by Jack Higgins
“My name,” the man said, his voice accented, scratchy and echoing, “is Count Dracula. Welcome to my domain.”
Now that Jade looked properly, she saw that he had not stepped out of the alcove, but slid forward on a little trolley. She could hear the whirr of the mechanism as his head tilted slightly. It was disconcerting the way the voice came not from the mannequin, but from a speaker on the floor close by.
“The children of the night,” the spectral voice added, “what music they make…”
Then the figure slid slowly back into the shadows. The laboratory echoed for a moment with his theatrical laughter.
“This place is seriously spooky,” said Jade.
“I think that’s kind of the idea,” McCain told her.
“Yeah, right. Whatever. Let’s get out of here before that spooky woman finds us again.”
They followed the railway tracks through the laboratory. Behind them, Jade could hear the Dracula mannequin going through its act again. The tracks led to large wooden double doors that were firmly closed. The carriages seemed to keep going through even between groups of visitors, and as one of the little carriages approached, the doors swung open to let it through. Jade and McCain hurried after the empty carriage before the doors closed again.
They were in another corridor. The walls looked like rough, flaking stone. But when Jade touched them she could feel it was just painted polystyrene. Ahead, she could see another small platform area, like the one where she had originally boarded a carriage. The illuminated sign beyond that was a relief—it said: EXIT.
But before they reached the platform and the exit, there was one more fright.
A skeleton dropped down in front of them. Its jaw dropped open and more laughter echoed round the corridor. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone again.
Jade closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
“You can see why there are warnings to people with weak hearts,” said McCain, more amused than surprised.
“To think people pay for this sort of thing,” said Jade. She shook her head sadly and hurried towards the exit doors.
The doors opened easily. Outside, a group of people were laughing and joking—their trip round the haunted house just finished. Jade realised she and McCain had almost caught up with the group in front of theirs. But no one spared them more than a glance as they emerged, blinking, into the sunshine.
Jade looked back at the lop-sided house towering above them. “Definitely one for Rich,” she murmured. “I wonder where he is now. I hope he’s OK.”
The man in the helicopter gestured for Rich to get in. He was in his forties, well-built with a rugged face and deep-set eyes. He was someone that Rich and Jade had come to know very well indeed—a friend and former colleague of their father’s. He was also one of the men in the photograph that Rich still had in his pocket. It was Dex Halford.
“Forgive me not getting out,” said Halford as Rich sat on the uncomfortable seat beside him. Halford slapped his leg, which Rich knew was artificial below the knee. He’d lost his leg in a firefight in Afghanistan, and only escaped with his life because John Chance had carried him for miles.
“What’s going on?” demanded Rich. “What are you doing here? Where’s Jade?”
“I was hoping you’d know that,” said Halford. “After I got your call, I rang Ardman. Then I tried to call you back.”
“No battery,” said Rich. He shook his head, trying to work it all out. He pointed at Chuck who was standing on guard beside the helicopter. “But these guys, they’re the ones trying to kill us.”
“Actually, they’re the ones trying to save you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“They’re affiliated with the CIA.”
“You called in the CIA?”
“Not exactly. They were here already, hot on the heels of a rather unpleasant mercenary they’ve been trying to track down for a while.”
Rich swallowed, he suddenly felt tired and light-headed. “Ferdy McCain?”
“No. Ferdy’s no mercenary. He retired from the service and went into business organising adventure holidays. Abseiling, rock climbing, jungle survival, caving. That sort of thing.” Halford sighed. “Like I told you, he was a good bloke, Ferdy.”
“Was? What do you mean—what happened?”
Halford met Rich’s puzzled gaze. “When I rang Ardman, to tell him you were on the run with McCain, he was a bit surprised. And worried. It takes a lot to worry Ardman.”
Rich nodded. His dad’s boss was usually as cool as a cucumber in the arctic. “I know.”
“He got in touch with these CIA people, and he told me to find you as soon as possible.”
