by Simon Mayo
‘Dr Alexander,’ said Itch, ‘are you saying that the Earth – or Gaia, as you called it – has really created a new energy source?’
He smiled at Itch. ‘Sound unlikely to you?’
‘Well, you could say that, yes.’ Itch wanted to say it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard, but thought better of it.
‘I know it won’t be a popular idea, Itch, but it really makes sense to me. It’s last orders for us; we have to get this right or we’ll be toast – literally.’
They reached the reception area and peered out into the dark car park, which was still ambulance-free. Chloe sat down in an armchair and Alexander went into his office to call the emergency services again.
‘Any reason I shouldn’t ring my folks again, Mr Watkins?’ asked Itch.
‘No, good idea – tell them the ambulance is on the way, won’t you? Maybe they should meet us at the hospital.’
Itch turned on his phone; it rang immediately, displaying an unknown number. ‘Hello?’ he said.
A man’s voice asked, ‘Is that Itchingham Lofte?’
‘Yes, it is. Who is this?’
‘My name is Detective Chief Superintendent Peter Ducker from Cornwall CID. There have been two accidents that have blocked access to West Ridge. This means we haven’t been able to get to you, I’m afraid. We’re now dispatching motorbikes, which should be there in fifteen minutes. Who is with you?’
Itch said, ‘My sister, my cousin, Mr Watkins from school, and the director here, Dr Alexander.’
‘Put Dr Alexander on, please.’
Itch went into the office, where the director had just finished his own call. ‘It’s the police,’ he said, and handed him the phone.
‘Jacob Alexander here. I’ve just heard about the accidents. We have three children with radiation poisoning and some highly radioactive material secure in my lab. The children need medical attention, and I need some security for the rocks. This is an issue of international importance, Detective, er …’ Suddenly he realized he hadn’t let the policeman speak yet.
‘Detective Chief Superintendent Ducker, Dr Alexander, and if what you’re telling me is true, those accidents are one heck of a coincidence. Make yourselves secure and we’ll be with you as quickly as we can.’
There was the sound of activity in the entrance hall, and John Watkins called out, ‘Er, Jacob, we have company. Someone’s here, anyway. Doesn’t look like police – did you order some cabs?’
The two Audis had arrived in the car park one after the other, the first from the left, the second from the right. They both stopped facing the entrance, headlights still on full beam, engines running. It was impossible to see into them, and all those in the building shielded their eyes from the dazzling blue-white xenon lights.
‘Who are they, Jacob?’ asked Watkins.
‘No idea,’ he replied. ‘But not the police – the roads are blocked, apparently, and the police and ambulance can’t reach us.’
‘Well, they don’t look local,’ said Watkins, ‘and they’re not minicabs. Where does that leave us?’
Jacob Alexander turned to Itch. ‘How many people could know about the rocks and that they are here?’
Itch considered. ‘Well, no one knows that there are eight rocks except us. People at school know about the original rock – and Flowerdew, who took it in the first place. And who knows who he told …’
Alexander went over to the reception desk and hit a green disc by the phone bank. The double doors and revolving doors shuddered slightly as the locking mechanism clicked into place. ‘Let’s assume they aren’t friendly until we know otherwise,’ he said.
The passenger door of one of the Audis opened and Roshanna Wing stepped out. Whoever Alexander, Watkins and the Loftes were expecting, it wasn’t someone like this. Tall and stylish, wearing an immaculate dark blue jacket, pencil skirt and high heels, she walked towards the entrance, smiling broadly and waving at Jack and Itch. Jack started to wave back, then stopped. The Greencorps woman walked up to the glass that separated her from the group inside and turned to the drivers, indicating that they should cut the engines. They did so immediately, and the headlights dimmed; the two men were now just visible.
‘Dr Alexander? I’m Mary Bale, International Herald Tribune. Could we speak?’ she called through the glass, holding up a press card.
‘Yes, I’m Alexander – how can I help?’ called the director.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’ve been tipped off about a rather interesting rock that has been uncovered. Do you know anything about it?’
