‘I’m not really sick,’ Luke suddenly blurted out. ‘They made me take tests. They made me think I was sick, but I don’t think I am.’
‘Who?’
‘The people,’ he said, ‘and my guardian. And they keep making me sleep. I’m not tired but they keep making me sleep.’
Behind his smile, Cass’ blood was boiling.
‘Do you want to leave?’ he asked again, gently.
The boy nodded.
‘Then come on.’ Cass grinned and Luke grinned back: Christian’s smile, open and honest, and Cass’ heart broke for his little brother all over again.
‘I don’t have any clothes,’ Luke whispered.
‘Pyjamas will do for now. Just put your slippers on.’
Luke did as he was told, and watching him wheeze and wobble as got to his feet, Cass wondered what the hell they’d been doing to him. Or maybe he was sick? If he was, Cass would get him the best doctors – they’d go to Switzerland or somewhere. He took the dressing gown from the end of the bed.
‘Put that on too. It’s cold outside.’ He opened the door and peered out. The corridor was empty.
‘Ready?’
Luke nodded. His eyes were sparkling. Cass reached back and took his hand. It was small and warm and it hung on tightly. Cass squeezed back. I got him for you, Christian, he thought as he led the boy back to the stairs. Can you forgive me now, little brother? There was no answer; no shoes splashed with blood were waiting in the corridor. The gun tucked into the back of his trousers felt cold against his sweating skin. They weren’t out yet, but they would be, even if he had to shoot everyone who stood in their way.
Behind him Luke was panting slightly even though they’d only been moving for a few moments. Cass wasn’t surprised; even if he wasn’t ill, the boy had been confined to one small room for more than a year, and he doubted he’d had much in the way of exercise.
He gripped the small palm tighter.
‘You okay?’ he whispered.
Luke was leaning against the wall with his eyes shut. Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline and his face had paled. After a second, he nodded.
‘We’re going to go out through the kitchen, okay?’ Cass said. ‘But we have to go near the reception area. If I tell you to run, do you think you’ll be able to?’
Luke nodded again. His eyes were determined, even if his body was telling a different story.
They moved forward, as quickly and as quietly as they could. Cass fought the urge to hunch over and run: if they bumped into an orderly, he wanted to be looking as much like a doctor who was meant to be there as possible – if only to take the other person off guard for a vital moment or two. His heart sped up as they neared the large carpeted central reception area, the building’s main thoroughfare.
There was a large staircase behind the desk, leading up to the second and third floors, and about ten feet from the end of the corridor was another, leading down to the laundry rooms – and if Cromer’s directions were to be trusted, it also led to the old servants’ staircase that would bring them back up to the ground floor and the kitchen at the other end of it without having to walk past the receptionist or the staff room. If all went according to plan, they shouldn’t meet anyone: the kitchen staff weren’t due in for at least an hour, and the back door would be locked only with the swipe card system. From there they could go round and through the side-gate that opened from the garden into the car park.
The only unknown, and he couldn’t blame Cromer for this, was whether his swipe card would work on the kitchen entrance. Cromer had never used it – it was for the kitchen and cleaning staff, and they had different-coloured cards to the medical and office admin personnel. If it didn’t work, Cass had already decided that he’d break out; with any luck they’d be in the car and through the gates before anyone realised what was going on. Hopefully.
He peered across at the reception desk. The middle-aged woman behind it had her head down over some paperwork. The ten feet or so to the stairs beside her looked like miles; she’d only have to catch a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye and they’d be rumbled. And Luke’s heavy breathing was bound to draw attention to them.
Cass took a deep breath. They had no choice. He took a step forward, but Luke pulled him back.
‘Wait,’ he whispered. He was staring intently at the receptionist, sweat shining on his face. The woman had picked up her bag from beneath the desk and now she stood up and smoothed her skirt down before disappearing along the other corridor. Where was she going? The toilet? Right now? Cass could barely believe their luck. This time when he tugged at Luke’s hand, there was no resistance. He moved quickly to the door and waved his coat badge in front of the sensor and without waiting for it to register his name and the time he yanked the door open. Outside, he slid his card into the slot again, to verify that it actually was Dr Cromer leaving the building and not just someone in his coat, then he swept Luke up into his arms and jogged round to the car. He no longer cared about keeping up the pretence; he just wanted to get Luke away.
The boy was light – even lighter than Cass had expected – and he could feel his bones even through the dressing gown and pyjamas. He hugged him tight against the cold air and then slid him into the passenger seat of the Saab.
Five minutes later and the gates were closing behind them. Further up the street, the Range Rover headlights came on. Cass waved as he passed the two Steves, who pulled onto the road and followed him back to Cromer’s house, where Jimmy – another thickset and fearsome gentleman – was looking after the doctor. He turned the heating up full in the car and looked over at the small boy dozing beside him. He looked exhausted. Cass smiled, and for once there was some proper joy in the expression, as well as a healthy amount of satisfied revenge. Fuck you, Mr Castor Bright, he thought. Fuck you.
