Page 27 of Runner 13
Stella
I don’t know what to do with the bottle of pills now that the sun is up.
It was stupid to take it. Emilio is a doctor – I’m sure he has a legit reason to have the drugs.
But then he also had that water bottle filled with residue.
Why did he keep that? Thoughts ricochet around my brain, giving me a headache.
I need to find a way to get a message to Pete.
He can find out if Nabil’s death is at all suspicious.
If it is, then I can go to the police with the pills.
For now, the best thing I can do is stay with the race – and keep an eye on my dad.
In the meantime, all I can picture is Emilio tapping my shoulder and demanding I give him back what I stole. So when someone touches my arm, I leap out of my skin.
‘Wow, jumpy much?’ It’s only Dale. He doesn’t wait to hear my answer; he just rubs his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement.
‘Second day, ready to do it all again? The runners are going up the jebel, where the cars can’t reach, so I’m thinking we leave really early – like, right now – and we’ll have time to climb and set up before the elites get there. ’
‘Go for it. I’m staying here.’
He frowns. ‘What?’
‘I’m staying in the bivouac. I’ll find another driver.’
‘Are you kidding? But you’ll miss all the action.’
I grimace. ‘I’ve seen enough, thanks. I’m going to stick to following my fun runners.’
‘Honestly, I kind of expected more …’ He trails off, but I don’t miss his pointed look.
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’
He leans forward. ‘It means, I know who you are, Stella. I’ve studied my Boones history – and you were a feature at his early races. I figured Boones’s daughter might have a bit more ambition.’
‘Screw you.’
He holds his hands up. ‘Just saying.’
Ali drives up in the Jeep before I can throw my camera at Dale’s head. When he hears I’m not coming with them, Ali is also concerned. ‘Are you certain? We can wait for you – my instructions are to take you both.’
‘No, really. I’m OK.’ I glance around, but Dale is distracted by loading his belongings into the trunk. He’s out of earshot. I lean in close to Ali. ‘Hey, do you know where I can get hold of a phone?’
He blinks, then shakes his head. ‘No, sorry. They made me hand mine in.’
‘Same with me. OK – well, if you hear of anyone who has one …’
‘Right, dude, let’s get this show on the road,’ says Dale, jumping in the passenger seat. ‘We only care about winners in this car.’
I fold my arms across my chest. When they’re gone, my thoughts return to the previous night: not only the pills I found in Emilio’s bag and the bottle of water with the powdery residue but the conversation with Adrienne.
My mind has snagged on the snippet she dropped about Boones – his vow to provide her with information if she finishes the race.
It reminds me of what Ali had told me in the dunes. That his aunt has been offered funds towards the rebuilding of the village school. Was that a coincidence? Or are the promises somehow part of the make-up of this Ampersand race? What has he said to other runners?
And, even more unlikely, can he keep those promises if they fulfil their end of the bargain? It strikes me as more of a trick. One of his cruel games.
I march towards his trailer. If there are answers, they’ll be there, amidst the mountain of paper. I need to get there before they pack up and move it from the bivouac.
But when I enter, I’ve been beaten to it.
‘Stella! Good morning.’ Boones smiles at me, unfazed by my unplanned arrival.
‘Dad.’ I suck in a deep breath. Might as well ask him outright. ‘I spoke to Adrienne last night.’
‘Oh?’
‘She told me what you promised her at the end of the race.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Don’t play dumb. It’s messed up to make promises you can’t keep. I know the police thought it was random joyriders who hit Ethan. How can you have evidence they don’t have?’
Boones taps the side of his nose. ‘I have my ways. It’s all here.’ He opens a drawer, where there’s a metal box locked with a combination. He spins the code, opens it up and removes a memory stick from a pile, marked with the number ‘13’.
I stiffen. ‘That means nothing. It could be blank for all I know. Give it to me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he replies, before dropping it back in and closing the lid. There’s a click as it locks.
‘So you’ll tell her? Just like that?’
‘She has to finish first. Them’s the rules.’
I swallow. ‘And Mariam … you promised her a donation?’
He nods.
‘Jesus, Dad. You’ve gone too far. You don’t know what someone will do to finish the race and earn your sick rewards. The lengths they might go to.’
‘That, my dear, is exactly what I’m hoping to find out.’ There’s that damn twinkle in his eye.
I think about the other memory sticks in the box. The other secrets they might hold. Or is he bluffing? There’s a good chance he has nothing at all. ‘What else have you promised?’
‘Have you changed your mind then, about helping me with this race?’
‘What? No. A man died yesterday. One of your elites. Surely that changes things?’
To my surprise the blow registers. He shuts his eyes and presses down on his eyelids like he’s holding back tears. Then he shakes it off. ‘An unfortunate heart issue.’
‘Is that what the doctors in Ouarzazate say? Or this “doctor” Emilio? How well do you know that guy anyway?’
‘He’s been my personal physician for the past two years. I trust him with my life.’
His personal physician? So maybe the sedatives are for him. Pain relief. And now my suspicions have been proven – Boones has offered incentives to some of the elite runners, adding extra fuel to their fire. Could some of those promises be worth killing for?
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.