Lost Worlds (12 page)

Eventually he said goodbye to his great-aunt. She hugged him tight, bending down to get to him in the wheelchair. ‘Take care, Calum. I do worry about you.’

‘I know,’ he said. He patted her shoulder. ‘I’m fine. Really I am.’

She gazed at him for a moment. ‘Why do I have a feeling that there’s something more going on here than you are telling me?’

‘That’s paranoia,’ he pointed out.

‘Your father used to say, Calum, that just because you’re being paranoid it doesn’t mean that someone
isn’t
out to get you.’

The door to Calum Challenger’s apartment was open a crack when Tara arrived.

She had slept uneasily in her college room, thinking about what had happened the day before. Had she really agreed to travel to a former Soviet republic with a boy she’d only just met and
a guide whose name was the only thing she knew about him? It had seemed to make more sense when it had been agreed. Now it seemed crazy.

Eventually she had realized that the only way to see whether it was all true, and not just a hallucination, was to head back to Calum’s apartment. So she did.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Calum was sitting in front of his computer screens. In front of him stood a woman. She was, Tara estimated, middle-aged, slim and attractive, and she was dressed with understated expense –
silk blouse, tailored jacket and tight chino trousers. Her hands were on her hips and she was obviously in the middle of a very polite rant.

Tara suddenly spotted another person in the large apartment. Over in the kitchen area a girl of about her own age was pouring herself a glass of water. She was thin – almost painfully so
– and her smooth brown tan was obviously the genuine article, rather than something that came out of a bottle or a tanning salon. She had long blonde hair that curled just as it hit her
shoulders. She seemed to sense Tara watching her, looked up and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

A rise in the volume of the discussion between Calum and the woman caught Tara’s attention. She raised her eyebrows at the girl in the kitchen and moved her attention back to the
discussion. Or argument, as it was turning out.

‘. . . can’t possibly intend sending two teenagers that you’ve only just met to a country whose primary language neither of them speaks and whose northern border is still the
subject of a violent dispute!’

‘For a start, I’m not “sending” them,’ Calum said calmly. ‘They don’t work for me. I’m not paying them. All that happened was that I explained
about the Lost Worlds website, and this possible sighting of a Neanderthal-like creature in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains, and they volunteered to go and take a look.’

That wasn’t
quite
the way Tara remembered it, but she decided not to say anything. That was a conversation they could have later. Especially the part about not being paid.

‘What’s the legality of this?’ the woman challenged. ‘Surely they count as unaccompanied minors? The airlines will refuse to fly them!’

‘They’ll be accompanied by this Special Forces guy you’ve recommended – Rhino Gillis,’ Calum pointed out. ‘And they’ll have letters signed by their
parents or guardians allowing them to travel in his company. Gecko has already talked to his mother, and she’s apparently happy to let him travel wherever he wants. Her only stipulation is
that she meets Rhino Gillis first.’

Gecko must have already arrived, then. Tara looked around, but couldn’t see him. A noise from above made er look up at the ceiling, and the skylight. Gecko was up there, fitting a new pane
of glass to replace the one through which he’d crashed. He caught sight of her, and smiled.

‘“Gecko”?’ the woman said scornfully. ‘What kind of name is that?’

Calum was a model of patience. ‘His real name is Eduardo Ortiz, and he’s used to travelling alone. He’s done it before. He’s gone back and forth between here and Brazil a
couple of times.’

‘And this girl? What do her parents say?’

Tara stepped forward. ‘
This girl
’s parents don’t say anything,’ she interrupted bluntly. ‘My dad’s in prison and my mum’s in and out of rehab so
often that they reserve a room for her.’

The woman had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Sorry – I didn’t realize you were there.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘You are . . . ?’

‘Tara. Tara Flynn.’ She raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘And
you
are?’

‘Gillian Livingstone. I’m—’

‘Professor Livingstone is my guardian,’ Calum interrupted. ‘She looks after me. She and my great-aunt, anyway. They work in parallel to keep me on the straight and
narrow.’ He waved at Tara. ‘Hi – thanks for coming back. I was getting worried.’

