The Bloodline Cipher

by Stephen Cole

  But Sadie recovered swiftly, scrambled on to the fallen door where she could keep her footing. She ripped off her mask to wipe her slippery hands – and in a heartbeat Jonah recognised the ring on her finger. Coldhardt’s ring. The one Motti was meant to give Budd, she got hold of it. But as Jonah turned to run it wasn’t the glint of gold that shone in his mind, but the image of her: her black, spiky hair, her face porcelain-pale with cheeks as rosy as a doll’s, brown eyes caked with kohl, emphasising her murderous glare. He sprinted after Con and Patch, their footfalls together like cold thunder on the marble as they made for the grand staircase across the hallway.

  But however fast they ran, he knew Sadie’s bolt would be faster.

  Jonah threw a desperate backward glance over his shoulder. Sadie was taking aim, her finger curling round the trigger, aiming carefully at –

  ‘Patch!’ Jonah bawled.

  Trailing the foil blanket behind him like a super-hero’s cape, Patch had reached the top step. He turned round as the bolt was loosed – and doubled up as it hit him in the stomach.

  Patch staggered back, mouthing in silence, then fell and lay still.

  Chapter Five

  Parked out on a wooded trail, just out of sight of Blackland’s fort, Tye sat in the pick-up, biting her nails. Motti was taking for ever to get here. He’d radioed that he was coming to her rather than waiting at the roadside as planned. Which meant something was wrong. She was tempted to radio him back, but if he was hiding out, lying low, her voice barking out of the handset wouldn’t exactly do him many favours. She wished they’d had more time to plan and prepare. She felt a flare of resentment at the thought of Coldhardt sitting pretty in his own fortress while they risked their lives breaking into this one. She should’ve spoken up, got them more planning time, scouted the location in advance. But Coldhardt had been so adamant they move quickly … as if he could sense his enemies closing in.

  Just what were Jonah and the others up against in there?

  There was a rap at the door of the pick-up. Tye was jolted back to the moment and grabbed the revolver lying in her lap. It wasn’t even loaded, but as a deterrent …

  Motti opened the door, panting for breath.

  She scowled and lowered the gun, angry and relieved at once. ‘What the hell’s happening out there?’

  As he opened his mouth to reply, a burst of static belched from his radio together with Jonah’s frantic voice. ‘Motti, we need back-up …’

  ‘Drive,’ Motti snapped, holding the radio to his ear as he scrambled inside.

  Tye had already started the engine. ‘But if I break through the gates now, security –’

  ‘– is screwed all to hell. Two guards been wasted, at least two. Now move!’

  Tye put her foot down and fat tyres tore through the turf as the pick-up sped away along the track.

  ‘Gates give on to the west side,’ Motti continued. ‘If we crash ’em, people gonna know we’ve arrived – and while they come looking, we sneak out and circle round to the east wing. Plan?’

  ‘Plan,’ Tye agreed. The vehicle had been left for them at San Angelo by one of Coldhardt’s contacts, customised with special bull bars designed to concentrate and multiply the force of collision. She’d calculated a speed of at least fifty to smash through the iron security gates, but so much depended on where she hit them and from which angle … It wasn’t an exact science.

  She only had one shot at getting it right.

  Tye poured on the gas as they thundered along the wooded lane. ‘Hang on tight.’

  ‘Duh!’ replied Motti as he buckled up and wedged his feet against the dashboard, bracing himself.

  The pick-up lurched as they roared and skidded round the corner. The fort came into sight.

  And there were the heavy-duty gates – standing wide open.

  Tye took in two uniformed bodies, face-up in the gravel with bolts in their bellies. Just beyond them, she saw a huge, white limousine parked on the drive, blocking their way. She stomped on the brakes, spun the wheel, muttered a prayer as she swerved to try and avoid the limo. But the pick-up was like a big red missile and it was going too fast to stop.

  There was a kind of sick grace to the collision as they smacked loudly into the back of the car; the limo’s boot and bumper crumpled like paper and it leapt into the air like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s posher cousin.

  The impact flung Tye forward in her seat, the safety belt biting into her ribs. Moments later, she had unbuckled and was racing outside. Every bone in her body seemed to rattle as she ran, and there was a prickling thickness throbbing through the back of her neck. If anyone was inside that limo, they could be dead as those two guards. The realisation stopped her running. She was suddenly afraid to see.

