Kat!

Ant and Max hit the door-release bar together. The door burst open, hitting Turner with such force that he was poleaxed. As he collapsed on the ground, his gun went flying. Ant jumped on his chest, pummelling him with her fists. She landed blow after blow, each one accompanied with a flurry of words. It was a while before Mattie and Max could hear what she was saying.

‘This is for Mama . . . This is for Mattie . . . This is for me . . .’

Mattie wanted her to stop. ‘Abi, enough!’

‘This is for Mama—’

Max grabbed her shoulder. ‘Ant, that’s enough.’

She turned on him. ‘No, it’s not enough – it’ll never be enough. And what do you know anyway . . . ?’

Max held up his hands in surrender. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ He was doing his best to sound calm and reassuring. ‘You have every right to say all that stuff. But we need him to go back to the Cloverwells or whoever sent him. And we need to give him the strap-key.’

‘What? Are you mad?’

‘Because if we don’t,’ he continued, ‘we’ll be fighting the gangs as well as the prison system, the police and the law. Pick your battles. Pay them off. One fight at a time.’

Breathing heavily, sweat pouring from her, Ant forced herself to calm down. There was a logic to Max’s argument. She hated his sweet reason, but he was right. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes.

‘I need some rope or wire then,’ she said, her voice hoarse but calmer.

Mattie grabbed the electric cable from Henry’s record player and Ant had it around Turner’s wrists in seconds. She stared at him; she remembered him as taller, stronger, more stylish. He seemed diminished. Sure, his clothes were expensive, but they were worn, even threadbare in places. His face was gaunt, unshaven, with dark circles around both eyes But mainly it was bleeding: the container door had left deep cuts in his temple and cheek.

‘Don’t think you’ll be forgetting me again,’ she said.

Turner stirred beneath her and she jumped up. Max threw a pan of Henry’s water over him and he spluttered, opening his eyes and then wincing in pain.

‘Hi,’ said Ant coldly. ‘I’m your daughter; this is your son. We are now going to tell you what’s about to happen.’ He blinked and tried to sit up, but she put her foot on his chest. ‘When we say so, you’re going to walk out of here. Straight back to where you came from. We’ll even give you the strap-key so that you can show your gangster buddies how brilliant you are. How does that sound?’

Turner nodded his agreement, then lay still.

‘And your gun’s in the river,’ said Max. ‘Save you looking for it.’ He bent down and pulled Turner to his feet. ‘And my other helpful tip,’ he went on, ‘is this. You should get some stitches in your face. Just saying.’

The blood was dripping from Turner’s chin onto his shirt and he wiped it with his arm. ‘When do I get the strap-key?’ he growled.

Max and Mattie looked at Ant. She took a deep breath and pulled it out of her pocket.

Turner eyed it greedily, then his brow furrowed. ‘Is that it?’

‘That’s it,’ said Ant.

‘Does it come with anything?’

Max screwed his face up. ‘What kind of a question is that? What do you want it to “come with”? Fries?’

‘Like a case or something.’

Ant poked the strap-key into her father’s chest. ‘You take the key. You run away. We never see you again. That’s the deal.’

Turner smiled. ‘I said you’d be fine.’

Suddenly Max was in his face. ‘How can you say that? How can you actually not care about your own children?’

‘Because,’ said Turner, eyes darting between Ant and Mattie, ‘with their mother, I was never sure that they were mine.’

The first to react was Mattie. He charged, head down, crunching into Turner’s groin. Doubled up, his father fell to the ground, pain rendering him speechless. Ant and Max pulled Mattie away.

‘OK, that’s it! shouted Ant. ‘He’s not worth it, Mattie. Let’s get rid of him.’ She hauled Kyle to his feet, spun him round and pushed. ‘Walk. When you get to the field, you get the key.’

Turner limped and stumbled through the woods, Ant, Mattie and Max a few steps behind. As they passed the van, Henry’s face appeared at one of the back windows. Seeing that Turner had his hands tied, he opened the door and got out.

‘Oh, thank God for that! You got him! Bravo!’ He fell in beside Max. ‘Who is he?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid when he pulled a gun and fired at me, I hid. Old habits and all that.’

‘His name is Kyle Turner and he’s leaving,’ said Max. ‘But not in his car – he’s donating that to his kids.’

Henry looked baffled; Turner turned to protest, then thought better of it.

When they reached the parked Mercedes, Max shouted, ‘Keys!’ and Turner rummaged around in his pockets. Throwing them on the ground, he looked expectantly at Ant.

