Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (23 page)

It was only when she’d finished and put the bowl down that she noticed there was someone watching her. She looked up and made out in the gloom the auburn hair and bright ruby lips of Lieutenant Dixon. For a long minute they just watched each other, neither saying anything. Then Lieutenant Dixon spoke.

‘I fear that justice was not done today,’ she said carefully, measuredly, ‘but we fight the battles we can win. Which is cold comfort for you, I’m afraid.’ She paused, then opened her mouth as if to say something, but changed her mind.

She banged on the outer door and was about to leave when she turned. ‘I must go back to Oxford tonight. When I return we will be able to fight the mayor on
my
terms.’

 
‘We must always have hope,’ she added. ‘Even in the darkest of places, at the darkest of times. Oh yes, and Adam says “Hi!”’ Then she was gone.

The last words of the Kingsman went round and round in Flick’s mind as she tried to discern some hidden meaning.

Adam says ‘Hi’?

What did she know of Adam?

Was he here? Hope… if only…

She lay on the floor in the deepening gloom for some time before she heard a key in the outer door. She raised herself up as the door opened, in expectation of a visitor, but when she saw that it was the mayor, she sank back against the wall and closed her eyes.

‘Come to gloat?’ she asked.

‘Would I do such a thing?’ he asked, his tone offended.

‘Yes,’ said Flick, flatly.

‘I merely wished to reflect that, had you not warned Shea O’Connell of our little trap and helped him escape, none of this would have happened, and your father and sister would still be alive.’

‘You didn’t have to kill them! They had nothing to do with it. You should have let them get away, killed me instead.’

‘My dear, I didn’t kill them. You did.’

The words rolled around her head, and Flick knew that in some horrible, twisted way he was right. She
had
killed them. She deserved to die.

‘It is unfortunate that you managed to escape–an oversight on my part–but one that will shortly be remedied.’

Flick opened her eyes, alarmed. ‘But the Kingsmen…’

‘…Have gone.’ The mayor finished the sentence for her. ‘What can they do now? Nothing! It’s just you and me and a rope. And my…
associates
, of course. Your friends think the execution will be held in two days time, and no doubt they will try to mount some last ditch rescue attempt, but you, my dear, will be long dead. I’m moving the execution to tomorrow morning, at dawn. There’s no way your Kingsmen friends will get back in time to save you. Have a nice
last
night.’
 

With those cold and hateful words, he turned and left.

‘EIGHTY-SEVEN POINT five hours,’ Bryan Sousa crowed while waving his logbook. ‘I’m beating you by–what’s your score?’

They stood on an area of open downland that served as a makeshift airfield on the western side of the city. Shea mumbled something.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ Bryan cupped his hands to his ears.

‘Sixty-one point nine,’ Shea said, a little louder. When Shea and Bryan had started at the academy together, they became instant friends, and until Shea’s crash some weeks earlier, they’d matched each other’s flying time hour for hour.

‘Lets see, I outrank you by…’ he made a show of counting on his fingers. ‘Twenty-five point six hours! You are never gonna catch me now!’ Bryan exulted.

‘Only ‘cos I spent two months stuck on the ground,’ Shea grumbled.

‘And destroyed a sky-kart, solar wing and all,’ Bryan said. ‘I’d be surprised if they ever let you fly again. Hours in the back seat don’t count, remember.’

‘You might have more hours, but I’m still the better pilot,’ Shea said, desperately trying to regain the upper hand.

Bryan shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll never know.’ He stowed his logbook back in the locker, and pulled out his flying hat and goggles. Do you think you’ll ever see that girl again? What was her name? Flip?’

‘Flick,’ Shea said. ‘I suppose if I ever go back that way…’

‘And you crash again!’ Bryan quipped.

‘I told you I didn’t crash, I was shot down,’ Shea said, exasperated.

‘Yeah, whatever. Crashed, shot down, we’re still a sky-kart short.’
 

Shea turned serious. ‘Look, Bry, I think there’s something bad going on out there, but I don’t know what. Nobody has heard a peep from our agent there–Bumpenny–in all the time since we got back. No status updates, nothing.’

‘He’s probably just taking a break after the trauma of saving your sorry arse,’ Bryan quipped.

