Shrike (Book 2): Rampant (35 page)

Edmund Granger steps out from behind one of the carved screens, tucking a pistol into his pocket after carefully depressing the safety.

I've always given Rosamund credit for her intelligence, and right now, she proves it. Many people desperate to free a loved one from a hostage situation would run straight into the arms of this young man, ask him how he freed himself, rejoice that it's over.

Rosamund understands immediately, as do I.

"How long?" It's the only sound in the room above the crackling of the fire, and her voice gives no evidence of any emotion.

"Always, Mum," Edmund says. "Or at least, since I came to stay with him."

I'm not quite sure what she's asking or what he's just answered. He gives me a perfunctory nod, then ignores me. He's built like his mother, tall with the same blond hair and broad shoulders. Where she becomes an Amazon of a woman, he simply looks like an Olympian or a Nordic prince. 

"Where are the others?" she asks.

"Gone. As you thought, Britannia ends with Abbey." Edmund gives John Abbey's foot a distasteful kick, then steps over it to walk toward us. 

I tense, ready to spring in any direction, but he doesn't make any sudden moves. 

"They'll be here soon," Edmund says. "The police. Craig was instructed to ring them four hours after the bomb went off. I knew you'd be here by then."

"Ed," Rosamund says. "What are you talking about? We can leave. Start a new life."

He stops in front of her, and his features harden into stone. He spits directly into face.

She takes a full step back. It's the first time I've ever seen Rosamund Granger retreat like that. One hand flies to her face, but she doesn't wipe away her son's saliva. To me, it looks like she's seeing if he really just did what she thinks he did.

"All your talk of family," Edmund says. "And you let my uncle — that repulsive man whose name you foisted on me — blow my brother's brains out. You never even mourned for Andrew."

"Andrew was never right for this family —"

"
HE WAS MY BROTHER.
"

Edmund's bellow shakes me to my toes. I've waltzed into the darkest, most tangled thicket of this family's life, and my feet are rooted to the polished parquet. I don't dare move.

"Ed," Rosamund begins, but he slaps her.

"You let him die."

She's silent, offering no denial or apology. 

Again I feel a crawling sensation at the base of my spine. No denial or apology to her living son's accusation. 

"Are you going to kill me?" Rosamund's voice is as quiet as the crackling fire.

"No. I'm not like you. I don't kill family. The police are coming soon, and they will take you away forever. You can live with yourself for the rest of your sorry life."

I'm surprised at this plan of Edmund's, and Rosamund voices my next question for me.

"You think they'll just let you go?"

Edmund laughs then, and I hear a ghost of Andrew in the sound. "I'm going to give them all the records on Britannia. Abbey kept them all here in his suite, you know. He showed me. He treated me like his own son. Everything Britannia ever did is going to be aired to the world. All the murders. All the money laundering and extortion. Every dirty pair of pants at the bottom of the laundry basket will be broadcast on the evening news. And I'll be the man who brought them down from the inside."

He doesn't have to start spouting theoretical headlines. I can do it for him.
Raised by a Cult: The Edmund Granger Story.

I'm beginning to wonder where I fit into all this. 

I don't have time to wonder. 

"Gina," he calls out.

I close my eyes for a second, inhaling deeply through my nose. I turn to see Gina Galbraith walking toward me from the other room. She doesn't meet my gaze. 

"Gina," Edmund says, taking her hand and kissing it. "I believe you've not had the honour of meeting my mother. Mum, allow me to introduce Andrew's girlfriend, and the reason you got to show up here with help."

I meet Gina's eyes then, and my face must be a mass of incredulity. 

Edmund's going on. "Gina helpfully informed the papers about Shrike's identity, made sure she had access to tracers she could use on you."

Rosamund jerks her head around to look at me, but instead of betrayal on her face I just see shock. And the remaining sheen of spittle.

"Gwen here was my insurance policy. If you didn't show up to kill Abbey, I wanted to make sure someone else would be here."

I finally find my voice. "You want me here to witness your murder?"

Edmund's blue eyes flash at me. "I want you here to learn the truth. So you can tell the world about Britannia." He looks back to his mother, who is staring at him like she's looking at a stranger. "You never knew, did you, that Andrew was feeding his girlfriend secrets? They were together for three years, and you never knew."

I shut my mouth, content to let him think I'm just going to let him waltz out of here. I imagine for a moment what he had to do to keep Abbey happy all this time. Flatter him, sure. Go along with the plan. Participate. Gain Abbey's trust. Help plan to drop a bomb on York.

No sooner do I think it than Gina wheels and jams her palm against Edmund's throat.

For a moment, I can't comprehend what's happening, but then I see the poniard in her hand and the blood trickling down his neck. Rosamund screams and turns on Gina. I'm at Edmund's side before he hits the ground, yanking the pistol from his pocket. Rosamund doesn't have time to take a step. I look into her eyes for one moment as I press the gun against her forehead.

"I told you I wouldn't hesitate." I pull the trigger.

She falls to the floor, and I drop the gun as if it's gotten hot in my hands.

Edmund claws at the parquet, gurgling. I kneel by him, my face still. 

"You don't get to walk away from this," I say to him. 

His hands clutch at his throat, where blood spurts between his fingers. Not an efficient way to kill someone, with a poniard to the carotid. Gina hangs back, and somehow I know I don't have to worry about any physical danger from her.

"Gu Bràth is dead," he coughs. 

My blood chills. "What did you say? Is there another bomb?"

For a dying man, he manages an excellent look of condescension, and my fingers twitch, useless. 

"We've got…more…than bombs." 

He doesn't speak again, and I know what he's saying.

