“What do you think happened to Lauren?” Kane asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re here.”
“So are you.”
“That’s right. I was wondering if this place had something to do with it.”
“What made you wonder that?”
“The dead astronaut.”
Connor tightened his grip on the gun. For a second Kane thought he’d taken the wrong step. A new look of terror froze the boy’s face. It wouldn’t take much for him to squeeze the trigger.
“What do you know about that?” Connor said, finally.
“Nothing. That’s why I thought you could help me.”
“Where did you hear about it?”
“I found an exercise book with drawings and writing in it. Your drawings. A guy called Rory Bannatyne had it. Remember him?”
“He killed himself.”
“So it seems. The night he died, I think he came up here.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
The boy screwed his eyes shut then opened them again. He glanced around for something—help, or other threats. The gun shook violently now.
“Listen to me,” Kane said. “I don’t think you’re responsible for what’s going on. I think Petra and Lauren were really close to you, and I want to find out what’s happened. But I need your help.”
Now the boy slid down to the ground and without releasing the gun placed his head in his hands. Kane gave it a moment, then sat beside him, which put him close to the gun without being in front of it.
“Do you know what happened to Rory?” Kane asked.
“He was looking for the astronaut.”
“I need to understand this. Talk me through it, Connor.”
The teenager straightened, breathed, staring ahead.
“We used to hang out here.”
“Okay. Who was that?”
“Me, Petra, Lauren. You know, as kids. We’d bike up here and it was, like, our place. One time we thought we heard someone inside. That’s how the dead astronaut started. We were sitting right here, and we thought we heard someone in the building.”
“Someone in the building?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?
“I don’t know. Just bangs at first, then maybe a voice.”
“Was the building in use then?”
“No. It’s never been in use. Not while I’ve been here.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing. We went home, and later we started making up stories about it. Our parents were always going on about how we shouldn’t come here, using rumors: Kids had gone up here and never been seen again. That kind of thing. So we added to that.”
“They said that?”
“They didn’t want us getting hurt, because of the drop. It wasn’t true. But it made it exciting. And we freaked each other out with the stories. That was what Rory was interested in.”
“Tell me the stories he was interested in.”
Connor turned to look at the building behind them, then rolled his neck and groaned softly. “Can we get out of here?”
“I think this might be the best place for us right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Connor gazed down toward the darkness of the valley, then let his head tip back.
“What is going on?” he said to the stars, voice choking.
“We’re going to figure that out. Take a breath.”
Connor took a breath. The tears held as he spoke.
“The stories were like, this dead astronaut from the old days is still locked up inside there; they did experiments on him and he went mad. Stuff like that. If you saw him it would be so terrifying, he wouldn’t even have to kill you . . . You’d just die.” The boy hesitated. “Or you’d kill yourself.”
“You think that’s what happened to Rory?”
“Well, he died, didn’t he? I don’t know. That was what we said: joke stuff. Sometimes the astronaut escapes, walks around the island at night. His face is all fucked up. I’d draw pictures, and we came up with ways of protecting ourselves. We were twelve, thirteen. Then we thought, maybe the whole island’s an experiment and the adults know what’s going on. They’re following orders. And if you talk about it you become the next prisoner. You get put in the NASA building with him.”
Both looked up as a helicopter came into earshot, searchlight combing the volcanic peaks to the south.
“They’re looking for me,” Connor said.
“Looking for both of us, I reckon. But we’re all right. I’ll take care of them if they come. Did you ever see or hear anything else?”
“Not then. Pretty soon we stopped all the astronaut stuff. We’d come up here to drink or smoke and it was pretty much a joke.”
“But Rory took it seriously.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Fuck knows. Maybe because the astronaut’s come back.” The boy turned to Kane, wet eyes catching moonlight.
“What do you mean?”
“A couple of months ago Petra and Lauren were up here. They said they heard someone inside the building. They ran. That’s all.”
“What did they hear?”
“A voice.”
“Saying anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“And Rory was interested in this?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about Rory. Did he seem okay? Or like he was a bit messed up in the head?”
“Rory was cool. We’d go to English Bay to swim and he’d let us drink. He liked hearing our stories. And he knew how to do stuff. He was good at getting into places, climbing, breaking in.”
“Where did he break into?”
“One time we broke into the BBC building and saw the old equipment and there were still some old records and amps.”
“What else did he do?”
“He got all the kids to tell him secrets—about the island or what they did and stuff. You got a medal. It was dumb. The younger kids liked it. But he was good for driving us and sometimes buying us booze.”
“And that’s how he started hearing about the dead astronaut.”
“Right.”
“Did Rory think it was real?”
“I think he was just . . . adventuring. That’s what he called it. He had his own crazy theories.”
