Blink and You Die Read online

  ‘This entire household is falling apart,’ said Sabina, sinking down onto the settee.

  ‘You can’t rely on anyone these days,’ said Ruby.

  Mrs Digby appeared, carrying a martini on a tray.

  ‘Mrs D,’ sighed Sabina, ‘you spoil me to pieces.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ said the housekeeper. She walked over to the window and glanced into the darkness.

  ‘I wouldn’t be knocked down with surprise if we saw the first real snow tonight,’ she said.

  ‘Do you think?’ said Sabina. ‘It would be better for me if it happened next week. My good warm coat is still at the drycleaner, and I really don’t have a nice alternative.’

  ‘What about that one hanging in your closet?’ said Mrs Digby.

  ‘The pink one? I never think of pink as a winter colour, do you?’

  ‘What does pink have to do with it? It’s fur-lined,’ said Mrs Digby. ‘If it’s warm, it’s warm.’ She remembered being caught in a freak blizzard when she was barely five and she would have been glad of a pink coat, any coat – she often told the story. ‘If my pa hadn’t heard the wolves howling and come out looking for me, I would have died of cold as sure as toadstools attract flies.’

  RUBY WENT UPSTAIRS. She stood gazing out of the window, watching to see if Mrs Digby’s snow premonition was right, but there was not a single snowflake, not yet anyway. What she could see was the grey clapboard house, silent and empty, the new occupants still not moved in. Her mind wandered back to Homer Pinkerton.

  If Pinkerton’s death is connected to Bradley Baker’s, she thought, then this all began many years ago, long before you stepped a tiny toe on the planet.

  So what important thing connected Pinkerton to Bradley Baker? What had happened to his dog, where had he disappeared to? This thought set her wondering what answers she might have, what everyday observations might hold a truth?

  Start at the beginning, Rube. You saw Mr Pinkerton’s dog kidnapped, though you don’t remember it. What else might you have observed?

  She got down on her knees and began rolling back the small geometric-patterned rug which covered one portion of the wooden floor. Then she took a screwdriver from her drawer, pushed it between two of the boards and neatly lifted up a single short plank. In the cavity between the joists were her 624 yellow notebooks.

  Ruby had spent more than a lot of hours making notes in these little books, recording the everyday goings on, to-ings and fro-ings, snippets of conversation, strange occurrences, blandly dull incidents. Because as Ruby would say, EVEN THE MUNDANE CAN TELL A STORY. It was her RULE 16. And though each notebook was not many pages long, and though Ruby was an exceptionally fast reader, there was still no way she was going to manage to read each one cover to cover that evening. It was hard to know where to start, so she began at the beginning.

  It was when she was halfway through notebook 46 that she realised one of the occurrences she had noted down was very similar to something which had taken place one previous July in notebook 22.

  Notebook 22

  My grandmother almost swallowed my mother’s diamond earrings. She found them at the bottom of her teacup.

  She said, ‘Is this expensive tea or what?’

  Notebook 46

  My grandmother swallowed a pair of my mother’s emerald earrings and we spent most of Saturday sitting in the emergency room.

  The doc said, ‘it shouldn’t prove fatal and probably will cause you very little discomfort.’

  My grandmother wanted to know how the doc proposed she got them out of her system.

  And the doc said, ‘in the usual way.’

  My grandmother said, ‘the experience had really put her off tea even if she was thirty thousand dollars more valuable than she had been eight hours earlier.’

  My mom said, ‘she would never be able to look at those emerald earrings without imagining the journey they had been on.’ She has given them to my grandmother.

  My grandmother said, ‘It wasn’t compensation enough for what she was about to endure.’

  Both these jewellery mishaps reminded Ruby of something she had written down in her more recent list titled:

  THINGS I KNOW AND THINGS I DON’T KNOW.

  Things I don’t know

  Where my mom’s snake earrings are.

  And now she was pretty sure she did. They would no doubt be in a teacup somewhere in her grandmother’s New York apartment. She hoped the old lady was sticking to coffee as she had vowed.

