Turning Point (31 page)

‘What about…?' She pointed to the hole in the ceiling.

‘Oh heck, I forgot about that. We daren't leave it.'

Leaping back up onto the cistern, he tried to fix the panel across the hole. The flimsy material snagged on the edge, leaving a gap.

‘It's not straight.'

He shrugged. ‘It'll have to do.'

Tentatively, he eased open the door to the engine room to be greeted by the hum of well-oiled machinery. Facing them was a vast control panel covered in dials, its flashing knobs proof that it was working hard. Above it, heavy iron brackets set at intervals pinned a nest of piping to the ceiling, the far wall covered with yet more levers and dials. Scott recognised a gadget similar to the one that had stood in the garage at the cottage, but on a much larger scale, which controlled the output of electricity from the small wind turbine on the hill.

On the far wall, iron steps led up to a platform. At waist level, a vast cylindrical drum connected a giant fan, quietly revolving within its rigid polymer casement, to the main air-conditioning unit. Its sides were of fine steel mesh and through them daylight was trickling. Scott flew up the steps and tugged at the metal cage, ducking under the pipework to attack the far side. ‘Arnulf was right. It's only held by screws, and it's hinged at the bottom.' He pointed to a curved metal flange lying flush against the brickwork of the wall. ‘If I can loosen this side and lift it clear, we'll be able to climb through, no problem.' Leaning out over the steps, he stared round. ‘There has to be tools somewhere.'

Hilary nodded and, heedless of the noise, began ferreting about in the drawers in the base of the console. ‘This any good?' She waved an electric screwdriver in the air and, pulling out a wrench, held it up. ‘Or this? There's all sorts in here.'

‘I'll take the screwdriver. Thanks.' Scott pounded down the steps, leaping back up two at a time. ‘Watch the door, will you.'

Within seconds, the first of the screws had dropped with a sharp click onto the metal platform, six more rapidly following. Scott tugged at the side of the cylinder and it broke loose. He pulled the half-piece away and it fell back resting against its hinges, and leaving a large gap.

Scott leaned back down over the railings, smiling triumphantly. ‘Come on, Hilary, let's get out of here.' Then he froze, his victorious smile wiped off. Tucked under the platform, almost lost in darkness of the corner, were a row of long, black cylinders, the letters CO – carbon monoxide –stamped in black, a faded yellow triangle cut through by an exclamation mark visible only on the top layer.

Scott sank down on the edge of the platform and buried his head in his arms, his feet resting on the top step. ‘I have to go back,' he muttered.

‘
What!
' Hilary screamed. She tore up the steps and peered out through the slowly revolving blades. ‘You crazy or something. We're out of here, home free. An hour ago, I wouldn't have given us one chance in a million of making it out alive.' She dragged on his arm, trying to force him to his feet. ‘It's still daylight, Scott. Come on, please, I'm begging you. Whatever it is, leave it.'

‘I can't, it's Jameson.'

‘
Jay!
You said Beau.' She sat down beside him, clutching Pete's gun to her lap. ‘Jay's in London… isn't he?' she finished uncertainly.

‘That's just the point,' Scott said, his voice rising close to tears. ‘He's here. Didn't you get woken up in the night?'

‘No! One of the girls said there was a ruckus in the boys' dorm but I took no notice.' Hilary screwed up her face. ‘I was asleep. Why…'

‘Jay took that job, the one we were so worried about. It landed him here. I mean, what are the chances?' Hilary stared. ‘It's crazy, I know,' Scott agreed. ‘I keep thinking I'm going mad.' He pointed to the blades of the turbine, its thick sheath of curved metal splattered with the desiccated remains of squashed insects. ‘I feel like one of them. One moment carefree, flying around outside sipping nectar; the next, dragged inside and squashed. There's nothing those insects can do. And there's nothing I can do either. I have to go get him,' he said miserably, his hands trembling. Holding them against his chest, he added in a sombre tone, ‘They've been using drugs on him.'

‘In that case, I'm coming with you.' Hilary leaned her head against Scott's shoulder. ‘We started this together. We'll finish it together.'

‘Not this time.
'
Scott's smile was painful, mirroring his eyes. ‘I've done you enough harm. Besides, you have a family.'

‘So do you,' Hilary retorted. ‘What about your mother and sister?'

‘It's not the same without Dad,' Scott replied simply. ‘Anyway, I need you to go for help. Arnulf said someone would be waiting. Tell them about the gas.' He pointed to the cylinders, a dark forbidding mass of huddled metal.

