explosion.”
“Good,” Giddy said.
Jordan looked into his face. “You didn’t... Did you?”
“Set it off?” Giddy shook his head. “No. But I’m glad someone did, because it taught us all a lesson. It brought home the havoc and destruction our bombs
cause.”
“People died.”
Giddy gazed at Jordan. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
“You can’t be the only anti-bomb protester. Did one of your mates do it?”
“Bombs set off by people campaigning against bombs. Does that sound very likely to you?”
Jordan shrugged.
“A few of them claimed it, but I’d know if any of them did it.” Giddy shook his head and got to his feet. “No chance. Come on. I’ve written a song about it.
‘Arms Trade ’ . You’ll like it. It’s fast and furious. Suits your style. Let’s give it a go.”
Jordan knew that Gideon Riley would be kept in prison for a lot longer if he was convicted of the estuary explosion. So it was in his interests to deny that he was responsible. Jordan also
suspected that he might keep quiet to protect one of his campaigning friends. But Giddy had no reason to believe that Jordan – apparently a young offender – would tell the authorities
about their conversation. Jordan thought he was probably telling the truth.
As far as Jordan was concerned, he’d done the job. He could do no more. Being locked up for five days was quite enough. He played one gig with Giddy’s band for the inmates before he
exchanged a cell in jail for a small bedroom above the dead of Highgate Cemetery. Getting out of prison was like being able to breathe freely again. He was no longer confined, even if he was still
trapped within Unit Red.
11 HERO
Jordan was still puzzled by Mr. Bool’s suspicious behaviour. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. There was an obvious way to try for more information, but it made him
feel edgy. He’d decided to speak to Amy again. He wanted to find out if she’d heard anything about the teacher and his stolen phone since the explosion.
Jordan didn’t tell Winter that he was planning to speak to Amy Goss. He admitted only that he was going to Salam Bool’s school. Before he set out, Winter said, “You’ve
got to be careful around Medway now. Very careful. Melissa Pink and her people will be gunning for you in a big way.” She was bound to be right and her warning increased his tension.
Aiming to reach the school for the end of the last lesson, Jordan kept glancing round as he walked along the main road through Hoo.
Ahead of him, something was happening. It looked as if a car had spun off the road and slammed into a tree. Small flames were dancing around under the car, threatening an explosion at any
moment. He ran towards the scene of the accident. The driver’s door was open and a woman was kneeling beside it, struggling to yank the unconscious driver out.
Jordan went towards her.
“Get back!” she cried. “It’s going to blow.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a fire officer. Off duty. Now, get back!”
“But he’s wedged in.”
“Yes. By the steering wheel.”
“I’ll move it.” Jordan went round to the passenger’s door, opened it and lay across the front seats. They felt unnaturally warm. He put his right arm next to the
driver’s legs and prepared himself to strike upwards at the steering column.
“Don’t,” the firefighter said. “It’s metal. Too strong. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Jordan ignored her. He rammed his arm into the steering column as hard as he could. But the blow didn’t shift it. He hit it again in the same place and this time it budged a fraction of a
centimetre. Nowhere near enough to make a difference.
Jordan’s third strike bent the steering column but it was still jammed against the driver’s chest.
Jordan could feel heat on his feet and ankles as they dangled outside. The flames were rising. The whole car was baking. He broke into a sweat. He probably had time for one more attempt.
He took a
“Good,” Giddy said.
Jordan looked into his face. “You didn’t... Did you?”
“Set it off?” Giddy shook his head. “No. But I’m glad someone did, because it taught us all a lesson. It brought home the havoc and destruction our bombs
cause.”
“People died.”
Giddy gazed at Jordan. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
“You can’t be the only anti-bomb protester. Did one of your mates do it?”
“Bombs set off by people campaigning against bombs. Does that sound very likely to you?”
Jordan shrugged.
“A few of them claimed it, but I’d know if any of them did it.” Giddy shook his head and got to his feet. “No chance. Come on. I’ve written a song about it.
‘Arms Trade ’ . You’ll like it. It’s fast and furious. Suits your style. Let’s give it a go.”
Jordan knew that Gideon Riley would be kept in prison for a lot longer if he was convicted of the estuary explosion. So it was in his interests to deny that he was responsible. Jordan also
suspected that he might keep quiet to protect one of his campaigning friends. But Giddy had no reason to believe that Jordan – apparently a young offender – would tell the authorities
about their conversation. Jordan thought he was probably telling the truth.
As far as Jordan was concerned, he’d done the job. He could do no more. Being locked up for five days was quite enough. He played one gig with Giddy’s band for the inmates before he
exchanged a cell in jail for a small bedroom above the dead of Highgate Cemetery. Getting out of prison was like being able to breathe freely again. He was no longer confined, even if he was still
trapped within Unit Red.
11 HERO
Jordan was still puzzled by Mr. Bool’s suspicious behaviour. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. There was an obvious way to try for more information, but it made him
feel edgy. He’d decided to speak to Amy again. He wanted to find out if she’d heard anything about the teacher and his stolen phone since the explosion.
Jordan didn’t tell Winter that he was planning to speak to Amy Goss. He admitted only that he was going to Salam Bool’s school. Before he set out, Winter said, “You’ve
got to be careful around Medway now. Very careful. Melissa Pink and her people will be gunning for you in a big way.” She was bound to be right and her warning increased his tension.
Aiming to reach the school for the end of the last lesson, Jordan kept glancing round as he walked along the main road through Hoo.
Ahead of him, something was happening. It looked as if a car had spun off the road and slammed into a tree. Small flames were dancing around under the car, threatening an explosion at any
moment. He ran towards the scene of the accident. The driver’s door was open and a woman was kneeling beside it, struggling to yank the unconscious driver out.
Jordan went towards her.
“Get back!” she cried. “It’s going to blow.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a fire officer. Off duty. Now, get back!”
“But he’s wedged in.”
“Yes. By the steering wheel.”
“I’ll move it.” Jordan went round to the passenger’s door, opened it and lay across the front seats. They felt unnaturally warm. He put his right arm next to the
driver’s legs and prepared himself to strike upwards at the steering column.
“Don’t,” the firefighter said. “It’s metal. Too strong. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Jordan ignored her. He rammed his arm into the steering column as hard as he could. But the blow didn’t shift it. He hit it again in the same place and this time it budged a fraction of a
centimetre. Nowhere near enough to make a difference.
Jordan’s third strike bent the steering column but it was still jammed against the driver’s chest.
Jordan could feel heat on his feet and ankles as they dangled outside. The flames were rising. The whole car was baking. He broke into a sweat. He probably had time for one more attempt.
He took a
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