Read The Rescue Online

Authors: Sophie McKenzie

The Rescue (10 page)

I crept down the stairs. As I got closer to the bottom, a thin seam of light glowed under the heavy oak door opposite the final step. That was where the children’s voices were coming from.

I tiptoed on. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. The final stair creaked as I touched it. The voices on the other side of the door were suddenly silent.

I tugged at the large rusty door handle. This
had
to be the Escondite. Luz
must
be inside this room.

The handle resisted. Another locked door. For a second I wished Nico were with me. The thought reminded me of Dylan, outside somewhere – had she already reached a phone and called Geri? I’d pushed that part of my search to the back of my mind.

Small movements on the other side of the door. I took a deep breath and moved closer.

‘Hola?’ I whispered.

Silence on the other side. I wiped my hands on my chinos. Suppose I’d got it wrong? Suppose this was just some hangout room for Fernandez’s friends? Or other random men who weren’t going to appreciate me barging in on their drinking or card-playing or whatever it was they were doing?

Well, I couldn’t turn back now.

‘Hola?’ I said again.

‘Hola.’ A young voice on the other side. A boy.

‘Soy Ed,’ I said quickly. ‘Por que estas aquí y los otros por aqui?’

More bad Spanish, but I couldn’t think straight in my panic and at least that got my point across:
Why are you and the others here?

The boy spoke so fast I couldn’t follow exactly what he was saying at first, though I caught the word:
prisio
. . .
prisoners
. I asked him to speak again, more slowly this time, which he did.

What I heard sent a chill right through me. From what I could understand, there were six children inside the room. They had come from various parts of the region and were all, as far as I could make out, in trouble with the police. They had originally been destined for some kind of detention centre, but the police had dumped them at Fernandez’s camp, and they’d ended up here.

‘The men say we are leaving in the morning, first thing,’ the boy gabbled in Spanish.

‘Estoy buscando una chica que se llama Luz,’ I said.
I’m looking for a girl called Luz.

‘Quien?’
Who?

I repeated her name. ‘Do you know her?’ I asked. ‘Is she here?’

‘No.’ The boy’s voice rose. ‘Dejo aquí ayer.’
She left yesterday.

My heart sank. I asked the boy if he knew where Luz had been taken.

The boy made a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘No se,’ he said.
I don’t know
. He paused, then his voice grew pleading. ‘Ayudanos, por favor.’
Help us, please.

At that moment the cellar door above banged open. Footsteps stomped down the stairs. I shrank back into the shadows as a large man lumbered into view. He fished out a key and undid the door. As he walked inside, I caught a glimpse of the room – it looked sparse, but cleaner than I’d expected. Two camp beds were pushed against the far wall. A row of scrawny kids sat on each one.

Jesus
, what a place. And what were Fernandez and Jorge planning on doing with all these children?

I took advantage of the fact that the man was barking at the kids in Spanish, his back turned to me, to slip out of the shadows and race up the stairs. I listened at the top before creeping out into the corridor and along to the front door. The air was much fresher and cooler up here than down in the cellar. I glanced at the front door. Clearly no one had noticed the broken glass from the window beside the door yet.
Good.
That would make it easier for me to get away.

My spirits rose. I still hadn’t managed to find Luz, but there was nothing more I could do for her right now. In fact, now I knew that children were definitely being taken to the house on the Calle Norte, the best thing I could do was turn the whole thing over to Geri. She could tell the authorities to investigate . . . to find Luz and save her . . . I just had to get to a phone.

I was about to gently twist the catch on the door and slip out, when footsteps sounded on the pavement outside. I ducked back behind the huge plant next to the door, my stomach twisting into knots.

And then the door opened and Jorge – the guy from the bar – appeared, a body slung over his shoulder. It was a girl, dressed in shorts and a halter-neck top, with long red hair falling down the sides of her face . . . Dylan.

Oh no.
My breath caught in my throat as my brain took a few seconds to catch up with the evidence of my eyes. As Jorge disappeared down the corridor, puffing under the weight of his burden, I stared at Dylan’s face. Her eyes were closed, her body hanging limp. She was unconscious.

