by Jack Higgins
But then the man stepped inside, feeling for the light switch.
Jade grabbed Mr Argent’s hands and pulled gently, leading him quickly behind the desk.
The lights snapped on. Jade held her breath, finger to her mouth to warn Mr Argent – or whatever his name really was – to be quiet. Like he needed telling. The man was shaking with fear.
Footsteps – heavy boots on the bare floorboards. The footsteps hesitated, moved into the room. Rich had hidden in the shadows under the main stairs up to the maths corridor. The gunmen were moving through the school in an orderly manner, checking each room in turn. They were swift and efficient and methodical. But that meant Rich was able to predict exactly where they were headed and keep out of their way.
Eventually, unless he could hide and let them past without finding him, Rich would be caught – ending up in the last room they got to. Through the window of the school office he had seen the men outside, walking slowly round, watching for anyone who tried to get out. He’d been lucky not to be spotted on his escape from the hall.
There was one room that might be safe, he realised. If they were anything like as efficient and clued-up as they seemed, they’d have searched there already. If not, then Rich was walking right into danger.
But what choice did he have? He listened carefully for any sound, and hoping that the silence meant there was no one within sight, he stepped out from under the stairs.
The footsteps moved away again, the lights clicked off and the door slammed shut. Jade and the Banker were safe, at least for the moment.
“I doubt we can get out safely,” Jade whispered. “But if we head back to reception we can get up to the maths corridor and back to your classroom.”
“And get my phone.”
“That’s right. How’s it work?”
“You need to dial star fifty-five star. That should put you straight through. Just say you need help. They can pinpoint the phone and send someone.”
There were still splashes of blood on the floor of the corridor, and Jade wondered if any of the other gunmen had noticed. Was the man she’d tripped up still unconscious? She glanced at the storeroom, half expecting the door to burst open to eject a furious, blood-stained killer. But it remained closed.
“He’ll be out for hours,” the Banker said quietly, seeing where Jade had been looking.
They crept up the stairs and emerged into the maths corridor close to the little storeroom that led out to the gallery above the hall.
“So far, so good,” Jade murmured. It looked like they were going to get the phone, no problem. And as soon as Ardman sent help…
Jade stepped out from the stairs, but the Banker grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. There was someone in the corridor. A figure walking slowly and purposefully towards them.
“He saw me!” Jade hissed.
“Back down the stairs then.”
Jade couldn’t resist a quick glance back down the corridor to see how close the gunman was. Probably running full tilt.
But he wasn’t. The figure was still walking at the same pace. He waved. Now he was closer and in the light, Jade could see that it was Rich.
“Surprised to see me?” he asked as he reached them.
He looked rather surprised himself as Jade grabbed him and hugged him tight.
“Take that as a yes, then,” he said, pulling away at last. “Good to see you too, Jade.”
She told him quickly who Mr Argent really was and about the phone.
“Only problem,” Rich said, “is there’s one of those guys in the classroom.”
“In my classroom?” the Banker said. “A gunman in my classroom?” He sounded more upset about that than he had been about anything else.
“But… How do they know it’s his classroom?” Jade wondered.
“Says so on the door,” Rich told her. “Mr D. J. Argent.”
“They know what I look like, but how do they know that’s my new name?” the Banker asked.
“Because they found your photo on the staff mugshot board,” Rich explained. “Like, Cleeveholme’s most wanted.”
“They must have guessed you might go back there. Or they’re hoping so,” Jade said. “What do we do now?”
“We need to get old Beardy to call the gunman away.”
“He’s not likely to organise a tea break,” Jade pointed out.
“True.” Rich grinned. “But if he suddenly needs more men for the search…”
Jade was grinning too. “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you?”
“Might have. I reckon they must be getting pretty desperate to find you by now,” he said to the Banker. “Let’s add to their problems.”
They hurried into the storeroom and through to the gallery at the back of the stage. Looking down into the hall, they could see the gunman left on guard and the group of children – now including Mike and Rupam – sitting tired and scared on the edge of the stage with Miss Whitfield. The Banker looked down sadly at the body of his daughter, still lying on the hall floor.
“I don’t think she’s badly hurt,” Rich reassured him. “They said the wound wasn’t too bad. But she’s out for the count and she needs treatment.” He beckoned them back into the relative safety of the storeroom and explained his plan.
“Only trouble is,” he finished, turning to the Banker, “if they get you, they get all the magic account numbers and the money.”
“Actually, they don’t.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jade.
“I don’t have the numbers and passcodes. Well, not in their entirety. It’s a safety measure, and it’s why Mr Ardman is so frustrated with me. I only know half of each piece of information. Ardman needs the other half and that will only arrive when I’m sure I am safe.”
“So these people, the Tiger’s gunmen if that’s who they are, will only get half the information from you if you’re caught,” Rich said. “Who knows the other half?”
Jade and Rich looked at each other, realising the answer at the same time.
The Banker nodded. “We each know half. We work together, out of necessity. Though there is one failsafe, one place where we have stored the entire numbers and codes.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s very safe.”
