“When you didn’t come to the canteen, I was worried. Helen told me she saw you heading for Gardiner’s office. I came looking for you, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get into any trouble.” He raises his hands defensively before I can accuse him of knowing more than he let on. “Not that sort of trouble. I thought you were going to get into an argument with him. I suppose I wasn’t wrong about that part.”
He falls silent for a moment, his face a mirror of what mine must have been when my world came crashing down.
“I’m sorry, Anna. You were right about him. I should have listened to you. But I–” He breaks off and stares out across the sea of faces rushing around us, and part of me wants to comfort him as he confronts the truth about the man he’s idolised for the last seven years.
The other part of me thinks I should take off while he’s distracted.
“I never thought he was capable of something like this. When I saw him dragging you away, drugged…”
He looks back at me.
“I should have stopped him taking you, but I froze. It was unforgivable.”
I close my eyes. I can’t bear to see him beating himself up like this. Unforgivable? Maybe. It was no worse than what I’d done, though: shifting out and leaving that girl behind. It’s time to stop with the half measures and holding other people to standards I can’t meet myself. I need to trust Scott or lose my mind. I open my eyes and find him watching me intently. I hold his brilliant blue eyes for a long moment, watching our entire history play out across their surface. I know what I choose.
“It doesn’t matter. You found me, that’s all that counts. Just promise you won’t leave me again.”
“I swear it.”
Chapter Seventeen
I tug my hood a little further forward over my face and keep my head down as I shuffle towards the front of the queue. A CCTV camera is directly above the booth and pointing at each customer as they are served. I tell myself not to stare at it, but my eyes keep darting disobediently towards the lens. I wonder whether someone from AbGen is watching me right now, and a shudder runs down my spine. I cough nervously and shuffle forwards again.
The man inside the booth scowls at me – my fashion statement isn’t winning me any friends – and I clear my throat.
“Two singles to Leeds, please.”
“A hundred and twenty-three pounds.”
I hand over the cash Scott has given me and his scowl deepens, but after a moment he slides the tickets to me and I scoop them up and hurry away, my heart pounding.
Scott is waiting for me by the departures board, and I scan it anxiously.
“How long until our train leaves?” I ask, handing over the tickets.
“We’re not going by train.” He starts walking, and tosses the tickets in a bin.
“What? Why not?” I hurry along by his side, looking back at the bin in shock.
“We’re taking a plane to Belfast. I just booked us two tickets on my phone. This way.”
I get on the escalator a step behind him.
“You paid by card?” I’m not an expert but that seems like a bad idea. “Won’t they be able to trace that?”
“Exactly. They’ll assume it’s a decoy. I’ve bought tickets to Berlin as well, just in case. It should buy us a little time to disappear.”
Oh. Makes sense I suppose. I’m glad Scott’s on my side. He was right: I have no idea how to run from people like AbGen.
We hurry through the building, keeping our hoods up and sticking with the crowds. We make it onto the plane with just a few minutes to spare, and I’m glad there won’t be too much waiting around in front of the cameras. My nerves are wound so tight that I don’t think I could stomach the sitting around.
As we settle into our seats I wonder how I’m going to pass the next hour of doing exactly that, but it turns out I needn’t have worried. As soon as I sink into the seat the exhaustion catches up with me. I close my eyes just for a moment, and the next thing I know a hand is shaking my shoulder. I start, my eyes flying open.
“Easy.” Scott withdraws his hand. “We’re here.”
I blink rapidly and wait for my heart rate to slow. The steady stream of people passing our seats starts to slow and we ease out and work our way through arrivals. We have no luggage to collect so we’re on our way quickly. Scott hails a taxi and gives the driver an address as we climb into the back.
“We’ve got a while. Get some more sleep if you want,” Scott suggests as the car pulls away, and my eyes are closed before he finishes speaking.
I jolt awake again when the car comes to a stop and look around.
“Where are we?”
“Ulster. We’re making a pit stop.”
He passes some money to the driver, tells him to keep the change, and we step out onto the street. In front of us is a large, modern building with elegant glass fronting. Above, golden lettering reads ‘Ulster Investment Society’. I look to Scott but he’s already pushing the glass doors open and stepping inside. I hurry after him as he strides to the counter, looking around me and feeling distinctly out of place in this upper-class bank. I feel like a zombie after Pearce’s super insulin shot, my clothes are a mess after sleeping on the plane and in the cab, and my hair bears an uncanny resemblance to a bird’s nest. Around me, people are dressed in suits and ties, immaculately clean and wearing professional smiles.
If the woman behind the counter has an opinion on my appearance, no hint of it reaches her face, which is framed by glossy blonde locks and highlighted by the merest traces of makeup.
“Good afternoon, Sir. How may I help you today?” she asks, with a lilting Irish accent that reminds me I’m no longer in my home country. A wave of sadness passes over me: will we go ever go back there, or is our future in Ireland, or France, or some place halfway round the world? I moved around too much as a kid to ever put down roots, but over the last few years I’d come to think of Whitelyn as home. Sure, it was no idyllic English village, and my flat no quaint cottage, but it was mine, and it was the first time I’d been able to say that. Hopefully not the last.
