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  As far as Jordan was concerned, he’d done the job. He could do no more. Being locked up for five days was quite enough. He played one gig with Giddy’s band for the inmates before he exchanged a cell in jail for a small bedroom above the dead of Highgate Cemetery. Getting out of prison was like being able to breathe freely again. He was no longer confined, even if he was still trapped within Unit Red.

  11 HERO

  Jordan was still puzzled by Mr. Bool’s suspicious behaviour. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. There was an obvious way to try for more information, but it made him feel edgy. He’d decided to speak to Amy again. He wanted to find out if she’d heard anything about the teacher and his stolen phone since the explosion.

  Jordan didn’t tell Winter that he was planning to speak to Amy Goss. He admitted only that he was going to Salam Bool’s school. Before he set out, Winter said, “You’ve got to be careful around Medway now. Very careful. Melissa Pink and her people will be gunning for you in a big way.” She was bound to be right and her warning increased his tension.

  Aiming to reach the school for the end of the last lesson, Jordan kept glancing round as he walked along the main road through Hoo.

  Ahead of him, something was happening. It looked as if a car had spun off the road and slammed into a tree. Small flames were dancing around under the car, threatening an explosion at any moment. He ran towards the scene of the accident. The driver’s door was open and a woman was kneeling beside it, struggling to yank the unconscious driver out.

  Jordan went towards her.

  “Get back!” she cried. “It’s going to blow.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a fire officer. Off duty. Now, get back!”

  “But he’s wedged in.”

  “Yes. By the steering wheel.”

  “I’ll move it.” Jordan went round to the passenger’s door, opened it and lay across the front seats. They felt unnaturally warm. He put his right arm next to the driver’s legs and prepared himself to strike upwards at the steering column.

  “Don’t,” the firefighter said. “It’s metal. Too strong. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Jordan ignored her. He rammed his arm into the steering column as hard as he could. But the blow didn’t shift it. He hit it again in the same place and this time it budged a fraction of a centimetre. Nowhere near enough to make a difference.

  Jordan’s third strike bent the steering column but it was still jammed against the driver’s chest.

  Jordan could feel heat on his feet and ankles as they dangled outside. The flames were rising. The whole car was baking. He broke into a sweat. He probably had time for one more attempt.

  He took a deep breath, steeled himself and then walloped the column again. This time, it gave way and the steering wheel jerked a few centimetres away from the driver. Adjusting his position, Jordan gripped the wheel in his metal fist and pushed it towards the shattered windscreen to give more clearance.

  “That’s it!” the fire officer shouted. Ignoring the man’s injuries – she didn’t have time to protect any broken bones – she grabbed him under his arms and dragged him out.

  Jordan got up and dashed round to the other side. He took the wounded man’s legs and helped to lift him away to safety. Together, they staggered a distance from the crashed car.

  The woman stopped and lowered the driver’s shoulders carefully to the pavement.

  Jordan did the same with his legs.

  “I don’t know how you did that,” the firefighter said breathlessly, “but thanks.” Then she looked closely into Jordan’s eyes and gasped. “I know you, don’t I?”

  Jordan froze for a moment. He’d never seen her before. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “No one.”

  Then she gazed at his artificial arm and it all clicked into place. “I remember,” she said. “It was a priority address in Shepherds Way. Something to do with the police...”

  Behind Jordan, the car exploded. The fire officer put her arm in front of her face to protect her eyes and Jordan used the opportunity. He darted away as fast as he could.

  He was just out of sight of the burning wreck when he ran into several packs of school kids. Some were rushing towards him, keen to find out what had caused the blast.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” somebody shouted at him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Somewhere in the distance, several sirens screeched. Police car, fire engine and ambulance, Jordan guessed. The confused wailing was getting louder.

  Slowing to a walk, he merged with the crowds of students and got his breath back. Trying to ignore what had just happened, he went in the direction of Lower Stoke. He knew that was the way Amy would go.

  He saw her first from the back. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was Amy Goss, but he was certain. Her hair was different. Shorter. She was taller. Maybe slightly taller than he was. Jordan recalled that she could put food away with great gusto. In an effort to stay trim, she always ordered a Diet Coke with her double cheeseburger and large fries.

  Most of the students were strolling away from school in small noisy groups, but Amy walked alone. Jordan felt an overwhelming urge to befriend her, just as he’d done years earlier.

  He speeded up until he drew level with her. “Hi,” he said. “You’re the girl I met the other night by the silo.”

  Amy looked him up and down. “Jordan.”

  “That’s right. You didn’t say your name.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “My mum made me eat lots of carrots when I was little.”

  She smiled briefly. “So you can see in the dark.”

  “Actually, I heard you talking to someone back there. I recognized your voice.”

  Amy’s face creased. “Are you stalking me or something? Because, if you are, I should tell you I’ve got a pretty heavy family. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Jordan read something different in her moody eyes. No matter what she said, she knew that her family wasn’t so heavy any more.

  A bunch of girls brushed past and one called out, “Caught yourself a live one this time?”

  Amy scowled at the group and then ignored them.

