The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  Stewart stares at the ground but he can’t see a hole, nor any opening in the rain-sodden grass. “What is it—a cave?”

  “Not exactly.” Gordon hesitates. “It’s easier if I just show you.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  Gordon bends down and scrabbles for something in the grass, and when he straightens his back, a rectangular section of turf lifts as if on a hinge, revealing a dark opening. “It won’t stay open by itself. You’ll have to hold it as you go through.”

  “A trapdoor?” Stewart says. “What the hell is this?”

  “That’s not the half of it,” Gordon says. “Follow me.” He squats down and lowers himself into the opening, awkwardly holding the turf-covered trapdoor with one hand as he places his feet carefully inside the hole. Then he climbs down quickly, and the trapdoor falls shut as Gordon disappears from view.

  Stewart finds the edge of the trapdoor and holds it open, then he stares down into the hole. There’s a metallic rope ladder dangling down into the darkness, and Gordon is already stepping away from it, about eight feet below. Gordon fumbles with something on the wall, and a wash of dim, yellow light banishes the gloom.

  Gordon looks up. “Quick. We haven’t got much time.” He steps back from the ladder, and Stewart scrambles down as quickly as he can, wrapping his damp fingers tight around the ladder’s smooth, metal rungs. He descends into the earth as fast as he can, and the cold subterranean air creeps into his bones. What is this place? And how could Marcus be down here? But he dismisses the questions from his mind. All that matters is finding Marcus and making sure he’s safe. Explanations can come later.

  Stewart’s right foot finds solid ground, and he steps down from the ladder and turns around. “Oh my God!” He’s in a narrow, cave-like space, its walls formed from bare rock. But by the dim yellow glow of the flashlight hanging on the wall, Stewart can see that this is definitely not a cave. It must once have been a natural hollow in the ground, but now it has been enclosed by a roof made from sheets of corrugated iron, each one carefully laid out, and supported on wooden beams that stretch from one side of the space to the other.

  “It’s crazy isn’t it?” Gordon says. “We’d never have found it. Whoever made it was real clever. They piled earth on top and that’s pretty good insulation. They even laid turf over the roof so it blends in perfectly.”

  Stewart looks Gordon in the eye. “Where’s Marcus? Is he all right?”

  Gordon stands aside and indicates the dark space behind him. “He’s back there, and he’s in a bad way. You’d better see for yourself.” He pulls a small flashlight from his pocket and switches it on, then he turns, playing the tight beam of white light across the far wall of the shelter. And there, lying on the ground is a huddled figure wrapped in a sleeping bag. Marcus’s pale face protrudes from the sleeping bag’s opening. His mouth hangs open. And there, across his eyes, glittering in the flashlight’s beam, are the twin lenses of a headset.

  “No,” Stewart says. “He can’t be connected to anything. There’s nothing for him to connect to.”

  “Look there,” Gordon says simply, and he moves his flashlight’s beam to one side.

  “I don’t believe it,” Stewart says. Because next to Marcus’s head, lying on the ground and surrounded by a litter of discarded plastic wrappers, is a matte black, metal box. It’s not much bigger than a shoe box, and it’s featureless, with no LEDs or labels to indicate its function. But from its side, runs a single gray cable. And the cable ends in a small plug that’s securely inserted into Marcus’s headset. Somehow, and on some unknown system, Marcus is logged in.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE KNOCKING ON HANK’S DOOR wakes him with a start. There’s daylight at his window so he sits up and rubs his eyes, then he turns around and puts his feet on the floor. “What time is it?” he mumbles. “It’s too damned early.” He looks back at his soft pillow, his sleep-warm quilt. He could lie right back down and grab ten more minutes. But the knocking comes again, gentle but insistent. “All right, all right,” he grumbles, then he stands and pulls on his jeans before padding over to the door.

  Hank takes hold of the door handle, but before he can open it, the knocking starts up again. Hell’s teeth! What’s going on? He pulls the door open fast, a couple of harsh words on the tip of his tongue, but when he sees Seb standing there, an excited grin on his face, Hank has to smile. “Seb, what’s up?”

