43

Kirkwall Airport
Orkney Islands, Scotland

“Put your weapon down!” Salem ordered Charlie. She hadn’t seen Alafair since London, hadn’t thought of her since she’d programmed Gaea to see who she worked for or with. It made no sense that she was in the Orkneys, but things had stopped making sense a while ago. “I know her.”

Charlie kept his gun trained on Alafair.

Alafair glared at Charlie through the window.

“Charlie,” Salem said. “Please.”

“If you tell me who she is,” Charlie said. His voice was a snarl.

“A freelance computer hacker.”

“Why’s she here?”

“I don’t know. Put your gun down and we can ask her.”

Charlie grumbled but complied, shoving his weapon into its holster. Alafair rolled her eyes and signaled for them to exit the car. They obliged, Salem keeping as much weight as she could off her wounded leg, Charlie scanning the perimeter.

“You’re far from home,” Salem said.

Alafair cocked an eyebrow. Her dark hair was loose, flowing down her back. She wore a leather jacket that fit her upper body like a brace, black jeans, and scuffed leather boots that zipped up her calf. “Not as far as you,” she observed. She studied Salem, pausing at each of her bruises, even the ones covered by cloth. “He found you,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“What do you want?” Salem asked. For all she knew, Alafair was an assassin working for the Order, though they probably didn’t hire women for that sort of work. Salem bit down on the laugh before it escaped.

“I want to give you a ride. To Dublin, and then Kildare.” Alafair pointed behind her, toward the terminal and the tarmac. Over a dozen people sat inside the building. Two small airplanes were parked. The flatlands of Scotland rolled for miles beyond that.

“The nearest plane is mine, and my pilot is waiting. I’ve also got a driver on the ground in Dublin. We can be standing at the foot of St. Brigid’s Cathedral inside of three hours.”

Salem and Charlie exchanged grim looks. “How do you know where we’re going?” Charlie asked.

“I can explain that in the plane, or we can talk about it here.” Alafair tipped her head toward Kirkwall. “You can just see the constable making his way over. Seems a gentleman recently entered the apothecary looking a little too tough for a regular fight, even for a Brit.”

Still, Salem and Charlie hesitated.

“A scientist has gone missing, as well. An American student hired out to help two FBI agents. Too soon to file a missing persons report, but there is interest,” she said, tapping the trunk of the car. “I’m sure the police would like to ask you about that, as well.”

“Not much of a choice then,” Charlie said, reaching into the car for the clean shirt. “If one of you can help me change, we can be on our way.”

Salem walked around the car to assist him. She tucked the old shirt under the seat and reached for their bags before casting a final look toward town. The Orkney police car’s bright yellow and blue decals were now visible.

“It’s quicker to walk across the tarmac,” Alafair said, “but we’d be in plain sight. Better to enter through the terminal and exit out the back.” She unzipped the front of her jacket and tugged out a phone. She spoke as she walked, taking one of the bags from Charlie to lighten his load. “We’re on our way. Three passengers total. Be ready for immediate takeoff.”

An airplane engine rumbled to life on the opposite side of the tarmac. Alafair tucked her phone away and addressed Salem. “Try not to limp if you can.”

Salem grimaced. She walked as naturally as she could, the butterfly strips tugging at her flesh but holding. Charlie threw back his head and laughed. The gesture startled Salem, but Alafair understood immediately, mimicking Charlie’s laughter.

Three regular people, sharing a joke.

The police car was close enough that Salem could see that it contained two officers. They didn’t appear to be speeding. She didn’t want to give them a reason to. At its current pace, the police vehicle would reach the parking lot in three minutes, which is how long it would take them to reach the terminal.

Alafair and Charlie carried on their fake conversation. Salem dragged herself behind. They entered the terminal. An elderly couple spotted them first, polite smiles dropping off their faces as they took in Salem and Charlie’s visible injuries. One look at their expressions and Salem realized they never would have been allowed to board a regular flight.

