by Terry Tyler
Xav says they might have left bugs, but he's got a detector, and as soon as they've gone we sweep the entire building and the log cabins. No item is left unturned; it takes two days, and we find two of them. One in the kitchen, one in the vehicle workshop.
Nick holds a meeting in the hall of the big house, and tells his people never to mention any of us by name, or anything about us, just in case a bug has been missed.
I realise today that I've been living in fear since Ned disappeared. It's always there. I ask Xav if anyone in his network can find out about Ned, Milo and Cosmo, but he says it's unlikely.
"Our tentacles don't reach into the government departments that make decisions on that shit."
I ask, "Do you think they're dead?"
I like how he doesn't say anything dumb like 'I'm sure they're okay'. He says, "Could be. Then again, they might have found another use for them. I'd say this: don't give up hope entirely, but work on the principle that they could very well be dead."
That's what I've been doing for the past year, I think.
Xav is arranging for us to get across to Europe, but it takes some organising, and finance. I don't know who his friends are—as per normal Link procedure, I don't need to know their names, so am not told them. Meanwhile, he's 'putting feelers out' to find Aileen's daughter. I just hope that, if they find her, nothing Aileen does will put us at risk. I can imagine her wanting to sneak back into MC12 to find a way to see her. I would if it was Ned.
If you're in hiding, there is no place better to be than Lake Lodge. Jaffa Taylor must have been a fairy godmother.
I say this to Nick, and he says, "Oh, she was. I'm not a believer in the supernatural, but I do believe that in this life there are people one might call 'angels'; truly good spirits. Jaffa was one, Xav is another. They don't all come with smiles and hugs."
Chapter 30
Leah
Friday, October 6th, 2062
8.30 a.m.
Talk about diving in at the deep end!
It's breakfast time and I'm just enjoying my bowl of Oatrition and blue smoothie when my com pings. It's a connect request from Quinn—immediate action!
Clark's got one, too—as have Joel, Ellen, Nadia and Lakisha, the other four who were accepted.
We all look at each other, dead nervous but excited, and I love that Clark puts his arm around me as soon as we leave the dining room. Shows how sensitive he is, that he doesn't do it in front of Skylar.
We head to the stairs that lead to Quinn's office—and up there, at the top, is Jerome Bettencourt. We all stop, stunned, because we weren't expecting to see him.
He laughs and says, "Don't look so terrified!" and then he beckons us up and says, "Are you ready to Rise?"
Oh!
In Quinn's office, he tells us that we're off to a special team-building and assessment weekend at Clinton's private country house.
"I'm going to be honest here, because we're all about transparency at Rise. We had a huge number of submissions for the October intake countrywide, and although you have, in theory, made the grade, we don't have places for you all right now." He laughs. "So this is your first Rise task—the chance for you to show us what you're made of. You'll be meeting up with twenty-four other candidates; out of thirty, just fifteen of you will be granted an immediate place at the Rise Academy. Those who don't make the grade will return home, and be invited to reapply. Are you up for the challenge?"
"Hell, yes!" says Clark, and all of us, including Jerome, laugh and do high fives.
I feel so pumped, I'm determined that Clark and I will make the fifteen!
Jerome claps his hands and tells us we have just one hour to get ready, pack up and say our goodbyes—because if we make the grade we won't be coming back, but will be taken straight to the Rise Academy.
Ellen says, "But I haven't even finished my breakfast, and I can't get all my stuff together and say goodbye to my friends in one hour!"
Jerome shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. "Oh Ellen, Ellen. You want to be an international go-getter, and you're whining because you haven't finished your Oaty Bites? In the sort of job Rise can lead to, you may be expected to be out the door and on the way to the airport in fifteen minutes, with no prior warning whatsoever!"
She goes bright red, and he addresses us all. "See this as your first lesson—always be ready to go, at a moment's notice!"
It's better this way. No long goodbyes, no dithering over what to take and what to leave.
