by London Shah
“The Underground . . .” Ari says, opening up another file.
“I haven’t got to that yet, but I’m not surprised.” I’m about to turn back to the page I was scanning, when my eye catches the one Ari’s skimming. Urgent: Bakerloo Line. “Wait, what’s it saying about the Bakerloo line?”
“They asked for funding—repeatedly. Many sections of the Underground have,” Ari explains as he continues reading. “The Underground tunnels haven’t been touched since the Old Worlders built them, soon as they heard of the coming disaster. This report warns of a catastrophe if the Bakerloo line doesn’t receive funds for immediate, major structural rework.”
My stomach rolls. “What year was that report filed in?” But before he answers, I see it for myself. And gasp.
“What is it?”
My heart sinks. “Terence Campbell, the twins’ dad . . . A year after that report was filed, a year after the Underground pushed for the means to carry out repairs, was the Bakerloo line incident, killing so many—including Theo and Tabby’s dad. The government was warned this would happen, and yet still they allocated the money toward upkeep of the old structures instead. I can’t believe it.”
Ari’s expression hardens. “I’m sorry.”
Vivian without a husband, and Theo and Tabby without their dad. Adequate funding would’ve prevented the accident and his death. Not to mention everyone else who perished in the tunnel.
Why does the government do this? I just don’t understand why they would willingly ignore the dangers and flow the funds into futile projects.
I pour warm drinks for us both. The Kabul pierces the dark-blue waters, toward the undisclosed location. Despite the coordinates, it’s proved impossible so far to know exactly what we’re headed for—all the maps are coming up with nothing.
“Oscar?”
The Navigator appears. He’s looking seriously dapper, with a lavender cravat wrapped around the upturned collars of a formal shirt. “My dear lady. Pray how may I assist?”
“You look pretty ace.”
He dips his head. “Ah, one can never be overdressed or overeducated, my dear.”
“Oscar, exactly where are we now, and can you please run another check for anything at our intended location?”
The Navigator nods, and his reply is swift. “My lady, we are now approaching those Scottish gems, the Shetland Islands. There is no structure at all at the precise location of the registered coordinates.”
I sense Ari tense beside me. He gets up as I instruct Oscar to run the coordinates again.
Same result—there’s nothing there.
“But there has to be something there. Maybe,” I say to Ari who’s now pacing the room, “just maybe, it’s not a fixed structure? It could be a sub they’re keeping Papa on, which is why it doesn’t show up on maps?”
Ari pauses and looks at me the way he did that night in the Den. When he wanted me to guess the truth about him. He opens his mouth as if to speak but closes it again.
Oh no you don’t. “Tell me.”
He curls his hands into fists by his sides. “There is a structure that doesn’t show up on maps . . . but it’s not good.” He clears his throat. “Leyla, if we keep heading in the direction we are, then there’s a very real possibility your father’s in Broadmoor. Because it doesn’t show up on any systems.”
“Huh? There’s no such place. It’s just a rumor. Ari, everyone knows Broadmoor’s only a rumor—it has to be!”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But it exists. You mustn’t worry though, the coordinates might not take us there.”
I clutch my stomach. Broadmoor. The famed top secret prison where anything goes. It actually exists. . . .
Ari rubs the back of his neck, his expression taut.
Is it possible Papa’s in there? What state might he be in? I swallow away the horrific possibilities. I can’t go losing it now. Why put Papa in a top secret prison, though? What do they think he’s guilty of? I fold my arms and straighten. Horrific as it is, if Ari’s right, then I have an exact location now. Which is what I wanted, and needed. Think. My mind races.
“Oscar, the information we downloaded at Cambridge . . . is it enough to be able to contact them?”
We’re on the same side; it’s not what you think. Jas’s words to me when the place was under attack. What did he mean? And is the Den even still standing? Did they survive the attack, or am I about to speak with the Blackwatch? I gulp and shake the doubts away.
“There is indeed a point of contact one may try, my lady.”
I take a deep breath. “Oscar, contact Bia.”
Ari whips his head around to face me, but I turn to the communications screen, sticking my chin high as I straighten. It’s a long shot, and she must believe me.
Without warning, Bia immediately comes into view, the Den visible in the background with its screens hovering around. Oh phew. They survived. She narrows her eyes, her brow creasing.
“I am not finished with you. You have something of mine.” She leans to the side to read something; presumably trying to track me. “And where are you, girl? Why didn’t you head for King’s—”
“You knew where my papa was and didn’t tell me.”
She purses her mouth and her eyes flicker. “What? What do you know?”
“I know he’s in Broadmoor, and I’m going to do something about it.” It’s worth a try. But curse the waver in my voice.
Bia shakes her head. “What good would it have done to tell you your father’s being held there? This is above you, girl.”
My gaze darts to Ari. My cheeks burn now, and heat creeps along my neck. I breathe hard and fast as the truth finally drops.
It’s true. Papa is in Broadmoor.
I finally know . . . I know where my papa is.
Ari nods slowly, understanding, as he takes in my expression.
