Double-Cross (5 page)

‘Okay, just to get through immigration, but once you’re on board, you should change into someone else,’ I said. ‘If Geri knows you stole one of her passports
and that
you’re a shape-shifter, she might easily work out that you’re travelling using her identity.’

‘Dad and Sandra won’t have told her about the shape-shifting,’ Amy insisted. ‘They don’t want her to know.’

I shrugged. ‘They might do anything if they think it will help find you. Anyway, Geri might have known about you having the Medusa gene from the start.’

Amy frowned. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t . . . if she did, surely she’d have said something by now?’

I had to admit that was probably true. Nothing I’d ever seen Geri do suggested she thought anyone other than Dylan, Ed, Ketty and myself had Medusa abilities.

Amy set off towards the terminal building and I turned my attention to the next part of my plan: I was going to smuggle myself onto the ferry again and go back to England with Amy.

I hadn’t told the others – they would never have agreed – but this way, not only could I make sure Amy got safely home, but I could find the Norgene Clinic on my own and extract the information we needed without putting the others at risk.

The first step was getting on board the ferry. I could, I was sure, have persuaded Amy to buy me a ticket when she purchased her own, but I didn’t want there to be any record that I’d travelled, which meant I needed a distraction in order to slip past the guards at the gate. The two men that I’d tripped up before were still there, now busy checking foot passengers as they boarded. Keeping well hidden behind the terminal building wall, I moved closer. Beyond the two guards the cars were loading slowly in pairs.

I lifted my hand and, with a sudden twist, forced one of the two lead cars on the ramp up to the ferry to turn and block the path of the cars behind. Immediately, horns blared out in protest. Both guards turned to see what was happening. I twisted my hand, pushing the car further round. Now it was blocking
both
streams of traffic attempting to board. Two drivers had already got out of their cars. The driver of the car I’d turned was still at the wheel, clearly trying to shift his vehicle.

‘I’ve lost control of the steering!’ I could hear him yelling out of the window.

One of the other drivers swore. Another shouted.

The two guards dealing with the foot passengers threw each other a look.

‘Get over there,’ one said in French.

The other nodded. He pulled the barrier gates across to bar any further foot passengers from accessing the ferry and together the two men went over to the car ramp.

This was my chance. In the distance I could see more foot passengers approaching, but right now the entryway was free of people. I raced over to the barrier gates that the guards had shut and locked, undid them with a swift click and slipped inside.

I reached behind me to relock the gates as I walked briskly on-board.

Once safely on deck, I let out a long breath. What a relief. I’d made it. Now I just had to find Amy.

She was still looking like Geri, and sitting in the same café where I’d shared a chocolate bar with Ketty just hours before. Her eyes widened as I walked up.

‘Nico!’

I grinned. ‘Thought you might like some company for the journey back!’

Amy’s chin wobbled. ‘Omigosh, thank you,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘That’s really kind of you. I
was
nervous about going on my own. Ed just contacted me with his mind-reading and I was making out I was fine, but actually, I was feeling
really
shaky about getting all the way home in the dark.’

‘Oh . . . oh well, I’m glad I’m here, then.’ I cleared my throat, unsure how to respond to all that emotion. ‘I’m also going back to search for the information we need at the Norgene Clinic’

Amy stared at me for a second. It was disconcerting to know she was under Geri’s sharp features.

‘I can help with that,’ she said.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’re going home.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Nico.’ Amy leaned forward earnestly in her chair. ‘I can get us into the clinic by pretending to be a woman wanting information on fertility treatment. Once we’re in, you can sneak off and search the files.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘They don’t live that far from the clinic – I’ll go there straight after. It’ll maybe delay me getting home by an hour or two, that’s all.’

I considered this. Ed wouldn’t like it, of course, but Amy’s suggestion certainly made sense.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Here’s what I think we should do.’

The Norgene Clinic opened at nine a.m. Amy and I were at the door by five past. Ed had contacted me several times by remote telepathy. He reported that the others were furious I’d gone off on my own, though he was actually grateful I was seeing Amy safely home. Clearly, Amy hadn’t told him she was accompanying me to the clinic – and I certainly wasn’t going to!

I’d had no problem getting the pair of us off the ferry. First, Amy had transformed herself into another woman – older and plainer than Geri. It was the weirdest thing – her skin stretching as her face lengthened and her eyes growing narrower, her nose longer and her hair, which had been a sharp blonde bob, thinning to a mousy, middle-aged crop.

She finished and looked at me expectantly. ‘I’ve never done it without a mirror before. How do I look?’

‘Fab,’ I said with a grin. ‘It’ll work great.’

We’d just walked out with everyone else, then ducked back before the customs and immigration check. As before, I’d unlocked a storeroom door – this time on the ferry terminal concourse – where we’d hidden until the other passengers had exited.

I’d found a back way out of the terminal through a series of warehouses, most of which were completely deserted. Amy had been nervous throughout, but no problem to deal with.

We’d caught two trains to get here, on each occasion with Amy – still disguised as the older, plainer woman – buying the tickets and me keeping my head down and tugging my cap low over my face.

Throughout all of that I’d stayed remarkably calm. But now I was nervous – our success in the fertility clinic would rely on Amy being able to carry off the cover story I’d given her. I wasn’t at all sure she’d manage it.

But Amy proved me wrong within seconds.

‘I have to see one of your consultants,’ she said, striding up to the reception desk.

The receptionist – a plump, middle-aged lady wearing a horrible pink jacket – glanced from Amy to me.

