Captive (19 page)

The trees are dense here but the undergrowth is low and mostly brambles and nettles. I don’t like our chances of hiding among it. We jog on a bit further. I’m exhausted; this is more
running than I’ve ever done and the fear is weighing me down too. What will they do when they find us? Handcuff us? Shoot us? Logic tells me they won’t shoot the PM’s daughter,
but my brain is sliding beyond rational thinking now.

Finally I spot somewhere that we could rest a while. A large bush that looks a bit less prickly than the others. It’s surrounded by stinging nettles, but there’s no other choice. We
pick our way through them as carefully as we can and then Talon snaps a few branches to create a path for us to crawl through. By some miracle the shrub is wider than it looked at first.
There’s an open area in the middle of it, laced over with branches and bracken. It’s long enough for us to lie down in. We both collapse on our backs, chests heaving. Thanks to the
canopy of leaves, the ground is relatively dry and we’re protected from the rain.

As we lie there, our breathing slowly evens out and the wood slides into darkness.

‘I left Feather,’ Talon whispers.

‘You didn’t have a choice. Someone pushed you down a hill, remember?’

‘They shot her.’

‘She shot them too.’

‘She lost it. As soon as she realised that man wasn’t Marble, she fired her gun before I could stop her. What will they do to her?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why did you help me escape?’

I consider lying but I figure there’s already been enough of that, so I answer truthfully. ‘I didn’t want them to hurt you.’

‘Robyn, I’m your kidnapper.’

‘I know. Messed up, huh? It just . . . it wasn’t fair. They promised to bring Marble and they didn’t. I couldn’t let you go to people like that. I didn’t think
they’d get what you’ve been through. I was afraid they wouldn’t listen to you.’

‘Do you believe me then, about Jez?’

I picture Michael’s red face, his fingers digging into my arms.
‘You little bitch, you were listening!’

‘Michael Bell . . . isn’t that
nice
. I mean, he pretends to be, but he has a really nasty temper. I guess I can see how he might lie to protect himself. When I was in Paris in
January, just before Dad got shot, I overheard them. They were talking about Jez.’

‘What did they say?’

I hesitate. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Robyn?’

‘Please stop pushing me. I just . . . Well, Michael said something about a journalist sniffing around an incident that happened a few years back. He told my dad that he was up to his neck
in it too – whatever it was. Then . . . in the hospital, after the shooting, Dad told me the kid who died was called Jeremy Fletcher.’

‘Right. Well, that says it all then.’

‘He said it was an accident! He said it wasn’t Michael’s fault. My dad had just been shot. You have no idea what it was like that day. I’d been so angry with Dad because
I thought he was hiding something, and then he got shot. And I thought he was going to die, and that would be it. He’d die thinking I was mad with him.’ Now that I’ve started
talking, I can’t stop. ‘And then when he didn’t die, I just wanted everything to be all right. To go back to the way it was. He told me it was all right; that nothing bad had
happened. I just . . . I wanted to believe him. I’m sorry about your brother. I am, really.’ I sniff.

‘Hey, hey. It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay. I can’t believe you helped me escape and then came with me. You could be home by now.’

‘But then I wouldn’t be with you.’ I turn away, embarrassed, because I am sweaty and bloodstained and my hair is a cropped mess.

He tilts my chin towards him and I see none of that matters. He doesn’t care what I look like or who I am or where I came from. He just cares about me. ‘Robyn Knollys-Green,’
he whispers, ‘you are the bravest person I’ve ever met.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiles. ‘And possibly the stupidest. You pushed me down a freaking hill. I could have broken my neck.’

‘But you didn’t.’

His smile fades and I sense mine does too.

‘What are we going to do?’ I ask.

‘Rest up here for a while. Sleep maybe?’

‘I meant tomorrow. We can’t run forever.’

‘No.’

An owl sounds in the trees above us. It is long and mournful like a wail.

‘There’s a guy I know. He used to work for Bell-Barkov and got us some information on them. Feather freaked him out, though, and he refused to help us any more. But him and me got on
okay. He was sad about what happened to Jez. He might let me stay with him for a while. A few days anyway.’

‘Will he mind you bringing along a hostage?’

‘You pushed me, remember. Technically doesn’t that make me your hostage?’

