3 of a Kind (12 page)

‘Well, with an accent like that, you can stay for tea!’

Knightley smiled and stepped past her, rapidly following the noises down a short corridor to a closed bedroom door. As Knightley opened the door he saw a leg vanish through the sash window and drop to the AstroTurf below.

‘We’ve got a runner,’ he shouted back to Bradley.

In the yellow cab outside, Darkus saw a short man in his mid-twenties stumble away from the bungalow and attempt a sprint across the backyard, before hurling himself over the neighbour’s fence.

Darkus, Rufus and Tilly leaped out of the cab and
gave chase. Neumann, while not naturally athletic or coordinated, was unusually talented at evasive action. He dodged around the neighbour’s paddling pool, hopped on to a trampoline and ricocheted over the next neighbour’s fence. Tilly followed suit, hurdling the trellis while Darkus and Rufus tracked the runner’s progress from the row of tidy front yards lining the cul-de-sac. Before long, Knightley and Bradley Senior were jogging after their junior colleagues, panting and breaking a sweat.

Neumann reached the end of the row of backyards and vanished into a bush at the base of a steep incline, leading straight upwards to the loudly buzzing 101 Freeway. A moment later the writer appeared halfway up the slope, frantically climbing towards the guard rail, which was only metres from the torrent of vehicles flashing past.

‘Stop!’ shouted Rufus. ‘We only want to talk!’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’ yelled Neumann.

‘No one said you had!’ Darkus called out.

Tilly arrived at the base of the incline and joined the appeal. ‘What are you running for?’

Neumann gulped for breath following his exertions, then flopped himself over the guard rail, half fell on to the other side and staggered towards the traffic, contemplating a hopeless escape route.

‘Stop!’ shrieked Tilly as all three of them raced up the hill.

They found Neumann frozen in fear at the sight of five lines of cars and trucks zipping by at a dozen per second. Beyond the central divider there were another five lanes of fast-moving traffic travelling in the opposite direction.

Darkus made a brief calculation then called over to Neumann from the hard shoulder. ‘I estimate your chances of survival to be less than one in a thousand.’

Rufus nodded. ‘I concur.’

‘Melvin!’ shouted Tilly. ‘I loved your script,’ she lied. ‘You’re a brilliant writer.’

Neumann turned, his face breaking into a snaggle-toothed smile. ‘Really? You think so?’

‘You bet. Come back over here and I’ll tell you everything I loved about it,’ she went on, admittedly feeling a little bad about the deception.

Darkus and Rufus watched in amazement as Tilly talked him back from the edge.

Mrs Neumann made coffee while her son Melvin wept in the front room.

‘So you didn’t read it at all?’ he sobbed.

‘Well, I loved the title,’ said Tilly, on the sofa next to him. ‘Short and punchy. Just like you.’

Rufus took over the interview. ‘Melvin … Why d’you skip out on us? What are you so afraid of?’

Neumann blew his nose loudly, then squidged the handkerchief back in the front pocket of his chino trousers. ‘This was my big break. The producers told me the script had a green light, casting was under way and the movie was going into production next month.’

‘Well, technically, casting
had
started …’ said Darkus, before realising he probably shouldn’t disclose the fate of the intended star, Humphrey Sturgess. ‘But one of the actors, well … dropped out.’

‘What are the names of the producers?’ asked Knightley. ‘Can you give us a description?’

‘No. It was all done by email. They never used names, only initials, and they were different initials each time. Two days ago I got a message saying they’d pulled the plug. The money fell through.’

‘That must have been a hard knock,’ Tilly consoled him.

‘But that wasn’t the worst part,’ Neumann confessed. ‘They said their backers weren’t happy, and they weren’t the sort of people to mess with. They said I couldn’t breathe a word about the script. They threatened me with legal action … or worse. So when two dudes in suits show up …’ he said, gesturing to Knightley and Bradley Senior, ‘well, I assumed the worst.’

‘What were the producers so hung up about?’ asked Irwin.

‘They told me they owned the rights to the story, and I had to keep my mouth shut about it. Especially about Yucca Flats.’

Darkus’s ears pricked up. ‘Yucca Flats?’

