Split Second

  I looked through the window at Taylor again. He was still deep in conversation.

  I edged across the backseat toward Aaron. He drew away.

  “Aaron,” I whispered.

  “Get off me,” he said, his voice full of contempt.

  “Please.” I wriggled closer.

  He put out his hand to push me away, but I darted right next to him and leaned my head over so my mouth was hot on his ear. “Get ready to run when the door unlocks,” I whispered.

  Aaron hesitated. The driver turned his head, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere.

  “Fine, I’ll get off you,” I said, as if in response to Aaron. I slid across the backseat again and slipped off my shoes. These heels would be impossible to run in.

  The driver turned to face the front. For a second I considered trying to get past him to the lock control on the dashboard. No, there was no point. It was too far away for me to reach easily, I’d be at an awkward angle, and the driver was almost certainly armed. Even if he wasn’t, he would be quick—all EFA soldiers were fast.

  It was my own speed I was banking on, after all.

  I looked at Aaron. How quickly could he run? He met my eyes and gave me a swift nod. His hand rested on the car door handle next to him. Good. He was ready. And what had he told me that time I met him outside his school? Hadn’t he said he was his school’s four-hundred-yard champion?

  I had to hope that wasn’t just some idle boast designed to impress me. Not that Aaron was interested in me. For a moment my thoughts drifted to his kiss with Jas . . . then to mine with Nat . . . then to the report of that bomb in central London. . . . Was Nat okay? Had he been hurt? Worse?

  I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

  Aaron cleared his throat. I looked up. Taylor was heading back toward the car. I couldn’t read his expression. I glanced at Aaron. He nodded again. He was ready. I rested my fingers on the door handle. Waiting.

  Taylor reached the car. He tapped at the window.

  The driver leaned forward to the central lock control. I held my breath. The driver pressed the control. The doors clicked open.

  Now.

  I pressed down on the handle, opening the door beside me. Across the car, I could hear Aaron’s door opening too, but all my focus was on Taylor. He turned as I leaped out of the backseat. I made a fist. Threw my punch into his gut. All my body weight was behind the strike, just as Taylor himself had taught me.

  Caught by surprise, Taylor staggered back. I turned and ran. Around the car, Aaron was struggling with the driver, his arm twisted behind his back. He let out a roar of pain. The driver slapped his free hand over Aaron’s mouth. Summoning all my strength, I punched the man’s back, landing two blows, one after the other, directly on his kidneys. The driver yelled. Turned. Reached for me. I shoved my knee up, hard, between his legs.

  He doubled over with pain. I darted past him, grabbed Aaron by the wrist, and yanked him after me. A second later we were both running, hard and fast, up the road. The asphalt was rough and cold under my bare feet but I pushed myself on. It was only a few yards more back to the houses and the village and to help.

  “Aaagh!” Aaron cried out.

  I heard a thud behind me and turned. Taylor had tackled Aaron to the ground. I stopped running. Aaron’s face was pressed into the asphalt.

  Taylor looked up at me. “Enough, Charlie. Come here. Now.”

  I hesitated. The driver was still doubled over by the car. I could run. I could get away. Bring back help for Aaron.

  Then Taylor drew a gun out of his pocket. “This . . . ,” he said, looking me in the eye. “This one’s loaded.”

  My breath misted in front of my face.

  “Back to the car, Charlie.” Taylor dragged Aaron to his feet. He pressed the gun against his temple. “Or I shoot him.”

  A beat passed. Aaron’s eyes were wide with fear.

  “You wouldn’t,” I said.

  Taylor raised his eyebrows. “Want to take that chance?”

  I hesitated again. But there was no choice.

  Gritting my teeth, I walked slowly back to the car.

  NAT

  I stopped running as the Houses of Parliament came into view. The smoke had settled now, though the scene was even more chaotic than it had been a few minutes earlier. From where I was standing, I could see two ambulances over the heads of the crowd. A bright light was shining beyond them. Guessing that was the light from the TV news crew that had just been interviewing Roman Riley, I ran on. I pushed my way to the front of the growing crowd. Someone—the police, presumably—had put up a crime scene cordon while I had been gone. I pressed against the tape, searching the devastated area in front of me. Two people were still lying on the pavement. A third was being lifted into one of the two ambulances by paramedics. Police swarmed everywhere but I still couldn’t see Riley.

  I edged around the cordon. There. Riley was crouching down on the other side of the ambulance. He was bent over a young woman who lay on the ground, her foot twisted at a strange angle. Two paramedics were examining her ankle. Riley was holding the woman’s hand. She was crying and he was speaking softly, an expression of sympathy and concern on his face.

  I moved closer, hoping that Riley would look up and see me. But he was totally focused on the girl. I reached the bright light of the news team. The news reporter I had seen on TV just minutes before was pressed up against the cordon, though a couple of people were holding the rest of the crowd back as the cameraman focused on her face and the scene behind.

