Every Second Counts (8 page)

‘Careful,’ I warned. ‘Someone could be looking out.’

‘Someone is.’ Aaron leaned forward, as if straining to make out what he was seeing.’

‘Is it a soldier?’ I jumped to my feet, shoving the remaining strip of jerky in my backpack. ‘Get back. He’ll see you.’

Aaron turned to face me, his eyes lit up. ‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘It’s Jas. She’s in the attic room right at the top of the house.’

‘
What?
’ I rushed over and peered around the tree next to his.

A pale face was pressed against the attic window. It was, indeed, my sister. She was staring up at the sky.

‘Damn,’ I muttered. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aaron said. ‘At least we know where she is.’

‘Yeah, but the only way to the attic is up two flights of stairs – that’s after breaking into the house in the first place. And stairs are a choke point.’

‘A what?’

‘A place where terrain narrows, reducing the combat power of any force passing through it,’ I said, remembering another of Taylor’s lectures.

‘Er, right.’ Aaron didn’t sound like he’d understood. ‘Well couldn’t we just rush it? If we went really fast, used my gun to keep back any soldiers we could .
. .’

Give me strength.
I tried to tune him out, to work out a plan that might conceivably stand some chance of success. It was virtually impossible without knowing exactly how many soldiers
were inside. Maybe we should wait a few more hours, see if any of them left the building. Except I couldn’t be sure Jas
had
a few more hours.

Aaron’s incessant chatter was still a hum in my ear. ‘So, Nat . . .?’

I tuned back in. ‘Yup?’

‘Jas says you were doing secret army training for months,’ Aaron went on, his eyes wide. ‘What kind of things did they teach you?’

‘Among other things, the importance of silence in potentially dangerous situations,’ I muttered.

‘I meant fighting – using weapons,’ Aaron went on excitedly, clearly not noticing the heavy irony in my voice.

‘Guns, knives, hand-to-hand combat, that sort of thing,’ I said.

‘So you really know how to fire a gun?’ Aaron asked.

‘Yes.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Look, Aaron, I need you to be quiet a minute so I can try and work out how I can get into that farmhouse and up to the attic.’

Aaron fell silent at last.

Just getting inside was a big enough problem. There was bound to be someone on duty near the front door, only yards from the bottom of the staircase which we needed to climb. I sighed. Whichever
way I looked at the problem, I couldn’t see a solution.

‘What about my gun?’ Aaron said stubbornly. ‘Couldn’t we use that to force our way in?’

I kicked at the twigs underfoot.
Honestly
. ‘I already told you, any half-decent soldier would see it wasn’t real in about three seconds. Seriously, that’s about all the
time that gun buys us.’

‘Oh.’ Aaron looked crestfallen.

‘Anyway, there is no “we”,’ I went on. You’re not coming with me.’

‘But I can run really fast,’ Aaron protested. ‘In fact I’m probably stronger and fitter than you are. I was in the CCF at my school. I can climb
anything—’

‘This isn’t a test on monkey nets,’ I snapped. ‘Getting into—’ I stopped.

Climb anything.
Aaron’s words echoed in my head.
Climb.

If I could get up on to the flat roof above the first floor, then somehow scramble up the sloping roof of the attic room, I could break the window and get Jas out that way. Chances were that no
one would even hear the glass shatter all the way up there on the top floor.

‘I’m going to approach from the roof,’ I said, checking over the house.

‘But it’s a sheer wall up to the roof.’ Aaron frowned. ‘How will you—?’

‘Metal drainpipe.’ I pointed to the spot I’d just picked out.

‘I can climb that,’ Aaron said eagerly.

‘No.’ I picked up the rope I’d brought with me and slung it over my shoulder. I had that and my knife. I would leave everything else here. ‘You stay here. I’ll come
back this way with Jas, once I’ve got her out.’

‘But—?’