Rufus explained to his British colleague privately: ‘Yucca Flats is a former nuclear testing range in the Nevada desert. A total no-go zone. Over eight hundred nuclear tests took place there between the years 1951 and 1991. It sits directly next to Area 51.’

Darkus felt his catastrophiser hum to life, ticking persistently, telling him that something was afoot. ‘So the movie you wrote was going to be filmed there, in Yucca Flats?’ he enquired.

Neumann nodded. ‘That’s where they wanted it. They wanted somewhere remote and cut-off. Impossible to find. They asked me to do some research on the ghost towns out there. The ones with all the mannequins in them. The ones they used to use to simulate nuclear explosions.’

Darkus had seen the images before: houses being turned inside out and swept away by an unnatural man-made power; windows shattering and paint being scorched off; life-sized plastic figures of families sat around the dinner table before being incinerated by the
hot fission blast of an atomic weapon. It was the stuff of worst nightmares.

Neumann went on, ‘They wanted me to write a scene in one of these towns. Where a hostage is being held prisoner against her will.’

Darkus felt his catastrophiser shift up a gear. ‘Bogna …’

Tilly looked at him and nodded in agreement. ‘Melvin, do you know the exact location where they were going to be filming?’

‘Sure, it’s called Survival Town. But you won’t find anyone living there. Except a few plastic dummies.’

‘The scene you wrote …’ Darkus pressed him, ‘how did it end?’

‘A bomb went off and they were all wiped out,’ replied Neumann, with tears in his eyes. ‘It was awesome.’

Improbable as it may have sounded, it was perfectly possible for an out-of-work screenwriter to be hired to construct the plotline for a real-life kidnapping. Darkus had heard rumours of a group of Hollywood screenwriters hired by America’s Central Intelligence Agency in the aftermath of September 11th for a very similar purpose: to construct possible scenarios for future terrorist attacks, so these attacks could be prepared for and hopefully thwarted. The writers were asked to give their imagination free rein – just as the terrorists had.
Melvin Neumann may not be winning any Oscars any time soon, but he had successfully found a location so far off the map that it perfectly fitted the bill for stowing a hostage. Melvin might have missed out on his big break in Hollywood, but Darkus had just got his big break in the case. It was only a lead, and not yet a certainty, but he was convinced that Bogna was being held in Survival Town, Nevada.

What better place to hide someone than in a place that wasn’t supposed to exist?

The Knightleys and the Bradleys agreed to meet in the hotel lobby at 9 p.m., giving both families time to regroup before setting out for the desert by nightfall.

It turned out that Irwin Bradley also had an ex-wife, Angie, who he had to make excuses to; and, from what Darkus could tell, Angie still loved Irwin, as Darkus suspected his own mother still loved his father. It brought into sharp focus how dearly Darkus wanted his parents to get back together, even though the whole situation felt like a dropped pie that would take an army of people to clean up. Wolseley Close, as long as Clive was in it, was never going to be home. That was part of the reason Darkus chose detective work over the domestic strife he’d had to endure all those years. Though neither of them made reference to it, Darkus sensed that he and Rufus shared the
same feelings about their outlandish dads and long-suffering mums. As detectives do, they weighed opposing theories, they understood both sides of the argument, but they still wished for a solution – no matter how unrealistic that dream might be.

Almost as if Jackie knew her son was thinking about her, the secure phone rang and the word
Mum
appeared on the screen. Remembering his dad’s strict instructions to keep her out of the investigation for as long as possible – for her own safety – and even though Darkus longed to hear her reassuring voice, he let it ring, and ring, until it went to voicemail. The secure phone would re-route the call and disguise the ringtone so she wouldn’t know that he was currently on the other side of the world. After a few moments, he checked the message.

‘Hi, darling, it’s your mum here,’ Jackie’s voice said chirpily on the message. Even the ambient noise of the kitchen reminded him of home. ‘I’ve got some exciting news to tell you. I know you’re busy with your dad, but if you can, give me a call. I’m here for another few hours, then I’m … well, I’ll tell you when I see you. Love you.’ She hung up.

