The Blood Tree (40 page)

“How did you do it?” I asked. “How did you bring Caro back to life?”

“Caro? Is that what you called her? Caroline was the name I had from the file. Along with that ridiculous barracks number that your rulers impose on their auxiliaries.”

Bell 24. Caro's barracks number was one thing about her that I'd forgotten over the years. Now it came back to me as unexpectedly as the scent of a long-forgotten flower.

“Your name was in that file too,” Rennie was saying. “You were down as her closest colleague. Quintilian Dalrymple. I was hardly going to forget that outlandish appellation, was I?”

I peered at him. “Wait a minute. Names and barracks numbers are classified archive material. How did you have access to that?”

He laughed but didn't reply. The conclusion wasn't hard to draw. Although Glasgow had been seen as a pariah state in Edinburgh since the early years of the Enlightenment because of its attachment to democracy, some lowlife or lowlives must have been dealing with it. And since Caro had been dead for eleven years, those dealings were longstanding, as the genetically modified teenagers also proved – only high-ranking auxiliaries would have been able to access classified archive material.

The little girl was still weeping but silently now. I smiled at her. That only seemed to make her more apprehensive.

“My contacts in Edinburgh provided me with certain material,” Rennie said. “I won't bore you with the microbiology. Among other things, I needed a steady supply of human eggs. But only from the best specimens available. Your woman was certainly one of those.”

My mind was spinning. “But how . . . how were the eggs obtained?”

Following standard gynaecological examinations. Usually the donors were told that they needed a scrape or suchlike.” Rennie bent to the microphone. “Be quiet, girl! I won't tell you again.”

Aurora swallowed her cries and sat with her head bowed.

“Bastard,” I said, straining in Macbeth's grip. That got me another blow in the gut. I heard Big Eye moan in sympathy on his stool.

“An interesting term,” the scientist said, wiping sweat from his high forehead. “Is this child technically a bastard, do you think?”

“Who cares?” I said. “She's alive, she's healthy, what does it matter?”

Rennie laughed. “You surprise me, Quintilian. I would have thought the lineage of this specimen would be of particular significance to you.” He shook his head. “No? Well, I suppose it's true that she has nothing to do with you genetically. The egg was fertilised by an American sperm donor and implanted in the uterus of a Glaswegian woman, so why should you care?”

“How does she bear such a close resemblance to Caro then?”

The professor looked gratified by the question. “As a result of pioneering work carried out in this very laboratory. As well as enhancing the potential for advanced intelligence, we have developed techniques that guarantee an almost perfect clone of the genetic parents – either mother or father.” He smiled. “You can imagine how valuable those products have proved to be in the global marketplace.”

“So you made a fortune and ploughed some of it into your brother's insane cult.”

This time Macbeth didn't bother to hit me with the gun. Instead he shoved me to the floor and aimed a kick at my groin. Fortunately I managed to get my thigh in the way. It still hurt like hell.

“Apparently Derek doesn't want to talk about that,” the scientist said. “Anyway, we were discussing Aurora, weren't we? Lovely name, don't you think?” He glanced round at the girl, who was staring at me with her mouth open. Obviously the poor soul had never seen a street fight.

“It is lovely,” I said, getting my breathing under control. “Who gave it to her?”

“Her adoptive parents.” Rennie picked up a folder. “Jack and Sheila Garvald. If you're interested, he's a graphic designer and she's a nurse. They've got two natural children, a boy aged twelve and a girl aged eleven. They called them Josh and Ailsa.”

I saw Aurora's eyes spring open when she heard her siblings' names. Then her expression became even more distraught. She must have been missing her family terribly – and trying to understand why they'd handed her over to the professor.

“How did you get her here?” I demanded, standing up shakily. “Your usual technique of kidnapping?”

David Rennie shook his head. “Certainly not. The Garvalds were told that Aurora had a problem with her liver which needed special tests. I wanted her as insurance, of course. After I saw you with Duart and remembered your name from Caroline's . . .” he broke off and smiled at me malevolently “. . . sorry, Caro's file, I expected a visit. I was sure the girl's resemblance to your dead lover would stop you in your tracks.” He drew his hand across his cheek. “Now that I've got her in the institute, perhaps I'll make use of her in my current research programme.” He stared at Aurora like a slaughterman sizing up a calf.