Hilary twisted sideways, poking the barrel of the gun hard into his chest. He flinched back. ‘You suffering from a death wish, Scott Anderson? What the hell are you trying to prove? You're a stupid,
stupid
…
fool!
I could kill you for being so stupid. You can't possibly go back on your own. What happens if they've already found Pete? I'm the only one that knows how to use a gun, remember.' She waved it belligerently through the air.

‘It'll be all right, I promise,' Scott shook his head, nervously eyeing the barrel of the pistol once again aimed at his heart, hoping Hilary wasn't crazy enough to have released the safety. He pointed with his finger to the pipes carving through the air. ‘I'll use the air conditioning pipes. I've done it before.'

‘
You've done it before?
When?'

‘Last night. I told you, I found Jay.'

Hilary sighed heavily. She leaned in, the barrel of the Colt pressing heavily against Scott's ribs, kissing him fiercely on the lips. ‘Okay! This time I'll stay but don't you dare get killed – you hear?'

Scott stared down into a laboratory, brightly coloured graphics spilling out from computer screens. Just visible at the far end of the room, a white-coated figure was writing on a clipboard. Back turned, he moved steadily from screen to screen copying information. Scott caught the sound of laughter and noticed two guys huddled round a monitor, a third rushing over from the far side of the lab anxious to join in the merriment. How could they be so cheerful? Weren't they aware that an execution had been ordered not an hour since. Scott stared angrily at the figures. Of course they weren't – only Vasilov knew that. These people were part of the hidden city, either because they believed or because of the money they were earning. What had Seagar said… something about a bonus and a luxury weekend away? Even among sixth-formers, most openly admitted that money was their goal when choosing a career. But money before principles was something else again. And what about guys like Jameson who needed drugs before they could be persuaded to join the movement. If they didn't eventually accept the regime, were they also disposed of? Scott shuddered, suddenly icy cold.
He had to find Jameson and fast.

He had eventually found his way into the air-conditioning unit through a plate fixed to the underside of the large galvanised duct. Used for maintenance and cleaning, a series of screens in ascending order of density, designed to rid the incoming air of particles of debris, had been welded across the pipe-work close to the turbine and had blocked any entry at that point.

At first Scott moved quickly, blessing the building's need for lights even in the daytime, the illuminated rectangles easy to follow. He soon found that light also meant people, and dropped to a slow crawl, holding his breath every time a door opened or shut. Despite this precaution, he'd nearly been caught crossing the lounge area and the incident had left him shaking with fear. Two girls in jeans and T-shirts were collecting up rubbish from the night before, putting it into black bin bags, casually plumping cushions on the sofas. He stopped, hoping they wouldn't be long, but when he went to move again the metal button on his fly caught in the grille. Stupidly, he'd tugged at it. It flew out and he overbalanced, banging his elbow on the metal wall, the sound reverberating along the duct. One of the girls had glanced up curiously calling out to her friend. At that moment the girl had switched on the vacuum cleaner, her friend's warning lost in a roar of sound. With a shrug and a final glance upwards, the girl had continued her work, picking up an empty crisp packet off the floor. It had left Scott really rattled and, under cover of the noise, he had scuttled along the pipe-work desperate to put distance between him and the cleaning staff, uncaring of the direction. He felt like the bird that, last spring, had built its nest in the roof space above his window. Every night, until its young were fully fledged and flown away, he'd gone to sleep to the sound of rustling and the patter of tiny claws as the birds settled down for the night.

Retracing his steps to the main duct, he crawled to the next turning, listening intently for the identifying click of a computer mouse. He peered down, seeing the monitor dark, the bank of computers turned off. For a moment he was scared, and then he saw feet protruding from the bottom of the quilt.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, he hopped down to the ground seeing his friend fast asleep. Flicking on the computer, he tiptoed to the door and tried the handle, relieved to find it locked. Returning to the desk, he waited impatiently for the machine to boot up. Quickly connecting to the music centre, he searched for Jameson's favourite piece – Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
. Turning the volume high, he shook his friend awake. He looked ghastly, his skin blotchy and feverish.

‘Is it tea-time? I must have fallen asleep.' Jameson sat up. He stared vacantly. His eyes focussed. ‘Sc…'

Scott put his finger to his lips, mouthing the word – quiet.

