by Simon Mayo
Tellurium had been added to Flowerdew’s whisky; it made him stink of garlic – an unusual by-product but one that had alerted Itch to his presence at the ISIS labs. And Itch had once used a canister of xenon gas to anaesthetize Flowerdew so that he and Jack could escape from his car.
He continued reading:
Discovered as a result of the Napoleonic Wars of the nineteenth century. Desperate for more potassium nitrate to make gunpowder, a French cottage industry grew, producing it from heaps of rotting manure from latrines and cesspits. Mixed with soil and ashes, it produced potassium.
‘Neat,’ said Itch.
A local chemist then added sulphuric acid, and the purple fumes condensed to form beautiful crystals. He had discovered a new element – iodine. More explosives can be found by researching ‘fulminates’.
Never able to resist the word ‘explosive’, Itch did just that, making notes and checking facts in his father’s old Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments. He found details of old experiments, together with comments his father had made when the book had been his.
Itch studied the ordered rows and columns of numbers and letters that represented everything that existed, anywhere, and felt himself calming down. Everything in his life seemed to be out of control, but in front of this poster he found the order he wanted. He knew it seemed ridiculous to everyone else, with the exception of Lucy, but he didn’t care.
There was a knock on his bedroom door, and Chloe put her head round. ‘You OK? I was just off to bed.’
‘Yeah, just wanted to think some stuff through, that’s all.’
She sat down on his bed. ‘New element?’
‘Yup. Iodine. Want to see?’
‘Not really.’
‘Oh. OK.’
‘Just wanted to say thanks for getting me to hospital, that’s all.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re welcome. Any time.’
‘Well, I’ll need to go to the head-injuries clinic in Exeter apparently. So then would be good.’
He shrugged again. ‘Sure.’
There was another knock and Gabriel came in.
‘And you’re welcome too,’ said Itch.
‘Am I missing a sibling meeting?’
‘Yes, but you’ve missed quite a few over the years,’ said Itch.
‘Fair point,’ said Gabriel. ‘Anything dangerous?’ He pointed at the iodine beads.
‘Er, according to this’ – Itch waved the information sheet – ‘only if you add it to ammonia.’
‘Are you planning to add it to ammonia?’ asked Gabriel.
‘Doesn’t feel like the time really,’ said Itch quietly.
Itch thought he’d be asleep within seconds, but it was wishful thinking. The events of the last few days had sent his head spinning; just when he thought he was drifting off, images of a burning note, Chloe’s stitches or a crashing baton filled his head again. When sleep finally came, it was all too brief. For a moment he thought his vibrating pillow was part of a dream, but when his head cleared and he heard the accompanying grinding sound, he realized that it was his phone. His clock said 3.10 a.m., and he reached under his pillow. In the darkness, the illuminated screen’s image of his cousin filled the bedroom and Itch squinted in the glare.
‘Jack?’ he whispered, disappearing under the duvet for soundproofing.
‘Itch! You awake?’ She was whispering too.
‘Yes. What’s up?’
‘There’s something happening at the church! I was just outside and I saw a light—’
‘Wait,’ said Itch. ‘You were outside at three o’clock in the morning?’
‘I left some toiletries in Dad’s car. I didn’t want to wake anyone so I just crept out. You know how you can see the corner of the church from our drive? Well, there was a van and some guys there.’
Itch thought for a moment. ‘What were they doing?’
‘To start with they stayed in the van. Then a couple of them got out and went into the churchyard. That’s all I could see. Should I wake Dad? Call the police?’
Itch hesitated. He knew that the correct answer was yes and yes, but the desire to find out and see for himself was strong. ‘Maybe.’
‘Itch, I know what you’re thinking . . .’ she said.
‘I’ll be outside in two minutes. If they’re still there, we’ll call the police then.’
