by Paul Adam
‘Thanks,’ Max replied, trying to look and sound equally confident, though inside he was beginning to feel nervous. Now he was here on the spot, he was realizing just what a daunting task he’d taken on. It was a very long way down to the water, and then there were winds and a strong tide to contend with too. It all made Tower Bridge look like a stroll in the park. ‘What’s the weather forecast?’ he asked.
‘Reasonably good. Clear skies, not too much wind, no rain. But I should say that the conditions here are unpredictable, always liable to change.’
‘The crane will be where?’ Consuela asked.
‘About where we’re standing,’ Feinstein replied. ‘The local carpenters will build the wooden crate on the freeway. Then the crane will winch the crate up and lower it over the side, with you at the controls, of course.’
‘And the spectators?’
‘This middle section will be closed off with barriers, but the rest of the east side of the bridge will be open to spectators. There’ll be more over there on the shore of the bay, watching on a giant TV screen. There are going to be thousands of people here.’
Max and Consuela wandered off together, inspecting the area – the guard rail along the edge of the bridge, the drop to the water – and discussing in detail how they were going to do the stunt. Then they had a talk with Feinstein about tides and currents and wind speeds, making sure they were fully informed about the conditions in the area. The Golden Gate was a notoriously treacherous stretch of sea, a narrow opening through which huge volumes of water flowed. It was vital that they were properly prepared to deal with any problems that might arise.
Chris stayed in the background during this, not saying anything. This was Max and Consuela’s show, not his. It wasn’t his role to join in discussions about the technical aspects of the stunt. But he was alert and vigilant, watching every vehicle that went past on the freeway. He was all too aware of how exposed they were on the bridge, how vulnerable to attack. And when the others had finished talking, he asked Feinstein what measures had been taken to ensure Max’s safety, before and after the stunt.
‘Will there be police present?’
‘Lots,’ Feinstein replied. ‘Max will get a police escort to and from the bridge. There will be cops manning the barriers and controlling the crowds, a helicopter overhead and a police launch down on the water. Don’t worry, we’re taking good care of him.’
‘Thanks, I’m glad to hear it,’ Chris said.
Max took a last look around. This was certainly a magnificent spot from which to admire the city. He let his gaze rove across the shoreline, taking in the old brick fort underneath the southern end of the bridge, then the beach and fields and nature reserve that fringed the bay before the real built-up area began – the houses and apartment blocks, the piers and wharves along the waterfront, the skyscrapers climbing the slopes behind. From this distance, white and dazzling in the sunshine, San Francisco looked stunningly beautiful.
Out in the bay, the water was dotted with yachts and the foaming wakes of motorboats and, rising up in the middle, a couple of miles away, was a small, rocky island topped by a long white building and a lighthouse.
‘Is that Alcatraz?’ Max said. He’d read about the famous prison in a San Francisco guidebook, knew that it had been America’s most secure penitentiary before it was closed and turned into a tourist attraction.
‘That’s it,’ Feinstein confirmed. ‘Intimidating-looking place, isn’t it? Al Capone was a prisoner there, and Machine Gun Kelly.’
‘Is it true that no one ever escaped from it?’ Chris asked.
‘No,’ Feinstein replied. ‘A few guys did manage to get away. The most famous were three convicts who chipped through the back walls of their cells, left dummy heads in their beds and used home-made life-vests to get off the island. That’s the tricky bit – getting across the bay, with its dangerous currents and tides. The guys were never seen again. No one knows for sure whether they got away or were drowned.’ He grinned at Max. ‘I reckon even you would have had trouble escaping from Alcatraz.’
Feinstein took them for lunch at a restaurant in Chinatown, then the afternoon was taken up with a press conference and interviews with the major television networks to promote the following night’s stunt. By the end, Max was flagging and bored with having to smile and answer the same questions over and over again. His body clock had still not fully adjusted to the new time zone and he longed to go back to the hotel and sleep.
But when the promoter finally dropped them off at the Fairmont, there was a message waiting for Max at the reception desk that put all thoughts of resting out of his mind.
