As we lie there, our breathing slowly evens out, and the wood slides into darkness.
“I left Feather,” Talon whispers.
“You didn’t have a choice. Someone pushed you down a hill, remember?”
“They shot her.”
“She shot them, too.”
“She lost it. As soon as she realized that man wasn’t Marble. She fired her gun before I could stop her. What will they do to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you help me escape?”
I consider lying, but I figure there’s already been enough of that, so I answer truthfully. “I didn’t want them to hurt you.”
“Robyn, I’m your kidnapper.”
“I know. Messed up, huh? It just . . . it wasn’t fair. They promised to bring Marble and they didn’t. I couldn’t let you go to people like that. I didn’t think they’d get what you’ve been through. I was afraid they wouldn’t listen to you.”
“Do you believe me then, about Jez?”
I picture Michael’s red face, his fingers digging into my arms. You little bitch, you were listening!
“Michael Bell . . . isn’t that nice. I mean, he pretends to be, but he has a really nasty temper. I guess I can see how he might lie to protect himself. When I was in Paris in January, just before Dad got shot, I overheard them. They were talking about Jez.”
“What did they say?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“Robyn?”
“Please stop pushing me. I just . . . Well, Michael said something about a journalist sniffing around an incident that happened a couple of years back. He told my dad that he was up to his neck in it too—whatever it was. Then . . . in the hospital, after the shooting, Dad told me the kid who died was called Jeremy Fletcher.”
“Right. Well, that says it all then.”
“He said it was an accident! He said it wasn’t Michael’s fault. My dad had just been shot. You have no idea what it was like that day. I’d been so angry with Dad because I thought he was hiding something, and then he got shot. And I thought he was going to die, and that would be it. He’d die thinking I was mad at him.” Now that I’ve started talking, I can’t stop. “And then when he didn’t die, I just wanted everything to be all right. To go back to the way it was. He told me it was all right, that nothing bad had happened. I just . . . I wanted to believe him. I’m sorry about your brother. I am, really.” I sniff.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay. I can’t believe you helped me escape and then came with me. You could be home by now.”
“But then I wouldn’t be with you.” I turn away, embarrassed because I am sweaty and bloodstained and my hair is a cropped mess.
He tilts my chin toward him, and I see none of that matters. He doesn’t care what I look like or who I am or where I came from. He just cares about me. “Robyn Knollys-Green,” he whispers, “you are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “And possibly the stupidest. You pushed me down a freaking hill. I could have broken my neck.”
“But you didn’t.”
His smile fades, and I sense mine does too.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“Rest up here for a while. Sleep maybe?”
“I meant tomorrow. We can’t run forever.”
“No.”
An owl sounds in the trees above us. It is long and mournful like a wail.
“There’s a guy I know. He used to work for Bell-Barkov and got us some information on them. Feather freaked him out, though, and he refused to help us any more. But him and me got on okay. He was sad about what happened to Jez. He might let me stay with him for a while. A few days, anyway.”
“Will he mind you bringing along a hostage?”
“You pushed me, remember? Technically, doesn’t that make me your hostage?”
“What about your mum? Wouldn’t she help?”
“No. She’s not well. I wouldn’t want to get her involved.”
“He’ll probably recognize me, this friend of yours. People sometimes do. I should go home anyway. I’ll see you settled with this guy and then I’ll turn myself in.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. They won’t be cross with you.”
“I helped a terrorist escape. That might be a little hard to explain. I’ll speak to my dad about Jez. I’ll try to ask Michael what happened. I’ll get them to do something about it. I don’t know what or how, but I will.”
“Thank you.”
We fall into a comfortable silence. We don’t hear any shouts or dogs, and even the rain has stopped. “I hope Feather’s all right,” Talon says after a while.
“Why do you care so much about her?”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but she was there for me when no one else was.”
“She got you involved in a kidnapping. She nearly got you shot!”
“It was my choice to kidnap you. She didn’t make me.”
The leaves over our hiding place are edged in silver from the moon, and I run my finger along one, tracing the light. The moonlight splashes on the back of my hand, like a stain. Our breathing is even now, his an echo of mine. “Why are you called Talon?”
“Feather and Marble had nicknames, and I wanted one too. I thought it sounded cool at the time. Feather’s is because of her hair. She has a white patch just here and it looks like, well, a feather.”
“And Marble’s?”
“Because he liked playing marbles as a kid.”
“Seriously? Ha! You said when we first met that you were named for the earth.”
“I can be a pretentious dick sometimes. You know, we should probably try to get some sleep.”
“Yeah.”
His breath hitches as I run my fingers down his wrist and the tiny bones of his hand. I scoop up his fingers, entwining them with mine. This is crazy, but I don’t care. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? This might be the last time we’re ever together.
“Would it be weird to say I’ll miss you?”
“Yes, but I’ll miss you, too.” He squeezes my hand before releasing it. “Robyn, I like you a lot. But that’s so messed up. I’m already in enough trouble. And I—I don’t see how anything good can come of this. Tomorrow I’ll be gone and you’ll be home.”
