3 of a Kind (9 page)

‘It’s OK, Dad, we’re about to land in Los Angeles,’ said Darkus. ‘I’m really glad you’re back,’ he confessed.

Knightley smiled, looking around, bleary-eyed. ‘These seats really are comfortable. I slept like a log.’

*

The plane performed a textbook landing and ten minutes later the trio exited on to a jet bridge leading to the Bradley terminal of Los Angeles International Airport. Darkus felt the wave of California heat through the gangway as they passed into a glass corridor, following the signs to Immigration and Customs, then descended an escalator under an American flag and a smiling photo of the President of the United States.

‘He still owes me one,’ Knightley muttered. But, even after consulting ‘the Knowledge’ that was stored in his head, Darkus had no idea which case he was referring to.

They joined a queue that snaked around several rows of barrier posts, then approached a glass cubicle containing a stern-looking immigration officer. The three of them presented their passports and the travel papers supplied by Uncle Bill.

‘What’s the purpose of your visit?’ asked the officer.

‘To find an old friend,’ replied Knightley.

The officer looked them over for a few moments, then abruptly stamped their passports in quick succession and waved them through.

Having beaten them through the queues, the teenage boy in the baseball cap, headphones and sunglasses observed their movements from the baggage carousel, unnoticed.

The Knightleys and Tilly loaded their carry-on luggage on to a trolley and wheeled it through customs without delay, entering the main concourse. The teenager in the baseball cap walked briskly ahead, whispered something to a representative at a car rental desk, then vanished through the automatic doors into the gathering dusk.

Knightley Senior took the lead, scanning the rental kiosks until he saw a slightly sweaty man in a white shirt, sporting a goatee beard and holding a misspelt sign that read:
Knightly
.

The trio approached the man cautiously.

‘The Knightleys?’ asked the man enthusiastically. ‘I’m Todd. I’ll be your greeter.’

‘Greeter?’ asked Darkus.

‘It’s an American thing,’ Knightley explained privately. ‘He will escort us to our vehicle, engage us in light chit-chat and then wait until we give him a tip.’

Darkus turned to Tilly. ‘Dad means a gratuity on top of the agreed cost of service.’

‘I know what he means,’ she snapped, then turned to the greeter. ‘Who sent you?’ she demanded.

‘A company called …’ The greeter checked his paperwork. ‘SO42?’

‘Bill thought of everything. Lead on, Todd,’ said Knightley and gave him the trolley to push. ‘It’s very
important to “tip” everyone you meet,’ the detective carried on to his colleagues. ‘That’s why I have a stash of one-dollar bills in my “fanny pack”.’

‘Your what?’ Darkus and Tilly said in unison.

‘It’s an American thing,’ Knightley repeated and took a bunch of bills out of the nylon bumbag belted round his waist.

The greeter led them out on to the kerb, past an array of travellers, SUVs, yellow taxis and a handful of paparazzi pursuing a celebrity; then across a busy access road to a car park where a large shiny Dodge saloon waited for them. Darkus wasn’t a car fanatic, but even he experienced a shiver of pleasure at the sight of the gleaming machine.

‘This is your vehicle,’ said Todd grandly. ‘It must be your lucky day because they’ve given you a complimentary upgrade. A mid-sized sedan for the price of a compact.’

‘What he means is …’ began Darkus.

‘I get it,’ replied Tilly.

‘With collision insurance included and less than a hundred miles on the clock,’ Todd announced proudly. ‘The satnav is built in, just press this button here … And you’re ready to roll.’

Todd loitered by the driver’s-side door until Knightley handed over a sheaf of one-dollar bills.

‘Thank you, sir, and welcome to Los Angeles.’ The greeter handed over the keyfob, pocketed the money and returned to the terminal.

‘So where are we going?’ asked Tilly.

‘Has Bill organised a hotel?’ asked Darkus.

Knightley took some paperwork from his bumbag. ‘The Mar Vista Motor Inn,’ he read out. ‘It doesn’t sound encouraging.’

‘I’d better have my own room,’ Tilly demanded. ‘With a hot tub.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ advised Knightley, examining the dashboard.

‘Shotgun,’ called Tilly.

The Knightleys spun round. ‘Where?’

‘I’m
riding
shotgun …’ she explained, shaking her head as she hopped into the car. ‘That means I’m taking the front passenger seat, you doofus,’ she lectured Knightley. ‘See, you learn something new every day. And the ignition is
here
.’ She pointed to a ‘Start’ button.