A child pointed, and a mother shushed them. A low hum traveled along the small terminal as more people whispered about the threesome. Once they were away from the glass windows, Alafair uttered a one-word command.

“Run.”

Salem did her best, tears of pain welling in her eyelids. Their feet pounded on the floor. Alafair led them toward the rear of the building. Salem kept up despite the agony, ignoring the dot of red that had appeared on her sweatpants. They left through an emergency exit, its wire cut. No alarm.

“Just ahead.”

Salem risked a glance back as they neared the plane. The police had parked in front of the terminal, two officers stepping out and stretching.

An oval-shaped door on the side of the plane opened and unfolded into steps. Alafair ushered Salem and then Charlie up them, taking up the rear. She began pulling the door closed behind, barking orders at the woman who had let them in. “We better be in the air before my ass hits that seat.”

The woman hurried to the cockpit. Alafair sealed the door, slamming it into place. Salem fell into the nearest seat, one of six, three to a side. The upholstery was out of date, the interior of the plane carrying a distinct 1970s esthetic, but it was clean, and it was getting them out of here. Charlie took the chair in front of her, and Alafair sat across from Salem.

The engine surged, the sound of the propeller roaring to life reaching the inside of the plane.

Alafair pointed to a silver rectangle on the side of her chair. “They swivel.” She pushed hers, and used her feet to turn Salem. Salem did the same, and then Charlie, so they were all facing each other.

“It’s time to talk,” Alafair said, her eyes glittering.

Salem fell stubbornly silent. Charlie, not so much. “Are you with the Order or the Underground?”

“Neither. Freelance.” Alafair leaned forward and Charlie pulled back. “Let me see your hand.”

He scowled.

She arched an eyebrow, smirking. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you hold your gun while I do it.”

Charlie offered his hand, still sullen. Alafair reached for it, feeling gently around the wrist, pushing up his sleeve to examine his forearm, levitating her hand just over the stump. She didn’t touch it, but the suggestion that she could made Charlie twitch.

Alafair held firm. “This is already infected. Feel for yourself. It’s giving off heat like a stove. What was used to cut off your finger?”

“I don’t know. I was unconscious.”

Alafair relaxed, a look like pity flitting across her face. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a particular horror to have things done to you when you’re asleep, yes?” She turned her attention to Salem. “Your leg is all right for now. Its blood is clean, and your cheeks aren’t flushed like your friend’s.”

Salem’s stubbornness melted. “Do you have anything to help him?”

“Not on the plane. We can pick up supplies when we land.” The unspoken fact that they would not visit a hospital lay solid between them.

“You lied about wanting me to help you find Rosalind Franklin’s research,” Salem accused.

Alafair watched her, mirth dancing in her eyes. She was waiting for Salem to put the pieces together.

It took Salem only seconds, the puzzle falling into place as the plane shuddered off the ground. It shouldn’t have taken her that long. Photo 51. She’d thought it was part of the 8CH3COOH code, but it wasn’t. It was the signature of the woman who’d left the code. “Franklin is the one who added on to the Stonehenge train.”

Alafair’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve never been able to prove it, but I believe so.”

“Her DNA research is at the end of the train?” Salem asked.

“That’s our best bet. And not just Franklin’s research. A treasure of women’s wisdom, if the rumors are true. Scientific discoveries, medical breakthroughs, poems and plays—all of it either hidden or incorrectly attributed to men all these years.”

“That would be something,” Charlie said, but his words slurred. He started to slump but then sat up straight. “You’re Indigo.”

His words puzzled Salem, until she remembered the super-wealthy, clandestine, and independent cryptanalysis group Gaea had uncovered. Her eyes flew to Alafair, who was watching Charlie with a peculiar focus.

“That would be quite a thing if I were,” Alafair said by way of a response. She stood and walked over to a cabinet. She opened a pill bottle and grabbed water, bringing both back to Charlie. “I can’t imagine it will touch the bone pain, but it’ll keep your fever at bay until we have something stronger.”

