“That’s not what we’re here for,” Tad reminded him in a low voice.
“Shame to leave it, though.” Finn slipped the box into his pocket and crept on. The two of them climbed the stairs and started along a corridor, Finn softly opening each door he came to and peering into the room behind. The door they wanted was the fifth on the right. Tad could have found his way to it blindfolded. But once again, he said nothing. He would let Finn do it his way.
A bathroom. A sauna. An empty bedroom. A dressing room. Finn reached the fifth door and opened it. The sound of snoring rose and fell in the half-light. Finn whistled softly and hitched up the sack. Tad followed him into what had once been his bedroom.
It was a wreck. The carpet was almost completely hidden by the candy wrappers, potato-chip bags, cookie boxes, crumpled comics, old socks and smelly underwear that covered it. The neat shelves of books and computer games (his books, his computer games!) had been torn apart and one of the computers had a broken screen and grape jelly all over the keyboard. One wall had been covered by a zigzagging line of spray paint. The whole room stank of cigarette smoke.
Finn took this all in and smiled. “He treats his room just like you do, Bob,” he muttered.
“Shhh!” Tad’s eyes had been drawn to the bed, where the room’s occupant lay, his stomach in the air, snoring heavily. Once again Tad had the strange sensation of realizing that he was looking at himself, but this time he felt only disgust. The boy on the bed resembled nothing so much as a huge jellyfish. His arms and legs were splayed out and his silk pajamas had slipped down to reveal a great, swollen belly. Rolls of fat bulged underneath the pajamas, and as the boy breathed they moved—but in different directions. Bob Snarby had fallen asleep with his mouth wide open and there was a bead of saliva caught between his upper and lower lip that quivered each time he snored.
“Is this really me?” Tad muttered. “Was this me?”
“What?” Finn hissed.
“Nothing.”
“What a slob!” Finn muttered. “I hope the sack’s big enough!”
Tad and Finn crept forward, right up to the sleeping boy. They exchanged a glance. “Now!” Finn said.
Together they pounced. Bob Snarby didn’t even have time to open his eyes before he found himself grabbed and half buried in the foul-smelling sack. As Finn hoisted him up, Tad pulled. The sack slid over Bob’s head, down his body and over his feet. As the end came clear, Finn produced a length of rope and tied it in a tight knot. “Prime steak,” he muttered, and grinned at his own joke. “Now let’s get him loaded up.”
A few minutes later the gates of Snatchmore Hall opened for a second time and the white butcher’s van rocketed out and veered off down the lane. Finn was gripping the wheel, staring out with wide, manic eyes. Tad was sitting next to him. The sack was kicking and squirming in the back.
Lady Geranium Spencer woke up at noon exactly, nicely in time for either a late breakfast or an early lunch. She had a slight headache and was feeling depressed after what had been a depressing evening. She and Sir Hubert had taken dear Tad to a performance of Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors. Tad should have loved it. It was his favorite play, and as this was a touring production from Athens, it was actually in Greek. But instead of being pleased, Tad had been ghastly. He had complained through Act One, slept through Act Two, eaten too much ice cream during intermission and then thrown up in Act Three. Lady Geranium groaned quietly. The truth was, Tad hadn’t been the same since he fell off that horse. Not the same at all.
She got up and went into the bathroom. She paused in front of the mirror and gave a little scream. A hideous brown face stared back at her. Then she remembered. She had gone to bed with a mud pack on her face, but she had been so tired she had forgotten to take it off.
Half an hour later, wrapped in a dressing gown, Lady Geranium walked down the corridor on her way to the breakfast room. She passed her son’s bedroom and looked in. To her surprise there was no sign of the boy. The room was as horrible as ever . . . after twenty-five years of loyal service, Mrs. O’Blimey had submitted her resignation a few days before and Mitzy still wasn’t back following her nervous breakdown.
“Tad?” Lady Geranium called out.
There was no answer, but then Lady Geranium noticed an envelope pinned to the door. It was addressed to SIR HUBERT AND LADY GERANIUM SPENCER. SNATCHMORE HALL. But the words hadn’t been written. They had been torn out of newspapers and magazines.
