by Sharon Sant
Faster than seemed plausible, Braithwaite grabbed Elijah by the hair, so violently that he felt his feet leave the floor, and slammed his head against the wall. The room swam out of focus and Elijah’s vision began to fade as he swayed on the spot. He had no time to shake himself out of his stupor. Immediately, large, strong hands gripped his throat and were choking the life from his body. He lashed out wildly, kicking and scratching and slapping, but his blows had no effect. Braithwaite was too strong. Within seconds, panic gripped him. His thrashing weakened and his head filled with a blinding pressure as he fought for air. His arms dropped limply to his side as life slipped away.
As consciousness began to leave him, as if in the distance, Elijah heard a dull smack and Braithwaite’s grip loosened. Elijah gasped, clinging at his throat and drawing great rattling breaths as he slid down against the wall.
Awareness of his surroundings returned, the room spun, a buzzing sound filled his head. He saw a broken chair lying on the floor nearby, and Tessa, Braithwaite’s secretary, frantically fighting him off. Hopelessly weakened, Elijah watched as Braithwaite slapped her hard across the face. She fell onto the bed. The real Braithwaite, the beast that lurked beneath the business suit, had been unleashed. It seemed he had forgotten Elijah and was intent on his furious attack on Tessa. He was going to murder her, and then he was going to murder Elijah… then he was going to murder the others. Elijah glanced across the room and saw the open door. If he could find the strength, he could run. He could get out now.
Tessa screamed - short, half-strangled cries as Braithwaite grabbed her throat. Elijah hauled himself up and reached out for a leg of the broken chair. With a shaking arm he held it high above his head. He slammed the wood down onto the back of Braithwaite’s skull as hard as he could. She wriggled from under him, staggering away from the bed. Elijah barely had time to yell a warning as Braithwaite was up. With a loud crack, he had knocked Tessa across the bed again; her head smacked sickeningly against the headboard. She stopped moving.
Once again, Braithwaite’s brutal hands were at Elijah’s throat. Then, as suddenly as he had slammed Elijah against the wall, Braithwaite’s eyes widened as Elijah heard a dull, heavy thud from somewhere behind. Braithwaite slid to the floor.
Tessa, dishevelled and bruised and breathing heavily, gripped a soapstone figurine in her hands. She shook as they both looked down, wide-eyed at the lifeless figure of her employer. Elijah finally spoke.
‘Thanks.’ It sounded pathetic. She had just saved his life.
She bent down and felt at Braithwaite’s neck. ‘Close the door – quickly.’
Elijah’s legs shook as he crossed the room. After taking a hurried glance up and down the deserted corridor, he closed the door. It seemed that the hotel was empty; they could only hope that no one had noticed the disturbance. So much for nice and quiet, Elijah reflected grimly. He turned back to Tessa. She was kneeling beside Braithwaite, who had blood trickling from one of his ears. A crimson stain crept across the carpet.
‘I think he’s dead,’ she whispered in a tremulous voice. She wrung her hands and her voice raised an octave. ‘Oh, God…. I’ve killed him…’
Elijah knelt down beside her. ‘Come on.’ Gently, he put a hand under her arm and led her away, sitting her on the edge of the bed. ‘We have to get out of here. You need to get as far away as possible. The police will think it’s me anyway.’ He found it difficult to hide the edge of resentment in his voice. He paused for a moment, surveying the room thoughtfully. He knew now what he had to do. Stooping down, he pocketed the figurine and scanned the room for any sign of the information he suspected was there, somewhere.
It was difficult to focus fully on his task; so many disjointed thoughts raced through his head. Try as he might, he could not seem to stop himself continually glancing at Braithwaite’s body, half expecting it to spring to life again. With enormous effort, he marshalled his thoughts - he needed to act fast. Tessa was still perched on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, a look of shock on her pale face.
Elijah knew he had to calm her. ‘Tessa, I need you to help me.’
The sound of his voice breaking the tense silence seemed to galvanise her into action. She inhaled slowly. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said as she left the room.