“I could come with you, to your friend’s.” It’s a stupid suggestion, though.
“That’s not a good idea. But I do like you.”
“I like you, too.” I reach for his hand again. “This is okay, though, right? I mean, if you think so.”
His fingers close around mine. “Yeah, I think so.”
• • •
I wake up, freezing; my whole body is shaking. A murky gray light glimmers through the overhanging branches, catching the thin layer of frost on all the leaves. A squirrel is sniffing around in the undergrowth on the other side of the small clearing beyond the bush we are hidden in. It looks up suddenly, a nut caught between its claws, its small black nose twitching.
Talon is asleep next to me, his hand still in mine. I slip my fingers free and notice that a mobile phone has slid out from his trouser pocket and is lying on the ground between us. Why didn’t he mention it last night? He could have called his friend. Maybe like me he wanted one more night together.
Should I call Dad? I could explain about Talon, and then he could intervene with the police: make them understand that Talon is not like Scar and Feather. Before I can change my mind, I pick the phone up and then carefully crawl back through the trees. After a furtive glance around to make sure there are no police nearby, I stand up and head through the trees a bit. For some reason I don’t want Talon to overhear me. Is that because I know what I’m doing is stupid? I don’t care. I’m going to do it anyway. I’m still clinging to the thin hope tha
t Dad didn’t know the full extent of what Michael had done. If I can make him understand, then maybe he’ll help Talon.
I dial Dad’s mobile number with shaking fingers. It rings, once, twice, three times, and then he is there, sounding as though he is standing right next to me. I try to keep my breath even, but it is loud, like the rush of a train.
“Hello, Knollys-Green speaking,” Dad says.
I don’t reply.
“Hello?”
I breathe out, breathe in, but I don’t speak.
“Robyn? Is that you? Where the hell are you? What’s going on? The police said you ran away.” He is furious, and I’m suddenly back in that hotel suite in Paris. You’re up to your neck in this, Stephen, just like me.
Dad has always known the truth about Jez, and he did nothing.
The phone slides from my hand and bounces a couple of times on the grass. It comes to rest at Talon’s feet. He stoops to pick it up. “Who did you ring?”
“No one. It doesn’t matter.”
The coldness in his eyes turns the blood in my veins to ice. He knows I called Dad.
“I just wanted to speak to him. I was hoping he’d help you. I thought if he only understood . . .” I trail off and then add pathetically, “He’s my dad.” Like that explains everything, but I guess in a way it does. The British prime minister is my father, and the guy in front of me is my kidnapper.
Then there’s a shout from behind us, followed by the howls of dogs.
“You told your dad where we were?”
“No! How could I? I don’t even know where we are! Please, listen—”
But it’s already too late. Men and dogs spill out from the trees all around us. There is snarling and shouting, and none of that is as scary as the look of betrayal in Talon’s eyes. “Talon . . .”
The dogs bark and tug on their leads, their jaws a slobbering mass of teeth and gums. Then Commander Thomas shoves his way through the fray. Without any warning, he lifts his rifle and brings the butt down on the back of Talon’s head. Talon drops like a stone.
And something inside me detonates. Because I am sick of lies and misunderstandings and violence and people making decisions for me. I throw myself at Thomas, and I am fingernails scratching and fists pummeling and feet kicking. But none of it is enough. I am not enough. Other hands slide around my waist and tug me easily away. They hold me tightly, even as I scream so loudly that it tears the world apart. Talon is motionless at my feet. His eyes are closed, and blood trickles from the gash to his skull, and I wonder if I’m doomed to watch everyone I love lie facedown in their own blood.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dr. Flight’s smile is as sweet as treacle; just looking at it is enough to rot your teeth. “Breathe in for me,” she says. The stethoscope is cold against my skin. After giving me a rehydration solution, she looked at my injuries—most of them are healing now—but she spent a long time examining my finger. She seemed satisfied and just reapplied a bandage. She gives me a tetanus shot and then says, “I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated so far, but we just need to be very clear that you pose no threat.”
I am dressed in a blue tracksuit. Beneath it I’m a thin slab of white meat. My chest juts out like a cliff over the inlet of my belly, coming to knotty peaks at my collarbone.
Talon had begun to come around while I was still fighting the police, but he was obviously in a bad way. The police handcuffed both of us and then walked us to separate vans. Then three police officers, including the one called Thomas, had accompanied me on the long journey here, a near–surgically clean white box in a vast building that is surrounded on all sides by high, barbed fences. From the outside, the place looked decayed, like one strong gust of wind could blow it away. The tangle of wires and assorted satellite dishes on its roof looked like legs. They jerked in the strong breeze, like the whole thing was trying to scuttle back into the hill behind it: an insect crawling into its hole. As we got closer, and the wind picked up even more, the building’s legs seemed to go into spasm to the accompaniment of clanging metal that screeched like cicadas.
