Coleman
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Two Land Rovers. Leblanc’s security cameras picked them out.”
“Two? Okay. Probably a routine check, then. But it’s anybody’s guess what that old bastard might tell them. Fortunately for us, we’re under cover of trees for almost a mile. After that, should be plain sailing.”
“Come on, Gabriel. I know you must be itching to know what’s going on.
Let me kick things off for you. Romano was keen to have someone close by in case things went south.
Yeah, I know him. Met him in with Albert once, and I instantly liked the guy.
When he phoned and called in this favour—well, I’d be lying if I didn’t hesitate—I told myself I’d do this for Albert.
And you, of course. Although don’t expect any heroics.
I am one of those rare Americans who has never held, let alone fired, a gun.
But as you can see, I am pretty good behind the wheel of this space-age jalopy. ”
I had never paid Coleman much attention back in my days at Callico House.
I’d sensed he liked Albert, but I’d dismissed him as entitled, ineffectual, and always in Victoria’s shadow.
If anything, he’d seemed a little pathetic.
Most of the time when I met him, he’d appeared to have been drinking, if not drunk. Had that been a ploy?
“But if I were you right now,” he says, probably seeing my hesitation, “I’d be wondering who I can trust. Can I ask, do you have faith in Romano?”
I nod because I trust Lorenzo with my life, and Romano and Bellacci have always had my back.
“All righty, then. Let’s call him up.”
Coleman has his phone fixed into a holder on the dashboard, and the screen is open to his text messaging system. He swipes or prods a finger repeatedly at the screen, and a call sound fills the car. Once again, I recognise the doctor’s calm tone.
“Mr Washington is helping us out. Mrs Bellacci told me she dropped you near Leblanc’s place.
If I knew you would be done so quickly, I would have asked her to wait, but I had already persuaded Mr Washington to pick you up when you’d finished.
I thought a familiar face might be good.
How did things go? And don’t worry, whatever you tell me can be shared with Mr Washington. ”
While Romano is talking, I hear Coleman mutter, “God, I wish he wouldn’t call me Mr Washington. Sounds like he’s talking about my goddamn father.”
I tell them about my arrival and all the things Leblanc disclosed.
I filter nothing, and although he concentrates on driving and not interrupting, I notice Coleman occasionally grimacing and shaking his head.
As I finish my account of what Leblanc told me, and before I tell Romano how Coleman helped get me free, I hear Coleman say almost inaudibly, “Fuck’s sake, Gabriel. Somebody, somewhere needs to burn.”
When I have finished, Romano takes a few moments to process what I have told him, so I pre-empt what he might ask.
“I haven’t had much time to process what he told me, but the timelines make sense, and I do remember having a flashback when we were at the coast in Tuscany of being on a burning yacht. Knowing there’s another Knight out there whose memory might be intact is also encouraging.”
Or is it? I only have Leblanc’s word that he did not euthanise the other Knight. Maybe somebody else did. And even if they did escape, wouldn’t he or she have been hunted down and neutralised the same way they planned to retire me?
“I understand. For now, let me update you from this end. The police are not looking for Aksel. Let us just say words were spoken to the commissioner in confidence and they no longer view you as suspicious. Moreover, the suspect has finally admitted to colluding with Puchinsky regarding the attempt on Sylvie Leblanc’s life.
As for her, she is recovering well. Although she is still in hospital, the police have a guard on her room twenty-four-seven as well as continued medical care, which means at least two people are there day and night.
Police, rather than hospital security, are monitoring any video feeds from her room.
She has been quite vocal about what she calls being overprotected, especially in the light of Puchinsky’s demise, but the arrangement is temporary because she is being released next week. ”
“Where will she go?”
“A mutually agreed secure location,” says Romano.
“And you may be interested to know that a piece of information I received anonymously provides a map reference and coordinates to the site of The Hartfield Institute. How reliable this is, I do not know, but I have sent the details to Mr Washington’s phone.
All that aside, Aksel, I need you to think carefully about your next move.
I was going to make suggestions, but with the information you’ve just provided, I want to make a few more discreet enquiries.
