It’s over.
Ramon saw the god lifted off the ground by a beam of light that came from a halo in the sky. Its coat ignited first, searing hair and skin into ash as it rose closer to the shimmering halo.
Acolyte One filled his vision, his face a mask of fury as if Ramon held the blame for all of this. Ramon put his hands up, “What’s happened?” he asked. “The god, what happened to the god?”
One frowned, “You saw what happened. The evil in the child is more powerful than we expected.”
“What now?” Ramon wanted to keep him talking, at least that way One wouldn’t be thinking about shooting him.
A quick glance showed the god still fought but now it shrank as the fire ate away at its body. A dark snow fell onto the paddock. Ramon couldn’t see the girl any longer but whatever she had done to the god still tortured it. He looked back at Acolyte One. The man smiled at him. Ramon’s blood ran cold.
An arm slipped around Ramon’s throat, jerking him from his feet. His legs tangled and he hit the ground hard enough to stun him. Strong hands flipped Ramon over, and he stared up into Yancha’s unforgiving eyes.
“The god needs strength,” One said. He drew a hunting knife from a sheath around his waist; the serrated edge reminded Ramon of shark’s teeth. “The kind of strength that only a sacrifice can provide.”
The scream started deep in Ramon’s chest and bubbled out as Yancha pulled Ramon’s arms above his head and Acolyte Two dropped onto his legs. One knelt beside him, putting a hand onto Ramon’s chest to feel his beating of his heart. The acolyte nodded, as if satisfied by the strength he could feel.
“Quickly,” Yancha said. “The god is dying.”
“No, no, no...” Ramon’s voice tore through the woodland as the blade rose. He saw sunlight catch the sharpened edge with a bright flash that merged into the burst of red from One’s head. The acolyte fell, half his face in shock as more bullets punched through his body. Acolyte Two released Ramon’s legs and reached for his AK47 before more shots plucked him from his feet. Ramon rolled away from the carnage as Yancha ran. The Americans emerged from the bushes, assault rifles at their shoulders. Ramon watched Yancha duck beneath a branch. “Kill him!” Ramon shouted. “Kill him.”
Two of the Americans did just that, snapping shots from their Colt M4 Commando carbines that drilled through Yancha’s back. Ramon saw him fall, bounce and roll. He came to a stop on his side, facing Ramon. Blood ran from the exit wounds in his chest. Yancha’s eyes flickered open and focussed on Ramon. Yancha’s lips moved. Ramon read the curse that Yancha laid down on him. He shivered.
An American stepped into Ramon’s view, aiming his rifle at Ramon’s head. “Don’t shoot,” Ramon said, and put his hands into the air.
“You gonna give me a reason too?” the American asked.
“No.” Ramon heard the others moving around, checking the acolytes to see if they were dead as they stripped them of their weapons.
“Kneel,” the man in front of him said and when Ramon did as instructed added, “Put your hands behind your back.”
Someone grabbed Ramon’s wrists and fastened them together with plastic ties that bit into his skin. A blindfold dropped in front of his eyes and was tied tight around his head. Rough hands dragged Ramon to his feet.
“You do as we say and everything will be cool.” The man who spoke stood close behind Ramon. His breath carried the stale smell of tobacco. “Understand?”
“Yes. I will do everything you say.”
“Good answer,” the man said, and laughed.
They dragged Ramon through the woodland. He stumbled over roots and trailing vines, walked into branches and thorn-covered stems. But he lived, and that’s all that mattered to Ramon as his captors thrust him over the rail fence and into the paddock.
He lived.
Chapter Thirteen
Scottish rain had never heard of the word gentle. It blew in off a ten-mile-long loch with the force of bullets, striking the window of Hannah’s hotel room in a way that threatened to shatter the thin pane of glass. She stared out through the window, her view a distorted mess of grey and drab green. The loch and heather clad hills merged into one as the weather closed in.
“I’m glad I’m not out in that,” Josh said, from behind her.
