Already he saw that he should have brought a compa.s.s with him. At the very least he could have brought something: a knife or a tin of paint to help him find his way back. He remembered a story he'd been told at school. Some Greek guy a Theseus or someone a had gone into a maze to fight a creature that was half-man and half-bull. The Minotaur. He'd been given a ball of wool, which he'd unravelled, and that was how he'd found his way out. Matt should have done the same.

He turned round and, counting out loud, retraced the twenty paces he had taken.

The road wasn't there.

It was impossible. He looked back at the wood. The trees stretched on endlessly. He checked left and right. The same. He took another five steps. More trees, all of them identical, running as far as the eye could see ... and further. The road had disappeared as if it had never been there. Either that, or somehow the trees had grown. That was what it felt like. The artificial wood encircled him. It had captured him and would never let him go.

Matt took a deep breath, counted twenty paces forward, then turned left and walked another ten. Still no road. No matter where he looked, he saw the same thing: tall, narrow trunks and a million needles. Gloomy corridors between them. A hundred different directions but no real choice. Matt stood still, hoping that he would hear a car on its way to Lesser Malling. That would help him find the road. But no car pa.s.sed. A single crow cawed, somewhere high above. Otherwise, the silence was as thick as fog.

"Great!"

He shouted out the single word because he wanted to hear the sound of his own voice. But it didn't even sound like him: it was small and weak, m.u.f.fled by the unmoving trees.

He walked on. What else could he do? His footfall was soft on the bed of needles, measuring out his progress into nowhere. Looking up, he could barely see the sky through the dark green canopy. He was getting sick and tired of all this. The roads had played exactly the same trick on him the night before. But at least they were roads. This was much, much worse.

A glimmer of silver caught his eye, quite unexpected in the middle of so much green. The sun was reflecting off something behind a wall of trees a short distance away. With a surge of relief Matt turned towards it, leaving one path and following another. But if he thought he had discovered the way out, he was mistaken. There was no way forward. He found himself up against a tall fence, rusting in places but still intact. The silver he had seen was the wire. The fence was at least six metres high and the top was barbed with steel spikes. It ran to the left and to the right, curving in what must be a huge circle.

Behind the fence was a clearing, in the centre of which stood a large building that was at once out of date and yet futuristic. It was divided into two parts. The main part was a rectangular, grey brick structure, two storeys high, with windows a half of them broken a running the full length. Some of the brickwork was cracked, with weeds and ivy eating their way in. It had obviously been there for a long time. Matt reckoned it must be thirty or forty metres long. It would have fitted neatly on to a football pitch.

But it was the second part of the building that drew his attention. Painted white and reaching at least thirty metres high, it looked just like a giant golf ball, sitting on the ground as if it had rolled there. Was it an observatory? No. There was no slit in the dome for a telescope. In fact it didn't have any windows at all. The ball had also been stained by time and the weather. The white paint was discoloured, and in places it looked as if it had caught some sort of disease. But it was still impressive. It was the last thing Matt would have expected to find in the middle of a wood.

A brick pa.s.sageway with a central door but no windows connected the two parts. Could this be the main entrance? Matt wondered if he could get closer. He had no idea what he was looking at. It would be good to find out.

He turned right and followed the fence for about fifty metres. After a while the wood fell back and he came to a pair of gates, firmly locked together with a heavy padlock on a thick, discoloured chain. On one of the gates was a sign, the words painted in faded red paint on a peeling wooden board: OMEGA ONE.

PROPERTY OF HM GOVERNMENT TRESPa.s.sERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Omega One. Now Matt wondered if the building might have some military use. The sign said that it was government property. The Ministry of Defence? Briefly he examined the gates. They were old but the padlock was new, meaning someone had been here recently. There was no way he was going to get it open. He looked up and saw razor wire twisted round the top. So much for that.

With growing curiosity Matt continued round, following the fence, hoping to find a tree he could use to climb over. Instead he found something better. There was a hole in the wire, where several strands had rusted loose, and it was just about big enough to allow him to squeeze through. He glanced at his watch. The morning was wearing on but he still had plenty of time.

He was about to squeeze through when someone grabbed hold of him and spun him round.

"What are you doing?" a voice demanded.

Matt's heart lurched. After his time alone in the wood he hadn't dreamt for a minute that there would be anyone else here. His fist was already curled in self-defence, but then he recognized the fair hair and red face of the man who had approached him in Lesser Malling a the one who had warned him to leave.

"I got lost," Matt said, relaxing slightly. "What is this place?" He gestured at the building on the other side of the fence.

"It's a power station."

Matt studied the man more closely, noticing that he was carrying a shotgun, the two barrels broken over his arm.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said.

"I told you. I got lost. I was looking for..."

"What were you looking for?"

"I saw lights in the forest. Last night. I wondered what they were."

"Lights?"

"And I heard something. Strange noises a a sort of humming. Why don't you tell me what's going on around here? You warned me to go away."

"Why didn't you?"