“But why?”
“Because Ferdy McCain was found shot dead at his home in Buckinghamshire yesterday afternoon. That’s why.”
Rich gaped. “But that’s impossible. We’ve been with him. There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake. How do you know the man you are with is actually Ferdy McCain?”
Rich pulled the photograph from his pocket. “He told us. And we recognised him from this.”
Halford took the photograph. It was creased and bent, and he smoothed it out on his good knee. “God, those were the days,” he said quietly. “Not sure it was fun exactly, but it had its moments. Iraq…” He shook his head. “What a mess.”
“So there has to be a mistake,” said Rich, pointing to the figure beside Halford in the photograph. “Because that’s definitely the man we were with. OK, it’s an old photo, but you can tell it’s him.”
Halford nodded slowly, his expression grave. “Then we are in serious trouble. Because this is Ferdy McCain.” He pointed to the other man, the shorter man with a dark moustache beside Rich’s dad. “That man,” he went on, pointing to the figure that Rich still had his finger over, “is Mark Darrow. One of the nastiest pieces of work I’ve ever met, and as you know, I’ve met a few. He’s a ruthless mercenary and a hired killer.”
Rich could feel the blood draining from his face. “And Jade’s with him.”
“It’s the last place they’ll look for us,” ‘Ferdy McCain’ told Jade. “Trust me.”
He was busy filling in the adventure park hotel’s registration form. “My daughter’s birthday,” he told the smiling receptionist. “She’s fourteen.”
Jade turned away. “Do me a favour.”
“Kidding,” McCain admitted. “Do you have two rooms with a connecting door?”
“Only in the Space Zone,” said the receptionist, her smile still fixed perfectly in position. “Is your daughter interested in space?”
“As much of it as I can get,” said Jade. “If my brother comes looking for us, let me know at once, will you, please?”
The receptionist frowned. “Your brother?”
“He said he might join us. He wasn’t sure,” explained McCain. He smiled at the receptionist. “You know what teenagers are like.”
“His name is Rich,” said Jade. “Short for Richard.”
“I’ll be certain to let you know,” said the receptionist. “Richard Smith. Sure thing. Enjoy your stay.”
Halford was getting impatient, and so was Rich.
“Anything from Hunter?” Halford demanded.
“No, sir,” replied Chuck, without moving from his position outside the helicopter. “She’s not answering. Either she’s in a blind spot or her radio’s packed up.”
“Typical.” Halford eased himself past Rich and climbed down on to the tarmac.
Rich followed. There were even more people round the helicopter now. Someone raised a camera and Halford grimaced.
“Ardman will do his nut. So much for low profile.”
“Pretend we’re part of the show,” said Rich.
“Circus, more like.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Chuck. “One of the guys got you a present.” He handed Rich a small clear bag. Inside was what looked like a novelty keyring with a large plastic fob attached. Sealed inside the plastic
was a picture.
“Souvenir of a great day out,” said Chuck.
The picture had been taken on the rollercoaster. Rich remembered the flash of the camera. It showed Rich tumbling over the back of the carriage, legs in the air and a mixture of fear and surprise across his face.
“Thanks,” said Rich. “Don’t think it’s one I’ll be showing Dad. Or Jade.”
“Here’s Hunter, now, sir,” said Chuck, moving quickly to the cordon round the helicopter. He lifted the tape for a woman to duck underneath.
Rich recognised her as the woman who had shot at their car tyres from the other helicopter. Just trying to stop them, Halford had told him. He didn’t know who the people who’d originally been chasing McCain—or rather Darrow—were. The CIA unit had picked them up that morning from the air and the other cars after them.
“Did you find her?” Halford asked the woman.
She shook her head, and Rich saw an angry bruise developing on the side of her head as her hair moved.
“Sorry, sir.” She was American too. “I lost her in the haunted house. Darrow got the drop on me.”
“You saw Jade?” said Rich. “Is she all right?”
