Part Three, Chapter Two

I've never seen his face this close up before. What strikes me most is how ordinary he is. Even as his hand tightens around my throat there's no trace of evil in his gaze. He's even dressed like a civilian: a sensible white shirt and black trousers. If you put him on a street full of normal, decent people he'd blend right in. His calm, careful ordinariness only makes him worse.

"Please," I say. And I would be disgusted with myself but I'm past caring now. If I had to beg for him to let me go I would. I would do anything but go back. "Please. Laura . . . leave her. She . . . only--"

He cuts me off with a sharp, hard slap to the face. Then he releases me and I slump back to the floor of the helicopter, gasping and wheezing for breath. I can see Laura lying with her hands tied behind her back and a sack over her head at the back of the cabin. There are a couple of Academy wardens sitting there too, rifles balanced across their knees.

Ingleman grabs the back of my jumpsuit and hauls me to my knees again, shoving me towards the curved window in the side of the small cabin. He shoves my face up against it.

"Look," he says, voice raised above the noise of the rotors. I look down. Below us is a beach, alive with activity. Men are racing back and forth, unloading boxes off the back of trucks. As the helicopter turns a little I see that they are transferring the boxes to a series of small motor launches that bob about in the shallows. I watch one of the little boats take off from the shore, heading out to sea. It's only when the helicopter completes its turn that I see where the little launch is heading.

Sitting out at anchor, maybe a quarter mile from the shore is a massive ship. I make out the hard lines of decks and chimneys, everything gunmetal grey, lit by harsh halogen floodlights. The thing is immense, built for war. Even the sight of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Ingleman wrenches me away from the window. "We've had to vacate our premises on the island," he sneers. "Costly, but a necessary precaution. We've already found office space in a . . . more liberal part of the world. One where our work will not be so . . . obstructed." He smiles. "Our studies will continue, little girl. I will see to that. You and your little friend, in fact, will be our first test subjects for some very experimental new procedures." He flings me away from him and I hit the floor with a thud that feels like it cracks a rib. I gasp for air. "You've cost me significantly, little girl," he says coldly, "And I intend to make you pay in full."

At that moment the helicopter lurches and Ingleman is distracted by a shouted question from one of the pilots. He turns away, and I use the opportunity to check on Laura. She's lying quite still, visibly shaking, and even over the roar of the rotors I can tell that she's sobbing behind that hood. I wish I could reach out and comfort her, but I can't. Instead I shut my eyes and try to wish myself somewhere else. Retreat, I tell myself, but it's no good. This time there's no getting away.

Part Three, Chapter One

When I wake up I'm lying on a cold metal floor. There's a sick, bloody taste in the back of my mouth and my skull aches sharply where one of the wardens hit me. I lie there, unable to move, letting the horrible shock of reality sink in. They found me. They came for me and they found me and now they're taking me back to Ingleman. This is it. This is how it ends.

For a moment I feel terribly, awfully sick. What's going to happen to me now? Back to the labs? Or to a quiet, tiled room somewhere for a long interrogation? The thought makes my insides turn to water. I can't face it. And Laura as well. What about her? It's my fault she's involved in all of this. The thought of her being hurt, maybe even killed . . . she's such an innocent in all of this. Oh, hell.

The floor on which I lie is shuddering. Clearly, I'm in the back of some kind of moving vehicle. My hands are tied behind my back and I'm lying painfully on my front. I swing my legs and push up off the floor and eventually, with a fair amount of pain and struggle manage to bring myself to a sitting position.  By the time I'm there I'm exhausted, and the throbbing in my skull is worse than ever.

"Hello?" I call, tentatively at first, and then when that gets no response I try louder, hearing plainly the desperation in my voice. "Anyone? Laura? Please. . ."

"Lynch?" My heart soars at the sound of Laura's voice. "Is that you? What's happening?" She sounds like she's crying, and it's a massive effort for me to keep my own voice steady in response.

"They found us," I say. "They're taking us . . . somewhere. I don't know. But listen, Laura. It's me they want. You'll be okay. Just tell them what they want to hear, you understand? Just give them what they want and you'll be okay." I know it's a lie, and a weak one at that, but it's all I can think of right now. 

