Blood Ransom (25 page)

‘What she says in the note is what she said to me,’ I mumbled, my face burning. I looked down at the carpet. ‘I don’t know any more.’

Mr Smith sighed, slumping sideways against the wall. His wife turned on her heel and stalked away across the room. Mr Smith stepped back, giving me room to walk inside, and when he spoke again,
his voice was softer.

‘Come in, Theo.’

He shut the door after me and indicated I should take one of the chairs by the window. I sat down and he sat opposite me, on the bed. Mrs Smith paced up and down.

‘I thought you and Rachel were . . .’ Mr Smith hesitated, clearly trying to find the right phrase, ‘. . . er, going out together?’

I shook my head.
Apparently not.

‘Who is this Milo?’ Mrs Smith snapped angrily. ‘How does Rachel know him?’

I told her what I knew.

‘Why on earth does Ro think she can trust this guy?’ her dad asked, an expression of complete bewilderment on his face.

I thought back to the way Milo had looked at Rachel in Lab Three . . . how he’d let her walk away without shooting.

‘He thinks he’s in love with her,’ I said.

Mrs Smith snorted. ‘And how would you know that?’

Because I am too.

I said nothing.

Mr Smith sighed again.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been onto the police,’ Mr Smith said.

I opened my mouth to protest that this could lead Elijah straight to us, but he silenced me with his hand.

‘I deliberately haven’t gone to the people who organised our relocation. Rachel told us it was one of our own agents – a government contact – who gave her new identity
away in the first place,’ he said. ‘We don’t know who we can trust there yet, so I’ve just told the local police that our daughter is missing again. Of course they all
thought she was dead, so I’m having an uphill struggle getting anyone to believe she’s run away.’

‘Frankly, I don’t think they’re that bothered,’ Mrs Smith snapped. ‘You were far too conciliatory on the phone, Richard.’

‘I was trying to be diplomatic,’ Mr Smith protested.

‘Is that what you call it.’ She turned to me. ‘When they heard about Rachel’s note, they strongly implied that if she’d gone of her own free will and was less than
two months away from her sixteenth birthday that finding her wasn’t really a top priority.’

‘I know, but—’ Mr Smith started.

‘But it
should
be a top priority, Richard,’ Mrs Smith shrieked. Her mouth was set in a thin line. ‘You should be
pushing
them to make it one.’

They started arguing, Mrs Smith slinging insults at her husband and Mr Smith trying to calm her down. After a minute, Mrs Smith turned on me.

‘Did you do something to upset her?’ she demanded.

My mouth fell open. ‘
No
,’ I said. ‘Lewis and I
found
her . . . we
rescued
her.’

‘So what are you saying?’ Mrs Smith went on. ‘That her father and I didn’t do enough?’

I stared at her.

Mr Smith stood up. ‘Sweetheart, I think—’

‘Get out!’ Mrs Smith shouted at me. Spit flew out of her primly lipsticked mouth. ‘Get out of my sight.’

I stood up. That was fine by me.

‘Wait.’ Mr Smith turned to his wife. ‘We can’t just turn him out onto the streets—’

‘It’s fine,’ I said.

‘Well, if you won’t send him away, then I’m leaving.’ Mrs Smith stalked across the room and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Mr Smith sank down on the bed, his head in his hands.

Several moments passed.

‘Er . . . I should go,’ I said.

Mr Smith blinked as if he’d forgotten I was in the room. He looked at me with a rueful smile.

‘You can’t just walk out, Theo. We need to get onto your mother in the States. Organise getting you home,’ he said.

I made a face. Going back to Philadelphia was the last thing I wanted.

And yet . . . what was to keep me here any more?

Mr Smith called Mum, who was still furious with me. It was too late to book me on a flight to Philly that day, but she and Mr Smith arranged a ticket for me for a plane the next evening. Mum
made it quite clear I’d be spending the rest of the summer doing chores to pay her back for the ticket.

I said nothing, but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to go.

Rachel or no Rachel, I didn’t belong in the States.

But then I didn’t belong anywhere.

I didn’t much like thinking about it, but being Elijah’s genetic twin meant I was biologically the son of his parents: two Nazis who had fled Germany at the end of the Second World
War and settled in Argentina, where they’d brought up their only son.