  “The scene here is one of shock and carnage,” the reporter said. “We have received no reports of casualties from inside the building but there are many injured people out here. The police have confirmed two fatalities, but there may be more. As a precaution, security officers have ordered the prime minister and the cabinet to be taken to a secure location. The nation is on red alert. Few politicians were in the building this evening. One exception is Future Party leader, Roman Riley, who was in a meeting on the other side of the House. You can see him behind me. . . .” The reporter turned to indicate Riley, now standing as the paramedics lifted the woman with the broken ankle onto a stretcher. “Riley has refused security commands to take shelter, instead choosing to offer comfort to the victims of . . .”

  As Riley, still holding the girl’s hand, walked beside her stretcher to the nearest ambulance, I edged past the news crew so I could keep him in my sights. The girl was loaded into the back of the ambulance and Riley turned away. People from the crowd called out, but Riley, grim-faced, was walking toward the point where the police cordon reached the Parliament building wall, his back to the crowds.

  This was my chance. Ducking under the cordon, I rushed toward Riley.

  “Hey!” I called.

  “Get back.” A policeman stepped in front of me.

  “I need to speak to Mr. Riley,” I said. “I’ve got information about the bomb.”

  The policeman stared at me. His eyes registered alarm—and something else. Man, he looked guilty. I suddenly remembered the endless warnings we’d been given about the police force being riddled with corrupt officers secretly working for the League of Iron. I’d always wondered if perhaps the EFA exaggerated the extent to which the police were dishonest, but maybe it was true. Maybe this policeman in front of me already knew about the bomb—and that the League was behind it.

  I darted around him. “Mr. Riley!” I cried. “Roman.”

  Ahead of me Roman Riley stopped. He spun around to face me and his look of surprise morphed into one of recognition.

  I ran up to him. “Mr. Riley.” I lowered my voice. “Commander Riley, please sir, I need to speak to you.”

  “Come here!” The policeman lumbered toward me.

  I dived sideways, away from the man’s outstretched hand. I ducked under the cordon and ran back, into the crowd. After a few seconds I risked a look over my shoulder. The policeman was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Riley. I backed away, out of the c
rowd. Where had he gone?

  “Nat?”

  I spun around. Riley was in front of me, a look of real concern on his face.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” He looked me up and down, taking in the dust on my pants and in my hair. “Were you caught up in this?”

  I moved closer. My throat was choked. “Commander Riley, it was me. I mean, it was . . . I don’t know . . . Taylor sent me with a package, but it turned out to be the bomb. I just managed to get away.”

  “What?” A look of consternation came over Riley’s face. “Taylor did this?”

  “I don’t know but he made me take the bomb and told me to go to the room where it went off.” It was a massive relief to talk, to tell Riley everything. Huge emotions bubbled up inside me as I described how I’d fled from the League of Iron along the tunnel network. “Do you think Taylor is working for the League?” I said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Unless someone switched the package. I’m really worried about what’s happened to George. And to Charlie. She was on an assignment for Taylor too, and my sister was there with her and—”

  “I hear you, Nat.” Riley put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done really well.” He lowered his voice. “We need to take all this to the police. But there are only one or two senior officers we can trust. We have to be careful who we talk to.”

  I nodded. “That policeman who tried to stop me talking to you,” I said. “He looked like he already knew all about the bomb.”

  “Highly likely,” Riley said. He looked around. “If the League of Iron is really behind this explosion, then your life is in danger. They will want you dead.”

  “They probably think I already am dead.” My voice shook as I spoke. It was hard to face the thought that Taylor, who I had trusted so completely, could have sacrificed me so easily.

  Riley took off his coat and put it around my shoulders. “Okay, this is what we will do,” he said firmly. “I’m going to take you to one of the few police officers I know we can rely on. You can talk freely with him. Does that sound okay?”

  I nodded. “What about George? And we should check on Parveen, too. And . . . and definitely Charlie.”

  “Of course. I’ll get my driver to go straight to the club Charlie is at, make sure she’s all right. When you speak to the police officer we’ll tell him about George, get him to put out a call. And for Parveen, too. Come on, you need to get warm before you go into shock.” He paused. “Unless you’re hurt? Do you need to see one of the paramedics?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Riley led me away from the crime scene area. His car was parked around the corner. The man leaning against the driver’s door stood to attention as Riley strode up. As he saluted I caught a glimpse of the open-hand tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He was obviously another EFA soldier.

  “Get in the warm, Nat,” Riley ordered.

  I slid gratefully into the passenger seat of the car. It was a sharp Mercedes and, any other time, I would have enjoyed taking a better look at the stylish body and sleek interior. Right now, though, I was too upset. All those people dead or injured. And what about Charlie and Jas—were they okay? And poor George?

  Outside the car Riley spoke to the soldier for a few seconds, then the soldier took off at a brisk jog. Riley pulled out his phone and made a call. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

  I should call Mum or Dad. They were likely to have seen news of the explosion on TV by now and though they thought Jas and I were at a party miles away from Parliament, after the Canal Street market explosion all terrorist attacks made them anxious.

  A minute passed. The soldier who had taken off at a jog was returning at a brisk walk, a polystyrene cup in his hands. As he walked up, Riley got off the phone and took the cup. He spoke to the soldier, clearly giving another order. The man ran off immediately.

