The Set Up

by Sophie McKenzie

  ‘You can’t call the police. Geri Paterson is too powerful. You told me that. So did Jack.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I didn’t go to them before,’ Fergus sighed. ‘But this is too big for me to handle anymore. I have to trust the authorities will know what to do, it’s—’

  ‘The police won’t know where Ketty is,’ I said.

  ‘They can track the helicopter,’ Fergus said. ‘That’ll be a start. Now promise me that you and Ed will come straight back to school?’

  ‘We don’t have any money . . .’

  ‘Go to the police yourselves, then. Say you’ve been . . . mugged or something. Just get off the streets. Get to safety. I’ll find you.’

  I agreed, half-heartedly. I didn’t want to go back to school and leave Ketty. But what else could we do? As I walked back down the road to where Ed was leaning against the wall by the heliport, my mind went over what he’d said before.

  If anything happens to Ketty it’s all down to you.

  I gritted my teeth. That was true. And it meant I couldn’t leave Ketty. Whatever I did, I had to at least try to save her.

  I told Ed what Fergus had said. ‘But it’s a big risk,’ I added. ‘Remember, Geri doesn’t know Jack’s double-crossing her by selling the formula to Carson. She still thinks Jack’s working for her – which presumably means she’ll be keeping the police off his trail.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Ed looked at me, not quite meeting my gaze as usual. His dark blue eyes were far older than the rest of his face. ‘But what can we do?’

  As I stared at him, a plan formed in my head. God, it was dangerous – beyond dangerous in fact.

  I took a deep breath. ‘The first thing we have to do is find out where that helicopter went,’ I said, looking in through the heliport entrance, where the security guard was still reading his magazine, feet up on the reception desk. The clock on the wall above the desk said it was 7.08 a.m.

  ‘How?’ Ed asked. ‘We can’t just go in and demand they tell us.’

  We peered in at the security guard.

  ‘We could read his mind, find out where the flight info is kept,’ I suggested.

  ‘We?’ Ed raised his eyes. ‘We ?’

  ‘Okay, would you rather I teleported that chair and hit him over the head with it?’ I said.

  ‘I told you, I don’t—’

  ‘Sssh, he’s seen us.’

  The security guard was crossing the foyer. He was a hefty, balding man with a slow, easy swagger.

  I stood, waiting, my heart pounding.

  ‘All right, lads?’ The security guard opened the door. ‘You with that school party we’ve got this morning? Bit early, aren’t you? They’re not due in for another twenty minutes.’

  Ed froze.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, buying time. ‘We’re meeting the teachers here.’

  I nudged Ed. He needed to do his mind-reading thing. Fast.

  The security guard looked down the street. ‘Where are your parents?’

  Crap. ‘Er . . . they’re not here. We came on our own,’ I said as smoothly as I could. I smiled. ‘It’s just we love helicopters . . . er . . . we got up early to get here. Any chance we could look around?’

  The security guard chuckled. ‘No chance in a million,’ he said. ‘Come in if you want, though. It’s warmer in here.’

  He turned and headed back to his desk. Ed and I followed. Ed still looked frozen with fear. I poked him, hard, with my elbow. I couldn’t keep my helicopter-geek act up much longer . . . Ed had to get it together.

  As we followed the security guard inside, his desk phone rang. He spoke quietly for a second. All I could make out was a lot of mumbled ‘yes, sir’s’. After a second, he motioned us to wait in the chairs by the desk, then put down the phone and pressed an intercom button.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Parks, but I just had a code S.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They said that a Geri Paterson wants all records of the last flight out scrubbed. Everything deleted – paper, screen – I just wanted to . . . oh, okay, Mr Parks, of course.’

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, as the security guard stood up.

  ‘Now where’s the frigging shredder got to,’ he muttered.

  ‘He’s going to destroy all the details of their flight,’ I hissed.

  Ed’s eyes widened. ‘How did Geri Paterson know Mr Fox had called the police so fast?’

  ‘Jack must have rung her – told her that we were on the loose and likely to go to Fergus for help,’ I said. ‘Which means that following that helicopter is up to us and finding out where it went is up to you.’

