Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

“Shan-tung trusts him,” Matt said.

“He doesn’t seem to be exactly friendly.”

“He doesn’t have to be friendly. He just has to get us there.”

“Let’s hope he does.”

The two of them fell silent and soon they were both asleep. But then – it felt like seconds later – Matt found himself being woken by something. It was the boat’s engine which had changed tempo, slowing down. He opened his eyes. It was still dark, still raining. But there were lights ahead.

“You can wake up your friends,” Captain Machado said. “We’re here.”

Matt stood up and went over to the window.

And there it was. It was two o’clock in the morning but a city like Hong Kong never really slept. Matt could make out the skyscrapers by the lights that burned all around them, picking out their shapes in brilliant green, blue and pink neon. It was as if someone had drawn the city onto the darkness with a vast, fluorescent crayon. There were advertisements – PHILIPS, SAMSUNG, HITATCHI – burning themselves onto the night sky, the colours breaking up in the water, being thrown around by the choppy waves. There were signs in Chinese too, and they reminded him how very different this city would be from London or Miami. This was another world.

It was very misty. Maybe it was an illusion caused by all the neon, but the mist was a strange colour, an ugly, poisonous yellow. It was rolling across the harbour towards them, reaching out to surround them as if it were a living thing and knew who they were. As they continued forward, it pressed itself against the glass of the cabin and the sound of the engines became even more distant.

Richard had joined the captain at the steering wheel. “Why are we going so slowly?” he asked. It was a good question. They were barely moving at all.

“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” Machado replied.

“I thought you said nobody cared about you anyway.”

“There’s still no reason to make too much noise.”

Another minute passed.

“I thought we were going to Kowloon,” Richard said.

“We are.”

“But isn’t Kowloon on the other side?”

Machado grinned in the half light. He had put the pipe away. “The current will carry us over,” he said and at that moment Matt knew that he wasn’t telling the truth and felt the familiar tingle of imminent danger. For what seemed like an age, nothing happened. They weren’t moving. Machado was standing there, almost daring them to challenge him – to do anything. But there was nothing they could do. They were trapped on board his boat, completely in his power.

And then a searchlight cut through the darkness, pinning Moon Moth in its glare. The entire cabin seemed to explode with dazzling light. A second beam swung across. Two boats. They were still some distance away but they were rapidly closing in. They must have been waiting there all the time.

At the same moment, Machado swung his hand, crashing it into the side of Richard’s head and then bringing it around on Matt. He was holding a gun. Richard fell. Machado’s lips curled in an unpleasant smile. “If you move, I will kill you,” he said.

He had betrayed them. He had known the boats were coming. He had led them straight to them.

“The Triads will kill you for this…” Richard muttered. He had pulled himself onto one knee and was cradling his head in his hand. Blood was trickling from a wound just above his eye.

“The Triads are finished,” Machado replied. “They’re nothing any more.”

“So who’s paying you?” Matt asked.

“There’s a big reward out for you, boy. Two million Hong Kong dollars. More than I’ve earned with Shan-tung and his friends in ten years. They want you very badly. And they warned me about you. If you even blink, I’ll shoot you.”

Matt looked out of the window. The boats were getting closer and they had been joined by three more, making five in all, moving in from every side. They were police launches – grey, solid steel with identifying numbers printed on the side. They were coming out of the night like miniature battleships, with bullet-proof windows and bows shaped like knives.

Richard pulled himself to his feet. Machado aimed the gun at him. “Nightrise doesn’t want you,” he said. “So I hope you don’t mind a burial at sea.” He was about to fire at point blank range. He licked his lips, enjoying himself. Richard stared at him helplessly.

“Put the gun down,” Jamie said.

Machado didn’t hesitate. He laid the gun on the floor although his face was filled with puzzlement. He had no idea why he’d done it. But Matt did. In his moment of triumph, the captain had forgotten Jamie. He’d thought he was still asleep… but he’d been wrong. Jamie had seen what was happening and had used his power. If he’d told Machado to stop breathing, the man would have stood there until he died. And, Matt reflected, maybe that was what he deserved.

“This is the Hong Kong police. Heave to…”

The voice echoed out of the water, amplified through a megaphone. There was a man standing on the bow of the nearest boat – except he looked far too tall to be human. He was black and was dressed in the uniform of a senior officer in the Hong Kong police. But it was obvious he was no policeman. He was like something out of a nightmare with his bald head and empty, staring eyes. It was freezing cold out on the water but he wasn’t shivering. He showed no feeling or emotion at all.

Richard lunged forward, grabbed hold of the steering wheel and slammed down the throttle. Matt felt the floor tilt beneath him as the cargo boat surged forward. Captain Machado had been standing there, dazed, as if unsure what to do, but now he seized hold of Richard and the two of them began to grapple for the steering wheel.

“Get rid of him, Jamie,” Matt said.

“Jump overboard,” Jamie commanded.

Machado let go of Richard and lurched out of the cabin, moving as if in a trance. There was shouting, a shot, then a splash as Machado was gunned down even as he hit the sea. The Hong Kong police had assumed he was trying to escape. Or maybe they knew who he was but had decided to kill him anyway. Machado floated face down in the water. He didn’t move.

Richard had control of the cargo boat. He spun it round, taking the police by surprise. Seconds later, he burst through them, weaving round one of their boats, heading for the Central side of Hong Kong.

“The gun!” Richard shouted.

Matt snatched it up and handed it to him. Then Jamie shouted and pointed. “Watch out!”

A face had appeared at the window, glaring at them with furious eyes. For a moment Matt thought one of the policemen had somehow boarded Moon Moth. Then he remembered the single crewman – Billy – who had sailed with them from Macau. He was holding a gun, bringing it round to aim at the cabin. Richard shot him through the window, a single bullet between the eyes. The boat lurched crazily. The wheel spun. The crewman disappeared.

Then the nearest police launch opened fire. The noise was deafening as the bullets smashed into the metal plates of the cargo boat, cutting a line along the bow and ricocheting back into the water. One of the windows shattered and Richard ducked as tiny fragments of glass showered down onto his shoulders and back. The cold night air rushed into the cabin, carrying with it the spray of water and the foul, decaying smell of the pollution. Moon Moth surged forward. Richard was fighting with the wheel, trying not to be shot. Matt looked back. The police launches were regrouping, preparing to come after them. The man at the front suddenly opened his mouth and howled, a sound that split the night, louder than all the boats put together. Matt knew at that moment that he wasn’t a man at all.