by Ryan, Chris
‘They’re going to kill him,’ she whispered.
‘Actually, they’re not,’ said a new voice in the room.
Gabs, Raf and Malcolm spun round.
There, standing in the doorway of the side entrance, was Zak. His face was covered in blood and bruises. His clothes were ripped. But he was alive and he was here.
Gabs couldn’t help herself. With a low moan of relief, she ran towards Zak and wrapped her arms around him. ‘What happened, sweetie?’ she said. ‘What happened?’
There was a pause.
‘I’d like to tell you, Gabs,’ Zak said, his voice slightly strangled. ‘I really would. But it’s a bit difficult to speak when you’re crushing my ribs like that.’
Even Raf had a big smile on his face. He strode over to where Gabs was still hugging Zak and put one strong hand on his shoulder.
Which left Malcolm, still sitting at the computer, a look of total bewilderment on his face.
‘Does anybody feel like telling me what’s going on?’ he asked.
4
HACK ATTACK
‘How did you know where to find us?’ Raf demanded.
Zak shrugged. ‘Worked it out. If I was in your shoes, I’d have come to Malcolm for help too. Unless you know someone else in South Africa you haven’t told me about.’
They had pulled the chairs out from under the kitchen table and were sitting in a circle. Malcolm’s face was twitching slightly. He wouldn’t catch anybody’s eye. Made sense. He’d thought he was completely off the grid – must have been quite a shock to learn that he wasn’t. Zak continued to explain what he’d just been through.
‘So, how did you escape from the warehouse?’ Gabs asked.
‘I improvised,’ Zak said. He felt impatient to tell them the real news. ‘Listen, I heard the guys who abducted me chatting. They were talking about Cruz. He’s up to something somewhere else in Africa. He was on his way to the airport when he diverted to come and . . . well, you know . . . deal with me.’
He saw Gabs close her eyes for a moment.
‘Whatever it is, I got the impression it’s something big,’ Zak continued. ‘Something violent. He’s going to hurt a lot of people.’ He paused. ‘I think we need to find out what he’s doing. And stop him.’
Gabs and Raf exchanged a look.
‘It’s not a lot to go on, sweetie. And Africa’s a big place. He could be headed anywhere.’
‘But we know he’s leaving South Africa by air.’ He looked directly at their reluctant host. ‘And we also know somebody who can identify passengers coming in and out of the airport. Right, Malcolm?’
Malcolm stared at his feet. His eyes flickered up to Gabs and he looked momentarily terrified.
What did you say to him? Zak mouthed the words in Gabs’s direction.
Gabs managed to look a little bit sheepish. She turned to Raf. ‘Why don’t we take a walk,’ she suggested.
‘Good idea,’ Raf said.
They stood up and left the house by the side door. Zak knew perfectly well that they wouldn’t be walking anywhere, but would have eyes on both entrances to the house.
‘It’s good to see you, Malcolm,’ he said, not quite sure if he meant what he said.
No answer.
‘What’s with all these computers?’ He pointed at the pile of pristine iMacs on the table. Next to them was a pile of boxed iPhones.
‘Security,’ Malcolm mumbled.
‘Huh?’
‘I never use one computer for more than a week. Or one phone.’
‘Right. Makes sense, I suppose.’ He looked at the phones. ‘Can I take one? I lost mine.’
Malcolm shrugged. ‘Sure. The number’s on the bottom of the box.’
‘I suppose you’ve memorized them all.’
‘Of course.’
Zak smiled and started unboxing the phone. ‘You know, we saved a lot of lives in London, you and me.’
Malcolm looked up briefly. ‘That woman tried to hurt me.’
‘What, Gabs? She was probably just worried. Her bark’s worse than her bite.’ Zak paused for a moment. ‘Actually, that’s not true. Her bite’s worse than her bark. But only if you’re a bad guy, and she knows you’re not that.’
Malcolm creased his forehead, but he didn’t say anything.
‘This guy we’re after,’ Zak pressed. ‘If you can get into the airport security systems, maybe we can find out where he’s flying to.’
‘Why should I?’ Malcolm jutted his chin out aggressively.
Zak narrowed his eyes. How should he play this? He could threaten to turn Malcolm in, of course, but he knew this boy well enough to realize that it would probably backfire. Maybe he should appeal to his better nature. No, Malcolm didn’t think like the way most people do.
