The Boy with Two Heads

  ‘What do we need?’

  ‘Something heavy. We need to close them down for ever, and we both know it. Rikki and Richard, Eric too. There’s no other way.’

  ‘You know what you’re . . . suggesting?’

  ‘What’s the alternative? Do you have one?’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Vulnerable children on the run,’ said Dr Summersby at last. ‘We’ll put out an appeal. We’ll have to be in the front line, though. Then we might just do it.’

  ‘Use trazodone. Mix it with the roxanol – codeine, if you want. Just make sure the roxanol’s concentrated. Three hypodermics, all right? Four – one as a backup. And absolutely no mercy. Massive doses.’

  ‘I’ll get my bag.’

  ‘We can win this. But we need to move fast.’

  PART FIVE

  SURVIVAL

  ‘Those on the run have just one duty, and that’s to themselves. Trust yourself, and trust your mates.’

  Chris ‘Nailhead’ McGinty – Alive and Uncaught – SAS Survival Handbook (Introduction)

  CHAPTER ONE

  They were ready for the drop at four-ten the next morning.

  They’d taken three of the best rucksacks, and crammed them with the most useful gear they could find. Eric, Rikki and Richard put on good, coarse trousers, snug-fitting boots and woolly hats. The rain was falling heavily. Mr Barlow had found boots and a coat, but beneath it he was still in a porter’s uniform. Dawn was breaking faintly as they inched down the back of the bus. Mercifully, the roads were quiet, and when the driver paused to turn through the village, they leaped to the ground and scuttled into the shelter of a nearby front garden. Behind the hedge, Eric had a map open immediately. It wasn’t long before they found their location.

  Mr Barlow did first recce, and was back in three minutes.

  ‘There’s a phone box,’ he said. ‘I suggest we call a minicab and ask it to drop us by the viaduct. We can walk into the hills from there.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Eric. ‘We’ve got to assume we’re being looked for. If the police have our descriptions, that driver’s going to be straight onto them.’

  ‘We’re hardly conspicuous,’ said Richard. ‘We just look like we’re off on a trek. I vote for the minicab.’

  ‘Richard,’ said Rikki, ‘how can you say we’re not conspicuous?’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘He’s got a point.’

  ‘We’ve got two heads,’ said Rikki. ‘We’ve got two heads sticking out of Jeff’s bright red waterproof jacket: isn’t that going to burn itself onto the retina?’

  Richard nodded. ‘I forget sometimes,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t notice either,’ said Eric. ‘You look normal to me.’

  ‘Turn round,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘There’s a Plan B sitting right behind us.’

  The boys turned and followed the line of their teacher’s gaze. Three bicycles stood against the porch of the house, and Mr Barlow was already crawling slowly towards them.

  ‘I’m not condoning theft,’ he whispered, as he lifted the first one upright. ‘I would never, under normal circumstances, be so . . . free with other people’s property. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Rikki. ‘But can you ride a bike?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Barlow.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Eric. He smiled a forlorn smile. ‘I can handle a truck, but I never learned to cycle.’

  Minutes later they were skimming through puddles towards open country. Eric sat on the handlebars in front of Mr Barlow, map-reading by torchlight. Rikki and Richard were behind, surprised at the speed their old teacher could sustain. The road curved and rose steeply – the hills were visible now, towering out of the chilly mist. Mr Barlow flicked down his gears and rose up in the saddle. Soon, they were climbing fast, light-headed with anticipation.

  At the Clifden Adventure Centre, however, there was only early-morning disappointment.

  The bus had pulled into a miserable-looking industrial estate, and when it stopped on the concrete forecourt beside three badly maintained storage huts, everyone assumed the driver was lost. There was a hand-painted sign, though: ‘Clifdon’. The ‘o’ had been re-shaped into an ‘e’. The whole place was in darkness – and the site looked derelict. The children and their teachers clambered down, stiff and weary, and hunted for a bell or knocker. They couldn’t find either, and the front door was heavily padlocked. Miss Maycock tried the number on the centre’s leaflet, but all she got was a recorded message: ‘Your call is important to us,’ said a slow voice. ‘Leave a message, if you please, and—’

  ‘This is intolerable,’ said the headmaster. ‘If this is Barlow’s organization, then we’re in for a difficult week.’ He looked at Miss Maycock and added, ‘We’re well rid of him, my dear. He’d lost the plot.’

