by Stephen Cole
Motti seemed unimpressed. ‘They couldn’t remember their own name?’
‘It is said the cult valued anonymity,’ said Coldhardt, ‘both from the forces they claimed to control and the small-minded humans who frowned upon their actions.’
Jonah raised his eyebrows. ‘What did they get up to?’
‘The members of Nomen Oblitum appointed themselves guardians of forbidden knowledge,’ said Maya. ‘They located and acquired rare texts, tablets and tapestries, accumulating knowledge on anything from demonology to man’s mastery over his body.’
Patch stared. ‘What’s some dodgy cult from a zillion years back got to do with time waiting for anyone?’
‘It seems the order has endured through the centuries,’ said Coldhardt quietly. ‘Each child carefully nurtured and indoctrinated in the ways of the cult, forever searching for more and more secret works, passing on their knowledge to their own children.’
‘Like a bloodline?’ Jonah ventured.
His words hung in the air, despite the weight of them.
‘I have arranged a meeting with members of this most interesting organisation at the safe house later today,’ said Coldhardt coolly. ‘I shall use the surveillance devices there to record the meeting for your later viewing, Tye. I want your opinion of what is said.’
Surveillance devices, Tye realised. No wonder he didn’t want me to go into details of how I figured Maya was telling the truth at her interview. ‘That tallies with my own observations,’ he’d said – he must have been watching Maya in private, way before he showed us that arranged interview.
And now she could see by Maya’s hurt look at Jonah that a certain penny had dropped. ‘So that’s why we had that little “chat” in the living room?’
‘All the time you are there you can be spied upon,’ Coldhardt informed her bluntly. ‘Purely a security measure.’
The girl’s eyes flashed. ‘And what about our privacy?’
Coldhardt remained unmoved. ‘Sadly, Maya, certain things must occasionally be sacrificed in the quest for knowledge. Now, we must discuss in more detail the task ahead. Jonah, would you escort Maya back to your limousine, then return here at once?’
He nodded and rose from his seat. Maya glared at Coldhardt, hardly pacified, and Tye couldn’t blame her. It was easy to talk of sacrifices when you weren’t making any of them yourself.
This little world of ours is getting darker by the day, she reflected unhappily. Or maybe I’m just finally starting to see the light.
‘Seems we’re always saying goodbye,’ said Jonah quietly.
‘Goodbyes are crap,’ Tye agreed. ‘And we’ve had too many lately.’
It was late morning, and he and Tye had wandered a short distance away from Patch, Con and Motti, at the imposing gates of Coldhardt’s estate. The business at the hub was done with, and a black Mercedes limousine was waiting to take Jonah back to the safe house; Maya must have been waiting inside it for most of the morning.
Jonah lowered his voice still further. ‘This is like torture. Wish I could just kiss you.’
‘Wish by name, wish by …’ Tye leaned up and pressed her lips against the side of his mouth quickly, her teeth just scraping the skin. It was a friends’ kiss – but Patch still whooped and Motti pretended to throw up, while Con carefully examined her fingernails.
Jonah looked over at them. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be scabbing a goodbye kiss off you lot too.’
‘Just don’t slip me the tongue again,’ joked Patch.
Tye looked over to the Mercedes. ‘At least you’ll have some company while I’m away. Nice, cosy, geeky nights together in front of the computer …’
‘You’re right,’ Jonah agreed. ‘I doubt I’ll miss you at all.’ He pulled a face at her. ‘Duh!’
She pushed him in the ribs and they both laughed. Then he shook hands with Motti, gave Con a hug and knocked fists with Patch. ‘Just take care of yourselves, OK?’
‘Gee, geek, what a great idea!’ Motti turned to Con. ‘Add that to our list of good plans – “take care of ourselves”.’
‘You take care too,’ said Con. ‘Do not sprain a finger typing on that dangerous old keyboard, yes?’
‘I’ll try.’ Jonah felt a double-twinge of guilt; not just from knowing that – money aside – he had a way better deal than they did, but because secretly he felt so relieved not to have to face up to Heidel and his crew. ‘Don’t you go spending your bonuses all at once.’
‘What’ll really be a bonus is if I can get that enamalled gold ring off Lady Bowfinger,’ said Motti. ‘Take back what’s ours.’
‘Just remember to duck if she takes a swing at you. That thing could take your nose off.’ Jonah paused, smiled selfconsciously. ‘Feels like I’m waving you guys off to war.’
‘That’s ’cause you are,’ said Patch, his chirpy façade slipping just a little.
‘Yeah, well …’ Jonah pulled out his mobile and activated the camera. ‘Wave me bye-bye.’
Motti gave him the finger, Patch saluted, Con struck a sassy pose like she’d just stepped off a catwalk and Tye … she just stood there, watching him. The sound of a shutter played. The moment was saved to the phone’s memory and to his, and then Jonah backed away reluctantly to the waiting Mercedes. ‘I’ll see you soon, yeah?’
‘You know it,’ said Motti, and Tye nodded, watching him go.
