The Bloodline Cipher (16 page)

‘Quite,' said Coldhardt softly, sending a tingle down Jonah's spine.

‘It was this lasting obsession that led us to consider you as a likely patron. We are few, and may only dedicate ourselves to few, for the work is all-consuming … which is why it comes at so high a price.' The Scribe held out his hands like a priest offering benediction. ‘We need funds to endure. And you are a wealthy man, Coldhardt.'

‘I am aware of your terms. You drive quite a bargain.' Coldhardt gazed into space for a few moments, then leaned forward in his chair. ‘Assuming I wish to pursue this path … what happens next?'

The Scribe placed his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘The first step is to arrange a private consultation with the Mage. But before she can examine you, ritual decrees you must provide her with two things: a vial of your blood, and a gift of great wisdom … the gift to be specified by the Mage herself.'

Maya's face was sour as week-old milk as she sat there, shaking her head.

‘You may contact us as you have before, should you choose to proceed. This interview is now ended.'

‘And how am I to dispose of
that
?' Coldhardt inquired, stabbing a finger at Sorin's crumpled body.

The Scribe turned to him. ‘Heidel would argue that disposal is your business.'

Without further ceremony, the Scribe swept towards the door, his crimson robes swirling about him like flowing blood, his masked man-at-arms following in his wake.

‘They're going to stand out among the tourists dressed like that,' Jonah murmured, still feeling numb inside.
Don't look at the body. The blood. Don't even think of it
.

‘A judge must wear his robes and regalia when practising, according to centuries-old tradition,' said Coldhardt, staring into space. ‘Perhaps the officials of Nomen Oblitum are the same.'

‘Or perhaps they were trying to add some substance to their act by trying to look the part – the spooky sorcerer and his acolyte.' Maya was looking at Coldhardt. ‘Do you believe that stuff they told you?'

‘Don't you?' Coldhardt barely seemed to hear her, studying the backs of his hands. ‘They brought you back from near-death, as they claim to have done with Heidel.'

‘“Claim” may be right,' said Maya. ‘This is the dart Sorin put in me.' She produced it in her palm. ‘You can have it analysed, see for yourself if it was as deadly as they claim – or if they're scamming.'

Coldhardt spared her a brief glance. ‘I thought you were sympathetic to occult beliefs.'

‘Not blindly so. I mean, so they had a copy of the Guan Yin manuscript. So what? So did Blackland, and he wasn't a sorcerer. There are at least three known to be in existence.'

‘That man-at-arms guy killed Sorin with his fingers,' said Jonah slowly.

‘A systemised attack on the weak centres of the body, performed with high precision and skill,' Maya agreed. ‘Impressive, but not necessarily supernatural. Martial arts such as Dim Mak would provide the basics for –'

‘Impressive?' Jonah stared at her. ‘I wasn't remarking on how clever they were. I was reminding you that they murdered someone right in front of us!'

‘The manner in which the execution was performed speaks for their skill.' Coldhardt had moved on to studying his fingernails. ‘And the fact that they killed without hesitation in front of an audience speaks for their power.'

‘They know you can't go to the police,' Maya retorted. ‘They were trying to impress you and intimidate you both at once. They must feel you're desperate to know the cipher's secrets –'

‘
What do you know of desperation?
' Coldhardt roared, standing up. Maya flinched and looked away. But Jonah kept watching a few seconds longer, and in that moment of naked anger he glimpsed something feral and inhuman in Coldhardt's eyes.

Heart bouncing off his ribs, he crossed quickly to the window. He wished he could turn his back on the body, on Coldhardt, everything; his own hypocrisy included. Because for all his supposed squeamishness, a piece of him was
glad
Sorin was dead now, glad that he would never get another chance to kill Jonah or his friends. And it sickened him.

It gets easier
, Tye had told him in the locker room.

But do I want it to?
he'd wondered.

He watched a large, dark car pull away from the
apartment block to dominate the narrow streets, its tinted windows hiding the sinister figures inside. It passed from sight but stayed in his memory, like a black fly crawling over his mind.

If Coldhardt does go, there'll be an end to it
, he thought numbly.

And then
…?

