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Most people hand them over without fuss. It’s not as if there’s much signal out here, and having that purity of experience – cut off from technology – has its appeal, as Hiroko said. But I cling on to mine like a life raft, dodging runners and volunteers alike in my urge to get to the edge of the bivouac.
I dial Nancy, Pete’s mother. I know it’s six a.m. in the UK, but she’s an early bird, up to walk their pair of overexcited black Labradors. But for some reason today she chooses not to answer. Same with Pete’s dad, his number ringing out.Where on earth are they?I feel panicky now, as I see Henry has spotted me. He’s approaching with an open dry bag like a threat.
I keep walking, dialling the numbers. It crosses my mind to call Pete, but I push that thought away. He won’t be with Ethan yet and he can hear the news about the race from Stella. I wonder if they’re taking away phones from the photographers too.
I glance behind me and see Henry is busy with another runner. I stop to record a video, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to rearrange my face into someone who is calm and in control. Not wildly panicked and flailing. ‘Ethan! It’s Mum. This is just a message to say that Boones is taking our phones away so we can concentrate on running. Didn’t you tell me that he hates technology? So there you go. You were right. But please don’t worry – remember you can follow my dot to see how I’m doing. Know I’m always thinking about you. Know I love you very much. Begood to Nanny and Grandad. Good luck in your matches. You know the way. And remember – I do too. See you very, very soon.’
I watch the message swirl around and around, the signal strength wavering as it attempts to send the video. I beg it to go. When I lower the screen, there is Henry.
‘Ready?’ he asks, holding out the open bag.
‘Can I make sure this sends?’
Henry glances down at his watch, sucking in his bottom lip. ‘I don’t know … OK, well, I also see here you have a digital camera and charger on your inventory – they need to go in too.’
I nod, feeling sick. I hadn’t had a moment spare to look at the pictures I’d taken of Jason’s notebook on that camera. Now that information is going to be locked away. The charger is in an easily accessible side pocket, but I take my time searching for it. I finally see the double tick to show the video has been sent, and I drop both the phone, charger and camera in the bag. He rolls the top and seals it, marking it with my race number. The bag is slightly padded, made of heavy-duty black material.
‘It’s a Faraday pouch. Blocks any signal,’ he explains. ‘You’ll be able to pick it up at the end of the race.’
‘You must have had all these prepared. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’
Henry laughs. ‘It’s all part of the race, to keep you on your toes. We volunteers are giving up our phones too. The only person with one is Boones – otherwise we’re running on radios.’
I frown. ‘That doesn’t seem safe.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s a laptop in the admin tent thatwill be manned twenty-four seven. There’ll always be someone watching your GPS trackers. We’ll know if any emergency beacons are activated and get help to that location straight away.’
‘So the photographers don’t have phones either?’
‘No one. They’ll have their cameras and will be able to send their images from the comms tent. Good luck, runner thirteen,’ he says, before walking away.
Without my phone I feel naked. Cut off. Alone. I’m still not sure that I can go through with this.
Then I see the dark green Jeep. This is my chance.
I start running. ‘Boones!’ I shout. Thankfully the vehicle moves at a crawl through the busy bivouac, and I am faster. The car stops as I bang on the window.
He lowers it, then examines me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on my race number. ‘Adrienne.’
My words come out in a breathless rush. ‘What you wrote on the invitation. I need to know. Who was driving the car?’
He raises both eyebrows at me. ‘Aw, come on now. You’re here. You’re wearing the number. We’re minutes from the start.’
‘Right. That’s why you have to tell me what you know.’
‘Answers at theendof the race.’
‘There could be someone here who’s trying to hurt me.’
‘It seems to me like someone has been trying to hurt you for a long time.’ He leans over to the glovebox and pulls out a folded piece of paper. I hold my breath as he hands it to me. I unfold it – it’s a black-and-white still from what looks like CCTV footage. The logo for the camera brand is in the left-hand corner. In view is the Ranger Rover. Irecognize the street it’s on as well. Just round the corner from my house. But the driver’s face is blurred.
‘You have this video?’
‘I do. I’ll show it to you. After the race.’
I crumple the paper. ‘How long have you had this?’ My mind is racing. All this time he’s known. ‘The driver … are they here? Am I in danger?’
‘Honey, you’re in the middle of the Sahara Desert. There’s danger everywhere.’