London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 31

  Someone shoved Al off the patch of gold that he was perched on. He cannoned into the cameraman and the big screens were suddenly filled with images of sky and blurred faces.

  “I want some,” roared a voice in the crowd.

  “Me, too,” insisted another.

  There were chants of ‘Come on’, and the mob moved forward to engulf Al, the cameraman and the low loader. The camera must have got damaged because the picture crashed into static. Seconds later and even the music was cut off.

  That’s when Sam could hear a voice, calling through a megaphone, ordering people to disperse as armed police or soldiers, Sam had no idea which, started descending from the helicopters. Instantly they were swallowed up in the crowd. Sam cringed. If those policemen were overcome, then their guns would fall into the hands of the mob.

  “We have to get Al out of there,” Sam shouted to Nicky Cairo.

  She would have liked to have dumped Nicky, but she couldn’t risk him making good on his threat to randomly kill people.

  They skirted their way down The Mall, so they were level with the low loader but outside the epicentre of the mob.

  “I see him,” shouted Sam, pointing at the stage. Al was heaving himself back onto the lorry, but someone in the crowd was hanging onto his foot. He managed to free himself and clamber back to his decks.

  Sam waved and jumped up and down, trying to get his attention.

  Nicky Cairo fired a shot into the air, but it barely made an impact over the cacophony of noise. The walls of Buckingham Palace must be shaking, thought Sam.

  An idea formed in her mind. The lorry was less than four metres from her, the only problem was the number of people between her and the vehicle. The Mall was lined with trees, and Sam and James had always enjoyed climbing trees when they visited their grandparents in Suffolk. Sam gauged that the tree that she was standing next to would present no difficulty.

  “Wait for me,” Sam said to Nicky. “Don’t shoot anyone.”

  ***

  Sam nimbly clambered up the tree, so that she was above the head height of the crowd. The thin branches that extended over the road would never bear her weight, but with the superpowered strength in her legs, Sam was confident she could make the jump to the lorry from this position. She crouched down, braced herself, kept her eye on the stage and then jumped off the tree in a powerful, explosive movement.

  Her momentum took her over the heads of the mob and she landed feet-first next to a large speaker. She staggered forward and grabbed Al for support.

  Sam could see only his startled eyes through the skeleton mask. He quickly removed the hood.

  “Sam,” was all he could manage. He looked stunned, frightened, bewildered.

  “We have to get out of here,” shouted Sam. “Quickly, before they get you,” she pointed at the mob below.

  Sam’s jump had attracted attention. The lorry started moving. A group of people had grabbed the end of the trailer and were lifting it up.

  Sam looked in the packing crate in front of her. Bags of Super D were stashed inside. In another case, plastic bottles containing a red liquid. She quickly used her flame power to set both crates alight.

  “Jump with me,” shouted Sam, and took his hand. He nodded. They hurled themselves off the lorry like Olympic long jumpers and landed at the edge of St James’s Park.

  Sam helped Al to his feet.

  “Are you ok?” she asked.

  He nodded, dusting himself down. He stank. How much Super D had he taken? She didn’t want to be censorious with him, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Are you happy now? You’ve got your riot. You’ve got your anarchy. Is that it? Tick? Job done?”

  Al took a step forward and stumbled. Obviously the exertion of using his power, and then being attacked by the mob, had taken a lot out of him.

  “I got to get back to the stage,” he insisted, holding onto a tree.

  “Good luck with that,” said Sam.

  The lorry that Al had been using as a stage had been tipped over by the mob. A space had formed around the burning crates and Super D lay smoking and blackened on the road.

  People were leaping into the mound of powder, burrowing like dogs, using their hands to stuff the drug into their mouths, oblivious to their clothes and skin being burned.

  “I need to get to a clear area to make more gold,” Al insisted.

  “Don’t be stupid, as soon as they catch sight of you they’ll rip you apart,” said Sam, taking off her dressing gown and wrapping it around Al to hide his skeleton costume. The important thing now was to try and get him to blend into the crowd. Ironically, he had more chance of doing that in the pink dressing gown than in his distinctive neon skeleton suit.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” He looked disgusted at the garment.

