25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Reunion
When I surface into consciousness, night has fallen.
I need a few moments to align myself with my surroundings, to my bedroom in Eagle House, where the patio doors have been propped open.
There must have been rain because the gentle fragrance of lemon and rosemary permeates the antiseptic odours surrounding me.
The room is lit by a standing lamp in the corner and by the dimmed displays of medical devices beeping softly to my right.
But I am alive.
When I see Lorenzo asleep on a seat to my left, an overwhelming and utterly foreign emotion fills me.
Part of me desires to pull him into my arms, while the other wants to observe, drink in his unique beauty and thank whoever can hear for keeping him safe.
His upper body has slouched forward onto my mattress, his head next to my lap, his hand in mine.
After a quick self-inspection—I am sure I’m still whole—I run my fingers through his hair.
He mumbles something but does not wake. My right shoulder is now bandaged professionally and secured in a sling.
Whatever medication they have me on has numbed any pain.
Recent memories float back. How did they get me from Scotland to Monticiano so quickly? But then I have no idea how much time has passed. I can only guess Romano pulled in a few favours. When I try to recall other events, my head pounds. Eventually I surrender to tiredness and drift back to sleep.
The next time I awaken, the first light of dawn glows from the balcony.
The chair next to my bed is empty. I assume Lorenzo has gone to get some rest, but then I hear movement from outside the room.
Lorenzo enters carrying a tray. When he sees I am awake, he falters to a stop for a split second, his eyes widening momentarily before he gains control and marches over.
“Mrs Bellacci made a special chicken pastina soup for you. Are you hungry?”
I realise I am and nod. He places the tray down and lifts a large mug, beginning to feed me from a spoon. I stop him with a hand on his wrist.
“You don’t need to do that, Enzo,” I say. Speaking is painful and my voice comes out gravelly. “I can feed—”
“No, I will do this. And while you eat, I will tell you what has happened.”
I know better than to argue. I thought whatever medications Romano has me on might dull my taste buds, but the first sip of soup brings them to life and soothes my throat.
Lorenzo tells me they were never called to Rome.
All this time, he and Mrs Bellacci remained at the safe house in Balchraggan, Scotland, awaiting instructions.
Romano, he tells me, will explain more later.
Mrs Bellacci believes that somebody high-ranking insisted that Romano’s team be ready, but remain in hiding in case I needed help.
Which meant that something big was going down.
When Romano eventually phoned to brief them, he’d explained how he had called in Coleman’s help.
Mrs Bellacci had not been impressed. But they’d had no choice, because the night before I arrived at Hartfield, they were transported in an RAF Wildcat helicopter and dropped directly into the grounds.
When the convoy of cars carrying M2 arrived, they had already taken up a vantage point in the water tower.
“The last thing I remember is you climbing the tower and giving Mrs Bellacci the rocket launcher. Did she manage to—”
“You doubt Mrs Bellacci’s skill?”
I smirk, and he mirrors my amusement before his smile transforms into a puzzled frown.
“But the drone malfunctioned, also. It was, I believe, a prototype, and may not have been fully tested. I don’t know.
We could see the pilot struggling with the controls, rising too quickly.
And then, as Mrs Bellacci began to take aim, they stopped moving and sat hovering in the same spot.
A sitting duck, I think you call it. She couldn’t miss.
Everything exploded into flames. Luck was with us that day. ”
The news is a relief. Nobody else can pursue Uncle’s mad dream. But luck is not something to which I assign much faith, and I wonder if someone on board the craft had not been as loyal to the old man as he believed.
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days. It’s Saturday morning already.”
“What time?”
“It’s six. Others will be awake soon and will want to see you.”
“If I felt better, we could—” I begin.
“Gabriel, I want to so badly. But Romano said you must rest. Your heart might have been damaged by the poison, and I have been warned that elevating your blood pressure could further harm you. I would prefer to have you in full health. Then I can do everything my heart desires without worry?”
This is a new side of Lorenzo, more cautious and less cavalier. I notice lines of worry beneath his eyes, and it dawns on me that he has been afraid.
“Of course. Yes.”
“Besides, I can hear voices downstairs.”
“Romano and Bellacci?” I ask.
“And Mr Washington, I think. Maybe your friends from London.”
