The Rescue Page 8

  ‘Right,’ I said, my head spinning with all this new information.

  ‘I remember what you did earlier,’ he said. ‘That’s quite some mind-reading trick you’ve got going on. Does that have something to do with why you’re running down this road like the furies are after you?’

  ‘Sort of.’ I glanced up and down the road again. The old lady had reached the end of the street and was turning the corner towards the Madelina. San Juan was not a huge town – Fernandez could be just a matter of minutes away. I looked back at Andrew Stanley. If everything he said was true, and it was surely too detailed to be made up, he was British, he was a professional and he was travelling by helicopter. He would almost certainly have a mobile phone on him. I had to ask for it. I didn’t need to explain why I wanted it.

  ‘May I borrow your phone?’ I said.

  Stanley raised his eyebrows. ‘Sure, kiddo.’ He fished a BlackBerry out of his pocket and peered at the screen. ‘Damn it, there’s no signal here. D’you want to come back to my hotel? I’m sure they’ll have phones in the lobby you can use.’

  I hesitated. Years of Mum warning me and my sisters not to follow strange men into cars and buildings were echoing in my ears. On the other hand, Stanley didn’t seem like any kind of pervert. And I really, really needed to get away from the Escondite building before Fernandez appeared. Even Mum might appreciate the need to take a risk right now.

  He held up his hands. ‘Look, I’m just trying to help,’ he said. ‘There’s obviously something very wrong here. I understand that you’re being cautious, but I’d really suggest that you come with me. I mean, you don’t look like you should be out here on your own. Where are your parents? Have you got separated from them or something? Are they back at the bar?’

  ‘No.’ My guts twisted with anxiety. What had Geri said back in our training sessions? When you’re lying, keep as close to the truth as possible. I decided to give Stanley my ‘Ed Jones’ cover story.

  ‘I . . . we were sent to a camp – a brat camp sort of place – about two hours’ drive from here,’ I explained.

  ‘We?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘There’s four of us,’ I explained. ‘Friends who all arrived at the same time from England. But the camp isn’t what it seems. The man who runs it is using it as a cover to smuggle kids in trouble with the law – like, really in trouble, not just annoying their parents – to a place called Escondite.’ I pointed up the road. ‘It’s along there. Fernandez, who runs the camp, he’s in league with the man who runs the Madelina where we were earlier. They’re keeping the kids locked up, then they move them on somewhere else.’ I thought of Luz, her huge, pleading eyes. ‘I don’t know where they go, but I’m sure it’s bad, and now my friend Dylan’s been taken there and I have to phone this woman I know back home who’ll be able to help . . .’

  ‘Jesus Christ, kiddo.’ Stanley whistled, drawing me into the shadow of the alleyway. ‘Never mind people back home. It sounds like we should call the local police.’

  ‘There’s no point.’ As I spoke I could feel the tears bubbling up inside my throat. ‘Fernandez and Jorge are working with the police. I think the police get some kind of kickback whenever they deliver a bunch of kids.’

  I gazed up and down the road again. A couple appeared at the top of the street and started walking towards us.

  Stanley hestitated. ‘You really are in trouble,’ he said. ‘And so are those kids.’

  ‘I know.’ My voice cracked as I spoke. ‘How far away is your hotel?’

  ‘Couple of minutes’ walk.’ Stanley stood back, ‘By the way, how come you haven’t once looked me in the eyes while you’ve been speaking?’

  I flushed. I wasn’t used to people drawing attention to my dislike of making eye contact. Especially not complete strangers. I’d never had to explain it before, not that I could give Stanley the real reason, of course.

  ‘Just makes me feel uncomfortable,’ I stammered. ‘I promise I’m not lying about any of what I’ve told you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Stanley’s tone was suddenly brisk. ‘So let’s go and phone your mystery Saviour Lady back in England. See what she suggests we do.’

  We walked swiftly down to the crossroads, turned left, then took a right almost immediately. A minute later Stanley stopped outside a stone house hung with a blue name plate: Hotel San Juan.

