Better Left Buried (25 page)

Max put it there because he wanted to tell me something too important to risk putting into words. That he was coming to the island. Or that he'd left something in this place.

What I'm looking for is here, somewhere. I'm certain now. I just have to find it.

I spin round, trying to put myself in my brother's head. If I had something to hide, something small, where would I put it?

Then I remember.

I check around for Jack. No sign of him. He must still be keeping a lookout on the other side of the island.

I run across the thick tussocks of grass on the central ridge, climbing down to where the granite drops off in a miniature cliff, and duck round the fir tree growing next to it. Squatting on my heels, I inspect the sheer face of the rock in front of me.

Where is it? I'm sure it's here somewhere.

I use my fingers to trace the network of cracks, looking for the glint of metal. One summer Max and I hid coins in these crevices, promising to check they were still there every time we returned. Two five-krona pieces, big silver coins like pirate treasure.

I scratch off the moss with a piece of stick. Sure enough, a glint of metal shines from one of the cracks. I try to pull it out with my fingertips, but it's wedged fast.

Come on, Sarah.
Think
. It's got to be here. I scrape more moss away and trace my thumbnail along the edge of the coin, following the gap in the rock downwards. Near the ground, half concealed by the tree trunk, it widens into a small fissure, about the width of two piano keys.

I inhale deeply and slide in my hand, sideways on, but can't feel anything except cold, damp rock. I force my fingers forwards with a quiver of fear about getting them stuck, then touch something pliable. I push in further, gripping it between my middle and index fingers, pulling gently towards me. I lose my grasp and scrape the back of my knuckles on a sharp piece of stone.

I try again, edging the tips of my fingers further in, and pincer the plastic between them as hard as I can. Then pull back slowly and steadily. Gradually the package emerges from its narrow cave. A thick blue see-through bag, the kind you use to wrap sandwiches, sealed with tape. And inside, clearly visible, several sheets of folded notepaper.

Max's notes. His own island treasure.

I rip open the plastic and unfold the paper. On top, a note scribbled in Max's handwriting.

If you ever find this, Sarah, then you know, and you need these pages. I hope they help. And I'm sorry. Please, somehow, forgive me. Max.

A lump in my throat so big I feel I'm choking. I blink back tears and skim the pages underneath. Numbers and equations I can't even begin to comprehend. But I grasp enough to know that this is what they're after.

The formula.

And I understand, too, why Max chose not to destroy it. He knew these people would stop at nothing. That as a last resort, the only chance to keep us all safe would be to give them what they want.

No matter what the cost.

A sharp snap of a twig underfoot. I look up and that's when I see him. Silhouetted against the pale sunlight, staring down at me and the notes in my hand. His face is partly concealed by shadow, but I can still make out his expression.

My whole body starts to tremble.

“Give it to me, Sarah.”

I stare at Jack. He's stretching out his arm towards me.

But not offering to help me up.

“Come on.” His tone hard, terse.

I swallow. My eyes are beginning to sting. I don't move. I can't.

“Sarah, for Christ's sake, hand it over. We haven't got much time.”

He wiggles his fingers at the parcel in my hand. I look at his face. See the determination there and know I've no choice but to do what he says. I give the package to him and he shoves it into his pocket.

What will he do now? I wonder. Leave me here?

Shoot me?

He spins around, eyes roaming the horizon, then looks back down at me.

“You're going to have to make a run for it. Try and get to the boat.”

“What?” My voice comes out shaky.

“They'll be here any second.”

I gaze at him, wild-eyed.

“Who?”

But the instant I ask, I know. Tommy, Manny, whoever. They've followed us here. To the island.

I've led them right to what they're after. And all at once I realize I've changed my mind. I don't want them to have it at all. Not even Jack.

This stuff has destroyed two lives already. I won't let it ruin any more.

I glance back up at Jack and he extends his hand again.

“Can't we hide?” I ask unsteadily. “Wait till they go?”

