by Rob Stevens
Archie realised that the sudden jump in his father’s pulse must correspond to the time the BMW had begun harassing them. Using his forefinger on the trackpad, he dragged the chart across the screen so that the data recorded after 5 p.m. was displayed.
His father’s pulse had remained steadily high for a period of nearly six minutes, after which it had dropped sharply to a rate of only twenty beats per minute – the time the car went into the sea, Archie reckoned. He could hardly bear to scroll further across the screen, almost unable to bring himself to look at this cold scientific representation of the moment his father’s life had been snuffed out.
As he slid the time scale to the left Archie felt his own heart thumping inside his bruised ribcage. His father’s pulse had continued to drop, reaching a low of thirteen beats per minute and remaining there for sixty seconds. Glancing up the screen, Archie saw that his blood oxygen levels were also frighteningly low at this moment.
But then, incredibly, his father’s pulse had begun to recover. Within five minutes it was back at fifty beats per minute and his blood oxygen levels were up to eighty-five per cent and still climbing. A quick scan across the chart showed Archie that his father’s vital signs had remained strong well past midnight, when the signal had been lost.
This could mean only one thing, Archie thought, realising his hands were trembling. His father was still alive!
Detective Constable Flowers wore a permanent frown of concern as he listened to Archie’s theory, nodding occasionally and leaning forward to study the graphs on the boy’s laptop computer. Archie’s grandmother had ushered the police officer into his room shortly after he had made his discovery and insisted on talking to the authorities.
When Archie had finished his explanation DC Flowers gave him a smile that was probably meant to appear kind but simply came across as patronising.
‘Firstly can I say how sorry I am for your loss,’ he said in an emotionless monotone.
‘Have you been listening to anything I just said?’ Archie demanded. ‘I haven’t suffered any loss. My father is still alive.’
It’s perfectly normal for someone in your position to feel this way Archie,’ Flowers continued flatly. ‘The normal response to such traumatic news is shock followed by anger followed by a rejection of the facts, which is the emotion you are currently experiencing, at this moment in time. Soon you will come to accept the situation and finally your healing process can begin.’
‘Look at the website,’ Archie snapped. ‘My father’s heart was still beating after midnight.’
‘Please try and calm down, Archie. I understand you’re angry – you have been through an awful lot in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Of course I’m angry,’ Archie retorted. ‘You’re treating me like I’m crazy.’
‘You’re not crazy, Archie.’ DC Flowers smiled condescendingly. ‘You’re just a little confused.’ Then, to show he was taking Archie’s concerns seriously, he squinted studiously at the website. ‘I can’t help noticing that your father presently has no vital signs which, in my professional experience, would indicate that he has sadly deceased.’ Flowers made a glum face but Archie could tell it was no more than an afterthought.
‘That’s because the website isn’t picking up a signal any more,’ Archie explained, exasperation raising his voice an octave. ‘He’s probably just taken off his chest and wrist straps.’
‘That is one explanation,’ Flowers said dubiously. ‘However, owing to the lack of vital signs, the official line of enquiry will continue to focus on an altogether more plausible set of circumstances – i.e. the nature of your father’s death.’
‘Just because there’s no heart-rate signal doesn’t mean there’s no heart rate,’ Archie argued desperately. ‘I mean, there’s no readout for your pulse on the website either but that doesn’t mean you’re dead, does it?’ he asked, adding under his breath, ‘Except from the neck up.’
The police officer digested the idea with a confused frown.
‘Of course I’m not dead,’ Flowers said at last. ‘I am clearly alive and well and sitting right in front of you. Your father, however, is none of the above and I think it would be better for all concerned if you started to accept his loss.’ Flowers jerked his head and glanced sideways as he spoke, motioning towards Archie’s grandmother, who was standing by the doorway.
As he studied his gran’s face, scored with anxiety, it occurred to Archie that she was in as much pain as he was. She was facing the prospect of losing her son and he was suddenly overwhelmed with sympathy for her. Realising that his attention was on her, she forced a bright smile on to her lips.
