Necropolis by Anthony Horowitz
She had already decided that there was only one person she could talk to and tell the truth about her disappearance. Not her father. Not Mrs Murdoch. It had to be Aidan. He was her closest friend. He wouldn’t laugh at her. She had already texted him and the two of them met after school and walked home together, taking their time, allowing the other school kids to stream ahead.
She told him everything: the door, the monastery, Father Gregory, the escape. She was still talking as they turned into Dulwich Park, opposite the art gallery, taking the long way round past the playground and across the grass.
“Do you think I’m mad?” she asked, when she had finished. There had been times when she had begun to wonder herself. Could it be that the official version of events was actually true? Had she somehow hit her head against a wall and dreamed the whole thing?
“I always thought you were pretty strange,” Aidan said.
“But to dream something like that…”
“You don’t make it sound like a dream.” His eyes brightened. “Hey – maybe we could go back to the church. We could go through the door a second time and see what happened.”
Scarlett shuddered. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? If you went with me, at least it would prove it was true.”
“I couldn’t go back. They might be waiting for me. They’d grab me and the whole thing would just start again.”
“I’d protect you!”
“They’d kill you. They’d kill both of us.”
They had reached the other side of the park and were coming out of the Court Lane Gate on the north side. From here the road cut down to the lights where, two years before, Scarlett had almost been killed.
Scarlett had just turned the corner when she saw the car.
It was a silver Mercedes with tinted windows so that although she could make out two people inside it, she couldn’t see their faces. It was parked on the opposite side of the road and she might not even have noticed it … except that it was the fourth time she had seen it. It had been in the street that morning, parked outside The Crown and Greyhound when she was on her way to school. Once again, there had been two people sitting inside. It had overtaken her when she was walking to the Italian restaurant with her father. And she had seen it from her bedroom, cruising down the street where she lived. She had made a note of the registration number. It contained the letters GEN which just happened to be the first three letters of St Genevieve’s. That was why she remembered it now.
She stopped.
“What is it?” Aidan asked.
“Those two men.” She pointed at the car. “They’re watching me.”
“Scarl…”
“I mean it. I’ve seen them before.” Aidan looked in their direction. “Maybe they’re journalists,” he said. “You’re still a mystery. They could be after an interview.”
“They’ve been following me.”
“I’ll ask them, if you like.”
They must have seen him coming or guessed what he had in mind. As Aidan stepped off the pavement, the driver started the engine up and tore away, disappearing round the corner with a screech of tyres.
Scarlett didn’t see the Mercedes again but that wasn’t the end of it. Quite the opposite. It told her something that she had been feeling all along.
She was being watched. She was sure of it. It had crept up on her over the past few days, before Paul Adams had left, a sense that she was trapped, like a specimen in a laboratory glass slide. She had found herself gazing at complete strangers in the street, convinced that they were spying on her. When she walked past a security camera outside a shop or an office it almost seemed to swivel round, its single, glass eye focusing on her – and she could imagine someone in a secret room far away, staring at her on a television monitor, picking her out from the crowd.
Even when she was on her own in her room she had got the sense of someone eavesdropping, and after a while, just the flapping of a curtain would be enough to unnerve her. When she made phone calls – it didn’t matter if it was her mobile or a landline – she was sure she could hear something in the background. Breathing. A faint echo. Someone listening.
She wasn’t imagining it. It was there.
Scarlett had tried to tell herself that none of this was possible. She knew that there was a word for what she was experiencing. Paranoia. Why would anyone bother to watch her? Nobody was watching her. She was just freaked out by what had happened before.
“There were five children. They came to be known as the Gatekeepers. Four boys and a girl. You are the girl.”
It was when she saw the Mercedes with Aidan that Scarlett understood that what had started at St Meredith’s wasn’t over yet. It had only just begun.
The next day – Friday – was miserable. Scarlett hadn’t slept properly. She was snappy with Mrs Murdoch and managed to make a spectacular mess of a maths test at school. She didn’t want to be in class. She just wanted to go back to her room and close the door – to shut “them” out, even though she didn’t have any idea who “they” might be.
That evening, she got a phone call. It was Aidan.
“Hi, Scarlett,” he said. “I was wondering … do you want to come to a movie tomorrow?”
Just that one sentence and she knew that something was wrong. Scarlett didn’t reply immediately. She cradled her mobile in the palm of her hand, playing back what she had just heard. First of all, Aidan never called her Scarlett. He called her Scarl. And there had been something weird about his tone of voice. He hadn’t asked her out as if he really meant it. He sounded fake, as if he was reading from a script.
As if he knew he was being overheard.
She lifted the mobile again. “What do you want to see?”
“I don’t know. The new Batman or something. We can go into the West End…”
And that was odd too. Why travel all the way into town? Dulwich had a perfectly good cinema.
“OK,” she said. “What time do you want to meet?”
“Twelve?”
