They were in some sort of control room. Along the far wall, opposite the open door, there was a bank of instruments, dials and levers. There were also a couple of computer screens with keyboards, but these were switched off, and some swivel chairs. The chairs were not pushed neatly against the control panel, but instead were dotted around messily. It looked like whoever had last been in this room had left in a hurry. There were no windows; instead the walls were covered with complicated charts and measurements, which would have made Ben glaze over a bit even if he felt like looking at them.
He didn't feel like looking at them, though. And he didn't have the time, because at that precise moment he felt a sharp blow just behind his knees. His legs collapsed beneath him and he fell with a heavy thud to the ground. He was joined moments later by Angelo, who had just received the same treatment and who called out in pain as his knees cracked against the hard floor.
Their dripping wet clothes had already made a small puddle around them and briefly Ben caught sight of his own reflection in it. He looked terrible: exhausted and scared. Hardly surprising, he thought to himself. His reflection disappeared as the puddle wavered slightly. A rope suddenly appeared in front of him and he gasped as he felt it being tied tightly around his waist, then coiled several times more, despite the fact that he had started to struggle violently. The man behind him was breathing heavily as he gripped the rope firmly; he grunted with satisfaction when Ben had to catch his own breath as the rope was tightly tied. Ben's arms were immobile — there was no way he was going to get out of that.
Despite the fact that Angelo already had his arms tied behind his back he received the same treatment.
'Get to your feet,' the man instructed. Ben struggled up painfully, as did Angelo.
The man walked towards the control panel. 'Over here,' he said. The two boys followed him. Ben watched as he took the end of the rope that bound Angelo and tied it to the sturdy metal leg of the control bench. He then pushed Ben to the other end of the bench and tied him to another leg. He and Angelo were out of reach of each other and Ben could tell that he'd have had enough trouble untying the fiendish knots the man had made even if his hands were free; now they were tied behind his back, he'd have no chance.
The man took his rucksack from his back, placed it on the floor and bent down to get something from inside. 'What are you doing?' Ben asked, his nervous voice croaking; but the man didn't answer. Instead he pulled what looked like a small video camera from the bag and started tinkering with it. When he was satisfied that it was working, he turned to Angelo.
'I'm going to film you,' he said curtly. 'When I nod, you say your name for the camera, and that you are currently at the South Miami Oil Refinery.'
Angelo raised his bowed head and fixed the man with a look of hate. He curled his lip. 'And if I don't?' he demanded.
The man's eyes narrowed. He let the camera fall to his side, then approached Angelo with the gun. He held it to the Italian boy's head.
'You may be under the mistaken impression,' he whispered, 'that I'm the kind of person who likes to be messed with. That's not a mistake people make more than once. Understand?'
Terrified and trembling, Angelo nodded his head.
'Good,' the man continued. 'Now listen carefully. I'm not a very patient film director, so you only get one shot at this. No retakes.'
He stepped back a few paces, raised the camera again and pressed a button. A little red light appeared at the front as the man nodded at Angelo.
The Italian boy tried to speak, but his voice failed him at first. When he finally did manage to get the words out, they were weak and wavering. 'My name…' he stuttered. 'My name is Angelo Bandini.' He took a deep, trembling breath. 'I am in the middle of the South Miami Oil Refinery.' He stared, white-faced at the camera. 'Please don't kill me,' he begged quietly. 'Please don't kill me …'
But the man had already stopped recording and was stashing the camera back in his rucksack. Once it was stowed away, he turned his back on the two of them and made to leave. He strode towards the door and was just about to walk out when Ben shouted.
'Wait!'
The man stopped in his tracks. He paused, as though deciding whether to answer Ben's call or not, then slowly turned. He had one eyebrow raised, and he stared at Ben with a dead look in his face.
'What?'
Ben looked at him urgently. 'Think about what you're doing. Think about what it's going to mean. This isn't going to help the people on Danny's island — it's not going to do them any good at all!'
The man blinked at him, expressionlessly. Then his lip curled and he let out a small snort of laughter. 'Help them?' he demanded in his upper-class English accent. He looked back over his shoulder. 'Help him? You think I'm doing this because I want to help the inhabitants of some godforsaken place thousands of miles away? You must be stupider than you look.'
Ben ignored the insult. The lights flickered off and on again.
'Then why?' he whispered. 'Why are you doing this?'
The man smirked, then walked up to him. He put his face only inches from Ben's and spoke in a slow, clear voice. He sounded patronizing, as though he was explaining something to a particularly idiotic child. 'For money,' he rasped. 'I'm being very well paid. Now if you'll excuse me, I've a little more work to do.'
He stepped back and headed for the door once more.
'If it's money you want,' Angelo shouted at him, 'I can pay you. I'm rich. Just name your price.'
The man turned round and his eyes widened. 'Really?' he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'And I suppose you wouldn't even think about going back on your word once you're safely in Daddy's arms, would you?' He sneered. 'Don't be so stupid.'
'Stupid?' Ben demanded angrily. 'Who's the stupid one? How many people do you think you're about to kill?' Now the man looked annoyed, but Ben didn't care. 'There's me and Angelo,' he pressed. 'That's two. But then there's everyone else who'll die when the wind spreads the flames and the smoke. How much are their lives worth to you?'
The man didn't answer. Instead, he raised his gun and pointed it directly at Ben. 'You're a noisy kid,' he announced. 'Maybe I should just silence you right now.'
The threat hung between them for a few long seconds. Ben jutted out his chin defiantly. If this was the end, he wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction of having him beg for mercy.
Then, gradually, the man lowered the gun.
'No,' he whispered. 'I don't think so. I've gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this evening's little spectacular. It would be a dreadful shame if you weren't around to witness the fireworks.' He looked at his watch. 'Showtime,' he said, 'in about an hour. Unfortunately I won't be able to watch it as I have a prior appointment elsewhere — once I've found myself a decent vehicle in which to get out of here. But don't worry — the little remote detonator in my bag has a very long range. I'm sure everything will go with a bang.'
He furrowed his brow a little before continuing to speak, this time in a far less sarcastic voice. 'I really don't know who you are,' he addressed Ben directly, 'or how you got involved in all this. But you seem like the kind of lad who's happy to poke his nose into other people's business. Nobody likes a nosy kid, so I don't suppose you'll be terribly mourned.'
Ben looked at him defiantly. 'I've just been trying to help my friend,' he retorted. 'I don't suppose it's something you'd understand.'
A look of mock surprise crossed the man's face. 'A friend?' He sneered. 'Oh, how sweet.'
And with that, he turned for the final time. He switched off the light to the control room, plunging Ben and Angelo into darkness, before closing the door ominously behind him.