Blood Ransom (26 page)

I would have told Lewis, but he was still so ill . . . and clearly in no position to help me.

No.
Whatever I did now, I would do on my own. I didn’t have much to go on, but maybe I could make a virtue out of operating on a small scale.

I knew where Elijah had been holding me. I’d go back there, see what clues I could pick up. Mr Smith had said that the trail on Rachel and Milo went cold when they left their cab. Supposed
they’d switched to one of Elijah’s cars . . . maybe even that car I’d been held in at the deserted car park? At least I could see if it was still there.

I walked to the door, past Mr Smith’s jacket, still hanging over the chair.

I wouldn’t get anywhere without money. I hesitated for a second then fished his wallet out of his inside pocket. I took all his cash – £250 – then scrawled I.O.U. in big
letters with the pen and paper from the hotel room desk.

It was a start.

I shoved the money into my pocket, and headed out into the morning.

77

I’d spent the rest of the day wandering down by the frozen lake. I’d realised that my broken silver chain was missing. I’d left it for safe keeping with Lewis
before going into Jamieson’s office. I had no idea what would have happened to it in the hospital or if I’d ever see it again.

Stupid, I know, but that little ‘t’ had become like a security blanket to me and I felt lost without it.

Elijah reappeared, stomping round to the back door, at about midday. Milo called me inside for some food soon after. He was still wearing that black beanie hat. He hadn’t taken it off, in
fact, since I told him he looked good in it.

Elijah was already munching away at his lunch – pasta with tomato sauce. I fetched a plate for myself and sat opposite him. He looked drawn and tired and was clearly in a foul mood,
snapping at Milo to bring him a glass of water.

After he’d eaten, he took more blood from me, then went back to the bunker. I sidled up to Milo, who was stacking our plates in the dishwasher. I leaned down to insert my glass in the top
tray. Our heads collided.

‘Ow, sorry,’ I said.

Milo rubbed his forehead and smiled. ‘My bad – I should have looked where I was going.’

He shut up the dishwasher. We were uncomfortably close to each other now. I looked away, feeling his eyes on my face.

‘How’re you doing?’ he said gently.

I shrugged. Maybe this was an opportunity to get him talking.

‘It would help if I knew why I was here . . . what this Eos protein in my blood is really all about,’ I said.

There was a pause. Milo’s eyes were still fixed on my face.

‘I told you what I know, that it will “save lives”,’ he whispered. ‘But you know Elijah doesn’t talk to me. He just said it’s big.
Really
big. As
big as his cloning experiments.’

‘Is that what he’s doing in that bunker of his?’

‘You don’t want to know what he’s doing in there.’ Milo shuddered.

‘What does that mean?’

Milo turned away and wheeled across to the sink. I followed him.

‘Milo? Talk to me.’

He ran the tap and washed his hands. ‘I can’t tell you any more,’ he said softly. ‘But as far as Elijah’s concerned the Eos protein’s potential completely
justifies what he’s doing.’

‘Which is
what
?’ I said.

Milo shook his head.

‘Please tell me,’ I said, my mind racing. What on earth could Elijah possibly be doing with a few drops of blood in a sealed bunker that was so awful? ‘Milo?’ I went on.
‘Do you think what Elijah is doing is justified?’

But Milo refused to say another word.

78

I traced my route back to the car park easily enough, but the car I’d been held in was no longer there and I couldn’t find any clue to Elijah’s whereabouts
either in the little hut in the corner or outside it. As I crossed the empty tarmac, I realised just how hopeless my situation was.

A couple of hundred pounds might be a start, but it wouldn’t get me very far . . . and it certainly wasn’t going to buy me the information that I needed. The truth was, Elijah could
have left the area on any kind of transport and gone in any direction.

And I had no idea about either.

