The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  They speed away from the airstrip and pass through a small town, all five passengers sitting quietly, looking from side to side as the unfamiliar street signs flash past. But soon, the densely packed houses melt away into the distance, and there’s nothing to see but an endless expanse of mist-shrouded countryside. Hank steals a sideways glance at Douglas. The man is clearly intent on his task, but is it the route that’s taking all his concentration, or is there something else on his mind?

  There’s something off about this guy, Hank tells himself. For a start, Douglas is built more like a prize fighter than a driver, and he has a certain relaxed alertness, his expression neutral but his sharp eyes everywhere at once. You’re not just a chauffeur, pal, Hank thinks. Do you have a weapon tucked beneath your smart black jacket? But he pushes the thought from his mind. This is England, and even the cops don’t have guns. Hank rests his head back on the headrest and shuts his eyes, and a wave of tiredness washes over him. This is all so unreal. Why does everything have to be so goddamned different?

  ***

  Hank opens his eyes, startled by Seb calling his name. Was I asleep? Did anybody notice? He rubs the corners of his eyes and turns around in his seat. “Seb, if you’re going to make some crack about everybody driving on the wrong side of the road, I heard them all on the plane, remember? Some of them twice.”

  Seb grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve been working on a whole stack of new jokes back here.” He casts a sidelong glance at Ellen and Georgie. “I’ve got to do something to keep myself sane. Noah’s gone to sleep, and all these girls can talk about is princes and castles.”

  Ellen thumps Seb on the arm. “At least we’re taking an interest. It’s got to be better than your dumb wisecracks.”

  Seb ignores her. “I’m starting to feel like I’m trapped in a bad Disney movie. Did you see that village we just went through? It was so old. I mean, like something out of a museum.”

  Hank glances at Douglas. If the driver has taken any offense at Seb’s remarks, it doesn’t show. Even so, Hank remembers the words of warning his dad gave him back at home: The Brits already think we’re brash—there’s no need to go around confirming their prejudice. “You know what, Seb? Maybe Ellen’s right. We’ve got to try and fit in over here. I guess it’ll take time to adjust.”

  Seb’s face falls and he sits back in his chair. “Man, you guys are no fun at all.”

  “Just take it easy,” Hank says. “We’ve got plenty of time.” He gives Seb a smile. “And I promise, I’ll listen to your dumb jokes later, all right?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Seb wrinkles his nose. “My material’s too good for you punks anyway.”

  “How’s everyone holding up back there?” Hank asks. “Ellen? Georgie? Are you guys OK?”

  “Yeah, good,” Ellen says. “Looking forward to it.”

  Georgie gives him a thumbs up, but there’s a hesitancy in her smile.

  Missing her folks, Hank guesses. “What do think, Georgie? Is it like you expected?”

  She looks out the window. “Kind of. But it’s more…bleak. You know, like something out of a Brontë novel.”

  Seb grimaces. “A what?”

  Georgie gives Seb a withering look. “The Brontë sisters, you moron. You know, Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seb says. “But whatever it is, it sounds pretty lame.”

  Douglas clears his throat. “Would you like to visit the Brontë Museum, miss? It’s in their old family home, the parsonage at Haworth.”

  “Seriously?” Georgie says. “We could do that?”

  “Certainly,” Douglas says. “Once you’ve settled in, we can drive you over there. It’s not exactly on our doorstep, but now you’ve hopped over the Atlantic, it would be a shame not to go the extra few miles.”

  “Wow!” Georgie says. “Thanks. That would be very cool.”

  “If I were you,” Douglas goes on, “I’d take advantage of your time at Northridge. Branch out and explore as much as you can. And you needn’t worry about the cost—the Trust is very good about that sort of thing. They’ll cover all your expenses while you’re here. And that includes any trips you might want to make into Europe. I won’t promise you the Gulfstream—you’ll have to take commercial flights—but we can get you down to Leeds Bradford Airport and there are plenty of destinations from there.”