"I tried." Matt left it at that. He was in no mood to explain what had happened to him on the moonlit roads. "What were you warning me about?" he demanded. "Why is everyone in Lesser Malling so weird? Who are you?"

The man seemed to relax a little a but his eyes remained watchful. He rested a hand on the barrel of his gun. "My name is Burgess," he said. "Tom Burgess. I'm a farmer. I own Glendale Farm, down the Greater Malling road."

"And what are you doing here? Are you guarding this place?"

"No. I'm hunting. These woods are full of foxes. They come for my chickens in the night. I'm out to get a few of them." He patted the gun.

"I didn't hear any shots."

"I didn't see any foxes."

Matt looked back at the building. "You said this place was a power station," he began. Suddenly the shape seemed more familiar. He had seen pictures at school. "Is it a nuclear power station?"

Burgess nodded.

"What the h.e.l.l is it doing here?"

"It's nothing." The farmer shrugged. "It was experimental. The government put it here a long time ago. It was before they started building the real things. They were looking into alternative sources of energy so they built Omega One, and when they'd finished all their experiments they shut it down again. It's empty now. There's nothing there. n.o.body's been anywhere near it for years."

"They were here last night," Matt said. "I heard them. And I saw lights."

"Maybe you were imagining things."

"I don't have that much imagination." Matt was angry. "Why won't you tell me the truth?" he went on. "You warned me I was in some sort of danger. You told me to run away. But I can't run away unless I know what it is I'm running from. Why don't you tell me what you know? We're safe here. n.o.body can overhear us."

The farmer was clearly struggling with himself. On the one hand, Matt could see that he wanted to talk. But strong though he was, and armed as well, he was still afraid. "How could you begin to understand?" he said at last. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"You shouldn't be here. Listen to me. I only came to this place a year ago. I was left money. I always wanted to have my own place. If I'd known... If I'd even had the faintest idea..."

"If you'd only known what?"

"Mrs Deverill and the rest of them..."

"What about them? What are they doing?"

There was a rustle in the undergrowth, followed by an angry snarl. Matt turned and saw an animal appear, stepping out of a patch of fern a couple of metres away. It was a cat, its eyes ablaze, its mouth wide open to reveal its fangs. But it wasn't just any cat. He recognized the yellow eyes, the mangy fur...

He relaxed. "It's all right," he said. "It's only the cat. It must have followed me here."

But the farmer's face had turned white. All at once he had snapped the barrel of his gun shut and raised the whole thing to his shoulder. Before Matt could stop him, he pulled the trigger. There was an explosion. The cat had no chance. Tom Burgess had emptied both barrels, and lead pellets tore into its fur, spinning it in a horrible somersault over the gra.s.s, a ball of black that spat red.

"What did you do that for?" Matt exclaimed. "It wasn't a fox. It was just a farm cat."

"Just a cat?" The farmer shook his head. "It was Asmodeus, Mrs Deverill's cat."

"But-"

"We can't talk. Not here. Not now."

"Why not?"

"There are things happening ... things you wouldn't believe." The colour hadn't returned to the farmer's face. His hands were trembling. "Listen!" he whispered. "Come to my farm. Tomorrow morning a at ten o'clock. Glendale Farm. It's on the Greater Malling road. Turn left when you come out of Hive Hall. Will you be able to find it?"

"Yes." Then Matt remembered. "No. I've tried finding my way round these lanes but they don't seem to lead anywhere. I just end up where I began."

"That's right. You can only go where they want you to go."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too difficult to explain." Burgess thought for a moment. Then he grabbed hold of a leather cord around his neck. Matt watched as he drew it over his head and held it out. He saw there was a small, round stone a a talisman a dangling from it, and on the stone was a symbol engraved in gold. The outline of a key.

"Wear this," Burgess said. "Don't ask me to explain it, but you won't get lost if you're wearing it. Come to my house tomorrow. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Why not now?" Matt demanded.

"Because it's not safe a not for either of us. I have a car. You come to my house and we'll leave together."

Tom Burgess strode away, heading for the line of trees.

"Wait a minute!" Matt called after him. "I don't know how to get out of the wood!"

Burgess stopped, turned round and pointed. "Look under your feet," he shouted. "You're standing on the road." Then he was gone.

Matt examined the ground around him. There was a line of black tarmac, barely visible beneath the weeds and the pine needles. He would have to follow it carefully, but at least it would lead him out. The stone talisman was still in his hand. He ran a finger along the key, wondering if it was real gold. Then he slipped it around his neck, making sure it was hidden under his shirt.

A few minutes later, Matt found himself back on the main road. He examined the entrance to Omega One carefully. It was nothing more than a gap between two trees in a line of several hundred. He had pedalled past without even knowing it was there and it would be almost impossible to find again. He took off his jacket, tore a strip of material from his T-shirt, and tied it in a knot around a branch. Then he stepped back and examined his handiwork. The tiny, pale blue flag he had created would show him the way back if he ever needed it. Satisfied, he put his jacket back on and set off to retrieve his bike.

