The Blood Tree by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page B

Directorate depot and getting statements from all personnel involved.”
    â€œI smell something rotten in that directorate,” I said. “Someone supplied the bogus workmen with a job authorisation that convinced the sentry. Maybe that someone also let them into the depot.”
    Hamilton looked at me aggressively like he always did when I accused auxiliaries of corruption. Then he nodded. “You may be right. I’ll have the senior auxiliaries from the relevant departments in.”
    I stood up unsteadily and stretched my heavy limbs. “Right, Lewis. That only leaves one thing before I get my head down.”
    He finished writing another note and raised his eyes slowly. “And what’s that, Dalrymple?”
    â€œGenetic engineering’s been banned in this city for over twenty years,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It hasn’t been going on. So why’s this file making you jumpier than a filly before her first outing on the racetrack in Princes Street Gardens?”
    Hamilton claimed he didn’t know what I was talking about. That didn’t surprise me much, so I left him to his scribbling and headed for the esplanade. Under low cloud, the elevated parking area seemed to float in the air above the dim lights of the central zone. I flashed my directorate authorisation at a guard driver and got him to take me to the infirmary. Like I say, I only pull strings when absolutely necessary – and when I’m shagged out.
    I stood at the glass partition in the ICU and stared at the old man. He was still hooked up to all sorts of tubes and drips and it was difficult to make out his face. There seemed to be a placid expression on it. The senior nursing auxiliary was optimistic about his chances but couldn’t give any firm prognosis. I told her I’d be back later and returned to the Land-Rover. By the time I was dropped off outside my flat in Gilmore Place the first tinges of watery light had appeared in the eastern sky. So much for the night.
    The stairwell let out its familiar discharge of sewage gas and infrequently washed bodies. I fumbled my way up in the darkness – the electricity supply to citizen accommodation isn’t turned back on until the end of the curfew at six-thirty – and eventually managed to get my key in the lock. Although my living-room was as black as the heart of a drugs gang boss, I was capable of navigating my way to the bedroom on the other side. It wasn’t the first time I’d come home after Council-approved bedtime.
    I dumped my bag on the hamstrung sofa and heard the springs complain metallically. Then I pushed the bedroom door open, pulled off my donkey jacket and sat down heavily on the bed.
    â€œOw.” An arm was wrenched from underneath me. “Mind where you put your backside, Quint.”
    â€œJesus,” I gasped, my heart pounding from the shock of finding my bed occupied. “Thanks for letting me know you were coming, Katharine.”
    â€œWhere have you been?” she asked sleepily. “What time is it?”
    I found the matches on the rickety bedside table and lit what remained of my last candle; I’d been putting off queuing at the local Supply Directorate store.
    â€œIt’s so early in the morning that you’re better off not knowing,” I said, peering at her in the candle’s feeble light. Her light brown hair was tangled and she was having difficulty opening her eyes, but she still looked a million dollars – not that a million dollars is a big deal in the remaining United States these days, what with the volcanic inflation that resulted from religious fundamentalist-inspired civil war.
    â€œGreat.” She slumped back on the pillow and pulled the blanket up to her neck.
    â€œYou want to complain? I didn’t close my eyes once last night.”
    â€œSo close them now,” she sighed, turning over.
    I finished undressing. The cold started nipping at the