Kidnap on the California Comet Read online

  Marianne, who was now wearing Hadley’s purple hoodie, giggled. ‘You look like you’re wearing a terrible disguise!’

  ‘Promise me you’ll give me my sweater back when we’re done,’ Hadley said. ‘It was a birthday present from my dad.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Train’s slowing down,’ Mason said, squishing his face against the window.

  ‘I’m gonna lead that Zircona spy on the wildest goose chase.’ Hadley flashed them a wicked grin.

  ‘Be careful, sis,’ Mason said.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Hadley waved his caution away. ‘Meet you back in our bedroom.’ And she climbed the stairs.

  ‘There’s no exit door in this carriage or the dining car,’ Hal said. ‘The quickest way to get off the train is to go into coach, down the stairs and out that door.’

  ‘But we’ll have to pass the spy,’ Mason said.

  ‘Not if he’s taken the bait and followed Hadley.’

  Sure enough, when Hal peeped round the top of the staircase, Seymour Hart was gone. ‘The coast’s clear.’

  ‘Let’s get this done,’ Mason said, barging past him and into coach. ‘I want to make sure my sister’s all right.’

  Hurrying through coach, Hal spotted the lady he’d drawn in Chicago station. She was still wearing her blue puffer coat, but her lizard was on her lap now, and she was tickling its chin. After running down the stairs, Hal jumped onto the platform feeling a thrill of excitement as he drew in a lungful of crisp autumn air.

  ‘It worked.’ Marianne glanced over her shoulder as they half ran, half jogged towards the Silver Scout. Stepping up to the door, she typed numbers into a keypad. ‘Thank you for helping me,’ she said, breathless now. She looked at Hal. ‘And for forgiving me. Mason, tell Hadley she’ll get her sweater back tomorrow.’ The door was open. ‘À bientôt.’ She gave them a little wave, climbed into the carriage, and shut the door behind her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE MORETTI MAGIC SHOW

  A gust of wind whirled dead leaves into the air, and Hal shivered. The boys boarded the California Comet through the first open door and made their way up the stairs.

  ‘That’s my roomette,’ Hal said. ‘Number ten.’

  Glancing in, they saw Uncle Nat bent over his notebook.

  ‘Hi, Francine,’ Hal said to the smiling attendant, as they passed into the next carriage.

  ‘An Amtrak friend is a friend for life!’ Francine called after them.

  ‘This is us.’ Mason pointed at a door, but then called out, ‘Hadley!’ as his sister came towards them, unwinding Marianne’s scarf from her neck.

  ‘Were you followed?’ Hal asked.

  She shook her head. ‘When I got upstairs, the Zircona spy was gone.’ She slid the compartment door open. ‘Did he follow you?’

  ‘Nope, and Marianne’s back in her fancy carriage now,’ Mason said.

  Hal looked through the open door. Their bedroom was large compared to his roomette. On the sofa, there was a half-empty suitcase, and clothes were strewn everywhere.

  ‘Did your luggage explode?’ Hal asked, looking around.

  ‘Mason couldn’t find his voice recorder,’ Hadley explained, gathering up an armful of clothes and dumping them into the suitcase.

  The compartment had a shower room, and tucked in the corner was a wide seat, like the ones in Hal’s roomette, covered with bags and books about performing magic.

  ‘You really do want to be a magician, then?’ Hal said, picking one up.

  ‘Yeah.’ Hadley nodded. ‘Where Mom lives, in Boston, there’s an annual talent competition. The prize is five thousand dollars. This year I’m old enough to enter. If I win, we’re going to buy some big stage tricks . . .’

  ‘. . . and launch The Moretti Magic Show,’ Mason finished.

  ‘You’re both in it?’

  ‘Yeah. I do the magic. Mason does impressions. Want to see us do a trick?’ Hadley asked, pushing Hal towards the cluttered chair. ‘Sit there.’

  Mason swept the suitcase on to the floor, pulling the sofa out to turn the double bed into a stage. Hal perched on the arm of the chair as Hadley lifted a rainbow-sequinned jacket out of a bag and slipped it on. Opening the wardrobe, Mason took out a gold dress and blonde wig. Wriggling out of his tracksuit bottoms, he pulled on the dress and then the wig.

  ‘Hadley’s the world’s best illusionist, and I’m –’ he primped the blonde hair and put on a feminine voice – ‘her glamorous assistant.’

