The Bloodline Trilogy

by Adam Nicholls

  Robbie nodded reassurance, opened up the door with his key, entered without turning the light on and dumped his briefcase onto his desk. “Where is he?” he asked, emerging from the dark room.

  “In interview room four,” Houston said, looking excited to see the results. They walked together side by side through the twisting maze of corridors.

  “Has anyone spoken with him yet?” Robbie asked.

  “No more than the usual routine. Taking his name, asking for ID, and taking his prints.”

  “He ask for a lawyer?”

  “No. Hasn’t said a word about it. I guess nobody wants a dead client. To his credit though, he’s been good as gold in there.”

  “Okay,” Robbie said. “Well, we can’t hold him forever. Let’s get the show on the road.” They stopped outside the door, where Robbie took a deep breath and prepared to face this ridiculous facade.

  Houston handed him a brown paper file, dumping it in his arms.

  “What’s this?” Robbie asked, flicking through it.

  “Everything we have on the real Val Salinger. Everything about the recent events with his son are tucked in the back.”

  “All right. Thank you.” Robbie put his hand around the door handle, took a deep breath, and went inside. When he entered the room, his breath caught in his throat.

  The man in front of him, sat with his cuffed hands held out in front and rested on the table, was identical to Val Salinger. Robbie hadn’t actually met Val before, but he’d seen enough police photos to last a lifetime. This man, who sat up straight with humble eyes and the early signs of a beard, smiled at him. It wasn’t a full smile, more a curve of the lips, but it was enough to know he wasn’t looking to cause any trouble.

  Robbie closed the door behind him, glanced at the two-way mirror and took a seat at the table. He knew this was being recorded and wanted to get as much out of this man as possible. He began with the facts. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Robert Parker. Could you please state your name?”

  The man cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Val Salinger.”

  Robbie took a pen from his jacket and chewed on it, pulling it away and clicking the nib out now and then. Studying the man, he let out a laugh, a half-laugh that usually came with disbelief. “Let’s just say I believe you, that this is your actual name. You’re not the Val Salinger. The wanted man, father of Blake Salinger and spouse of the late Marcy Salinger.”

  The man across from him nodded, blinking along with it. “Yes, Detective.”

  “But Val Salinger is a dead man.” Robbie sat forward in his chair. “I’ve seen the body myself. Who do you think cleared up the mess?”

  “I understand your skepticism, Detective, but I’m not lying to you. The truth is,” he leaned in close, his eyes shining, “I won’t be here for long. How I leave is determined only by you, so please make use of this time.”

  Robbie was a little amused. He’d had a number of people claiming they were innocent in the past, but none had claimed to be guilty and clearly stated their plans to escape. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Let me work with you here. You got a call from a colleague who told you I was in custody. Correct?”

  Robbie nodded, willing to hear him out. For now.

  “Any idea why I was arrested?”

  “I know exactly why you were arrested. Whoever you are, you were aiding the escape of Blake Salinger and Jacqueline Lang. Now, you can claim to be a dead man if you like, but—”

  “Was I?”

  “What?”

  “Was I aiding the escape, or was I simply in contact with my son? Look,” the man sat back, huffing up at the ceiling, “there’s only so much I can say while we’re being watched.” He shot a look at the mirror, indicating the camera behind it. His request was obvious.

  “You want the camera off?” Robbie turned to look at it. If the camera was shut off, this man could say anything he wanted, and there would be no evidence against him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Then could you turn off the microphone? Eyes are fine, but as soon as I say what I have to say, you will be in immediate danger.”

  “Danger?” Robbie grunted. Is this guy for real? Still, he knew that getting results was a two-way street, so he turned and ran a finger across his throat—the signal to switch off the microphone. Ready to hear whatever was coming, he turned back to Val, if that was who he really was.

  “Your colleagues are dirty,” Val said matter-of-factly. “Everyone with a badge has an additional income.”

  Robbie had heard some conspiracy theories in his time, but this had to be the best. Trying not to let the grin spread across his face like a disease, he whispered, “You expect me to believe that? What are they, spies?”

  “You can laugh all you want, Detective.” Val lifted his hands up, fanned out his fingers as if to say there you have it. “Now that you’ve been made aware of my existence, you’re a tie that they will have to sever.”

  “Don’t you dare threaten me.” Robbie shot to his feet and leaned on curled fists. “Now, I came in here from a vacation with my family so I could speak to some sociopath claiming to be Val Salinger. If you’re not going to drop the games—immediately—then you can go straight into a cell.”

  “Please sit down,” the man said, clearly trying to remain calm.

  It was infuriating.

  “What I’m telling you is the absolute truth. Now, you have a police sergeant by the name of Houston. He’s probably on the other side of that glass. He has two kids, both younger than four, a wife who’s cheating on him with his brother, and—here’s the worst part—his objective over the past year has been to shadow you to see if you’re worthy.”

  How does he know all of this? Robbie inched back into his seat, adjusting his sleeves and trying to calm himself. Everything this man had said was true, though he couldn’t account for being spied on. But now that he thought about it, Houston had barely left his side…

  “See if I’m worthy? Worthy of what, exactly?”