The sky clouded over as I reached the patch of car park nearest the canal. This was where Elijah’s car had been parked. I looked round. The tarmac was clear, right up to the kerb that
marked the boundary with the canal path on one side and the wasteland beyond. I wandered over to the water and stared in. It was stagnant and slimy by the bank, smelling of damp and mould. I
trudged along the path to the wasteland, following the kerb along to the exact parking space Elijah’s car had used before. There was nothing here, just a load of litter – crisp packets
and cans, mostly – alongside some dried-up dog poo.

It was a depressing place and I was now thoroughly depressed myself. I’d been so sure I’d discover a clue here. It was hard to accept I was no closer to finding Rachel.

There was a roar in the air nearby. The wind swirled around me and some of the litter scudded into the canal and across the stagnant water.

I looked up. A helicopter was rising into the air nearby. I was close enough to make out the logo on the side – it showed a number of swirling lines, with the name
Amarta
printed
across the middle. I’d seen the logo before somewhere . . .

Of course.

It was Don Jamieson’s company logo. I’d noticed it on the front of the reception desk when I’d followed Lewis inside.

Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Elijah had used one of Jamieson’s helicopters to get off Calla. Maybe he’d used one to get away from here, too.

I raced across the car park towards the place I thought the helicopter had come from. Past the hut was a row of fairly run-down warehouses. No cars. I could see more traffic in the road beyond,
where three women with pushchairs had stopped for a chat in the street.

I raced over and asked them if there was a heliport nearby. They looked at me as if I were mad and said they had no idea.

I ran on, up and down the nearby streets. I tried to be systematic, but it was hard without any kind of map. In the end I stopped a couple of workmen who pointed me in the right direction, and a
few minutes later I arrived, panting, at Charnhill Heliport.

The man on reception wasn’t very helpful at first, but when I persisted, another guy and a woman came out. I spun them a huge sob story about my disabled brother . . . bla, bla, bla . . .
and in the end the second guy admitted seeing Milo boarding a copter late last night.

They refused to tell me where the copter had gone, of course, but I waited outside the heliport and when the guy’s shift was over, sometime around four p.m., I approached him, and
explained it was really important I found Milo because he’d left home after an argument with our dad and now my dad was seriously ill and I was just desperate to reach my brother before our
dad died so they could be reconciled in time.

A load of bollocks, I know, but my desperate ‘brothers in crisis’ story did the trick – though probably only because I did look so incredibly like Milo.

Eventually the guy went back inside, checked the log and told me that the copter had been heading for a place called Tromstorm in Norway.

Yes.

Almost as soon as I’d felt the sensation of triumph, it faded. How on earth was I going to get to some remote place in a country I knew nothing about? For a moment I strongly considered
going back to the hotel and telling Rachel’s parents what I’d discovered. After all, Rachel had said she was with Milo. Surely they’d want to follow the lead?

Maybe, but they’d still insist on sending me back to Philadelphia.

In fact,
crap
. . . I checked the time. I was supposed to be on a flight bound for Philadelphia right now. Which meant that not only had I stolen Mr Smith’s money, I’d also
wasted the ticket Mum had bought me.

They would both be furious. Which settled it.

I was on my own.

I found an internet café and worked out my route. It wasn’t straightforward. I needed to take a bus, which I knew would be cheaper than a train, across Scotland to Aberdeen, then
two ferries – one from Aberdeen to a remote island called Lerwick and from there another ferry to Bergen in Norway.

I had no idea how I was going to get up to Tromstorm once I arrived in Norway but at least now I knew where I was going.

79

I still had no idea exactly where I was, though I knew it had to be somewhere really far north. At night it had stayed light until about eleven p.m. and the sun was always high
in the sky whenever I woke, even at four or five in the morning.

Two more long days had passed in much the same manner as the first.

The only change was in Elijah’s mood. He was becoming increasingly irritable, liable to snap at someone just for walking past him.

He was rude to me, and to Paul, but he saved his worst behaviour for Milo, never missing an opportunity to criticise him or put him down.

We all avoided him as much as possible.

On the evening of my third day, I was searching the bookshelves in the corridor between the kitchen/diner and the sun porch. If I had to be here, then I might as well find something interesting
to read. Raised voices drifted up from the lake. I rushed through to the kitchen, where Milo was already staring out of the window.