He dressed hurriedly and was on the point of leaving his room when he checked, turned back and scribbled At church with Jack on a sheet of paper, leaving it on the floor. When he clicked the front door shut behind him, he thought briefly of the last time he had slipped out of his house. That had ended in Shivvi strapping caesium tubes to him and Jack, their kidnap, and Shivvi’s murder at the hands of Flowerdew and his henchmen. This is different, he told himself. These are just vandals and we need to find out who they are.
It was cold, the air crisp; the clouds had cleared since their return, and the moon was out. Itch’s breath billowed as he ran the short distance to Jack’s house. She was already sitting on the doorstep with a woolly hat pulled down over her eyes. As she saw Itch approaching, she waved, clearly relieved to see him.
‘This is mad!’ she said as he ran up to her.
‘We’ll be fine. We’re just watching,’ he said, panting slightly.
‘And not getting kidnapped.’
‘Definitely not getting kidnapped.’
She pointed down the hill at a small dark van parked in the shadows before the lights of the main road. The orange sodium streetlamp illuminated a corner of the churchyard, but nothing was moving.
‘That’s the van,’ said Jack. ‘No one’s come back yet – could they be in the church?’
‘It’d be locked,’ said Itch. ‘There might be someone still in the van. Let’s loop round the other side. Maybe we’ll see what’s happening from there.’
Jack nodded, and they jogged along the street that ran behind the church. Every house was dark, every curtain drawn as they passed the parked cars. Despite his exhaustion, Itch felt alive, his heart racing with adrenalin.
Turning sharp right downhill, they trod carefully, quietly, and immediately heard noises ahead. Beyond the church wall, about six houses away, in a small group of trees, there was a faint light – a torch maybe; they dropped to a crouch, tucking themselves in by a garden gate.
Once their breathing had slowed and their hearts stopped hammering, they heard sounds coming from the churchyard: a slow, methodical crunching followed by regular, perfunctory scraping. They both looked at each other incredulously, and Jack mouthed, ‘Digging?’
Itch nodded – that was exactly what it sounded like. It would last for a minute, stop, then continue again. The occasional low grumble of indistinct voices could be heard. ‘We need to get closer!’ he whispered, but Jack held him back.
‘We go closer – fine, but not so that they can see us.’ She held up her phone. ‘I can call the police anytime.’
Itch nodded and, stooping, led the way along the garden wall. A lone car passed along the road in front of the church, and all noise from the churchyard stopped. As the sound of its engine receded, the scraping continued and Itch edged closer.
The moonlight gave the trees a wet, metallic look; it also lit two figures bending over as they worked. They were merely silhouettes amongst the trees, but one was clearly digging while the other appeared to be sifting or measuring. Occasionally the sifter would stop, and a torch beam would briefly illuminate the scene.
‘Gravediggers?’ mouthed Itch, and Jack shrugged, her eyes wide.
‘Film them!’ whispered Itch. Jack looked horrified. ‘Go on! Let’s film them!’ he repeated.
‘No way!’ she said, too forcefully.
They both held their breath, afraid they’d been overheard, and stared into the trees. When the digging didn’t stop, they relaxed, but Jack looked determined now, her expression fixed. She leaned close to Itch’s ear.
‘If they catch us filming them, we are dead. Just for once, Itch, let’s
not push it. We watch, that’s all. Or we can ring the police.’ She looked at Itch, her eyebrows raised, challenging him to disagree with her.
But he looked away; he had to admit she had a point – after Madrid, his energy was running low. ‘Fine,’ he whispered. ‘But what now?’
Crouching on freezing paving stones above the ‘gravediggers’, Itch and Jack knew they couldn’t be seen through the trees, but equally they had no way of seeing who the diggers were. ‘We could be here for hours!’
The crunching and shifting continued; and then a new noise. A noise so familiar yet so out of place, it took Itch a while to work out what it was. The digging had stopped, and in its place, from the middle of the trees, came a quiet, irregular clicking. Jack got it first. She looked at Itch in astonishment.
‘It’s a Geiger counter!’ she said, grabbing his wrist. And Jack was right. As they sat in the freezing stillness, the only sound they could hear was the clicking caused by the detecting and counting of nuclear radiation.
