Twenty Twelve (29 page)

The group of young techies was flagging. They’d been chained to their desks, searching and checking data for almost seven hours, escaping only to use the toilet and sneak the odd fag. Krish tapped with one finger, his chin resting in his other hand.

‘Get this lot down you.’ Clem plonked seven cartons onto Carole-Ann’s desk.

She waved her hand around wildly. ‘Not that crap again.’

‘Afraid so.’

He’d nipped over the road and ordered seven portions of kebab and chips.

Sebastian was first up to grab some food and had shovelled half of the kebab into his mouth before he got back to his seat.

‘I thought your body was a temple, sunshine,’ Clem called after him. ‘What with all that avoiding caffeine and what have you.’

Sebastian grinned, his lips greasy. ‘Right now I’m so hungry, I’d eat shit on toast.’

Clem laughed and handed around the rest. ‘Come on, Carole-Ann.’ He wafted an open carton under her nose. ‘You know you want to.’

‘I know I do not.’ She pushed his hand away.

‘More for me,’ he said and tossed a chip into the air, catching it between his teeth.

‘Pig.’

He was about to chuck some salad at her when Emily, the blonde, waved her hand wildly. ‘I think I might have something,’ she shouted.

There were some groans from the others. Emily had thought something similar at least three times already. The last one had turned out to be a transsexual looking up the Beaumont Society. Only Sebastian made his way over, buoyed, no doubt, by a combination of fat and carbs.

‘What is it this time?’ asked Krish. ‘Dwarves auditioning for
The Wizard of Oz
?’

There was sarcasm in his tone that went beyond ordinary team banter. Clem sensed his nose had been put out of joint by Sebastian and that he would be pretty pleased if his theory turned out to be a crock of shite.

Clem ambled over, food carton in hand. ‘Talk to me.’

Emily sifted through a raft of papers, her hair bouncing softly. Stray tendrils escaped and snaked down her back in artful dishevelment. Or perhaps she was just crap at pinning it up.

‘I’ve been searching the five units taken from . . .’ she ran her finger down a handwritten list, ‘Oliver’s Sandwich Bar and Internet Café.’

Clem remembered he’d told the manager he would have the kit back to him by now.

‘I’ve numbered them for ease of reference.’ Emily waved at the computers, each marked with a number in bright red lipstick. ‘Our man was definitely using them. I’ve found Petal logged in at LookingforLadies on all of them.’

‘Looks like a favourite haunt,’ said Sebastian.

‘So going by your theory, our guy should have also used them for other stuff, dotting around them,’ said Clem.

Emily nodded, her hair threatening to unravel entirely. ‘If we look five, no wait, six days after Petal first introduced herself to Tommy, we find them talking again on number three. I’ve made a transcript but it’s not particularly illuminating, just more grooming.’

Clem waved away the offer.

‘What is interesting is that fifteen minutes after coming off number three, number one is used to look at this,’ she continued. Emily used a mouse to enter a website called Platformnow. The banners showed smiling families hunting and fishing in the great outdoors.

‘It’s an anti-state site,’ she said. ‘Freedom from government, corporates and the like. Lots of reporting on what they consider oppressive regimes.’

‘Including us?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Emily laughed. ‘We’re one of the worst. Plenty of talk about bringing us to our knees.’

‘How do we know it’s our guy looking at this site?’ asked Clem. ‘I can see that it’s tempting to make the connection, but sadly, there are a lot of crackpots out there.’

Emily shifted her mouse again and entered the forum. ‘Whoever was using number one didn’t just look, he logged on, calling himself TheTimeForTalkIsOver.’

‘Pretty apt for someone just about to try to blow up the Opening Ceremony,’ said Sebastian.

‘It’s just a name.’ Clem held up his hand, careful not to get carried away.

‘I checked some of the things he’s posted, and he’s a hothead all right,’ said Emily.

‘Might mean nothing,’ warned Clem. ‘A lot of people talk a lot of rubbish, especially on the internet.’

‘True,’ said Emily. ‘But check this out.’ She handed over a copy of a brief conversation.

I’ve found a friend.

Is he with us?

He will be.