  Hal laughed as Mason clambered on to the bed and stood beside his sister, gesturing to her dramatically as if she were a grand prize.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, my name is Hadley Moretti, master illusionist. And this is Marilyn Mason, my glamorous assistant.’ Hal grinned as Mason waved flirtatiously. ‘What you’re about to see defies the laws of science . . .’

  ‘. . . and bamboozles me,’ Mason said in a high cutesy voice.

  ‘Before your very eyes –’ Hadley pulled a black square of cloth from her pocket – ‘I will make Marilyn disappear.’ She unfolded the square, again and again, until it was blanketsized. Stepping forward, she held it at knee height, and Mason started singing ‘Happy birthday to you’ in a high breathy voice. Slowly and dramatically she lifted the cloth. Mason kept singing, blowing Hal a kiss before he was totally hidden. As Mason sang the last refrain of the song – ‘. . . Happy birthday to you’ – Hadley dropped the cloth, and he was gone.

  Hal sat up, looking around the tiny bedroom. He blinked, trying to work out what had happened. Mason had vanished.

  Hadley made a show of picking up the cloth, searching it, turning it this way and that. It developed a bulge, and she lifted out a crystal ball from its folds. ‘Hold this for me, would you?’ She threw the crystal ball to Hal, whipping the cloth out to its full size and holding it up, dropping it to the ground again, and there, standing beside her, blowing bubbles at Hal, was Mason.

  Hal leaped to his feet, clapping, as Mason took his sister’s hand and they both curtsied. ‘How d’you do that? It was amazing.’

  ‘Really?’ Mason pulled the wig off his head. ‘You didn’t see how it was done?’

  ‘You should see our other tricks.’ Hadley beamed. ‘We’ve got one where Mason sings country songs while I saw him in half.’

  Hal laughed. ‘I’d buy a ticket.’

  ‘Hi, kids!’ The door to the compartment opened, and a short man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and beige chinos entered. His curly black hair receded to a bald pate, and merry brown eyes bulged out of his face.

  ‘Pop,’ said Mason, throwing his blond wig back in the duffel bag. ‘Meet Hal. He’s British!’

  ‘Good to meet you, Hal. I’m Frank.’ He shook Hal’s hand enthusiastically. ‘Have they been practising on you? Because, you know you can charge for that? It’s hard work, all that clapping.’

  Hal grinned, liking the jovial man immediately.

  Frank looked about. ‘What on earth happened in here?’

  ‘We were about to tidy up.’ Hadley looked at the floor guiltily.

  ‘I need my razor.’ Frank rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘There’s a gorgeous redhead in the dining car – got a pet lizard. Her name is Adie, and I think I might be her type.’ He winked. ‘Grab my washbag, son.’ He filled the sink with water. ‘Time for a shave.’

  ‘Got it.’ Mason pulled out shaving foam and a razor, and squirted a ball of foam into his dad’s outstretched hand.

  Rubbing his palms together, Frank patted the white lather on to his chin. ‘So, whereabouts you from in Britain, Hal?’

  ‘Crewe,’ said Hal. ‘It’s a railway town.’

  ‘You like trains?’ Frank rinsed his hands and took the razor. ‘We love trains, don’t we, kids?’

  Hadley and Mason made grumbling noises.

  ‘My job takes me all over the country,’ said Frank, pausing to shave one cheek, ‘and I can’t drive, on account of a misunderstanding.’

  ‘It’s called a speeding ticket,’ M
ason said.

  ‘Four speeding tickets,’ Hadley clarified.

  ‘They were emergencies!’ Frank protested.

  ‘I thought everyone in America flew,’ Hal said.

  ‘Flying ain’t natural unless you’re a bird,’ Frank said, leaning towards the mirror and pulling the razor up his neck. ‘Anyway, I prefer a train.’

  Hal nodded; he felt the same.

  ‘I’m telling you I’ve got a good feeling about Reno, kids. This gig’s gonna be the one that gets me a residency. Then you can go to a proper school, and I won’t have to pay for a tutor.’ He dropped his razor into the sink and took the hand towel Hadley held out. ‘Thanks, chipmunk.’ He dabbed it to his neck. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Irresistible,’ Hadley replied as her dad slapped on a strong-smelling aftershave. ‘Adie and her pet lizard won’t know what’s hit them.’

  Frank pointed at his reflection in the mirror, snarled his top lip and said ‘Uh-huh!’ then left, calling over his shoulder, ‘See you in the dining car – hopefully I’ll have a lady friend with me.’

