The Cross

Chapter Forty-Three

London

Horns blared angrily and headlights flashed as Ash cut up the afternoon traffic. After years of drifting around the countryside on foot it had been a long time since he’d been at the wheel of a car, and the fast BMW Gabriel Stone had provided for him was a thrill to drive. He could get used to this, he thought as he carved aggressively through another narrow gap, forcing a bus to squeal its brakes.

He wasn’t so sure he could get used to the suit and tie, though, or the false teeth he had to wear. He’d ditch them as soon as he could. Till then, they were all part of Stone’s plan and Ash wasn’t about to question the strict, detailed orders he’d been given.

Ash’s blinded eye had stopped suppurating now, but the lids were badly swollen shut and the black bruise had spread from cheekbone to eyebrow. He didn’t care about the pain, any more than he did about his lacerated right forearm. The pain just drove him on harder.

He smiled to himself as he glanced at the slim attache case on the passenger seat. Inside, surrounded by a thick layer of lead lining, the cross nestled in a bed of soft velvet. He’d listened intently as Stone described exactly what he was to do with it. In order to become what he wanted to be, first he must destroy many of his future kind. Ash wasn’t interested in the reason why. There was nothing he wouldn’t destroy to win his reward. A whole undiscovered dreamworld had opened up in front of him and nothing could possibly stand in his way.

Which made it all the more frustrating when the traffic up ahead suddenly thickened and slowed to a standstill. More horns honked and blared impatiently all around him, but this time they were directed at the snarl-up that seemed to be caused by an accident a couple of hundred yards further up the street. An ambulance and a cop car were pulled up at the side of the road. In the flashing blue of their lights, Ash caught a glimpse of paramedics carting some old guy into the back of the ambulance.

He thought about the blood-encrusted sword that lay wrapped up in his old greatcoat in the BMW’s boot. The old Ash, the one who hadn’t given a fuck about anything except killing people, would have got out of the car right now, popped the boot open and taken the sword out. These people who dared block his progress would soon have got out of the way when he started chopping a path through them. Police? Bring ‘em on, he’d have thought to himself. Fuck ‘em.

But that had been then, and this was now. Now things were different. Now he had something to lose by being reckless. And something to gain — an unimaginably huge amount to gain — by being smart.

As he watched, he saw a policewoman threading her way back down the line of waiting traffic, pausing to speak to the drivers. He sat impassively with his hands resting on the wheel until she reached his BMW, then rolled his window down and gave her a smile. It had been years since Ash had been able to smile without scaring a fellow human being half to death.

‘There’s been an accident up ahead, sir,’ the policewoman said, with a discreet glance at his bad eye. ‘Afraid there’s going to be a bit of a hold-up.’

‘Rotten luck. I hope nobody was hurt.’ Ash thought his put-on middle-class accent was pretty good. ‘Problem is, I’m in a bit of a hurry, officer.’ He reached across to the passenger seat and flipped open the catches of the attache case to show her what was inside. ‘I’ve been restoring this old cross for St Mary’s. The bishop is attending a service there in just a few minutes’ time, and was going to bless it. I’ve been working on it day and night.’ He pointed at his eye. ‘Which as you can see is hard for me to do, with my illness. Still, my faith keeps me going.’

He worried that he might have overdone it with that last part, but the policewoman cocked her head sympathetically and tutted. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘They’re going to be so disappointed,’ Ash said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t suppose there’s another route I could take?’

The WPC thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what we’ll do,’ she said.

Two minutes later, Ash was driving the wrong way up a one-way sidestreet guided by the kindly female officer, think ing about the blood-crusted sword he was carrying in the boot and how much he’d like to run its point through the bitch’s throat. As he reached the end of the street, he paused to call out ‘God bless you’, waved and accelerated off on his new route. Taking out the phone he’d been given, he called up the only number in its memory and said, ‘I’m almost there.’

The irritated voice on the other end was Gabriel Stone’s. ‘Drive quickly,’ Gabriel commanded him. ‘And remember above all to keep the cross inside the case until the very last minute. They must not sense its presence while they still have any possibility of escape.’

‘Trust me,’ Ash said, and ended the call. He pressed harder on the accelerator. The engine note climbed. Green lights all the way, and every rotation of his wheels was carrying him a little closer to his own personal heaven.

Less than a mile away across London, Gabriel Stone’s double agent inside VIA was pacing nervously in the locked office, glancing every few seconds at the time. It was getting late. Soon, many of the VIA staff would be leaving for home. The man must surely be almost here by now. Carrying it. Just to think of it was enough to make any vampire shudder.

A growl of an engine from outside, and a squeal of tyres: far below, down in the car park, the headlights of Alex Bishop’s black Jaguar were blazing into life. It roared out of its space and skidded off, leaving a twin trail of rubber.

Shit. That hadn’t been supposed to happen. Where was she going?

The double agent burst out into the corridor and ran to Bishop’s office. The door was slightly ajar, and there was nobody inside. At Bishop’s desk were the telltale signs of someone leaving in a hurry: the laptop still whirring quietly, the swivel chair rolled back across the carpet, the desk lamp still lit, the polystyrene cup of VIA vending-machine blood still pleasingly lukewarm to the touch.

‘Now then, Bishop, where are you running off to in such a rush?’ Flicking a key on the laptop made its screen pop into life. It showed a Google Maps close-up satellite image. Green fields, white beach, rocky cliffs and, perched up high on top of them overlooking the sea, a big house that from overhead looked like a castle with its turrets and courtyard.

‘Bal Mawr Manor,’ the double agent read from the screen, then pressed the ‘back’ key to bring up the previous website that Bishop had been looking at: www.theylurkamongstus. com.

The double agent took out the mobile phone and hurriedly redialled the secret number. ‘It’s me again. We’re too late. Bishop’s gone. She just left in her car, heading for some place in west Wales called Bal Mawr Manor, Newgale, Pembrokeshire.’

‘A minor setback,’ Gabriel Stone said on the other end of the line. ‘We will deal with her separately.’ He seemed in much lighter spirits now, which only made his insider vampire more nervous. ‘I was just on the verge of calling you myself,’ he chuckled.

‘What for?’ the double agent asked worriedly, gripping the phone tightly.

‘To suggest that you leave the building immediately, if you value your hide,’ Gabriel said. ‘Ash is downstairs.’