Full Speed

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘What if it was a diversion? The terrorists have something bigger planned and this was just a distraction?’

  ‘Oh gosh, that’s a horrible idea.’ Harper bit her lip. ‘We have to tell someone – if you’re right, Curtis, there could be a huge disaster looming.’

  Blair was sitting at an adjacent table with Liam and another lad called Graham. A mousey girl called Madeline had offered to keep an eye on her, but all the while they’d been eating Blair had kept an ear on the conversation at the table beside her.

  ‘I think you’re right, Curtis,’ she said, standing up and walking over to join them.

  ‘Huh?’ Dante looked at her. ‘About what?’

  ‘That the attack was a distraction. I think they’ve probably planted a bomb or something and they’re going to blow up the whole building. Like someone just blew up Charing Cross Station.’

  The children looked at one another, jaws agape.

  ‘It was a gas leak,’ Max said. ‘I asked one of the firefighters and he said there was a broken pipe. Nothing more to it than that.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Blair glared at the boy.

  ‘Sorry, I thought I had,’ Max replied, eyeballing the others to keep their mouths closed. ‘And the Charing Cross fire was an accident too – welding sparks caught some rubbish – it just spread really quickly. That’s what Mr Reffell told me.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief then,’ Blair sniffed then tears began to roll down her face. Within a second she was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Kensy and Autumn leapt up to comfort the girl then accompanied her to Miss Ziegler who was standing by the door.

  ‘So that’s the story, okay?’ Max said. He glared at his friends. ‘No more talk until we meet with Granny, all right?’

  The others nodded and went back to their lunch, though most of the children just pushed the food around their plates, their minds racing.

  The Prime Minister sipped his tea and looked across at the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard sitting opposite him. ‘What happened?’ the man asked.

  Sir James Strawbridge had been the head of the Yard for over ten years now and had a formidable reputation for being a tough boss and even tougher on the criminals he apprehended. A handsome man in his younger years, these days his looks could more accurately be described as rugged and a touch beaten, with his nose slightly askew, shaved head and wiry body – the result of rigorous training every day before dawn.

  ‘Preliminary investigations point to a gas leak. It had been building up for quite some time after a pipe ruptured in the basement during some remedial work. You got off lightly – the whole place could have blown up from what I’ve been told,’ Strawbridge replied.

  ‘So why were the doors locked and the phone signals jammed? That seems awfully strange, don’t you think?’ The Prime Minister pursed his lips.

  ‘Fault in the alarm system, by the looks of it. The device registered a lockdown instead of an evacuation, which is why none of the other staff in the building came to investigate the chamber. They were all hiding under their desks. Apparently it’s on the list of a thousand jobs that need attention in that decrepit building. I mean, Big Ben was set to fall down before they started the renovation. There was a major telecommunication outage all over the city, which unfortunately happened to coincide with the incident.’

  ‘Well, that’s just not good enough.’ Gabriel shook his head. ‘I need that system checked and repaired before Parliament sits in the morning. Can you imagine the outrage from the public, putting all those lives at risk? Mass confusion at the very top – what a disaster.’

  James Strawbridge frowned. He wasn’t sure that would be a general consensus, given how unpopular both parties were at the moment.

  ‘And what’s the situation with the fire at Charing Cross?’ the Prime Minister asked.

  ‘It’s out. No casualties and a small amount of damage to the upper concourse. Unfortunately, they won’t be making any movies on the lower unused part of the station anytime soon – apparently it’s a bit of a mess, but the trains should be back up and running in the morning.’

  ‘That’s a lucky break,’ Gabriel said. ‘Fancy having two major incidents within minutes of one another. It’s no wonder the brigade was delayed.’

  James’s phone beeped in his top pocket. He pulled it out and saw the word Done on the screen. A look of relief swept over his face.

  ‘Some good news?’ Gabriel asked, arching his left eyebrow.

  Strawbridge faltered for a moment. ‘Um, yes, sir. Just my son letting me know his team had a win at football this afternoon,’ the man replied. ‘He scored the winning goal.’