  Hal’s eyes settled on the sink, the ring of soap suds and the discarded razor. A sequence of images played through his head, and he gasped. ‘Razor. Razor!’ He looked at Hadley and Mason. Tapping his ring finger, he said, ‘Marry . . .’ He made a plus sign with his fingers. ‘And . . .’ He mimed shaving his neck. ‘Razor! . . . Marry and razor . . . Marianne Reza.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Mason’s eyes widened. ‘That means . . . Wait – what does it mean?’

  Hadley frowned. ‘Hang on, does Ryan even know Marianne?’

  ‘It doesn’t seem likely,’ Hal said.

  ‘Maybe his dad is a Zircona spy too,’ Mason suggested.

  ‘Gene Jackson doesn’t seem the kind of man who works for a technology company.’ Hal shook his head.

  ‘Why did he give you the message?’ Hadley wondered.

  ‘Uncle Nat told Gene that we’d met August Reza and been in the Silver Scout that morning. Ryan must’ve thought I knew her.’ Hal felt a prickle of excitement.

  ‘You do know her,’ Mason pointed out.

  ‘Maybe he drew those lines around Seymour Hart’s table,’ Hadley said, her eyes widening, ‘because he’d discovered the man was after Marianne.’

  ‘But how?’ Hal asked, glad of the Morettis’ help with this puzzle.

  ‘It can’t be a coincidence that Ryan draws lines around Seymour Hart, and then we find out he’s stalking Marianne,’ Mason said.

  Hal nodded. ‘I’m worried about her.’

  ‘She’s in her private railcar with her bodyguard,’ Hadley reminded him. ‘She’s safe.’

  ‘For now,’ said Hal.

  ‘So, what do we do?’ Hadley asked.

  ‘We need to talk to Ryan, ask him about the message.’

  ‘Wanna have dinner with us?’ Mason asked. ‘We might see him in the dining car.’

  ‘Dinner!’ Hal exclaimed, suddenly remembering his appointment with Zola. ‘I can’t, I’ve got to go. Let’s meet after the press conference.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE ZIRCONA QUESTION

  ‘I’m back,’ Hal said, poking his head into the roomette.

  ‘I was about to send out a search party,’ Uncle Nat replied, rifling through his bag and pulling out a knitted silk tie. ‘I’m just putting this on for dinner.’

  ‘I don’t have to wear one, do I?’

  ‘No. It’s just . . . Zola has this way of making me feel underdressed.’

  ‘But you always look good.’

  Uncle Nat straightened up. ‘That’s a kind thing to say.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He put the tie away. ‘We’ll go as we are. Are you ready? Zola says we are to stop by her compartment for pre-dinner drinks.’

  ‘Do I have to come?’ Hal stepped back to let Uncle Nat out of the roomette.

  ‘You’re the reason Zola’s invited us to dinner.’

  Hal fell into step beside his uncle. ‘What if I say something I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Don’t worry. And if Zola asks you questions that make you uncomfortable, change the subject.’

  Hal put his hand in his pocket and felt his sketchbook. If he got a moment, he wanted to draw Hadley and Mason in their Moretti Magic Show costumes, while the vision was fresh in his mind.

  ‘Here we are. Bedroom B.’ Uncle Nat knocked, then straightened his jacket.

  The door slid open. Zola greeted them with a smile. She had changed into black trousers and a white blouse with a scooped neckline. Her high heels were the same red as her lips. ‘Welcome, welcome. Do sit down.’

  Zola had transformed the functional blue bedroom into a stylish sitting room. An ochre scarf encased the fluorescent ceiling light, softening its harsh glow, and a maroon throw covered the sofa, topped by a scattering of gold cushions.

  ‘You brought cushions?’ Uncle Nat said as he sat down.

  ‘I brought cushion cases. I keep my nightclothes in them.’ She picked up a silver cocktail shaker. ‘Let me fix you a drink.’

  ‘What’s that smell?’ asked Hal, sitting in an armchair draped with a cherry-red pashmina.

  ‘Sandalwood,’ said Zola, ‘from my diffuser. A few drops of oil and I can make anywhere smell like home. Harrison, have you ever tried a diabolo menthe?’ Hal shook his head. ‘Oh, you should.’ Opening a cupboard, she took out a small bottle of bright green liquid, poured it into a glass, and handed it to him.

  Hal eyed the fizzing liquid cautiously. The last green drink he’d been given had been disgusting.

