The Squad

by Tom Palmer

  ‘Oh, how frightening,’ Georgia said. ‘Did you bring anything back with you? Any souvenirs? Or did you leave with nothing?’

  ‘Souvenirs?’

  ‘Yes. Like things you found there. Things that remind you of your trip.’

  ‘No. I wish it. But no. Just Father and me. We leave our clothes and food. Only take away what we are wearing. But I do bring one thing. When the polar bear dies and the storm begins, I begin to think that we did the wrong thing, that we disrespected nature. That the storm was a warning to us. Since then I have carried this with me in my heart. I wanted the bear’s dying to mean something. That my life must be for saving the world, not destroying it.’

  Hatty looked at Lesh and frowned. Georgia had done well. She had tried to find out if Esenin had been involved with retrieving the warhead, but he’d not admitted to anything. And he’d seemed completely natural, as if he was innocent and not about to tip the world into a third world war.

  ‘Do you think she’ll stop now?’ Lesh asked. Hatty was about to reply, but then they heard Georgia’s voice again.

  ‘I read somewhere that there was an American warhead hidden or lost in Greenland. Did you see that?’

  Hatty gasped. So direct. Georgia was taking the biggest risk of all. Hatty had only told her about that as background, not as something to say.

  This was now officially a disaster.

  Debrief

  Hatty, Adnan and Lesh kept Georgia in the cafe of Polaria for an hour after Esenin had gone. They wanted to debrief her after her conversation with the Russian, discover all the other things she had found out. The non-verbal things.

  Had Esenin looked nervous about what he was telling her at any point?

  Did she think at any moment that the Russian was lying?

  As they spoke, Adnan struggled to hide his admiration for Georgia. ‘You were great,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Georgia said, tightening her hair into a ponytail.

  ‘No, really. You were cool and calm and you asked all the right questions. It was brilliant.’

  ‘Thanks, Adnan.’

  Hatty squirmed in her seat as she watched Adnan fawning over Georgia. But she kept quiet.

  ‘The best bit was when you asked him about his dad and the missing warhead,’ Adnan went on. ‘And he said his dad would have made him carry the bomb through an ice storm if he’d have known it was there.’

  ‘How did he seem when you asked him about the warhead?’ Lesh broke in, wanting to get back to the facts.

  ‘Surprised,’ Georgia replied.

  ‘Properly surprised?’

  ‘I’d say so, yes. I don’t think he was lying. He looked me in the eyes, then he seemed to laugh.’

  ‘How about when he was laughing about it. Did that seem genuine?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘You mustn’t mention this to anyone else,’ Hatty emphasized.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘But since I took a risk for you, will you take one for me and tell me who you’re working for? This isn’t what I expected detectives to be looking into.’

  ‘Georgia,’ Hatty interrupted. ‘You’ve done us a great favour. Really. Yes, we’re detectives, like you worked out. But we can’t tell you anything more.’

  Hatty kept her eyes on Georgia, a hard, unwavering gaze. It seemed to do the trick.

  ‘OK,’ Georgia replied, frowning. ‘I understand. But can I ask one more thing?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Hatty.

  ‘This isn’t all a game, is it? I mean, this is real. I can tell it’s real. It’s to do with the attack on the hotel yesterday, isn’t it? And why Lily and Kester have disappeared. They’re involved, right?’

  ‘That’s all we can say,’ Hatty replied firmly. Georgia nodded. The others could tell she understood.

  ‘I wish I could help,’ she said.

  ‘We need to go to training,’ Lesh said, glancing anxiously at his watch. ‘You can help us by making sure none of the other players ask too many questions.’

  Lies

  Hatty, Adnan, Lesh and Georgia rushed into the centre of Tromsø to find a single car at the city’s main taxi rank. It was a full-sized cab, meaning Lesh could ride in his wheelchair. Hatty and Adnan helped him aboard.

  The taxi driver was a tall man, his legs so long that his knees touched the steering wheel. The taxi had two car stickers on the front window. One a Norwegian national flag, the other a blue-and-yellow crest with LUFC written on it.

