by Stephen Cole
She twisted round and threw Patch into the pool. He made a splash like a depth charge. ‘Filthy little boy.’
‘He’s got a point, though,’ said Jonah, earning him raised eyebrows from Con and Tye. ‘About the swords, I mean,’ he added hastily. ‘To find out that after all that, Coldhardt’s going to give the swords straight back to Kabacra . . .’
‘What is that about?’ Con muttered.
‘Guess we’ll know what’s going down when Coldhardt says, not before,’ said Motti.
‘Interesting point of view, Mot,’ said Patch from the pool. ‘But me, I got a better one. Butt me – get it?’
Con glanced behind her to find Patch staring up at her ass. She sighed wearily, trod on his head and used it as a springboard for a perfect dive that barely rippled the water.
Motti laughed as Patch bobbed back up, spluttering. ‘Hey, can anyone have a go, cyclops?’
Jonah smiled, while Tye shook her head in mock-weariness and lay back down on her sunbed. But as the hot sun climbed higher into the sky, the mood seemed a little lighter.
* * *
In the end, the summons to Coldhardt came at six that evening – for Tye and Jonah at least. It turned out they weren’t needed for the next stage of Coldhardt’s plan – a face-to-face meet with Kabacra. Tye shuddered, happy to leave that little pleasure to Motti, Patch and Con.
An hour later, Tye was back in the plane’s cockpit with Jonah bumping along the runway as she took them up. Soon Guatemala’s lush landscape was dwindling to a green smear through the windows.
‘Looks so peaceful from the air, doesn’t it?’ said Jonah, looking down over the hills and inlets of Puerto Barrios.
‘I guess.’ Tye let her mind drift back to her smuggling days there, when nothing was peaceful. No big funding and clever friends to fall back on when she was thirteen. Just her and a boy.
A boy who’d promised her the world, then brought it crashing down around her ears.
She glanced across at Jonah as she levelled out the plane. What would this boy wind up doing? It felt so weird, there just being the two of them on board. And what was weirder, now she actually had the time and space to talk to him in private, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
‘So have you often come up against armed guards trying to fill your back full of bullets?’ asked Jonah conversationally.
‘Is that, like, a line?’ she asked, deadpan. He grinned and so did she, but she caught the anxiety in his eyes. ‘Yeah, I have, a couple of times. And yeah, it never stops being scary as hell.’
‘But still you do what Coldhardt says.’
‘What else am I going to do?’ She shot him a look. ‘Anyway, you can’t be complaining about our latest assignment: Go back to the swanky new base in New Mexico and start mucking about with your precious computers –’
‘Hey! I’m sorting out the computer hub, thank you, the heart of Coldhardt’s –’
‘– mucking about with your precious computers in between lounging and doing nothing. Apart from fixing me drinks and food.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah! Coldhardt’s not getting a cook in till next month!’
‘Well, it’s lucky I make a mean Pot Noodle, then.’ Jonah smiled. ‘OK, I admit it – we didn’t pull the shortest straw. I’m in no hurry to meet this Kabacra guy with the others. Saw his picture in the containment vessel, and I’d rather look at Patch’s bum anyday.’
‘Oh yes?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Something you want to tell me?’
He smiled, then blushed just slightly. ‘Lots,’ he said.
Tye’s mouth went dry for a moment. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘I’m supposed to be teaching you to fly this thing. Not that you really need me. You’re getting good.’
Jonah grimaced. ‘Can’t drive a car to save my life but I’m OK in a plane. My life’s turned totally mental.’
She put the plane on to autopilot. ‘But you’re happier than when you were in prison, right? All alone, no family, no –’
‘Of course I am. With you and the guys, it feels like . . .’ He trailed off, self-conscious. ‘Suppose I’d be even happier without the armed guards, the bullets and all that.’
‘Well, I guess we’d all like to make as good a living singing carols in old people’s homes and selling cookies door to door,’ said Tye. ‘But think how quick you’d get bored. Think how ordinary people must have it, doing the same dull stuff day after day.’
‘I wouldn’t mind taking a holiday to Dullsville now and then.’
‘Wise up, Jonah,’ she said, not unkindly, as she thought about her time running contraband between the Caribbean islands. ‘There’s a price on anything worth having.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He looked out of the cabin window, lost in thought. Then he got out of the co-pilot’s seat. ‘So I suppose we should get on with the lesson. Can I take over here?’
‘Go right ahead,’ she told him, rising to take his place. ‘You have control.’
He smiled ruefully back at her. ‘I wish.’
