The Blue Rose (27 page)

‘I'm Dr Lawrence Kingston.'

‘Ah, yes – the professor. I know all about you.' He waved the gun at Compton. ‘And what about these two?'

‘I just happen to own the place. The name's Compton – Charlie Compton. And this is a client of mine, Ken Tanaka – who, I might add, claims to own the rose you are all arguing about.'

‘Is that so,' said Wolff, his lips tightening. ‘We'll see–'

An ear-splitting blast shattered the foggy silence, drowning out his words. All heads turned in the direction of the barn waiting for the echo to fade.

‘What the hell's that about?' Compton yelled, starting to walk in the direction of the barn. ‘I'm going to see what's going on. That must have been Baldie.'

Wolff raised the gun and aimed it directly at Compton. ‘You stay right where you are, mister. You're not going anywhere,' he snapped.

Compton paused for a moment, as if weighing his chances in challenging Wolff, then turned and walked back.

Compton shifted on his feet, growing impatience showing on his face. ‘Would somebody kindly tell me what the fuck is going on here? This is starting to get very serious, and I don't like it one bit.'

‘Why don't you tell him, Wolff?' said Alex.

‘I warned you, Sheppard. Keep your mouth shut,' Wolff snarled.

‘Where's Kate, you stinking bastard? What have you done with her?' Alex demanded.

Wolff ignored the outburst, returning his attention to Compton instead. ‘I don't know what kind of game you two are up to and frankly, I don't give a shit. That rose now belongs to me.' He nodded briefly to Alex. ‘Ask Sheppard. He and his wife have signed it over. So if you two have any other ideas you'd better forget 'em right now.'

For the first time since Wolff 's appearance, Tanaka spoke. ‘All of you are trespassing. This is private property,' he said, walking closer to the rose. ‘And I'm sorry to tell you, Mr Wolff, whatever your name is, that this rose has been already purchased – by a client of mine. I've just explained it all to these two,' he said, pointing to Alex and Kingston. ‘Your piece of paper is worthless. So I suggest that you leave right now and take Mr Sheppard and his friend with you. Then you can argue this among yourselves.'

‘You're lying, Tanaka, you bastard! None of it's true,' Alex shouted.

Wolff threw his head back and laughed. He walked over and prodded Tanaka's ribs with the pistol. ‘Get away from that rose before I do something I'll regret,' he snarled.

Tanaka stared at him, fuming.

Compton's patience was clearly running out. ‘Look, I've asked once already. Would somebody tell me exactly what the hell is happening here? Who does this goddamned rose really belong to?' He wiped the perspiration that had beaded on his forehead. ‘And I wish you'd put that bloody gun away,' he muttered angrily, nodding at Wolff.

Kingston stepped forward, motioning for Compton to be quiet. ‘Pay attention, all of you. And don't interrupt – please.'

Wolff was having none of it. ‘You listen to me, you interfering fool. There's nothing more to talk about. Just shut your damned mouth and–'

‘Wolff.' Kingston spat out the name, contemptuously. ‘You're the one who's the fool. Listen to me, dammit!'

‘You'd better make it quick,' Wolff growled.

‘Don't worry, I will,' said Kingston.

All eyes were fixed on him, as they waited for the roar of a low-flying military jet to subside. Then he spoke. ‘We all know that this rose is truly a miracle. As a scientist for well over forty years, I know just about everything there is to know about plant molecular biology and genetic engineering – and this rose is a one-in-a-billion fluke. And you're all convinced that by owning it, you'll become exceedingly wealthy.' To everybody's surprise, he started to chuckle.

‘What do you find so goddamned funny?' Wolff asked.

‘The irony of it.'

‘Of what, for Christ's sake?' Wolff demanded.

‘There's a minor problem,' said Kingston.

‘What's that?' asked Compton.

‘The problem is that there's something diabolical about this rose. Something very dangerous.' He eyed them each in turn. ‘Wolff – Compton – and you, Tanaka,' he said. ‘You have to believe what I'm about to tell you. It doesn't matter now who owns it. It's irrelevant – because the rose carries a deadly poison in its thorns. Even the slightest scratch can result in death. A quick and nasty death, I might add. Alex saw it happen, at first hand. He lost a dear friend because of this monstrous plant. She was not yet thirty years old. That's not all. Three other people have lost their lives because of this bloody rose. Believe me, you don't want anything to do with it.'