“I’ll see you here…”
Aidan arrived at exactly midday, dressed in his trademark hoodie and jeans. As they walked over to the Tube station together, Scarlett wondered if she hadn’t read too much into the conversation the night before. He seemed completely relaxed and cheerful. The two of them chatted about school, football, fast food and the American election which was still in the news. Aidan was interested in politics even if it left Scarlett completely cold.
“Charles Baker is a creep,” he said. “I can’t believe anyone voted for him as President. The other guy, Trelawney, should have walked it.”
“So why didn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Some people are saying they screwed up the voting slips. But I’m telling you, Scarl, the wrong guy won.”
They reached the cinema, the Empire in Leicester Square, but as they approached the box office, Aidan suddenly grabbed Scarlett and dragged her to one side. In an instant, his whole mood had changed. He made sure there was no one else around, then hurriedly began to speak.
“Scarl, I’ve got to tell you. Something really weird has happened.”
“What is it?” Scarlett was completely thrown.
“I didn’t know whether to tell you or not. But yesterday, when I called you, I was told to do it! This guy came up to me when I was coming out of school.”
“What guy?”
“I’d never seen him before. At first I thought he was trying to sell me something. He was Chinese. A young guy. He asked me to get a message to you.”
“Why didn’t he tell me himself?”
“I’m only telling you what he told me.” Aidan ran a hand through his long, shaggy hair. There was still no one in this part of the foyer. A short distance away, a family of four was just going in to the film. “He just came up to me and asked if he could talk to me. He knew my name. And he knew I was your friend.”
“What did he want?”
“Listen … I don’t want to freak
“I don’t know, Aidan,” Scarlett said. All her fears had just been confirmed. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. She looked around her. “So where is this mysterious Chinese man? Are we meeting him here?”
“No. He’s round the corner … in a restaurant. The Happy Garden. It’s in Wardour Street, about five minutes away.”
“So why are we here?”
“That was my idea. I had to tell you what was going on, but I couldn’t do it on the Tube in case someone was listening. I’m sorry, Scarl. I didn’t want to lie to you but this guy sounded really serious. And it was only yesterday we saw that car at the park.” Aidan drew a breath. “You don’t have to go,” he said. “Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe you should go to the police.”
Scarlett had to admit that he had a point. Everyone knew that when a strange adult approached a kid outside school, it was time to dial 999. But she had already made up her mind. If she didn’t go to this restaurant, she might never find out who the man was or what he wanted.
“The Happy Garden,” she muttered. “What sort of name is that?”
“It’s a Chinese restaurant,” Aidan said.
“Oh yes,” she nodded. “I suppose it would be.” She thought for a moment. “Did the man say anything else?”
“Yes. He said that the two of you had met before. On Dulwich Grove, two years ago. He must have been talking about the accident…”
If Scarlett had had any doubts, that decided it. The man who had saved her, who hadn’t waited to be thanked, had been Chinese. It had to be the same person. But what was he doing back in her life?
“What time am I meant to be there?” she asked.
“Half past one.”
She looked at her watch. It was just after one o’clock. “We’re going to be early.”
“So you’re going?”
“I’ve got to, Aidan. I don’t think anything too bad can happen in the middle of a Chinese restaurant. And anyway, you’ll be with me.” She paused. “Won’t you?”
“Sure.” Aidan nodded. “I wouldn’t leave you on your own. Anyway, I can’t wait to find out what this is all about.”
They left the cinema the way they’d come, slipping quietly into the crowds in Leicester Square. It was unlikely that anyone had followed them all the way from Dulwich but Scarlett wasn’t taking any chances. They turned up an alleyway that led into Chinatown, an area that was packed with Chinese restaurants and supermarkets. From here, they crossed over Shaftesbury Avenue, heading for the address that Aidan had been given.
The afternoon was surprisingly warm. It was lunch-time, there were lots of people around. The smell of fried noodles hung in the air.
The explosion happened just as they were about to turn the corner into Wardour Street. They didn’t just hear it. They felt it too. The pavement actually shuddered under their feet and a gust of warm air punched into them, carrying with it a cloud of dust and soot. If they had been just ten seconds earlier, they might have been hit by the full impact. A bomb had gone off. A large one. It had happened somewhere near.
“Stop…!” Aidan began.
He was too late. Scarlett had already run forward and turned the corner.
A scene of devastation greeted her on the other side. A building about half-way up the road had been blown to pieces. It was as if someone had punched a giant fist into it. There was glass and debris all over the pavement, and tongues of flame were licking out of the shattered brickwork. A taxi must have been passing at the moment the bomb went off. All its windows were broken and the driver had tumbled out, blind, blood pouring down his face. A woman was standing nearby, screaming and screaming, her clothes in tatters, covered in blood and broken glass. There was smoke everywhere but Scarlett could make out several bodies, lying still, some of them in rags. She had seen images like this on TV, in Baghdad and Jerusalem. But this was Soho, the centre of London. And she knew that she’d almost been part of it. It might have been Aidan and her, lying in the rubble.
