For some reason that he couldn’t understand, Tad was uneasy. Perhaps it was the look he had seen in Marion’s eyes a moment before. “What if I don’t want to go?” he asked.
And there it was again. A sudden hardness behind that smiling, beautiful face. “Then we’d have no choice but to hand you over to the police, Bob. The break-in at Sir Hubert’s was a very serious matter. I’m afraid it’s us or it’s prison.”
Tad considered. Marion reached out and clasped his hand. Her fingers were long, her nails perfect. “We only want to help, Bob,” she said. “Have you got anywhere else to go?”
And suddenly Tad was angry with himself. This was his parents’ charity! What was there to worry about? For the first time since the switch had taken place, someone was actually trying to help him, and instead of being grateful, he was almost being rude. He sighed. “I haven’t got anywhere else to go,” he said. “And I’m glad I was brought to you. You can take me to the Center.”
Marion smiled. She closed the file. “Good,” she said. “We’ll leave at once.”
There was a black van waiting for Tad in the lot behind the building. As he walked across the blacktop toward it, he felt a sudden chill. The evening was drawing in, but it was still warm, and he paused, wondering what was wrong. Marion Thorn was next to him and she rested a hand on his arm. “It takes half an hour to get to the Center,” she said. “You can sit in the back.”
Tad looked at the van. It had no windows in the back, not even a small panel set in the door. It didn’t have any logo on the side either. Its color made him think of a hearse.
“Is something wrong, Bob?”
Tad remembered the moment in the office, the chill in Marion’s eyes. Then he dismissed it. ACID was his parents’ charity. ACID was going to look after him. “No. I’m fine.”
He got into the van. There was a bench along one side, metal with no cushions. A sheet of metal separated the back from the driving compartment. When Marion closed the door, Tad found himself entombed in a metal box that would have been pitch-black but for a single bulb burning behind a metal grille in the ceiling. He heard Marion walk around the side. A driver must have shown up, for there was a brief exchange. Two doors slammed shut and the engine started.
It was only then that Tad realized that—apart from Marion—nobody had seen him since he had left the Knightsbridge house. He had seen nobody. If anybody came searching for him now, it would be as if he had vanished off the face of the earth.
He had put himself completely in the power of ACID and its staff. As the van moved off, picking up speed, Tad wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. ACID was a charity. ACID wanted to help him. Everything was going to be all right. Tad sat back and waited for them to arrive.
THE CENTER
Tad, washed and dressed in pale blue dungarees that reminded him uncomfortably of a prison uniform, followed Marion Thorn down a seemingly endless corridor, lit by a line of tiny halogen lights. Video surveillance cameras swiveled to follow them as they walked and a hidden air-conditioning system whispered all around them. Tad glanced through a large plate-glass window where test tubes and bottles, glass pipes and burners fought for desk space with computers and CDs and machines so complicated that he could only guess at their use. A man and a woman, both in white coats, came down the corridor the other way and passed them without speaking. Somewhere an intercom called out: “Dr. Eastman to room 113, please. Dr. Eastman to room 113.”
He had barely glimpsed the Center as he had been led out of the van and into the nearest building. From the outside it looked like an ordinary industrial park: a cluster of dull redbrick buildings with frosted-glass windows allowing no view in or out. True, it was surrounded by a high wire fence with an electric security barrier permanently manned by a uniformed guard. But there was nothing unusual about that. People who lived nearby (and the Center was surrounded by ordinary houses) probably thought it was a small factory. If they ever thought about it at all.
Marion Thorn had reached a door and was punching in a combination number on the electronic panel next to it. Tad stopped. “Where are we?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”
There was a buzz and the door clicked open. “In here, please, Bob,” she said.
The room was a doctor’s office. If Tad had been uneasy before, he was now positively alarmed. But, following Marion’s pointing hand, he sat down on a narrow bed. A second door opened and two men came in. Both were short and round with curly black hair and wide, loose mouths. Both were bearded. It took Tad a second to realize that they were identical twins. He grimaced, wondering if he were dreaming. Tweedledum and Tweedledee in white coats with stethoscopes! What next?
That question was soon answered as the two men began a medical examination that started at Tad’s head and went inch by inch all the way to his toes. The doctors—if that’s what they were—seemed particularly interested in his hair, his teeth, his eyes and his skin.
“Excellent condition.”
“Unusually good. Yes. Good dermatology . . .”
“Yes . . .”
They spoke to each other in short, clipped sentences. But never did they say a word to Tad. Lying on the bed, he felt like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop and he was relieved when it was finally over.
One of the doctors nodded at Marion. “You can take him down.”
“Down where?” Tad demanded. He was angry now.
“This way, Bob.” Marion opened the door.
Tad didn’t speak as Marion led him back down the corridor to a wide area with a series of elevators. Various thoughts were turning over in his mind and none of them were very pleasant. If ACID really wanted to help him, they had an odd way of going about it. He wondered if his father had any idea what went on in the Center. This place was beginning to turn his stomach—and he decided to get out the first moment he could.
The elevator arrived and he and Marion got in.
“Up?” Tad asked.