  “Dude, it’s nearly eight in the morning. We’ve got to be in the Learning Hub by nine, so let’s grab some breakfast and get our shit together.”

  Hank scratches his chin. “All right, but I’ve got to shower before I can face anything. Just give me fifteen minutes, OK?”

  “I’ll give you ten, then I’ll come back.”

  “No, Seb. I didn’t even wake up properly yet, and I don’t want you hammering on my door with a stopwatch. Just tell me where your room is, and I’ll call in when I’m ready.”

  Seb purses his lips. “Kind of grouchy in the morning, huh? OK, my room’s four doors down on the other side. But if you take too long, I’ll go ahead without you. I’m starving.”

  “Fine.” Hank starts to close the door then changes his mind. “Wait a minute, do you even know where the cafeteria is?”

  “Sure. It’s on this floor. There’s a map already loaded on your phone, but it’s easier to figure out if you use the tablet.”

  “Got it. I’ll see you in a while.”

  Seb glances down the corridor then he throws Hank a smile. “I’d close your door fast if I were you. Georgie’s headed this way and I don’t think she’s ready to see you in full Creature from the Black Lagoon mode at this time in the morning.”

  Hank laughs and closes his door smartly. That guy cracks me up, he thinks. And as he heads to the bathroom, he chortles under his breath.

  It doesn’t take him long to get ready, and soon he’s heading along the corridor, scanning the names on the doors as he goes. Seb’s room is easy to find, and Hank lets out a chuckle when he sees the sign on the door; it originally read Sebastian Wainwright, but most of the forename is obliterated with a frantic scribble, leaving only the first three letters.

  Hank knocks on the door and Seb opens it immediately.

  “Finally,” Seb says. “We’d better hurry in case all the good stuff has gone.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry. If last night’s anything to go by, they know how to lay on a spread.”

  Seb steps out and closes his door. “But that was a party and this is just breakfast. And no matter how you dress it up, a cafeteria is a cafeteria, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Not really,” Hank says. “But I guess there’s only one way to find out, so lead the way.”

  “Sure.” Seb hesitates. “You got your phone? The new one? Only I think we’re meant to carry it. You know—for the WPR.”

  Hank pats his pocket. “Right here.”

  “Let’s go then. It’s that way.” Seb gestures down the corridor and they start walking.

  “So,” Hank says casually, “you saw Georgie this morning—did she say anything?”

  Seb gives him a sideways look. “You mean, did she ask about you? Is that what you want to know?”

  Hank shrugs. “No. I don’t know. It’s just…it might’ve seemed like I slammed my door when she was coming along, and I wondered if she noticed. You know, I thought maybe she took offense.”

  Seb nods wisely. “I see.”

  “No you don’t,” Hank says, and the color rises to his cheeks. “Georgie’s a friend and I don’t want to go upsetting her on the first day, all right?”

  “I get it, Hank. I’m just messing with you. And if you really want to know, she asked if you were OK, and I told her you were getting ready.” He gives Hank a grin. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t tell her what an absolute delight you are first thing in the morning.”

  Hank runs a hand across his face. “We can’t all go leaping out of bed at the crack of dawn. I need my coffe
e. Besides, I didn’t sleep real well.” He pauses. “And I saw someone outside.”

  “So what?”

  “I don’t know. It was the middle of the night and there was someone out there, acting kind of strange.”

  Seb scratches his head. “Probably a security guy. Seems like they’re pretty hot on that stuff.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. But this person looked…different.”

  “Probably nothing,” Seb says. “But if you’re not sure, you should tell somebody.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

  They turn a corner in the corridor, and Seb rubs his hands together. “It should be just through that door. And here’s three words for you—I, smell, bacon.”

