Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

Sebastian had walked with them to the main square. He bought them shish kebabs and rice and sat on the kerb with them as they ate.

“I don’t like these provincial towns,” he said. “Lima may be a stink-hole… but at least you know where you are. I can never tell what country people are thinking. Maybe they’re not thinking anything. They’re just indios.” He used the abusive term for native Indians. “They’ve got nothing in their heads.”

“What do we do now?” Matt asked.

“What do we do now? I’ll tell you what I do now, Matteo.” Sebastian had lit another cigar. It occurred to Matt that he had hardly ever seen him without one in his mouth. “I go on to Ayacucho. If you make it there alive, come to the main square. I’ll have people looking out for you. They’ll bring you to me.”

“Aren’t you going to help us get into the hacienda?”

Sebastian laughed unpleasantly. “I’ve helped you enough already and besides, I enjoy living too much. I’ll show you where it is. After that, you’re on your own.”

After they had finished eating, he walked with them, over a river and on to the edge of the town. He talked to Pedro as they went. He seemed to be giving him advice. Gradually the houses fell away behind them until they came to a dirt track leading off from the main road.

“The hacienda is five miles down this way,” he said. “I hope you’ll find your friend there, Matteo, but I’ve already told you, I doubt it. Maybe you and I will meet again in Ayacucho. I doubt that, too. But I hope so.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Matt said.

“Pedro tells me that maybe I’m wrong about you, that you’re not the same as other rich kids in the west who have everything and never think about people like us.” He shrugged. “Anyway, you are an enemy of the police and that is enough to make you my friend.”

He reached into his pocket and took out a cloth bag.

“I have some money for you. It’s a hundred soles. That’s a lot… almost twenty pounds in your currency. And before you thank me, it’s Pedro’s. He was the one who stole it – not me. Maybe it’ll help keep the two of you alive.”

Pedro said something in Spanish. Sebastian went over to him and spoke at length. When he had finished talking, he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. Suddenly he was looking sad.

“I had a son once,” he said. He shook his head. “You know how to find me.”

He turned and walked away.

Matt glanced at Pedro, who nodded. They still couldn’t talk to one another but they seemed to understand each other more and more. Together, they set off.

The track that Sebastian had showed them ran through agricultural land. Some of the fields were planted with maize, beetroot and asparagus while others held cattle, chewing at the rough, spiky grass. Following Sebastian’s advice, the two boys kept to the very edge of the track, ready to drop out of sight if any cars appeared. Once, an open-backed truck came rattling past and they threw themselves under a low shrub and waited until it had disappeared, kicking up clouds of dust. The afternoon was swelteringly hot. Pedro had fished two plastic bottles out of a bin and filled them with water from a tap, but Matt doubted it would be enough. He could feel his bottle, leaking in his jeans pocket. He was tempted to drink it all now.

As soon as the truck was out of sight, they stood up and trudged on in silence. Matt would have liked to talk – there was still so much he didn’t understand – and it seemed mad to him that they would only be able to communicate when they were asleep. They were two of the Five. He wondered what languages the others spoke. The two boys and the girl that he had seen on the beach had been white and fair-haired but they could be Russian, Scandinavian – or even Martian for all he knew. And what happened when they did finally meet? Was that the end of the adventure or the beginning of something worse?

So many questions, but Matt could only walk on in silence, feeling the sun as it beat down on his shoulders. He still hadn’t got used to his own smell, to the unfamiliar shape of his hair and the dye, dark and sticky all over his skin. His clothes no longer disgusted him but they felt strange, like some sort of unpleasant fancy dress. And he kept on stumbling over his ill-fitting rubber sandals. Worst of all, he was worried about Richard. He had to admit that Sebastian was right. The chances of the journalist turning up at this hacienda were probably one in a million. But he had nowhere else to go, no other clues to follow. He had to start somewhere and it might as well be here.

Pedro stopped and took a quick drink. Matt did the same, wondering if the Peruvian tap water would make him sick. The other boy was doubtless used to it. He had been drinking it all his life. The water was warm and tasted metallic but Matt didn’t care. He had to stop himself from draining the bottle.

After that, Matt’s thoughts wandered. Five miles might not seem much to Pedro but it was a long way for him, particularly in the heat and in sandals that seemed to be trying to trip him up every few paces. A car passed, this time coming the other way, and once again the two of them had to dive for cover. How much security would there be at the hacienda? Sebastian hadn’t said anything but it occurred to Matt that anyone as rich and powerful as Salamanda would be sure to have guards.

The sun began to set and a cool breeze crept into the air. Matt’s legs were beginning to ache and he had hardly any water left when they turned a corner and Pedro raised a hand in warning. They ducked back into the undergrowth, crouching low. There was a house directly ahead

… not just a house but an entire complex complete with barns, storerooms, stables and even, incredibly, a sixteenth-century church carved out of white stone, complete with its own soaring bell tower. This was where the track had brought them – all five miles of it. There was nothing more beyond. Two stone pillars and a twisted metal gate marked the entrance. The gate was open but somehow Matt didn’t feel it was inviting them in.

Carefully, he edged closer and peered round, searching for any sign of life. All the buildings were grouped around a flower-filled courtyard with an elaborate ornamental fountain in the middle. A huge acacia tree grew next to it. The tree had four separate trunks and branches that spread out to provide a natural shade from the sun. There was a tractor parked outside one of the barns. A man, dressed in white, came out, pushing a wheelbarrow. Apart from the soothing tinkle of water in the fountain, everything was silent.

“Matteo…” Pedro tapped Matt’s arm and pointed.

Matt looked into the distance and saw a guard tower, constructed at the edge of the complex. At the same time, a man appeared with a rifle strapped across his back. He stopped and lit a cigarette, then kept on walking. So Matt had been right. This hacienda might be in the middle of nowhere but Salamanda left nothing to chance. The place was guarded, and Matt was sure there would be plenty of other security around too.

“Que hacemos ahora?” Pedro asked.

“We wait.” The meaning of Pedro’s question was obvious. He wanted to know what they were going to do. Matt looked up. The sun was already setting behind the palm trees that grew tall behind the house. The night might still be an hour away but the shadows were spreading out. They would help. Two dark-skinned boys in dark clothes in the dark. It wouldn’t be too hard to slip inside.

The house itself seemed to be unguarded. Three wide, wooden steps led up to a veranda that ran its full length. There was nobody in the courtyard, no sign of movement in the guard tower. Security cameras? Matt hadn’t seen any and besides, there was always a chance that they might not operate in this low light. He would just have to risk it. The thought that Richard could be here, perhaps only a few metres away, spurred him on. He nudged Pedro and then, keeping low, ran through the gate and across one corner of the courtyard, making for the side of the house.