“Down,” Marion replied. Tad glanced at the panel beside the door. The elevator didn’t have any buttons. The doors closed and it began to descend as if it had a mind of its own.
“Where are we going, exactly?” Tad demanded.
“You’ll find out, Bob.” Marion’s voice was as calm as ever. “We’re going to help you. But first we want you to help us . . .”
The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Tad stepped out and stared.
He was in a huge, vaulted chamber. It could have been an underground health club, a hospital or a television studio . . . His first impressions were of all three. First there were the showers and baths with steam rising into the air. Then there were what looked to be orderlies, doctors and scientists, dressed in white, bustling about with trolleys piled high with bottles, basins, bandages and the occasional syringe. And finally there were the television monitors flickering on steel gantries and, high overhead, the banks of brilliant arc lamps, flooding the scene with a harsh, unnatural light.
And then he noticed the other children.
Marion Thorn had told him that ACID collected children off the streets of London. What she hadn’t told him was what happened to them next.
One boy was dressed only in swimming trunks, standing in an elaborate shower cubicle. The floor was slowly turning, and as the boy rotated he was sprayed by different-colored jets of water. An elderly woman was watching him closely and every few minutes she took a Polaroid photograph, clipping the results to a wall chart nearby.
Opposite him, a black youth of about eighteen was lying on a bed, completely covered in some sort of pale silver grease. The grease started at his ankles and went all the way to his neck. His eyes were hidden behind a large pair of goggles, obviously designed to protect him from the glowing neon tubes that hung only inches from his skin. Two men in white coats were watching him. Tad recognized the twins who had just examined him.
There were girls there as well. One was strapped to a high-backed chair, her feet immersed in a large bucket that buzzed and vibrated
beneath her. A few yards away from her, a second had been hung upside down with wires attached to her ears and nose. Opposite her, in a partly screened-off area, another boy was being slowly spun in what looked like a giant washing machine, while next to him a girl of about twenty sat in a bath, with green foam bubbling around her neck.
Laboratory rats!
Tad felt something—a shiver or a scream—rising to his throat and had to force himself to hold it back. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. He’d had no idea what experiments were being conducted in this dreadful, secret place. But they were being conducted on children.
How had it happened? Somebody must have taken over ACID and twisted it to their own evil purposes. Even as he stared at the incredible activity all around him, Tad knew that he had to get out of there. He had to let his father know what was happening. Sir Hubert Spencer had powerful friends. Once he knew the truth, he would put an end to it.
A hand clamped down on Tad’s arm and he looked up to see a blank-faced man dressed as a security guard. “This way,” the man said in a voice that didn’t allow for argument.
“Wait a minute—” Tad began.
But then Marion Thorn was at his side. “Don’t worry, Bob,” she said. “We’re not going to hurt you—”
“What’s going on here?” Tad began to struggle. The security man’s grip tightened.
“It’s just tests,” Marion explained. “On your hair. On your skin. Your nails and your eyes. You did say you wanted to help us, Bob.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
Marion nodded at the security guard. “Take him to Area Seven.”
Before Tad could say another word, the guard had jerked him forward, dragging him by the shoulder. Tad was shouting now, using words that he didn’t even know he knew. Even then, as he was pulled farther into the chamber, he realized that he didn’t only look like Bob Snarby: he was beginning to sound like him too.
“Prepare experimental Area Seven!” This voice came from a set of hidden loudspeakers and boomed in the air. Tad tried to dig his heels in. He passed a boy, lying asleep on a bed. The boy’s hair had gone a brilliant shade of pink. Two more men were seeing to a second boy, helping him out of the washing machine.
“Amazing! He’s been washed twenty-six times . . .”
“Yes. And he’s hardly wrinkled at all!”
Tad yelled and dug his heels in. The security guard dragged him toward an empty bed.
Before he could do anything about it, he found himself thrown onto his back and firmly tied down with three straps over his neck, his ankles and his chest. The security guard moved away and for a minute Tad wriggled like a fish on dry land. But it was hopeless. He couldn’t break free. He sank back and twisted his head—just in time to see another boy in what looked like a telephone booth disappear in an explosion of mauve steam. Tad shut his eyes. It was horrible! It was impossible!
And what were they going to do to him?
It was only now as he lay still that he became aware of the smell in the air. Strong air-conditioning had managed to get rid of most of it, but now, lying in the middle of the chamber, he felt almost suffocated by the smell of crushed strawberries. The strange thing was, the smell meant something to him. It reminded him of something. But what?
There was a movement in the corner of his eye and Tad turned back as the twin doctors approached, one holding a page of notes, the other a plastic bottle.
“What are you—” Tad began but stopped as his ear was given a sharp twist. Obviously the two men weren’t in the mood to discuss things with him. Instead they muttered to each other.
“What’s the active ingredient?”
“Very rare. Some sort of berry grown by the Arambayan Indians in Brazil. Just came in. The code is B/341.”
Arambayan Indians. That meant something to Tad too. But, confused and frightened as he was, he couldn’t remember where he had heard the words before.
One of the doctors opened the bottle and Tad recoiled, his skin crawling. One of the doctors called out and Marion Thorn approached, now wearing a white coat over her suit.