  “Save your life, probably,” snapped Sam. “Can’t you see it’s over? You probably haven’t got the strength to change your socks, never mind change brick into gold.”

  “I’ll be all right,” he muttered, reaching into his boot and pulling out a small polythene bag of the familiar red powder. He poured some into his cupped hand and then tipped it quickly into his mouth.

  And then Nicky Cairo was at their side. He snatched the bag from Al.

  “Kid, that was amazing,” he said, breathlessly. Nicky looked worse than ever. His hair was soaked in sweat and his face had an unhealthy red hue. He kept pulling at his loosened collar as though it was choking him.

  Sam was almost oblivious to the all-too-familiar rank smell.

  Al tried to recover the bag, but Nicky jammed his gun under Al’s chin.

  “Kid, I don’t have time to mess around.” Nicky quickly checked his watch. “You need to come with me. I need you to do your thing and make me some cocaine.”

  “In your dreams. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for you, man.”

  Nicky tipped his head back and poured the remaining Super D into his mouth.

  “Al, he’s got your dad and your brother,” Sam warned. “And he shot James,” she added, her voice faltering. She’d said the words, but she just couldn’t believe James was dead. He would have survived. She was sure of that. She had to believe it.

  Al looked unsure.

  “That’s right,” confirmed Nicky. “So you’re going to do as I say, or your old man is history, understand?”

  “You’d better not hurt them,” said Al.

  “Shut your face. I heard it all before. Come on, we’re going.”

  He marshalled Sam and Al ahead of him, back into St James’s Park. People were still swarming onto The Mall, including a number of policemen. They passed Nicky, Sam and Al without giving them a second glance.

  “How do you make the drugs?” Nicky asked Al.

  “I just can. Don’t ask me how, ’cos I don’t know.”

  “He’ll need a sample of the real stuff and something to change it from,” added Sam.

  “No problem, I got coke,” said Nicky. “What do you need as the raw material? Grass, will that do? We got loads of it here.”

  “Yeah, grass will work,” admitted Al.

  “But how are you going to get it to where you’re going?” Sam pointed out, then regretted it.

  “Good point. I’ll take you both with me and he can work his magic when we get there. We need a car. Let’s get away from here though, somewhere away from the riot.”

  He looked at Sam and Al in turn, with disdain. Al looked ridiculous in the pink dressing gown and Sam was in her pyjamas.

  “You two couldn’t stick out any more, could you?” Nicky complained. He grabbed a passing boy and made him remove his hooded top at gunpoint. Nicky threw the garment to Sam, who put it on over her head. It came down to her knees and she instantly looked less conspicuous. Nicky performed the same trick on another boy and made Al put the stolen sweater on in place of the dressing gown.

  Impatiently, Nicky led them through the park, skirting the edge of Horse Guards Road.

  ***

&nbs
p; When they reached the exit, Sam looked left towards Big Ben. It was one o’clock exactly. All forms of transport were at a standstill in that direction. Police vans were struggling to get through. Nicky lost control and started shouting and kicking out at the nearest wall, which swiftly disintegrated.

  “Calm down,” Sam ordered him, grabbing his arms. “Look. I heard you on the phone. I know some men have your family. I’ll help you if you promise to release Al’s family and find out if my brother is alive.”

  “You’ll do as I tell you, kid,” snarled Nicky.

  “Nicky. Nicky, look at me,” Sam commanded, anger giving steel to her voice. Nicky did as he was told.

  “I’m strong. Very strong,” Sam reminded him. “And you need Al. You need us both. It’s going to be a lot easier for you if you don’t have to worry about us knocking you out. If my brother is dead, I’ve got nothing to lose. I could take that gun and there’d be nothing you could do, no matter how much Super D you’ve had.”

  Nicky considered what she was saying.

  He got his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number.

  “Yeah. It’s me. What’s going on?”