  Motti reached the car first. ‘No one,’ he reported, glancing back towards the fallen guards. ‘And that’s all security here terminated.’ He shook his head. ‘But if this is Lady Bowfinger’s getaway vehicle, I think she’ll be leaving on foot.’

  A woman’s scream echoed distantly from inside the fort.

  Motti turned at the sound. ‘Maybe that’s her now.’

  ‘Sounds like someone’s terrified,’ said Tye.

  ‘Do we care? It wasn’t Con,’ Motti noted. ‘And Patch and Jonah can’t reach a note as high as that.’

  Tye took a deep breath. ‘Well, gates or no gates, we’ve announced our arrival. Let’s get inside and take a look.’ She led the way across the drive, kicking up gravel as she ran for the nearest window.

  ‘No!’ Jonah felt his world tilt, felt his legs start to shake as he tore up the remaining stairs to where Patch lay unmoving. He reached him just as Con did. ‘Is he OK, is he –?’

  Patch’s eye flickered open and scrunched the blanket he was clutching in front of him around the bolt. ‘Good stuff, this titanium foil,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t think she broke the skin.’ Jonah tried to help Patch up, but the boy shook his head a fraction. ‘Just make out I’m dead and leave her to me.’

  Jonah blinked. ‘To you?’

  Patch winked. ‘Eye for an eye.’

  ‘Murdering bitch!’ Con shrieked, turning in a fury back to Sadie.

  The girl had negotiated the slippery floor and was running towards the stairs, grim-faced. There was no sign of Sorin. Sadie swung up her arm ready to fire at Con, but then had to dodge aside as Jonah chucked a large vase down at her from the top of the stairs.

  He grabbed Con’s wrist and yanked her away along the landing, panting for breath. The floors and walls were black up here, with strange markings and crude geometric designs scratched into the ceiling, like strange stars overhead. The landing turned at right angles, and once they’d rounded the corner, they stopped running.

  ‘Hope Patch knows what he’s doing,’ said Jonah. Con nodded, wiped drying blood from her swollen lip.

  Cautiously, Jonah peeped out from around the corner, as Sadie reached the top of the stairs where Patch’s body was sprawled. She crouched as if to make sure he was dead – and then Patch lashed out with both legs, catching her in the stomach and propelling her backwards. She gasped, and as Jonah heard her tumble and crash back down the stairs he felt a savage satisfaction. Patch scrambled up and staggered over to join them.

  ‘That was brilliant, Patch,’ said Jonah, putting an arm round him. ‘You OK?’

  ‘No, it bloody hurts.’ Patch pulled up his top to expose a huge, red-purple bruise spreading over his skinny stomach. ‘Kiss it better, Con?’

  ‘Shut up, Patch,’ she said quietly. ‘Jonah, how did these people know we were coming? How do they know us by name?’

  ‘How many rivals must Coldhardt have, how many enemies?’ Jonah shook his head helplessly. ‘Take out his workforce, you shut down his operations.’

  Con swore. ‘Now they can get the manuscript and execute us at the same time.’

  ‘I told you I had a bad feeling about tonight,’ said Patch miserably.

  ‘Time we split,’ said Jonah. ‘At least with security
dealt with we don’t have to wait for Tye to break open the gates.’

  ‘But we can’t go back the way we came,’ said Patch. As if for emphasis, fresh footfalls started to pound a ragged rhythm on the staircase behind them. ‘Sounds like the bitch is back.’

  ‘And where’s her mate?’ Jonah licked his dry lips. ‘We don’t know how many of these bastards there are. If any of them reach the west wing staircase ahead of us …’

  ‘We’ll be cut off!’ Con realised.

  As one, the three of them sprinted away.

  It was maybe fifty metres across the gravel to the nearest lit window in the looming grey stonework. Tye covered the distance in seconds, Motti following close on her heels. White curtains shielded the room from sight.

  ‘Surely someone would have heard the crash and come looking by now?’ said Tye breathlessly.

  ‘Unless they’re too busy,’ Motti suggested, ‘taking care of stuff –’

  He broke off as suddenly the curtains jumped open and a girl’s face slammed up against the window. Motti stepped back in alarm as she beat her palms against the glass, like she was trying to get out. Tye felt her stomach twist. The elfin-looking girl looked maybe eighteen, her eyes as wild as her shoulder-length red hair, terrified. A large brown birthmark stained her chin and neck, but she hadn’t been born with the gash on her pale cheek. Someone grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair and yanked on it savagely, tearing her away from the glass.