Darkus took the back seat, which was the size of a small bed.

Knightley pressed the button, causing the engine and lights to flick on. ‘Now, we’re all a little jet-lagged and as our designated driver I need to keep my wits about me.’ He tried to enter the address into the satnav before Tilly nudged him aside and entered it for him.

The satnav began speaking in an automated American voice. ‘Please pro-ceed to the highlighted route …’

Knightley put the car into ‘Drive’ and slowly pulled away from the kerb. He stopped at a parking barrier, fed a machine with more one-dollar bills, then joined a brightly lit highway leading away from the airport.

‘Please pro-ceed on to …
World Way
,’ said the satnav.

‘So far so good.’ Knightley indicated and changed lanes, finding himself surrounded on all sides by large American cars.

‘Please turn left on to …
Air-port Bou-le-vard
,’ said the satnav.

‘The street names are very helpful,’ commented Darkus.

The Dodge negotiated the turn and Darkus stared out of the window at the orange sky and the neon façades of the airport hotels. Up ahead were giant billboards for upcoming blockbusters, and arteries of traffic extending outwards in a sea of headlights and tail lights. He thought to himself that Los Angeles really was just how it appeared in the movies.

Tilly loosened her seat belt, switched on the radio, put her feet on the dashboard and powered down her window to enjoy the warm breeze. Knightley rolled his down too, draping one hand over the steering wheel and the other over the side of the door. West Coast hip hop
pumped out of the stereo and the two of them nodded their heads in time.

Then, without warning, both windows rose upwards, breaking the moment. Knightley and Tilly whipped their elbows in as the windows slid shut and the radio clicked off.

‘What did you press?’ Knightley accused her.

‘Nothing!’ she snapped.

Darkus started pressing the rear window switches. ‘Dad, have you activated the child locks?’

‘I don’t
think
I have,’ Knightley responded.

A warning tone pinged, accompanied by a cluster of red lights on the dashboard.

‘Something’s wrong with the car,’ moaned Tilly.

Suddenly, the vehicle changed down a gear and lurched foward, speeding up.

‘Speed limit’s thirty-five,’ noted Darkus.

‘I’m aware of that, Doc.’ Knightley looked down to see the accelerator pedal lowering all by itself. ‘I think I might have selected cruise control …’

The display on the satnav inexplicably changed to a different, more complex route. All three occupants did a double take.

‘That’s not the right way,’ Tilly pointed out.

Knightley tapped the indicator and turned the steering wheel to pull over – but it wouldn’t budge.

‘I can’t … move … the wheel,’ he complained, then stepped on the brake, but it sunk to the floor with no effect.

Darkus felt his catastrophiser thrum to life, its revs climbing in line with the car engine, whose speedometer needle was gaining steadily. ‘Tilly, fasten your seat belt,’ he instructed.

The satnav chimed in with its robotic American accent. ‘Please sit back and
en-joy the ride
…’

Knightley wrestled with the steering wheel, then the wheel began turning by itself. ‘What the –?’

Darkus and Tilly began examining the car to find out what was controlling it.

The satnav continued its stilted announcement: ‘The Com-bin-ation would like to extend a warm welcome to all three of you. But un-less you find a way to stop this ve-hicle, this is going to be a v-ery short trip.’

‘Look at the map,’ Darkus called out, pointing through the front seats to the display. ‘It’s heading for the ocean.’

The satnav continued its speech. ‘Your move, Knight-leys.’

Tilly stabbed the ignition button, but it was useless. ‘Something must be overriding the engine management system.’

‘Great. So what do we do about it?’ barked Knightley.

The Dodge accelerated around a corner, throwing its
occupants and their luggage from one side of the cabin to the other.

‘Have a safe jour-ney …’ the satnav concluded.

‘Try the handbrake!’ shouted Darkus.

‘I can’t find it,’ replied his dad. ‘And, for your information, it’s called a parking brake in this country.’

‘There –’ Tilly pointed to a small pedal at Knightley’s feet.

Knightley stepped on it, but nothing happened. Then he pressed every button on the keyfob, but the car continued to gain speed. Knightley tossed the keyfob over his shoulder in frustration.

