Thirteen (23 page)

Adam had even drawn a picture of the place of his sacrifice: it was a very tall triangular-shaped building that tapered away to nothing. It looked like a shard of glass.

Many times, Coron entered and smiled in his deranged way.
A willing sacrifice indeed
.

On one occasion, Adam knelt next to Coron, his eyelids pressed tightly shut as he said, “Master: make me the perfect sacrifice. As it says in your book, ‘lambs are slaughtered just like sheep.' And raise up Lord Coron.” Adam's arms were
outstretched. “Let the world see the moment of my surrender.” Coron was manically energetic despite an almost complete lack of sleep: he gave a high-pitched ecstatic howl.
A willing sacrifice indeed
.

On Wednesday, December 25, Viper sat, catlike, on Adam's bed while he leaned against the wall.

“How did it feel to kill in the service of the Master?” Adam asked.

“I enjoyed it,” she said airily. “Just as any hunter enjoys killing prey.” Then, blandly, openly, chillingly, “God makes it enjoyable so that we are enthusiastic for our work.”

“What about Simon, your brother?”

Viper looked deep into Adam's eyes. “Sidewinder made it happen. I was ashamed of him. I enjoyed the power I had to extinguish him.” She leaned forward. “You almost had a sister: Megan. She has left you alone here. Betrayed you. After all that you had done for her. And you are forgotten. Now she spends her time with other boys. Laughing with them. Leaning against them. Kissing them. Just imagine if you had a chance to avenge that betrayal.”

“Yes,” said Adam. “I can imagine it.”

The attempt at brainwashing continued day after day after day after day.

Hour after hour after hour.

Minute by minute.

Every second.

Hatfield pushed Adam against a wall in his room, dislodging a couple of the sheets of paper. “Your friend Megan has been reported missing. Vanished into thin air.”

Adam seemed interested rather than worried. “Is she here? It would be glorious if she could join The People.”

Hatfield paused and eyed Adam carefully. “No. She has evaporated. Her parents are mystified and banging on the police station door. As are yours still. Your parents are eaten up with grief, you know that?”

“My parents don't understand about The People. And they're not my
real
parents anyway. True parents would be proud that my sacrifice ushers in the new kingdom.”

Hatfield's manner eased slightly. “Do you know anything about Megan's disappearance?”

“I think I should speak to Lord Coron and the Master.”

At that instant the door opened. “And as if by magic, we are both here.” Coron's head jerked from side to side. He was much thinner, even gaunt; his hollow eyes stared at Adam. “We want to know what this means.” Coron now always used
we
. “Tell us about Megan.”

Adam leaned forward. “In
The Great Book
it says that the
energy of sacrifice strengthens even God.” Adam returned Coron's stare. “Megan's sacrifice will strengthen me.” Adam paused, bitterness tightening his mouth. “Why should she live? Why? When I am here because of her.”

Coron pulled his arms in close to his body and bellowed. “The Master is within me. And you are my wise son. Just as the old god sacrificed his son, so I will sacrifice you!”

Adam reached out and rested his hand on Coron's shoulder. His words reflected the style of
The Great Book
: “I am indeed your son. Let us find Megan together.”

This could work
, thought Adam.
This
will
work—if Megan has read my letter
.

About an hour later, Hatfield reappeared. He paused before speaking, looking from Adam's left eye to his right and back again. “Get in the shower,” he said, almost under his breath.

Adam had learned to endure the cold, but this time he heard the outer door open while he cleaned himself as best he could. Adam feared it was Viper, so shielded himself with the curtain and peered out. But it was Hatfield, who wouldn't hurt him without Coron's permission.

“I've brought you a towel,” said the chief inspector. “And a change of clothes. We wouldn't want anything carried out of this building.” Hatfield picked up everything—socks, boxer shorts, jeans, T-shirt and sweatshirt—and left a pile of fresh clothes.

“Keep a gun to my back, Mr. Hatfield. It is only wise that you make sure I don't return to my old ways. I have nothing to fear.”

