where a large number of bodies have been found. Police and fire investigators are continuing to sift through the remains of what they are describing as a fiery massacre. The charred remains of more than sixty people have been recovered from the basement and still more bodies are being found."

The camera panned around to show two long rows of black body bags lined up in the car park. Police, forensics and other important looking people were darting about all over the scene, trying to piece it all together.

"As of yet, the police are refusing to comment about who these people were or about what they were doing in the basement in the first place," she continued. "However, they have told us that all of the bodies recovered so far appear to be male which makes it look increasing more likely that the three female prisoners have indeed escaped."

As she said that, Sasha wandered into the living room and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh fuck," she gasped. "Are they talking about us?"

"It looks like it," I replied. "I guess it's...."

I never finished my sentence as the screen changed in front of me and the identity of the three missing prisoners was revealed.

"Fuck," murmured Sasha in shock.

The TV screen was displaying three mug shots taken from the prison files and it came as no surprise as to who they were. My face was front and centre with Sasha and The Crow's photos either side of me.

I suddenly felt sick as the magnitude of what had happened began to sink in. I'd always been untouchable when it came to the law as long as it benefitted the mission, but I'd never had my picture on the TV before. Grainy CCTV footage of me on my previous assignment had been shown, but it could have been anybody. There was no doubting that this was a picture of me.

"Police are warning the public to be on the lookout for Sheryl Scott, Rebecca Sloan and Melody Thomas pictured here," the reporter announced. "They are extremely dangerous and are not to be approached. If anyone has any information as to their whereabouts, they are to contact the police immediately on the crime-stoppers number below."

The screen showed a long phone number in case vigilant members of the public caught sight of us. I looked at Sasha open mouthed and she gave me an equally worried look straight back at me.

"Holy fucking shit," she said. "We're Britain's most wanted. What the fuck are we going to do?"

"Let's not panic," I replied, trying to remain calm. "We stick to the plan."

I may have looked calm on the outside, but I was deeply concerned on the inside. I wondered about calling Lexa and getting her to put a gagging order on the news story, but it was too late for that. The story was already in the public domain and hiding it now would only make it look like a cover up. I wondered what was going through Lexa's head. She'd said it didn't matter about collateral damage during our escape, but I doubted she had this in mind.

"Don't panic? Are you fucking kidding me? Our faces are all over the news thanks to the fucking Crow," she spat.

"They'd be all over the news anyway," I explained. "We're escaped convicts."

"I know, but The Crow has made it a hundred times worse by burning all those people alive."

"Things might change a little once they figure out it was a rape party. We need to get the evidence from the cloud and deliver it to the people that count. We stick to the plan," I said again.

I watched Sasha take a deep breath and calm herself down. I did the same, but made it look less obvious.

"No one knows where we are and Brighton is the last place they'll be looking for now," I pointed out. "They're looking for three fugitives and there's only two of us here. We don't have any distinct features and if we wear a hat and keep our faces covered with a scarf, we should be fine. People barely glance up from their phones these days, especially on the train."

"You're right. You're right. Sorry," she replied, patting the air to calm herself down. "It's just the shock of it all. We'll stick to the plan."

"I know how you're feeling, but it shouldn't really come as a surprise," I was trying to convince myself at the same time as convincing her. "It was only a matter of time until they figured out we were missing. Let's finish clearing up and get to the train station. There's an internet café on the way. We can release the evidence pack to the authorities from there."

We both went into a frenzy of clearing the place up. Having a little down time and enjoying a lesbian fuck session had been necessary and enjoyable, but things were now more urgent. Sasha disappeared upstairs and came back with a bag full of our old clothes and a couple of thin black scarves. I added the clothes to my rubbish bag and we did a final sweep of the place to make sure we hadn't left anything incriminating behind.

Once we were satisfied, we both put our hats on to disguise our features and wrapped a scarf loosely around our necks. The weather outside was cold so we wouldn't look out of place being bundled up. Sasha killed the power, I threw Reid's daysack over my shoulder and we left the house in pretty much the same state that we'd found it. After slipping the key back under the plant pot and throwing the bag into the nearest rubbish bin, we left the marina.

It was mid-morning by now, but the cold and damp were keeping the crowds at bay. I felt incredibly exposed for two reasons. Firstly, being locked up in a tiny cell for weeks had made the outside world seem quite foreboding. I could see why prisoners became institutionalised after long periods behind bars and why they found it hard to adjust to a life of freedom. There was no one to tell you it was dinner time or when to shower or when to exercise. It would be quite overwhelming for ex-cons.