There was a noise from below – the hall door opening and then the sound of the large Scotsman’s voice. They all turned to listen, but all Jade could make out was the distinctive burr of the man’s accent.
“Getting any of this?” she mouthed at Rich.
He shook his head.
“Hang on,” Jade whispered. She tiptoed back through to the gallery and lay down on the floor, pressing her ear to the bare boards of the balcony. The Scotsman was right underneath, talking quietly to the gunman on guard.
“You said it would be easy. Quick in and out,” the gunman was saying. He sounded like he might be from Scandinavia.
“I know what I said.” There was anger in the leader’s voice. “But I was wrong. We can discuss it later, if you want.”
“No,” said the gunman hurriedly.
“Wise choice. But we need to get a move on. Won’t be long before parents are worried and calling the real police, never mind Hans and Danny at the main gates.”
“Some of the children have been asking for the toilet.”
“Oh God help us. Right, that does it. I’ve got Masro looking for a public address system. But we’ll walk through shouting if we have to. Flush him out that way.”
“Shouting what?”
“That if the Banker doesn’t give himself up, we start shooting our hostages.”
Jade heard the gasp of astonishment from the guard. “But, they are children.”
“Then we start with the woman.”
“You can’t kill children.”
There was a slight pause. Jade thought maybe the Scotsman was considering this. But maybe he was just glaring at his subordinate. “Watch me,” he said.
Rich was better at throwing than Jade. He’d suggested a paper da
rt. She told him to get real – it could end up anywhere. So instead, he wrote on a sheet torn from a pad in the storeroom, then screwed it into a tight ball.
“I just hope Gemma realises what I’m up to,” he said.
Jade shrugged. “She’s your girlfriend.”
“No, she’s not!”
‘Oh come on – the way you hang out together. All the time.”
“Oh, like you and Rod Baker, I suppose.”
Jade smiled. “Yeah, right. Hit a nerve, did I?”
“You couldn’t hit an elephant.”
“I’ll tell Gemma you called her an elephant,” Jade warned him.
Rich made his way tentatively to the front of the gallery. The guard was underneath so couldn’t see him. But the people on the edge of the stage could. Gemma was looking right at him. Miss Whitfield was glaring – like she was telling him off for sneaking away and skiving.
He held up the ball of paper and mimed throwing it to Gemma. Then he pointed down at the floor – towards the guard and opened his hands in a theatrical gesture of bewilderment. Could he throw the paper – was the guard watching?
Gemma was looking from Rich to the guard and back again. She gave no sign that it was safe, so he guessed it wasn’t. He’d just have to wait – but for how long?
Miss Whitfield got down from the edge of the stage and walked briskly across towards the guard. For one awful moment, Rich thought she was going to tell him that there was a boy on the gallery who ought to be down in the hall with them and what was he going to do about it?
“What are you doing?” the guard demanded. “Back on the stage with the children, now!”
“Not until you tell me how much longer we are to be kept here,” Miss Whitfield replied, in her telling-off voice. All trace of nerves seemed to be gone. “Some of the children need the toilet and this young lady needs proper medical attention. I’ve done what I can, but she’s lost a lot of blood. Look.”
The guard appeared from under the gallery as Miss Whitfield led him to where the woman – Eleri – was still lying on the floor. There was a blazer folded up under her head now. If it were not for the bullet holes in her coat and the blood, she could almost be peacefully sleeping.
As soon as the guard was looking at the wounded woman and away from the stage, Gemma’s hands came up, ready for the catch. Rich threw the ball of paper. Gemma grabbed at it. It bounced out of her hands and fell to the floor, out of reach.
Gemma glared at him like it was his fault. Then, in a single swift motion, she was off the stage, scooping up the ball of paper and pulling herself back up.
When the guard straightened up and turned to check on his prisoners, he could see nothing amiss. Rich just hoped Gemma would get a chance to read his message and would understand what he wanted her – and the others – to do when the time came.
If not, they might all end up dead.
12
“So what do we call you?” Jade asked the Banker. “I mean ‘sir’ sounds a bit formal given what’s going on. And I guess you’re not really Mr Argent.”
Rich had returned to the storeroom. He was holding a stapler. “Maybe we need a code name,” he suggested.
“Oh right,” Jade said, unimpressed. “What are you going to do with that?” She pointed to the stapler. “Give them a clip round the ear?”
“Why not call me Dom?” the Banker suggested.
“Is that a code name?” Rich asked. “The initials stand for something, maybe?”
“It’s short for Dominic. That’s my real name.”
“Oh.”
“Right, well, you and Dom…” Jade hesitated over the name. It didn’t really seem to suit the man and she wondered if it really was his name. Not that it mattered. Not that she cared, not really. “Tell you what, why don’t we just call you Mr Argent so we don’t get confused? You get on with your distraction tactics and I’ll get the phone.”
“I’m not sure why it has to be me that does it,” Mr Argent said nervously.