‘What about your mum? Wouldn’t she help?’

‘No. She’s not well. I wouldn’t want to get her involved.’

‘He’ll probably recognise me, this friend of yours. People sometimes do. I should go home anyway. I’ll see you settled with this guy and then I’ll turn myself
in.’

‘You haven’t done anything wrong. They won’t be cross with you.’

‘I helped a terrorist escape. That might be a little hard to explain. I’ll speak to my dad about Jez. I’ll try and ask Michael what happened. I’ll get them to do
something about it. I don’t know what or how, but I will.’

‘Thank you.’

We fall into a comfortable silence. We don’t hear any shouts or dogs, and even the rain has stopped. ‘I hope Feather’s all right,’ Talon says after a while.

‘Why do you care so much about her?’

‘I know it’s hard to understand, but she was there for me when no one else was.’

‘She got you involved in a kidnapping. She nearly got you shot!’

‘It was my choice to kidnap you. She didn’t make me.’

The leaves over our hiding place are edged in silver from the moon and I run my finger along one, tracing the light. The moonlight splashes on the back of my hand, like a stain. Our breathing is
even now, his an echo of mine. ‘Why are you called Talon?’

‘Feather and Marble had nicknames and I wanted one too. I thought it sounded cool at the time. Feather’s is because of her hair. She has a white patch just here and it looks like,
well, a feather.’

‘And Marble’s?’

‘Because he liked playing marbles as a kid.’

‘Seriously? Ha! You said when we first met that you were named for the earth.’

‘I can be a pretentious dick sometimes. You know, we should probably try to get some sleep.’

‘Yeah.’

His breath hitches as I run my fingers down his wrist and the tiny bones of his hand. I scoop up his fingers, entwining them with mine. This is crazy but I don’t care. Who knows what will
happen tomorrow? This might be the last time we’re ever together.

‘Would it be weird to say I’ll miss you?’

‘Yes, but I’ll miss you too.’ He squeezes my hand before releasing it. ‘Robyn, I like you a lot. But that’s so messed up. I’m already in enough trouble. And I
. . . I don’t see how anything good can come of this. Tomorrow I’ll be gone and you’ll be home.’

‘I could come with you, to your friend’s.’ It’s a stupid suggestion, though.

‘That’s not a good idea. But I do like you.’

‘I like you too.’ I reach for his hand again. ‘This is okay, though, right? I mean, if you think so.’

His fingers close around mine. ‘Yeah, I think so.’

I wake up, freezing; my whole body is shaking. The forest is shifting day – a murky grey light glimmers through the overhanging branches, catching the thin layer of frost
on the leaves. A squirrel is sniffing around in the undergrowth on the other side of the small clearing beyond the bush we are hidden in. It looks up suddenly, a nut caught between its claws, its
small black nose twitching.

Talon is asleep next to me, his hand still in mine. I slip my fingers free and notice that a mobile phone has slid out from his trouser pocket and is lying on the ground between us. Why
didn’t he mention it last night? He could have called his friend. Maybe, like me, he wanted one more night together.

Should I call Dad? I could explain about Talon, and then he could intervene with the police: make them understand that Talon is not like Scar and Feather. Before I can change my mind, I pick the
phone up and then carefully crawl back through the shrub. After a furtive glance around to make sure there are no police nearby, I stand up and head through the trees. For some reason I don’t
want Talon to overhear me. Is that because I know what I’m doing is stupid? I don’t care. I’m going to do it anyway. I’m still clinging to the thin hope that Dad
didn’t know the full extent of what Michael had done. If I can make him understand, then maybe he’ll help Talon.

I dial Dad’s mobile number with shaking fingers. It rings, once, twice, three times, and then he is there, sounding as though he is standing right next to me. I try to keep my breath even,
but it is loud, like the rush of a train.

‘Hello, Knollys-Green speaking,’ Dad says.

I don’t reply.

‘Hello?’

I breathe out, breathe in, but I don’t speak.

‘Robyn? Is that you? Where the hell are you? What’s going on? The police said you ran away.’ He is furious, and I’m suddenly back in that hotel suite in Paris.
‘You’re up to your neck in this, Stephen, just like me.’

Dad has always known the truth about Jez and he did nothing.

