The Secret Prophecy (12 page)

Chapter 26

T
he Leslie Monument dated back to the Second World War and featured a tall aviator in the cockpit of a Spitfire. Although only half life-size, it was set on a high granite plinth that dwarfed Charlotte as she stood at their appointed meeting place, impatiently consulting her wristwatch.

“I think we should go and see her now,” Em said. “She’s not going to hang around much longer. You know what girls are like.”

“Not for a good many years,” Victor told him. “But just hold fire—I want to be certain.”

They were standing together inside the overhang of a clump of bushes, one of the very few in this area of the park. Apart from Charlotte and an old woman seated on a park bench feeding bread to pigeons, there was no one else in sight. “Certain of what?” Em demanded. “There’s just Charlotte.”

“Certain she hasn’t been followed. Can’t be too careful. I just want to be sure of the woman on the bench.”

“She’s an old lady,” Em protested. “Hardly Themis material.”

“First time we met, you thought I was an old man.”

“Okay, point taken. But she was here before Charlotte arrived. That doesn’t suggest following.”

“Mmm,” Victor said noncommittally. Then, “You’re probably right. Off you go.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Fewer people see me the better,” Victor said. “Just get the iPod and get back here. Don’t hang about chatting.” He caught Em by the arm. “One more thing: you mention nothing about me—understood? I told you about Section 7 on a need-to-know basis. She doesn’t need to know.”

“What do I say if she asks me what’s going on? She’s bound to. She knows about Mum. She’ll want to know where I’ve been hiding. She already knows about the man with the gun—should I tell her about the Knights?”

“Tell her you’ve been sleeping on park benches. It’s almost true.” His tone softened. “Em, we can’t afford to tell her the whole truth, for her own sake. This is a dangerous game. You’re involved through no fault of your own. I’m involved because I’m a professional. But there’s no need for her to be involved. We’ve put her at enough risk already just asking her to get the iPod.”

Em shrugged. “Okay.”

Charlotte looked none too pleased as he approached. “What kept you?” she asked. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry,” Em muttered. He’d decided to say as little as possible rather than get into a convoluted explanation that would only lead to further questions.

Charlotte sniffed. “I very nearly went home.”

“Sorry,” Em said again. He glanced around him to ensure that no one else was about and realized that hanging around with Victor was making him paranoid. Even the old lady had wandered off, although her pigeons still clustered around the bench, mopping up the last of the bread crumbs. “Did you get the iPod?”

“Yes, of course I got the iPod. Did you realize the police are watching your apartment? There was an ugly, great police car parked right outside with a uniformed sergeant and a uniformed constable.”

“They didn’t cause you any problems, did they?” It was a stupid question. Of course they must have caused her problems. The police were
paid
to cause people problems, especially people who were letting themselves into houses that weren’t their own. He wondered how Charlotte had managed to get past them.

Charlotte smiled for the first time. “With my honest face? Of course not. When I saw them parked there, I went straight across and asked the sergeant if he had a key to your house.”

Em’s jaw fell. “You did
what
?”

“I told him your uncle Harold asked me to collect something for him. It was nearly true, except it wasn’t your uncle Harold who asked; it was you.”

“What did he say—the sergeant?” Em gasped.

“He said they didn’t have a key—they were just keeping an eye on the house. I said that was all right, because Uncle Harold had said something about a spare key under the plant pot and would they like to come in with me, help me look.”

“Oh my God!” Em exclaimed. “You didn’t tell them about the iPod?”

“They didn’t ask. They didn’t want to come in with me either. I suppose I looked respectable, and I think I may have mentioned that my dad was with the university. Anyway, they just sat in their comfortable police car while I found the key and let myself in.” She gave Em a disgusted look. “Your room is a dreadful mess.”

“Yes, I know,” Em said. “But you found the iPod?”

“I told you I found the iPod.” She produced a red-striped box from the pocket of her jeans but snatched it away when Em reached for it. “No you don’t. I want to know what’s been happening. I was really worried about you, Em. I thought you would have phoned me before now and not just because you wanted me to do something.”

“It’s not all that easy,” Em said vaguely. “I’ve been sleeping on the street.”

“Could have fooled me,” Charlotte said. She looked him up and down. “You’re clean, and you’ve had a change of clothes.”

Girls missed nothing. The change of clothes had come out of Victor’s wardrobe in the safe house, and he’d showered that morning. Em thought on his feet. “I washed in the public restrooms,” he said. Charlotte would have no idea what sort of facilities there were in men’s restrooms: she’d probably never been in one in her life. If she asked, he’d tell her that truck drivers showered there all the time. When Charlotte didn’t ask but continued staring at him, he licked his lips and went on with the first thing that came into his head: “I stole the clothes.”