About forty minutes later Matt arrived back at Hive Hall. It was almost midday. Noah was working on the side of the barn, painting it with creosote. Matt could smell the chemical in the air. Mrs Deverill would be in the farmhouse, making lunch.

Brushing a few needles off his jacket, Matt walked up to the front door. He was just reaching for the handle when he stopped and stepped back with a shiver of disbelief.

Asmodeus was there, sitting on the windowsill, licking one of its paws. The cat wasn't dead. It wasn't even hurt. Seeing Matt, it purred menacingly then suddenly leapt away, disappearing into the house.

WET PAINT.

Matt didn't sleep well that night. He had too many unanswered questions in his head, and the fact that Tom Burgess had promised to answer them made him tense and restless. He couldn't wait to find out the truth. But that was exactly what he had to do, tossing around in his narrow bed as the sky became grey, then silver, then finally blue. Mornings on the farm normally began with breakfast at seven o'clock. Mrs Deverill was already in the kitchen when he came down.

"So what happened to you yesterday morning?" she demanded. She was wearing a dull yellow cardigan, a shapeless grey dress and wellington boots. All the clothes she wore at Hive Hall looked as if they had come out of a charity shop.

"I went for a walk."

"A walk? Where?"

"Just around."

Mrs Deverill took a pan off the Aga and spooned thick porridge into two bowls. "I don't remember you asking permission," she said.

"I don't remember you telling me I had to," Matt replied.

Mrs Deverill's eyes narrowed. "I can't say I'm used to being spoken to in that way," she muttered. Then she shrugged as if it didn't matter anyway. "I was only thinking of you, Matthew," she went on. "If you look at the booklets provided by the LEAF Project, you'll see quite clearly that I'm supposed to know where you are at all times. I'd hate to have to report that you've broken the rules."

"You can report what you like."

She placed the two bowls on the table and sat down opposite him. "There's a lot of work to be done today. The tractor needs hosing down. And we could do with some firewood being chopped."

"Whatever you say, Mrs Deverill."

"Exactly." The pale lips pressed together in something like a smile. "Whatever I say."

It was nine o'clock, one hour before Matt had arranged to meet Tom Burgess. Matt was working on the tractor, washing it down. For the fiftieth time he looked around him, and realized he was finally alone. Noah was on the other side of the barn, mending some pipes. Mrs Deverill was feeding the pigs. Neither of them was watching him, nor was there any sign of Asmodeus. Matt dropped the hose, then turned off the tap and waited until the last jet of water had splashed on to the ground. Still n.o.body came. He had left the old bicycle in the yard, close at hand. He stole over to it and pushed it out of the farm. Pedalling would have made too much noise.

A minute later he was through the gate and on the lane. He looked back with a sense of relief. It had all been much easier than he had thought.

Too easy? Matt remembered the way Mrs Deverill had smiled at him in the kitchen. He had wondered then if she knew more than she was letting on. All the time he had the feeling she was playing with him, and the photograph and police report hidden in her bedroom cupboard had only confirmed it. She knew who he was. He was more sure of it than ever. He had been chosen on purpose.

Matt got on the bike and began to pedal, turning left as Tom Burgess had told him. The last time he had attempted this journey, the lane had simply looped him back to where he had started. But this time was different. He was wearing the talisman that the farmer had given him. He reached up and felt it against his chest. Why a stone with a picture of a key should make any difference was beyond him. It was just one of the many questions he intended to ask.

The lane led uphill but there was no crossroads at the top. Instead the road continued past a series of fields. A low, stone wall rose and dipped ahead. He came to a signpost and this one wasn't broken. It read: GREATER MALLING 4 MILES. Matt stared at it. It was the first reminder he'd had that there was an actual world outside Hive Hall and he had no idea how he'd managed to miss it when he made the journey two nights before.

He found Glendale Farm easily enough. There was a turning about a quarter of a mile further along, with the name printed in bright blue letters on a white gate. Even as Matt cycled down the flower-bordered drive that led from the main road, he thought how much more welcoming it was than Hive Hall. The barn and stables were clean and ordered, standing next to a pretty pond. A swan glided on the water, its reflection shimmering in the morning sunlight, while a family of ducks waddled across the lawn. In a nearby paddock a cow chewed gra.s.s, mooing contentedly.

The farmhouse itself was red brick, with neat white shutters and a grey slate roof. Part of the roof was covered in plastic sheeting, where the farmer had been working on repairs. An old weathervane stood at one corner, a wrought-iron c.o.c.k looking out over the four points of the compa.s.s. Today it was facing south.

Matt got off the bike, crossed the farmyard to the front door and pulled a metal chain to ring a bell in the porch. He was early a it was only half past nine. He waited, then rang again. No answer. Perhaps Tom Burgess was working in the barn. Matt walked over and looked inside. There was a tractor and an a.s.sortment of tools, a pile of sacks and a few bales of hay ... yet no sign of the farmer.

"Mr Burgess?" he called.

Silence. Nothing moved.

But the farmer had to be there. His car, a Peugeot, was parked in the drive. Matt went back to the house and tried the front door. It opened.