“So far,” the woman—Hunter—said. “I was trying to warn her, show her my ID. I told her she was in trouble, then Darrow jumped me. My radio got smashed when I fell against a gravestone.” She held her hand up and sighed. “Don’t ask.”
“So we have no idea where Jade is,” said Rich. “And no way of contacting her.”
The woman met Rich’s gaze. “Sorry. Maybe she understood my warning.”
“What about Darrow?” asked Chuck. His voice was tense and abrupt. “You know our orders, Kate.”
“Too many people. I couldn’t get a clear shot without the risk of hitting someone else. Maybe even the girl.”
“A clear shot?” Rich was appalled. “Who are you people? What’s this Darrow done that you have orders to shoot him?”
Kate Hunter turned back to Rich. “Believe me, you don’t want to know what he’s done.”
“And now he’s escaped,” said Halford. “And he’s got Jade with him. I’m sorry, Rich, but whether she knows it or not, Jade is a hostage.”
8
The control panel in the middle of the room was finished in brushed aluminium, and covered with levers and dials and gauges. Jade pushed a button and a light came on above one of the read-outs. LED numbers flashed up a countdown.
“Sad,” she said, shaking her head.
The bed in the hotel room was also silver, with a headboard that matched the control panel. The ceiling was studded with tiny lights meant to look like stars, and the walls were midnight blue. There was a lava lamp on a futuristic-looking desk at the side of the room. The wall-mounted television was made to look like a scanner screen with moulded plastic controls round it. She hadn’t dared to look in the bathroom.
When Jade opened the curtains, which were also silver, she found herself looking out over the grey, cratered surface of the moon. “Do me a favour,” she sighed.
She finally worked out how to raise the moonscape blind. But the view of the Boscombe Heights Adventure Park hotel’s car park was hardly an improvement. Jade sighed and flopped down on the bed. She was just deciding that things couldn’t get much worse when the countdown she’d started the control panel reached zero.
The room lights flashed on and off and a siren sounded, followed by the whoosh of rocket engines. The bed started to shake, and Jade leaped to her feet. The floor was absolutely still, but there was some mechanism making the bed move.
“We have lift off!” announced a deep voice with an obviously fake American accent. “Enjoy your trip…to the stars!”
“I see you’re settling in,” said a quieter voice.
McCain was standing in the connecting door. Jade could see his room looked very much like her own, but with a double bed.
“Great, isn’t it?” he said.
Jade’s reply was heavy with sarcasm. “Oh, it’s just brilliant.”
“Won’t be for long. I expect those goons will have gone by tomorrow and we can move on. Best not try to call anyone, though.” He nodded at a space-age telephone hanging by the bed. “They may have tapped the phones.”
“Who may have?” demanded Jade. “Who are these people? You said you owe them money or something, but they’ve got cars and helicopters and guns, and now you think they’re tapping the phones. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you soon enough, I promise. Let’s make sure we’re safe and in the clear, and then we can contact your father, all right?”
“And what about Rich?”
“Let’s hope he got away from them. He’ll get in touch with your dad too, won’t he? Through Ardman, as soon as he can.”
“So why don’t we call Ardman now?” said Jade. “If anyone can sort this mess out, it’s Ardman.”
“When we’re safe,” repeated McCain. “You wait here. Keep your head down. Get room service to send up a drink and something to eat. You can watch TV.”
“TV?!”
“Might be a repeat of Star Trek.”
“Oh very funny. And what will you be doing?”
“Thought I’d have a quick look round. See if I can spot anyone looking for us.”
“And what if they spot you?”
McCain smiled. “Trust me, they won’t.”
It was the toilet paper that finally did it. There wasn’t a roll fixed to the bathroom wall, or even a dispenser with separate sheets. There was a button. The toilet itself looked like a metal mushroom, and the bath was circular with a shower shaped like a spaceship hanging over it and curtains patterned with stars and planets.
