by Gina Blaxill
Sitting opposite him was a man I’d never seen before, casually dressed, sleeves rolled up. A backpack was on the floor beside him, a travel label hanging off it, and he also had a laptop out. He and Aiden looked like two random travellers simply sharing a table in a busy cafe – which no doubt was what they wanted people to think.
The HJP contact! I thought. I wondered if I could get close enough to see what was going on. Pret wasn’t large – there was no real way I could hide, though I was wearing a top with a hood and I had sunglasses. Aiden and the man had chosen a table in a position that made it difficult for me to see their screens. The best bet seemed to be to get behind Aiden – if I craned my neck, I might be able to make out what he was doing.
I entered, taking care to keep out of Aiden’s eyeline. Even from this distance I could see that he had a web page open. Praying he wouldn’t turn round, I moved closer, trying to look as though I was waiting for someone.
Aiden’s browser showed a site I didn’t recognize. He wasn’t typing or scrolling – the flicker of the screen told me he was pressing refresh, over and over again. Why on earth . . . And then I realized what the site reminded me of. Internet banking. I’d seen Julie do it at home. The logo didn’t look like one of the high-street chains.
And then Aiden nodded, and both men closed their laptops and stood up. They shook hands, and I saw Aiden hand over a memory stick. The formula! The man nodded, dropped it in a pocket on his backpack and closed the zip.
Realizing they would have to pass me to get to the exit, I scooted across to a table at the far side. Heart thumping, I sat with my back to the exit, trying to look inconspicuous.
It seemed like an eternity as I waited. When I chanced a glance back, I saw Aiden walking rapidly towards the escalator. The man was heading in the other direction towards the departure gates.
I had to get that memory stick! I followed the man to the check-in area. He joined a queue for a flight to Chicago. Knowing what I was doing was stupid, but unable to prevent myself, I joined the queue right behind him. He didn’t react, and I dared to hope he hadn’t spotted me back in Pret.
He’d put the USB stick in the backpack’s side pocket. I was just inches away from it. As I reached out I felt like a million eyes were boring into me. But just as I was about to reach for the zip, the man shrugged the bag off his shoulders and placed it on the floor. He began feeling about in his jacket pockets, presumably for a passport or ticket. Quickly I knelt down, pretending I’d dropped something. One deft movement and the side pocket was open, the USB in my hand. I stuffed it in my pocket and stood up quickly. I could feel my cheeks burning. Forcing myself not to look back at the man, I pushed my way out of the queue, eyes on the exit.
And then a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I froze. A familiar voice said, ‘That was the handover, right?’
‘Reece?’ I wheeled around. He was wearing his cricket kit, a half-zipped sports bag slung over one shoulder, his cricket bat sticking out at an angle. He was getting a few funny looks, but I was too relieved to see him to care. He cut me off before I could say anything.
‘Don’t ask why I’m here. I don’t even know. Fill me in.’
I looked over Reece’s shoulder. The man was picking up his backpack – he hadn’t noticed. I grabbed Reece’s arm and hurried him outside. In a few words I explained.
‘You nicked the memory stick?!’ Reece looked flabbergasted.
I nodded, realizing I was trembling. I could hardly believe I’d been so daring – or kept such a cool head. ‘Aiden’s got his money. We need to get out, fast!’
‘One sec,’ Reece said. ‘What’s the guy look like?’
I told him. Reece darted back inside. A moment later he was back, holding his phone.
‘Papped a photo of him,’ he said. ‘Might come in useful. Now let’s . . . Sophie, look!’
Reece pointed. It was Aiden, walking rapidly towards the underground station. I didn’t think – I set off after him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reece raise his phone.
REECE
Mr McIntyre had given me his mobile number in case I’d got lost on the way to his barbecue. I dialled it, praying he’d pick up. Just as I was about to give up, he did.
