by Stephen Cole
Jonah’s heart started to race as he was pushed out of his cell. How many times had he trudged along this corridor, eyes down, trying to keep out of trouble? But suddenly the unit seemed like another world, strange and unreal to him. The lights were down low. Wisps of white smoke coiled about his ankles. He started to walk. Con had one hand on his shoulder, steering him onwards. It was unnaturally quiet, no one about, save for a few officers slumped against the walls or sprawled on the floor.
He didn’t want to know if they were dead or just sleeping. His mind had locked on a single thought, bright like the glass pellet trapped in his sweaty fist: You’re getting out. Jonah was picking up speed now, his feet slapping down on the corridor, breaking into a stumbling run. It’s really going to happen.
They were headed for the next wing. It seemed a roundabout route to the main exit. Jonah glanced back at Con, puzzled.
‘Not safe to go out the same way we came in,’ she told him. ‘The caps only stun. The screws we zapped will be waking up.’
A turn in the corridor revealed a heavy iron door blocking their way.
‘What the hell is this?’ Con looked at Jonah accusingly as if he’d put it there himself. ‘This wasn’t on the plans.’
‘Looks new.’ Patch sniffed. ‘Yeah, smell that oil. The lock’s still lubed.’ He plunged two delicate metal rods into the keyhole and shook his head. ‘They use five-pin tumblers and call a place secure. It’s a bleedin’ insult.’
‘Could you stop being offended and just pick the damn thing?’
‘What, Con?’ The door swung open and Patch smiled cheekily. ‘Couldn’t hear what you said. Too busy picking the damn thing.’
‘That’s faster than the screws manage with a key,’ said Jonah.
Con shoved him through the doorway. ‘You can praise him later.’
‘Don’t let her boss you, Jonah,’ said Patch. ‘You can praise me right now. I can take it.’
Con was pushing them both along the corridor now, forcing them into a run. Noise was starting up, hoarse shouts and swearing from the cells, jeering and laughter. When no screws slapped them down, they grew bolder, louder, started banging on their doors. Jonah could feel the fear and excitement building around him.
‘Animals,’ said Con darkly. ‘We should have drugged the whole lot of them, not just your block.’
‘You drugged my whole block?’ Jonah skidded to a halt. ‘How the hell did you –?’
‘Keep moving,’ Con told him.
‘We spiked the chicken and the tuna in the canteen,’ Patch told him, ignoring a glare from Con. ‘You’re a veggie, aren’t you?’
‘How’d you know that?’
‘Only four lettuce-lovers in your whole block.’ Again, Patch grinned. ‘Guess the other three sleep heavy.’
‘We knew noise like this would only make you more scared,’ said Con. ‘Harder work.’
Jonah folded his arms. ‘Right. Nothing to do with the fact that you can’t do that creepy hypnotism unless it’s quiet?’
‘Mesmerism,’ she corrected him with a tight smile. ‘It is called mesmerism, yes? Now, move.’
She shoved Jonah forward, urging him to run through the harsh contours of the block. But his mind was racing way ahead. Drugged food? Stun bombs? Just what the hell was he getting himself into? These people had the cash and the know-how to pull off a spectacular jailbreak, and yet they were pretty much kids like he was. Con had mastered some freaky hypnosis thing, Patch could open a door faster than Jonah could open an envelope. But was Motti their boss or just another specialist – good with electrics, perhaps?
Whatever, they were going to big trouble to break Jonah out. It didn’t take a genius to know they must need him for his little speciality – Jonah Wish, the cipherpunk.
But what if he didn’t want to play ball? What would happen to him then?
‘We made it!’ Patch kicked open the door that led out to the reception area. Jonah ran through, saw two officers slumped on the desk, snoring softly. One of them was Wilson. Clearly he’d done just as he was told.
The main doors stood unbolted.
‘Worked like a charm. No one lifted a finger to stop us!’ Con smiled. ‘Lock that door behind us, Patch.’ While her accomplice got busy, she held out a hand to Jonah. ‘OK, let me have that cap I gave you.’
Jonah looked between her and the main doors. Then he smiled, reached out his hand …
Shut his eyes and threw the cap down at her feet.
