Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us (4 page)

‘Perks of the job,’ he breathed, smiling despite himself.

But it was the wall facing the gallery that really grabbed Jonah’s attention; a giant mural stretched across it, hazy shapes of colour against an unfocused landscape. Darker, spindly figures that might be trees or people lent uncertain detail to the scene, reaching upwards or outwards, or crouched over. It was cool, but kind of creepy, and did little to soothe the uneasy feeling in his guts.

He knew what it was. Nerves. Time and again he’d had to psyche himself up for his ‘please like me’ act – first day at a new school, or a new foster home. New faces checking him out. He’d spent his whole life trying to read the crowd, to fit in.

Except this time he didn’t long to belong.

All he wanted were some answers.

Jonah checked his watch – his twenty minutes were up. He started quickly down the spiral staircase.

But as he reached the final turn, he stopped. They were waiting for him, lined up at the bottom of the stairs: Motti, Patch, Con – and Tye.

It was Jonah’s first proper view of her, and he wasn’t disappointed. She was a black girl, cute, maybe sixteen, dressed in combats. Her hair was no longer straight but scrunched up into little braids and adorned with a couple of gauzy red ribbons. She had an oval face with well-proportioned features – no make-up, and her brows weren’t plucked like Con’s. But her eyes were striking, wide and dark as she looked up at him through thick lashes. There was something hard in her stare, something old beyond her years, and wary. She did not smile to see him.

‘Hey, cipher boy,’ said Con, effortlessly taking his attention. ‘This is the hangout. Welcome to the wrong side of the tracks.’

‘Where is this place?’ he asked, his eyes flicking from one to the other in turn.

‘Want some coffee?’ Patch, dressed in slobby blue track pants and an Anime T-shirt, headed for the rear of the room, the part Jonah couldn’t see from the balcony. It looked like it had been airlifted out of a Starbucks – a chrome counter top with industrial-sized coffee makers, juicers, even a slush-ice drink machine assembled behind it. ‘Latte? Espresso?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘You sure, mate? We got hazelnut syrup, vanilla …’

‘You’ve got a lot of stuff here,’ Jonah agreed, his attention wandering to a large alcove on his right. It had been turned into a full-on amusement arcade, with car simulators, shoot-em-ups and pinball machines.

‘Wait till you see the gym,’ Con told him. ‘The
pool, too. Heated, with a wave machine …’

‘And the garage is awesome,’ Motti added. ‘We got a race circuit where we test drive stuff. You like cars, geek?’

‘I can’t drive.’

‘’S not like you need a licence here.’ Motti grinned. ‘Just take out a car and floor it. Best way to learn.’

‘Best way to kill yourself,’ said Tye, crossing to the nearest sofa and flopping down.

‘Tye’s the designated driver round here,’ Con explained with a slightly disparaging look. ‘She takes it all very seriously.’

‘She’s a pilot, too,’ Patch called over admiringly from the counter. ‘She flew us here.’

They’d taken a plane? No wonder they weren’t worried about the van being hot. And if they’d flown here, Jonah supposed he could be just about anywhere.

‘How long did you make me sleep? What’s the date?’

‘See for yourself.’ Con tossed him something. He was glad he managed to catch it. It was a Rolex watch, beautiful, a Datejust with a steel strap. Had to cost a fortune. The date on the cool blue face read 26 – the same day they’d taken him. So he couldn’t be anywhere too far-flung …

Then again, they’d fixed everything else. Why not the date?

He let the Rolex fall from his fingers to the stair. ‘I have a watch, thanks,’ he said coldly.

Con turned her back on him, and Motti smiled. ‘Aw, you’ve hurt her feelings, geek. She stole that
specially, just for you.’

‘Poor bastard only wanted to buy her a drink,’ said Tye, a sandpaper edge to her voice. ‘She told him to just give her the money.’

‘That’s one thing you don’t seem short of round here,’ Jonah observed, glancing around the impressive space. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t get all this stuff doing paper rounds.’

Patch rejoined the group with a steaming mug of coffee and a look of amusement. ‘Jonah, you never reckon we
stole
all this stuff?’

‘We earned everything you see here,’ Motti declared, ‘fair and square.’

‘What, pulling stunts like you pulled on me?’

‘Guys, I think we have got us a choirboy here, yes?’ There was no smile on Con’s face now. ‘I thought we got you out of prison, Jonah. Not a convent. What makes you think you can stand there and judge us?’

Motti joined Tye on the leather couch. ‘See, we heard you helped your last foster dad launch a new business – what was it, Patch?’