  Ruby made a note to telephone her grandmother. Not now though. Suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness, she put back the notebooks, slotted the floorboard into its gap and replaced the rug. Then she got changed and climbed into bed.

  School was pretty dull the next day. The only thing that happened which might be considered of interest was down to Del Lasco. Mrs Drisco had caught her roller-skating down the main corridor. It was a long passage and the floors, being newly surfaced, made for excellent skating.

  Mrs Drisco had given Del three hours litter-picking and confiscated the skates. Del had not taken this lying down, she had argued that there was ‘nothing in the school rules that said one couldn’t roller-skate down the corridor.’

  Mrs Drisco argued that, ‘since running was not allowed it was hardly appropriate to skate’.

  Del said this was ‘not the point’, since skating was not mentioned in the ‘long list of activities’ one was ‘not allowed’ to perform in the corridor. And had she known this was a rule then ‘of course’ she ‘would never have done it’.

  Mrs Drisco said she ‘found this very hard to believe’.

  Del said she felt ‘very undermined by that statement’.

  Mrs Drisco said ‘rules were rules’.

  Del said she ‘didn’t have a problem with the rules’, she said she ‘only had a problem with the things which weren’t rules but were being bandied around as if they were rules in order to get innocent parties onto litter-picking duty’.

  Del spent the rest of the morning in Principal Levine’s office.

  When she came out she said she was going to take this ‘all the way’.

  Knowing Del, Ruby felt it was likely she would win; either that or get expelled.

  When school was out Ruby rode the bus to the Cherry Cup and while she travelled she pondered the File Code Three conundrum. How to figure out a code when you didn’t even know what type of code you were trying to figure out?

  Ruby had arranged to meet Mouse after her dental check-up. Mouse was feeling increasingly wobbly about the Twinford Table Tennis Championships and the prospect of fillings had only served to make her more jumpy still.

  As Ruby walked in to the Cherry Cup, a young woman attempted to hand her a flyer advertising the upcoming ice-capade.

  ‘I’m not interested,’ said Ruby.

  ‘It’s going to be space-themed,’ said the woman.

  ‘Isn’t everything?’ said Ruby. She took the flyer without enthusiasm and pushed open the door to Cherry’s.

  Ruby found her friend doing a word search puzzle.

  ‘Hey Mouse, that looks boring.’

  Mouse made a face. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘I was just trying to keep focused.’

  ‘Focused on what?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Focused on not thinking about the match,’ said Mouse.

  ‘What’s the deal with the match?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘I’m going to have to beat Penelope Fingelhorn.’

  ‘So?’ said Ruby. ‘You can smash her, no problem.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mouse. ‘And then I’m going have to beat Kitty Kuramara.’

  ‘So you’ll smash her too,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I just don’t know, Rube, I sorta think this girl’s got me beat, you know what I’m saying?’

  ‘It’s all in your mind, Mouse,’ assured Ruby. ‘You can do it, you know you can, you’ve won a zillion games more difficult than this one. Kitty Kuramara isn’t such a big deal.’ As she talked, Ruby no
ticed every time the name Kitty Kuramara was mentioned, Mouse would start winding the ice-capade flyer round and round a drinking straw. It was as Ruby watched her do this for the fourth time that two thoughts dawned.

  The pen on the cord, the one Froghorn had looped around his neck like he really, really didn’t want to let it out of his sight, that was the first thing that came to mind. The pen was a new addition: until this last week, Ruby had never seen it before. Then there was Froghorn’s new assignment – as coder of the Prism Vault. He was pleased about that, keen to let Ruby know that he was the coding agent tasked with creating all the code levels.

  She had noticed without really being conscious of it that when she brought up the subject of the Ghost File codes he had begun twisting the pen in his hand, and later when he was really flustered he had begun rolling it into his tie, just as Mouse was doing with the straw and the flyer.

  Ruby was so preoccupied with this thought that she almost lost the thread of her Mouse pep talk.

  ‘So what would you do Ruby, if you were faced with Kitty Kuramara?’

