The Secret Key

by Lena Jones

  ‘You’d better go then, Liam,’ she tells him. ‘Come and see me later about catching up.’

  He looks reluctant as he packs up his belongings and comes to meet me at the door.

  ‘What is it, Agatha?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘I think Brianna is in trouble,’ I whisper. ‘We have to track her down. Are you ready to run?’

  For once, he doesn’t protest that he will miss maths, or that he has a chemistry test he’s been revising for. He seems to understand right away. He nods. I walk over to the opposite wall, take off my shoe and slam the block heel into the glass panel of the fire alarm. It shatters, and bells start ringing.

  As the classroom doors start to open and the playground gates unlock automatically, I put on my shoe and we start to run. We make it through the open gates, ignoring angry shouts from the school building,

  ‘Liam Lau! Agatha Oddlow! Come back at once – do you hear me?’

  It’s Dr Hargrave. I figure he can’t hate me much more than he does already, so I have little to lose. Liam, on the other hand, is a model student. I want to say sorry to him, but I’m out of breath, and I have a stabbing pain in my ribs. Liam plays badminton and tennis regularly, and all that running around is coming in handy now. He glances back and realises he’s left me behind. He leans against a bus shelter. As I draw level, he joins me, saying,

  ‘Thanks for coming to get me, Agatha.’ He smiles.

  ‘I couldn’t have all the fun without you.’

  ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Sarah Rathbone said that Brianna hadn’t been answering her phone all day, but maybe we should ring it one more time, to make sure.’

  ‘I don’t have her number.’ Liam shrugs.

  ‘But I do!’ I pull out the piece of paper with her address and number that she’d scrawled in the girls’ loos. Liam types the number into his phone, presses ‘dial’, and hands it to me. It starts to ring, and I count three … five … seven … I’m sure it’s going to go to voicemail, then someone picks up. I can hear breathing.

  ‘Brianna?’ I ask. There is no reply for a moment, just a crackle of static. Then a Glaswegian voice I’ve heard before speaks.

  ‘Come and get her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘You’re a sweet girl, Agatha. You’ll work it out.’

  The line goes dead. There’s an icy prickle behind my eyes as I pass the phone back to Liam.

  ‘What? Who was it? Where is she?’ he asks.

  ‘That was the man who threatened me outside the RGS. He’s got Brianna.’

  ‘Why?’ he asks, looking at my face.

  But I don’t answer. I’m thinking hard. There must be a clue in what he said … Sweet girl … sweet … sugar! That’s it!

  ‘Liam, can you use your phone to search for anything about Patrick Maxwell and sugar?’

  ‘Sure, hang on …’ He types furiously on his mobile. A moment later, he hands the screen to me wordlessly. It’s a news story from a year before.

  Suddenly, everything slots together in my mind – all the connections that were hidden under the surface are revealed. I get out my notebook, scribbling down the facts, making sure there’s nothing missing –

  1. The algae feed on sugar.

  2. So both Maxwell’s companies – Alpha Aqua and Sugarkane – are making huge amounts of money from the crisis.

  3. There is a giant sugar warehouse in Brixton, which has recently expanded its operation – thanks to Patrick Maxwell’s investment.

  4. Brixton Pumping Station is connected to the underground Ring Main, which carries millions of tons of water around London.

  5. Professor D’Oliveira was the target of the hit-and-run – had she found out some of this?

  ‘I think she’s at a factory – the Sugarkane factory. It’s a company owned by Patrick Maxwell.’

  ‘You mean … Maxwell’s got her? But why?’

  ‘He’s behind all this, I’m sure. And the man who threatened me must be working for him. Brianna was with me at the Alpha Aqua press conference. Maxwell saw us snooping around. They know we’re on to them.’

  ‘You went to the press conference with Brianna?’ Liam’s eyebrow shoots up.

  ‘You weren’t talking to me …’ I start. ‘Look, I don’t have time to explain now. We need to get to the Sugarkane factory, but I don’t want to be spotted.’

  ‘The tunnels, then,’ Liam says. ‘There’s that entry point just down from here, under Grosvenor Square Gardens.’