‘Mr McIntyre, it’s Reece,’ I said, not even pausing to say hello. ‘Listen, this’ll sound crazy, but you need to trust me. Aiden and Cherie and maybe some of your other employees are selling your new weight-loss formula to a company called HJP – I think they operate illegally from Brazil.’ McIntyre tried to interrupt, but I carried on talking. ‘I’m at Heathrow Terminal 3 now. Aiden’s handed a guy a memory stick and it’s got to have the formula on it, cos it looks like a crap-load of cash has just gone into Aiden’s bank account.’
‘Reece?’ McIntyre said. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘It’s all true! I’m calling you because you’re the only person who might believe me. Listen, sir, we’ve got the USB. It’s OK. But Aiden’s on the move and the other guy will be out of the country soon.’
‘This is all too much,’ McIntyre sounded rattled. ‘First Cherie’s accident – now this . . .’
Why was he being so slow to understand? I’d say more if I could, but I was scared of letting Sophie and Aiden out of my sight and I was about to head underground into the station.
‘That was no accident – she was run over deliberately. Sophie was there and she saw everything. This isn’t a joke! Look, I need to go, and I’m going to lose the signal, but I’m asking – no, begging – you to trust me.’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Tell the police! Pull this man off the flight for questioning, delay it if you can. They’ll listen to someone in your position. You’re credible. It’ll take too long for me to explain.’
I ran out of breath and waited. After a moment McIntyre’s voice came over the line, sounding businesslike.
‘What does this man look like?’
Thank God I’d got a photo! ‘I’ll send a pic over now,’ I said. I had to hope this meant that McIntyre would do as I said. Sophie and Aiden were vanishing down the steps into the station. Sophie turned and gave me a pleading look.
‘Gotta go,’ I said. I could say nothing more. I’d just have to hope he would do the right thing. After quickly emailing McIntyre the man’s photo I caught up with Sophie. It crossed my mind how this whole thing had blown up in my face. I’d started off helping Sophie because I’d been curious about whether we could be friends again, and now we were trying to uncover a murder and prevent the sale of a dangerous formula.
But there was no time to mull over how insane this had become – I had to focus. As we headed down into the station we hit a wall of people. The delays on the line evidently hadn’t eased up. I guessed there hadn’t been a train for a while, though according to the display board one was due in one minute. Pushing between wheelie cases and people with huge rucksacks, we got closer to Aiden. He was standing right at the edge of the platform.
And then he glanced over his shoulder. Sophie and I both ducked, but we weren’t quick enough. Surprise and alarm showed on Aiden’s face. He started moving down the platform, pushing past people. We followed. The train thundered in. And then things happened very quickly.
A smartly dressed man I’d never seen before stepped out of the crowd into Aiden’s path. For a moment I thought he was just getting in position to get on the train first. But then I saw his hands, shoving Aiden forward. Aiden swayed, off balance, and I realized he was going to fall right into the path of the train. But someone grabbed his arm, pulling him back to safety. Sophie!
The man that had pushed Aiden glowered. He took a step towards Sophie. I did the first thing I could think of, which was to grab my cricket bat from my bag and slam it across the man’s chest. He fell back. Then suddenly the train doors opened and people were surging into the carriages.
‘Get the hell out!’ someone was shouting. I realized it was Aiden. He’d got on to the
train. ‘Don’t you get it? They’ll kill you!’
Whatever else he was going to say was blotted out by the closing doors. I hit the side of the train with my bat, futilely hoping the driver would reopen them. But the train began moving – and I saw that the man was still on the platform. I grabbed Sophie’s hand.
‘Come on!’
We ran towards the escalators. I had no idea what the man would do next, but instinct told me to get away – pronto. At the top of the escalator I looked back. My heart pounded as I saw the man behind us, pushing his way up. Part of me was screaming to run. But another part was telling me to act normal. We had to remain calm. As we followed the crowd on to the travelators, the man appeared again – moving even more rapidly. We sped up. It felt like we were moving awfully quickly, and I almost stumbled at the change of pace when we stepped off. The man was still on our tail. What was worse, he seemed to be gaining on us.