Jack turned to Itch. ‘A journalist! How does she know about it?’ she whispered.
‘No idea,’ said Itch, shrugging. The woman noticed the exchange and smiled again at the children.
Alexander called through the glass, ‘It’s not a good time. We’re waiting for an ambulance – we have some sick kids here.’
Roshanna Wing looked concerned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t keep you long. You are the Dr Alexander who was at Harvard till 2007, aren’t you? I read your paper on tin mining – truly fascinating. I wonder if I could get a quick quote from you – be as non-committal as you like. I’ll just get my pad.’ And she turned and walked back to the car.
‘I’ll just say something boring and they’ll go away. John, can you open the doors? The button’s by the desk there.’
Watkins was not so sure. ‘Since when did reporters drive Audis, Jacob?’
‘Americans do things differently, John – you saw her card. The best way to kill the story is to be bland. I’m quite good at that. They’ll lose interest, you’ll see.’
Watkins pressed the button, the doors shuddered again, and Alexander went outside. Without thinking, Watkins locked the doors again immediately.
Roshanna Wing was bending down beside the Audi, apparently rummaging in her bag, as Jacob Alexander approached.
‘Can we make this quick? I need to get back inside as soon as possible,’ he said.
Wing stood up with her pad and pencil. ‘Is it radiation sickness, Dr Alexander?’
‘I … we … er, it’s too early to tell …’
‘So you do have it!’ Wing exclaimed. ‘We would love to get a quick photo of you next to it! This will go round the world – it will be your discovery, Dr Alexander! Think of that! Paul here is my photographer.’ She motioned to the driver, and Bud Collins got out, doing up his jacket button as he came round to shake Alexander’s hand.
‘No, no, no,’ said Alexander. ‘This really isn’t the time for photos. There are still many tests to do. You wanted a quote – well, I’ll give you one: No comment. There really is nothing to say. These sort of experiments happen all the time …’
Wing put her hand on his arm; she was still smiling but her voice had hardened. ‘Sorry, Dr Alexander, but we know you have something special and we really do need a photo. We’ve come a long way for this and we have no intention of going home without one. It won’t take long.’
Jacob Alexander bridled – a reaction John Watkins recognized through the glass. ‘This might not be going well,’ he said quietly.
The director of the West Ridge School of Mining drew himself up to his full height of six foot one and looked Roshanna Wing straight in the eye. ‘Going home without a picture is exactly what you are going to do. You asked for a quote – well, you have one. If that doesn’t suit you and … Paul here, well, I’m afraid that’s just too bad. Goodbye, Miss Bale.’
He turned to go back in. Those waiting inside saw Roshanna Wing sigh and nod to her colleague. Bud Collins reached out with one hand and grabbed Alexander by the shoulder, spinning him round. With both hands the American hoisted Alexander onto the car’s bonnet, where he lay sprawled, stunned.
Wing walked round to the front of the car and leaned in close. ‘Just one photo. Let us in. Last chance.’
Inside the school, Jack grabbed hold of Itch as Watkins exclaimed, ‘Oh my heavens! Oh my heavens! Oh my heavens!’
Realizing
that they were all under serious threat now, Itch turned to look at Chloe, who was fast asleep again in the armchair. He ran over and tried to wake her, first by shaking, then by shouting. She stirred and opened her eyes. Itch told her as calmly as he could, ‘Chloe, we are going to have to find the ambulances ourselves. Can you walk?’
Before she could respond, Jack cried out. Itch turned to see that Alexander had managed to direct a kick at the driver’s groin; the man was now writhing on the ground, but had pulled Alexander down with him. The driver of the other Audi had come running over and was kicking the director in the stomach. From his waistband he had drawn a gun.
‘Back to the lab!’ shouted Watkins, and ran to help Itch carry Chloe along the corridor.
Jack, shouldering the rucksack, said, ‘Itch, I’ll help Chloe. You need to get those rocks, and you need to do it now!’