“You what?” She contrived to sound shocked, the girl who’d just told him how she lied to the police.

“Off a clothesline,” Em added.

“Oh, you poor, poor thing!” Charlotte exclaimed.

He had to wait until she was out of sight before returning to Victor.

“Did she get it?” Victor asked quickly.

Em nodded.

“Not too much hassle?” Victor asked.

Em shook his head. “Just the right amount.”

Victor looked at him blankly, then said, “Okay, let’s get back to the safe house and take a look.”

When they reached the door of the apartment, Victor did not unlock it at once. Instead he knelt down and peered closely at the doorjamb.

“What are you doing?” Em asked curiously.

“Just making sure we’ve had no visitors in our absence.”

“You haven’t fixed a thread down there?” Em asked incredulously. “Boy, you really take this seriously.”

“Have to,” Victor told him. “This is survival we’re talking about. I’d have thought you’d have realized that by now.” He stood up. “All clear. The thread is intact.”

They went inside; Victor closed the door and went directly to the window to draw the curtains. As he did so, there was a knock at the door.

Em froze, his heart pounding. Suddenly Victor was holding a gun, clasping it with both hands, pointed upward the way they did in cop movies. He stepped to one side, behind the table. “I want you to open it, Em,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the door. “But the second you do, I want you to step back and to one side, leaving me a clear shot.” He brought the gun down so it was pointing at the door. “Unlock it, then pull it quickly wide-open so you’re shielded behind the door. It’s metal lined, remember, so you’ll be safe. Got that?”

“Got that,” Em said. He wasn’t sure about the
safe
bit, but it never occurred to him to question Victor’s instructions.

“Go,” Victor whispered.

The knock came again, loud and insistent, as Em moved to the door. He uttered a silent prayer and then, before he could lose his nerve, unlocked the door and pulled it wide-open, stepping behind it as he did so. He couldn’t see who was outside; but he had a clear view of Victor, his hands rock-steady as he aimed the gun, and Victor’s expression went from grim determination to openmouthed shock. “What the
hell
are
you
doing here?” he gasped. But slowly, cautiously, he was lowering the gun.

Em risked a glance around the door, and he too froze with shock.

“Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” Charlotte asked him as she walked inside.

Chapter 27

“H
ow did you know we were here?” Victor demanded. Em noted that the gun was still in evidence, although no longer pointed in Charlotte’s direction. Victor had set it within easy reach on the tabletop.

“Followed you,” Charlotte told him calmly. She pulled up a chair and sat down. “In a taxi.” She gave Victor a sidelong look. “I wish you’d put that thing away. You must know I’m a friend of Em’s.”

Victor slid the gun off the table and into his pocket, but continued to stare at Charlotte.

“You haven’t told me who you are,” Charlotte said.

“His name’s Victor,” Em said. He ignored Victor’s warning glance. “Come on, Victor. Charlotte’s a friend. She knows about the man with the gun. She knows I’m being followed. She’s already helped me twice. And now she knows where we live. We may as well tell her the rest. She could be of help. I think we need all the help we can get.”

Victor continued to glare at Charlotte for another moment, then his shoulders slumped and he turned to Em. “You’re right. Fill her in while I make some coffee.” He glanced back at Charlotte. “Just remember, this isn’t a game. You’ve blundered into something very dangerous—potentially lethal, in fact.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Charlotte said, tight-lipped.

Since there wasn’t really very much to tell, Em brought her up-to-date quickly while Victor made the coffee. She proved one of those rare people who didn’t ask silly questions—didn’t ask questions at all—until he had finished. Not even the news that Victor was an agent of Section 7 seemed to faze her. “And that’s about it,” he said in conclusion.

“You think the iPod I collected might have some clue to what this is all about?”

“Victor does,” Em said.

“Then maybe we should have a look at it,” Charlotte said.

Em opened the iPod box as Victor took fresh coffee mugs from the cupboard. He dropped the iPod into the palm of his hand, then checked inside the empty box for a card or note, but there was nothing. Next he examined the iPod itself. On the front, the gray-black touch screen was blank. Reluctantly he turned it over. Etched into the silvered back, above the Apple logo and the name iPod, was the inscription:
Good listening. Happy birthday, Edward, from your loving father.
Loving father. Em felt his eyes begin to brim again.

Victor walked over. “Did you say you wanted coffee?” he asked Charlotte. “I made you a cup anyway.” He set her mug beside her on the table, then turned to Em. “Anything?”