Taog.

"Gina, can I trust you?" I look her in eyes. Her mouth falls open. She looks at the two fallen Grangers on the floor, then looks back to me and nods.

"Make sure the police get everything there is on Britannia."

I break every speed law on the way back to Edinburgh. I try ringing the hospital, but I lose service on the winding roads, and by the time I get through, I'm almost back to the city.

At the hospital, it seems as though there are bobbies everywhere. I barely manage to park Taog's car before leaping out the door, running for the hospital at full speed. I hear startled yells behind me, but no one tries to stop me.

On a day like today, I'm surprised they didn't try to shoot me and ask questions later.

I skip the lift and take the stairs a flight at a time, barreling into the Respiratory Ward and into the quarantine area. Taog's room is empty, as is the room next to it. My heart drops into my stomach. "Taog?" I call out his name, foolishly hoping for a miracle.

I hear a tinny yell at the end of the corridor, but it doesn't sound like Taog.

It repeats after a moment. 

"Gwen!" It's Magda.

I race down the hall. There's a door ajar, leading to a supply room. 

Magda's in there, and she's bleeding. She's fighting a nurse.

I recognise him. It's the same nurse who was there the day we brought Taog in. My vision turns hazy, and my fingers grip the front of his scrubs. He tries to hit me. I hit him first, my fist connecting with his face. 

He slumps over, unconscious. 

I drop to my knees next to Magda. Her hands press against her side, where blood is staining her shirt. "What happened?"

"I wanted to help," she says.

"You did, love." I stroke her hair back from her face and tug up her shirt to see the cut. She's got multiple small stab wounds, and looking around, I see a scalpel ten feet away. 

"Before Gina left, she hacked into the hospital files. I spent all morning looking at the names, and I didn't find one until his. Duncan Park."

Park. 

My heart swells with pride for Magda. "What was he doing? Where's Taog?"

"Taog is moved to critical care," Magda says. She grimaces, and her hand grasps at my shoulder. "The nurse was injecting more poisons into the Gu Bràth IV bags."

"Is he okay?" 

"I don't know."

I scoop Magda up in my arms and carry her from the room, giving Duncan Park another kick in the head before I go to make sure he stays unconscious. Another nurse comes running down the hall, followed by a pack of bobbies. 

"The nurse on the floor in there was dosing the Gu Bràth patients through their IV bags. You might want to arrest him," I say. I turn to the new nurse, a man with tanned skin and dark hair and a baffled expression. "You. Get a gurney for my friend, will you?"

He obeys, and moments later, I've secured Magda on the gurney. When the nurse tries to wheel her away, I slap his hand. "I'm taking her to critical care. I'm not letting her out of my sight."

One of the constables looks like he wants to object to me leaving the scene, and I give him a long look until he breaks eye contact. "My name's splashed about every paper in Edinburgh," I say. "If you really want to question me, I'm pretty sure you can find me."

Just outside the quarantine area, Dr Jensen is talking to a constable. She starts when she sees me with Magda, breaking off in mid sentence.

"Where's Taog?" I ask. 

"I'll take you to him."

thirty-six

Two Months Later

Gina Galbraith is as good as her word. Within hours of my return to Edinburgh, I'd gotten word from Sergeant Heinlein that they'd taken all of John Abbey's records into evidence and that they'd managed to arrest eleven of the remaining Britannia members as they tried to flee the country.

Trevor remained in hospital for three weeks before being released into his home. An anonymous donor has paid for private care for him, and though I don't know for sure, I suspect my boss, Francis Duck, who seems to have gone out of his way to become the antithesis of de Fournay.

The documents found in the Britannia lodge were enough to clear the Scottish pilots of the most serious charges, and the Britannia member found to have infiltrated the chain of command has been arrested. I suspect he'll never see the light of day again.

One thing that the documents didn't clear up is the question of Ross. In this, I find yet another reason to be grateful to Macy. She's learned more about Britannia than any other person on the planet, and she knows many of their darkest secrets. Whether her knowledge of their control tactics — the serum that gave me my powers isn't the only foray into nanotech the Frosts took — will clear his name, I cannot say. She told Trevor about something the Frosts had that allowed them to briefly control someone for a few minutes before their body broke down the nanobiotics, something that may connect to Ross's assertion about losing time. I don't know if or how they would ever prove it, but it might be enough for reasonable doubt. It gives me hope. I visit Ross every other week, and though I can't bring myself to tell him I believe him, I walk into Saughton each time challenging the guards to question why I'd visit the man supposed to have colluded with Britannia. His name was never mentioned in the documents we found, which are otherwise fastidiously thorough. Trevor still has people unearthing more about Britannia as they weed out the rest of the members, but they may not find the truth of how Ross's fingerprints got on that bomb. 

Ross's fate will be decided at a trial later this year, though I know that regardless of the outcome, there is no way his life will ever be the same. Or mine. David returned a few weeks after Britannia's demise, and he's been at least once to visit Ross. He didn't tell me more than that.

Francis extended my leave of absence by a full month, and though part of me is eager to get back to work, I'm grateful for the chance to take my first proper holiday in years. 

Before I leave on my trip, I have a wee press conference, which mostly consists of them asking me daft questions and me dodging them, but the highlight comes when I tell the reporters that if I see so much as a flashbulb while I'm on holiday, I'll never speak to them again. They titter nervously, but I refuse to crack a smile and add in that I'll toss their cameras in the ocean as a bonus.

David's promised to resume training both me and Taog when we get back from our holiday. Taog's still not quite back to normal, and I don't expect that to change. We're all finding a new normal now.