The Legacy

Pincent, to Peter, made to look like Sheila’s, like an amateur’s. Pip had known that Jude would suspect Sheila, had known that he would protect her. But when Sheila had told him she’d been protecting Jude, he’d realised that the real culprit could only have been one person. And he’d known instinctively that it was now up to Jude to take over, finish what he’d started, even if the path ahead was not entirely clear to Jude, even if he didn’t yet understand the rules of the game he was playing.
    The lion chasing his tail, the mouse running free . . . Jude had assumed that the lion was Richard Pincent, that he and Pip were the mouse, that Pip knew what he was doing, that everything was a diversion, a smokescreen. But it couldn’t be. He’d missed something, had heard wrong. Hadn’t he?
    Jude closed his eyes. He knew he hadn’t misheard, knew he hadn’t missed anything. But that meant that Pip was . . . that suggested that Pip had lied, that he was on the side of darkness.
    Even as the thought occurred to him he knew it couldn’t be true. But he also knew that he needed to hear what they were saying. Frantically he pulled out his handheld device and connected it, sweat dripping off his forehead and making his fingers slip as they twisted wires together. As he connected it, he saw the light flashing, knew immediately that Peter needed him. But Peter would have to wait.
    ‘They’re downstairs,’ Derek was saying.
    ‘All of them?’ Pip asked.
    Derek nodded. ‘They can’t stay here for long. It’s disgusting down there. The smell . . .’
    Pip looked serious for a minute. ‘And Anna?’
    ‘He found her. She’s going upstairs. To Peter.’
    Pip nodded. ‘Peter has the ring?’
    ‘No,’ Derek said. ‘He was scanned at the door. But the other boy has it. Jude. He and the other girl are hiding in the west wing.’
    Pip’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, I knew I could rely on him to do my bidding and bring everyone here. It’s all come together nicely, Derek. For a while there I was a bit worried.’
    ‘Me too.’ Derek smiled.
    ‘So then it is time, is it not?’
    ‘It is time,’ Derek agreed.
    He helped Pip up. Jude stared open-mouthed, struggling to breathe. His airways were constricting, his head clouding. Had this been Pip’s game all along? Was the Underground the lion? Was Jude the lion? Had he been chasing his own tail while Pip, the mouse, had been working with Derek Samuels to deliver them all up to Richard Pincent? They were all here – Peter, Sheila, Anna, the Surpluses. There was no way out.
    Except there was, Jude realised. He still had the ring. He had to leave, had to escape. Then he would issue his demands and Richard would acquiesce. He would have to. Desperately, Jude disconnected his handheld device and wriggled back through the ceiling cavity towards Sheila. He’d brought her here; he was responsible for her. He’d promised to protect her and he wouldn’t break that promise. He wouldn’t.
    He could see the broken vent in front of him and moved frantically towards it. When he got there he could see Sheila’s face looking up anxiously. He looked down, met her gaze. ‘Sheila,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘we have to get out of here. We have to get as far away as possible. Now.’
    But Sheila didn’t reply; her face disappeared from view and was replaced by the face of a guard. Before Jude could react, he was pulled down to the floor below.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Sheila cried. ‘He just came in. He saw the vent. I’m sorry, Jude. He threatened to . . . He said he’d –’
    ‘It’s OK,’ Jude said as the guard grabbed him. ‘It doesn’t matter now anyway,’ he added, his head slumping. ‘It’s all over, Sheila. It’s all over.’

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    Chapter Twenty-two
     
    Jude felt sick as he was pushed roughly down the corridor. Sick, dizzy and empty. Everyone had come here because of him. Because he thought he knew – thought he was ready to lead.
    He was ready for nothing. He hung his head, unable to look over at Sheila, unable to offer her any hope, any reassurance.
    He stumbled and the guard behind him kicked him angrily, told him to be careful, told him not to make any trouble. He took out his walkie-talkie. ‘Mr Samuels, sir. I’ve got them. The boy and the girl. We’re on corridor W3.’ He listened to instructions. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and put the device away. Sheila was whimpering; all Jude wanted to do was to reach out, to protect her. But he knew he