At some point soon, I would like you back here with the rest of your team. ”
And there it is. That simple expression he uses so casually. ‘Your team.’ Without conscious thought, I straighten in my seat. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel like I belong.
“In the meantime, Mr Washington has agreed to take you wherever you wish to go. Check in regularly. My number is in the phone Lorenzo gave you, in case you are separated. No doubt, once he is free, Lorenzo will want to call you, too.”
After Romano signs off, I gaze out of the window at the overhanging trees and hedgerows flashing past and the slowly moving windswept fields barely visible beyond. When I turn back, I notice Coleman prodding a finger repeatedly at the display on his phone.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, continuing his task.
“Fine. Hungry,” I answer, but I realise that’s not what he means.
“If I’d just found out I was created in a lab, raised as an experiment with no father or mother, I would be kind of freaking out right now.”
“Would you? According to Leblanc, male and female donors made my existence possible. Do I need to know who they are? Not really. How many thousands of people lead fulfilling lives without ever knowing their biological parents? The only thing that frustrates me is having no memory of those early days.”
Eventually, he turns and studies me briefly before concentrating on driving.
“Where are we heading?” I ask him.
“That depends on where you want to go.”
I stare down at the photograph still in my hands.
“The Hartfield Institute.”
“Check the satnav.”
When I lean over and check his phone on the dash, the satellite navigation app he has open reads Applecross as our destination. The route seems to take us back into Scotland to a spot on the northwest coast some three hundred miles away.
“What’s in Applecross?”
“According to the coordinates the good doctor sent us—which unsurprisingly my system does not recognise—the site where the institute was built is a couple of miles northwest of Applecross. As he says, this could be a bum steer, but I thought it might be worth a shot. What do you think?”
“Does this toy have enough triple-A batteries to get us that far?”
Coleman laughs aloud and relaxes a little at my joke. He seems different, more sober and alert than I ever remember him.
“This Californian-built prototype—a company I’m heavily invested in—has a full charge and can do just over a thousand miles.
Fuck those other motor companies run by their narcissistic egomaniacs, you are sitting in the future of electric travel, buddy.
We’re a couple of hiccups away from a fully driverless model.
So the answer to your question is that, yeah, we have more than enough juice for a round trip. Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.”
When I recheck the route, I notice Applecross is about eighty miles due west of the old farmhouse we stayed at last night. Coincidence? I decide to put that thought on the back burner for now.
“Any more questions?”
“How long have you known Romano?”
“Albert introduced us when I went to spec out his purchase in Monticiano. And yes, before you ask, I knew about his plans. I majored in structural engineering back in college and he wanted my opinion on how to restore the villa. But anyway, the day I got there, Albert was laughing with this distinguished-looking Italian guy who spoke flawless English and introduced himself as the local doctor. Only on our drive to Paris did Albert tell me many truths. And one was that Romano ran one of Italy’s most highly regarded special operations teams. Honestly, Gabe, I near flipped the goddamn car.
Not only knowing that about Romano, but the fact that Albert knew all this and was happy to get involved.
D’you know what else he said to me in the car? ”
I don’t, of course, so the question is moot, but I shake my head for his benefit.
“He said he hoped his family did come snooping around the place because the highly trained house staff had his permission to scare the shit out of them. He also told me the place had something to do with you and your future. But that’s all he said back then, no deets.”
“I saw you and Albert speaking together occasionally.”
“You know that old saying that every family has one bad apple? Well, Albert was the one good apple in a barrel of rotten fruit. Okay, enough about me. Albert said you were pretty sharp, so how about you exercise some of those superior grey cells and tell me why else you think I’m here.”
Coleman is smiling as he concentrates on the road ahead.
“Sylvie Leblanc.”
Coleman’s smile broadens, and he nods his head.
“Go on.”
“She’s the catalyst. You were friends with her in college, and Albert knew her through his work.”
“Which is how I met Victoria. Another story. Go on. You’re doing well.”
“Sylvie knew about my background, and I’m guessing that’s through her uncle. He told me she visited him at Honeycomb Cottage with a guest, which was when he gave her confidential information about the project, to be used only in the event that anything happened to him—”