Emily and Sebastian looked up at Clem expectantly, clearly convinced that this was our man. Clem had to admit it was persuasive.

‘We could get Carole-Ann to work her magic,’ said Emily. ‘Get the full poster history.’

‘Somehow I doubt an operation like this will play ball,’ said Clem.

‘No chance,’ said Sebastian. ‘Looks like an NFP site.’

‘Come again?’

‘NFP. Not for profit,’ said Sebastian. ‘Run for fanatics by fanatics. If they get wind of us sniffing around, they’ll tear down the site in an instant.’

‘We can’t risk that,’ said Clem. ‘If this turns out to be one of their methods of communication, we need to monitor it closely.’

‘Then it’s a DIY job,’ said Sebastian.

‘Looks that way,’ Clem agreed.

Emily sighed and looked around the room, each team member slumped over the PCs, surrounded by coffee cups and chips.

Sebastian got to his feet. ‘Listen up, people, we’ve got to go back to the drawing board.’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Krish.

‘We need to go through each unit again, looking for this website.’ Sebastian tapped a few keys and the banners to Platformnow appeared on the smart board.

Then he glanced at Clem. ‘Sorry, I should have let you do that.’

Clem didn’t reply. He liked a kid with chutzpah.

Ronnie and I haven’t said a word to one another for hours. At first we lay in our respective bunks, tossing and turning, until Ronnie jumped off hers and stormed out of the cabin. No doubt she’s gone for another think.

Not that there’s much to think about. Hawk is going to kill us both. Or maybe just me. Either way, Ronnie’s not going to do anything to stop him. I’m on my own.

When she returns, she’s carrying a candle. I’d barely registered that the sun had set.

‘Let’s go,’ she says.

For a second my heart leaps as it grabs at the possibility that she’s changed her mind and we’re getting out of here. Then I see her face in the candlelight, the lines between her nose and mouth.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

‘To get some food.’

Once again we troop over the hill to the next valley. The Serbs are already at the campfire, talking to Tiny. Soon, everyone arrives except Hawk.

The man with the goatee hands me a beer. I nod my thanks and press the cold glass neck to my lips, but I can’t drink. My throat is too tight.

‘I’ll be going down to England in the next day or so,’ he says. ‘Anyone you can put me in touch with?’

I gulp. He clearly has no idea who I am. I look around the group and it dawns on me that none of them know. They think I’m one of them and Hawk hasn’t told them any different. What would happen if he did? I catch sight of the guns everyone carries so casually, the knives attached to their belts, and I picture the hand grenade I discovered in one of the cottages.

There’s a rumble at my side and I realise that the guy with the goatee is still speaking.

‘Of course it would have to be good people,’ he says. ‘People like us.’

He’s asking me if I can give him the names of any friendly terrorists. ‘Let me have a think,’ I say.

‘Doesn’t pay to be hasty.’ He nods. ‘Gotta be the right folk. Can’t trust someone just because they talk the talk.’

Our conversation is interrupted by the door of Hawk’s cottage flying open with such force it splinters against the wall behind. Everyone looks up as Hawk appears in the doorway, bare-chested, a fresh cut across his chest dripping blood. He moves from foot to foot, his shoulders twitching. Hero runs to greet him, but Hawk pushes him away with his foot.

The firewood crackles and smoke rises up into the starry sky, but tonight there’s no magic, only tension. Beside me Ronnie exhales loudly enough for me to hear. I push the stew around my plate.

‘Something wrong with our good island food?’ Hawk walks towards me. ‘Not to your fancy London tastes?’

‘Not hungry,’ I say.

‘Right, right.’ He’s still padding from foot to foot, his head moving from side to side. The blood from his cut is now mingled with the tattoos on his stomach, blurring their edges.

Without warning he bats the plate out of my hands, sending it flying into the fire.

‘If you don’t fucking want it, don’t fucking eat it,’ he shouts.

‘Hey Hawk, man, calm down,’ says the guy with the goatee.

‘What did you say?’ Hawk gets right into the other man’s face.

‘I can see you’re a little wired tonight is all.’

Hawk throws back his head and for a second I think he’s going to head-butt the other guy, but instead he laughs and everyone joins in. Only Ronnie and I keep straight-faced.

