Nightrise pof-3

by Anthony Horowitz

  “Why does Senator Trelawny want to see me?” he asked.

  “He didn’t say. He just said that he had new information and there was someone you had to meet. He thought they’d find you at the prison. The people who went in… their first job was to get you out and bring you to him. We’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Not all that far from here. He’s just over the state line in California… in the High Sierra. Have you heard of a place called Auburn?”

  Jamie shook his head.

  “It’s an old mining town. It got big in the gold rush days. John was born there and today it’s his fiftieth birthday, so they’re giving him a parade.” There was a television in the room, on the kitchen counter, and a remote control next to the bed. Alicia reached out and picked it up. “There should be something on the news,” she said.

  She switched on the TV.

  It was already tuned to a twenty-four-hour news channel. The anchor man was talking about the result of a trial following some big financial scandal. Then there were advertisements. Then a story about a basketball player charged with murder.

  “We’ll meet the senator in Los Angeles,” Alicia said.

  “Are the police still looking for me?” Jamie asked. It suddenly dawned on him how ridiculous his situation had become. He had committed no crime but he was still wanted for the murders of Don White and Marcie Kelsey. And as Jeremy Rabb, he was presumably wanted for various drug offences and for escaping from Silent Creek. How had he got himself into this mess?

  But Alicia never got a chance to answer the question.

  “… and in Auburn, California, last-minute preparations for a very special birthday party. John Trelawny, the man most people believe will win the November election, is returning to his home town, where he was born fifty years ago. These are the streets where, in just a few hours’ time, five thousand people are expected to gather to welcome the senator…”

  The story they had been waiting for came onto the screen. Glancing at the picture, Jamie froze. It was as if a chasm had opened up underneath him and he had been sucked into it. He found himself grabbing hold of the bed as if to steady himself. His eyes were fixed on the TV.

  He had seen a face he recognized. Not John Trelawny. It was the last face he had expected to see. It wasn’t anyone he had met in the real world. It wasn’t a real person at all.

  It was a statue.

  A grey stone face. Skin like putty. Hollowed-out eyes. The figure was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a cowboy hat. It was resting on one knee, holding a bowl. There was some sort of metal bridge in the background and a few pieces of old mine works around.

  “What is it?” Alicia demanded. She had seen the look on his face.

  The camera had only lingered on it for a moment but Jamie had heard the words of the commentary, “… looking for gold, the town was first founded in the nineteenth century…” And suddenly he understood what this man was… the man he had first seen kneeling by the water in his dreams.

  Not a cowboy. A gold prospector.

  Why?

  “Jamie…?” Alicia was becoming alarmed.

  “Did you see? Just now…”

  “What?”

  “On the screen!”

  It was too late. The picture had changed. Now it was showing old footage of John Trelawny waving to the crowd at another rally.

  “There was a man on the screen just now. Not a man. A statue. I’ve seen it before and. I don’t know why, but it means something. It’s important.”

  “In Auburn?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  Alicia slid off the bed. She had a laptop with her and she opened it, powering it up and connecting it to the Internet. Meanwhile, Jamie was thinking furiously. He knew he had been sent a sign and that it was up to him, and him alone, to make sense of it.

  The statue of a gold prospector in Auburn. A grey giant kneeling on a beach. They were one and the same – Jamie was sure of it. He remembered what Matt had told him. The dream world was there to help them. But sometimes it sent them messages in strange ways. What had the grey man told him?

  “He’s gonna kill him. And it’s your job to stop him.”

  Was Scott going to be killed in Auburn? Was that what he had meant?

  “His name is Claude Chana,” Alicia said. She had accessed an Auburn website on her computer and was looking at a picture of the statue now. “He found gold in the Auburn ravine in 1848 and that led to the establishment of a mining camp which later became the town. There’s a statue of him down by the old firehouse.”

  “ He’s gonna kill him.”

  “You mean… Scott?”

  “No, boy. You don’t understand-”

  But suddenly, with horrible clarity, Jamie did understand. There were two men fighting to become president: John Trelawny and Charles Baker. Nightrise supported Baker. But Trelawny was winning.

  So Nightrise were going to assassinate him.

  And they were going to use Scott.

  “He’s gonna kill him.” The “he” was Scott. The “him” was Trelawny. It was as simple as that.

  “You have to call the senator,” Jamie said, and it almost sounded to him as if it was someone else who was talking. “You have to warn him.”

  “What…?”

  “They’re going to try to kill him.”

  Alicia stared at him. “What are you saying? How can you know that?”

  “Please, Alicia. Don’t argue with me. I can’t explain it to you but they’re going to kill Senator Trelawny in Auburn today and you have to get him on the phone and stop him going there.”

  Alicia hesitated only a few seconds more. Then she grabbed her cell phone and speed-dialled a number. Jamie waited as the number was connected. He saw her face fall.

  “Senator…” she said, and he could tell she was leaving a message. “This is Alicia McGuire. I’ve been talking to Jamie and he says you’re in danger, that you mustn’t go to Auburn. Please call me back.”

  She snapped the phone shut.

  “He wasn’t there,” Jamie said.