Muttering a string of Spanish swear words, Jorge pulled open the cellar door I’d just emerged from, then stomped off down the steps, Dylan’s head bumping against his back as he disappeared from view.

 
9: Andrew Stanley

I stood behind the flowerpot for several seconds, frozen with fear. What the hell did I do now? Panic ricocheted around my head. If Fernandez’ men had caught Dylan, then Fernandez
must
himself be aware I was free by now – and be searching for me. What was I going to do? I felt sick as the image of Dylan’s head bumping against Jorge’s back flashed into my mind. She must have been attacked from behind, otherwise she’d have been able to stop the blows with her Medusa powers.

I had to get her out. I took a step across the hallway, then stopped.

It was crazy attempting to rescue Dylan by myself. I’d simply get myself trapped down in the cellar along with her. I thought it through. Dylan had been trying to find someone with a phone so she could call Geri to rescue us. That was the number one priority – everything else followed on from that. And I had to assume that Dylan had failed . . . which left calling Geri up to me.

I turned on my heel and crept back to the front door. I sprang the catch and peered carefully outside. An old lady was shuffling along the pavement opposite. She glanced round at me with cloudy, unseeing eyes. I was willing to bet my life that she didn’t carry a mobile phone. I glanced further up the road, towards the Madelina. That was the most likely direction Fernandez would appear from. I ran the opposite way, towards the crossroads about one hundred metres down. A car zoomed along the intersecting road as I ran. Then another. I’d flag one down if I had to. I gritted my teeth and raced on, slowing only slightly to cross a shadowy alleyway on my left. As I reached the other side, a tall, male figure strode out of the shadows, almost bumping into me.

He was wearing a suit. He was sure to have a phone.

I grabbed his arm, my heart pounding. ‘Ayudame, por favor,’ I said, the words suddenly tumbling out of me.
Help me, please.

The man’s eyes widened with surprise. He looked vaguely familiar. It took me a second to place him. Then I remembered. This was the tall, thin man I’d seen earlier at the back of the Madelina.

‘Ayudame,’ I said again. ‘Telefono.’
Damn.
What was the word for ‘borrow’? Dylan had used it earlier, but in my panic I couldn’t remember.

The man smiled. ‘I think we’ll get on better if we speak in English,’ he said smoothly. ‘Now, what’s the problem, kiddo? How can I help?’

I blinked, letting go of his arm. The man was English.

I swallowed, uncertain what to do. The man’s smile seemed genuine, but I was in such a state I couldn’t be sure he was really offering to help me. I stared at his face, half-tempted to mind-read him and make sure. His eyes were dark and intense, but I didn’t get the sense he was hiding anything from me. What struck me more forcefully was how thin he was, the gauntness of his face accentuated by the way his dark hair was cropped close to his skull.

‘Let me introduce myself.’ The man held out his hand. ‘I’m Andrew Stanley, European sales and marketing director for Electrical Security Solutions – here on business.’

‘Ed.’ I shook his hand, still feeling wary. I glanced over my shoulder. The street behind was empty.

‘So, what are you running from, Ed?’ the man said.

‘Er . . .’ I hesitated, torn between my desire to ask for help and my anxiety about giving too much away. The obvious thing was to carry on with my original plan and ask this man if I could borrow his phone. And yet I’d seen him up at the Madelina. For all I knew he could be in league with Fernandez and Jorge. ‘I saw you earlier, in the bar,’ I said, scanning his face for any signs of guilt or complicity.

‘That’s right,’ Stanley said evenly. ‘I was on my way to Madrid, but my helicopter had to put down just outside San Juan because one of the instruments was faulty. My pilot’s an excellent engineer but we won’t be able to take off again until first thing tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d head out for a drink.’

‘Right,’ I said, my head spinning with all this new information.

‘I remember what you did earlier,’ he said. ‘That’s quite some mind-reading trick you’ve got going on. Does that have something to do with why you’re running down this road like the furies are after you?’

