B.A.S.E. Camp (7 page)

‘Right, well I suggest we get rid of that, Fox,' he said, tearing the paper into shreds. ‘We don't want other people wondering what they might mean, do we?'

‘No, Coach,' Adam agreed reluctantly.

Gareth had been watching this little drama from across the table. ‘Guess he didn't think much of your artwork, Foxy,' he grinned when Blondie had taken Eddie to one side of the library to go over his spelling mistakes.

Adam pulled a face. ‘How
you
gettin' on?'

‘A bit better than you, but not much. Can't write about what I'd really like to.'

Gareth's main problem was how to keep Gramps' mobile out of sight of the coaches. Phones were banned at B.A.S.E. Camp and confiscated upon arrival, but after Gareth explained what had been happening, Gramps had given him his own one.

‘I won't be far away, m'boy,' he promised. ‘I'll nip home and pick up some things, then come back and find a local hotel. I'll borrow your mother's phone, so you can call me.'

Gareth wasn't sure what Gramps might be able to do, but it was reassuring to know that someone would be close at hand.

‘Hi, Gramps! It's me.'

‘About time, too, m'boy.'

He sounded cross and Gareth held the phone
further away from his ear.

‘You
do
realise it's Tuesday evening,' Gramps complained. ‘I've been hanging about this hotel for two days, waiting to hear from you.'

‘Sorry, Gramps, but this is the first chance I've had to get away. They've had us working flat out.'

‘Is everything all right? You're not in trouble?'

‘No – only with the coach for not jumping high enough,' Gareth said with a sigh.

‘So where are you now?'

‘At the statue. Just me and Foxy. We wanted to see if the tunnel's still OK to use.'

While Gareth was speaking, Adam had opened the entrance and the lower half of his body disappeared into the gap.

‘Hey! Wait for me!' Gareth cried.

‘What's going on?' came the demand in his ear.

‘Hold on a minute, Gramps. I've just got to sort Foxy out.'

He was too late. Adam was already out of reach.

‘Doesn't need two of us,' came a voice from the darkness. ‘You keep watch.'

Gareth sighed in frustration and spoke into the phone again. ‘Sorry, Gramps. I thought we
were both going down into the tunnel, but Foxy's gone by himself.'

As Gramps began to say something else, Adam unexpectedly reappeared, scrambling out onto the grass with a squelch.

‘What's up?' asked Gareth.

‘The water – that's what's up!' Adam grunted, pointing at his soaking jeans. ‘They've flooded the tunnel and fused the lights. It's too dark to see where you're goin'.'

‘Serves you right,' Gareth chuckled. ‘That's the trouble with you long jumpers. You always jump in feet first!'

‘Oh, yes – very funny, I don't think.'

Gramps finally managed to get Gareth's attention again. ‘I gather I won't be able to try out that secret passage of yours,' he said.

‘'Fraid not. The tunnel's been put out of bounds.'

‘I'm not at all happy about this whole business,' Gramps told him. ‘The more I think about it, the less I like it. Is there any way I could get back into the Old Manor and speak to Taffy again?'

‘That's the reason I'm ringing,' Gareth replied. ‘We're competing against some local athletes
tomorrow afternoon. If you were waiting nearby when they arrived – about two o'clock – you could follow them in through the gates.'

‘Right, that's exactly what I'll do,' he promised. ‘Take care, m'boy.'

‘Will do, Gramps. See you then. Cheers!'

As Gareth switched off the phone, Adam tapped him on the arm.

‘Hate to say this, GG, but we're not alone.'

Gareth looked round and saw Petit Pierre striding out of the trees towards them. He slipped the phone into the pocket of his tracksuit top, but feared that the coach might have already seen it.

The man walked right up to them before he spoke. ‘What are you two doing here?' he asked, glancing down at Adam's wet jeans. ‘As if I didn't know, Foxy.'

Adam saw no point in trying to deny the evidence. They had not yet had the chance to close the gap beneath the statue. Surprised by the use of his nickname, however, he decided to risk a direct question.

‘Did you know about this tunnel, Coach?'

‘Not until you people caused such a stir on Saturday,' he admitted with a grin.

Gareth suddenly realised that the coach was not speaking in his usual broken English. ‘You're not really French, are you?' he said bravely.

‘
Non
, but 'ow did you guess,
mon garçon
?' the man responded in a deliberately comic accent.

‘So who are you?'

‘Police. I'm Detective Inspector Robins and we're investigating what's going on here and at the Centre,' he told them. ‘I came away from the house to make a call to the station, but my phone's gone dead. May I use yours?'

Next morning, Gareth was about to leave the changing room before the start of the training session when Blackbeard blocked his way.

‘You've got a visitor, Davies,' the coach told him. ‘Wait here.'

Puzzled, Gareth sat down on a bench, thinking Gramps must have arrived early and somehow bluffed his way in. When the door opened, he found Old Taffy staring at him with his piercing blue eyes, which were exactly the same as those of his young clone.

Gareth stood up and backed away nervously. ‘What do you want with me?'

Taffy grinned. ‘I want to make you a star!'

‘A star?'

‘That's right, boyo. Reckon that's the least I can do for the grandson of my old pal Davy.'

‘And how are you going to do that?'

‘Full of questions, ain't you? Just like Davy.'

‘Well?'

‘Well, for a start, we're going to take you away from here and…'

Gareth cut him off. ‘I'm not going to that A.C.E. place so you can jab needles into me, if that's what you think.'

‘That's exactly what I think,' Taffy said, making a move towards him. ‘And you're going there right now.'

‘I can't. Gramps is coming to see me today.'

Taffy was taken by surprise. ‘Davy? He's coming back here?'

‘You've got it. He wants to watch me in the high jump – and speak to you about things, too.'

‘Things?'

