Eye of the Storm (3 page)

Niamh’s thoughts ran in circles until the patrol car eased to a stop in a parking space outside the pink concrete block that was the Sheriff’s Office. One of the patrol officers
opened the door for her and she swung both legs round so that she could initially put her weight on her right foot before testing the left.

‘Ow!’ she exclaimed, limping a couple of paces clear of the door and leaning against the patrol car in the adjacent bay. Her left ankle hurt like crazy when she put weight on it, but
at least she could still walk. Could she run? Not fast enough, she concluded. The two officers would catch her before she had taken more than a few paces. And where would she run to anyway?

‘Here, let me help you,’ the nearest policeman offered. He held out his arm. Niamh hesitated, momentarily frozen by an impulse to prove to these two men that she was not some wilting
flower of a girl. But as the pain in her ankle intensified, she relented and took the man’s arm, allowing him to lead her up the steps and into the building.

From the reception foyer she was led into a passageway to the left, and then left again into an office where she was guided to a comfortable chair.

‘You’re gonna be fine, Niamh,’ the officer told her in his lilting accent, giving her a broad smile. ‘I’m just gonna go and fetch a female officer and a first-aid
kit. Sit tight for a minute, OK? Jim’ll be outside the door if you need anythin’.’

Niamh nodded and he left the room. No sooner had the officer gone than Niamh was on her feet. She assessed the room. It didn’t look like it was ever intended as a cell, with no bars on the
windows and not even a lock on the door. Even so, she was as good as a prisoner with the other policeman standing guard outside. Hoping for a miracle, Niamh hobbled across to the window and tried
the handle. To her delight, she found that it opened. The police clearly didn’t expect any further trouble from her.

She hesitated. Should she try to escape and continue her search for her brother and Callum? The old Niamh would have sat back down and waited meekly for the police to treat her injuries and ship
her back to England. But the events of the past few days had changed her. She had already successfully run from the police once. Afterwards, she had stolen a boat, gone spear-fishing for food,
paddled a kayak and changed her appearance to hide from the authorities. Niamh had always thought of herself as a ‘sensible’ type, so it made for a surprising list. The policeman who
had caught her had seemed pretty chilled, but Niamh was under no illusion that if she ran now, the police would not be so forgiving this time. But even with her injured ankle, it was still a
tempting prospect.

Her heart began to pound as she took a brief moment to consider. The window was on a tilting mechanism where the bottom opened outwards. It didn’t open much, but she was slim. She felt
sure the gap was wide enough for her to squeeze through, but if she was going to go, she needed to decide quickly. Every second was precious.

‘You
so
owe me for this, Sam,’ she muttered.

Carefully easing her left foot and ankle down first, she took a deep breath and lowered herself out of the window.
If someone comes back now, I’ll be locked up for sure,
she
thought.

Squeezing her lower half through was the hardest part, and her breath caught in her throat as the graze on her back scraped painfully against the window frame. For once she felt thankful she
wasn’t more ‘developed’ as her torso slipped through the window and she slithered down on to the flower bed beneath it. Once fully in the open, she silently closed the window
behind her as best she could before stepping clear of the flower bed.

The car park stretched before her like an ocean of open tarmac. How far could she get before they noticed she wasn’t in the room any more? Gritting her teeth, she decided to find out.
Aside from a handful of patrol cars, there were very few vehicles to offer her cover as she did her best to limp as fast as she could.

The car park exit was to her left in the far corner. Beyond that was a boatyard where she could see patrol boats and what appeared to be a private boat club, with a slipway into the sea. Should
she try to hide among the boats? Remembering her journey to the station with the policemen, she thought the driveway out to the nearest actual road must be at least a quarter of a mile long. The
police were bound to discover she was missing before she got that far, but there had to be plenty of good hiding places in a boatyard where she could wait and think about her next move.

An SUV with tinted windows appeared from the driveway and entered the car park. Niamh turned to intercept it, a crazy plan forming in her mind. Hobbling as fast as she could, she waved like a
mad thing at the driver. To her delight the SUV changed direction and drove towards her. As it pulled to a stop, the driver’s window wound down. Niamh looked inside and was relieved to see a
lady with a friendly round face.

‘You OK?’ the lady asked, looking concerned.

‘Yes and no!’ Niamh gasped. ‘I fell off my bike about an hour ago and wrecked it. A policeman kindly gave me a lift here from town, but he had to go into the Sheriff’s
Office for a meeting. I should have been at the Arboretum to meet my dad about ten minutes ago. I couldn’t be cheeky and beg a quick lift, could I? It’s only about a mile from here, but
I hurt my ankle when I fell off the bike and it’ll take me ages to hobble round there.’

‘Sure, honey,’ the lady said, her expression full of sympathy. ‘I know where you mean. That’ll only take a couple of minutes. I’m meeting my friend for lunch at the
boat club, but I’m a bit early. Hop in.’

Niamh didn’t hesitate. She had the door open in a flash and scrambled up and into the passenger seat.

‘Didn’t you ring your pa to let him know you’d be late?’ the lady asked as she pulled away and U-turned back towards the exit road.

‘I would have done, but I broke my phone when I fell off the bike and I can’t remember dad’s mobile number by heart. He’ll be going frantic if I don’t get there
soon.’

‘That ain’t no local accent, is it, honey? You from Australia?’

‘No, I’m over here on holiday from England.’

‘Really? Well, ain’t that a coincidence! I’ve got friends in England – Dave and Philippa Benson. They live in London. Dave’s in marketing and Philippa runs a
hairdressing salon. I forget the name of it now.’

The lady glanced across the car expectantly and Niamh had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when she recognised the implied question.

‘Sorry,’ she replied politely. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know them. But London’s quite a big place and I live out in the country about an hour’s drive
away.’