  Riley came back to the car and got into the driver’s seat. He handed me the cup. “Drink this, it’s some sweet tea. I’m going to drive us to the police officer I told you about. He’s expecting us at his house in the next ten minutes.”

  “I’d like to call home,” I said.

  “Of course.” Riley started the car’s engine. “Drink the tea first. You don’t want your teeth chattering when you talk to your mum.” He glanced at me. “And we need to work out what you’re going to say. Telling your parents about the EFA will only put them at risk.”

  “Right,” I said, sitting back as Riley started the engine. I sipped slowly at the tea. It was hot and sweet and, though I didn’t usually like sugary drinks, I had to admit the effect was definitely soothing.

  We drove for about ten minutes. I didn’t know the streets we passed through, but the road signs indicated we were heading westward. Riley asked me questions about Taylor as we drove—and about the bomb. His voice was steady and calming. I answered as best I could, feeling my body release with each sip of tea.

  At last Riley turned onto a residential street. He pulled up outside a large, gated house. As the car stopped, the gates opened, and he drove on, into the driveway.

  The car was warm now and the tea had relaxed me so much that, when I opened the door, the cold air came as a shock. I reeled as I got out of the car, then staggered sideways. Riley caught my arm.

  “Steady,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.”

  I looked up at the house. It seemed vaguely familiar, but for some reason I was having difficulty focusing properly. Was that from shock? Surely I’d been here before? Riley led me carefully over to the front door. My legs were barely able to hold me up as we went inside. I blinked as the hall lights came on, but everything was blurry. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Black spots appeared at the edge of my vision. I looked around the hall, straining again to focus on what I was seeing.

  I had definitely been here before.

  My eyes lit on the hat stand next to the front door. I had seen that before too. Back then a scarf had dangled from the peg: a green scarf, with a tiny brown and black pattern.

  I turned to Riley. “No,” I said. “This is . . .” My voice slurred, my brain searching for the name. “The League . . . this house . . .”

  My legs gave way again and I slumped against Riley, who let me fall, down to the floor. I lay on the cold ground. Images of the scarf, the bomb it had been wrapped around, Charlie’s face flashed before my eyes. The darkness was crowding in.

  “League of Iron.” I forced the words out. “Someone . . . League . . . lives here.”

  “No, Nat.” Riley’s voice sounded as if it were coming from far away. But his next words sank deep into my brain as my eyes closed and I let the darkness take me.

  “I live here,” Riley said. “This is my house.”

  CHARLIE

  Another hour passed, mostly in silence. After our escape attempt, Taylor bound our wrists and ankles for the rest of the journey. I kept watch out of the window, but we were driving through small roads, where the signs for turnings were few and far between and mostly flashed past too quickly to read.

  At last the driver stopped beside a stretch of woodland. I stared out of the window. This was the same place that we’d come to for the induction weekend. My guts twisted. Did that mean the English Freedom Army was behind everything that had happened tonight? My head spun as Taylor undid our ankle bindings and ordered us out of the car. Over the past couple of months, I’d let go of my suspicions about the EFA. Now I almost groaned out loud. It looked like I’d been right about them all along.

  “Does the EFA know what you’re doing?” I demanded.

  Taylor didn’t answer. He made me put on a sweatshirt and some boots, then refastened my wrists and led me and Aaron through the trees toward the derelict farmhouse I’d stayed in all those months ago and which served as one of the EFA’s operations bases. I had no idea what time it was, but it must have been past midnight. I tried to focus on my surroundings, so that I could find my way back to the road if we managed to escape.

  It was a big “if
.”

  Aaron had asked several times what Taylor was planning to do with him. I kept quiet, knowing that once Taylor had refused to answer, there was no point pushing him. The EFA soldier on the door of the farmhouse saluted as Taylor passed him.

  Taylor locked both of us in the room with the diesel cans where I’d searched for Nat all those months ago. Our hands were still bound but Aaron and I could speak freely and, as soon as Taylor had gone, Aaron bombarded me with questions: Who was Taylor? Why had he been kidnapped? Why was I involved?

  I answered as honestly as I could, explaining that the EFA had presented itself as a nonviolent organization set up to combat terrorism.

  “I don’t know why Taylor took you,” I admitted. “But it looks like the EFA was behind it.”

  “I know why they took me,” Aaron said bitterly. “It’s obvious what they’re doing.”

  I stared at him. “What d’you mean?”

  “They’re going to try to get a ransom off my dad,” he said. “Probably as a way of funding themselves.”

  I fell silent. Was that true?

  Hours passed. I couldn’t see the time, but it must have been the middle of the night. Brian and Gail would be desperately worried about me. I wondered what on earth Jas had told them.

  Another hour or so passed. And then Taylor was back. “Come with me, Charlie,” he ordered.

  I shot a quick look at Aaron, then followed Taylor along the hall to the kitchen. He opened what I’d thought was a cupboard door to reveal a short flight of steps. Down these to the basement and some kind of operational center, empty of people but complete with filing cabinets, desks, and banks of computers. My attention was caught by the computer in the corner. The sound was off but the news screen quite clearly showed smoke rising from rubble at the edge of the Houses of Parliament. Was that the bomb we’d heard about on the radio news earlier?