"Jumper:Griffin _s Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Steven)

SABLES MOUVANTS!

I discussed it with Henry, in French of course. He picked up a rock and heaved it onto the wet sand and bloop, it sank right down. Very quick sand indeed.

I sketched a great deal, annoying Henry, who was snapping pics with his camera, but got a good sketch of the lace staircase and the statue of Saint Michael slaying the dragon. He kept wanting me to hurry up but I'd just send him off to get us drinks or snacks.

Having decided we'd walked quite enough, we took the train station shuttle back to Pontorson.

We relaxed the next day, helped Cousin Harold clear leaves out of his roof gutters. I sketched, and we watched a Manchester United match on the telly. We were keeping the deal though, not speaking anything but French.

By the time the MV Bretagne had pulled into Portsmouth (Cousin Harold came back with us, to hand us through passport control and do some shopping) my accent was much better and we'd managed to increase Henry's vocabulary by about fifty words.

"You visit me this summer and we'll make a real breakthrough-get you speaking like Griff here," said Cousin Harold, finally reverting to English while we waited in the British-citizen line at immigration.

They were scanning the bar code on the passports and glancing at the pictures, and saying, "Welcome back, welcome back, welcome ba-" The terminal beeped when they scanned my passport and two bored-looking guards leaning against the wall were suddenly blocking the route out to the car park and the taxis and the buses.

"Mr. O'Conner, I'm afraid I'll need you to go with these officers."

Shit! "What's wrong?" I asked. "Did my passport expire?"

He shook his head. "No."

Cousin Harold and Henry had gone through before me and gotten yards on the way, but Henry tugged on Harold's elbow and they came back. "What seems to be the problem, Officer?"

"Are you traveling with this lad, sir?"

"Indeed I am. In loco parentis, so to speak. Were you worried he was an unaccompanied minor?"

"No, sir. There's an alert out. He's wanted for questioning."

"Questioning? For what? I should really call his parents, then."

"I'd be surprised if you could, sir. According to this alert, they were murdered six years ago. This lad's been missing ever since."

Henry was frowning but when he heard this his eyes went wide. "Nonsense. Griff's dad teaches computers and his mother teaches French lit."

The immigration control officer narrowed his eyes and looked interestedly at Henry. "Tell you that, did he?"

"Stop it," I said to Henry. "That's what they did, all right. Before-" My voice broke and I clamped my mouth shut.

Cousin Harold frowned at me. "Surely, Officer, you don't expect this boy to have anything to do with this crime?"

The officer shrugged. "It just says 'detain for questioning.' Until four days ago he was presumed dead." His phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes, sir. We've got him. Your office? Yes, sir." He hung up and spoke to the two guards. "The chief wants him." He handed my passport to one of them.

It was Henry's eyes that hurt. "They came for us in California," I said. "I got away but Mum and Dad-" I took another breath. "Anyway, that's the only thing I wasn't honest about, if you were wondering."

"Here, boy, let me take that for you," one of the guards said, taking hold of my bag. The one with my passport took hold of my upper arm, firmly. Pretty much like the other guard had taken my suitcase.

"If you'd care to come this way, sir," he said to Cousin Harold.

Henry said, "Someone killed your parents? Who did that?"

I shook my head. "It's complicated."

They took us through a door with a punch-button combination lock, then down a hallway toward a bank of lifts. Ahead on the right was a double set of doors with the universal pictograms.

I pointed. "Need to use the loo. Urgently."

They looked at each other and the one holding me shrugged. "Right, then." He pushed the door open and said, "Take off your coat and turn out your pockets." Cousin Harold and Henry stayed in the hall with the other immigration officer.

"What?"

"Come on-you want to use the lav, do what I say."

I took the coat off-it was my favorite jacket, a leather one-and handed it to him. I put my wallet on the counter and a handful of French coins. "That's it. Why?"

"Routine. Don't want you doing yourself an injury. Show me your ankles."

I pulled up my pant legs. "No knives. No guns," I said. I gestured at my thin wallet and the coins. "All right?"

He nodded and pointed at a stall. "Help yourself."

The minute I locked the stall door behind me, I jumped.

It was a sloppy jump, unfocused, and pieces of porcelain and water splashed across my shoes and the limestone floor of my Hole. I hated to think what the stall looked like. Bet he heard it. I pictured his steps pounding-no, splashing-¦ across the floor and his opening the door to see the shattered toilet, maybe toilet paper strewn everywhere.

And no me.