‘Thing is, I asked him to keep an eye on Flick, ‘cos this guy, Griffin was causing all kinds of trouble.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Or a radio failure, something like that.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Bryan looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You really are worried aren’t you?’

Shea nodded.

Bryan clapped him on the back. ‘Come on, let’s get you in the air; take your mind off things.’

Shea grinned as he pulled his goggles on and climbed into the back seat. He might not have the controls, but at least he would be back in the air with the wind in his face. And next time he was sure he’d be allowed to have the front seat.
 

The sky-kart rattled its way across the grass and into the air. The cylinder of fabric that served as a windsock hung limply from its pole like a one-legged trouser. It was early evening and the wind had dropped to almost nothing as the late spring sun sank low into the western sky.

As they climbed above the trees, Shea could see the River Avon on his left and the much wider Severn Estuary ahead. Several ships appeared to be moored in the river, waiting for the tide to allow them access to the city’s harbour. The aircraft banked over the trees and descended steeply into the limestone gorge, levelling out just above the brown mud-laden water of the incoming tide. Shea grinned at the G forces pushing him into his seat. It felt good, even from the back.

As they flew underneath the ancient suspension bridge, their wheels barely above the rippling wave tops, Brian pushed forward sharply on the control bar, causing the sky-kart to climb. But as it climbed it slowed and after a while started to judder.
 

Shea yelled at Bryan, ‘Too steep, you’ll stall!’ but maybe Bryan didn’t hear as the juddering continued until the nose dropped and the aircraft fell towards the river below.
 

Now Bryan instinctively pulled back on the bar, recovering the aircraft to a straight and level attitude. He shouted, ‘Woo! What a rush!’
 

‘You’ll get us killed one day, doing this!’ Shea yelled over the noise of rushing air.

Bryan waved a hand, thumb up in acknowledgment. ‘You’ve put on weight!’ he yelled back.

They were passing the Brunel Locks entrance to Bristol Harbour, a blocked off branch of the river that flowed through the city, and looked down at the red brick warehouse buildings that lined the Scav controlled docks, and some of the best preserved–and best guarded–buildings in the city. Shea waved at the guards on the rooftop, and they waved back. He looked at a sailing ship moored there, riding high in the water, obviously waiting for the tide so it could escape the confines of the harbour and sail to who knew where.

On Shea’s right, the old abandoned suburbs lay in ruins, Mile after mile of tightly packed brick houses in row upon row, their roofs and walls caved in, gardens long ago disappeared under the canopy of trees. Even from the air, the lines of the streets were hard to make out except in the depths of winter when the trees were bare. Unlike some of the smaller towns, the outskirts of Bristol had just been left to rot.

A ridge of hills ran through the city off to Shea’s left, but the sky-kart stayed over the river. It was only when the harbour channel turned north, once they had passed the massive Kingsmen compound, surrounded on three sides by water like an ancient moated castle that they turned over the city.

Shea poked Bryan in the ribs. ‘They don’t like us flying overhead,’ he shouted, ‘especially not so low.’ He saw a sentry on the rooftops watching their progress and following them with some kind of artillery. Bryan must have seen him too as he rocked the wings back and forth, and the sentry waved, deciding the sky-kart posed no immediate threat.

‘Get a bit of height, you dope!’ Shea called.

‘They won’t shoot us down,’ Bryan yelled back, ‘they know us too well.’

Shea wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘They don’t like us seeing what’s parked in that square of theirs’ he shouted, although today the grass covered square in the middle of the compound looked pretty empty.

They flew north, over residential streets, patched up roofs seemingly the only concession to passing time. But as they continued, more and more houses were missing or derelict until the area looked like so much scrub land. When the wide open strip of ground that had been Filton aerodrome opened up before them, Shea pointed to it and called out, ‘let’s take a look over there.’

Even though they were well over a thousand feet above the ground, Shea could make out what looked like tents, and lots of people running about. Some of them appeared to be waving at him. Shea waved back. Then he saw puffs of smoke coming from their hands and he realised they weren’t waving. They were shooting.