Much as Darkus wanted to know what this news was, he decided to trust his dad. With any luck, Bogna would soon be safely back in pocket and they could return to England and maybe, just maybe, family life would slowly
take the shape he dreamed of – and the dropped pie could be cleared up.

In her own room at the other end of the suite, Tilly stared at her smartphone. The timer had reached twenty-four hours and forty-nine minutes, with the seconds steadily ticking down until the contents of Underwood’s hard drive would be revealed. It was probably a daydream to think that the solution to all her problems would just pop up on a screen. And when she finally got the names of everyone responsible for her mother’s death, if she tracked them down one by one, would it make her feel any better? Would she be able to shed the enormous burden of loss on her shoulders? Or would it only make things worse? Almost as if the phone knew it was being watched, the handset buzzed and she checked her email inbox.

Her eyebrows lowered into two acute angles as she opened the message. It read:

T*

First instalment attached.

Will send u the rest in 24 hrs.

Peace.

^M^

It was Mike, her associate from the dark cloud – she didn’t know his surname, and never asked. She moved her finger towards the attachment and felt her hands go red-hot with anticipation, as if the phone was on fire. She tapped on the file, sat down on the edge of the bed and began to read …

An hour later, the Knightleys and Tilly crossed the lobby carrying their rucksacks and kitbags. Knightley informed the receptionist that they were going on an impromptu camping trip, and, not wishing to question a close associate of the President, she smiled and waved.

The Bradleys waited outside in a blacked-out Chevy Suburban SUV, complete with off-road tyres, roof-mounted spotlights and heavy-duty bull bars and grilles. The route to Survival Town had been mapped out. They had to avoid Area 51 itself at all costs, or risk a mammoth response from whatever military units were active there; not to mention the possibility of aliens, UFOs and the paranormal, which Knightley continued to remind them of.

Darkus felt he was not only taking a journey into the unknown, but into one of the least known corners of American history.

The Knightleys and Tilly climbed into the large back
seat with Irwin and Rufus sitting up front. The dashboard was ablaze with flashing lights from radar detectors and police scanners. Knightley nudged Darkus in the ribs, impressed. If anyone could help them find Bogna, Darkus was confident it was the Bradleys. Tilly remained silent as the car quickly left Beverly Hills and entered the on-ramp to the nearest freeway, which was never far from reach.

Los Angeles took on an eerie glow in the night. The palm trees were still painted orange, this time by neon instead of sunshine. The billboards broadcast their images to empty streets and discreet homeless encampments. Office buildings loomed overhead, half lit and completely deserted. Even the freeways were almost devoid of traffic, except for an occasional convoy of big rig trucks, or a sedan with tinted windows disguising the identity and motive of its occupants. Irwin Bradley navigated the city with just the palm of his left hand on the power steering, while the other lay relaxed on the centre console.

Outside the Bradleys’ own tinted windows, the city receded below them as they climbed the 405 Interstate over the hills and down into the San Fernando Valley, where the landscape flattened out into an endless basin of lights. Darkus turned to Tilly, finding her unusually quiet. She either didn’t notice him or didn’t acknowledge
him, and just kept staring into the luminous grid. They followed the superhighway through more ten-lane-wide inclines forged out of the hills, until it became a two-lane blacktop and the desert opened up around them, revealing what an oasis LA had been. Epic stretches of dusty lunar landscape extended on all sides, with only occasional road signs and street lamps to light the way. Darkus glimpsed the odd stainless steel Airstream caravan parked among the rocks and wondered who on earth would choose to live there – and why?

After several hours on the same unending road, punctuated only by isolated motels and petrol stations, Darkus and his father nodded off, until Irwin cranked his head round from the driver’s seat.

‘We’re coming up on Route 375, also known as the E.T. Highway. That stands for
extraterrestrial
, obviously. There have been more UFO sightings reported on this stretch of road than anywhere else in the world.’

Darkus rubbed his eyes and looked out into the darkness. The desert was flat and featureless, apart from a range of hills just visible in the distance. The night sky displayed a constellation of stars twinkling from outer space, as if they knew they were being observed. A green road sign announced the
Extraterrestrial Highway
, the metal smattered with bullet holes, stickers of American flags and drawings of UFOs.