  ‘What?’ Ed’s mouth trembled. ‘I can’t.’

  I glared at him. ‘Go on, it’s for Ketty. Hurry.’

  Ed took a deep breath, then sidled up to the desk. ‘Sir?’

  The security guard looked up. His eyes glazed over as Ed stood in front of him and pushed his way into the man’s mind.

  Seconds ticked by like hours. ‘Well?’ I said, impatiently. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘There’s a log on the desk,’ Ed said, not taking his eyes from the guard. ‘No details, but it’ll give the time of take-off and expected arrival and the destination heliport.’

  I raced round the desk and started pulling at the files.

  ‘It’s blue,’ Ed went on. ‘With a black spine.’

  I found the file and opened it . . . whipping through the pages to today. Three flights were logged since midnight. The copter Jack and Ketty were on had left just before 7 a.m. I ran my finger across the page.

  Departure 6.56 a.m., ETA Penhagen House, Penhagen, 8.45 a.m.

  ‘Where’s Penhagen?’ I said.

  ‘Cornwall, I think. Are you done?’ Ed said, still staring at the guard.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Get to Penhagen ourselves,’ I said, scanning down the list of upcoming flights. ‘There’re three flights in the next hour. That school trip the guard was talking about, but that’s a bit later . . . er . . . yeah, before that there’s a private helicopter leaving for Petherton Bridge – which it says is in Devon – in five minutes. Devon’s right next to Cornwall, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I looked over at the security guard. He was clearly unable to move his eyes away from Ed’s gaze. I knew how that felt – like your mind was pinned against a wall. However, I also knew that the guard would still be aware of everything going on around him. And, as soon as the link with Ed was broken, he’d be free to tell whoever he wanted what had just happened.

  ‘Can you wipe this guy’s memory so he doesn’t remember we were here?’

  ‘No! Jesus,’ Ed said impatiently. ‘And I wouldn’t even if I—’

  ‘Well, you’d better think of something to stop him blabbing,’ I snapped. ‘At least for the next few minutes.’

  There was a pause. ‘Okay,’ Ed said. ‘He’s tired. I think I can make him sleep. That’ll give us however long he stays asleep for.’

  ‘Do it.’

  I walked to the door that opened out onto the helipad. There was only one helicopter on the tarmac, its doors open. Two men were standing beside it, chatting and laughing. I glanced over my shoulder. The security guard was sitting down, his head lying on the top of the desk. As Ed walked away from him, a series of gentle snores burbled out of the man’s mouth.

  ‘My turn,’ I whispered.

  Ed muttered something under his breath. I ignored him.

  The heliport concourse was a square of concrete surrounded on two sides by walls with rolls of barbed wire along the top and a line of sheds at the far end. Hiding behind the building door, I focused on a line of luggage carts in the darkest corner, by the sheds. I took a breath and concentrated on tipping over the cart furthest away. It fell onto the one next to it, which cascaded onto the next . . . and the next. A second later all four carts crashed to the ground.

  Even from inside the heliport building you could hear the smash.

>   The two men standing beside the helicopter spun round and raced towards the cart.

  ‘Come on.’ I ran over to the open helicopter door, Ed at my side. We hurled ourselves into the machine just as two more men emerged from the shed at the end of the concourse.

  ‘What’s going on?’ one of them yelled. The four men stood, staring at the carts. There was so obviously no way anyone could have tipped them over and got away without being seen, you could almost see their confusion.

  ‘Must’ve been cats.’

  ‘Yeah, or a fox, maybe.’

  Inside the helicopter, Ed had pulled out a crate and hidden behind it. I crouched behind another, then peered out of the window. Two of the men were walking towards the helicopter. I looked round. We were in the back row of the helicopter, two rows behind the pilot’s seat. A coat was draped across the seat in front of me. I slid it between the seats and pulled it over our heads.

  If he looked . . . if he checked . . . if the guard at the front desk woke up, we’d be found.

  I held my breath. Voices came from outside.

  ‘Okay, Terry, you’d better get off.’