"Lynch, I don't understand--" But before Laura can finish speaking the van or truck or whatever we're in rolls to a stop, and a sudden influx of bright light shines through the sack over my head.

"All right," shouts a rough voice. "Get them out and get them in the chopper, quick now."

Hands seize me and lift me to my feet, and I'm walked roughly out of the vehicle into the cool night air. I can only assume Laura is somewhere behind me. The noise out here is deafening. Sure enough I can hear and feel the whirling rotors of a helicopter, and there's shouting and the noise of engines all around. After a short walk across the concrete my two minders grab me by the arms, lift me bodily and throw me onto another metal floor. From the sound of the rotors I'm sure I must be inside the helicopter now. A second later, and another body lands beside me. A pained yelp tells me that it's Laura. At least we're still together.

Within seconds I feel a sharp lurch in my stomach, and I know that we must be rising into the air. A hand seizes my collar and drags me onto my knees. The hood is ripped away. For a long moment the harsh light of the helicopter cabin dazzles me, and I can't see a thing. But I don't need to see to know who's holding me. I only need to hear the sound of his voice, calm and cruel.

"Lynch," says Ingleman. "I knew that you'd be back."

Part Two, Chapter Eighteen

 Lynch has already boarded the train before I can react, and I don't want to give us away by causing a massive fuss. I follow her on board, get her attention and then nod towards the end of the platform and pull a face.

"What?" she whispers. "Police?"

I nod. Lynch goes pale. "Well," she says, "Too late now. If we go dashing off it'll only attract attention." And she heads into the carriage and slumps down into an empty seat, pulling her woolly hat lower on her head as she does so.

For a few minutes the train sits waiting in the station. Nobody else boards our carriage. At last the whistle sounds and the doors hiss shut. Beyond the windows, the platform starts to move. We're on our way, though by no means safe just yet.

"No turning back now," says Lynch grimly. I watch out of the window as we pull away from the station, through a tunnel, through the city and out into the countryside. Soon enough we're churning our way through fields and rolling hills. That's when it hits me; I've left home. I'm running away with a girl I met on the streets just a few days ago. It's all real, and it's all happening. Happening to me, no less. A shiver runs through me, and I feel a powerful pang of sadness as I wonder how long it will be before Mum or Dad notice that I'm gone.

"Listen," says Lynch, "I'm going to try and get some sleep." I nod in agreement, and we move to opposite seats so we can stretch out a bit. Lynch is dozing within minutes, clearly exhausted, but even though I'm more tired than I have been in months sleep won't come for me. I sit there, watching Lynch sleeping and letting my thoughts run through my head: in a little while Mari will come into work and discover our parcel. I can imagine her sitting down to read it, paging through the photographs and maps and statements. I picture her face creasing in a frown, her hand reaching out to pick up the phone.

Then I'm thinking of Darren. I see him lying in a bleak metal cell, sleeping fitfully, not knowing that his sister and the girl he helped escape are sitting together in a train carriage, thinking of him. Not knowing that there are people out there who know the truth, who are looking for him, who are trying to do something to help.

Rocked by the gentle motion of the train, I gradually fall asleep. I don't dream at all as the train speeds us northwards.

I'm not sure how long I'm out before it happens. All I know is there's sudden brightness and shouting and rough hands snatch me out of my seat, and I catch a glimpse of men in grey uniforms for only a second before a hood is wrenched roughly over my head.

Part Two, Chapter Seventeen

We're up through the night working. As we slip out of the fire exit of the library at five thirty in the morning, the product of all our labours sits on the front counter of the library, right where Mari will see it in the morning. I've left a letter thanking her, explaining that I've gone with Lynch, and setting out the full story. Lynch has written up a statement, and we've included maps of what we think is the location of the Academy, along with photographs and Missing Persons' reports for Darren and others, all printed out from the library computers. From the talks I've had with Mari I know that she's in touch with a good few reputable journalists. Hopefully, if all goes well, me and Lynch will be away and safe before the story breaks.

It's not far to the train station; just ten minutes walk. It feels like miles. Every time a car approaches down the semi-dark street my heart leaps into my mouth, and every time we catch sight of another pedestrian I feel a twinge of terror at the thought that it might be the police.

