by Rohan Gavin
‘Bogna,’ his father confirmed with a nod. ‘Once again, we’re too late. Judging by the size and inflection of the other prints, she had two heavyset captors. They’d need to be to contain her.’
On a dressing table, Darkus spotted a familiar straw hat. ‘It’s the one she wore at Heathrow.’
‘But where is she now …?’ replied his father anxiously. ‘If she tried to make a break for it, she could die out there.’
Darkus found it difficult to grasp the concept of Bogna dying of hunger, thirst or exposure. She had the constitution of an ox, the determination of a pit bull terrier and the strength of several men.
Instead, he turned his mind to the here and now and followed the concentration of male footprints to a rickety side table with a small, blank notepad sitting on it. He flicked through the pages, hunting for clues but finding only blank sheets. He took his pencil and scribbled on the top page, shading it to see if any indentations might betray themselves. The shading produced no meaningful inscriptions: no words; just a doodle depicting a simple triangle. Darkus kept scribbling, revealing a two-dimensional pyramid shape.
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ he asked his father.
‘Not really,’ Knightley replied, looking over his shoulder. ‘I suppose it could refer to the conspiracy theory surrounding the Egyptian pyramids.’
‘Huh?’
‘The Egyptian pyramids exactly match a pyramid rumoured to have been found on the dark side of the moon by the last manned lunar landing, Apollo 17, in 1972. Presumably it was the work of an alien civilisation.’
‘O–K, Dad,’ said Darkus dismissively.
‘Don’t you think it odd that we’ve never been back to the moon since?’ his father asked.
Darkus thought about it for a while, then shrugged it off. He carried on his sweep of the room, until the torch beam struck upon a familiar shape sitting on a shelf. ‘Look …’ It was a large jar of Polish dill pickles – nearly empty. Darkus ran a gloved finger over the lid and found no dust. ‘It’s recent … I’d say within the past twelve hours.’
Knightley inspected the container. ‘At least she’s not being mistreated.’
Darkus held up the jar and silently cursed himself. So far their foreign investigation had produced little more than a triangle and a jar of pickles. This was pathetic by any standards. He angled the container and shone the penlight through the murky greenish liquid, hoping for a miracle, but finding only a cluster of unappealing, fermented vegetables bobbing about like a school of whales. He balanced the light between his teeth and unscrewed the aluminium lid. A strong aroma of vinegar stung his nostrils. He lowered the jar and quickly went to reseal it when he noticed something on the inside of the lid … scratched into the metal with a sharp object – a hair clip, he deduced. He angled the light with his mouth and squinted. The crude engraving showed two words:
It was undoubtedly a message from their housekeeper. Darkus held the illuminated lid for his father to see.
‘Las Vegas … a trap.’ Knightley nodded. ‘Thank you, my dear Bogna. That’s all we need to know.’
Suddenly, the jar slipped out of Darkus’s hand and smashed into pieces, the pickles squirming in all directions, as –
A blast of white light seared through the open door and window frames – so bright that both Knightleys cowered, half blinded. The light found its way into the building any way it could, penetrating missing roof tiles and holes in the brickwork, turning the entire house into a Halloween jack-o’-lantern.
The Knightleys turned away from the source, only to face another one blasting through the opposite side of the house, then two more light beams to the left and right.
‘What d’you want from us?’ Knightley shouted out to whoever might be listening. He grabbed Darkus and covered him in the lapels of his coat, manoeuvring him towards a back door. Knightley kicked down the door and staggered outside, finding the desert ground turned white hot.
Darkus peered through his fingers to see a ring of steel surrounding the house. Military Humvee all-terrain vehicles were positioned around the building, each with a crew of two, and roof-mounted searchlights blazing down on the Knightleys from every angle. Darkus could just make out Irwin, Rufus and Tilly being held captive by a group of men dressed in black, leaning against one of the vehicles. Amidst the dazzling sensory overload, Darkus recalled the phrase ‘men in black’: a term coined by conspiracy theorists to describe government agents who arrived at UFO sites to eliminate evidence, or loose ends – or even witnesses, some claimed.