‘I didn't tell them,' Jameson whispered. ‘They wanted me to, but I didn't. I said it was my brother.' He leaned back closing his eyes. ‘I'm so thirsty,' he moaned.' He pointed to the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. ‘Can you pass it for me?'

Scott carefully held the glass to his lips, Jameson's hands shaking too badly to hold the glass steady. He drank eagerly like a man that hadn't seen water for the longest while, gulping it down.

In the background, the solo violin flew through a series of loud cadenzas. Scott got to his feet. ‘Jay, I'm taking you to hospital. Okay?'

The boy in the bed nodded tiredly. ‘Okay, but can you help me dress? I really don't feel too good.' He closed his eyes, then started awake shivering violently. ‘What am I doing here? Why aren't I at home?'

Holy crap!
Scott got him to his feet and fumbled his arms into his jacket, not bothering with shoes, aware of the enormity of the task ahead. Hilary was right. He did need her, he'd never manage alone. ‘I've phoned for an ambulance. It's waiting for us outside. But, first, we have to get you out of here.' He pointed to the door, Jay's eyes following dully. ‘That door's locked so we're going through a tunnel.' He kept his tone patient, articulating each word slowly like speaking to a child. He pointed to the ceiling. Obediently, Jay stared up into the gaping hole. ‘It's not far but you have to keep quiet – no one must hear you. Promise?' He climbed onto the desk, pulling Jameson up with him.

Jameson stared round the room, his eyes slowly zigzagging towards the door, stopping to examine every item of furniture as if he had never seen it before.

Scott waited, forcing himself to stay calm, every nerve in his body jangling and on edge, hoping that Hilary had escaped and was among friends. It was all taking far too long. At any moment someone could come in, but he daren't hurry his friend.

Jameson turned back, a puzzled frown on his face as if he was trying to work out why they were heading up into the roof, when there was a door. Raising his hand, he pointed upwards. ‘Home is that way?'

Scott hauled in a breath. ‘Yes,' he said firmly, ‘
home is that way
. But you have to be quiet. One sound and we won't make it.' Scott gazed at his friend, noticing the whites of his eyes were deep yellow. He really was ill. Even stepping onto the desk had seemed to exhaust him.

‘I can do this, Scott.' Jameson lifted his foot into the air. Realising what he wanted, Scott bent down making a step with his hands. ‘But I hurt, really, really bad. It's like every bone in my body is on fire. But I'll hold it together, I promise. Just get me home.'

By the time they reached the main lounge area, Scott's nerves were shredded, flinching at every sound, and he felt shattered as if he had traversed the entire globe several times over. But apart from his slow and obviously painful progress, Jameson had kept his promise and hadn't uttered a sound. Even so, they'd been forced to stop every few metres either because there was someone about or to allow Jameson to rest, his breathing becoming more and more ragged.

For the umpteenth time he urged his friend on, promising they were almost there, the glow from the lights below emphasising the suffering on Jay's face. Before Hilary had removed the gun from his ribs, she had made him promise that if rescuing Jameson was impossible, he would let it go and get out. Adding, ‘I thought the kiss might make you see reason.' He'd been glad to give that promise. The idea of meeting up with Vasilov or Seagar again was something he daren't give thought to. Now, after seeing how ill Jay was, it was a promise he was willing to break aware, that if positions were reversed, Jay would never think twice about giving his life for a best mate.

All at once, the light changed and Scott spotted the open grille. They'd made it. Triumphantly, he half-turned seeing Jameson collapsed in a heap behind him.

‘Scott?' Hilary's head ducked up in front of him. ‘Thank God.'

‘What the hell are you still doing here? I told you to go – get away.'

Hilary grinned. ‘You know me – hate taking orders. Besides, I thought you might need some help.
Oh my God
, I was right.' She pointed with trembling fingers at the body slumped on the metal floor. ‘Is that Jay?'

‘I think he's dead.'

‘Budge up. Let me see.'

Scott swung down onto the ground allowing Hilary to take his place.

‘He's not dead, he's just fainted,' she called, bending over Jameson's inert form. ‘When you need water, why, oh why, isn't there ever any around? Scott, you'll have to pull him out by his arms.'

Distraught, Scott shook his head.

‘Oh, for goodness sake!' she snapped. ‘He's unconscious, he won't feel a thing. And hurry. We've just about used up our ration of luck for the next fifty years.'

Pulling at the slumped figure, Scott dragged him down onto the floor, wincing sympathetically as Jay's legs crashed to the ground. If he wasn't dead before, he soon would be. With Hilary helping, he hoisted Jay over his shoulder, staggering across to the steps, pausing on each one to take a breath, the weight of the unconscious body pressing against his shoulder making it harder to draw in air.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he froze. If someone came in now, they were helpless.

