Dr. Nathaniel Flowerdew had three customers interested in the rocks. He had sent each of them the documented results of his tests on the rock, but only one, a Nigerian businessman and politician called Agu Osiegbe, had already delivered the million-dollar down payment. Flowerdew knew that with more time he could demand any price he wished and from any number of clients, but he didn’t have that time, and only Osiegbe had delivered up front. He smiled to himself as he recalled how calls from Greencorps had been flooding in as the news spread, and he had simply ignored them—they had had their chance. Now they could just stand by and watch him succeed where they had failed.
“A pleasure doing business with you again, Nathaniel,” said the Nigerian on the phone now. “I thought our trading days were over after that, ah, unfortunate incident with the oil spill.”
Flowerdew chuckled. “Me too, me too, but then I never thought I’d be able to offer you anything like this. You’ve seen the stats I sent you from the tests. Nigeria can be a nuclear power—and under your leadership, Agu. As I recall, that was always your intention, was it not? You didn’t spend all that time with the president’s crooks and gangsters without craving power yourself.”
There was a second’s delay on the line. “Who does not want such things?” said Agu Osiegbe. Then, “And this is nothing to do with Greencorps, Nathaniel? I’m told they cut you loose. Just like they did your old friend, Shivvi. She’s still in prison, of course. How did you get her to take the rap? She was just the diver, after all.”
Flowerdew spoke slowly. “The issue here is okwute”—he used a Nigerian word for rocks—“that is all. Nothing else. And no, it’s nothing to do with Greencorps. Except, of course, that they want them too, and have armed thugs looking for them. But they had their chance and they blew it. Soon the rocks will be yours, and you will be the talk of the world.”
“Very well,” said the Nigerian. “You have the down payment. If the product is everything you say it is, we agree to a billion dollars and a thirty percent stake in future earnings. And a bullet in the head if you’re lying.” Osiegbe found this funny, but Flowerdew was silent. “We are working on the transfer plan. I’m making arrangements for the pickup. Do you still have that place by the Thames? The ‘secret investment’ you invited me to all those years ago?”
“Yes, of course. A good investment, and still secret.”
“Good. We’ll speak later today. Good-bye.”
Flowerdew stood up and walked around the room. He was both irritated and elated by the call, but if his old Nigerian colleague was true to his word, in a few hours all the loose ends would be tied up. He weaved a coin between his fingers as he paced. He noticed the coffee Kinch had brought in earlier, now stone cold, but he didn’t want to talk to his driver, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to the kids. As Kinch had pointed out, they had become a problem—a problem with only one solution. As he considered what the next few hours would bring, it occurred to Flowerdew that all he had to do was “oil the wheels” of a reaction that was already underway. Extensive exposure to radiation led to death sooner or later, and with the eight rocks in his possession, he could make sure that it was sooner. He smiled.
Feverishly, with his painful burned hand, Itch was emptying his backpack. It seemed an eternity ago that he had filled it with his collection for safekeeping, but now his elements could stop being a hobby and start doing some work. The phosphorus had bought them time in the mining school, allowing them to escape. Maybe what Kinch had called his “weird boy stuff” could help them again.
“Here’s to being weird!” he said out loud.
Plastic bag followed plastic bag, as one by one Itch’s elements were assembled on the dining-room carpet. Jack watched as her cousin turned each over in his hand, muttering a stream of numbers and words to himself.
“You all right?” she asked.
“What? Oh, sorry, yes. Old habits….”
“Found anything useful? What’s that you’ve got?”
“Sadly, a useless piece of titanium that used to reside in Gabriel’s ear.” He picked up some other bags. “Manganese—no; copper coins—no; chromium forks … maybe. At least they’re pointy.”
Jack looked unimpressed. “Come on, Itch. We need some magic from somewhere! Anything! We haven’t got long, it’s getting light. Look.” The first real sunshine of the morning was brightening their room, but bringing with it a growing sense of fear about the day ahead.
“From the top, Itch, just start—oh, no!” Jack stopped suddenly, looking in horror at her hand, which she had been running through her hair. She held it out to show Itch. In it were clumps of hair that had fallen out. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Last chance, Itch. Find something,” she said quietly. “I’ll take the fork, but it’s hardly a plan of action, is it?”
Itch looked at his cousin. Her face was deathly white and sweaty, and her hair was matted. Two small bald patches had appeared above her left ear. He nodded and opened his mouth to say something supportive, but nothing came. So he just smiled and went back to his elements.
