by Simon Mayo
‘You two should be back—’ began Sandra, but Jack and Chloe flew past her into the consulting room. They stood behind her and the consultant, and turned to see his patient lying uncomfortably in a huge tunnel-shaped MRI machine.
‘These men aren’t real doctors!’ shouted Chloe. ‘They are trying to kidnap us!’
‘They’ve attacked our cousin and now they want to get us too!’ added Jack. ‘Please help us call the police!’
The ‘doctors’ looked around the room. The one with two working arms smiled broadly. ‘I’m Dr Waylon; this is my colleague, Dr Wallander. He has a broken arm, I’m afraid, after being assaulted by this girl here. They both have a history of violence, but we were hoping to deal with the matter quietly. We only wanted to take Chloe here for some tests.’ ‘Dr Wallander’ tried a smile, but it was more of a grimace.
‘I’ve never seen you before,’ said Sandra. ‘And you sound American. What department are you from? What tests are you doing?’
‘We’re from the Bains Hospital in Bristol,’ said ‘Dr Waylon’. ‘We do most of our work there. Yes, I’m originally from Detroit, but really, this shouldn’t take long . . .’
‘What’s happening?’ called a muffled woman’s voice from inside the MRI scanner, but everyone was focused on Drs Waylon and Wallander.
‘Why would someone get a bone-marrow transplant?’ asked Chloe.
‘Pardon me?’ said Waylon.
‘Why would someone get a bone-marrow transplant?’ she repeated. ‘You’re a doctor. That should be easy for you. It’s a medical question. Come on, prove it!’
Jack joined in. ‘Yeah, and if I had three broken fingers, how would you treat me?’
‘This isn’t a game’ – the American tried another smile – ‘and I’m not playing.’
‘Oh, but you are,’ said the consultant. ‘I’m Mr Copeland, and this is my unit.’ He was a short, grey-haired man with glasses on a string around his neck. ‘Tell me what your business is here. The idea that these children are right and that you’re out to kidnap them seems ludicrous, but . . . Your credentials, please, and then we can sort it all out. I have never heard of you, and we don’t normally work with the Bains. Who is your head of department there? Maybe I know them . . .’
The hesitation was all the consultant needed. Not used to suffering fools – or anyone else – gladly, he strode over to confront the American. ‘If you can’t answer those questions, try this one. What are the main principles of neuropsychology? You’re in my rooms – you’ll know that, surely?’
Behind him, Mr Copeland’s patient was easing her way out of the scanner; two wriggling legs were emerging from the tunnel.
Waylon and Wallander were now looking increasingly uncomfortable, and the consultant was reaching for his phone. ‘What is your specialism, Dr Wallander? Where did you train?’
The German glanced briefly at his colleague. Jack hooked her arm through Chloe’s. ‘Berlin,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Very well!’ said Copeland, holding up his phone. ‘And I didn’t catch your specialism . . .’
The MRI patient now appeared at his side, looking puzzled. ‘What’s happening? she asked.
‘What’s happening, Miss Chignell,’ said Mr Copeland without turning round, ‘is that these men are just about to be reported to the police for pretending to be doctors and trying to attack these poor—’
Sandra the receptionist and Miss Chignell the patient both screamed at the same time. The American had produced a pistol and the German kicked the door shut. The consultant swore loudly and backed away, but not fast enough to avoid a blow from the pistol butt.
The American had caught him on the crown of his head and the consultant slumped to the ground. ‘Always the best way to win at games,’ he said, and the German laughed. ‘You, on the floor!’ he shouted at Sandra. ‘You, back in the tunnel!’ to Miss Chignell. The receptionist scurried to the corner of the room, while the patient crawled back into the imaging unit. Chloe and Jack held each other tight. ‘You might come to regret breaking Volker’s arm like that,’ the American said, more softly.
Now it was the German’s turn to speak. Holding his damaged arm across his chest, he stepped forward. His voice shook slightly. ‘At the mining school, you attacked me with that burning magnesium. I couldn’t see properly for days. Today you attack me again, but you have lost. We have dealt with one of your brothers – he might be older, but he was far less troublesome. All we have to do is wait, and your other brother will come looking for you.’