  Nicky looked concerned as he listened to the answer.

  “Stick with them,” he said, finally.

  “What’s happened?” asked Sam. “Is my brother ok?”

  “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking,” was Nicky’s cold reply, but Sam’s heart nearly burst with relief. James was alive. That’s all that mattered.

  “Took the bullet in his chest,” Nicky continued. “Should be dead but isn’t. Ambulances arrived after we left, but so did the spooks.”

  “Who?”

  “MI5. They took your brother away. My man got out with the kid’s dad. Left the brother there.”

  “MI5 took James?” Sam was appalled. “I have to help him.”

  “They probably took him to the same place as they’re keeping the Rosewood guy,” said Nicky. “The brat, she was looking for her father. MI5 are holding him in a safe house for freaks like you,” he added, nastily.

  “Sir Michael Rosewood? I don’t understand. How do you know about that?”

  “I know, sweetheart. I found the brat’s old man for her. Woman called Stannard told me where he is. That’s probably where they’re taking your brother, too. Somewhere secure. Thanks to the Rosewood kid, you’re all enemies of the state.”

  Sam’s head was spinning. She couldn’t follow Nicky’s meaning.

  “You know Mrs Stannard?” she asked, bewildered.

  “Knew. She’s dead. Your brat friend killed her.”

  “Lolly? No. She wouldn’t do that.” Sam was surprised at the vehemence in her own voice. Where had it come from? Because killing someone like Mrs Stannard was exactly the sort of thing that Lolly would do, and no doubt had done, countless times. What surprised Sam was how much she wanted it to be untrue.

  “She did,” Nicky thrust his face right up to hers. He couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “And now MI5 will want to lock all you freaks up. But I can tell you where that safe house is, if you help me get my family back. Is that a deal?”

  Sam didn’t know what to think. Was Nicky lying to her? Lolly had admitted she was going to see Nicky. Had she been planning to free her father all along, working with this abhorrent gangster?

  The important thing was that James was alive. If MI5 did have him, then at least he would be getting medical treatment. He’d be safe for a while. Wouldn’t they keep him, Mum and Dad together? It made sense that it would be at the same secure place that they were keeping Sir Michael. Sam had to find out where that was and Nicky was the only person who could give her that information.

  “It’s a deal,” agreed Sam. “I say we run to this airfield. If it’s just west of London, it can’t be more than 20 miles from here. I can do it and now you’ve taken Super D, so can you both.”

  “Good idea,” Nicky said, sniffing and wiping yet more sweat out of his eyes. “This red stuff is the bomb.”

  Sam looked searchingly at Nicky. Her conscience was troubling her.

  “I have to warn you,” she said. “It was never designed to be taken by someone your age. You could have a heart attack at any minute. That’s why you’re sweating and had those chest pains. It’s putting your body under a terrible strain.”

  “Right now, all I care about is my family. I know my way from here. We’ll run side by side so I can keep an eye on you.”

  He showed them the map on his phone. The airfield was near Amersham, just west of the M25.

  “We’ll cut through Green Park and Hyde Park until we reach the A40, then we’ll follow it out of London,” outlined Nicky.

  “Hyde Park? That’s where the Queen is, you idiot,” said Al. “And my dad says the A40 is a shocking road. It’s quicker to follow the tube line.” He pointed at a line of underground stations marked on the map.

  “Don’t be stupid, that’ll take us miles out of our way,” countered Nicky.

  Sam had heard arguments like this before.

  “Can you two shut up? Is it only girls who can read maps? Come on, follow me.”

  Chapter 53

  Sam started running, with Nicky and Al falling into step beside her. Briefly, she felt like a pop star out jogging in a trendy London park with two bodyguards.

  The run helped to clear her thoughts. As they reached Green Park, she estimated they were managing about twenty to thirty miles per hour. She was capable of faster, but she didn’t think Nicky would survive the greater strain. Even Al looked uncomfortable, and his borrowed hoodie was soaked with sweat.

