Deadly Code (19 page)

Rhona stared, thinking Spike must be wrong, that in the dark and horror of it all he must have forgotten where he had been.

'Are you sure it was here?'

Spike looked at her and Rhona knew for sure he was telling her the truth. Which could mean only one thing.

'Spike, the foot was trawled up in Raasay Sound on the other side of the island,' she said. 'The first hand was found on Rigg Beach on Skye.'

'What?'

'The other hand was found in a salmon cage in Loch Arnish,' Rhona said. 'How could your father's body get to the other side of the island from here?'

Rhona watched him trying to work it out. Even with tides and prevailing winds ...

Spike shook his head. 'I don't understand.'

'I think I do,' Rhona said slowly. 'Your father didn't drown. Well, not here anyway.'

She could feel the possibility of that scenario sink in.

'Which means you weren't responsible for his death,' she said gently.

They sat in silence, the plop of the water as it broke against the bow the only sound between them.

The big yacht came creeping into view over Spike's shoulder. The sails were full of wind but it was the high-powered engine that was speeding the boat across the Inner Sound towards them from the direction of Applecross on the mainland. Chances were, it contained tourists cruising their way around the Western Isles.

Spike was following her gaze, turning to get a better view.

'Fuck!' He grabbed at the wheel, turning it full circle so that Rhona was thrown hard against the metal rail.

'What is it?' she shouted, knowing the answer before he said it.

'Maley.'

Spike's voice was faint above the noise of the forced engine. The dinghy rose, fighting the swell and the sudden change in direction. For a moment the stern hung in space, then it dropped, the propeller churned water and they were heading back the way they had come.

The big yacht cut the distance between them with the speed of a bullet.

Chapter 31

The room was white, brightened by the light from the porthole above her. Rhona tried to sit up, but the movement of her head brought a sharp stab of pain and with it the memory of what had happened to Spike.

The yacht bearing down on them, the worry as Spike sailed too close to the cliff edge. The frantic search for the opening, knowing the big yacht couldn't follow them into the cave. She had watched him struggle to keep the tiller steady, his eyes searching for the shadow that spelled the hidden opening to the lab.

Then they saw it, the outcrop that split the surface of the water with four, maybe five jagged points, just north of the opening. On the way out they had sailed due east, then turned, avoiding the outcrop. Now they were being washed through it, the submerged rock slicing the hull.

All she remembered after that was her own scream and the cold sea closing above her.

The pain in Rhona's head had dropped to a dull throb. She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, grabbing the white bathrobe that lay on a nearby chair and staggering to the washbasin, knowing that throwing cold water in her face wouldn't change anything.

The fact was, Spike was probably dead because of her. If she had waited and let Andre come with them or brought in the police, instead of thinking she could do it all by herself, he would be alive now.

Rhona lay back down, legs quivering with exhaustion and distress. She had to believe Spike had either made it to shore or was somewhere on this yacht. Either way, she would find him.

The yacht was moving again, the engine vibrating like a drill. She closed her aching eyes and wished herself a hundred miles away, sitting at her kitchen window watching the sun set on the gardens of the convent. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but now.

When the door opened, she was lying curled on top of the bed. A thickset man smiled down at her, a smile that roamed like a hand over her body. Rhona swung herself upright to show him she still had the strength to hurt him if he dared come near.

He laughed contemptuously, then threw her some dry clothes.

The cabin was luxurious and empty. The man showed her inside, then left. Rhona looked about, spotting the ship's decanter and crystal glasses behind a polished brass rail. She poured a small whisky in a glass, downed it, and immediately poured another, knowing that this would be the only nice thing to happen to her on this boat.

Someone had pulled her from the water, undressed her and put her to bed. Not the sort of good Samaritan action she expected from Maley. If he had saved her from drowning, it was because he had something else planned for her. Something worse.

Rhona walked round the cabin, looking out of the windows, trying to recognise the coastline. They were well offshore, but she spotted the pinnacle that was Brochel to the south, which meant they were passing Sithearn Mor on their way north towards the islands of Rona and Eilean Tigh.

Rhona's heart sank. There was nothing but rocks and seagulls where they were headed.

She reached for the decanter again. Maybe being drunk wasn't such a bad idea after all. When the door opened five minutes later, she was ready for him.

Except it wasn't Maley after all.

'Dr MacLeod, I'm so glad you're okay.'

Dr Lynne Franklin came towards her, smiling that too perfect smile. Rhona was already on her feet.

'Okay?' Rhona didn't even try to control her anger. 'What the hell did you think you were doing? Your damn yacht drove us onto the cliff.'

Franklin's perfect smile disappeared.

