Split Second (29 page)

We walked through the hallway. The house was quiet. No sign of either Charlie or Riley. Then a masked soldier appeared from the kitchen. He was carrying a spade.

‘The orders changed,’ Taylor snapped. ‘Charlie is now working directly for Roman Riley. I’d forget all about her if I were you.’

I stared at him. That couldn’t be true. I knew Charlie. There was no way she would go along with Roman Riley’s plans, not once she understood what he was really up to.

The soldier with the spade saluted Taylor, then opened the front door, holding it for Taylor and me to walk through. Outside, the cold wind whipped at my face, but I barely felt it. All I could
think about was that Charlie was here somewhere.

‘Why would Riley want to bring Charlie into his “inner circle”?’ I demanded.

Taylor said nothing. Just led me and the soldier across the grass to the edge of the woods. He turned to the soldier.

‘Are you armed?’ he barked.

‘Yes, sir.’ The soldier stood to attention.

‘Give him the spade, get him digging.’

The soldier handed me the spade. ‘Make a hole in the earth,’ he ordered.

I knew better than to ask why. This was probably just some random task designed to keep me busy – or maybe Taylor needed a place to store weapons outside the house. Either way, I was too
preoccupied with how on earth I was going to escape – and find Charlie – to pay much notice.

Feeling numb, I thrust the spade into the earth. It was softer than I expected, damp from the rain which still pattered lightly down on my shoulders and back.

‘Goodbye, Nat.’ Taylor strode away without looking back.

I kept digging. The masked soldier stood, watching me. Moonlight glinted off the gun in his holster. Part of me was tempted to lunge for the weapon, but I knew how fast EFA soldiers could move.
A lurch and a grab wouldn’t work.

I had shifted all the topsoil now. ‘How much deeper do you want me to dig?’ I asked.

‘A few more feet yet,’ the soldier said with a nasty smirk. ‘Enough to cover a body.’

I looked up. Reality hit me like a punch to the guts. This hole in the earth was no storage space.

I was digging my own grave.

I sat for a while, hoping my eyes would adjust to the gloom, but the room barely lightened. I had to get my bearings; at least work out how big a space I was in. I edged
forwards on the floor until I reached a wall. I kept moving, keeping the wall on my right until I reached the corner of the room, then following the next wall along. Once I’d found all four
corners I crossed the room diagonally. Then I did it all again, this time on foot, pacing the distance. After about ten minutes I’d discovered that the room was empty and roughly eight paces
wide and ten paces long, with the only door about halfway down one of the long walls. I was certain there was no window because there had been lights on outside the house when I’d arrived,
plus a nearly full moon in a clear sky, yet I still couldn’t see anything. However, a breeze was blowing in from somewhere . . . I edged around the room again, feeling up the wall and down to
the floor with every step. The draught wasn’t coming from the door. So what was bringing it into the room? After another few minutes I found the source of the cold air: a tiny gap in the
brickwork around a length of pipe at the top of one of the side walls. I stood on tiptoe and opened my mouth, ready to yell for help. I stopped. What was the point of calling out? Apart from Aaron,
still trapped upstairs, nobody here would want to help me. In fact, if I made a noise shouting, they’d almost certainly send someone in to gag me.

No, I needed to be more subtle. I thought back to my EFA training. Taylor had taught us some basic Morse code, including how to sound an SOS: three short notes, three long, then three short
again. I took off my shoe and tapped it against the pipe. I stopped. Waited. Silence. I tapped again. And again.

And over and over again.

But no-one came.

Palms sweating, I pushed the spade into the earth again. The grave was nearly dug.
My
grave. Which meant I didn’t have much time. I gripped the spade more
tightly. I had to escape and find Charlie. I had to get her away from here.

‘Keep at it, I’m freezing my ass off out here,’ grunted the soldier.

‘Yes, sir.’ I gritted my teeth. I would only get one chance. I needed to be strong. And fast.

I lifted the spade as if about to thrust it down into the earth again. Instead, I raised it up and sideways. I drove it – wham – against the soldier’s head.

He fell to the ground with a thud.

