Triskellion 3: The Gathering (24 page)

“I
s that a British accent?” the man asked.

“New Zealand,” Laura said, bending the truth a little.

“That’s in Canada, right?”

“That’s right,” Laura said. It suited her that geography was clearly not the man’s strong point.

He had picked her up just outside Oklahoma City. She had already hitched a ride on a truck out of Tulsa, eager to get away as fast as possible from the terrible scene in the store. She had borrowed a cap from the truck driver and had tucked her hair into it. She knew Scoppetone would have put a search out for her and her red hair and Australian accent would make her conspicuous. She would have to keep moving, and keep moving fast. As an attractive woman, she had had less trouble getting lifts than she might have otherwise had and her current driver was by no means immune to her charms.

“Larry Douglas,” he said. “I’m from Kalamazoo.” He held out a smooth pudgy hand for Laura to shake and she realized he was waiting to hear her name.

“Mel Campbell,” she said.

“Lovely name for a lovely lady,” Larry said. He raised one eyebrow and smiled what he clearly considered to be his very best lady-killer smile.

Laura groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed right now was to be hit upon by a Midwest salesman who smelled strongly of aftershave. She had more important things to worry about. While Larry droned on about sales figures and the new car he was going to buy, Laura’s eyes darted around nervously, watching for police cars, her mind racing. What on earth was happening to Kate?

The man Kate had killed back in Australia had been an American. She was an American citizen, so she would be tried in the US. Scoppetone had arrested Kate in the state of Oklahoma with local backup, so she would have to stay in the state until a judge decided to send her back to New York – or not. Scoppetone would want her in New York, but the local small-town force might try to keep her in Tulsa. They would see it as a feather in their caps to have such a high-profile international case on their patch.

A sickening thought began to dawn on Laura. Oklahoma still had the death penalty. If Kate was tried here, she might face…

“Penny for your thoughts,” Larry said.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming. I’m real tired.”

“I can stop at a motel, if you like,” Larry said, putting his hand on Laura’s knee.

Thirty seconds later Laura was walking along the roadside, waiting anxiously for her next ride. She was pleased to see a bus approach over the horizon and even more delighted when she saw that one of its destinations was Amarillo.

She was heading in the right direction.

The winds had died down a little, but the rain was still torrential and Commodore Wing could barely see the road ahead of him as he carefully steered the Land Rover away from Waverley Hall and around the village green towards The Star.

The pub was as full as the commodore could remember seeing it, with villagers gathered in clusters round tables or standing several deep at the bar. They were talking in hushed tones about the terrible storm: comparing notes and telling horror stories about the dreadful havoc it had wreaked. Many were temporarily homeless and were getting ready to spend a second night in sleeping bags at the church or the village hall.

“Commodore…”

“Sir…”

“Good to see you, Commodore…”

Wing acknowledged the greetings with a nod and limped across to the bar, Merlin loping along at his side, faithful as always. He signalled to Tom Hatcham, the landlord, who immediately began pouring a large whisky, then he turned to see a familiar face, smiling at him from the end of the bar.

Creased, cracked and all but toothless, Jacob Honeyman looked as though he’d struggled for miles through the horrendous weather to get there. He looked bedraggled and confused. It was exactly the way he usually looked.

“Good evening, Jacob,” the commodore said.

The beekeeper grunted a hello and nodded towards the door. “It’s all going on.”

“The storm, you mean?”

“All of it,” Honeyman said. He grinned, showing off the few brown teeth he had left. “Reckon it’s time to start building an ark.”

“How are the hives holding up?” Wing asked.

Honeyman downed what was left of his beer. “Empty,” he said. “Haven’t got a single bee left.” He leaned in close as if imparting a secret. “They’ve all gone home…”

Tom Hatcham walked over with Wing’s whisky. The commodore downed it in one. “Get everyone a drink, will you, Tom?”

“What, the whole place?” Hatcham said.

Wing nodded.

Hatcham banged an empty glass on the bar to get every-one’s attention and announced that the commodore was buying a round for the whole pub. There were predictable cheers and backslapping and a raucous rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”. The commodore smiled politely, waving and nodding to his fellow customers – some of whom he had known his entire life. Those who knew him well would have recognized the fear visible in the lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

Hatcham was one of those few. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked. “It’s not about that phone call the other night, is it? Sorry for giving that woman your number, but I didn’t know what else—”

Wing waved the landlord’s concerns away and leaned forward. “I need to ask you a favour, Tom.”

Hatcham nodded. “Name it.”

“Will you look after Merlin for a while?” He gestured at the dog lying at his feet. “I have to take a trip and there isn’t anyone else I can think of to ask.”

Hatcham said that he would be happy to take the dog and asked the commodore where he was going. When he didn’t get an answer, he tried to lighten the mood by telling the commodore that he had certainly picked the right time to take a holiday – what with the atrocious weather and everything…

Wing nodded slowly, then stood up and walked towards the door. The dog scrambled to its feet, but Wing raised a hand, and the animal stayed where it was.

