Triskellion 3: The Gathering (22 page)

Kate shook her head and, using every ounce of strength she could, summoned a smile. “What were their names?” she asked.

“Rachel and Adam,” the man said.

Kate had to lean on the counter for support.

“Where are they now?” Laura asked.

“Well, they just—”

They all turned as the bell rang again and a woman entered the store. Seeing who it was, Kate felt all the hope and joy that had begun to flood through her evaporate in an instant.

“Hello, Kate,” the woman said.

Kate nodded, her eyes searching frantically for a way out.

Scoppetone stood with her back to the door and said nothing for a few seconds. Sensing the atmosphere, the store owner demanded to know what was going on. Scoppetone took out her ID and flashed it at her without taking her eyes off Kate Newman.

“This is where it ends, Kate,” she said. “And if you’re smart, it ends nice and peacefully. We just walk out of here.”

Kate shook her head. “I can’t do it, Angie. I have to find my kids.”

“Is there some kind of problem?” Honeycutt asked.

Scoppetone flashed him a look. “Not your problem, sir. Please stay back and keep quiet. Kate?”

She shook her head again. “I’m sorry.” She began to edge towards the back door she had noticed on her way in.

“What are you doing?” Laura asked.

Scoppetone took a step forward. “Listen to your friend, Kate.”

“They’re here,” Kate said. There were tears in her eyes again as she looked at Laura. “You heard what he said. The kids are
here
.”

“I’ve got half a dozen men out there,” Scoppetone said. “And bearing in mind what you did, you don’t need me to tell you that they’re serious guys.”

“I can’t…”

“You understand me?”

“She’s upset,” Laura said. “Can’t you see that?”

Scoppetone sighed. “I don’t want to take you out of here at gunpoint.” The detective reached into her jacket and produced a pistol. “But you made the call.”

As the gun was raised, Honeycutt jumped forward and grabbed Scoppetone’s arm. He shouted at Kate, “Run…!”

The crack of a gun sounded and Kate fell on to her face. The storekeeper dived behind the counter, and a second later the lifeless body of BB Honeycutt crumpled to the floor.

“Stay down, Kate!” Scoppetone shouted.

Kate Newman curled into a ball and began to scream as the store was peppered with bullets while a few metres away, with jars and bottles exploding all around her, Laura Sullivan ran for her life, crashing through the back door and into the street.

“D
o let me get you a real drink, Celia.” It was the second time Eleanor Wing had asked.

“No, really,” Celia said; “I’m fine with lemonade.”

Eleanor wandered away to minister to her other guests; to continue playing the perfect party hostess. The cocktail party was in full swing.

Celia was agitated; she needed to talk to Gerry urgently. She needed to tell him it was time to come clean with Eleanor; to tell her the truth about their affair – they no longer had any choice.

Then Eleanor Wing would understand why Celia was not drinking alcohol…

As soon as she saw her chance Celia marched outside and pulled Gerry round to the back of the house, on the pretence of talking about work.

“Hang on. Celia, what’s—?”

“I’m pregnant, Gerry.”

The blood drained from Wing’s face. “Oh God. You know what this means. We were never supposed to…”

“Well, it’s happened,” Celia said. “So now we have to deal with it.”

There was silence for a minute or two, and then they began to talk. To make the necessary plans. “I must tell Eleanor about the baby, of course,” Wing said. “Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity for you and me to make a clean break. To get away…”

“What about the children?” Celia asked. “
Eleanor’s
children?”

“We’ll need to talk about Hilary, obviously. He’s
my
flesh and blood.” He was pacing back and forth, chewing at a loose fingernail. “I’ve tried my hardest with Rudi, but we’ve never been able to get close. I think he’s always resented me, and to be honest, I’ve never really warmed to him… Well, you know the boy, there’s something … disconcerting about him.”

They talked a little more about Eleanor Wing’s oldest son, who was now thirteen years old, unaware that he was sitting no more than a few metres away from them, curled up beneath the porch. Almost afraid to breathe in case he was discovered, he was hanging on every terrible word of the conversation going on above him and his was body shaking with fury.

A few hours later those few guests who had not left the party already were encouraged to do so by the raised voices coming from Gerald and Eleanor Wing’s bedroom; they were driven away by the cursing and the sound of glasses smashing against walls…

It was not long before the only other people left in the house were Celia and the children. Hilary and Rudi sat in different corners of the living room, glaring alternately at each other and at her. Both had odd expressions that Celia could not quite fathom: knowing yet fearful.

The bedroom door suddenly burst open and Wing marched out, his face drawn and pale, his wife’s screeched curses still ringing in the air behind him. He took Celia’s arm and led her out on to the porch and down the steps.

“Get into the car and wait for me,” he said. “I need to try and explain to Hilary.”

Celia hurried over to the blue Packard and climbed into the passenger seat. She turned to watch Gerry go back into the house. He walked past Rudi, who was standing on the porch, a strange half-smile on his face, which he turned on Celia before following his stepfather back inside.

Ten minutes later Wing came out again and climbed into the car beside her without a word. He fired up the Packard’s engine, then hesitated when he heard his wife’s voice. He glanced in the mirror to see Eleanor come running from the house towards the car.