Moments later, she had returned with her hair pinned neatly and a clean blouse. Elijah threw her a questioning look as he continued to rake the room for any trace of Grace’s research.
‘If we’re going to get out of here, everything has to look normal.’ Tessa appeared to have recovered some of her usual cool composure. She glanced apprehensively at Braithwaite, still on the floor, tearing away her eyes as Elijah spoke.
‘I need to find something… some research, notes, a disc, I’m not sure…’ Elijah wasn’t even certain that Grace’s notes were here. He didn’t even know what they looked like.
Tessa moved quickly across the room. ‘I know what it is you’re after. It’s in this file. The new stuff is in here too, I’ve just amalgamated it all.’ She held up a sheaf of paperwork bound in red vinyl. ‘But if you’re thinking about getting rid of it, this isn’t the only copy. And there are also copies on hard drive.’ Elijah groaned. It had seemed far too simple. Tessa continued, ‘I can shred this in a minute though, at least it will be one down. First I have to do this…’ She opened Braithwaite’s laptop, tapping the keyboard swiftly, her eyes darting to and fro across the screen.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Elijah.
‘Sending a message to Marcus Bradbury.’ Elijah frowned. ‘Regional CMO,’ she enlightened him, not moving her eyes from the screen until she had clicked send. She looked up at him. ‘It’s worth a shot. He’s not the sharpest tool. I’ve sent a message from Braithwaite telling him his men are no longer required and they can leave the camp.’ Elijah gave her a tight smile. Tessa shrugged. ‘I did promise I’d try to help them.’
‘Well, it would make things much easier if they weren’t there. How are we going to get back?’ Elijah couldn’t presume that she would help any further; she was in so much danger herself now. ‘Will you come back with me? I understand if you don’t want to.’
She nodded grimly. ‘If we can get there before anyone discovers him,’ she inclined her head at Braithwaite, ‘and we have a little bit of luck on our side, we might be able to get your friends away. Besides, I think I can safely say I’ve lost my job now. And I don’t think he’s in a position to give me a reference.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Tessa waved away the apology. ‘It doesn’t matter, I would have been sacked anyway, and it was only a matter of time. He got what he deserved. He was rich, he thought he could do whatever he wanted. It’s just a shame he had to ruin my life.’ There was no trace of bitterness in Tessa’s voice as she stated this simple fact, and Elijah inwardly marvelled at the way she accepted life’s cruel twists with such stoicism. She contemplated Elijah for a moment in silence. Elijah felt himself redden under the intensity of her appraisal. He was just about to question her when she interrupted it herself. ‘Elijah, did you always live in a camp?’ she asked, still regarding him with a carefully measured gaze.
‘No. We only just ended up there.’
‘How long have you been a Runner?’
‘Not long. Why?’
‘Where did you live before?’
‘Ringwood, but –’
‘Who did you live with?’
Elijah struggled to contain his impatience. ‘What about Stein?’
Tessa shook herself. ‘I’ll phone him, tell him that Braithwaite wants to see the whole team for an urgent briefing. He’ll come and discover Braithwaite and, if we get away now, it might give us an alibi. We’ll be back at the camp by the time he gets here if we hurry, and it will remove some of our obstacles at the same time. It’s a long shot, but worth a try.’
Tessa showed Elijah how to operate the shredder and, as he destroyed great reams of notes, she called Stein, trying to be as airy and convincing
as possible. All the while she watched Elijah closely, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. She ended the call. ‘I think he’s taken the bait. He’s so scared of Braithwaite that I don’t think he’d dare stay away. How are you doing with that?’
‘Almost done now.’
‘Good, I’ll see if I can delete the file on his laptop. Then there are Stein’s copies to deal with. If I’m honest, I’m not sure who else has copies. There’s a chance some of the team will have their own. There’s the equipment itself, too. We’ll have to get rid of that.’
As Tessa spoke, the enormity of their task and the gravity of the situation seemed to hit them both like an icy blast. Elijah could see in her eyes that she felt it too. His stomach lurched; he glanced again at Braithwaite, lifeless on the floor.