‘So if your mother and father are . . . not available,’ Professor Livingstone said, ‘who exactly is
responsible
for you?’

‘I’m responsible for myself. I look after myself.’

Gillian Livingstone was persistent. ‘But in the absence of your parents you must have some legal guardian, surely?’

‘There’s a social worker.’ She shrugged. ‘Actually, there have been a whole string of social workers. There’s a high turnover, apparently.’

‘Then surely we should be talking to them?’

Calum raised an eyebrow at the use of the word ‘we’, but obviously decided not to interrupt.

‘After several occasions when I ran away, including one when I got as far as Bahrain,’ Tara said calmly, ‘along with a couple of overly dramatic episodes of self-harm, my
social worker and I came to an arrangement. If I went to college, got good reports from my tutors, didn’t do anything obviously illegal and phoned them every three days without fail, they
would pretty much leave me alone to live my life the way I want. I’m sure they’ll write a letter of authorization for me to go abroad if I ask nicely, and if they know I’m going
with someone responsible. Oh, and I’ve got a passport.’ She smiled. ‘I had to, in order to get to Bahrain.’

Professor Livingstone stared at Tara for a long moment. Tara stared back, not confrontationally, or even defensively, but without blinking or looking away. Eventually the professor nodded
slightly, and turned back to Calum.

‘Well, you seem to have got this all sewn up. Merrily has already told me that she’s given you a line of credit. I suppose I’ll have to go along with it –
reluctantly.’

‘Thank you.’ Calum smiled, and Tara was struck by how much better he looked. With the borderline-sullen expression taken off his face, his eyes seemed to sparkle.

‘Has Rhino made contact yet? I phoned him yesterday, just after we spoke.’

Calum nodded. ‘Yes – he emailed me last night.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve got to say he sounded quite tense.’

‘I gather he’s had a spot of trouble in the USA. I think he is glad of the opportunity to leave.’

‘When does he fly in?’

‘Ah. That’s something I wanted to speak to you about – assuming I couldn’t persuade you to change your mind, that is.’

‘Since when have you ever been able to change my mind once it’s been made up?’

The professor’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile had she not quickly suppressed it. ‘In that respect, as in so many others, you take after your father. Anyway –
once I described the mission, the location and –’ she glanced at Tara and then upward at Gecko – ‘the rather unusual composition of the party, he suggested that there was a
new piece of equipment that the US army are working on that might come in useful. I pulled some strings, and they’re willing to lend one of them to you, as long as they can analyse the
readings from it when it comes back. They’re keen to give it some real-world experience.’

‘Sounds interesting, if a little puzzling. Are they going to send it over, or is Rhino going to collect it?’

‘Slightly more complicated than that – there’s a full day’s training course involved. Rhino suggested that you go over and join him on the course, but I pointed out that
it would be impractical.’

‘This equipment – is it technical?’

Gillian Livingstone nodded. ‘Very. I’ve got a couple of documents in my bag that will tell you all about it – give me a minute and I’ll let you read them.’

‘Then Tara ought to go out and meet Rhino,’ Calum said firmly. ‘They can do the course together.’

Tara blinked a couple of times as her brain slowly processed the information. ‘You want me to go to
America
?’ she exclaimed.

Professor Livingstone looked at her watch. ‘Too late today,’ she said. ‘We’ll aim for tomorrow. The flight will leave at lunchtime. You won’t need a visa. Rhino
will meet you at Dulles Airport, and drive you to where the course will be taking place. It’s called the Aberdeen Proving Ground – it’s just up from Baltimore. Driving distance.
Part of the US Army Research Laboratories.’ She glanced at Calum, whose mouth was hanging open slightly. ‘Buck up, Calum. If you want to arrange an expedition, there’s a lot to
do, and a lot to think about.’

Calum glanced at Tara. ‘Are you OK with this?’

She considered for a moment. Getting the chance to play with high-tech US military equipment for free? Maybe take some photos?

Ah, yes. That might be a problem. Her . . . reputation.

‘Sounds great,’ she said. ‘But . . . don’t I need some kind of . . . security clearance?’