Coldhardt’s newly acquired base was a huge ranch in northern New Mexico set in five hundred acres of wild terrain. Jonah stood on the veranda as the sun slowly set, listening to the gentle rush of the Tierra Amarilla river flowing carelessly through the grounds, just as he had before they’d flown out to Guatemala.
The black speck of a helicopter whirred quietly through the darkening sky, and Jonah wondered where it was going. Growing up, he’d had a thing about planes and their destinations – always wishing he was on board, flying out of his miserable home-life. Now, to his amazement, he was actually glad his feet were on the ground. He’d already made a start on getting the computers up and running. Structurally, everything was in place, so he’d cabled up the patch panels and tonight he’d start on –
‘Nice, huh?’ Tye had come to join him with a couple of beers.
‘Yep, they’re the best beers I ever saw.’
It was a lame joke, but he was pleased to see she smiled anyway. ‘You can’t help but lose yourself in a sunset like that,’ she said.
‘Er, right.’ That and the joys of network hubs. ‘Cheers.’ He took a long swig from one of the bottles. ‘So, does Coldhardt’s getting this little holiday home mean he’ll be losing one of his others?’
‘Maybe,’ said Tye. ‘He had a base in Bucharest he sold off last year when he bought the castello in Siena. The main base in Geneva is his only real home, I guess. The others he just buys and sells as and when it’s convenient.’
Jonah shook his head, bemused. ‘I’ll bet that if his car ran out of petrol he’d leave it at the roadside and buy another.’
‘Uh-uh. I’m his driver. I carry a petrol can in the back.’ She necked her beer. ‘There is something about this place though. Found it while I was looking around. Something I haven’t seen in any of Coldhardt’s other homes.’
‘The mysterious act would work better if you didn’t have beer froth on your nose,’ Jonah teased her.
‘Want to see?’
‘See what?’
‘Follow me.’ She took him by the hand and led him back into the spacious living room. The swift clomping of her low-heeled shoes on the hardwood floor was a close match for his heart. He wanted to squeeze her fingers, or grip her hand more firmly, but what if she snatched it away? What if she just stared at him, or laughed in his face – or landed a punch there instead? Tye kickboxed, she was not someone you wanted to mess with . . .
He tried to stay unflustered as she went on towing him through to the dining room, into the hall and down some stairs to the wine cellar, her fingers soft and warm around his sweaty hand. She led him towards the rear of the room, then, to his surprise, squeezed between two large dusty racks of vintage red and drew him up close beside her.
He looked at her in the dim light, confused, excited, silently urging himself to just lean in and kiss her. Surely she would be OK with that if she had led him –
‘It’s here,’ she whispered, then turned a
way from him to face the wall. Her fingers twitched at a black covering there, pulling at it to reveal a chunky slab of metal. It took Jonah a couple of seconds to process what he was seeing: a door, formidable-looking like it belonged in a bank vault. It gleamed dully in the low light.
Jonah pushed his hands in his pockets, as if trying to stuff his disappointment down there. ‘I, er . . . I guess this wasn’t something left behind by the last owners. Sneaky old Motti, huh, coming up with this on the quiet.’
‘If it was Motti.’ Tye looked at him. ‘You heard the way he was bitching about being overworked trying to secure the grounds before we left. He never once mentioned this.’
‘Maybe it’s a secret.’
‘If he was keeping something back, I’d know.’ Tye looked thoughtful. ‘Why would Coldhardt send just the two of us back here, Jonah?’
‘Duh! Because I’m fixing up the computers here, and as designated pilot you have to take me.’
‘But if he’s going to meet with Kabacra, does he really need Motti, Patch and Con to hold his hand?’
Jonah shrugged. ‘He must figure he needs them for something.’
‘Or else he doesn’t want the locksmith, the security man and the greedy girl to stumble on this while he’s away.’ Tye’s dark eyes were agleam. ‘I think it’s his private collection. His buried treasure.’
‘New Mex marks the spot.’ Jonah felt a slow smile spreading over his face. ‘I guess he has to keep his stash of goodies somewhere, right?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can you imagine how must have in there?’ much his collection must be worth? How much he must have in there?’
‘By the look of that door, you’d need a nuclear bomb to get inside.’
Tye grimaced. ‘Just ask Kabacra to fetch one.’
Just then they heard a muffled crash from upstairs. Both of them jumped. ‘What the hell was that?’ breathed Jonah.
‘The grounds are secured,’ Tye reminded him, rearranging the black curtain. ‘Motti designed the systems himself.’
‘And like we’ve just agreed, he’s been overworked.’
‘Probably just the wind, knocking something over. We left the veranda doors open, remember?’ She placed her hand on his chest, gave him a gentle push. ‘But we should go check.’