  ‘It’s peppermint soda,’ Zola said, and Hal nodded, smiling politely as she poured clear liquid into a silver shaker, added a handful of ice, and rattled it vigorously. ‘I read all about your brilliant detective work on the case of the Highland Falcon Thief.’ She poured the mixture into two glasses.

  ‘You did?’ Hal was surprised.

  ‘Yes. In the newspaper.’ She locked eyes with him. ‘Very impressive.’ She opened a jar, skewered olives on to two cocktail sticks and dropped them into each drink with a soft plunk. ‘How clever to outsmart an ingenious criminal by using your skill as an artist.’ She passed Uncle Nat his drink without taking her eyes from Hal. ‘To Harrison Beck, the railway detective.’ She lifted her glass.

  ‘To my clever nephew,’ said Uncle Nat, grinning at Hal, who could feel himself blushing.

  ‘Do you have a sketchbook with you on this trip?’ Zola took a sip of her drink. ‘I’d love to see some of your pictures.’

  ‘You will have already seen some of Hal’s pictures – in the papers,’ Uncle Nat said drily.

  ‘I meant of the California Comet. Have you drawn it? What about the Silver Scout? Did you draw anything after our little visit? The toy train perhaps?’

  Hal was uncomfortably aware of the sketchbook in his pocket and took a swig of the green drink to avoid answering. It was frothy and tasted like toothpaste. He winced and swallowed.

  ‘Why the interest in Reza’s model train?’ Uncle Nat asked.

  ‘Did you know that Reza has been buying up land in the Northeast Corridor?’ Zola said, slipping off her heels and curling up on the sofa. ‘Now why would he do that, do you think?’

  ‘At first I thought he was planning to build a high-speed railway –’ Uncle Nat leaned towards her – ‘but then we saw . . .’

  ‘. . . that document about a rocket on his computer.’ She gave him a meaningful look. ‘Space travel.’

  Uncle Nat shrugged. ‘August Reza’s never shown any interest in space travel before.’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to see the drawings.’ She looked at Hal. ‘Was there a rocket station or launcher in that toy train set?’

  ‘August Reza only talked about trains.’ Hal replied, wondering if he could make an excuse to go to the bathroom and pour away the minty drink.

  Zola’s smartwatch flashed with a message, which she brushed away with a manicured finger.

  ‘I don’t know how you can wear one of those things.’ Uncle Na
t shook his head. ‘I’d hate being permanently plugged in and pestered. Disconnecting from normal life is one of the most appealing things about travelling.’

  ‘I like to be connected to the world. It keeps me on top of my game.’ Zola chuckled. ‘You’re an old-fashioned soul, with your ink pens and handwritten journals.’

  ‘How would Zircona react to Reza Technologies getting into space travel?’ Hal asked, thinking about Marianne.

  Zola turned and stared at Hal. ‘What makes you ask that question?’

  ‘I . . . I . . . don’t know. I-I don’t even know what Zircona do,’ Hal spluttered. ‘But they’re rivals, aren’t they? Zircona and Reza?’ He shrugged and peered into his green drink to avoid Zola’s penetrating look.

  ‘Zircona trade in digital information,’ said Uncle Nat, studying Zola with apparent interest. ‘They own software and hardware companies. If I’m not mistaken, they made the watch Zola’s wearing.’

  ‘It’s very clever.’ Zola held up her wrist. ‘It seems to know what I want to know before I know it myself.’ Her laugh was low and sultry.

  ‘Are Zircona interested in space travel?’ Hal asked.

  ‘No,’ Zola replied. ‘Zircona have invested billions in self-driving cars.’

  ‘Robot cars?’

  ‘Yes. In the future, a Zircona car will pick you up at your door and take you where you need to go. There’ll be no need for trains.’ Zola took the empty cocktail glasses and rinsed them in the little sink. ‘The car has always eclipsed the train.’

  ‘And yet the train has endured,’ said Uncle Nat quietly.

  ‘How was the drink?’ Zola asked Hal.

  ‘Mmmm, um, minty.’

  ‘I used to drink them when I was at university in Paris.’

  ‘That’s where Marianne goes to school,’ Hal said.

  ‘She’s a smart cookie. Probably end up running Reza Technologies one day. Are you two friends?’

  Hal realized he was nodding only when it was too late to stop, and he could tell by the triumphant look on Zola’s face that he’d given something away.

  ‘How convenient for your uncle!’ Zola arched an eyebrow at Uncle Nat.