Although neither Itch nor Jack had mentioned stealing the stone back, each knew what the other was thinking. In the silence that followed Itch’s last words, they sat with their backs against the trees. The light had taken on that orange-gold hue that often occurred before sunset, and the grass around them was becoming damp.
“What do you think?” said Itch.
“Same as you,” said Jack.
“That we would be stupid to try and take it back but we’re going to anyway?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
There was a silence, then Itch said, “I’m glad Chloe’s not here.”
It seemed to Jack like an odd thing to say, but she said, “Me too.” She trained the binoculars on the lab again. “Flowerdew’s gone back into the house, though the box is still there. The outside door is still open, but if he closes it, that’s it. If we’re going to snatch it, we shouldn’t wait too long.”
“Agreed. How shall we do it? Do we need a plan?”
“How about grabbing it and running as fast as possible?”
Itch smiled. “I was hoping for something a bit more clever, but essentially that’s about it.”
They were about to leave the cover of the trees when Flowerdew re-entered the lab to pick up the phone. He walked back into the house with it, again leaving the door open.
“Hell. Do we still go?” said Jack.
Itch nodded and set off diagonally down the hill at a crouching run, Jack a few feet behind. They couldn’t run straight down to the door because the lights from the lab lit up the first hundred feet of the field. If Flowerdew looked up from wherever he was in the house, he would see them clearly.
It took about twenty seconds for them to reach a pool of shadow formed between the back wall of the cottage and the side of the lab. It was only a short run but felt to both Itch and Jack like the longest they had ever attempted. They huddled down and caught their breath. Itch started to get up, but Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him down again.
“What are we taking?”
“What do you mean?”
“The box or just the stone? The rock is yours but the box is his.”
Itch frowned. “Hadn’t thought of that. But we need the box for protection—remember the Geiger counter?”
“But,” said Jack, “he’ll notice within seconds if the box is gone. We’ll never get away. If he doesn’t know the rock is missing, we might have a chance.”
Itch nodded. She was right.
“Here, take this.” Jack handed him her satchel-style shoulder bag. Itch hooked the strap over his head and arranged it so that the bag rested against his back. He peered around the wall into the glass-fronted lab. Up close it was even more impressive. He was momentarily distracted from his task by the array of neatly labeled substances in the glass cabinets. It would take him a long time to acquire such a collection—his own seemed embarrassingly pathetic in comparison.
Flowerdew’s voice drifted through the door, and now Itch focused on the box sitting on the central work surface. From the door to the box was about thirty feet. He would have to take a zigzag course because of all the equipment that blocked his path. Would he have time to open the box and remove the rock?
The lab door was half open. As Itch edged his way toward it, he heard Jack following right behind him. He could feel cold air from the lab on his face—the air conditioning felt fierce for an early summer evening. His heart was thumping in his chest and his hands were clammy with sweat.
Jack whispered, “Come on!” just as they both heard a powerful motorbike approaching along the cove road and then slowing down. It idled for a moment before starting off again, the crunching gravel indicating its approach up Flowerdew’s drive. Jack grabbed Itch’s sleeve. “Sounds like a courier! I bet he’s come for the rock! Go!”
Itch and Jack reached the doorway of the lab just as Flowerdew, in the next room, looked up, hearing the approaching motorbike. On a still evening he had heard the roar from the bike half a mile away. It sounded familiar to him. He had once owned a Ducati Monster and thought he could recognize the sound now, even from this distance. He smiled: the couriers used by Greencorps always had the most powerful bikes on the market. He had forgotten how good the sound was. It was a sound that said You’re back in the game.
Through the window of his front room, Flowerdew watched as the driver checked the house from the road and made the left turn into his drive. It was indeed a Ducati Monster, all black and chrome, and even at 5 m.p.h. it made a beautiful, rumbling, controlled noise that seemed to fill the cove. He went to the front door and opened it just as Itch reached the lead-lined box sitting on the workbench.
As the sound of the motorbike filled the house, Itch unlatched the first of the clips. He was relieved to find there was no lock, but the clips were tight-fitting and he had only seconds to get them open. Jack had positioned herself behind the now partly closed door into the house and peered through the crack. She waved a hand in a circular motion indicating that Itch should hurry up. Itch didn’t notice. He had two clips undone and had started to pry open the third.
“He’s outside looking at the bike,” said Jack in a shouted whisper, hopping from foot to foot, “but he’ll be back any second! Faster, Itch, you have to go faster!”
