Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

At the end of the day it didn’t make any difference if Matt trusted him or not. He was freezing. He had to get inside, off the street. He had nowhere else to go.

He began to ring the bells, one after another, beginning with 1200 and moving along, waiting briefly for each one to reply. There was silence until he reached 1213, then a crackle as a voice came over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Mr Adams?”

“Who is this?”

“I know it’s very late, but I’m a friend of Scarlett’s. I wonder if I could talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Could you let me in?”

A pause. Then a buzz and the door opened.

As Matt walked into the reception area, he became aware of a stench – raw sewage. A pipe had burst. He could hear it dripping and the floor was wet underfoot. There was just enough light to make out a staircase leading up, but once he began to climb he had to feel his way in total darkness. He counted twelve floors, sliding his hand along the banister, pressing his shoulder against the wall as he turned each corner. It really was like being blind and he felt smothered, afraid that at any moment something would jump out and grab hold of him. But at last he arrived at a swing door, pushed it open and found himself at the beginning of a long corridor. Light spilled out from an open door about half-way down. Scarlett’s father was waiting for him, but Matt couldn’t make him out because the light was behind him and he was in silhouette.

“Who are you?” Paul Adams called out.

“My name is Matt.”

“You’re a friend of Scarly’s?”

“I want to help her.”

“You can’t help her. You’re too late.”

Matt walked down the corridor, afraid that Paul Adams would go back in and close the door before he could reach him. But Adams waited for him. He reached the door and saw a small, unhappy man with grey hair and glasses. Scarlett’s father hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, nor had he washed. He was wearing a blue jersey which might have been expensive when he had bought it but now hung off him awkwardly, as if he had been sleeping in it. And he had been drinking. Matt could smell the alcohol on his breath and saw it in the eyes behind the glasses. They were red with exhaustion and self-pity.

“Mr Adams…” Matt began.

“I don’t know you.” Paul Adams looked at him blankly.

“I told you. My name is Matt.”

“You’re soaking wet.”

“Can I come in?”

Matt didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed his way past and entered the flat. The place was a mess. There were dirty plates stacked in the sink and on the kitchen counter. Everything smelled stale and airless with the sewage creeping up from below. It was as if someone had died there… or maybe it was the place itself that had died. Once it had been luxurious. Now it was sordid and sad.

Paul Adams closed the door. “Do you want something to eat?” he asked.

“I’d like some tea,” Matt said. The man didn’t move so he went into the kitchen and began to make it himself. He looked in the fridge for some food. There were only leftovers but he helped himself anyway. It was only now that he realized how hungry he was. A clock on the oven showed twenty past four. Six hours had passed since he had left Macau.

Paul Adams sat down. He had a glass of whisky and he drank it in one swallow, then refilled it. “You’re English…” he said.

“I was at your home in Dulwich,” Matt said. He was rummaging through a cupboard for a tea-bag. “I tried to find Scarlett there. But she’d gone.”

“They’ve taken her.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No.” He drank again. “I know who you are!” he exclaimed. He had only just worked it out. “You’re the boy they’re all looking for. You’re the reason why they wanted Scarlett.”

Matt didn’t say anything. The kettle boiled and he made himself the tea, adding two spoons of sugar.

“Matt Freeman. That’s who it was. Matt Freeman!” He got up and went over to the kitchen, weaving his way across the carpet. Matt didn’t know whether to be saddened or disgusted. He had never seen anyone so utterly lost. Paul Adams leant heavily against the side of the counter and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. “They lied to me,” he said. “They told me she’d be all right if I helped them. I was the one who caught her! She’d have got away if it hadn’t been for me. But I only did it to protect her. They said they’d kill her if I didn’t help them.”

“Did they take her to The Nail?” Matt asked.

“She’s not there.” Paul Adams shook his head.

“Is she still in Hong Kong?”

“Somewhere. They won’t tell me.” He paused and looked at the window. The first streaks of morning were beginning to bleed through the night sky. “I thought they’d be grateful for what I did, but they said I’d never see her again. They were mocking me. I’d helped them and it was all for nothing. They wanted me to know that.” He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t understand what they want, Matt. I don’t understand anything any more. This whole city…” His voice trailed away.

“Mr Adams, I can help you,” Matt said. “I can find her and get her out of here.”

“How? You’re just a kid.”

“I need to have a shower and get changed.” Matt was still dripping water onto the expensive carpet. “Do you have spare clothes?”

“I don’t know…” He waved vaguely in the direction of the bedroom.

Matt drew on the last of his strength, forcing his mind into gear. He had to find Scarlett. That was the reason he was here. But that wasn’t going to be possible, not if she had been taken to some secret location. Was she even still in Hong Kong? He guessed that she would have to be. The Old Ones were using her to get at him. Surely they would keep her there until he arrived.

How to find her? Matt’s eyes were desperately heavy. All he wanted to do was go to bed. But somehow he knew that this was his last chance. He had to bring all the pieces together, here in this room. First there was Paul Adams, destroying himself, wracked with guilt and misery. Then there was the man called Lohan, somewhere in Hong Kong with his thousand foot-soldiers. Richard and Jamie. Maybe they had found their way over to them. And the fireworks. What was the name he had seen, stencilled on the crates?

And suddenly he had it.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I may be able to find Scarlett, but you’re going to have to help me. Will you do that?”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Does your telephone work here? And do you have a phone book?”

Paul Adams had been expecting something more. How would a simple phone call save his daughter? “It’s over there…” He gestured with the hand that was still holding the whisky glass.

Matt went over to the telephone. It was a desperate plan. But he could think of no other way.

He picked it up and began to dial.

They came for him just after seven o’clock.

Matt was asleep on the sofa, dressed in jeans and a sweater that didn’t really fit but were a lot better than the ones he had dumped in the bathroom. He had taken a hot shower, washing the smell of the harbour off his skin and out of his hair. And then he had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He hadn’t heard the police arrive. They had driven down Harcourt Road and turned into Wisdom Court without sirens. He was woken by the sound of the door being smashed open and the shouts of a dozen men as they poured into the flat. Some of them were carrying guns. It was hard to say who was in charge. Suddenly they were everywhere and Matt was surrounded.

He started to get up but something hit him in the chest. It was a dart, fired from what looked like a toy gun, trailing wires behind it. But the next thing he knew, there was an explosion of pain and he was literally thrown off his feet as a bolt of electricity seared through him. He had been hit with a Tasar, a weapon used by police forces all over the world. Despite its appearance, it had fired an electrical charge that had resulted in the total loss of his neuromuscular control. Matt had never felt pain like it. It seemed to shatter every bone in his body. He heard an animal whimper and realized it was him.