My melancholy goes unnoticed by Scott, who slides an ID card across the counter.
“I’d like to access my Safe Deposit Box, please.”
She picks up the ID card and checks the name on it.
“Certainly, Mr Harrison. Right this way, please.”
We follow her through the bank and past its many workers at a brisk pace, and she unlocks a door, and then withdraws discretely with all the professionalism I’d expect from someone who looks like her and works somewhere like this. I turn three-sixty, looking around at the row upon row of boxes. I can’t even imagine how much wealth is concealed in this room; there’s no saying what any of those boxes might contain. I’ve never seen one up close before – it’s not like I’ve ever had the need, given that my savings have rarely exceeded three figures, and the only thing of any real value I’d ever possessed was the ring that started all this. And, frankly, the less said about that, the better. In truth, I’m a little disappointed. Aside from the nondescript grey boxes, there’s a table and two chairs in the room, and not much else. I’d imagined it all to be a little more…. I don’t know, just more.
Scott has pulled his box from the wall and inserted his key. It’s a small box, maybe ten inches by fifteen, and I’m wondering what could be in there that’s so important we had to come all the way to Northern Ireland to get it. The lid swings open and my question is answered. Nestled inside the box are half a dozen stacks of bank notes – various currencies – and what look to be several passports and driving licences. Lying in the middle of the box is a black handgun with two spare magazines. My eyes are drawn to the weapon: a Glock, I recognise from my training back at AbGen. Scott picks it up, checks the chamber, ejects the magazine, then places it into the backpack along with the two spare clips. He shuffles through the passports and selects one, and then looks through the driving licences, presumably for one that matches. As he starts removing so
me of the stacks of money, a thought strikes me, and I sit on one of the chairs, vaguely aware they probably cost more than my flat, and turn it over in my mind.
“You said you trusted Gardiner.” Again and again he’d told me he trusted the man, but his little stash here would somewhat suggest otherwise. He stops what he’s doing and looks at me.
“I did. Anna, I trusted the man with my life. Why wouldn’t I?” He sighs and dumps the backpack on the table, and perches on its edge. I immediately feel guilty for my accusation. Hard as this has been for me, I can only imagine what he’s going through. He gave Gardiner seven years of his life; a life that he almost threw away because of his talent.
“I never thought I would use any of this stuff. I set it up because Gardiner told me to.”
That sets alarm bells ringing and I’m up out of my seat before my brain has caught up with my mouth.
“He knows about this?”
Scott shakes his head.
“No. He told all of us to set up a bolt-box, in case anything ever happened to AbGen and we had to go to ground. He also told us to keep their locations to ourselves, so that if he was compromised he could never give us up.”
And there I go again, leaping to conclusions like it’s an Olympic sport. Meanwhile, Scott looks like a drowning man who just watched the last life raft disappear into the horizon.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, breaking away from his gaze. Sorry for my accusations, sorry for dragging him into this mess, sorry for ruining everything he’s built in the last seven years.
“Hey. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He lightly places a finger under my chin and turns my face back to him. “Nothing, you hear me?”
I close the gap between us and press my lips to his. He tenses and I freeze; have I just made a huge mistake? I have. He doesn’t see me that way. I should have known he would never look at me like that, he– He’s wrapping an arm around me, drawing me closer still, his lips coming to life against mine. I press my body against his, reaching up into the kiss as he leans down, my eyelids closing as I give myself over to him…
And suddenly he’s gone. My eyes fly open and he’s standing a pace away, his shoulders rigid as he stares at the door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning for danger. My heart is pounding, from the kiss, from the fear, I don’t know which.
“Someone’s coming. One of them.”
I don’t need to ask who he means. There’s only one question to ask, and I ask it as he tosses the remaining money from the safe box into the backpack.
“How long?”
“They’re within five miles. I’m sorry, I should have sensed them coming.”
As if anyone has to apologise to me of all people for not having perfect control of their talent. I take hold of his hand.
“Come on, let’s go.”
He nods, scoops up the bag, and we take a deep breath before leaving the room. We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. Anything that raises suspicion could draw AbGen down on top of us. They’re close, but we’re not caught yet. We can still get out of here without leaving a trail.
We leave the bank in strained silence, broken only when Scott thanks the cashier and flashes her a confident smile. I hope it doesn’t look as forced to her as it does to me. We get outside and the cool air brushes the back of my neck, sending a shudder through me. My skin is clammy and I can feel a sweat breaking out on my forehead. I’m not going back. I’m never going back.
“Breathe, Anna,” Scott tells me, and I see the concern on his face. I nod, and fight the urge to asking him if they’re getting closer. It doesn’t matter either way; we’re not sticking around to wait for them. Scott flags down a taxi and we’re on our way again.
Our driver takes one look at the wad of cash Scott offers him, and doesn’t ask questions. Smart man. From the focus on Scott’s face I figure he must be keeping tabs on the agents’ location and directing the driver in the opposite direction to them. That’s what I’d do, if I had a talent that was actually useful, rather than a giant pain in my ass. After about twenty minutes his face relaxes and he leans back in the seat until Ulster is a distant memory in our rear-view mirror.