‘Take me to your leader,’ shouted Knightley.
‘They’re not aliens, Alan,’ Irwin called out. ‘They’re government! Far worse!’
‘Hands on your heads! Now!’ a deep voice commanded.
The Knightleys complied with the request. Several of the searchlights flicked out, leaving a single beam trapping them in its glare.
One of the men in black stepped forward, only visible as a silhouette in military fatigues and a baseball cap, his American accent clipped and aggressive. ‘What’s the purpose of your visit?’
‘We’re looking for a friend,’ Darkus answered.
‘Have you heard of SO42? The Department of the Unexplained?’ Knightley added.
‘Is this some kind of joke to you?’ the figure shot back.
‘I don’t think he has heard of them, Dad,’ said Darkus.
‘How about the Combination?’ Tilly shouted from the cordon.
‘We get crackpots 24/7 every day and twice on Sunday,’ replied the figure. ‘They go by all kinds of names.’
‘I’m a licensed private investigator in the state of California,’ announced Irwin from beside his son.
‘This is Nevada,’ said the man in black. ‘We got a tip-off when you crossed state lines and we’ve been tracking you ever since.’
‘A tip-off from whom?’ asked Darkus.
‘That’s classified,’ the man snapped back.
‘The Combination … that’s who told them,’ Knightley whispered. ‘They’ve outplayed us again.’
‘So what do we do?’ muttered Darkus.
‘Take the fight to the enemy,’ said his father.
‘Go to Las Vegas? Even though we know it’s a trap?’
‘We’ve always known this was a trap, Doc. It’s time to face the music and finish the game.’
The man in black instructed his unit: ‘Detain them. Indefinitely.’
Darkus and his dad were frogmarched through the sand to a hulking Humvee troop carrier with two bench seats in the hold. Waiting for them inside were the Bradleys and Tilly, with their wrists and ankles bound with cable ties. An officer trussed the Knightleys’ hands and feet too, then manhandled them into the back of the vehicle.
‘Well, this is just great,’ complained Tilly.
‘Don’t worry,’ replied Rufus. ‘They can’t hold us for more than twenty-four hours.’
‘We don’t have twenty-four hours,’ murmured Darkus.
‘Quiet,’ barked an officer as he rifled through the Knightleys’ rucksacks. Finding no weapons inside, he slung the bags into the back of the hold and slammed the door. The barrel of a heavy lock turned, securing them inside.
A second later, the V8 engine rumbled to life and the Humvee lurched away over the rough terrain, slamming its occupants back and forth.
Knightley leaned forward on his knees and steepled his fingers, entering a state of deep meditation.
‘Dad …?’ said Darkus, fearing the worst.
‘Don’t worry, I’m just thinking,’ Knightley answered. ‘I estimate our chances of escape at approximately a thousand to one. The other option being almost certain deportation back to Britain – without cracking the Combination. And, most importantly, without Bogna.’
‘A thousand to one …’ Irwin repeated. ‘That’s the odds of all five of us escaping, right?’
‘Correct,’ replied Knightley.
‘Then how do the odds change if only three of us escape?�
��
‘What are you saying?’ asked Knightley.
Darkus chimed in. ‘I think Irwin is saying that if he and Rufus sacrifice their liberty and remain in custody, our chances of success are significantly increased. Closer to five hundred to one, I’d say.’
‘I’ll take those odds,’ said Tilly.
Darkus nodded soberly as the Humvee bounced violently over a sand dune.
‘What about you?’ Knightley asked the Bradleys.
‘We’re US citizens,’ replied Irwin. ‘They can’t torture us, they can’t deport us. They could keep us holed up for a while, but we’ve got nothing to hide.’
Knightley furrowed his brow. ‘You’d do that …? For us?’
‘Hook me up next time we’re in London,’ said Irwin.
‘I’ll arrange tea with the Queen,’ Knightley promised.
‘It’s cool, Alan.’ Irwin bumped his pair of bound fists with Knightley’s. ‘You’re my “brother from another mother”.’
