I started. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m a friend of Lucas’s. We were in the same organization together.”
There was a long pause. I sucked in my breath. “What do you mean?”
Silence.
“Are you . . . are you talking about the League?” I stammered.
“No.”
I waited, but the man didn’t elaborate.
Was this some kind of trick? I had seen Lucas’s texts about the bomb. The League of Iron had claimed responsibility for the explosion. How could Lucas not be part of their group?
“Who are you?”
“I will explain when we meet,” the man went on.
“Meet?”
“Yes. Now. Come to the bandstand in the park where you played soccer last weekend.”
“How did you know I—? Who are you? Why are you—?”
“I’ll answer your questions later,” the man said firmly. “Now get your laptop and bring it to the bandstand. One p.m. Don’t be late.”
“Wait, tell me—”
But the man had hung up.
CHARLIE
The drizzling rain matched my mood as I hurried along the pavement toward Jas’s house. It was Sunday and I’d just had to sit through a family breakfast with Gail, Brian, and Rosa. The conversation had revolved around their vacation last year, which of course I hadn’t been a part of. Gail tried to draw me in by talking about the upcoming memorial service for Mum and the other bomb victims. She seemed to think it would be a great way for everyone to pay their respects, but I could just imagine how fake it would be: full of smiling strangers pretending to grieve for people they barely knew. I’d had enough of that in the days immediately after the explosion. I’d met a lot of people who’d said how sorry they were that Mum had died, but where had they all been in the months before it happened, after Mum lost her teaching job and started having to line up for Roman Riley’s food bags?
As I reached Jas’s house, my thoughts inevitably turned to Nat and my need for proof about his involvement with the League of Iron. Jas let me in, chattering excitedly about some material she’d bought.
“I was going to use it for me, but the color will be better on you. I can do it after I finish my coat if you like?”
“Sure,” I said, only half-listening. The house seemed empty and quiet. But then Jas’s house always did. “Hey, is Nat around?”
Jas shook her head. “He just went out.”
“Oh?” I tried to sound casual. “Where was he going?”
Jas shrugged. “No idea.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s gotten so secretive recently. I’ve been wondering if he’s seeing some girl . . . Anyway, come and see this material. It’s blue and, like, a jersey but with a silky finish . . . soo pretty . . .”
I followed her into her room, my mind racing over this new bit of information. So Nat had become secretive. Surely that was yet another indication that he was involved with a new attack the League of Iron was planning?
Jas showed me the blue material. It was, as she’d promised, very pretty. I feigned an interest in the dress she wanted to make and Jas skipped off downstairs, delighted, to make us tea.
I sat in the silence of her room for a few moments. Through Jas’s open door I could see the door to Nat’s bedroom across the landing. It was shut. Which was when it struck me. The only way to prove that Nat was AngelOfFire was to take his actual computer to the police. I grabbed my bag—just about big enough to conceal a laptop—and headed for Nat’s room. I could hear the kettle boiling downstairs, Jas padding about in the kitchen. I opened Nat’s bedroom door slowly and peered inside.
The laptop was not on the table where it had been last week. I looked, quickly, around the room. There was no sign of it in the wardrobe, on the bed, or under any of the piles of clothes that littered the floor.
It was gone. Or hidden. And I didn’t have time to go looking for it, not with Jas about to come back upstairs.
I retreated to Jas’s room, furious with myself. I should have taken the computer as soon as I saw what Nat had written on that forum. Now I was going to have to find another way of getting the proof I needed.
NAT
It was raining as I left the house. I made sure my laptop was covered with a plastic bag, then tucked it under my arm and hurried to the park. Questions swirled in my head: Who had called me? Why did they want to meet me? What did they want with my computer? The rain grew heavier as I sped along, soaking through my jacket and leaving my clothes damp against my skin. I paid no attention. More questions ran through my mind: How had someone slipped that phone into my pocket? What did any of this have to do with Lucas? Was it all some kind of trap?
I checked the time as I jogged through the park entrance and across the grass. It was almost 1 p.m. My heart thudded. I must be crazy to be going to meet a complete stranger like this. No one else even knew where I was.
The iron bandstand was in the middle of the park. I waited at the bottom of the stairs where weeds grew up through the rusting metal. The place was deserted. I had only ever seen it used a few times, for summer concerts and local fairs. We used to come here years ago. I could remember eating ice cream with Jas and Lucas, Mum fussing over us with a hanky, then Lucas and me wriggling away to play soccer.
I paced around the bandstand. There were trees over to the right, then the main grassy area of the park to the left. A few solitary walkers were wandering about, but no one was heading in my direction. It stopped raining as I checked the time again. One p.m. exactly.
“Hello, Nat.”
I spun around. A man stood in front of me. He was tall—easily over six foot—with a narrow, foxlike face and green eyes.
My mouth fell open. How had the man gotten so close without me hearing him?
“How are you?” the man asked. From the sound of his voice, this was definitely the same person I’d just spoken to on the phone.
“What’s this about?”