Leaving Skylar behind is hard. Leaving this place, where I've done my growing up, is even harder. But I'm so excited!
Chapter 31
Radar
Friday, October 6th, 2062
2 p.m. ~ 9.30 p.m.
Radar prepares for the elite force's second assignment, and this time he's determined to take note of the direction in which they fly and exactly how long it takes, so he might get some idea where that house is.
Alas, the bastards have got the jump on him. Today they make the journey by road, their sight blacked out for the first ten minutes, after which they find themselves aboard a yacht in the Sydney to Auckland ocean race, iSync style.
Try as he might, he is completely disorientated.
Once again, he arrives at Clinton Bettencourt's country gaff without knowing if it's in Scotland, Cornwall, Wales or Norfolk, or anywhere else in British Isles. He doesn't like it. Makes him feel vulnerable. If something went wrong, if he had to fuck off out of there, he'd be lost.
He knows where that off-grid is, though. Twenty minutes’ drive, back down the road that leads to the entrance gate. No chance of visiting it; if this assignment is the same as the last one, he'll be on his way back to MC5 tomorrow morning as soon as he's eaten his full English—and he won't be allowed off-site before the 'fun' starts.
Same as before, they're ushered round to the west wing and have a few hours to enjoy their surroundings and appreciate the sort of lifestyle that can be theirs, Jerome says, if they perform as well as they did last time and continue to do so.
Radar notices that some of them talk less than before. Woodrow and Cahill are as mouthy as ever, but Matlock and Reardon in particular seem completely detached. Mental preparation, he thinks.
"I could get used to this!" Cahill flops onto a huge sofa, and reaches for his non-alcoholic beer. "Fucking money for old rope, innit? I tell you what, I am doing anything Bettencourt asks me to do. Fucking anything. We're a long way from Hope Village now!"
And a few of them raise their beer bottles, echoing him.
Radar thinks, ah well, this is what it is. He's going to do what Jerome is paying him to do, whatever he thinks about it, so he might as well enjoy himself beforehand. He grins at Cahill, gets a beer out of the fridge and says, "I'm going to order myself up a massage—anyone else want one?"
Having enjoyed the ministrations of a young Asian woman, and well fed on steak and salad, Radar sits on his bed. His mood is starting to dip again; he keeps thinking of that girl in the assessment centre. The one he allowed to walk into Hut K. This makes him think about Tara, for some reason. She'll be twenty-nine now. Might have a kid.
If she got knocked up young, she might even have one old enough to come here.
'Cept she wouldn't, 'cause she was a rich bitch now. If she got tubbed up, she’d have got rid of it in some posh clinic. Fuck it. The world's not a fair one. Radar’s got on by making the most of his talents. Repurposing his skills. Yeah.
It's nine twenty-five. He picks up the blue pill and is about to swallow it, when he reconsiders. Drugs should be for recreational purposes, not to blot shit out. He's supposed to be here because he can handle it, he shouldn't need to be off his box to do so.
He bites off about a third, and puts what's left under his pillow for the next day. 'Cause that's when he's going to need it. The day after.
Chapter 32
Jerome
Friday, October 6th, 2062
3.30 p.m.
He flew ahead whi
le the kids travelled by road, all of them meeting up at a restaurant on the outskirts of MC11 for lunch. Now he watches them arrive, perfect specimens all.
Clinton left him in no doubt about the criteria for selection. "I want beauty, class, intelligence, agility, manners, glowing health; I want the cream of Rise!"
And here they are. All thirty of them.
A few more Laser62 parties, and he and Clinton will be billionaires.
He takes one last look at himself in the mirror. Dark blue suit with tapered trousers, a white shirt, open at the neck, Italian leather shoes in shiny black, the toes a little more pointed than the classic styles favoured by men of Clinton's age. Blonde forelock just that little bit too long; he’s been told that the way it flops over his eyes is sexy. He smiles, and secures the single button of his jacket, patting his flat abs. Stylish, approachable and just a little bit racy. Perfect.