Instead he stood up. ‘You’re right,’ Zak said. ‘Maybe it’s too difficult, even for you.’
‘What?’
‘Too difficult. Don’t worry about it, mate. We’ll find someone else who can do it . . .’ Zak started towards the door.
‘Wait.’
Zak had his back to Malcolm, which meant his peculiar friend couldn’t see him smile.
‘Which airport? There are three in Johannesburg. But it doesn’t matter if you don’t know which one. I’ve got access to all of them.’
Zak turned to see that Malcolm was blinking furiously and dragging his chair back to the computer screen.
‘He’ll have his own aircraft. I’d say Rand Airport was the most likely, wouldn’t you?’
Malcolm nodded. Already his fingers were a blur over the keyboard. Zak took a seat next to him.
‘What’s the name of the passenger?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Cruz Martinez. But he won’t be travelling under that name. We need to find a jet that was due to take off sometime after midday, but which was then delayed.’
Malcolm nodded and continued to type.
‘Why do you like doing dangerous things?’ Malcolm asked suddenly.
Zak frowned. ‘I don’t know if I like it exactly. It’s just what I do.’
‘But why?’
It wasn’t a question Zak could easily answer. But he didn’t have to. Malcolm was tapping on his computer screen. ‘There!’ He was unable to hide the excitement in his voice. ‘There! A Cessna due for take-off twelve-fifteen p.m. Re-scheduled for thirteen forty-five.’
Zak looked at his watch. 13.40. ‘Can you get a passenger list?’ he asked.
‘I can do better than that,’ said Malcolm. With a click of his mouse he brought up a new window. Four photographs appeared, with names and other information to the right.
They were all male. Two belonged to the captain and first officer. Their names were Paco and Joaquin and they both looked South American. The third was an African man. He was lean, with pronounced cheekbones and very dark eyes. According to the screen his name was Sudiq.
But all Zak’s attention was on the fourth face.
A face he’d seen less than an hour ago. Dark hair. Dead eyes. The name next to the picture suggested his name was Rodrigo, but Zak knew that to be a lie. It was Cruz Martinez.
‘Where’s the aircraft headed?’ he asked.
Malcolm tapped at the keyboard again. Instantly a map of Africa appeared. A red dotted line led from South Africa, across Botswana and Namibia, then up to the northern border of Angola. Here there was a little red dot. ‘Refuelling stop,’ Zak murmured to himself. ‘The aircraft must have a very long-range tank to get that far.’
From Angola, the red line passed over the South Atlantic before hitting the Ivory Coast, then continuing north-west to Senegal. Another red dot indicated its final destination: Dakar, the capital city of Senegal.
‘What does a Mexican drug dealer want to do in north-west Africa?’ Zak mused. Malcolm didn’t answer. He just stared at Zak with rapidly blinking eyes. ‘Wait there,’ Zak said. He stood up and hurried out of the house.
Sure enough, Raf and Gabs had taken up surveillance positions – Raf at the e
dge of the property, Gabs at the corner where the two streets met. Two children were playing football in the road and Zak noticed that they kept throwing glances at these strangers. He gave a low whistle. Raf and Gabs immediately looked round and, when he nodded his head at them, followed Zak back into the house.
Malcolm was still at his computer. As soon as he saw Gabs, he looked at his shoes again.
‘Well?’ Raf said.
‘Cruz is on a Cessna heading north-west to Dakar in Senegal. Taking off about now.’
Gabs smiled. ‘You two boys should do this for a living,’ she said. Malcolm blushed.
‘I say we follow him,’ Zak added. ‘There must be plenty of flights, right? Malcolm, can you find out if . . .’
‘Forget it,’ said Raf.
Zak blinked. ‘We have to find out what he’s doing, Raf. We know what Cruz is capable of.’
‘I mean, forget the commercial flights. Cruz hates you, Zak. And you’ve just wound him up even more. He’s also subtle, and he has influence. Trust me, it’s not so difficult to sabotage a plane if you know how. If we’re going to follow him, I want to be behind the wheel. I’ll make a call. We can have our own aircraft waiting for us.’