When we drew up outside, a special-forces agent tugged me roughly from the car, still handcuffed, and walked me down various corridors to this room. Dr. Flight was indignant when she saw me and demanded that they take the cuffs off at once.
I haven’t seen Talon since the woods, and no one will answer any of my questions about him or anything else.
Am I a patient here or a prisoner?
“Can I go home now?” I ask as the doctor tidies up her tray of equipment.
She dumps the used syringe in the bin, pulls off the surgical gloves, and then starts wrapping up the remaining gauze before answering. “Not just yet.”
“When, then?”
“Well, really, that depends on you.” She secures the end of the gauze with a safety pin. “We want to help you, Robyn, but you have to help us, too.” She smiles her treacle smile again. “The officers here are sworn to protect the country.” Her voice is like honey.
“I’m not dangerous.”
“No, of course you’re not.” She pats my knee. “Now you are all patched up on the outside. How about getting you patched up on the inside? A nice plate of scrambled eggs on toast, eh? Sound good?”
My stomach betrays me by gurgling loudly.
There’s a knock on the door, and Commander Thomas sticks his head in. “Okay to have a little chat with Robyn now?”
The doctor gives a smile as sweet as cotton candy and gestures him in.
“How are you holding up, Miss Knollys-Green?” he asks, settling into a chair.
“Where’s Talon?”
“Do you mean Samuel Fletcher? He is in a secure unit. He can’t hurt you again.”
“He didn’t hurt me. He was kind. Feather and Scar are the ones behind all this. They made him take me.” My head is hurting, like a percussion orchestra is playing inside it, and the sound of my blood is the drum. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, and I’m sick and dizzy. The lights are bright in here, and yet the room seems full of moving shadow. Dark, undulating shapes rise up at the corner of my eyes and creep toward me like oil slicks. I rub my eyes to clear my vision.
The police officer has to repeat what he’s just said. “You like this Samuel. Is that why you helped him escape yesterday? Or did he force you?”
“It was a very dangerous thing to do, Robyn,” the doctor says.
“He didn’t make me do anything. You broke your promise. You didn’t free Marble.”
“Marble is a known terrorist. He is charged with shooting your father,” says Thomas.
“But that isn’t Talon’s fault. You’re getting this all wrong. Talon only kidnapped me because the police wouldn’t listen to him when he said that Michael Bell had killed his brother.”
“Michael Bell? Sorry, who are you talking about?”
“Michael Bell—the head of Bell-Barkov. My godfather. Dad’s best friend. There’s this drug, and it isn’t safe. Michael knew it wasn’t, but he still let it be used on kids, and Talon’s brother died.”
“Samuel told you that Michael Bell killed his brother and that’s why you helped him to escape?”
“Yes. No. It wasn’t as simple as that. You’re not listening. I knew you wouldn’t; that’s why we ran yesterday. I—I didn’t want you to hurt Talon. He was kind to me. He— He—” You told your dad where we were.
“Robyn, I want you to understand that what these people did, including this Talon, was wrong. They are all going to face charges of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and terrorism. They will be going to prison for a long time.”
“No! Not Talon. It’s not fair.”
“There is a condition, you know,” the doctor says in her honeyed tone. “It’s called Stockholm syndrome. It is where someone who has been in captivity begins to have sympathy for her c
aptor. Sometimes even feelings of love develop.”
“I do not have that! You definitely do not understand.”
The officer is looking at me as if I’m insane, and I realize it is pointless. Even my own father lied to me about this. I stand up. “I want to go home now.”
“Of course you do, and you can very soon, but first we just need to understand what happened yesterday. And we’d like to have someone talk to you about your time in captivity.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to go home, but first . . . I want to see Talon.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Why not? What have you done with him?”
“It’s not a case of that. We assure you that he is quite all right. He is in the holding cells—”
“I want to see him NOW.” I fling Dr. Flight’s tray across the room, narrowly missing Thomas’s head. The doctor’s smile drips from her face like melted chocolate. “Robyn, you need to calm down,” she urges.
But I’m tired of being calm, and I’m fed up with doing what I’m told.
I walk to the door, sidestepping Thomas’s attempts to stop me.
“Robyn, for goodness’ sake,” the doctor says. “Where are you going?”
“We can sort this out,” Thomas says.
Maybe they can, but it won’t be in the way I want, so I start to run. I am still dizzy, but adrenaline has kicked in, and I move fast. So does Thomas. He snatches for me, but I spin away and open the door at the end of the hall. I dash through the gap and then pull the door shut behind me. After grabbing a nearby chair, I ram it under the door handle. It won’t hold for long, but maybe it will give me enough time to find Talon.
I run on through six more doors, taking as many corners as I can to try to throw Thomas off my scent. Then I come out into a wide atrium. I take in the scene quickly. There’s a circular reception desk, and in front of it are three long rows of chairs. To the left and right of the desk are doors, and behind the chairs, an ornate red rug leads like a tongue to a set of glass doors that open out onto a tarmacked forecourt. Sunshine glints on the glass, making the doors shine.
Captive Page 15