  Miss Maycock smiled nervously. ‘He did his best, I thought. The children loved him.’

  ‘No loyalty,’ said the headmaster. ‘And a questionable sense of discipline.’

  ‘Shall we get the bags off the roof?’ said Miss Maycock. ‘It might keep us warm if we’re doing something.’

  ‘No,’ said the headmaster. The rain was getting heavier, and the class huddled under a plastic awning. ‘I think we’ll wait until the place is open. If there’s no one about we’ll have to drive straight home again.’

  Forty minutes later, a man in overalls arrived to open the property next door.

  ‘You kids waiting for Bob?’ he shouted.

  ‘We’re waiting for the camp leaders,’ said the headmaster. ‘They appear to have forgotten we were coming.’

  ‘Oh, that’s Bob for you. I’ve got his home number – I’ll give him a bell.’

  They waited another hour and a small, noisy car arrived. A fat man in a baseball cap wound the window down, and there was a half-hearted cheer from the damp children. ‘Mr Barlow?’ said the driver. ‘You all from Green Street?’

  The headmaster moved into the rain so as to communicate more easily. ‘Barlow’s indisposed,’ he said through the narrow gap in the window. ‘I’m Mr Prowse, headmaster of Green Cross. We’ve been waiting a very long time.’

  ‘I’m sure we said this evening,’ said the man. ‘Five o’clock, Monday afternoon—’

  ‘Monday morning,’ said the headmaster. ‘We’ve driven through the night, and we’re freezing.’

  ‘It’s not a problem – it’s all ready for you. It’s going to be a bit chilly, though – the central heating takes a while. What are you going to do for breakfast? Have you had it?’

  ‘Of course we haven’t,’ said the headmaster angrily. The rain was soaking through his jacket, and there were gusts of wind that rocked him back onto his heels. ‘Breakfast is supposed to be served about now – by you. We’ve got schedules printed.’ The children were huddled together, staring with anxious faces.

  ‘Not a problem,’ said the man. ‘Not a problem at all! There’s a café round the corner that does take-away, so what I’ll do is get you all inside and sorted, and we can send out for some bacon butties. Pig of a day, isn’t it?’ He clambered out of his car, opening a huge umbrella as he did so. ‘We were hoping you’d cancel – it’s set to get a lot worse than this.’ He searched the pockets of a tight-fitting tracksuit. ‘Listen up, kids!’ he cried. ‘I’m Captain Colin. Not my real name, but I don’t use that, for operational reasons. Now, where’s the little varmint?’

  He extracted a large bunch of keys and chose a small grey one – then he pushed through the pupils to the bar and padlock.

  ‘We put lasses on the left, lads on the right. Showers? Well, I’m afraid we’ve had problems . . . we had a block go down just last week, so you’ll have to organize some kind of . . . rota. This is a stiff little beggar . . .’ He fought with the lock, and at last it fell open. ‘Nobody’s been in for a month. You going to get unloaded? I would say wait till the rain eases off, but you’ve heard the forecast,
have you? I hate this country – it gets worse and worse. Come on in – welcome to Clifden!’

  The door was stuck, but he managed to force it open. He pressed various switches, but the lights remained obstinately unlit.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘We’ve got some kind of drain on the electrics, same every bloody time. I turn stuff off . . . hang on, I’ve got a couple a coins.’

  There was a slot meter just above his head, and he pushed some money into it. The children cheered weakly again as fluorescent tubes flickered down the damp corridor.

  Fifteen minutes later, they had the tarpaulin off the bus roof, and Miss Maycock was handing down the bags. A human chain ferried them inside to a small dormitory lined with bunk beds.

