The Bloodline Cipher (14 page)

Tye had flown Coldhardt's King Air 350 from Geneva to a small airport outside Oxford – just in case the more convenient airports were under obs. From Oxford they had travelled to London by train like tourists, their gear for the trip concealed in bulging rucksacks. While Patch and Motti made quiet plans on a laptop and Con slept, Tye had watched the greenery give way first to industrial yards, then to tottering houses set in sooty terraces and apartment blocks, where satellite dishes sat in their dozens like strange birds of prey, eyeing the trains rushing by.

Patch re-emerged a couple of minutes later engrossed in a copy of
Zoo
. Con tutted and snatched it from him, flicking through the flesh-filled pages until she found a sports article and framed the map around it.

‘The auction house is about half a mile south,' she announced. ‘And the bidding is not due to start for another hour and a half. Shall we get there early, survey the space, find a good place to spy on the bidders?'

Tye nodded. ‘Sounds like we have a plan.' She followed Con and the boys along the busy street,
breathing in its blend of bitumen and car exhaust.

‘Uh, guys?' Motti suddenly stopped, looking gravely down at his jacket pocket. ‘Our Spidey-sense just started tingling. We must be within two hundred metres of that manuscript tag.'

‘Heidel could be coming our way!' Con realized.

Patch swore, looked around hurriedly. ‘In here, quick.' He led them into a cramped tourist shop selling bad T-shirts and tacky gifts. While the others mixed and mingled with the customers, Tye cautiously looked out of the window from behind an inflatable Beefeater, searching for faces she'd hoped she'd never see again.

Motti came up behind her. ‘No signs yet,' Tye reported.

‘Figures.' He was checking the handheld. ‘Signal's holding steady, hasn't moved. Which means the tag is sitting static some place, and we must've walked into range.'

Con had drifted back close enough to overhear. ‘We'd better get closer and see who's minding it.'

‘Hang on.' Patch started pulling and itching at his ribs through his Boxfresh hoodie. ‘Just making sure my titanium blanket's in place. Saved my life last time.'

‘What if this time she shoots you between the eyes?' Motti tapped him on the head and led the way out of the shop.

Patch turned pale. Tye steered him back out into the busy street after Motti, and Con trailed a little way behind them. The crowds were both a blessing and a blindspot; just because the tag was sitting pretty, that didn't mean Heidel's gang weren't circulating in
the area. And while busy streets might mean that Bree and the others couldn't pull anything too homicidal, it also made them harder to spot.

The trail of Motti's tracker led down a quieter, smarter side street, where tarmac gave way to cobblestones. Apartment blocks lined the street in four-storey sweeps, but a large, ornate building, all stained plaster, colonnades and faded glamour, dominated the view. Tye was reminded of a wedding cake left out in the rain. The weathered sign outside the revolving doors proclaimed it to be the Irving Hotel in royal-blue letters.

‘That's where our baby is,' Motti announced.

‘It's a dead-end down here,' Con informed them, checking her map. ‘Pedestrian access only through a narrow alleyway.'

‘If they're watching out for us, they could pull something here,' Patch whispered, his face pale and sweaty. ‘And who'd know?'

‘The rest of you go back to the street,' said Motti. ‘I'll check out the foyer alone, see if I can get more of a fix on the signal.'

Tye nodded. ‘OK. You'll be less conspicuous on your own. Signal us with the two-way, tell us what you find.'

‘We should have a codeword or phrase or something,' Patch suggested.

‘OK,' said Motti seriously. ‘If I say, “Patch is an ass”, it means I found trouble. And if I say, “Patch is a needle-dick”, it means all clear.' He paused. ‘
And
that Patch is a needle-dick.'

‘Ha, ha,' said Patch. ‘Can we just get on with it?'

As Motti disappeared inside, Tye, Con and Patch separated, each standing casually in a different direction, covering the compass for any fleeting glimpse of Sadie, Sorin, Heidel or Bree.

Tye kept her fingers on her radio. When it squawked into life, she jammed it quickly to her ear – and let out a huge relieved breath.

‘Patch is a needle-dick!' she called triumphantly, and a crowd of passing tourists gave her funny looks, while Patch himself scowled and scuttled quickly away towards the hotel.

