Authors: Isla Whitcroft
‘She’s just a kid. I can’t kill kids. Especially not a girl. Look, man, we lock her here and go, OK? She’ll be there a day, maybe two, maybe three. Who cares? A few days
will calm the vixen down. By then we’ll be back over the border, long gone.’
‘Yes, he’s right.’ The other man was almost gabbling now. ‘Come on, shut the door, leave her.’
The man, who was obviously their boss, snorted. ‘You Mexicanos,’ he sneered. ‘No balls. Not like us Columbians. We show no mercy.’ He paused. ‘Still, it might be
less trouble. OK, this time I’ll listen to you. But any more screw-ups and it won’t just be that kid who is lucky to be alive.’
They threw a bottle of water down the steps and slammed the heavy door. Cate heard the sound of a bolt being drawn across it. There was total blackness and a silence so profound it was almost
suffocating. Her hands out in front of her, she shuffled in the direction of the stairs, sat down on the bottom step and tried to think clearly.
She was alive – that was the main thing. But she was trapped in a country where few people would miss her and, even if they did, how would they know where to start looking for her?
She wondered what had happened to her phone. Had the thugs retrieved it from the long grass where she had surreptitiously pushed it with her foot before she was marched to the bunker? She had to
hope not. Her phone locator provided the best chance she had of being tracked down and found. In the meantime, she had no option but to wait it out.
She carried out a meticulous search of the bunker, feeling every inch of the wall from top to bottom with her fingers, pulling at bits of loose concrete in case they were the opening to a vent
or a tunnel, banging on the ceiling until her knuckles were sore, but all to no avail.
Cate sat back down on the stairway. She was cold and the dampness was seeping into her bones and making her shiver. Every so often, she ran on the spot to try to get some blood moving to her
frozen extremities.
The silence was beginning to bother her too. She started to sing her favourite Black Noir songs and that cheered her up for a while. Cate fingered the water bottle longingly. She was already
thirsty but she was going to have to ration it. The question was how much and for how long? She could be here for days. She couldn’t allow herself to think that she would be stuck here for
ever.
Cate hated giving way to self-pity, but even so she couldn’t help herself. She was entombed, alone in utter darkness.
According to the light on her watch, two hours had passed before Cate heard a sound coming from above her. It was so faint that at first she thought she was mistaken, but then
she heard it again – the low, muted thud of footsteps moving back and forth across the roof.
She raced towards the stairs, bashing her knee on a wall in her haste to get there. Ignoring the pain, she hauled herself up to the iron door and banged on it with all her might.
‘Hello?’ she yelled as loudly as she possibly could. ‘Help! I’m in here.’ She stopped and listened, then shouted out again at the top of her voice. ‘In the
bunker. I’m locked in. Open the door, please. Please!’
She heard the sound of the bolt being drawn and suddenly sunlight was streaming in, cutting through the darkness like a laser, making her eyes sting. Cate put her sunglasses on and bolted out
into the daylight, gratefully gulping down lungfuls of fresh air.
It was the homeless man she had disturbed earlier, wearing a very bemused expression on his filthy face. His hair was long and greasy, his T-shirt covered with stains, but at that moment, Cate
thought he was possibly the most beautiful human she had ever seen.
‘Thank you,’ said Cate, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him. ‘Thank you a million times.’ She paused. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘You didn’t come back out,’ he said, eyeing her warily. ‘I saw you go in but only those guys came out.’
He squinted at her. ‘You OK?’
Cate nodded. ‘I am now. I can’t thank you enough.’
She put her hand out to his and after some hesitation he took it. His hand felt dry and old, although he couldn’t have been more than forty.
‘I’m Cate – Cate Carlisle,’ she said.
‘Jake Lomas.’ He said the name slowly as if he had almost forgotten it. ‘I sleep around here. I see all the comings and goings. No one sees me but I see them.’
A bell was sounding in Cate’s head. Something Jake had said to her when she had given him the money.
‘You warned me,’ she said suddenly. ‘You told me to watch my back. What did you mean, Jake?’
He turned away. ‘I gotta go,’ he mumbled, heading back up the garden.
‘Hey, Jake,’ Cate called softly. ‘Please tell me. What do you know? What have you seen?’