The man smiled. He wore a black beanie pulled low over his forehead and a dark, wool overcoat. I knew nothing about clothes, but I could still see that the coat was very expensive.
“Thank you for trusting me,” the man said. “May I have that?” He held out his hand for my computer.
I tightened my grip. No way was I giving up my laptop to a complete stranger. “Who are you? How do you know Lucas?”
“You can call me Taylor. I just want to check that it’s your computer in that bag and that it’s turned off. Perhaps you’d take it out for me, then we can talk.”
I shucked the plastic bag off the laptop and opened it up to show the man it was switched off. What did he think was inside here?
Taylor nodded, apparently satisfied. “Thank you,” he said politely. “Let’s take a walk.”
He led the way toward the trees. His movements were quick and powerful, like a tiger’s. Was this all some elaborate trap to trick me into saying what I knew about Lucas? No, that didn’t make sense. For a start, Taylor was unlike any police officer I’d ever seen. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever seen. His eyes darted around, all wary, and though his walk was calm and relaxed, he moved so fast that I almost had to run to keep up. As we reached the trees, Taylor stopped.
“We were impressed with you at the League of Iron meeting, Nat,” he said.
“You were there? I thought you said—”
“Not me personally,” Taylor interrupted. “Our undercover agent.”
“You have an undercover agent in the League of Iron?” My mouth fell open.
Taylor nodded. “He kept an eye on you. Made sure you got home okay afterward. He recorded the meeting too, so we have what you said on tape.”
I remembered the shadowy figure I’d fleetingly thought might be following me after the meeting. “Kept an eye on me? Why?”
“Because the Commander ordered him to.”
“Who’s the Commander? I don’t understand.”
“The Commander is our leader. He was very impressed by your pass
ion and your courage in speaking out at the meeting. You got right to the heart of what matters: ‘Be prepared to do anything and risk everything for what you believe in. Like a family.’ ” Taylor paused. “The Commander said, and these were his exact words: ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’ That is high praise, I’m telling you.”
“I still don’t understand. You’re talking about this Commander and an undercover agent, but you said on the phone that you weren’t part of the League of Iron, so . . . so what do you belong to?”
“The English Freedom Army,” Taylor said. “We are soldiers, fighting to reclaim England from corruption and extremist violence.”
“An army?” Somehow the word fit Taylor. He certainly seemed like a soldier, all power and focus.
“Yes, the Commander set us up less than a year ago. Lucas was one of our first recruits. We spotted his potential at an anti-cuts rally.”
“Lucas was at a rally?” I said, surprised.
“Yes,” Taylor said. “He had come along with some friends. . . . I think he was more interested in one of the girls he was with than any actual protesting. But his leadership qualities were obvious right from the start and he really blossomed under our training. I was his cell captain. I saw him go from boy to man. You must have noticed a change in him yourself?”
I nodded. Lucas had changed in the last few months before the bomb. He had become more serious, more purposeful, more grown-up.
Taylor sighed. “What happened to him at the Canal Street market was a tragedy.”
“So what does this army do? What did Lucas do?”
“The English Freedom Army’s aim is to protect the public from the ignorance and violence of the extremist groups that are inciting riots and taking their anger out on some of the country’s most defenseless people.”
“But isn’t that the police’s job?”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that the police force are struggling just like everyone else: their numbers have been cut, they’re demoralized and stretched thin, with riots every week. And that’s before all the bombs—the Canal Street market explosion wasn’t the only one in the past year. Simply put, the police can’t cope. Anyway”—he paused—“a lot of police are sympathetic to some of the extremist groups, especially the ones on the far right.”
“Like the League of Iron?”
“Exactly. You must have wondered why, despite the League claiming responsibility for that bomb, not one single person has been arrested.”
“So you’re saying that this . . . English Freedom Army . . . that you try to stop the violence?”
“When we can,” Taylor said. “We make it our business to find out what’s going on . . . who’s planning what. Then we do our best to protect the innocent, doing whatever we have to, like a family . . . like you said.”
I stared at him. “And Lucas was part of this . . . this army?” My breath caught in my throat as I remembered Lucas’s second cell phone, the one with the text about the bomb. “You gave Lucas a phone too, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But I saw the text on the day of the bomb. It told him to ‘take the package to the market.’ It—”
“No,” Taylor said. “The text just said ‘take package’ then gave the place and time. I know because I sent it myself. It was an order to take the bomb from the market, not to it.”
Whoa. Finally, an explanation that made sense. And it meant my brother wasn’t a terrorist. Far from it. Lucas was one of the good guys. He was trying to stop the bombing. Relief flooded through me.
“Lucas was one of our most promising soldiers,” Taylor said. “I tasked him to go into the market and take the bomb from where one of our agents was sure it was being stored. Unfortunately, our information was only partial. We knew the bomb would be in the market at 3 p.m. We didn’t know that was when it was primed to go off.” He sighed. “The damn thing exploded before Lucas got there, but while he was close enough to be caught up in the blast.”