‘You believe me, Nan, don’t you?’ Archie implored.
His grandmother approached and brushed his hair from his forehead with her hand. ‘I think we have to trust the police to carry out their investigations,’ she said kindly.
‘But what about the evidence?’ Archie asked shrilly, jabbing the computer screen with his finger.
I’m sure this nice police officer will include your theory in his report,’ she said, glaring at DC Flowers, who nodded his concurrence. She continued, ‘I shall be requesting a copy of the report to make sure he is true to his word. Meanwhile, if he has any more questions he can speak to you at home.’
‘Home?’ Archie repeated hopefully.
His grandmother nodded. ‘I’ve just been speaking to your doctor. He said you’ve had a miraculous escape but you’ve no broken bones or internal injuries – just some nasty bruises. So he’s discharging you – provided you promise to take it easy for a week or so.’
Archie nodded obediently ‘OK, Nan.’
Realising he had been dismissed, DC Flowers closed his notebook and stood up, put his hat on and pulled its peak low over his eyes. When he reached the doorway he stopped and turned round. ‘I wish you a speedy recovery, Archie,’ he said. ‘And rest assured we will find the culprits responsible for this terrible accident.’
‘That shouldn’t be too hard,’ Archie sneered. ‘Even for you.’
‘Excuse me?’ queried Flowers. ‘Would you care to elaborate as to the meaning of your implied suggestion?’
Archie had gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was wiggling his toes on the cold floor. ‘Well, it was one of your cars that rammed us so I suppose all you have to do is check the police log to see who was driving,’ he said, true anger setting in.
Flowers looked momentarily stunned, then his expression softened.
‘I’m sure I’m not speaking out of turn when I tell you that you have been misinformed,’ he recited. ‘The car responsible was not a constabulary vehicle.’
Archie’s grandmother stopped folding clothes and turned to look at the policeman. ‘But I was told a police car had been sent to question Archie’s dad.’
‘That’s right,’ said Flowers. ‘A patrol car was sent to apprehend Mr Richard Hunt on the afternoon in question. It arrived at his home address at four thirty-two p.m., but the officers received no response when they knocked at the door. Concluding no one was at home, they returned to Christchurch police station at five p.m. and filed their report to that effect.’
Archie looked open-mouthed at his grandmother for a moment before turning to DC Flowers. ‘So the car that ran us off the road wasn’t a police car?’
The police officer shook his head. ‘No.’
‘But it had flashing lights and a siren,’ Archie protested.
‘We believe the occupants were posing as members of Her Majesty’s constabulary in the hope of tricking your father into pulling over. After reviewing footage from traffic cameras along the route of the chase, we have ascertained the vehicle in question had a foreign number plate. We are working on the theory that this fact alerted your father to their subterfuge and a high-speed chase then ensued thereafter.’
‘Why?’ Archie asked, clutching a fistful of his tangled hair. ‘Why did they want us to stop?’
‘We believe their motive was the unlawfu
l apprehension and detention of a person or persons against his or her will.’
‘You mean …’ Archie gasped, then his voice failed him.
Flowers nodded grimly. ‘That’s right, Archie,’ he said. ‘They were planning to kidnap your father.’
‘Kidnap?’ exclaimed Barney before sinking his teeth into a Twix. ‘Why would they want to kidnap him?’
Archie sat back in his desk chair, swinging the seat from side to side and gazing out of his bedroom window. ‘All sorts of reasons,’ he sighed. ‘My dad’s pretty wealthy so they might have been planning to demand a ransom, or it might have been a political protest by someone who has a problem with the Red Cross Dragonflies. There’s even a chance terrorists targeted him because of his military record – who knows.’
Barney, who was sitting cross-legged on Archie’s bed, stared at his lap and shook his head. ‘Unreal,’ he muttered, still chewing. ‘Un-real.’
Archie picked up a model of a Tornado F3 from his desk and examined it. ‘I’m more interested in finding him alive than working out who’s responsible,’ he said. ‘Unless I can figure out how he survived, no one will believe that it’s possible.’
