B.A.S.E. Camp (2 page)

After leaving the woods, Eddie stretched his lead along the driveway and checked over his shoulder to see the next runner just emerging from the trees.

‘Never mind him!' came a shout from one of the coaches, who chugged across the grass towards him on a motorised buggy. ‘What's your name?'

‘Eddie, Coach.'

‘Surname.'

‘Peters, Coach.'

‘Make for the lake, Peters, and turn left at the statue.'

The buggy veered off so that the coach could
yell some advice at the others now pounding along the road.

Eddie saw that the path forked by the statue and he slowed to make sure he went in the right direction – in this case, to his left. He often got his left and right mixed up.

Once on the well-beaten track around the lake, Eddie relaxed a little and noticed there was a small island with a number of white crosses beneath a clump of trees.

‘Strange place for a cemetery,' he murmured.

Eddie had no more time to take in the scenery. Another backward glance showed him that his nearest rival was making something of a charge and had managed to close the gap between them. He smiled grimly to himself, confident that he had enough energy to hold off any challenge.

‘He'll have nothing left for the finish, the rate he's going.'

Eddie passed a ramshackle boathouse and he could now see a small chapel almost hidden by a screen of oak trees. From there, they had been told to head back up the drive, cross the courtyard and wait by the outdoor swimming pool near the house.

As the two runners left the lake area, Eddie was about to go round the back of the chapel when he heard a cry from behind.

‘Hey! Wrong way. We turn right here.'

Eddie faltered, allowing a hint of doubt to enter his mind, but he carried on.

‘Suit yourself,' came the cackle. ‘See ya!'

‘Sure this was the way they said,' Eddie muttered, coming to a halt.

Reluctantly, he doubled back and went round the other side of the chapel instead. He found himself on a narrow path through the oaks, but when he emerged onto the winding driveway, the new leader was out of sight.

Eddie cursed. ‘I'll never catch him now.'

By the time he reached the swimming pool, however, the only person there was Blackbeard. The head coach did not look best pleased.

‘Reckoned you could cheat, did you, Peters?' he growled.

‘Cheat?' Eddie gasped, trying to swallow his disappointment at being beaten.

‘Aye, cheat! Taking that short cut past the chapel.'

‘B… but I was just following that other kid, Coach,' he protested.

‘What other kid?' thundered Blackbeard, grabbing Eddie by the arm. ‘You know what we do with cheats here, laddie?'

‘I'm not a…'

‘We give them a bath!'

Almost before Eddie realised what was meant by the threat, he found himself lifted off the ground, carried several metres to the pool and then dumped into the water.

It was shockingly cold. As his head broke the surface, he choked out some water and saw Blackbeard looming over him.

‘And you'll stay in there, Peters, till everybody gets back. I want them to see how we deal with cheats at B.A.S.E. Camp.'

‘Just as well you can swim,' said Tom, making the bed creak as he sat next to Eddie, who was huddled inside a blanket and sipping at a mug of tea.

Adam leant over the edge of the bunk above. ‘Everybody can swim, man.'

‘I can't,' Tom confessed.

‘Well, you don't need to worry,' Adam chuckled. ‘Bet Blackbeard couldn't even pick you up!'

‘Ha ha! Very funny!'Tom scowled. ‘You ought to be on TV.'

‘Will be when I'm rich and famous.'

Adam dropped down onto the floor and looked out of the window to see Blackbeard talking with another coach in the courtyard. He recognised the bald head from the Easter course, and gave a groan.

‘What's the matter?' asked Gareth.

‘Just spotted someone I'd hoped wouldn't still be here. A little French coach we nicknamed
Petit Pierre
. He's a right sadist in the gym.'

‘Don't let your tea get cold, Eddie,' said Tom, changing the subject. He didn't much like the sound of Petit Pierre.

Eddie screwed up his face. ‘It tastes worse than the water in the pool.'

‘Can't be as bad as the fruit juice we get given,' Adam told them. ‘Pity old Tom-Tom took two hours to finish the course – you wouldn't have had to stay in there so long.'

‘I wasn't
that
slow!' complained Tom.

‘Why did you just call him
Tom-Tom
?' asked Gareth.

‘'Cos he's shaped like a drum,' Adam grinned. ‘And because of the name on that huge case of his – Thomas Tomlinson.'

‘That's my dad's case,' Tom explained. ‘It's a family tradition, like. The first-born in every generation gets called Thomas.'

‘Feel sorry for any girl, then,' laughed Gareth.

‘Bit of advice, man,' said Adam. ‘Don't go crackin' any stupid jokes with these coaches. They ain't got no sense of humour.'

‘Are they blind, too?' cut in Eddie. ‘Blackbeard said he never saw that kid who got me into trouble.'

‘Nor did anybody else, Wonder Boy.'

‘Don't you believe me, either?'

Adam gave a shrug.

‘What I'm
wondering
,' Eddie said sourly,
‘is why you came back here for more, when you knew what things were like?'

It was Gareth who answered. ‘Look, we all know why we're here. We want to improve our techniques and get good enough to win medals when we're older.'

‘
Gold
medals,' Adam corrected him.

‘Well, that's what I meant. Just didn't want to sound big-headed.'

‘
Goals win Golds
,' Adam said, repeating the coaching mantra they'd taught him at Easter. ‘They drone on about goals all the time.'

‘So what's your main goal?' asked Gareth.