'I assure you, Dr MacLeod,' she said sharply, 'we had no intention of harming you when we approached your boat. If you remember, you left me a text message saying you wanted to speak to me urgently. I was in Scotland on business and called your lab. Your assistant told me you were on Raasay. I have sailed these islands many times and keep a yacht up here with a friend of mine. I decided I would come and find you.'

Rhona sat down, feeling suddenly uncertain. It was true. She had sent that text message.

'But we thought this was Maley's boat,' she said stupidly.

Dr Franklin looked as puzzled as Rhona felt.

'I have no idea who this Maley is,' she said quietly, 'but this is certainly not his yacht.'

Rhona let that sink in. If that was so, Spike needn't have panicked.

'Spike?' she asked.

"The boy with you? I'm afraid he is still missing.'

'Oh God.'

'I'm sorry.' Franklin sounded as if she meant it. 'I've already contacted the coastguard and, of course, we'll keep on looking until it gets dark.'

Rhona felt like a fool, a stupid fool. Spike had panicked when he thought it was Maley, and she had joined in.

'Please don't worry. I'm sure we'll find him,' Franklin said. 'Look, can I get you something to eat?'

Rhona nodded blearily. Whisky on an empty stomach hadn't been such a good idea. Her body felt as light as her brain.

Franklin spoke on the phone, then sat down beside her.

'While we're waiting for the food to arrive,' she said, her voice full of concern, 'maybe you could explain what this is all about.'

Rhona decided to cut everything from the script except Maley and the drugs. Franklin didn't seem interested, but she had plenty of questions about Spike.

Where would he go if he managed to reach the shore? How did Rhona know him? Where had they been going in the dinghy?

Rhona looked at the impeccably made-up face. Asking questions; interested, but not too nosy. Lynne Franklin was a beautiful woman. Rhona wondered why she had never headed for Hollywood. She got the feeling that she was a very good actress.

'When did you say you phoned the coastguard?'

The slippage in the mask was momentary but Rhona saw it nonetheless.

Franklin rose to replenish her glass, which was still half full.

'As soon as we picked you up,' she said evenly.

'The helicopter would have been here by now.' Rhona's head was swimming, but she wasn't stupid. 'You may have come looking for me, but not, I think, to offer me a job.'

Lynne Franklin stood motionless, her back rigid. Rhona could imagine what was happening to the mask on that beautiful face. Then the woman turned and laughed. The sound should have been pleasant. It wasn't.

'You are right, of course.' She looked Rhona up and down. 'Actually, Dr MacLeod, I would have liked to have you work for me. Unfortunately I think we have incompatible scientific agendas.'

Rhona said nothing.

"The truth is, I came looking for you because I believe you have information I need.'

'What information?'

'The whereabouts of Dr Fitzgerald MacAulay.'

Rhona nearly laughed.

'MacAulay's dead,' she said. 'Bits of him have been washing ashore here for weeks.'

'You're wrong. MacAulay is not dead. And we believe Spike knows where he is.'

‘Then it's you who are wrong,' Rhona told her. 'Spike and his father had an argument. MacAulay went overboard and drowned.'

Franklin glared impatiently. 'When was this?'

'MacAulay went overboard a month before his foot turned up in a fishing net,' Rhona repeated. 'The foot we found had a ReAlba tattoo just above the ankle.'

'We believe the body pieces belong to the man we sent looking for MacAulay,' Franklin responded.

'And who exactly is we?’

'The more I tell you, the more fragile your life becomes, Dr MacLeod.'

'I'll take that risk.'

'Very well. We are both women in a man's world, so I'll be frank with you. I tried to recruit you because you were directly involved in the forensic investigation of this case. You were coming to LA for the conference, which was convenient. Even better, Andre met you en route and . . . how shall I put it? Made friends with you.'

If the bitch thought she was going to react to that bit of information, she was wrong.

'Why do you want MacAulay?'

'MacAulay was being financed by my organisation to carry out some experimental work. We believe he has been hiding some of the results of this work from us.'

'He was working for ReGene?'

'Indirectly, yes.'

'You mean he was working for ReAlba.'

Franklin smiled. 'ReGene is not ReAlba.'

'And in which capacity are you here, Dr Franklin?' Rhona said angrily. 'ReGene representative or racist bastard?'

The other woman looked pityingly at her.

'Tell me, Dr MacLeod,' she said, 'where do you hide your blacks in Scotland? I don't think I've seen one since I arrived.'

Rhona was silent but Franklin wasn't finished yet.

'Of course, you do have incomers. Asians, plenty of them; Chinese, and then there are those English. White settlers. I hear the locals hate them so much, they've formed an organisation called Settler Watch to burn them out.'

Rhona ignored the taunts. 'What was MacAulay working on?'

