Blood Junction Read online

  Bishop stood in the doorway, one ankle hooked around the other, arms crossed, watching her.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said.

  India felt a shiver run over her skin at his tone. Soft. With undertones of wonderment and surprise. She forced her hand to do up another button. There were seven on the shirt, and she’d only buttoned two. She had started from the bottom, had five more to go. Her hand slid to the next button. Bishop stood upright, came and stood in front of her. She took a step back. He said, "Don’t!" so intensely that she stopped.

  He raised his right hand and, with his forefinger, traced the line of her jaw. His touch was both sensuous and frightening, and she could feel her breathing falter.

  Her hand slid up to the third button, fastened it. Bishop stroked her fiercely arched brows, then her lips, his expression absorbed, intent. She fastened the fourth button, her fingers fumbling.

  Mikey was right. Oh, God, he was right.

  Bishop dropped his hand and captured hers before it could slide to the fifth. Slowly, he brought her hand up and turned it over, so her wrist was exposed. He stared at her beating pulse for several seconds, then raised his hand and looked at his own.

  India didn’t dare move.

  Gently, he pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, feeling the pulse there, then with his other hand did the same to himself. She stood utterly still while he felt the blood pulsating through their veins.

  He sighed. A long, slow sigh that could have been regret but could have been deep pleasure, she never knew.

  Bishop withdrew his hands, let them hang by his sides as he gazed at her. Then he gave himself a shake and bent over to pick out a pair of jeans. “These should fit. Size ten.” He passed them to her.

  Unsteadily, India took the jeans and slid into them while Bishop rummaged in the bottom of the cupboard. He pushed a pair of Timberlands towards her. “Size thirty-eight, right?”

  “Right,” she echoed.

  He handed her a vast fisherman’s sweater, waited until she’d pulled it over her head. “Cute,” he said, and with a grin, boyish as a ten-year-old’s, ruffled her hair with one hand.

  India stared at him.

  “What are you waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go.”

  With Mikey on the metal floor, Curran on the rear seat and India in the co-pilot’s, Bishop eased the helicopter’s engines out of idle. The thumping increased to a shuddering buzz and India pushed her headset closer to her skull, trying to block out the noise.

  “Okay?” she heard Bishop say. His voice was surprisingly clear through the headset. She nodded and immediately felt the aircraft rise off the grass.

  The helicopter lifted straight up, well above the trees, then eased away from the house until it was facing north. The nose dipped forward and it accelerated hard. The engine settled to a steady roar. Although the storm had lessened it was still raining and water streamed over the Plexiglas, making it difficult to see the coastline flashing past below.

  India twisted her mouthpiece and spoke into it. “Where are we headed?”

  “The Royal Adelaide Hospital.”

  “How long?” she said.

  “About forty minutes. All going well. It’s not the best weather for flying.”

  She took in the black clouds and spray. “No. I guess not.”

  He fiddled with a dial and called up Adelaide Radar and explained the situation, where they were headed, that they had . wounded on board and could they please have every assistance?

  Of course, said the tower controller. We’ll be with you every inch of the way.

  Five minutes on, a small clump of houses came into view, then what appeared to be an average-size town. Bishop swung the helicopter around to follow a road snaking through the bush. India craned forward, staring down.

  “Next marker, Meningie,” said Bishop.

  The helicopter was hurtling above the road, nose down, flying fast. There was little traffic. Everybody had taken shelter from the storm. Then they were above the Princess Highway and following the coastline.

  India stared at the ocean. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because.” Bishop shrugged.

  “Why did you change sides?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “I was always on the same side.”

  She looked over at him.

  “Your side,” he said.

  She kept looking at him.

  “Why?”

  He was quiet for a long moment, then turned to meet her eyes.

  “Families should always stick together.”

  Her stomach gave a little lurch. “I’m sorry?”

  “Families,” he said again, “should stick together. Don’t you think?”

  She was staring at him, her skin crawling.

  “I mean, I know we’re at opposite ends here, me with my mercenary work and you trying to blow the lid on our little operation, but I still couldn’t throw you to the wolves.” His head tilted slightly to the side and his eyes narrowed as though puzzled. “I don’t know why that is. It’s not as though I know you. Or that we’re at all alike. I’d never have swum out so far from Manly, for instance. Or trusted that Aboriginal copper.”

  India felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs.

  “Mind you, you’re quite tough for a woman. A lot of stamina. I was really proud of you, the way you survived in the bush for so long. Dodged the dogs and the trackers.”

  She sat there, wondering if this was real, if any of it were real, or whether she would wake up in a minute and marvel at herself for imagining the clear calm voice coming through her headset.

  “Toby?”

  “David Bishop’s a much better name, don’t you think? Toby reminds me of a little round clockwork toy, or a tubby bank clerk. You grow into a name, I reckon, and I didn’t want to grow into my real name so I chose another when I turned seventeen and stuck with it.”

  No wonder they had lost him, she thought.

  “But they said you were black.”