Events were spiralling out of control at an incredible rate; every hour that passed seemed to drag him deeper into a quagmire from which he had no hope of escape. He forced himself to think of his friends, waiting, helpless, perhaps already under a death sentence from Braithwaite. Had Braithwaite involved anyone else? Surely, he had not planned to pick them all off single-handedly like some deranged serial killer? And yet, he had seemed to revel in the physical brutality of his attack on Elijah, had shown a sickening contempt for Tessa. Or maybe he had given instructions to someone else already? The possibility was too awful to contemplate
Thirty-Seven: Pierre’s Vendetta
‘It’s weird. Feels like I’ve left something somewhere.’ Xavier’s wounds had been cleaned but his eyes were still heavy with recent deep sleep.
‘Stop fretting, Xavier. It’s not good for you.’ Isobel swung four cups by the handles in one hand, teapot in the other, and glided over to the kitchen table. She arranged the cups on the work surface and began spooning sugar into them. ‘You still look pale. I’m putting you extra in.’
‘Stop fussing, Mum. I’m fine.’
‘So you keep saying.’ She handed him a cup of hot, sweet tea.
‘What did your day entail before we arrived to collect you?’ Pierre was seated at a smaller table, over the far end of the kitchen. He looked up from a pile of notes spread out in front of him.
Xavier frowned but didn’t reply.
‘Exactly. You’re many things, Xavier, but fine isn’t one of them. Francois says he didn’t see you for hours. Now, either you were doing something you don’t want to tell us about –’
‘No!’ Xavier shifted in his chair, his voice edged with vexation.
‘Or there is a problem.’
‘I’m just… mixed up. It’s like having a word on the tip of your tongue. Every time I almost remember what I was doing, it slips away again. It’s driving me mad. If I could just get a handle on it…’
‘I’d better go and wake Francois. He’ll need something to eat and drink.’ Isobel bustled out leaving a heavy silence.
Pierre bent his head back to his notes.
‘What are you doing?’ Xavier asked, more for something to break the awkward atmosphere than out of genuine interest. They still had not mentioned the last time they had seen each other, when Xavier and Francois had practically threatened to shoot Pierre, and the issue hung between them, a wall that neither was prepared to breach.
‘Research.’ Pierre didn’t look up.
‘Research? On what?’
‘Not what… who.’
‘Who?’
‘Do we have an owl in here?’ Francois appeared at the doorway, hair dishevelled, grinning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘Xav, how’re you doing?’
Xavier shrugged. ‘Ok.’
‘The punch-up look is working. You should wear it more often. Makes you look hard.’
Xavier smiled, despite himself. It made the corner of his mouth sting. Francois sauntered over and helped himself to a cup of tea from the pot before pulling up a chair along side his brother.
‘Are you feeling better?’ Pierre asked his oldest son.
‘Loads, thanks, Dad.’ He took a sip from his cup. ‘I just left Mum clearing up my dirty laundry. You might want to pop up with the smelling salts in a mo.’
The ghost of a smile appeared on Pierre’s face. He bent his head back over his papers.
Francois leaned over to Xavier and lowered his tones. ‘So, where did you go?’
‘Honestly, I can’t remember,’ Xavier whispered back. ‘I remember breakfast… I remember going to work, being in the workshop… then, nothing.’
‘Where did you go with Sadie?’
‘Sadie?’
‘You followed her somewhere.’
‘When?’
‘You really don’t remember?’
Xavier raised his eyebrows and gave his head a tiny shake. ‘No.’
‘Weird. Do you remember that you lost a game of cards and now owe me any future earnings you might make?’
Xavier punched his brother’s arm.
‘Ow, Dad, Xav’s giving me a dead arm.’
Xavier grinned and immediately winced as the corner of his mouth stung viciously again.
‘Not now boys.’ Pierre didn’t look up.
‘Charming. We’ve been to hell and back. Haven’t you missed us at all? Francois’ humour evaporated. His tone was cold. Pierre looked up and Francois met his gaze. For a moment, Pierre seemed lost for words.