I couldn’t imagine a heritage much worse than that, to be honest.

Anyway, I didn’t belong in America or Germany or England or Scotland or Argentina.

Suddenly I saw what that meant . . . that the upside of not belonging anywhere was that I was free to choose where I wanted to be.

All I had to do was decide.

Mr Smith sorted a different room for me to stay in and told me to order food from room service. As I was moving there, Mrs Smith returned and the two of them went for ‘a walk’. Which
I understood to mean a continuation of their argument.

That was okay with me. I was happy to sit alone with my thoughts.

It was fairly late by then and dark outside. I was exhausted and yet it still took me ages to fall asleep and when I did my dreams were full of visions of Rachel and Milo together.

I was woken, late the next morning, by the phone beside my bed.

It was Mr Smith.

‘There’s still no news of Rachel,’ he said. ‘But Lewis has called from the hospital. He’s recovered okay from the operation and knows about Rachel. He says he wants
to see you and I’d like to talk to him too. Could you be ready in ten minutes? We’ll take a cab all the way there – and Lewis is registered under a false name. I think
you’ll be safe.’

‘Sure.’ Lewis was just the right person for me to speak to. Like me, he had no real home. He’d understand my situation. Help me decide what to do next.

I hurried down to the lobby where Mr Smith was waiting.

But when I got to the hospital, Lewis told me something that changed everything.

75

My first full day in the chalet passed quietly.

I spent most of my time in the sun porch. Milo bustled around in his beanie hat, offering me food and a choice of some old copies of
National Geographic
magazine which he’d found in
a kitchen cupboard. I was torn between my natural instinct to tell him to get lost and the knowledge that encouraging him to think I liked him was a sensible tactic.

I tried to read a little, to keep my mind off Theo and Grace and my parents, but the day seemed to stretch on forever. I kept an eye on the bunker. Elijah emerged after a couple of hours, came
to the house and took more blood from me, then went back.

I felt like I was on Calla again, but in a proper house with snow instead of an old farmhouse surrounded by the sea.

Elijah came and went again.

I went outside myself. Elijah had provided me with a jumper, hat and scarf. I hated wearing them, I didn’t want to have anything to do with his handouts, but it was freezing in the icy air
and I was determined to explore the entrance to the bunker at the back of the chalet.

I walked past the frozen lake and round to the wood at the back of the house. It only took a couple of minutes to reach the concrete bunker. In the distance I could clearly see the high electric
fence covered with ‘danger of death’ notices, but there was no sign of Paul.

Taking my courage in my hands, I approached the entrance.

The bunker door, also made from concrete, had no handle, though I knew from watching Elijah that it slid open when he did something to the tiny screen beside it. Trouble was, I couldn’t
work out
what
he did to open it. The screen was mounted on metal but contained no intercom and no keypad. My first guess was that it was some kind of retinal scanner, like the one in the lab
on Calla. However, it was positioned at waist height – so more convenient for hands than eyes.

Whatever it was, it was impossible to get past.

76

Lewis was asleep when we arrived at the hospital. He looked terrible – even worse than when he’d collapsed – with his skin grey and pallid and a huge bandage
round his head.

The nurse who showed us where he was said that he was actually doing really well, but that he got tired quickly, so we shouldn’t stay long.

We sat on either side of the bed for a few minutes. Then Mr Smith’s phone rang.

He jumped up, guiltily, and rushed out of the ward to take the call.

I leaned forward.

‘How are you?’ I asked.

‘Awesome,’ he whispered.

We looked at each other for a moment.

‘Who took Rachel?’ he said.

‘No one.’ I looked down, at the weave of the white blanket on his bed. ‘She left by herself. She went with Milo.’

‘No.’ Lewis’s voice rose slightly. ‘Doesn’t make sense.’

I looked up, angry at having to go over this again.

‘I’m telling you she went with Milo,’ I said bitterly. ‘She told me. She
wanted
to. She wanted
him.
’

Lewis’s blue eyes met mine. He frowned then shot a sideways glance at his bedside locker. ‘Look in there.’

I bent down, wondering what he wanted. The locker was virtually empty – all I could see were the clothes Lewis had been wearing yesterday, when he’d collapsed.

