thing rattled as if the earthquake had shaken it loose from the building. But now was not the time for caution.
He unhooked one of the lengths of coiled rope from the scaffold and dropped it over the edge of the platform. It was too dark to see but he heard it patter on the pavement, four storeys down. The other end fed through a pulley and was secured to the platform. Gabriel leaned back on the rope to test it then stepped over it, feeding it round his right leg, over his back and round his left arm.
Part of his special forces training had included hours of abseiling — down buildings, from helicopters, off bridges. Usually this was done with a full kit of harnesses and descenders, but he had also done it with just a rope, using his bodyweight as the brake. It wasn’t comfortable but it was effective, and right now it was all he had. He jammed the gloves on to his hands, leaned back to create tension, and stepped off the platform.
The rope creaked and stretched as he started to descend. It was rough nylon cord, perfect for hauling up buckets of cement but not so great when it was digging into your flesh. With the correct gear he could rappel down four floors of a building in seconds, but if he tried that now he would take the skin off his hands, gloves or no gloves.
Gabriel turned his mind back to the cop, trying to gauge where he would be. Probably at ground level by now. He continued his careful descent, feeding the rope round his body as quickly as he dared until he sensed the pavement was near. He let go of the rope and dropped the last couple of metres, landing in a controlled crouch. He shook himself free, flicking the end of the rope out to see how much he had to play with.
Moving quickly to the ramp leading to the car park, he threw one end of the rope round the upright of the barrier-lifting mechanism and caught it with his free hand. He pulled it back across the space between the barrier and the wall, laying both lengths of rope flat to the ground and squatting by the outside wall where he couldn’t be seen from the car park. The whole thing had taken only a few seconds.
Now he just had to wait.
All around were the sounds of a city in distress: distant screams, raised voices, sirens of all kinds. He tried to zone it out and tune his hearing to the one specific thing he was seeking — the sound of someone running.
He wrapped both lengths of rope tight round his forearms to improve his grip.
Time stretched out. He thought of his mother lying alone in the dark, the poison spreading through her with every passing second. Leaving had been the only way to save her. He hoped to God he had made the right choice.
There was the crash of a door bursting open in the darkness of the car park and the hollow sound of boots pounding the concrete floor and heading his way.
Gabriel tensed. He replayed his own journey so he could judge the best moment to strike. He could picture the cop, his pace slowing slightly as he hit the upward slope of the ramp. He imagined his stride length. Gauged the number of steps it would take to reach the top.
Three.
Two.
One.
He yanked the rope upwards as a figure flashed into view. The cop’s legs hit the rope and he tipped forward, hitting the ground hard, his arms shooting forward just in time to stop his face from breaking his fall.
Gabriel was already on him.
He jumped on to the cop’s back, knees first, knocking the wind from him. Grabbing a handful of hair, Gabriel cracked his head down hard on the flagstones — too hard maybe — and had to stop himself from doing it again. Rage burned inside him now for what he had done to his mother, but he knew that killing the cop would be no kind of revenge: first he needed answers.
He shifted position and drove his knee into the small of the cop’s back, grinding it against his spine until his hands reached back to stop him. Looping the rope round them, Gabriel pulled it tight then reached into his pocket and brought his mouth close to the cop’s ear.
‘You forgot something,’ he said, holding the syringe in front of his face so the cop could see it. ‘You want to live?’ He jabbed the needle into the cop’s neck, making sure it hurt, and pushed the plunger all the way in. ‘Tell me what this is and I’ll get you the antidote.’
The cop went limp, the fight gone from him. Gabriel hauled him on to his back.
‘Tell me what it is.’
The cop stared up at him, his face a mask of confusion and fear. ‘Aconitine,’ he said. ‘One-way ticket. I hope you said goodbye to your mother.’
Gabriel wanted to beat the cop’s head against the pavement until the brains spilled out, but it would be a waste of what little time he had left. His eyes swam as he looked up at the dark window on the fourth floor. He wanted to go back and sit with his mother, hold her hand, make sure she wasn’t alone. He knew he should get away now before the lights came back on and someone found the cop. That would be the smart thing to do. That was what his brain was telling him. Instead he got up and ran back down the slope into the underground car park, heading for the stairs.
He couldn’t remember exactly how he made it up the five flights to his mother’s room. His legs were dead from the first run and his energy spent after the fight. He could feel the adrenalin curdling inside him, making him feel shaky and sick, but he kept reminding himself of the last thing he had said to his mother.
I’ll be right back. I promise.
Kathryn raised the gun as he stepped into the room, angling it up from where it lay on the bed, her arm too weak to lift it.
‘It’s me,’ Gabriel said, stepping towards her.
He took the gun and held her hand, struggling to find words to tell her that there was nothing he could do, that he had failed. In the end he said nothing; he could see in her face that she already knew.
‘Under the mattress,’ she whispered. ‘There’s a book.’ Gabriel slid his hand underneath and found it. ‘It will show you the way. Your grandfather gave it to me in death; now, in death, I give it to you. You will know what it means. It’s in your hands now. All of it is in your hands.’ She took a deep breath that scraped in her throat, like a rope was tightening around it. ‘Don’t let them find you here. Take this knowledge and go — use it against them. Let that be your vengeance.’
Another breath howled through her throat like a dry wind, then flowed back out again, long and deep. She stared into his face.
‘John,’ she said, her face lighting up with joy, ‘you came back. You came back for me.’
Gabriel swallowed his emotion at the mention of his dead father’s name. ‘Yes,’ he said, going along with her hallucination, ‘I came back for you.’
‘I missed you, John,’ Kathryn said, her eyes losing focus and her voice doing the same. ‘I always wondered why you never said goodbye.’
Gabriel tried to think of something to say, but realized he was too late. Kathryn’s eyes were still open but she could see nothing. He reached out with a nervous hand and pressed it into the still warm flesh of her neck.
There was no pulse. She was gone.
He felt a storm of anger rise up inside him again. The air flickered fitfully around him as if it was the raw power of his rage that was lighting up the night. The emergency lights had come back on again. In the golden glow of the low-wattage lighting his mother looked serene and beautiful, her dark hair framing her pale face, her skin smooth and unworried. The pain she had carried since his father’s death had gone now. Gabriel leaned down and kissed her, tears dripping from his eyes and on to her cheek. He reached out and rubbed them away with his thumb.
Sounds drifted down the corridor. He took one last look at his mother then turned and left the room, slipping the book into his pocket.
Take this knowledge and use it against them, she had said.
There would be time enough for grieving when all of this was over. Right now was the time for revenge.
He moved across the hallway to the desk against the wall with the two empty chairs either side — one for the cop and one for the priest. The cop was down on the street dying or dead. The priest was still unaccounted for.
He checked the signing-in sheet and noted all the room numbers that had been visited earlier in the day. He saw Arkadian’s name checked against room 410 — his mother’s room — and 406, which must have been Liv’s. The only other room number marked on the sheet was 400, the room where the last surviving Sanctus monk was being