  Jordan ran his left hand through his thick black hair. He’d let it grow long to hide the bumps on his head and because Ben Smith had always kept it short. “I cut my last lesson so I could come and find you.”

  “Why?” She hesitated before adding, “If you say you like the sound of my voice, I’m going to scream till you get arrested.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  Jordan remembered a thirteen-year-old bundle of fun, a girl who distrusted any form of authority, a girl who spoke her mind. Now, he sensed that she was even more blunt. She also seemed less mischievous. There was an air of sadness about her. The river blast had probably taken its toll.

  Despite his nerves, Jordan grinned. “Did you know a teacher called Salam Bool?”

  Amy stopped in her tracks.

  “I take that as a yes,” said Jordan. “I know he taught at your school. You see, he lives next door to me. Or at least he did.”

  “Everyone says he died in the explosion.”

  “Round my way, they just say he’s missing. His house is still empty, waiting for him to come back. If he ever does.”

  “What’s this got to do with me?” Amy asked.

  “By those silos, you said something about school and it reminded me of him. I just wondered if you knew anything.”

  “Why are the bottoms of your trousers all burned?”

  “Are they?” Jordan looked down. She was right. They’d been scorched. “Did you hear the sirens a few minutes ago?” he said. “There was an accident just down the road. I helped to pull a man from a burning car.”

  “Are you telling me I’m talking to a hero?”

  He shook his head. “I just lent a hand.”

>   Amy stopped again and turned to face him. “What’s up with your hand anyway? And your whole arm.”

  “That was another car crash. You don’t want to know the details. I got fitted with a false one.”

  Amy nodded. “Is that why you dash off to help someone in a pile-up?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I do know something about Mr. Bool,” she said, “but why should I trust you?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  “At least that’s honest.”

  Jordan waited. He hoped that she could still detect in him whatever she’d liked in Ben Smith.

  Amy took a deep breath. “I don’t know why, but there’s something about you. I suppose I trust you enough.”

  Inside, Jordan was screaming, I’m a complete fraud. Ben Smith wouldn’t have lied to her. But Jordan Stryker was finding it easier and easier to be underhand as his mission progressed. What had he become? He knew, of course. He’d become a Unit Red agent. He wanted to be Amy’s friend, but he was using her instead.

  “Just before Bool disappeared – just before the big blast – someone nicked his mobile. I didn’t know who’d done it at the time. A lot of people thought it was me, but it wasn’t. It was a boy called Ed Hathaway. His mates gave the game away afterwards.” Amy shook her head at the hopelessness of boys. “Mind you, when I saw him, he wasn’t showing off about what he’d done. He said he was going to make some silly calls with it, but he spotted these weird messages.”

  “What weird messages?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know really. Ed said they looked like wanted posters. A photo of someone and an amount of money. Anyway, he was messing around with it when it rang. Mr. Bool was just round the corner on another mobile. This was at the marina. Ed was with his crazy mates and brothers. Obviously, Mr. Bool knew some of the lads hung out there and he was checking if they’d got his phone. Right in one.” She began to walk along the road again.

  Jordan caught up with her and asked, “What happened?”

  “You can guess. You’re a boy. How do boys and men solve anything? There was a lot of shouting, pushing, pulling and hitting.”

  “And?”

  Amy shrugged again. “That’s it. Ed and his mates ran off. I don’t know what happened to Mr. Bool. Or to his phone.”

  “If I want to know any more, I’d better see Ed Hathaway.”

  “Not easy,” Amy replied.

  “Why?”

  “He left.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Newcastle.”

  “Newcastle?”

  “It’s a city up north,” Amy said dryly. “Even further north than Luton.”

  Trying to behave like a normal boy again, he replied, “I didn’t know there was anything north of Luton, apart from the North Pole.”

  “I’m going now,” Amy announced, pointing to a lane on the right. “On my own.”

  Jordan came to a halt on the pavement. “Okay.”

  Just before she dashed across the road, she smiled at him and said, “I’m Amy, by the way.”

  He shouted after her, “See you around, Amy.”

  When Jordan reported back to Unit Red, he told Angel and Winter that he’d gathered his information about Salam Bool by talking to a group of school kids. He didn’t mention Amy. When he also told them about the car crash and the firefighter, he noticed that they exchanged a glance.

  At once, Angel began to tap his computer keypad.

  Winter said, “So, my guess is you want an outing to Newcastle to see this Ed Hathaway.”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ll find out where he lives or which school he goes to.”

  “Thanks.”

  Angel looked up from his screen. “I’ve got a recording I want you to listen to.”

  “What is it?”

  “When Ben Smith’s house collapsed, it was a female firefighter who found him,” Angel answered. “There aren’t many women in the local fire brigade so I’m putting two and two together... But, I could be wrong. This is the recording of the rescue. Listen and tell me if you recognize her voice.” He hit the return key.

  Firefighter: Fourteen Shepherds Way – with parts of sixteen, I think – Lower Stoke. Just awful. Too close to the blast.