  He chuckled. “I was. Black as pitch. When I was born anyway. But by the time I was four I was pale as a ginger biscuit.” He angled his elbow to lie against her wrist. “Almost the same color.”

  A trail of misty vapor whipped past and suddenly they were in cloud and had lost sight of the ground. Bishop immediately dropped the helicopter, searching for the cloud base. The aircraft was hit by turbulence and tossed sideways. Bishop slewed it back and swung around, still dropping the nose.

  India was gripping the sides of her seat, palms clammy.

  Then they were below the cloud, buzzing a thousand feet above Coorong National Park, rain spattering on the screen.

  “You’re saying you’re my brother,” she said weakly.

  He shot her a grin. “One hundred percent.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure all right.”

  “But you can’t be.”

  “Okay. So who paid your bail?” he said. “Who set up the Abo cop to take the murder raps?”

  Pause. Beat. “You paid my bail?”

  “Sure did. But you don’t owe me anything. That’s what brothers are for.”

  “So who’s Arthur Knight?”

  He chuckled. “King Arthur’s a guy I’ve always admired. I chose Knight because I’ve always fancied myself in shining armor.” He peered at a dial in front of him and slanted the craft eastwards a fraction. “Cops. They bleat they don’t want dirty money but when there’s two hundred and fifty grand in cash in front of them … well, when they start to ask questions, all you’ve got to do is show them a badge.”

  “Are you a fed?”

  “Not really.”

  When she remained silent he continued. “I’ve been watching out for you, you know. It’s been a bit difficult to manage it without compromising myself, but I did my best. Like trying to warn you off with that kangaroo. Arriving in the nick of time to stop Knox from shooting you in the warehouse.”

  “How did you know”
—she paused, marshalling her strength—“we were related?”

  “Your friend Lauren wrote to me.” He raised his hips, withdrew a crumpled envelope from his back pocket and passed it to her.

  India extracted a single sheet of paper.

  She felt her throat constrict when she saw the familiar handwriting.

  Dear Mr. Bishop,

  I have drafted this letter many times and cannot find a way to soften what I want to say, so I will be blunt.

  I have a very close friend, my best of friends, India Kane. She has no family that she is aware of, but over the past few months I have managed to trace over sixty of her relatives, including yourself.

  India Kane is your sister. She doesn’t know you are alive. I think it would be great for you guys to be reunited…

  She let the letter fall to her lap. “How on earth did she find you?”

  “She’d managed to trace the ad I placed in the Sydney Morning Herald, announcing my change of name. She found it via their archive. Talk about tenacious.” He stared through the windscreen. “I’m sorry about Lauren. I really am.”

  “What do you know about her murder?”

  He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl.

  “What is it?”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “In what way, a mistake?”

  “My mistake.”

  A sensation of dread curled around India’s heart. She took a deep breath.

  “You killed her?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  Disbelief and horror flooded her. Time rolled past. Five minutes. Ten. Homesteads became more numerous. Roads converged below. They had reached the outskirts of Adelaide.

  “How … why …” She couldn’t think what to say.

  “She met Peter Ross and that young copper, Terence Dunn. They all knew about the Institute. Lauren had to go. As a potential threat, that is, not as your friend.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “I know. It’s a bugger. I wish I’d got Ross first, then Lauren would still be around. But as it is …”

  India was staring at him. She felt lightheaded and faintly sick.

  “Don’t you feel any regret?”

  “Regret?” He sounded surprised. “Well, I guess so. I mean, I’ve looked out for you as best I could. You could say I doubled my attentions over you because of my previous cock-up. Not that it was my fault. I didn’t even know you or Lauren existed when I went out that night. I hadn’t got the letter then. At the time I was just doing my job: terminate whoever Dunn was meeting, and they happened to be Peter Ross and Lauren Kennedy.”

  “Jesus,” she said again.

  “But life does go on and all,” he finished.

  He’s a psychopath. He has to be, not to feel any remorse.

  “Nearly there.” He started to ease the helicopter downwards.

  India sat back, chilled with horror. She stared at the windscreen, utterly silent. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was barely aware of them and made no move to brush them away.

  Bishop drifted the helicopter over the helipad and hovered briefly, then set it gently down on the asphalt. One of the hospital doors burst open and a crowd of people spilled out and ran over. Four in white uniforms; doctors and nurses. Several policemen. And Stan.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stanley Bacon … Isn’t he on your payroll?”

  He flung back his head and laughed. “God, no! Old Stan’s straight as a die, a perpetual thorn in our side.” He started to slide off his headset, but she stopped him with a touch on his arm.

  “Who, then?”

  He looked at Stan and said, “Donna. My guess is she’s spilled the beans or he’d never be within cooee of here, even with that coast guard helicopter buzzing past when it did.”

  “Thanks,” said India. She clicked her belt free, pulled off the headset, and swung open the door.

  Stan reached them first. He pulled out India, covering her head with his hand as though to protect her from the rotors spinning above. The downdraft tore at their clothes. Curran clambered out behind her, helped two doctors ease Mikey onto a stretcher. India pulled herself away from Stan and leaned inside the cockpit, shouting at Bishop, “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “No.”

