London Escape (8 page)

After a while I decide I don’t really have a better option, so I tell him, “I’m here visiting my friend, he’s—” I have to lie quickly, and badly, “—out of town and I left his car parked in a street sweeping zone yesterday. I just found out they towed and impounded it.” I dangle the keys in front of him for further proof.

“Ah, I see, and you can’t get the car out of impound?”

“Right,” I affirm. “It’s not that I can’t pay the fee, they won’t give it to me because it’s not in my name.” I leave out the fact that it doesn’t seem to be in Jason’s name either.

“And it’s important you get this car back?” he asks.

“Well, not exactly,” I admit. “I left something of mine inside that I need to get back.” I have already decided whatever it is I’m supposed to find is more likely to be in the car, not just the car itself.

“Where is the vehicle now?”

“In the impound lot at Harold’s Towing,” I say.

He’s silent for a long time, staring out the window at the fading sun, stroking his grey beard thoughtfully. I wonder frantically if he’s spotted my little white lies. But at last he turns to me and nods.

“Well, I think I can be of some help, shall we?” He lays a few bills on the table and rises.

Alexa would have been proud of me, because the logical side of me is trying hard to stop me from following him. I have no idea who he is or why he’s trying to help me. But for some inexplicable reason I feel as though I can trust him. After all, my spidey sense remains silent and that is generally a good sign.

I follow him out of the restaurant. It’s nearly dusk out, but the sidewalks are still crowded with pedestrians and the roads full of honking cars. This eases my nerves a bit more, there is no way anyone could hurt me in front of all these witnesses. Besides, my new friend isn’t exactly young either. If it comes down to it I can just make a run for it.

 He takes off at a fairly fast clip down the sidewalk and I have to hurry to catch up. Minutes later we’re back at the impound lot just as the sun dips below the horizon. In the dull glow of the streetlamps I can see the blinds are now closed in the little building where I had spoken to the woman, and the front gate is now padlocked shut with a very sturdy-looking chain.

“It looks like they’re closed for the night,” I say, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel. Maybe Peter will agree to come back with me in the morning and speak to the woman for me.

“Pity,” he murmurs and I see him stroking his chin again. “Well,” he says brightly, “I find that sometimes when I’m confronted with a problem directly it’s sometimes better to go around it rather than face it head on, don’t you think?”

 Before I can answer he’s off, hustling quickly around the side of the fenced lot. I follow him again and he comes to a stop around the far back corner. We’re now in an alleyway well out of sight of the road or pedestrians. 

“Or in this case,” Peter says, looking up at the fence, “it might suit to go over the problem.”

He’s still staring up at the fence, which is about eight feet high, when he suddenly turns to me and holds out his hands, fingers interlaced.

“You can’t be serious,” I say when I realize what he intends.

“Oh, I’m perfectly serious. You do want to get your items back, don’t you?” he asks, crouching a little lower.

I gulp a quick breath. Climbing fences is definitely out of the question when you have a crippling fear of heights. My mind is racing with a thousand questions I want to ask him, about who he is and why he’s so willing to help me break into an impound lot. But now isn’t the time. 

 “Come now, Kit, it’s not as though you’re stealing anything. I’ll keep watch.”

Apparently he thinks my hesitation is for moral reasons. I bite my lip hard, telling myself how much Jason is going to owe me when this is all over, and put my green Converse into his hands. I place my hands on his shoulders and with a grunt he lifts me. Despite his age, he’s surprisingly strong and gives me a boost that takes me almost completely over the fence. I grab hold, swing my legs over and drop as carefully as I can onto the roof of a car.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I whisper through the fence.

I can feel myself shaking as I search the lot for the Mini, either from adrenaline or fear. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

Lucky for me Mini Coopers are easy to spot and I find a black one right away. However, my key doesn’t fit. Two rows down I find another one. This one is a red, late model with a white fender. The key unlocks the door and I take a moment to pump my fist in victory. My burst of happiness fades quickly as I search the inside of the car. Unlike Jason’s apartment, the car is spotless inside. There’s not a single napkin, cup or scrap of paper, and certainly not another clue. I look again, checking under the floor mats, in the glove box and side pockets of the doors.

