The Crystal Code (7 page)

Gerald reached back inside the cockpit and pulled out an emergency kit with a big red cross on the front. He tossed it to Ox. ‘This could come in handy,' he said. But before they could make a move, Alisha's voice cut through the air. ‘Someone's coming!'

Gerald, Ox and Ruby dropped to the floor and scurried across to where Alisha and Sam were squatting by the window. ‘I think there's only one,' Alisha whispered. ‘I saw the flash of a torch.'

Gerald was about to poke his head up to look outside when he heard the crunch of boots in the dry snow. Then a beam of light shone through the window.

The man was right above them.

Gerald pressed in close to the wall. The beam swept left then right across the floor. It played across the front of the closest chopper. But was it bright enough to see the wreckage beyond?

The torchlight flicked off and they could hear boot steps tracing around the side of the building. Gerald's stomach jolted. He hadn't locked the door after they came in.

‘Hide!' he hissed, and threw himself towards the door at the rear of the building. He skidded across the floor like he was sliding into home plate. The door was the type with four small windowpanes set in a square in the top half and he could see the glow from the torch as the man rounded the corner outside. Gerald came to a stop just centimetres from the wall. He shot his hand up to the door handle and jabbed the button, locking it.

A split second later, the handle rattled. The intruder was trying to get in.

Gerald lay on the floor, making himself as small as possible. A ribbon of cold air blew onto his back from the gap under the door. He tilted his head to look up. A face was pressed to the window.

A balaclava.

A dark set of eyes.

And a gun.

Gerald held his breath. The torch beam shone through the glass, casting a dim light across the floor. Everything looked deserted. His friends had hidden themselves well. He let out a silent sigh of relief—only to see a puff of vapour escape his mouth and float slowly into the beam of light.

A second later, the world exploded around him. The thug's kick demolished the door in a shower of timber and glass shards. Gerald tried to roll clear, but he took the impact hard into his ribs. Then the man was straddling him, grabbing his collar, snatching at his hair.

‘They're in the hangar!' the man yelled into a walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder. ‘I've got Wilkins!'

Gerald writhed and kicked. But the man was strong. Then Gerald heard two things in quick succession: Felicity yelling ‘Oi!' And then a whipping
thwack
as she swatted the man across the face with a ski pole, breaking his nose instantly. The impact sent him reeling. His legs tangled in Gerald's. He toppled and landed heavily, cracking his skull on the concrete floor.

Gerald freed himself from the mess of limbs and scrambled to his feet.

‘You've knocked him out,' he said to Felicity with undisguised awe. ‘Where'd you learn to do that?'

Felicity stood over the prone shape of the man and planted a boot on his chest like a big game hunter. ‘The Colonel taught his little girl some self-defence,' she said. ‘Are you okay?'

Gerald clutched at his right side where his ribs had taken the force of the shattering door. He pressed gingerly, and winced. ‘I'll survive,' he said.

Ruby, Sam and Alisha emerged from the shadows. ‘What do we do now?' Alisha asked.

The walkie-talkie on the man's shoulder crackled. ‘Hold them there—we're on the way.'

‘We get away from here as fast as possible,' Gerald said. He looked around. ‘Where's Ox?'

He was answered by the rattle of a metal roller door opening. At the far end of the hangar Ox was pulling on a chain. Beside him were three brand new snowmobiles.

‘Nice one, Ox,' Gerald said. He jumped onto the closest one, wincing at the pain in his side. Felicity clambered on behind him.

Ruby pointed Sam to the pillion seat of the next snowmobile. ‘I've seen you drive,' she said, silencing his protests.

Ox was already holding the handlebars of the third machine and grinning at Alisha by the time she arrived. She glared at him but climbed in behind without saying a word.

‘We split up,' Gerald said, pulling goggles over his eyes and handing a pair to Felicity. ‘Don't go straight to the cottage.'

