Double-Cross (6 page)

‘He’s the one . . .’

‘Said the fire was upstairs . . .’

‘. . . set off the alarm . . .’

Amy was standing in the middle of the group, eyes wide and mouth open. I grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

‘Hey, come back!’

‘Stop!’

The staff’s cries echoed after us, but I ignored them, focusing only on putting as much distance between us and the clinic as possible. Amy was panting beside me, clearly struggling to keep up.

I pounded along a tree-lined avenue, then took the left and two rights back to the station. I raced through the open door and stood, panting, in the entrance hall, gazing up at the screens.

There was a train to London in five minutes. ‘I’m getting on that,’ I said, pointing up to the announcements board. ‘You need to get a cab outside to your parents’ place.’

Amy stared at me, still gulping in lungfuls of air. She’d changed back to herself as we’d run – though I hadn’t noticed until this moment. Her bottom lip wobbled.

‘Go home?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I said impatiently, glancing again at the board. ‘I’m sorry I can’t take you right to the door, but I need to get out of this area fast.’

‘I knew it was you setting off the fire alarm. Omigosh, why didn’t you say you were going to?’

‘It just . . . I had to think quickly . . .’ I explained. ‘It wasn’t planned.’

‘What did you find out in there?’ she said.

‘That your surrogate mum wasn’t the Sydney we’re looking for and . . .’ I hesitated, then explained what I’d learned about Ed and Amy being IVF twins.

Amy’s eyes rounded as I spoke. ‘Omigosh,’ she breathed. ‘So I’m really three years older than I thought.’

‘I don’t think it works like that.’ I frowned. ‘A frozen embryo doesn’t grow, does it? So it isn’t exactly alive.’

Amy nodded. ‘But if William Fox put the gene in me at the same time as Ed, how come Geri didn’t know about it? And how come the surrogate who was carrying me three years later didn’t die like my mum did?’

‘I don’t know. For all you know she did die.’ I took a deep breath, trying to keep my nerves under control. I badly wanted to find the platform my train was leaving from. It would be here in just a couple of minutes. ‘I’m sorry, but I really have to go.’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Sure.’ Amy swallowed. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t want to be left out . . . I want to help . . . I want to stay with you . . .’ She smiled – a sweet, timid smile. For the first time I noticed there was a dimple in her cheek.

I grinned at her. Maybe a bit of flattery would do the trick. ‘You look cute when you smile.’

She blushed crimson and lowered her eyes.

‘It’s not that we don’t want you with us,’ I said, patting her arm. ‘But it’ll be really useful to have you back here. Ed can communicate with you telepathically so you can let us know what’s going on – I mean, I’d love you to come, but your parents will worry and Ed . . . well, he’d never forgive me if I showed up in France with you again.’

Amy looked up, her eyes all warm and glowy. ‘You’d love me to come?’

I glanced at the announcements board again. My train was due in any second. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But you’ll get me in terrible trouble if you don’t go home now.’

‘Okay,’ she nodded.

‘You’re a star.’ Relieved, I reached forward, pecked her on the cheek and rushed away.

The London train was pulling in as I reached the platform. I scrambled on board and flung myself into a seat by the window. As we pulled away, I caught sight of Amy standing at the fence beside the taxi rank, scanning the carriages.

I waved, but she didn’t see me.

I sat back in my seat and let out a long, shuddering sigh. That had been close.

Too close. But maybe my risky search in the clinic’s admin office had thrown up the information we needed.

Maybe our Sydney was a place – not a person – and maybe Professor Avery Jones was our next, vital clue.

6: Sydney

It turned out that the article I’d found wasn’t the first place that Professor Jones had publicly disagreed with William Fox. According to Ed, who did the research online, they’d been engaged in a long-running feud over several years.

It took a while to discover this, however, as most of the next three telepathic sessions I had with Ed involved him berating me for taking Amy (now safely back at home) to the clinic and drawing so much attention to myself while I was there.

The third exchange took place just as I drew into Liverpool Street Station in London.

Why did you go to the clinic anyway? It’s so typical of you to go off on your own like that. I bet you didn’t find out anything useful either . . . I mean, if the Sydney who Geri sold the Medusa code to has nothing to do with Amy’s surrogate mother, then . . .

And on and on he ranted.

I waited until he was finished – well, there isn’t much choice when Ed’s inside your head – then told him what I’d found out about him and Amy originally being IVF twins.

That shocked him. His voice in my head went completely silent and, when he spoke again, his tone was sadder and calmer.

So, if we were originally twins, Amy was conceived at the same time as me, which means this Sydney person can’t have been responsible.

I acknowledged that this was the conclusion I’d already come to and told him about the existence of Avery Jones in Sydney. Ed went straight off to investigate, making contact with me half an hour later.

Okay, we’ve done some research on Professor Avery Jones
, Ed thought-spoke.
He’s still practising as a psychologist and he still lives in Sydney Australia, but get this . . . He stopped all his consultancy work at fertility clinics within a few months of William Fox dying.

Just after the point when Geri must have sold him the Medusa gene code
, I thought-spoke.

Exactly. And there’s more. Avery Jones knew about Medusa. We found a blog he wrote saying that he knew William Fox was working on a synthetic biology project involving mutant genetics. It was published the week before Fox died
–
and it actually uses the Medusa name. It hints that Jones wanted the gene
and
that he was on the verge of finding out a load more about it. But he never wrote about it again.

We have to go to Sydney to find him
, I thought-spoke. I expected Ed to begin ranting at me again, but to my surprise he agreed.

I know. We’ve already been onto Laura. She’s going to help.

Laura was Harry’s mum and Dylan’s godmother . . . She knew all about our history and had already put herself in danger to help us escape England on the ferry to France.

How can Laura help us get to Sydney?