  “I only have his personal cell phone number,” Alicia explained. “He wanted me to be able to call him directly. But he may have left his own phone behind. He may have switched it off. I don’t know how to reach him.”

  “How far is it to Auburn?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the other side of Lake Tahoe.”

  “How long would it take us to get there?”

  Alicia’s face brightened. “Not that long. A couple of hours.”

  “And when does the parade start?”

  “Midday.” She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes after ten o’clock. She made a decision. “We can make it,” she said. “Get dressed. I’ll wake Daniel. It’s going to be tight, but we can get there…”

  ***

  The crowds had started arriving early for the birthday parade and by eleven o’clock there must have been two thousand people lining the pavements, with more spilling out of their cars every minute. There were dozens of police officers on special duty. The secret service had gone in the night before and cordoned off the area where the parade would take place. While the local residents slept, they had discreetly swept the entire town, using dogs to sniff out any trace of high explosives, installing security cameras, identifying the rooftops and the second-floor windows that might provide a marksman with cover.

  There were two quite separate parts of Auburn. The modern section was unremarkable, a couple of streets that met at an angle with the usual assortment of shops and offices. But the Old Town, as everyone called it, had been almost perfectly preserved, a living echo of the nineteenth century and the gold rush that had created it.

  It stood – or nestled, rather – at the bottom of a hill. The main street swept down and then split into two, each side curving round like the two halves of a horseshoe with an open area, like a town square, in the middle. Shops and houses ran all the way along the ed
ges, most of them brick or timber-framed. But it was the buildings in the middle of the square that were the town’s pride and joy. One was an old post office, the other a firehouse, which looked like an oversized toy with its pointed roof and red and white stripes.

  Auburn had its own courthouse that stood high above the town, its great dome glinting in the sunlight. In the summer months, the heat could be almost too much to bear and the town would resemble not so much a horseshoe as a frying pan. But someone, a long time ago, had planted a cedar tree behind the firehouse and its branches had spread in every direction, the dark green leaves providing at least some shelter from the sun.

  The statue of Claude Chana stood next to the cedar tree. This was where the Old Town came to an abrupt end, with Highway 80 carrying six lanes of traffic, roaring past east and west. There were two filling stations facing each other and a railway bridge behind. This was what Jamie had seen on the TV.

  It was going to be a hot day.

  The sky was almost cloudless and the sun dazzled as it bounced off the tarmac and the shop windows. The entire town had been dressed up for the parade, with a row of bleachers, six high, constructed in front of the post office and facing back up the hill. The parade would come this way. It would turn off past the main shopping parade and make a complete circle behind the cedar tree before stopping once again at the bleachers. There was a platform, a row of microphones, an area for the press. The mayor would make a speech welcoming John Trelawny. John Trelawny would make a speech thanking the mayor. Then everyone would have lunch.

  There were flags everywhere. Hundreds of them. Flags on lampposts and street corners, attached to cars, bikes and prams, fluttering from the dome of the courthouse. A great banner had been erected above the bleachers so that everyone would see it as they came down the hill.

  AUBURN WELCOMES SENATOR TRELAWNY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN!

  And although the shops had been closed for the day, their windows were filled with messages of support.

  VAL’S LIQUOR SUPPORTS JOHN TRELAWNY FOR PRESIDENT PLACER COUNTY BANK WELCOMES JOHN TRELAWNY – NATIVE SON

  The local dignitaries were already taking their places on the bleachers. The mayor’s wife was there, sitting next to Grace Trelawny and her two sons. The chief of police and the fire chief, both in uniform, had taken seats in the front row. The town’s founding families and its most prominent businessmen had been invited, as had many of the people who had known John Trelawny when he was growing up: his principal, his teachers, the local minister, the football coach. By quarter to twelve, every seat had been taken apart from two, right in the middle. They had both been marked with RESERVED signs.

  Barriers had been erected for crowd control and by now people were lining the pavements, five or six rows deep. The local police were patrolling the edge of the street, occasionally barking out orders through their bullhorns – even though there was no need for it and nobody was listening. The atmosphere was light-hearted. It was obvious that everyone in Auburn supported John Trelawny and, if there were any protestors, they had been wise enough to stay away.

  At midday exactly the parade began.

  First up was the local high school marching band: the trumpets and trombones glinting brilliantly, the music blasting out. Among them was a tiny boy with a huge drum and a huge boy with a triangle. Two baton twirlers led the way and they were followed by a drill team: a dozen girls in sparkling silver, going through a series of tightly rehearsed steps. Someone threw a switch and a rap song burst out, fighting with the music from the band. But it didn’t matter. The jumble of noise and colour was what it was all about.

  Then came the vehicles: open-top Cadillacs and sports cars. The president of the Chamber of Commerce, waving and looking pleased with himself. Miss Auburn and two other beauty queens with their sequins and sashes. A single fire truck with half a dozen firefighters (they got the biggest cheer from the crowd). War veterans, some of them in wheelchairs. Then dozens more children walking behind. Boy scouts, girl scouts, cub scouts. And flag bearers – all dressed identically in silver and blue – spinning flags over their heads and around their shoulders, perfectly in step.

