The Bloodline Cipher by Stephen Cole Page B

around the corner, as Sadie reached the top of the stairs where Patch’s body was sprawled. She crouched as if to make sure he was dead – and then Patch lashed out with both legs, catching her in the stomach and propelling her backwards. She gasped, and as Jonah heard her tumble and crash back down the stairs he felt a savage satisfaction. Patch scrambled up and staggered over to join them.
    â€˜That was brilliant, Patch,’ said Jonah, putting an arm round him. ‘You OK?’
    â€˜No, it bloody hurts.’ Patch pulled up his top to expose a huge, red-purple bruise spreading over his skinny stomach. ‘Kiss it better, Con?’
    â€˜Shut up, Patch,’ she said quietly. ‘Jonah, how did these people know we were coming? How do they know us by name?’
    â€˜How many rivals must Coldhardt have, how many enemies?’ Jonah shook his head helplessly. ‘Take out his workforce, you shut down his operations.’
    Con swore. ‘Now they can get the manuscript and execute us at the same time.’
    â€˜I told you I had a bad feeling about tonight,’ said Patch miserably.
    â€˜Time we split,’ said Jonah. ‘At least with security dealt with we don’t have to wait for Tye to break open the gates.’
    â€˜But we can’t go back the way we came,’ said Patch. As if for emphasis, fresh footfalls started to pound a ragged rhythm on the staircase behind them. ‘Sounds like the bitch is back.’
    â€˜And where’s her mate?’ Jonah licked his dry lips. ‘We don’t know how many of these bastards there are. If any of them reach the west wing staircase ahead of us …’
    â€˜We’ll be cut off!’ Con realised.
    As one, the three of them sprinted away.
    It was maybe fifty metres across the gravel to the nearest lit window in the looming grey stonework. Tye covered the distance in seconds, Motti following close on her heels. White curtains shielded the room from sight.
    â€˜Surely someone would have heard the crash and come looking by now?’ said Tye breathlessly.
    â€˜Unless they’re too busy,’ Motti suggested, ‘taking care of stuff –’
    He broke off as suddenly the curtains jumped open and a girl’s face slammed up against the window. Motti stepped back in alarm as she beat her palms against the glass, like she was trying to get out. Tye felt her stomach twist. The elfin-looking girl looked maybe eighteen, her eyes as wild as her shoulder-length red hair, terrified. A large brown birthmark stained her chin and neck, but she hadn’t been born with the gash on her pale cheek. Someone grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair and yanked on it savagely, tearing her away from the glass.
    Then the window was flung open and Tye quicklyflattened herself against the wall as another girl’s face appeared, peering out across the driveway. She was older, early twenties perhaps, black with dyed blonde hair, straightened and scraped back off her high forehead.
    But Tye didn’t get much more of a chance to study the face before Motti punched it. The girl grunted with pain and staggered back out of sight. Tye flashed him a
what was that?
look.
    â€˜We don’t got our lockpick with us,’ Motti hissed to Tye, climbing quickly inside. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth –’
    â€˜â€“ when you can smack it there instead?’ Tye followed him into a simple study, her empty gun at the ready. The black blonde, dressed in a grey pinstripe trouser suit, was getting to her feet, dabbing delicately at her nose, collected and aloof. The redhead, meanwhile, sat curled up and cowering beneath a big wooden desk in the corner – no threat. Tye noticed the black girl had bloodied knuckles and kept the gun trained on her.
    â€˜Red there don’t look like a pro housebreaker to me,’ Motti said, turning to the girl he’d hit. ‘And since you were beating up