Adam put on the new clothes and was guided away from his room and upstairs. This was the first time he had been above ground in three weeks.

He immediately realized what a busy building it was. Coron's writings contained vast amounts of information about
his plans, the carnage that explosions would cause, and the nature and location of Adam's sacrifice, but there was nothing about the numbers of people involved. There were easily thirty or forty people around, possibly more.

“Any second thoughts?” Hatfield asked Adam as he stood next to Coron.

“No. I will lead you to her.”

“If you shout once that door is open,” said Hatfield, “you will get about two words out.”

Ignoring Hatfield, Adam spoke to Coron. “Lord Coron. I will not do these things.”

Viper draped a backpack over her back. “I am very excited at the prospect of Megan's return. Very excited. Just as you have changed, so will the world.”

Adam walked to the car with his head down and meekly directed the driver to the right address by the quickest route. Hatfield sat on his right and Viper on his left, with Coron in the passenger seat. Two men and two women were in the car behind.

The driver pulled up on the same side as Simon's flat, and the other car stopped directly across the road.

Adam eased himself from the car and walked quickly toward the door, Coron, Viper and Hatfield coming with him. Adam didn't turn to see the others take up positions in the street.

Hatfield nodded and smiled as he saw which building Adam was leading them to. He glanced across to the park.
So Adam had been here the whole time
, he thought.

They climbed four flights of stairs: fifty-two steps. When they reached the door to the flat, Megan was less than twenty-feet away.

Hatfield nudged past Adam and struck at the lock with a hammer and chisel, then pushed a thick piece of wire inside.

A door opened downstairs, and a head appeared at the bottom of the last flight of stairs. “What's going on, man?”

Chief Inspector Hatfield immediately responded. “Police. And if you don't get back in your room I'll send some of the drug-squad boys around to investigate that smell.”

There was muttering and the sound of a closing door. And the door to Simon's old flat swung open.

“Go ahead,” Coron whispered, leaning very close to Adam's ear.

Adam stood in the doorway.

“Step in.”

Adam walked in, two paces ahead of the others.

There was no sound, just the ticking of a clock. Time slipping away.

Coron was barely audible now. “Call for Megan,” he mouthed.

“Megan. Megan?”

“Say, ‘It is Adam.' ”

“Megan, it's Adam.”

“Say you are alone.”

“I'm alone, Megan.”

“Tell her to come out. And louder. Say that everything is all right.”

Adam spoke louder. “Megan, you can come out. Everything is all right. You know you can trust me.”

Nothing.

The other three joined Adam in the flat.

Adam turned. “I don't think she's here.”

Coron spoke slightly louder this time. “Try again. Tell her that you've escaped. Say that you promise.”

“Megan. Listen. I've escaped. Megan?” Adam shrugged. “She really isn't here.” Then to himself, “Where is she?”

Megan heard everything.

The other three moved into the flat. Hatfield went to the table where London maps and tube printouts were scattered, holding them up for everyone to see. Viper went toward the
kitchen and Coron into the bedroom. After a few minutes they were sure Megan was not there.

“Tear this place apart,” said Coron, wringing his hands aggressively, twitchy with nervous energy. “The Master wants to be certain she isn't here.”

“She must be out,” said Adam. “You could put a man outside to catch her when she returns.”

“I'd thought of that,” said Hatfield. “We'll get her, don't worry.”

After the possible hiding places had been ruled out, there was a search: Simon's few books were flicked through, the bed was cut open, the underside of drawers checked—every possible place examined.

Adam took a glass and poured a drink, offering one to the others. Hatfield scowled. Viper accepted. She held up faded cushions for Hatfield to cut into with a penknife. Finally Adam pointed up to a door in the sitting-room ceiling.

Hatfield raised his eyebrows. He stood on a kitchen chair and eased up the hatch. “Flashlight?”

Adam spotted one on a shelf that contained lots of odds and ends. He fumbled about getting it and switched it on. Hatfield pushed his head through to the loft space and shone the flight-light around. “Nothing.”

Adam headed to the bathroom.