  Control: Fourteen Shepherds Way is a priority address. A police officer’s house. DS Smith. According to records, she wasn’t on duty. She was probably in bed.

  F. F.: I’m sorry. It’s a war zone down here. No one’s alive.

  There was a pause in the exchange. Jordan nodded and said, “Yes. That’s her.”

  “Thought so.”

  Angel was about to turn off the sound file when Jordan put out his hand and said, “No. Let me hear what happened. Please.”

  “All right.”

  F. F.: Just a second.

  C.: What is it? Do you want medical assistance?

  F. F.: I don’t think so. False alarm. It’s a boy. He’s dead. I just hope he went quickly.

  C.: Move on.

  F. F.: No. I want medical backup.

  C.: What? Do you have signs of life?

  F. F.: I thought he just moved.

  C.: Are you sure?

  F. F.: Yes. Quick. Get a resuscitation team in here.

  The recording ended but Jordan couldn’t speak. He felt completely churned up inside.

  “You couldn’t possibly have moved,” Angel said. “She lied for some reason.”

  “She’s another one who doesn’t give up,” Winter remarked.

  Jordan found his voice again. “She saved my life! What’s her name?”

  “You don’t need to know,” Angel replied.

  “I should thank her.”

  Angel shook his head. “No, you can’t. Ben died, remember. It’s very...awkward that she recognized you.”

  “But she’s a hero.”

  “Yes,” Angel agreed. “Hero and security risk.”

  12 DEBTS

  “Are you Ed Hathaway?” Really, Jordan didn’t need to ask. Ed still looked like the boy who had been in Ben Smith’s class a year earlier. He had the same short silvery hair, pinched face and roguish appearance. But there was no sign of his once frothy nature.

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s all right,” Jordan replied, “I won’t tell anyone what you did in Hoo Marina.”

  Wide-eyed, Ed exclaimed, “What? Who are you?”

  “Jordan. I’m trying to find out what happened to Salam Bool. You’ll remember Mr. Bool.”

  Ed’s cheeks glowed red. His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything.

  Behind Ed were the tall white railings that ran right around his new school. Jordan wasn’t sure if the spiked fence was there to keep students in or to keep everyone else out. The area had seen better days. It was the sort of estate where a home-delivered pizza would arrive faster than an ambulance.

  “Tell me, and that’ll be the end of it,” said Jordan.

  “You’re not a mate of his, are you? Or in his family?”

  Jordan shook his head and smiled. “Nothing like. My mum fell out with him over money. Something about gambling. She’s been trying to find him and get her own back for a year now.”

  “She’ll be lucky,” Ed muttered.

  Jordan shrugged. “She’s threatening to go to the police with what we already know. And it won’t sound good. You took his phone, had a fight with him, and no one’s seen him since. The cops’ll be round your place, kicking the door in. Not like us. We just want your side of the story.”

  “Why isn’t she here?” he said, looking around.

  “Working. She thought it’d be easier for me to talk to you because we’re the same sort of age.”

  There was some truth in Jordan’s answer. He was exploiting his natural advantage over the police. Already, he’d got further than the official investigation into Mr. Bool because he was the right age to chat to young people like Amy. He hoped it was going to work on Ed Hathaway as well. Of course, he also had the advantage of k
nowing about the teacher’s missing mobile phone in the first place.

  “But...”

  “Did you come up here to Newcastle to get away from what you did?”

  “I told Mum. She thought it’d be best...” He stopped and stared at Jordan. “Look. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I didn’t do anything. Not really.”

  “You nicked his mobile.”

  “That was just a prank,” Ed replied.

  “But it went wrong.”

  “Me and my brothers were going to have fun with it. We were going to phone his home number.”

  “Dangerous. He was a big bloke, not the fun type really.”

  “Yeah, well. He put me in detention and it wasn’t my fault. That’s why I was getting my own back. But the phone started ringing. Lots of times. Next thing, he was right on top of us. We didn’t attack him. He attacked us. He was mad. Wanted his phone back.”

  “What happened?”

  Ed sighed. “We never meant... We were just defending ourselves. I pushed him away and he tripped over a rope. That’s all. No knives or anything.”

  “And?”

  “He bashed his head on one of those things you tie boats to.”

  Jordan winced. “I bet that hurt.”

  “More than that.”

  “What? You mean, it killed him?”

  “I think so.”

  “How do you know?”

  Ed grimaced. “He didn’t look good.”

  “What did you do?”

  He hesitated. “Will your mum really go to the police if I don’t tell you?”

  Jordan nodded. “She’s like that.”

  “All right,” Ed replied. He took a deep breath. “We were scared in case we got blamed for killing him. We were bound to. Boys always get the blame. So we covered it up. We shoved him in an old leaky boat and pushed it out into the river. We thought it’d sink. I didn’t hear anything afterwards about him being found so I guess it worked. He must have gone down with it. Maybe waves from the explosion swamped the boat if it didn’t sink on its own.”

  Jordan had survived a similar wound to the head – and worse – but he’d been given expert medical attention. He hadn’t been pushed out in a boat and left for dead. “What did you do with his phone?” Jordan asked.