I stood over him, panting, then reached down and felt for a pulse. The soldier groaned; he was alive. I whipped his belt off and fastened it around his ankles. I tore a length off my own shirt
to tie the soldier’s wrists. Then I tugged off the soldier’s mask, ripped it along the seam and bound it tightly around his mouth so that he couldn’t shout for help.

The soldier’s eyes opened just as I finished. He writhed on the ground, trying to get free. I looked for his gun. He had been holding it when I hit him. It must have skittered away,
towards the trees.

Damn
. I didn’t have time to look for it. Surely the soldier must have another weapon? I patted down his jacket, feeling the pockets.
There
. A short, flat-bladed knife was
attached to his belt. I removed it from its sheath, then straightened up and raced towards the farmhouse.

Lights were on in just one of the downstairs rooms, revealing a group of men gathered inside. I veered to the side of the house to avoid being seen, then slowed to a walk as I reached the gravel
by the back wall. The rooms here were in darkness. I crossed the gravel, wincing as my feet crunched over the stones. Treading as lightly as I could, I crept to the nearest window and peered
through. It was the kitchen. Moonlight reflected off the metal on the hob, casting soft shadows across the floor. The room was empty; the door which led down to the basement was shut. I pushed at
the bottom of the sash window but it remained firmly locked. I tiptoed on. The next room was in darkness. And the next. Their windows were locked too. I crept around to the other side of the
building.

I found myself outside some kind of office-cum-storage room. There was a desk and shelves containing bottles and boxes. I peered into the shadowy depths of the room. A hunched figure sat in
darkness on the floor near the door. Was that Charlie? I stared harder, my pulse racing. Surely it
had
to be her. I rapped softly on the glass, ducking back as the figure looked up.

Not Charlie, but a boy with tousled hair and ruddy cheeks. It was Aaron Latimer. What was he doing here? Aaron’s eyes widened as he saw me. He struggled to his feet, holding up his hands
to show me they were bound together with a rope which was, in turn, fastened to the desk. I nodded to acknowledge that I’d seen he was tied up. Then I turned to the window. It was locked. I
was going to have to break in. I slipped off my jacket and wrapped my hand in the material. With a swift punch I smashed through the glass. It shattered onto the floor, echoing loudly in the air
around me. My heart raced. I had to hope that the soldiers I’d seen on the other side of the house had been too far away to hear it.

Aaron watched, his face full of anxiety, as I pulled the larger pieces of glass out of the frame, then crawled over the window ledge. My trouser tore on a jagged edge, the glass piercing through
to my skin. The pain was sharp. I stifled the yelp that rose inside me then leaped down, into the room.

‘You’re Nat, aren’t you?’ Aaron gasped. ‘Jas’s brother?’

‘Sssh, yes,’ I whispered, feeling for the tear in my trousers. The skin beneath was broken, but not bleeding. I took my knife and sliced through the rope around Aaron’s wrists.
‘Do you know where Charlie is?’

‘No. Nat, she
kidnapped
me. Forced me into—’

‘Sssh.’ I hesitated. Charlie could be anywhere in the house. If I was going to find her, I’d be better on my own than with Aaron slowing me down. ‘Over here.’ I led
him to the window and pointed through the broken glass to the trees.

‘Where are we?’ Aaron whispered.

‘EFA operations base,’ I said.

Aaron stared at me blankly.

‘Never mind, I’ll explain later. Head over there, to that dip in the trees. I’m going to find Charlie, then meet you there.’

‘
What?
You have to be
kidding
,’ Aaron hissed. ‘We need to get away from here as fast as—’

‘I’ve got to find Charlie,’ I said stubbornly. ‘If I don’t make it out in ten minutes, then head west, through the trees. There’s a road about fifteen minutes
away.’

Aaron opened his mouth as if to protest again, then clearly thought better of it. He nodded. ‘Okay.’

I searched the room for anything that might help find Charlie. A thin beam of moonlight shone across the bottles and cans on the shelves and floor. I scanned them quickly: bleach, diesel fuel,
ammonium nitrate. I frowned. Those last two would make a powerful explosive. They had probably been used to create the bomb I had set off. I shuddered, pushing the memory away. There was no point
looking at these bottles. They were of no use in helping me work out where Charlie was.