‘He probably found an air pocket inside the car,’ Barney suggested. ‘Or maybe in the Air Force he’d been trained to put his body into a state of hibernation or something while he was underwater? Suspended animation – that’s what they call it. I saw this old spy film once called Our Man Flint …’
‘It’s pointless though, isn’t it?’ Archie sighed bitterly ‘The police have decided he’s dead and there’s nothing I can do to change their minds. Maybe they’re right anyway.’
A heavy silence filled the room.
Archie spun his chair round to face his desk and began jabbing his keyboard with sullen disinterest. As a mark of respect Barney tried to chew his last bite of Twix without making any noise but then he spoilt everything by crinkling the wrapper noisily when he pushed it into his pocket.
For a long while Archie punished his keyboard and Barney studied the room and neither said a word, then –
‘Hey,’ Archie exclaimed, pushing himself upright on the arms of his chair. ‘Come and look at this!’
Barney planted his feet on the floor and heaved himself up, sending a shower of biscuit crumbs on to the carpet.
‘Wassup?’ he asked, looking over Archie’s shoulder at his Facebook page.
Archie flicked the computer screen and pushed his chair back to allow Barney to read the new message for himself.
From – Agent X-ray
We have information about your father’s situation. We can help you if you help us.
16 Stour Gardens, 13.00 hrs.
Come alone.
‘Do you think it’s for real?’ Barney asked, having read the message for a third time.
Archie held his hands out wide. ‘Who knows?’
‘I mean, it seems a bit too straightforward, doesn’t it?’ Barney mused. ‘I’d have thought the real MI6 would have disguised their message to avoid suspicion.’
‘What, like “The eagle will nest with the mongoose before hunting a badger”?’ Archie suggested, trying not to smile as Barney nodded earnestly in response. ‘Maybe it’s one of those double bluffs you mentioned the other day?’
Barney’s eyes narrowed. ‘You might be right.’
Archie jumped up from his chair. ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out – come on, we’ve only got an hour.’
‘Where are we going?’ Barney asked.
‘Try and keep up,’ Archie called from halfway down the stairs. ‘Sixteen Stour Gardens.’
It was a warm, muggy day and Archie could feel the perspiration gathering on his forehead as he pedalled his bike up the long, steady incline towards Kings Park, the housing estate where Stour Gardens could be found. Barney was trailing about 200 yards back, puffing and protesting with equal vigour.
Approaching number sixteen, Archie dismounted at speed and hit the ground running, allowing his bike to topple into a hedgerow. His finger hovered over the doorbell for a second. He was probably about to initiate an embarrassing ordeal that would haunt him for the rest of his schooldays. But if there was even a sliver of hope that this was for real – that Agent X-ray might help him find his father – then it was a chance he had to take.
He rang the bell and waited.
Archie heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door and took a couple of steps back, as if those extra few inches might offer him some sort of protection from the imminent verbal onslaught. He could see a figure through the pebbled glass panel in the door and he caught his breath as the latch clicked and the door swung open.
Standing in the doorway and wearing an expression of disdain was the girl Archie had met in the school playground. She was wearing a black T-shirt with the words Green Day across the chest, skinny black jeans and Converse boots.
‘Hiya,’ said Archie.
‘You’re late.’
Archie glanced at his watch. ‘Only by a couple of minutes,’ he commented breezily.
The girl fixed him with a cold stare. ‘In undercover operations a couple of seconds can be the difference between life and death,’ she said darkly.
Archie swallowed and nodded. ‘Sorry.’
The girl lifted herself on to her tiptoes and craned her neck to scan the street over Archie’s head. ‘Well, at least you came alone,’ she said drily. ‘That shows you have a very basic ability to follow simple instructions. Our success depends on your aptitude to keep things to yourself. Discretion is our watchword. Do you think anyone could have followed you here?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Archie replied.
Suddenly there was an almighty screech of brakes and Barney skidded to a halt on the pavement outside the house.
