at Spectrum 8 had never been higher, but it was hard to feel reassured. After all, how does one protect oneself when the evil lies on the inside? From the safety of Green-Wood House, Ruby considered her options.
When you are written large on a psychopath’s hit list, do you:
A: Stay indoors, turn the locks, switch off the lights, hide under the covers and wait for someone else to do something?
B: Brush up on your kung fu moves, wrap up warm, get out there, root out trouble and save yourself?
She tapped her pencil against her head.
The idea of being a sitting duck until another agent pulled the clues together, identified the mole and rounded up these murderers was not an appealing one.
‘Sit tight’ was a Spectrum watchword, but as far as Ruby could tell, this was no time to be taking orders from Spectrum.
She smiled sadly.
It could only be option two.
Death or glory, she thought.
Meanwhile – some eleven and a half years ago …
… the guy lying on the side of the road looked up at the old man and saw the fear in his face.
‘Am I … alive?’
The old man nodded. ‘It would seem so.’
‘You … OK …?’ stammered the guy. ‘You … look … like you’re … gonna … faint.’
The old man was shrugging off his jacket. He pulled a penknife from his pocket and he began cutting at the sleeve of his own shirt, tearing it right off and wrapping it around the bleeding guy’s leg.
‘My name, should you be wondering, is Lenny Rivers.’ He was working quickly but methodically, binding the wound tight, trying to stop all that blood leaking onto the road.
‘Pleased to … meet … you … Len …’
‘So what hit you friend, a truck?’ The poor guy was a real mess, the worst thing Lenny had ever seen, except for that time when he’d found a hunter who’d been attacked by a bear. That fella hadn’t made it. ‘Was it one of those haulage trucks smashed into you?’ he asked.
The guy smiled faintly. ‘The fun … the funny thing … is … I … don’t re-mem-ber.’
‘Musta been going at a fair old lick,’ Lenny tutted. ‘Either didn’t see you or just decided to leave you for dead.’
‘I guess,’ said the injured guy, his eyes closing slowly.
‘Hang in there,’ said Lenny, more to himself than to the half-dead fellow lying there on the ground. He’d do what he could, but this poor soul’s ticket was punched, Lenny Rivers was sure of that.
‘So what do they call you?’ Lenny asked.
One thing Lenny Rivers knew for a certainty was, he’d want to hear his name spoken aloud one final time if he was about to float heavenwards. But the wounded man was already slipping away, his focus gone. ‘Hey there son, don’t leave me, tell me what you go by.’ Lenny gently tapped the injured man’s bloodstained cheek. ‘Stick with me pal, you must have a name, right?’
The guy’s eyelids flickered and opened one last time. He was staring beyond Lenny as if his eyes saw some other figure standing behind him. ‘Loveday,’ he said. ‘It was Morgan … Loveday.’
THE SOAP RANG IN THE BATHROOM the next morning and Ruby spat out her toothpaste and picked up.
‘So what were you going to tell me?’ asked Clancy. Ruby could hear his little sister Olive in the background, talking to someone.
‘Who’s there with you?’ asked Ruby.
‘Olive,’ said Clancy.
‘But who’s she talking to?’ asked Ruby.
‘Buttercup,’ said Clancy.
Silence.
‘Her doll,’ said Clancy.
Ruby listened for a moment. ‘Jeepers,’ she said.
‘Exactly,’ said Clancy. ‘So what were you going to tell me?’
‘Well, I’m not going to say it over the phone, am I, buster?’
‘Of course you’re not, bozo. I was wondering if you’d like the pleasure of my company, plus if I have to listen to more of this dolly talk I’m gonna go crazy.’
‘Anyone would,’ said Ruby. ‘Is she like this most days?’
‘Try every day,’ said Clancy.
‘I’ll meet you in a half hour, usual place.’
The usual place was the tree on Amster. They met there when they wanted to be completely alone and out of sight. It was December and the tree’s branches were bare and so the oak would not provide any cover, but at least sitting high in its boughs meant they were a long way from eavesdroppers and interrupters. It was as they sat up in the oak that Ruby filled her friend in on everything she had omitted to tell him before.
‘LB killed Bradley Baker?’ said Clancy.
‘That’s what the Count told me,’ said Ruby.
‘Are you actually serious?’ asked Clancy.
‘Serious as the look on your face,’ confirmed Ruby.
‘But … I mean, really? I mean … kill him? How?’ asked Clancy.
‘What you have to ask yourself is why,’ said Ruby.
‘Why?’ said Clancy. ‘Why is why the question I have to ask myself? Why not – can you get me outta Twinford as quickly as possible? Followed by, could you call the sheriff’s office right away? Because those are the questions I would be asking if I just found out that the boss of the secret agency I worked in had murdered her best friend and not just some average Joe either, not that that would make it all right or anything, but we are talking about Bradley Baker, legendary agent of Spectrum 8. So if LB did that then yes, can you get me to a safe house and could you call the sheriff would be my first two questions.’
‘Well, thank goodness you’re not me, Clance, because both of those questions are dead ends. For one: who’s actually going to believe any of this? And for two: if LB is really his killer then how far am I gonna get before I end up going the same way as Baker? I mean think about it, Clance, she runs a team of highly trained agents, secret agents who are capable of –’ she drew her finger across her throat, before adding – ‘secretly.’
Clancy opened his mouth to speak, but could not think of anything cheerful to say.
‘So what you gotta look at,’ said Ruby, ‘is the whole big picture. My boss might well be a traitorous killer: she has the means, the power, possibly a motive, but before we absolutely totally conclude she is a traitorous killer, we need to examine the evidence. For example, what do we know about Bradley Baker?’
Clancy shrugged. ‘He was the youngest spy Spectrum ever recruited, super respected and well-liked, and he was the most talented code breaker and agent they ever had.’ He stole a sideways look