‘Go on, Scott, four more to go. We can make it.' Scott felt the sharp edge of the gun barrel.

‘You can't,' he protested, his breath coming in fits and starts.

‘Yes, I can. It's my job remember. Three to go.'

Still no one had come in; the footsteps silenced. Hitching Jay into an easier position, he pulled up another step. In the background came the sound of running water from the toilet and his breath eased.

‘Two steps, Scott.'

He pulled up again, his arm on the metal banister keeping him upright. Even play fighting, Jay had never been easy to carry, both taller and heavier than Scott. But now, it was as if an iron weight had been attached to his feet.

Hilary darted past. ‘Too bad if they come in now,' she called and jammed the butt of her pistol into the narrow space between the shaft and rotor blades. They swayed, gradually falling still.

Laboriously, Scott manhandled the inert body down onto the platform, viewing the turbine with dismay. Easy enough for a small person to scramble through but Jay…

‘Jay,
Jay,
can you hear me?' He patted his friend's face.

Jay stirred and sat up, holding his head. ‘Are we home yet, Scott?'

‘Almost. Hilary's here.'

‘Hilary? What's she doing here? That's right, she's your girlfriend. About time, too.'

Hilary patted his arm affectionately. ‘Jay. I need you to crawl.'

‘Okay, if you say so. Where to?' He stared vaguely, his gaze wandering, without focus.

‘You go, Hilary,' Scott hissed. Then, in a louder voice: ‘Hilary will show you the way.'

The sultry heaviness of the morning had cleared away, but the day had kept its promise of rain and a fine drizzle filled the air already darkening towards night, although it wasn't cold – at least not yet.

The fresh air seemed to revive Jameson. He sat up looking about him in a dazed fashion. At least he was conscious, for which Scott was grateful but it was still a huge mountain they had to climb. The only sensible way was for Hilary to go and get help – but he doubted she would see it like that.

‘Take his other arm, Hilary. Let's see if we can find some shelter.'

He got Jameson slowly to his feet. They faced out across a platform of rock overlooking a long narrow gorge, as if someone had taken an axe to the mountain and split it apart; its slopes strewn with loose boulders and a brisk wind funnelling along the gap. The turbine had been built into the rock face about halfway up, the slope below them strew with loose boulders. On either side of the long winding chasm, mountains continued their steady climb towards the summit, their shadows daunting against a sultry sky. A sudden gust of wind caught Scott unawares and he heeled back, stumbling over a rock, which rattled noisily to the bottom of the gorge. What an astonishing place? A death trap for the unwary.

Slowly, with Hilary taking Jameson's weight on the other side, they staggered a few steps, anxiously looking for a pathway. Without warning, the sound of applause broke the silence. Vasilov emerged from behind a shoulder of rock, a mocking smile on his face. He clapped the palms of his hands slowly together, the sound hollow in the pure air.

‘Oh no,' Hilary gasped.

‘My dear young people. Did you really imagine that Seagar would fail to install CCTV in that young man's room… ' He pointed to the silent form leaning against Scott. ‘With a rat somewhere in our organisation that we needed to flush out. So kind of you, Scott, to demonstrate how it got into a locked room without using a key. Actually…' He raised his fingers, his smile fixed and never flickering. ‘We had two rats. Once we found the body of our man, it was but a simple matter to unearth the traitor. And while Seagar dealt with the security issue, some friends and I thought to take a short walk. Very pleasant at this time of the afternoon. You never know what you will find… as I have proved.

‘Please don't make a fuss. I never carry a gun…' He undid the button on his jacket and held it wide open. Scott spotted the neat pistol tucked in the waistband. ‘But for you, I make an exception.'

Scott stared at the man's right hand, noticing his knuckles grazed and swollen. ‘You beat Arnulf.'

‘Oh! Was that his name? I never bother to enquire about the hired help. In any case, in my book traitors deserve to die. I simply made sure it would happen. I dislike blood, but like this weapon, on occasions I make an exception. Now, are you coming with me quietly? I can't wait all night; you've caused me enough trouble.' The tone of voice changed. ‘I'm happy to shoot you here if you prefer.'

Hilary had not said a word, standing motionless by Scott's side. Suddenly she screamed, the shrill sound echoing on and on through the silence of the mountain range.