Jack shakes his head. “They've seen the boat. They know we're here.”

I lift my hand and he hauls me to my feet. We hurry down to the water, but it's too late. Already I can see a motorboat speeding towards us, its roar suddenly subsiding as the man cuts the engine and lets it glide up to the beach.

“Get back into the trees!” Jack hisses, as he crouches behind a large rock.

I run towards the copse at the far end of the island, stumbling over stones and roots, my heart pounding so hard it's difficult to breathe. I squat in a hollow made by a fallen tree.

I can just see Jack hunched behind the rock. He's resting his arm on top, pointing it in the direction of the approaching boat. “Stop right there!” he shouts to the man at the steering wheel.

A sharp ping as something hits the stone. Jack swears and ducks.

Shit.
They must have another gun.

A second shot. This time the man on board dives behind the windshield. Jack stands and walks towards the lake, the gun trained on the boat a few metres away.

“Drop it!” Jack yells as he starts to wade into the water. I hear a sharp clatter as something heavy drops onto the deck. The man rises slowly, hands held up to show they're empty. Jack takes another step towards him.

It's then I feel the arm close around my throat.

He's edging me forwards, shoving me, at the same time gripping my neck so tight I'm struggling to breathe. And there, again, that stringent smell of aftershave, dense and cloying in this clean, fresh air.

Him. The man who mugged me.

All of a sudden, he stumbles on a rock and for a few seconds the pressure on my throat slackens.

“Jack!” I scream, as loudly as I can.

Over by the shore I see Jack look up. I'm pulled to my feet, exposing us both, and I realize this is a trap. The boat driver must have dropped this man off on the island before cruising round to the other side.

They planned it. And it looks as if their scheme is working perfectly. Jack turns towards us, but keeps his gun aimed at the boat.

I feel myself released and shoved forwards. I can't see him, but I'm guessing my captor is armed.

Jesus,
part of my mind thinks,
this can't be real. This can't actually be happening.

“Walk!” a deep voice growls behind me, and I stagger forwards. I turn and catch a glimpse of a heavy, jowly face before he grabs me roughly and steers me towards the shore, towards a large slab of rock that shelves directly into the water.

Jack's eyes follow our approach, but he doesn't lower his arm.

I get to the end and stop. There's nowhere else to go – except into the lake. I look across at Jack, notice the tension in his jaw.

“Where is it?” the man behind me shouts towards him.

Jack doesn't move.

“C'mon, Reynolds, let's not fuck about any longer.”

Jack stares at him, his face immobile.

“Hand it over, okay, and we'll come to some arrangement. Something mutually beneficial.”

“Hand what over, Tommy?” Jack's voice is calm and even, as if this were all some kind of picnic.

“Do me a favour, Reynolds. You honestly expect me to believe you came all this way out of the goodness of your heart? You know what she's looking for, and I'm guessing you've found it, cos you wouldn't be leaving otherwise, would you?”

I swivel my eyes towards the boat Jack unhitched. It's slowly drifting away from the island.

Jack regards him coolly, his steely gaze never wavering. He doesn't look at me once.

It's like I'm not here. Like I don't even exist.

“Come on, Jack,” Tommy says. I try to turn to face him but his fingers dig hard into my arm as he spins me back. “Stop pissing about. We all know what's going on here. You have something we want, something you want too. And there'll be plenty to go around, won't there? More than enough for everyone.”

I see Jack considering this. Observe the indecision rippling across his face. Finally he nods, still not looking at me, and lowers the gun, tucking it into his jacket. A sharp intake of breath from the man behind me as Jack reaches with his other hand and withdraws Max's notes from his pocket.

“This what you're after?” he asks casually.

Something inside me dies as I watch him unfold the sheets of paper.

He's going to hand them over.

Of course he is. How could I ever have imagined otherwise? Those notes are Jack's passport to a better life. His freedom. His fortune.

And I led him right to them.

