Blood Ransom (8 page)

‘I see Milo was lying about you needing a heart transplant,’ I said.

‘I had one.’ Elijah flicked his little finger impatiently.

‘Is that . . .?’ I couldn’t bear to think what that might mean. ‘How . . .?’

Elijah sighed. ‘I worked out a way of adapting Daniel’s heart so that the transplant I needed could take place. It was performed nearly seven months ago and it worked.
Obviously.’

I stared at him, unable to take in what he was saying. ‘So . . . Daniel’s dead?’

Elijah shrugged. ‘A necessary sacrifice, I’m afraid.’ He paused. ‘I had to take Daniel’s heart, but the procedure was not unproductive. As you can see, I’m
fitter than ever.’

I looked at him. It was true, his face was less lined and grey than I remembered. My whole being filled with hatred and revulsion. I clenched my fists, feeling the bile rise in my throat. How
could
Elijah do such a thing – and to a little boy?

‘I’m sorry you were lied to, Rachel, but it was necessary to bring you here.’

‘H-how did you find me?’

‘One of the agents assigned to you under the government protection programme sold you out.’ Elijah smiled at my shocked face. ‘In case you were wondering, I have limited
security on the island, which is why I had Milo bring you straight to the house. Plus I wanted to give Milo a chance to prove himself. He may be crippled, but he has his uses.’ He paused.
‘His code name is Hephaestus, you know . . . the lame God . . . another son of Zeus. You remember my code name, Zeus?’

I nodded.
God
, it was all flooding back, the detached, dispassionate way that Elijah always spoke about his cloning work. A sob rose inside me.

He had killed Daniel. I couldn’t believe it. Except it made sense. Elijah had been prepared to sacrifice Theo in exactly the same way, for exactly the same reason . . .

I closed my eyes, feeling the grief swell inside me.

‘Rachel?’

‘You’re . . .
evil
. . .’ My voice broke as I looked up at him.

Elijah sighed. ‘I’ll leave you alone . . . talk to you later . . .’ He took a step to the door.

‘No.’ I wiped at my eyes; I needed answers. ‘Tell me why I’m here.’

Elijah leaned against the wall. His dark eyes – so like Theo’s – studied me carefully. ‘I need you,’ he said.

‘
Need
me?’ I said suspiciously. ‘What for?’

‘Did Theo ever mention the Hermes Project to you?’

I tried to remember. The name was familiar and Hermes, I knew, was another of the Greek gods.

‘Isn’t . . . wasn’t Hermes . . . er,
Daniel
’s code name?’ I said. As I said his name, another wave of misery threatened to overwhelm me. Daniel had looked
just like Theo when he was younger. It was like . . . like learning Theo’s little brother had been killed.

I couldn’t imagine how awful Theo was going to feel when he found out.

Elijah was still leaning against the wall, his cold, dark eyes intent on my face. ‘I called my project after Daniel – Hermes – because he was the first healthy clone that I
kept with me. Which meant he was the first clone I was able to experiment on.’

Ugh.
‘What sort of experiments?’

‘Lots of things . . .’ Elijah said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘The Hermes Project is a research programme designed to compare clones with non-clones, to find out what
strengths and weaknesses belong to each. Part of the programme examines IQ and physical abilities. The other looks at genetic codes and DNA programming.’

‘And the government let you stay on this island, working on
that
? Not . . . not caring that you’ve
killed
people?’

‘No, the government does not allow this, Rachel.’ Elijah sighed and ran his hand through his hair – a gesture I’d often seen Theo make. ‘If Milo told you that, it
was another lie. I’m still a wanted man you’ll be pleased to hear, although I do have a backer who believes in my research. And he has powerful connections which offer me some degree of
protection. But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about the Hermes Project – and that’s where you come in.’

‘Me?’

‘As you know, I cloned you from your older sister, after she died. I don’t know whether your sister carried this . . . genetic quirk, or whether it’s only in you, but
there’s something . . . special . . . in your DNA which I need to examine. I’ve been working off a single strand of your hair – that’s all I had with me – but now my
tests can be more extensive. It’s just some blood I need, nothing too invasive.’

I stared at him. ‘You brought me all the way to this island just to do some blood tests on me?’

