Eye of the Storm

by Mark Robson

  ‘And these flying machines are both kept in the same place?’

  ‘Yes. In a purpose-built hangar just outside the main city wall.’

  Sam looked at Callum, who looked back and nodded. ‘It would be the next logical step,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ David asked. ‘What next logical step?’

  ‘Stealing the machines of course,’ Sam explained.

  ‘But that’s madness! They’ll be expecting you for sure! You’d be walking straight into a trap!’

  ‘True,’ Sam agreed. ‘But only if they think that we’re not expecting a trap. But we are expecting a trap. So because we know that they know we’ll be after the flying machines next, if we plan it well, we’ll be able to allow for them knowing and still gain the advantage of surprise.’

  David’s brow furrowed as he tried to follow Sam’s logic.

  ‘Of course we’ll have to wait until Mum gets back before we even begin to think about doing anything. Where are they, I wonder? I would have thought they would be here by now. I’m going to go and find Nipper again and see if there’s any sign of them.’

  ‘Sam. . .’ Callum said slowly, his eyes wide and a note of horror in his voice.

  ‘What?’

  Callum pointed towards the back of the cave and the glowing light of the holographic projection. The colours of the moving images had a ghoulish green tinge to them, casting a sickly glow around the back of the cavern. Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he recognised the setting. An angry mob of raptors was roaring and jostling towards the central tower at the middle of the City of the Imperium. Were they going to attack? Had the raptors turned against their leaders? Then it dawned on him – the crowd wasn’t angry. They were roaring with wild triumph.

  ‘No!’ he breathed.

  Three sorry-looking figures were being dragged along in the midst of the great pack of celebrating raptors. A cold chill ran through him and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick as a snake of fear twisted inside his belly. There was no mistaking the faces of Alex, Einstein and his mother. They had been captured.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Niamh’s breath caught in her throat as she felt herself soaring through the air high above the ground. For a moment, it was as if the aircraft had vanished from around her and she was flying through the air without it, but the perspective was wrong. She was high up, but not flying-in-an-aircraft high. A rooftop was approaching fast and there were figures poised waiting to catch her as she raced through the air towards them. As suddenly as it had begun, so the feeling and image faded. She opened her eyes.

  ‘Wow!’ she breathed. ‘What was that?’

  It was most certainly not a memory and she had done nothing that she could think of to trigger that sort of image. It had to be another vision through her link to Sam. What on earth was he doing? She closed her eyes again and tried to reconnect her consciousness to Sam’s, but it was no good. The clarity had gone and the details were already slipping away from her. The moment had passed. She glanced at her watch. They were only two hours into the flight and there was a very long way to go. She glanced out of the window and ground her teeth in frustration.

  ‘I don’t know what on earth you’re doing, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘But please don’t go getting yourself killed before I find you!’

  For some time afterwards, Niamh tried reading a book, but found she couldn’t concentrate on it. There was nothing on the in-flight entertainment system that she fancied watching or playing. It was going to be a long flight home to England. In the end, closing her eyes and with little expectation of success, she tried to sleep.

  When she woke, her neck was stiff and her mouth was so dry that she felt sure someone must have drawn all her saliva out with tissues while she slept. The aircraft was descending. The pressure change in her ears must have been what had woken her, she realised.

  The American police officer escort had barely spoken to Niamh during the entire flight back to England. Not that she had wanted conversation with him, but after an eight-hour overnight journey, dry mouth or not, she found she was itching to talk.

  ‘So what happens to me now?’ she asked him as the aircraft taxied towards the Heathrow terminal. ‘Do I get handed over to the British police?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, without looking at her. ‘One of your relatives is gonna meet you and take you home.’

  ‘Oh joy!’ she replied, piling as much sarcasm into the two words as she could manage. ‘Can’t you hand me over to the police instead?’

  The policeman ignored her.

