The Chosen Seed (29 page)

‘Yeah.’ Cass looked over. ‘I guess it hasn’t settled in yet.’

‘Suppose you’re right.’ Osborne looked past Cass and through the window to where the boy was drinking a large glass of milk. ‘I just thought he’d have more questions, that’s all.’

His face was thoughtful and Cass felt suddenly defensive. ‘He’s just tired. It was only a couple of hours ago that I dragged him out of bed. I’m sure he’ll make up for it soon.’

They smoked some more, quiet once again, but Cass watched as Osborne’s hooded eyes kept glancing at Luke.

‘He must have really hated it in there, that’s all I’m saying.’ Osborne ignored the provided outdoor ashtray and threw his butt on the ground. ‘Most kids would be shit-scared at a stranger turning up and taking them away from somewhere they’ve been for ages.’

‘I’m not a stranger. I’m his uncle.’

‘He don’t
know
that though.’ He met Cass’ gaze. ‘I’m not saying anything really. It’s just odd, that’s all.’

On the way back to the car, Cass put one arm round his small nephew. ‘You know, if there’s anything you want to ask me, just go ahead. I know all this might seem a bit scary right now, especially those two’ – and he nodded at the two heavies who were walking slightly ahead – ‘but they’re here to look after you. Think of them as your guard dogs.’

Luke smiled, but he didn’t look up.

‘It’ll all settle down soon, I promise. And then I’ll be able to tell you about your real family, and you can tell me all about the people who have looked after you up until now.’ Cass looked down at the dark head, feeling slightly disappointed at the lack of reaction. Luke seemed distracted, and he wished the boy would share whatever he was thinking so Cass could reassure him. He guessed that would come in time. Luke would have a few quiet days coming up where he could get his head round this. He’d be safe and well looked after.

Back in the car, Luke fell asleep again and Cass idly stroked his head, lying in Cass’ lap. What would Christian make of this quiet boy of his? What had Mr Bright done to him to make him so meek?

Father Michael was up and waiting for them, and once they were inside the warmth of his home, Cass was surprised to see how moved he was by Luke.

‘This is Christian’s boy?’ He smiled. ‘Doesn’t he look like him?’ He looked up at Cass. ‘He looks like both of you.’

Cass shrugged, never comfortable with conversation that veered towards emotional territory. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ he asked. ‘I should only be a few days.’ It sounded like the truth because he hoped it would be.

‘Of course.’ Father Michael smiled and finally released Luke from the close hug. He looked down at the boy. ‘Now why don’t you and one of your friends go into the kitchen; you might find some hot chocolate and marshmallows in there.’

Cass envied Father Michael’s light touch with the boy compared to his own awkwardness. He would improve over time – if they had the time, of course. That was yet to be decided.

‘Come on, mate.’ Osborne led Luke further into the warm cottage and it was only when they’d disappeared that the remaining three men let their smiles fall.

‘I didn’t have anywhere else to take him,’ Cass said.

‘If you had taken him anywhere else I wouldn’t have forgiven you,’ Father Michael said. ‘And I’ll look after him for as long as you need, you know that. It will be a pleasure.’ His face darkened. ‘But are you sure you wouldn’t be better off just taking him and getting out of the country?’

‘Go somewhere no one will ever find me?’ Cass smiled gently. ‘And where is that? There isn’t anywhere that Bright can’t get to me if he tries hard enough. I need to find some kind of end to this thing.’

‘He won’t give in easily.’

‘And neither will I.’ Cass hesitated. He had no idea what was coming next; he was hoping that Brian Freeman and Dr Cornell would have found something they could use against Mr Bright, but the tricky part was going to be staying alive and staying free. Bright had played with Cass up until now, but taking Luke might push him to try and dispose of Cass altogether, by killing him or by getting him nicked – either way would mean the end of Cass’ life.

‘Look,’ he continued, ‘if I don’t make it back for whatever reason—’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ Father Michael cut in.

‘No, but—’

‘Luke can stay here for as long as he needs to. I’ll look after him for you. You can trust that.’ He smiled softly, sagging cracks lining his face. ‘I’ll protect him with my life.’ He must have seen Cass’ eyes lingering on his wrinkles. ‘I may be old on the outside, Cassius Jones, but I’m still fiery on the inside. I’ll look after your boy. I’ll look after him for Alan’s sake as well as your own.’