Jack and Chloe hauled themselves up. They were shaking slightly, but their stance was defiant, their eyes fierce. ‘We got you at the mining school because you attacked Dr Alexander then came for us,’ Jack said with barely controlled anger. ‘And I broke your arm because you’re doing it again. You’re a thug and a bully – we have people like you in school – it’s just they don’t have guns.’
Volker Berghahn had heard enough; with his good hand he hit Jack hard across the face. She fell backwards, her cheek split and bleeding. Chloe found a tissue and handed it to her before turning to face the Greencorps pair.
‘My brother is smarter and braver than both of you. And he doesn’t have to hit girls to prove it.’
The American stepped forward now, his gun still in his hand. ‘Don’t you ever shut up?’
‘Not unless I have to. And back at the mining school? That was phosphorus, not magnesium. You guys really are dumb.’
And the pistol butt came down again.
22
It was a silent trip with Lucy’s mum. After trying and failing to raise Jack, Chloe or Gabriel, Itch had rung his mother, who had persuaded him not to go to Exeter, but to return home. He had told her about the car that might have followed them, and found the registration number from his text.
There were only bad explanations for the sudden disappearance of his brother, sister and cousin from the hospital, and on the journey home he went through all of them. Lucy tried to be reassuring, but Itch could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. He wished his father was at home, not sorting out mines in South Africa.
In the kitchen he found that Jude – looking more gaunt than ever – had company. A teary-eyed Jon and Zoe Lofte, clearly just as scared as Itch, were at the table, and DCIs Abbott and Underwood were sitting next to them. The presence of the two policemen who had suspected him of bombing his own school filled Itch with dismay, but their tone was altogether more sympathetic now. They asked Lucy and Nicola to stay; surprised, they pulled up chairs too. The absence of Jack and Chloe and Gabriel filled the room.
‘He’s on the first plane he can get,’ said Jude, reading her son’s thoughts.
Itch nodded.
DCI Abbott cleared her throat. ‘I don’t want to speculate, so I will tell you everything that the Exeter police are telling me. Jack and Chloe have disappeared after being assaulted at the hospital.’
Itch, Lucy and Nicola gasped; the others had clearly been given this news before. Jon Lofte had one hand on his wife’s shoulder, the other on Jude’s.
The DCI continued. ‘Gabriel was assaulted too, but was found in a store cupboard by a cleaner. He is bruised and shaken, but will be OK and is being driven here now. It seems the attackers wanted him out of the way – it was Jack and Chloe they were after. We know from witness accounts that they were deliberately targeted, and that their abductors were disguised as doctors. We’re asking for the CCTV footage now.’
‘I saw them!’ said Itch. ‘A van was following us when we left town. I texted the number to Jack, but she never got back . . .’
The policewoman nodded. ‘Your mother passed on the number – thank you. It is a hire car, rented with false papers. Obviously we are trying to trace it now.’
Jude groaned, head in hands. It was a desperate sound, unlike anything Itch had heard from his mother before, and his stomach tightened. ‘Is this Flowerdew again?’ she asked. ‘Who else targets our family like this?’
‘Course it is,�
� said Itch, and then addressed the police. ‘I tried to tell you about him, remember? You weren’t that interested, as I recall.’
Underwood – still, Itch thought, looking nothing like a policeman – consulted some notes. ‘Apparently the two attackers were known to your sister and cousin.’
Now everyone looked up. ‘Excuse me?’ said Jon. ‘They knew them?’
‘That’s what we think, yes. Apparently there was one who sounded German and one who sounded American. The German – according to the witnesses in the room – seemed to think he had been attacked before. And by Chloe and Jack.’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ said Zoe. ‘They’d never attack anyone.’
‘Something to do with phosphorus?’ suggested DCI Underwood.
Itch swallowed. ‘Burned-hair man,’ he said softly. ‘Of course.’
‘Itch?’ said his uncle. ‘You know this guy?’
‘Before Jack and I were kidnapped by Flowerdew, three Greencorps agents arrived at the mining school. They were trying to get the 126. They were with a woman who said her name was Mary Bale. If you look her up, she’s the new CEO of Greencorps. The new “nice-and-legal” Greencorps. Her two thugs attacked Dr Alexander, and I escaped by using some phosphorus that Cake had given me. It temporarily blinded one of them, and burned his hair. He nearly found us again at Victoria station, but the smell alerted Jack . . . and, well, you know what happened after that.’