  Niamh had no need to ask who would be collecting her. She didn’t have many relatives to choose from. The one grandparent she had left alive on this side of the Atlantic was Grandma Cutler, and she didn’t drive, so that ruled her out. This left one other close relative – Aunt Agatha – or Aunt Aggie, as she preferred to be called. Agatha was her dad’s younger sister. She was nice enough, but every time Niamh saw her, she felt as if she was being inspected and there was always something in her aunt’s expression that made Niamh feel she didn’t meet her expectations. Her aunt’s manner was almost, but not quite, sneering. As for Aunt Aggie’s thirteen-year-old son, Archie, he was a pompous jerk of the highest order. The idea of living in the same house as him sent a shudder down Niamh’s spine.

  Agatha’s husband Edward was lovely, but he was rarely at home. He was a high-flying businessman who spent more time jetting around the world to meetings and conferences than he did at home. Niamh didn’t know exactly what he did, but there was no mistaking that he was successful and wealthy. Aunt Aggie’s house was huge and she always seemed to be wearing the latest designer clothes. Archie never wanted for anything.

  Niamh fell quiet again as she considered the likelihood that she would have to spend the rest of the summer holidays living with her aunt and her obnoxious cousin. The more she thought about it, the more her heart sank. Under normal circumstances, it would be unpleasant enough, but she had to continue searching for the truth about Sam and Callum’s disappearance and she knew exactly what her aunt’s response to that idea would be. In her eyes, searching would be the job of professionals and Niamh would be forced to stay at the house and be ladylike. The prospect of living with her strict aunt was unbearable. There had to be some way out of spending the rest of the summer with them. There had to be.

  The aircraft came to a halt and before long Niamh was walking through the monstrous walkways of Heathrow, following the signs to Baggage Reclaim. She found it quietly amusing that the man from the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office insisted she stay in front of him at all times. She had told him on several occasions that she had no intention of running away again, but it appeared she had a reputation now and he was taking no chances.

  For once, her bags were among the first to appear on the conveyor belt. She loaded them on to a baggage trolley and was then ushered through Customs to the Arrivals Lounge. Sure enough, Aunt Aggie was there waiting.

  ‘Hello, Niamh.’

  ‘Aunt Aggie!’ she said, doing her best to sound pleased. ‘Thanks for coming to collect me.’ She gave her aunt a hug and then stood to one side to allow the policeman to check Agatha’s identification. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order, he politely wished them a good day and left, walking off in the direction of Departures. Niamh did not envy him the flight home. Her back was stiff and while her bottom was not exactly numb, it felt strangely lifeless after sitting for so long.

  ‘So what’s all this I hear about you running away from the police, Niamh?’ Agatha asked, as she led the way out of the terminal towards one of the nearby short-stay multi-storey car parks. ‘What on earth possessed you? Surely Matthew brought you up to know better than that?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Niamh, keeping her voice humble. ‘But I overheard the policemen who came to arrest him. They were talking as if Dad had murdered the boys and I know he didn’t. I thought I could find Sam and Callum and prove Dad’s innocence.’

  ‘And
what made you think you were any more qualified to do that than the police or the coastguard, dear?’ Agatha asked, her voice thick with condescension. ‘Honestly! You could have been seriously hurt, or abducted, or . . . well, any number of horrible things might have happened to you. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Especially with your poor brother already missing! And to steal a neighbour’s boat! I thought you were the sensible one. I couldn’t believe it when they told me. Now I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything ridiculous like that while you’re staying with me. No madcap adventures, Niamh. Your father is worried enough about your brother and everything that’s happened since; he doesn’t need a wayward daughter to contend with too.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Aggie,’ Niamh mumbled, keeping her head down and her eyes straight ahead as they entered the steel box of the car-park lift. ‘I promise. How is Dad? Have you seen him? Can I go and visit?’

