Then someone flew out of a room by the back door, rugby tackled her and took her down to the tiles. ‘No you don’t, bitch.’
Feet thundered behind. ‘Have you got her?’
‘Yeah.’ There were so many of them—far more than the six who had come in to her room.
‘Don’t let her see your face!’ A hand pinning her down on the floor, a pillowcase was pulled over her head. Before she could do anything to free herself, her wrists were tied behind her and then her ankles bound together with stretchy material—bandages from the medical room.
‘Prisoner secured.’ The guy who had squashed her was breathing heavily down her neck.
‘Let me go!’
A rag was stuffed in her mouth.
Now she was scared. She couldn’t see, could hardly breathe past the gag. Claustrophobia was a secret weakness and this was pushing all the buttons. One person hoisted her up, this time in a fireman’s lift, and hurried through the exterior door. She could hear others following but now had no idea how many or where they were going. It was freezing outside dressed only in her pyjamas. She was going to kill them, each and every one, once she got free. That’s if they didn’t go and accidently kill her with this stunt first. Fricking idiots.
After five minutes being carried upside down, they entered a building of some sort and she was dumped on a cold concrete floor, adding a bruise to her tailbone. Now she could guess where they were: the old cricket pavilion out by the pitch. No one used them except to shelter from rain if caught on the far field during PE.
‘Go away, Stone!’ the first voice chanted. His voice was picked up by the others. ‘Go away, Stone! Go away, Stone!’
She curled up, head to her knees, trying to make a gap for her nose in the baggy material. Not a panic attack; not now.
A wheel squeaked and cold water hit her back. They’d put her under the ancient shower head. She couldn’t help a choked shriek. The flow was cut off.
‘We hate thieves!’
The water turned on again. She tried to edge out of the spray but was prodded back in place by a broom. Her tormentors weren’t going to risk getting wet. Hatred for them boiled inside her but she didn’t even know who they were, couldn’t touch them with her hands bound. Water off.
‘You don’t belong here.’
Water on.
Now Raven had a new crisis. The material of the pillowcase was wet and clinging to her nose and mouth. She tried to spit out the gag, but there was no shifting it. Oh God, she was going to suffocate! Using her knees, she scuffed at the hem, pushing it up so her chin and nose were free.
Water off.
‘No more warnings. Leave our school.’ A girl’s voice that time.
Gina? Surely it couldn’t be?
‘Yeah we don’t want no skanks here,’ another girl said.
Water on.
She was freezing but all she could do was endure. She wasn’t going to give them anything, not a word, not a shiver. The water went on and off for what seemed like hours. They were playing with her—giving her hope that they’d stopped only to switch it back on again.
‘I think she’s had enough,’ the first boy said. The spray dripped to nothing. This time it wasn’t false. She could hear footsteps and a door banging. They’d gone. Now she shivered. Squirming with her knees, she managed to pinch the pillowcase off and dislodge the gag, not that that helped much as the showers were pitch dark. She pushed herself up the wall then realized it was easier to go across the floor to the door. Reluctantly she slid back down and rolled through the icy puddle of water still draining through the iron grate. She told herself not to think about the spiders and cockroaches that had taken over the changing rooms when the humans abandoned them. The door to the communal shower was closed but she could just wriggle underneath through the gap. That got her as far as the locker room. Drifts of leaves had gathered in one corner. The air smelt of mildewed sheds and forgotten places. She was so cold now the only thing that kept her moving was pure rage, running through her bloodstream like jet engine fuel. Her way was blocked by a jumble of benches so she pushed up to her feet and jumped across the room, navigating by the faint moonlight coming through a thick glass window high up.
The door did not budge. Bolted from the outside.
So they weren’t finished. Her torment was supposed to include a night tied up as well, was it? She was going to scream with fury.
No. She refused to give them that much. Screw them! Using her flexibility, she stepped over her bound hands, bringing them to the front. The relief on her shoulders was instant. Bringing the bandages up to her teeth, she sat in a pile of dry leaves and began to chew the knots.