  ‘So,’ he said as he accelerated towards the bridge to take them over the fjord to Tromsdalen and training. ‘You’re English?’

  ‘We are,’ Lesh said.

  ‘I have been to England many times,’ the man told them. ‘I like England. I go to Leeds. I am a Leeds United fan. Lots of Norwegians follow the English football.’

  ‘So was my dad,’ Adnan said. ‘A Leeds fan.’

  ‘Good,’ the driver said. ‘And you are footballers too? Perhaps playing in the youth tournament?’

  ‘We are. We beat Canada and we’re playing USA in the final tomorrow.’

  Hatty was the only one who didn’t join in the conversation with the taxi driver. She was too anxious to talk. She knew that this training session would be hard. Not because of the physical exercise, but whether their excuses for being late, and why Lily and Kester were absent, would wash. But most of all she was worried about Georgia. Would she be able to cope with secrets?

  They had decided to use the excuse that they’d been stuck in the lift in the hotel: famous now since the Prime Minister had been trapped in it. And they’d agreed to say they didn’t know where the other two were. Why not? It would prove they didn’t always hang out together – that they were just random members of the team like everyone else.

  The taxi drew up right next to the pitch at the TUIL Arena, after bumping over some muddy tracks. Hatty, Adnan and Georgia ran on to the pitch. The rest of the England team were doing shuttle runs between cones. All except Rio, who was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at the four latecomers, high mountains and forests towering behind him.

  ‘You’re late!’ Rio shouted. ‘How do you expect us to train effectively when three of you can’t make it? You were meant to meet us outside the hotel. We waited for you for ten minutes before we started.’

  Rio looked at Georgia. ‘And what about you, Georgia? This lot have got form for being late. But you?’

  Georgia coughed. ‘It’s my fault they’re late,’ she explained.

  ‘Is it?’ Rio asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a silence. Hatty wondered what Georgia would say. How could their being trapped in a lift be her fault?

  ‘Why?’ Rio looked into the taxi to see if everyone was out of the car.

  ‘We …’ Hatty was about to speak.

  But Georgia interrupted. ‘I was in a shop in Tromsø and I accidentally took a scarf without paying for it and the shop people stopped me and they would have called the police, but then Hatty turned up and sorted it out for me. I mean, she even paid for it just to stop them taking it any further, because I didn’t have any money. She was really great. And the other two came down to help us. I’m really sorry, Rio.’

  Hatty watched Georgia deliver a completely different excuse from the one they’d agreed with a mixture of anger and awe. The lie was completely off-script and it sounded slightly crazy, but, because of that, it was all the more believable. Also Georgia had done it by making herself look like a silly little girl, the kind of silly little girl that everyone wants to forgive. And she’d taken all the blame and painted the rest of them, especially Hatty, as her saviours.

  Perfect.

  It worked a treat. Johnny – who’d come over to stand by Rio – put his hand on Georgia’s shoulder and smiled sympathetically.

  Then Rio spoke. ‘Well done, Hatty,’ he said, looking confused. Hatty shrugged. She was embarrassed more than anything.

  Then Johnny said, ‘Where’s Lily?’

  ‘And
Kester?’ Rio added, looking frustrated again.

  Hatty looked quickly at Georgia, to let her know that she was going to go with the excuse they’d decided on, but she paused for too long. Georgia was off. Again.

  ‘I saw them last night. They got on that big boat that goes up the coast.’

  ‘What?’ Rio sounded horrified.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be back for the match,’ Georgia said. ‘They probably think they can get away with missing training.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Rio.

  Georgia grinned at their captain and coach.

  ‘Well, they won’t. They’re dropped. They’re out of the game.’

  Captain’s Table

  Kester said thank you to the waiter who’d topped up his orange juice at the captain’s table. In front of him were two small slices of venison. They were red and a dribble of blood from the centre of one piece was pooling on his white plate.

  He was soon served with vegetables. Carrots, thin green beans and potatoes that soaked up the blood. Kester was no longer hungry: he felt sick.