Looking about warily, Tye and Con followed him inside. The reception floor was tiled white and black, and the walls were lined with wood panels; thirty years ago they might have looked smart, but now both were scuffed and slightly tatty. The aging concierge looked as careworn as his surroundings, in crumpled blue uniform and faded braid. He eyed Motti suspiciously.

‘Do your thing, Con,' Motti told her quietly.

Con put on a big smile and turned to the concierge. ‘Excuse me, monsieur, can you help us?' she said charmingly in a strong French accent. ‘We're looking for friends of ours.'

‘The receptionist has gone to powder her nose,' the concierge informed her. ‘She may be able to help you.'

Con nodded briefly at Tye. ‘But I think you can help me, monsieur. Look at me. I think you
want
to help me, yes?' Her voice was getting lower, more sonorous and exotic. ‘Yes, you will help me I am sure …'

The concierge's eyes were glazing over. ‘I want to help you,' he agreed in a wondering whisper.

Seeing that Con's mesmerism had the man well under control –
her
control – Tye walked quickly to the ladies' toilet. A young woman with high cheekbones and a sallow complexion was washing her hands in the sink. Her staff name badge proclaimed she was Anna. Tye walked up beside her, pulled a phial from her pocket and shook a couple of drops into the tap water. Instantly a cloud of noxious fumes rose up into Anna's face, and Tye quickly retreated as the girl keeled over.

‘Sorry,' Tye muttered, catching Anna smoothly before she could hit the ground. ‘But you look like you could use a rest.'

The fumes from the knock-out drops soon dissipated into nothing more than a bad smell, and Tye towed the receptionist into a cubicle. She locked the door, propped Anna up on the seat, took out a fifty-pound note and tucked it into her hand. Then Tye pulled herself up and over the cubicle door and ran back to join the others.

She found Motti and Patch behind the reception desk and Con watching the doors while the concierge stood with his back to them, smiling into space. No one needed to ask her how she'd got on. It was a given.

‘Penthouse was booked today,' Motti reported. ‘Double occupancy. In the name of … how d'ya like that? Nathaniel Coldhardt.'

‘He's a real comedian, that Heidel geezer.' Patch fished out two keys from a drawer beneath the desk. ‘Looks like nobody's home. We got his key and the maid's, right here.'

‘They might
want
us to think that their rooms are empty,' said Con, ‘so we go breezing straight into an ambush.'

‘Yes, the hotel they've chosen is hardly much of a challenge,' Tye agreed. ‘I don't like it.'

‘And I'm not even needed,' said Patch brightly. ‘If you've got the keys to get in …'

‘Unlucky, Cyclops, we need you all right,' said Motti. ‘You're gonna break into the building opposite, scoot up to the top floor and scope out the inside of the penthouse from there. You see any signs of life, get on the radio.'

‘You clever sod!' said Patch admiringly. He lifted the material covering his glass eyeball and plucked it out with a soft squelching noise.

Motti cringed. ‘Jesus, Patch! Get out of here with your dumb “utility eye” crap!'

‘Gets him every time,' said Patch happily, unscrewing the eyeball to reveal his extendible lock-picking tools hidden inside.

‘I'll go with you,' Tye offered.

‘We'll wait here for word,' said Con. ‘My friend the concierge will turn away any visitors, but I'll tell him to make an exception for you two.'

‘Make an exception,' the concierge agreed sleepily.

Tye and Patch squeezed past him and back outside. The street was still all but empty. A couple stood arguing outside one of the apartment blocks, too busy blazing at each other to notice much else. Patch pretended to reach in his pocket for keys, then set to work on the lock with pick and torque wrench. He had the door open so fast anyone would think he was
legit, and Tye smiled to herself. In his own way, Patch was a little genius.

Once they were inside, Tye led the way up several flights of stairs to the top floor. ‘That's the flat we want,' she said quietly, creeping over shiny tiles to the mustard-yellow door. ‘Can't hear any signs of life.'

Patch put his ear to the wood for a second opinion, then frowned. ‘'Ere, look,' he whispered, and pointed to the door lock. ‘Scratches and scoring round the entry point. Like someone's tried to break in and made a right pig's arse of it.'

Tye peered at the scratches and tutted. ‘I guess you can't trust anyone these days.' She glanced around. ‘Just get us inside, Patch. If anyone's home, we'll just say we saw the door wide open and wanted to check everything was OK.'