  ‘Um … you know what I’d do? I’d just forget it’s Kitty Kuramara. I mean pretend she’s Elliot, or some other kid you know you can slam, you gotta adjust your thinking Mouse, it’s all in your mind,’ assured Ruby. ‘The thing is you’re thinking defeat and you should go in there meaning to win.’ It was Ruby’s RULE 12: ADJUST YOUR THINKING AND YOUR CHANCES IMPROVE.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say, Ruby,’ said Mouse. ‘You’re not easily intimidated.’

  Ruby thought for a moment, and then said, ‘So I heard this woman talking on the TV, about how if you adopt a strong pose like, say, Wonder Woman – you know how she stands – feet apart, hands on hips, defiant expression? Well, it does something to your brain’s chemistry, it has an actual physical effect; in an interview situation it makes people want to offer you the job, listen to your point of view, so in a tournament situation it’s gonna have the same result, it’s gonna make you a winner.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ said Mouse.

  ‘Sure I’m sure,’ said Ruby. ‘All you have to do is take a few minutes in the restroom, adopt the Wonder Woman pose and when you face Kuramara you’re gonna smash her game.’

  ‘I just hope no one comes into the bathroom while I’m doing it,’ said Mouse.

  By the time Ruby left the diner, Mouse was looking a lot happier, and Ruby was feeling like she might be onto something.

  When she arrived home she went straight to her room and scanned the bookshelves until she found the little indigo code book, author unknown.

  She leafed quickly through it, stopping when she reached page 101: transposition ciphers. There were a number of these, but the one she was interested in was the scytale, used in particular by the Ancient Greeks and Spartans to communicate orders in military campaigns. Random-seeming letters or numbers were written on a strip of leather. To form the plain text, the leather was wrapped around a cylinder of a specific size and shape, and then the correct symbols would line up.

  The cylinder could be a pen, couldn’t it? Or something which looked like a pen. A pen on a cord?

  The strip of cipher text, she figured, would be at the vault location. The cylinder would have to be brought there by whoever wanted to gain access to one of the level three security files.

  OK, thought Ruby. All you gotta do is get hold of Froghorn’s pen – how difficult can it be?

  RUBY SLEPT SOUNDLY FOR ALL OF THIRTY MINUTES until she was woken by a buzzing. Her watch flashed, and there was a message:

  HQ ASAP.

  Ruby reported to reception, but before she could open her mouth, Buzz raised a hand to say, wait there.

  Ruby sat and waited.

  And waited.

  After ten minutes she began to get restless.

  After twenty minutes she started to get annoyed.

  ‘So why am I here?’ asked Ruby. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t drag me all the way into HQ just to have me sit on a bench, though then again …’

  ‘I didn’t drag you in anywhere, I just made the phone call as instructed.’ Buzz was nothing if not literal.

  ‘So Buzz, do you ever feel like a mushroom sitting there in the middle of that desk?’

  ‘Why would I feel like a mushroom?’ asked the administrator.

  ‘It’s just something about the way you’re sticking up through that hole in the table like you’re growing out of it,’ said Ruby. ‘And, you know, mushrooms grow in the dark and this place is underground.’

  ‘But it’s not dark,’ said Buzz, blinking up at her. ‘Spectrum is very well lit.’

  ‘Buzz, do you ever see the funny side to anything?’

  ‘Were you being humorous?’ said Buzz.

  ‘I guess not,’ said Ruby.

  There was zero point trying to engage the administrator in any further conversation, so she sat back down, took out her indigo code book and began reading. She might just as well use her time and learn a little. Finally Buzz beckoned her over. Ruby picked up her coat and went to find out where she was meant to be and who she was meant to see. But a strange thing happened as she approached the desk. The administrator seemed to change colour, from pale to even paler.

  ‘What?’ said Ruby. ‘What happened? You kinda look like you just saw a ghost.’

  But Buzz seemed unable to speak. Ruby followed her gaze and saw what she was looking at – it was the little white badge pinned to the inside of her parka.

