“Or what? You’ll get your sister to hit me?”
Parker couldn’t believe people this irritating existed in the world.
“What is wrong with you?” asked Parker. “Just give Michael his glasses back.”
Aaron smiled and shrugged. He folded his arms.
“Fine,” said Parker. He stepped forward, determined that one way or another he was going to get those glasses. His intentions were obvious; Aaron took a step back.
“Okay,” said Aaron before Parker could get to him. He pulled out the glasses from his pocket and handed them to Michael.
Parker didn’t show any reaction. Inside, however, he was shocked at how easily Aaron had backed down.
Michael took the glasses and put them on as Aaron leaned in and whispered loud enough for Parker to hear.
“I’ll find you at lunch,” he said. “And you’d better have my money. Or else.”
“But I don’t . . .”
Michael stopped midsentence as Aaron stormed off. He turned to Parker.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. Then, without waiting for a response from Parker, he picked up his bag and walked straight out of the school gates without so much as a glance back.
* * * * * *
Michael bit his lip in concentration as his fingers tapped away on his keyboard. Parker, standing behind him, said nothing in case he distracted him. It took no more than a few minutes before Michael raised his finger and dropped it down hard on the return key.
“Done.”
“Really?”
Michael stared at the screen. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
Parker gave a small nervous laugh. “I can’t believe it either.” He puffed his cheeks out and exhaled loudly. “Wow.”
Michael spun his chair around to face Parker. “I’ll definitely be expelled if they find out,” he said.
Parker’s earlier bravado had all but disappeared as the reality of what they were doing had sunk in. “Can they trace it back to your computer?”
Michael looked at Parker as if he’d just asked him the most inane question he’d ever heard. “No way. If they do try to trace the source, they’ll end up at an Internet cafe in Panama. I meant, if somebody says anything.”
“I won’t say anything. Brendan?”
Brendan had not said a word about coming to pick them up from a street corner two blocks away from their school, but, figured Parker, that didn’t mean he approved.
Michael shook his head. “He’d never say anything to anybody. I trust him more than anyone I know.”
“Okay, then we’re probably fine,” said Parker. He shrugged. “So . . . I guess we have a day off.”
The two boys stared at each other, both unsure what to do next.
“Race you?” asked Michael finally.
“Good idea,” said Parker, taking the seat next to Michael.
* * * * * *
As they raced around the streets of a virtual Berlin, Parker struggled to keep his mind on the game. Guilt snaked its way through his guts: guilt for skipping class, guilt for the lies he would have to tell later, and guilt for bringing Michael into it. Not to mention the worry of being found out. And even if he did get away with it, Parker now realized that he would have to go back to school tomorrow and deal with what he had chosen not to deal with today anyway. Instead of it being a relief, Parker felt like he was just prolonging the agony and, though he didn’t say anything, Parker suspected that Michael might be feeling the same.
At eleven, they went in search for food in the kitchen.
“Hilda will definitely know if we’ve touched anything in here,” said Michael, staring at the fridge packed full of food.
“She’d tell?”
Michael nodded. “Definitely. She is not like Brendan. Hard to believe they’re married.”
Parker’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “They’re married?”
“Uh-huh.”
Parker couldn’t work out why Michael wasn’t looking as panicked as he felt. “Michael! Brendan is obviously going to tell his wife that he picked us up. How could you not have thought of this?”
Michael shook his head. “It’s fine, Parker, honestly. He won’t tell her. They hate each other.”
“Really? How long have they been married?”
“About thirty years. Dad said they’ve been like that as long as he’s known them—she shouts at him and he says nothing. As long as Hilda doesn’t find out, we’re fine.”
He walked over to the pantry and looked around whilst being careful not to touch anything. Finally he reached out to the back of a shelf and emerged with a plastic container half filled with crackers.
“I don’t think she’ll notice any of these missing,” said Michael. He offered Parker the open box.
Parker reached in and was about to grab a handful when Michael stopped him.
“Maybe just four each. To be safe.”
* * * * * *
They ate the crackers in silence, leaning over the garbage can so as not to get any telltale crumbs on the floor. Their mouths tacky and dry, they then cupped water in their hands to drink from the sink, just in case Hilda counted glasses.
Parker wiped his wet hands on his jeans and turned to Michael.
“Shall we just go back?” he asked.
Michael sighed in relief. “Yes! You don’t mind?”
Parker shook his head. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a life of crime.”
“Me neither.”
Parker shook his head as Michael walked away to get his cell phone, surprised at the sense of relief he was feeling. Even the thought of having to deal with Aaron again didn’t bother him anymore—after all, he’d proved that morning that it wasn’t so difficult to stand up to him. As long as they could get back into school unnoticed, everything would return to normal.
And then his wrist began to vibrate.
Parker jumped in surprise and flipped his hand palm upward.
His father’s light was flashing.
Parker felt the blood drain away from his head.
“Shall I bring your coat and bag down?” shouted Michael from halfway up the glass staircase.
Parker looked up, nodded mechanically, and then turned his attention back to his vibrating wrist with a growing sense of panic. His father never called during schooltime. Never. It could only mean one thing.