Darkus took a moment to deduce what Irwin was saying. ‘I don’t think that’s biologically possible,’ he pointed out, ‘but it’s a wonderful sentiment.’
Rufus turned to Knightley Senior and nodded. ‘That would make you my uncle from another grandmother,’ he added, perplexed.
Knightley smiled. ‘I believe you’re right, Rufus.’
Tilly interjected, ‘OK, if you brainiacs have finished working out your family tree, can you help me break us out of here?’
The Knightleys and the Bradleys turned to see Tilly extending her bound feet with almost balletic grace towards her rucksack, which was sitting at the end of the hold.
‘Hold my hands,’ she instructed Darkus in the seat beside her. He did so and she used him as a counterweight to reach even further towards the end of the vehicle. But it still wasn’t enough. ‘Damn it,’ she cursed. Then the Humvee hit an almighty bump and threw all of its occupants into the air – before slumping back in their seats.
Magically, the rucksack slid down the briefly inclined vehicle and landed at Tilly’s feet.
‘Bingo,’ she said, lifting it with both legs in an impressive abdominal exercise and unzipping the bag with her bound hands. She rummaged around in the compartment before pulling out the hairdryer.
‘You Brits really do like to keep up appearances,’ remarked Irwin, then recoiled as Tilly slid the switch backwards and a ten-inch blue flame ignited from the nozzle, transforming the hairdryer into a blowtorch.
She trained the hissing flame on the cable tie at her ankles and melted through it, then turned it on Darkus who instinctively parted the heels of his hands as she fried the bindings. She handed him the blowtorch and he returned the favour, freeing her. She then released Knightley and arrived at the Bradleys – until Irwin raised his hands and shook his head.
‘This is where we say adios, amigos. Got to maintain our cover story,’ Irwin explained. ‘You guys made a run for it and we acted like responsible citizens.’
‘Thanks again,’ said Darkus, touched.
‘Good luck,’ replied Rufus.
‘See you in England,’ added Irwin.
Knightley and Darkus slung on their rucksacks and held Tilly steady as she knelt down and angled the blowtorch on the lock securing the rear door. The lock glowed red, the flame stuttered, low on gas, then the lock barrel fell out and the door swung open.
Outside, the Humvee was steadily climbing a steep sand dune, populated with cactus plants and coarse vegetation.
‘Looks … prickly,’ observed Darkus.
‘Here goes nothing,’ said Tilly, then tightened her rucksack like a parachutist and dived out of the moving vehicle. ‘So long, suckers!’
Darkus hesitated, until his dad said, ‘After you,’ and pushed him out. Darkus tucked and rolled off into the undergrowth.
Knightley nodded to the Bradleys, snapped a salute, then threw himself out of the Humvee after his young companions.
All three of them made soft landings on the crest of the dune, before rolling downhill out of control, over spiny yucca plants and scrub bushes – which prompted a multitude of imaginative swear words.
Tilly, then Darkus, then Knightley came to rest at the base of the hill, finding themselves inadvertently camouflaged by dust, twigs and sand. Knightley took a sharp intake of breath as he extracted a particularly large cactus needle from his behind.
‘Not exactly the souvenir I was hoping for,’ he groaned.
A hundred metres above them, the Humvee continued its lumbering progress with the door flapping open and the Bradleys sitting obediently inside.
Darkus brushed off his clothes and looked around. They were surrounded by a high, razor-wire fence on all sides. ‘It would appear our situation remains bleak.’
Tilly dug in her rucksack, retrieved her hairdryer, switched it on, but only got a sputter of gas and then nothing.
On higher ground, the Humvee’s powerful headlights arrived at a checkpoint with several armed guards. The vehicle rumbled to a halt. Seconds later a deafening siren began howling across the desert valley.
‘Bleaker by the moment,’ agreed Knightley.
Several megawatt searchlights began scanning the hills, intermittently casting the landscape in blinding light then darkness, as if alternating between day and night.
‘Over there,’ said Darkus, pointing out a rectangular white hangar on a nearby access road, before lowering the palm of his hand to indicate ‘crouch’ and tapping his head to indicate ‘follow me’.