‘I will have Motti compile a report on how the security devices here were breached,' Coldhardt announced. ‘It mustn't happen again.' Jonah heard his deliberate step as he crossed to the door. ‘Prepare your things and join me in the car, both of you. It may not be safe to remain here. You will continue your work at the base.'

Jonah swallowed, turned back to him. ‘What about Sorin's body?'

‘As the Scribe said – I'm in the business of disposal.'

Maya didn't look up, perhaps stunned still by the force of his anger. A few moments later, the front door clicked shut as Coldhardt left the apartment.

A slow chill passed through Jonah. He put out his hand as if reaching for the real world outside. The bulletproof glass felt cold against his palm.

Tye wondered how long it would be before the van she was hiding in was reported as missing – and how quickly it would be found. Parked opposite a high-class auction house on a busy street off Chancery Lane, she couldn't imagine it would be long – then there was the matter of the black Saab Patch had broken into so she could park it round the corner and nick its place. She pictured herself apologising to the owner:
Sorry, but we're criminals trying to get video footage of a resurrected criminal mastermind and murderer for our shady employer back in Geneva – and your car was parked in the perfect spot for catching them as they go in and out
. That would go down well.
Oh, and by the way, you should've gone for the 9–5 estate over the saloon
.

She checked that Motti's MacBook was still picking up the audio signal from inside the auction room. Heidel had reserved seating for himself and Bree, front of hall – making it easy for Con to place a listening device under his chair. Now his softest whisper would be transmitted both to Motti's headphones and recorded for posterity, so Coldhardt could listen when they got back.
Speak on, sucker
.

Listlessly, she flipped open her mobile and re-read Jonah's last text.
Sorin out of picture. Not sure who that's a point to. All OK here. Watch yourself
. Coldhardt didn't like them stating too much over the phone – paranoid as always that they could be intercepted by others – but she wished Jonah wasn't quite so good at being cryptic sometimes.

‘What d'you think Jonah's on about, then?' Patch had leaned forward from the back seat to read over her shoulder.

‘How am I meant to know?' Tye closed the phone. ‘Let's just be glad we don't have to worry about Sorin showing up here.'

‘That's two down,' said Patch happily. ‘Heidel's gonna be in for a surprise, innee?'

Tye glanced back to where Patch sat beside a black, stylish Henk suitcase. They'd stuffed it full of Heidel's personal belongings, stolen from his hotel room, everything from his fake passport to his black silk boxers. It turned out that the RFID tag that had lured them there had been removed from the Guan Yin manuscript after all; it was stuck inside a book of nursery rhymes. So they'd nicked that, too, along with a battered old leather briefcase which remained tantalisingly locked. Patch hadn't turned his talents to it yet; partly for fear of booby-traps, partly because he was busy pointing a camcorder discreetly through a gap in the van window. The viewfinder framed the brochure-wielding visitors as they swept up and down the steps of the proud old building.

‘Con will radio us when Heidel and Bree head for the exit,' Tye reminded him; in her long dark wig and
cool shades, sitting incognito in the back row, Con was barely recognisable. ‘And Motti's watching the rear entrance with his listening gear in case they leave that way. You can relax.'

‘Guess so,' Patch grunted, but didn't put down the camcorder.

‘What are you doing?' she asked, suddenly suspicious.

‘Just using the zoom.' He sighed. ‘Getting close-ups of the best bums on the birds going by.'

‘You'll go blind.'

‘I was halfway there anyway, and now this!' He pointed to the swollen shiner Sadie had given him. ‘I should get a T-shirt done – I went to London and all I got was this lousy black eye.'

‘You need an ice pack on that,' said Tye.

‘A lip transplant would be good, an' all.' He licked his fat lip and winced. ‘I'm never gonna score, looking like this. A geezer like Sorin, bet he's always pulling. I bet girls chuck their pants at him.'

‘Patch!' Tye grimaced. ‘Anyway, you heard Jonah. Sorin's out the picture. One less big-shot male to compete with.'