It was a single sheet of paper in a sealed envelope. The message on it read: Call me on this number. Don’t use your room phone, or a cellphone, use the payphone in the hotel lobby. It was signed Tony Halstead.
Max gazed at the words, feeling his pulse increase. At last, he was in contact with Dr Halstead, the man who had helped his father fake his own death in Borneo and then – Max was sure – had helped him go into hiding again.
He showed the note to Consuela and Chris and they went across to the payphone together where Max dialled the number. It was answered on only the second ring.
‘Max?’ a man’s voice said urgently.
‘Yes, is that Dr Halstead?’
‘We can’t talk now. Be outside the hotel at ten o’clock tonight. Alone.’
‘I have friends with me.’
‘Leave them behind.’
‘But they’re here to protect me.’
‘You won’t need protection.’
‘Where’s my dad? Is he with you?’
‘Not on the phone. I’ll tell you tonight.’
‘You know where he is?’
‘Yes, I know where he is. Ten o’clock, OK? Just you, Max, you got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll pick you up.’
The line went dead. Max hung up and checked his watch. It was twenty to six.
‘What did he say?’ Consuela asked.
‘Not here,’ Max replied, glancing warily around the lobby. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
They took the lift up to their room. Max slumped down into an armchair.
‘Well?’ Consuela said.
‘He’s picking me up at ten tonight. Just me.’
‘Now hang on a minute—’ Chris began.
‘Alone, he said,’ Max broke in quickly.
‘I don’t like that. We don’t know who this guy is, whether he can be trusted.’
‘He’s on our side,’ Max said firmly. ‘He helped my dad. I know we can trust him.’
‘I still think we should come with you,’ Consuela said.
Max shook his head. ‘I’ve got to follow his instructions. He’s being cautious – he sounded on edge. If he sees you two with me, he might drive straight past.’
‘But we’re all in this together,’ Consuela protested. ‘We’re looking after you.’
‘I told him that, but it didn’t make any difference. I’ll be OK. Halstead is important. I’ve spent weeks trying to track him down. Now I’ve found him, I don’t want to blow it.’
Consuela and Chris exchanged concerned looks.
‘Max, people are trying to kill you,’ Consuela said anxiously. ‘You’re in a strange city. You’re going to be getting in a car with a man you’ve never met before. That doesn’t sound very sensible.’
‘I don’t care what it sounds like,’ Max said defiantly. ‘He said he knows where Dad is. I have to go with him. And no one’s going to stop me.’
He got up and went into his bedroom, putting an end to the discussion. But Consuela wasn’t prepared to let the matter drop. She followed him into the room and sat down on the end of his bed.
‘Listen, Max,’ she said gently. ‘No one wants to stop you finding your dad. I want it as much as you do. But you have to be careful.’
‘I am being careful.’
‘Are you? Are you sure?’
‘
Yes,’ he insisted. ‘I can look after myself, you know.’
‘But you don’t have to. Chris and I are here to protect you. You know that.’
Max softened his tone. Consuela was like a stand-in mother to him; he didn’t want to upset her. ‘Yes, I know. And I appreciate it. But Halstead was quite clear. He said I had to be alone. I know what I’m doing, Consuela. Stop worrying about me.’
She gazed at him for a long moment. Then she sighed and shook her head. ‘It doesn’t look as though I have a choice, does it? But you take care, Max. Don’t do anything reckless. Make sure you have your mobile with you, and phone us if you get into trouble. You promise?’
Max nodded. ‘OK, I promise.’
ELEVEN
THERE WERE TWO men inside the dark green Ford saloon that pulled into the forecourt outside the Fairmont. The one in the front passenger seat had his window rolled down. He looked up at Max standing on the steps by the hotel entrance and held out his hand.
‘Max? I’m Tony Halstead. Good to meet you. Get in.’
Max hesitated for a fraction of a second. He didn’t know what Halstead looked like, but the voice was the one he’d heard on the phone.