  Then the window was flung open and Tye quickly flattened herself against the wall as another girl’s face appeared, peering out across the driveway. She was older, early twenties perhaps, black with dyed blonde hair, straightened and scraped back off her high forehead.

  But Tye didn’t get much more of a chance to study the face before Motti punched it. The girl grunted with pain and staggered back out of sight. Tye flashed him a what was that? look.

  ‘We don’t got our lockpick with us,’ Motti hissed to Tye, climbing quickly inside. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth –’

  ‘– when you can smack it there instead?’ Tye followed him into a simple study, her empty gun at the ready. The black blonde, dressed in a grey pinstripe trouser suit, was getting to her feet, dabbing delicately at her nose, collected and aloof. The redhead, meanwhile, sat curled up and cowering beneath a big wooden desk in the corner – no threat. Tye noticed the black girl had bloodied knuckles and kept the gun trained on her.

  ‘Red there don’t look like a pro housebreaker to me,’ Motti said, turning to the girl he’d hit. ‘And since you were beating up on her, I’m guessing you’re a stranger here yourself.’

  ‘If you’re guessing, it seems I have you at a disadvantage.’ The girl was apparently British and sounded amused. ‘You’re Anthony Motson … and your companion is Tye Chery.’

  Tye frowned, sensed Motti stiffen beside her. ‘Well, don’t that make me nostalgic. Ain’t been called Anthony in years.’

  ‘I see the two of you have wrecked our transport,’ the girl went on. ‘Now we’ll have to take yours.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Tye kept her face impassive and her grip on the gun tight. ‘How’d you know who we are?’

  ‘My name’s Bree. Glad you could make it.’ Her smile grew wider as she held out a hand to Motti, who ignored it. ‘I suppose you’re here to help your friends? They could use it. They’re in a lot of trouble.’

  Motti glowered at her. ‘If they’re in trouble, Breezy, you’re in trouble. Now what say we go find them all together?’

  ‘Don’t trust her,’ the redhead told them, in an accent difficult to place. But wherever she was from, she was speaking aloud Tye’s own thoughts: this Bree girl seemed too relaxed, too confident by half. ‘She’s a psycho,’ the girl went on. ‘She and her friends tore this place apart, they’ve got Mr Blackland –’

  ‘Ignore Maya here,’ Brie interrupted smoothly. ‘She’s a student librarian, and really not very helpful.’

  Maya flinched. ‘I’m only here for the summer,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’d say your employment’s terminated.’ Bree turned back to Tye and Motti. ‘We’ve acquired the Guan Yin manuscript. The Bloodline Cipher is ours. And pretty soon we’ll have all your friends, too. In pieces.’

  ‘Then the cavalry’s arrived just in time,’ snarled Motti. ‘You’re gonna take us to them right now.’

  Suddenly Tye noticed Bree’s eyes flick twice between them and the inner door. That’s why she’s so confident. ‘Mot, she’s been stalling for time.’ Tye took a warning step nearer the girl, both hands on the gun. ‘Someone’s coming –’

  The handle of the door jerked suddenly, and the heavy wood swung open to reveal a man standing in the doorway, paunchy and grey. Motti was already running to intercept. He punched the old man in the stomach and chopped him on the back of the neck as he crumpled to the carpet.

  ‘No!’ Maya shouted as she saw him fall. ‘Mr Blackland!’

  The owner? Tye took in the huge bloodstain spreading over the back of the man’s pale shirt and swore. Poor old guy’s dead, she realised with a sick feeling, a decoy, just propped in the doorway to distract while –

  Motti looked up angrily from the corpse – right into the swing of a baseball bat. He yelled out as the wooden club cracked against the side of his head, shattering his glasses, knocking him to the ground.

