The Bloodline Trilogy

by Adam Nicholls

  “No problem,” Val said, although the idea of toying with technology made him nervous. Maybe Blake would do it for him.

  “Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t,” Val promised, twisting the thing between his fingers. “So… do you mind if we stay here for the night? We don’t really have anywhere else to go, and it’s getting cold out there. That time of year, you know?”

  “Jesus Christ, Salinger. Anything else you need from me?” Mikey stood and ran his greasy fingers through his thinning hair. “You can keep the van in the garage for tonight and stay in there. But for one night. No more.”

  “Thank you, Mikey.” Val turned back for the door, eager to share this information with Blake and Jackie, though he wouldn’t know where to start. Most of that technobabble went straight over his head.

  But they were making progress, and not much else could stop them now.

  He hoped not, anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  “I don’t get it,” Jackie said, waving stray cigarette smoke from her face. “If this big, bad banker disappears, won’t the Agency just replace him? I mean, there are plenty of bankers out there. What’s to stop them from just hiring someone new?”

  Around the room, people mumbled and nodded as if to say it was a fair point. They were all sitting in uncomfortable kitchen chairs, facing the wall-mounted TV, which Mikey was using to present the slideshow. When he and Val had gone into the room, Blake had been left with Jackie, Jane—Mikey’s wife—and the kids. He’d always felt a bit embarrassed around kids. He knew how to talk to them and always could when no adults were looking, but when other people were in the room, he felt stupid.

  “They can,” Mikey said. He hit a key on the connected laptop, and the image altered on the TV. Now they were looking at a graph.

  It made Blake long for the days when he was a salesman and the only charts he looked at were for marketing.

  “Look at these figures I took from the Agency’s files. Notice the yellow bar? It starts off small and grows over time. That’s the banker’s work. It’s common sense, really. The longer he’s with them, the more he’s ironed out the kinks. He knows what he’s doing. The last thing they would want is for some new guy to swing in and start making mistakes. Then there’s the insult you caused by doing it, and then there’s the magic.”

  “The magic?” Jackie asked, still waving Jane’s smoke away from her, shooting a hard glance in her direction.

  Jane seemed not to notice.

  “What you can make him do!” Mikey said.

  Val unfolded his arms and turned back to face everyone else. “Did I mention you’re looking at the Agency’s best hacker? Imagine if we took their chief of coin, too.” He smiled.

  Blake could see it coming together now. “You mean…” He nodded his head, too shy to say it, in case he was wrong.

  “I mean you can do what you want with their cash. Put it in your account if you want, but the police are probably watching that too,” Mikey said, hitting another key on the laptop.

  Everyone turned to see the new image, which was a good-looking family smiling for a photograph. One kid was held in her mother’s arms, while the other knelt on the ground. A man—perhaps the father—stood at the back, his arm around the kid and his hand on the shoulder of his wife. “This is him. Notice the scar across his eye?”

  Blake squinted and could just about see it. “Oh yeah.”

  “So, he should be easy enough to recognize. And if you want, you could always use his family to get what you need out of him.”

  “We’re not those kinds of people,” Jackie snapped. “Don’t get me wrong, we’ll do what we have to do. But we’re not going to threaten anyone’s children. That makes us no better than them.”

  “We might have to,” Blake said.

  Jackie rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not saying threaten them.” Mikey jumped in. “Just knowing that they exist is enough to bluff that you have them. You can even use this photo. I’ll give you a copy.” He hit another key, and the image changed again.

  Blake looked around, haunted by the realization of what they’d become: thieves, bullies, extortionists. It wasn’t what he’d ever wanted, but he would get Rachel back no matter the cost.

  That made him wonder… “Is there any way you can find out where Rachel is?”

  “I’m a tech nerd, not a miracle worker.” Mikey shrugged.

  That threw doubt and disappointment into Blake’s heart. He knew it’d been a long shot, but he’d had to ask. “Dad, you know where they hide, right? You must have been to their headquarters.”

  “I have, but we wouldn’t last two minutes just waltzing in there. Be patient,” Val told him. “We’ll get her back.” And then he turned back to the TV.

  “Behold, his work diary.” Mikey stood looking pleased with himself. “I’ll print this one out for you. Do with it what you will.”

  “How did you manage to get his timetable?” Val asked.

  “Dad, everyone uses their computers these days.”

  “For everything?” His voice reached a higher pitch, sounding surprised, skeptical.

  “For everything,” Jackie agreed. “Even books and cigarettes are electronic these days.”

  Val raised his eyebrows, bit down on his lip, and turned.

  Blake thought he heard a faint hmm from him.

  The baby began to scream, piercing their ears through the silence. Jane held her to her breast and left the room, apologizing but still not letting go of her cigarette. Blake wanted to say something about it, that it wasn’t right to let smoke creep straight up into a baby’s face, but it wasn’t really his business. Besides, these people were helping them, and it would seem ungrateful of him to kick up a stink about how they lived their lives.

  “So, does everyone understand everything?” Mikey asked, folding down the screen of his laptop. The screen on the wall went black.