Aidan had caught up with her. “We should go,” he said.
“But the restaurant…”
“That is the restaurant.”
Scarlett couldn’t move. She stared at the gaping hole, the smoke billowing out, the smashed furniture and the bodies. It was a restaurant. He was right.
“Come on…!” Aidan pleaded.
Scarlett could already hear the sirens of the police cars and ambulances moving in from some other part of the city. It was amazing how quickly they had been alerted. She allowed Aidan to lead her away. She didn’t want to be found there. Part of her even wondered if she might somehow have been to blame.
It was the first story on the news that night. A restaurant called The Happy Garden had been the target of a lethal attack. Three people had been killed and a dozen more injured by a bomb that had been concealed under one of the tables. According to the police, this wasn’t a terrorist incident. They put the blame on Chinese gangs which had been operating in the West End.
“Police today are speculating that the attack is the result of rising tension within the Chinese community,” the newscaster said.
Scarlett watched the broadcast with Mrs Murdoch. The housekeeper was knitting. “Weren’t you in Soho today, Scarlett?” she asked.
“No,” Scarlett lied. “I was on the other side of the town. I was nowhere near.”
“This is the most serious attack so far,” the report went on. “It follows other incidents involving gangs in Peckham and Mile End. Any witnesses are urged to come forward and Scotland Yard has set up a special phone line for anyone with any information that might help.”
Scarlett texted Aidan that night before she went to bed and he texted back. They both agreed that it was just a coincidence. Despite what they had thought earlier, it would be absurd to suggest that a restaurant in the middle of London had been blown up just to stop them meeting someone there.
But as she turned out the lights and tried to get to sleep, Scarlett knew that it wasn’t. The newscaster had been lying. The police were lying. There were no gangs … just an enemy who was still playing with her and who wouldn’t stop until she was completely in their control.
MATT’S DIARY (2)
Sunday
A bomb has gone off in London. I’ve just been watching it on the television news and I wonder if it might have something to do with Scarlett. Richard thinks it’s unlikely. According to the reports, the bomb had been hidden in a restaurant in Chinatown. It was something to do with Chinese gang warfare. Three people have been killed.
I saw the images on the big plasma screen TV in my hotel room. Dead people, ambulances, screaming relatives, smoke and broken glass … it was hard to believe that it was all happening in the middle of Soho. You just don’t expect it there. It made me feel even further away than I actually was.
Miami. I’ve never been here before and I certainly never dreamed that I’d wind up in a five-star hotel overlooking the beach, surrounded by Cadillacs, Cuban music and palm trees. The Nexus has certainly put us up in style while we wait for my new passport to arrive. The only trouble is, it’s taking longer than we had hoped. We’re now booked onto a flight leaving on Monday evening and we’ll have to kick our heels until then. Scarlett will just have to manage without us for a couple more days. We’ll be with her soon enough.
It feels strange, being back in a big city after spending so much time in a backwater like Nazca. Miami is full of rich people and expensive houses. It’s too cold to swim at this time of the year, but a lot of life still seems to be happening in the street. We didn’t do much today. I bought myself some new clothes, replacing the stuff that got lost in the fire. We walked. And tonight we ate on Ocean Drive, a long strip of fancy cafes a
Nobody noticed us. For a few hours we could pretend we were normal.
Monday afternoon
This morning, the passport finally arrived, delivered in a brown, sealed envelope by a motorbike rider who didn’t say a word. Terrible photograph. The Nexus have sent Jamie a new passport too, and they’ve decided that we should both travel under false names, for extra security. So now I’m Martin Hopkins. He is Nicholas Helsey. Richard is going to stay as himself but then, as far as we know, nobody is trying to kill him.
We have economy tickets. The Nexus could have flown us first class but they didn’t want us to stand out.
We had our final meal on Ocean Drive. A huge plate of nachos and two Cokes. Richard had a beer. I wondered what the waiter must have made of us: Richard in a gaudy, Hawaiian shirt, sitting between two teenagers, the two of us wearing sunglasses even though there wasn’t a lot of sun. We’d bought them the day before and hadn’t got round to taking them off. We liked them because they kept us anonymous. If anyone had asked, we were going to say that he was a teacher and that we were on a school exchange. It was a pretty unlikely story – but nothing compared to the truth.
I’ve spoken to Pedro via satellite phone a couple of times while we’ve been here. He and Scott reached Vilcabamba without any problem. We’ve agreed to contact each other every day while we are apart. If there’s silence, we’ll know something is wrong. Pedro told me that Scott was OK. But Scott didn’t come on the line.
Jamie asked me something today. It took me by surprise. “Why did you really leave Scott behind? You didn’t think you could rely on him, did you?”
“I never said that.”
“But you thought it.” He lowered his voice. “You have no idea what he went through with Mrs Mortlake. It was worse than anything you can imagine.”