 Still nothing.

 As a last ditch effort I pop the trunk. Besides a tire iron and a jack, it’s completely empty too. I lean against the bumper with a sigh. Why would he have led me here for nothing? Did I get the clue wrong? Is there something else these keys unlocked that I could have missed? I had to have missed something, I decide quickly.

As I turn back to close the trunk a sudden memory floods my mind, Jason trying to teach me to change the tire on my car one afternoon. Instantly I see an image of him removing the spare tire from a hatch in the trunk. I feel around the inside of the trunk with my fingers until I find the edges of the carpeting and give it a tug. Underneath, in the empty space where a spare tire would normally be kept, I spot a small, rectangular object. Feeling triumphant, I pull out the package and stuff it into my backpack without a second thought. I replace the carpet, the tools and lock the car back, pocketing the keys. I hurry off without a backward glance.

Seconds later I’m climbing onto the hood, then the roof of a car by the fence. This time I barely hesitate as I jump, my fingers grasp the edge of the fence and it’s a little more work to haul myself over this time. Peter is waiting on the other side to help me down. When my shoes are back on the concrete I allow myself a huge sigh of relief.

When I look up at Peter he’s observing me calmly. “Success?”

I nod, because I’m too breathless to speak, and follow him out of the alleyway. He begins to amble down the sidewalk, casually blending in with the other people. It takes six blocks before my pulse returns to a normal rate and even when it does I’m still having a hard time processing the events of the past few hours. I’m amazed that I’ve somehow found an ally in a complete stranger, basically broken into an impound lot and managed to get my hands on something that Jason had hidden pretty well. I feel more than a little proud of what I have already accomplished since arriving in London. I don’t even pause to wonder what might be in the package. Right now I know without a doubt it is exactly what I was meant to find.

“Will you be staying at your friend’s place tonight?” Peter asks suddenly. We’re now in a very busy downtown area I don’t recognize.

I think of Jason’s apartment, probably not the safest place to be tonight. Considering V’s men had been there once, they could be back. “No, I can’t stay there.”

He looks at me curiously, but nods. “Right.”

He doesn’t speak again until we’ve traveled several more blocks. My legs are beginning to feel weak and I’ve once again lost all track of time, but I think it’s somewhere around eight or nine o’ clock. When he stops I look up and realize we’re standing outside a hotel. Unsure of what to say or do I just stand there.

“Well, good night Kit, and good luck.” He nods and is gone.

Two minutes later I’m still standing there wondering who he was and why he was wishing me good luck.

5. PROXIMA

U
sing my dad’s credit card I get a room for the night. The hotel is nice, nothing too fancy.  Besides, all I want right now is a bed and a shower, and to hopefully keep the charges on my dad’s card as low as possible. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, and possibly not ground me for a decade. Although once he finds out what I’ve done—and I’m sure he will—the chances of him going easy on me are pretty slim. But that’s the last thing on my mind tonight.

 There are so many questions racing through my head right now I can hardly think straight. All I want to do is get to my room and try to figure this all out. The first thing I do once I’m inside is deadbolt the door behind me and slide the useless little chain thing in, just for peace of mind. Throwing my backpack onto the bed I rummage through the contents until I find the package from the car. I find I’m holding my breath now, hoping and praying it’s something that will make sense. Possibly something that could tell me where Jason is.

My initial reaction to the contents of the package is not favorable. The first item is a small, red, hardbound book. The second item is a little more interesting, though hardly helpful. It is the framed photograph I had given Jason the night he left. I stare at both items for a long time wondering what they mean. I pick up the book and scan the title. It’s a copy of the
Aeneid
by Virgil. Worse still, it’s in Latin. I flip though the pages, hoping a note or something will fall out, but nothing turns up. Annoyed, I hold the book by its binding and shake it violently. Still, it yields no secrets.