  The circular table – covered in a pristine white cloth and gleaming silver cutlery – seated six people. Kester, then to his left, Frank Hawk, the ship’s captain, Lily, Hawk’s colleague and Marie-Ann, the woman who’d shown them round the ship, who had been invited by the captain. They sat at the centre of a wood-panelled room that seemed to belong to an older ship, not a modern liner like this.

  ‘Mmmmm-mmmm,’ Hawk sang. ‘Venison. I love game meat. Do you kids know why it’s called game?’

  Kester knew, but pretended he didn’t. He just glanced at the wood panelling of the captain’s dining room, at the lamps fixed to the wall and the chandelier glittering above them, pretending he’d not heard the question. This was a beautiful room. Nicer than any of the public ones.

  ‘Venison is called game because these animals can be hunted. And hunting is a bit like a game. Don’t you think so, Captain?’

  ‘Sometimes it can be,’ the captain said with a strong Norwegian accent. ‘For some people.’

  ‘Do you hunt, Captain?’ Hawk pressed.

  ‘No. It is possible to hunt in Norway. Moose and deer, for instance. But it is not for me.’

  ‘How about you children?’ Hawk asked. ‘You’re English. You must have hunted for fox? Or maybe been on a grouse shoot?’

  ‘Fox hunting’s banned,’ Lily said.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Hawk said. ‘I heard that. What an outrage. Hunting’s natural.’

  Kester wanted to say that there was nothing natural about a group of people on horseback pursuing a fox, then letting their dogs rip it to pieces, but he kept quiet. He didn’t need to give away his opinions on how much he hated hunting.

  ‘You are enjoying your food?’ Marie-Ann said to Lily.

  Lily smiled and nodded, cutting a piece of deer meat and putting it into her mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Very much.’

  Kester could see that Lily was not happy sitting at this table and not happy eating an undercooked, still-bleeding deer. He felt the same. It was at times like these that he most disliked being a spy. Having to tolerate the company of people he did not like, not being able to tell them what they thought and did was wrong. But they were here to monitor Hawk. To make him think they were just normal kids. To work out if he was involved in any possible attack on Tromsø. Any personal feelings had to stay concealed. They had to tolerate anything that came at them. So they smiled as they ate with their gleaming knives and forks clinking on their large white plates.

  ‘My favourite hunting is in Canada,’ Hawk chomped as he took another large swig from his glass of wine, then reached over to refill his glass. ‘Yes, there’s such great hunting to be had there.’

  The conversation went on. The children talked about their lives in England. Every word they said was a lie, just the cover stories they’d practised again and again. About Iris and Tom. The captain talked about the boat, Marie-Ann about people they’d put in the ship’s brig. But Frank Hawk kept butting in, going on about hunting and Canada again.

  ‘Have you been to Canada?’ Kester asked the captain.

  ‘No. Not to Canada.’

  Kester realized that the captain spoke only a little English, creating more openings for Hawk to talk. And he took them.

  ‘Yes. Anything Canadian and I’ll go after it,’ Hawk said. ‘Elk. Reindeer. Seal. If it’s from Canada, it’s game for me.’

  The American stopped talking and smiled first at Kester, then Lily. Then he studied his watch and smiled again.

  Kester looked across at Lily. Her face looked alarmed, like she’d just had a terrible thought. That was when Kester realized what it was.

  Anything Canadian and I’ll go after it. That’s what he’d said. And Kester knew what he meant. Katiyana, Kester thought. He’s saying that he’s going to kill Katiyana. Or he already has.

  And why had he looked at his watch and smiled? It meant whatever he was referring to was happening now. Right now. Maybe.

  One of them had to do something. Fast.

  Kester leaned back in his chair, bent forward suddenly, then vomited on to the table, across his plate and into his drink, the sharp smell of bile filling the room immediately. Being sick was a trick he’d taught himself. It never failed to send adults into a panic. A child being sick: they couldn’t help themselves. So much more convincing than saying you had a stomach ache.

  Every one of the adults at the table stood up in shock.