Bia waves her hand. “I do hope you’re not thinking of doing anything rash,” she says, “because we already tried everything. We even made three separate attempts at breaking into the prison—and not just for your father. We have other business there. Each time, we’ve suffered considerable damage. We’ve never got past their first line of defense. But we have someone on the inside now, and we all just need to sit tight until we have a foolproof plan. Do you understand?”
I catch my breath. Hope is the strangest and most magical thing . . . It really is. It shows up at totally random and unexpected times, and can bloody well knock you for six.
I take a deep breath and cross my arms. “No. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m going to go in. From everything I’ve ever heard about this place, my papa doesn’t have much time. You have a choice, Bia.”
Her face tightens. “I don’t think you underst—”
“No, I don’t think you do. I’m going in, like I said. So now it’s up to you. You can either explain to my papa and grandpa why you let me go near a top security prison without a clue, or you can send me everything you guys have on the place. I mean, everything. Because I am going in, and nobody is stopping me.”
I end the communication. If I had to speak to her a second longer, I’d have crumbled. If she refuses to help, Theo could hack into their systems—I’ve no doubt. But I’d have to message him to ask, and risk getting him into trouble.
Ari’s gaze finds mine and I hold it. He scratches his jaw and stares away into space.
I peer out of the viewport. I know where Papa is. Finally. Finally.
My papa is alive, and I know where he is!
A wave carries me away, cradling me as we roll toward translucent waters. It’s still a rough sea, but with the current so much clearer now, I am definitely one step closer to being with him again.
A memory surfaces. Years ago, Papa and I used to play hide-and-seek—back when we lived in Westminster, before they cleared the government housing of most of its scientists and instead allocated the homes to families of historians and anyone employed in defense. Papa was in our sub, and I’d borrowed one of the
twins’ vessels as usual and gone off to hide behind the sprawling structure of Civic House. I’d become distracted though and careened off course. Once I realized I was lost—for what seemed like an eternity, but I now know must’ve been only minutes—I’d been too terrified, too frozen to think of contacting Papa via the Bracelet. I’d finally managed to focus and alert him to the problem.
But what if I did get lost, Papa? How would you ever find me? I asked afterward, trembling and consumed, as usual, by the dread of hidden places and wilder waters.
He’d chuckled. You’re not going to get lost, Pickle. You, my little Kabuli peree, were born to rule these waves—to create mischief and laughter and joy in these depths. Now trust in God and stop worrying! But on seeing my expression, his brow had creased, his hazel eyes imploring as he wrapped his arms around me and I could breathe in his calming citrusy scent. His voice dropped to a murmur. Don’t you know I would sail every current, ride every wave, and dive into any depth, until I found you? But I won’t have to because it isn’t going to happen inshallah. I’m not going to lose you, Pickle.
Ari startles me when his voice brings me out of my thoughts and back to the present. “What are you thinking?” he asks, as he places a tray of warm drinks and snacks beside me in the viewport. “It’s not a good idea. You heard Bia. They have already tried, several times.”
It’s early afternoon now, and we’ve both been engrossed in the requested info, only pausing when necessary. Jojo’s curled up on the sofa feeling lazy after her lunch.
Bia came through for us within the hour, sending whatever she has on the wretched place along with warnings and pleas not to do anything stupid and to just sit tight until we hear from her again. There’s everything. . . . Blueprints of the place itself, security measures, routines, it’s all here. The layout of the files makes the information a headache to decipher, though.
“That’s because Bia’s lot only headed in with submersibles,” I say. “We have a submarine. We can do more. The Kabul has seriously impressive firepower. We can do this! We just have to believe we can. And we have to trust each other. . . .”
He holds my gaze, his own suddenly so intense I might get lost in it.
I swallow. “Oscar?”
“My dear lady?”
“Oscar, grant Ari full primary rights.”
I have to go with my gut now. All I have left are my faith and hope. Ari looks stunned; he opens and closes his mouth several times before we both look away, reaching for our warm drinks. We take a sip and pull disgusted faces at the same time.
“Tea,” Ari says, shaking his head.
“Bitter poison,” I say, reluctantly swallowing the coffee and swapping the cup for my beloved tea. I glance at the info again and screw my face up. “Why are the prison files in such a weird design?” God, I hate technology. “Please separate the files for me; I want to focus on the prison’s defenses.”
Ari’s mouth twitches, and he gets to work sorting through the trench of information, swishing the interior defense file over to me while he concentrates on structure and exterior security.
It takes a good amount of digging around before we share our findings.
“Did you know they have mostly robot prison officers?” I ask him. “Bia’s lot have found a weakness, though—they have a reboot switch at the back of their necks in case of an emergency. Takes them thirty minutes to restart fully and they’re useless during that time. Of course you’d have to somehow get behind them in the first place. . . . You?”
“The security . . . I have never seen anything like it before,” he says. “There are no hatches, only a single moon pool. Apart from opening at random intervals for a few minutes—to allow for the movement of security and supplies—the pool is otherwise opened only once a week for a few hours to allow for new prisoners, supplies, and shift changeovers. The next one is at dawn tomorrow.” Ari rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think the Kabul should go anywhere near the area. It—”
“We go in tomorrow.”