Cass flinched at the mention of his father.

‘Don’t think too harshly of him, Cass,’ Father Michael said. ‘He was doing what he had to, to protect you and Christian. It was all he
could
do.’

Without commenting, Cass gently slapped the priest on the arm and smiled. ‘I’d better be going. Osborne and Wharton will stay with you. They won’t get in your way.’

‘The more the merrier. It’ll be nice to have company.’

At the door, the priest pulled Cass into a sudden embrace. Caught unawares, Cass found himself hugging Father Michael back. He was thin underneath his sweater, but then Cass wondered how changed the priest found him. He wasn’t blind to the changes that the past year had wrought on his own physical appearance.

‘You will come back, Cass,’ Father Michael said. ‘Of all the possibilities in this strange situation, that is the one I have the most faith in.’

For a moment Cass wished he had just taken Luke and fled the country. This frail old man didn’t deserve to suddenly be in so much danger.

‘It’s okay, Cass.’ Father Michael smiled. ‘This is okay. Now go and do what you need to do. And take care.’

Cass nodded. He didn’t believe in the priest’s god, the same god his father had found, and he never would do, but
he envied the peace it appeared to have brought them. There was a quiet acceptance about Father Michael, even with all this sudden activity in his house. He didn’t have Cass’ rage. Still, Cass thought, as the door closed behind him and he was once again alone, it was his rage that kept him going.

The Range Rover was still warm and the village was quiet, lights just beginning to flicker on as he passed. He envied the small lives within. People oblivious to The Bank and the Glow and Mr Bright. This was where his parents had sought refuge from all of that, although clearly they had never quite been able to let it go.

The boys see the Glow!
His mother’s handwriting was etched behind his eyes and he slowed the car as he passed his parents’ locked-up house. The dark windows stared back sullenly, giving nothing away, and there was no sign of the police who had ransacked the building in the first days after he was shot. As he drove away, he didn’t glance back. Whatever emotional attachment he had to the place had started dying when he’d learned about his father’s deal with Mr Bright, and knowing that Armstrong and his colleagues had trampled through, turning over every inch of the place, had pretty well finished it off.

His childhood home had been built on lies and his father’s faith was simply an escape, a crutch to help him cope with the choices he’d made. All that time Cass had felt guilty for not being good enough, and as it turned out, he was just doing what came naturally: like father, like first-born son. At least he didn’t run from his choices.

He left the sleepy village behind and headed back to the city. There’d been enough running. Now it was time for action. His eyes burned and heat flooded his body, energising him.

There is a Glow
, he thought, bastardising the phrase that
had been his mantra for so long,
and I intend to use it
. He left the radio off and enjoyed the silence as he drove.

Mr Dublin was waiting in a large conference room in the medical wing at the top of Senate House. It was through a door and up a small flight of stairs from the lift. Mr Bright was mildly surprised. He hadn’t even been aware that the room existed. Mr Dublin had clearly been exploring rather than overseeing. It was quiet, away from the screams of the homeless unfortunates being put through the Experiment. But then, if the gathering in the room was anything to go by, Mr Dublin had been keeping himself very busy indeed. As well as the newly promoted Mr Escobar there were at least fifteen members of the First Cohort lining the walls of the room.

Mr Bright paused in the doorway and smiled slightly as he took in the faces. On either side of Mr Dublin, standing at the head of the table in the centre of the room, were Mr Dakin and Mr Ede. Mr Dakin was almost salivating, although given his bulk that could just have been his natural greed, and Mr Ede’s sharp eyes flicked nervously from Mr Dublin to Mr Bright and back again. So: it was these two whom Mr Dublin intended to add to his Inner Cohort along with Mr Escobar. As choices went, they weren’t bad. They’d managed their sections well enough. However, this coup was not the way to form a new Inner Cohort. He understood only too well that Mr Dublin had clearly wanted to make this a democratic decision. That was apparent in the sheer volume of their kind here to witness his downfall. He felt almost sorry: Mr Dublin would be destroyed by his own honesty.