We had to get to the open reception area. We could lose him there. Or better still, inside the terminal. There were security guards all over the place. He couldn’t do anything to us there.
We hurried off the second travelator and up the stairs. Out in the open we made a beeline for the terminal doors, almost running now. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see the man bearing down on us – but he had stopped. I blinked; was I seeing things? No – he was heading in the opposite direction, suddenly looking casual and relaxed.
‘The hell?’ I gasped, looking at Sophie, who was trying to catch her breath. I realized I was still holding her hand. Maybe it had become clear that he wasn’t going to catch us, or maybe he’d seen that we were just kids. I didn’t like this at all.
‘Let’s get out of here, Soph. The Piccadilly line’s probably still screwed. Want to see if we can get a bus?’
I didn’t need to add that I’d rather not go back to the underground after what we’d seen happen to Aiden. Right now, all I wanted was home, and the USB safely out of our hands. I could hardly believe that just a few days ago I’d been thinking this whole thing was exciting, a bit of fun. Fun?! I felt small and hopelessly out of my depth, like a kid who’d been shoved into a game where they didn’t know the rules and didn’t want to play any more.
The bus station was right nearby. We hurried over to look at the timetables – and at that moment a car appeared out of nowhere, overtaking one of the arriving buses and screeching to a halt next to us. The driver wound down the window. He was a bearded man in his thirties who I didn’t recognize.
‘Reece? Sophie? Get in. Mr McIntyre sent me.’
For a moment I was too surprised to react. ‘How come . . . ?’
‘No time!’ the man said. ‘We need to make a move.’
The urgency in his voice spurred me into action. I opened the door, pushing Sophie forward. She hesitated, then scrambled across the backseat. I followed. Almost before the door had closed the man put his foot down and we were off, past the bus and down the road.
I leaned forward. ‘What’s going on? Is someone following us? Did you manage to stop the man getting on the flight?’
‘One moment,’ the man said. Suddenly unsure, I opened my mouth to ask another question. But then the car jerked to a halt by the pavement. Startled by the suddenness of the stop, I looked up – and then the front passenger door opened and someone got in.
It was the man who’d tried to kill Aiden.
I grabbed the door handle but the driver moved just a second faster. There was a sickening click as he pressed the button that locked all the doors.
‘Well,’ said the newcomer as the car started moving again. ‘That wasn’t too difficult.’
SOPHIE
The men didn’t take us far. We drove along the road by the bus terminal, then turned left by Hatton Cross station. We turned on to a smaller road, and it was there that the car stopped, in the shadow of a warehouse. An industrial estate, I thought. It reminded me of somewhere Julie had driven out to once to get new tyres for her car. Most worryingly, it was deadly quiet.
If they wanted to do something to us, this was probably the kind of place it would go unnoticed . . .
I glanced at Reece. He’d looked dumbfounded when the man who’d chased us had got in. Something had gone very badly wrong. I thought about Aiden. I wasn’t sure why I’d saved him from falling in front of that train – it had been instinctive, one of those things you just do. Aiden would be on his way home now, and then he’d probably go somewhere he couldn’t be found, with a whopping great sum in his bank account. But I bet he’d be freaking out as much as we were – he’d nearly been a goner back there. Who was to say they wouldn’t try to kill him again?
The question now was, What were they going to do with us?
It was the man who’d chased us who broke the silence. His accent was easy to identify – American. I guessed he was probably around the same age as Aiden, with longish light brown hair and expensive-looking sunglasses propped on his head. ‘Give it to me.’
Reece and I stayed silent.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,’ the man said. ‘I know you have the memory stick.’
Reece cleared his throat. ‘Look, I dunno who you are or what you want, but there are laws against kidnapping. So you can let us go right now.’
He didn’t sound very assertive.
‘Just hand it over,’ the man said. He paused. ‘Believe me . . . it is really not in your best interests to piss me off.’
