The Bloodline Cipher

by Stephen Cole

Jonah woke feeling like crap and looking about as good. The rest of the day passed slowly and fitfully.

  He played video games with Patch. Patch kept winning, so he went to the gym to work out. Con was there, beating the hell out of a punchbag. He didn’t fancy taking her on in that kind of mood, and so left her to it and took a walk to the main gates. The crates were gone.

  ‘Great,’ he muttered. He wondered how long the results would take, how much cash Coldhardt would splash to speed things along.

  He walked around the grounds, brooding till he bored himself to death. Coming back to the hangout he found Motti was back from checking out the security systems at the safe house; checks Motti had made himself in the absence of orders from Coldhardt. He still saw it as his responsibility.

  ‘That Sorin was smarter than he looked,’ Motti explained. ‘Took out the whole system and every bug in the place with something … Some kind of EMP, maybe, I dunno.’

  ‘Electromagnetic pulse?’ Jonah frowned. ‘I thought that knocked out all electronics in the area? The retina and fingerprint scanners, the entry coder, they were all still working.’

  ‘He put down enough juice to cripple the main chip and blow every bug in the building – and then somehow he reset the external barriers.’ Motti shook his head in grudging admiration. ‘Perfect for an ambush. Those scanners were set to welcome any eyeball, any thumb and any seven-digit code – so you wouldn’t be tipped off anything was wrong till you got inside.’

  Jonah nodded. ‘So the NO guys didn’t break in, they just strolled in.’

  ‘Shame Sorin bought it,’ said Motti. ‘Who knew? The guy was a talent. Won’t ever make his name now.’

  ‘Was there any …’ Jonah shrugged, ‘any mess from the killing left behind in the safe house?’

  Motti looked at him levelly. ‘What do you think?’

  The hangout slowly filled up again. Con came back, put on some music. Patch returned to his computer games. Motti went off to his bedroom studio to mess around with some tracks, and Tye was still keeping to herself.

  Let her stew, thought Jonah, and slouched off to see how Maya was doing. Because it was his bedroom, he didn’t think to knock – and so walked in and found her asleep on his bed. She was curled up in just her black vest top and knickers, her red hair spilling over the pillow. Must have been too trashed to go looking for the guest rooms – or maybe she just couldn’t sleep away from her precious cipher files.

  His gaze lingered a few seconds. He noticed again the dark tip of the tattoo beneath her collarbone, the welt on her neck like a red star above it. From skinny thigh to pencil-ankles, Maya’s skin was smothered in the same grey-brown freckles that dusted her elfin face.

  This is when Tye comes in and decides I’m a total perv, he thought. Quickly he took a jacket and laid it over Maya’s lower half. Then he checked his computer for any progress on decrypting the manuscript.

  No character matches. No words thrown up by the translators. All that processing power, and for what? He noted the pile of screwed-up paper around the bin had grown larger too.

  Did Coldhardt even need them to crack the Bloodline Cipher now? All this work they were doing seemed more for Maya’s benefit than the boss’s.

  Pretty soon Coldhardt would be choosing between his regular life as it was now and the services of Nomen Oblitum. Jonah felt a tightness in his stomach; the same pains he got as a kid, when he’d overhear his foster parents discussing him, talking about sending him back. He shut his eyes, still feeling so tired. But Maya was lying in his bed, like a cuckoo.

  Since he had nowhere else to go, Jonah returned to the guest room and lay on the unmade bed, waiting for the call from Coldhardt.

  He went on waiting.

  Shadows stole in, as the light through the window ebbed to grey.

  When Jonah woke again, it was close to six the next morning. And the phone started trilling just a half-hour later.

  He listened to it, a sick feeling building in his stomach.

  Time to go, he thought.

  Jonah was the last to arrive in the hub. Even Maya had made it there ahead of him. He felt a moment’s resentment at her intrusion: You just got here. This isn’t about you.

  It’s about us.

  Coldhardt looked in control again, sitting at the head of the table in his usual gaunt splendour. His fingers toyed with the gold ring Tye had snatched back from Sadie, and he seemed relaxed and calm – unlike most everyone else round the table.

  ‘I can appreciate you may be concerned by recent developments,’ he began abruptly. ‘Not to mention intrigued.’

  ‘One word for it,’ Patch muttered.