‘Don’t worry about Hawk.’ The man with the goatee puts a hand on my arm. ‘He’s one crazy bastard, but he’s good people, you know?’

When the food’s finished Tiny takes out his harmonica, but after the first melancholy note, Hawk tells him to put it away.

‘Too fucking miserable, man, all that shit about the past.’ He stumbles back into his cottage and returns with a ghetto blaster. ‘Time to look to the future.’ He presses a button and the clearing shakes to the sound of an electric guitar getting faster and faster. He turns up the volume as a voice begins to scream along, the sound reverberating around the hills.

Hawk nods violently to the music, oblivious to the fact that one by one the others are leaving. Only Ronnie and I remain as she watches him across the fire, his skin glowing orange.

‘Fuckers!’ he shouts into the air.

‘Come on.’ I pull Ronnie’s arm but she resists. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ I tell her.

She stares at her brother for another minute or two, watching him convulse, until I grab her wrist tightly and drag her to her feet.

‘Come on,’ I repeat and lead her away.

As we trudge back to the cabin, I know that come what may, I am leaving this place tonight.

The talking’s all done and Isaac is just waiting for the jury to return their verdict
.

‘I think it went well,’ Bert keeps saying over and over as he paces up and down my cell
.

‘What’s happening with my daddy?’ Isaac asks
.

Bert stops in his tracks and looks at Isaac
.

‘You been telling me not to worry about him, but I want to know.’

Bert nods and sits on the bunk next to him. ‘I wanted you to focus on the trial, Isaac,’ he says
.

‘Trial’s over now, sir.’

Bert takes a deep breath. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to come right out and say it. Your daddy’s dead.’

Isaac can’t believe it. He was sure Daddy hadn’t been shot. He remembers Rebecca falling. And Noah. Then a bullet passed through Veronica-Mae into Isaac, but Daddy was alive. ‘That’s not right,’ he says. ‘The police took him away.’

Bert puts his hand over Isaac’s. ‘That’s right.’

‘Then how can he be dead?’

Bert shakes his head real slow. ‘He killed himself, son.’

Isaac snatches his hand away and jumps to his feet. ‘That’s not true.’

‘I’m afraid it is, Isaac. They found him hanged in his cell.’

‘Daddy would never do that!’ Isaac screams
.

‘Maybe he just couldn’t face another day, son.’

Daddy couldn’t face another day? Daddy? What about Isaac? Every moment a living hell, locked up with no air or sky. Every night waiting for them to come to his cell
.

‘He wouldn’t leave me all alone!’ he screams. Tears pour down his face. He hasn’t cried once since that day. Not about Mama, or his brother or his sister. Not even when the prison officers commit their sins on him. Now he can’t stop
.

‘I’m so sorry, Isaac,’ says Bert
.

Then Isaac launches himself against the wall and beats it with his fists and his head until blood runs down the bricks. It takes three guards to pull him away and get the handcuffs on
.

When the jury are ready to give their decision, Isaac has to go back into court with a bandage around his forehead
.

‘Stand up, please, Isaac,’ the judge tells him
.

He feels sick and dizzy now and has to lean his hands on the railing to hold himself up. A woman in the front row of the jury gives him a look full of pity
.

‘Has the jury reached a verdict?’ asks the judge
.

The woman stands up. ‘We have, Your Honour.’

‘And on the count of murder, how do you find the defendant, Isaac Pearson? Guilty or not guilty?’

She glances at Isaac, then turns away. ‘Guilty,’ she says
.

Bert puts his head on his desk but Isaac doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything at all
.

I wait until I’m sure Ronnie is asleep. When her breathing is rhythmic, I steal out of my bunk and creep through the cabin, cringing at each creak and groan of the wooden floor.

I open the door as slowly as I can and step out into the night.

When we came back from supper, I took one of the Serb’s torches and hid it under the chair, next to my trainers. In the blackness, I feel with my hand and smile when I find them unmoved. Silently, I put them on and sneak out.

My plan is simply to find my way back to the beach and the plane. I might not be able to fly the damn thing but it must have a radio. I don’t know anything about signals or frequencies but I’ll just keep trying until I manage to contact someone. Anyone.