  Suddenly a voice pipes up from the back of the car: “Like Italy? Like Rome?” Noah is awake and leaning as far forward as his seat will allow.

  “Oh yes,” Douglas says. “Do you want to see the sights? Or is it the art?”

  “Neither,” Noah says fervently. “The battlefields. Man, I’d like to see those places for myself.”

  “Ah, Cannae or Trasimene?” Douglas asks.

  Noah’s eyes go wide. “You know those places? I mean, you know what I’m talking about?”

  “I learned a certain amount of military history at Sandhurst,” Douglas says. “We focused on modern warfare, but I had a taste for the ancient battles. And we have an excellent historian at Northridge. He runs the legion, so if you like the Romans, you should definitely have a word with him.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Noah says. He sits back, his eyes bright with excitement.

  Hank studies Douglas’s expression. “What was that place you mentioned? Is it part of the Trust—like Northridge?”

  “Sandhurst?” Douglas almost looks in Hank’s direction, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “It’s the Royal Military Academy—where we do our officer training. Like your West Point.” He flashes Hank a grin. “Only tougher.”

  “Don’t let my dad hear you say that,” Hank says. And an unwanted image drifts into his mind: his dad sitting all alone in the house, staring into space. What will he be doing right now? Hank wonders, and he checks the time on the car’s dash. The UK is five hours ahead, isn’t it? But do they have daylight saving? And if they do, does it start and finish on the same dates as at home? Hank pats the pocket where he keeps his phone. He hasn’t had time to call since they landed. He could do it now, but it would be weird to talk when everyone in the car could listen in. Maybe he should send a text instead. He takes out his phone and swipes the screen, but even though the phone is set to roam, he has no signal at all.

  Hank sighs and pushes his phone back into his pocket. “Will it be long before we get there?”

  “Not very long,” Douglas says. “But you might want to rest. There’s quite a lot to get through once we arrive.”

  “Oh man,” Hank says. Then he sits back, and as the trees and hedgerows become a blur, he lets his eyelids slide slowly shut.

  ***

  Hank’s woken by a jolt as the Range Rover hits a hole in the road. His eyes fly open and he looks rapidly from side to side. “When did it get dark?”

  “The days get short at this time of year,” Douglas says. “And sorry about the bump. We’re off the beaten track now.”

  “Tell me about it,” Hank says. He grabs hold of the armrest as the car hits another hole in the road and his seat bucks like a bolting horse.

  Seb leans forward again. “Hey, Hank. This is kind of wild isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Hank says. “Great.” And then the car’s headlights pick out the glint of dark water running across the road. Hank braces himself, but in the next moment, they’re racing on through, the Range Rover’s tires hissing through the stream, sending sparkling sprays of water to swirl in the air.

  “Ford,” Douglas says simply. “Nothing to worry about. Not as deep as it looks. Keeps the tourists away though.”

  Why? Hank thinks. What’s so bad about a few tourists? His lips start to form the question, but when he looks through the windshield, the words stick in his throat. Up ahead, the rough track drops away at a dizzying angle, plummeting into a narrow gorge: a craggy cleft in the rocks little wider than the car. Douglas must’ve taken a wrong turning. In a second he’ll stop the car and reverse out. But no. Douglas bares his teeth in a man
ic smile and presses on, racing the engine as he works his way rapidly up and down the manual gears, twisting the wheel as he brakes into each impossible bend and accelerates away.

  Just my luck to get an insane driver, Hank thinks. But perhaps, on a road as rough as this, a crazy driver is the best kind to have.

  “You’ll like this,” Douglas says, but Hank doesn’t reply. He sits in silence and stares at the huge barred gates straddling the road. They’re at least eight feet tall, made from thick iron bars topped with vicious spikes, and they look as though they’ve been there forever. Hank imagines the scream of brakes, and in that instant he sees exactly what will happen: Douglas will realize his mistake too late, and the car will slide into an uncontrollable skid, shimmying as it loses all grip on the rough track, careening off the jagged rock walls until it collides with the immovable iron bars in a chaos of crumpling metal and shattered glass. Hank’s stomach lurches, and he tightens his abdominal muscles, squeezing down the nausea rising from the pit of his belly.