  ‘There’s a lot of . . . sweet wrappers up here, Headmaster,’ she shouted. It was hard to hear her for the rain on the roof. ‘Orange peel too!’

  The headmaster closed his eyes. ‘We’ll pass you up a bin-liner. This really isn’t the time to be worrying about litter!’

  Salome was halfway up the ladder, assisting. ‘Some of them have come open, sir. There’s stuff all over the place.’

  ‘Oh, this is intolerable. You were asked to seal your bags properly. This is what you get if you don’t obey basic instructions. I’m not arguing about it, Salome – get the bags inside, and we’ll see what’s missing. Quick as you can, please! Eleanor – lift it, don’t drag it!’

  The job was soon done, and the children stood around their bags, shivering. It seemed that almost every rucksack was unzipped, and a lot of equipment was now very wet. The room they were in seemed colder than the forecourt, and the carpet had a puddle in its centre. The ceiling sagged.

  ‘I must say you’ve come well-equipped,’ said the captain brightly.

  ‘We just followed the kit list,’ said Jeff.

  ‘Why the tents, though? We don’t have a garden.’

  ‘For the camping.’

  ‘Camping where? Where d’you want to camp?’

  Several children pulled out their copies of the leaflet. Carla read it to him: ‘Night hike followed by two days under canvas, in uncharted SAS training territory. Make sure you have the gear.’

  ‘Not in this weather, love,’ said the captain.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Mark. ‘What’s weather got to do with it?’

  ‘We do the camping in August, over in the back field. If it’s sunny, that is. We’re not insured any more. I think you’ve been looking at some of last season’s leaflets, haven’t you? We’ve had problems with the website – my brother-in-law got a bit carried away. Oh, and just a small thing . . . we don’t allow gas stoves. Fire officer banned them in his last report, and you can see his point – it’s all wood and paper, this place. You drop one of them, we’d go up like a Buddhist monk.’

  ‘So how do we cook?’ said a child. She had a portable stove in her hands.

  ‘You don’t,’ said the captain.

  ‘So how do we eat?’

  ‘The pizza place. Just by the bowling alley. We do have a microwave, but that’s been playing up in the damp – lad got a nasty shock last month, ended up in Casualty.’

  ‘Look,’ said the headmaster, ‘we’re here for an Outward Bound adventure. What activities have you organized? This is a . . . disaster.’

  ‘Activities? Loads!’ said the captain. He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not going to get bored at Clifden.’

  ‘Rock climbing?’ said a boy. He was holding a coiled rope.

  ‘Yes. There’s some boulders by the skateboard park.’

  ‘White-water rafting?’ said Carla, her nose in the leaflet. ‘Life jackets supplied.’

  ‘Leisure Centre, Thursday mornings – but you do pay a supplement for the jackets. You don’t need them, really. It’s very shallow.’

  ‘You mean a swimming pool?’ said Jeff. ‘Rafting, in a swimming pool?’

  ‘Wave machine,’ said the captain. ‘We had some old folks down here last year – they loved it. They didn’t stay here, though – they used the Holiday Inn.’

  ‘We’ve been ripped off,’ said Salome. ‘This is a total waste of money.’

  ‘Oh, hang on a minute, love,’ said the captain. ‘You’ve only just got here, let’s not get negative. We can do a camping simulation, if you like. Put the tents up inside, if you want to – get some string.’ A telephone was ringing. He moved across the room to answer it. ‘Captain Colin?’ He paused. ‘Oh.’

  There was a silence, as everyone listened to an urgent-sounding voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Twenty minutes ago,’ said the captain. ‘I’ve just let them in – they look like drowned rats. OK, no problem – I’ll hand you straight over.’ He put his hand over the receiver, and grinned at the headmaster. ‘Police,’ he said.

  ‘What about them?’ said the headmaster.

  ‘I thought they wanted me for a sec, but it’s you – they’ve been trying you all night. Your mobile’s switched off, and some kids have gone missing.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ten miles away, Mr Barlow and the boys had stopped for a rest.