  ‘See you later.’

  Men were stomping round the helicopter, slamming doors. One got in, whistling. Then the engine roared and all other noises were drowned out. A minute later the helicopter lurched, and we were in the air.

  The flight took about two hours. In spite of my constant, nagging anxiety about Ketty, I loved the swoop and sway of the helicopter in the air. From the greyness of Ed’s face, peeking out from behind one of the crates, I guessed he wasn’t enjoying it quite so much.

  We landed more gently than I’d have thought possible. The whirring slowed and the engine cut out. I stayed completely still, very aware that now he’d reached his destination Terry, the pilot, might well reach for his coat – and see me cowering underneath it. But instead he opened the door.

  ‘Hey, Terry, how you doing?’A man’s voice.

  ‘Good, thanks. Knackered, though.’

  Ed nudged me. His eyes bored into mine. This time I knew what was coming and was ready for the whoosh of his thoughts rushing into my head.

  How are we going to get out without anyone seeing us?

  Wait a sec.

  Ed looked away, breaking the connection. He peered out from behind his crate. I shifted the coat off me and peeked out too. Terry, and the other man were busy in the helicopter doorway, chatting. I glanced round. The helipad we were in couldn’t have been more different from the one in London. It was basically just a circle of tarmac in the middle of a huge field. A small shed stood to one side, with a van parked next to it. Otherwise there was nothing but moorland for miles.

  Forget how we were going to get away without anyone seeing us.

  How were we going to get away at all?

  I sank back down, defeated.

  Ed pulled me round. His eyes were wild with panic now he’d seen what we were up against. He looked as if he were struggling to get inside my head. Maybe he needed to be just as calm and focused as I did before he could make his psychic ability work properly. He gave up and leaned right into my ear.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ he hissed.

  I thought fast. ‘Plan B,’ I whispered back.

  ‘What the hell is Plan—?’

  ‘Time to go,’ I said loudly, standing up and pushing my way towards the front of the helicopter.

  ‘Nico?’

  I ignored Ed’s desperate voice behind me and kept my eyes on Terry and the man he was talking to. ‘Hi,’ I said.

  They both spun round. Terry’s jaw dropped. ‘What the . . .?’

  I jumped down from the helicopter. ‘Thanks for the ride, Te r r y.’

  ‘Oy!’ Terry’s large hand grabbed my arm. He stared at me, his face a total picture of shock.

  The other man peered into the helicopter and spotted Ed. ‘Hey, there’s another one. Get out of there!’

  The two men stared at us, then each other, in shocked silence.

  Ed stumbled out of the helicopter, his face bright red.

  ‘What the . . .? How did you get in there?’ Terry frowned.

  ‘Actually it was quite easy,’ I said. ‘We were really careful – just wanted the ride. We didn’t damage anything.’ I smiled at him, hopefully.

  Terry’s face clouded. ‘Well, you’re nicked now. Trespassing little bastards.’ He turned to the other man. ‘We should take them to the police.’

  Crap. I could feel Ed’s angry glare, burning into the back of my head.

  ‘Yeah.’ The other man nodded. ‘But after they’ve helped us load up.’

  Five minutes – and some seriously back-breaking work – later, Ed and I had loaded the crates into the van and were locked into the back section, speeding across the scrub towards the main road.

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ Ed hissed as soon as we were alone.

  ‘It was the only way we were going to get out of there,’ I said.

  ‘But he’s taking us to the police,’ Ed said indignantly.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I mean, what kind of helicopter lands its deliveries in the middle of a field? Whatever’s in these crates has got to be well dodgy. They’re just trying to frighten us.’

  Ed shook his head. ‘It’s a big freaking risk, Nico.’

  ‘Well, if it doesn’t work you can always put him to sleep while we run away.’ I chuckled. ‘Can’t you . . .?’

  Ed looked out of the window and swore under his breath.

  We were soon on the main road, after which the moorland around us quickly turned into a series of small towns and villages. Terry finally pulled up outside a hardware shop. He said goodbye to the other man, then came round to the back and opened it up.

