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Satisfied that she’s asleep, I pass the empty bottle to Moses. “Take that over to Caraksay and make sure it’s handed to Megan.”
“DNA?” He’s clearly on the same track as I am.
“That’s right.”
Megan is the resident medic on the island, and she was involved in the tissue matching when Aaron Savage’s son needed a new kidney. Young Jacob’s mother, Beth Sampson, is Aaron’s partner, and, I suspect, she’s the Beth who Ruth is searching for. The facts fit. Beth was adopted as a baby, and her adoptive mother was called Faith Sampson. Still is, in fact. Faith moved to Caraksay with her daughter and grandson to isolate during the Covid pandemic and has stayed there. I’m not sure about the father’s name, but they did run a pub in Newcastle.
If Ruth’s story is true, and I’m fast becoming reasonably certain it is, she must be genetically related to Jacob. She would be his aunt.
Megan will be able to have the DNA on the bottle analysed and cross-checked, and we’ll know one way or the other.
“I’ll text her to tell her it’s on its way and what to do with it.”
Moses takes the plastic bottle and hurries off to carry out my instructions.
Following another track now, I set the warrant card down on the foot of the bench and take a picture of it. I send that to Casey Savage. She’s Ethan and Aaron’s sister, currently in the US with her husband and baby but always happy to help out if we need her. Her personal superpower is IT, especially hacking. There’s no computer system in the world she can’t infiltrate, given time. The Cambridgeshire Police HR records should be a cinch.
I rattle off a quick text.
Can you check this out? I need to know if it’s genuine and what skills or specialisms this officer has. And what she’s currently working on.
I don’t really doubt the authenticity of the warrant card, but the more I think about it, the less likely I think it is that Ruth is here on police business. There are too many things not stacking up.
Why would Cambridgeshire Police be interested in us? Surely, if they were onto anything and mounting an investigation, we’d expect to get attention from Police Scotland, not some force in the south of England. And when did the police start sending lone officers to apprehend organised crime bosses? Our house and grounds have been thoroughly searched, and I know she came here alone. From what she’s said, and the way she reacted to my questioning, I’d lay money on her being a new officer, and inexperienced. Hardly the sort to send on special and dangerous missions.
But I’ll know soon enough, once Casey has had a sniff around the personnel records.
Once I have the answers I need, then I’ll decide what to do with my unexpected guest.
I stride to the door then pause. I glance back at her. Still unconscious. I expect her to sleep for a while yet. Her bare legs and hip are exposed, reminding me that she’s naked under my jacket. It does get chilly down here in the cells. She might not be warm enough. And if sheisBeth’s sister, that makes her family. Sort of.
We have plenty of guest rooms, and I daresay I can make one of them secure enough to contain Ruth Lowison, at least until we are certain of her identity. Then, I’ll decide what to do with her.
I return to Ruth and drag her into my arms, intending to carry her upstairs. As I straighten, the air around me erupts, hurling the pair of us halfway across the cell. We land in a heap on the stone floor.
What the fuck…?
I shake my head to clear it. There are shouts outside, in the corridor, and the pounding of boots. Male voices, men I don’t recognise. They’re yelling in a language I don’t understand, but I’m reasonably sure it’s Russian.
I grab my phone from my back pocket and bring up my speed dial, then hit the emergency signal. It serves to send a message instantly to various members of our organisation
Under attack. Need help.
Ethan Savage, Aaron, Tony, plus several more will be on their way here in seconds. Tony is close by, but the others are a helicopter ride away. Right now, it’s just me and the handful of men actually in the mansion. And for all I know they could be dead already.
Which just leaves me.
I take a moment to check that Ruth is uninjured. She’s still under the influence of the drug, her breathing is fairly even and her colour good. There’s no obvious external sign of injury, but the cell is filling up with smoke. Our attackers have detonated smoke bombs in the corridor to disorient us. I take that as an indication that they haven’t killed all my men, at least not yet.
Right. Showtime.
I pull the Glock from the back of my waistband and check it’s fully loaded, then I move Ruth into the space next to the door, on the hinged side. If anyone opens the door there’s a reasonable chance they won’t spot her unless they come right inside. I haven’t discounted the possibility that this is a rescue attempt aimed at freeing her, but my money is on Marlon, my other prisoner, as the most likely target.
At a crouch, I emerge onto the corridor. The commotion is coming mainly from my right, the direction of Marlon’s cell. It’s difficult to see through the clouds of billowing fog, so I edge closer until the silhouettes take clearer form.
Four men, two at the door, the other two inside with Marlon.
I take out the pair outside the cell in rapid succession, one bullet each. Then I step over the gory remains of the one closest to me, careful not to slip in the bloodstained pulp that was his head until moments ago. I press myself flat against the wall to avoid the hail of bullets spraying from the open cell door but don’t return fire. No point without a target.