  The reception area was very Spanish – all wooden furniture and ornate lanterns. A row of dolls in Flamenco dresses stood along the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Stanley spoke in rapid Spanish to the short, balding man behind the desk. His voice rose as he talked . . . he was clearly getting angry about something. The man behind the desk held up his hands as if to suggest the situation was not his fault.

  ‘No, senor. Por la manana,’ he said.

  Stanley turned to me, exasperation in his eyes. ‘Not only do I have no signal on my mobile, but the concierge here says some idiot drove a truck into the power lines just outside San Juan. All the phones are out till the morning – bloody useless country.’

  Damn. How was I going to get help now? The boy I’d spoken to said the kids were being moved on first thing in the morning. I could feel tears pricking behind my eyes again. I shook myself. I had to be strong. The others were depending on me.

  ‘Okay then.’ I gritted my teeth. ‘I have to go . . . walk to the next town . . . get to a phone that works . . .’

  Stanley stared at me. ‘No way, kiddo. The next town is miles away and the roads are unlit. You can stay here . . . make your call in the morning.’

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t just do nothing. If I wait till morning all the kids at the Escondite – including Dylan – could be gone!’

  There was a silence. Stanley narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, as if considering something. ‘Well,’ he said slowly. ‘Maybe there is something we can do.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ I asked, glancing over at the concierge.

  He was looking curiously at us. Stanley clocked him and led me across the room, to a stiff brocade sofa.

  ‘I’m thinking we should go into this Escondite place ourselves and make them release your friend, Dylan,’ he said quietly.

  I frowned. ‘How will we do that?’

  ‘Give me a moment to think it through.’ Stanley paced across the room.

  I sat down on the brocade sofa, wondering what argument could possibly work against Jorge and the Escondite guards.

  After a couple of minutes, Stanley straightened his jacket and sat down beside me.

  ‘Okay,’ he said in a businesslike tone, ‘let’s work out what we’re up against. How many guards d’you reckon there are at the Escondite?’

  ‘At least three.’ I frowned, trying to remember how many voices I’d heard through the door at the top of the stairs. ‘Maybe more – and they don’t look like people you can reason with.’

  ‘Okay.’ Stanley nodded. ‘Then maybe rather than talking to them, we should try sneaking past, like you did before, and force open the door where these kids are being held. What was the lock like?’

  ‘Big,’ I said. ‘And the door was massive, too. Made of oak, I think.’

  ‘You noticed what it was made of?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, my dad’s a builder,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, so forcing the door isn’t going to work – not without better tools.’ Stanley paused. ‘So it’s back to plan A – we go in there and we ask them to release Dylan.’

  I stared at him. ‘What if they say “no” – or turn on us?’ I said. ‘Which I’m fairly certain they will.’

  ‘Then we’ll need backup.’ Stanley grinned. ‘And luckily I have something we can use.’ He leaped to his feet. ‘Come on, the stuff we need is in my room. I’ll show you.’

  What ‘stuff’? I opened my mouth to ask, but Stanley was already storming up the stairs to the first floor of the hotel. I followed, feeling uneasy.

  Stanley’s room was two doors along. He unlocked the door.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said.r />
  Oh, God. It was surely wrong for me to go into a strange man’s hotel room. And yet, what choice did I have?

  The room was neat and clean. A double bed dominated the space, covered with a crisp white sheet. An old wooden dresser stood in the corner. A door on the other side of the room led into a tiled bathroom. The window, opposite the bed, looked over the street we’d just walked up. Stanley crossed the room to where a row of small suitcases lay under the window. He pulled one out and flipped the lid open, revealing a row of plastic instruments. Some were short and and thin, others fatter and longer – like curved, plastic truncheons.

  ‘What are they?’ I said.

  ‘Electronic Control Devices.’ Stanley lifted one of the larger instruments out of the case to show me. He pressed the trigger below the curve and electric sparks shot out of the end, together with a ratchety noise.

  I jumped. ‘You mean stun guns?’ My mouth fell open. ‘How come you’re carrying a bunch of those in your luggage?’