The Young Detective Agency had its London headquarters in Clink Street on the south bank of the Thames. The street, named after an infamous prison, ran between the Globe Theatre and Sir Francis Drake’s pirate ship, the Golden Hinde. This placed the YDA’s converted warehouse in what had been for centuries the most disreputable part of the city. Even though developers had given the area a facelift, its shady past wasn’t forgotten, and that suited the agents just fine.
A history lesson outdoors, there was nothing dated about the inside of the building. Conceived as an elite international training college for young people showing an aptitude for all aspects of crime detection, it housed about eighty students; bedrooms and living areas at the western end of the complex, working areas to the east. The laboratories and seminar rooms were kitted out to the highest specifications, matching anything belonging to the FBI or Scotland Yard. Kieran had made sure of that when Isaac left him in charge of equipping the place after the last remodelling.
At his favourite bench in the forensic lab, with a view across the river to St Paul’s Cathedral, Kieran sat on a high stool examining the pencil case and the jewellery box for prints. The aqueous component had of course evaporated almost completely from the box, making dusting inefficient, so he was using fluorescence to pick up the traces. Discarding Raven’s marks, he had isolated two nice prints on the box and was now matching them to the ones on Joe’s case. He could already see that there was enough similarity in the ridges to make them from a single hand.
Joe came in with a mug of Earl Grey for Kieran and a four-pack of Coke. ‘So?’
‘Gina is the same girl. No doubt about it. Thanks.’ He took a sip, noticing now that he was really thirsty. He had been so caught up in work he had forgotten to stop for meals. He got up to stretch, taking up his bullwhip and making a few preliminary cracks to get back in the habit. That circus skills course had been one of the best things he had done last year at the YDA. Billed as summer relaxation, they had all got far more from it than they expected. Joe had come out of it an accomplished juggler, but Kieran preferred the distance and precision of the whip.
‘I suppose that simplifies matters. I was beginning to think alien abduction.’ Joe wiggled his fingers in mock spookery.
‘This isn’t an episode of Scooby-Doo.’
Joe pulled up a stool. ‘Was that like a joke referencing pop culture post-1950? Who are you and what have you done with Kieran Storm?’
Kieran tried not to smile.
‘Raven is having one majorly good influence on you. I could almost kiss her myself, but I’ll leave that to you.’
Kieran snapped the whip against the targets he had set out earlier along the window ledge. A paper flower fluttered into two parts. He did not like this talk that lifted the lid on something private.
‘What?’ Joe leant back on his stool. ‘Don’t tell me, you haven’t kissed her yet? Man, I left you with the best opportunity the other night. Don’t say you blew it?’
‘I didn’t blow it.’ Flick—a second target met a paper death on the floor.
‘So did you kiss her?’
‘And that’s your business how exactly, Joe?’
Joe grinned. ‘It’s not. I’m just curious to see the kind of girl that can thaw Kieran Iceman’s control. Though I admit I take my life in my hands when you’re in
one of your Indiana Jones phases.’
‘The forces involved in the manipulation of the single tail of the bullwhip are fascinating. It reaches the speed of sound and makes a small sonic boom.’
‘Keep telling yourself it’s just science; the rest of us know you’re really into it because it’s cool.’
The door to the lab swung open and a trolley crashed through.
‘Joe, you can be a pain in the neck, did you know that?’ Kieran put the whip down to greet his friends, Nat and Daimon, who were responsible for the interruption. ‘I thought you’d be along eventually.’
‘Key!’ Nat, the blond one of the pair, squeezed him in a punishing hug. ‘You are the man.’
‘Yeah,’ Daimon high fived him. ‘You saved our cojones from a roasting. We are in your debt.’
Nat greeted Joe then pulled up a stool. ‘Seriously, Key, if you hadn’t headed Isaac off his warpath we wouldn’t still be here, so thanks. We aren’t exactly his favourite students at the moment.’
