I went to stand but my knees buckled. Charlie caught me.
‘A second, please,’ he said.
The usher moved to just beside the door.
‘No one’s taking you anywhere today,’ said Charlie. ‘Even if the decision goes against us, you still go home. Nothing happens today, Dan.’
I nodded. Mum and Dad hugged and kissed me and I walked through the door into the court. I glanced at the judge – it was a woman this time, not young, not smiling. The usher led me into the box with the solid Perspex screen that ran from floor to ceiling. The door automatically locked as he left me inside with the security guard – not young, not smiling.
I was aware of Mum and Dad sitting in the chairs at the back, but couldn’t look. There were other people too – I don’t know who they were.
I leant against the backrest and caught sight of stairs – grey concrete steps, ready to lead the convicted straight from the court down to rat-infested dungeons, solitary, cells with murderers shaking the metal bars …
Stop it, Dan.
I shifted forwards, turned so I couldn’t see the stairs to hell. Caught the guard’s eye, but he didn’t react. I was yet another criminal.
The hearing began. The judge’s voice was like a radio, stereoed into my cubicle complete with interference. I couldn’t concentrate.
At some point I went on to automatic pilot, like Angel’s drone when it flew down the Norfolk coast towards London. Words were spoken to me and Dan Langley’s voice answered. Charlie Tate’s voice rose and fell and his body weaved from side to side. The judge asked questions. The lawyer for the other side said bad words: damage, destruction, fear, terror, threats, complicit, calculating. I heard ‘human rights’ said again and again, but didn’t feel that I had any in my Perspex box. The clerk clarified something that someone else said. I heard ‘ADHD’ and remembered taking the little white pills. The arguments became background, like lift music, as other memories flooded my mind. El saying her lines in the Nativity with her thumb still in her mouth. The only goal I ever scored. Eating pizza at Joe’s.
I felt cold. Thought about fainting. That would be nice. Collapsing and waking up to find a nurse looking after me. Or Ruby. That would be better.
All the sound disappeared. I forced my attention back to the court. The judge was talking to the clerk, quietly. A conflab. I leant towards the screen, hoping to catch what she was saying, lip-read …
Bent forwards, I could only get air from the very top of my lungs. I sat back, tried to make my body do the yogic breathing, but saw the steps again, imagined myself being escorted down them while Mum beat against the Perspex with her fists … The memory of Dad trying to talk about the automatic right to appeal flashed into my mind. Was that what they were huddled together talking about? Had the Home Secretary changed the law? What if I was going straight to a holding cell at the airport? Little breaths were all that I could manage. I felt fluttery. The glass box seemed smaller.
I looked at Charlie.
Help me.
He acknowledged me, stood up to speak.
‘Not a word at this stage, Mr Tate,’ said the judge.
Charlie sat back down. No idea what was going on.
My eyes sought out Mum. She was leaning against Dad but straightened up when she saw me look, and pushed her hair away from her face. I wanted her to get me out of the incubator and take me home. She held on to my stare, like she was holding the whole of me.
‘Stand please, Daniel.’
I did as I was told, but my eyes stayed trained on Mum.
‘Daniel, you need to listen to me,’ said the judge.
I didn’t react.
The security guard tapped my elbow.
I forced my head round to look back at her – the woman who was allowed to decide whether I could stay with my own family in my own country.
The judge looked straight at me as she gave her decision.
‘Daniel Adam Langley, I have taken into account everything that has been said on your behalf, but —’ The room gasped, ‘— have concluded that the request of the Government of the United States of America to have you extradited to that country must be granted.’
59
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll help clear your head.’
The sleeping tablet had knocked me out. Good idea of Charlie’s. He was a bit of an oddball lawyer but you couldn’t fault his supplies of food, drink and drugs.
‘OK,’ I said.
I wasn’t sure when Ruby was coming over so I texted her:
going round the downs with mum – text you when back xxxxxx
My battery was on three per cent so I left my phone charging in my room, grabbed some trainers and braced myself for the heart to heart that was coming.
We’d rushed out of the court to be met by a thousand camera flashes, spent ages with Charlie going through the appeals process and zoomed back to Bristol pretty late. All Mum and Dad said before I went to bed was, ‘We’ll fight and fight.’
I knew they would, but wasn’t sure how much fight I had left in me.
We dawdled up St Albans Road to North View. The man in the café waved at us with a sad face. I did one of those robot waves back, like the queen does.
‘I’m proud of you, Dan. Truly, I am. You’ve done everything you can to put things right. It’s not your fault.’
I was welling up again, luckily she stopped the soppy stuff just in time.
‘We’ve got to get on with living,’ she said, an upbeat voice. ‘We can’t let them rob us of now.’
‘“Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’”,’ I said. (The Shawshank Redemption – Mum’s favourite film.)
‘Exactly.’
She put her arm through mine, and we walked in step, despite my six-inch height advantage. It’s three miles to the Sea Walls and back. The sun was shining and the sky was blue, with odd streaks of white webbing. It was too early to be hot but it might be later. As usual there were joggers, dog-walkers (and dog poo), pushchairs and cyclists. It was so utterly normal, and yet not.
‘If I’d had any idea, when I was messing about … if I’d known it would cause all this … all this … worry … upsetting everyone, I’d never —’
‘Dan, you don’t need to say anything. We understand, really … we do. The hack was stupid … teenagers are allowed to be stupid, it says so in the instructions.’ She smiled. ‘Remember, the police here agreed you have no charges to answer. You’re not the villain, the American government is.’ She paused. ‘Charlie says you’re a pawn in a game of chess you never agreed to play.’
‘He likes to talk the talk,’ I said.
Mum grinned.
‘Fancy a flapjack?’
I nodded. I’d missed at least three meals.