He didn’t go back inside Cromer’s house, but carefully transferred the sleeping boy from the Saab to the Range Rover while Osborne returned the medical coat and card and gave Jimmy instructions to stay with the doctor until six forty-five, or his phone started ringing with news of the missing boy, whichever came later. That would give them plenty of time.
Wharton and Osborne were in the front. Cass got in the back with Luke and draped his coat over the boy.
‘So, where to next, guv’nor?’ Osborne asked quietly.
‘Head to the M25,’ Cass answered. Their reunion needed to be brief, just for a little while, until he was certain Mr Bright wouldn’t come after them, and that meant going back and working with Freeman and the crazy professor to find something he could use as leverage. And if they found that they couldn’t bring Mr Bright down, then he was damned well going to make sure that at least he and Luke had their freedom, to make their own choices. Until then, he needed to keep Luke somewhere safe. Somewhere he hoped no one would think of looking.
‘Kent,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Kent.’
Chapter Thirty
It had been a long night, even by Mr Bright’s standards, but it was starting to look as if they might at last have everything under control. He poured himself a fresh coffee and added thick cream and a teaspoon of sugar. It was that kind of morning. Later he’d want pastries, and perhaps a full breakfast, but for now the blend of bitter and sweet hot liquid would do.
He felt mildly satisfied, even though many in the building around him felt as if they were still on the brink of catastrophe. Someone out there had made a killing on selling back the stock, and at some point in the future he had every intention of finding out who that was, but for now he was just pleased that he had managed to stabilise the situation. The virus in the X accounts was still running, making the numbers move too rapidly to follow, but that would stop, and when it did, he’d make sure that the money he’d used to buy back the stock came from his account.
Ultimately, very little harm had been done, just a little confidence shaken, and confidence could always be recovered. All that was required was for The Bank to make some big ann
ouncements in the next week or two – large investments of some kind in something useful to the national and global good, and they’d be back to being the saviours of the world again. Give the population a big exhibition of smoke and mirrors, and they would feel perfectly safe again, and completely forget that one precarious moment when they caught a glimpse behind the curtain and realised that everything was dependent on The Bank’s stability; there was nothing else left.
He sipped his coffee and his mind drifted to Mr DeVore. The world might very well find that a few stocks and shares crashing was the least of their worries. The clock ticked closer to seven a.m. and outside midnight blue stained the blackness of space. He thought of Mr Rasnic and Mr Bellew and the others who had left parts of themselves out there screaming in the Chaos. Would he even pause at that sound on his way here? Somehow, Mr Bright doubted it.
The phone started to ring and he turned away from the window. That day hadn’t come yet; he had this one to get through first. He picked up the phone.
The words at the other end came in such a garbled rush that at first he couldn’t make any sense of them.
‘Say that again – but slowly,’ he said when the caller at last paused for breath. Mr Bright listened carefully, then put the phone down without saying a word. His brain whirred and his skin tingled. The boy was gone. Cassius Jones had taken the boy. And now, suddenly, the purpose behind the hacking was glaringly obvious: Jones had been looking for his nephew, and the policeman – the detective – had found him, somewhere in Castor Bright’s own records.
In the midst of his irritation he felt a small rush of pride. Cassius Jones had what his father and brother had lacked: he had cold steel in his core. He was driven by rage rather than love and he was too proud to bow to anyone, and that made Mr Bright smile. Luke had been given up by Alan Jones, but it was his eldest son who carried the traits of their bloodline strongest in that special family.
So, Cass had the boy. That confused and disturbed him. There was a secret game being played here, and every day more pieces came to light, and with each one he was forced closer to admitting that there might be substance in his doubts. He had expected the boy to be safe at Calthorpe House – he certainly hadn’t expected him to leave. He gritted his teeth. This would not be a good time for Mr Dublin to start asking exactly what he’d been doing with the child. He’d – they’d – planned a big reveal. Someone had changed that plan without telling him. And if it wasn’t him – and it wasn’t – there was only one other person it could be.
The phone cut through his thinking.
‘What?’ he snapped into the receiver.
‘Mr Bright.’ As soon as he heard the soft voice at the other end he regretted answering it with such obvious irritation.
‘Mr Dublin,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’d like you to come to Senate House. I need your help clarifying a few points on the subject of the recent unfortunate events at The Bank.’
‘Why don’t you just ask me over the phone? I’m sure I have all the information here, and as you can appreciate, it’s been quite a long night.’ What was Mr Dublin’s game? Was this the move? Was he going to try and take the Inner Council? Mr Bright had no intention of walking into a den of snarling dogs.
‘I’m afraid we need you here. Some things are best discussed face to face, don’t you think?’ Mr Dublin’s voice remained cool, and Mr Bright could almost see him, dressed as ever in a linen suit, despite the cold, as if he carried the heat from home inside him.
‘I don’t think—’ Mr Bright began, and then a light above the lift caught his eye, flashing red. Someone was coming up. Someone unauthorised. His words of refusal died in his throat.
‘Of course,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Let’s get this misunderstanding cleared up, shall we? And then we can all get back to doing what we do best.’
The phone clicked off at the other end without a farewell. Mr Bright almost smiled as he took his long woollen overcoat from the stand and carefully put it on. It would appear that Mr Dublin had won this round – but one round was far from the match.
