Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

“We’ve traced the number to Salamanda News International,” the Frenchman said.

“What’s that?” Richard asked.

“It’s one of the biggest businesses on the whole darned continent,” Nathalie Johnson explained. “And the man who fronts it, Diego Salamanda, is one of the richest. I’ve had dealings with him in the past. I’ve never met him. I’ve heard he’s disabled in some way and he keeps himself very much to himself. He runs newspapers, TV and satellite stations, publishing houses and hotels and he does it out of an office in Lima.”

“Was he the one trying to buy the diary?”

“Perhaps,” she continued. “We can’t know for sure. But not much happens within his organization without him knowing it so it probably comes down to the same thing. If it’s Salamanda we’re up against, that’s bad news. He’s powerful. But on the other hand, maybe it’s good that we know who the enemy is. At least it tells us where to start.”

“OK.” Richard nodded. “So you send Matt to Lima. What does he do then?”

“He stays with me as my guest,” Fabian replied. “You will both be welcome in my home. I told you already that I have a house in Barranco. It is a quiet part of the city where many artists and writers live. I’m not far from the beach. You will be safe there.”

“William Morton thought he was safe. And look what happened to him!”

“We don’t know what went wrong,” Miss Ashwood admitted. “None of us knew the meeting place until the day before, and of course we didn’t tell anyone. We can only assume he must have been followed. However, I agree with you. Your safety is of paramount importance – which is why we’ve decided to take extra precautions. Nobody must even know you’ve left England.”

“What about passport control?” Richard asked.

“Exactly!” Miss Ashwood agreed.

“I’m seeing to that.” The Assistant Commissioner had taken over. “I’m going to arrange false passports for you. This man – Salamanda – may not have any agents at Heathrow Airport but he’s sure to have people on the lookout when you arrive in Lima. So you’ll both travel under assumed names. Nobody outside this room will know who you are.”

“It still sounds crazy,” Richard said. “Your plan is that you don’t have a plan. Go to Peru! End of story!”

“No,” Matt interrupted. It was almost the first time he had spoken and the thirteen adults in the room all turned to look at him. “I think Miss Ashwood is right. We can’t just walk away. Not after all that’s happened. The second gate is in Peru. It’s going to open. We have to be there.”

Three days had passed since then. Now, sitting in the plane, Matt wondered why he had been so decisive.

Maybe the twelve members of the Nexus had been right. His life was completely tangled up with the second gate and there seemed to be no escaping it. Or was there part of him that genuinely wanted to help, to fight back against an ancient enemy? Matt wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was sweating and felt sick. As the engines began to roar in the build-up to take-off, he was certain they would fall off the wings. And how could this huge machine with its six hundred passengers, suitcases, meal trolleys and all the rest of it possibly stay up in the air? Matt had only ever flown twice in his entire life and that had been short hops to Marseilles and Malaga with his parents, when he was young. This flight was going to last seventeen hours! He wasn’t afraid of what he might find in Peru, but he was certainly afraid of flying there.

Twenty minutes later, the 747 was well above cloud level, already leaving behind the west coast of England. A stewardess came up to them with a menu.

“Would you like a drink, Mr Carter?” she asked.

It took Matt a moment to realize that she was talking to them. Paul and Robert Carter. Two brothers travelling together. Those were the names on the false passports they had been given.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” Richard said.

“Just some water for me,” Matt added.

They were travelling in business class, close to the front of the plane. The tickets had cost thousands of pounds, but then the Nexus had been ready to pay millions for the diary; they obviously weren’t short of cash. Matt settled back in his seat. He had a personal TV with a choice of about ten films as well as a selection of computer games. Richard had also bought him a book and some magazines. But he didn’t feel like doing anything. Sitting there, suspended in the air somewhere above the Irish Sea, he felt empty, disconnected.

“So do you want to talk about it?” Richard asked.

“What?”

“The door. What you saw on the other side.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about it. William Morton chose the church because of something he’d read in the diary. He used the door as a test, to prove I was who he thought I was.”

Richard nodded. “If anyone else went through the door, they’d find themselves standing in a puddle in East London.”

“But I went somewhere else. I’m not even sure I was in England.” Matt thought for a moment. “Do you remember what it said on that news programme? The one we saw on the DVD? It said something about an Internet within the church…”

“It was one of the things in the diary.”

“Well, maybe that’s what it meant. When you sit at a computer, you can click a mouse and go where you like. You can link up with another computer anywhere in the world. Maybe it’s the same sort of thing… only for real.”

“That’s great!” Richard smiled. “So all you have to do is find another church door in Peru and maybe you can go home without having to pay for the return flight.”

The stewardess came with the drinks. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and the smell of lunch was already spreading through the cabin from the galley just behind them. Only four months ago, Matt had been living with his aunt in Ipswich, failing at school, struggling from Monday to Friday and wasting time at weekends. And now he was here. It was hard to believe.

Richard seemed to pick up on his thoughts. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said.

“I think I did, Richard.” Matt gazed out of the window. There was nothing to look at. Just the clouds in an empty sky. “Miss Ashwood knew it. Even William Morton. I’m part of this and I think I always have been. I tried to pretend otherwise and I nearly got a whole lot of people killed.” He sighed. “You don’t have to be here. But I think I do.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not going anywhere without me.”

“Then we’re stuck in it together.”

The flight seemed endless. Matt watched one film, then another. He read part of his book. He tried to sleep but without success. The noise of the engines was all around him and he couldn’t forget the fact that he was hanging in space with the ground far too far away. They landed at Miami and spent two hours in a characterless transit lounge while the plane refuelled. By now Matt’s inner clock was telling him that it was late in the evening – but it was still light outside. The entire day had been stretched out of shape and he felt exhausted.

They took off again and suddenly the weather turned bad. The sky was dark and a fork of lightning cracked downwards, flashing against the silver skin of the 747. They hit a patch of turbulence and Matt felt his stomach heave as the floor momentarily disappeared from beneath his feet. Inside the business section, the lights had been dimmed. A soft, yellow glow illuminated the passengers, sitting in their seats, trying to look relaxed but at the same time gripping the arm rests with all their strength. Nobody was talking. But as every buffet of wind made the plane shudder, and the tone of the engines rose and fell in the swirling air pockets, one or two of them swore softly or even muttered a silent prayer.