It was clear from their expressions that the police officers had no idea what had happened after that, but reckoned this was not the moment for a general catch-up. Abbott’s phone rang and she left the kitchen.
‘Did anyone follow you to the mining school?’ asked Underwood. ‘Are you sure there was only one car behind?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Itch, glancing at Lucy and Nicola. ‘There was just the car I told you about, and it turned to follow Gabriel. Maybe they weren’t expecting us to split up. They wanted to get me, but had to decide which car to follow. Flowerdew will be seriously angry when he discovers that I’m not with Jack and Chloe.’
In some distress, Nicola Cavendish said, ‘I don’t think we were followed. I parked in the car park and sat in reception. I didn’t see anyone else, I’m afraid.’
DCI Abbott came back into the kitchen. ‘The hire van has been found at the docks in Bristol,’ she said, avoiding eye-contact. ‘We are checking it now. We have informed all immigration points to be on the lookout and have circulated photos of Jack and Chloe.’ She looked up now and tried a smile. ‘I’m sure we’ll find them soon.’
Zoe Lofte had been sitting quietly, hands in her lap. Now her eyes blazed. ‘No, you’re not. You’re not sure at all. You have no idea. Please don’t treat us like fools, Detective. Our daughters have been taken and the car found at the docks. They could well be out of the country by now—’ Her voice broke, and Jon Lofte reached for her hand. ‘After the bombs,’ she continued, ‘Itch told you who was responsible. And now we are all telling you. Flowerdew has tried to kill our children before, and he is trying to do it again. Just tell Interpol or whoever it is that we know who did it . . . you just have to stop him!’
Nods around the table. ‘Exactly!’ said Jude.
Underwood had flushed slightly, but Abbott remained impassive. ‘When we talked to Itch about Flowerdew, we did of course take his accusations seriously. And after certain representations—’
‘You mean Fairnie,’ interrupted Itch. ‘We all know he talked to you . . . just say what you mean.’
Abbott bridled, but forced herself to continue. ‘After representations from Colonel Fairnie and others, we did look into the whereabouts of Nathaniel Flowerdew. After his escape from the ISIS labs, we believe he received treatment at a clinic in London. Since then there has been nothing – no sightings, no activity on any of his accounts. And certainly no indication that he is back at Greencorps.’
‘That’s because he’s not stupid,’ said Itch, angry now. He stood up sharply, knocking his chair over. ‘Of course he’s not going to announce his takeover – he’s a criminal! What is it with you people?’
‘Itch, this won’t help,’ said Jude quietly, but he ignored her.
‘How many bombings have you had to deal with?’ he asked, voice raised.
‘Itch!’ Jude tried again.
‘Well?’ he continued. ‘Both of you added together?’ He gestured to Abbott and Underwood.
‘Just the ones here actually, but—’ said Underwood.
‘Just the ones here? Right. And when Mr Watkins was killed, and your colleague too, the first person you thought to blame was me!’ Itch picked his chair up and rammed it back under the table. ‘Maybe you’ll understand if we aren’t that thrilled with the police here. If we suspect that maybe you haven’t a clue what you’re doing. But here’s the deal: I promise you this – if you find Chloe and Jack, you’ll find Flowerdew holding them.’
Itch stormed out. Lucy whispered something in her mother’s ear and followed him.
‘God, they’re useless, Lucy!’ Itch had thrown himself on his bed, but then jumped up again, unable to keep still. ‘How can we find Chloe and Jack when they’re the ones in charge?’
‘They won’t be,’ she said. ‘They’re just the local cops, Itch. This will go much higher now.’
‘But not to Fairnie,’ said Itch bitterly. ‘He’d sort this out.’
‘He would, but he can’t,’ said Lucy. ‘Sit down, Itch.’ Reluctantly he sat back on the bed. ‘Give me your laptop . . .’ He handed it over, puzzled. She found his Facebook page and whistled. ‘You are one popular boy!’
‘You know that’s not true. What are you doing?’