A shadow crossed Taylor’s face. He rubbed his forehead and I caught sight of a tiny open-hand tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was identical to the one Lucas had, which none of the family had known about.
“Is that something to do with the English Freedom Army?” I pointed to the tattoo.
“It is,” Taylor said. “It’s our insignia.”
This, as much as anything, finally convinced me that he was speaking the truth about Lucas.
“Your brother was not a thug or a terrorist,” Taylor went on. “He was a solider, a hero, trying to protect and defend his country.”
As he spoke, I felt a weight lifting from my back. Taylor watched me, a mix of curiosity and compassion in his eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because the Commander and I both felt you were owed an explanation.” Taylor smiled. “Believe me, it’s a big deal for us to speak out. I wouldn’t normally meet anyone like this, but you’re worth making an exception for.”
I could feel my face flushing. Why would anyone think that?
Taylor tilted his head to the side. “Maybe you don’t realize how exceptional you are, Nat. I’m not talking about your academic record, though I know from everything Lucas said about you how impressive that is.”
“Lucas talked about me?”
“He was incredibly proud of you.” Taylor smiled.
My throat tightened.
“I know that Lucas’s sacrifice has had a terrible impact on your family,” Taylor went on. “Your parents barely speak, your mother lives in the hospital, your father is working himself into an early grave even as his business is on the verge of collapse, your sister—”
“How do you know all this?” Bile rose in my guts. It was too much, hearing this man reel off such private bits of information.
“Lucas was a soldier who paid the ultimate price,” Taylor said smoothly. “The Commander makes it his business to keep an eye on the people our soldiers leave behind, to help them if he can.”
“This . . . Commander . . . wants to help my family?” I stared through the trees, feeling angry and confused. The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth.
“Yes, as do I. That is, we want to help you, if you’ll let us. That’s the other reason I’m here.” Taylor turned up the collar of his expensive coat. “The Commander wants to give you a chance to serve your country, just as Lucas served it. The English Freedom Army is the real deal, Nat, and we want . . . The Commander wants . . . you to join us.”
I stared at him.
“It will be dangerous, but rewarding,” Taylor went on. “We will train you just like we trained Lucas.”
“You mean I’d be able to help stop the League of Iron?” My mind sped ahead into a future where I could find out who set off the marketplace bomb, then take revenge for Lucas’s injury.
“The League of Iron is one of the groups we are monitoring,” Taylor said, giving me a shrewd look. “There are others too, but the Commander will understand if you have a particular motivation to work in a specific direction. It’s good timing, in fact. Our goal this year is to recruit young, intelligent, enthusiastic cadets. You’re a perfect choice.”
I looked away, feeling embarrassed. And pleased.
“Just one more thing. I’m afraid I have to take your laptop,” Taylor said. “You’ll get it back when we’ve replaced the hard drive.”
“What?” I tightened my grip on my computer. “Why?”
“To erase all trace of your user name; AngelOfFire can no longer exist.” Taylor’s green eyes bored into me. “I know you don’t understand yet how we work but, when you do, you’ll see just what a massive risk I’ve taken coming here. Even slipping that phone in your pocket was—”
“How did you do that?”
“The jogger did it.” Taylor waved his hand to suggest that planting the mobile in my pocket had been a minor matter. “I’ve got a memory stick with me so you can back up any import
ant files.”
“I don’t need that,” I said slowly. “It’s all backed up.”
“Good.” Taylor fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a bundle of notes. He counted out eight fifty-pound notes and offered them to me. “Look, if you don’t trust me, let me buy the laptop. You can get a decent replacement with this.”
I stared at the money.
A couple wandered through the trees nearby, deep in conversation. Taylor turned his back and shrank deeper into the upturned collar of his overcoat. He tried to palm me the money, but I backed away.
“Here, take it.” I held out the laptop. “I don’t want your cash.”
A smile flitted across Taylor’s face. He repocketed his money and took the plastic bag with the computer inside. “Hang on to that phone,” he said. “Keep it secret, keep it safe. You won’t be able to make calls on it yet, but someone will contact you.” He took a step away.
“When?”
“Soon.” Taylor strode off, through the trees. He was quickly out of sight.
I stood for a moment, reeling at everything I’d just heard, then I hurried after Taylor, determined to see where he went. But by the time I reached the edge of the trees, he had already disappeared.
CHARLIE
I stared out of the window at the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful day—cold and crisp—and the first Saturday of mid-term. It was also the morning of the memorial service for Mum and the other bomb victims.
Brian squeezed my hand as we walked to the car.
“You’re a brave girl, Charlie,” he said. “I’m sure your dad would have been proud of you.”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. Brian was the only person who ever mentioned my dad. Aunt Karen hadn’t really known him—he’d been stationed in Afghanistan for most of the two years he and Mum had been together before he died.
“I was wondering . . . ,” I stammered. I’d been thinking about asking this question for a while, but had never quite been able to summon up the courage before. “How come you and my dad fell out?”
Brian opened the car door. He looked at me. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “When your dad joined the army. I thought he was running away.”
In a Split Second Page 7
