B.A.S.E. Camp (3 page)

Like Tom, Eddie didn't much fancy the prospect of tangling with Blackbeard again. ‘That must be out of bounds,' he said. ‘What will we do if we get caught?'

Adam gave a shrug. ‘Just say we got lost.'

‘Oh, yeah,' scoffed Eddie. ‘They're likely to believe that, aren't they?'

‘So what? The coaches don't scare me. But ghosts – now that's different.'

‘No such things as ghosts,' Eddie told him.

‘What, not even ones that do cross country?' grinned Adam, slipping him a wink. ‘Right, up we go. After you, GG.'

‘Why me?'

‘'Cos you're the one who suggested this ghost-huntin' lark, that's why.'

‘It's not because you're frightened then, Foxy?'

Adam pushed Gareth forwards, and he tripped over the bottom step. ‘That's right, make loads of noise. Warn everyone we're comin'.'

‘Who?'

‘Well, all them ghosties for a start. We don't want to scare 'em away, do we!'

Gareth led the way cautiously up the next flight of wooden stairs. ‘Wish they wouldn't creak so much,' he hissed.

Adam chuckled. ‘Watch any ghost film – the stairs always creak.'

‘Anybody there?' asked Eddie from behind, as they reached the next landing.

‘You make it sound like we're holdin' a séance.
Is anybody there
?
Knock twice for yes
…'

Adam didn't get any further. The sound of two bangs came from somewhere along the corridor and the boys fled, thumping down the stairs like an avalanche of rocks, and then making a dash for their room.

They threw themselves onto the bunks and waited, hearts in mouths, for any sound of pursuit. When the door began to open, they froze, watching in horror.

Tom walked in. ‘Thought you lot were chasing ghosts,' he said, smirking. ‘Get cold feet, did you?'

‘Rubbish!' snorted Adam.

‘There was nothing up there so we came back down,' Gareth lied.

‘Might even make a start on our diaries,' said Eddie.

‘I don't know what to put in mine,' Tom admitted.

‘Just make it up,' said Adam. ‘That's what I did at Easter. Write how you beat Wonder Boy in the cross country. Nobody's gonna bother readin' it.'

‘Can't take the risk,' Tom said. ‘Anyway, I
don't mind coming last. If you go at your own pace, you get more time to admire the view.'

‘So what did the snail see that the fox missed?' Adam sneered.

‘Well, all those graves on the island for a start.'

‘Even
I
saw them,' said Eddie.

‘OK, so what about that statue near the lake?' asked Tom. ‘Bet none of you had the chance to read the name on its base.'

They all looked at each other blankly.

‘Gareth
Taffy
Jones,' Tom said smugly, putting on an accent. ‘He's Welsh, see, boyos, just like Blackbeard.'

‘Taffy Jones!' exclaimed Gareth, shocked. ‘He was a friend of Gramps at school here. I'm named after him.'

‘You called Taffy as well, then?' asked Eddie.

‘No, I'm not Welsh, despite my surname being Davies,' said Gareth. ‘But Taffy won loads of medals in his athletics career. Big star, he was, in his day.'

‘Never heard of him,' Adam snorted. ‘I'm no good at ancient history.'

‘Well, Gramps will tell you all about him.'

‘Guess old Taffy might even be buried on that island,' said Eddie. ‘I wonder…'

Wednesday proved a long, tiring day with tough training sessions before and after a light lunch.

‘Didn't think we'd have to do so much running,' moaned Gareth during their mid-afternoon break. ‘I've hardly done any actual jumping yet.'

He was standing next to Adam at the drinks trolley, where there was a selection of coloured fruit juices and water. They both chose water.

Adam took a swig from a bottle before replying. ‘Yeah, they're sure big on fitness here,' he said, wiping a sleeve across his mouth.

‘Poor Tom's really suffering, look.' Gareth pointed towards where Tom was slumped against a cart full of equipment. From a distance, his face was about the same colour as the green juice.