  But Douglas scarcely slows the car. He grips the wheel tight and narrows his eyes, lost in intense concentration. And at the last second, the gates swing open, gliding rapidly apart. Douglas changes gear, and the car rockets forward, clearing the gates by a hair’s breadth on either side.

  “Got it!” Douglas says. “I almost missed it, but you’ve got to commit.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Hank demands, his voice hoarse.

  Douglas grins. “Wiper. That’s what we call it anyway.” He takes a hand off the wheel and taps the side of his head with one finger. “Wave Pattern Recognition. WPR. There’s a receiver in the car, and so long as I concentrate on my passphrase, it transmits a signal to the gate and bingo!”

  Hank stares at him. “And if you get it wrong? If you think about something else by accident?”

  “I’m not much given to making mistakes,” Douglas says simply. “Not where security’s concerned anyway. But since you ask, at this speed, I could stop this car on a sixpence.”

  “Right,” Hank says. “I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Good. And don’t worry—getting through this next obstacle is a different matter entirely.” Douglas nods toward the windshield, and when Hank peers through the gloom, he can just make out a modern steel barrier stretching across the road.

  The car slows a little, and Douglas says, “I’m afraid I’ll have to stop in a moment. It won’t take long.”

  “Fine with me,” Seb replies. “I feel kind of…weird.”

  “Open the window,” Ellen says. “I could use a little fresh air myself.”

  “Please leave the windows closed,” Douglas says, and there’s a tone of authority in his voice that makes everyone stop moving. He clears his throat, and when he goes on his tone is gentler. “If you open the windows, it interferes with the climate control. But I’ll adjust it and make it a little cooler for you back there.”

  Hank turns in his seat. Noah, Seb and Ellen are sitting quietly, looking distractedly out the window. But Georgie is on edge, twisting her fingers together. She gives Hank a strained smile. “I guess we must be nearly there, huh?”

  Hank turns to Douglas. “How about it? Is it much farther?”

  “Two minutes,” Douglas replies. He changes gear and they roll slowly toward the gleaming metal security barrier. A spark of bright blue light races along the barrier’s metal arm, then a delicate tracery of thin red beams reach out through the misty air and flash across the car. Hank turns his head away from the dazzling light, but Douglas sits still, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. “This won’t take a minute,” he says. “It’s just routine.”

  But the seconds drag on as the beams of light race back and forth across the car. Hank looks out into the darkness beyond the barrier. The car’s brilliant headlights cast sharp shadows on the gorge’s jagged walls, and as Hank’s eyes search the gloomy hollows, a dark shape shifts and stirs against the weather-beaten stone. “What the hell?”

  “What’s the matter?” Douglas asks. “Did you see something? A person?”

  Hank turns to face him, and for the first time, Douglas looks tense, his lips pulled tight against his teeth, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. I saw something move. Could’ve been someone, I guess.”

  “Where?”

  Hank points to the place and Douglas follows his gaze for a second, then he reaches out and taps at something on the car’s dash. “North one, who’s on duty at gate two?”

  Hank holds his breath and listens, but if there’s a reply, he doesn’t hear it.

  “Copy that,” Douglas says. “Patch me through.” He chuckles quietly. “Rob, you’re in trouble. We can see you a mile off. You might as well hang out a flag.” He pauses. “I don’t want to hear it, sunshine. Come and see me in the morning.” He turns to Hank and smiles. “You’ve got very sharp eyes, my friend. Most people would never have seen him.”

  “OK,” Hank says. He looks back through the windshield, but the shadow has gone, melting away into the night.

  Douglas gestures toward the barrier. “I suppose this is all a bit unsettling.”

  “Kind of,” Hank admits. “I guess you’ve got to have security, but this is all kind of extreme, isn’t it?”