“Like what?”
“Not proper theories.”
“What did he say?”
“Like maybe people’s souls couldn’t leave the island and that was why the government didn’t let people die here. Stuff like that. He said there were already too many ghosts from the past, and maybe that explained the dead astronaut.”
Kane watched the helicopter illuminating peak after peak of charcoal-gray stone. He felt caught in the webs of someone else’s fever dreams. But all it takes for dreams to become real is for the person to treat them as such. The border dissolved more easily than it had any right to do.
“What else did Rory say?”
“You’re really interested in him, aren’t you.”
“Yeah.”
The boy thought.
“He said the radars and everything, maybe they were connected. They were researching ghosts. Like, they caught voices in the air, stuff like that. He was crazy. He’d wind us up.”
“And the tracking station’s always been like this?”
“As long as I can remember.”
“Who do you think comes up here? Apart from you?”
“No one.”
“But that night, when Petra went missing and Rory killed himself, you came up here. All of you.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“We said we’d show Rory where we hung out, where we’d heard things. And we came up here. And I think the astronaut came out.”
“You saw him?”
“Not exactly.”
“What did you see?”
“
Just the door starting to move.” He glanced at the building again.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Hundred percent.”
“Where exactly were you positioned? Can you show me?”
Connor got to his feet, holding the gun as if he’d forgotten about it. He led Kane around to the side of the compound, to one of the large concrete stumps overlooking the building. His bike was propped against it.
“This is where we were that night.”
There was a rock in place, which meant you could climb up onto the old radar base for a sight line to the door of the main building. But from the front of the building you’d have to twist to see anyone up there, and at night they’d be well hidden.
“You were all up here?”
“Yeah.”
“And what happened?”
“When the door opened Petra panicked. She ran. I don’t know. It was chaotic. I ran after her. I got to my bike. A few seconds later I heard her scream.”
“And Rory?”
“I don’t know what Rory did.”
“You got on your bike and started to cycle.”
“Right.”
“Where was Lauren?”
“I thought she’d gone a while back, as soon as we heard the first sounds.”
“What were the first sounds?”
“Doors, metal, banging inside. Lauren ran and I thought she’d gone back home, but maybe she was hiding somewhere.”
“And what happened to Petra?”
“I think she was too slow. The Russian astronaut got her.”
“Russian?”
“The one we told stories about.” The boy checked Kane’s face, registering a new intensity of interest.
“You didn’t say they were Russian.”
“Sometimes the girls called him that.”
“Why?”
“They thought they heard someone talking Russian, maybe.”
“They heard Russian?”
“They thought it was. They were, like, eleven or something.”
“Know anyone on the island who speaks Russian?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So that night you were cycling away. You heard Petra scream.”
“Right.”
“And no idea what happened to Rory.”
“No.”
“Do you think maybe Rory was killed up here? Then someone could have taken his body down to English Bay, made it look like he killed himself.”
“I guess.”
Kane walked to the front of the tracking station and checked the visibility of the ledge where the teenagers had been hiding, then the door once again.
“Did you tell the police all this?”
“My father did.”
“What did the police say?”
“They said they’d investigate. But they haven’t. They know something—maybe about what’s in there.”
Kane studied the lock.
“Got a torch?” he said.
“No.”
Kane went back to the car and searched. No torch, but he found a disposable lighter in the glove compartment.
“Where are you going?” Connor said.
“Inside. Ever been inside?”
“No. How are you going inside?”
“Give me the gun.”
The boy hesitated, then handed over the gun. Kane checked the box magazine. It was fully loaded: fifteen bullets. He took his shirt off and wrapped it around the muzzle to suppress as much noise and flash as possible. The idea of shooting a metal lock to pieces was a Hollywood fantasy, but the door frame itself was wood: a lot more fragile, with a lot less chance of ricochet.
“Step away.”
It took two shots, and then the wood was shredded enough for him to pull the bolt through. The shots had echoed off the rocks, but the waves were also loud. Nearest likely responders were on the UK base, and it would take them at least twenty minutes to get here. Kane nudged the door open with his foot.
“Oh shit,” Connor muttered behind him. “We really shouldn’t go in.”
“I think we should take a look.”
Kane stepped inside, into a corridor. The air was musty. He tried to let his eyes adjust but the darkness was too thick. He clicked the lighter.
The corridor led through the building. Its walls were scabbed with peeling plaster. Kane walked slowly, the flame animating rooms on either side: offices with empty metal cabinets, dorms with rusted iron bed frames, blackened glassware and crockery beside a cobwebbed sink. On the wall of the canteen, a crooked picture showed a space shuttle in front of two flags, a Union Jack and Stars and Stripes: July 4, 1985, Ascension Island. “In Peace for all Mankind.”