“Friends?”
“Josh, is it?”
I stare at him for a few seconds, letting the news sink in.
“Josh is here?”
“Doctor Romano says this Josh—I have not met him yet—has been told what happened and knows you’ve been injured. Romano flew him out with his friend late last night. He thought you might appreciate having them here. I am sure I can hear their English voices downstairs.”
“But before you see them,” comes a familiar voice from the doorway. “I would like to speak to you.”
Strolling into the room, Romano is as fresh and dapper as ever and appears genuinely happy to see me. He comes over to the side of the bed and scrutinises each medical display before addressing me.
“Would you like me to leave?” asks Lorenzo.
“No, Lorenzo. It’s fine. You know most of what I have to tell,” says Romano before pulling a chair up to the side of the bed.
“As for you, Aksel. Quick thinking, telling Coleman to check your wrists. I found traces of a toxin compound similar to aconitine. When I got to you, you had an acute arrhythmia and were not far from going into cardiac arrest. I managed to stabilise you pretty quickly, but you’d lost a lot of blood. How are you feeling now?”
“Tired. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open.”
“To be expected. I have you on some powerful medication, but you are already recovering incredibly quickly. Do you feel up to a debrief?”
“Yes, please. I would like that.”
“Good. First of all, I’m sorry I couldn’t have the rest of your team alongside you all the way, Aksel—”
“Gabriel, please. I’m sticking with Gabriel from now on.”
Romano smiles and nods.
“As you wish. The reason I couldn’t provide more direct support is that your situation was both unique and sensitive.
Friendly forces were involved, and, for a time anyway, I could not be seen to be directly aiding you.
Which is why we helped from the shadows.
But in the end, we were working together to draw the key institute founder out from hiding without him suspecting anything.
You became the perfect bait, I’m afraid, and for that I must apologise. ”
“Lorenzo says they were shot down—”
“Mrs Bellacci does not miss, although launchers are not her forte. Nobody survived. And yes, before you ask, we scoured the wreckage. Everyone and everything was destroyed, including the samples.”
“How did M2 find out I was still alive?”
“Leblanc senior. He set the whole thing up for us. They were still in contact infrequently. After the attempt on her life that you thwarted, Sylvie called her uncle and told him you might go to see him in Carlisle, and begged him to help. She convinced him that you would need to see M2 as much as he needed to find you. She also suggested having Coleman there to assist you. Honestly, our American friend proved to be the ideal aide, even if he wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea. ”
A memory comes back easily, of Coleman crouching down to help me fire off shots, the man completely out of his comfort zone.
“Is he okay? Coleman?”
“He’ll be up soon. You can ask him yourself. I think more than anything, he’s relieved that you pulled through.”
I take a deep breath and let out a sigh, then wince at the pain.
“Dr Romano, is that really the end? M2 informed me he’d found someone else to take over his work, someone involved in illicit cloning.”
“There will always be rogue governments interested in this kind of research. And there will always be friendly agencies like ours ready to shut them down. In the meantime, here is what I have discovered about the Hartfield setup. Two retired ministers founded and led the Knights’ Watch, one of them a very senior figure.
We can put names to them now, though you don’t need them.
The sole surviving founder, Professor Srebro, known to you as M2, was supposed to be living out his final days in a nursing home in Zurich, suffering from pancreatic cancer. ”
“At least we helped put him out of his pain,” I say, but I can tell from the flash of Lorenzo’s eyes that he does not find my remark amusing.
“What happened to the other one?” asks Lorenzo.
“He took his own life. A year after the institute was shut down. Apart from the fact that he would have been in his mid-nineties by now, we have solid proof of his death. But if you wish to pursue this—”
“No,” I say firmly. “Enough. I know there’s an appetite among some to seek recompense for past sins, but I agree with what Sylvie Leblanc said in her note. I need to move forward.”
“He deserves to have a normal life,” says Lorenzo.
“Normal?” I say, smiling as Coleman’s words echo back to me.
“His life will never be normal, Lorenzo,” says Romano, checking his phone before popping the device into his pocket. “But maybe together we can work something out.”
“What’s your opinion, Dr Romano?” I ask. “Would you bring this to the attention of the public? Make sure nothing like this ever happens again?”