I didn’t believe it, but Elijah stared back at me, his dark eyes steady.

‘Yes.’

26

Monday morning. Nine a.m. Lewis and I were standing outside McRae’s college, waiting for him to arrive.

We’d already checked and there was a lecture on his subject that morning at 10.30. We kept our eyes peeled as a steady stream of male students wandered past us.

At about 9.45, it started raining. There was still no sign of McRae. If he didn’t show up we were going to have to ask around, find out where he lived . . . track him down some other way.
We were closing in, I knew, but I couldn’t help but feel impatient. Rachel had last been seen on Saturday afternoon – over thirty-six hours ago. Anything could have happened to her
since then . . .
be
happening to her.

The rain drizzled down. Rachel hadn’t exaggerated how wet it was here. I pulled my hood up and huddled back against the wall. More time passed. Ten a.m. . . . 10.15 . . . 10.25 . . . Most
students had arrived. The rain stopped, though the sky stayed iron grey.

And then I saw him. Dean McRae – complete with close-cropped red hair and squashed-in nose. He was sauntering across the pavement, a bag of books slung over his back, chatting to the guy
next to him. I caught Lewis’s eye across the doorway. He nodded, then set off towards McRae.

I hung back for a second, watching.

Lewis reached McRae. He flipped open a wallet, showing what I knew was a fake press ID card.

‘I’m a reporter from the
Gazette
,’ he said, in an English accent. ‘I’d like to ask you some questions about the suicide you witnessed at the
weekend.’

McRae frowned. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to any—’

‘It’s all off the record.’

McRae hesitated. He whispered something to the guy he’d been walking with, who chuckled and hurried on inside.

‘Off the record?’ McRae said. ‘That means you won’t quote my name or say I’m the eyewitness?’

‘Absolutely.’ Lewis held up his wallet again: this time a line of twenty-pound notes poked out of the top. ‘I can make it worth your while.’

Another pause. McRae glanced at his watch, clearly wondering if the conversation Lewis wanted to have was worth ditching his lecture for.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But not inside the college.’

‘Sure,’ Lewis said. ‘It won’t take long. Why don’t we just go round the corner, out of the rain?’

They set off. I followed at a short distance.

Round the corner, out of sight, Lewis darted forward. He shoved McRae against the wall. The man’s eyes widened.

‘What the . . .?’ McRae raised his hand, turning sideways to aim a kick. But Lewis was too fast. He skipped past McRae’s leg, grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
With his other hand he made a fist and pushed it against McRae’s throat. McRae gasped, straining to breathe.

For a second I thought he was going to crush McRae’s windpipe. That same furious-bitter look was in his eyes from earlier, when he’d talked about Elijah.

‘Hey!’ I shouted.

Lewis released his grip on McRae’s throat slightly. McRae turned his head away and Lewis pressed his cheek against the brick. McRae’s squashed nose went white at the tip.

‘What do you want?’ he said, his voice shaking.

I was suddenly sure this was no trained RAGE operative. McRae might look tough, but underneath he was just an ordinary student – a guy with no criminal record, who’d been paid to lie
to the police.

‘You lied about that girl’s suicide,’ I said walking over. ‘What really happened?’

‘Happened?’ McRae was trying to twist his face round, to look at me, but Lewis kept his cheek pressed against the wall. ‘It was like I told the cops. She put her purse down on
the beach, then walked into the water.’

‘That’s not true.’ Lewis twisted McRae’s arm.

McRae winced with pain.

‘Tell us what really happened,’ I repeated. ‘Were you even
at
the beach?’

‘I don’t know what you’re—’

Lewis twisted McRae’s arm higher.

‘Okay, okay . . .’ McRae paused, his breath coming out in shallow little gasps. ‘I didn’t see anyone walk into the water.’

‘Why did you lie?’

McRae was silent, his body trembling.

‘
Talk.
’ Lewis pressed McRae harder against the wall.

‘They told me to pretend I’d seen her . . .’ McRae was really shaking now.

‘Who?’ I said.

‘It was this young guy in a wheelchair . . . he turned up here one day . . . just told me to follow her after the Roslinnon martial arts show, make her run towards the high street where
he’d be waiting. That’s all I know, I swear.’