He jogs down the stairs and across the marble-tiled hallway, then out through the front doors to greet the thirty youngsters.
"Welcome," he says, arms outstretched, "to the most important weekend of your life!"
Chapter 33
Leah
Friday, October 6th, 2062
4 - 9.45 p.m.
This house is just amazing, like in a movie!
Our luggage was taken by these three guys who were so hot they didn't look real; I thought we'd be shown to our rooms, but this evening there's what Jerome calls a 'networking event', and he thought we'd have more fun preparing for it together. So we've got this fabulous dressing room on the second floor—it's massive, at the front of the house—with huge sofas, make-up areas with enormous mirrors, and two communal shower/wet rooms, one for the boys, one for the girls. There's a buffet set out for us—little snacks and soft drinks—and all the toiletries, hair products, make-up and perfume we could possibly need. Best of all, though, are the rails of clothes. Fabulous dresses, outfits for the guys, amazing shoes and even underwear! I've chosen a pale green silk dress covered in tiny gold sparkles—short, sleeveless and backless—and these gorgeous green shoes. I wonder if we get to keep them? Nadia says I look like a mermaid, with my long, blonde hair. She's wearing a classy, plain white one that looks amazing with her dark skin and crazy afro, and bright red snakeskin ankle boots.
We all want to look our absolute best because Clinton's friends and associates will be at the party; Jerome said they're some of the richest and most influential businessmen and women in the world, and any one of them might take a shine to us and offer us a position once we've been through the Rise Academy.
"While we want you to have fun tonight, do bear in mind that this event is one module of your assessment—so it's up to you to show yourselves at your very, very best. Talk to our guests, give them the opportunity to see who you are, and now I'll give you a sneaky heads-up; Clinton will be asking the guests for feedback. Later on tonight it's game time, when your ability to think on your feet will receive the ultimate test."
I'm determined to do well. I want a fantastic job in a huge building made of glass, somewhere like Dubai or Florida—I want to be rich and have a light, airy apartment, fabulous holidays and lots of amazing clothes.
I expected more guests and more of a party atmosphere, but it's just us thirty, Jerome, Clinton, and ten of his friends. I thought they'd look like celebrities—I imagined it like a Hollywood party on TV—but it's just eight men and two women, and they're mostly quite ordinary looking, though you can tell they're rich. There's a fat bloke from Texas who owns cattle ranches in Brazil; he keeps calling us 'Little Lady', and he patted Nadia on the bum which made her really angry, but she didn't dare complain because she wants to make the grade.
There are two Arab bankers, sharp-eyed and a bit scary, a French woman all in black, a handsome Aussie who laughs a lot, a man from Alaska who owns acres and acres of land where people go to kill animals for sport (bastards!), and a snooty blonde English woman in army combats and a black sleeveless polo; not exactly party gear. Two are Japanese financiers; one is nice and friendly and keeps smiling at us and bowing, which is very sweet. And last of all there's a loud, posh Englishman, who Jerome whispered to me is a lord.
I thought there would be dancing, but there's just quiet jazz music in the background. Adults’ parties are boring! Still, there are the other Rise candidates, fun girls and some quite hot guys, though none of them are as hot as Clark. A few of the girls have been flirting with him, but he isn't responding—phew! I think he really does like me. A couple of times he's put his arm around my waist and said, "Come on, let's work the room." So we go and chat up the guests, and ask them where they come from and what they do. I like the Alaskan man but I wouldn't want to work somewhere cold where people pay to kill animals.
It's actually a bit stressful because it's not really a party, it's a test. Some of the others don't seem to realise that; Ellen and Lakisha are larking about with two boys from MC13, and Joel is getting wound up because he fancies Lakisha.
We're not drinking alcohol, of course, but Jerome says we'll be allowed a glass of champagne for a toast later.