‘Uh-oh, what else have you done?’ asked Joe.
Daimon smiled at the memory. ‘Let’s just say the girls are going to take some time to forgive us.’
‘This sounds good.’
‘Remember Key invented that dye for camouflaging skin? The one that passed as normal body wash so we could take it on a mission without anyone being any the wiser?’
‘Yep. Sure do.’
‘One of my more interesting experiments but I only got as far as primary colours,’ noted Kieran. ‘I hadn’t finished blending it before we were sent on a mission.’
‘Exactly. So we tested it.’
‘I know it’s safe.’ He wouldn’t make a stupid error like that.
‘No, I mean we tested if it would pass inspection by the most suspicious minds on the planet.’
‘And?’ asked Joe.
‘We discovered that if you put a bottle of it in a bathroom, it works like a dream.’
Kieran knew exactly how that would turn out, having devised the formula himself. ‘But—’
‘Yup. Pretty blue girls—and I’m not talking mood.’ Daimon winked.
‘No, I’d say that their mood was more a shade of red. I’ve not seen Greta so angry before.’ Nat rubbed his hands.
‘It wasn’t meant for … ’ Still, the picture was irresistible. He wished he’d been there.
‘I really liked her with blue hair,’ added Daimon.
‘And skin. The skin was good. Like a Smurf.’
Joe started laughing.
‘Funny thing was that while she was away reporting it, Samira was already in the shower.’
‘Izzie and Nel too. Tragically, they then stopped using the body wash, realizing that it had been tampered with.’
‘I hope you took photos.’ Joe regarded them with great pride. The competition between the boys and the girls of the YDA was an ongoing war of wits. Practical jokes were regarded by the students as a form of benign warfare, allowing them to hone their skills.
‘We wouldn’t invade the privacy of their bathrooms while they were occupied.’ Nat looked angelic.
Daimon gave a wicked grin. ‘Even we have our limits.’
‘But we did manage to take a few pictures of them gathered to complain outside Isaac’s office in their bathrobes.’
‘But you were caught?’ asked Kieran.
‘We were celebrated,’ corrected Nat, ‘by the other boys.’
‘Then given a bollocking by Isaac. Bathroom-cleaning duty for a month. The girls come and crow every time to see us wearing Marigolds.’ Daimon held up his hands.
‘Still, it was worth it.’ Nat sighed dramatically.
‘We’re just waiting for their revenge. It’s going to be ugly. There are some mean minds among the girls and I think Isaac has given them free reign to design a suitable payback.’
‘I thought Cobras like you lived for danger,’ said Kieran. Daimon was in B stream with the other agents who showed aptitude for handling high risks.
‘Which is why I know when it’s time to retreat. And our boy here,’ he slapped Nat on the back, ‘prefers not to be tracked down by his own kind. You know what they’re like when they’re let off their leash.’ D stream, the Wolves, were merciless hunters, especially the She-Wolves.
Joe rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m pleased we’re well out of it then. I’ll send flowers to your funeral.’
Nat peered over Kieran’s shoulder to check his results on the prints. ‘By the way, Key, they know you formulated the soap. Sorry about that.’
Kieran frowned. ‘You mean they think I was part of it?’
‘Maybe.’ Daimon shrugged and helped himself to a spare Coke.
‘Probably.’ Nat grimaced apologetically.
‘I’m going to emigrate.’ Kieran was only half-joking.
‘They’ll still hunt you down. These are Yoda girls we are talking about. You can run but you can’t hide.’
Joe nudged him. ‘Buy them chocolate and disassociate yourself from these morons.’
‘That might do it,’ Nat agreed.
Opening a new browser window, Kieran put in an order for a huge delivery with Fortnum and Mason. ‘I’m charging this to your account,’ he told Daimon.
‘Fair enough.’ Daimon made his allowance multiply each month teaching poker to the other students. Then he realized. ‘Hey, how do you know my bank details?’