  ‘They’re just part of the company’s new range, The Lockdown 2000,’ Stanley said, matter-of-factly. ‘This is a demonstration pack I’m taking round the various offices to show while I visit.’ He grinned at me. ‘It’s what we do . . . my company . . . E.S.S. Electrical Security Solutions. We provide the whole package – alarms, hidden cameras, weaponry. Here, try one.’ He chucked me one of the smaller Lockdown models.

  I pressed the trigger. Sparks flew out of the end. The Lockdown juddered in my hand. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Er . . . how come you’re prepared to help me like this?’

  Stanley shrugged. ‘I don’t know, it just feels like the right thing to do.’ He paused, turning away from me, towards the window. ‘My wife and I can’t have children. She – Sandra – she has this attitude that whenever we come across kids who need our help we should try and help them. It’s just a way of giving something back, when we can’t be parents ourselves.’

  I nodded. Sandra was my stepmum’s name. It seemed like a good omen.

  Stanley carefully shut the Lockdown suitcase, then turned to me, his expression very serious.

  ‘Remember, these are proper weapons. We only use them if we have to. Okay?’

  I nodded, my head spinning. ‘What . . . er, how do we use them – if we have to?’

  ‘It’s simple. You just have to get right next to the person you want to disable, then press your Lockdown against his torso. The back or chest is ideal, but anywhere will do. Avoid the face though – we want to knock them out for a few minutes, not cause lasting damage.’ He shot me a grim smile. ‘I might trade in electronic guns but I’m no vigilante.’

  I stared at him, completely lost for words.

  ‘You okay with this, kiddo?’ Stanley said.

  I nodded, not sure I could speak. I pressed the Lockdown again. I had to admit, it made me feel powerful.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ I said.

  ‘What do you think we should do?’

  ‘Er . . .’ I thought for a second. ‘Get inside the Escondite. Knock out the guards if they won’t listen to reason. Find their keys. Lock them in a room, then release everyone from the cellar.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Stanley nodded. ‘What about that mind-reading trick of yours? It’s pretty impressive – you could perform at the Palladium.’ He laughed. ‘Can you see any way of making use of that?’

  ‘Not really.’ I considered it for a moment. ‘We already know where we’re going.’

  ‘You can’t somehow work out what they’re doing right now? Tap into their thoughts at a distance?’

  ‘No,’ I said, thinking about my recent failed attempt at connecting with Mum and Dad via remote telepathy.

  ‘Okay.’ Stanley shoved his Lockdown inside his jacket pocket. ‘Then let’s go.’

  10: Finding Dylan

  Someone, I reckoned, was bound to have boarded up the window Dylan had smashed earlier. According to Stanley, it didn’t matter.

  ‘If we ring on the doorbell, chances are just one person will come,’ he said as we walked up the road, our Lockdowns in our pockets. ‘The guards will be easier to deal with one by one – both the talking and, if it comes to it, the fighting.’

  I glanced sideways at him. His nose was slightly pointed at the end, I noticed, and his forehead permanently creased with a vertical line. His thin, angular face had the look of a fox about it, or maybe a wolf. But there was no fear in his eyes.

  In fact, considering what we about to do, he seemed amazingly calm.

  ‘How do you know about . . . er, the fighting side of things?’ I asked.

  ‘Five years in the army,’ Stanley said, matter-of-factly. ‘I only went into sales and marketing because my wife said if I didn’t leave the forces, she’d leave me.’

  ‘D’you miss it?’ I asked.

  ‘All the time.’ Stanley sighed. ‘I still get to travel and I spend time in the T.A. as well – that’s a volunteer army organisation.’ Stanley shot me a look. ‘You should try it. That is, you should sign up for the Combined Cadet Force. All boys should.’

  I looked down the road. It was past 2 a.m. and very dark. The stars were out overhead, but the moon was a thin crescent and the street lights spread far apart down the street.

  ‘I don’t think the army’s really my thing,’ I said. ‘Not that I know what “my thing” is.’

  Stanley nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out – all in good time. Like I said, that mind-reading trick you can do could make you big bucks, if you wanted.’ He paused. ‘Hey, what’s the secret? How do you do it?’

