Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

“We’re going to have to jump!” Richard shouted above the roar of the engines and the raging wind. “Jamie, can you swim?”

Jamie nodded.

“I’m going to take us in as close as I can.” He turned to Matt. “If we get separated, meet at…”

But Matt didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. There was another burst of gunfire, this time strafing the stern and the cargo hold where the fireworks were packed.

“Now!”

Richard abandoned the wheel and the boat began to zigzag. Matt needed to ask him what he had just said, but everything was happening too quickly. Richard snatched up his backpack and forced it over his shoulders. Jamie was right next to him. The five police boats were getting closer, only a few metres behind.

“Go!” Richard shouted.

Jamie hurried out to the deck and without stopping disappeared over the side of the boat. But Richard hadn’t followed. He had climbed down from the cabin and was balancing himself, clinging to a handrail as Moon Moth, its engines screaming on full power, swerved drunkenly through the sea. Blood and water streamed down his face and his eyes were wild. Matt had never seen him like this before. Gritting his teeth, he brought the gun up and fired into the crates of fireworks, again and again, emptying the chamber into the same spot.

Nothing happened until the final shot. Then there was a flare of magnesium, burning through the tarpaulin. Richard noticed that Matt was still there, that he hadn’t jumped overboard. “Jump!” he pleaded.

Matt jumped.

Even as his feet left the deck, the fireworks went off. There were thousands of pounds worth in the hold. A tonne of gunpowder. But there was nothing beautiful about the explosion. It was just a blinding, burning wheel of fire that seemed to take Richard and hurl him into the air. That was the last thing Matt saw before he hit the water. For a moment everything was panic. The sea was black and freezing. He was still wearing his clothes and trainers. He was being sucked down. He had to fight with all his strength just to get back to the surface.

He emerged, gasping for air, into a brilliant, blazing nightmare. It was as if the whole night was on fire. Moon Moth was alight. The fire was burning so intensely that the metal plates would surely melt away. With no one to steer it, the boat had turned a full circle and was ploughing into the police launches, which had been too slow to get out of the way. It was right in the middle of them and Matt could just make out figures in helmets and full riot gear staring at the destruction, knowing that they were too close, that they were part of it. One of their boats was already on fire. The tall man was still howling – but this time in agony. Every part of him was on fire. His suit and the skin beneath it were peeling away. At the very end, his head split open and something began to snake out of it – a second head, but not a human one. Then there was a great rush of white flame as more of the fireworks exploded and he was blown out of sight.

Individual fireworks were going off, one after another and Matt saw cascades of red, blue, white, green and yellow as blazing missiles were shot into the air, reflecting in the water below. About fifty rockets screamed out at once, some of them twisting into the sky, others slamming into the police boats. One of them spluttered across the water and plunged down in front of him, missing his head by inches. He saw a policeman on fire, jumping into the water to save himself. Another was less lucky. He seemed to be holding a spinning Catherine wheel, unable to let go of it even though it was burning into his chest. Fireworks were cracking and buzzing and whining all around him. He didn’t make it into the sea. He died where he stood.

Matt was treading water, forcing himself to breathe. He was so cold that his lungs had shut down. He knew that he couldn’t stay out here much longer. Two of the police boats were undamaged. Very soon they would be looking for him. But where was Richard? Where was Jamie? The surface of the water was like a black mirror, reflecting the light, but he couldn’t see them anywhere. He wanted to shout out for them but he didn’t dare. The policemen would have heard him.

There was only one thing he could do. The edge of the water was about a hundred metres away. He had to get to dry land and hope to find them there. He took one last look and then turned round and began to swim, slowed down by his clothes. The glow from the flames spread out over his shoulders, helping to light the way, and there were more bangs and fizzes as the last fireworks went off. He heard someone shouting an order in Chinese but doubted that they’d seen him. He was wearing dark clothes. His hair was dark. The currents were carrying him away.

He reached land without even realizing it. Suddenly there was a slimy concrete slope under his knees. He crawled onto it and pulled himself out. He was on a building site. That was what it looked like. It was hard to tell as he squatted in the darkness, shivering, filthy water dripping out of his hair.

“Richard? Jamie?”

He didn’t dare call too loudly. The whole city – anyone who was awake – must have seen the firework display. The Old Ones knew he was there. They would already be searching.

“Richard? Jamie?”

There was no reply.

He waited ten minutes before he made a decision and set off, moving while he still could. If he stayed still much longer, he would freeze.

It was three o’clock in the morning. He had entered the enemy city. He had no idea where he was going. He was dripping wet. He was unarmed.

And he was alone.

Leaving the water behind him, Matt made for the wall of light that defined the edge of Hong Kong. He came to a main road, empty at this time of the night, with a block of luxury hotels and shopping centres on the far side. The smog was worse than ever. The entire city reeked of it, like a chemical swamp. He had only been there for a few minutes but he already had a nagging headache and his eyes were smarting.

Where were Richard and Jamie? He had to find them. He was lost without them. Jamie had been the first off the boat and although Matt hadn’t seen Richard jump, he must surely have followed moments later. Like him, the two of them must have swum ashore – unless the police had managed to find them first. The thought of his friends in captivity sickened him.

He tried to shake off the sense of hopelessness. He had to work out what to do. Get in touch with the Triads. There were a thousand of them, waiting to help him, but the way things had turned out, it wasn’t going to be so easy after all. Han Shan-tung had given them a mobile with a direct dial. Richard had been carrying it. But it would have been made useless the moment it hit the water. And then there was Shan-tung’s son, Lohan. He would already know that something had gone wrong. Presumably his men would be searching for them all over the city.

But Matt had no way of contacting them. He remembered the address of the place where they were supposed to be going, a warehouse on the Salisbury Road. But that was on the other side of the harbour, in Kowloon. Matt had no map and no money. He was soaking wet. It was the middle of the night. How was he supposed to get there?

He was already finding it hard to walk. Every time his foot came down, his shoes squelched and he felt the water rise over his foot. His shirt and trousers were clinging to him, digging in under his arms and between his legs. As he crossed the road and passed between the first of the buildings, he wondered if it wasn’t a little warmer here than it had been in the harbour. But it was only a matter of degrees. He was soaked and shivering and if he didn’t want to catch pneumonia he was going to have to find a change of clothes.