It was late – nearly eleven p.m., but still light. Paul was down by the lake, gun in one hand, radio mic in the other.

He was pointing his weapon at a red-haired woman in a long brown coat. She was talking fast. I could only catch the occasional word . . .
must speak
. . .
Elijah Lazio
. . .
important
. . .

‘What’s going on?’ I said to Milo.

‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Paul caught her trying to cross the lake just now. Not that I think she was sneaking around, particularly. And that coat isn’t exactly spy
wear.’

‘I’m going to find out what she wants,’ I said. And, before Milo could say anything, I was out of the door and racing across the sloping garden, down to the lake.

Paul looked alarmed as I approached. ‘Go back inside,’ he ordered.

I ignored him. Let him manhandle me back if he wanted to. There was no way he was going to hurt me; Elijah wanted me – and my blood – in good health.

The woman in the brown coat looked at me with intense interest. She was maybe in her late twenties and strikingly beautiful – her red hair streaked with natural highlights and her eyes a
bright, emerald green. She wore warm designer boots and had a large brown leather satchel looped over her shoulder.

‘Rachel?’ she said.

‘Who are you?’ I said.

‘Get inside, Rachel,’ Paul ordered.

I shook my head.

The woman smiled – a soft smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

‘My name’s Amanda Lennox,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Rachel.’

Paul was speaking into his radio mic now – his voice low and menacing – but I kept my gaze on the woman.

‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘What have you heard about me?’

‘Well,’ Amanda Lennox said. ‘I know that you’re a clone and that Elijah Lazio created you. And I know about his current work – and how that involves you too.’
She paused, patting the leather bag.

‘What do you know?’ I said, my throat tightening. ‘Why are you here?’

Amanda Lennox just smiled.

Paul came off the radio mic and turned to the woman. ‘Elijah’s coming.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain everything properly when he gets here. It’s about RAGE . . . I’ve been working for them, but I’m not any more. Elijah
Lazio is going to want to hear what they know about his plans.’

80

It had taken me a long time to get here, but I was in Norway at last.

I spent my first night of travelling – the second since Rachel had disappeared – on the coach to Aberdeen. I was horrified to discover when I arrived there at six the next morning
that there was only one ferry a day from Aberdeen to the island of Lerwick – and it didn’t leave until five p.m.

I bought a ticket for later and wandered off to find food, then shelter from the rain which had just started drizzling. I spent part of the morning huddled on a park bench. Well, maybe
‘park’ is a bit of an exaggeration. More like a patch of dry grass with a few bushes and a couple of trees.

The worst part of being in the park was remembering how Rachel and I had hidden out somewhere similar – though smarter – in Washington D.C. last year. We’d had Daniel with us
and I’d been hurt but somehow it had brought Rachel and me together, which was all horrible to remember because now Daniel was dead and Rachel was gone and I was on my own, shivering and
imagining that I’d got it all wrong and Rachel really
was
with Milo after all.

At last it was time to get the ferry, but we weren’t due to arrive in Lerwick until the following morning. I was frustrated at the amount of time that was passing – but at least I
was able to spend my second night away travelling on a warm ferry instead of sleeping rough outside.

I kept myself to myself on the ferry. My phone battery had long since died, not that there was anyone I wanted to call. There weren’t many people about to talk to either. Working guys
mostly, who looked tired and who paid me no attention.

I slept a bit and ate another burger. The next morning I had to wait again, for a ferry to Bergen in Norway. By now I was getting quite good at handling the transactions and answering any
questions I got asked. I made sure that I kept my face washed and my hair slicked neatly back, so I didn’t look like some homeless person. And I still had the fake passport that Lewis had
organised for me. That said I was two years older than I really was, which helped.

I wasn’t too worried about anyone other than Mum trying to track me down. Elijah clearly had only used me to get to Rachel and, though I was sure RAGE would still love to kill me given
half a chance, it seemed unlikely they were expending any resources looking for me while Elijah was still at large.