The phone slides from my hand and bounces a couple of times on the grass. It comes to rest at Talon’s feet. He stoops to pick it up. ‘Who did you ring?’

‘No one. It doesn’t matter.’

The coldness in his eyes turns the blood in my veins to ice. He knows I called Dad.

‘I just wanted to speak to him. I was hoping he’d help you. I thought if he only understood . . .’ I trail off and then add pathetically, ‘He’s my dad.’ Like
that explains everything, but I guess in a way it does. The British prime minister is my father and the man in front of me is my kidnapper.

Then there’s a shout from behind us, followed by the howls of dogs.

‘You told your dad where we were?’

‘No! How could I? I don’t even know where we are! Please, listen—’

But it’s already too late. Men and dogs spill out from the trees all around us. There is snarling and shouting, and none of that is as scary as the look of betrayal in Talon’s eyes.
‘Talon . . .’

The dogs bark and tug on their leads, their jaws a slobbering mass of teeth and gums. Then Nigel Thomas shoves through the fray. Without any warning, he lifts his rifle and brings the butt down
on the back of Talon’s head. Talon drops like a stone.

And something inside me detonates. Because I am sick of lies and misunderstandings and violence, and people making decisions for me. I throw myself at Thomas, and I am fingernails scratching and
fists pummelling and feet kicking. But none of it is enough. I am not enough. Other hands slide around my waist and tug me easily away. They hold me tightly, even as I scream so loudly that it
tears the world apart. Talon is motionless at my feet. His eyes are closed and blood trickles from the gash to his skull, and I wonder if I’m doomed to watch everyone I love lie face down in
their own blood.

Doctor Flight’s smile is as sweet as treacle; just looking at it is enough to rot your teeth. ‘Breathe in for me,’ she says. The stethoscope is cold against
my skin. After giving me a rehydration solution, she looked at my injuries – most of them are healing now – but she spent a long time looking at my finger. She seemed satisfied and just
reapplied a bandage. She gives me a tetanus shot and then says, ‘I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated so far, but we just need to be very clear that you pose no
threat.’

I am dressed in a blue tracksuit. It’s too big for me, but it’s better than a hospital gown. Beneath it I’m a thin slab of white meat. My chest juts out like a cliff over the
inlet of my belly, coming to knotty peaks at my collarbone.

Talon had begun to come round while I was still fighting the police, but he was obviously in a bad way. The police handcuffed both of us and then walked us to separate vans. Then three police
officers, including the one called Thomas, had accompanied me on the long journey here, a near surgically clean white box in a vast building that is surrounded on all sides by high, barbed fences.
From the outside, the place looks decayed, like one strong gust of wind could blow it away. The tangle of wires and assorted satellite dishes on its roof looked like legs. They jerked in the strong
breeze, like the whole thing was trying to scuttle back into the hill behind it: an insect crawling into its hole. As we got closer, the wind picked up even more and the building’s legs
seemed to go into spasm to the accompaniment of clanging metal that screeched like cicadas.

When we drew up outside, a special forces agent tugged me roughly from the car, still handcuffed, and walked me down various corridors to this room. Doctor Flight was indignant when she saw me
and demanded that they take the cuffs off
at once
.

I haven’t seen Talon since the woods and no one will answer any of my questions about him or anything else.

Am I a patient here or a prisoner?

‘Can I go home now?’ I ask as the doctor tidies up her tray of equipment.

She dumps the used syringe in the bin, pulls off the surgical gloves, and then starts wrapping up the remaining gauze before answering. ‘Not just yet.’

‘When then?’

‘Well, really, that depends on you.’ She secures the end of the gauze with a safety pin. ‘We want to help you, Robyn, but you have to help us too.’ She smiles her treacle
smile again. ‘The officers here are sworn to protect the country.’ Her voice is like honey.

‘I’m not dangerous.’

‘No, of course you’re not.’ She pats my knee. ‘Now you are all patched up on the outside. How about getting you patched up on the inside? How does a plate of scrambled
eggs on toast sound?’

My stomach betrays me by gurgling loudly. She gives me another calorific smile.

There’s a knock on the door, and the policeman called Thomas sticks his head in. ‘Okay to have a little chat with Robyn now?’