  We jog down the road. Right next to the gate to the garden there is a bike rack, filled with bicycles for hire. These docking stations are placed all over London, part of the mayor’s initiative to make cycling more popular.

  ‘Do you have your credit card?’ I ask him, pointing to the computer screen next to the bikes. His card is for emergencies only, but I figure this counts.

  He nods and selects the option to hire two bikes. We type the codes into the docking station and take the bikes from the racks.

  ‘Where’s the entrance?’ I ask, my mind going blank for a second.

  Liam points to a rhododendron bush a few metres away. ‘It was behind that.’

  We walk over, wheeling the bikes. He glances around, then sneaks to the back of the huge shrub. There’s the metal door we looked through before. I take out my Guild key and fit it into the lock. A click. Once again, the door swings open easily, the hinges well oiled. Dark steps lead down. Wheeling the bikes, we go in and close the door behind us.

  It’s very dark at the bottom of the steps, but as we start to pedal, the bicycles’ own lights come on, lighting up the way ahead.

  We don’t speak as we ride through the tunnels. Signposts and patches of rotting algae whizz by. There are signs pointing towards Brixton, Stockwell and Morden, as though it’s perfectly normal to travel around London by subterranean passageway. The stale air whips around us, our blazers flapping like capes.

  I barely know Brianna, but that doesn’t matter – she’s a fellow detective, and she needs our help. Creepy images keep playing in my mind like a newsreel – Brianna, bound and gagged in a dim room, a bright light full on her face while Maxwell looms over her, hand poised to strike. Then Maxwell is holding Brianna and sinking her, head-first, into a vat of liquid sugar, laughing and rubbing his hands together. The images are ridiculous – I just wish I could be sure they are wrong.

  At least cycling in the cool underground passageways is easier than running in the heat. The going is smooth. We’re travelling far faster than any journey above ground could have taken us, through the cramped streets of the ancient capital. From time to time we hear sirens overhead, or the sound of water close by. An occasional rat stops its routine to watch us, not used to humans in this parallel world.

  Eventually, one sign points up a staircase to Slade Gardens, which I know is in Brixton. We’re almost there. We shoulder our bikes and climb up a metal staircase to the surface.

  Brixton is buzzing with activity – the streets are full of people milling around market stalls selling clothes, fish, leather bags, piles of vegetables, cheap sunglasses. There’s a band on the corner playing steel drums. Everything is so lively, so jovial, it seems crazy that somewhere nearby Brianna is being held hostage. We cycle on, through the crowds.

  Even though it’s in London, I had half imagined the Sugarkane factory as a forbidding castle on an island that could only be reached at low tide. Instead, when Liam finally brakes to a halt, we’re at the gates of an ugly building, a lump of concrete topped with a corrugated-steel roof. Smoke pumps from funnels, tainting an otherwise clear blue sky. The factory is surrounded by a high fence.

  We walk round the perimeter, looking for a chink in the armour. But there are no gaps, and a line of barbed wire coils along the top of the fence.

  ‘It’s fairly uninviting.’ Liam points to a plaque on the gate, which reads – Stop! Visitors by appointment only. Trespassers will be dealt with SEVERELY.

  I rummag
e in my satchel and pull out my lock-picking kit. ‘I guess it will have to be a breaking-and-entering job then.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ He sounds impressed.

  ‘I dunno. Mum taught me, but it only works on simple locks. Still, it’s worth a shot.’

  I struggle with the lock for a few minutes while Liam looks on. The lock is much more complex than any that Mum had taught me to crack, but I’m determined not to give in.

  ‘Aggie, I don’t think it’s working,’ Liam says, at last.

  I put the kit away, admitting defeat. ‘So how are we going to get in, then?’

  But even as I speak there’s a buzzing sound, and the heavy gates swing open. We look at each other, freaked. There’s nobody in the courtyard in front of the factory, and I can’t see anyone at any of the windows. I glance up at the camera next to the gate, and it seems to go dark, like an eye closing.

  ‘Do we go in?’ he asks in a whisper.