‘Whoa, hang on a minute,’ said Gabs, holding her palms out flat. ‘When did we all decide to zoom off all over Africa? Any of you ever heard of a little thing called orders?’
‘Zak’s right, Gabs. We know what Cruz is capable of,’ Raf replied. ‘We need to keep tabs on him. If we don’t follow him now, he could go to ground for months. Years, even.’
‘But . . .’ Gabs shook her head in frustration. ‘Zak’s just escaped from that psycho. It’s madness for us to go chasing after him again. Seriously, guys, this isn’t a joke. Cruz is a killer, and Zak’s top of his list. Have you forgotten what he tried to do last time he caught up with Zak?’
‘It’ll be different this time,’ Zak said with a slight smile.
Gabs raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh? How?’
‘I’ll have you with me.’ Zak gave Gabs his most charming smile. ‘You are intending to join us, aren’t you?’
Gabs blinked, then looked at Raf. ‘I thought we were meant to be in charge here,’ she said.
Raf gave a very serious nod, but his eyes were sparkling.
‘Boys!’ Gabs said in total exasperation. ‘You’re impossible sometimes.’ She turned to Zak. ‘Yes, of course I’m intending to join you.’
‘Me too,’ said Malcolm.
All three of them fell silent.
In a single movement, they all turned to look at the gangly boy with his thick glasses and greasy hair.
‘What?’ Malcolm asked. ‘I just found this guy, didn’t I? If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have got anywhere.’
Gabs spoke carefully. ‘Thanks for the offer, Malcolm. It’s kind of you. But this is dangerous and we really work better on our own . . .’
‘If you work better on your own,’ Malcolm retorted, his skin suddenly flushed, ‘what are you doing here?’
Silence.
‘He’s got a point,’ Zak said quietly.
Raf said nothing, but Gabs had the air of a woman who thought things were slipping out of her control. ‘Guys,’ she hissed. ‘Seriously, look at him . . .’
It was true. With his thick-lensed glasses and his greasy hair, Malcolm didn’t have the bearing of someone suited to field work. But to Zak he’d more than proved his use in the past, and something told him that Malcolm might do so again.
Persuading Gabs, however, wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Dakar’s a major city,’ he said slowly, thinking out loud. ‘It’s not like we’ll just be able to walk round the streets and hope to see Cruz. Malcolm knows how to find people. He found me this morning, and he’s just found out where Cruz is going. I say he comes.’
‘Agreed,’ said Raf.
Gabs looked from one to the other. ‘This,’ she said firmly, ‘is a very bad idea. Remember I said that when everything goes wrong.’
Without another word, she stormed out of Malcolm’s house.
Raf watched her go, then turned to Zak. ‘She’ll be OK when she calms down,’ he said mildly. ‘But we’d better hurry before she changes her mind.’ He turned to Malcolm. ‘You don’t need any more clothes,’ he said. ‘Chances are we’ll be changing into something that blends in a bit better when we get to Senegal.’
Malcolm was already marching into another room just off the kitchen. He said nothing.
‘I hope this is a good idea,’ Raf murmured.
‘Trust me,’ said Zak. ‘It just feels right.’
‘We’ll see. Give him two minutes to get his stuff together. I’ll meet you outside.’
Malcolm’s stuff, which he brought back into the kitchen thirty seconds later, comprised a cellphone, a laptop and a circuit board that sprouted a mess of wires like coloured spaghetti.
‘School project?’ Zak asked, one eyebrow raised.
Malcolm didn’t speak, or even look at Zak as he stuffed these items into a beaten-up khaki shoulder bag.
‘You sure about this, buddy?’ Zak said.
Malcolm blinked at him, and for a moment Zak wondered if he’d heard what he said. But then he nodded vigorously. Not for the first time, Zak noticed something very childlike about him.
‘I’m bored here anyway,’ Malcolm said. ‘And it’s time to move on.’ He slung the bag over his shoulder and started towards the door. Halfway there, he stopped by a bookcase. There was a small framed photograph here: a picture of a middle-aged woman, rather plump, with a short bob of dark brown hair flecked with grey. Malcolm picked it up and looked at it.
‘Who’s that?’ Zak asked.
Malcolm returned the photo to its shelf where it slipped onto its back. ‘Nobody,’ he said with a note of finality. ‘Are we going or not?’