There was something in the way he said it – slowly and deliberately – that told me I’d better do as he said. I took the memory stick out of my pocket and handed it to the man. So much for trying to play the heroine.
‘What were you doing at Heathrow?’ the man asked.
‘We live nearby.’ Reece gave him a blank stare. ‘We hang out and watch the planes sometimes.’
‘In your sports kit?’ He nodded at Reece. ‘Sure, I’ve heard of kids amusing themselves in odd ways, but that doesn’t gel. Does the name Aiden Anderson mean anything to you? What about Vaughan-Bayard? Cherie Tapper?’
Neither of us said anything.
‘This is useless!’ the man said suddenly. ‘Waste of time!’ He leaned forward, and for the first time I saw beads of sweat on his forehead. Suddenly he didn’t seem so cool, and that was a lot more frightening – especially as I’d caught a glimpse of something under his jacket pocket that looked very like a gun. ‘Stop playing dumb and tell me how much you know. This is your last chance.’
‘You said Mr McIntyre sent you,’ Reece broke in, colour flaring on his cheeks. Alarmed he was going to lose his temper, I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Is he in on this?’
‘Hardly.’ The man made a contemptuous noise. ‘I overheard you on the phone to him. Seemed like the best way of getting you into the car without a fuss.’ He nodded at the driver. ‘Move.’
The driver turned the key in the ignition. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Put your seat belts on.’
It was such an absurd thing to say under the circumstances that I almost laughed. As if they cared about our safety!
We drove for about half an hour before the driver pulled in at a large, mostly deserted service-station car park. The man in the passenger seat hadn’t left anything to chance; he’d made us hand over our mobiles and he’d even taken Reece’s cricket bat, though there was hardly room for him to do any damage with it in the car. The only thing that kept me from absolutely panicking was that we were in a built-up area in broad daylight. The driver – I’d picked up that his name was Kyle – turned the radio on; I’d desperately hoped that something of what was going on would have made it on to the news, but the main item was just some scandal about a football player. But why would it have been us? Sure, Reece had alerted McIntyre, but he might not have taken his call seriously. For all we knew, something nasty might have happened to McIntyre by now. And it would be a long time before Julie or Effie would worry. By then we might not even be alive.
The men got out of the car. ‘D
on’t try anything,’ the man who’d taken the memory stick said. ‘We’ll be right outside, and we’ll be disposing of this too.’ He picked up Reece’s cricket bag and got out, slamming the door. I heard a click as the doors locked.
‘On any other day I’d hit the roof about that,’ Reece said in a small voice. ‘But right now I’m more concerned about whether they’ll be disposing of us.’
‘We’ve got to think. There must be a way to escape.’ I could see through the window that the men were standing just a few paces away, presumably discussing what to do next. Kyle had a blank expression on his face – I hadn’t got the measure of him yet – but the other guy was waving his hands about, evidently worked up. I wondered who he was. He seemed to be in charge. Even given how close they were, it might have been worth trying to do a runner – but we were locked in, and Kyle had the key. And the other man had a gun . . .
‘D’you think they’re going to kill us?’ Reece’s question hung in the air.
I swallowed. ‘They tried to kill Cherie.’
It was the same car – it was so obvious now that I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the moment it had appeared. But everything had happened so quickly – I hadn’t had a chance to think, let alone make connections. What really worried me was that the men had what they wanted – the USB. If they were going to let us go, surely they would have by now . . .
‘Oh God!’ Reece’s voice wobbled. ‘What the hell have we got ourselves into?’
‘I should have listened to you,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I should have gone to the police.’
‘Fat lot of good saying that now! It’s my fault too. I could’ve thought, “Screw Sophie!” and gone myself.’
I unclicked my seat belt and shuffled along the seat and reached out to Reece. He shifted so he could put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against him, pressing my hand to his chest. It flitted through my mind that under any other circumstances this would have felt weird. This was very definitely a cuddle and not a hug. But that didn’t seem to matter – anything that made me feel even slightly comforted was a good thing right now, and being close to Reece did that.