The other reason I felt exposed was because of the news report. I felt as though everyone was staring at us even though they weren't. Seeing my mug shot on the TV had come as a shock and now that our identities had been revealed, we had to be even more careful. I had no doubt that Lexa could sort the problem out, but it would mean blowing my cover. That would be devastating after coming this far, knowing that within hours I might be standing in front of my target: Charles Hamilton.

We walked arm in arm, like a couple of friends on our way for a day out shopping. It was Sunday, but thanks to Sasha and Arrow's research we knew that the trains were still running. We had some money which we'd taken from Reid and Jarvis which would be more than enough to get us into London.

I had memorised the route to the station and it didn't take long before we turned off the sea front road and onto the main street through Brighton city centre. Despite it being Sunday, most of the shops and cafes were open with a low hum of shoppers frequenting them. We fitted in well and no one seemed suspicious of us so we kept going and turned left onto Trafalgar Street.

This road had an internet café halfway down and the station at the end.

"Do you remember the passwords and IP address for Arrow's cloud server?" I asked. "The café is up here on the right."

"Of course I do," she replied. "I used to be a hacker, remember?"

"OK, let's do it."

I checked behind us, out of habit more than anything else and then entered the café. There were rows of computer screens and a counter at the far end where payment needed to be made. Sasha took a seat at one of the terminals and I paid for an hour's worth of internet access. The clerk didn't bat an eye when I paid him with cash. I guessed that shady deals went on at internet cafes all the time.

When I got back to Sasha, she was already typing and clicking on the screen to bring up windows and computer programs. She wrote some code into an open window which may as well have been in Japanese - I had no idea what it all meant. She seemed to sense my lack of understanding and began to explain it to me quietly.

"I'm routing our session through several VPN servers to hide our location," she said. "I don't want anyone to know that the data pack was sent from Brighton."

"Good thinking," I nodded.

After a few more clicks and passwords, she finally logged into Arrow's cloud where the evidence had been stored. Sasha opened a Word document which contained a list of email addresses. She had compiled it with Arrow's help and it consisted of police, crime stoppers, the prison board and several news channels including the one we'd been watching on the TV that morning.

She cut and pasted the addresses into an email program and attached the data file.

"That should do it," she said, hovering the mouse pointer over the send button. "It will be completely anonymous, but the evidence will speak for itself. Each recipient will know who else the data has been sent to. That will prevent anyone from trying to cover it up."

I checked over my shoulder to see what the clerk was up to. He had his head in his paperwork and was completely ignoring us. I then checked outside to make sure we weren't about to be ambushed by a police swat team, but the street looked normal.

"Do it," I said. "Hit send and let's get to the train station."

Click.

There was a swishing noise from the computer's speakers to indicate that the email had gone. Sasha closed everything down and then cleared her browsing history before turning to me.

"It's done. Let's see what the fuckers make of that," she said defiantly. "Let's go."

We left the café and continued towards the end of the road. The large train station loomed up like a huge wrought-iron dome, dominating our view. It was at least one-hundred years old and it almost looked like the rest of Brighton had been built around it. Like the rest of our escape plan, this part of our journey had been pre-planned with each of us having individual tasks to carry out. If the police and security authorities were looking for three escaped convicts, splitting up in busy areas was a good way to throw them off the scent. The station was fitted with CCTV cameras, but unless someone was specifically looking for us or using facial recognition software, we were safe enough.

The entrance to the station opened up into a huge amphitheatre. The platforms were ahead of us, but we needed tickets to get through the electronic turnstiles before boarding the train.

"You get the tickets and I'll do the rest," I said. "Meet me in the ladies toilets in five minutes."

Sasha nodded and made her way to the ticket office. Automated ticket machines were available, but they only accepted card payments. We were paying cash. I watched her leave and caught sight of two transport police officers patrolling the station. They were both armed with MP5 sub machine guns and bullet proof vests. They weren't looking for us; they were mainly there as a show of force and to prevent terror attacks on the UK transport system. Even so, I gave them a wide berth and headed to one of the small shops that lined the concourse.

My first call was for food and water. We hadn't had any breakfast and I was starving. I grabbed a few packs of sandwiches and crisps and some bottled water and headed for the cashier. She barely looked up at me as I paid her and stuffed the food into a plastic carrier bag, before leaving and heading for the pharmacy, two shops down.

Sasha was already on her way back with the tickets as I came out, but she didn't acknowledge me. We wanted to look like we weren't together for as long as possible. She headed for the newspaper stand and started perusing the magazines and morning papers, doing a good job of blending in.