There was a groan from the stool to my left.

“That's enough, Cyclops,” David Rennie said. “If you don't keep quiet I'll be forced to use the clamps.” He glanced pointedly at a box near the console which sprouted wires. I suddenly thought of Tam Haggs and his electric interrogation equipment.

Big Eye let out another long, disconsolate noise.

“Right, that's it,” the scientist said, picking up the box.

Big Eye was panting hard. I thought he'd given in, but I was wrong. With an ungainly leap off the stool, he took Rennie down to the floor with a crash. That sent the electrical instrument flying. It also made Macbeth crouch like a wounded lion.

“Take the girl,” the professor gasped at his brother. “You know what to—” Then his voice broke off. There was a flailing of limbs as Big Eye laid into him.

Macbeth had already opened the chamber's glass door and grabbed for Aurora. She shrieked as he approached, then carried out a sidestep that an international rugby player would have been proud of. Before he could lay a hand near her, she was out of the door.

“Close it!” I shouted, realising it only opened from the outside.

She stopped dead and stared at me, then felt Macbeth to her rear. She ran straight to me and nestled in my arms. The thrashing on the floor to my left had stopped. Big Eye was lying over his prey, as motionless as a grave slab.

“Give her to me,” Macbeth said from outside the chamber, the heavy automatic pointing straight at Aurora's chest. I was pretty sure the bullets fired by that weapon would go through both of us at that range. Checkmate. I squeezed her arms lightly then slid my right hand down to the pocket of her jeans.

“You have to go with him,” I said, making sure my voice was loud enough for the putative king of Scotland to hear. “Don't worry, you'll be okay.” Then I pushed her forward gently and bent my head. “I'll be right behind you, darling,” I whispered.

She looked round and gave me a smile that broke what was left of my heart. Then she walked slowly forward to Macbeth and let him circle his arm round her chest without a murmur.

He pulled her towards the exit, the gun against her head. As they passed Big Eye and the inert form beneath him, Macbeth bit his lip. The pistol shook in his hand.

Shit, no, I thought, stepping forward. Not Big Eye.

Macbeth caught my movement and that seemed to put him off. He strode away to the door, Aurora caught in his grip, her feet kicking the air feebly.

“If I so much as catch a glimpse of you coming after us, she dies, Dalrymple,” the king shouted over his shoulder.

I knew he was serious. I felt as bad as I did when I was cradling Caro's body in the barn on Soutra. Caro. Aurora. I'd failed them both when they needed me most. I sank to my knees and buried my head in my arms.

But not for long.

As soon as I heard the door slam, I scrabbled in my pocket for the mobile I'd been given. “Hel?” I shouted. “Advise all your units to look out for Macbeth. Don't tackle him though, do you understand? He's got a hostage. A child. Call me when he's in sight. Out.”

I cut the connection and called Davie's number. After what seemed like an eternity – presumably while the system tried to makes sense of the Edinburgh number – he answered.

“It's me,” I said. “Where are you?”

“Got a phone now, have you? We're in a side-street off the Dumbarton Road – about three hundred yards from the Rennie. I have you on the monitor.”

“No, you haven't. I've tranferred the bug to someone else.”

“You've what?”

“There isn't time to explain. Track the bug at a safe distance. D'you hear? A safe distance. The bug's on a hostage that Macbeth's taken. He'll kill her if he thinks he's being followed.”

“Her?” Davie asked.

“The hostage is a little girl.” I wanted to tell him who Aurora was but explaining would take too long. “I'll keep in touch with you. Don't call me unless you want the Major Crime Squad up your arse.”

“Got you. Out.”

I got moving. “Come on, Big Eye,” I said as I went towards him. “Are you all right?”

He rolled off the scientist. “I . . . I think I killed him,” he said in an unsteady voice. “I didn't mean to.”