"It's okay," says Lynch. "Just stay calm." Despite her tone there's tension in her voice.

We arrive without incident, and enter the ticket hall. It's cold but brightly lit, and the only people about are the early commuters, striding about all suits and briefcases. We head over to the ticket machines and pick up Lynch's ticket; Mari texted me the number an hour ago, along with her wishes of good luck. Lynch uses some of Mari's money to buy me a ticket as well. Checking the boards, I see that the first train north leaves in twenty minutes. Wordlessly, we make our way to the platform and take a seat on a bench to wait.

The time passes slowly. Both of us are too tense to speak, and I feel like every few seconds I'm glancing at my watch or at the steps that lead onto the platform.

At last, at long last, the approaching train is announced. It looks like it's only us and two or three other men in grey suits catching this one. Me and Lynch stand up and move to the front of the platform as the train hisses into place in front of us. Lynch's hand finds my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"Last chance to do the sensible thing," she says seriously.

I don't even have to think about it now. "I'm coming with you," I say. And it's then, just as the doors open, that I glance up the platform and see the policeman.

Part Two, Chapter Sixteen

"No way," says Lynch flatly. "You can't. It's too dangerous."

"Listen," I insist. "Hear me out at least."

"No." Lynch shakes her head. "You listen. I'm grateful for everything you've done, but you have to understand that this . . . this isn't a game. This is real. If you came with me you'd be putting yourself in the worst danger you could possibly put yourself in. I mean, there are men out there who want to kill me, maybe torture me first. Do you understand that? Really?" She's talking quickly, and from the breaking note in her voice I can tell she's close to tears. I reach out and take her hands.

"I know there's danger. But . . ." I try and marshal my thoughts, try to pull some sense from the mess of feelings in my heart. "But I have to. I'm involved now. For you. And for Darren. I . . . I have to see this through."

"I'm on the run, Laura," says Lynch despairingly. "Wherever I'm going it's not going to be pleasant. Why would you do that to yourself? You have a life here. You're safe. You have family. Why . . . I don't . . ."

And then she is crying, the sounds of her sobs small and muffled in the large space of the empty library.

"Listen," I say. "That's not all. I have an idea, something I think we should do. Something I think we have to do. If we want to help Darren and all the others. If we want to stop Ingleman."

At Ingleman's name Lynch twitches tightly. She wipes quickly at her face and makes a visible effort to stop her tears. "What?" she asks.

"We have to tell people," I say. "We have to write it down. All of it. Everything you know. And we have to make sure it gets out. Ingleman's powerful, right? But he's not above the law. Nobody is. All we have to do is draw attention to him. This Academy of his, it's such a big operation. He won't be able to keep it hidden if people are looking for it. But nobody's looking. Nobody suspects him. Nobody questions his cover story, his version of events. Not yet, anyway. We have to make it public. We have to."

Once I've finished talking Lynch just sits there for a minute looking at me in astonishment. "Well," I say. "What do you think?"

She frowns for a minute, looking uncertain, then nods. "All right," she says grudgingly.

"All right," I say, and my heart does a flip and I swallow dry. "Let's get to work."

Part Two, Chapter Fifteen

Just as she said, Mari runs up a pretty convincing Student ID on the library card printer. By the time she's finished it looks exactly like mine. With a quiet but genuine "thanks" Lynch slips the ID into the side pocket of a small canvas purse Mari found for her in the Lost Property box. Closing time has gone by now, and we can finally come out of the back room and stretch our legs. It's just us and Mari in the library. It feels so surreal. It feels as if I've stepped right outside of everything I've ever known.

"Right," says Mari. "I'm going to go get your ticket now. It'll look suspicious if I come back to the library after hours, so I'll order it and have it ready to pick up at the machine at the station. You'll just need the reference number, which I'll text to you, Laura. You can leave out of the fire exit when morning comes; I've switched off the alarm."

"Right," I say, trying to sound casual. "No problem."

Mari turns to Lynch. We're in the lobby of the library, behind the desk. It's dark, but I can still see that Mari's expression is intent. She reaches into her purse and presses a fold of notes into Lynch's hand. "You'll need money," she says, and when Lynch immediately starts to protest at the amount, she adds forcefully, "Just take it. You'll be grateful of it later on."