  They were high in the hills now, and though the weather was foul, they were warm and happy. Perhaps it was their high spirits that led to a grave tactical error, for it was at this point that Rikki turned Dr Warren’s phone on.

  According to Nailhead McGinty: ‘The real enemy to survival is over-confidence. Never let your guard down . . .’

  The phone rang immediately. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Rikki,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Where are you?’

  Rikki thought fast. ‘We’re at the motorway service station. Where are you?’

  ‘We both know that’s not true. We’ve got to stop playing games.’

  Richard grinned and took the phone from Rikki.

  ‘You’re breaking up,’ he said. ‘Reception’s bad.’

  ‘Where are you?’ hissed Dr Warren. ‘We’ve been up all night! – everyone is looking for you! Your parents are . . . beside themselves, and the police—’

  ‘We’re in your lovely car, on the M1 northbound.’

  ‘That’s a lie, Rikki!’ He paused, and brought his voice under control. ‘My car’s been found, and it’s a write-off. So is my house.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘You cannot get away.’

  ‘We saw the lab, Doctor Warren. We’re going to put you in jail.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing illegal, but you boys . . . don’t you realize how dangerous this has become? Answer me this: are you still in London?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re going to be prosecuted for theft, vandalism, arson – attempted murder. As your doctor, I can protect you, but I need to see you and talk – one to one. Is Mr Barlow with you?’

  ‘No, sir. He went home.’

  ‘So he was the one driving. Rikki – listen. That is Rikki, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richard.

  ‘Let me speak to Richard, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . . I think he’s less prone to extreme behaviour. I need to talk sensibly, because there’s a very great deal at stake now and I want to help you.’

  ‘OK,’ said Richard. ‘I’ll hand you right over.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Rikki softly. ‘This is Richard. I’m so sorry about the house – that was Rikki. He’s a bad boy, Doctor Warren!’

  ‘Richard, I’m glad to hear your voice.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear yours.’

  ‘Rikki’s putting you in grave danger – I think you realize that. Have you got my portable hard drive? It was in the car—’

  ‘I’ve got it here. Rikki took it.’

  ‘Keep it safe, I beg you. Right now you have to free yourself from his influence and give yourself up.’

  ‘I know, Doctor Warren. He’s just . . . taken over completely – like you said.’ He slapped his knee, and Richard squealed in a theatrical way, stifling his laughter. ‘Ow! He just . . . hit me again. He’s desperate!’
r />   ‘Listen to me and stay calm,’ said Dr Warren earnestly. ‘You can dominate him, but you have to take control of the situation. Give me your location.’

  Rikki put his hand over his own mouth and made the sounds of strangulation. ‘Please help me!’ he cried.

  ‘Where are you, Richard?’

  ‘That was Rikki, trying to silence me . . .’ He faked breathing problems. ‘I don’t know how long I’ve got! We’re trying to restrain him, Doctor Warren!’

  ‘Where are you Richard?’

  ‘We got the tube! We’re at, er . . . King’s Cross Station.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘We’re hiding out, but . . . oh, Doctor Warren, you’re the best doctor in the world. I know you can help me.’

  ‘Give me your location!’

  ‘Will you be there for me?’ said Rikki.

  ‘I will always be there for you,’ said Dr Warren. ‘We’ve both learned a lot.’

  ‘I just need understanding—’

  ‘And a little help from my friends.’

  ‘I am your friend.’

  Richard choked back the laughter. ‘I want to come home, sir!’ he cried. ‘We’re by a kind of . . . brick wall, beside platforms nine and ten – we found a kind of gap—’

  ‘Is Eric with you?’

  ‘You’re breaking up, Doctor Warren! Help me – there’s a steam train coming in, and a kid with little round specs—’

  ‘Stay on the platform!’

  ‘It’s getting smoky!’

  ‘Don’t move from that platform.’

  ‘Hurry!’ wailed Rikki and Richard together.

  They switched the phone off, and collapsed back on the soaking grass, howling with laughter.