Puzzled and slightly alarmed, she took the envelope down and opened it. There was a single sheet of white paper inside and on it a message, also set down in letters that had been cut out and glued into place.
We HAVE YOUR SON. DO not call the police or you will NEVER see HIM again. bring one million dollars in a suitcase To great yarmouth PARK At Midnight tonight. LEAVE it at the entrance to the big dipper. no tricks. no police. you HAVE been warned.
Lady Geranium read the note three times. Then she ran to the telephone and called Sir Hubert.
DARK THOUGHTS
Sir Hubert Spencer held the ransom note in his shaking hands and read it for the twenty-seventh time. His face, never handsome at the best of times, was taut and twisted with anger.
“It’s an outrage!” he exclaimed—and not for the first time either. “They won’t get away with it!”
“Taking our boy!” Lady Geranium sobbed.
“I’m not talking about the boy!” Sir Hubert exploded. “It’s me I’m thinking about! How dare they try to threaten me? Don’t they know who I am?”
Sir Hubert paced up and down the room like a tiger in a cage. His wife watched him anxiously. “Can you come up with the money?” she asked. “A million dollars! It seems like an awful lot.”
“Of course I can come up with the money,” Sir Hubert snapped. “The question is, do I want to?”
Lady Geranium stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the fact is, my dear . . . I wonder if young Tad is actually worth it.”
“What?”
“Ever since he fell off that damn horse, he hasn’t been the same. He’s stupid. He’s slovenly at the table. He doesn’t speak French, German or Greek anymore. He’s messy. The truth of the matter is, I’m beginning to wonder if this kidnap business mightn’t be a blessing in disguise.”
Lady Geranium thought for a moment. “It is true,” she said in a low voice. “He has changed. Do you think, if we don’t pay . . . they might just keep him?”
Just then there was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Sir Hubert called.
The door opened and the chauffeur, Spurling, came in, looking as dapper as ever in a freshly ironed uniform. But his eyes were dark and his face was grim. “Forgive me for interrupting you, sir,” he began.
“Go on, Spurling . . .”
The chauffeur coughed discreetly, like a doctor about to give bad news. “I’ve been studying the film, sir. The film taken this afternoon by the security camera at the gate. I think there’s something you ought to see . . .”
The three figures stood, huddled together in the empty fairgrounds, completely dwarfed by the great bulk of the roller coaster that towered behind them. Somewhere on the other side of it, lost in the darkness, the waves rolled in. They sounded slow and heavy. There was something wrong with the night. The air was too warm. There was no breeze at all. And the sky was tinted an unnatural shade of purple—as if it were in pain.
“There’s going to be a storm,” Eric Snarby said.
“It’s a ’orrible night,” his wife agreed.
“Shut up!” Finn hissed, and glanced at his two companions, who pursed their lips and looked away.
Finn was holding a radio transmitter and now he pressed a black button on the side. “Testing, testing. One, two, three . . .”
“I can hear you, Finn. Loud and clear.” Tad’s voice came back thin and disembodied. He could have been anywhere, but in fact he was on the other side of the road in the Snarbys’ caravan.
; “You all right, Bobby-boy?” Finn held the transmitter only inches from his lips. “’Ow’s our guest?”
“Trussed up like a Christmas turkey and twice as fat,” came the reply. “I’m fine, Finn.”
“All right. Robert and out.” Finn clicked the transmitter off and grinned. “You know what this is?” he said. “This is the perfect plan!”
“You said that the last time,” Eric muttered.
“And the time before,” Doll added.
“This time I got it all worked out. The Spencer kid is in the caravan with Bob—but nobody knows that. Only us. Now, at midnight, I’ll be at the roller coaster. His lordship will come with the money. The two of you will be watching from the ghost train . . .”
“I don’t like ghosts,” Doll said.
“It’s only plastic! It can’t ’urt you!”
“Go on, Finn . . .” Eric rasped. He was looking pale and nervous. Perhaps it was just the heat of the night, but there was a film of sweat on his forehead and cheeks and his sty was wet and glistening. His whole head looked like a rotten fruit.