  ‘Excellent,’ the Prime Minister said, though that didn’t help the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was something that didn’t sit well about that gas leak and the faulty doors. It all seemed too convenient. Gabriel shuffled some papers on his desk and picked up a pen, giving James his cue to leave.

  ‘I’ll see myself out, sir,’ the man said as he stood up and left the room.

  Anna Spencer dropped her handbag to the floor and rushed at the twins, wrapping them tightly in her arms. ‘Oh, you poor darlings. What a dreadful shock you’ve had.’

  Kensy and Max hugged their mother back until they were almost suffocated in her woolly scarf, wriggling out of her grasp.

  ‘Really, we’re fine, Mum,’ Kensy said, stepping back. ‘I mean, it was a bit grim seeing those politicians dropping like stones – especially when we didn’t know if they were dead or alive – but I still managed to pick the lock, even with all that commotion.’

  Anna’s lips turned upwards in a sort of half-smile half-frown, as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘My goodness, that was very brave of you.’

  The children had not long arrived home, having been met by Fitz at the school gate. It had been a brisk walk, given the earlier blue skies had clouded over and there were spits of sleet-like rain falling. The temperature had plummeted too. Anna had been in surgery and only learned of their ordeal once she was finished. She’d hurried home as quickly as she could.

  The woman’s eyes widened when she registered who had just emerged from the butler’s pantry.

  ‘Song, what are you doing here?’ she asked then blanched. ‘Oh, sorry, that sounded awful. Hello, it’s lovely to see you.’

  The man smiled. ‘I was in London on business for Dame Spencer when she called to tell me what had happened. She suggested I could offer some moral support as I think Mr Fitz is going to be busy and you had a full day in surgery.’

  ‘That was very thoughtful of her,’ Anna said.

  Thankfully the frosty relationship with her mother-in-law had continued to thaw of late and she’d felt much more valued by the woman – and under no pressure to rejoin the active agents. Still, her natural instinct was to be wary. Anna knew from experience that Cordelia was not a woman to be trifled with.

  Kensy walked around to the other side of the island bench and gave the butler a hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you doing a lamb roast with scalloped potatoes for dinner? Please tell me that’s what I can smell, and cauliflower cheese and green beans with apple pie for dessert.’ It seemed the girl had got her appetite back since lunchtime.

  He nodded. ‘I hope that meets with your approval, Miss Kensington.’

  ‘You’re the best, Song!’ she exclaimed.

  Fitz thudded down the stairs, carrying a laptop under his arm. ‘Oi, I heard that, young lady. What’s wrong with my cooking?’ Fitz stuck his lip out.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just that no one does a roast like Song,’ the girl replied then muttered, ‘and I’m a little bit over spag bol twice a week.’

  Song gave Kensy a wink as he lifted a large pot from the stove and carried it to the sink. ‘Your grandmother will be very pleased with what you did today.’

  Max had plonked down on the stool at the island bench while his mother was busy peeling off the layers of extra clothes s
he was glad she’d thought to take with her that morning.

  ‘I think Granny would be proud of all the Pharos kids,’ Max noted. ‘Everyone handled it pretty well. I guess that’s where our training comes in – being able to cope under pressure.’

  ‘You are absolutely right, Master Maxim,’ Song agreed.

  Following their debriefing at school most of the students had been collected by their parents. So as not to arouse suspicion, the trainee Pharos agents were scheduled to meet during their regular lessons tomorrow, but in the meantime they were instructed to go home and record their accounts of what had happened, remembering that any small detail could be important. They were to send them via an encrypted link to the headmaster.

  Fitz sat down beside Max and opened the computer. ‘Right, where’s that photograph you took of the suspicious firefighter?’

  Max quickly sent it to him from his phone. He’d told Fitz all about the guy during the walk home.

  It didn’t take long for Fitz to magnify the man’s face – at least what you could see of it behind the mask.

  ‘I’ll run that through the facial recognition database we have for the emergency services and see what comes up. You say he came through a different door to the others and no one else followed him?’ Fitz asked.