‘Pocket,’ Lewis ordered.

Grunting, I dug in the trouser pockets. Nothing. I tried the jacket. My hand grasped fine metal. A chain. I pulled it out and held it up.

A silver chain with a tiny ‘t’ on the end. Broken.

I looked at Lewis.

‘It’s Rachel’s,’ he whispered. ‘She gave it me before we went to Jamieson’s office . . . to look after . . . to keep safe . . .’

I stared back at the necklace. It was elegant and simple – a far cry from the chunky beads and gold leaf chain I’d seen in Rachel’s bedroom.

This was exactly the kind of jewellery Rachel would wear.

I held the ‘t’ in my palm.

‘It’s you, man,’ Lewis whispered with a smile. ‘She told me. I
saw
it. She’s got it real bad for you. No way is there anyone else.’

He closed his eyes. I gazed at the ‘t’. Rachel’s name didn’t begin with ‘t’. Her cover name in Roslinnon hadn’t begun with ‘t’ . . .

A smile crept over my face.

Lewis’ eyes flickered open. He was clearly exhausted at having to force the words out.

‘There’s something wrong . . .’ he said. ‘Rachel . . . Elijah . . . don’t underestimate Elijah . . .’ His eyes shut. Within seconds his breathing had become
steady and even.

He was asleep.

Mr Smith reappeared, his eyes full of worry, his mobile in his hand.

‘Just had a call from the police,’ he said. ‘They say two people answering Milo’s and Rachel’s descriptions were seen yesterday getting into a cab at Bressenden
shopping centre. No sign of any force. But they were dropped on an ordinary street. The driver thinks they may have got into another car, but he’s not sure.’ He glanced at Lewis.
‘Did he wake up?’

‘For a few seconds,’ I said, shoving Rachel’s necklace into my pocket. ‘He doesn’t think Rachel went off with Milo.’

‘Well, this latest police report suggests she did, doesn’t it?’ Mr Smith sighed.

A nurse bustled over to tell us we could only stay another couple of minutes.

Lewis didn’t wake up again.

As we left the hospital and travelled back to the hotel, I kept going over what Lewis had said, trying to make sense of all the conflicting bits of information.

Mr Smith came with me up to my room. He took off his jacket and paced up and down.

I got the distinct impression he was avoiding going back to his wife. Then she rang . . . I could hear her shouting on the other end of the line . . . and he rushed out, leaving his jacket still
on the back of my chair.

I took Rachel’s silver chain out of my pocket and held it up to the light. It sparkled – as pretty as she was.

I thought about what Lewis had said in the hospital, then went over my phone conversation with Rachel again . . . she’d sounded strange . . . different . . . not just what she was telling
me, but the way she was speaking . . .

I closed my eyes. Maybe the truth was staring me in the face and I just couldn’t see it because I was still in shock after escaping from Elijah. I’d been lucky to get away from him,
though why he’d suddenly tried to kidnap me I couldn’t imagine.

At least I’d spoilt his plans.

Or had I?

With a jolt, my eyes shot open. Lewis’s parting words echoed in my head.

Don’t underestimate Elijah.

I’d escaped from Elijah, at the same time as Rachel was leaving the hotel.

Was that really a coincidence? What if the two things were connected?

What if I hadn’t escaped at all? It was hardly like Elijah or his men to be as careless as Paul had been, not locking that car door.

What if they’d
let
me escape?

Adrenalin surged through me as the pieces fell into place.

Rachel
was
with Milo. But she was with Elijah too.

She’d sacrificed her own freedom to buy mine.

That’s
why her lies about Milo made no sense.
That’s
why I’d got away from Elijah so easily myself. And
that’s
why she’d asked Lewis to look
after this ‘t’ on a chain like it was her most treasured possession.

How could I have been so stupid?

I paced across the room. If Elijah still had Rachel, then I
had
to find her . . . and fast.

The last time I’d let him escape with someone I cared about, an innocent little boy ended up dead.

I caught sight of Mr Smith’s jacket hanging on the back of my chair. Should I wait for him to come back and tell him what I was now sure of?

I hesitated. The Smiths just wanted to be shot of me. And even if they believed what I was saying, they couldn’t do more than they were already doing to find Rachel through the police. Why
worry them futher?