“Nothing in the box. I haven’t switched it on yet.” He pressed the button on the top edge and watched while the Apple logo appeared center screen. It seemed to hang there for a long time before it was suddenly replaced by a color photo of planet Earth taken from space above the message
SLIDE TO UNLOCK
.
Em ran his thumb across the bottom of the screen, dragging the slider icon with it. The iPod screen flared into a grid of icons. Across the bottom, four were labeled
MUSIC, MAIL, SAFARI,
and
VIDEOS
.

“There’s Wi-Fi in this apartment,” Victor murmured. “Switched off at the moment, but I can turn it on again if we need it.”

“I don’t think we will,” Em said. “If Dad did leave me any sort of message, it wouldn’t be on the Net. It’ll be in the device itself.”

“How about that thing labeled
NOTES
?” Charlotte suggested. “He may have left you a note.”

Em thumbed the icon, and a lined yellow page expanded to fill the screen. But the page was blank. “Nope,” Em said.

“What else might he have used?”

“I don’t know,” Em said. “I’ll do a bit of a search.”

The search took more than fifteen minutes as he checked icon after icon. Things like
SAFARI
and
MAIL
didn’t work without the Wi-Fi connection, but he decided to come back to them a little later. It was Charlotte who pushed the issue when she said suddenly, “Maybe he sent you an email.”

“I’d have picked it up on my PC ages ago,” Em said.

“Not if he set you up with a special email account on the iPod.”

Em looked at her in sudden admiration. A special email account was certainly a possibility. It would be easy enough to set one up under Em’s name, or an assumed name for that matter, then change the iPod’s settings to download any mail that went there. Even a Luddite like his father might have managed it if he was desperate enough. “We’ll need the Wi-Fi if we’re to check.”

“The router’s in my bedroom,” Victor said. “I’ll plug it in.” He came back only moments later. “Should be up and running now.”

Em thumbed the
MAIL
icon and stared at the screen in disappointment when he discovered the factory settings were intact. “Great idea,” he told Charlotte, “but he didn’t do it. I’d have to plug the iPod into my PC at home to transfer my email settings, but that would just give me my normal account—Dad didn’t set up a special one.”

“I’ll leave the network on for a bit; you may need it later,” Victor said. “Keep trying.”

Em kept trying with no luck whatsoever. After another five minutes, he decided Victor must be just plain wrong: Dad had left no message at all, at least not on the iPod. Out of curiosity, he thumbed the
MUSIC
icon and opened a screen headed
PLAYLISTS.
Only one showed, an item labeled
ON-THE-GO,
but he knew from past experience that this one would be empty. Until he synched with his home computer, none of his music would be on the iPod.

There were five icons along the bottom of the Playlists screen. The first, highlighted, repeated
PLAYLISTS.
Next to it were
ARTISTS
,
SONGS
,
ALBUMS
, and
MORE
. The first three had to be blank as well, but he thumbed the last one curiously. It opened a new screen listing:
AUDIO BOOKS, COMPILATIONS, COMPOSERS, GENRES
, i
TUNES
, and
PODCASTS
. Podcasts was the only one that sported a small gray arrow. Em felt his stomach tighten. “There’s a podcast on here,” he said quietly.

“Shouldn’t there be?” Victor asked.

“Not unless somebody downloaded one. Which would have had to be my father.”

“It’s not a demo that comes with the player?”

“Not a podcast,” Charlotte broke in. “You have to download them.”

“So your father downloaded one for you?” Victor said to Em. “Something he thought would interest you?”

“Either that or . . .” Em didn’t want to finish the sentence in case the thought he’d had proved to be wrong.

Victor waited for a moment, then said, “Can we listen to it?”

“Hold on,” Em said. He found the ear buds that came with the iPod and plugged them into the socket on the bottom edge of the device. He pushed one bud into his own ear and held the other out to Victor. “You won’t be able to hear anything without this.” To Charlotte he said, “If you squish your ear up against mine, we should both be able to listen from the same earpiece.”

Charlotte pulled her chair close beside his and leaned across without a word until her cheek was pressed against his, her ear against his ear. She smelled of lightly perfumed soap. Em reluctantly dragged his attention back to the task at hand and tapped the Podcast heading. He watched the screen slide sideways to reveal a title, the single word
DISCOVERY.

“Something from the Discovery Channel?” Victor asked.

Em doubted it. As Victor sat down and began to fiddle with his ear bud, Em tapped the screen again.

There was no video, but his father’s voice emerged from the tiny speaker in his right ear.