  Max nodded. ‘At first I thought maybe he was just catching his breath or something and then I realised that it seemed like he was hiding from the others and he only joined them once there were enough people not to notice where he’d come from,’ the boy explained.

  Anna walked over and stood behind Max and Fitz, peering at the screen while Song placed two cups of tea in front of them as well as mugs of hot chocolate for the twins.

  The computer filed through thousands of photographs and finally came to a stop. ‘Well, that’s odd,’ Fitz said. ‘No match. I know this software is brilliant – I’ve used it before and we’ve managed to identify people with minimal detail. There was one fellow recently we got a match from half an eye.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s new,’ Max said.

  Kensy had just joined the others and was looking at the enlarged picture.

  ‘What do you think those stripes mean?’ she asked, pointing to the man’s helmet.

  ‘It’s an indication of rank but . . .’ Max thought for a moment. ‘That’s not right.’

  Kensy rolled her eyes. ‘How would you know that? Have you seriously been studying the London fire brigade uniforms?’

  Her brother looked at her and nodded. ‘And the police and the ambulance service. I thought it might come in handy, just so we know that they’re legitimate in the event of an emergency.’

  Fitz looked at the lad and grinned. ‘That’s impressive, Max. Your grandmother will be happy to see initiative like that.’

  Kensy’s stomach twisted. Max could have told her – she’d have studied it with him. Sneaky little so and so. She wondered if he had some inside running on their next Pharos review.

  ‘What’s wrong with it then, genius?’ Kensy said, a snipe in her voice.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Anna said. ‘There’s no need for that tone, Kensy.’

  The girl pulled a face.

  Max looked at it again. ‘The yellow helmets are for the rank and file, and the white ones are station officers and commanders. A trainee has a yellow square inside a black circle, a general firefighter has no mark and a leading firefighter has two diagonal stripes. This helmet has three – which doesn’t add up.’

  ‘So if that fellow isn’t a firefighter, then who is he?’ Anna asked.

  But Fitz was way ahead of her. He’d already put the man’s photograph into another database – this time of criminals. But once again it drew a blank.

  ‘Well, if he’s a bad guy, he hasn’t come up on anyone’s radar,’ Max said.

  ‘Why don’t you just see if he has a driver’s licence?’ Kensy suggested sarcastically. ‘Wouldn’t that be the most obvious place to get a match?’

  Fitz turned and beamed at the girl, who was now sporting a milk moustache from her hot chocolate.

  Her mother indicated she should wipe it, which Kensy promptly did with the back of her hand.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Anna frowned and dug a clean tissue from her pocket. ‘Honestly, Kensy. You do know that one of these days your grandmother is likely to get us invited for tea with the queen. You’re going to have to improve your manners before then.’

  ‘The queen probably wipes her milk moustache off exactly the same way – at least when no one’s looking,’ Kensy giggled.

  Max and Fitz chuckled.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Anna said.

  ‘Oh no. Miss Kensington is absolutely right,’ Song said as he closed the oven door and turned around. ‘I have heard that from Her Majesty’s own personal butler.’

  The others guffawed, and Anna let out a little snort, spraying her tea onto the bench. ‘Song, that’s terrible,’ the woman admonished after she wiped her mouth and mopped the puddle. ‘I thought all of you adhered to some sort of butler cone of silence. I’d love to know what you tell the others about Cordelia.’

  The cheeky look disappeared from Song’s face and he pursed his lips. ‘Are you kidding me? I tell them nothing. Your mother-in-law is terrifying.’

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs from the basement interrupted their conversation. To everyone’s surprise Cordelia Spencer walked into the kitchen.

  The rest of them looked at one another and for a moment there was a deafening silence before Max saved the day, pushing back his stool and rushing over to hug the woman. Kensy quickly followed suit, everyone hoping that Cordelia hadn’t heard their earlier banter. But if she had, she wasn’t letting on.

  Cordelia greeted Anna and Fitz then sat down on another stool at the end of the island bench.