Tilly set off into the undergrowth after Darkus, then turned to Knightley and pumped her fist to indicate ‘hurry up’. Knightley returned a thumbs up and followed them in a low run across the breadth of the hill.
As the searchlights criss-crossed the compound, the trio fell to the ground, ducking under the beams, then covered the last thirty metres to the hangar. Darkus located a single doorway in the wall with a Restricted sign on it. But what was the difference? The whole area was restricted. Knightley wasted no time, shoved his shoulder against the door and broke it down.
CHAPTER 15
THE IMPASSE
Inside the hangar it was pitch-black and the air was eerily still. Darkus felt for his penlight and switched it on, illuminating a small circle around them, but not managing to penetrate the darkness beyond. He noted a series of markings on the concrete floor.
Knightley examined a row of shelves, containing weapons, ammo and clay-like blocks of plastic explosive. But no amount of firepower could help them out of their current situation.
Tilly walked nonchalantly into the inky blackness until there was a small clang, followed by an ‘Ouch!’
Darkus followed the sound with his torch beam and found Tilly rubbing her forehead, standing beside a section of metal fuselage.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Looks like a … craft of some kind,’ said Knightley, catching up with them.
‘Do you think it’s a real UFO?’ Tilly wondered in awe.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Darkus, finding the stars-and-stripes insignia and the words: United States of America.
‘Help me in,’ ordered Tilly, climbing over the body of the vehicle to grab on to a red handle, which she pulled, causing a hatch to hiss open.
Darkus heard the sound of several Humvees converging outside the hangar, their engines revving.
Knightley hefted Tilly, then Darkus, then himself through the opening into a bubble-shaped cockpit constructed out of Perspex glass viewing windows, with an array of touchscreens for a dashboard.
Darkus ran his hands over the console, finding his way to a joystick controller, while Tilly located a laminated folder with a title on the front: SEV – Quick Start Guide.
Knightley strapped himself into a seat behind the other two and watched anxiously.
Outside the hangar, the Humvees began lining up, their searchlights saturating the building.
The man in black’s voice bellowed through the PA system. ‘Come out with your hands in th
e air – !’ He was interrupted by a strange noise.
The hangar doors rolled aside as a large buggy-like vehicle careered out of the building with a high-pitched whine, before swivelling round on the spot and accelerating up a steep, forty-five-degree sand dune. The cockpit glass was mirrored to reflect heat, and the chassis rested on six sets of independently steering off-road wheels, which gave it the ability to turn, rotate or reverse in an instant.
Inside the cockpit, Darkus wrestled with the joystick, jerking the vehicle left and right, while Tilly navigated the touchscreens and switched on a cluster of outboard spotlights to illuminate the way.
‘I’ve heard of SUVs … but what’s an SEV?’ demanded Knightley, holding on to his seat as they climbed an impossibly precipitous dune.
‘Space Exploration Vehicle,’ responded Darkus, without taking his eyes off the road. ‘I imagine it’s a relative of the Mars Rover. Experimental, of course.’
Two Humvees gave chase up the sharp incline until their wheels lost traction and the vehicles slid backwards under their own weight and toppled to the ground in a conjoined hunk of steaming metal.
The whine of the SEV reached an even higher octave as the vehicle picked up speed, gaining traction on the loose rubble and bouncing over the mountainous landscape, its outboard lamps lighting the way as if it were navigating a lunar surface. Two more Humvees swarmed after it. Darkus watched the buggy’s spotlights pick out a checkpoint, then he swerved around a terrified guard, rotated one hundred and eighty degrees and took off in the opposite direction, getting air over the crest of a hill.
The vehicle smashed down on the other side, jolting the entire cabin.
‘Learner drivers,’ complained Knightley.
‘Want a go?’ Darkus offered. His father shook his head vigorously.
The SEV descended a near vertical slope causing its passengers to flop forward, only held in place by their safety harnesses. A pursuing Humvee soared over the incline after them, then lost control and barrel-rolled past them, its headlights gaping into mid-air. A second Humvee flew after it like a demolition derby, landing badly and rolling lengthways down the hill behind them, picking up speed.