We were by the café on the Downs. She went inside to order and I sat down at one of the round tables outside, near two men in Lycra shorts. I moved two chairs so we wouldn’t have to stare at the sun – saw them look at me. They knew who I was. Mum came back out, said, ‘Hello’ to three women who were tying up their dogs – Bristol’s like a village – and plonked the Guardian on the table. The front page was all about me.
The dark side of the “special relationship”
There was a massive photo – it was taken as I came out of the glass doors of Westminster Magistrate’s Court onto the street. Ruby had her arms round my neck. You could see the side of her face, hair tucked behind her ear as usual – one way of letting her mum know! My head was on her shoulder, and my arms were wrapped round so far I looked like an orangutan. What the photo didn’t show was her whispering, ‘I love you, Fella.’
‘Read it, then,’ said Mum. ‘Let’s see what Amanda has to say about it all.’
I started to read aloud.
‘Yesterday’s decision to allow the extradition of sixteen-year-old Dan …’
The sound of brakes made me stop reading and turn my head. Mum did the same. Two cars beeped angrily as a silver Mercedes swung across
the main road and jerked to a halt. Charlie got out, waving as he walked round to the pavement side. Goosebumps, an over-fast heart rate and a dry mouth happened all at the same time. My confidence in justice had been obliterated by the court experience, leaving me convinced that if the Home Secretary clicked her fingers I’d be straight on an Airbus. Maybe today …
‘Mum?’ No other words came out …
‘Don’t worry.’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘I think he’s got Gran in the front.’
The back door opened and Ruby stepped out with a massive smile. She opened the passenger door and waited for Gran. El scrambled out of the back. The four of them walked in a line across the strip of grass, the path, more grass, and the cycle path. It took a century.
‘Hello,’ said Mum, ‘what’s all this?’ Her voice was jolly, but fake.
‘Do either of you ever think of taking a phone?’ said Charlie. ‘I’ve been to every “known whereabouts” and found everyone but Dan.’
‘Well … you’ve found him now,’ said Mum, still fake.
Spit it out, someone.
I looked at Ruby, too terrified to ask. She was still smiling. Pleased to see me, or being brave …?
‘Dan!’ said Charlie. His gut, which was spilling over his waistband as usual, was level with my face. I stood up. It made me feel less like a victim. It also drew everyone’s attention to us – the hacking boy from yesterday’s breaking news and his dishevelled lawyer.
‘What is it?’ I said.
Despite the traffic, Charlie’s voice was the only sound. ‘I have received instructions this morning from the Office of the US Attorney General, via the Home Secretary …’ He paused to get his breath. ‘… To the effect that the extradition request has been withdrawn.’
He bear-hugged me.
‘It’s all over, Dan.’
There were silent gasps and then whooping and clapping, lots and lots of clapping. Mum put her arms round me and Charlie. I saw Gran wipe her eyes. People came out of the café to see what was going on. Hands reached over to congratulate me.
‘What happened?’ said Mum.
The crowd fell silent again as Charlie did what he did best.
‘A few good people shamed the mighty US Government, that’s what happened. A boy called Dan, who dared to admit a wrongdoing to save his fellow countrymen, a brave American called Anna, who followed his lead, her father, who took a stand against the misuse of legislation, and two other individuals, managed between them to whip up a level of support both here and across the pond that the powers that be were reluctant to face in the ring. Extraditing Dan would have caused a human rights scandal.’
‘Is that what they said?’ I asked, the shock making me stupid.
‘Not exactly,’ said Charlie, suppressing a grin. ‘They said, “The request has been revoked because of new information”.’
General laughter.
The waiter came out, and had to weave between everyone to get to our table with the tray intact.
‘Is it a birthday?’ he asked.
El said, ‘My brother can stay with us.’ Her voice went high and weird and she started to cry.
‘Come here,’ said Gran, reaching over to give her a cuddle.
Ruby saw her chance, grabbed me round the neck and gave me an entirely-inappropriate-in-front-of-family kiss.
The waiter, understandably, kept his eyes down. ‘Here’s your hot chocolate, cappuccino, and two flapjacks …’
He clocked the paper, looked up.
‘You’re the lovebirds.’
‘Tweet,’ said Ruby.
He stuck his hand out to shake mine, his face as pleased as if he’d freed me himself.
‘Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Can I get anyone else anything? Whatever anyone wants, it’s on the house.’
About the Author
Tracy Alexander lives in Bristol with three teenagers, no pets, one husband, one jukebox, three bicycles and one unicycle she can’t ride.
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2014
by Piccadilly Press
Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street,
London, EC1V 0AT
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Copyright © Tracy Alexander, 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Tracy Alexander to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978 1 84812 414 1
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the UK by Clays Ltd, St Ives Plc
Piccadilly Press is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group
www.bonnierpublishing.com
Available in bookshops and online: Summer 2015
WHO IS ANGEL?
Samiya learnt how to fit in early on. A mixed-race face in an all-white school doesn’t have much choice. She had no idea just how good being different could feel, until she spent a summer in Yemen getting to know her grandmother. It was a revelation seeing where, and how, her father grew up. It should have been the start of a treasured relationship, but ended up being the start of something else. Because a month after Samiya left Yemen, a drone fired its Hellfire missile at her grandmother …
So Samiya begins her campaign – writing emails, pestering her MP, collecting names on petitions – but to little effect. Online, talking to sympathetic strangers, she slowly realises there’s another way. She becomes Angel, masterminding a drone attack on London.
When it fails, Angel becomes Saffron – a new city, a new persona, short peroxide-blonde highlights and a loving boyfriend called Liam. Can she change or is she still Samiya, seeking revenge?
ISBN: 978 1 84812 444 8
piccadillypress.co.uk/teen
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