‘Bollocks!' Compton snorted. ‘A load of codswallop if I ever heard it. Thirty years I've been growing roses. In all that time, I've never heard of such a thing as a poisonous rose.'

‘Me neither,' said Wolff. ‘You expect us to believe all this bullshit?'

‘Look, Wolff,' Kingston said, exasperation now showing in his voice, ‘I'll say it one more time. This rose can never be sold. It's extremely dangerous. It must be confiscated and quarantined immediately.'

Tanaka interrupted. ‘It's all lies,' he snarled. ‘Just like the lie you used to get in here.'

‘I only wish that were so,' said Kingston in a calm voice. ‘You're in a no-win situation, I'm afraid, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

Tanaka was about to explode again when Kingston cut him off. ‘When we leave here, it's our intention to go straight to the local county health authority and inform them that you are harbouring a highly toxic and dangerous plant. You know that's automatically going to involve the police.'

‘What proof do you have of all this?' asked Compton.

‘Lots,' Alex replied. ‘And we can get it easily enough.' He looked at Wolff. ‘Give it up, Wolff. It's worthless.'

‘Shut up!' Wolff snapped.

‘Where's Kate? Did you bring her with you? That was the deal.'

Wolff didn't answer.

Alex kept his eyes locked on Wolff 's. ‘Where is she?'

Wolff 's eyes narrowed, his answer was slow in coming. In the pause that followed, Alex caught sight of the figure of a man over Wolff 's shoulder. He was hurrying across the paddock towards them. He was stocky, dressed in black, and wore dark glasses. The others had noticed him too.

For a moment, Wolff and the man spoke in hushed voices, the man doing most of the talking and shrugging frequently. It became clear that Wolff was furious at what he was hearing. At one point he clenched a fist and stamped his foot hard enough on the ground to raise a veil of dust.

‘I'm leaving,' said Compton, interrupting them. ‘You want to talk to me I'll be in my office. You lot can stay here and argue all day long as far as I'm concerned.' He motioned to Tanaka. ‘Come on, Ken, let's go,' he said.

Wolff spun around. ‘You two just stay right where you are. You're not going anywhere until I say so.'

‘You didn't answer my question, Wolff,' Alex said as calmly as he could. ‘Tell me where she is, and we'll leave, if that's what you want.'

For a moment, Wolff said nothing. He stood with his feet apart, caressing the left sleeve of his jacket with the barrel of the gun. Ignoring Alex's pleading, he turned to face Kingston. ‘Poisonous or not, I'm shipping that rose out of here.'

‘The hell you are,' Tanaka said. ‘This is my rose.'

Wolff 's face darkened. He muttered something to Marcus, who stepped forward with alarming speed and grabbed Tanaka around the waist, hoisted him off his feet and with a fearsome display of strength, threw him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. With a grunt, Marcus strode over and placed a boot on the neck of the groaning and prostrate Tanaka.

Wolff walked over and stood with his back to the rose. ‘No more talk. Compton, you go over there by the rose and stay put. You make any attempt to leave and Marcus will take care of you. Understand?'

Compton glared at Wolff, said nothing and walked over to the planter box.

Wolff looked at his watch. ‘I have to leave, but you make damned sure that rose stays right where it is, Compton.' He gestured with his gun to Tanaka. ‘Let him go, Marcus.'

Marcus took his boot off Tanaka's neck and they all watched silently as he slowly got to his feet, clutching his throat and spattered in mud.

‘Get over there with Compton until I decide what to do with you.'

With a scowl, Tanaka turned and walked over to join Compton.

‘Now for you two,' said Wolff, turning back to Alex and Kingston.

‘You're making a huge mistake, Wolff,' said Kingston. ‘You haven't believed a bloody word I've said, have you? You want proof? Okay, let's all go to Compton's office and I'll call the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, where a young woman who handled the rose died. Then we'll call a Mrs Cooke, whose husband dropped dead in his greenhouse after hybridizing it. She'll tell you about two other deaths she knows were caused by the rose, one of them a little boy, dammit!' He turned and started across the paddock toward the gate. ‘Come on, if you don't believe me,' he barked, over his shoulder. ‘It's your choice. Either that or I'm calling the police.'

Alex picked up the camera case at his feet and started to follow Kingston.

Wolff 's voice rang out. ‘Sheppard, stay right where you are. You, Kingston, stop! Turn around.'