  Douglas turns in his seat so he can speak to them all at once. “What you’ve got to remember is that, on a normal day, you’ll all be free to come and go as you please. We do have some extra security arrangements at the moment, but that’s nothing that need concern you. And it’s very important that you understand something—Northridge is not a military facility, and it isn’t run by any government. It’s not like some secret base, or Area Fifty-one, or anything like that. But it is very exclusive. Not many people get to see the inside, so you’re very lucky. You’ll have access to the most powerful networks on the planet. And I’m not just talking about the hardware.”

  “I’ll bite,” Seb says. “What do you mean?”

  “The most valuable network at Northridge is the people you’ll meet,” Douglas says. “Not just the staff, but the students too. You’ll be joining a lot of very clever people, and you’ll have the freedom to explore what’s possible.” He smiles. “I don’t understand half of the tech you’ll get to use, but anyone can pick up on the buzz in the place. The sheer number of ideas floating around will make your head spin. And ideas are the currency of the modern world. There isn’t a corporation or a government on the planet who wouldn’t sell their souls to get their feet in the door at Northridge. But we won’t allow it. And I’m afraid that means we have to accept a certain amount of security. It’s really just to protect you all, and to make sure Northridge can keep on running like it’s meant to. All right?”

  “I guess so,” Seb says, but no one else speaks and an awkward silence fills the car.

  Douglas turns back to face the road. “It won’t be long now.” And as if on cue, the red beams suddenly vanish, and the barrier glides smoothly upward. Douglas puts the car into gear and drives through, humming quietly under his breath.

  “The other cars have caught up with us,” Ellen says. “I can see their lights. They’re right behind.”

  “That’s the way we plan it,” Douglas says. “We don’t go tearing along in a convoy. We prefer to meet up once we get near Northridge.”

  Why is that? Hank wonders. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to stick together? But he doesn’t say anything, he just stares out the window, chewing at the inside of his cheek, his tired mind replaying Douglas’s little pep talk. That was quite some speech he gave, Hank thinks. And he never did tell us why there’s extra security right now.

  Hank scratches at his cheeks. He’s grimy. His skin itches and his mouth is dry. He needs a cold drink and hot meal. But at least the journey is almost over. Everything will be fine when we get there, he thinks. The Brits just have a weird ways of doing things— like those guys with the bearskin hats that guard Buckingham Palace. He tries to push the nagging doubts fro
m his mind, but they keep resurfacing: the military airbase, the manic drive into the middle of nowhere, the gate, the barrier. It’s all out of his control. And he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it at all.

  CHAPTER 27

  SANJAY LETS OUT A LONG, SLOW BREATH as the jungle materializes around her, and she pats herself down, checking that the Rhombus avatar is holding up. It’s all good, she thinks. I’ll try heading north today. She starts walking, making for the river, pushing the undergrowth aside without a glance as she strides forward. This is no time for stealth; she needs Scarlett to find her, and fast, before she goes crazy. This is the fifth time she’s logged on as Rhombus. The fifth! Where the hell are you, Scarlett? Why haven’t you tried to contact me? Am I doing something wrong?

  She checks her UI, staring at the target indicator, testing her comms, running through the settings from top to bottom and back again. “Come on, Scarlett,” she whispers. “Let’s do this.”

  “Let’s do what?”

  The crystal clear voice in her earpiece sends a jolt of adrenaline through Sanjay’s body. She raises her rifle and looks rapidly from side to side. “Scarlett,” she calls out. “Is that you? It’s me, Rhombus.”

  The soft chuckle she gets in reply comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Sanjay adjusts her grip on her weapon. If it’s Scarlett, why isn’t she identifying herself? Something’s gone wrong. The avatar hack isn’t convincing. She must’ve messed something up. But she can’t give up on this. Not yet. What would Marcus say? she thinks. Something dumb. Something from a comic book or a two-bit game. She stands tall and takes a steadying breath. “Quit fooling around, Scarlett. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

  “Oh please, drop the Rhombus shtick,” the voice says. “You know the drill, Marcus. Are you ready?”