Adam patted his flat stomach. ‘Tom-Tom's more of an all-rounder than the rest of us,' he smirked. ‘He could do with losin' a few kilos.'

‘Bet even Eddie will be skinnier by the time we leave. Just look at him go.'

As they watched the end of an 800-metre practice race, Eddie put on a burst of speed along the far side of the track to surge past two runners, then kicked again as he hit the home straight to leave them trailing in his slipstream.

‘Don't know how he does it,' said Adam, shaking his head.

‘He still got beaten by some kid the other day,' Gareth replied. ‘Whoever
he
was.'

‘Yeah, maybe,' Adam said with a shrug, tossing the empty bottle into a bin. ‘Reckon he only ran part of the course so he was still fresh, like, for a sprint finish.'

‘But why would he send Eddie the wrong way?'

‘How should
I
know, man? Might even have been part of a plan – y'know, so they could see how Wonder Boy reacted.'

Adam's attention was caught by some movement at a small window right at the top of the house. Somebody had opened the curtain, looked out briefly and then vanished from view, but not before Adam picked out the white hair.

His mind went back to Easter, when an old man with long, straggly, white hair had sometimes been seen wandering along the dormitory corridors. Adam called him
the prowler
, but the joke failed to be funny when Jacko, one of his roommates, was taken away after taunting the man with the nickname.

The last Adam saw of Jacko was early the following morning as he climbed into the back of a Jeep, which then roared off down the drive. Sitting in the front passenger seat next to Blackbeard was the man with white hair.

‘Must be the same guy Tom-Tom met on Monday,' Adam muttered to himself as he wandered towards the long-jump pit. ‘Got to be.'

Wendsday

I came frist in the 800m this afternoone. Noboddy beet me this time! It was a good race as we all whanted to impres Coach and he sed Id dune well so I felte quit proude of mylesf
.

Eddie looked at what he'd written in his training diary and sighed. He knew some of the words would be wrong, but hoped the neatness might make up for it. Then he realised that
Blondie, who was on duty in the library after the evening lecture, was standing behind him.

‘Hmm, your spelling's not too hot, is it, Eddie?' he observed.

‘Sorry, Coach,' he murmured, turning red.

‘You can't be good at everything,' Blondie said with a smile. ‘What's your reading like?'

‘Not brilliant,' Eddie admitted. He didn't see any point in trying to hide his difficulties, guessing such weaknesses would soon be picked up here.

‘Looking at this, I'd say you might even be dyslexic.'

Eddie had heard that word used at school. ‘My teacher said she was going to get me tested, but nothing's happened yet.'

‘OK, don't worry. I'll make a note of it in your records so that the other coaches know about it, too.'

Eddie decided it might be a good time to seek permission for something that he'd been planning to do as soon as he had the chance.

‘Um, Coach,' he began. ‘Can I go out by myself some time, for an extra run?'

‘Sure, Eddie. So long as you stay within the Camp grounds.'

‘Thanks, Coach,' he said, relieved that Blondie had not insisted that somebody else went with him. ‘Only I like running on my own, y'know, solo, like…'

‘Sure, I know how you feel,' the young coach drawled. ‘Just remember to write in your diary afterwards how it went, OK?'

On the other side of the library, Adam scraped back his chair and snapped his diary shut to hide the half-finished entry. ‘Goin' up to the room,' he told Gareth. ‘I'm well bored doin' this.'

Left on his own, Gareth's gaze wandered over the nearest bookshelves until it fixed on a thick, red volume. ‘Hmm… that might be worth a look,' he mused, going across to investigate.

Adam trudged up the stairs to the second floor, but as he turned towards their dormitory he saw a white-haired man shuffle away along the gloomy corridor.

‘The prowler!' he breathed.