‘Take this,' Ox said, and tossed something to Sam and Gerald.

Gerald looked down at his hands. ‘An air pistol?' he said.

‘I took them from the shooting gallery,' Ox said. ‘Hope you don't mind.'

‘They're not much use against real guns,' Sam said. He tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Ox shrugged. ‘Yeah, but the bad guys don't know they're not real.'

Gerald pressed the starter and revved the engine. ‘Go fast,' he called. ‘And good luck.'

He powered through the door, at the same moment as a black-clad man stepped into his path. It was impossible to tell who was the more surprised. Gerald hit the throttle and cannoned into the intruder, belting into his ribs and spinning him through the air. Felicity tightened her grip around Gerald's waist as they thundered into the night. She craned her neck back to see the gunman sprawled in the snow.

Ruby and Sam were next out of the hangar. They banked right and disappeared over a rise towards the lake. Ox and Alisha emerged a second later. The gunman managed to raise himself to his knees, just in time for Alisha to stamp the sole of her boot square into his chest, hurling him back into the snow.

‘Faster, Gerald!' Felicity shouted into his ear above the roar of the snowmobile. ‘There's more of them coming.'

Gerald didn't look back. Ruby and Sam? Ox and Alisha? They were on their own now.

Chapter 8

T
he snowmobile's headlight pierced the night, jigging wildly as Gerald struggled to keep control. He couldn't slow down or they would risk sinking into the carpet of fresh powder.

He aimed between two stands of redwoods and shot through the gap. The engine screamed with the strain. They bounced into an open field, ploughing a furrow through the snow. Gerald thought the cottage must be two or three kilometres to their left but he didn't want to turn yet.

Then Felicity was yelling into his ear. ‘There's two of them,' she cried. ‘Right behind us.'

No sooner had the wind whipped her words away than Gerald heard the twin drones of two snowmobiles. He shot a look over his shoulder. There they were, about fifty metres away. Two headlights, bobbing across the field. It had stopped snowing and a full moon burst through a break in the clouds, flooding the mountainside with light. Gerald could plainly see the black-clad men urging their machines on, riding them like thoroughbreds towards the finish line.

And they were gaining.

‘They're too fast,' Gerald yelled to Felicity. ‘We're going to have to out-manoeuvre them.'

They hit a snow bank and took to the air, soaring over the top.

‘Hold on!' Gerald yelled.

Felicity squeezed the last word out of him. Pain shot from Gerald's ribs. They landed with a crunch and the snowmobile roared on. Gerald chanced another look behind. Both pursuers were still there. Thirty metres.

Gerald knew he had to take extreme measures. He gunned the machine and set a new path.

‘Isn't this taking us back to the house?' Felicity yelled in his ear.

Gerald didn't respond. His ribs were killing him and a screaming match wasn't going to help. Felicity would just have to hold on for the ride.

The three snowmobiles skimmed across the ground in an arrow-shaped blur, spraying muck in their wake. Gerald had a vague plan. He guessed the men had sent out every snowmobile they had for the chase. So the area around the house should be reasonably safe. And there were possibilities there.

In the distance Gerald could see the covered bridge, and the chimneys from the chalet. He wondered what was going on inside. Were his parents okay? And why did trouble always seem to find him, no matter how far away he ventured?

Then Felicity was yelling at him. ‘Hurry up!'

Gerald glanced over his shoulder—ten metres.

They flew straight through the covered bridge without slowing down. Gerald steered towards the rear of the house, towards the kitchen garden.

‘When I yell “duck”,' he screamed to Felicity, pain creasing through his side, ‘duck!'

‘What?'

‘When I yell “duck”, duck.'

They were hurtling back along the path they'd walked earlier in the evening, straight along the trench that Ox had ploughed from the house.

‘
What
?'

They were less than twenty metres from the kitchen garden. The snowmobiles behind them had closed in to five metres. Gerald could see the men as plain as day.