‘You have a lot of people interested in you, Itch. Around the world, it must be in the millions. And after those pictures from Madrid, there are more all the time. If you ask them for help—’
‘Lucy, it’s Facebook. I know the police were rubbish just then, but surely when it comes to—’
She looked at him fiercely, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised. They looked at each other for a few seconds and the penny dropped.
‘Don’t trust anyone,’ he said softly.
Lucy nodded and smiled.
‘OK. What should we put?’
‘Change your status. Say you’re looking for your sister and cousin. Kidnapped from Exeter hospital, maybe taken out via Bristol harbour. Put it in your own words, say what you want to say. Tell the truth.’
Itch took the laptop and typed. He showed Lucy and she smiled.
A knock at the door and Jude appeared. ‘You OK, Itch?’ She came in and stood awkwardly in front of them. ‘Dad says he’ll be back tomorrow. I know how much you want to talk to him.’
Itch didn’t notice the tone of hurt in his mother’s voice, though Lucy did.
‘Here – sit down,’ she said. ‘Have the police gone yet?’
‘Not yet. They’ve requested a media blackout till they know what’s happening. They asked me to tell you.’
‘Too late,’ said Itch. ‘Just posted.’ He showed her the status update.
Please help find my sister Chloe Lofte, 13, and cousin Jacqueline Lofte, 15. They are both tall and pretty. Kidnapped today from Exeter hospital by Greencorps agents. Possibly out of Bristol. Don’t believe what Greencorps tell you – they’ll come for me next.
Jude looked up from the laptop. ‘I have a feeling the police are going to go crazy,’ she said.
‘Maybe . . .’ Itch shrugged.
‘But we need them, Itch! We need them to be as desperate as we are, not really hacked off because you’re making them look stupid.’
‘It was my idea,’ said Lucy. ‘Sorry, Mrs Lofte – it just seemed the best way to tell everyone, that’s all.’
There was another knock at the door and DCI Abbott came in, flushed and clearly furious. ‘Mrs Lofte. Itch and Lucy. I said a media blackout was in place! We asked the news organizations to wait before reporting this incident and they agreed. But if you’re going to splash this about
yourself, then I’m afraid we have lost control of the story already.’
Itch was up on his feet again. His room was small, the policewoman close. If he hadn’t been taller than her, they’d have been eyeball to eyeball. ‘OK . . . first, it’s not about “losing control of a story”, it’s about finding Jack and Chloe. You can’t control this anyway. And second, you didn’t tell me till it was too late. I had already posted before Mum told me.’
DCI Abbott, fighting to control herself, snapped back, ‘The purpose of controlling the story is to speed up the return of your sister and cousin. When we are ready, and we have all our stakeholders all working together, then we can get maximum impact and spread the net as wide—’
Now it was Jude’s turn to struggle. ‘Stakeholders? What in God’s name are you talking about? I’m sorry – I know we have to work together on this. I know you’ll do your best. You know we’re desperate to get our girls back, but please talk to us normally. And start by using words everyone understands.’
From outside came the sound of cars pulling up and doors slamming. Inside, the phone was ringing. Abbott held out her hands. ‘That’s the sound of a story out of control. There’ll be trucks here soon – things will move fast. From now on we need to work together. Maybe we can use your Facebook account to help Chloe and Jack – but tell us first, OK?’ She tried another one of her forced smiles, and Itch grimaced.
Later that evening, heralded by a barrage of flashes from the photographers, Gabriel returned from Exeter in an ambulance. He embraced his mother and brother and then broke down. Itch was shocked to see tears running down his bruised face; he had never seen his brother traumatized like this.
The words tumbled out. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum! I don’t know what happened. We were all in a waiting room, waiting for Chloe’s appointment. I went to move the car, and . . . then I was coming round and a nurse was telling me that Chloe and Jack had been taken!’ He was holding Jude’s hands – something else Itch had never seen before.
In the harsh light of the kitchen, Jude inspected his injuries. Gabriel winced. ‘One sharp blow to the temple,’ he said. ‘That’s all it took. How embarrassing. Small cut, big bruise.’ He looked at Itch. ‘They said we were followed to the hospital. Sorry, buddy, but I missed that.’