The last item out of his bag had produced from Itch what his dad would have called an “oil-rig word.” In his hand was a brass-colored capsule with a pointy end. Bullet-shaped but about four times as big.
“What is it, Itch?”
“It’s xenon. Number 54. Atomic weight 131.293. Density 5.9. Melting point minus 169.24 degrees Fahrenheit. Boiling point minus 226.4 degrees Fahrenheit …” He paused and looked up. “You’ve normally stopped me before I get this far.”
“Yeah, well, this time I’m quite interested in what you’ve got to say,” she told him. “What can it do?”
“Well, if I remember correctly, Jack, it’s an anesthetic.”
She looked at him with her tired brown eyes. “Now that sounds like a plan of action,” she said.
Christophe Revere and Jan Van Den Hauwe had told Roshanna Wing that the word was out about the new element 126; and that it was, as they had suspected, rocks they were now looking for, not just one rock. They knew there were several out there but not exactly how many, and they also knew that the rocks were now in the hands of their old colleague, Flowerdew, who was no longer answering their calls. The questioning of Alexander, Watkins, and Chloe Lofte was being held in secret. The reports were highly confidential, but as ever, the information was available for the right price.
Greencorps could pay that price and so, it seemed, could many others. The Frenchman and the Dutchman warned Wing that news of the rocks had spread globally. Soon that corner of southwest England would be home to any number of crazies who wanted nuclear energy in a box.
They explained all this after Wing told them what had happened at the mining school and how Itch and Jack had gotten away. After much cursing, she had been put on hold. She paced the highway rest-stop parking lot where they were holed up. She knew that losing the rocks, the Loftes, and Flowerdew was bad, and it was only the bleep every five seconds that told her she was still connected. Two minutes passed before contact was resumed.
“You’ve a head start on the crazies,” said Revere. “It’s not much, but it’s something. We want those rocks, Roshanna—you know that. That’s priority number one. But if you can’t get them, it may suit us if the crazy guys win the race. What mustn’t happen—what absolutely mustn’t happen—is for the authorities, the police, the government, the scientists, the establishment to get their huge, grubby hands on them. Then we really will be sunk. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Revere, absolutely.” Roshanna knew she hadn’t entirely kept the surprise out of her voice and was annoyed with herself.
Van Den Hauwe clearly thought more explanation was needed and came on the line. “You know how it is, Roshanna. Ideally we’d place a rock or two with a group we can trust. They’d go and commit some outrage somewhere and no one would trust 126 again. Our company, our industry, needs this, Roshanna. Oil is what matters to Greencorps, and oil is what will always matter if we get this right.”
“Yes, Mr. Van Den Hauwe, I do understand. Obviously we still don’t know where they are at the moment. We could trawl the minor roads if you wish, though I feel certain Flowerdew will head for London. Do we have help there?”
“Absolutely. We agree with your analysis. Flowerdew can’t stay holed up down there—he needs to get to where the players are. Preparations are underway. Go to the London office, and we’ll contact you soon.” They hung up.
One Audi now sped to London; the other was left at the rest stop. Berghahn still couldn’t drive—his eyes needed more time to recover from the phosphorus flash—and Wing planned to spend the journey phoning, emailing, and messaging all her London contacts, building up a picture of who the players were in this increasingly dangerous game. Where would Flowerdew go? Who would he sell to? And what would he do with the children?
The sign said: LONDON 120 MILES.
The stench in the cottage’s dining room was overpowering, the heat of the new day working its way into the contents of the tablecloth and filling the room. However, the only occupants were oblivious to it, talking and planning. Itch and Jack sat with their backs to the armchair, passing the xenon canister between them. They handled it gently, as though it were a bomb, despite the fact that it had been thrown around in the backpack for hours and had survived without a scratch. It was four inches long and about the thickness of a large candle. It was a dull brass color with small, smudged lettering around the bottom. They had both tried to read it, but it appeared to be in a foreign language—Russian was Jack’s guess. It had the feel of an aerosol can but without any operating instructions.
“Where did you get it?” asked Jack.
“A medical supply company in Antwerp—they were getting rid of stuff, I think. Closing down.”
“And they sell this stuff to kids?”
“Not knowingly, no. I said I was a medical researcher working on a Ph.D. in biotechnology. I ordered a bunch of stuff, but this was the best thing they sent.”
“How does it work?”
“I’m not quite sure how anesthetics work. More to the point, I don’t know how to make this particular anesthetic work. There’s no button to press, no ring-pull, and no screw top. It’s obviously supposed to be used in a machine connected to breathing apparatus and so on. Stuff we don’t have.”