“You should be.” Hannah turned in her chair. “I thought you were supposed to be providing support for me? I’m due to be out at the castle in an hour, and I expected you to be finding a place to carry out surveillance by now.”
“In that?” Josh pointed at the rain covered window. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Oh.” Hannah crossed her arms and frowned at him, “So my safety comes second to your comfort?”
“Something like that,” Josh said, with a grin.
Hannah sighed and laughed. What she’d expected to be a fraught journey north ended up being a half-decent trip in the company of a guy she now quite liked. Despite the fact they’d booked into separate hotels, he’d dropped in to keep her company. Not the correct field craft taught during training, but better than being alone before entering the lion’s den. She glanced at the window as another strong gust of wind sprayed rock hard raindrops against the glass.
“What time’s your taxi due?” Josh asked. Or more precisely, asked for the fifth time.
“Ten-thirty,” Hannah checked her watch in an automatic response to the question. Forty minutes away.
“I’ll be on my way in ten minutes,” Josh said. “Is your phone on?”
“Jesus, you’ll get me worried with all this checking.” Hannah tried to make light of the situation.
“And the tracker?”
“Somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine. I spoke to Daisy this morning, and she said the signal was fine.”
“But it might change when you go into the castle. Those walls are solid stone.”
“And if I drop off the grid they call you. I’ll make sure I take a walk in the grounds or at least try to stand outside at one o’clock. That way you will know if the walls cut off the signal.”
“Okay,” Josh said. He ran his fingers through his hair. Hannah already knew that as his nervous tic. She reached out and patted his knee.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, like a teenager to her dad before a big night out.
“Make sure you are.” Josh didn’t quite meet her eyes when he said that, finding the bed cover more interesting to look at.
“And you make sure you’re ready to ride to the rescue if I get into trouble,” Hannah told him.
“I’ll be the brave knight storming the castle to rescue the beautiful princess.”
“Yeah.” Hannah turned away, wishing he hadn’t used the word beautiful. “I think I’d be a better fit to one of the ugly sisters now.”
Josh’s hand rested on her shoulder. He moved closer. “Hannah, don’t think that way.”
“I’m honest with myself,” she said, but didn’t pull away as he knelt beside her and put his arm around her.
“Look at me,” he said.
Hannah didn’t, at first, until his grip tightened and she had no choice but to look into his eyes.
“You’re not ugly,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”
“Liar,” Hannah said, but it came out in a rush because she thought he meant it from the way his free hand brushed her hair away from the scars. And then he kissed her.
“Wow.” If Josh hadn’t had his arm around her she would have fallen off the chair.
Of course, he then spoilt the moment by looking at the time and saying, “I best be making my way.”
“Not so fast.” Hannah put her arms around Josh to keep him close. “You just broke another rule in the trade of a case officer getting involved with his operative.”
“I thought since we were already on a date when Norma assigned me to you that one didn’t count.”
“Good try.” Hannah smiled. With her arms around him she had to lean close, and that seemed a perfect opportunity for her to kiss him.
“If I don’t go now I never will,” Josh said. He did look disappointed though.
“Thanks.” Hannah stood and followed him to the door. “I feel better now.”
“Make sure you meet all the contact times.” Josh opened the door. He checked the corridor. All clear. “And if you find evidence of Holdstock’s involvement in something illegal get a picture or a copy or whatever and then get the hell out of there.”
“I will.”
He hugged her. Hannah liked the feeling of being in his arms. Not that she was an ‘I need a strong man to look after me’ type of girl, but after the events at Chequers she didn’t think any man would want to look at her again. Hannah watched him all the way down the corridor until he waved and disappeared from view. Now she was on her own, and the nerves returned just a little. Closing the door, Hannah made her final preparations. A quick visit to the loo, confirming her paperwork was in her bag, and her two phones (one personal the other hidden and strictly business) were where they should be. The raincoat didn’t look like it would be able to stand up to the storm that still roared around the eighteenth-century inn though she had no choice now but to test it. One last look around the room. A smile when she remembered sitting on the chair with Josh next to her. Hannah turned off the light and headed downstairs to meet the taxi.