They swapped places and Itch sprinted off. He turned sharp left and then accelerated into the labs. He ran straight into Lab 5, where Alexander had tested the rocks on the spectrometer. He sprinted over to the large white metal container and, pressing down on the compression lock, swung the door open. On the middle shelf sat the white toolbox-style container that Alexander had put the rocks in. Picking it up, he felt them moving, rattling around inside, and he held it with both arms outstretched in front of him. He saw the canvas bag lying next to them, and put the box in that, then went through to Lab 4. A panting Watkins was settling Chloe down, while Jack held up her hand for quiet. From the entrance they could hear bangs and then the sound of shattering glass.
Watkins looked up. ‘You both go. I’ll stay with Chloe – we’ll only slow you down. I promise I’ll get her to the hospital and explain everything to your parents. There’s a fire exit in the corner of Lab One.’ Then, pointing at the bag Itch was holding, ‘Hide them, get rid of them. Whatever you can do, Itch. God bless you both. Go!’
Itch and Jack stood and stared at each other for the briefest of moments, but long enough to catch the sound of running footsteps in the corridor and more yelling from the lobby. The running man – and it was a man as those were no high-heeled shoes pounding towards them – sounded too close for them to make it through to the other labs.
The merest hint of a smile was briefly noticeable on Itch’s face. ‘Jack, turn round and hold still!’ Jack did so and Itch dived for the rucksack. Lifting the top flap, he found a small metal tin near the top. Then, turning to Watkins: ‘Sir! Your cigarette lighter, please – now!’
Without comment but looking puzzled, the teacher felt in his jacket pocket, then reached in and threw him an orange plastic lighter.
Catching it, Itch put it in Jack’s hand. ‘You stand this side of the door, Jack.’ He pushed her into position. ‘Light it!’
The footsteps had reached the end of the corridor and were, presumably, about to make the left turn towards Labs 3, 4 and 5. Jack stood there wide-eyed, with the cigarette lighter flame held in front of her. Itch then climbed up onto some filing cabinets so that he was above and behind his cousin. Watkins and Chloe were staring at them both in alarm, but Itch shook his head and they got the message, resuming their patient and carer positions.
The footsteps stopped, paused briefly, then ran towards the lights of Labs 3 and 4. From there, whoever it was would be able to see Chloe and Watkins. The steps slowed and Itch tensed. Sensing the moment, Jack’s hand began to shake, but the lighter remained alight in front of her.
‘Lift your arm, Jack!’ Itch said in a loud whisper. ‘High as you can.’ She held the lighter like an Olympic torch and stood stock still. ‘When I say “now”, shut your eyes tightly!’ he told her, and she nodded. The footsteps were no more than a jog now, but were barely metres away from the door into Lab 4.
If anyone other than Chloe had been looking, they would have seen John Watkins with his eyes screwed up tight, his whole body rigid, as though he were about to receive a very painful injection. Her head still facing the teacher, Chloe’s eyes were twisted round to follow what was happening at the entrance to the lab. She fixed on her brother, who was standing crouched and poised above Jack, holding the tin in his hands. He opened it and poured the contents into his palm. Her cousin stood rigidly, her arm aloft, the flame burning steadily. Then, through the doorway, the large frame of Volker Berghahn came into view, his gun held out in front of him. The German saw the teacher and the girl, and relaxed just a second too soon.
With Berghahn only a step away, Itch called, ‘Now!’, threw the powder at the flame and shut his eyes. Jack’s arm wobbled and she too shut her eyes. The Greencorps man, still moving, did not close his, and was greeted by a blinding cascade of burning phosphorus. Brilliant white light filled the lab. Chloe looked away, but still had bright white shapes dancing in front of her eyes. Watkins opened his and turned to see what had happened.
The German had pulled up quickly enough to stop himself being engulfed by the fiery waterfall but had dropped the gun and fallen to his knees. Shouting in pain, he held his hands tightly pressed over his eyes.
Itch and Jack hadn’t moved but were trying to blink the flash from their eyes. Watkins nodded vigorously at them and looked down the corridor in the direction of Lab 1. He mouthed, ‘Go now!’