“What—”
“I’m not waiting another week now that I know Papa’s in that hellhole. The way in opens up for a few hours at dawn, so that’s when we try.”
He swears. “You will never survive their defenses! And if you do, you face capture and the same fate as your father. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“Because my papa might be dead in a week’s time! I don’t trust
Captain Sebastian or the Blackwatch at all anymore. And that’s if they haven’t already done something to him. . . . What if he’s been hurt? What if they hurt him?” I swallow, looking away. “We must have the Medi-bot ready just in case—” My voice catches in my throat; I stare out into the depths, wringing my hands. What might Papa have gone through? “I didn’t come this far to let fear stop me from trying,” I say. “We can’t waste time. We need to go over everything: our firepower, what sensory devices we’ll be using, how we get past any security posts we come across—the list goes on. We just can’t afford to get it wrong.” I take a deep breath to stop my insides from quivering.
“I think your father will be okay,” Ari says gently, though there’s still tension in his voice. “If he’s as strong as you, then he’ll be holding on.”
We spend the next few hours assessing the Kabul’s weaponry and capabilities, and absorbing all the info on the prison.
My throat and chest feel like rocks have been stuffed into them, and I keep shivering.
Thank God I have Ari with me. And the fact he thinks it’s a reckless idea but is trying to make it work because I really need it to . . . it just makes my heart expand.
I understand why he thinks it’s such a rash plan. It’s Broadmoor—the security’s on another level. But I’m truly desperate. It’s all or nothing now.
I have to make it work.
“Why’s this dolphin acting so weird?” I ask Ari, peering out of the viewport. It doesn’t perform any stellar acrobatics, or blow bubbles to please us. Is the creature ill?
He looks up from the seating area, where the prison’s blueprints hover. “It’s not a free dolphin. Look closer.”
The animal seems almost lifeless, showing only a detached interest in the sub.
I exhale. “I give up. Tell me!”
“Border patrol,” he replies, as he opens up and zooms in on various holographic files. His face darkens and his voice hardens. “A whole army of sea creatures, mostly dolphins, guard Great Britain’s borders. The dolphins are born and raised in captivity. They know nothing but the training forced on them.”
I shudder and stare at the animal. The poor things . . . I place my hand on the window. No reaction. The creature moves away through the late evening waters.
I jump when Oscar materializes.
“My dear lady, the craft is on our tail again. This time they are traveling far too close for one’s comfort, and they insist upon communication.”
Ari glances up from his files, his face set. “I’ll take care of it.”
I hold my hand up. “Erm, no, thank you.”
Whoever they are, they don’t give up easily. They’ve followed us relentlessly since late afternoon, no matter what we try and do to shake them off.
It isn’t the first vessel to get in our way out here. The Kabul only just managed to sneak around a security base over the Orkney Islands, when a private sub attempted to block its path. I sent them a warning by way of light firepower. They yielded immediately. Now isn’t the time for obstructions. I want to get as near to the prison’s location as possible so we’re ready to move in at dawn. Besides, I’ve yet to see a single vessel that doesn’t look dodgy.
This particular sub is especially determined to be noticed, though. Even out here where there’s no one around for leagues.
“Send them another warning, Oscar. A bigger one.”
“A most equitable response, my dear—and one already conducted.”
My eyebrows meet. “And they still persist? Who on earth are the
y?”
Ari jerks his head up. “If you hit their propeller, you’ll send them spinning below. Problem over. Oscar, damage their vessel.”
I scowl in his direction; maybe I should cancel his primary rights again. I turn to the Navigator. “Totally ignore that, Oscar. Accept communication request.”
Ari mutters something.
The screen comes to life. “Coo-ee! Only us! Just spreading the good word.”
It’s a group of missionaries. I shake my head, unable to control the grin spreading on my face. Even here, in the middle of nowhere. Ari walks over, his eyes narrow, hands on hips.
The immaculately dressed group offers warm smiles. A woman in a fuchsia hat waves at me and clutches her chest. “Oh, look at you, lovely. Thank you for agreeing to chat! Tell us, child, what do you think happens to your soul when you d—”
“You’re about to find out.” Ari bares his teeth. “Go now, or I’ll sink you all.”
I swing around to face him, my mouth open. He refuses to look at me.
His shoulders rise and fall, and his nostrils flare as he glowers at the jovial group. “Why bother us? You could have endangered our vessel. Trouble us again and—”
“Hold your tongue,” a suited man says to Ari. “We risk life and limb in the wilderness, to reach those without direction. We offer to show you the way down here and this is how you respond?” The agitated missionary straightens and addresses me. “Blink twice, child, if you need rescuing. He’s clearly beyond saving—headed straight for the fiery bosom of his mistress’s—”
A woman hurries forward and whispers in his ear. Seconds later, communication is cut. Oscar confirms the vessel has sped away. What the—