I toss the book aside and fall back onto the bed, suddenly very tired. I’m still holding the photo in one hand, but I can’t bear to look at it. For the first time since I left home, I’m beginning to question myself.  Why did I suddenly think this was the right thing to do? I’ve spent my whole life doing exactly what everyone, namely my dad, expected and asked of me. If I was going to choose a moment of rebellion why did it have to be this? A big part of me had assumed I would find Jason safe and sound in his apartment. He would have laughed and explained that the whole situation between himself, his father, and Mr. V was one big misunderstanding. Then I would have gone home feeling like I had some sort of adventure and at least had a decent explanation for my dad.

But now, sitting alone in my hotel room, my longing for adventure fades. Jason is gone, and I have no idea where he could possibly be. As more time passes this is looking like far more than just a simple misunderstanding. Still, I remind myself that Jason had taken the trouble to lead me to this book for a reason. My earlier suspicions of him leaving me a trail of clues are now confirmed. I have the next clue in my hands. That alone should be of some comfort to me, but the book seems as useless as the other clues had been in the beginning. Which can mean only one thing; there has to be more to it, something else I have to decode or reveal.

Again I find myself facing yet another challenge I’m not so sure I’m able to meet. I’m still pondering all the possible secrets the book might hold and clutching the photo in my hand as I drift asleep.

I dream of Jason that night, and the first time he kissed me. We were racing from his house to mine through the pouring rain. I can still feel the wet blades of grass between my bare toes and his hand in mine. I pull up to a stop suddenly, momentarily distracted by flash of lightening. He slips in the wet grass and we both go crashing down together. Before we can get up he leans over and kisses me just as the thunder rumbles across the sky. Nothing since then has ever been the same.

I wake up just as quickly as I had fallen asleep with his name dying on my lips, drenched in a cold sweat that feels too much like the cool rain from that night. Rolling over I find the photo and hold it tightly against my chest. It doesn’t help much, but eventually I’m able to calm my racing heartbeat and fall back asleep.

The next morning I’m still in the same position, fully clothed and photo in hand. I get up slowly because I’m stiff from having slept in an awkward position. I order some breakfast up to my room and take a hot shower while I ponder my options. Yesterday hadn’t been a complete failure. I had succeeded in getting the package from the car. If my suspicions were right, there has to be some sort of clue in the book. It’s just up to me to figure it out.

I’m combing the tangles out of my hair as my breakfast arrives. I sit down at the table to eat and pick up the book once again. It’s not really all that surprising to me that it is in Latin. Languages are another of Jason’s many hobbies, and he especially loves ancient languages. Nibbling on a piece of bacon I flip though the pages.

 Suddenly I realize all hope is not lost as I notice markings on the pages. It looks as though he had written notes to himself in book. Holding my breath for a moment I flip through the rest of the pages somewhat frantically. Of course, there’s more, a lot more. Almost every single page contains lines of untidy scrawl in the margins, or words highlighted and underlined. Immediately I know this has to be it. I have been operating under the assumption that there would be a note or clue tucked inside, but the book is the clue. Still, it has several hundred pages and Jason’s writing is almost unreadable. I realize with a pang of fear that if this is the next clue; it’s not going to be easy for me to figure out.

One glance at the clock tells me it’s still far too early to be calling the east coast, but I need fresh perspective. I dial Alexa’s number and wait impatiently for her to answer.

“H’lo?” she grunts.

“Hey, Alexa,” I begin, feeling energized now that I’ve discovered something of use. “I found the next clue. It was in his car after all. I found a book and I’m pretty sure there’s a clue inside it somewhere.”

“Wait, what book?”

She still sounds half asleep so I talk slower. “The book that was in Jason’s car, it’s the
Aeneid
in Latin.”

“The
Aeneid
in Latin,” she repeats slowly back to me. “What was he thinking?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” I admit. If I knew what he had been thinking when he left the book in the trunk I wouldn’t have called her. “But it’s full of writing, notes and stuff. I figure the clue has got to be in there somewhere.”

“It’s another code?”

Even at five AM she is completely brilliant.