It's over, I know, as I see Jack scan the scrawl of Max's handwriting.

All over.

It's then Jack looks up, his eyes locking on mine. His left eyelid twitches, and he blinks slowly as if to chase it away.
Sorry,
his expression seems to say.
Sorry, Sarah, but really, what did you expect?

I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself crying, just as his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile.

“Hang on tight, Chicory.”

Jack holds my gaze for a second longer before grasping the sheets of paper in both hands and ripping them in half. He clasps the pieces together and does it again. And again.

For several moments no one reacts as Jack reduces Max's notes to shreds, then tosses them into the air. The wind whips them up, scattering them across the lake like ragged white confetti.

“What the fu—” Tommy yells, but I never hear the rest. I'm shoved forwards as he lunges towards Jack, my head smacking against the rock as I fall. Everything goes dark, only for a second, then the shock of the freezing water jerks me back to myself. I try to struggle to my feet but there's nothing there. Nothing beneath me at all.

I attempt to swim upwards, to get a lungful of air, but as I surface I hear a splash behind me, then a pressure on my head, holding it down. Someone is pushing me under, I realize, and I have no strength left to fight him. A fire in my lungs begins to build and I'm seeing stars in front of my eyes, funny little lights that dance about like the jewels on the lake. Everything is swimming, fluid, and I have an odd sensation as if I'm coming round from an anaesthetic. Neither in this world nor the one waiting beneath.

“Sing,” says a voice somewhere deep inside me, and I lose myself in the beauty of the music I can hear now all around me. I start to sing, clear in my head, reaching for the high note as the cold seeps into my bones, holding it pure and steady as the darkness creeps towards me.

And then it ends. A sudden, excruciating pain as someone grabs my hair and pulls me upwards. I surface with a gasp, a rasping breath that racks right through me, tears of agony mingling with the lake water streaming down my face.

Just to the side, at the edge of my vision, a man staggers onto the island, blood seeping from the side of his head.

Jack!

But no. Strong arms shove me to the shore. I grasp at the rocks and haul myself upwards, then hear a small
plish
as a bullet enters the water. I spin round. Over on the boat, a fair-haired man is aiming at Jack, getting ready to fire again.

“No!” I want to scream, but there's not enough air in my lungs. I'm seized by a violent fit of coughing and barely turn in time to see Jack falling into the water.

The breath freezes in my throat.
Oh god, no…

I try to move, try to go back and save him, but my head is spinning and I haven't got the strength. All I can do is watch the surface of the water, waiting for the bloom of red that I know must come. I watch and wait, counting the seconds, until I'm sure he's gone.

“NO!” I cry, and this time it rings out across the lake, loud and sharp like the shriek of a gull. The man with the gun turns his gaze towards me. I'm dead, I think, as he lifts his arm and takes aim.

But at that second Jack surfaces and grabs the side of the boat, tipping it sideways. The man loses his balance and Jack heaves himself inside, grabbing the gun.

“Enough!” he yells, scrabbling to his feet and pointing the weapon at the fair-haired man sprawled across the bottom of the boat. Then swings it round at Tommy Crace, kneeling on the shore, his hand clutched to his head. The man who nearly drowned me.

“Enough!” Jack shouts again, his words resounding through the silence. “It's over!”

We watch the motorboat speed over the surface of the lake until it disappears round the curve of the bay. Overhead, billowy white clouds scud across the unending sky, the alchemy of the setting sun turning the water to pale gold.

Eventually even the sound of the motor wanes, leaving only the rustle of the wind through the reeds.

I shiver. My wet clothes cling to my skin, making me colder by the minute.

“What if they come back?” I ask, trying to stop my teeth chattering.

Jack sighs. “They won't. Tommy knows he'll be wasting his time.”

“So it's really over?”

“For now,” he nods. “For you.”

Four words that tell me everything. I'm safe. They have no reason to come after me with Max's formula gone, lost in the bottom of the lake.