  Oh God. Why did he keep going on about it? For a second I almost panicked. Then I took a deep breath. I didn’t need to answer the question. That was another tip Geri had given back at Fox Academy. Head off unwanted questions with a distraction, ideally a humorous one.

  ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you,’ I said, attempting a grin.

  I wasn’t sure I’d pulled off the humour but, to my relief, Stanley laughed.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Well, if we rescue your friend, maybe you can tell me later.’

  We walked the last few metres up to the Escondite in silence. As I expected, the window had already been boarded over. Stanley glanced at me. ‘Lockdown ready?’ he said.

  I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.

  Stanley pressed the doorbell then stood back away from the door, out of sight. I waited, my heart in my mouth, as footsteps echoed along the corridor. Heavy steps. They stopped. There was a moment’s pause, while whoever was on the other side of the door presumably looked through the eyehole and saw me. A loud grunt, then the sound of a bolt being scraped back.

  The door swung open. It was the guard I’d seen earlier.

  Stanley spoke in Spanish. I couldn’t catch every word, but he was basically asking about the children downstairs. As soon as he said the word for prisoners – prisioneros – the guard drew a gun from his jacket.

  I gasped. In a split second, Stanley darted forward and shoved his Lockdown against the man’s chest.

  The guard staggered, then fell forwards. Stanley caught his weight and laid him quietly on the tiled hallway floor.

  Oh my God, oh my God.

  My breathing was coming out in shallow gasps . . . my heart racing. I backed against the wall. Stanley looked up at me, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

  ‘I don’t think talking’s an option, Ed,’ he whispered.

  We stared at each other. I still couldn’t breathe properly . . . couldn’t think . . .

  Stanley stood up. ‘It’s okay, Ed,’ he whispered. ‘Everything’s going to be okay, but we need to get going before the other guards realise we’re here – or this one wakes up. Now shut the front door. Quietly.’

  I nodded, closing the door as gently as I could. My hands were trembling.

  ‘Good,’ Stanley whispered. ‘Which way to the kids?’

  I pointed to the stairs. We crept along the corridor towards them. As we passed the door behind which I’d heard adul
t voices earlier, a man inside yelled out.

  ‘Que pasa, Enrique?’

  He was obviously calling for the guard Stanley had hit with his stun gun.

  I glanced at Stanley. He was staring at me, his expression intent. He held up his hand, one finger pointing towards the door, then raised his eyebrows.

  I knew he was asking me if I was ready to burst in and knock the remaining guards out. I nodded, still feeling dazed, and pulled my Lockdown out of my pocket.

  I held my breath, waiting. Then Stanley shoved the door open and everything seemed to happen at once.

  Stanley rushed into the room. I ran in behind him. There were three guards inside. One on his feet, already walking towards us. Stanley jabbed towards him, thrusting the Lockdown at his shoulder. I heard the ratchety noise and the subsequent thud as I turned towards the two men at the table in the middle of the room. I had a dim impression of a card game and a bottle of beer. The man nearest me was reaching towards his pocket. For a gun? I didn’t stop to think about it. I leaped forwards, Lockdown outstretched, and pushed the weapon against the man’s chest. Sparks shot out. The man’s eyes glazed over. He fell back, with a thud, into his chair. Behind me I could hear the same sequence of sounds repeated as Stanley dealt with the third guard.

  The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.

  ‘Find the keys,’ Stanley barked.

  Panting, I reached inside my guard’s jacket. A bunch of keys bulged in his pocket. I took them out and we raced to the door. We dragged the guard Stanley had knocked out earlier into the room, removed all phones and guns, which Stanley placed by the front door, then locked the men in.

  ‘So far so good,’ Stanley muttered. ‘Now, where’s this cellar?’

  We made our way down the stairs. There was silence inside the room. As Stanley fumbled with the keys, trying one after another in the lock, my heart beat a loud drum roll against my throat. Suppose all the kids inside were gone already?

  It seemed to take forever, but it could only have been a few seconds before the door opened and I raced inside. A single light bulb swung from the ceiling, casting an array of eerie shadows around the room. I looked over at the kids, most of whom were huddled together on the two camp beds, as they started to stir. A short boy with tufty hair stared sleepily at me.