I've never had champagne before, but it was lovely! It's actually making me feel a bit woozy; I didn't think being drunk would be like this. Clark is okay because he only had a sip of his (he didn't like it), and he says I can't be drunk on only one glass, so it must just be the stress of the evening, with all that's at stake.
Oh, and here's Jerome, clapping for everyone to be quiet.
"Now for the high point of the evening—Rise candidates, you'll need a change of footwear."
Several of the staff come out holding boxes of trainers; we all glance at each other, bemused. Jerome laughs. "Remember what I said about thinking on your feet? Come on now, off with those high heels—believe me, you won't want to be running through the woods in four-inch stilettos!"
Running through the woods?
"You're going to play a game of Laser62—our own, deluxe version of laser tag."
The smiley Japanese guy gives me a thumbs up, so I give him one back, then Jerome produces what I recognise as a gun, from the time we went to a laser tag place a couple of years ago—it was super-scary but brilliant fun.
"I'm guessing most of you have played laser tag or paintball when you were at NPU—Laser62 is less messy than paintball!" He laughs, and so does the English lord, except he sounds more like a magpie cawing.
Clark whispers, "Awesome!" and squeezes me round the waist. I'm in heaven!
"Now," says Jerome, "you thirty Rise Guys are the targets, while our guests here tonight are the hunters. You'll have seen the woods at the end of the front garden; that's our Laser62 playground. Your aim, targets, is to get hit as few times as possible—don't worry, it doesn't hurt." He passes his gun to the snooty English woman. "Sylvia, shall we show them?"
He and Sylvia back right away from each other; she's aiming at him like something in the Wild West, while he fakes a scared look, lifting his hands as if to say 'don't shoot.' The Aussie guy starts singing some music like in a cowboy movie, and the Alaskan—Brendan—joins in, then there's a soft click, a green laser beam darts out, and Jerome staggers back, clutches his chest and falls, like he's been shot. He lies there just for a moment, dead still, then he bounces up, grins, and we all laugh and clap.
"There! It's very simple—every time you're 'shot', the laser gun takes a picture of you. Remember, run and hide; the game is all about quick thinking, strategy and sensing danger—vital skills in the business world. Okay, you've got a wide area of fairly dense forest out there, lit only by the night sky—no clouds tonight!—the laser headbands of the hunters, and lights on cameras set up in the trees. Any questions?"
A girl called Tabitha, who is so gorgeous, I was scared that Clark fancied her, puts her hand up.
"I know we've got our trainers, but won't we be cold out there, in just these clothes?"
Jerome nods. "At first, a bit. But you're not going to let a bit of cold bother you—you're Rise Guys! And I promise
you, the adrenaline will warm you up before you know it."
Clark puts his hand up. "How long does it go on for?"
"Roughly two hours. In a moment you'll all go to the entrance hall, where you'll wait for the hunting horn—then, off you go. You get a five-minute head start; when you hear the horn for the second time, the hunters are coming. Employ any means you like to avoid them—climb a tree, cover yourself with leaves, hell, bury yourself, if you want! The one thing you can't do is leave the woods. If you attempt to climb the fence around the perimeter, sensors alert my fine security squad, and you'll be disqualified—which means you go straight back to NPU." He rubs his hands together. "Now, the hunters will go change, and I will join my father in the viewing room. The front doors are open—all you Rise Guys have to do is listen for the horn!"
Chapter 34
Radar
Friday, October 6th, 2062
9.45 ~ 9.55 p.m.
He sees them streaming across the lawn in their party clothes, and rides off into the woods, where he watches them darting through the darkness, pairing off, looking for hiding places. Two of the couples start snogging up against trees; he hears them giggling, squealing, calling out, telling each other to shut up.
About twenty yards away, a light indicates a camera, pointing away from him. That's the nearest one. He sussed the blind spots out last time, for the simple reason that he doesn't like being watched. Yeah, he knows they can see what he sees through his iSync, if they choose to, but they can't see him.
He fucking hates the iSync. It's gotta go.
