Chapter Twenty-Two
Coleman
No sooner is the car door closed than Coleman floors the accelerator, and the car glides almost soundlessly along the country lane. The noise of my belt clicking into place is louder than the crackle of tyres on the dried mud surface. When I look back through the rear window, the road is deserted.
“I couldn’t see what was coming down the drive,” says Coleman. “Only heard engines. Whoever it was didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Do you know how many there were?”
“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.”
We are almost upon a tunnel of trees arching across the road. When I turn to look at Coleman, he appears more animated than I remember him and seems to be enjoying himself. After a few moments of silence, he glances briefly at me.
“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 alreadypersuaded 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 meMr 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, whichmeans 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.