  ‘I have seen him and I suppose he is as well as can be expected under the circumstances. The police are still holding him in custody while they question him. As far as I know, they’ve not charged him with anything yet, but there’s no sign that they are ready to release him, and believe me, the prison where he’s being held is no place for a young lady, Niamh.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s suitable, Aunt Aggie. I just want to see that he’s all right.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you settled in first and then maybe we can talk about it again.’ Her tone left Niamh in no doubt that what she actually meant was, ‘Not over my dead body!’

  ‘Do you think they will charge him? He’s not done anything wrong. You know Dad. He wouldn’t hurt anyone and especially not Sam.’

  ‘I know. Perhaps you can tell the police that when they question you tomorrow.’

  ‘Me?’ Niamh squeaked. ‘Will I have to go into a police station?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that,’ Agatha reassured her. ‘They’re going to come to the house tomorrow. Don’t worry, Niamh. The detectives just want to hear your side of what happened, that’s all.’

  ‘But what if they twist what I say and use it against Dad?’

  ‘Why would they want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ve seen them do things like that on TV sometimes.’

  Agatha let out a bark of laughter and gave her a reproving look. ‘I’m sorry, Niamh. I don’t mean to mock you, but you really shouldn’t believe everything you see on the television. Especially some of those police dramas. The police have no reason to frame Matthew. They’re just trying to establish the facts, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, OK then,’ Niamh replied, realising that her aunt was never going to take her fears seriously. ‘Will you be there? I’d rather not do it on my own.’

  ‘I can be there if you want. I’m sure that will be fine.’

  Agatha pressed the button for the fifth floor and the doors closed behind them. They emerged again in silence and she led them along the rows of cars. Fishing a set of keys out of her handbag, she pressed the remote central-locking button on the ignition key. There was a beep and the hazards on a large shiny green jaguar flashed once.

  The car looked like it was new, but the personalised number plate, which read AGG 13, gave no clues as to exactly how new. What a waste of money! Niamh thought. What does Aunt Aggie need a car like this for? It’s ridiculous.

  Waste of money or not, having loaded her suitcase into the boot, Niamh could not help admiring the soft leather as she settled into the passenger seat. She ran her fingertips over the material either side of her legs, enjoying the texture. She inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent of leather.

  Agatha started the engine and the initial deep growl it gave as it fired into life dropped instantly to a soft purr that was barely audible. It was not hard to see how someone used to this sort of luxury would find Niamh’s recent choice to become a fugitive so strange.

  A high-pitched squeaky voice announced from her pocket, ‘You have a text message. A tiny text message. Please read it.’

  Aunt Aggie raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Niamh pulled out her phone. It was from Beth. Texting her friend had been the first thing she’d done when the police had returned her phone to her just before they had left the US; she’d needed to check she’d not got her friend into trouble with the police for being in the Cutler house. But luckily, Beth had been quick enough to sneak out without being noticed – and, in fact, it had seemed to Niamh that she’d quite enjoyed the adventure!

  Speak soon? Bx

  Fingers flying around the keys, Niamh typed a quick response. L8r. Just landed. Nx

  * * *

  An hour later, they turned in through the black wrought-iron gates and drove up the sweeping gravel driveway to Aunt Aggie’s house. The huge six-bedroomed property on the outskirts of Banbury was situated in an acre of landscaped gardens. Niamh had always enjoyed playing here with Sam when they were younger, as there were so many mature trees and bushes to climb and hide in. Where the drive split into a loop in front of the house, three large statues adorned the central island. But while they had looked impressive to her in the past, she now regarded them with a cynical eye.

  Ridiculous and pretentious, she thought. Who do they think they’re impressing with this stuff? It’s so over the top, it’s laughable. A smile spread across her face as she remembered the time Sam had convinced Archie that one of the statues was really a stone angel monster like the ones on Doctor Who. Poor Archie had spent the entire afternoon trying not to take his eyes off the statue in case it stole his life force and sent him back in time to live out his life in obscurity and poverty.