We passed an anxious night in a quiet bed and breakfast on the outskirts of some anonymous town whose name I don’t even bother to register. We’re not going to be here long. Scott books a twin room, separate beds, and pays with cash. Both of us are too tired to talk about what happened back in the bank, but somehow I end up curled up against him as we fell asleep.
When I wake, I’m alone in the bed, and lie there silently for a moment, running yesterday’s events through my mind. Now is still not the time to break down, but I can hear Scott’s reassuring presence in the shower room and I’m starting to feel like maybe we can get through this. Together. With his experience and his talent, and my… I dunno, I’m sure I bring something to the table. Paranoia, maybe? But there’s one thing that’s bothering me.
Just then, Scott comes out of the bathroom with his hair still damp and flashes me a smile. I return it shyly and slip past him. I find the hotel toiletries on the edge of the sink and make use of them before getting into the shower. As the water cascades around me, sending a disconcerting amount of grime down the drain, I think through the thing – the face – that’s been bothering me all night, and I know there are some tough decisions that need to be made.
I emerge some time later with a towel wrapped around my hair, and my mind set. Scott has ordered room service – exactly how long was I in the shower for? – and the smell is enough to drive everything else from my head. He hands me a mug of coffee. I blow gently across the surface and take a sip, then start in on the food. We eat in silence for a moment, then I broach the subject that’s been on my mind.
“We need to talk about yesterday. When you saw me in the office–”
He looks like he’s about to apologise again, so I raise a hand to stop him. Hard as it is to do, I need to go back to where it started, so he understands what I’m saying.
“You told me you froze. I get it. You’re not the only one who’s done things they’re not proud of.”
I tell him all of it – Gardiner wanting to weaponise me, the injection, the basement. The girl. Once the words start tumbling out of me, I don’t seem able to stop them. Scott doesn’t interrupt, he just lets me get it all out but as I reach the part about the cages he grips the table top until his knuckles turn white.
“So we can’t just run,” I tell him. “We have to find a way to save her, and anyone else they’re planning on locking up in there. She’s an absa, she’s got to be. That could have been me, or you, or anyone else we care about. We’ve got to stop them.”
“Anna… You know what this means, right? If we go back there, there’s no guarantee either of us will walk away.”
“We have to try.”
He runs his hand over his face, and then nods.
“You’re right. Any ideas how we’re going to get back in there?”
“Yeah. Through the front door.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Good morning, Scott. I must say you certainly have a talent for doing the unexpected. I confess I rather thought my secretary was joking when she told me you were on the line.” Gardiner’s voice filters into the car, distorted by the phone’s speaker. “I take it you’re with the lovely Anna?”
“I am,” Scott confirms.
“Good morning, Anna.” He’s suspiciously upbeat, as if he was greeting a colleague as opposed to speaking to the people he’s spent days hunting across two countries.
“I’m afraid she’s not up to talking right now.”
“Oh?”
I can hear Gardiner working to keep his voice nonchalant but not quite managing it. My own heart is pounding in my chest and making it hard to follow the conversation.
“I’ve given her an insulin shot.”
“I see. And why would you do that?”
Scott sighs.
“I know yo
u think I’ve gone rogue, but it was the only way I could get Anna to trust me. I thought I could convince her to come back in willingly. It didn’t work, so I had to take more decisive action.”
“You’ve invested an awful lot of energy in giving us the run-around, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little cynical about your sudden change of loyalties.”
“My loyalty has always been to AbGen,” Scott replies fiercely, his hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel. “I couldn’t call in a sit-rep, Anna was suspicious enough of me as it was. If she’d shifted again, we’d never have found her. This was our best shot – she’s always listened to me before.”
“But not this time?” Gardiner has recovered his poise and his voice is calm again.
“No. Not this time. She was too spooked; she wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“And exactly how much has Anna told you?”
“About the basement? Everything.” Scott sighs again. Apparently my habits have rubbed off on him. “I’m not going to lie, boss, I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me. I thought you trusted me. But I can understand your reasons.”
“Interesting. Your psychological profile suggested you would have found the idea… challenging.”
“Then you need better profilers. I care about Anna, but I love our country. I can’t justify putting one girl’s freedom above the lives of the entire population. I won’t.”
I shoot Scott a look. He said that with entirely too much conviction, although I suppose he has to be convincing for our plan to work. We’re only going to get one shot at this, and they’re probably already tracing the call. He smiles at me reassuringly. I bite my lower lip anxiously and turn back to the phone resting on the dash.
“I agree. It’s just a pity young Anna doesn’t feel the same way, but I’m sure we can persuade her. How do you propose we proceed?”
“I’m driving to you now. Our ETA is in about an hour. I’ll stay with you until she’s secure in the basement and then I’m at your disposal. Oh, and if I’m bringing a drugged-up girl in through the front door, you might want to make sure the mind reader’s on a break.”
Awakening (TalentBorn Book 1) Page 15