I carried on to the pharmacy and found what I was looking for straight away. I knew that facial recognition cameras were widely used in the centre of London. Ever since the London bombings on the seventh of July two-thousand-and-five the UK security services had increased their surveillance technology ten-fold. Anyone on the government's wanted list could be found within hours if they stepped foot in the centre of London. If we stepped off the train and got pinged by a camera, we'd have the police chasing us all around London before we could get to the financial district.

Our hats and scarves were a good disguise, but the cameras could pick us up even from a partial image of our face. It wouldn't be a perfect match, but it would alert the authorities that we were a possible match to the escaped convicts from Bronzefield. That was the kind of attention we really didn't want, but I had a plan for that.

At the back of the shop there was a rack of reading glasses. They were known as 'ready-readers' and were non-prescription glasses for people who'd forgotten theirs on the way to work. Neither of us needed them to read, but they did offer a good way to mask our identity. We could have used sunglasses in the same way, but it was a dull winter's day and we'd look even more conspicuous if we had shades on.

I picked out two pairs with the largest, thickest frames and the lowest magnification. If we wore them in London, we'd have less chance of the facial recognition picking us up. It may have been paranoia on my part, but it was worth spending a few pounds if it meant that we made it to Hamilton's head office without intervention.

I paid cash for them, getting a funny look from the cashier for buying two pairs.

"They're for my mother," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm on my way to see her and despite her having several pairs, she says she can't find them."

"Oh, my mother's just the same," she laughed. "I've tried all sorts, but she's always losing them. I found her last pair in the fridge."

She wasn't in the slightest way suspicious and I was feeling quite relaxed as I left the shop and headed for the toilets.

My face may have been on the news, but people were too wrapped up in their own lives to care. Unless I was wearing a bright orange boiler suit with a prisoner number tattooed on my forehead, people weren't interested.

I got to the ladies room to find Sasha waiting for me at the sinks. I checked the cubicles, but she told me that we were alone.

"Here's your ticket," she said, passing me a small card with our destination written on it.

"Any problems?"

"No. The train leaves in ten minutes. We need to get a move on."

I passed her a pair of glasses and shared the food and drink with her.

"We'll sit in the same carriage, but away from each other," I said. "We stand less chance of being recognised if we're travelling alone. Wear the glasses too, it will add to the disguise."

She slipped the black rimmed glasses on and looked herself over in the mirror before turning to me for an opinion.

"What do you think?" she asked. "I feel like a geek."

"You look like a sexy secretary," I giggled trying to make her feel at ease.

I could tell she was still shaken after seeing her mug shot on the TV. I was too, but we just had to keep pushing on. I tried my glasses on too and saw an instant blur to my vision. The spectacles were focused for short distances like reading or close-up work which meant anything far away was out of focus. It wasn't ideal, but we had to make do with the resources we had.

Sasha burst out laughing at my new appearance as I glanced in the mirror to see my blurred face. The large frame of the glasses altered the outline of my face and would make it more difficult for the cameras to pick out my features. They didn't look great on me, but they served a purpose.

"I think they make me look more intelligent," I giggled.

"If you say so, babe," she laughed. "At least you'll be able to see the newspaper properly, four eyes."

She passed me one of the morning's papers and I noticed that the headlines were all about the fire at the prison. Whoever had taken the picture must have gotten there just after we left because the place was an inferno. I was half expecting to see our faces all over the front page, but I guessed that the papers had gone to print before that part of the story had been announced.

Bing-bing-bong.

A chime rang out all across the station to inform us that the train for London Victoria station was now boarding on platform four so we gave ourselves a final check over and packed our things into our bags.

"I'm going to have a quick pee," I announced. "I'll find you on the platform. Just stick to the plan as we agreed."

"Yes boss," she mocked me, making a salute. "Hurry up and don't forget to wipe your pussy."

"Eeeewww you dirty bitch," I protested. "I always wipe. I'm not a pissbag whore like you."

She chuckled to herself and left the toilets as I went into the nearest cubicle. I didn't really need to pee, but I didn't want us to walk out of the toilets together. These basic details seemed trivia to most people, but they might well save us from being spotted by the authorities. Small things mattered.

I followed Sasha out after a couple of minutes and scanned my train card to get me through the turnstile.

Beep. Whir.

Once I was on the platform, I spotted Sasha halfway down, looking in my direction. As soon as she knew I'd seen her, she boarded the train and I followed her on with several people between us. Sasha took a seat near the middle of the carriage and I sat with my back to the wall near the entrance. It allowed me to see the whole carriage with Sasha in my peripheral vision. We didn't make eye contact or acknowledge that we knew each other, but we knew where each other was. As far as the public were concerned, we were just two girls travelling separately to London.