Z. Rex (15 page)

“Right.” Adam’s insides twitched at the thought of coming face to face with the woman who had turned his world into wreckage. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“And either she lets your dad go free, or else I’ll
have
to go to the police with what we know.”

“But . . . what if she tries to stop us? She’s got these men working for her, security types.” Adam thought of bruised-faced Bateman and shuddered. “They tried to catch me in New Mexico.”

“They
what
?” Hayden paused. “Why didn’t you say so before? Look, Adam, I can only really help if you come completely clean with me.”

“I
have
come clean with you.” As he spoke, Zed shifted noisily onto his side and let out a colossal fart. It sounded like a small explosion.

“Say again?”

“Sorry, it’s a bad line,” Adam said quickly, running for the fire doors. “All that really happened is that some men came to Dad’s apartment. Proper hard men. They tried to get me to go with them someplace. But I managed to get away from them. . . .”
With a little help.
“Went straight to the airport and came here.”

There was a long pause. Adam tried not to choke on the smell of Zed’s horrific wind, strong enough to strip the lining from his lungs.

“Sounds like you’ve been through an awful lot,” Hayden said at last. “Well, don’t worry. Symtek’s got its own security. And I’ll make sure that Josephs knows I’ve given full details from those files of yours to my friends at the UN, including her address. She won’t dare lift a finger against us.”

And we can get Dad away,
Adam thought in a rush of excitement.
We can maybe get Zed back under wraps, looked after by experts—and the baddies all sent down to jail.

He ached at the thought of seeing Dad again. Could this be it? The beginning of the end of the whole ordeal?

“Adam?” Hayden prompted.

“Sorry. I’m fine. I’m great.” He cleared his throat. “So where’s this address?”

“Lawnmarket, over in the Old Town,” Hayden said. “For safety’s sake, how about we meet just around the corner? Bottom of The Mound, say . . . beside the Scott Monument?”

“Right.”

“Say about nine?”

“Whenever.” Adam eyed the sleeping Zed nervously. “That should be fine.”

“Just one thing—I want you to promise you’ll stay with my security men and let me do all the talking, right?”

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

“This will need very careful handling.” Hayden paused again. “You can’t imagine what this Z. rex stuff might mean for the world.”

Wanna bet?
thought Adam, looking over at Zed. He spoke in a small voice. “I just want my dad back, Mr. Hayden.”

“We’ll get him back, Adam. I promise.” Adam could hear the warmth in Hayden’s voice, and drew some comfort from it. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Good night—and try to get some sleep.”

“Night,” Adam said, and killed the connection—just as Zed started to stretch, his jaws swinging open in a low, rasping yawn. The dinosaur noticed the lights were still blazing, got up with only a little difficulty and stomped across to the cables. He yanked them apart, sending sparks dancing. The lights went out and the buzzing changed pitch.

“You seem a bit better,” Adam remarked. “Except it smells like something crawled up your butt and died there.”

“Drink,” came the deep, throaty whisper in the dark. “Hungry. Ad . . . stay.”

Like a good wee doggie
. Adam sighed as Zed staggered over to the loading bay and clanked open the doors.
Outside’s the best place for you. But come tomorrow morning, it’ll be my turn to go for a walk. . . .
He heard wings unfolding, the stamp of scaly tiptoes on the concrete. Then the beast lurched away, escaping into the night.

Adam let out a long, shaky breath. “Lock up your horses, Edinburgh,” he muttered grimly.

Alone again.

Tomorrow, this could all be over
. Adam clung to the thought like a little kid might clutch at a teddy bear for comfort as he lay down on his damp sleeping bag. Too bone-weary to do anything but dream of somewhere safe, far away from here.

The new day began for Adam with the usual chill of the damp concrete bleeding into his bones. Only this time, excitement was seeping through as well.
This is the day something happens,
he thought, willing it to be true.
The day I start getting my life back
.

Zed had come back after an hour or so at large. Adam had held dead still and pretended to be asleep when the creature shambled back in, scraping his tail along the ground.

Around seven-thirty, Adam rose and dressed, crunched on a mint and swigged from a can of flat Coke. He was fizzing himself, with nerves. And he still hadn’t asked permission to go out this morning.

He crossed a little closer to where the dinosaur laid resting, sunlight falling on him in squares through the dirty windows. Zed’s skin was still mottled with paler patches, and the shadow of dried blood haunted his jaws. Adam noticed lumps of fleece, smeared sticky and black, lying in the shadows.
Must be working his way through the whole farmyard,
he thought darkly.

Adam cleared his throat. “You, uh . . . you any better, then?”

Zed’s eyes opened. They seemed blacker than ever.

“I need to go out,” Adam announced boldly. “To get those files back from Dad’s friend I saw yesterday.”

Zed blinked, scaly eyelids chopping down like the blades of twin guillotines. “No. Ad stay.”

“I won’t be gone long. . . .” Adam cleared his throat. “This man’s going to tell me all about you. And help find Dad.”

Zed remained silent for long, heavy seconds. “Come back,” the creature said at last, carefully arranging its lips around the words.

“Back?” Adam was taken off guard. “Yeah, of course I’ll come back. Soon as I can.”
Only it might just be with company
, he thought guiltily. “Things . . . they’re going to work out, Zed. You’ll see.”