‘Get in,’ Halstead repeated impatiently. He was glancing nervously around the street, turning his head from side to side. The driver kept the car engine running, his foot revving the throttle. Max pulled open the rear door and slid in. The car started moving immediately, while he was still fumbling for his seat belt.
They took the first left, the car accelerating rapidly. Max saw Huntington Park and Grace Cathedral flash past, then they turned right, then left, then right again in quick succession, going round the same block a couple of times to shake off tails, before turning into a broader road. Max saw a sign on a lamppost – Van Ness Avenue.
They drove downhill for several blocks, then turned right and began to climb a hill. The houses at the side of the road started to give way to shops and restaurants that looked familiar to Max. He realized he’d been there that morning with Herb Feinstein.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘Haight-Ashbury,’ Halstead replied.
The Ford turned right into a side street and down a narrow lane into a cramped little yard behind the shops. Max got out and followed Halstead and his companion back round onto the main road. They went up a flight of stairs in between a bookshop and a vegetarian café. Halstead unlocked a door and led them into an office above the café. He went to the window and pulled a blind down, before clicking on a lamp on the desk.
Max got a proper look at him for the first time. He wasn’t particularly tall – maybe only five eight or nine – but his build was solid and muscular, a broad chest and shoulders and thick biceps beneath his checked shirt. His face was tanned and he had a close-trimmed black beard and moustache. He looked like a hiker or a mountaineer, someone who spent his spare time outdoors.
‘Sit down,’ Halstead said. ‘You want something to drink?’
Max shook his head, pulling out a chair by the desk. It was obviously the office of some kind of environmental organization, maybe a wilderness protection group if the posters on the wall were any indication. They were a mixture of photographs of beautiful pristine mountain lakes and forests and ugly open-cast mines and stripped hillsides where trees had been felled – a sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ of what man was doing to the world.
‘This is Jimmy,’ Halstead said, nodding at his companion.
‘Hi,’ Jimmy said.
He was a small, skinny man in his mid-twenties, everything about him a marked contrast to Halstead. His chest was hollow, his arms like twigs and his clean-shaven face had a pale, pasty complexion, as if he spent too much time indoors.
‘Hi,’ Max replied. He looked at the doctor, who had sat down in the chair behind the desk. ‘I’ve been trying to find you for weeks.’
Halstead raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Yeah? I didn’t know. Not until the hospital passed on your message yesterday. How did you trace me?’
‘I was in Borneo, at the hospital in Pangkalan Bun just after you left. They said you’d gone to a new job in San Francisco.’
Halstead was staring at him in astonishment now. ‘You were in Pangkalan Bun?’
‘Looking for my dad. I went to his grave. I dug it up and found the empty coffin. Where is he? Is he here in San Francisco?’
‘Yes, he’s here,’ Halstead replied.
Max’s heart gave a jolt. He stared at the doctor. He couldn’t believe he’d heard him correctly. His dad was in the city. The excitement pulsed through him like a drug.
‘Where? In this building? I have to see him. Where is he?’ The words tumbled out in an almost incoherent flood. ‘How is he? Please, let me see him, now.’
Halstead held up his hand in a calming gesture. ‘You will see him, Max. But I need to talk to you about him first.’
‘Talk to me about what?’
The doctor studied him for a moment. His eyes were gentle and compassionate. ‘I have to tell you that your dad isn’t the person he used to be. How much do you know about what’s happened to him over the last couple of years?’
‘I know he was kidnapped by Julius Clark and held prisoner on Shadow Island, off Santo Domingo,’ Max said. ‘I know he was given a brainwashing drug called Episuderon and then somehow managed to escape from the island. After that, it’s all a blank until I picked up his trail again in Borneo.’
Halstead pursed his lips, letting out a soft whistle.
‘Wow, you have been busy, haven’t you? I’m afraid your dad hasn’t been well, physically or mentally. After he escaped from Shadow Island, he had a complete breakdown – caused by the Episuderon. He lost his memory, didn’t know who he was. He was given help by a local man, a political activist named Luis Lopez-Vega, who took your dad to his sister, Maria, in a remote village in the north of Santo Domingo.’
