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do you stop yourself thinking?’ I said.
    Javed shrugged. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m learning aikido.’

13
    T HAT ROOM, OR CELL , was strangely peaceful. It felt like a refuge from the madness. There were too many things in my mind that I didn’t want to think about. The lab and all that went on there, the squirrels, dead and living, my father in hospital, my brother in custody, and beyond all that the perilous state the world was in. Over every thought and feeling loomed the dreadful figures of the horsemen, colouring everything else that had happened and might happen. It was all too much. It was only the thought of Javed that comforted me. I don’t know why I trusted him as much as I did. I’d always liked him but it wasn’t until this morning that I had developed such a huge respect for him. I would accept his judgement now without question. After all, he was the one who had figured out what was going on. He was the one who could think around corners. He had advised me to say nothing, and that was what I would do, at least for the moment. And I would wait, like a batsman at the crease, for the next ball to arrive.

PART TWO

1
    I T WAS NEARLY A year after Alex met Javed when Dad and I saw the first of the riders. It was early the following summer, and it was the day the squirrels arrived.
    Dad had been in great spirits since he started on the new research. He had devised a programme that compared the squirrel genomes with the human one, which had already been analysed and recorded. A huge percentage of human genes are shared with other animal species, but Dad wasn’t interested in those. Any gene sequence that was the same in both human and squirrel genomes was discarded, so all that was left at the end were the genes that were peculiar to the squirrels. He then ran the red and the grey side by side through the programme, and it eliminated all the squirrel genes that they had in common. What was left at the end was the differences. There was still a phenomenal amount of information there for him to analyse, but it was a lot easier to manage in its reduced state.
    His only worry was that for nearly a year after he started work there was no concrete evidence of an actual lab for him to use for the practical side of the project. He found it very hard to get in touch with Mr Davenport, who didn’t appear to have a regular office but operated on a system of perpetually changing mobile phone numbers. Whenever he did succeed in contacting him he was always given the same story: it was progressing well and there was no need to worry about it. No matter how hard Dad pressed him, Davenport refused to give any details about where the lab would be, and Dad eventually came to believe that there never would be a lab, and that the whole project would disappear as suddenly and as finally as the flat-worm one. But he was wrong. One day, out of the blue, Davenport arrived in a Mercedes and took Dad away to see the new complex. When he came back we were all amazed and delighted to learn that it was only about four miles away. Dad had been afraid that it might be in another county somewhere and that he’d be faced with logistical problems about Alex and me. As it was, with the lab so close, he could still be here when we came home from school, and if he needed to put in more hours he could start early in the mornings or go back to work in the evenings. As far as Mr Davenport was concerned it was entirely up to him. He had confidence in Dad’s integrity and no one was counting the hours he put in. What most people wouldn’t give for a boss like that, eh? That’s what we thought too.
    The only time I ever met him was the day he came to take Dad to the lab. When they came back Dad was beaming all over his face. It was clear he very much liked what he had seen. He went to get some paperwork from his study and Mr Davenport sat down with Alex and me in the kitchen. I can see his face now