Strap-key in hand, Ant hesitated. She had a flashback to Grey’s office and the moment she had picked it up for the first time. This was the tool that had meant freedom, and now she had to give it to her scummy father. She felt like throwing it at him, not to him. But she understood the logic, and before she could change her mind, she hurled it as far towards the road as she could. It spun through the air, landing thirty metres away in a puff of dirt.

‘Fetch,’ she said, but Kyle was already running towards it. He dipped, picked it up and kept going; he didn’t look back.

‘Bye then,’ said Ant.

‘We need to move on,’ said Max as they headed back towards the container.

‘But I thought—’ began Mattie.

‘Hopefully we’ve bought some time,’ said Max, ‘but in case we haven’t . . .’

‘Then I’m looking up Henry’s numbers,’ said Ant. ‘Looking for those records. I’ll be two minutes.’ And she took off for the river.

By the time she got a decent signal, Ant was only a few metres from where the drone had interrupted her swim. This time she ignored the water. In the shade of a large tree, she stopped and checked her photos of Henry’s calculations.

‘CBS,’ she said out loud, ‘then two threes, an eight and a two.’ She turned as Max appeared beside her, phone in hand.

‘It’ll be quicker with two,’ he said. ‘I’ll read them out, you look them up.’

She nodded and waited, fingers hovering above the keys. What were you trying to tell me, Brian? What was so secret you had to hide it in a code? She saw again his agonized face, heard the tunnel door closing, pushed by his dying kick.

‘OK. There are twenty-four combinations with the CBS prefix,’ Max said. ‘First up, CBS 8332.’

Ant hit the keys. ‘It’s a song called “Wages of Love”.’ She shrugged. ‘Next.’

‘Did you love Brian or something?’ he asked.

‘No. Next,’ said Ant, impatient.

‘2338.’

She typed; he waited, already looking at the next number.

‘Nothing. There’s nothing.’

‘OK. 3832.’

‘That’s something called “It’s Your Turn”,’ said Ant, shaking her head. ‘Move on.’

‘3283,’ said Max.

‘Nothing,’ said Ant, frustrated.

Oblivious to everything except the numbers, they stood side by side, their faces lit by their phones. Four more combinations followed; each met with a swift ‘Nothing’.

‘8323,’ said Max.

Ant’s fingers typed, and then her body tensed. Max saw the shift in her stance. ‘What is it?’

But she was reading. As fast as she could, she scrolled through the words on her screen.

‘Ant, what is it? Let me see!’

She read from the screen, ‘CBS 8323. Catalogue release number from 1980. “Bankrobber” by The Clash.’

‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Max, peering over her shoulder. ‘You said your Brian was into his music. Did he ever mention The Clash?’

‘Might have done,’ said Ant, ‘and he wasn’t “mine”.’ She read on. ‘The song is a story, Max. A crime story.’ She looked up. ‘About someone whose father was a bankrobber . . .’

Max read from her screen. ‘Brian’s dad was a bankrobber?’ he said. ‘How does that help us?’

‘No . . .’ said Ant slowly. ‘Brian said Grey would go mad. This is about Grey, not Brian.’

Ant and Max got it at the same time, their eyes popping.

‘Assessor Grey’s father was a criminal!’ gasped Max. ‘Can that be right?’

‘Let’s assume it is,’ said Ant. ‘And let’s also assume that he was never caught.’

‘Which makes Grey—’

‘A strutter!’ exclaimed Ant. ‘But he hates strutters. More than anyone else. So he must have gone to great lengths to cover up his past. He would never have got where he is now if this is true. This changes everything.’

‘Why wouldn’t Brian just tell you?’ wondered Max. ‘Why put it in a code?’

‘Too scary,’ said Ant. ‘Too dangerous. If it’s true, if the leading campaigner and enforcer of the heritage-crime laws is actually a heritage criminal himself, this must have been as clear as he felt he could be.’

Max stared at her. ‘This is huge, Ant.’

She nodded. ‘If we can prove it, yes. Otherwise it’s useless.’

Three sounds in rapid succession brought them back to reality. A desperate shout from Henry. A car starting and accelerating hard. Then, coming towards them, heavy running footsteps.

Ant and Max spun round to face whatever was coming their way. There was no time to hide, barely time to brace themselves. But then Ant saw that it was Henry, saw the anguished look on his face, and knew with a gut-twisting certainty why he was running.

Mattie.

Henry took a deep breath. ‘Your brother!’ he gasped. ‘He’s been taken!’