Anger rose up inside me. If Rachel had been followed, then she must have been scared. ‘Why did this wheelchair guy tell you to say you saw her drowning?’ I said, trying to control
the rage that was boiling inside me.

‘I told you, I don’t know. He just said I had to tell the police I saw her walk into the sea just up the coast. He told me where to find her purse and ID card . . . said I had to
pretend I found them on the beach after I’d seen her kill herself.’

‘What was his name?’ Lewis asked.

‘I don’t know, I only met him once. He didn’t give me a name or a number or anything.’

‘How did he pay you?’

‘Cash. I’ll get the rest after the inquest.’

I frowned, trying to make sense of what McRae was saying. Who was this guy in a wheelchair? What on earth was his connection to RAGE or Elijah? And why would he go to such lengths to fake
Rachel’s death?

‘Did you hear or see
anything
else?’ Lewis demanded.

‘No,’ McRae insisted. ‘Except . . . the only time I met him he took a phone call which was obviously connected. He said something about taking the girl to see someone called
Calla . . . Yes, that was it: Calla . . .’

Lewis and I exchanged glances. I was still mystified, but at least we had a couple of leads now – a young guy in a wheelchair and a woman called Calla. Not that we knew where to find
either of them.

Lewis took his hands off McRae, who slowly turned round.

‘So what did this wheelchair guy look like?’ I asked.

McRae stared at me, his eyes widening.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘he looked a lot like you . . .’

27

I slept badly, waking several times in a panic.

I had no idea what time it was. After Elijah’s visit I hadn’t seen anyone for hours, then the guard, Paul, brought me some food on a tray, and took me along the corridor to use the
bathroom. As I went in to wash, he handed me a change of clothes – combats and a sweatshirt and some boxer shorts.

‘These are
men’s
,’ I said, staring at them.

Paul shrugged. ‘They’re all we have.’

Paul had left me with instructions to get some sleep, but my body was too wound up to rest. On top of which I felt completely disoriented. There was no natural light in the room and I only had
the vaguest sense of how much time had passed.

There was a light tap on the door, then the sound of the lock turning. I sat up as Milo entered in his wheelchair. He was wearing a leather jacket that looked a little too big for him. There
were dark shadows under his eyes.

‘Elijah says I can take you out today,’ he said.

I had barely noticed it yesterday, but today the harsh American edge to his accent grated on my nerves.

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

‘Just gone eleven a.m.’

I leaned against the wall – it was cold against my back.

I glared at Milo. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you,’ I said.

Milo looked at me, his face reddening. ‘I understand you’re mad right now, Rach—’

‘Well, that’s big of you,’ I snapped.

There was an awkward silence.

Then Milo took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m real sorry I had to lie to you to get you to come here. Believe me, once I’d met you and seen just how . . . how . . . what a great
person you are, I hated myself for what I had to do, but it was
Elijah
, so . . .’ He tailed off.

I shook my head. Nothing could excuse what Milo had done. Nothing.

‘Okay.’ Milo wheeled himself backwards, towards the door. ‘I just thought you’d like some fresh air. If it were down to Elijah he’d leave you in here for days on
end.’ He paused. ‘You know Elijah. He acts like he owns us because his science created us. I mean all those experiments he did to make the cloning work in the first place.’ Milo
shuddered.

What experiments?

I bit my lip, my thoughts fighting with each other. I couldn’t bear the thought of spending time with Milo. It was humiliating to think how easily he’d tricked me. On the other hand,
I was desperate to get out of this room. Most importantly, I was never going to find a way off the island if I didn’t know more about it. And Milo was, clearly, a good source of
information.

Milo opened the door.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I’ll go with you.’

Milo nodded. He waited while I put my shoes on, then led me out into the corridor. Glancing up and down I could see no windows.

‘What’s this building used for?’ I said.

‘It’s where Elijah, me and the two guards eat and sleep.’ Milo glanced at me. ‘There’s a kitchen along the corridor – I prepare the food, it’s all
really basic. I think the building used to be some kind of farmhouse. Goodness knows what they farmed here, though.’ We reached the main door. Milo pushed it open and light flooded in. I
shielded my eyes as we stepped outside.