‘The 2020 Olympics,' Adam said above the noise of the dinner gong. ‘That's when I'm gonna grab gold in the long jump and 100 metres!'

Fifty boys sat in the library after the evening meal, listening to a lecture from Blackbeard on the importance of setting short and long-term goals. To Eddie's disappointment, but not to his surprise, there was no sign of the mystery runner.

No questions were allowed and it was only afterwards – when glasses of green juice were
served – that the athletes were able to speak to one another.

‘Yeuch!' said Gareth as he took a sip. ‘This is really foul. It's even worse than the yellow stuff we had with dinner.'

‘Did warn you, GG,' Adam chuckled.

‘GG?' repeated Gareth. ‘You make me sound like a horse.'

‘A giraffe,' Adam explained. ‘Gareth the giraffe, with them long, thin legs of yours.'

Gareth smiled. ‘So what are we going to call Adam, guys?'

‘Don't know yet,' said Tom, ‘but I'm sure we'll come up with something soon…'

The French coach interrupted the conversation. ‘Drink up,
mes garçons
,' he said, seeing their glasses were still almost full. ‘Show them, Fox, 'ow much you enjoy it.'

Adam downed his drink in one gulp, trying not to taste it or choke.

‘
Bon
!' exclaimed Petit Pierre, moving away with a thin smile on his face.

‘Good boy,
Foxy
!' Eddie chuckled, taking care that nobody was looking as he poured the contents of his own glass into a nearby potted plant.

The French coach pushed the boys to their limits, and even beyond, during the Tuesday-morning fitness session in the gym. Tom was sick again, losing his breakfast this time.

‘Too much toast and jam, I theenk,' said Petit Pierre, prodding Tom's bulging waistline. ‘We must make all this fat into muscle,
oui
?'

‘
Oui
– I mean, yes, Coach.'

The coach showed no mercy. Every time he blew the whistle, the boys had to do another set of exercises, including press-ups, sit-ups and step-ups.

‘Count to ten,
en français
–
un
,
deux
,
trois
…'

The afternoon session was spent outdoors under grey clouds, with the athletes split into small groups to be coached in their own events. The training camp had wonderful facilities, including a six-lane, 400-metre running track with an all-weather surface.

‘Wicked!' exclaimed Gareth at the sight of the high-jump area with its large, blue landing cushions.

‘Only the best here, man,' said Adam, who was on his way towards the long-jump pit. ‘This is what makes it worth all the torture.'

‘Gramps won't believe his eyes when he sees this place now. He came here as a kid when the Old Manor was a boarding school,' Gareth explained. ‘He reckons the house is haunted and that it's got secret passages.'

‘I'd like to meet your gramps. Is he comin' to the Open Day?'

‘You bet! No way he's gonna miss the chance to have a good old nose around.'

As Adam and Gareth went their separate ways, Tom was anxiously waiting to find out who would be coaching the group of throwers. He was relieved to see Petit Pierre start working with a few hurdlers, but his heart sank when the head coach strode towards the discus area.

‘Oh, God! Not Blackbeard!'

In the middle of the arena, Eddie was loosening up with the other distance runners under the supervision of a coach that he hadn't seen before, a young man with long, blond-streaked
hair. He looked fit enough to outrun all of them.

‘I've put cones right round the track, boys,' he said. ‘I want you to change gear every time you come to one. Sprint, jog, sprint, jog – OK?'

Pleased to find this coach appearing more friendly, Eddie thought of him as
Blondie
, and felt brave enough to ask a question.

‘Are we going to have any proper races while we're here, Coach? I mean, against some other kids?'

‘Maybe,' said Blondie, and then he smiled. ‘In fact, by the sounds of it, Eddie, I think you might already have met one of them…'

After the evening lecture in the library, Gareth made sure that none of the coaches were looking and then aimed a kick beneath the table he was sharing with his roommates.

‘Ow!' Adam complained. ‘Watch it, GG! That was my knee.'

‘Bang on target,' Gareth chuckled.

‘What d'yer want?'

‘I want to know what we're going to do now?'

‘Dunno,' Adam muttered. ‘Any ideas?'

‘Well, we
could
make a start on our new training diaries…' Gareth suggested.

‘You've
got
to be jokin'.'

‘Or we could go on a ghost hunt,' he grinned. ‘I'd like to be able to tell Gramps that we've been trying to track down some of his ghosts.'

Tom pulled a face. ‘Count me out, if you're going off exploring. I don't fancy pushing my luck with these coaches.'

‘You with us, Wonder Boy?' said Adam. ‘You never know, we might even come across your mystery runner up in the attic!'

Eddie shrugged. ‘OK, Foxy,' he said, not rising to the bait. ‘I wouldn't mind having a word with him.'

‘See yer later, Tom-Tom,' said Adam, standing up. ‘Don't go drinkin' all that juice now. You never know what's in it.'

Left alone at the table, Tom opened his training diary. Right there on the front page was the bold heading in capital letters:

‘Huh!' he grunted and took another swig of fruit juice. ‘I know what
my
main goal is here – avoiding Blackbeard and Petit Pierre as much as possible – they're slave-drivers!'

The three explorers climbed the central staircase as far as the second-floor landing.

‘So where did Tom say that old guy appeared yesterday?' asked Gareth.

‘Think it was on the next floor,' said Eddie.

‘Nah, that's where the coaches' rooms are,' Adam told them. ‘Must've happened right at the top of the house.'