The lady looked disappointed, but then continued to talk about Dave and Philippa anyway. As they left the car park, Niamh glanced back towards the Sheriff’s Office main building. There was
no sign that anyone had noticed she was missing yet. It appeared that her luck had changed again, but she knew she was a long way off making a clean getaway.

A few minutes later, they approached the dusty dirt track entrance to the Arboretum and pulled off the road and into the car park. There were only a handful of cars there and not a person in
sight.

‘Dad must be waiting at the ticket office,’ Niamh volunteered in case the lady questioned his whereabouts. ‘There’s a lovely little room over there with information
leaflets and displays about all the trees they have here. Dad loves it here.’

‘Really? I can’t say I’ve ever been in and taken a look around.’

‘Oh, you should,’ Niamh said enthusiastically as they pulled to a stop. ‘It’s a lovely garden with lots of unusual trees and bushes.’

‘Well, I might just do that when I’ve got some time.’

‘Thanks so much again,’ Niamh said, opening the passenger door and lowering herself gently down out of the car. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

‘You’re welcome, honey. You have a nice day.’

‘And you. Goodbye.’

Niamh watched and waved as the SUV turned and crossed the car park back to the road, leaving a cloud of dust rising in its wake. No sooner had the car gone than she began to question her choice
of drop-off point. The lady was now going directly back to the Sheriff’s Office car park. One word from her to the wrong person could have police officers here in no time. Perhaps it would
have been better to be dropped somewhere that offered more options for hiding.

What Niamh needed to do now was try to scrounge another lift to muddy her trail before considering a longer-term plan. Luck, it seemed, was with her. Ten minutes later, having told a variation
of her story about falling off her bike to one of the wardens in the Arboretum, she was in the passenger seat of a pick-up truck on her way into Key West.

Bill very much looked the part of a botanist. His unkempt curly hair, beard and bushy moustache, together with his slightly scruffy-looking shorts and T-shirt, gave her the impression that he
would rather live rough with his trees than in a comfy house somewhere.

‘Where was it you said you wanted to be dropped off?’ he asked as they left the car park.

‘The Old Lighthouse, please,’ she lied, glad that she had thought through this part of her story. ‘Dad and I are staying there.’

‘Nice place,’ Bill nodded. ‘Bit of history about it. Some great trees in the gardens there too.’

‘There are,’ she agreed. ‘The smell is amazing in the evening. Makes it easy to understand why writers like Ernest Hemingway wanted to live here. Have you visited his house?
It’s just opposite the hotel.’

Bill shook his head. ‘Never been much of one for readin’ an’ books an’ the like. I guess with it bein’ on the doorstep an’ all, I just ain’t gotten
round to it.’

‘Oh, you should!’ she enthused. ‘It’s fascinating. Some superb trees in the gardens there too,’ she added with a chuckle.

He laughed. ‘Usin’ my weak spot, eh? Just like a woman to do that!’ he told her.

The main route into the town was stop-start all the way. Niamh hadn’t been into Key West for a while, but the street names were all familiar. As they turned into Duval Street, she gave a
start and began to scan through the faces of the many people strolling along the pavements. Most looked like tourists, but Niamh was looking for one face in particular and he was no sightseer.

When she had run from the police the first time, she had befriended a brother and sister – Tony and Carrie Dale, who lived locally. They had listened to her story and despite knowing they
could get into trouble, they had helped her anyway. If she was going to successfully evade the police this time, she would need to enlist their help again. Tony had said he was coming here earlier;
maybe luck would stay on Niamh’s side and she’d spot him. Even the thought of seeing Tony again set her heart racing. She had only met him yesterday, but already he seemed to have got
inside her head. Was it really just this morning that he had rescued her from Monkey Island in his kayak? That seemed an age ago now.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she saw Tony standing outside a corner shop, his blond hair tousled and his tan positively glowing in the afternoon sun. Niamh instinctively opened her
mouth to ask Bill to stop and let her out, but the words froze on her lips as the shop door opened and a dark-haired girl emerged. Niamh felt a cold chill run through her and her eyes narrowed as
she stared at the girl with feelings bordering on hatred. It was Tessa: the girl who had told the police where to find her.

‘It seems the raptors had human help developing that kite flyer,’ Claire announced as she swept into the communal area of the rebel HQ. ‘I’ve just got
word from our source in the Imperium labs. Flying must be one of those things that gets in the blood, because the young man who’s been helping them had a grandmother who was renowned for it.
Have either of you boys ever heard of Amelia Earhart?’

‘I vaguely remember her from some of the books and articles Dad read for his research,’ Sam said. ‘She was the first lady to fly solo across the Atlantic, but she disappeared
mysteriously while flying across the Pacific I think. . .’

‘Wait a minute,’ Callum interrupted. ‘Does that mean her disappearance is linked to the Devil’s Triangle too?’

‘That’s right,’ Claire confirmed. ‘Not all of the crossings happen in the Bermuda Triangle region, remember. They happen wherever there are particularly powerful storms
in this world. It just happens that the majority of those occur in a couple of regions. There have been a few famous folk turn up in various parts of this world over the years. Amelia was one. Lord
Lucan, Glenn Miller. . .’

‘What,
the
Glenn Miller?’ Callum exclaimed.
‘Chattanooga Choo Choo, Little Brown Jug
Glenn Miller?’

‘That’s the one,’ Claire said, clearly amused by his reaction. ‘I’m surprised you’ve even heard of him. I’d have thought you’d be into more modern
music, Callum.’

‘I play trombone at school,’ he explained. ‘You can’t play trombone and not know about Glenn Miller! I love his music! It’s brilliant.’

‘I suppose. If you like that sort of thing.’