“How long will you be away?” Hatcham called.

Wing kept walking. His stick rattled against the wooden floor, and those gathered at the bar stood by silently and watched him leave. Behind him the dog began to whimper.

“Stay, Merlin,” Wing said. He shut his eyes tightly against the tears and took a deep breath before yanking the door open and stepping out into the storm.

T
he first room was a laboratory.

Rachel felt the sting of industrial disinfectants drive away the memory of her grandmother’s perfume.

Adam switched on the lights. They flickered on, revealing workbenches and rows of sinks. There were microscopes and centrifuges on every surface, and the shelves were stacked with files and boxes. Adam took down a file. It was marked
BETA CLASSIFIED
. He opened it and saw diagrams of DNA structures. Thousands of samples were listed alongside graphs and figures.

He showed Rachel the file and she shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said.

“DNA,” Adam said. “Looks like they study genetics here. I thought this place was going to be all about rocket science and stuff.”

Rachel looked at Gabriel. He was pale and shivering. “You OK?” she said. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

“No,” Gabriel whispered. “This is all wrong. Someone has
let
us in here. Someone wants us to see all this and I don’t know why.”

Rachel suddenly felt sorry for him. He looked lost and lonely; she put her arm round him.

He began to cry. “My mind won’t work. I can’t stand this noise, and I just feel we’re close to something very bad.”

Rachel didn’t know what to say, so she just pulled him tighter to her. She hated it when Gabriel showed any weakness. If
he
didn’t know what to do, who did?

Adam was looking at a computer at the end of the lab. A Triskellion screensaver was moving slowly across its screen.

“Click on it,” Rachel said.

Adam hit the
RETURN
key and the screen came to life. On the desktop was an MPEG: a clip of film.

Adam double-clicked on it.

A grainy silent black and white film loaded, revealing a desert landscape. Mechanical debris was scattered around, and as the camera zoomed in, it became clear that they were seeing the aftermath of a plane crash. Military policemen and airmen were hurrying around the area in jerky fast-forward. The camera cut to a man on a stretcher. They recognized his face and then a subtitle confirmed it:

GROUP CAPT. WING.

His eyes were open and he looked around wildly. His face was dirty and scorched.

The camera cut to something on the ground. The film was blotchy, but they could see the outline of a body. The image tightened, but they could make out little more than a head.

The film changed to an interior. A lab. The light was brighter and men in white coats stood around an operating table. The camera pushed between the men and they moved aside to allow the camera to see what they were working on.

“No,” Rachel said. She thought she was going to be sick.

Adam kept watching, horribly fascinated, but Gabriel stepped forward and stabbed at the
PAUSE
button. “No!”

The horrifying image remained, frozen on the screen – the opened belly, the guts laid out on one side…

Before Gabriel had paused the film, they had seen that the arms and legs, although strapped to the table, were moving. The eyes were open and the head was rolling from side to side. Despite being smashed and torn apart, the body these men were operating on was still alive, and conscious.

“Keep moving,” Gabriel said. His face was white and he was shaking as he pushed them away from the screen.

They opened a heavy door into another room. It was much cooler than the first and lit by pale industrial lights. There were jars and bottles on the shelves, and one whole wall was covered with what looked like a vast stainless steel filing cabinet. Rachel looked closely at the jars. They appeared to be filled with human body parts: internal organs, slices of brain, eyes…

“It’s the morgue,” Adam said.

Seeing him close his eyes, Rachel understood that he was seeing the same thing that she was; they were once more seeing through their grandmother’s eyes. She could taste that perfume again, feel her grandmother’s fear. This was what Celia Root had been so terrified by…

Celia had made a decision. She needed to know
everything
! What Gerry had told her by the lake wasn’t enough – she wanted to see it for herself.

Her heart was thumping against her ribs as she knocked on the door of Gerry’s office in the senior airmen’s block. After waiting a moment she reached for the handle and was amazed to find the door unlocked. She stepped inside, calling out Gerry’s name, though it was clear there was nobody there.

She wandered behind the desk and dropped into the seat, and began absently flicking through the papers piled up on the leather desktop. There were reports marked
URGENT
and
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL
and many files were marked
BETA: TOP SECRET
…

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Celia?”

She looked up to see Gerry in the doorway. “I was just waiting for you. We need to talk. We—”

“These things are secret.”

Celia grabbed the pile of files and folders from the desk and threw them across the room at him. “I’m sick of secrets,” she said. “I want to know! What you told me by the lake—”

He strode over to her, took hold of her shoulders and shook her. “You want to see?”

She nodded.

“Right…”

He all but frogmarched her out of the office, across the compound and into a newly built building she had passed plenty of times but had never been inside. The armed guard acknowledged Wing and then glanced at Celia. Wing nodded. “She has Grade One BETA clearance,” he said.

They pushed through several sets of doors until Celia became aware of the quiet, and the cold.

She was suddenly afraid.

“You want to see.” The fury was still there in Wing’s voice. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”