Kane stepped carefully into a large bare hall that must have once been the Operations Room. He could see indentations where the huge mainframe computers had been. Now it contained stacks of plastic chairs.
Then Connor screamed. Kane spun, saw the boy jump backwards. There was a scurrying at floor level as a rat dived for cover.
“Holy shit,” Connor said.
Kane looked to see where the rat went. It slid passed a door with a yellow sign reading CAUTION: ELECTRICAL HAZARD. Kane walked through, into a room with pipes and a generator at the back. Then he saw a sealed panel in the center of the floor.
It was an iron access hatch: square, heavy-duty, embossed with diamond-shaped grips. But opened recently. You could see where the handle had scored a line in the dust. You could see shoe prints.
Kane tried to prise up the hatch, but it was locked fast. This one was too solid to shoot. It had a key lock, set into the iron, with the iron fixed to the stone floor. Kane crouched and watched a beetle cross the metalwork. He knocked. A hollow chime filled the room. Connor stood in the doorway, staring at the panel with the look of dread that Kane felt.
“Hello?” Kane called. He listened to the waves outside and the helicopter softly churning. No reply. Another beetle skirted the edge of the metal.
“We need to get some tools,” Kane said, straightening. “Think there are any on base we could use? That you could get access to?”
“Maybe.”
“Are the British police allowed onto the US base?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Kane emptied the rest of the bullets out of the gun, put them in his pocket, and gave it back. “Let’s head there. Your parents will be worried. Who did you borrow the gun off?”
“It’s my mom’s.”
“Does she need a gun?”
“Everyone on base has one.”
“Going to return it to her?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
26
“The girl who went missing last night is called Lauren Carter,” Taylor said as she drove. “Her father’s an aircraft technician, been on the island five years. It’s not clear who she is, how she connects to Petra Wade.”
“And what’s Jerry Lau got to do with it?”
“I think Lau knows something about the island. He was being run as an agent; he passed information that led to a report being filed with the keywords Quadrant and Ascension. Quadrant is Quadrant Space Technologies, who I think are the ones checking on Kane—they have a contract to run a research facility on Ascension. They’re big new players in the space game, with the ear of the government. But there’s something more to them, and I think Lau might know. He might even know why the whole thing’s been wiped from the system.”
“He won’t talk to us.”
“He’ll talk to people who can ensure his safety. So that’s what we are.”
The area was even wealthier than she expected. Posh London: leafy, peaceful, sinister, with rows of identical stuccoed houses surrounding locked, private squares and not many humans in sight at all.
They drove by the rendezvous point, checked for any obvious signs of danger. But danger rarely made itself obvious. Taylor parked a street away, and they split up and approached from opposite directions, eyes out for anyone waiting. Neithe
r of them saw anyone.
They were at the corner at the specified time. Taylor assumed they were being watched. A moment later a man crossed toward them, very tall, very tightly suited in a navy blazer. A former member of one of the diplomatic wings of the police, Taylor guessed. He had that practiced stiffness. He looked them over, glanced at the nearby cars.
“Waiting for someone?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Jerry Lau.”
“Just you guys?”
“Yes.”
“I work for Jerry. I’m going to take you to where he’s currently staying. Can I see some ID?”
They showed their government passes. The man studied them carefully, then handed them back.
“Follow me.”
He led them around the corner, onto an exclusive cul-de-sac where the houses were behind solid fences, then stopped beside an ornate but very functional metal gate higher than their heads. It opened electronically without him apparently doing anything. Inside was a gravel garden and a shiny black Mercedes, then an attractive Georgian house with ivy and security cameras and metal shutters closed on every window.
“Need to give you a quick search,” he said once the gate had slid back into place behind them. They spread their arms. He patted them down for weapons and wires. When the guard was satisfied they were not a threat, he knocked on the front door. Another guard answered, and the four of them walked in.
The house contained no personal effects. Taylor suspected it had nothing to do with Lau and that was precisely why he was here. It felt like a stage set, very beautifully decorated, with shades of plum and midnight blue on the walls and little busts in alcoves. Lau appeared, coming down stairs at the back of the main hall, shrugging on a suit jacket. He was slight and smart, wearing a black shirt, tan chinos, expensive Italian shoes. Taylor wondered if he’d dressed for them or if he did being on the run in style. His face had an unmarked, ageless quality. But he wasn’t happy.
“They’re legit,” the guard said. Lau appraised the pair. Beneath the evident anxiety Taylor sensed a zealous energy—someone who had monetized a childhood passion: intelligent, spoiled, gifted.
“What happened to my crew?” he said.
“That’s what we want to find out: what happened to them and how we ensure it doesn’t happen to you.”
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