“Never mind about him,” I said, glancing at the sprawled body. The head was at an unnatural angle to the torso. “I've got to follow Macbeth.”

“And the wee girl,” Big Eye said, suddenly right behind me. “We've got to help her.”

I nodded. “Aye. Do your trick with the door, will you?” I could only hope that Macbeth was far enough away by now.

The inmate punched out numbers on the pad. I noticed that one of his thumb nails had been torn away. Otherwise he seemed unscathed. I wasn't sure how much use he'd be on surveillance though.

“Listen,” I said, “why don't you go and look for your friends?”

“Byron and Selkie?” Big Eye stopped in the corridor outside the lab and thought about it. “Where can they be?” He slapped his thigh and gave a wide grin. “I know. The basement. The guards take us down there when there are visitors to the institute, visitors the professor doesn't want us to see.” He looked at me seriously. “I didn't mean to kill him,” he said. “I don't care what he said about me, but he shouldn't have been nasty to the girl. She was so frightened.”

I took his arm. “Don't worry,” I said. “He deserved everything he got.” I knew that Duart and Hel Hyslop wouldn't take the demise of their target so well, but I didn't have it in me to criticise the poor soul.

“I'll see you later then, Quint,” he said, smiling at me like a kid on an outing.

“Yup. Be careful, Big Eye.” I wasn't too happy about letting him loose on his own – Christ knows what the security guys were armed with – but I didn't have time to go with him. I needed to guess about the exit Macbeth would have headed for. I hadn't heard from Hyslop so the chances were that Macbeth was still in the building. The rear of the facility seemed more likely than the front where all the noise was coming from, so I followed the corridor I'd been up earlier. The lights were still low.

I was about twenty yards from the Record Room when the door slammed open and a large form blundered out. I flattened myself against the wall, thinking it was Macbeth carrying Aurora. Then I looked again as the figure turned away from me. It wasn't the cult leader, it was one of his followers. Broadsword was in his usual garb and he wasn't carrying human cargo – what he had in his hands was a large pile of files. I set off after him carefully, certain that he would be hot on the heels of his lord and master.

Then my luck ran out. Just as the bogeyman reached the end of the passage, the lights were suddenly restored to full power. He looked round and I was caught in the act tiptoeing after him. Jesus Christ. I clutched for the Ladykiller.

Broadsword glanced down the corridor to his right – that must have been the way that Macbeth went – then turned his head back in my direction. The mask with its scars and straggly beard was as horrifying as ever, but the eyes were staring less intently than before. I sensed indecision, which is always an encouraging trait in assailants. Maybe Davie's knife had got to him mentally as well as physically. The only way I was going to be able to get after Aurora was by dealing with this arsehole so I moved closer.

Bad move. Since I last saw him Broadsword had evidently renamed himself Broadgun – he'd pulled a wicked-looking pistol from his belt.

“Dalrymple,” he croaked, dropping the files. “We meet again.” He extended his arm and aimed the weapon at my chest. “For the last time.”

Shots rang out in quick succession, the noise nearly rupturing my ears in the close confines of the passage. I dived to the floor and whipped out the Ladykiller, the safety catch already off. The trigger guard was small and I'd been struggling to fit the stump of my right forefinger into it, but I managed to get off all six shots at Broadsword's bulky form. At least three of them entered his upper abdomen and one hit his right hand. His weapon flew backwards. He stopped in his tracks and peered down at me with what looked like surprise. Either he hadn't expected me to be armed or he was amazed that I'd turned out to be a better shot than he was.

I waited for him to fall. That never happened. He expelled a long gush of air, shook his head a couple of times then turned his back on me and disappeared round the corner. So much for the Ladykiller's stopping power. I clambered to my feet and stumbled after him. By the time I got to the corner there was no sign of him.

At least he'd left his gun behind. And his files. I took possession of all that gear.

“We lost them,” Hel said, shaking her head.

“What?” I stared at her incredulously. “Broadsword as well as Macbeth and the hostage?”

She forced herself to meet my eyes and shrugged. “We had to keep our distance . . .”