Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

The room itself was long and narrow with only one window giving a view over the street. The glass was tinted so that nobody outside could look in. The furniture was quietly expensive but there were no paintings or ornaments, just a number of clocks showing different times and some maps. Matt dropped into the nearest chair, trying to avoid anyone’s eye. But not Richard. He was still standing by the door, looking around him in amazement.

“I know you!” he said. He pointed to a grim-faced man sitting with a straight back and an immaculately cut suit. “You’re a policeman. Tarrant. Isn’t that your name? You’re something high up in New Scotland Yard. I’ve seen you on television.” He turned to the woman who was next to him. Expensively dressed with red hair that was surely dyed. Two strings of pearls around her neck. “And you’re Nathalie Johnson.”

Even Matt knew that name. He had seen it often enough in the papers. She was sometimes called the female Bill Gates. She had made her fortune in computers and was one of the richest women in the world.

“Let’s not bother with names, Mr Cole,” she said. She had an American accent. “Please take a seat and we can get started.”

Richard sat down next to Matt. It was difficult to be sure who was in charge. Miss Ashwood was at the head of the table but there was no obvious leader. It also occurred to him that someone in the room must be new. Fabian had told him that there were twelve members of the Nexus, and sure enough there were twelve men and women here. But Professor Dravid had once been a member of the organization too and he had died. Presumably he had been replaced.

“We are very grateful to you for coming to London, Matt,” another man began. His accent was Australian. He was more casually dressed than the others with an open-necked shirt and rolled-up sleeves. He was about forty, with the pale skin and bloodshot eyes of a man who has spent too many hours on long-distance planes. “We know you don’t want to be here and we wouldn’t have asked you if there was any other way.”

“You must let us protect you,” Miss Ashwood said. Her hands were resting on the table but her fists were clenched. “You were nearly killed at Forrest Hill. That can’t happen. We are here only to help you.”

“I thought it was Matt who was meant to be helping you,” Richard said.

“We’ve got to help each other,” the Australian went on. “There’s a whole lot of things we don’t know, but this much is certain: things are going to get bad. Worse than you can imagine. The reason that the twelve of us are here tonight is because we want to do something about it.”

“About what? What are you talking about?” Richard asked.

“A third world war,” Miss Ashwood said. “Worse than the two wars that preceded it. Governments out of control. Destruction and death all across the planet. We don’t know exactly what form the future will take, Mr Cole. But we think even now that we can prevent it from happening.”

“With your help.” The bishop nodded at Matt.

“Look, let’s get one thing straight,” Richard said. “Matt and I don’t want to know about death and destruction. We’re not interested in world wars. The only help we need is to find somewhere else to live because right now Yorkshire doesn’t seem to be an option and we don’t have anyone else we can turn to.”

“The petrol tanker that drove into your school…?” The policeman had spoken. He left the question hanging in the air.

“It was driven by my aunt,” Matt said. “Gwenda Davis. I saw her behind the wheel.” He shivered. He had known it was her, even as his every sense told him it was impossible. He had never liked her, not in all the years he had known her. But she had never been a monster. Not until the end.

“Your aunt…?” the Australian muttered.

“Yes.”

The information caused a stir in the room. The twelve members of the Nexus muttered briefly to each other and Matt saw Fabian write something down.

“She didn’t know what she was doing,” Susan Ashwood said. “To steal a petrol tanker and somehow find her way to your school… she couldn’t have done it on her own.”

“The Old Ones,” Fabian muttered in a low voice.

“Of course. They helped her. They influenced her. Maybe they forced her. But undoubtedly they were behind it.”

“All right,” Richard cut in. “You want us to go and meet this man

… William Morton. Matt’s agreed to that. But I’m telling you now, if it means putting him in any more danger…”

“That’s the last thing in our minds,” the American woman said. She leant forward, her long hair falling over her eyes. She must have been about fifty years old but she had obviously spent a lot of money making herself look younger. “All right, Richard. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Let’s give it to you straight. We need Matt to meet with this guy William Morton tomorrow at twelve o’clock, because it’s the only way we think we can get him to hand over the diary. But Matt is more important than the diary. Right now, if he really is who we think he is, he’s just about the most important kid in the world.”

“You’ve told Morton that Matt is one of the Five,” Richard said. He was speaking slowly, working it out as he went. “And Morton wants to meet him to see if it’s true. But how’s he going to do that? Is Matt going to have to see into the future or blow something up to prove it?”

“We don’t know,” Nathalie replied. “Remember. He’s read the diary. We haven’t. He may know more than we do.”

“All we know is that he’s afraid,” Miss Ashwood cut in. “He’s afraid of the man he was dealing with in South America. And he’s afraid of what he’s read in the diary itself. William Morton has realized he’s stumbled into something bigger and darker than anything he’s experienced in his life, and he’s looking for a way out.”

“Where does he want to meet me?” Matt asked.

“At first he wouldn’t tell us.” This time it was a Frenchman who had picked up the story. He was slim and grey-haired and looked like a lawyer. “He speaks to us only with his mobile phone and he gives us no idea where he can be found. But now he has mentioned a church, in the city, not so far from here.”

“St Meredith’s in Moore Street,” Miss Ashwood said.

“He will be there at twelve o’clock tomorrow. He will meet with you but with you alone…”

“Matt’s not going in there on his own,” Richard said.

“He tells us that he will be watching out for the boy,” the Frenchman said. “We have not described to him what Matt looks like but it is unlikely that there will be any other fourteen-year-old adolescents near the church at that time. The deal is very simple. If Matt is not alone, Monsieur Morton will disappear. We will never see him again. And whoever it is that he has been dealing with in South America will have the diary.”

“Why this church?” Richard asked. “It seems to be a strange place to meet. Why not a restaurant or a cafe or something like that?”

“Morton insisted,” Nathalie said. “I guess we’ll find out the answer to that when Matt gets there.”

“Maybe the church is mentioned in the diary,” the bishop suggested. “As it happens, St Meredith’s is one of the oldest churches in the city. In fact, there’s been a church on the site since the Middle Ages.”

“And how can we be sure Matt will be safe there? For all we know, this mysterious South American businessman or whoever he is could have already got to Morton. This could all be a trap.”

“Leave that to me,” the policeman said. Richard had been right. His name was Tarrant and he was an Assistant Commissioner, one of the highest-ranking officers in London. “I’ll have access to the security cameras all around Moore Street. We can’t go into the church, but I’ll make sure there are a hundred officers in the immediate area. One word from me and they’ll move in.”