Parallel Trust

James Stoddah

Description

What begins as an exciting challenge turns into a countdown to save a young girl's life... As seventeen-year old Aril Ousby, the son of a renowned astrophysicist, embarks on a geocache treasure hunt in Britain, a series of kidnappings takes place in the United States. How are these events connected? Is Aril right to trust the enigmatic architect of the treasure hunt - or is he being led into an elaborate trap? Is the puzzle master motivated by altruism - or greed? And why has he chosen to involve Aril in his scheme? Aril and his friend Unity are drawn into a mystery that leads them to look at the Earth from a new perspective and to address a fundamental question: can future generations avoid the mistakes their parents made?

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: 2QT Limited (Publishing
• Date de parution: 22 juin 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781910077634
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

______________________________________
A PARALLEL
TRUST
______________________________________



James Stoddah




First eBook Edition 2015
2QT Limited (Publishing)
Unit 5 Commercial Courtyard
Duke Street, Settle
North Yorkshire BD24 9RH.
www.2qt.co.uk


Release Partner: OUTLET PUBLISHING GROUP
Bulloch House, 10 Rumford Place, Liverpool. L3 9DG.
www.outletpublishinggroup.com

Requests to publish work from this book should be sent to:
[e-mail]

This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Parallel Trust copyright ©2015 James Stoddah.
All rights reserved. First edition.

www.jamesstoddah.com

The rights of James Stoddah to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means; electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent or in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition imposed on the subsequent purchaser.



Cover design: Kyle Wilson

A CIP catalogue record forthe paperback format of this book is available
from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-910077-52-8


eBook ISBN: 978-1-910077-63-4









ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


No book release can happen without the help of a support network and I am eternally grateful to everyone who has helped me create this novel. It was particularly exciting to write and it wouldn’t have been possible without family, friends and the professionals who have guided me, so thank you all.

Special thanks to: Marilyn Wilson , who helped look after me and the family; Harley and Kyle for anchoring me to reality; Annette and Hannah Cartlidge for their encouragement and putting up with my crazy ideas; Karen Holmes , my editor, for steering me through the writing process and teaching me to be disciplined and patient; Emma Pritchard for giving me faith in my own ideas; Catherine Cousins for the admin and absorbing the stress I create for her, and Bruce Nicholson for bearing the burden of my many emails when I’m in a pickle! Also my researchers and beta readers: Steven Greening, Sarah Loftus, Georgia Barrett, Caitlin Lynagh, Chris Lord and Sarahjane Farr.







– Chapter 1 –


My seventeenth birthday was the best day of my life. My Suzuki GN125 had been teasing me outside the dining-room window for three weeks as I wasn’t able to ride it until I turned seventeen. My mother had bought it for me before she moved her new family to Carlisle in the summer. I had admired it daily and polished it vigorously until it looked brand new. I made mental plans for road trips up and down the country during my sixth-form holidays.
My first ride out had only been into the local town, Huntingdon, and back, I was unsteady at first. I had completed my compulsory bike training in the spring but hadn’t ridden a bike since. The gears seemed more responsive and I pulled away too sharply on occasions but after about half an hour I nailed it. It must be in the blood. My mum is a biker, my granddad was a racer and my step-granddad won the TT before an accident ended his career.
I returned home feeling elated. I picked up the mail, so happy that I jumped up and down in my leathers. The house was empty. My father was at work and my brother was out. I wanted to go somewhere, any excuse to ride again, but I was hungry and had homework to finish. School started early the next day, or rather college as I prefer to say. The sixth-form building is attached to the same school I had attended since I moved in with my dad when I was eleven. It was still two weeks until half term. I thought my first major journey would be to see my mum.
I kicked off my boots and sat awkwardly on the sofa. My new leathers were not flexible enough yet; I was stiff and uncomfortable but reluctant to take them off. I sifted through the mail. There were birthday cards from my grandparents and an old delinquent friend, Denny, whom I had kept in touch with since primary school. There was also a small package. It had no name on, just the address; Heptagon House, Elsworth, Cambridgeshire. I thought it must be for me as it was my birthday. Inside was a memory stick. It wasn’t in its packaging, just on its own. Still, it must be for me.
I got up and switched on the downstairs computer, then went into the kitchen while it booted up. The phone rang before I had put the bread in the toaster. It was Dad.
‘Hey, Aril, I wasn’t sure if you’d still be in or on your bike.’
‘Just got in now.’
‘How was it?’ he asked.
‘It was amazing. It rides really well. Had it up to seventy inside ten.’
‘Wait, you what?’
‘Relax! I’m joking. I kept at forty but it was awesome.’ I love winding him up.
‘Good. Remember rule number one?’
‘Yeah, don’t die,’ I laughed.
My dad had never been keen on me having a bike. I spoke about having one for ages and I know I played on Mum’s kindness. My dad didn’t know about it until the last minute. My mum was moving her ever-growing family away and the bike was her joint birthday-leaving present. I would only see her now during major holidays. My dad had lectured me about safety. He had seen too many serious accidents to be confident about me having a bike.
I also have a defensive temperament sometimes. In the past, I would throw the game controllers if I was frustrated at a video game or aggressively give up on a task if I couldn’t perfect it to my high standards. I need to prove myself. Rule number one was carved in stone. God help me if I came home dead.
We spoke for about ten minutes and made arrangements to meet with the family for a meal in the evening. I would have preferred pizza but he wanted something a bit more up-market. It was a double celebration.
After I ate, I plugged the memory stick into the computer. There was a single document called ‘Heptagon House’. On opening, the message simply read:

52.8588 -0.6813 Red star. What is your name?

So this must have been for my dad after all. He runs an observatory about twenty minutes’ drive from our house in the Cambridgeshire countryside. As much as I get my passion for two-wheeled independence from my mother, Dad is responsible for one of my other major passions. My bedroom is a mini planetarium: wall maps of the night sky from both hemispheres, mobiles of each planet from our solar system dangle from the ceiling, which is painted black with tiny glow stars. I worked with Dad to try and recreate constellations in their current positions. I would love to be an astrophysicist when I finish my education but I am struggling with mathematics at college so these good intentions could be limited by my abilities. I’d be more than happy to take over my father’s job.
I was on a high all day from my ride out and felt confident about taking the bike in to college. I couldn’t wait for the next day. I stayed at home as Dad was expected back early. I wrote thank-you letters for my presents, replied to the fifty-four birthday Facebook messages and smartened myself up. My brother, Harvey, returned from his walk. I thought he had forgotten my birthday but he entered my room with a smile and insulting card – as I would expect from him. Not that I was expecting the £50 voucher inside from the local bike shop. He knew I was looking to customise the bike. I was genuinely touched.
My dad, Dale Ousby, was exceptionally jolly when he got in. The observatory had just received funding for an extension of the facility and a new telescope. It was the culmination of two years’ work. I was happy for him. He had worked late for many nights and had been travelling all over the world meeting with people. There had been one stumbling block after another and I was worried that it was taking its toll on his health. He hadn’t been cooking, merely snacking, and anything worthy of calling a meal was a shove-it-in-the-oven thirty-minute plastic effort. No wonder he wanted to eat out at one of Cambridge’s finest diners.
I don’t do posh well. I have long brown hair which has grown past my shoulders. I like the alternative look, though have fallen short of the goatee or any piercings as yet. I’m not good with pain. I suppose I fit the biker stereotype but, as much as I like rock music, I have a broad taste in music. I like anything with a decent melody. Though I do play guitar and skateboarding is still a guilty pleasure. I put on a black shirt and my only pair of trousers that were not jeans.
I told Dad about the memory stick. He said he would look at it after the meal. He wasn’t expecting anything and there were a number of red stars that it could refer to, but his observatory specifically investigated double stars. These are two stars that appear to be a single star – either because they are close or one is in the path of the other, even if they are light years apart. His observatory searches for and identifies them and their properties, and maps them for further observations by more powerful telescopes.
The meal rounded my day off perfectly. Marinated chicken breast with a feast of vegetables and tiramisu for dessert – the best meal I had eaten all year. It was good to see the family again too. My uncle and his family had travelled from Norwich and my grandma also cam