  ‘Did the tests you had done on Heidel’s stuff check out?’ asked Motti bluntly.

  Coldhardt put down the ring and regarded him. ‘All belongings – including the most recent personnel files – are covered in Heidel’s fingerprints. Genetic detritus recovered from the clothes – hairs, dried skin and so on – has been DNA tested and matches positively. And the voice …’ He smiled suddenly, a smile that clearly had no intention of ever reaching his eyes. ‘Its tone has deepened a little over the years … but it could be Heidel’s voice.’

  Jonah took in all this over the hammering of his pulse in his temples. ‘So Heidel’s really alive?’

  ‘And he hasn’t aged …’ Tye shook her head. ‘Could he have had surgery, be made up to look younger?’

  ‘Perhaps you could catch up with David Street,’ Con added, ‘see what he thinks?’

  ‘He is no longer an ally,’ said Coldhardt. ‘And before you ask, neither is Karl Saitou.’

  ‘But surely if –’

  ‘The matter is settled.’ The scrape of Coldhardt’s chair interrupted her. ‘There is something you missed when you rifled busily through Heidel’s belongings.’ He stood up and raised the old leather briefcase in one gnarled hand. Then he produced a large knife from his pocket. Jonah swapped a look of alarm with Tye.

  But Coldhardt only used the blade to tease open an invisible seam in the leather at the base of the case.

  ‘A secret compartment,’ Patch realised. ‘Never saw it on the X-ray with everything going on.’

  ‘A favourite trick of the old man’s,’ Coldhardt murmured, carefully reaching inside. ‘A small place to store secrets, sealed for over thirty years.’ His face remained impassive as he reached in and removed a small handful of glittering stones. Diamonds, or –

  ‘Smokestones,’ Con breathed.

  Coldhardt had given one to each of them, a badge of belonging, but they were not the first owners, it seemed. Scattering the gems carelessly on the table, Coldhardt reached in again. And this time he pulled out a small piece of stiff card, marked with a familiar crimson symbol.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Jonah, and the others turned to look at him – all save Maya, whose eyes were as riveted to the find as his own.

  Motti kicked Jonah under the table. ‘Wanna let the rest of us in on the thrill, geek?’

  ‘That’s the Knot of Isis,’ Jonah said.

  ‘The symbol co-opted by Nomen Oblitum,’ Maya added. ‘And that is their card of contract.’

  Tye looked at her sharply. ‘You’ve seen it before?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at Coldhardt. ‘The card of contract is given only to one whose body and consciousness the Mage has agreed to aid with her teachings,’ Maya explained. ‘It confirms the Mage has accepted the subject’s gift.’

  ‘I’m guessing that’s not a box of chocs,’ Patch murmured.

  ‘It is chosen according to the means and circumstances of the subject,’ Maya explained. ‘It may be a million gold pieces in one case, or a single rare plant in another.’

  ‘Why did Heidel want to go to Nomen Oblitum in the first place?’ Tye asked Coldhardt.

  Scooping up the smokestones, Coldhardt slipped them into his breast pocket. ‘He didn’t discuss his weaknesses.’

  ‘Well, whatever was up, sounds like you did your best to cure him.’ Motti mimed a gun to the
side of Patch’s head and pulled the trigger.

  The casual assurance seemed to force its way back into Coldhardt’s voice. ‘Do not make the mistake of equating knowledge with understanding, Motti.’

  ‘Maybe none of us understand ’cause you never explain.’ Motti stood up and slammed his hand down on the tabletop. ‘You know what? Keep your secrets, Coldhardt – who cares? Go off with your friends in the robes to have a thirty-year makeover, whatever. Just tell us straight – what happens to us while you’re gone?’

  ‘I have not yet had my first consultation,’ said Coldhardt calmly. ‘Until I acquire the Mage’s prize, I’m as in the dark as you are about how long the process will take, and of what I can and can’t do in the meantime.’

  ‘Motti is talking about us,’ said Con. Her voice sounded cold but Jonah could see the pleading in her eyes. ‘Our future.’

  ‘I must address my own future first.’ Coldhardt gestured to Motti to sit back down. Motti sighed and did so, and Coldhardt looked at each of them in turn. ‘I ask you to trust in me, my children.’

  No one answered.