Darkus watched their progress on the map display. ‘It says arrival time: three minutes.’ He glanced out at the scenery and got a sinking feeling, seeing an expanse of marshes and bluffs, and off in the distance … the Pacific Ocean. Darkus desperately ran his fingers over his chin, trying to deduce a solution, searching for any new hair to twiddle with, then it hit him: ‘The shaver … I need the shaver.’

‘He’s right,’ yelled Tilly jubilantly. ‘Thank the lord for Miss Khan. If we can send an electromagnetic pulse, we’ll fry the circuitry, shut down the whole vehicle. Where is it?’

‘In the boot,’ said Darkus guiltily. ‘Well, in this country it’s known as the trunk.’

‘Well, that’s just fan-tastic!’ screamed Tilly – sounding just for a moment like her father, Clive. She jabbed a finger at the satnav. ‘Why don’t we just ask the nice man to stop the car while you hop out and get it?’

The Dodge careered off a highway exit ramp and down a restricted access road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

‘Wait – there is another option,’ suggested Darkus, rummaging in the back seat.

‘What are you doing?’ Tilly shrieked impatiently.

Darkus located a lever and yanked it down, causing one of the back seats to fold forwards, revealing a space leading to the boot. The car took another hard turn, hurling him against the door, then he managed to grip on to a seat belt and crawl through the gap in the seats.

‘What are you playing at back there?’ bellowed Knightley.

‘I just need to get to my bag …’ Darkus extended his hand through the gap. His fingers located his luggage and groped for the zip, easing it down to allow entry into the bag.

‘Sixty seconds!’ Tilly shouted, staring at the satnav display, which showed the cursor rapidly approaching a large blue shape. They were heading straight for the water.

‘I can see a disused pier of some kind!’ said Knightley, seeing the marshland make way for the ocean fast approaching ahead of them.

Darkus desperately pulled out clothes, toiletries, then felt the plastic grip of the shaver. The car swerved, sending it rolling out of his hands across the floor of the boot. He groped again, finally locating it and shuffling back through the gap as quickly as he could.

‘We’re out of time!’ cried Tilly.

The Dodge barrelled through a parking barrier, sending it exploding off its hinges, and sped towards a narrow wooden jetty, extending over the water.

Darkus held up the shaver. ‘I’ve got it!’ He switched it on. It made a routine buzzing noise. He slid out the beard trimmer. Still nothing.

‘You really haven’t used one of those before, have you!’ Tilly scolded him.

‘
You have arrived at your dest-ination …
’ said the satnav.

‘Brace!’ shouted Knightley, seeing them running out of road, with the dark blue ocean now visible on all sides.

Darkus pushed the switch in the opposite direction and suddenly the buzzing stopped, the entire dashboard went dark, the headlights flicked off. But the car kept rolling forward under its own momentum.

Darkus’s mind went into overdrive. ‘The electrics are gone and so is the electronic braking system. However, the hydraulics are still working.’ He examined a diagram in his head from Physics class. ‘Dad, pump the brake pedal to increase the brake fluid pressure in the master cylinder!’

‘I’m pumping!’ hollered Knightley.

The hydraulics engaged and the car suddenly braked, the tyres rapidly decelerating on the splintered wooden boards of the disused pier. Knightley gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white, and stamped repeatedly on the pedal as the car slid to a halt, only inches from the edge.

‘Now engage the parking brake,’ instructed Darkus calmly.

Knightley engaged the smaller pedal at his feet and let out a sigh of relief. ‘Well, that was a …
close shave
?’ He waited for a reaction, only to find his two passengers had already exited the vehicle. He frowned and aped an American accent: ‘You’re welcome.’

A yellow Toyota Prius taxi pulled up in front of the Renaissance-style stone façade of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, in the heart of Beverly Hills. The Knightleys and Tilly were squeezed in the back seat and the boot lid was tied half open to accommodate their luggage.

A valet jogged to the cab, then signalled two more bellhops to unload the bags. The Knightleys got out and surveyed the wide boulevard and the rows of curved awnings containing pricey boutiques, all fanned by gently swaying palm trees. Again, Darkus felt like he was in a Hollywood movie – or, in their case, a sinister plot hatched by the Combination.

‘Are you sure we can afford this?’ he whispered to his dad, staring up at the hotel.

Knightley smiled, taking in the splendour of their surroundings. ‘Clearly our enemy knew we were coming to America. Uncle Bill never arranged a rental car – it
was all a set-up. All part of the devious game we’re currently engaged in. So, since our existing travel plans have been compromised, it’s time to change the rules … do something unpredictable.’