And a button for the loo paper. When Jade pressed it there was a sound like tickertape printing, and tissue paper juddered slowly out from a narrow slot in the wall. The paper was printed with lines and nodes so it looked like a circuit board. Jade was so astonished, she kept holding the button and before long the paper was piling up on the floor.
“Gordon Bennett,” she said, and let go of the button. “Right—that’s it. That. Is. It.”
She was going to look for McCain, and she was going to find Rich. If she couldn’t find them, she was calling Ardman. She’d been thinking about what McCain had said, and the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. They’d already spoken to Halford on the phone, so Ardman would know by now that she and Rich were with McCain and in trouble. She had to tell him where they were.
She had been thinking about the woman who’d chased her through the haunted house too. Over and over again, she replayed in her mind the moment when the woman found her in the graveyard. The way she’d reached into her jacket for her gun. Except, she hadn’t, had she? She’d taken out something else. Not her gun, which Jade had seen clearly in a holster on the other side, but a leather wallet. What was that all about?
“Believe me, you’re in big trouble”—that was what the woman had said. But the more Jade thought about it, the less it sounded like a threat, and the more it sounded like a simple statement of fact…
Yet McCain said the woman was one of the bad guys, and Halford had told them they could trust McCain…
One thing was for sure, Jade knew she wasn’t going to work it out sitting in her room with the scanner television, rocket control panel, lava lamp and tickertape loo paper. She needed some air and—like she’d told the receptionist—some space. She thought about calling Ardman, but decided against it. Not until she knew what was really going on. In any case, McCain might have had the phone barred, and he’d know if she’d used it if he checked their account on the scanner television. And maybe it really was tapped…
So she let herself out of the room, slipped the plastic key card (silver, of course) into her pocket, and headed down to the hotel restaurant and bar. She was starving and she was thirsty, and if McCain could wander around and—probably—get himself a drink, then so could she.
The main hotel bar wasn’t space-themed
. It was a pirate ship. With lunch being served, it was busy with families who’d just arrived and were looking forward to spending the afternoon in the theme park, or with parents who’d escaped from their older children and left them to enjoy the park on their own.
The bar area was raised up on the deck of the enormous ship. The waiters and waitresses wore striped shirts and eye patches. The plates were shaped like fish. Skull and crossbones flags hung everywhere.
Jade kept looking round as she wandered through the bar. She could see an empty booth in a shadowy area at the edge of the room. She sat down and examined the menu. The choice varied from Pirates Platter and Smugglers Surprise to Captain Flints Fish and Chips. To Jade’s disgust, none of the dishes came with apostrophes.
“Get you anything, me hearty?” asked a broad, West-Country voice, belonging to a tall, thin pirate who had a toy parrot stuck to his shoulder.
“Orange juice,” said Jade. “And do you do sandwiches?”
The pirate waiter leaned forward to turn over the menu. His parrot flopped alarmingly. He pointed to a section titled Buccaneers Baps.
“Close enough,” Jade decided. “I’ll have tuna and sweetcorn.”
“You want fries with that?”
Jade glared at him. “Did I ask for fries with that?”
“No,” the pirate decided, his accent abandoned for a home counties drawl. “Good point. Just the tuna and sweetcorn bap then and orange juice.” He scribbled a note on his pirate pad with a fake quill pen and departed.
While she waited for her lunch, Jade looked round at the other people in the bar. She couldn’t see the woman who’d chased her or anyone else who looked suspicious. No men in suits and dark glasses. Wasn’t that what the Secret Service wore? She’d read somewhere—or Rich or her dad had told her—that they wore dark glasses so people couldn’t tell if an agent was watching them.
An agent. Jade went cold at the thought. Her orange juice arrived with another “me hearty!” but she barely noticed. The woman in the graveyard had been warning her she was in trouble, and she had tried to show Jade something, just before McCain decked her with the shovel. A leather wallet. Like the FBI or CIA flipped open in the movies to show their badges.