  Hank nods enthusiastically, and together they push open the double doors. Inside, the cafeteria is bright and airy. The outside wall is curved and made entirely from glass, giving a view toward the garden Hank had seen from his window. The room looks more like a high-end coffee shop than any cafeteria Hank has ever seen, with padded chairs picked out in bright colors, and pale wooden tables, each decorated with a small vase of fresh flowers. Most of the tables are taken: small groups of students eating and chatting, and Hank spots Georgie laughing with a bunch of people he doesn’t recognize. He’s about to point her out, but Seb tugs at his sleeve and points wordlessly to the far end of the room, where the open plan kitchen is a hive of activity. A brigade of chefs, all clad in white, are stirring, pouring, and whisking like their lives depended on it, while others wield huge knives with startling speed or rattle gleaming pans over an enormous gas stove. Every chef works quietly, with intense concentration, and whatever they’re cooking, it smells delicious.

  “Come on,” Hank says, and Seb doesn’t need to be told twice. They walk toward the row of gleaming stainless steel counters, but when one of the chefs steps up the counter and fixes his beady eyes on them, they stop short.

  Hank looks at Seb. “You go first.”

  “Me? Why don’t you go first? You said you were hungry.”

  “I am,” Hank mumbles, “but are you sure this is where we order? It looks kind of fancy—”

  “Can I help you with something?” the chef interrupts, and his accent throws Hank completely. The man’s deep voice carries across the room, and somehow he makes his simple question sound like a warning.

  “Sure,” Hank says. “We were looking for some…breakfast?”

  The chef cocks his ear as though struggling to understand, then he looks Hank up and down. “Breakfast? It’s a bit late for that. Breakfast is served from six until eight. We’ve already started the prep for lunch.”

  “I told you,” Seb moans to Hank. “I said we should’ve come sooner.”

  But Hank isn’t giving in. “We can get something, though, can’t we? I mean, it’s only just past eight, so it’s not like we’re that late.”

  The chef pulls himself up to his full height and folds his arms. And at that moment, Hank senses someone standing just behind him. He turns sharply, his eyes wide.

  Jed Norman, the member of staff they met at the party, gives Hank and Seb a wide smile. “Hey, boys, how’s it going?”

  “Not so good,” Hank says. “Looks like we missed out on breakfast.”

  Jed looks at the chef. “I’m sure there’s no problem. This guy makes the best eggs you ever had, that’s right isn’t it, Andy?”

  The chef unfolds his arms. “Well, I suppose we could knock up some scrambled eggs.”

  “And do you have any of that dry cured bacon left?” Jed asks. “And maybe a little of that sourdough bread, toasted.” He looks from Hank to Seb. “Andy is a genius with bread. Hand baked fresh every morning, but you need to get here early if you don’t want to miss out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Andy says gruffly. “Help yourselves to drinks. There’s coffee, tea and probably some fresh juice—unless it’s all gone.”

  “Thanks, Andy,” Jed says. “Come on, boys. I need another java myself.”

  Hank and Seb give the glowering chef a hesitant smile, then they follow Jed to the drinks counter.

  “Don’t mind, Andy, he’s local,” Jed says as he feeds a pod into an espresso machine. He sets up a mug and presses the button, and while the machine whirs and fills the air with the aroma of fresh coffee, Jed stares into space as though lost in thought.

  “How do you mean, local?” Hank asks. “There’s nothing around here for miles, is there?”

  “There are a few villages dotted around. Most of the ancillary staff live locally and travel in each day,” Jed says. “There’s a shuttle bus—makes it easier all around.”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Seb says, “he’s not going to win a charm contest anytime soon.”

  Jed lets out a grunt of amusement. “Let me put it this way—the folks from the north of England are kind of like folks from the Bronx. They don’t put up with any bullshit, they don’t like being told what to do, and they don’t take easily to outsiders.” He gives Hank and Seb a look. “But if you take the time to earn their respect, they won’t let you down.”

  “Right,” Hank says. “And I guess I’ll get used to the weird accent.”

  “This is their turf, son,” Jed says. “We’re the ones with the accent.”

  Hank nods thoughtfully. “I never thought of it like that.”

  Jed yawns and reaches for his mug. “Man, I need my second cup of coffee today.” He takes a sip and smiles. “I had a late night.”