The last clip was open now and Itch looked around. Seeing a towel hanging over the rowing machine, he ran over and grabbed it. Back at the bench, he opened the lid. Inside was a small Styrofoam packing box. He shook it and felt the stone rattling around inside. He remembered what Flowerdew had been wearing when he was checking the rock and looked around again. He felt exposed, scared, and thrilled, all at the same time. Spotting the shiny gray rubber gloves, he grabbed the nearest one and slipped it on. It looked like a glove for washing dishes, but it was very heavy—Itch guessed that it, too, was lead-lined. He opened the Styrofoam box with his bare hand and reached in with the glove. He’d forgotten how heavy the stone was—it rolled to the edge of his gloved palm. Recovering quickly, he closed his fist on it. He set the Styrofoam container back into the lead box, then he wrapped the rock in the towel and shoved them both into Jack’s bag.
“Nice bike,” said Flowerdew to the courier, who had removed his helmet and was shaking his long blond hair out of his eyes.
“Thanks, Dr. Flowerdew. I’m Dougie. You have a package for me, I think.”
“Indeed. I’ll get it. I used to have a Ducati Monster—beautiful machines, aren’t they?”
Dougie smiled. “I could bore you senseless, Dr. Flowerdew, on the 1100 here—but this package of yours has to be on a plane at midnight. A swift turnaround needed. You’ll need one of these.” He held out a plastic-coated steel chain with a small lock at one end.
“Of course. One minute,” said Flowerdew. He took the chain, turned, and went back into the house.
“Too late! Hide!” Jack saw Flowerdew approaching, grabbed Itch, who was still shutting the clips, and pulled him onto the floor. They shrank back against the bench drawers, the bag between them. Reflected in the window, they saw Flowerdew stride into the lab and lift the box by its handle. He stopped abruptly when he noticed that one clip was open.
The cousins held their breath. There just hadn’t been time to shut them all. Flowerdew shook his head, closed the last clip and wrapped the black chain around the box. It went around twice, and he clicked the two ends of the lock together, then left the lab. If the Ducati hadn’t been making its beautiful noise, he would have heard two fourteen-year-olds release long-held breaths.
“Here you are. Guard it well. It’s very precious,” he told the courier.
“I will, Dr. Flowerdew.” The man snapped a plastic seal around the lock, lowered his cargo into the specially fitted box on the side of the Ducati, and locked it. He put on his black helmet and opened the visor. “Good night, sir.” He waved a salute and spun the bike around, spraying gravel in a neat arc.
Flowerdew watched as the bike roared down his drive and turned right onto the road. Its acceleration really was something to behold, and he stayed watching and then just listening as the bike disappeared northward.
Itch and Jack had already reached their bikes when the sound of the Ducati disappeared from the cove. The sun was setting, and they knew they needed to be back at Itch’s house soon. They wheeled their bikes to the road and, without looking back, pedaled quickly up the hill, Itch with the radiation glove still on his right hand. Neither had spoken since fleeing the conservatory. This was partly because they had been running and were now cycling, but also because they were both struck by the seriousness of what they had done.
They had stolen the rock back.
They had actually broken into a teacher’s house and taken it. And with every passing minute, Itch was also increasingly aware that he had a dangerously radioactive stone in Jack’s bag. The towel was no protection at all. Before he reached the top of the hill, he had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t take it home. It was dangerous, and he didn’t want it in the house.
He pulled over to the side of the road and hitched his bike on the grass border. He took Jack’s bag off and placed it on the ground a couple of feet away.
“What’s up, Itch?” asked Jack.
“We haven’t thought this through. We can’t take it home—bringing it into the house would be madness. We need to hide it, don’t we?”
“We don’t know what to do with it because, well, we had no idea we were actually going to steal it back in the first place. You’re right about hiding it, though. Any ideas?”
Itch considered. “There’s the rest stop on the road … the beach hut … the golf course—anywhere really …” Every conceivable hiding place between there and home flashed through his mind. I’ve got to get this right, he thought. This matters.
“We need to decide quickly,” said Jack. “We’re very exposed here.” She pointed at Itch’s hand. “Can we use that glove?”
“Of course! It’s not much, but it’s better than a towel. Don’t know how much lead you can get in a glove—let’s hope it’s enough,” said Itch. He peeled off the glove and went over to the bag. Reaching in, he grabbed the rock, still wrapped in the towel, and lifted it out. Jack held the opening of the glove wide as Itch let it drop inside. She felt it fall as far as the fingers, folded the glove over and handed it back. Itch wrapped it in the towel again and put it back in the bag. “Let’s put it in the shed tonight and move it when we think of somewhere better.”
Jack picked up the bag and put it over her shoulder as they walked back to the bikes. Itch suddenly found his eyes prickling. After their argument last week he had wondered if they’d still be friends. Well, here was the answer: Jack knew the rock was dangerous, but she carried it all the same.
“I’ll take it, Jack. Give …”
“Shut up, Itch,” she said. “Let’s just get to your shed before we start to glow!”