‘There you are!’ he exclaimed wheezily ‘You could’ve waited for me – it’s not easy cycling up hills with my heavy bones.’ Then, noticing the girl in the doorway, he added, ‘And you must be the mysterious Agent X-ray? Archie’s told me everything about you.’
The girl arched an eyebrow accusingly at Archie.
He adjusted his glasses and gave her a sheepish smile. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say I’ve told him everything.’
Agent X-ray ushered the boys into the house and closed the front door.
‘Listen, motormouth,’ she said to Barney. ‘The basic idea of undercover ops is that we don’t announce ourselves to the whole neighbourhood, OK?’
‘Understood,’ Barney answered with a salute. ‘Good idea to switch to codenames, by the way. I was just wondering if there’s any chance I could be something like Nightfox instead of Motormouth?’
With an exasperated sigh the girl turned and marched down the narrow hallway. ‘You’d better follow me,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We’ll let the boss decide what to do with you.’
As the boys tagged along, Barney tapped Archie’s arm with the back of his hand to get his attention. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure you’ll get a codename soon.’
Archie cast his eyes around the house, which was a small semi-detached decorated with floral prints and frilly curtains.
‘So are we supposed to believe this is MI6 headquarters?’ he said cynically. ‘I mean, it’s very convenient that it’s only a couple of miles from my house, don’t you think?’
The girl turned round. Dropping one hip and folding her arms she huffed irritably. ‘No, this isn’t MI6 HQ. Obviously. It’s a safe house, OK? They use it to hide witnesses and foreign operatives from enemy assassins and stuff. And no, it’s not a coincidence that it’s close to your house. We have safe houses all over the country – there’s probably one within a few miles of everyone’s house. Now, does anyone else have any clever questions?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got loads,’ announced Barney keenly.
‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,’ the girl replied, catching Archie’s eye.
Thinking he detected the faintest of smiles on her lips, Archie sudden
ly started laughing much too loudly. ‘That’s really funny,’ he wheezed.
The girl frowned.
‘Dude, what’s the matter with you?’ asked Barney.
‘Nothing,’ Archie replied, wondering why his stomach was fluttering.
The boys followed the girl to the bottom of a flight of stairs where a wooden door blocked their path. As he watched her type a series of digits into a keypad, it occurred to Archie that this was an awful lot of trouble to go to just to make fun of him. Nevertheless, as the girl swung the door open he was prepared for a chorus of jeers from whoever was in the room beyond.
To Archie’s relief and surprise there was no explosion of ridicule to greet their arrival, just the faint whirr of computer cooling fans. As the girl closed the door, Archie noticed that it was constructed from steel and six inches thick, the wooden veneer on the outside preserving a facade of suburban normality.
For the first time Archie considered seriously the prospect that Agent X-ray might actually be who she claimed to be. With a sense of nervous excitement he stepped into the room and looked round the vast underground chamber.
The walls and ceiling were made of smooth concrete and the floor was clad in black marble. Low lighting was provided by a combination of spotlights and steel anglepoise lamps. A bank of computer terminals lined one wall, each one scrolling through endless websites apparently at random. On another wall hung eight flat-screen TVs, all muted and tuned to a different twenty-four-hour news channel.
At one end of the room was a large desk constructed of chrome and glass, on which stood two flat-screen computer monitors and a slender wireless keyboard. Behind the desk sat a woman Archie guessed to be about forty to forty-five – pretty old anyway. She had short dark hair and wore a black suit over a grey blouse. Her thin lips were tinted by plum-coloured lipstick and a gold chain draped from her horn-rimmed spectacles.
Standing behind the woman, with his back to the room, was a gangly man in a tweed suit who was wearing headphones over his untidy white hair. He was totally engrossed in a programme showing on yet another TV. Archie could see the man was watching reruns of MTV Cribs, a programme that gave the viewer a look inside the extravagant homes of celebrities. Archie recognised the Brazilian footballer Caesar Romario gesturing to his huge mountainside swimming pool that overlooked a glistening ocean below.