“You’ll ’ave a radio transmitter,” Finn went on. “When I got the money and I know everything’s all right, I’ll signal you. That’s when I ’op it. You signal Bob and tell ’im to bring the Spencer boy over. Then you leave too.”
“What if it’s a trick?” Doll asked. “What if it’s the police what turn up?”
Finn shook his head. “They won’t risk the police,” he said. “These rich types—they treat their kids like precious jewels. They wouldn’t do nothing to hurt little Tad. No. I’ll get the money and I’ll be gone. You Snarbys’ll ’ave plenty of time to get clear. And then we’ll all meet in London and we’ll be rich!”
“What about Bob?” Eric asked. “If ’e ’ands over the boy, they’ll ’ave ’im!”
Finn smiled slowly, his silver fillings glinting in the night. “We don’t need Bob anymore,” he said. “He’s not the same anymore. ’E ’asn’t been the same since that business with the glue. ’E let me down badly in Nightingale Square and I been thinking . . . maybe it’s time ’e spent a bit of time with ’Er Majesty.”
“Prison?” Doll muttered.
“They’ll only give ’im a few years. It’ll do ’im good.” Finn was friendly now, simpering at both the Snarbys. “You won’t miss ’im,” he added. “Another couple of years and ’e’d ’ave left ’ome anyway.”
“That’s true,” Eric Snarby said.
Finn slid his walking stick through his belt and took the Snarbys’ arms in his hands. “A million bucks!” he said. “And one less to share it with.” He laughed quietly. “Now let’s go and get a drink.”
Tad put the transmitter down and drew back the curtain. Bob Snarby was lying on Eric and Doll’s bed, his hands tied behind him, his ankles taped together and a gag drawn tight across his mouth. As soon as he saw Tad, he began to squirm, rocking his body back and forth and trying to shout out. But the gag cut off virtually any noise and all Bob could do was plead with the other boy with his eyes.
“I’ll undo the gag,” Tad said. “But if you shout out, I’ll put it right on again. Do you understand?”
“Mmmmm!” Bob jerked his head up and down.
Tad went over to him and untied the gag. It was an old scarf of Doll’s and he dreaded to think what it tasted like. As soon as the cloth fell free, Bob opened his mouth and drew in a great breath. Tad was tensed, ready to pounce on him—but Bob didn’t shout. To Tad’s astonishment, he simply burst into tears.
For the first time, Tad actually felt sorry for the other boy. Lying there with tears streaming down his pudgy cheeks, his fancy clothes all wrinkled and disarrayed, he really looked pathetic. Bob Snarby probably hadn’t cried since the day he was born. But it seemed that he had changed. It seemed that they both had.
“It’s all right,” Tad said. “No one’s going to ’urt you.”
“You already have hurt me!” the other boy replied. His voice was petulant. Tad had often used that voice when he couldn’t get what he wanted.
“Do you want a cup of tea, Bob?” There was no reply.
“Would you prefer it if I called you Tad?”
“No . . .”
Tad gazed at his prisoner. “It seems to me that you are Tad now,” he said. “And I am Bob. We really have switched!”
“Is that why you’ve done this?” the other boy cried. “You’ve kidnapped me because you’re jealous that I’ve taken your place.”
“No.” Tad smiled. “You probably won’t believe me, but I don’t want to switch back anymore.” Even Tad was surprised by what he had just said. It was as if he’d only just realized it himself. But now he saw the boy he had been—a great, spoiled ball of flab in an expensive suit. He remembered how his parents had earned the money that had turned him into that. And he knew that it was true. He could never go back. Not to Snatchmore Hall. Not to them. “I don’t want to be Tad Spencer anymore,” he said. “I think I’m happier being you.”
Bob tugged at his cords again, but Finn had tied them and they stayed firm. “So why have you kidnapped me?” he asked.
“It was Finn who kidnapped you,” Tad said. “He did it for the money and I didn’t have any choice. But I’ve been doing a bit of thinking and I’ve got a plan of my own.”
