Triskellion 3: The Gathering (8 page)

“Who?” Laura asked, knowing full well who Rachel meant, but needing it confirmed.

“Think. The boy.”

“Where are you?” Laura asked. “I’ll come and find you; I’ll try to protect you.”

“You can’t,” Rachel said. “Protect Mom.”

“I’ll do my best.” Laura felt herself flush, knowing that her protection had already been inadequate.

“I tried her at the house, but the phone’s been cut off. Where is she?”

Laura didn’t know what to say. “Just tell me where you are,” she urged.

“It’s best that you don’t know. We’re leaving now, anyhow.”

“I think I know where you are,” Laura said. “Did you find them? In the biscuit tin?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We did.”

“Just tell me where you’re going,” Laura pleaded.

“No,” Rachel said, and then her voice softened a little. “We’re going to finish this.”

“Please let me come with you…”

“Gotta go.”

“Love you…” Laura said.

But Rachel had already gone.

Laura grabbed a crumpled Kleenex from the dashboard, blew her nose loudly and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She knew now that they were way ahead of her; she had no chance of catching them.

Deep down, she had always known.

She shrugged, defeated, and her mind flashed back to the cave on the North African coast where they had discovered the second Triskellion. There, she had seen the twins’ arrival from New York, their stay in England, the trek across Europe and finally the time they’d spent in Australia, all detailed in a mural painted thousands of years before.

Laura could not bring herself to think of the last series of images: the ones only she had seen that showed an alarming future that had not happened.

At least, not yet.

Laura arrived back in Kalgoorlie early the next afternoon. She had driven all night, keeping herself awake with coffee as soon as she had reached the first signs of civilization.

She checked back into the Nelson Hotel. The room was hot and, although her body ached from hours and hours of bumping over rough terrain, she slept fitfully – bad dreams and anxious thoughts never far from the surface.

She was finally woken by a knock on her door.

“Hello?” she said, nervously.

Another knock.

Laura swung her legs out of bed and pulled on her jeans. She fumbled in her bag and slipped a folding knife into her pocket, then, thinking better of it, opened it and held it concealed in her hand. She crept up to the door and listened, sensing someone still outside.

“Hello?” she said again.

“Laura?” The voice was quiet, close to the door.

Laura fumbled with the catch and swung the door wide open. Standing in the hall, looking drained and frightened was Kate Newman.

Laura bundled her into the room. She caught sight of the haunted expression on Kate’s face and hugged her. “You OK?” she asked. She could see that Kate was anything but OK.

“Not really,” Kate said weakly. “I’m wanted. For murder.”

L
aura sat Kate down on the bed and made them both coffee. “What are you talking about?” she said, handing Kate a cup. “What murder?”

Kate began to talk…

She had not been nearly strong enough to resist the man who had forced his way into her house. The American had nearly wrenched the door from its hinges, and Kate had fallen back into the room. He had followed coolly behind and closed the door quietly, locking it with the key.

Kate had held the back of a chair, her knees trembling and her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.

The American had sat down at the kitchen table without taking off his sunglasses. “Where are they?” he’d asked.

“I don’t know.”

He’d pushed his glasses up on to his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as if he had already become tired of waiting. “You’re their mother, Kate. You must know where they are.”

“I honestly don’t,” she had said. “They left in the night.”

“By themselves?”

“Yes,” Kate had lied, thinking that if there was any chance of them escaping, the boy they had left with would provide it.

“Tell me what you know about your kids.” The American had looked straight into her eyes.

“They’re just a pair of normal kids who happen to be twins.”

“Nothing …
special
about them, then?” he had asked.

The maternal instinct had risen up, strong. “Of course they’re special. They’re my kids.”

“We know
that
. But what about special powers? Mind- reading? ESP? Hypnosis?”

“They’re just kids,” Kate had said. “Leave them alone.”

“What do you know about the Hope Project, Kate?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Now I
know
you’re lying,” he’d said, any inflection of warmth gone from his voice. “Apparently, you were a guest of the Project in England for some time a couple of years ago. This is a nice way to repay our hospitality.”

He had got up and walked towards her, cracking his knuckles. Kate had steadied herself against the chair. She’d known she was in a corner now and didn’t like to think what might happen if she didn’t co-operate.

“W-w-wait…” she’d stammered. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just promise me you won’t harm them.”

“Come on, then.” The American had smiled faintly. “Talk.”

“OK. I know that they’re different; that they have different genes to the rest of us.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the American had said. “And have you heard of Triskellion?”

Kate had nodded. “It was the place where I grew up.”

“And what about the artefact that has the same name? Have you ever seen one?”

Kate had known she would have one chance at this, and she had to get it right. She’d hesitated for what had felt like the right amount of time.

“Well?” the American had pressed.

“Yes,” she’d replied. “My kids have two of them.”

“And do you know where the Triskellions are?”

“Yes. If I show you where they are, will you leave us alone?”

The American had nodded. The excitement had been written clearly across his face.