I didn’t wait to hear Aaron’s arguments. I was already skirting around the trees, heading to the point nearest the section of farmhouse I wanted to access. I could see most of the
front of the building from here. Only one jeep was parked outside. That was good. Hopefully the three soldiers I’d spotted so far were the only ones present in the house. I dropped to the
ground and wriggled, commando-style, across the field. Taylor had taught us how to move like this months ago. There was a real knack to it, involving muscles in my arms and legs I’d never
even known I had. But after the past few weeks I was as fit as I’d ever been. Far fitter than Aaron, I was sure, despite what he said. Jeez, the guy was really a bit of a jerk. What on earth
did Jas see in him?

I crossed the field in less than a minute. As I reached the slatted wooden fence – rotten and broken and only surrounding part of the farmhouse – I raised my head. No one was
anywhere near me. I hadn’t been seen. Swiftly I crawled under the bottom bar of the fence, then clawed as quietly as I could over the gravel to the drainpipe I’d been heading for. I
stood up, looking around again. Still no sign of any soldiers.

Hand over hand, I shimmied up the drainpipe, using my feet as leverage against the stone wall. I tested the gutter above the first floor, making sure it would bear my weight, then hauled myself
up on to the flat roof above. I lay, catching my breath for a second. The sunlit roof felt warm under my body. It had been less than two minutes since I left Aaron. I resisted the temptation to
look over in his direction to make sure he wasn’t visible and thereby putting both of us in danger. I needed to focus on Jas. Aaron would have to look after himself.

I crawled over to the sloping wall of the attic room. I could just reach the bottom ledge of the window with my fingers. Clutching it tightly, it took all the strength in my arms to haul myself
up. I pressed my toes against the wall trying to get some purchase there. With a low grunt, I hooked my knee over the ledge and peered inside.

Jas was sitting on the bed, her hands – tied at the wrist – in her lap. She looked desperately miserable, her long hair dangling on either side of her face, her skinny legs tucked up
underneath her. A surge of fury filled me. How dare Riley put my sister through this?

I gave the glass a light tap. Jas looked up. Saw me. Her eyes widened. She raced over.

‘Nat?’ she whispered.

‘Stand back,’ I urged. ‘I’m going to break the glass.’

Jas scrambled back on to the bed. Leaning against the wall for balance, I slid off my jacket and rolled it over my hand. With a swift jab, I punched through the window. Glass smashed to the
floor beneath. The sound filled the air. I held my breath. Had anyone heard?

But no one came rushing. Still holding my jacket over my hand, I picked out the largest piece of glass and let it slide to the roof below me. Another two quick punches and there was enough
space. I eased myself into the room. Once I’d untied the rope around Jas’s wrists and helped her through, I could easily haul myself back out again.

I landed lightly on the floor with a sudden and powerful sense of déjà vu. I shivered, remembering how I’d nearly died here just a few weeks ago.

‘Oh, Nat . . .’ Jas flung herself at me, sobbing.

‘No time,’ I said, disentangling myself from her arms. I sliced through the rope around her wrists. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.’

I bent down, making my hands into a stirrup for her.

And then the door swung open.

Roman Riley stood in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. ‘Ah, Nat,’ he said, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

I gasped as he raised his arm. I just had time to register he was holding a gun and that the gun was pointing at me. Then a shot fired, pain filled me, and the room spun and turned to black.

Martina didn’t say much during the long journey to Cornwall. I spent most of the time in the car staring out of the window at the countryside flashing past and wondering
about my dad. As time passed, my fears that I was simply being taken out of the house to be killed started to fade. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Riley
would go to all the trouble of faking a DNA test and sending me off with his girlfriend on a six-hour drive as part of a hoax. He had said my dad was like an inspiration to him – perhaps that
was true. I had certainly got the strong sense Riley felt obliged to do what my dad asked.

All of which meant that maybe I really was about to meet John Stockwell. And that maybe he really did want to meet
me
. But what would he be like? I had a few vague memories of a tall man
with strong arms and a big smile, tossing me into the air above his head, me squealing with delight, but it was hard to know whether those were real memories or simply planted in my head from the
videos Mum had played when I was younger – and which I had replayed for myself many times since.

I only really knew my dad from those videos and photos. Back then, when I was a baby, he’d been very good-looking, with golden-brown hair, grey-blue eyes just like Uncle Brian’s, and
a strong, square jaw. How much would he have changed since that time? He had been twenty-two, like Mum, when I was born – so he’d be in his late thirties now.