Please let it be true, Jonah thought.
Chapter Ten
Jonah stared into the retina scanner and waited for the door release to click. Maya seized the door with a scrawny arm and pulled it open, then pushed past him into the air-conditioned lobby. He followed her, leaving the cafés and ski shops of Chamonix outside in the sunshine.
He knew she was still mad about the surveillance stuff. I didn’t know we could be watched the whole time either, he wanted to tell her, but had decided not to. He’d spent his whole life as the one on the outside coming new to groups, trying to suss them out, hoping to fit in. Now for once someone else was in that position, and Jonah found he enjoyed acting the all-knowing guru for her.
‘I think Coldhardt liked you,’ he said, following her up the soft-carpeted stairs. ‘You impressed him.’
She had to wait for him at the door to the actual apartment so he could get them inside. ‘You could have told me we were being watched. That’s just creepy.’
‘The kind of books you read, and you think that’s creepy?’ He pressed his fingerprint to the reader, and by the time he’d tapped in a seven-digit code Maya was reluctantly smiling.
‘I guess Coldhardt has to be careful,’ Maya conceded as they went inside, ‘dealing with the people he does. But does he have hidden cameras everywhere here?’
‘Uh-huh. Watch out for the one in the bog.’ Jonah crossed to his bedroom and checked the computer was still processing his earlier commands. During her stay at Blackland’s, Maya had whole tracts of the manuscript digitally transcribed, enabling him to check them against a private database of ancient languages he’d hacked into. ‘And as for the camcorder hidden in the shower-head …’
‘All right, very funny.’ Maya joined him in the bedroom, looking a little happier. ‘It makes sense that if his time is running out, he wouldn’t waste it watching us getting dressed.’
‘That’s weird, we’ve lost power … the computer’s off.’ Jonah looked at her, distractedly. ‘Anyway, what do you mean, “his time is running out”?’
‘I mean, if Coldhardt is making contact with Nomen Oblitum, believe me …’ She looked around the room as if addressing a multitude of hidden cameras. ‘His time is running out.’
Suddenly Jonah heard a quiet, furtive noise outside in the hallway. Maya must’ve heard it too, but before she could open her mouth to speak, he held up a warning finger. ‘Either one of Coldhardt’s bugs just took offence and jumped off the wall to get us,’ he murmured, ‘or else –’
‘Someone’s inside,’ Maya whispered. ‘But how can they be?’
Jonah was th
inking the same thing: the alarms hadn’t been triggered, and the security systems outside betrayed no sign of a breakin.
So when he went outside and saw a figure in black standing in the hallway, for a few moments he simply froze in confusion.
Then the fear pumped in as the figure turned and pulled off his balaclava. Familiar ice-blue eyes and a cruel smile widened together. ‘Guess who, Jonah.’
‘Uh …’ Stall for time, thought Jonah. Figure out an escape plan. ‘Sorrel, wasn’t it?’
The smile didn’t waver. ‘Sorin.’
‘And you’re here about the cleaning job, right?’
Sorin threw the balaclava on the floor. ‘I’m gonna clean up on you, bru.’
Jonah turned back to the bedroom. No way out through there. ‘Maya, come and join the party,’ called Jonah, trying to act like he wasn’t bricking it. ‘An old friend’s come visiting.’
Maya emerged, arms folded tightly across her chest, looking as scared as Jonah felt. ‘I don’t know how you got in –’
‘No. You don’t know.’ Sorin stared at her. ‘You got an eversion of the manuscript. We want it.’
She looked away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do.’
‘Do you find people forget your name a lot, Sod’im, being the rubbish one of the group?’ If I can get him mad, thought Jonah, make him careless … ‘Where are the rest of Heidel’s little helpers, anyway?’
‘I don’t need them to deal with a bookworm bitch and a pussy like you.’
‘Oh, I get it. You’ve got stuff to prove, right?’ Jonah took hold of Maya’s hand and started to edge towards the living-room door. ‘Coldhardt couldn’t find so much as a surname for you, Sorin. There was loads of info on the others, but you’ve got no records, no rep.’ If we can get inside, hit the panic screens and shut him out … ‘What’s your special skill anyway, Sorin – the ability to tan quickly in a dangerous situation?’
‘You think tuning me grief’s gonna save your ass?’ Sorin hissed. ‘Security’s my thing, bru, and I’m better than you can believe.’
‘Right.’
‘Got inside here, didn’t I? Like I got inside Blackland’s little fortress.’ He started walking towards them. ‘And now I’m going to open you up.’
Jonah grabbed Maya and hauled her into the living room. ‘Farewell glorious villains!’ he yelled, the trigger phrase for the panic screens to slam down and shield them, a quote from some mouldy old play Coldhardt loved. But nothing happened. Maya looked at Jonah helplessly.
‘Oh, did the shutters not work?’ Sorin strode through the doorway. ‘Told you I was good. There’s nothing gonna stop me taking your asses apart.’