'As you probably know from Andre, Dr MacAulay left his project for the British government at Porton Down to work for us,' Lynne Franklin said. 'We were keen to establish specific genes found in the families of Gaels who came from the west coast of Scotland.'

‘The Men of the West.'

Franklin nodded.

'And MacAulay was working on that?'

'We believe he had completed the work before he disappeared . . . and that's where you come in.'

Rhona was fed up discussing a dead man as if he was alive.

'MacAulay is dead,' she said again.

But Franklin wasn't listening.

'Where would the boy go to hide?'

'You think Spike got ashore?'

Rhona's heart leapt. She didn't care if this woman or Andre had lied to her, as long as Spike was alive.

Franklin looked amused by the show of emotion.

'One of my men saw him swim into the cave. We sent the dinghy in, but unfortunately he had disappeared. The boy trusts you, which means you can deliver him to us.'

'Like hell I will.'

If Spike was alive and free, Rhona was going to make sure he stayed that way,

'Very well. You leave me no alternative.'

Franklin picked up the telephone. 'Tell Maley there's someone I want him to meet.'

Chapter 32

As he ran his footsteps echoed through the tunnel. At every turn, Spike threw himself violently forward, arching his back, expecting a hand to reach out and grab him.

When he reached the cave opening, he hurled himself out into the night air and ran for the crevasse, snatching at handholds, his knees scraping their way down the narrow opening. At the bottom he stopped and looked up at the sliver of sky, forcing himself to wait and listen for footsteps above the snap of his own frantic heart.

Nothing.

He ran along the rocky hillside and down into high heather, disturbing midges that rose in a biting cloud, scenting the blood that seeped from his skinned hands and face.

When he reached the edge of the loch, Spike thrust his face in the water, drowning the midges that encrusted his wounds and washing the bitter salt from his lips.

It was still faintly light, the long day refusing to end. Spike picked his way northwest, edging ever closer to the sea.

He had made up his mind.

He would bargain for Rhona the way he had planned to bargain for Esther. He would give Maley what he wanted. He would give him that and more.

His damp clothes clung to him. His body had dropped into nagging exhaustion. Each swish of his feet brought more midges to feast on his bare skin. The woodland near the shore was no better, the maddening midges being replaced by fat black flies that buzzed tirelessly around his sweating face. Then he was on the edge of the wood and the soft sea breeze cleared his head of everything except his decision.

On his way to the black rock, Spike picked up the small dried sticks that would start his signal fire.

The drowned motor boat was thirty feet from shore in ten feet of water. Spike stood on the shingle and found his bearings, forty-five degrees east from the black rock, in line with the last deserted blackhouse of Screapadal. He'd picked up the knife, diving torch and some rope from his stash in the ruins of the castle. All he had to do was swim to the boat, release the stuff and get it to the castle. Then he would radio Maley to come and collect it.

But not before Maley agreed to free Rhona.

The water crept up his legs like the chill of death. But it wasn't the cold that was filling Spike's mind with horror. He looked up, trying to judge how much good light he had left. An hour at most to get the cargo ashore. He dipped his head and plunged into the water, striking out towards the place that was etched forever in his brain.

When his head broke surface he was six feet away from the sunken boat. Spike took a deep breath and dived. The back of the boat was visible in the arc of his torchlight. It was lying upside down, the wooden stern driven deep into the sandy bottom, the long rent he'd dug in its side filled with the darting of small silvery fish. He flashed the torch, and the fish flew for the entrance, masking his face in a shimmering shoal, blinding him. Then they parted and the torchlight found the plastic container that held his father's notes.

Spike had just enough breath in his lungs to attach the rope before his body threw itself upwards, desperate for air. He struck out for shore, dragging the rope behind him, letting the drift of the sea carry him where he wanted to go.

On his second foray, a pale moon shimmered through a cluster of rain clouds. This time Spike wasn't so sure of his position and cursed himself for not releasing the orange buoy that was tied to the boat's stern. He looked to shore, checking for his landmarks, knowing he would have to trust his intuition.

He took a breath and sank, sweeping his torch through the sullen water, looking for the wreck. Something drifted against him, brushing his shoulder with a handless arm.

Spike flung himself round.

The head bobbed at him, eyes hollow and accusing. The rope he'd wound round his father's swollen body -once, twice, three times, like a hangman's noose - cut through the decaying flesh.

Dr MacLeod had told him the body parts could not belong to his father, but Spike knew she was wrong. Bits of the corpse had made their way from here to the other side of the island even though he'd tried so hard to tie it to its watery grave.

Spike sliced frantically at the rope that attached Maley's parcel to his father's corpse, then rose kicking to the surface.