The glass burst with a blinding light and a thick fog of smoke. He heard Patch swear. Con shouted as she jumped back and crashed into the reception desk. But Jonah was already running for the doors.
‘Sorry,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘but you did say life was about opportunities.’
Heart in his mouth, Jonah slung open one of the doors. He felt the night air cold on his face, and a moment’s euphoria. They’d wanted him to go with them, and he had – as far as the exit. Now it was time to make and take his own chances.
The yard outside was dark and silent. A white van was parked close by – had to be Con and Patch’s friend, OK’d by Wilson and let through at the main gate. Jonah swiftly changed direction, backing off round the side of the reception building. He’d never make it past the guards on foot, but there had to be some other way of getting out of this –
He gasped as something fell on him from above, knocking him to the ground – or rather, somebody. Before he could catch his breath, he was dragged to his feet and shoved up against the wall by a tall, rangy guy with black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a razor-cut goatee.
The guy’s hand closed threateningly on his throat. ‘Going somewhere, Jonah?’
‘S’pose not,’ gasped Jonah, and the pressure on his throat relaxed a little. The guy was maybe twenty, sounded American. His fierce scowl would have been more intimidating if his round-rimmed glasses hadn’t come loose in the tumble – the left lens was now perched on his nose. ‘You must be Motti. The boss man.’
‘Boss man? Him?’ Jonah turned to find Patch and Con slipping through the shadows towards them, Patch laughing like a drain. ‘Wait till Coldhardt hears!’
Jonah frowned. ‘Coldhardt?’
‘Shut your dumb mouth, Patch,’ Motti hissed, quickly straightening his glasses. ‘What gives with the geek getaway, Con? Losing your touch?’
‘He’s got more nerve than we thought.’ Con shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to put him under. I thought it best he could watch out for himself if we found trouble.’
‘Looks to me like he is trouble,’ said Motti. ‘Maybe we should just off him now. Say sayonara.’
Con arched an eyebrow. ‘You want to explain that to Coldhardt?’
He shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
‘Smells to me like it already did.’ Jonah forced himself to face Motti’s stare; he’d learned a thing or two about standing up to creeps these last two months inside. ‘What happened, get scared up on the dark spooky roof all by yourself?’
Patch sniggered, but Motti only tightened his grip on Jonah’s throat once more. ‘Careful, geek. Working the lights from up there was a cinch – and I can punch out yours just as easily. You got a big mouth.’
‘And a fair-sized brain,’ Jonah gasped, acting about twenty degrees cooler than he felt. ‘Which is why Coldhardt sent you here to spring me, right? So how about you stop wasting time and get on with it.’
‘He’s right,’ said Con. ‘We’re pushing our luck already. Come on, Tye is waiting.’ She grabbed Jonah by the hand and pulled him free of Motti’s grip.
Now, as well as fear, Jonah felt embarrassed as he was dragged towards the white van. He knew Con must be able to feel him trembling. But to his surprise, as Motti and Patch caught up with them she simply gave his hand a little squeeze of reassurance.
Motti slid open the rear door. ‘Get in, Patch. C’mon, Con, you too. Guards on the gate need to think Tye’s come back out alone.’
Con shook her head. ‘I’m taking the fron
t. I’ll crouch down out of sight.’
‘No way. What if the guards on the gate look in and see you?’
‘They won’t. It’ll be cool.’
‘Jeez, Con, you knew the plan. As soon as we’re clear of this dump you can get out and –’
‘I’m taking the front!’ Con opened the passenger door and climbed nimbly inside, slamming it shut behind her.
‘What was all that about?’ hissed Jonah.
‘Don’t go there,’ muttered Motti. He roughly bundled Jonah inside after Patch, then scrambled in himself.
The moment he’d shut the door, the van engine roared into life. It was pitch black – the windows were blanked out and a divider had been put up between the front and the rear. Jonah felt sick with nerves.
‘Don’t make a sound,’ said Motti. ‘Do anything to get the guards’ attention and I swear I’ll kill you.’
‘Go easy, Mot,’ muttered Patch.
The van pulled away. Thirty seconds later, when it came to a sudden halt, Jonah’s heart almost stopped with it.