  ‘Is it this?’ said Ruby, but Buzz did not answer, instead she said, ‘LB is expecting you,’ then she picked up the green telephone which had begun to ring and said, ‘Spectrum 8, declarar sua divisao.’

  The atmosphere was chilly when she walked into LB’s starkly white office. This time when Ruby looked around at the colour-free space she saw meaning in its whiteness. This interior was not coloured white; it was white because it was without colour. And in Ruby’s head she heard her boss’s words, ‘Ninety-nine seconds is all it took to drain all colour from my life.’

  ‘Sit,’ ordered LB.

  Ruby sat.

  ‘What we discussed the other night,’ said LB. ‘I trust it will not go any further: the last thing I want is rumours and half-truths spreading through Spectrum 8.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ruby.

  ‘It was decided to keep what happened confidential because it was thought it would harm morale if the truth got out.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Ruby, ‘and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said LB.

  ‘Sorry for what happened,’ said Ruby, ‘sorry for my lack of judgement. I wasn’t thinking. It’s this whole business with the Spectrum mole.’

  ‘Double agent,’ corrected LB. ‘Never underestimate the power of paranoia.’ She looked down at the stack of files in front of her and then looked up at Ruby. ‘When we are aware that one of us cannot be trusted, it means none of us can be trusted.’

  Ruby shifted in her seat: the statement made her uneasy.

  ‘So we are clear on this?’ asked LB.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruby.

  ‘So keep it zipped,’ said LB.

  ‘You can count on it,’ said Ruby.

  There was a knock at the door and Hitch entered the room. ‘You need to get going – the helicopter’s waiting for you,’ he said to LB.

  The Spectrum 8 boss was about to dismiss Ruby with a wave of her hand when Ruby found herself saying, without really meaning to …

  ‘Buzz looked at me funny just now when I came in.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said LB.

  ‘I wouldn’t mention it ordinarily, but she’s never done that before,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I’m not following,’ said LB. ‘Is this a complaint or an observation? Has she offended you in some way? Because if she has then could you take it up with the human resources team or just better still, get over it.’

  ‘It was when she saw this,’ said Ruby, holding up her coat and the little white badge which could be seen pinned to
its lining.

  The atmosphere changed quite suddenly. It was like a spectre had just entered the room.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ said LB.

  Hitch reached for the coat. ‘Kid, did you find this or was it given to you?’

  ‘I found it,’ said Ruby, her voice uncertain, ‘a long time ago. I found it not far from my house on Cedarwood Drive.’

  Hitch was inspecting the circle of tin.

  ‘Is it …?’ asked LB.

  He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it has the mark.’

  ‘What mark?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘The Larva mark,’ said Hitch, running his fingers over the Braille bumps.

  How did I miss that? thought Ruby, but she said nothing.

  ‘How did it get to be there?’ said LB. ‘It went missing more than thirty years back.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ruby. ‘Who did it belong to?’

  Without another word, LB opened the door to the hidden room which adjoined her office, a room Ruby had been in only once before and much to the fury of her Spectrum 8 boss. It was a room lined with photographs, pictures of locations, pictures of agents, some formal photographs: some casual. Some showed dramatic scenes of agents leaping across gullies or climbing up cliff faces, others were off-duty pictures like the one of Hitch eyeballing a huge crocodile, Hitch pulling a stupid face, his eyes crossed. But the photograph LB was pointing to was in black and white and of a smiling boy sitting in the cockpit of a plane. Hitch reached up, took it from the wall and handed it to Ruby.

  She recognised the photograph; she had noticed it just minutes before LB had discovered her snooping in her private gallery. Back then Ruby had believed she was looking at some agent’s son who had been allowed to sit in the pilot’s seat and pretend to be flying the plane. Now she knew she was looking at the pilot.

  ‘Is that who I think it is?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said LB. ‘Are you thinking, is that Bradley Baker?’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Then yes, that’s Bradley Baker.’

  The boy was eight, perhaps nine, but that wasn’t the interesting thing about the picture. What was catching Ruby’s attention was the little circle of white pinned to his T-shirt.