And without looking at Zak he strode out of the side entrance to the house.
Zak followed. As he walked past the bookcase, he glanced at the photograph. Who was it? Malcolm had no immediate family and he didn’t seem like the type to get sentimental over anyone. Why then did he have a photograph on display in this supposedly secret house of his?
And if it was that special to him, why didn’t he slip it into his rucksack?
Zak stashed that question in a corner of his mind. Then he turned his attention to the job in hand. Absentmindedly rubbing the patch of skin he had burned when freeing himself from the plasticuffs, he hurried towards the side entrance of Malcolm’s house and stepped out once more into the thick wall of the South African heat.
Raf was standing twenty-five metres away talking into his mobile phone. Malcolm loitered by the door. He had a sturdy key in his hand and looked like he was deciding whether or not to lock the door. He shrugged for a moment, then dropped the key in his pocket without bothering to lock up. Zak sensed Malcolm didn’t intend to return to this house, ever.
Gabs was walking briskly along Mandela Drive, disapproval about their plan of action oozing from her even at a distance. An uncomfortable thought touched Zak’s mind. For the first time ever, they somehow didn’t quite feel like a team.
But he dismissed that idea. It would pass. For now, they had work to do.
5
THE DARK CONTINENT
14.30HRS
Zak didn’t know who Raf had called, or what he’d said. He didn’t need to. All he knew, as they pulled alongside the runway of a private airfield in a remote area to the west of Jo’burg, was that a fixed-wing aircraft was waiting for them. It was about thirty feet in length, painted in red and white. A refuelling lorry was just driving away from the plane and two guys in blue overalls stood by it, wilting in the heat.
‘Cessna 172,’ Raf said as the Range Rover came to a halt about thirty metres from the aircraft. He shook his head. ‘Seriously, is that the best they can do?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, if you don’t want to travel further than a thousand miles or so – and that’s assuming exc
ellent flying conditions and hoping we’ve got an auxiliary long-range tank fitted. We’ll need to refuel three times, maybe more.’
‘Four thousand miles,’ Malcolm said suddenly.
‘What is?’ Raf asked.
No reply.
‘What is it?’ Zak repeated.
‘Estimated distance from Johannesburg to Dakar.’
‘Did you just work that out?’
Malcolm nodded. ‘There’s a margin of error,’ he admitted. ‘But only about a hundred miles either way.’
Raf inclined his head. ‘Well, there you go.’
‘Cessna 172,’ Malcolm added. ‘Decent safety record, but not perfect. August 1969, Rocky Marciano killed in one. September 1978, two crashed over San Diego, 144 dead. May 1987 . . .’
‘Yeah, all right Malcolm, thanks.’
Zak smiled. Malcolm was weird, but you had to hand it to him: his brain was something else.
A pause.
‘I don’t like flying,’ said Malcolm.
‘You can always go home, sweetie,’ Gabs murmured.
‘No thank you. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay with you.’
Zak turned back to Raf. ‘You do know how to fly this thing safely?’
‘What? Yeah, of course. Gabs is pretty good too. We haven’t given you any flying lessons yet, have we? You can have a go if you want.’
‘I think I’ll leave it to the experts, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Chicken.’ Raf’s eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘She is pretty, though, isn’t she?’
‘If I didn’t know better,’ Gabs said, ‘I’d think you only wanted to go after Cruz because you fancy racking up a few more flying hours.’
‘What a ridiculous notion,’ Raf said. Then he winked at Zak.
‘So how are we going to refuel?’ Zak asked.
‘We’ll do what we normally do, Zak. Wing it.’
Zak and Raf grinned at each other. Gabs rolled her eyes.
Zak grabbed an empty rucksack from the back of the Range Rover. Then they left the vehicle where it was, and jogged towards the aircraft, where he caught sight of his face in a side window. It was still bruised from his encounter in the toy shop, but he’d grown used to the dull ache of his skin. Moments later, they had climbed the staircase and were inside. Zak had always expected private planes to be glamorous affairs. Not this one. There were only four seats and they were very cramped. The whole aircraft stank of petrol. Raf pointed out a long-range tank at the back of the cabin with a certain amount of relief. ‘Much bigger tank than usual,’ he said. ‘Someone’s made some modifications. We might get away with only refuelling once.’