Kingston was now half-way across the paddock. He looked over his shoulder. ‘You're going to shoot me in front of a witness? I doubt it. You're not that stupid, Wolff.' He turned and continued toward the paddock gate.

Alex's eyes were riveted on Kingston's back. ‘Lawrence,' he shouted. ‘Don't–'

A shot rang out.

Kingston crumpled to the ground. He wasn't moving. Alex stared in sickened disbelief.

Kate stood on the painted wood porch of Compton's bungalow, both hands gripping the wooden handrail of the balustrade that ran across the front of the house. She was trying to make up her mind what she should do next. Stay put until the police arrived, or go back to find out what was going on. Since it was Sunday – she was convinced now that it was – and also in the depths of the country, it could be some time before the police showed up. She still didn't know for sure whether Alex was here. And what, she wondered, had happened to the caretaker and Marcus? She hoped she was wrong in thinking that the old man would be no match for Marcus. Then there was the shotgun blast – had he shot Marcus? And what about the other man – the American? Where was he and what was he doing?

She stared out over the grounds considering her next move. It didn't seem a good idea to stay at the house, waiting for the police to arrive. Now Marcus knew where she was, that might be the worst thing she could do. No, she was going back to find out what was happening. She would just have to be very, very careful.

As she let go of the handrail, small flakes of white paint came off on her hands, which were sticky with perspiration. She brushed them off on her jeans and ran down the four steps to the path. Quickly she retraced her steps and was soon back at the barn where she'd last seen Baldie marching Marcus off to God knows where. She wasn't sure which way to go. Where was everybody? The only sound came from the wind and the leaves falling on the corrugated roof of the barn. Knowing that she had called the police, had they all taken off? Then she heard men's voices. She couldn't make out what was being said. She had to get closer.

She took a few tentative steps watching for any movement in her peripheral vision. She was beginning to wonder whether she should have stayed at the house.

The voices stopped.

Kate did, too.

The jarring crack that followed hurt her eardrums. The sound of the single gunshot echoed off the buildings. Ears ringing, she turned and ran to the barn wall, crouching sideways against it as if it would protect her. She waited like that for half a minute or so, but no shots followed. The shot had come from beyond the end of the barn. It certainly wasn't Baldie's shotgun.

Edging forward, telling herself to remain calm, she reached the end of the barn. Flattening herself against the rough wood siding, she paused, expecting the voices to resume any moment, but there was silence. The temptation, despite the risk, was too great. She had to step out of the cover of the barn to see what was going on. She only needed to walk a few steps.

What Kate saw sent a ripple of panic through her. She almost screamed but at the last second clasped her hand tightly across her mouth.

Not much farther than a stone's throw away, Kingston was curled up on the ground. Clearly he had been shot and was injured. Alex was bending over him. Twenty feet or so beyond them, a tall man in a windbreaker, holding a gun by his side, appeared agitated and was talking to Marcus. Behind them stood two other men. Petrified, she stood with her hand still raised to her mouth, unable to move or speak.

‘Kate!'

Alex had seen her. ‘Kate,' he screamed. ‘Get out of here. Run!'

She hesitated for a second. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus leap forward. God! He was coming after her. She spun round and started running down the path past the barn.

Then she heard the gunman's voice bark out. The words echoed in her ears. ‘Go get her, Marcus. Go get the bitch!'

 

Kate couldn't run any faster. She knew that her chances of outstripping Marcus were slim. If she stayed out in the open he would soon be breathing down her neck. He probably had a gun, too. Up ahead she saw the opening to the barn. She stopped in her tracks, skidding on the dirt path, almost losing her balance. The entrance: it was her only chance. She knew it was risky, aware that she could easily be cornered in there. She took a quick glance behind – still no Marcus – and stumbled into the barn.

Coming from daylight into the semi-darkness of the cavernous barn, she was running almost blind for the first several yards. She never saw Baldie, strapped to the post. She staggered right by him, part running, part walking, stumbling over debris as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her ankle struck something hard and metallic and she fell to the ground. Her eyes filled with tears of pain. Grimacing in agony, she got up, hobbled a few yards and started running again.

She could see better now. Sufficient light was coming into the barn through cracks and knotholes in the siding. She was scrambling through a narrow dirt corridor with stalls on each side, apparently once used for stabling. She stopped and listened. The muffled sound of Marcus's stumbling feet was getting closer. She leapt forward, running as fast as she could along the path, praying that it wouldn't lead to a dead end.