‘Thought this would be a good line of work to get laid in,' Patch went on morosely. ‘You know, the glamour, the action, the intrigue …'

‘The taping bums in a van …'

‘All of that.' He looked at her. ‘But I never meet no one, do I? No one who takes me seriously. I mean, Con's never gonna fall for me, is she? No one will. I'm just a dumb kid.' He put down the camcorder. ‘A dumb kid with one eye.'

Tye reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘It won't be this way for ever. One day we'll leave Coldhardt … and then we'll start proper lives.'

‘Don't say that,' he muttered.

‘But we
will
,' she told him. ‘We'll have to. This isn't proper living, it's just … just a fantasy world. I mean, it's amazing, frightening, special – like nothing I ever dreamed could happen …' She stared out of the windscreen. ‘But it can't last for ever. Think of the chances we take …'

He licked his lip again. ‘I'm
feeling
them.'

‘Exactly. Stay too long, our luck's going to run out.' She half smiled. ‘Anyway, you must have enough cash put away by now to get that fancy new eye you're always on about.'

‘It's an Intracortical Visual Prothesis, ta very much,' Patch corrected her grandly. ‘They put these electrodes into your brain, linked to this little computer camera-eye, right? And you can
see
!' He beamed happily. ‘You can really see things through it, for proper. Anyway, they're still testing it out. But I've been saving my cash and maybe I could fund them a bit, be their backer … We'd be able to help loads of people who can't see right. Starting with me, of course. Then I can find Mum and tell her – it's OK. She don't have to feel guilty 'bout what she did, I can see fine. Just fine. Maybe then she'll see
me
again.' He touched his eye patch. ‘Say goodbye to this. No more Patch … Just plain Patrick Kendall.'

‘Mr Patrick Kendall …' Tye smiled at him. ‘Sounds quite sophisticated, actually!'

‘D'you reckon?' He closed his swollen eye and
murmured the name over and over. ‘Really?'

‘I bet Patrick Kendall won't be able to move for hot girlfriends.'

Patch turned back to his viewfinder and put the lens back up to the crack between window and door. ‘Well, that's all for the future, innit. Plenty of time, yeah? I mean, we ain't in no hurry to leave Coldhardt … I don't reckon we'll leave for ages. We're like a family.'

Tye hoped her bland smile would reassure him as she scanned the street once more for any signs of trouble. In truth, she had no idea what she felt right now.

Suddenly Motti's voice sounded from Tye's walkie-talkie. ‘Heidel's telling Bree it's time to split. 'Bout the only interesting thing he's said since he got here. Brushstrokes this and cubism that …'

‘Target on the way,' Con's voice confirmed over Patch's radio on the back seat. ‘Bree's with him.'

‘On it,' said Patch instantly, training the camcorder at the auction-house doors.

Tye sank down in her seat a little way, picked up Patch's magazine and pretended to read. A minute or so later she saw Heidel walk down the steps, Bree just a step behind him. Him in his dark Italian suit, her in a pale green summer dress and shades, they looked like any other well-off couple on their way home after a successful afternoon's bidding.
Have you ever got a surprise waiting back home
, thought Tye, watching Patch zoom in on Heidel's lined face. She wondered what emotions might show there when he realised Sadie was missing and Sorin out of the picture … that his plan had been shot all to hell and his hotel room stripped to its linen.

‘Got some sweet footage here, Tye. Lovely.' Patch rested the camcorder on her shoulder, framing Heidel in the viewfinder while Bree hailed a black cab. He panned out as it pulled in beside him. Bree held open the door for Heidel, and the two of them climbed into the back.

‘They spent five hundred grand in there,' drawled Motti over Patch's walkie-talkie. ‘Think I should chuck a phosphor cap at the crap they bought? Can't make 'em any uglier.'

‘Just get back here,' Tye told him, watching as the black cab pulled away into the bus lane and began creeping past the evening traffic.

Patch hit the pause button on the camcorder. ‘So long, see ya, woudn't wanna be ya.'

Con jogged up and tapped on the window of the passenger door, her cheeks flushed. ‘One microphone safely retrieved from the old fart's chair,' she bubbled, tossing the tiny bug at Patch. Tye closed up the MacBook, shifted it into the back and let her in. ‘Now, let's get back to the airfield – stopping at McD's along the way, yes?'