With a quick glance at Chloe, Itch jumped down, picked up the canvas bag and the rucksack, took Jack’s hand, and ran.
22
THEY FOUND THE fire exit without turning on any lights. Despite the white flashes in front of their eyes they could see the soft glow from the electric signs. They pushed down the metal bar on the door and burst through into the darkness outside. Clanging bells started ringing – they had clearly triggered an alarm of some kind – but they had to wait a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Gradually they made out some sheds and outhouses, and a few trees silhouetted against the night sky. The only light was what spilled out from Labs 4 and 5.
The first of around a dozen sheds was directly in front of them – about twenty metres away – and they ran for it, ignoring the door that faced them and running round to the far side, where they stood with their backs to the wall.
‘I bet he lost both eyebrows!’ said Jack, taking the rucksack from Itch, who laughed, far too loudly.
‘Yes, but he’ll be fine. In an hour or so. Cake would have liked that, I think.’
There was a brief silence, then Jack asked, ‘Was that the replacement phosphorus he got you?’
Itch nodded. ‘Told me to keep it for my birthday.’
‘Nice one, Cake,’ she said. Then she added, ‘You OK?’ Itch was alternately blowing on his hand and then putting it under his arm. ‘You didn’t overdo the phosphorus again, did you?’
‘Well, I might have. I wasn’t sure how much to use, so I used it all, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Like last time!’ said Jack, laughing now. ‘And I’m sure “I used it all, just to be on the safe side” is not the greatest piece of scientific advice out there!’
‘No, I guess you’re right,’ said Itch, who could now make out a large black patch on his hand, which was starting to throb. ‘The other thugs will be close behind, so let’s keep going …’ He nodded in the direction of a large grey tank. ‘That’ll be the oil tank, I guess. There must be a service road near there for the tanker. Let’s try that. You all right?’ Jack was swaying slightly.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
They jogged left towards the tank, Itch in the lead. The rocks rattled noisily around in their box; the canvas bag was very heavy now – he held it with both arms, cradling it close to his chest. His arms ached with the weight of it, made worse by the angle his arms had to adopt to run without dropping it. Jack followed close behind, the rucksack bouncing on her back.
The oil tank which served the college was huge, at least ten metres tall and twenty wide, and as they got closer, they saw that there was indeed a small rough track that snaked away through the trees to it. Itch turned the corner first and ran straight into the side of a large black
car. Jack, at his shoulder, collided with him, and Itch banged his head on glass. From the other side of the car a man appeared, walking round the bonnet. The darkness was almost total, the tank blocking out any light from the labs, but Itch knew who it was from the first step. His insides looped the loop as Jack gasped and he heard that familiar elegant sneer.
‘Of course, it’s the freaky cousins. Who else?’ Nathaniel Flowerdew moved round to stand facing Itch and Jack. He was wearing a black cloth cap over his white curls, a black linen suit and a very broad grin. ‘Itchingham. Jack. What’s that you have there? Pizzas? Mine’s an American Hot. I do hope you’re not going to disappoint me. Shall I check the bag?’ He held out his hands; Itch didn’t move. The sound of the emergency exit in Lab 1 crashing open again made Flowerdew jump, and he grabbed hold of Jack. ‘Get in the car.’
He opened the rear door and pushed Jack in. Fleetingly, Itch thought of running, but with the Audi team closing and Flowerdew holding Jack, he decided to join her in the car.
To his surprise, Flowerdew got in the back next to him and shouted, ‘Drive!’
What had confused him was that the car, a Range Rover Sport, was a left-hand drive. A squat man with a ponytail fired the engine, flicked on the headlights and accelerated away from the tank.
The track was bumpy and full of potholes, but the Range Rover made short work of them, and within seconds they were through the trees and turning right. Jack had the rucksack, Itch had the rocks and Flowerdew was staring at the canvas bag. He had heard the dull cracks that came from inside Itch’s box as he got in the car and had just realized what it meant.
‘How many?’ he said quietly, almost reverently.
Itch couldn’t see any reason to lie. ‘Eight,’ he said.