Patch didn’t hesitate. ‘Designing secure encryptions for company computer payroll systems.’

‘’S right. Only once he was up and running, you cracked your own ciphers and siphoned off the cash for yourself.’

Jonah started forward angrily. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

Motti smirked. ‘C’mon, who you kidding?’

‘I had reasons.’

‘The
best
reasons,’ grinned Patch. ‘You wanted cash and you knew how to get it easily.’

‘You just didn’t know how
not
to get caught,’ Con added.

Jonah glared at Tye, waiting for her to chip in. But she stayed silent, looking down at her hands. ‘I don’t care what any of you think,’ he said. ‘But if you’ve dragged me out here to crack some encrypted bank account or something, so I can make you and this Coldhardt guy any richer –’

Motti laughed. ‘As if! Credit us with
some
imagination.’

‘Well, what
do
you want, then?’ He gestured angrily down at himself. ‘The designer gear, the computer up there…You’re trying to buy me.’

‘No. We’re just trying to help you fit in.’ The ghost of a smile returned to Con’s face. ‘This is what life’s like when you’re one of Coldhardt’s children.’

‘His
children
?’ Jonah stared. ‘OK, this is getting kind of creepy now. I suppose we’re not talking adoption here?’

‘Coldhardt saved us,’ said Con. ‘From ourselves.’

Motti yawned. ‘From total boredom, you mean.’

‘From a lifetime of nothing,’ said Patch, going one better. ‘No breaks, no future. Just marking time, doing what the law says …Trying to fit in with every other no-hoper.’

‘And he brought you all here. I get it.’ Jonah stared round at each of them in turn. ‘You’re all special in some way. You have talents.’

Motti looked at Patch. ‘Think he’s hitting on us?’

‘Talents that Coldhardt can use,’ said Jonah, undeterred. ‘Patch, you’re the lockpick. Tye’s good with transport. Con does her hypnotism –’

‘Mesmerism!’ she protested.

‘You don’t even know what mesmerism really is,’ sneered Motti.

‘I know it sounds cooler than hypnotism, OK?’

‘Motti … I dunno,’ Jonah went on slowly. ‘You handled the electrics. You’re good with security systems, maybe. You get the others in and out, let them do their job.’

‘Oh, is
that
what I do?’ he said levelly.

‘He gets an A for effort,’ Tye observed.

Con shook her head. ‘He’s barely scratching the surface.’

‘Whatever else you can do, the point is, you’re all exceptional. Exceptionally talented misfits. What was it you said, Con – welcome to the wrong side of the tracks?’ Jonah nodded. ‘That’s where Coldhardt found you, isn’t it? In jail. Or in trouble. Alone – and easy pickings.’

‘Gee, it’s like my whole misspent youth passed before my eyes,’ said Motti sarcastically. ‘Well, listen, man – the pickings didn’t come any easier than you.’

‘I’m not for sale,’ said Jonah firmly.

‘You’re happier on your own, Jonah?’ Tye was holding him fixed with those big dark eyes of hers.

‘I get along fine.’

Con gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘Why settle for fine when you can have
fabulous
?’

‘Aw, it’s probably best he’s acting way above it all for now,’ said Motti. ‘He ain’t had the valuation yet. He could be leaving here faster than a cat with a firecracker up its butt.’

‘Valuation?’ Jonah looked at them uneasily.

‘You say you’re not for sale. We say we don’t know what you’re really worth,’ said Con, green eyes sparkling. ‘So it’s time you met Coldhardt, cipher boy. In person.’

Jonah had to admit he was intrigued as the others led him outside. Especially when he found out that the place where they’d been hanging was just an oversized outbuilding in the grounds of a huge chateau, all crumbling stonework and sash windows. It seemed Coldhardt owned the whole estate – you’d think it was home to some crusty earl and a butler or something, not four sociopathic dropouts and their rich benefactor.

If benefactor was the word. What if his ‘children’ got caught – would Coldhardt himself show up to break them out? Or would they sit rotting in a cell till he trained up another miniature teen army?

Maybe Motti hadn’t just been mouthing off for once. If they pulled off stunts like last night’s on a regular basis, they damn well
had
earned all that they’d got. And none of them seemed to feel shortchanged … Except Tye maybe. The quiet one.

‘So, I’m guessing the locals don’t have you down for a bunch of criminals who hit the big time,’ he ventured.

He’d aimed the question at Tye, but it was Con who answered. ‘They think this is a kind of
special school.’

‘An academy,’ Patch corrected her. ‘Like the X-Men, yeah?’

‘Except Patch is the only mutant we got here,’ said Motti. ‘Right, Cyclops?’