A quiet hum: electric window winding down. Footsteps outside.
‘Dougie’s show over already, is it, love?’ A man’s voice, smug and knowing; you could almost hear the leer in it. ‘Didn’t take long.’
‘Do you imagine it ever takes long with Dougie?’ a girl’s voice replied, to guffaws of laughter. This had to be Tye. She had a nice voice – a touch rougher than Con’s, warmer, with just an edge of Caribbean accent.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ said a second guard suddenly. ‘Who’re you trying to kid?’
A pause. Tye acted innocent. ‘What d’you mean?’
Someone banged hard on the side of the van. Jonah held himself dead still, not even daring to breathe.
‘Got the poor sod tied up in the back, ain’tcha? Taking him off for a private performance, right?’
More laughter. Jonah blew out his breath, cradled his head in his hands.
‘He wishes,’ said Tye. ‘Well, so long, guys. Oh – here’s my agency’s card. If you want to see what you missed, give them a call. Ask me nice, I might come back …’
Amid wolf whistles and filthy laughter, the van pulled away. Jonah heard a whirring, grinding noise as the gate lifted up to let it pass. Then Tye stepped on the accelerator, turned hard on to the road.
‘We did it,’ breathed Motti. He whooped loudly. ‘We did it!’ He and Patch shifted forward and pulled down the partition. Suddenly Jonah was staring out at streetlights and shops and office blocks. At windows with blinds, not bars. At the wide, black night and the stars that shone over the sleeping city.
‘I’m out,’ he murmured. ‘Free.’
Con clambered up from the footwell of the passenger seat, grinning broadly, no trace of her earlier mood remaining. ‘Look what I was hiding under!’ She lifted up a big brown paper bag, spotted with grease. ‘The smell was driving me crazy!’
‘Mac attack!’ cheered Patch. ‘Gimme.’
‘I almost dug in there and then, and screw the guards!’ Con started flinging burgers and fries into the back. The van soon began to stink of fast food.
‘It’s all cold by now,’ said Tye. She didn’t turn around, her eyes fixed firmly on the road. All Jonah could see was the smooth, dark skin of the nape of her neck, the way her straightened black hair bounced with every bump.
‘Big Macs taste better cold,’ Patch informed her. ‘It’s official. How God intended.’
‘Nah, God’s a quarter-cheese man.’ Motti bit off a chunk. ‘’S why it tastes like heaven.’
‘Got you a beanburger, Jonah,’ said Tye. ‘Is that cool?’
Jonah was speechless. A few minutes ago these people had stormed a prison, calm as you like. And they’d actually got him out. It had been like something out of the movies. Now suddenly all that was forgotten, and they were just kids hanging out in a van, stuffing themselves with junk food.
Con passed him the burger. ‘Eat.’
‘Why not?’ he said, peeling off the shiny paper and taking a bite of cold stodge in breadcrumbs. ‘It’s three-fifteen in the morning, I’ve just been broken out of prison, I’ve no idea who you are or what you really want or what happens now –’
‘Did you get me a strawberry shake, Tye?’ wondered Patch. ‘You know I love a strawberry shake.’
‘They only had vanilla.’ She passed the drink over her shoulder.
‘Shouldn’t you be dumping this van?’ asked Jonah. ‘I mean, those phosphor caps just stun, you said.’
‘Pretty much. A bright flash and some smoke.’ Con had already all but devoured her chicken sandwich, and looked a lot less sophisticated with mayo round her mouth, giggling as she tried to snag a piece of lettuce from her lips with her little finger. ‘Still nasty at close range. Lucky for you, I don’t bear grudges.’
‘Unlucky for you, she don’t bare nothing else,’ sighed Patch. ‘Not even for money.’
‘So they’ll be up and after us any time,’ said Jonah through another mouthful of burger. ‘They’ll be looking for a white van, circulating my description. And Tye’s, and Con’s and –’
‘Gee, d’you think?’ said Motti.
‘They won’t find us.’ Con sounded utterly sure of herself. ‘Not a hope in hell.’
Jonah saw they were heading out of the city now, for the thin strips of countryside beyond. He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly tired. ‘Does Coldhardt live nearby, then?’
