Matt carried a scar on the side of his face, a souvenir of the National History Museum, but he was looking a little less pinched and tired. Staying with Richard, sleeping late, watching TV and generally doing very little had obviously been good for him. As for Richard, he was more optimistic, more organized. He still found it hard to believe that he had actually survived. And he was certain he was about to sell the greatest story ever written. It wouldn’t just be a case of “hold the front page”. His story would run on every page.
They were surrounded by newspapers and magazines that they had checked through, from first page to last. They had done this every day. And always it was the same.
“How many more do we have to read?” Matt asked.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Richard said. “I mean, there must be a mention of it somewhere. You can’t have a nuclear explosion in the middle of Yorkshire without somebody noticing.”
“You’ve got that clipping from the Yorkshire Post.”
“Oh sure!” Richard plucked a scrap of newspaper off the fridge door, where it had been held in place with a magnet. “Two column inches about a bright light seen over the woods near Lesser Malling. A bright light – that’s what they call it! And they stick it on page three next to the weather reports.”
For the past seven days Richard had been monitoring the news in the press, on the radio and on the television. He was completely bewildered. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever taken place. Structural engineers were still investigating the damage done to the Natural History Museum. Millions of pounds’ worth of dinosaur fossils had been destroyed – but nobody had mentioned Professor Sanjay Dravid, who must surely have been found dead in the middle of it. Likewise, the death or disappearance of Sir Michael Marsh. Here was a man who had once been an influential government scientist, who had received a knighthood. Yet there were no obituaries, no comment, nothing. He might as well have never existed.
And what of Richard’s story?
He had written it in the space of twenty-four hours. To start with he had kept it simple, confining it to ten pages, outlining very broadly what had happened. Matt had insisted that his name be left out. He knew what he had done but he still wasn’t quite sure how he had done it… And the truth was, he didn’t want to know. He had finally managed to find the power to stop the knife and to break out. But he remembered very little of it. One moment he was lying on the slab. The next he was fighting Mrs Deverill over the acid bath. What had happened was like a hideous dream. It was as if he had been taken over.
As far as Matt was concerned, he never wanted to mention Jayne Deverill or Raven’s Gate again. And he certainly didn’t want to end up on the front page of the world’s newspapers. Some sort of superhero. Some sort of freak.
In the end Richard had agreed to give him a false name. It was the easiest way. He hadn’t mentioned the LEAF Project either. It would have made it too easy to identify Matt – and anyway, it was something else Matt didn’t want to see in print.
The ten-page story had been sent to every newspaper in London. That had been three days ago. Since then, half of them had written back.
Dear Mr Cole,
The editor wishes to thank you for your submission, received on 4 May. We regret, however, that we do not feel it is suitable for publication.
Yours sincerely…
All of them were more or less the same. Short and to the point. They didn’t give any reason for turning him down. They simply didn’t want to know.
Matt knew that Richard was frustrated and angry. He hadn’t expected people to believe everything he had written. After all, a lot of it was beyond belief. But at the same time, somebody must have been asking what had happened at the museum and at the power station. There was a giant crater in the woods where Omega One had once stood. Lesser Malling was now empty. How could an entire village simply disappear overnight? There were a hundred questions hanging in the air – and Richard’s article provided at least some of the answers. Why did nobody want to publish it?
There was also an unspoken worry between the two.
Matt knew that he was living on borrowed time. Mrs Deverill was dead and any minute now the authorities in London would take note of the fact that she had disappeared and wonder what had happened to him. The LEAF Project would reclaim him and he would be sent somewhere else. It was obvious that he couldn’t stay with Richard much longer. Although there was enough room in the flat for the two of them, a fourteen-year-old boy couldn’t move in with a twenty-five-year-old man he’d only known for a matter of weeks. Worse still, Richard was out of cash. He hadn’t shown up for work for a week and as a result he’d lost his job on the Gazette. The editor hadn’t even sent him a letter. His dismissal was simply announced on the front page: JOURNALIST FIRED. Richard couldn’t help being gloomy. If he wasn’t going to have an award-winning scoop, he would need to find work. He had mentioned that he might go back to London.
“You know what I think,” Richard said suddenly.
“What?”
“I think somebody is doing all this on purpose. I think somebody’s put a D-notice on the story.”
“What’s a D-notice?”
“It’s a government thing. Censorship. When they don’t want a story to get into the papers for reasons of national security.”
“You think they know what happened?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Richard crumpled a newspaper into a ball. “All I know is that somebody should have said something and I can’t believe that no one has.”
The doorbell rang. Richard went over to the window and looked down.
“Postman?” Matt suggested.
“No. It looks like a tourist. He’s probably lost.” A lot of tourists went past the flat, but it was unusual for one to ring the bell. “I’ll go down and get rid of him,” said Richard, and left the room.
Matt finished his tea and rinsed his mug in the sink. At last he had begun to sleep properly again – and there hadn’t been any more dreams. And yet, even so, he knew that they were still waiting for him, the four children on the beach. Three boys and a girl. With him, that made five.
One of the Five.
That was what this had all been about: four boys and a girl, who had saved the world once and who would return to do it again. At the museum, Matt had told Richard what he believed – that he was one of them.
Yet how could that be possible when they had lived thousands of years ago? Matt had some sort of power. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t something he could control and, as far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see it or use it again. He sank his head into his hands. He had never been in control of his life… not for as long as he could remember. And right now he felt more out of control than ever.
Richard came back into the room, accompanied by a man dressed in a pale suit. He was certainly foreign, with very black hair, olive-coloured skin and dark eyes, but he didn’t look like a tourist. He was carrying an expensive leather briefcase and appeared to be more like a businessman – some sort of international lawyer perhaps.
“This is Mr Fabian,” Richard said. “At least, that’s what he says his name is.”
“Good morning, Matt. I’m very glad to meet you.” Fabian’s voice was soft. He pronounced each word carefully, with a strong Spanish accent.
“Mr Fabian has read my article,” Richard continued. “He’s from the Nexus.”
The Nexus. The secret organization that both Miss Ashwood and Professor Dravid had mentioned before Dravid was killed.
“What do you want?” Matt demanded. He’d had enough. He just wanted to leave this all behind.
Fabian sighed. “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.
Richard gestured to a chair.
Fabian took it. “Thank you, Mr Cole. First of all, let me say, Matthew, that I am very glad – indeed very honoured – to meet you. I know what you’ve been through. I hope you are fully recovered.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Richard growled.
Fabian turned to him. “You were, of course, at the Natural History Museum when Professor Dravid was killed,” he said. “I would be interested to know how it was that you survived.”