“What plan?”
“That’s my business.” Tad smiled. “But you listen to me, Tad Spencer. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. And everything’s going to be all right.”
In the security room at Snatchmore Hall, Sir Hubert Spencer sat down in front of the television screen.
The cameras had caught a figure running from the edge of the shrubbery across the lawn. Spurling had frozen the image and now he closed in on it until a boy’s face filled the screen. The image was hazy, distorted at the edges but still recognizable.
“I know him!” Lady Geranium exclaimed.
“We all know him!” Sir Hubert snarled. “He’s the little brat you found at the mews house. The one you sent over to ACID.”
“The one who escaped from the Center!” Lady Geranium’s face had gone white . . . all of it apart from her nose. After so many operations, the nose seemed to have a life of its own. Sometimes it even blew itself when she wasn’t expecting it. “So what was he doing here?” she asked.
“A very good question, my dear.”
“Do you think it was a coincidence?”
“No. I don’t.”
Sir Hubert stared at the image on the screen. With a shaking finger he drew a line across Tad’s face. “First the mews. Then the Center. Now here.” There was a long silence. “This boy—Bob Snarby—must know about us. Beautiful World. The experiments. Everything!”
Spurling coughed discreetly. “Would you like me to deal with him, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Spurling. I would.”
The chauffeur reached into his jacket and drew out a slim black revolver: a Davis P-380 .38 automatic.
“What are you going to do?” Lady Geranium asked.
“Don’t worry yourself, my dear,” Sir Hubert said. “This kidnapping may be just what we need. Great Yarmouth amusement park at midnight? That’s where the boy will be . . . along with his accomplices.”
“If you want me to murder them all, sir, might I suggest the TEC-9 automatic machine gun?” Spurling said.
“No, Spurling.” Sir Hubert smiled. “Your job is to get the boy. Just the boy.” He reached out and picked up a telephone. “First of all we’re going to call the police,” he said. “When we go to Great Yarmouth, they’ll come too. And of course they’ll be armed.”
“They’ll shoot the boy!” Lady Geranium cried.
“Spurling will fire the first shot. It’ll be dark. Nobody will know what’s happening. And yes! The police will open fire. With luck everyone will be killed.”
“Can you be sure, sir, that the police will oblige?” the chauffeur asked.
“No, Spurling. But you’ll be there. And I want you to find the boy.”
Sir Hubert began to dial. “Whatever happens, you’re to put a bullet between his eyes. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Spurling reached out and turned a switch below the television monitor.
The screen went black.
ROLLER COASTER
The first drops of rain began to fall at five to twelve. Fat and heavy, they exploded on impact like bursting tennis balls. From somewhere far away came a low, deep rumbling of thunder. It was a horrible night; hot and sticky. The sky was streaked with mauve and throbbed as if it were about to burst.
Eric and Doll Snarby were waiting in the shadows of the ghost train, the two of them jammed into a single carriage that had been decorated to resemble a vampire bat. Neither of them looked happy.
“No good will come of it,” Eric was saying. “I tell you, my dear. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” Doll moaned.
“You and me . . . we was ’appier before we met Finn,” Eric went on. “I mean, we was never in any trouble. A bit of shop-lifting, maybe. There was always the smash-and-grabs, of course. We did thieve a couple of cars. A couple of dozen, now I think about it. And then there was the pickpocketing. But apart from that, we was honest people, you and me. Honest, decent people.”
“We should never ’ave fallen in with ’im,” Doll muttered. “’E’s an ’orrible man and no mistake.”
The subject of their discussion was pacing up and down with his walking stick about a hundred yards away in front of the roller coaster. In fact, Finn was staggering as much as pacing. He had drunk half a bottle of gin—and the other half was still in his pocket. Another great ball of rain fell down, hitting him on the shoulder. Finn swore, wiping water away from his nose and chin. Somewhere in Great Yarmouth, a clock struck midnight. Finn peered through the darkness. A car had appeared at the entrance to the boardwalk. A white Rolls-Royce.