Nat slapped him round the head. ‘It’s Key we’re talking about here. He could break in to the Pentagon; I don’t think your current account is going to be much of a challenge. So, guys, how’s the mission going?’ He pushed the trolley laden with snacks nearer so Kieran and Joe could help themselves.
‘It’s coming together.’ Joe chose a sandwich and rocked back on his stool. ‘We’ve found a link between the students and the parents—the pupils are being sent on character building courses and coming back changed. Kieran thinks there has to be something happening to them when they go away—some kind of brainwashing or maybe bribery or threats to reform their behaviour.’
‘Or a combination of all three,’ added Kieran.
‘Bribed to be good kids?’ asked Nat.
‘I’m not sure about good. One of them came back totally poisonous.’
‘Surely they wouldn’t crumble so easily, so quickly?’ Daimon had great faith in his own strength of mind and assumed everyone else was the same.
‘Minds are clay not diamonds, Daimon.’
Daimon’s expression hardened. ‘So, not knowing the details, you think the students are being manipulated?’
‘Something along those lines. We need more evidence before we know for sure.’
‘There’s nothing like that going on at the school, so it’s got to be happening at the manor,’ said Joe.
‘The manor?’ asked Nat.
‘The school has this plush annex—a kind of health club which they use for training courses and vacation camps.’
‘Already I’m suspicious. “Plush” and “school” sound weird together,’ said Daimon.
Joe nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right. During term, old boys and girls of the UIS network come there for conferences, bringing their colleagues from their places of work and their money. I thought it was a kind of fundraising wing, exploiting the contacts the school’s graduates make, but there has to be something more. All the students who have gone through the personality change have been there.’
‘And not everyone has come back,’ Kieran pointed out. ‘Some may still be there.’
‘And that might just be the key to this puzzle. We’ll have to get in.’
‘What is less obvious is how the scheme at the manor relates to the wider problem that brought us into the case in the first place. I’m trying to find a pattern but nothing has leapt out so far. I suppose it’ll end up as a game of hunt the money.’
‘They give you money for doing them a favour, or you pay them money for brainwashing your kids?’ Nat asked shrewdly.
‘Not sure yet. I’m thi
nking it’s not a one-way street. This much is clear: it all goes through the Union of International Schools and is nearly undetectable.’
‘But not for Kieran Storm.’
‘No, not for me. If the trail’s there, I’ll find it.’
‘Cool.’ Daimon took a pack of cards from his pocket. ‘Game?’
‘You finished here, Key?’ asked Joe, gesturing to the work bench.
‘Yes. I’ve sent in our report.’
Daimon shuffled, arcing cards from hand to hand. The circus skill he had picked was magic tricks and sleight of hand—not that he had needed much help in that department, being a natural at deception.
‘So we’re off duty. Perfect.’ Joe closed down the mission file on the screen. ‘Where do you want do this?’
‘The common room isn’t safe right now,’ admitted Nat, glancing over his shoulder.
‘I thought here would be good.’ Daimon cut the pack. ‘That’s why we brought food.’
‘Don’t tell me: the girls have kicked you out? They have, haven’t they?’
Daimon nodded.
‘They’ve really got you worried, haven’t they?’ Joe stretched his arms above his head, revelling in his friends’ discomfort. ‘OK, let’s stay here. I wonder if you can beat Kieran this time, Daimon?’
‘We’re about even so far in our encounters. He’s the toughest of the tough—his computer of a brain versus my cunning and all-round cheating mind.’ Daimon fanned the cards on the counter.
Joe rolled his eyes at Nat. ‘That kinda makes us the cannon fodder in this battle, doesn’t it?’
Nat rubbed his palms together. ‘But I always live in the hope that I can sneak past both while they are engaged in the clash of the Titans.’
‘Hey, Nat, good plan.’ Joe slapped him on the arm approvingly. ‘Deal the cards.’
The YDA’s driver dropped the two boys off at reception late Sunday afternoon. Joe looked up at the castle then across at Kieran. ‘Ready?’
Storm and Stone Page 10