But the tramp was gone, moving surprisingly fast for someone who seemed so disconnected from life.
Cate shook her head. She had other things to worry about now. She dropped to her knees in the long grass and began to hunt for her phone, praying that the thugs hadn’t picked it up and
taken it with them. But eventually she found it, lying near a discarded sandwich wrapper.
She picked it up thankfully, wiped it down, and dialled nine-one-one. ‘Police, please,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘I want to report the illegal imprisonment of a
sixteen-year-old girl.’
By the time the police dropped Cate back at the hotel, she was utterly exhausted. They had been polite but persistent, asking her to tell her story over and over again. The two
policemen had been diligent at first, walking around the property, and checking for signs of a break in. They had knocked on neighbouring doors to ask for witnesses – but no one appeared to
have seen anything. To add to Cate’s intense frustration and annoyance, even the boxes and crates that had been stacked up against the shop wall had gone, with not even a trace of them
remaining.
‘I was locked in that bunker,’ she explained for what must have been the seventh time. ‘I walked in on something – I don’t know, maybe a burglary? There were two
Mexicans and a Columbian I didn’t get a look at. They even talked about killing me. Here.’ Using some tissue to hold it, she handed the female officer the water bottle. ‘They gave
me this. There may be fingerprints on it, DNA.’
The policewoman looked at her blankly as she ushered her into the police car.
They had driven in silence to the police station in downtown Santa Monica and Cate sat in the waiting area while a police sergeant shuffled files around a dirty Formica desk.
‘We didn’t find no sign of a break-in,’ she said finally, looking over at Cate. The sergeant was as wide as she was short, thick glasses slipping down her podgy nose.
‘We’ve only got your word for it that you were locked in that bunker.’ She pushed her glasses back up her nose and gave Cate a stern look. ‘We’ve made a note of your
statement, but I’ll tell you something for nothing. My shift only started two hours ago and we’ve already got one suspected homicide, three muggings and a hold-up in a pharmacy in broad
daylight. So unless you can come up with a witness or, better still, some evidence that an actual crime was committed, then believe me, kid, we’ve got more important things to do than chase
around after shadows.’
Cate took a deep breath. Losing her temper was tempting, but it wouldn’t help. ‘What about Jake Lomas?’ She was determined not to give up without a fight. ‘The homeless
guy who set me free. Talk to him. He’ll tell you.’
The sergeant glared at Cate. ‘I’ve known Jake for years. He wouldn’t know the truth from a lie if it hit him square between the eyes.
Cate shook her head slowly. She could see that it was pointless to waste time arguing. She wasn’t going to get any further here. In any case, she was desperate to get out of this shabby
police station and back to her hotel to shower off the stale smell of the bunker from her body.
She turned to go, but the sergeant wasn’t quite finished with her.
‘As you’re a minor, we should really call social services and have you put into care until a significant adult arrives to collect you.’ Her chins wobbled triumphantly, her eyes
glistening with pleasure at Cate’s horror-struck expression. ‘But you got lucky. My boss is overwhelmed with paperwork and isn’t too keen to take on any more tonight. So, instead,
we’re giving you a lift back to your hotel – and if you want to pursue this any further, call a lawyer.’ She nodded towards the exit sign. ‘Your lift is waiting,
Cinderella.’
‘Hey.’ The hotel receptionist had an anxious look on her face. ‘I’m glad you’re back. I was just about to call the cops.’
If it hadn’t have been so tragic it would have been funny, thought Cate.
‘It’s OK,’ she said wearily. ‘I just got a bit waylaid. But thanks anyway.’ She headed for the stairs then paused. ‘If you see Ritchie Daner, can you tell him
I won’t be up for the party tonight. Tell him . . .’ She searched for an excuse. ‘Tell him the jet lag won out in the end.’
Back in her room, Cate ran a huge bath, switched on the Jacuzzi setting and lay in the whirling bubbles, staring up at the ocean mural on the ceiling, enviously eyeing the pretty, tanned girls
hanging out with fit boys at the water’s edge. All Cate wanted was to be like one of those girls – carefree, normal, just enjoying a chilled-out holiday and some uncomplicated fun. Yet
wherever she went things happened to her. Did she give off some vibe that attracted trouble?