‘Get us out of here, quick!’ he yelled, tapping on Bryan’s shoulder. Bryan gave a thumbs up, and the aircraft banked sharply. Shea’s heart pounded. This was all starting to feel all too familiar. He started looking around him, searching for places to make the inevitable emergency landing. His hand involuntarily reached for the clasp of his harness, tightening it.

There was a jolt. Shea looked up and saw the rip in the canopy above him. ‘We’re hit!’ He gripped hold of the sides of the sky-kart, hanging on.

The motor continued to thrum, much to Shea’s relief, as Bryan followed the line of the beach. He was clearly looking for somewhere to make an emergency landing. But was it Shea’s imagination. Or was the craft slowing down?

‘Keep going,’ Shea yelled, ‘we can make it. He tapped Bryan’s shoulder and pointed upwards. Bryan nodded and the craft slowly began to climb. By now they were approaching Avonmouth and the old Portishead docks, long ago abandoned and silted up after their sea defences had broken.
 

The sky-kart was definitely slowing down, and now it wasn’t going any higher. ‘Not enough power!’ Bryan yelled.

They turned east in a wide slow arc, any tighter and they would lose precious height. Gradually the ground rose and Clifton Downs came into view. The sky-cart started descending towards the field, its power cut as the wheels touched the grass and the kart rolled to a stop.

Shea hit the release on his harness and scrambled out of his seat, but Bryan was quicker. He pulled the edge of the wing down to the ground and examined the rip, poking his fingers through the hole.

‘They shot at us, Shea! Who the hell were they?’

‘No idea,’ Shea said. ‘You’d think I’d have got used to being shot at by now!’ He giggled nervously.

‘Hey, look at this!’ Bryan called. He’d gone around to the other side of the wing.

Shea followed him and saw what Bryan had found. The hole had ripped through several of the solar cells, severing their connections and peeling away even more from the wing.

‘No wonder we were losing power,’ he said. He pulled off his hat and goggles and stowed them in the aircraft. ‘Come on, let’s get this locked away quick. We need to get back. We have to tell Bradbury,’

ADAM FELT A jab in his ribs and grumbled something unintelligible as he turned over in his sleep. He felt another jab, more painful this time.

‘Cadet Carter,’ a voice hissed close enough to tickle his ear. ‘Fall in on the double. That’s an order!’

His befuddled brain just about managed a ‘Wha?’ before he felt a slap on the back of his head. He opened his eyes to see a blurred shadowy figure leaning over him which, after a few blinks, became Corporal Chant.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

‘Pack your kit and report to the major’s office on the double,’ the corporal hissed.

‘What is it corp?’ Adam asked.

‘How the hell should I know?’ the corporal hissed back. ‘It’s oh-dark-thirty and I’m missing my beauty sleep. You’ve just wasted sixty seconds, so jump to it!’

‘Yes Corp!’

Adam jumped out of bed, dressed and packed his kit bag. Then he double-timed over to the administration building and made his way upstairs to the major’s office.

‘Cadet Carter reporting,’ he announced to the secretary seated outside the major’s office. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ he added.

‘Not as much as you, it would seem,’ the secretary replied. ‘You’re late. Go straight in. And leave your bag here.’

Adam put down his kit bag, knocked on the door and entered.

‘Cadet Carter reporting sir.’ Adam came to attention and saluted.

‘Ah, Carter, come in. Sit down won’t you.’

‘Sir?’

The same big table was being used as before, and as well as the major, he recognised Lieutenant Dixon, Sergeant Wailing, who had terrorised him many times on the parade ground over the past couple of weeks, and Socko Garrett. He was also introduced to Corporal Dan Barnes and Kingsmen Brian Morgan, Bill Young, Kay Anderson and Mo Fletcher. Everyone had on black battledress.

Adam sat, wondering what was going on.

Major Shaw stood and addressed the gathering.

‘Now as some of you already know, Lieutenant Dixon was tasked to send a recon squad across to Faringdon to recce what our friend, Mayor George Griffin was up to. We had an inkling that it was something bad, and she has confirmed our worst suspicions. And I’m afraid to say,’ he looked directly at Adam, ‘that Cadet Carter’s sister has landed herself right in the middle of it.’

‘As you know, we Kingsmen look after our own, and that goes for family as well. And in this instance we need to act fast. I’ll hand over to Lieutenant Dixon for the details.’