“Hey, where are you going?” said Hatfield, jumping down off the stool.

“For a piss. You can stand next to me and have a look if you like. I'll leave the door open.”

Viper smiled as Adam passed.

Megan held her breath.

For about ten seconds there was the sound of Adam spraying into toilet water. Hatfield looked through the door twice at the distinctive shape of a young man urinating.

“Let's go,” said Coron. “I'm going to send someone up here to wait for her return. Also, check whether she's back with her
parents. We want her, don't we, Adam.” It was a statement, not a question.

They left, Hatfield taking one last look around before he closed the door.

In two days Adam was going to be sacrificed.

Megan heard the door close. In the ceiling of Simon's spare bedroom was the thin outline of a square hatch, and above the hatch crouched Megan, ready to swing a frying pan. She dared to breathe again.

Had they actually gone?

She listened for her name. Nothing.
Megan
—Adam had never called her that in her life, except to impersonate her parents. For years it was
Meggie
and now always
Meg. Megan
—never. Adam's appearance made the situation clear: he couldn't escape, he couldn't send a message from where he was and lives were at risk.
Can it really have come down to us?

Megan pushed the hatch down an inch. She glimpsed a torn duvet and the bottom of the half-open door. Widening the gap another couple of inches, she saw drawers in an erratic jumble and a ripped mattress. Then, even more: the bedside cabinet upside down and the lamp smashed.

Megan could hear children shrieking in the park and the angry squeal of a passing motorcycle. Otherwise there was silence.

She had to move quickly. If Adam had left a message, she knew where it would be. Adam had whispered two things to her in Trafalgar Square: one was about running for the car, the
other to “go to where we went through water.” And there Megan had found what Adam had hurriedly left for her: a letter, directions, money and the keys to Simon's flat. Adam had written his messages in a scruffy and poorly spelled scrawl, including “IF I CAN I WILL LEAVE A MESSAGE IN THE CESTERN ABOVE THE TOILET.”

Now Megan eased the collapsible ladder down as gently as she could, but it clattered the last eighteen inches. She froze. By now they would be outside, and Coron would be instructing someone to return. And if Megan could have heard, she would have caught the words “kill her if necessary.”

Kill her
echoed menacingly in Adam's head as he glanced back up at the building. The upstairs windows stared back like inky-black eyes.

Before, the ladder had squeaked as she used it, but now the noise sounded like a train clattering through a station. Megan jumped the last four steps.

Thud
.

After every noise she feared someone bursting in, but the man sent to wait for her was still behind the dark windows of the Range Rover, concealing a gun inside his coat. As Megan rushed into the bathroom, he closed the car door and raised a hand in farewell to Coron.

Megan lifted the lid to the cistern, but there was nothing hidden inside.
Perhaps a piece of paper had floated behind the mechanism?
Nothing. She looked into the toilet itself—nothing.
Why had Adam come? Why take the risk and then not leave anything?

On hands and knees she examined behind the toilet.

Nothing.

Adam!

The man was opening the main door to the building, just fifty-two steps away.

Megan sat down on the edge of the bath, frowning with concentration as her eyes darted everywhere. It was then that
she saw the toilet roll next to her. Just visible, nosing out from inside, was a red wristband.

A message had been written around the inside: “Top of shard midnight 31st. Bombs planned. HELP. Love AG.”

The man had trudged up the first two flights of stairs.

Megan grabbed the wristband and ran. She scurried up the ten metal steps two at a time, the noise filling the flat:
clink, clatter, crash, clang, clank
.

Outside, the man had one flight of stairs to go: thirteen steps.

Megan pulled the ladder up, three tugs on the rope making a rumbling rattle of noise.

Megan froze.

After a few seconds, she heard shuffling sounds. Someone was downstairs. Then she realized the utter silence around her: the hum of the fridge had stopped and the computer was lifeless. There were only three electrical appliances in the loft—a small fridge, a laptop and a single bulb in the center of the main room—and all were fed off one socket from below. She imagined the plug loose or pulled out. If only she had known.
If only . . .