Professor Livingstone shook her head. ‘The equipment has been developed by a major international company for whom I do some consultancy work.
New Scientist
have covered it.
National Geographic
printed photos. I think there’s even a Discovery Channel documentary that mentions it. I’ll sort out your entry visas and I’ve already vouched for you
and Rhino, so getting to play with it won’t be a problem. Besides, you’re trustworthy, aren’t you?’

‘Totally,’ said Tara, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Calum frowned. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘talk of a major international company reminds me – you never answered my question about Nemor Incorporated.
Have
you ever
heard of them?’

A shiver ran up Tara’s spine at the mention of the company. She glanced over at Professor Livingstone, whose face was smooth and expressionless.

‘No,’ she said calmly. ‘The name’s a mystery to me.’

She was holding her right hand casually behind her back, and Tara had the sudden and disquieting thought that maybe
her
fingers were crossed.

T
he arrivals and departures hall at Dulles International Airport, some thirty miles out of Washington DC, was a cavernous area with a curved
concrete roof. It felt airy and oppressive at the same time, which, Rhino Gillis thought, was quite a feat of engineering. Fortunately it was air-conditioned, which was a relief considering the
marshy heat outside.

A row of check-in areas dominated the centre of the building, covering almost every airline that Rhino could think of and quite a few that he couldn’t. Wherever he looked
there were armed police officers wandering around, conspicuous in their dark blue uniforms and caps. Slightly less obvious were the undercover air marshals in their blazers and slacks. They might
just have been businessmen or politicians on their way home, if it weren’t for the slight bulge of a holster beneath the jacket of each one, and the uniformity of their hairstyles. Given the
continuing likelihood of terrorist attacks directed against American aircraft, Rhino wasn’t surprised to see them, but he did think they could do more to blend in.

Rhino was blending in. He was wearing his usual faded chinos and polo shirt, with a lightweight canvas jacket over the top. He stood at the top of the escalators that led up from the
luggage-reclaim area with a sign on a pole. The sign read
Mr Desponda
in large letters, and
Trent Office Machinery
in smaller letters underneath. There was no Mr Desponda, as far as
Rhino knew, and probably no Trent Office Machinery either, but the sign gave him a level of anonymity. There must have been thirty other people – taxi drivers and chauffeurs – standing
around with signs. He was just one of the crowd.

He glanced around, making it look as if he was just checking for the fictitious Mr Trent. In fact, he was keeping an eye out for Blue and Orange, or their friends. He was pretty sure that
he’d shaken off any attempt to follow him, and he had spent the previous night in an anonymous roadside motel under an assumed name rather than go back to the rather more upmarket room
he’d been staying in previously, but there was always the off-chance that the gang who were looking for him – whoever they were – had thought to stake out the airport. There might
be gang members stalking through the crowd now with his photograph in their hands and a silenced gun or a knife beneath their jackets.

Rhino had thought about disguising himself, but in his experience false beards, wigs and moustaches were more likely to attract attention than to deflect it. The only disguise that Rhino was
wearing was a pair of plain glasses and a baseball cap. He was relying on the fact that every second man in the crowd was in the same get-up. It was the standard American blue-collar look.

The flight from London had arrived about twenty minutes ago. If this Tara Flynn was quick retrieving her baggage, then she should be appearing at any moment.

Professor Livingstone had emailed a photograph of the girl to his smartphone. It had obviously been taken with a camera phone when she hadn’t been expecting it: she was looking away and
she had her mouth open, as if she was just about to say something. She shouldn’t be hard to recognize, he mused. Not with hair dyed that violent shade of black, the ear piercings, the heavy
eyeshadow and the suggestion of a lip stud. She looked to him like a typical goth – self-absorbed and ready to blame the rest of the world for anything she didn’t like. She was nothing
like the kinds of people that he usually accompanied on missions and expeditions. The next few days were going to be . . . well, interesting to say the least.

He still didn’t quite know what Professor Livingstone had got him into. If he hadn’t needed money and the chance to get out of the country quickly, then he wouldn’t have
accepted the job. Nursemaiding a couple of kids on a trip to a former Soviet republic didn’t sound like his kind of thing.