  “How can I reach you?”

  “You can’t.”

  “But I want to—”

  “I’m out of here,” he yelled. “Gone for good.”

  He released his harness and leaned across to hook his hand around her neck. Gave it an affectionate shake like he had on the beach. She put her hand over his briefly. Then he withdrew his hand, belted up and gestured for her to close the door. He snapped it shut from inside. Then the helicopter’s engine note rose. She watched his movements at the instruments, economic and precise. Bishop waved everyone away from the machine. Stan was tugging her back from the aircraft.

  “India,” Bishop mouthed at her.

  She mouthed, “Toby.”

  He shook his head, made a slashing movement across his throat.

  “David,” she mouthed.

  He gave her the thumbs-up. Then the helicopter was rising, soaring into the air. The last India saw of her brother was as he banked the aircraft sharply around, to go back the way they’d come. His face was absorbed, glancing at his instruments, then looking ahead. Concentrating on the job in hand.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SUNDAY MORNING, INDIA WAS DOZING IN MIKEY’S BED. HE had an arm hooked over her hip and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

  So whatcha think of my Chrissy present?

  You certainly outdid yourself.

  Yeah, didn’t I just. Found out your skin name yet?

  No. But Polly’s started calling me Damala, as in the ancestral eagle hawk, because she says I’m so brave.

  Sounds good to me. The bad guys behind bars yet?

  Pretty much. One scientist, a Chinese man, hasn’t been found yet, but Willis and Roycroft are under lock and key. Neither made bail.

  Good on you, girl.

  India could hear a phone ringing. She opened her eyes. The ringing stopped. There was a tap on the door. “It’s for you, India,” called Whitelaw.

  She scrambled out of bed and pulled on Mikey’s bathrobe. Mikey made a snuffling sound and rolled onto his front. She padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She went and gave Whitelaw a good-morning kiss on his cheek before picking up the phone.

  “I’m out, Indi. They discharged me yesterday.” He sounded dull and dispirited.

  Short silence.

  “I gather I’ve your brother to thank for my life. Shooting up the warehouse when he did.” India felt her breathing catch. “The man who took Lauren’s life saves mine. Christ. I’m having some trouble with this as you can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

  “Not your fault.” She heard his sigh gust into the receiver. “Any news of him?”

  “Gone for good, I’d say. He flew the helicopter back to Knox’s beach house and took the boat. At least that’s what we think, since his Beemer was still there. A fishing trawler found the Bertram drifting off Port MacDonnell. Nobody was aboard, but he wouldn’t have drowned or anything. He’d have planned it like that.”

  “Hope he stays away.”

  “He will, I’m sure of it.”

  They talked a while longer, about Scotto’s physiotherapy and when he’d be able to go sailing again, then he said, “Could you call Lauren’s mum? She’s terribly upset she froze you out, but you understand, don’t you?”

  “I’ll call her today.”

  “Oh, and Tom’s been at me to put you on our team. We’re totally impressed with your articles. What do you say to working with us reprobates?”

  “I’d love it! Mikey’s starting work with the North Sydney Police next month, so that would be brilliant.”

  They sent love and said goodbye. White
law poured her a coffee and put an ashtray next to a pile of newspapers. She lit a cigarette and looked at the headlines a hundredth time.

  SEVEN HUNDRED KILLED BY THREE MEN …

  DEATH BY STEALTH … NOT THE FLU BUT

  MURDER … HUMAN GUINEA PIGS

  SACRIFICED …

  She pulled Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald free and took it to the divan with her coffee and cigarette.

  SCIENTISTS BAFFLED OVER DEADLY CODE

  By India Kane

  SCIENTISTS are still trying to discover how the virus that killed over seven hundred Aborigines works. The virus, introduced into mains water, is the first of its kind. In the past, biological weapons have been airborne.

  It is thought the virus infects an engineered bacteria and as the bacteria multiplies, so does the code for the virus. At some point, after drinking the water, the bacterial infection releases the viral code inside the victim’s cells, triggering a massive and lethal infection.

  “We will have the answers very soon,” said Paul Barnett, a spokesman for the CSIRO. He described the technology as “groundbreaking and extraordinary.”

  Dr. Ruth Reid, head of science and ethics at the Australian Medical Association, said this development heralded a new era of germ warfare. “Such technology could be applied to destroying armies, or for blackmailing governments into cooperation.” She went on to say there is an urgent need to’develop biological tests to detect dangerous new pathogens in seemingly innocent civilian research establishments.

  All water supplies in the Northern Territory, Queensland and New South Wales were sealed off when a national alert was given on fourth January, by the Cooinda Police Department. The authorities confirm that Tasmania, Victoria and Western Australia have not been polluted with the deadly virus. All stocks of mineral water were sold out within twenty-four hours. Army units have been supplying water by truck to cities and outback towns from these states.

  Whitelaw pushed a copy of Newsweek onto her lap. A shot of Polly, India and himself, taken outside Cooinda Police Station, was on the front cover.