Kate had taken timid steps over to the cupboard concealed under the stairs by the tongue-and-groove planks.

“Secret cupboard?” the man had joked.

She had run her fingernails along the side of one of the planks. The cupboard had swung open, and with her body she had masked the shotgun that Laura had put there a few days before. She had known she would have to be quick. In one move she had unhooked the gun and swung it back round into the room, noting in a millisecond the look of panic on the American’s face.

“I killed him.” Kate’s face was blank, traumatized.

Laura shook her head in disbelief.

“He was from Hope,” Kate said. “He had a list. He knew who we were. He knew the kids’ names!” She took a sip of her drink with a trembling hand.

Laura felt a flutter of panic. “Which names?”

“Their real names,” Kate said. “
Our
names.”

“We need to get away from here, pronto,” Laura said. “How did you leave the place?”

Kate barely heard her. Her mind had flashed back to the moment when the American had tried to wrestle the shotgun from her: how she had accidentally pulled the trigger. He had flown backwards, his black shirt blown to tatters and wet with blood. “There was a struggle…” she murmured. “The gun went off.”

“Kate?” Laura said, bringing her back. “How did you leave the house?”

Kate looked at Laura’s horrified face.

“I burned it down,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do… I wanted to destroy everything … the evidence. Now, where are my kids?”

T
he Boeing 747 began its descent from the clear blue.

Rachel shaded her eyes as she watched the wing tips tremble; wisps of cloud and invisible air currents skimmed across the plane, forcing it down towards the earth. Rachel had no clear idea just how these things stayed in the sky. She vaguely knew the physics – the combination of forward thrust and air resistance and so on – but the fact that it stayed up still seemed like a minor miracle.

It appeared that Gabriel also had little confidence in the aeroplane staying in the sky. He had looked sick and nervous for every minute of the past thirty or so hours, and had only rallied a little when the flight had touched down in Chicago and let some passengers off before continuing on to New York. For the past hour his eyes had kept darting nervously to the overhead locker where the Triskellions were wrapped up tightly in Rachel and Adam’s backpacks.

The thirty hours of travelling had given the twins time to get used to the memories that had come back to them. Their childhood in Manhattan. The home they had grown up in. The years spent with the father they would now try to re-establish contact with.

They were both trying not to think what the next leg of their adventure would reveal. Gabriel was giving no clues away. In fact, he had barely spoken to them at all.

Rachel held Gabriel’s hand as they continued their descent, feeling for once that she was more in charge of the situation than he was.

The plane banked, and New York stretched out below them: a collection of small islands and peninsulas. As they got closer still, the spires and mirrored towers of Manhattan came into view and sparkled – as shiny and magical as the Emerald City in
The Wizard of Oz
.

The plane dropped further and Rachel recognized the East River below, and just beyond, the runway of LaGuardia Airport. After the bright light of Australia and beneath the cloud canopy, the world looked greyer – and more familiar.

Home.

They queued at passport control. The immigration officer looked Rachel and Adam up and down, studied their passports for a moment and then called a colleague. The two officers then looked through the twins’ passports and at the stamps on the pages. They typed in an address on a computer terminal.

The first officer looked up, and Rachel managed to catch his eye.

“We’ve been to see our grandma,” she said, and smiled.

The other officer looked at Adam, who also smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Welcome home.” The officers spoke in unison, and waved them through, the first man tipping his cap at Rachel.

They left the terminal building and walked across to where the buses stopped to rejoin Gabriel, who had somehow slipped through customs unnoticed. Adam had seen a payphone and went inside to try to make contact with their father.

Across the concourse, a small group of men in grey suits and women in pink and blue twinsets had gathered. The women were handing out leaflets, and one of the men was talking through a megaphone: “Come and join us at the Church of the Triple Wheel. Ezekiel One will soon be upon us. Become a Triple Wheeler today and be ready for the Gathering…”

A lady in a pink cardigan stepped forward with a beaming smile and gave Rachel a leaflet. “Spread the good news, young lady. Prepare for the Gathering.”

Rachel took the leaflet while Gabriel waved away the advance of a young man with a CD.

“Prepare,” the man said. “Listen to Pastor Crane in your own home.”

Rachel looked at the leaflet. It read:

She looked at the picture of a man with a plastic-looking face and blond wig addressing a rally somewhere; his eyes were bright and full of what she took to be religious fervour.

“What’s Ezekiel One?” she asked.

Gabriel leaned across. “Let me see,” he said, taking the leaflet. “What did you say he was called?”

As Gabriel stared at the leaflet, Adam rejoined them. Rachel saw the look on his face. “Did you speak to Dad?” she asked.

Adam was pale. He shook his head.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“I called his cell phone,” Adam replied. “It’s been disconnected.”

“OK, well—”

“Then I called the university… I got through to Dad’s head of department.” Adam stopped, opening his mouth and then closing it again. After a second or two he found the words: “They’ve never
heard
of him. I thought it was just a stupid mistake, you know. Made sure they were spelling ‘Newman’ right, whatever…”