Apart from the pictures, all I knew about my dad was that he’d been a soldier, a squaddie. My experience of soldiers through the EFA had led me to think of them as disciplined, serious
people. Yet I’d got the impression from Mum and Uncle Brian that my dad had been a carefree, even irresponsible guy. Well maybe the combination of those qualities tied in with what Riley said
about my dad being a philosopher. Perhaps being a soldier had given him life experience, but by nature he was a dreamer. I felt even more hopeful that he didn’t really understand the full
nature of Riley’s crimes and that I would be able to open his eyes.

Having exhausted the little I knew about my dad, my thoughts flickered to Nat. The more I dwelled on it, the weirder it seemed that Riley hadn’t tried to get me to talk about Nat or where
he was . . . and not understanding made me feel uneasy.

I missed Nat more than I would have thought possible. There hadn’t been another chance to find a phone or a computer earlier. Of course trying to get evidence against Riley was my
priority, but I would have liked to be able to send Nat a message too. I hoped he wasn’t too angry or worried about me. I imagined him helping Julius and Lennox pack up and head off to their
next safe house and I promised myself that I would take the next chance I got to leave a draft email for him telling him I was okay.

Why not also tell him that you love him?
an annoying voice chirped in my head.

No way. I felt vulnerable enough, without giving away the depth of my feelings like that. I wished now that I’d pushed Nat to talk more about how he felt about us. But when we’d been
on the run, life had been so hard and we’d both been so preoccupied with survival that it had been easy to withdraw from all the emotional stuff. Safer, somehow. Trouble was that now I
couldn’t be sure that in running off I hadn’t just pushed him away altogether. I thought we’d had something powerful between us, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe Nat didn’t feel
the same about me as I did about him.

I couldn’t bear the thought of that. Nat was everything to me. The idea that he might not really like me was too terrible to contemplate.

‘Nearly there.’ Martina’s voice brought me out of my reverie.

I followed her pointing finger to the sea, just coming into view across the town laid out to our left. It had been cloudy for most of our journey but as we passed the town and plunged into the
depths of the Cornish countryside, the sun came out, bathing the car in sudden light and warmth.

‘How much longer?’ I asked.

‘Ten minutes, maybe less.’

My stomach twisted into a knot as we turned off the main road and travelled through a small village and on to a winding coastal road. The sea was spread out like a sparkling blue sheet beside
us. After another half a mile or so Martina turned up a long drive, lined with tall thin trees. She reached a set of gates, got out and pressed the intercom. As she got back in the car, the gates
swung open to reveal an old man with a stick at the bend of the drive ahead. A male soldier in black jumper and combats with a machine gun slung across his chest stood beside him.

‘Out you get,’ Martina said gruffly.

My heart thumped loudly in my ears. ‘Aren’t you staying?’ The words came out more shakily than I meant.

‘Roman’s ex and I don’t exactly get along.’ Martina didn’t meet my eyes. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget your
stuff.’

I got out, clutching the small bag she’d given me earlier. It contained the few things I’d brought with me from the safe house, plus the pyjamas and toothbrush I’d borrowed at
Riley’s house last night. As I headed through the gate, Martina turned the car and drove off. I gazed up at the drive. The old man was leaning heavily on his cane. Who the hell was he? I
glanced at the soldier beside him. He was probably only a few years older than I was. I summoned up my most recent picture of my dad. Even allowing for the fact that John Stockwell must have aged
at least thirteen years since the pictures I had of him, he should still be recognisable – and he definitely wasn’t either of the two men I was walking towards. So where was he? Was
this all, after all, some elaborate trap?

I walked, dry-mouthed along the drive. As I got closer, the old man hobbled towards me. He had white hair, slicked back off his lined, weather-beaten face. A long scar cut a deep groove along
one cheek. How the hell did he fit in to all this?

The soldier kept back, but he was watching me carefully.

I reached the old man. He was tall, over six foot, but he walked awkwardly, hunched over his cane. He held out his left hand, his right still leaning heavily on the stick. I shook, not knowing
what else to do.