Knowing looks passed between them, some smiles. But they said nothing.
‘Fine. Have fun with your little in-joke,’ said Jonah. ‘S’pose I’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Sorry, mate.’ Patch dug an elbow in Jonah’s ribs. ‘But cheer up. You’ll soon be in on the joke too. Coldhardt thinks you should join up.’
‘Lucky us,’ drawled Motti. Con threw her last fry at him.
‘Why would he go to all this trouble for me? What does he want?’ Jonah dropped the half-eaten bean-burger in his lap. He felt sick now, as well as tired. ‘Who the hell is this Coldhardt, anyway?’
Con grinned at him. ‘The man who is going to change your life.’
Motti nodded. ‘Or maybe end it.’
‘You got a real chip on your shoulder today, man,’ Patch observed.
‘Con threw it there,’ he joked, and the two of them cracked up.
Jonah shook his head. ‘What did I do to get mixed up in this?’
‘You got noticed,’ said Tye, quietly rejoining the conversation as she swung the van on to a minor road. ‘You stood out.’
‘I spent my whole life trying to avoid standing out.’ Jonah said. ‘Good to know that’s one more thing I can’t do.’ He knew he was sounding like a whining kid, but he didn’t care. He was angry, tired and feeling sicker than ever. ‘Listen … What if I don’t want to join up with you and your precious Coldhardt? Will … will you let me go?’
No one spoke.
‘Only … if I see where he lives and stuff, and I want out … I’m a threat to him, aren’t I? I could – I could lead the cops to him …’
‘Only if you sleepwalk,’ said Con, almost fondly. ‘You seem very tired, no? Too sleepy to move. No threat to anyone.’
‘Wanna bet? I can snore loud enough to make your ears bleed.’ Jonah shook his head, tried to clear it. ‘It’s late. I didn’t get any sleep …’
He jumped as Patch slipped an arm round him, leaned in with a confidential air. ‘It could also be to do with the way we spiked the chicken and tuna in your block last night.’
‘I never ate that stuff.’
‘True.’ He crumpled up a greasy plastic wrapper. ‘But y’know, it’s even easier to spike a single bean-burger.’
‘You …’ Jonah willed his eyes to focus, but it was no good. He felt he was falling into a dark, dark tunnel. ‘You load of –’
‘Oi, watch the language, mate,’ Patch’s echoing voice carried distantly through the blackness. ‘I’m just a kid. Remember?’
Chapter Three
He pushed off the enormous, squashy duvet and sat up, taking in the antiqued floorboards and the marble bathroom through the doorway. A chunky dark wooden chest of drawers was loaded with salon grooming products, while the open wardrobe was crammed with clothes for just about every occasion – suits and jeans and hoodies. He recognised some of the labels: as pricey as everything else seemed to be around here.
But then Jonah’s eyes fixed and lingered on a serious-looking media-centre PC, with a widescreen flat panel display and surround sound, dominating a desk in the corner. He recognised the make with a quake of surprise – a flash new breed, not meant to be hitting the high street for ages.
Jonah flexed his fingers, started to scramble out of bed. He’d dreamed of owning a machine like this. And it was so long since he’d heard the comforting click of the keys as he –
He froze, remembering some old, old advice about sweets and strangers. This must be Coldhardt’s place.
Whose room was this?
A chair had been placed beside the bed. A glass of water sat on the arm with a note beside it in an extravagant scrawl: ‘Drink me – I will refresh. PS I am not spiked.’
‘Ha, ha,’ said Jonah darkly. But he drained the lot. Almost straight away his head seemed to clear a little.
He pulled aside one curtain, shielded his eyes from the bright blue sky. The view was as five-star as the rest of the room – a vineyard sloping away down a hillside, lawns that looked trimmed by nail scissors, and in the distance, a narrow, winding country road snaking between cornfields.
No clues as to where he was, or how long he’d been out. He couldn’t see a single person, a solitary car. It could be miles and miles to civilisation, so even if he could get out undetected, running away was hardly an option.
Jonah lay back in the bed, perspiring slightly. His abductors had planned things perfectly. But what now?