“Doesn’t look very big either, does it? Will there be enough gas in there to take out two men? And how can we make sure it doesn’t take us out at the same time?” Jack sounded scared again.
“You’re right, it doesn’t look like much. We’ll need a small space. The smaller the better. And to be honest, I’ve no idea what we’re going to do with it, but it’s all we have, Jack. It’s better than just having a fork, anyway.”
Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, they scrambled to their feet and hastily repacked the backpack, leaving the xenon canister near the top. They sat down again, expecting Kinch or Flowerdew to appear, but the footsteps carried on into another room and then stopped. Itch and Jack heard a knock and then a distant “Yes.” So it was Kinch going to see Flowerdew. The day was beginning.
Kinch had expected to find Flowerdew asleep in an armchair or on the sofa and was surprised to find him sitting at a small desk, typing furiously with the index finger of each hand. He was scowling, his face pale and drawn, his eyes puffy. He didn’t look up, speak, or acknowledge Kinch’s presence in any way. Kinch shuffled his feet but there was still no reaction, so he started to look around: wall-to-ceiling bookshelves, a small old-fashioned television, a sofa and two armchairs. The canvas bag containing the rocks sat on one of the chairs.
Nathaniel Flowerdew suddenly glanced up from his laptop, looking surprised to see Kinch.
“I was, er, just wondering what the plan was today. And if you would like some tea or breakfast or something?”
“Yes, tea would be good.” Flowerdew held out his mug, which was still full of cold coffee.
“Are we staying here or moving on?”
“We are waiting.”
“Right.”
Kinch returned with a mug of tea and hovered, wondering where to put it. Flowerdew took it from him with one hand, continuing to type with the other.
“What shall I do with the kids?” asked Kinch. “They could do with some food, I guess.”
“Fine, fine,” said Flowerdew.
“Will they be coming with us when we leave?”
“If they’re still conscious.”
Kinch turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He went over to the dining room and turned the key. As he opened the door, the smell made him recoil. Covering his mouth, he peered in. He saw Jack and Itch sitting together, the backpack between them and the sodden tablecloth stuffed into a wastepaper basket.
“Why didn’t you call me?” asked Kinch. “You could have done that in the bathroom, not here. Bring it out.”
He held the door open, and Itch and Jack slowly got to their feet. Itch took the backpack and Jack the wastepaper basket, and they filed out into the kitchen, where Kinch then shoved the soiled tablecloth into the garbage can. He offered them both tea, which neither of them usually drank but which they took anyway. Kinch’s breakfast appeared to be a can of BBQ Pringles, which he did not share, though he tossed a packet of cheese crackers at them. The crackers were stale, but they both ate a few.
Flowerdew called out from the living room. Checking again that all doors, windows, and shutters were locked, Kinch left the kitchen.
“Is this room small enough?” whispered Jack. “It’s pretty airless. If we could get them both in here.”
“And then stab the canister with a fork? I don’t know, Jack—it still looks too big a space for one can of xenon to be effective. And there are drafts from doors and windows. I think xenon is much denser than air, so it’ll stay low. The kitchen won’t work.”
“How about the car, then?” suggested Jack, and she could tell from the look on Itch’s face that she might be onto something.
“Yes, of course, the car! It’s big, but it’s the smallest space we all sit in, assuming we’re not staying here. And the air conditioner will circulate the gas around inside it. Brilliant, Jack!”
Jack flushed slightly, easily observable against her pallid skin. “So now all we have to do is open the can and get out of the car without inhaling any ourselves,” she said.
“Yes, that’s pretty much it,” said Itch.
“We move now,” said Flowerdew, gathering his papers together. “And assuming the radiation hasn’t finished off those meddling Loftes, we’ll have to take them too. But I want them tied up and gagged; they’re bound to try something stupid. OK?”
Kinch nodded. “Sure. Where are we going?”
“The deal’s good, Kinch, the deal’s come through! It wasn’t supposed to happen until tonight, but everyone suddenly seems in a frightful rush. We meet Comrade Osiegbe at an address in Paddington at 1:00 p.m. He and his people have a lab there to confirm my tests. And you know the sweetest thing, Kinch? You know the very sweetest thing? They give us the money, and we give them the rocks and the kids. They’ve agreed to take them as part of the deal. Makes it all so much … neater, don’t you think?”
“What will they do with them?”
“Well now, let’s just say you’d be surprised how much you can sell a child for these days. Let’s just leave it at that.”