  Val nodded, Jackie made an uh-huh sound beside him, but Blake raised a hand, feeling like he was still in school. “I do have one question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You say we need to put this data into a public computer, to draw the attention away from you. What happens if we don’t do that?”

  “Me and my family die,” Mikey said matter-of-factly. “And then I will spend an eternity haunting your sorry ass.”

  Laughter filled the room. Blake thought it was a pleasant relief to hear after everything that had happened in the past six weeks. Jackie patted him on the shoulder as she creased in hysterics. Blake was barely smiling—fear coursed through him like a flood of lava. He hated being out in the field. Sure, he was becoming far more confident in the little things: lifting items from people’s pockets, seeing things that normal people wouldn’t see. But he still didn’t feel strong enough to fight anyone. He simply didn’t consider himself a fighter.

  And then there was the promise, the comment Val had made some days ago: you will probably have to take a human life at some point, son. It hurts, but you do what needs doing and learn to live with it.

  But could he? Could he squeeze a trigger and end someone’s life just like that? He’d tried before with Greg but came back with only shame. If he felt that way from a failed attempt, he could only imagine how bad he would feel if he actually succeeded.

  Blake forced a smile and nodded—pretending, hoping that everything was okay and that Rachel was still alive.

  And if she wasn’t? Then God help Greg.

  Chapter Ten

  Something had been placed over her eyes, something thick that completely enveloped her in darkness. She had no idea where she was or whether it was night or day—although she could have made a pretty good guess.

  What she was aware of, to no small extent, was the pain in her muscles. They felt like bruised peaches. And then there was the taste in her mouth, something acidic like she’d bitten down on a battery and all of the fluid had burned away at her tongue.

  There were bumps and the constant revs o
f the car’s engine, so she knew she’d been taken somewhere. She was in the footwell of the back seat, the hard floor smashing her hip with every bump, the seat itself cramping her arms together. During the long journey, a small corner of her blindfold had peeled away from her eyes and cupped itself into a fold. Little rays of light had come in, but not enough to help. All she had been able to see through it was a murky, gray sky, clouds rolling into each other like angry rioters.

  It was sometime later that Greg had noticed this and straightened out the blindfold with the engine still running.

  It seemed to take forever, but the car eventually stopped. When it did, she listened as the car’s front door opened and then closed. Then the back door opened, and hands were slid under her armpits. She’d cried when she was hoisted off the car floor, winced in pain at the sudden realization that she was alone. Only she wasn’t really alone; she was—presumably—in the middle of nowhere with a psychopathic killer who had a special kind of hatred for all the people she cared about, and she knew she was nothing but leverage to him.

  “Where are we?” she’d ventured to ask, but then she was thrown over his shoulder. Rachel hated to be upside down, feeling like he was about to drop her on her face at any second, smashing her teeth.

  “Shut up,” he said, and she did.

  The sound of his footsteps across gravel was nothing to go by either. He put her down, the stones digging into her skin like a thousand little daggers. Her elbow touched something cold and hard. A brick wall? There was the sound of a key sliding into the lock above her and the moan of a door as it strained open.

  Greg picked her up again, but this time he didn’t put her over his shoulder—he simply held onto her hands from behind and shoved her up a set of stairs. The lobby smelled like dust, wet cardboard, but there was a touch of lavender as if someone had entered a shady hotel room and desperately tried to freshen it up. She could run now, she thought. If she tried really hard, she could sprint in a random direction, screaming for help and praying that someone would hear her, that someone would come to her rescue. But what if there was nobody around? What if he would punish her for simply trying to escape? It wasn’t something she wanted to risk. Besides, she had a small amount of faith that Blake would come for her. It didn’t seem like much to depend on, but that faint hope kept her going.

  When they were upstairs, she was carried into a room and plunked down onto a cushioned object. It must have been a couch, for when she fell back she felt the soft familiarity of a cushion behind her. Wanting to scream and shout but biting down hard on her desires, she heard the rattle and screech of what sounded like a blind being pulled down.

  Then he came over to her.

  He removed the blindfold.

  As it fell from her face, she felt cool air touch her eyes and a raw stinging as she blinked repeatedly, adjusting to the dim light. When she could see again, she realized that there was no light. He really had pulled the blinds to a close, to which she commended herself for figuring out.

  Now he was standing over her, looking down with that terrifying burned face. The last time she’d seen him—before he’d covered her eyes and dragged her away—he had left her underneath the shipping yard. She’d actually come to like it down there. It’d been difficult to adjust to at first, but there were intriguing people with great stories to tell. Stories that helped to distract her from the fact Blake may never have returned. But that was back then, six weeks ago, a distant memory. When Greg had been a friend rather than a much bigger problem.

  “You want a drink?” he asked.

  Rachel licked her lips to test them for moistness, although she knew she was thirsty as hell. But could she trust anything this man gave her? She didn’t have a choice. “Okay,” she said, deciding that if he wanted to hurt her, he probably would have already.

  “And a sandwich?”