‘That's us,' said Patch, tickling the lock with his picks. ‘Friendly neighbourhood caring types …'

Moments later he pushed open the door. It gave on to a long, narrow entrance hall, studded with doors leading off on either side, and opening up into a large living room directly opposite. Tye noticed a rectangle of sunlight thrown down in there by an unseen window, warming the wooden floorboards. ‘That'll be the view we want,' she murmured.

Then she saw a shadow shift in the hard block of yellow. The shadow of a woman –

‘Patch, look out!' Tye yelled as Sadie burst into sight in the open doorway, all in black and wielding a hefty hunting knife. Coldhardt's gold ring glinted like the serrated blade as she lunged forward at Patch, slashing for his neck.

Tye pushed Patch out of range of the blade but he overbalanced and fell against a doorframe, yelping with pain.

Sadie raised the knife to throw it down at him, aiming a kick at Tye as she did so. But Tye feinted backwards, grabbed a vase from the telephone table beside her and hurled it at Sadie's face. Sadie ducked, and kicked out again. Her metal heel cracked plaster from the wall; she would have shattered Tye's ribs if she'd been a fraction faster. As it was, Tye dodged the blow and now grabbed Sadie's calf, twisting with all her strength. Soundlessly, Sadie tumbled to the floor – only to execute a perfect backward roll into the living room before jumping to her feet.

Tye was already sprinting after her.
If I can reach that bitch before she's balanced, get the damn knife off of her
… As she ran, she glanced at the bay windows – and in an instant saw a sighted harpoon gun mounted there, aimed across the street at the penthouse with its open balcony doors.
Waiting for us to get inside and pick up the tag
, she realised.
It was a trap all right, but the trap was in here all along
.

Sadie swung the knife at Tye. She ducked beneath
the blow, used her momentum to pull off a tight somersault in midair, pivoted on one heel and high-kicked her attacker. The side of her foot connected with Sadie's wrist, knocked the knife from the girl's grasp. But with her other hand, Sadie reached forward and grabbed a thick handful of Tye's dreadlocks, twisting and yanking.

Tye gasped with pain as her roots started to tug through her scalp. She tried to struggle free. No good. Sadie's other arm was clamped round Tye's ribs with crushing force, and her head was being pulled back, exposing her neck.

Sadie hissed and opened her mouth wide in Tye's face. Tye saw the pale grey stump inside that had been the girl's tongue, flinched from the madness in the dark eyes. Growling like an animal, Sadie leaned in and started to sink her teeth into Tye's cheek.

Not gonna scream
. Tye screwed up her eyes.
Not gonna scream –

But then a whooping maniac came tearing into the living room. Tye's eyes opened.

It was Patch.

He was running full pelt, arms outstretched. He grabbed Sadie's head and yanked it back. Tye twisted free and fell to one side, clutching her burning cheek. But Patch was going too fast to stop – he and Sadie piled into a pine sideboard that collapsed under the impact.

Tye climbed shakily to her feet, tried to pin Sadie's arms to her side, but she was too slow. Sadie grabbed a length of wood and swung it wildly. Tye tried to turn from the blow but it caught her hard on the elbow. She staggered back and tripped over a low coffee table.

Meantime Sadie swung her ringed fist at Patch, who ducked just in time. She grunted as she bruised her knuckles on the wall, followed up with a second blow that whumped Patch in his good eye, sent his head smacking back against one of the sideboard drawers. He was too dazed to react as she hit him again with her ring hand, even harder, pounding blood from his split lip. Patch brought his arms up feebly over his face, but Sadie swatted them aside, raised her fist yet again ready to –

Tye brought a lead glass decanter down hard on Sadie's head.

With a low moan Sadie rolled back, eyes closed, fists still clenched. She collapsed in the splintered shell of the sideboard.

Patch tried to open his eye, the lid bruised and fat already like a dark flower blooming. ‘Did we get her?' he slurred, dribbling blood.

‘Yeah.' Tye sunk to her knees beside him, trying to calm her breathing. ‘We got her.' She felt her tender cheek – if Patch had been a second later the flesh would have been scissored open. Roughly she tugged the bloodied ring from Sadie's finger and slipped it in her pocket, willing her hands to stop shaking. What was it she'd promised Jonah in the showers after his own fight?
It gets easier
.