Adam pressed himself against a door, hoping to avoid detection, but his presence had not gone unnoticed. The old man stopped and stared back at him, his lined face creasing up still further into a mirthless grin. Then he reached
out to touch the wall and passed clean through it, out of sight.

Adam felt a chill tingle down the length of his spine. He forced himself to take a few unsteady steps nearer to where the man had disappeared, but there was just a length of wall covered in dingy, dark-patterned paper. He stumbled back down the corridor and almost fell into the dormitory.

Tom was lying on his bed. ‘What's wrong with you, Foxy? You look like you've just seen a ghost!'

‘Think I might have,' Adam muttered, but he had no chance to explain before Gareth burst through the door, brandishing a book.

‘What's that?' asked Tom.

‘Close,' Gareth grinned. ‘It's
Who's Who
!'

He read them a short entry about the athletics career of Gareth Jones.

‘Is Taffy still alive?' asked Adam.

‘He was when this was published. There's no date of his death.'

‘Well, dead or alive, I reckon I've just seen him.'

‘Where?'

‘C'mon, I'll show you,' said Adam, hauling Tom off the bed, despite his protests. ‘Both of you.'

He led them up the corridor and stopped near the fire escape. ‘This is where Taffy disappeared,' he said, tapping on the wall.

‘How do you know it was him?' demanded Tom.

‘Who else could it be?'

‘Anybody!'

Adam ignored him. ‘Thought it was a ghost at first, but that's stupid. And he looked solid enough, even if this wall isn't. Listen!' He tapped again. ‘Sounds hollow to me. You try it, GG.'

‘Look, I don't know if this is really a good idea,' said Gareth.

‘Well, it
was
yours in the first place,' Adam reminded him. ‘You said you wanted to brag to your gramps that you'd done some ghostbustin'. So now's your chance. This must be one of them secret passages he told you about.'

Gareth sighed and began to press on the wall with both hands, checking for any tell-tale sign of movement. ‘This is crazy,' he muttered. ‘We're just wasting our…' As Gareth leant his weight against the wall, it suddenly slid open and swallowed him up like a hungry mouth.

Adam gawped at the black hole and only just managed to jam his leg against the wall as it tried to close the gap. ‘GG?' he hissed. ‘You OK?'

‘Think so,' came the reply as Gareth regained his feet, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Just fell a bit heavily.'

‘You high jumpers are too used to havin' a cushioned landing,' Adam chuckled. ‘Looks a bit dark in there. Go and get us a torch, Tom-Tom.'

As Tom gladly left them to it, Adam shifted his position to ease the strain on his leg and the wall rumbled further across, almost trapping him.

‘Let me get out!' yelled Gareth.

‘Can't – there's no room.' Adam wriggled the rest of his body through the narrow space and the wall shut tight behind him.

‘Oh, that's just great!' Gareth said sarcastically. ‘Well done, Foxy!'

It took a while for their eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, but at least there was a faint light coming from somewhere above.

‘Looks like the only way is up,' said Adam.

‘What about Tom?'

‘He's no use. C'mon, let's check it out.'

Half a dozen stone steps led up onto a small landing and the light improved as the boys turned a corner and reached the bottom of a metal, spiral staircase.

‘Probably goes right up to the attic,' Gareth said. ‘Servants' quarters once, I bet.'

Holding onto the hand rail, they tiptoed up the winding steps and found themselves in a short corridor. The first door was locked but when Adam tested the next, the handle turned and it swung open. They were relieved to find the small room unoccupied.

‘Not exactly the five-star suite, is it?' Adam muttered, wrinkling his nose as they went
inside. ‘Smells like something's died in here – but not recently.'

Their attention was caught by a display of faded black-and-white photographs on a wall opposite the single bed. They were mostly snaps of a young athlete in action – running, jumping and throwing – but one of them showed him holding up a medal and giving the camera a wide, toothy grin.

‘Must be Taffy, yonks ago,' Adam said. ‘Just look at that baggy kit.'