  A sandwich? He’s beaten me, dragged me here, and now he’s offering me a damn sandwich? It reminded her of visiting her grandma on a Saturday when she was a kid. Only she never beat her. Half of her face wasn’t crispy, either. “No. Where are we?”

  “This is my home,” he said, walking to the nearby kitchen and running the faucet.

  Rachel could hear the water spill into the bottom of a glass. He returned with it, placing it in her hand and sitting across from her. “Stay exactly where you are. Don’t try to run and don’t try to snoop, and you have my word that I won’t hurt you.”

  Rachel was thankful for the dark. His face was horrible and made her feel sick, but she could barely see it in this light. “And then what?” she asked, waiting for the but.

  “Look, I don’t have a problem with you, but I wanted something from Val, and Blake screwed that up for me. I’m going to get to them, one way or the other. If they think I’ll hurt you, that should draw them out.”

  Rachel wondered what would happen next. Would he kill Blake and Val? And what about Jackie? He didn’t seem too focused on her. “Why can’t you just let it go? They’re good people. They’d let bygones be bygones.”

  He shook his head, his grin looking devilish in the thin ray of light that seeped through the edge of the blind. “No. It’s not about bygones. It’s about vengeance now. But they’ll come for you. Don’t worry. And when they do—”

  The phone rang at that instant, startling Rachel.

  Greg went right for it, not removing his eyes from her. He picked up the receiver and spoke. “William speaking.”

  Rachel had heard from Blake about this man’s list of fake names. She wondered whether this one was the truth or just another lie.

  “Yes,” he said, still gawking at her. “Well, keep me updated.” And then he slid it back into its cradle and walked into the next room. “He really likes you, you know,” Greg shouted, half in the room and half out, fidgeting with something that made a hell of a noise. It was like he was looking for something.

  “I know. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “Is that what you think? Ha. That’s adorable.” Greg came back into the room, holding a small silver ball in one hand and a can of lighter fluid in the other. Between his fingers, a small sandwich bag swung around, full of something that looked like yellow sugar. “Everyone has secrets.” He sat across from her, unscrewed the ball and sprinkled the powder into it. He then took the can and squeezed a quick shot of fluid into the powder, which absorbed it within seconds. Then he screwed the ball back together and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “Simple, right?”

  “What is it?” she asked, snapping the joints of her fingers.

  “A smoke pellet. Useful things, these are. You’re going to make a few for me. It will help to pass the time.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until that phone rings with some information on how I can get to your friends.” He said it with such simplicity as if it was common knowledge and she was a moron for not knowing.

  Rachel worried for all three of her friends and wondered where they were now. Had they really just run away and left her? Were they back at the warehouse, or had they found somewhere new to hide?

  She recalled the events at Sean’s apartment. “What did you do to my boyfriend?”

  “Blake?” he asked, shoving a handful of the silver balls her way.

  “Sean,” she corrected.

  There was a look of confusion in his eyes for a moment, and then his mouth opened in understanding. “Oh, that sack of shit. He’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. But honey, you could do so much better.” He said it in a strictly complimentary way, not even looking at her in the creepy way most men did when they told her how pretty she was. Instead, his eyes were fixed solely on the job at hand.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, making use of being in his good books. She only hoped he was telling the truth when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her. “Back in the alley, when you shot that man. I told you the Agency were threatening my mother. You said she was already dead. Were you… I mean, was that
the truth?”

  He looked like he was trying to remember, like dusting off an old book in a library and uncovering what was inside. “Ah, yeah. You really want to know?”

  She wasn’t sure that she did, but she nodded anyway.

  “At the time, she was probably still alive. But you’ve pissed them off just by being so evasive. I can assure you she’s been finished off by now.”

  The words burned down the last pillars of hope, bringing her world crashing down around her. It destroyed her that her mom had been alive all this time, and then the pain that the Agency had “finished her off” not so long after. She felt sick. Bile rose up in her throat, looking to escape as much as she was.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it happened that way,” Greg told her, looking up at her for a brief instant. “We all lost stuff, kid.”

  Rachel wanted to scream at him. To lose control and throw her rage in his face. It was suicide as he was probably only being civil as a test, but she couldn’t control herself any longer. This man—this Agency—had taken far too much from her.

  She began to stand when the phone rang, cutting her off.

  Saved by the bell.

  “That will be the Agency now. Want me to ask?” he said, but it was unclear as to whether he was teasing her or not.

  Rachel didn’t know how to answer. All she could do was cry.

  Blake would come for her soon.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Shouldn’t I have a gun?” Blake asked Val, coiling an earpiece around his ear. They were sitting in the back of the van, where the air was hot and stuffy.

  “Guns hurt people. You should know that better than most.” Val was rummaging through a bag, handing sheets of paper over to Jackie, who studied each of them and placed them onto her lap with the rest of the files.

  “Nobody has to know. I could hide it under my coat.”

  Val stopped what he was doing, shot a look at Jackie, and then shifted to sit opposite Blake. “Okay. And what then? Are you going to shoot someone in this public library? Is that your plan?”