Parker gulped.
His father had found out.
* * * * * *
Michael returned with jackets and bags a few minutes later.
“You okay?” he asked as he dropped Parker’s bag at his feet.
Parker felt like throwing up.
“Parker?”
Parker lifted his head slowly and stared at Michael. He wanted to tell him—he needed another head to help him think—but there was no way he could do so without exposing Effie.
“Let’s go,” said Parker. He bent down—aware that Michael was staring at him—and picked up his bag with his vibrating arm. His father was not giving up.
* * * * * *
If Brendan suspected anything was wrong when he arrived to collect the boys, he said nothing. Parker climbed in behind Michael and turned to face the window before Michael could engage him in conversation. Michael, it seemed, got the message and left Parker to his thoughts.
What am I going to do? thought Parker desperately as he tried to ignore the persistent vibration from Effie. His mind was spinning in panic and fear.
Parker took a deep breath and tried to reason with himself. Maybe he’ll understand, he thought. It was possible. After all, his father knew that it had been a difficult week for him. He’d get into trouble—obviously—but maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. Parker’s stomach lurched.
Unless the school expelled him.
As much as he had hated his first week, the idea of getting expelled was terrifying. His father would definitely not forgive that. He looked over at Michael, who was staring glumly out the car window, and anoth
er thought—worse even than him getting expelled—came to him. If he had been found out, then so had Michael. If the school expelled him, they’d expel Michael.
And it would all be his fault.
As subtly as possible, Parker turned his arm and stared down at the faint flashing light. At some point, he realized with a deep sense of dread, he was going to have to answer.
He waited a few moments longer, in case an alternative occurred to him, but none came. Finally Parker came to the awful conclusion that ignoring his father’s call was just delaying the inevitable. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a few deep breaths, and then, as if he were ripping a Band-Aid off, he reached over swiftly and pressed down on his father’s light.
CHAPTER TWELVE
00:21
Parker!
Dad, I’m—
You have to listen to me!
I’m sorry, Dad—
I don’t have time! Listen!
What?
You have to listen to me—Get your hands off me!
Dad?
Parker, I haven’t got long—they’re taking me in.
Taking you in where?!
Get Emma! Find a man called Solomon Gladstone. Did you hear me?
Why—
Did you hear me?
Yes.
Solomon Gladstone. Say it.
Solomon Gladstone. Dad, what’s—
Don’t trust anybody except him. Tell him I’ve been taken to SIX. Did you hear that, Parker? SIX. He can help you.
I don’t—
Get that needle away from me!
Dad?!
Solomon Gladstone. Don’t trust anybody else. You . . . you . . .
Dad?
Find him . . .
Where is he?
He’s at the . . . the . . . I’m . . . I . . .
Dad? Dad!
The call went dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
00:18
Bowveld stared down at the body of Dr. Banks, collapsed in a heap on the ground.
“Take him in.”
Clay, the taller of the two men, nodded and placed the now empty syringe on the table next to him. He squatted down and wrapped his arms around the top half of Dr. Banks’s body. The other man, Darin, grabbed Dr. Banks’s feet, and then, without a word passing between them, the men stood up at the same time and carried the body in the direction of the Avection chamber.
* * * * * *
Bowveld pressed the gold button at the entrance of the first capsule in the chamber’s corridor, and the doors whooshed open to reveal a small black room containing only a single black padded leather table.
“Just lay him down on the bed,” he said, stepping aside to let the men through.
The men, both now struggling with the dead weight they were carrying, waddled into the center of the room. With a mumbled “one, two, three,” Dr. Banks’s body was lifted up and dumped unceremoniously onto the table—or bed, as Avecto Enterprises preferred it to be called.
“Should we secure him, sir?” asked Darin as he rearranged Dr. Banks’s body so that it lay straight.
Bowveld waved his hand to dismiss the idea. “No need. By the time he wakes up, it’ll be too late. Let’s go.”
The men nodded and walked out of the room. Bowveld took one last look at Dr. Banks’s sleeping body and frowned.
“Don’t let me down, Dr. Banks. I expect you back within the month,” he muttered as he pressed down on the gold button once more.
The doors glided firmly closed.
* * * * * *
It was only once they had gone through the procedure of locking the main doors of the Avection chamber and were halfway up the steps to the control room that Bowveld realized he had forgotten something very important.
“The purse!” he said, turning to Clay.
“Sir?”
“The purse for my sister, you idiot. Where is it?”
“I don’t know, sir. You didn’t tell me—”
“Is that it?” asked Darin, pointing to a fuchsia pink shopping bag sitting on one of the rows of leather seats in the waiting lounge below.
“Open up the chamber, Clay,” said Bowveld as he rushed down the stairs. Clay didn’t move as he watched Bowveld reach into the bag and pull out an expensive-looking purple purse with a gold chain strap.
“Sir,” said Clay, “couldn’t we send it with the next shipment? We’ve already closed the doors.”
Bowveld glared up in disgust at Clay’s insolence. “My sister is not a patient woman. She expects her treats with every shipment and she’s going to get them. Or I’ll be the one paying for it. Understood?”