On the other hand, she mused, as the water slowly cooled and the bubbles began to disappear, part of the reason she had loved following her father around the world was that they were always in
the thick of the action, whether it was riots in Iran, civil war in the Balkans, or talking to wily tribal leaders in Afghanistan.
She cast her mind back over the last few hours. The cops were right: there had been no sign of a break-in. In that case, perhaps the men
had
been given a key after all. The question was
by whom? There was no way they were acting within the law, so what were they up to?
Already the fear of being trapped in the bunker had faded, replaced by a burning desire to investigate why it had happened.
As she got out of the bath and into a luxuriously soft robe, she switched on the TV to the local news station. It was anchored by a heavily groomed couple who looked as if they had been
carefully ironed before they came on air. To Cate, used as she was to the rather formal British news bulletins, their ebullient chat and flirty smiles seemed almost indecent.
‘Ohhh . . .’ The woman was talking now, her unnaturally bright teeth practically glowing in the studio lights. ‘. . . This is a piece of news I’ve been desperate to share
with you all here at LATV. The gorgeous British supermodel Nancy Kyle has just arrived in town to make final preparations for the catwalk and fashion extravaganza at the Superbowl, a week Saturday.
The gig is in aid of the charity the Mexican Street Kids Foundation, and Ms Kyle recently told LATV that she was organising the fashion show to coincide with the launch of a documentary into the
plight of the street children, made by her rock-star boyfriend Lucas Black of Black Noir. Naturally Mr Black is headlining the music gig that will round off the evening.’
The picture on the screen cut from the studio to a shot of Nancy Kyle wearing a close-fitting purple evening dress on a red carpet. Camera lights were flashing and barriers were holding back
cheering, waving crowds behind her.
‘When Lucas first showed me the documentary I was heartbroken.’ Nancy’s Essex accent rose clearly above the hubbub of the red-carpet photographers and the cheers of the crowd.
‘I sobbed my heart out, I really did. To think that just across the border from LA, one of the richest cities in the world, thousands of Mexican kids are sleeping rough every day of the year,
living off what food they can find in the street and what money they can beg. They live in drains, sewers, on the edge of rubbish tips. Some are forced into slavery to get a roof over their heads,
others resort to sniffing solvents and taking drugs just to get them through the hellish days and nights.’
Nancy looked soulfully at the camera, her green eyes huge and pleading. ‘I’ve got five kids of my own and the mother in me wanted to rush down to Mexico and adopt all those street
children. But I can’t, so the least I can do is use what skills I have to help them in any way I can.’
She brightened. ‘Loads of amazing designers have dropped everything to come to the show, and my really good friends Kate, Naomi and Aggy are flying out to model the clothes, and all my
closest celebrity friends have bought tickets . . .’
As Nancy continued to describe the show, Cate turned the sound down and reached for her phone. Nancy was in LA! It would be brilliant to see her if the supermodel could spare the time. Since she
had worked on Nancy’s yacht last summer, Cate had stayed in touch with her, and had met up with her and her boyfriend, the Black Noir singer Lucas Black, in Australia. He’d helped her
out big time, coming to the rescue when she most needed it.
Am in LA 4 hols + just heard u r in town. Would love to see u. Cate xxx
Cate had just pressed the send button when there was a rap at the door.
She peered through the spyhole and was surprised to see Ritchie. The receptionist must have forgotten to tell him about her change of heart and he had turned up looking for her. Cate was
surprised at how pleased she felt as she let him in.
‘Cate.’ Ritchie’s voice was subdued, his face pale. His earlier enthusiasm seemed to have vanished.
‘You OK?’ Cate asked, puzzled, as he strode into her room and grabbed the TV remote control, flicking through the channels until he reached CNN.
‘Look at this. I’ve just seen it on the TV screen downstairs.’ His voice was suddenly tense.
Cate followed his gaze. They were watching film footage of what was clearly some sort of ancient archaeological site. The soaring steps of vast pyramids and the flat faces of huge stone warriors
standing like giant watchtowers on the summit of the crumbling buildings were distinctive.
‘That looks like Mexico,’ Cate said.