made his friend Matt’s life a misery.
Maybe this won’t be a complete waste of time,
thought Jamie.
“Watch your mouth, Mr Hollison,” he said. “It’s an amended version of the Official Secrets Act. It states that you will never discuss or in any way acknowledge your interaction with the three of us. Sign it, Isabel.”
She cast a final look at Chris, then shuffled forward and scraped her finger across the console’s screen.
Jamie loaded the second page. “Wesley Chambers.”
Wesley walked forward and signed. He did so without hesitation, although Jamie noted that he didn’t meet Chris Hollison’s eye as he walked back to stand beside Isabel.
“Chris Hollison.”
The blond teenager shook his head. “I’m not signing that.”
“Yes you are,” said Jamie. “The only question is whether you do so voluntarily.”
“You can’t make me,” said Chris, his tone more petulant than ever. “And even if you could, you can’t check whether I obey it. So what’s the point?”
“As I speak,” said Jamie, “a monitoring grid is being put in place. Before you even get home, we’ll be watching and listening. Phone calls, emails, internet activity, conversations with your friends and parents and brothers and sisters. We can listen to you through your mobile phones, even when they’re switched off. And, for a period of time that is entirely up to me, you’re going to be followed. You’ll never see them, but you should get used to knowing that you’re being watched. There’s nowhere you can go that we can’t follow, and nothing you can say that we can’t hear. So you
are
going to sign, Mr Hollison, and then you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Because, if you don’t, you’re going to find yourself in a small room with no windows while your parents wonder why you never came home from school. Am I making myself clear?”
The four teenagers stared at him with open horror.
“That’s bullshit,” said Chris, his voice quavering. “You can’t do that.”
“I already have,” said Jamie. “Sign.”
Hollison walked slowly forward, his face like thunder, and scrawled his name on the screen. He stayed for a moment longer than the others, staring belligerently into the opaque purple of Jamie’s visor, then stepped back.
“Lauren Johnson,” said Jamie.
The girl signed, then hurried back to her friends. Jamie placed the console on his belt, and looked at the teenagers.
“What happens now?” asked Wesley.
“You go home,” said Jamie. “You don’t say anything about this to anyone, and you go on with your lives.”
Three of the teenagers sighed heavily, as though they had been holding their breath during the entire process. Smiles rose on their faces, and they looked at each other with obvious relief.
Chris Hollison didn’t sigh, or smile. He was still staring at Jamie, his face full of anger.
You don’t know how this happened, do you?
thought Jamie.
How you got put in your place in front of everyone. You’re trying to think of some way to save face.
He was almost certainly correct. But as Chris Hollison opened his mouth, a deep growl emerged from the undergrowth behind him. A frown creased the teenager’s forehead. Then he was flung forward as something leapt on to his back, driving him screaming to his knees.
The helicopter swept north, its running lights dark, its heavy shape little more than a shadow above the landscape.
The armour-plated hold could carry twenty-four fully equipped Operators, but was occupied by only two. Paul Turner and Kate Randall sat facing each other, their helmets beside them, their weapons and kit checked and ready, even though Cal Holmwood had assured them they would not be needed.
The Interim Director had summoned them to his quarters and shown them the message he had been sent as the first Operational squads were heading out of the Loop. Kate, who knew about Valhalla from Jamie’s and Larissa’s descriptions of the place, was delighted when
Maybe this won’t be a complete waste of time,
thought Jamie.
“Watch your mouth, Mr Hollison,” he said. “It’s an amended version of the Official Secrets Act. It states that you will never discuss or in any way acknowledge your interaction with the three of us. Sign it, Isabel.”
She cast a final look at Chris, then shuffled forward and scraped her finger across the console’s screen.
Jamie loaded the second page. “Wesley Chambers.”
Wesley walked forward and signed. He did so without hesitation, although Jamie noted that he didn’t meet Chris Hollison’s eye as he walked back to stand beside Isabel.
“Chris Hollison.”
The blond teenager shook his head. “I’m not signing that.”
“Yes you are,” said Jamie. “The only question is whether you do so voluntarily.”
“You can’t make me,” said Chris, his tone more petulant than ever. “And even if you could, you can’t check whether I obey it. So what’s the point?”
“As I speak,” said Jamie, “a monitoring grid is being put in place. Before you even get home, we’ll be watching and listening. Phone calls, emails, internet activity, conversations with your friends and parents and brothers and sisters. We can listen to you through your mobile phones, even when they’re switched off. And, for a period of time that is entirely up to me, you’re going to be followed. You’ll never see them, but you should get used to knowing that you’re being watched. There’s nowhere you can go that we can’t follow, and nothing you can say that we can’t hear. So you
are
going to sign, Mr Hollison, and then you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Because, if you don’t, you’re going to find yourself in a small room with no windows while your parents wonder why you never came home from school. Am I making myself clear?”
The four teenagers stared at him with open horror.
“That’s bullshit,” said Chris, his voice quavering. “You can’t do that.”
“I already have,” said Jamie. “Sign.”
Hollison walked slowly forward, his face like thunder, and scrawled his name on the screen. He stayed for a moment longer than the others, staring belligerently into the opaque purple of Jamie’s visor, then stepped back.
“Lauren Johnson,” said Jamie.
The girl signed, then hurried back to her friends. Jamie placed the console on his belt, and looked at the teenagers.
“What happens now?” asked Wesley.
“You go home,” said Jamie. “You don’t say anything about this to anyone, and you go on with your lives.”
Three of the teenagers sighed heavily, as though they had been holding their breath during the entire process. Smiles rose on their faces, and they looked at each other with obvious relief.
Chris Hollison didn’t sigh, or smile. He was still staring at Jamie, his face full of anger.
You don’t know how this happened, do you?
thought Jamie.
How you got put in your place in front of everyone. You’re trying to think of some way to save face.
He was almost certainly correct. But as Chris Hollison opened his mouth, a deep growl emerged from the undergrowth behind him. A frown creased the teenager’s forehead. Then he was flung forward as something leapt on to his back, driving him screaming to his knees.
The helicopter swept north, its running lights dark, its heavy shape little more than a shadow above the landscape.
The armour-plated hold could carry twenty-four fully equipped Operators, but was occupied by only two. Paul Turner and Kate Randall sat facing each other, their helmets beside them, their weapons and kit checked and ready, even though Cal Holmwood had assured them they would not be needed.
The Interim Director had summoned them to his quarters and shown them the message he had been sent as the first Operational squads were heading out of the Loop. Kate, who knew about Valhalla from Jamie’s and Larissa’s descriptions of the place, was delighted when
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