‘Lopez-Vega? I met him,’ Max said quickly. ‘He came to London to tell me Dad was still alive. Then he was murdered.’
Halstead nodded. ‘A very sad event. Shortly after Lopez-Vega met your father, he was arrested on a trumped-up drugs charge and imprisoned for two years. When he was released, he went to see his sister. She had been hiding your dad, nursing him back to health all that time. By then, he had gotten much better. His memory had returned. He asked Lopez-Vega to go to London and find you.’
Suddenly things started to slip into place for Max. Those gaps in his knowledge were no longer so big.
‘Dad left me a letter in northern Santo Domingo, hidden under some rocks on the coast. That must have been near the village where he was in hiding. He said he hadn’t been well.’
‘He still hasn’t fully recovered. He’s better than he was, but he’s physically weak and he has momentary lapses of memory. His condition isn’t helped by his reluctance to rest. He’s overdoing it, determined to defeat Julius Clark.’
‘Why hasn’t he come home?’ Max asked in bewilderment. ‘Why hasn’t he got my mum out of prison? She’s been locked up for two years now and is really suffering.’
‘I know this is hard for you, Max,’ Halstead said sympathetically. ‘But your father daren’t come out of hiding or he’ll be killed. Your mother would be in danger too. She’s safer remaining in prison for the time being.’
‘And how long is that going to be?’
‘Not long, we hope. What do you know about Julius Clark?’
Max shrugged. ‘I know he’s a billionaire tycoon who makes money out of oil and minerals. I know he’s kidnapping his opponents – environmentalists, scientists, lawyers, journalists, anyone who is a threat to his business interests – and brainwashing them, then releasing them so they can secretly work for him. Fifth columnists, he calls them – his supporters in the enemy camp.’
‘You’ve met him?’
‘He tried to kill me in Borneo. And on Shadow Island.’
Halstead’s jaw dropped. He gaped at Max in surprise. ‘Kill you?’
‘I’m
a threat to him. I know too much about him, about what he’s doing. And I’m going to find out more and see him put behind bars.’
The doctor looked worried. ‘Max, you’re only young. Your father wouldn’t want you to take risks, to put your life in danger.’
‘It’s too late now,’ Max replied. ‘Where is my dad? What’s he doing here in San Francisco?’
Halstead glanced at Jimmy, who was sitting to one side of the desk, sipping Coke from a can he’d got from a refrigerator in the corner of the office. ‘Julius Clark isn’t the only one with fifth columnists,’ the doctor said. ‘Jimmy Abbott here is ours – our mole inside Rescomin headquarters. Jimmy is an environmentalist, but he’s managed to get himself a job working for Clark, in the Rescomin accounts department.’
Jimmy nodded. He was leaning forward in his chair, the can of Coke cupped in his hands. He was fidgeting nervously, his head moving from side to side, his sneakers tapping softly on the floor. Max noticed that he had a slight twitch in his left eye.
‘I’m doing what I can,’ Jimmy said. ‘You know, for the Cedar Alliance.’
‘You know about the Alliance?’ Halstead asked Max.
‘Yes, I know it’s a secret organization that’s trying to stop the Earth being destroyed by greedy businessmen like Clark. I know my dad is one of its leaders.’
‘Jimmy is looking for evidence we can use against Clark,’ Halstead said. ‘We know he’s been bribing politicians in developing countries, and here in the United States. We know he’s broken laws, committed crimes. We just have to prove it.’
‘Prove it how?’ Max asked.
‘By finding documentary evidence, following the paper trail, uncovering records of illegal payments to people, bank transfers, memos to Clark’s employees in the countries where he does business.’
‘I’m getting close,’ Jimmy said. ‘But I have to be careful, not draw attention to myself.’ He took a long swig of Coke and stared down at the floor. His toes were still jiggling up and down, his left eye twitching occasionally. Max thought he looked under stress; the pressure of working undercover was obviously affecting his health.