  He smiled. ‘At the very least, trust in the fact that I have invested in you all, quite heavily. You are prized highly, and always shall be.’

  Jonah turned to Tye to gauge her reaction, to see if Coldhardt was telling the truth. Motti, Patch and Con were staring at her too.

  Looking uneasy, Tye nodded. ‘I think he means it.’

  ‘So what is the great gift you need us to acquire for you?’ Jonah demanded.

  Coldhardt pressed a button on his remote and the screens on the wall illumined. All heads turned to see a map of various islands, none of which Jonah recognised. ‘All I know,’ said Coldhardt, ‘is that my gift will be found in the hold of a particular cargo ship, the Aswang, sailing in the Illana Bay region of the Moro Gulf.’

  ‘A cargo ship?’ Jonah frowned. ‘What can Nomen Oblitum want from a cargo ship?’

  ‘This hasn’t been a regular craft for many years,’ Coldhardt explained. ‘The Aswang is a “phantom” vessel – stolen years ago, repainted and registered under a different name and flag. It’s now owned by a multi-millionaire with a particular interest in Philippine mythology. He uses it to store a repository of mostly stolen artefacts dating back three thousand years – the Aswang has become his personal shrine to the pantheon of Philippine gods. Usually it is moored off one of the many islands he owns, but he moves it periodically for security reasons.’

  Motti nodded. ‘Guess both sides of the law would be after a haul like that.’

  ‘I have precise coordinates on board the ship for where the treasure will be found,’ said Coldhardt. ‘You must make your way to that point.’

  ‘Stealing from ancient crypts and crumbling old temples is one thing,’ said Jonah. ‘But won’t there be a whole crew on board this crate?’

  ‘A skeleton crew, ill-equipped to defend a ship that is over 150 metres long. And since the owner has the local pirates in his pay, they will not be expecting trouble.’

  ‘And what about Heidel and Bree?’ asked Tye. ‘Sorin may be dead and Sadie may be arrested, but they’ll still be coming after you. Heidel seems to know your plans before you do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Patch, ‘Nomen Oblitum might be working with Heidel to stitch you up!’

  ‘By killing Sorin and saving Jonah and Maya?’ Con looked dubious. ‘That’s a strange way of stitching up, no?’

  ‘They could have taken care of me at the safe house,’ Coldhardt agreed, ‘if that was their intention.’ He looked round at his ‘children’ gravely. ‘There are always risks; that is what I pay you for. But on this occasion … I will furnish you with the information you need – and you will organise between yourselves how best to achieve the goal. Don’t share your plans with anyone. Not even me.’

  Motti looked taken aback. ‘You mean … you trust us to do it?’

  ‘I pay you to do it.’ Coldhardt half smiled. ‘Now, the ship is old, it moves slowly – but it will have reached its destination at Balimbing within four days. I suggest you make your plans with all speed.’ He turned to Maya. ‘Meantime, I would like you to remain here under my personal supervision and continue your work.’

  ‘All right.’ Maya shrugged. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘You still want the grimoire decrypted?’ Jonah raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? Their translation of the sample text matched ours – and whatever “magic” they need to do, they’ll be working from their own copy of the manuscript.’

  ‘I always prefer to read a book myself than to be told stories.’ Coldhardt smiled, turning the ring between his fingertips. ‘Now. You must begin.’

  Jonah slowly rose to go. The others did the same. They followed him over to the concealed lift that would take them from the underworld back out to the light.

  ‘I will see you again,’ Coldhardt told them.

  Jonah glanced at Tye, and saw she looked troubled. ‘He means what he’s told us,’ she said quietly ‘But there’s something going unsaid … I’m sure of it.’

  ‘He’s just found out that the friend he thought he’d killed is still alive after all,’ Jonah reminded her. ‘That’s going to shake him up, right?’

  She nodded, and Jonah should have felt better. But he too had the feeling that Coldhardt was keeping something from them. Something waiting in the darkest shadows of the winding road ahead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Well, she’s out there somewhere,’ Motti drawled, gazing out over the waters of the South China Seas. ‘Thirty-five thousand deadweight tons of rust, crap and Filipino treasure.’

  Tye was too busy revelling in the feel of white sand between her toes to frown too hard at him. ‘I was trying to see nice things on the horizon, thank you.’