  ‘I’m sorry, Captain,’ Kester groaned. ‘I’m feeling really bad. I should go and lie down. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘No need to worry,’ the captain said, looking concerned. ‘Can I send a crew member with you? The ship’s doctor?’

  ‘I’ll go with him,’ Lily said. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s been lovely.’

  They were running even before they were out of the captain’s dining room.

  At first, they dashed on to the deck to the lifeboat. A cold blast of air hit them as they raced through the door. It was dark and cold. There was rain in the air. No one else was out on the deck: the weather had turned bad.

  ‘Do you think he’s killed her?’ Lily gasped.

  ‘Maybe. No. How can he have? Not here.’

  They reached the lifeboat. Kester threw back the tarpaulin on top of it. His heart was pounding so much that he thought he might really be sick.

  Nothing.

  No one.

  ‘We need to check the outside deck first,’ Kester shouted, his voice swallowed up by the wind. ‘You go that way. I’ll go this.’

  They both set off to check the deck that ran round the entire circumference of the boat, Lily on the left side of the boat, Kester on the right. Front to back. At top speed. Not feeling the cold wind coming off the sea. There was no time to lose.

  Less than thirty seconds later, they came together at the very back of the boat. Still nothing. But it was dark; the deck lights were not working this far back. So they looked harder. Maybe there was a reason the lights were out. And what they saw horrified them.

  Two men in evening wear. Posh suits. White shirts. Between them they were heaving something over the back of the ship. Something rolled up in a sheet or a blanket.

  Lily looked closer. She saw a leg and on the end of it a shoe. An unmistakable shoe. Katiyana’s shoe, the same one she’d held in her hands earlier. A fur-lined boot.

  As soon as the men had released their victim into the frozen, churning sea below, they turned, looking directly at Lily and Kester. Everyone seemed paralysed until they heard a distant splash, above the noise of the wind and the ship’s engines. And then the men were coming at Lily and Kester, who turned to run, a bullet whizzing over their heads. They had to get away from these killers. These men who had come from nowhere.

  Now.

  Dead End

  ‘The staff door!’ Kester shouted. ‘From yesterday.’

  He knew that if they could get down there – shutting the door behind them –
they might have a chance. He could remember lots of the passageways down below.

  They both heard another bullet ping off the railings as they ran for the door. Lily felt a rising panic. This was too much like that time in the desert. The last time she’d been under fire. When their old leader, Rob, had been killed. That just couldn’t happen again.

  They reached the door that Marie-Ann had taken them through on the tour of the ship. Kester punched in the four-digit code he’d memorized, then heaved the metal door open. Lily followed him, pushing it shut behind her.

  Now what?

  They were in the staff quarters, a rabbit warren of narrow corridors and steep metal stairways hidden from the passengers. That strange parallel universe onboard the ship. As they dithered, they heard a crash against the door Lily had just closed, then a series of loud cracks.

  ‘They’re shooting their way in. Trying to blow the lock,’ Kester said. ‘Come on!’

  Lily led the way, better at remembering places than Kester. She’d mapped the ship in her mind as they’d been shown round. They ran down a staircase, then along a narrow corridor. Lily had a simple plan. Run through the busiest area in the ship where there’d be lots of crew members. That would hold the gunmen up, maybe put them off the chase. But when they hit the bottom step and turned to head towards that area of the ship they realized that one of the men was closing in on them, just fifteen or twenty metres back.

  It wasn’t possible. ‘How?’ Lily gasped. But there was no time to work it out. They had to move.

  All Lily could hear was the bang-bang-bang of their feet as she and Kester ran down the white-painted corridor. Their assailants’ footsteps too.

  As they ran, the ship felt more and more like it was vibrating.

  ‘The engine room!’ Kester shouted, pointing at a doorway.

  Lily burst in through the engine-room door. The bank of computers that they’d seen on their first visit was whirring and flashing. A man, sitting at a desk and examining a screen, looked up in shock. One of the engineers.

  ‘Stop!’ he said. ‘Who are you?’