When the doors slid open he stepped immediately inside. Mr Escobar looked surprised, but what had he been expecting? Mr Bright running? Mr Escobar was a good warrior, but he wasn’t a thinker; he was a pale imitation of the lost Mr Bellew.
‘Shall we go?’ Mr Bright asked pleasantly, and started the lift on its way back down. He smiled at the other beside Mr Escobar. He didn’t know his name, but from his clearly nervous look, Mr Bright presumed he was from the Second Cohort rather than the First; all of this was rather out of his league. Mr Bright smiled at him and his mouth twitched in an awkward smile and his face flushed slightly. That’s what Mr Dublin and his new council had forgotten: he was still the Architect. He still commanded reverence from the lower cohorts – even those like this one, who had been sent to help bring him down.
No, he decided, as he walked confidently between his two guards towards the waiting car in the basement of the building, the game wasn’t over yet.
They’d stopped first at a twenty-four-hour supermarket and picked up some clothes for Luke, who’d changed quietly in the back seat of the Range Rover before immediately falling asleep again. They stopped a second time, as the morning slowly broke, at a motorway service station. Cass woke Luke and watched as he devoured a huge fried breakfast and several slices of toast. He didn’t say much, and his eyes lingered wide on Osborne and Wharton every now and then, but he seemed happy enough. Cass was relieved to see him eat so much. If he was sick then it wasn’t affecting his appetite.
After rather half-heartedly managing a piece of toast himself, Cass left the boy with Wharton and went outside with Osborne for a cigarette. There was only one entrance to the small café and they stood in front of it, where there was also a clear view of the car park. They could see Luke and Wharton sitting on the other side of the glass behind them.
They smoked in silence for a while, punctuating it only with the occasional sniff brought on by the freezing cold.
‘He seems to be taking it in his stride all right, doesn’t he?’ Osborne said eventually.
‘Yeah.’ Cass looked over. ‘I guess it hasn’t settled in yet.’
‘Suppose you’re right.’ Osborne looked past Cass and through the window to where the boy was drinking a large glass of milk. ‘I just thought he’d have more questions, that’s all.’
His face was thoughtful and Cass felt suddenly defensive. ‘He’s just tired. It was only a couple of hours ago that I dragged him out of bed. I’m sure he’ll make up for it soon.’
They smoked some more, quiet once again, but Cass watched as Osborne’s hooded eyes kept glancing at Luke.
‘He must have really hated it in there, that’s all I’m saying.’ Osborne ignored the provided outdoor ashtray and threw his butt on the ground. ‘Most kids would be shit-scared at a stranger turning up and taking them away from somewhere they’ve been for ages.’
‘I’m not a stranger. I’m his uncle.’
‘He don’t know that though.’ He met Cass’ gaze. ‘I’m not saying anything really. It’s just odd, that’s all.’
On the way back to the car, Cass put one arm round his small nephew. ‘You know, if there’s anything you want to ask me, just go ahead. I know all this might seem a bit scary right now, especially those two’ – and he nodded at the two heavies who were walking slightly ahead – ‘but they’re here to look after you. Think of them as your guard dogs.’
Luke smiled, but he didn’t look up.
‘It’ll all settle down soon, I promise. And then I’ll be able to tell you about your real family, and you can tell me all about the people who have looked after you up until now.’ Cass looked down at the dark head, feeling slightly disappointed at the lack of reaction. Luke seemed distracted, and he wished the boy would share whatever he was thinking so Cass could reassure him. He guessed that would come in time. Luke would have a few quiet days coming up where he could get h
is head round this. He’d be safe and well looked after.
Back in the car, Luke fell asleep again and Cass idly stroked his head, lying in Cass’ lap. What would Christian make of this quiet boy of his? What had Mr Bright done to him to make him so meek?
Father Michael was up and waiting for them, and once they were inside the warmth of his home, Cass was surprised to see how moved he was by Luke.
‘This is Christian’s boy?’ He smiled. ‘Doesn’t he look like him?’ He looked up at Cass. ‘He looks like both of you.’
Cass shrugged, never comfortable with conversation that veered towards emotional territory. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ he asked. ‘I should only be a few days.’ It sounded like the truth because he hoped it would be.
‘Of course.’ Father Michael smiled and finally released Luke from the close hug. He looked down at the boy. ‘Now why don’t you and one of your friends go into the kitchen; you might find some hot chocolate and marshmallows in there.’
Cass envied Father Michael’s light touch with the boy compared to his own awkwardness. He would improve over time – if they had the time, of course. That was yet to be decided.
‘Come on, mate.’ Osborne led Luke further into the warm cottage and it was only when they’d disappeared that the remaining three men let their smiles fall.
‘I didn’t have anywhere else to take him,’ Cass said.
‘If you had taken him anywhere else I wouldn’t have forgiven you,’ Father Michael said. ‘And I’ll look after him for as long as you need, you know that. It will be a pleasure.’ His face darkened. ‘But are you sure you wouldn’t be better off just taking him and getting out of the country?’
The Chosen Seed: The Dog-Faced Gods Book Three (DOG-FACED GODS TRILOGY) Page 22
