David Gilman - Ice Claw

Max knew it was far more than animal smugglers. The German had waited at d’Abbadie’s chateau until Max had discovered the drawing on the pendant. It was only then that they attacked.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. The less you knew, the better. I didn’t know how dangerous it was going to be.” He still didn’t want to tell her anything more.

“Is there any other reason you think Zabala died? Other than being murdered by animal smugglers?” Sophie asked, staring straight into Max’s eyes.

Sayid looked worried. Was Max going to tell her everything? He didn’t trust Sophie. (A) She was a girl who was good at just about all the things Sayid couldn’t do. (B) She had crept into his friendship with Max-so he was a bit jealous. (C) She was making a play for Max, and that was so obvious that even the old clock on the wall could have noticed. (D) She seemed to be in the exact place where Max was, when it mattered, like at Zabala’s hut, and just before the avalanche, when he saved her from the bikers. (E) Well, Sayid could probably come up with a whole alphabet of reasons why he didn’t trust Sophie Fauvre.

“I don’t know why he was killed,” Max told her. “But there might be another reason other than animal smugglers. Though I’m not sure what it is yet.” Max chucked one of Sayid’s T-shirts at him. “C’mon, Sayid. There isn’t much time.”

“Wait a minute,” Sophie said. “Where are you going?” “Where I think Zabala’s clues want me to go.” She waited, but Max said nothing more. He was waiting for her response. She looked concerned. All Max was certain about was that in a short while he had to get clear across France without being spotted. And that was going to be pretty near impossible. He had deliberately said very little to Sophie. The triangle etched on the pendant pinpointed Sophie’s country of birth. With her involvement in the endangered-species trade and her mysterious appearance on the mountain, he was convinced she was caught up in this whole thing far more than she had told him. What Max had told no one was that he had to get to the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. He needed her to open the way for him.

“You should come home with me,” she said.

“Why would I do that?” Max said, barely able to conceal his relief-this was exactly what he had wanted her to say.

“Because you would be safe. For a while, at least. And then you can decide what you want to do. My family owes you. My father would be honored to help you.”

“Thanks. Give me a minute to think about it. I need a word with Sayid.”

She left the room and Max closed the door. Sayid shook his head.

“You’re crazy, Max. Y’know, things about her don’t feel right.”

“It’s what I have to do, Sayid.”

“What? Walk deliberately into a trap?”

“Keep your voice down. We don’t know exactly how she’s involved. Not yet.”

“I think a boulder must have hit you on the head in that avalanche. You’re getting deeper and deeper into trouble. Real big-time-very-messy-desperate-to-get-out-of trouble.”

“I know it’s dodgy, but we’ll sort it out when we get there. It’s vital, Sayid. It’s exactly where Zabala wanted his clues to lead us.”

“I can’t go,” Sayid said.

“Course you can. I need your help. You know some of the info we found at the chateau was all about sacred geometry, and you’re good at working out stuff like that. You’ll be fine. And I need someone to speak Arabic for me.”

“Max, my leg is hurting like hell. And I would slow you down. Besides, they speak Darija in Morocco … it’s a dialect,” he quickly explained. “I wouldn’t understand a word.”

Max felt there was more to it than not speaking the language. “I promised your mum I’d look after you on this trip, and I haven’t done very well so far,” he said.

“Max, it’s been a scary time for me, and in a twisted kind of way it’s been fun, but I can’t keep up with you. Not with this leg. I’d better go home.”

Max hid his genuine disappointment. Sayid had been there when he needed him. Was his injured leg an excuse because he was too scared to go on? Max mentally chastised himself. It didn’t matter if Sayid needed a way out. He had already endured more than most boys his age. Max had already put him too much in harm’s way.

“Yeah, I suppose. OK. Look, I’ll get you to the airport.”

Sayid interrupted him. “You’ve got to get away. You can’t come to the airport. The authorities will be watching. Keep it simple. The comtesse can get me a taxi. We go our separate ways. We have to.”

Max pulled the drawstring tight on his backpack and stuck out his hand for Sayid. His friend took it. The boys embraced each other.

“Try and see my dad. Tell him I’ll be OK. When you get back leave a message on your voice mail. Something about-I dunno-flying lessons; then I’ll know you made it. If they pick you up in England because of me, just tell them everything except the bit about Morocco. I reckon that’s going to be my route into France when I have to come back.”

“You’re coming back to France? Why? Are you crazy?”

Max smiled and put his arm around his mate. Once he’d established whether Morocco really was where Zabala had intended the clue to take him, then he would explore the third side of the triangle, which pointed across the French Alps to Switzerland. “That’s one bit of info I don’t want to tell you. You already know more than anyone else. Let’s get out of here.”

The comtesse had filled baguettes with cheese and pate for them, packed fruit and bottled water, and tried unsuccessfully to thrust crumpled euro notes, which she had squirreled away in an empty jar, into their hands.

The taxi arrived. The comtesse went to the gate to see off her “exchange student” and to instruct the driver to deliver him safely at the departure terminal at Biarritz airport. She put the folded money directly into the driver’s hands. “He is just a boy, you look after him. I have paid you well.”

Sayid turned in the seat just as the taxi went round the corner. He waved at the comtesse but his eyes looked up towards the window where Max stood. He was saying good-bye to his friend, not sure when he would see him again. Imagined fears of Max being hunted, of his best mate fighting for his life, stabbed at his conscience. Max’s stubborn determination was scary at times. Whatever it was that drove him to take such huge risks was something Sayid didn’t fully understand. But had he agreed to go to Morocco, his injury would have put Max’s life in even greater danger.

Sayid would go home, he’d speak to Max’s dad, explain everything-Tom Gordon would know what to do.

Then Sayid would wait for his friend to call.

“I’ve left Bobby’s cell phone in his room, Comtesse. I can’t use it because the battery’s dead. I’m sure he’ll come back, and I don’t want him to feel he’s let me down. Tell him there’s no problem between us. I’d like us to still be friends,” Max said.

“I will tell him, and I will insist he finds you. He will phone me, he always does.”

“And my dad. You’ll remember to phone my dad for me?” Max repeated it like an instruction. These were the final moments before he went on the run.

The comtesse gave him a reassuring smile and her voice calmed his uncertainty. “Of course, once you are well away from here.”

“My dad, he’s … well, sometimes he doesn’t understand things too well and he can’t always take calls. If you have to leave a message with someone else, don’t say too much, because then they might feel obliged to tell the cops in England.”

“I will be brief, but I will be explicit in my discretion. He will be told what is essential, but nothing more. You must not worry-only about yourself. Be careful. And remember what I said.”