Charlie took both without argument. His hands were shaking so much that he dropped the pills. Salem handed them back to him, horrified at how quickly the infection had set in. What she had thought was good cheer as she’d cleaned his wound was the pre-glow of blood poisoning. Charlie popped three pills into his mouth, followed by a glug from the water bottle.

“Finish it,” Alafair commanded, pointing at the water. “Take as much fluid as you can keep down. You too, Salem. You’re the color of snow. Not a pretty shade for a half Persian.”

Salem sipped the water she was offered. Her stomach clutched, pushing back, and then once it realized what it was, begged greedily for more. Salem downed the bottle. “May I have another?”

“Wait to see how long that one stays down,” Alafair cautioned. “They don’t make this carpeting anymore.”

“You knew we’d be at the Gloup?” Salem asked.

“I hate to hurt your spy feelings,” Alafair said, directing her derision in Charlie’s direction, “but you are not the first to track it this far. I’ve no idea who first discovered that Stonehenge was a code, or when, but the rumor has been alive longer than my great-great-great-grandmother. The reports of treasure at the end—jewels and gold, originally—created a great interest in Stonehenge.” She cocked her head. “I know of two groups that cracked the Underground’s original code—the Order and the Roma. My people followed the Stonehenge clue to Stenness, then the Ness of Brodgar, which got us to the Gloup, and the jeweled box. What took us centuries, you solved in a day.”

Her tone made it more annoyance than compliment.

“I have seen St. Brigid’s cross inside that box, ran my fingers across the 8CH3COOH carved into the back, as have many of my ancestors. They were after jewels. Me? I was there in the hopes that the rumors that Rosalind Franklin had been sent by the Underground to move the treasure were true. Because if they were, that meant that her discovery of a way to reverse paralysis could also be true.”

“But if you’ve seen the cross, then it’s already sent you to St. Brigid’s,” Salem argued.

“Aye. My people’ve probably written a bloody folk song about it, that clue’s been around so long. But I’ve never been able to definitively connect the jeweled box to Rosalind Franklin, and no one among us, not the Roma or the Order, have ever solved it beyond St. Brigid’s. It was a gentleman’s agreement, I suppose, that we both left the jeweled box at the Gloup. Our only chance at getting to the riches of the ages was for someone to crack its secret, to discover the meaning of the code on the back of the cross.”

“How long will it take us to get to Ireland?”

“Two hours.”

“And then to Kildare?”

“Another hour.” Alafair pursed her lips. “I don’t know if the devil’s on your side, but today is Kildare’s fall festival, celebrating the equinox. It will be easy to blend in, for you as well as those hunting you.”

Charlie snuffled. He had drifted into a troubled sleep.

“Best thing for him,” she said, her tone gone acid. “That’s the Grimalkin’s work, amputating a finger after he has knocked you out. You spend the rest of your life wondering what else he took from you.”

“Are you going to protect us?”

Alafair raised an eyebrow. “The Roma as well as the Indigo are neutral in all matters historical and political. Our interests have crossed over in this, yours and mine. I will help you if it will help my brother, but I speak only for myself.” She lifted her nose in Charlie’s direction. “How well do you know him?”

“He saved my life. If he hadn’t gotten the rope down to me, I never would have made it out of the Gloup.”

Alafair nodded thoughtfully. “He is familiar to me, but I don’t know how. And I don’t trust him.”

Salem didn’t tell her that Charlie worked for MI5. She knew him better than she knew Alafair and intended to protect him as he had protected her. “If we crack the Stonehenge code, and Rosalind Franklin’s research is found, how long until her cure would be a reality?”

“We have scientists who have the equipment. We just need the data. Depending on how advanced it is, months. Maybe even weeks if she’d tested it herself.”

That made up Salem’s mind. She reached for her overnight bag, into which she’d transferred the jeweled box. “I have something to show you.”