  “To join the Agency.”

  “The Agency? You’re going to have to elaborate.”

  “Please, just listen to me.” The man was fidgeting, now asking a favor. He seemed a little more human. “I can only say so much out loud. But if you leave this room alone, they will get in touch with you real soon. And as for me… Well, I can get out of here without your help, but it would be a lot easier if you cooperate.”

  “You can’t…” Robbie laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it. This guy seemed as though he’d been dragged straight out of a spy movie. He wiped his eyes and gasped for breath. “You can’t be serious.” He took a moment to let the shock run its course, but the man sat patient, waiting. “What if I get Sergeant Houston in here with us?” It would be interesting to see those accusations right in front of him.

  “By all means, Detective.”

  “Okay then,” Robbie said as he stood and went for the door. He made sure it shut behind him and then leaned against it, taking a moment to collect himself. This was turning out to be the strangest of days.

  Robbie traipsed the few feet across the hallway to where Houston was watching the interview. He knocked and was called through. They had to do that as a rule of thumb; if he simply opened the door, light would flood the room and whoever was in the interview room would be able to see right through the glass.

  “Sergeant Houston, can I have you in here for a moment?” Robbie asked, leaning into the room while holding onto the knob.

  But Houston raised a finger to his lips, indicating that he should be quiet, and then pointed through the glass at the so-called Val Salinger.

  Robbie felt a sudden wave of worry. What could this be now? He strode over to see what exactly the delicacy was all about.

  As soon as he was in the room, the door slammed shut behind him, trapping the light outside. The little remaining light was merely a dull beam coming from the interview room. He felt a firm grip on his arms and was wrestled
to the floor. The carpet smelled of dust and ground against his skin with a burning sensation.

  “What the—” His face was pressed down hard into the floor.

  Houston strolled over to him. “I didn’t want this to happen,” he said, crouching and resting his arms across his knees.

  Something rough and wiry was placed over Robbie’s head, blinding and choking him. He tried to scream, but no words came out, only muffled cries through the—what? Potato sack? Whatever it was, it was itchy and made it difficult to breathe.

  He was forced to his feet and marched back to the door—he knew it was a door when he heard it open. He wondered if anyone would help him. Confused, lost, and totally terrified, he screamed and yelled, kicked his legs around, doing all he could to break free.

  But nobody would come. Nobody would help.

  All Robbie could think about was that the man who claimed to be Val Salinger could have been telling the truth, and that meant he was in big trouble.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blake opened the van’s door. It grumbled on its roller. He looked over his shoulder, dived in, and quickly pulled it shut behind him. “What the hell happened?”

  Jackie twisted the key, bringing the van to life. Within seconds they were out of there, pulling away from the flashing lights and the crowd of nosey onlookers who were just dying to get a glimpse of the action. “Your father turned himself in.” Her voice was desperate, helpless, and afraid.

  “I can see that.” Blake poked his head between the two front seats and studied the road. “Why didn’t you stop him?” He could feel anger rising from the pit of his stomach, but he tried to silence it. Jackie was a friend, and the only one he had right now. Besides, it was hardly her fault.

  “I tried, but he was out of the van before I could get a hand on him.”

  “Dammit!” Blake bit on his fist, chewing his knuckles and contemplating their next move. Only he had no idea what to do. How could he? He’d been so dependent on Greg, Val, and Jackie that he’d grown unused to thinking for himself. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Any ideas?” The needle hovered at around fifty miles per hour, keeping them moving fast while remaining discreet.

  “Just… somewhere quiet. We have to figure this out. Man, we are so fucked!” Blake stamped his foot, tried to stifle his own cry at the numbing sensation in his heel.

  Soon after, Jackie pulled into a side street.

  Blake peered through the glass. It looked quiet enough down here; the back doors of small stores led out here, and there was a small Asian man dropping a stuffed black bag into a bin with more force than was necessary. A cat strolled by, glanced at them for a moment, then stopped to lick itself. It seemed everybody was minding their own business around here, and that was a blessed relief.

  The van rocked as Jackie climbed into the back and took a seat on the cold metal beside him. “What do you want to do?”

  “What are our options? Realistically, I mean.”

  “Well,” she began, unclipping the earpiece and tossing it into the wall. Pang. “We can’t do much without your dad. We could work on getting him out of there, I guess.”

  “Okay.” Blake sniffed. “And the only person who could help us get into a police station is Dad. So that’s o-u-t out. Any other bright ideas?”

  “Don’t you get sarcastic with me,” she burst, her face flushing red and her eyes spreading wide.

  She barely finished the sentence before Blake put his hands up in apologetic surrender.

  “Sorry. It’s just one bad thing after the other. We’re taking one step forward and two steps back here.” He buried his face in his hands, rubbed at his tired eyes. “What about the banker?”

  Jackie crossed her legs. “We have the info. I suppose we could…”

  “Could what?” Blake stared at her. There was something dangling on her lips, something she was thinking and was too afraid to say. “Go on.”