‘Why d’you wear a patch when you’ve got a glass eye in?’ Jonah asked bluntly.

‘’Cause Motti’s got a thing about eyes.’

‘Stow it,’ said Motti.

‘He has, and specially when I have to pop it out.’ Patch beamed. ‘Which is often. See, there’s more to my glass eye than meets – er, the eye.’

‘Lame,’ grumbled Motti under his breath.

‘In any case, the villagers are right, in a way,’ Con went on. ‘This
is
an academy, and Coldhardt’s a good tutor. He has taught us so much.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Jonah. ‘Quite a youth training scheme.’

They were approaching the main door to the chateau, a massive slab of dark oak framed by a thick sprawl of ivy. Jonah swallowed down his nerves. He wasn’t so much angry now as apprehensive. So far, his abductors were treating him well enough. But if he couldn’t deliver whatever it was they wanted, or if he refused even to try … what then?

There was no more time to worry. Tye pushed aside some of the ivy to reveal a small keypad. Her slim fingers beat a brief tattoo on the numbers and the door clicked open.

‘Doorbell not working?’ Jonah ventured.

Patch smiled. ‘You could say the chief is security conscious.’

‘And I designed the defences for this whole place,’ said Motti.

‘It’s what he used to do in the real world,’ said Con. ‘He worked for a firm of security specialists.’

‘Man, I
was
the firm.’

‘Till he started turning over the places he was making so secure,’ chimed Patch.

Motti straightened his glasses. ‘Had to test my systems worked right, didn’t I?’

Tye must have noticed Jonah’s expression. ‘No, the judge didn’t believe him either.’

‘All ancient history.’ Motti led the way through to a large, immaculate hallway. ‘But it got me noticed – by Coldhardt. Anyway, like I say, I designed the defences. Like that door? It ain’t just wood, geek. It’s lined with steel, two inches thick.’

Jonah nodded vaguely. His attention had been taken by a large, unsettling statue of a man locked in combat with some weird demonic figure. The marble tableau dominated the centre of the hall, bathed in golden sunlight from two enormous windows.

‘Er … is the glass bulletproof?’

‘It’s everything-proof,’ said Motti mysteriously.

‘You’re expecting trouble, then?’

‘Always a possibility.’

Patch yawned again, flipped up his eye-patch and scratched the skin. ‘Motti’s completely paranoid.’

‘Am not.’

‘Yeah?’ Patch pulled a spooky face. ‘How do you
know
you’re not?’

‘Can we just get on, guys?’ Con pushed through, past the eerie statue and through one of two vaulted
archways set into the back of the room.

Jonah followed with the others and turned hard right into a long, wide passage. Or was it just a long, narrow room? Huge arched windows lined the outer wall, affording a view out on to a well-manicured courtyard.

‘Cloisters,’ said Tye softly, as if listening in on his thoughts. ‘Built in 1801. It’s so peaceful here.’

‘S’pose it is,’ Jonah conceded. Some of the glass in the windows was stained – coats of arms, some churchy-looking stuff in Latin … and a creepy little recurring figure that looked like the thing the man-statue was fighting. He almost asked Tye what the thing was supposed to be … but thought better of it, for now.

Motti had pulled some little gadget from his jeans pocket. When he pressed it, the wooden double doors at the end of the cloister hummed open automatically. They gave on to a short walkway, beyond which was a slate-floored room lined with portraits and colonnades.

The group paused to linger in the walkway. But just when Jonah was beginning to fear a complete guided tour was on the cards, Motti hit his gadget again and the floor lurched beneath them. Suddenly they were disappearing down into the ground. The walkway was a hidden lift.

Jonah looked round in alarm. ‘Super-techno elevator
not
built in 1801, I take it.’

‘This takes us down to the hub,’ said Con reverently. ‘The heart of Coldhardt’s operations.’

‘Installed underground in case of trouble, right?’
Jonah rubbed his hand through his hair, as the lift reached a halt.

Down here, old world elegance made way for high-tech minimalism. The spacious chamber seemed to be a bunker, boardroom and workplace all in one. Eight brushed steel chairs were arranged round a table, a huge oval of heavy oak. Black, unmarked filing cabinets stood like sentries down the length of one wall, while twelve plasma screens clustered on the other like an enormous compound eye. They showed CNN, BBC World Service and news services in languages Jonah couldn’t even guess at, as well as fish-eyed views of the house and grounds courtesy of a few well-placed spy cams. There was a wide desk, on which sat a computer – looked to be a wireless set-up – and a slim glass vase, in which sat a single black rose.