  As the procession made its way down the hill, two latecomers slipped through the seated dignitaries on the bleachers. One was a middle-aged woman with short grey hair, a thin neck and glasses that were slightly too big for her face. The other was a teenage boy, rather strangely dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, open at the collar. The clothes didn’t look right on him, as if someone had chosen them for him against his wishes. The boy was very pale. His eyes were empty. He had no expression on his face at all.

  The woman muttered her apologies as the two of them took their places in their reserved seats. Susan Mortlake and Scott Tyler had arrived. Now they sat and waited for the man they had come to kill.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Jamie said.

  “This car won’t go any faster,” Alicia muttered. “I’m doing the best I can…”

  But it was already twelve fifteen and although they had seen signs for Auburn along Highway 80, the town refused to come into sight. There were three of them in the car. Jamie was next to Alicia. Daniel was sitting in the back, leaning over them both.

  Jamie hadn’t been able to explain how he had worked it out but he knew, with cold certainty, that he was right. He had seen photographs of Charles Baker when he was in the Nightrise offices in Los Angeles and Senator Trelawny had explained how the corporation was bankrolling his rival’s campaign. Perhaps this was why they had wanted Scott and Jamie in the first place. Scott could order Trelawny to throw himself under a car. He could tell him to stop breathing and the senator would suffocate then and there. The two boys had always tried to keep their powers hidden. They had learned, from bitter experience, what they were capable of. If Scott had been turned into a weapon, he would be unstoppable.

  Scott. That was the other thought racing through Jamie’s mind. Of course he wanted to save the senator’s life. But if they got to Auburn in time, he would see his brother again and that mattered to him more.

  “We’re here!” Alicia spoke the words and a moment later veered off the highway, taking an exit that sloped up to a bridge and over to the other side. As they turned, Jamie saw the statue of Claude Chana crouching below. Was this really the same figure that had haunted him, repeatedly, in his dreams? There could be no doubt of it. The statue might look harmless now. It wasn’t a giant or a monster. But somehow it had been sent to bring him a warning. Jamie glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Twenty-five past twelve! He wondered if he was already too late.

  They reached the other side of the bridge. Now Jamie saw some of the crowds spilling over the pavements and heard the music of the marching bands. There was a policeman ahead, signalling them to move forward. But that was the wrong way. The road would lead them past the courthouse and up to the new town. Alicia needed to turn right – but that way had been blocked off. From this position, there was no sight of the bleachers, the post office, the stage where Trelawny would speak. But one thing was certain. There was nowhere to park, no way they could drive into the crowd.

  The policeman was waving at them, more angrily now.

  “Mum…?” Daniel muttered from the back seat.

  “Hold on,” Alicia said.

  She spun the wheel to the right and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. The tyres screamed. The car shot forward and down the hill towards the crowd.

  John Trelawny was in the back of a vintage 1960s Cadillac. The mayor of Auburn was next to him. As usual there was a secret-service man driving. Warren Cornfield was in the front passenger seat, his eyes completely hidden behind a pair of solid black wraparound sunglasses. There were two more secret-service men walking with the car, one on each side. They had followed Trelawny all the way down the street and the strange thing was that, despite the heat, they had barely broken into a sweat.

  Trelawny could see his wife sitting in the bleachers next to another woman, whom h
e had met earlier that morning – she was married to the mayor. His two sons were sitting there too and he knew that they wouldn’t be enjoying this. Both of them felt shy about being out in public. His car had almost completed its circuit around the bleachers and any minute now it would stop and he and the mayor would get out. The speeches would begin. It seemed so strange to be here. Trelawny remembered playing in these streets as a child. And now here he was, fifty years old, and all these people had turned out on account of him. He wished his parents were alive to see this moment. He also hoped the speeches wouldn’t go on too long.

  The car slowed down and stopped. Warren Cornfield was the first out, his hand resting on the car door, his head swivelling to take in the crowds.

  About fifteen metres away, in the middle of the bleachers, Susan Mortlake leant over and rested her hand on Scott’s arm.

  “All right, my dear,” she whispered. “It’s time. Do it now.”

  There was a filling station at the bottom of the slope and it was the one thing in the town that hadn’t closed. Alicia drove off the ramp and into the forecourt, skidding to a halt beside the pumps. She and Jamie left the car. Daniel scrambled out after them.

  “Hey!” The garage attendant had come out of his office. “You can’t leave that here!”

  But they were already on their way, abandoning the car, pushing their way through the crowds. Alicia knew that they were in danger. The policeman on the bridge must have seen what they had done and he would have put out a radio alert. There was a presidential candidate in the area and anyone behaving strangely would have to be brought down quickly. In other words, shoot first – ask questions later. She wished now that she had left Daniel behind.

  “How are we going to find him?” Jamie shouted.

  He couldn’t absorb it all: the people in their thousands, the bands still playing, the welcoming banners, the sunlight, the flags flying red, white and blue. He felt he was being stifled. The wound in his shoulder was throbbing badly. For a moment he lost sight of Alicia.