  She bit her lip. “We could get the banker ourselves. So far, the Agency has Rachel and the police have Val. On top of that, we both know the Agency owns the police. That leaves us at two-nil. If we take the banker, we may have some leverage…” Her words trailed off with discomfort as if she regretted saying it.

  “What about my father? We can’t just leave him with the police.”

  “Doesn’t he seem capable enough to you? Listen, I know it hurts, but I think he’s going to be okay. Who knows—maybe he’ll surprise us both and get out of there by himself.”

  As much as Blake hated to admit it, she was probably right. He’d heard a lot of stories about his dad. Some were from Greg, perhaps spoken from false admiration, and some even from Val himself, who’d used examples of his own career in their private lessons. Maybe he’d thought that something in there would inspire him, and to some degree it must have worked. Blake felt as though he’d come a long way from being a bumbling salesman; now he could steal, pick locks, fire a gun—although not accurately, that would come with practice—and now he had a kidnapping to set up. “All right.” He tilted his head with approval, which he thought he might later regret. “So, where do we begin?”

  Jackie climbed to her knees in a hurry. She heaved out a backpack from the back and dragged it toward Blake, scuffing the bottom of the fabric. “Let’s see what we have.” She unzipped it, the ripping sound grinding louder as the teeth spread open. One by one, she took items from the bag and put them at her side: a handful of gadgets, a combat knife (which Blake dared not touch through fear of dropping it), and some baseball caps and scarves that might come in handy for disguising themselves.

  In other words, they had next to nothing.

  Then Jackie took out the gun.

  It clicked in her hand as she pressed on the release and the magazine fell from the grip. “Four,” she said, shoving the magazine back inside. “Four bullets will be more than enough.”

  “I don’t…” Blake was embarrassed to say this, but he felt it was his place. “I don’t want anyone killed. That’s not what we’re doing.”

  Jackie gave a huff that felt like half-relief, half-frustration. Their morals only seemed to be complicating matters. “That’s okay. Sometimes you just need the threat of the gun and the sound of the gunshot. See, when people physically see you fire a bullet—”

  “It removes any doubt that it was loaded.”

  “Exactly.”

  It made a lot of sense to him, but he still didn’t want to be the one to do it. He thought about asking nicely, that maybe Jackie would do the dirty work for once, but he wasn’t completely deprived of chivalry. Blake had been raised not to put a lady in danger, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Well,” he said, “I hope you have a plan, because I’m totally out of ideas.”

  “As it happens,” Jackie said, grinning, “I do.”

  They spent the next hour preparing to kidnap the banker, but Blake had other things on his mind; where Rachel was and whether she was safe, and if Val would attempt to break out of his chains. His heart was in this, but his head wasn’t, and maybe—just maybe—that would be enough to make Blake screw up the whole damn plan.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Detective Robbie Parker had been with the police force for thirteen years. During that time, he’d tracked down a large number of criminals, ranging from petty thieves to murderers, to arsonists and vandals. But never, throughout his entire career, had he ever despised anyone as much as he now hated Sergeant Houston.

  The sack was torn off his head with such speed that the texture of the stitching scratched his cheek. It was a light graze, really, but not that different from one of the old Chinese burns that the mean kids at school would give.

  Robbie’s eyes adjusted to the light, and then landed on his colleague. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” He hadn’t believed “Val Salinger” when he’d said this man was crooked, but now all signs were pointing toward the truth. He supposed that if that had been true, maybe he’d been tellin
g the truth about other things as well… maybe he really was Val Salinger.

  “Hey, a job’s a job,” Houston said without the slightest ounce of respect before he exited via the door behind him.

  Robbie wanted to grab this man by the throat and squeeze every drop of life from his neck until his legs were shaking and his eyes begged for mercy. But he couldn’t. He knew better than to cause trouble without knowing every detail of the situation. Considering he didn’t even know what building he was in, he would have to sit quiet until he knew more.

  As the minutes dragged by and Robbie studied the room around him—a bland and abandoned office that looked somewhat like the interview room he’d so recently been in—Houston soon returned, springing the door open and summoning Robbie with his finger.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where we are,” Robbie demanded, although they were only words. Truth was, he would go wherever he was told to go, whether he liked it or not. What choice did he have?

  Houston stepped forward, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him out without saying another word. Robbie refrained from hitting this guy and let it happen.

  He was shown through a corridor, narrow and barely lit, with an overpowering stench of bleach. They passed door after door while Robbie wondered what the hell they were doing here. One thing was for sure though; if he got out of here, the first thing he would do was fire Houston, if not arrest him for assaulting a police officer, not to mention his superior.

  They stopped outside a beige door with a polished glass handle. Houston rapped on it in a pattern of knocks until there was a mechanical sound above their heads, then looked up and at a security camera. Seconds later, there was a buzzing sound, like when prisoners are let out of their cells for thirty minutes of walking time. But Robbie had a feeling that this wasn’t an entitlement to a brief exercise so much as it would be an act of torture.