  ‘I have to,’ I tell him. ‘Brianna might be in real danger, and nobody else knows she’s here. You don’t have to come, though. It might be a good idea to have someone on the outside, who knows where I am.’

  ‘If you’re going in, I’m coming with you,’ Liam says.

  I smile and nod to him, and we step through the iron gates. The gates buzz again as they shut behind us. We’ve made it inside. But we’re trapped.

  We stand for a moment, the closed gates at our back, wary of walking further into the grounds.

  ‘We have no choice,’ I say at last. ‘We have to find Brianna.’

  We move through the courtyard at the front of the factory, glancing around for anyone who might be coming for us. But there’s not a soul in sight. It’s eerie, knowing that someone saw us through that camera and opened the gates. But it’s too late to turn back now.

  We creep down the side of the main building until we reach a pair of huge wooden doors, which are three times my height and wide enough to take a lorry.

  I slowly push one of the doors open, keeping to the side in case someone is waiting to grab us. The door is heavy, and I have to put all my weight into pushing it. Nobody appears, and it’s dark inside. I look at Liam, who seems more uncertain by the minute.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, and step into the dark.

  He follows, and closes the door behind us. We’re in some kind of loading bay, and the air vibrates with a low hum. It feels like we’ve stepped into a buzzing hive. We stay still for a long moment, making no noise, hoping nobody has heard us enter. When nothing changes, I tug Liam’s sleeve and we edge through the darkness. At the other end of the bay I can see a sliver of light. It’s coming through the side of a door that has no lock. I look through the crack at the side of the door and see a vast room, full of what looks like stacked sugar cubes. But they aren’t sugar cubes – they’re sugar crates, painted white. The room is enormous.

  I move to one side to let Liam have a look.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispers.

  ‘This must be where they store the sugar. I think we’re in the warehouse.’

  He looks through the gap. ‘There must be a million crates in there …’

  ‘Can I have another look?’

  I press my eye to the door again, searching for anything that might help us. The white crates are piled as high as a double-decker bus, and ahead of us is a path between them. I can see nothing to our left or right. The only way is forward. On the ground, a coloured spot against the white – a blue jacket. My heart thumps.

  The jacket is Brianna’s – the one she wore over her uniform instead of her blazer, and I point it out to Liam.

  ‘What now?’ Liam whispers. ‘How are we going to move without being seen?’

  ‘Once we’re among the crates, I don’t think anyone will be able to see us. I can’t see anyone at the moment … Let’s go.’

  Liam grabs my arm to hold me back. ‘And what if someone does see us?’

  ‘You’ve got legs, haven’t you?’

  ‘Since when did you turn into an action hero, Agatha?’

  ‘When it became the only option … Come on.’

  I shake his hand from my arm, and push the door back. I step into the room and Liam follows. The door swings shut behind us, and we each put up a hand to shield our eyes. The fluorescent light shining off the crates is dazzling. For a moment, I can do nothing but wait for my eyes to adjust to the glare. Once I can see clearly, I start along the path, with Liam close behind me. Though we try to move silently, our footsteps echo in the huge space.

  We walk down an avenue of sugar crates. They’re piled high on either side, towering above our heads – I suppose these paths are left for forklift trucks to get through the stacks. We pass avenues branching off in both directions. We’re in a gigantic maze. The air is musty-sweet with sugar dust. All the time Brianna is in my head, and I feel I should be running instead of creeping. I fight the urge – if we get lost in the labyrinth, we can’t help her. As we walk, I make a mental note of how many turnings we pass on each side. Suddenly, from above us, a booming voice echoes –

  ‘Nice of you to join us, Miss Oddlow–low–low!’

  Liam says nothing, but he’s turned pale. I recognise the Glaswegian accent from before.

  ‘Come on,’ I say to Liam. ‘Don’t let him scare you.’

  I point to the ceiling, where CCTV cameras are fixed every few metres.

  ‘He knows we’re here, but I don’t think he’s in this room.’ I sound more confident than I feel.