  Running alongside the main road was difficult, given the number of cars, but it had been the right decision to travel on foot. Traffic was built up to the point that even motorbikes were struggling to get through the range of obstacles.

  By the time they were west of Hanger Lane, the traffic started to thin out. That was when Nicky hijacked a car belonging to a family who were setting off on their holiday. He proceeded to thrash the car like a racing driver as he sped out beyond the M25, taking a series of turn-offs and cut-throughs, until they reached an airfield in the middle of beautiful countryside.

  Nicky drove down a narrow road where neat, pretty houses protected by tall trees lined up on the right and a series of corrugated metal structures, which Sam supposed must be aircraft hangars, were ranged on the left.

  Nicky slowed down, peering cautiously out of the window. There was a break in the row of hangars. In that gap was a short driveway, a number of fuel tankers and an open metal gate. Beyond that, Sam could see a variety of aeroplanes lined up on fields and tarmac.

  Nicky nursed the car through the open gate and followed the road that circled the airfield.

  “One of these hangars,” he mumbled, looking at his phone, until he pointed to the one that he seemed to think was right, and drove inside.

  The hangar was large enough to house three small aircraft, although only one was parked inside at the moment — a small yellow and blue plane with propellers, and probably only enough room for three or maybe four passengers.

  The hangar had a definite ‘working’ feel to it. It wasn’t shiny and immaculate like those Sam had seen in photographs. The floor was grey tarmac, the walls were painted military green and the only light was from the rows of windows set high into the walls. It was just a big shed really, decided Sam. Functional and lacking in glamour.

  Nicky stopped the car and they all got out. The first thing Nicky did was check the plane.

  “Empty,” he reported. “Ok. I’m expecting some people here in 30 minutes. I want to be ready. Kid,” he addressed Al. “Do your stuff. Make some coke.”

  “What do you want it for, anyway?” asked Al.

  “Two Russian guys are holding my family,” explained Nicky, impatiently. “And they want either two million quid from me, or two million in cocaine.”

  “You’re using Super D,” shrugged Al. “You could rip those guys apart.”


  “I just told you,” snapped Nicky. “They’re holding my family. Unless they see the drugs, they won’t give me my wife and kids back. As soon as they’re safe, then I’ll rip them apart. Now get to it.”

  “Coke, then,” demanded Al.

  Nicky reached into his inside jacket pocket, brought out an expensive leather wallet, removed a small wrap of white powder and gave it to Al.

  Sam helped Al look around for a raw material to convert into the drug. She looked in the boot of the hijacked car. It was loaded up with suitcases, coats, pushchairs and toys. Sam made a mental note to find a way to make things up to the poor family.

  Al took one of the suitcases out of the car and opened it. It was packed with neatly folded shirts, trousers, underwear and shoes.

  “Perfect,” he said, scrunching the clothes together into the tightest ball he could manage. He then poured some of Nicky’s cocaine into one hand, and placed the other on the clothes.

  Sam watched, enthralled, as the material dissolved and crumbled, turning white and powdery. Before long, the suitcase was half full of cocaine.

  “Kid, when this is all over, you and I are going to be very rich indeed,” said Nicky, amazed. “You got a gift that’s just too precious to waste.”

  “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ to make you rich,” Al retorted. “I do what I do to help people.”

  “By starting riots?” Sam couldn’t let that pass. “Just think of all the things you should do. You could help end food shortages. You could do so much good.”

  “I will,” insisted Al. “People have seen what I can do now. I’ve been on TV. People will know I’m for real.”

  “Never mind that. Get on with it,” Nicky ordered, throwing Al some more clothes from a second bag.

  Before long, the suitcase was overflowing with white powder.

  Nicky lifted the case and put it on the bonnet of the hijacked car, ready to present to the Russians. He checked his watch impatiently.

  “Wait in the car,” he ordered Sam and Al.

  Reluctantly, they sat on the back seat next to each other. Sam didn’t know what she was expecting from Al. A ‘sorry’, maybe, but he said nothing. He just sat staring out of the window.