‘Sort of.’ I glanced up and down the road again. The old lady had reached the end of the street and was turning the corner towards the Madelina. San Juan was not a huge town – Fernandez could be just a matter of minutes away. I looked back at Andrew Stanley. If everything he said was true, and it was surely too detailed to be made up, he was British, he was a professional and he was travelling by helicopter. He would almost certainly have a mobile phone on him. I
had
to ask for it. I didn’t need to explain why I wanted it.

‘May I borrow your phone?’ I said.

Stanley raised his eyebrows. ‘Sure, kiddo.’ He fished a BlackBerry out of his pocket and peered at the screen. ‘Damn it, there’s no signal here. D’you want to come back to my hotel? I’m sure they’ll have phones in the lobby you can use.’

I hesitated. Years of Mum warning me and my sisters not to follow strange men into cars and buildings were echoing in my ears. On the other hand, Stanley didn’t seem like any kind of pervert. And I really, really needed to get away from the Escondite building before Fernandez appeared. Even Mum might appreciate the need to take a risk right now.

He held up his hands. ‘Look, I’m just trying to help,’ he said. ‘There’s obviously something very wrong here. I understand that you’re being cautious, but I’d really suggest that you come with me. I mean, you don’t look like you should be out here on your own. Where are your parents? Have you got separated from them or something? Are they back at the bar?’

‘No.’ My guts twisted with anxiety. What had Geri said back in our training sessions? When you’re lying, keep as close to the truth as possible. I decided to give Stanley my ‘Ed Jones’ cover story.

‘I . . . we were sent to a camp – a brat camp sort of place – about two hours’ drive from here,’ I explained.

‘We?’ Stanley asked.

‘There’s four of us,’ I explained. ‘Friends who all arrived at the same time from England. But the camp isn’t what it seems. The man who runs it is using it as a cover to smuggle kids in trouble with the law – like, really in trouble, not just annoying their parents – to a place called Escondite.’ I pointed up the road. ‘It’s along there. Fernandez, who runs the camp, he’s in league with the man who runs the Madelina where we were earlier. They’re keeping the kids locked up, then they move them on somewhere else.’ I thought of Luz, her huge, pleading eyes. ‘I don’t know where they go, but I’m sure it’s bad, and now my friend Dylan’s been taken there and I have to phone this woman I know back home who’ll be able to help . . .’

‘Jesus Christ, kiddo.’ Stanley whistled, drawing me into the shadow of the alleyway. ‘Never mind people back home. It sounds like we should call the local police.’

‘There’s no point.’ As I spoke I could feel the tears bubbling up inside my throat. ‘Fernandez and Jorge are working
with
the police. I think the police get some kind of kickback whenever they deliver a bunch of kids.’

I gazed up and down the road again. A couple appeared at the top of the street and started walking towards us.

Stanley hestitated. ‘You really are in trouble,’ he said. ‘And so are those kids.’

‘I know.’ My voice cracked as I spoke. ‘How far away is your hotel?’

‘Couple of minutes’ walk.’ Stanley stood back, ‘By the way, how come you haven’t once looked me in the eyes while you’ve been speaking?’

I flushed. I wasn’t used to people drawing attention to my dislike of making eye contact. Especially not complete strangers. I’d never had to explain it before, not that I could give Stanley the real reason, of course.

‘Just makes me feel uncomfortable,’ I stammered. ‘I promise I’m not lying about any of what I’ve told you.’

‘Okay.’ Stanley’s tone was suddenly brisk. ‘So let’s go and phone your mystery Saviour Lady back in England. See what she suggests we do.’

We walked swiftly down to the crossroads, turned left, then took a right almost immediately. A minute later Stanley stopped outside a stone house hung with a blue name plate:
Hotel San Juan
.

The reception area was very Spanish – all wooden furniture and ornate lanterns. A row of dolls in Flamenco dresses stood along the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Stanley spoke in rapid Spanish to the short, balding man behind the desk. His voice rose as he talked . . . he was clearly getting angry about something. The man behind the desk held up his hands as if to suggest the situation was not his fault.

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