Clay knew better than to argue. “Of course, sir,” he said. He came back down the stairs and took the bag from Bowveld.
* * * * * *
There was plenty of space for the three men in the control room, but—partly for security, partly for discretion—Clay and Darin stood on either side of the doors as Bowveld strode up and down the control unit, filling the room with an uneasy tension. He muttered to himself as he tried to remember in what order Dr. Banks had told him to do everything. At the front of the room, a row of television screens were mounted side by side on the wall. Below each one hung a black plaque with the name of the capsule it pertained to printed in thick white lettering. Only one of the screens was on—the one labeled SAPPHIRE.
Bowveld glanced up at the live video feed of Dr. Banks lying still under the purple ultraviolet light of the room.
“Okay, I think I know what to do,” said Bowveld, mostly to himself. He pressed his thumb down on the small square black scanner and waited until the machine came to life.
Bowveld withdrew his hand from the scanner and stepped over to the computer screen.
WELCOME, DIRECTOR BOWVELD.
PRESS 1 TO COMMENCE AVECTION.
PRESS 2 FOR LAST AVECTION DATA.
PRESS 3 FOR MORE OPTIONS.
Bowveld nodded and pressed down on the button marked 1.
FOR SECURITY PURPOSES, PLEASE RESCAN THUMBPRINT AND ENTER YOUR CLEARANCE CODE AT THE SAME TIME.
“Hmmm,” said Bowveld as he reached out and placed his left thumb back on the scanner. With his right hand poised over the keypad, he turned his other wrist—carefully so as not to lose contact with the fingerprint scanner—and began to slowly read out the numbers written on his palm in blue ink.
“One . . . nine . . . I can’t read that,” he mumbled. He turned his hand some more, and the machine beeped.
DO NOT REMOVE THUMB UNTIL CLEARANCE CODE IS ACCEPTED.
“I know that!” shouted Bowveld at the computer screen.
“Would you like me to read it out for you, sir?”
“Um. Yes,” said Bowveld. “Good idea.”
Bowveld placed his thumb back on the pad and, as Clay called them out, he typed each number in turn and then waited until the computer responded.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED.
BEGIN AVECTION?
PRESS 1 FOR YES. PRESS 2 TO RETURN TO MAIN MENU.
Bowveld smiled and stood up. He rubbed his hands together, then reached out and pressed 1.
SELECT CAPSULE FOR AVECTION.
1—SAPPHIRE. 2—DIAMOND. 3—TOPAZ. 4—RUBY.
5—EMERALD. 6—OPAL. 7—AMETHYST. 8—CARGO.
Bowveld pressed 1.
YOU HAVE SELECTED
1—SAPPHIRE.
IS THIS CORRECT?
PRESS 1 FOR YES. PRESS 2 FOR NO.
Bowveld turned to Clay and Darin and rolled his eyes. “Is this really necessary?” he asked. He pressed 1.
Bowveld waited.
AVECTION READY TO COMMENCE.
A green light in the center of the panel began to flash. Bowveld gave a wry smile.
“Good of Dr. Banks to make this so easy for me,” he said.
He reached out and, with his hand hovering over the glowing button, looked up at the television screen.
“Bon voyage, Dr. Banks.”
He slapped his hand down.
A loud beep sounded, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice coming through the loudspeaker.
“Avection commencing in ten seconds. . . .”
Bowveld looked over at Clay and Darin and gave them a thumbs-up.
“Nine . . . Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . .”
Bowveld picked at his manicured nails impatiently.
“Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Avection initiated.”
The image of Dr. Banks flickered briefly, and then the screen turned black.
He was gone.
PART II
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Pull over!” shouted Parker.
Brendan looked up at the rearview mirror.
“Everything okay?”
“Pull over!”
Brendan didn’t ask again. He swerved to the side of the road and switched off the engine. Then he turned around in his seat, a look of concern on his face.
“I can trust you, right?” said Parker to Michael. He was shaking.
Michael looked over at Brendan, as if hoping he might give him an explanation.
“Can I trust you?” shouted Parker.
Michael snapped back around to face Parker and nodded quickly.
“And him?” asked Parker, looking over at Brendan.
“Yes,” said Michael quickly. “With your life. Parker . . .”
“What’s wrong?” asked Brendan.
“You can’t tell anybody,” pleaded Parker.
Brendan and Michael nodded.
“Anybody,” repeated Parker. “I promised.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Nobody’s going to say anything,” said Brendan. “Tell us what’s wrong.”
Parker nodded as he stared down at the single remaining light on his wrist. He had no choice. Despite what his father had asked of him, he knew he needed help. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. He had no idea where to begin.
“Take your time, son,” said Brendan.
Parker nodded again and wiped a tear from his cheek. Then he held up his wrist.
* * * * * *
“And your sister?” asked Brendan after Parker had finally finished explaining everything. Parker was surprised at how easily both Brendan and Michael had accepted his explanation. The flashing wrist, he suspected, had helped. As crazy as his story sounded, the physical evidence was hard to ignore.
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