  ‘Motti! Tye yelled, swinging the gun round to cover his attacker – but Bree had anticipated the movement and swung her palm down edgeways in a karate chop that almost took Tye’s wrist off. The gun slipped from her numbed fingers – but Tye was already turning to kick Bree in the stomach. The blow hit home, and Tye followed through with an uppercut. But her opponent feinted backwards, caught Tye’s forearm and bent it back hard. Gasping with pain, Tye was forced to the ground where she got a knee in the face. Tye jack-knifed backwards, hit the floor in a daze beside Motti. He was out cold, a thick crimson dribble running down his temple from the hairline. Tye felt a stab of panic and fought to stay calm. If she could only rest a few moments, get her strength back …

  Bree had picked up Tye’s gun and now surveyed her dispassionately. Abruptly she turned towards the doorway. ‘Shall we kill one of them?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said a new voice – deep and cracked with age, with an accent that spoke of no particular place. Tye hadn’t heard anyone else come into the room, but suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. ‘After all, her friends will soon be captured. And we only need one of them to bring the message back to Coldhardt.’

  Then they still haven’t got the others. ‘What message?’ she asked, playing for time; the gun might be useless, but she couldn’t run out and leave Motti. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Heidel.’

  Tye angled her head back, craned her neck to see who was speaking. She caught a glimpse of a tall man, standing stooped in a black suit. He had a lined, lugubrious face and a mane of silver-grey. A hint of cruelty played about the edges of his lips as he held the bat in two gloved hands.

  ‘What do you say, Ms Chery?’ Heidel went on. ‘Would you care to sacrifice yourself for your friend, or would you rather he died in your place? He is sleeping rather heavily, he will never know you betrayed him …’ The old man’s tone hardened. ‘The way your benefactor Coldhardt betrayed me.’

  ‘Benefactor?’ Keep him talking, Tye thought. ‘We’re only Coldhardt’s employees, we don’t mean anything to him beyond –’

  ‘You’re his family,’ said Heidel angrily. ‘That’s how it works. The big man gathers his little ones to him. Insists that they prove their love by risking everything, time after time. Rewards them when they win.’ He walked towards her. ‘And their luck holds for a time. But then doubt steals in, or the strain gets too great, and … in walks death. Or betrayal.’ Tye had a clear look at Heidel’s eyes now. They were clear blue, no passion there. They looked … wrong, somehow – as wrong as a man in a flashy suit wielding a bloody wooden bat. ‘So which will it be,
Tye Chery – death or betrayal, which would you give a head start?’ He smiled coldly. ‘Because believe me, each follows the other.’

  Then someone cleared his throat. ‘Did you get that out of a fortune cookie or something?’

  Tye wanted to sob with relief. ‘Jonah?’ She propped herself up on her elbows and saw him step through the doorway with Patch.

  Then her hopes sank like her heart; standing right behind them were a beach-blond himbo and a pale, dark-eyed girl with jet-black hair.

  ‘Prisoners and escort,’ said Bree, and the smile she gave Tye was sickeningly triumphant.

  Chapter Six

  Jonah tried to take in the scene quickly and coolly – but his mind, like his eyes, couldn’t choose where to settle. There was an old man at his feet clearly dead, Motti looking not a lot better on the floor, Tye at the feet of a girl with a gun and some aging mobster type who could have been Coldhardt’s brother – oh, and a pixie-like red-haired girl hiding under a desk.

  Quite a crowd, Jonah thought. Here goes nothing.

  ‘Yep, it’s prisoner and escort all right,’ he told the black girl with the dyed hair. ‘But guess what …?’

  ‘You’re all our prisoners,’ hissed Con behind him, shoving Sadie and Sorin into the study. Sorin had reached the west-side staircase ahead of them and Sadie had cut them off from behind, just as Jonah had feared. But Patch, once again, had managed to turn things round …

  As Sadie and Sorin stumbled forward, the black girl swung her gun to cover Jonah, and the mobster raised his baseball bat.

  ‘Back off!’ Patch shouted.

  ‘Do as he says,’ said Sorin, and Sadie nodded – dishevelled and looking mad as all hell. The mobster slowly lowered the gun, but the black girl kept aim.

  Tye looked up at her. ‘Better give it up, Bree. It’s not even loaded.’

  ‘As if,’ Bree sneered.

  ‘No loud noises, please.’ Jonah glanced at Patch, who was holding his false eye in one hand; now he flipped up his eye patch to reveal the empty socket. ‘Patch has got his eye on you. And since you know so much about us, I’m assuming you’re aware of how he keeps all kinds of stuff in that insulated glass. Tonight it’s stuffed full of plastic explosive – enough, we reckoned, to take out the radio mast that Blackland uses to keep tabs on his books.’