The scaly eyelids flickered closed, and Zed resumed his silence.

The Scott Monument, with its soot-blackened spires, pointed bleakly at the clouds like a stone rocket that could never fly. But Adam’s hopes were doing their best to zoom into orbit as he cycled through the fumy, traffic-choked bustle of Princes Street. He was half an hour early for his rendezvous, but better that than late. He hurtled past the Royal Scottish Academy with its pillars and banners and make-believe gaslights, past the big stores and the tourist shops with their tartan-towel souvenirs.

He passed the monument—no sign of Hayden as yet—and swung a left onto St. David Street, heading for the bike racks at nearby St. Andrew Square. The glass-roofed café in the square’s gardens was already doing a roaring trade. Adam parked his bike, jogged past the rows of cars and across the road to the monument and threw himself down on a bench at the end of Princes Street Gardens to catch his breath.

On the journey over he’d gone through a million possibilities in his head. Sam Josephs—a tall, pale ice queen in his imagination—would try to run as soon as she saw Hayden with his security men, and he would join them in chasing after her. Or Frankie Bateman would answer the door, try to attack Adam, only to be beaten back by the guards. Or Josephs would come out holding a gun to Dad’s head, and Adam would have to reason with her. . . .

He glanced up worriedly at the sky. What if Zed got the scent of what was happening here and came sailing out of the sky to smash everything?

“It’ll be okay,” he breathed. It was five to nine. “It’s got to be okay.”

He paced around the park, killing time. Surveyed the circular beds of tulips and the grassy slope leading down to trees and train tracks. Looked across to Arthur’s Seat, the ancient, blocky volcano where he and Zed had first landed. It seemed forever ago, and yet no time at all. The days and nights had melted into a long, frightening blur. But soon . . .

The time had nudged past nine, and no sign of Hayden. “C’mon, c’mon. . . .”

By nine-thirty, nerves were gnawing at Adam’s stomach like rats.

By ten, he was getting angry.
He’ll be here,
Adam told himself, checking Dad’s mobile for the millionth time.
Nothing’s happened to him. He’s just been delayed.

Princes Street was busy with shoppers and tourists now. Adam wondered with envy what his friends were up to.
School must start in a few days,
he thought vaguely, and then sighed. Ordinary stuff like that, it all belonged to another life.

He started worrying again about Zed. He hadn’t given a time when he’d be back; he hadn’t really given much thought to returning to Zed at all
.
He’d been focusing only on finding his dad again. And after all Dad must have been through, he couldn’t imagine he’d be keen on rushing to the waterfront to meet and greet the giant monster he’d half killed; the dinosaur who’d come here for revenge.

At ten-thirty, stomach churning, Adam pulled out Hayden’s business card from his jeans pocket and decided to call. The mobile number went straight to voice mail.

“Hello, it’s Adam. I’m waiting where we said. Please call when you can. Bye.”

He waited another few minutes and tried Symtek’s offices. The familiar bored voice of Megan the Barbie receptionist came through loud and clear: “I’m afraid he’s out of the office today. Would you like to be put through to his voice mail?”

“No, thanks. Are his, um, security people there?”

“Who is this?”

“Adam Adlar. I was in yesterday. I’m meant to be meeting him right now. Did he leave me any message?”

“No. I don’t know about security. You can try him on his mobile.”

“I have,” Adam mumbled, disconnecting. Perhaps Hayden had tried to call him while he’d been calling the office?

No voice mail message appeared.

When no one had arrived by eleven o’clock, Adam took a deep breath and resolved to walk up The Mound toward Lawnmarket for a look-see. It was one of many streets that formed the city’s ancient, cobbled backbone.

Tramping along the pavement, Adam felt miserably apart from the bustle and blare of life around him. He entered the tourist Mecca of the Royal Mile, where the courtyards, landmarks and souvenir shops were packed together as tightly as the people.

Picking a path through the crowds, Adam wondered what he was hoping to achieve. What was he going to do, knock on every door and hope he found the right place? And then what?

But suddenly, one face resolved itself from out of the crowd, scarred and heavyset, bobbing toward him. Adam felt like a sheet of ice had hardened over his chest in a single breath.

There was Frank Bateman, striding toward him.

A
dam ducked down behind a trash can, pretending to tie his shoelace with shaking hands, his mind racing. Bateman, the man who’d pushed a gun to Adam’s head and tried to slaughter Zed. He’d never wanted to see that big, scarred face again—nor that smug smile plastered all over it.

The stocky security man wore a gray raincoat over his dark suit, pressing his paunch through the crowds, a man on a mission. Adam held his breath as the big man strode closer. The street was full of people; Bateman wouldn’t dare try anything here—would he?

A few seconds later, Bateman had pushed past his hiding place, heading toward the castle.

No, no, please,
no
. Don’t let him be the reason why Hayden hasn’t shown,
Adam thought in dismay.
Did Bateman follow me to Symtek and find out I’d asked Mr. Hayden for help?

Adam dug his fingernails into his palms. He couldn’t face being plunged back into the nightmare without even the hope of a helping hand. If Bateman
had
got Hayden, what could Adam do now?

Even before the thought had fully formed, Adam was getting to his feet. He turned and started to follow the man’s broad, gray back along the street.