‘Never mind.’ Francois relaxed again, the grudge gone as quickly as it was born. ‘What are you doing anyway?’
‘Research.’
‘Research?’
‘Then you say what, and he says who, and you say who?’ Xavier raised his eyebrows again at Francois.
‘Oh yeah, that’s where I came in.’
‘Yup.’
‘If you must know, I’m researching Maxwell Braithwaite.’ Pierre dropped his pen and straightened up to look at them.
Xavier and Francois both leaned forwards. ‘And what have you found?’ Francois asked.
‘Not much yet. I know plenty about his past, but not much about what he’s up to now. That’s what I’m really interested in.’
‘You know about his past?’
‘We were at the same university. Not on the same course, but even at that age you could tell he was going to be a man of power. There was something about the way he carried himself, everyone knew who he was, even people on the arts courses who had nothing to do with the science departments.’ Pierre sipped his tea before continuing: ‘So he left university with a first class degree, got himself a government job and quickly worked his way up to the top of his department – ’
‘Which department?’ Francois interrupted.
Pierre paused. ‘Control of Minors Office.’
‘CMO? Of course,’ Francois replied bitterly.
‘The camps for homeless children were his idea. They’re government endorsed but, basically, privately run business ventures, and he owns the lot, built his entire empire on them. They take the children off the streets and the government is happy. A small fee for each child’s upkeep from the government, and a healthy profit from any work the child fills their time with makes the camps a nice earner.’
‘You seem to have the whole thing already figured out.’ Xavier curled a leg underneath him as he listened. ‘But even though it’s completely gitty, none of it’s illegal is it?’
‘No. That’s why I’m digging around. I know his hands are dirty elsewhere and I want to know what it is.’
‘But why do you care… I mean, not that you shouldn’t care… but why now? It’s not something you ever mentioned before.’
‘Before, he hadn’t incarcerated my sons and worked them till they dropped. Before, one of my sons hadn’t returned from one of his camps with his face mashed and amnesia. I think I have a reason to care now – don’t you?’
Isobel came back down holding a small card. She showed it to Pierre. ‘I think we owe this gentleman an apology.’
‘Hmmm. I’ll go over to his farm in the morning.’
‘Nonsense. We’ll invite him over for lunch. It’s
the least we can do.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Xavier asked.
‘Ishmael Bunton.’
‘Bunton… that guy at Ten Oaks Farm?’
‘You have some memory, then.’ Isobel smiled.
‘Well… yeah. Not much use though, if the best I can recall is some old duffer rag and bone man.’
‘Xavier!’ Pierre warned. ‘A little more respect for Mr Bunton.’
Isobel cast her husband a weary glance. ‘Shame you didn’t do the same when he came over to let us know where our sons were.’
Pierre looked for a moment as if he would argue. Instead, he swallowed the words back down.
Francois frowned. ‘He came here to tell you where we were? How on earth could he know that?’
‘He came across your friends travelling the road.’ Isobel poured herself another cup of tea as she explained. ‘The young boy… Rowan? He was ill. The other boy, you know, the one who fell into the river, he and Sky were with him. They stayed with Ishmael for a while. Last I heard they were still there –’
‘Oh no!’ Xavier shot up from his seat. ‘Elijah!’
Thirty-Eight: Return to the Vanishing Woods
A jeep and driver were waiting outside the hotel, as they always did on Braithwaite’s instruction. Braithwaite’s staff knew Tessa well and the driver had no reason to be suspicious when she appeared with Elijah; he was used to seeing her on errands. She had equipped herself with boots and a raincoat, now that she had no boss to wear heels and a suit for, and ordered to be driven back to the research base. Elijah wondered whether her bruises, which were now spreading impressively over one cheekbone like a great purple map, would cause any suspicion, but if the driver thought anything amiss, he didn’t show it.
Elijah tapped his foot, his fingers twisting around each other, as they drove back to the encampment. It was a short distance but the driver was used to going slowly and smoothly, and the journey seemed to take forever. Tessa chewed at her lip and stared out of the window, not daring to look at or talk to Elijah.