‘When I say—'

‘
What
?'

Gerald looked up in panic. They'd got there quicker than he'd expected. He reached around and grabbed Felicity by the collar, yanking down hard. ‘DUCK!'

They shot under the low drooping clothesline like a bolt from a crossbow. The cords brushed the back of Felicity's jacket. Gerald looked back at the sound of a loud
twoing!
The line took the front rider clean across the throat. It was like a giant invisible hand had taken him by the neck and plucked him from his snowmobile. The man seemed to hang in midair as his machine soared on without him and plunged deep into a snow bank, burying itself to the back tracks. The rider fell to the ground and the other man ran clear over the top of him. He tore after Gerald and Felicity without a backward glance.

‘Brilliant!' Felicity was bouncing with glee behind Gerald. ‘One down. One to go. Where now, Gerald?'

Gerald pressed his lips together. ‘The lake.'

Felicity's eyes grew wide behind her goggles. ‘Are you sure that's a good idea?'

‘No.'

The snowmobile shot around the chalet and headed down the slope towards the frozen lake.

‘What if the ice isn't thick enough?' Felicity cried.

‘Can you swim?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good.'

Gerald urged the machine straight at the shoreline. They hit the ice at full speed, hurtling off the snow and skewing out onto the lake. The rider in pursuit didn't slow down.

‘Move it, Gerald!' Felicity was pounding on his back. ‘He's getting closer!'

Gerald had the throttle fully open. It was at least another hundred and fifty metres to the opposite shore.

Felicity was in his ear again. ‘Gerald? Is the ice breaking?' She pointed ahead of the front skis. A spider's web of fine lines was fanning out before them, as if being pushed along on a wave. A loud
crack,
followed by another, sounded out like rifle shots above the howl of the snowmobiles. The lake was breaking apart.

They careened past a sign stuck in the lake's surface. Felicity looked back over her shoulder. ‘It says
Thin Ice
,' she cried.

‘Terrific,' Gerald muttered. Then the back of the snowmobile lurched down, like someone had whipped the ground from beneath it. They'd driven straight into a quagmire of broken ice and water, the world's biggest slushie. Gerald's hands fell from the controls. For a second, the snowmobile bobbed about like a lifeboat from the
Titanic
. Then they started sinking. Water washed up to their hips. The cold pierced their clothing like a million tiny ice needles. Gerald opened his mouth in shock but no sound came out. He looked behind them. The man was just twenty metres astern. He'd be on them in seconds. Felicity screeched in Gerald's ear: ‘Go!' Gerald looked dumbly at the controls, his actions as frozen as his feet. He couldn't move. Felicity pounded on his back. ‘Gerald!' Then she threw her arms over his shoulders and grabbed at the handlebars, pulling the throttle on full. The snowmobile engine roared. But without anything for the tracks to grip in all the slush, they just sank lower. Any moment the engine would be swamped. Gerald saw the man had come to a stop by the
Thin Ice
sign. He was off his snowmobile and pulling a rifle from his shoulder.

‘Felicity,' he shivered. ‘Do something.'

Then they bumped into a large chunk of ice. Felicity gunned the throttle again. The engine gave a pathetic growl, the snowmobile's tracks spun—and bit into the floe. The machine surged forward and up, gaining traction the further it went. It bounced through the slush like an icebreaker carving a path to shore.

‘Woo-hoo!' Gerald cried. ‘Go Felicity!'

Felicity was on her feet, leaning over the top of Gerald and driving them onwards. Gerald glanced at the gunman. He was scrambling back to his snowmobile. By the time Felicity charged off the lake and onto land, they'd opened up a fifty-metre lead.

‘Just like riding a horse!' she screamed in Gerald's ear. ‘Too much fun!'

It was then that the deer bobbed up. It bounded square into their path, stopped and looked at them. Gerald could see the headlights reflected in its eyes.