  ‘I could murder a –’

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Song said brightly.

  ‘Gin and tonic,’ the woman replied tersely. ‘Sidney would have had it on the table before I had time to take off my coat.’

  ‘Yes, of course, ma’am,’ the man said and quickly set about preparing Dame Spencer’s drink.

  ‘So what have you discovered about Max’s mysterious firefighter?’ Cordelia asked.

  Fitz stared at the screen. He’d run the photograph through the driver’s licence database and had come up empty handed for the third time. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘He’s a ghost,’ Kensy said.

  Max shuddered. Just thinking about the way the chap stared right through him set his nerves on edge. ‘I can tell you he’s real and there’s something evil about him.’

  ‘That doesn’t bode well, does it?’ Cordelia said as Song passed the woman her drink. She stared at it for a moment. ‘Is there a lemon shortage?’

  The butler quickly took the tall glass back and scurried into the pantry.

  ‘Right, we’ll talk about what happened today over dinner and I have some other news too,’ Cordelia said.

  Kensy and Max looked at each other, wondering what it could be.

  ‘But for now Fitz and I have work to do. Shall we go to the study?’ the woman said as Song reappeared with her beverage, to which he’d added ice and a slice of lemon.

  ‘I will bring it upstairs, ma’am,’ the man said. ‘And some snacks. Dinner will not be ready for a little while yet.’

  Cordelia and Fitz promptly disappeared, leaving Anna with Song and the children.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Kensy moaned then remembered the choc chip muffin in her pocket. She pulled out the squashed snack and held it up.

  ‘That looks awful,’ Anna screwed up her nose.

  But before she could suggest Kensy might throw it away, the girl had stuffed the whole thing into her mouth.

  ‘You can’t always judge a muffin by its appearance,’ Kensy mumbled, crumbs sputtering from her lips.

  Anna sighed. The idea that she might ever have a ladylike daughter was beginning to pass her by completely.

  Max stood up and went
to get a slice of banana cake from under the glass dome on the kitchen bench.

  ‘I’ll have some of that too,’ his sister said, then changed her mind when she noticed her mother’s glare.

  ‘Well, I suggest you both get on with your homework or do some training before dinner,’ Anna said. ‘It sounds like your grandmother is about to share something earth shattering. I think I’ll need a shower and a lie down first.’

  Kensy smiled at her brother – her front teeth smeared with chocolate. ‘Are you going to let me beat you up?’

  ‘As if,’ Max said with a shake of his head. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.’

  Max couldn’t stop thinking about that firefighter, or whoever he was. A little bit of combat training was probably just the thing to keep him from worrying, at least for an hour or so.

  Fox Van Leer stared at the plate, mentally assessing each portion of food before turning to the apron-clad woman standing to his left. ‘I requested a two hundred-gram steak this evening, Sylvie. This would appear to be larger.’

  The woman shook her head before answering. ‘I can assure you, sir, it is exactly what you asked for. I checked it twice.’

  He leaned down closer, his bouffant hair defying gravity as he studied the dimensions of the offending piece of meat.

  ‘Bring the scales,’ he demanded with a pinched smile.

  Opposite the man, Heike Van Leer had just picked up her cutlery.

  ‘Stop!’ Fox ordered. He leaned forward to examine his wife’s portion. ‘No one is to eat until all of the steaks are weighed.’

  ‘Really, Dad?’ Soren Van Leer’s shoulders slumped. ‘Do we have to do this again? I’m starving and this looks delicious and by the time it’s weighed it will be cold.’

  ‘Of course we must,’ the man replied. ‘It is for our own good.’

  But Soren couldn’t see that. He yearned for the day when he could eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted and didn’t have to suffer at the hands of his parents’ latest fad diet. He’d lost count of them over the years. Pescatarian, vegetarian, vegan, paleo, volumetrics, raw food, whole food, Mediterranean – you name it, they’d tried it. Thank goodness Sylvie was on his side. She would often sneak him treats – although there would be a hefty price to pay if his father ever found out.