Jonah didn’t move. He liked feeling her hand there. She didn’t move it. He realised the rhythm of her breathing matched his own. There was a look in her eyes, like she was daring him to make the first move.
He was just edging his face closer to hers when they heard it again.
‘Come on,’ said Tye, steering him firmly out of her way now, the moment lost. She quickly crossed the cellar and scaled the staircase. Jonah swore under his breath and jogged after her.
But when he emerged into the brighter light of the hallway, there was no sign of her. ‘Tye?’ he called, and walked through to the dining room.
Too late he saw the dark figure hiding behind the door jump out at him. Jonah twisted round and brought his arms up over his face to deflect the blow he glimpsed coming, but it was like being whacked with an iron bar. He fell backwards, gasping as the heavy mahogany edge of the dining table bit into his spine. As his attacker rushed towards him, masked in black from head to foot, Jonah threw himself back on the table, brought up both legs and kicked out with all his strength. His feet crunched into the face beneath the balaclava; by the grunt of pain that came back at him, his attacker was male.
Swiftly, Jonah performed a backward roll and slithered off the table, keeping it between him and his assailant. The masked man had slumped to the floor, but was he really dazed or just shamming? More importantly, where the hell was Tye?
Leaving the man where he lay, Jonah hurried into the living room – in time to see Tye’s prone body being carried out on to the veranda by two burly guys, also in masks. A far shorter man was urging them on.
‘Get off her!’ Jonah bawled.
‘Quickly, Xavier!’ the smaller man called back into the house, in a well-educated voice.
Jonah looked around for a likely weapon, settled for a heavy candlestick and started after them. Please don’t be armed, he thought, feeling sick with fear and adrenaline.
But then sudden ragged footfalls behind him signalled the return of his attacker – Xavier. Jonah turned, swung the candlestick, but it was knocked from his hand by a hard blow to the wrist. Vivid green eyes blazed into his own and suddenly Xavier’s other hand was clamped tight round Jonah’s throat, forcing him to the floor. Jonah flailed out with both arms but couldn’t twist clear of the man’s grip, couldn’t breathe. The pressure began to build in his head, and the man’s masked face blurred in Jonah’s vision. He felt something drip on to his cheek. Blood, he thought, I hurt him. So he reached out, grabbed Xavier’s nose through his mask and twisted hard.
With a shout of pain his attacker recoiled, and Jonah tore himself free, gulping down air. If I’m going to stand a chance I have to end this quickly, he told himself, and threw himself on top of the masked man. He aimed a punch but Xavier bucked beneath him, and Jonah lost his balance. As he toppled sideways on to the hardwood floor, his fingers snagged on something round the man’s neck, something that came away in his frantic grip.
By the time Jonah had rolled over and got up on his knees, Xavier was back on his feet. He kicked Jonah in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards into the fireplace. The metal grate hammered into the back of Jonah’s skull, sent bright lights and patterns flashing over his vision. Terrified of what Xavier might do next, gritting his teeth, Jonah forced himself to get back up, raised his fists.
But by the time his vision had cleared, so had the room. He was alone.
‘Tye?’ Jonah shouted, stumbling over to the veranda. The cold mountain air stung his cheeks, and soon he was shivering. ‘Tye!’ He put his hand to the back of his head. It came away sticky with a thick slime of blood.
God, that’s mine, he thought, and finally passed out.
Check out these other high-flying adventures from Bloomsbury!
“Dear Hollywood: What are you waiting for? This book has ‘movie potential’ stamped on it in huge red letters.” —Teenreads.com
Look for the sequel,
WEB OF FIRE
“The high-speed car chases, spectacularly gory deaths and Arthurian echoes seem tailor-made for a Hollywood action flick.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
Don’t miss the sequel,
THE SEAL OF SOLOMON
www.bloomsburyusa.com
Copyright © 2006 by Stephen Cole
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in Great Britain by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc in 2006
Published in the United States by Bloomsbury U.S.A. Children’s Books in 2006
Paperback edition published in April 2007
Electronic edition published in August 2012
www.bloomsburykids.com
Published by Bloomsbury U.S.A. Children’s Books
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
Distributed to the trade by Holtzbrinck Publishers
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Cole, Stephen.
Thieves like us / by Stephen Cole. — 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: A mysterious benefactor hand-picks a group of teen geniuses
to follow a set of clues leading to the secrets of everlasting life,
secrets which they must steal and for which they risk being killed.
[1. Adventure and adventurers–Fiction. 2
. Interpersonal relations–Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.C67356Thi 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005030616
ISBN 978-1-6196-3084-0 (e-book)