"Thank you," says Lynch, sounding abashed. She adds the notes to the side pocket of her bag.

"Well," says Mari, and lets out a long breath. "You must call me when you get home Laura, just to let me know it all went okay."

"I will. Promise." Mari hugs me again and then, more tentatively, Lynch as well. The girl looks a little uncomfortable, but pleased, as if she isn't used to human touch. Then Mari heads for the door to the library. Just before she goes she turns one last time and waves. The expression on her face is carefully set, and in that moment I feel a powerful rush of gratitude for her, for everything she's done to help us, to save us. It's not something there's time for now, but I make a promise to myself to tell her someday just how much it has meant.

"Good luck," says Mari. "Be careful." And then she's gone. We hear the doors lock behind her.

Me and Lynch are alone in the vacant library. Outside, it is just beginning to get dark, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Lynch takes a few steps to one of the swivel chairs behind the desk and slumps down into it.

"I hope we can trust her," she says. She sounds tired.

"We can," I assure her. "I'd trust her with my life."

Lynch nods, biting her lip as if in thought. "She was  . . . kind," she says eventually.

I take the swivel chair opposite Lynch and draw myself up close to her. For a few hours now the germ of an idea has been burning in my brain, but I had to wait for Mari to go before I could discuss it with Lynch. Now the moment is here I feel a tiny grain of doubt. For a second, just a second, I actually want to go home. But then I remember that home without Darren is no longer the place it used to be.

I take a deep breath. "Listen, Lynch," I say. "I'm coming with you."

Part Two, Chapter Fourteen

Ten minutes later we're sat in one of the backrooms drinking cups of coffee. I've just finished telling Mari what I need, and there's a tense silence draped over the room. Lynch looks deeply uncomfortably, and is eyeing the door as though she plans to leap to her feet and run at any moment .

Mari takes a long drink of her coffee. "So you need a place to stay tonight?" she says carefully. I nod. Of course, I've only told her what she needs to know. That Lynch is running away from some bad people who mean her harm, and that she needs somewhere to stay for a night before she gets the first train out in the morning. And that we have to steer clear of the police.

"I promise, Mari, I wouldn't ask unless it was really important."

Mari looks searchingly at me, and then at Lynch. For the first time she addresses her directly. "You're that one the police are all out in force looking for, aren't you? The 'terrorist'?"

Lynch nods cautiously. "That's me."

Mari looks back at me. "And you're telling me that the police have got it wrong, yes? That Lynch is innocent?"

"Yes," I say. "But if they find her they won't even give her a chance. These people who she's running from, they're . . . well, they're powerful. They have a lot of influence."

Mari nods thoughtfully and then sits back in her chair. "This is a lot to take in for a Monday."

I start to apologise again, but Mari waves it away. She looks to Lynch again.

"Tell me," she says. "Is this true? Are you in danger? And the people you're running from; are they the bad guys in all this?"

Lynch looks directly at her with serious, sleepless eyes. "It's true," she says. "All of it."

For a moment Mari's expression is unreadable, and I feel my first real twinge of worry. What if she decides to call in the police anyway? But a second later Mari nods and gets to her feet.

"You can stay," she says. "But you'll need a ticket if you're getting the first train of the day. Some ID would help as well, and some decent clothes."

I'm elated that Mari's going to help us, but I control myself. One thing at a time, I tell myself. Don't let your guard down until it's over. "I can lend Lynch some of my clothes," I say, "But I don't know where to get ID from. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be okay without."

"It's okay," says Mari with a smile. "I'll whip you up a student card using the library card printer. That should get you on the train okay. Let me just grab my camera."

She moves to leave, but just as she's going I call out, "Mari," and she turns. I stand up. "Thank you for this. Thank you for helping."

The next thing I know Mari is hugging me tight against her shoulder. It's been a long time since anyone hugged me like this, like a mother, and for a moment I tight little ball in my throat and I'm tired and I want to go home and Mari whispers into my ear, "You're a good girl, Laura. This'll all turn out okay," and we just stand there holding each other for a long, long time.