The Key

39

Gabriel sprang at the shape on the bed, hitting it full on and driving it into the wall. The man was big and solid and undoubtedly armed, but Gabriel had landed on top, giving him the slightest of advantages.

He grabbed the man’s right hand — the one most likely to be holding a weapon — and smashed his elbow hard into the wrist, shocking the tendons into release. There was a grunt of pain and something clattered away in the dark, too light to be a gun. Gabriel yanked the hand away and caught a glimpse of the man beneath him — not the priest but a cop. He grabbed for his holster, but the cop had got there first. His gun was already halfway out and angling up. Gabriel grabbed it and lunged forward with his head. He felt a wet crunch as the thick bone of his forehead connected with the soft cartilage of the cop’s nose. His grip on the gun tightened reflexively in response to the pain — but there was no shot. Whatever make it was, the gun came with a safety catch, and it was still on.

Gabriel wrenched it more violently now he knew it wasn’t going to fire, jerking it upwards in a series of sharp tugs to twist it away from the cop’s grip. He drove his head forward again, drawing a fresh grunt of pain and feeling wetness on his forehead where blood was flowing from the first blow. With a final violent tug, the cop’s finger snapped and Gabriel pulled the gun from his hand.

The cop cried out in pain and thrashed against the floor in panic, knocking Gabriel forward so his head hit the wall, dazing him slightly while the cop continued to buck beneath him in an attempt to get free. Gabriel had the gun now but was holding it by the barrel. Things were moving too fast to shift it into a firing position so he lashed out instead, using it like a hammer. His first blow glanced off the cop’s head. Then a fist crashed into his side, bruising his kidneys and knocking the wind from him. He drew his arm back again but the cop kicked out and got lucky. He connected with Gabriel’s arm and the gun went clattering away into the darkness.

Now neither of them had it.

The cop seized the opportunity and scrambled to his feet, vaulting over the bed and out of the room. Gabriel rolled after him, pausing by the door and ducking his head outside to scope the corridor, keeping it low in case the cop had a second gun. He needn’t have worried. The cop’s only intention was to get away. Gabriel saw him disappear round the corner leading back to the main building. He considered giving chase, but his legs were too tired from the sprint up the stairs and there was something more serious bothering him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and used the light to locate the gun. It was a Beretta PX4 — not exactly standard police issue. He picked it up, checked the safety and slipped it into his waistband. Then he turned to the still figure of his mother on the bed. The thing that had been troubling him was her silence. She hadn’t moved or said anything since he had flown across the room and knocked away her attacker.

‘Hey,’ he said, leaning in close. ‘You OK?’

He shone the light of his phone into her face. She looked deathly pale, but her eyes were open. ‘Gabriel,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I knew you would come.’

He took her hand and held it in his. Her eyes seemed to look straight through him.

He noticed something on her neck and moved the light over for a closer look. Blood leaked from a small, ragged puncture wound. Too small to be from a knife. The jagged edge suggested that whatever had made it had been torn free when he knocked the cop to the floor. He swept the light over the room and saw the syringe sticking out from under the bed, the plunger pushed most of the way in. He picked it up, sniffed it. There was no odour. The liquid inside was clear. It could be anything, anything that would render an adult instantly immobile.

He looked into his mother’s face holding up the syringe. ‘He injected you with something. I need to get a doctor. Find out what it is. See what they can do to flush it out. You just hang tight, OK?’ He made a move to leave but Kathryn gripped his hand. ‘Stay,’ she said. ‘It’s too late. You’ll never find anyone in time. I can already feel it working.’

Raw anger boiled inside him. He knew she was right. Even if he managed to find a doctor, the chances of persuading him to run an emergency tox test in time to administer an antidote were slender. But he refused to give in. There had to be a way. He was standing in a hospital and somewhere in this building there was something or someone that might save his mother’s life. Then he realized exactly what it was.

He thrust the gun into her hand. ‘If the cop, or the priest, or anyone else comes back to do you harm, then use this. I’ll be right back. I promise.’

Then he kissed her on the forehead and darted from the room.