If Mr Bright had been in his opponent’s shoes he would have dispatched himself somehow, and then claimed to the
others that the Dying had come for him. They would have believed it because they
wanted
to believe it; it would have obviated them from guilt. As it was, should Mr Dublin fail to deliver, they would all look back with rose-tinted glasses – as so many were currently doing about home – and they would turn on Mr Dublin. There were some things, however, that you just couldn’t teach.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Mr Dublin said.

‘Thank you for sending a car,’ Mr Bright said. ‘And with such charming company.’ The warm twinkle in his eyes cooled. ‘I presume this isn’t a social meeting? And if not, then why are we not meeting in the privacy of the Inner Cohort Chamber? This’ – he gestured at the room – ‘is unacceptable.’

‘
This
’ – and Mr Dublin copied Mr Bright’s gesture – ‘is necessary.’ He looked ephemeral, with his fine ash-blond hair and pale skin. ‘We felt this was a decision that needed to be agreed on by more than the Inner Cohort. Please take a seat.’

Mr Bright remained standing. ‘You will find that most decisions are best taken
only
by the Inner Cohort. The world runs better that way.’ He didn’t see the point of explaining the guilt mentality; Mr Dublin could fall or stand on his own. ‘I would just like it to be noted that I find this location insulting. There are some tasks, Mr Dublin,
especially
the unpleasant ones, that should always be given the respect they deserve.’ Feet shuffled around the room. ‘We should be in the Chamber, not here. And this should just be you and me.’ Embarrassment settled like an invisible shroud over the room. Their aggression was still there, and he wouldn’t be able to change them from their current path, but he was pleased to have unnerved them.

Mr Dublin smiled slightly. ‘That was
your
way, Mr Bright:
the old way. Sadly, and mainly because of your own recent failings, we do not have the time for such niceties.’ His slim frame stood tall and his naturally soft voice was clear and strong. ‘Over the past few days it has become clear that you are struggling to maintain your position. This “problem” with The Bank is a clear indicator of that. You may well have stabilised the situation, but that does not excuse the fact that not only The Bank’s accounts were hacked, but the X accounts too.’ He paused. ‘You must be aware that this is unacceptable.’

‘Whoever did that got what they came for. And no one will be able to get into our systems again.’ Mr Bright once more felt a shiver of irritation at having to defend himself. ‘You must know that’s been taken care of – as you appear to be so aware of all my movements.’

‘That is not our concern, Mr Bright,’ Mr Dublin continued. ‘What concerns us is that none of this attention would have come our way were it not for you. We are getting reports of people asking questions about you, far more than normal – between that and these problems with The Bank there is a general feeling that even
they
are concerned: you have become a liability to the balance between us and
them
.’

Mr Bright burst into merry laughter. ‘Oh, Mr Dublin, you have so much to learn.’ He looked around the room. Most wouldn’t even meet his eyes, and to his left, the young one who had come to collect him with Mr Escobar dropped his head. His face was red. Not all of them were convinced, he was sure of that, but they wouldn’t turn against Mr Dublin yet.

‘So? What now?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Am I about to find out that it’s my turn to try for the Walkways?’

‘You’ve moved the First. We want to know where he is. We also wish to know the location of the boy. The bloodline.’

‘Ah.’ Mr Bright remained focused on Mr Dublin. ‘Well, I’m not sure I’m prepared to share that information just yet.’

‘This is no time for playing games, Mr Bright.’

‘That’s where I must respectfully point out that you are wrong, Mr Dublin. All of this is a game – a serious one, perhaps, but still just a game.’ He looked down at his manicured fingernails and then up again. ‘And I don’t feel ready to give up my pieces just yet.’

‘I don’t want this to get unpleasant, Mr Bright.’

‘Oh, but it already is.’ Mr Bright reached up and loosened his tie so that he could reach the item that hung around his neck. ‘Let’s not pretend otherwise, shall we?’ He pulled the thin chain free and over his head before sliding it across the table. Mr Dublin caught it at the other end.

‘Now,’ Mr Bright continued while redoing his tie, ‘I think the dirty work has been done for the day. I have no intention of giving you the information you require, so you’d better get on with doing whatever it is you intend to do to me that you think might change my mind.’ He tugged his cuffs down slightly and his polished cufflinks glinted.