Well, firstly, Geri doesn’t know we’ve been in touch with her, so there’s no trace on her phone. Secondly, Laura’s got someone who’s agreed to fly you in secret to Helsinki and arrange for us to meet you there.

What about when we get there?

Laura’s managed to get in touch with all our parents. They know Geri’s watching them, but they’ve smuggled our original passports
–
you know the ones from before Geri gave us new identities
–
down to her. She’s going to give them to you
–
plus four tickets from Helsinki to Sydney.

What if Geri traces us?

It’s a risk, but she’s likely to be focusing on airports in England and France.

This was true, though not entirely reassuring.

Three hours later, fortified by a chicken sandwich at Victoria Station, I arrived at the small town of Bixbury in Kent, where Laura was going to pick me up and explain the details of the plan.

It was early afternoon and the sun was high in the sky, beating down on my head through the still air. This had to be the hottest day of the year so far. As I waited outside deserted Bixbury Station, my thoughts drifted to Ketty. Ed hadn’t mentioned her earlier – and I didn’t have a phone to call her with. Those thoughts led to others and it was with a jolt that I realised Laura was driving up beside me in a green Mondeo.

Slim, suited and with her highlighted blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, she poked her head out through the open window and offered me a brief, anxious smile.

‘Get in.’

‘Where’s Harry?’ I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

‘At school.’ Laura drove off, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘Which is where you guys should be, too.’

I turned and looked out of the window. Bixbury was one of those typical English towns – all brick houses and roses in the front garden. I didn’t need Laura telling me what we should and shouldn’t be doing.

‘School isn’t exactly an option right now,’ I said curtly. ‘What with Fox Academy being blown up and the government agent supposed to be protecting us trying to frame us for murder.’

‘I know.’ Laura sighed. ‘I just can’t believe what that woman – Geri Paterson – is doing . . . making you fugitives . . .’

‘So where’s this plane?’ I said.

‘Couple of miles away,’ Laura explained, peering at a road sign through the windscreen. She nodded to a package on the dashboard. ‘There are all your passports and tickets. There’s a note from Fergus, too, plus contact details for my friend, Sam Hastings, who lives in Sydney. We emailed yesterday and he’s going to meet you off the plane in Sydney and look after you until Fergus can get out there.’

Well, that was a relief. But I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d make it as far as Sydney.

‘This pilot who’s taking me to Helsinki in his private plane,’ I said. ‘Is he for real? I mean, he’s going to be breaking about ten laws just smuggling me out of the country.’

‘All your parents are covering his payment, Nico.’ Laura hesitated. ‘I wish I could come with you, but you’ll be safe once you get to Sydney and I can’t just walk out on work without raising suspicions. Fergus says he’s going to fly out to join you as soon as he can give Geri the slip.’

I nodded, opening Fergus’s note. It was fairly emotional – at least for Fergus. He wrote about how much I meant to him and ended by urging me to think before I acted, keep my wits about me and look after myself.

I sat back when I’d finished reading, my own feelings a mix of anxiety about what I was about to do and reassurance that at least Fergus and Laura were behind us.

Laura gazed out at the open countryside ahead and smiled. ‘Harry’s quite taken with Dylan, you know.’

I grinned, pleased to be lifted out of my own thoughts.

‘Yeah, I got the impression that it’s mutual,’ I said, remembering how flustered Dylan had seemed around Harry.

‘What’s she really like?’ Laura asked. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but her mother was one of my best friends . . . and I’ve only spent a few hours with her . . .’

What did I say to that? ‘Well . . . Dylan’s moody . . . but she’s loyal . . .’ I started, then stopped, unable to think of anything else to say that didn’t have ‘pain in the ass’ at the end of the sentence. Laura shot me a quick glance, then moved on.

‘It’s funny, it seems like yesterday we were all together with our babies – Jack and me, and Dylan’s mum and dad.’ She smiled sadly at me. ‘I knew
your
mum, too, Nico. And Fergus. I mean, they were on the periphery of our group, but I met them several times.’

I nodded, feeling awkward. I wasn’t used to meeting people who’d known my mum. A photo that Dylan had shown me recently popped into my head. It was of her and Harry, Laura’s son, as babies. My mum’s in the background of the picture, heavily pregnant. When I saw it, I thought how weird it was that I’d been inside her then. I had that same feeling now, being with someone who’d known her at that time.

Laura turned her eyes back to the road. ‘Your mother was beautiful, Nico. Very young and very fragile-looking with big, brown eyes. Fergus used to pad around her like a protective bear or something.’ She laughed.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew so little about my mum’s life before she met Fergus. She was Italian – a student over here to learn English – who got pregnant, then met Fergus and his brother, William Fox. It was William who, unbeknown to either my mum or Fergus, had injected her with the Medusa gene that created my powers – and killed her.

For the first time it struck me that Fergus must have felt unbearably guilty about that. He loved my mum – and yet it was because of his brother that she’d died.

‘Your mother never spoke to me about your birth dad. I know nothing about him and she certainly never said who he was,’ Laura went on. ‘To be honest, from what Fergus let slip at the time, I don’t think she talked about him with anyone.’

I nodded. I was used to not knowing.

A few minutes later we arrived at the airfield. The pilot was eager to set off so Laura assured me again that I’d meet up with the others in Helsinki and went back to her car.

The journey to Sydney was long but uneventful. Despite all my anxieties, I loved the first part of the trip – by myself, on the small plane to Helsinki. The flight stayed low, like the helicopters I’d ridden in twice before – once when Ed and I had sneaked on board a commercial ride to follow Ketty from London to Devon and once flying over the desert in Spain a few weeks ago. However, I’d been hiding under a jacket the first time and unconscious the second, so this was my first real experience of what the landscape looks like when you’re a little way above ground.