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The thought makes my skin crawl. I can’t help but think that by staying, by supporting even the fun runners, he’s making me complicit in his games. I’m getting pulled into his whirlpool of pain without the strength to swim away. The only way to escape it is to leave now. But I can’t – not now I know what’s in that box. I have to find a way to stop him.
‘Now, excuse me, I have a race to oversee. I think today is going to be very interesting.’
He ushers me out of the trailer, climbs into his four-by-four and leaves me in the dust. Now I need to send a message to Pete even more urgently than ever. If I can prove something more happened to Nabil than a ‘heart issue’ – something nefarious – then the police will come and stop the race.
A different car stops in front of me, blocking my path.
‘What the fuck?’ I yell, but the words die in my mouth when I see who it is. Ali. He gestures for me to get in. ‘Where’s Dale?’ I ask.
‘He got a lift in one of the helicopters. He was much happier with that.’
I climb into the passenger seat.
‘I couldn’t say anything before, in case Dale overheard me. I have a phone.’
My eyes open wide. ‘You do?’
He leans over and opens the glovebox with a flourish. ‘I handed in my Moroccan phone, but kept my UK one hidden in the car. It’s ancient but it works well enough.’
‘Oh, thank God. And smart not telling Dale. He’s a superfan of my dad and would have ratted you out straight away.’
But when I look into the compartment, it’s empty. ‘Um, Ali?’
‘What?’ He pats around the box, as if the phone might be there – but invisible. ‘I put it in last night.’ He looks genuinely stricken.
‘Maybe someone saw and confiscated it?’
‘I was very careful,’ says Ali. His eyes are wide. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: if the phone had been found by someone official at the race, he would have been sent away from the bivouac. But someone’s stolen it and not mentioned it.
That can’t be good.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘If you managed to keep a phone, there must be others who did too.’
Ali nods. ‘I can ask around.’
‘Let’s meet by the administration tent when they hand out the map to the next bivouac. And, Ali, please be careful. Someone took your phone. They might be watching.’
Knowing Boones, he has eyes everywhere.
But all I need is a split second to get a message out. Because if my suspicions are right, I have to be quick. Before another runner gets hurt.
24
Adrienne
Lining up at the start of stage two feels very different. We’re down to fourteen of the original twenty elites. There’s no smiles, no excited chatter. No Boones on his truck ready to try another slow clap. Thank God – that would have been completely inappropriate.
I sway from foot to foot, unable to keep still. I still can’t believe Nabil is dead. He’s not going to be returning to his children after the race ends. It’s a stark reminder of just how much I am risking. People die in these races, even without a target on their back. The only thing keeping me on the line and not finding a car to take me back to the city is Boones’s promise. This unshakeable feeling that if I can put that chapter of my life to bed, I will be able to move on.
Not that finishing is a given. Far from it. The environment itself seems to be doing its best to be intimidating. The skies are clear, the sun is bright – we’re destined for another scorcher. And we’re going to face our biggest challenge yet: Jebel Tilelli.
In the tent I’d studied the map in detail, trying to picture it in my head. I’ve always done well over difficult terrain – it’s one of my specialities. One of the reasons why I thought this race might suit me. If a race is too flat, the course too monotonous, I lose concentration too quickly. But give me a bit of technical running – over boulders oron perilous ridges – anything with a bit of exposure and an incline, and I come alive. I never loved being known as the ‘rock goat’, but I could see why it suited me.
The jebel is where I’m going to make my move. Today, though, is less about being first over the top and more about getting to know the landscape, so that when I cross it again on the long day, I have that knowledge padding my pain cave. Today is about learning.
But it’s not Boones who steps out of the Jeep at the sidelines. It’s Henry. He’s still in his Hot & Sandy vest, but as he strolls down the starting line, walking past me, I can see it now has the words ‘RACE DIRECTOR’ on the back.
I frown. A promotion?