‘Not even hygiene worries?’ Jonah kept backing away, keeping Maya close to his side. Then suddenly he threw himself at Sorin, hoping to catch him off guard. ‘Run, Maya!’
Sorin fell backwards, but dragged Jonah with him, used his feet to propel him over his head. Jonah gasped as his back slammed against the wall, and he fell winded to the ground. He looked up and saw Maya hesitating in the doorway. ‘Get help!’ he shouted.
‘Aww, your girl won’t duck and leave you! Sweet!’ Sorin had pulled something from his pocket – a narrow tube he telescoped with a flick of his wrist and then put to his mouth.
Jonah heard the phut of the blowpipe, eclipsed an instant later by Maya’s gasp. Her hand slapped to her neck, where her birthmark stained the skin. She fell to her knees, eyes turning glassy.
‘What the hell –?’ Jonah swung back to Sorin in mute accusation – in time to see a boot shooting towards his face. He ducked out of the way, heard the boom of foot-sole on plaster, pushed himself forward so he knocked Sorin off balance.
Got to end this quick if I’m going to stand a chance, he thought. As Sorin fell face first, Jonah brought one knee down hard on his opponent’s spine and punched him in the back of the skull with all his strength. His knuckles jarred with the impact, sent shoots of hot pain through his whole hand. But Sorin stayed down.
‘Who’s the pussy now, “bru”,’ Jonah muttered, flexing his throbbing fingers as he ran over to where Maya was still kneeling in the doorway.
‘Jonah?’ Her eyelids were flickering, she held a tiny dart between thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m OK. The bastard doped me. But I’ll be OK.’
‘We’ll find a doctor,’ he promised, taking Maya’s arms and pulling her up. ‘We need to get the hell out of –’
Phut. That sound again, and this time a scratch in his own neck. Jonah felt for the barb with scrabbling fingers, hooked it out. He saw Sorin, standing up, smiling again. Then his vision began to haze, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet.
Oh no. Oh God. What’s he done to me? Frantically, Jonah grabbed Maya and tried to make for the door. But his legs weren’t playing that walking game now, they were buckling beneath him. Overcome with dizziness, he collapsed, and Maya fell with him. Jonah heard footfalls behind him, felt the vibrations in the floorboards as Sorin stamped out of the living room. Jonah tried to crawl away and drag Maya after him, but his strength was gone. The hallway began to distort like he was seeing through a fish-eye lens.
Then Sorin screamed out in pain.
The sound was sharp enough to score through the blackness encroaching, and Jonah turned.
I’m hallucinating, he thought, willing his eyes to focus.
Sorin was being held against the wall just a few metres away, by a man dressed in dark Arabic robes. The man wore a bronze face mask with three distorted circles for eyes and mouth, framed by a night-blue silk headdress that hid all but a swarthy glimpse of skin about the lips. There was a musty smell of age about him, almost overpowering. The light caught on a medallion of crimson glass hanging from a leather cord around his neck.
The man looked slight, but Sorin wasn’t moving. And then Jonah heard movement behind, felt a shadow fall felt-soft over him. He looked up groggily to find another similar figure stooping over him, this time in blood-red robes.
Jonah felt a fresh chill of fear, enough to stir his tongue. ‘Who’re you?’ he managed, as if knowing might help or matter as blackness tore away at the rest of his sight and coldness slipped through his veins like anaesthetic.
‘We will take away your pain,’ said a voice in halting English, and it was the last thing Jonah heard.
Tye had a map, but Motti refused to let her use it. ‘You don’t want anyone to think we’re tourists,’ he warned her. ‘We’ll look like easy marks.’
‘Motti,’ Patch complained, ‘you’re a bleedin’ map fascist. This is Pentonville Road, not the Bronx.’
‘He’s right, though, we don’t want to do anything that will draw attention,’ said Con, ‘from Heidel more than anyone else.’
‘So how do you suggest we find this auction house if we can’t check against the map?’ asked Tye wearily.
‘Shove it in a magazine or something,’ said Motti. The handheld RFID receiver was wedged in his jacket pocket, similarly out of sight. ‘Patch, go buy one from the news stand.’
‘Back in my old manor after all these years,’ Patch sighed, entering a grimy newsagent. ‘Lovely, innit.’
Not very, thought Tye. King’s Cross station sprawled behind them, trying hard to be presentable, but the surrounding neighbourhood had no such pretensions. The rubbish-strewn streets were busy with traffic and jammed-in shops, cafés and newsagents. Shabby cut-price B&Bs huddled together in terraces, as if fearing the clientele they attracted. Huge warehouses – massive hunks of mouldering brickwork – dominated the blocky horizon, their stained or broken windows staring out blindly over the sprawl. Tower cranes loomed silently overhead like heroic statues, symbols of regeneration and better times coming. But for every new office block and trendy bar presenting polished glass and brushed metal fronts, another building close by was blackening further in the fumes.
Tye had flown Coldhardt’s King Air 350 from Geneva to a small airport outside Oxford – just in c
ase 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.’