  “Yeah?” Hank gives Jed a sharp look, thinking, A late night walk in the garden? But he takes his turn at the coffee machine and says, “So, did you go somewhere special? I mean, there can’t be much of a night life out here.”

  “Oh, there’s a few pubs worth a visit, but it wasn’t like that,” Jed says. “I was working late. Lots of admin to get through when a new batch of students arrive.” He takes another sip of coffee. “Listen, I’ll leave you boys to it. The food’s good so enjoy it, but you’ll need to eat up fast and get yourselves organized. You don’t want to be late for your first session.”

  “All right,” Seb says. “And thanks for your help.”

  “No problem,” Jed says. “See you around.” Then he turns and heads for the door.

  Hank takes his full cup from the machine. “What do you think of him? Jed, I mean.”

  “He seems fine. Nice to see someone from the States.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Hank looks around. “Where do you want to sit?”

  Seb busies himself with the espresso machine. “You choose. I don’t mind.”

  Hank picks a table by the window and looks out at the garden, watching the rain and the wild birds squabbling over a bird feeder. I don’t recognize a single bird, he thinks. Is every damned thing going to be different from now on?

  Seb joins him, closely followed by a young man bearing two heaped plates of food.

  “Two scrambled eggs and bacon?”

  “Sure, great,” Seb says.

  The young man slides the plates onto the table. “Ah, you forgot your cutlery.”

  Hank mumbles an apology, but the young man isn’t listening. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it. But for next time, it’s on the end of the food counter.”

  “Thanks,” Hank says, but the young man is already bustling away.

  “I can’t wait,” Seb says. He picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite. “Wow! Seriously good. Hank, you’ve got to try this.”

  Hank smiles. “Bacon’s bacon, how good can it be?” But when he follows Seb’s lead and bites off a chunk of the glistening rasher, he closes his eyes as he chews. The crisped fat melts in his mouth and the meat is almost sweet, with just the faintest salty tang of wood smoke.

  There’s a clatter of cutlery on the table and Hank opens his eyes. “Thanks,” he says and picks up his fork. And for the next ten minutes, neither of them say a word while they eat. The eggs are a deep yellow, and they’re soft and creamy. On the side of Hank’s plate there’s a curl of golden butter, and when he
spreads it onto the sourdough toast, it melts in a way that makes Hank’s mouth water. The hot buttered toast is fresh, crisp and pleasantly chewy, and Hank can’t get enough of it.

  When he puts down his fork, his plate is clean, and Seb isn’t far behind.

  “We’d better scoot,” Hank says, and he downs the last of his coffee.

  “Yeah.” Seb glances reluctantly toward the food counter. “I wonder if they have any croissants.”

  Hank stands up. “Seriously? You’re still hungry?”

  “Not really. Just curious.” Seb stands and takes one last sip from his coffee. “Not bad. Hey, are we supposed to clear the plates somewhere?”

  “I don’t think so.” Hank takes a quick look around. Almost all the tables are empty now, and the remaining students are gathering their belongings or hurrying away. “We don’t have time. We’ll just leave them. I’ve got to run back to my room and grab my bag.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Seb pulls out his phone and checks the screen. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Hank and Seb walk over to the Learning Hub together, tagging along with a crowd of students heading the same way. The rain has stopped and the sky is clear, but the air is cool and they walk quickly, Seb with his tablet in his hands while Hank thumbs through the screens on his phone.

  “I’m in room six on the ground floor for psychology,” Seb says. “How about you?”

  Hank smiles. “Same here.”

  Seb holds out his hand. “Show me your timetable.”

  “Sure.” Hank hands over his phone and Seb studies the screen.

  “Yep. Same as mine,” Seb says handing the phone back to Hank. “Cool.”

  “Yeah. Maybe they arrange it by the country you come from.”

  Seb snickers. “So, you might see Georgie, huh?”

  Hank flashes him a look. “Will you quit it with that? It’s not funny anymore, Seb.”

  “All right. No need to overreact.” Seb goes back to studying his tablet and they walk on in silence for a moment. “Says here, the teacher’s name is Doctor Jamilla Winslett. Do you think she’ll be a Brit?”