“Because it’s you they’re after,” Rich said. “One of us pokes their nose round the door and they don’t give a monkey’s. Might even shoot us. But they want you, and they want you alive.”
“And because I’ll be quicker than you getting the phone,” Jade said. She glanced down at her flat school shoes. At least she didn’t wear heels like some of the girls. But she’d rather be in her trainers.
“All right then,” the Banker agreed. “Let’s get it over with.”
“That’s the spirit.” Rich patted him on the back. “Come on, we’ll be fine. Soon be over.” He turned to Jade. “You be OK?”
“Course I will.” She tried to sound confident. But her stomach was churning with anxiety – for herself and for Rich. “Look after yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I worry about you,” Jade murmured as Rich and the Banker disappeared down the stairs.
The reception foyer was empty. Rich waited for several seconds at the end of the corridor, listening for any sounds that might suggest one of the gunmen was coming. But there was nothing.
“OK,” he said to Mr Argent. “You’re on. I’m all set.” He brandished his stapler.
The Banker nodded and swallowed. “Right. Here we go.”
He walked briskly across to the double doors that led into the school hall, and reached out for the handles. He took a deep breath, turned to smile nervously at Rich, then heaved the door open.
Rich held the stapler ready as the Banker stepped into the hall. Over the man’s shoulder he could see the gunman turning. The man’s face was a mask of surprise.
Then the doors were closing again as the Banker turned and ran. He skidded past Rich and pressed himself hard against the wall of the corridor behind him.
Moments later, the halls doors sprang open again. The gunman stood there, looking round, searching for any clue as to which way the Banker had gone.
“Bannock!” he yelled. “Here – he’s here!”
Rich hurled the stapler. Not at the gunman, but at the glass cabinet full of trophies. It stood close to where another corridor came into the reception foyer. The stapler smashed into the front of the cabinet, shattering the glass with a tremendous noise. A large silver cup fell from its little plinth and bounced to the floor.
The gunman swung round in an arc, bullets spraying. The sides and top of the cabinet disintegrated. The gunman ran, heading for the corridor – away from where Rich and the Banker were hiding. Rich gave the Banker a thumbs-up and they crept slowly away.
Rich kept watching the gunman as they silently retreated. He looked round, torn between following his quarry and staying with his prisoners. “Bannock!” he yelled again.
There was the sound of running feet now. But it was coming from behind them – from further down the corridor where Rich and the Banker were hiding.
“In here!” the Banker whispered. He had a door open and he and Rich pressed inside the small store cupboard.
Rich’s feet caught on something on the floor and he almost fell. The Banker grabbed his arm, saving him. “Sorry – should have warned you about that.”
Booted feet tramped past outside. The cupboard was pitch black.
“Why? What is it?” Rich whispered.
“One of the gunmen.”
“What?”
“He had a bit of an argument with your sister.”
Bannock and two other gunmen ran into the main reception foyer. The area was covered in glass and the guard from the hall was standing in the middle of it.
“He was here. The Banker. Went down that corridor.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Bannock did not need to give the order. The two gunmen were already running down the corridor in pursuit. “Get back to the hostages,” Bannock said.
The guard returned to the hall and pulled open the doors. He stopped in the doorway, staring in disbelief. “What the hell..?”
“What is it? W
hat’s wrong?” Bannock ran to see.
The hall was empty. The children and their teacher – even the unconscious woman who had led Bannock and his men here – had all disappeared.
From the next classroom to Mr Argent’s, Jade could see enough of the corridor outside to know when the gunman left. She heard the shouts and the gunfire from below, and hoped that Rich and the Banker were all right.
The gunman stepped into the corridor, looking in the direction of the storeroom – where the sound seemed to have come from. He hesitated a few moments, but then he went back into the classroom.
“Oh, great,” Jade breathed. “A clever, sensible henchman. Just my luck.”
In the darkness beneath the stage, Gemma had her arm round one of the younger girls to comfort her. Miss Whitfield was trying to make the injured woman comfortable. It had been a struggle to get her through the trapdoor, afraid that at any moment the guard might return.
But they had managed. Just. Now they were all huddled together, frightened and desperately trying to keep quiet. The girl Gemma was comforting suppressed a sob, her whole body shaking with the effort. The unconscious woman stirred and moaned in pain, as Miss Whitfield did her best to soothe her.
The muffled sounds of angry men filtered through from the outside world. The furious Scotsman had found the open fire door in the wings, but another gunman outside the school seemed to be telling him that no one had come out.
They turned their attention to the balcony, but the Scotsman dismissed it at once.
“No way they could get that wounded woman up there in a few seconds.”
“So where did they go?” the guard asked. He sounded even more nervous than Gemma felt.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. He was here. The Banker was here.”
“Yes.”
“Then the time for subtlety is over. I want each and every room cleared. Start again from here. Tell the others. A clean sweep, and this time we’ll make sure no one slips through the net.”
“We don’t have much time left,” the guard warned. “It can’t be long now before someone realises there is a problem.”
“I know,” the Scotsman growled. “That’s why we clear each room with stun grenades.”