  I wonder if he had nightmares about that afterwards, she thought, feeling a tiny seed of guilt deep inside for having not intervened. Sam could be mean at times, and Niamh had often found herself acting as his conscience. Mentally crushing the sensation of guilt under an imaginary foot, she rationalised that if anyone deserved to be the butt of one of her brother’s pranks, it was the pretentious and annoying Archie.

  Agatha swung the car round the loop and pulled to a stop in front of the wide stone steps that led up to the front door. They climbed out of the car and Niamh hauled her heavy case out of the boot. She had to carry it across to the steps, as the wheels were useless on the gravel. As she approached the front door, it opened and there was Archie with a big grin that exposed the heavy metal braces across his teeth. He had developed a nasty case of acne since she had last seen him, which made his hawkish face more unappealing than ever.

  What planet does he think he’s on? Niamh wondered as she realised she was staring at her cousin’s clothing. He was wearing a pair of neatly pressed beige slacks, a thin green turtleneck pullover and what she could only describe as a plum-purple jacket over the top. His dark ginger hair had been slicked back with gel, presumably in an attempt to make him look sophisticated. The attempt had failed. He looked ridiculous.

  ‘Hi, Archie. Nice threads,’ she said, trying her best to sound genuine.

  ‘Hello, Niamh. Thanks. It’s good to see you again.’

  The worst thing was, he sounded as if he meant it. She had hoped he would show no interest in her being here, but apparently, she was not going to get that lucky.

  ‘Can I take your bag for you? It looks heavy.’

  ‘Thanks, Archie, but I can manage.’

  ‘Nonsense, Niamh!’ Aunt Aggie interrupted. ‘A young lady doesn’t turn down a gentlemanly offer like that. Good boy, Archie. That was very polite of you. Please do take Niamh’s bag for her and show her up to her room. Doubtless, she will want to have a wash after her long journey, so don’t delay her with idle chatter, please. You can play together after she’s had a chance to freshen up and change.’

  Play together? Niamh thought, so incredulous that she was unable to keep her eyebrows from momentarily rising in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding! What do you think I am, five years old or something? It took all her willpower to bite her tongue and hold back from pointing o
ut that she was not interested in playing anything – especially with Archie. Stay calm, she told herself. Keep a low profile. Alienating them will only make staying here worse.

  ‘A shower would be nice,’ she admitted. ‘Lead on, Archie. I can hear the water calling me.’

  ‘And don’t drag the case across the wooden floor, Archie,’ Agatha warned. ‘I don’t want to find scratches later.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mummy. I won’t.’

  Mummy? Niamh nearly choked. Archie still calls his mother ‘Mummy’! He dresses like some wannabe adult from the 1950s, yet he hasn’t progressed his language past that of a little kid! She lowered her gaze, covered her mouth with her hand and bit her lower lip to hide her amusement. Maybe it’s not his fault, she thought. It could be that he’s not been allowed to grow up. Aunt Aggie is such a control freak.

  ‘It will have to be a bath, rather than a shower, I’m afraid,’ he continued, extending the ‘a’ sound in the word ‘bath’ so much, it sounded like ‘baaarth’. ‘We don’t have a shower in the guest bathroom yet. Daddy has talked about getting one fitted, but he’s not got round to it. There should be plenty of hot water though.’

  Oblivious to her amusement, he struggled along the hallway and up the stairs with her heavy case.

  Poor Archie, she thought. What have they done to you? You always were a pain in the backside, but the posh accent and the clothes are just too much. Sam and his friends would be merciless if they saw you now.

  ‘Not to worry,’ she assured him. ‘A bath will be fine.’ She couldn’t resist extending the ‘a’ sound a little to parody his accent, but if he noticed the mimicry, he showed no sign of it.

  ‘Jolly good,’ he grunted, heaving the case up the final steps to the long landing. ‘Here you go. Second door on the right. Could you open it for me, please? Thanks. It’s a nice room. The bathroom is opposite. Towels are on the end of the bed. Give me a shout when you’re done. I’d love to hear about your adventures in America.’ He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘Mummy says you stole a boat! Is that true?’