Suddenly the path widened and she was in a large rectangular area that looked like a hayloft. Frantically she looked around. She was trapped. Then she spotted a flight of stairs built against the wall. Without hesitating she ran up it into the loft. In the half-light she could see cartons, plastic bags and barrels stored across the width of the shed. Some were stacked high above her head. Nearby, old galvanized irrigation pipes, rolls of wire fencing, tools and lumber were stored along the wall. Gasping for breath, she hesitated on the landing, gripping the railing, uncertain whether to venture farther into the darkness.

Marcus's words made her spin round.

‘You might as well come out now,' he taunted. ‘Don't make me come up and get you.'

She still couldn't see him but knew he was right below her somewhere.

‘All right, bitch!' he shouted.

Then she saw him racing for the steps, a gun in his right hand. She catapulted into the darkness of the loft.

Hurtling blindly across the loose planks, banging into objects in her path, Kate encountered a dark looming mass. She had stumbled against a tall stack of plastic bags. By the smell, they contained fertilizer or manure. They were piled on a platform extending the length of the barn. Kate jumped up on the platform and ducked around behind the bags. She was up against the barn's inner wall. She crouched in the dark, pulse racing, unsure whether to stay put or move farther along the wall. The stench from the manure was starting to make her retch.

There was a sharp crack, then an almost simultaneous thud, as something smacked into one of the bags next to her. Christ! A bullet. She stifled a gasp. A tabby cat, hissing and yowling, leaped from the bags right in front of her and skittered across the shed to safety.

A mixture of tears and sweat was coursing down Kate's face. The blouse under her jacket was soaked and clinging to her skin.

There was the tread of a cautious footstep on the floorboards – and then another. He was now very close.

The footsteps stopped.

‘You'd better come out. That bullet was not meant to hit you.' A pause followed. ‘The next will – believe me.'

His words raised the fine hairs on her arms. Her heart was thumping.

A floorboard creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, edging toward her. Then the creaking stopped.

She had to move. With her back flattened against the rough timbers of the wall, Kate crab-walked along the narrow gap between the stacks of plastic bags and the wall, praying that the floorboards wouldn't give her away. Splinters of wood pulled at her jacket.

She heard a shuffling noise.

Then stillness again.

She stopped and held her breath. The cat meowed plaintively in the distance.

Inch by inch, she edged along the wall. In front of her, the bags were now stacked much higher – almost up to the crossbeams of the roof. At last, she reached the end of the loft. It had dead-ended. She was trapped.

A crashing sound made her recoil.

Another crash followed.

Then another.

Oh, God! He was heaving the bags off the platform. In only seconds, he would reach her. ‘Come on, lady.'

‘Jesus,' she breathed.

‘You wanna play games? Fine by me.'

Her stomach convulsed.

‘Come on,' he taunted.

He was standing directly below her, she reckoned. This was it. It was her only chance. And she would only get one shot at it. She braced her back against the pile of heavy plastic bags, and then put one foot up on the plank wall in front of her. She took a deep breath, then pushed off with all the force she could summon. The bags didn't budge. She grimaced. She needed more leverage. Manoeuvring her spine as high up as possible on the bags, she was about to push, when he spoke again. This time his tone was deliberate and mocking. ‘Last chance, babe. Come out or start saying your prayers.'

That did it. Kate shoved, taxing every muscle in her straining body, every inch of nerve and sinew, mobilized in one superhuman effort. Suddenly the bags gave way. Unable to check her momentum, Kate went over with the bags, tumbling helplessly off the platform.

Shaken but unhurt, she managed to stand up on the slippery bags. There was no sign of Marcus. She looked down at the lumpy pile. My God, she realized, he could be right underneath her. She had to move fast. She'd hardly taken a step when his hand lunged out from under the heavy bags and grabbed her ankle.

‘Gotcha! You bitch!' he shouted.

Kate screamed. He was gripping the ankle she had bloodied earlier. Looking down, she saw that he was still partially buried under bags but his hold on her ankle was giving him the anchorage he needed to pull himself out from underneath.

He jerked hard. She tottered awkwardly, then lost her balance, falling, face down, shielding her head with her crossed arms and hit the floor hard. She winced as needle-like slivers of wood pierced her palms.

His relentless grip on her injured ankle was making it numb. In a matter of seconds he would be free.