20
Itch stood up. Jack tried desperately to pull him back, but he simply grabbed the phone and walked towards the clicking Geiger counter. This is all wrong, he thought. It wasn’t that the radiation reading sounded high; on the contrary, the occasional and sporadic nature of the clicks indicated readings that were entirely normal. It was the fact that there was a Geiger counter at all that had spooked Itch. You might expect vandals smashing things up, or drunks sleeping against a headstone, but people with Geiger counters are only looking for radiation.
Itch strode along the church wall. He found the phone’s video function, pressed the red button and held the glowing screen up in front of him, pointing it at whoever was working amongst the trees.
‘Itch, no!’ called Jack. ‘Just call the police!’ But Itch kept filming.
‘Hey, you!’ he shouted at the men, his voice sounding unbelievably loud. ‘That’s right, you! We’ve found you! Caught in the act!’ He heard Jack curse behind him but he carried on, his head buzzing. Somewhere he registered a nano-particle of thought that suggested he was being unbelievably stupid, but he kept filming.
He saw the men freeze; then panic. They grabbed some of their equipment and took off through the churchyard towards their van.
‘And I’m calling the police too!’ Itch called after them, then jumped as a hand wrapped itself round his mouth.
‘For God’s sake, shut up,’ said Jack angrily. ‘Have you lost it completely?’ She glared at him, her hand still firmly over his mouth.
From the other side of the churchyard came the sound of slamming doors, an engine starting and squealing tyres.
‘Good, so they’ve gone,’ she said, her eyes still blazing. ‘But what if they had run at you, rather than from you? What then? And maybe, just maybe, they’ll know who you are given that your face is plastered over every newspaper. Honestly, Itch, you can be really stupid sometimes.’
Itch was reeling. Jack had never spoken to him like that before; he found he had absolutely nothing to say. They just stared at each other until, behind them, they heard a front door being unlocked. They jumped over the wall and ran round the church, registering a can of purple spray paint lying amongst the trees.
As they neared Jack’s house, a police siren, scarily close, made them jump. Jack fumbled for her key, and finding it deep in her pocket, eased them both into the dark sanctuary of her hallway. They stood panting, facing each other, wide-eyed. Fighting for breath but desperately trying to keep quiet was making them both faint. They stumbled into the kitchen and sat on the floor, listening to the siren, expecting a knock on the door at any moment. For a long time they didn’t speak. Two more sirens and more flashing lights passed by. They sat there without moving until everything was quiet again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, handing her the phone.
Jack snatched it back. ‘Don’t ever do anything that stupid again,’ she said, her voice only slightly calmer. ‘Promise me, Itch – you need to tell me that.’
‘OK, I promise. But it was a Geiger counter, Jack, in the churchyard!’
‘I know – I told you that!’ She played back the footage from the churchyard and Itch leaned over to watch it.
‘You can see their faces,’ he said.
‘And their surprise that anyone could be quite so stupid,’ added Jack.
There was silence before Itch swivelled to face her. ‘But you realize what this means?’ he said.
‘No, but you’re going to tell me.’
‘It means they weren’t vandals at all. Maybe none of them were. They’re not wrecking stuff, Jack; they’re looking for stuff. And on the basis of what we’ve just seen, they’re looking for radioactive stuff.’
The kitchen was silent for a few moments.
‘Itch, I’m getting scared again,’ said Jack.
Itch took a deep breath. ‘Me too.’
The following morning Itch slept so long that Chloe had to come and check up on him.
‘I’m awake,’ he grunted as the door squeaked open.
‘Getting worried,’ Chloe said. ‘Not like you to be in bed after nine.’
He peered at her blearily, pushed the hair out of his eyes and slumped back onto the pillow. ‘Bit late last night,’ he said, still groggy.
Chloe looked puzzled. ‘But you went to bed when we did,’ she said. ‘You online or something?’ She saw the note on the floor where Itch had left it and knelt down to read. ‘At church with Jack? Itch? You went to church?’ She handed him the piece of paper and he crumpled it into a ball.