“Wait, you son of a bitch…” she shouted.

Celia was suddenly frightened, and thought for a second that Eleanor might physically attack her. Instead, she just yanked open the driver’s door and told Gerry to get into the passenger’s seat. “You’re too drunk to drive.” She looked over at Celia. “I can’t say I’d be devastated to see
her
dead, but you’re not leaving my kids without a father.”

Wing did as he was told, moving over into the passenger seat, while Celia clambered into the back and Eleanor got behind the wheel. The car lurched away, throwing up a cloud of dust that prevented anyone inside from seeing Rudi.

The boy had come tearing from the house, panic-stricken. He began chasing after the car, desperately shouting at his mother, pleading with her to stop as she accelerated away.

The dust had not yet settled again when the peaceful night air was torn apart by the noise of squealing brakes, shearing metal and shattering glass…

The Packard had not needed gas and had seemed to drive itself smoothly along the highway and then off into the scrubland of the New Mexico desert. Gabriel was behind the wheel now, and sitting in the back seat, Rachel and Adam had drifted into the most disturbing glimpse yet of their grandmother’s past.

The party, the angry confrontations, and the dreadful …
fatal
consequences.

As the vision had unfolded in their minds, the same car that had fulfilled Celia Root’s terrible destiny forty years before now carried them towards their own – and inexplicably, a thousand-kilometre journey which should have taken the best part of twelve hours had taken less than half that time.

It was only the weather that had made the drive remotely difficult. The day had never become bright. The sky was purple and blotchy, and a howling wind had blown up, throwing tumbleweed and scraps of rubbish into their path and across the windscreen.

Hailstones battered the bonnet of the Packard and drummed menacingly on its roof. Rachel curled up on the springy back seat, where her grandmother had sat decades before, glad that the steel of the car’s body was thick and protective.

“Looks like a tornado,” Adam said. He pointed across the desert to where the clouds seemed to be pressing down on the land. A plume of dark vapour spiralled out of the cloud and twisted down to the ground. As they drove towards it, the tornado threw up grit, sticks and plants as if the desert was protesting at their presence – or at least was trying to prevent them from continuing.

It was only mid afternoon when signs for
ALAMOGORDO AIR FORCE BASE
started to appear but it was already dark. Adam was driving again. He steered the Packard over the last few kilometres and they saw lights in the distance. As they approached, they could tell that the base was the size of a small town. A perimeter fence sparkled with bright white lamps, and spotlights raked the sky and surrounding desert from conning-towers on each corner.

“Looks welcoming,” Gabriel said. He smiled at Rachel. “You ready for this?”

Rachel did not feel in the least bit ready, but if there was any chance at all that her father was being held here then she had no choice but to go in. Her anxiety was only heightened by the reactions of the Triskellion round her neck: it had been vibrating and getting warmer for the last twenty kilometres.

“Can you feel it, Adam?” she asked.

Adam fished into his shirt and held up his Triskellion. It spun on its leather thong and glowed bright in the dim light inside the car. “You bet,” he said.

They pulled up at the checkpoint by the main gates and spotlights immediately focused on the old car.

“This’ll be a test,” Adam said. He wound down the window and waited for someone to come from the sentry box. It was empty.

They waited a few seconds, wondering what to do, until the electronic barrier in front of the car lifted, opening the way for them. Adam looked to Gabriel for guidance.

“Go on,” he said.

Adam accelerated and drove the car under the barrier. A pair of armoured gates swung open, and they found themselves inside Alamogordo Air Force Base. It appeared to be completely deserted. The gates swung shut behind them.

“Nice work,” Adam said to Gabriel. “You made the gates do that, didn’t you?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Pull over.”

Adam stopped the car behind an army truck.

“Can’t you hear that?” Gabriel said.

Adam and Rachel concentrated for a second.

“I thought it was just me,” Rachel said. She could hear a faint high-pitched ringing in her ears.

“I’ve got it too.” Adam rattled his little finger in his ear.

“They’re blocking us,” Gabriel said. “Like they did at the station in Ohio. Try talking to each other; use your minds.”

Rachel tried and failed to communicate with her brother. It was as if the frequency in their heads were scrambling their words.

“So if you didn’t open the gates,” Adam said, “why did they let us in?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “And that’s what worries me.”

H
igh above New York City, in the glass observatory at the very top of the Flight Building, the director cranked up the powerful refractor telescope.

BETA-coded reports had been landing on his desk all day. The office had been on high alert after operatives had begun reporting freak conditions in the sky from New Mexico all the way up to Alaska. Reports of similar meteorological events were also coming in from Canada, the UK and North Africa.

Whatever was happening up there was
big.

The Hope astronomers had identified a rare constellation that, according to them, could only happen once every ten thousand years – an alignment of the planets that appeared to be causing hurricanes, freak tides, storms and today, a partial eclipse. The base in Alamogordo was also reporting more than usual activity in the desert sky.

There was always activity of one kind or another in the skies above Alamogordo, which was why the base had been built there in the first place. Then, of course, there had been the incident in the 1950s and the evidence that had finally convinced the government to take the reports seriously – so seriously that they had created a fake incident some kilometres away to take the attention away from Alamogordo itself.