  ‘Not in this line of work,’ quipped Jonah, sat in a deckchair beside them with his laptop. In shorts and a Chunk T-shirt, a straw hat perched on his head, he was still trying to crack the cipher. No doubt he’d be back in touch with Maya again before long.

  Why did he have to be so smart? Opposites attract, thought Tye. That was the easy bit. But what do they do then? She felt the afternoon breeze on her face and legs, closed her eyes and dreamed. They rob a thirty-five-year-old cargo ship out in the Sulu Sea and live happily ever after. What else?

  Tye had flown out the Talent last night to Zamboanga, in western Mindanao in the Philippines; it seemed a good base from which to intercept the slow-moving bulk carrier, which would have to pass by this peninsula. She had sailed these waters a couple of times way back, with smuggling crews when she was fourteen. She’d never dreamed that some day she’d be flying high above them in air-conditioned luxury, staring down at the intense blue. The ocean was like a vast plain of lapis lazuli, its glittering surface littered with powder-white islands, like the droppings of some great celestial bird. Fishing boats left sharp trails across the smooth sea, spreading in any and all directions.

  It was hard to imagine something so beautiful could be so dangerous. But the waters were crawling with modern-day pirates, many of whom would kill as casually as they looted. This job would be no breeze … But with the gentle sea-blown gusts soothing her skin, she determined to try and stay in the moment and enjoy her surroundings.

  Zamboanga City was surrounded by water, which made for great beaches as well as seafood. Once, so Con informed them, it had been a Spanish colony, and the busy streets still held traces of that old splendour in crumbling adobe walls and red terracotta roofs. The shops all advertised in English, but Tye heard the locals bandy words in Spanish Creole. The talk got rowdier when the motorised trike-cabs that thronged the roads reached their destinations, and passengers were hit up by the drivers for a few more pesos.

  ‘We should do all our job-planning on beaches,’ Con declared, lying on a beach towel and sipping a Sea Breeze cocktail as red as her bikini.

  ‘I’m up for it,’ said Patch. He’d taken off his top, his scrawny body as white as the sand he sat on and the
piles of paper they’d been poring over. ‘D’you think we should have a beach party later?’

  Motti shook his head despairingly. ‘We should start scouting this evening.’

  ‘Dib, dib, dib.’ Patch saluted.

  ‘Jonah’s calculated three likely routes the ship could be taking, so we know roughly where to search,’ said Tye, ignoring him. ‘But there’s no guarantee we’ll find the Aswang tonight.’

  ‘That’d be a shame.’ Patch sniggered. ‘’Ere. Reckon Aswang is short for Ass-Wanger?’

  ‘Reckon “Patch” is?’ Motti shot back.

  ‘D’you know what an aswang is, Patch?’ Con looked at him. ‘It’s a flesh-eating ghoul that roams these islands at night, eating small children. Like you.’

  ‘I’m all man!’ Patch protested. ‘Even so, maybe a night spent scouting the seas wouldn’t be so bad.’

  ‘Except for the pirates,’ Motti noted.

  ‘They’ll be active mainly after dark,’ Tye noted. ‘We’ll scout in daylight.’

  Con nodded. ‘But we must pull the job at night, no?’

  ‘Less chance of detection,’ Motti agreed.

  ‘I’ll fool ’em into thinking I’m one of their own,’ said Patch. ‘I’ve got the eye patch already, I’ll just pretend I’ve got a wooden leg. Ha-harrr!’

  ‘Not that kind of pirate, numbnuts. They don’t got swords and parrots now, they got M60s and rocket launchers and they’re organised real slick.’

  Tye nodded. ‘And then you’ve got the Filipino navy patrols, Chinese crack smugglers …’

  ‘I wanna go home,’ said Patch miserably.

  ‘And I’m going to call home,’ Jonah announced, slamming his laptop shut like an oversized book. Tye saw a familiar spark in his eyes; could tell he wanted to grin and jump about but was scared of jinxing his possible breakthrough.

  ‘You’ve made some progress on the cipher?’ Tye asked.

  ‘I think so.’ He looked over to the promenade at the edge of the beach, fidgeting like a dog itching to chase a stick. ‘Well, better get on to Maya …’

  ‘Guess you had,’ said Tye, watching him go and telling herself it was fine. ‘While we’d better jump in a couple of speedboats and get searching.’