  We turn left and right, down paths that widen and narrow. I mutter as I count the turnings under my breath. Some are a dead end, others split off to countless smaller paths. In some places, the white crates aren’t stacked straight up, but overlap like steps. We walk and walk – and soon, despite my attempt to keep track, I feel my head spinning in this alien landscape. The voice over the speakers booms out again –

  ‘And you brought a friend–end–end!’

  This time, the accent is polished and southern – a public schoolboy’s voice. This is definitely Patrick Maxwell – the suave figurehead of Alpha Aqua.

  ‘Do you have any idea where we’re going?’ Liam asks.

  ‘No, but I feel like we’re going round in circles … I’m going to climb that hill and have a look around.’

  ‘Hill?’

  ‘OK, stack of crates. Don’t you feel like you’re in a snowy valley?’

  ‘Yeah … It’s creepy, isn’t it? Are you sure it’s safe to climb up there? What if someone sees you?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like they can get to us quickly. Stay here.’

  I climb on to the first crate, then another and another. By the time I’ve climbed fourteen steps, Liam is far below. My breath is ragged from the climb and the fear of falling. Gripping the crate in front of me, I turn to look. The view makes me dizzy. In all directions are white hills and valleys, a wintery landscape. Below me I can see the paths, branching off in all directions, as far as the eye can see. What lunatic made this? Certainly, no warehouse foreman in his right mind – it’s like the work of an obsessive giant, stacking the contents of his sugar bowl.

  I imagine that I’m holding a polaroid camera in my hand. I hold it up to the maze and take a picture. The camera clicks and a little photo slowly scrolls out of the slot. I wait for a moment, while the memory-photo develops – turning from black to snowy white. I look at it closely, studying the paths. One part of the maze catches my attention. A single path leads to a clearing. I can’t see what’s in there, but it’s roughly in the middle of this gigantic room. I start to climb back down to Liam.

  ‘Follow me,’ I tell him.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I have a theory.’

  We walk on through the maze and Liam keeps quiet, sensing that I need to concentrate. If I think about anything else for a moment, the photograph might fade. Once or twice, I think I hear footsteps that aren’t our own, but it might just be an echo. Every time I give a signal to stop, there’s tota
l silence. We walk on, and I know we are close to the clearing. I pause for a second at a junction, trying to see from the picture what happens next. If Liam thinks it’s weird that I’m staring at a patch of blank air above my hand, he doesn’t say anything.

  The stacks of crates around us are sheer – there’s no way to climb up and look. I choose at random, turning left. We walk a short way, turn left again, and we’re in the clearing. It’s a perfect circle, stepped as though ready for an audience. It reminds me of old Roman amphitheatres, where Christians were thrown to the lions as entertainment.

  And there in the middle of the floor, tied up on her side, is Brianna.

  ‘Brianna!’

  Her eyes open wide. I run to her. She can’t speak – there’s tape over her mouth, and her whole body has been trussed up in a knot of ropes. She makes grunting noises, rolling her eyes, trying to communicate. I try to undo the ropes, but can’t find a start or finish to them. Liam steps in.

  ‘Let me.’

  I stand back and watch this new cool-in-a-crisis Liam. He untangles a few of the knots and the rest fall away. Brianna sits up and tears the tape from her mouth, gasping the sugar-filled air.

  ‘You came for me …’ She looks close to tears.

  ‘Brianna!’ I can’t resist hugging her. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I was just stepping out of my front door when someone put a bag over my head! They must have sedated me, because next thing I knew, I was here.’ She pauses to adjust her hair. ‘Uh, speaking of which, where are we?’

  ‘We’re in a sugar factory in Brixton,’ Liam says.

  ‘Oh right, of course.’ Brianna smirks. ‘Makes perfect sense. So how did you find me?’

  ‘Just used my little grey cells.’ I smile as I catch Liam’s eye.

  ‘Yes, you’re a little too good at that, aren’t you?’ a voice says behind us.

  I spin round to see Patrick Maxwell step into the clearing, his dark suit contrasting with the maze like an old black-and-white film. Calmly, he reaches inside his jacket and takes out a gun. With the appearance of that little piece of metal, I feel my heart begin to pump hard as adrenaline rushes into my system.