‘Hold on!' Felicity screamed. She jammed the handlebars to the right, sending the snowmobile into a sideways slide and smack into a snow bank that swallowed them whole.

The engine stalled.

The sudden quiet was made even more eerie by the sense they had just been packed in ice like lobsters bound for market.

Gerald would have been content to sit there and gather his thoughts. But a gloved hand stabbed through the snow and grabbed him by the collar. He was yanked out and thrown to the ground. A second later Felicity landed next to him, slumped on her elbows and knees.

Gerald opened his eyes to find a pair of black boots in front of his face. He looked up to take in the full scale of the man standing over them. He was almost two metres tall and had a clean-shaven jaw that looked like it had come straight from a razor blade commercial.

‘Are you Gerald Wilkins?' the man asked.

Gerald lay on the ground, hugging his aching ribs. His beanie was gone, his jacket was torn open, and he was hopelessly, miserably cold.

‘No.'

The man smiled. He was reaching for the radio on his shoulder when the night sky exploded. A colossal fireball appeared from the far side of the lake, rising up from the hills beyond the chalet. The snow around them was lit in yellow and orange and red. The fireball was followed a second later by a thunderous bang that rolled across the lake. Gerald felt the sound like a percussive punch to his chest.

The gunman swung round to witness the pyrotechnics, his mouth agape. The fireball mushroomed and faded. The man turned back just in time to receive Felicity's palm jab square on the end of his chin. She drove in hard, twisting at the hips, generating maximum power. In the cold air, the man's jawbone snapped like a dry branch. Felicity followed up by raking her boots down the man's shins, yelling ‘No! No! No!' at the top of her lungs.

The gunman howled with pain, and wrapped his hands around his face. Felicity swooped on a broken ski from the wreckage of their snowmobile and whipped it around the back of his legs. The man went down like a felled redwood, howling again. Gerald seized a pair of handcuffs hanging from the man's belt and quickly secured his wrists behind his back. He and Felicity stepped clear to inspect the damage.

‘Self-defence lessons?' Gerald asked.

‘Yes,' Felicity said, a smug look on her face. ‘I topped the class.'

‘Clearly.' Gerald leaned down and took the radio from the man's shoulder.

‘Yousenustednynee!' The man was slumped on his side and stared up at them through one crazed eye. ‘Yousenustednynee!'

Gerald and Felicity stared back at him. ‘Sorry?' Gerald said. ‘I didn't catch that.'

‘Ny nee!' the man protested. ‘Nusted ny nee!'

‘Oh,' Felicity said, taking Gerald's arm. ‘I think he says we've busted his knee.'

‘Really?' Gerald looked down at the man on the ground. ‘I'm not sorry. You were about to shoot us out on the lake.'

They couldn't make out what the man said next but it was a fair bet it involved a lot of swearing.

Gerald swung himself onto the saddle of the man's snowmobile. Felicity squeezed in behind him. ‘Who are you working for?' Gerald asked the man. ‘Is it Mason Green?'

‘Get stuffed!' the man managed, spitting red into the snow.

‘Well that's just rude,' Felicity said. ‘Is your mother proud of what you do for a living?'

The man's curses followed Gerald and Felicity as they drove the snowmobile into some woods and away from the lake. The snow had started falling again, thick and plump, but the wind had died away to nothing. It took Gerald and Felicity about half an hour of weaving and winding through snow-packed gullies and copses of firs until they came over a hill and found the care-taker's cottage.

A classic log cabin, it stood dark and mysterious at the bottom of a small clearing in the woods. There was no smoke from the chimney. There were no tracks in the freshly fallen powder. The only sound was the whisper of fat snowflakes piling up around them.

The scene was truly something from a fairy tale.

They left the snowmobile in a clump of trees and hid it under some fallen pine branches. Then Felicity took Gerald by the hand and they started towards the cottage.

‘Come along, Hansel,' she said. ‘Let's see if the wicked witch is at home.'