Aaron had crawled out of the window and was running across the field towards the trees. I crept to the door and opened it a crack. The corridor outside was empty, though I could see lights on at
the other end. Voices drifted towards me from the hallway. Charlie could be in any of these rooms. I had to search them.

I tiptoed along the corridor, checking the rooms on either side. They were all dark and empty. I came to the kitchen. Peered inside. Also empty. I crept over to the door that led down to the
floor below, then hesitated. For all I knew this door was the only way into and out of the basement. There certainly weren’t any windows down there. It would make sense to try the other rooms
in the house first, rather than risk going below ground, where I could easily be trapped.

As I turned away I heard a faint tapping sound. I stopped. The sound ended, then started again.

Three short taps, then three long ones, then three short again.

It was the Morse Code distress signal that Taylor had taught us all those months ago.

Charlie.

I held my breath. The tapping sound was very faint. Where was it coming from? I crouched on the floor, my ear next to the pipes that ran along the kitchen skirting board. The tapping was more
distinct now.

It was coming from the basement. I crept back to the door that led downstairs and pressed my ear against the wood. I couldn’t hear anything now but then I wouldn’t if Charlie was
sending out her SOS through the pipes. Gently, I eased open the door. The stairs below were shrouded in darkness. I tiptoed down. Down. I reached the stone floor at the bottom. I was in the
basement.

Light seeped out from under the door of the operations room on the left. The dim rumble of voices drifted towards me. I turned right. The air was much colder down here. My breath misted in front
of me. I concentrated on moving as swiftly and silently as possible. The first two doors I passed were open, the rooms beyond empty. Around the corner I reached the third.

It was so dark down here I could barely see the door in front of me but as I stood and listened, the tapping sound was audible again. I felt for the handle. It was locked. I scratched at the
wood, pressing my ear against the door, listening hard for movement inside.

The tapping stopped. Footsteps sounded inside the room.

I scratched the wood again.

‘Hello?’ The whisper from inside the room was faint, but unmistakeable.

I had found her.

‘It’s Nat,’ I hissed, relief mingling with anxiety as I wondered how on earth I was going to get through the door.

‘Oh.’ Charlie made a sound: half gasp, half sob.

I felt for the door handle again. My fingers traced down the wood, to the metal lock, then along to the gap between the door and the frame.

If I had a gun I could have blasted the lock away.

But I didn’t.

I would have to use my knife.

‘I’m going to get you out,’ I whispered.

But, even as I took out the knife and slid the thin blade between the gap, footsteps sounded on the stairs above.

I backed away from the door, holding my breath. Nat had found me. I couldn’t even begin to think how he had managed it. I could hear him pressing something metallic
against the lock of the door. I thought back to our training sessions on ‘exit techniques’. Nat was a great shot with a gun, but had found it virtually impossible to open locks using
the flat of a credit card.

‘Press the top of the lock,’ I whispered. ‘Use the tip of—’

‘Yes, thanks, I’ve got it,’ Nat muttered.

I stood back, chewing on my lip. An agonising few seconds passed – he was surely taking too long – and then the door swung open. Nat stood in the dim light, a dusting of rain on his
hair and a dirty smudge on his face. It was unbelievably good to see him. Footsteps sounded nearby. There was no time. Nat held out his hand. I raced out of my prison, towards him.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me along the corridor. I gasped. Two male soldiers were running along the corridor towards us.

‘Get away,’ Nat ordered. He held out the knife in front of him.

The soldiers hesitated. Then the one on the left lurched forward. He grabbed Nat’s wrist, twisting it. Nat yelped with pain. The knife clattered to the floor. The second soldier was coming
for me. I ducked under his arm, then spun around, fists raised. I steadied myself, focused, then punched. My fist met the man’s stomach, my entire body weight behind the blow. He doubled
over, just as Nat slid out from the first soldier’s grip.

We raced along. Up the stairs to the kitchen. Nat grabbed my hand as we pounded along the corridor. He tugged me after him. Seconds later we were in the office-cum-storage room where Taylor had
brought me and Aaron earlier. Aaron’s bindings, sliced through, lay on the floor.