  ‘We’re unloading the first four crates here. Then the other three somewhere else,’ he said, ‘then I’m taking you to the cops.’

  My heart sank. I was still sure Terry was bluffing, but we didn’t have time to go to another place after this one and unload more crates. We had to get to Ketty.

  ‘You sure you want to involve the cops?’ I said. ‘You’ll just end up filling in a bunch of forms.’

  Terry shot me a nasty grin. ‘It’ll be worth it. Now pick up a crate and get ready to hump it where I tell you.’

  Beside me, Ed groaned.

  I grabbed the nearest crate and hauled it into the shop. Terry stood, holding the door open for first me, then Ed. As I walked back to the van I thought about making a dash for it, but Ed was still inside. I took another crate and walked back. The shopkeeper was handing Terry a bundle of notes. As I passed him, Terry shoved the money into his back trouser pocket.

  I grinned to myself. Of course.

  Ed made a face at me as he walked back to the van for the last crate. I deposited mine in the corner of the shop, then glanced over at Terry. He was by the till, next to the door, still talking to the shopkeeper. Six crisp fifty-pound notes peeked out of the top of his back pocket.

  I took a breath and focused, mentally tugging the money towards me. The notes slid easily out of Terry’s pocket. As they zoomed across the shop into my hands, Ed reappeared, the final crate in his hands.

  He saw the money flying through the air and nearly dropped the crate.

  ‘Is that the last of the four for here?’ Terry asked.

  Ed nodded, his face burning red.

  ‘Come on.’ Terry beckoned me outside. ‘It’s a half-hour drive to the next drop.’

  Ed groaned.

  I scrunched the cash up in my hand and followed. Terry opened the van doors. ‘Get in,’ he said.

  ‘Er, please don’t do this, sir.’ I dug my hand into my jeans pocket, pretending to rootle around inside it. I drew my hand out and opened it up. Terry’s own money – all three hundred pounds of it – sat screwed up in my palm. The crumpled notes didn’t look anything like the crisp bills he’d just been given. I prayed he wouldn’t make the connection.

  ‘I’m really sorry we st
ole a ride in your helicopter. Please, just take this – it’s all the cash we’ve got – please, let us go.’

  Terry stared at me for a second, his head tilted to one side. Then he sighed and took the money. ‘Well . . .’ he said. ‘All right. Hop it.’

  I turned and ran fast down the street before he changed his mind. Ed pounded along beside me. I took a left and two rights, heading into what seemed the busiest part of town. At last we reached a street full of shops. I stopped.

  ‘I suppose Jack taught you that trick.’ Puffing, Ed came to a halt beside me.

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you could.’

  ‘You know I don’t think we should use our . . . our abilities unless somebody’s life is at stake.’

  ‘You’re just jealous that you don’t have my smarts,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest.’

  We walked on in silence, past a Starbucks and a WHSmiths. It was starting to rain as I asked an old lady where we were.

  ‘Southbarton, love,’ she said, tugging her scarf round her neck.

  ‘Is that near Penhagen?’ I said.

  ‘Where, love?’ The old lady frowned.

  ‘It’s in Cornwall.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask at the bus station.’ She pointed to the end of the street. ‘Just round that corner.’

  We found the bus station easily enough. A coach direct to Penhagen was leaving in thirty minutes. We scraped together the money we each needed for the fare from some loose change in our pockets and the emergency tenner Ed had tucked into the lining of his shoe.

  The journey took just under an hour. I slept for most of it. Ed shook me awake as we rolled into Penhagen. The place was much smaller than Southbarton – a collection of squat grey little houses with a single row of shops. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still the colour of steel.

  As we got off at the bus stop, my stomach rumbled.

  ‘We’ll have to ask someone where Penhagen House is,’ I said, glancing over at Ed’s watch. ‘God, it’s almost midday. Jack and Ketty must have got here hours ago.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I could hear my own concern echoed in Ed’s voice.

  We looked up and down the street. There was no one about and only two shops and a pub in sight. I glanced at the shops. One was a newsagent with a closed sign hanging on the door. The other was a bakery with fresh pies and tarts in the window.