Sitting up, he motioned for Chloe to shut the door. ‘Jack called me. There were men in the churchyard. We went down and they were digging—’
‘Wait, wait,’ said Chloe, her hand raised. ‘Last night, after Gabe and I left you, you and Jack were at the church?’
‘She called me! Get this: they had a Geiger counter. They were looking for radioactive stuff in the churchyard. That’s what all this destruction has been about.’
‘And this note,’ said Chloe, ‘was instead of a text to that police number, I suppose?’
‘You sound just like Mum.’ Itch flopped back onto his pillow. ‘But at least I left you a note. I learned that from last time.’
‘What does Jack think?’
Itch sighed. ‘Jack’s mad at me because I filmed them on her camera. And they noticed.’ He pre-empted Chloe who, he knew, was about to shout at him. He held up his hands. ‘I know it was stupid – OK? I wasn’t exactly planning to do it, you know.’
‘But, Itch, they could have attacked you . . .’
‘I know,’ said Itch defensively, ‘but I was in shock. It was the sound of the clicks, I think. I just wasn’t expecting to hear that in a churchyard.’
‘Where exactly were they digging?’
‘The far corner, under the trees.’
‘What’s there?’ asked Chloe.
‘No idea,’ said Itch.
‘Well, get dressed and we’ll find out.’
‘Your head OK?’
Chloe nodded. ‘It’s fine.’
Itch was up in a matter of minutes. There was a note from Jude saying she’d be back from work to get dinner, and one from Nicholas explaining that he’d had to return to South Africa on some urgent business but that Jacob Alexander had said yes to a visit to the mining school.
‘There goes the lift to the hospital,’ said Itch.
‘Gabe’s passed his test,’ said Chloe. ‘He might take us.’
‘We’ll ask,’ said Itch as they shut the front door, ‘but let’s see what the vandals were sniffing around last night.’
‘You said you’d recorded them?’ said Chloe.
‘On Jack’s phone. We could put it on YouTube. Then they won’t try to mess around anywhere else.’
Chloe shook her head. ‘How about the police? Shouldn’t they see it?’
‘I was thinking that. But you know how they reacted last time. They thought I might have been responsible for the parcel
bombs. If they find out I was in the churchyard when the place was being vandalized, they’ll be far more interested in what I was doing there than in the guys with the Geiger counter.’
They turned the corner – and stopped. A police car was parked near where Itch and Jack had been crouched the previous night; police incident tape was stretched across the road.
‘C’mon, let’s see how close we can get,’ said Chloe. They walked down the hill towards the church and heard running footsteps behind them.
‘Hey, you guys!’ said Jack, catching them up. ‘Saw you walking past. So Itch told you about last night, Chloe.’ She linked arms with her cousin. Itch looked sheepish.
‘Yup,’ said Chloe. ‘Classic Itch. We were discussing what to do with the video he took.’
‘Maybe nothing,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll show it to you. Doesn’t look like we’ll get anywhere near the church again, though.’ She nodded at two policemen and a priest, who stood staring into the trees where the vandals had been the night before.
‘We saw nothing, we say nothing,’ said Itch. ‘Last thing we need is to be part of another police enquiry. They’ll blame me if they get the chance.’
One of the officers looked up and called them over. ‘Itchingham Lofte, isn’t it? Saw you on TV.’ He nodded at Chloe. ‘This your sister?’
Chloe bridled. ‘Yes, I’m his sister, I’m Chloe,’ she said. ‘This is our cousin, Jack.’
The officer nodded. ‘You looked like you were in a bad way.’
‘I’m OK now, thanks. What’s going on here?’ Chloe was keen to change the subject.
The policeman glanced back at the trees. Between the trunks they could see a weathered granite wheel-headed cross, now leaning at a precarious angle and held up by one of the trees. ‘More attacks, I’m afraid. You live close by – did you hear anything last night?’