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
Rachel
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
Theo
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 a
t 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?
I would have told Lewis, but he was still so ill . . . and clearly in no position to help me.
No. Whatever I did now, I would do on my own. I didn’t have much to go on, but maybe I could make a virtue out of operating on a small scale.
I knew where Elijah had been holding me. I’d go back there, see what clues I could pick up. Mr Smith had said that the trail on Rachel and Milo went cold when they left their cab. Supposed they’d switched to one of Elijah’s cars . . . maybe even that car I’d been held in at the deserted car park? At least I could see if it was still there.
I walked to the door, past Mr Smith’s jacket, still hanging over the chair.
I wouldn’t get anywhere without money. I hesitated for a second then fished his wallet out of his inside pocket. I took all his cash – £250 – then scrawled I.O.U. in big letters with the pen and paper from the hotel room desk.
It was a start.
I shoved the money into my pocket, and headed out into the morning.
77
Rachel
I’d spent the rest of the day wandering down by the frozen lake. I’d realised that my broken silver chain was missing. I’d left it for safe keeping with Lewis before going into Jamieson’s office. I had no idea what would have happened to it in the hospital or if I’d ever see it again.
Stupid, I know, but that little ‘t’ had become like a security blanket to me and I felt lost without it.
Elijah reappeared, stomping round to the back door, at about midday. Milo called me inside for some food soon after. He was still wearing that black beanie hat. He hadn’t taken it off, in fact, since I told him he looked good in it.
Elijah was already munching away at his lunch – pasta with tomato sauce. I fetched a plate for myself and sat opposite him. He looked drawn and tired and was clearly in a foul mood, snapping at Milo to bring him a glass of water.
After he’d eaten, he took more blood from me, then went back to the bunker. I sidled up to Milo, who was stacking our plates in the dishwasher. I leaned down to insert my glass in the top tray. Our heads collided.
‘Ow, sorry,’ I said.
Milo rubbed his forehead and smiled. ‘My bad – I should have looked where I was going.’
He shut up the dishwasher. We were uncomfortably close to each other now. I looked away, feeling his eyes on my face.
‘How’re you doing?’ he said gently.
I shrugged. Maybe this was an opportunity to get him talking.
‘It would help if I knew why I was here . . . what this Eos protein in my blood is really all about,’ I said.
There was a pause. Milo’s eyes were still fixed on my face.
‘I told you what I know, that it will “save lives”,’ he whispered. ‘But you know Elijah doesn’t talk to me. He just said it’s big. Really big. As big as his cloning experiments.’
‘Is that what he’s doing in that bunker of his?’
‘You don’t want to know what he’s doing in there.’ Milo shuddered.
‘What does that mean?’
Milo turned away and wheeled across to the sink. I followed him.
‘Milo? Talk to me.’
He ran the tap and washed his hands. ‘I can’t tell you any more,’ he said softly. ‘But as far as Elijah’s concerned the Eos protein’s potential completely justifies what he’s doing.’
‘Which is what?’ I said.
Milo shook his head.
‘Please tell me,’ I said, my mind racing. What on earth could Elijah possibly be doing with a few drops of blood in a sealed bunker that was so awful? ‘Milo?’ I went on. ‘Do you think what Elijah is doing is justified?’
But Milo refused to say another word.
78
Theo
I traced my route back to the car park easily enough, but the car I’d been held in was no longer there and I couldn’t find any clue to Elijah’s whereabouts either in the little hut in the corner or outside it. As I crossed the empty tarmac, I realised just how hopeless my situation was.
A couple of hundred pounds might be a start, but it wouldn’t get me very far . . . and it certainly wasn’t going to buy me the information that I needed. The truth was, Elijah could have left the area on any kind of transport and gone in any direction.
And I had no idea about either.
The sky clouded over as I reached the patch of car
park nearest the canal. This was where Elijah’s car had been parked. I looked round. The tarmac was clear, right up to the kerb that marked the boundary with the canal path on one side and the wasteland beyond. I wandered over to the water and stared in. It was stagnant and slimy by the bank, smelling of damp and mould. I trudged along the path to the wasteland, following the kerb along to the exact parking space Elijah’s car had used before. There was nothing here, just a load of litter – crisp packets and cans, mostly – alongside some dried-up dog poo.
It was a depressing place and I was now thoroughly depressed myself. I’d been so sure I’d discover a clue here. It was hard to accept I was no closer to finding Rachel.
There was a roar in the air nearby. The wind swirled around me and some of the litter scudded into the canal and across the stagnant water.
I looked up. A helicopter was rising into the air nearby. I was close enough to make out the logo on the side – it showed a number of swirling lines, with the name Amarta printed across the middle. I’d seen the logo before somewhere . . .
Of course.
It was Don Jamieson’s company logo. I’d noticed it on the front of the reception desk when I’d followed Lewis inside.
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Elijah had used one of Jamieson’s helicopters to get off Calla. Maybe he’d used one to get away from here, too.
I raced across the car park towards the place I thought the helicopter had come from. Past the hut was a row of fairly run-down warehouses. No cars. I could see more traffic in the road beyond, where three women with pushchairs had stopped for a chat in the street.
I raced over and asked them if there was a heliport nearby. They looked at me as if I were mad and said they had no idea.
I ran on, up and down the nearby streets. I tried to be systematic, but it was hard without any kind of map. In the end I stopped a couple of workmen who pointed me in the right direction, and a few minutes later I arrived, panting, at Charnhill Heliport.
The man on reception wasn’t very helpful at first, but when I persisted, another guy and a woman came out. I spun them a huge sob story about my disabled brother . . . bla, bla, bla . . . and in the end the second guy admitted seeing Milo boarding a copter late last night.