‘This is my son,’ Amy lied. ‘I had to bring him with me. I
have
to speak to a doctor.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make an appointment,’ the receptionist said.

‘It’s just a quick query,’ Amy pushed on. ‘I’m sure the doctor can make time for me. I’m planning an article on local fertility treatments for
The Times
and I want to feature the Norgene as a recommended centre.’

The receptionist studied her carefully. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Mitchell. He’s the senior consultant on duty this morning. Maybe he can give you a few minutes.’ She ushered us into the waiting room.

It was formal and silent, full of straight-backed chairs and piles of mags. We were the only people in the room.

‘Well, they bought me being your son,’ I said quietly as we sat down. ‘I’m surprised they think you’re old enough.’

Amy giggled. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to interview this doctor . . . I don’t know anything about fertility treatments.’

‘If someone comes before I’m back, just ask about the process . . . what he does when someone comes along and wants a baby,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Amy nodded. I took a deep breath and slipped out of the waiting room. The reception area was round the corner to the right. A series of other doors were to my left. I wandered along, glancing at the names on the doors as I passed. The second door was labelled
Admin.
This had to be my best bet for finding records on Sydney Church.

I opened the door a crack and peered round. Six pairs of eyes met mine instantly. Man, the room was packed! Full of women at desks or filing cabinets.

Clearly, I was going to have to be more creative in my approach.

‘Fire!’ I yelled, rushing into the room. ‘There’s a fire in one of the offices. Set off the alarm. Get out now!’

5: The Discovery

The women in the office looked startled as I yelled again.

‘Fire! You have to get out of here!’

For a second, I thought they were all going to stay in their seats. Then one rose, grabbing her bag and walking out from behind her desk.

‘Come on!’ she urged the others.

Suddenly they all moved, swarming towards me together. I was surrounded. Questions flew at me.

‘Where’s the fire?’

‘How bad is it?’

‘Is anyone hurt?’

‘It’s in one of the rooms upstairs. I was with my mum and the doctor. We saw the flames,’ I said breathlessly. ‘They sent me down here. We need to get out, warn everyone else.’

‘I’ll tell reception – they can sound the fire alarm.’ One of the women rushed off. The others followed her, calling in at the other rooms as they went.

I followed them to the end of the corridor then, as they headed round the corner towards the waiting room and reception area, I doubled back to the admin office.

Once inside, I sat at the first computer I came to. The woman who’d been using it hadn’t logged out so everything was still up and running.

I scanned quickly through the document files as the fire alarm sounded. Its piercing screech filled the air – and my head. I tried to ignore the noise.

It took a couple of long minutes to find the archive for old patients. They were listed by surname and initial. I typed
Church, S.
into the find box.

There.
I raced down the form that flashed onto the screen, desperately trying to pick up the main points.

S. Church . . . surrogate . . . in vitro transfer . . . Mrs O’Brien . . . frozen embryo . . .

I stopped.
Frozen embryo?

I read the section quickly. It was full of medical jargon I didn’t understand, but the gist was clear. The baby, a girl, had been originally conceived through IVF as one of twins – a boy and a girl. While the boy had been implanted in his mother’s womb, the girl embryo had been frozen and stored for three years. At this later stage, she had been transferred to a surrogate mother at the request of the natural parents – Mr and Mrs O’Brien. A healthy baby – Amy O’Brien – was born eight months later.

I read the words again, trying to make sense of them. Amy was clearly the baby in the report. With a jolt, I realised that the ‘twin’ referred to must be
Ed.
He’d never mentioned being an IVF baby, but maybe he hadn’t known. Anyway, like me, he was three years older than Amy – the dates fitted.

I frowned. All this meant that Amy must have been implanted with the Medusa gene at the same time as Ed. Which meant William Fox had been responsible, not the person to whom Geri later sold the gene code . . . not ‘Sydney’.

Heart sinking, I raced to the bottom of the page where the surrogate mother’s name was clearly spelled out: Susie Church.

Susie. Not Sydney. Sydney Church did not exist.

I sat back, staring at the screen, the fire alarm still piercing through my head.

I’d followed a complete red herring. Amy’s birth had nothing to do with the sale of the Medusa gene.

For a moment, the disappointment overwhelmed me. Then I sat forward again. While I was here, I might as well see if the clinic held any information about William Fox. I went to the main network docs folder and searched his name.

It came up straight away in an article dated the year before I – and the other Medusa teens – was born. William Fox had worked here as a consultant. I flicked down the list of other consultants, making a mental note of their names. Each name was logged next to the consultant’s place of work. One in particular caught my eye:
Professor Avery Jones, psychologist, Sydney, Australia.

Was
this
the
Sydney
William Fox had been referring to in his conversation about the sale of the Medusa gene? It looked as if Jones and Fox had some serious disagreements over the clinic’s policies in genetic experiments.

Before I could search any further, the fire alarm stopped and a hefty security guard flung open the admin office door.

‘Oy!’ he shouted. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

Switching the computer off, I leaped to my feet. The security guard advanced, arms outstretched.

I leaped backwards. The guard reached the desk at which I’d been sitting. Instinctively, I raised my hands and deployed my telekinesis. I rammed the desk into him, then spun it sideways so it shoved against his legs.

The guard stumbled, lost his footing. With a yell, he fell over.

Heart thundering in my ears, I sped past him and raced outside the building. Amy was in a huddle of people at the end of the clinic’s driveway.

Everyone stared at me as I flew towards them. They were all talking at once. I caught snatches as I ran up.