‘Yes,
things
,' Gareth stressed. ‘You've got some explaining to do, Taffy Jones – and not just to Gramps…'

Taffy stared at him for a few moments, then turned and left the room.

The vintage Bentley purred past the chapel and pulled into a clump of trees, not far from the statue, letting the team bus disappear up the driveway. The automatic gates had closed so swiftly that they'd scraped the rear of the car as
it squeezed through them after the bus.

Gramps had decided that it would be better not to park in the courtyard as he had done on Open Day, suspecting that they might not welcome such an early return visit – even if he wasn't quite sure who
they
might be.

He climbed out of the car to inspect the damage to its paintwork, shook his head, and then walked towards the lake to take another look at Taffy's statue.

‘Had himself made to look like a Greek God,' he murmured. ‘Typical!'

Gramps could not resist stepping on the stone discus, as he'd seen Adam do, and the front panel of the base rumbled forwards to reveal the open space beneath the statue.

‘Huh!' he grunted. ‘Perhaps just as well it's been flooded.'

He was about to close the gap when a movement among the trees caught his eye. His first instinct, perhaps a guilty echo from the past, was to hide somewhere, but then he recognised the figure slouching towards him.

‘Fancy seeing you here again, Davy,' Taffy greeted him, but there was no offer of a handshake this time.

‘Hello, Taffy,' said Gramps warily. ‘Weren't expecting me, were you?'

‘Well, young Gareth did let out that you might be back,' he admitted. ‘I just wasn't sure if you'd be able to get in.'

‘Get past them gates, you mean? Yes, they are a wee bit sharp.'

‘Helps to keep out people who are not wanted,' Taffy told him.

‘You including me in that?'

‘'Fraid so, Davy, old pal. It's a pity you were nosy enough to sneak back in.'

‘Why? What's going on here that you want to keep such a secret?'

‘More than you'll ever know.'

Gramps nodded. ‘Including this cloning business, no doubt,' he said. ‘Trying to play God. What did you hope to gain by that?'

‘Immortality!' Taffy replied, grinning inanely. ‘Taffy Jones will live on for ever!'

‘You've gone mad.'

The grin faded and Taffy took a step forward, bunched his fist and then hit Gramps full in the face. The blow sent Gramps toppling backwards and, as he fell, his head struck the side of the stone plinth and he lay still.

Taffy looked at the crumpled body and gave a little sigh of regret. Then he took hold of the man's legs and began to drag him towards the yawning black hole.

‘Goodbye, Davy,' he grunted with the effort. ‘Sorry it had to end this way…'

‘No sign of your grandad yet?' asked Tom.

Gareth shook his head. ‘He was supposed to get here at the same time as this lot.'

As they watched the visiting athletes cross the courtyard towards the changing rooms, half a dozen burly men in blue tracksuits also left the bus and followed them.

‘They've got more coaches than us,' muttered Adam. ‘Speakin' of which, have you seen Petit Pierre today?'

‘You mean D.I. Robins,' Eddie corrected.

‘Yeah, right – have to start callin' him Robbo now instead!' Adam grinned. ‘Still ain't sure Doubtin' Thomas here really believes it.'

Tom scowled. ‘Not till he proves he's on our side.'

‘Pity Old Taffy got warned about Gramps coming,' said Eddie. ‘Wonder if he's done a runner and Robbo's gone after him?'

Gareth sighed. ‘I just hope Gramps is OK.'

‘Well, if you're worried,' said Adam, ‘let's go and see if his car's somewhere. We've still got time.'

‘The statue!' exclaimed Gareth. ‘I bet he's gone there to have another look at it.'

The boys jogged off down the drive and reached the clearing near the statue just in time to see Taffy dragging a body along the ground.

‘Hey!' shouted Adam, breaking into a sprint. ‘Stop!'

‘That's Gramps!' cried Gareth.

Startled by the boys' arrival, Taffy let go of his burden and drew a knife from his belt. ‘Stay right where you are!' he commanded.

Adam carried on running, yelling threats at the top of his voice. He took off as if he were doing the long jump and flew through the air, feet first.

At the last moment, Taffy tried to sidestep the human missile, like a matador dodging a bull's charge, but he was too slow. The impact forced the breath from his body, sending the knife spiralling away, and Taffy crumpled to the ground, face down in the dirt.

Adam was winded, too, but Eddie arrived in time to jump on top of Taffy to try and stop him
getting up again. Gareth had gone to attend to Gramps and was kneeling beside him, cradling the bleeding head in his lap.

‘He's still alive!' he cried in relief. ‘He's breathing!'

‘Watch out!'

Tom's warning was in vain. Eddie failed to see Young Taffy dash out from the trees near the chapel and he was knocked sideways by the unexpected assault. The two boys rolled across the grass, grappling with one another, just as a group of blue-tracksuited men came running towards them, led by a man in black.

‘Pierre's here!' cried Tom.

‘Yeah, but who's this pair?' muttered Adam as two more men appeared from the opposite direction.

‘About time you got here,' Old Taffy yelled at the bodyguards, who had halted 50 metres from the statue when they found themselves outnumbered. ‘Do something!'

They did. They turned and fled, pursued by four of the armed police officers, who had been smuggled in on the local athletes' bus.

‘Cowards!' screamed Young Taffy, who had broken free from Eddie's grip.

Old Taffy hauled himself stiffly to his feet in a last effort to assert his authority.

‘You're just in the nick of time, Dubois,' he said, addressing his ‘French' coach. ‘These hooligans have attacked me. Take them away and lock them up somewhere till they can be dealt with.'

‘It's you we've come to lock up, Jones,' came the calm reply. ‘You're under arrest!'

‘Arrest?' repeated Old Taffy, shocked. ‘What on earth do you mean, Dubois?'