“Are you nervous, Bob?” she asked.
“Let me go!” Tad cried.
“There’s nothing to worry about! We just want to rub something into your face. It’s a special sort of cream. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Then why do you want to test it on me?”
Marion smiled again. “We know it’s safe,” she repeated. “And we know it’s good for you. What we don’t know, though, is how good it is for you. So that’s why we want you to try it for us.”
“Well, I don’t want to.” Tad pressed against the straps. “I want to go home!”
“You don’t have a home, Bob,” Marion replied reasonably. “That’s why we brought you here.” She leaned down and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Let’s not forget that you’re a crook, Bob. A housebreaker. It’s either here or the police.”
“I choose the police!”
“I’m sorry, Bob. It’s too late now.”
Marion nodded and one of the twins squeezed a bright yellow cream into his gloved hand. The cream looked a little like custard, only thicker, and even at this distance it had a heavy, exotic smell. Positioning himself above Tad’s head, the man rubbed some of the cream into Tad’s face and neck, being careful to avoid his eyes, while the second man made notes. Soon Tad’s face was completely coated. Marion Thorn walked away.
The cream was cool, not cold, and smelled of . . . it wasn’t quite lemon and it wasn’t quite pineapple but something in between. Despite himself, Tad had to admit that it was a very pleasant smell and he didn’t even mind when the first man opened his dungarees and attached a wire to his chest. The cream was smooth and the smell was delicious. He could feel it invading his nostrils and seeping into his brain. Pineapples and lemons say the bells of St. Clement’s . . . Next to him a machine began to bleep softly, in time with his heart.
“Slight dilation of the eyes,” one of the twins muttered in a low voice. “How’s his pulse?”
“Fast.”
“This is nice,” Tad said, slurring the words. “This is very, very nice.”
“Loosen the straps,” one of the men said. Or perhaps it was both of them. Tad’s vision was beginning to blur.
“There’s too much active ingredient.”
“Moon fruit?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s leave him and see . . .”
“Moon. Goon. Balloon. See you soon,” Tad replied, and giggled. Now that the straps had been loosened, he could move his hands and he tried to wipe some of the cream off. But his arms wouldn’t obey him.
After that, everything seemed to stretch out of shape. Tad was hardly aware of the chamber anymore. He was floating, spinning, rocking, his mind far away. He thought the twins came back a couple of times. Once they wiped some of the cream off and added some cold liquid from a bottle. Another time they took his temperature. But he didn’t care. He was above it all.
Somewhere an alarm went off and the boy who had been doused in the mauve steam was carried away, his skin a mass of bright spots. A girl was led into the telephone booth in his place. Tad whimpered. The cream was less cool now. He could feel it burning his skin. But he was too weak and giddy to cry out. He twisted around on his bed, looking for Marion Thorn.
And then he saw a door open and a man step out. The man was far away, high up on a gantry, and Tad wasn’t sure at first if he was imagining things. It had to be the cream that was doing it to him. It couldn’t be true.
But then Marion Thorn approached the man. The two of them exchanged a few words and Marion laughed. The man took out a cigar and lit it. And suddenly Tad knew.
He was looking at the man behind ACID, the man who had set up the Center and who ran it.
Sir Hubert Spencer.
He was looking at his father.
BREAKOUT
It was as if Tad had been plunged into freezing water. The strange, dreamlike state
that the cream had thrown him into was suddenly shattered and he was wide-awake, struggling with his thoughts, trying to make sense out of what he knew to be true.
The products in the Center. He knew what they all were, and had known from the moment he had been brought in.
The boy under the lamps was coated in grapefruit-and-aloe suntan oil. The girl with her feet in the bucket was testing coconut corn remover. The girl in the green foam was trying out a cucumber-and-kiwifruit bubble bath. The boy in the shower was being sprayed with body lotion made from different types of seaweed, while the one in the telephone booth was being subjected to a beetroot-and-banana body rub.
They were all products sold by Beautiful World. He had been seeing and smelling products like them all his life.
Beautiful World.
NONE OF OUR
PRODUCTS
ARE TESTED ON
ANIMALS
But they were tested. On children!
Tad was horrified. A sudden bleeping made him turn his head and he saw that the machine he was connected to had speeded up. It was a heart monitor—of course! He watched, fascinated, as his heart, beating rapidly now, sent huge peaks across the screen. But at the same time he forced himself to calm down. The doctors had loosened his straps, believing him to be in a trance. If any of them looked at the machine, they would know otherwise and he would be strapped down again.
Tad lay back and closed his eyes. Gradually the heart monitor slowed and quieted. Could it be true? Beautiful World, owned by his parents, was taking kids off the street and using them as laboratory rats to test the safety of their products! And the charity that actually went out and found them—ACID—had also been set up by Sir Hubert and Lady Geranium.
But that was impossible. That would make them . . .
Monsters.
Tad took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again.
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
The heart monitor had almost exploded and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Sir Hubert Spencer had climbed down a metal staircase and was heading straight for him, Marion Thorn at his side. Now it took every ounce of Tad’s will-power to bring himself back under control. He had to pretend to be drugged. It was his only chance.