Next stop Anbarragh Castle, and the mysterious operation being run by the Ministry of Defence.
***
The storm blew through the valley, turning the surface of the loch into a rush of white-capped waves that swept into the rocky shoreline. As the rain clouds passed and clearer skies followed, a young girl came out of the castle gates and made her solitary way down a well-worn path to the loch shore. She found her usual boulder to sit on, not caring about the damp that soaked into her jeans. The gusting wind still carried a chill, despite the bright sunshine that forced its way through to bathe loch and hills in its warmth. The heather glistened with tiny spots of white, magenta and gold and the loch, still disturbed by the passage of the storm, looked welcoming and dangerous at the same time.
Sitting here, at the side of the loch, had become Lizzie’s favourite thing to do. She sensed, at times like this, that she was close to her sister now. Vicky never appeared, despite Lizzie wanting her too. Sometimes she spirit walked in the hope of meeting Vicky. Other times she prayed. Why can I see ghosts, spirit walk, summon demons and live in my own castle, but I can’t speak to my dead sister?
“What are you doing down here?” Lizzie didn’t need to turn around to know that Ms McCoyne stood behind her. She could tell Lois McCoyne’s sharp accent from a distance of fifty miles. Lois’s face matched her voice. Narrow, with a thin nose, it resembled an axe from some angles and with her hair pulled back in a bun that stretched the skin around her eyes to breaking point. Lizzie thought Lois could have chopped wood if she hit it hard enough with her head.
A quick check showed that Lois came accompanied by four armed guards as usual. They’d spread themselves along the bank, staying on the grass so Lizzie couldn’t hear their footsteps. Lois came closer. The pebbles rattled as she crossed the shore and their movement underfoot made her look unbalanced. It was the only time that Lizzie thought her forty-year-old mentor seemed uncomfortable.
Reaching the stone that Lizzie sat on, Lois said,
“You should be in lessons.”
Lizzie sighed. Lessons. Why? An hour of maths, an hour of history, read a book by an author who died a hundred years ago. Add in science and geography and who knew what else. Plus running and combat skills (both armed and unarmed) and all because they thought children needed to go to school when there was more to life and the world than any of these teachers ever thought could exist. Take Mr Parnell, the science teacher. Would he believe in parallel worlds? He might buy the theory, but the practical application would shake him to the core. Lizzie, if she was so minded, could take him on a tour of different worlds simply by walking down a woodland path.
I should have gone down the path today. Not here, where Hatchet-face McCoyne could find me.
“Come on, Lizzie,” Lois said, in what for her was an encouraging voice. “The clock’s ticking.”
Lizzie ignored her, taking a chance instead to check the road that wound its way along the banks of the loch. From time to time, between the Scots Pine that lined the shoreline on this side of the valley, vehicles on the road could be spotted as they drove north and south. Right now, an HGV with Eddie Stobart on the side held up a line of six cars. Lizzie tried to pick out the one that interested her, but in all the mess of movement, metal and noise couldn’t quite pin it down.
“Someone’s coming,” Lizzie said, standing up and brushing dampness from her bottom.
“Oh?” Lois frowned. “Yes, I think I heard we had a new person transferring in today.”
That made Lizzie smile. Lois, for all her hard-line mentoring, still didn’t quite get the skills that Lizzie had. After the accident, no let’s not call it an accident, after the murder of Vicky and the attempted murder of Lizzie, Lizzie’s talents took months to return. They still weren’t quite up to the levels she’d achieved with her twin sister, but with each passing day Lizzie could feel the power growing stronger.
“I know,” Lizzie said. She pointed to the line of traffic as it appeared between the trees. “She’s there.”
“You know it’s a woman?” Lois said in surprise.
“Of course.” Lizzie started walking back towards the castle. She didn’t say anything else. Too much information might make Lois report her, and right now Lizzie needed to keep certain things to herself. Like how there were tremors in the world. Psychic tremors, not earthquake tremors. Somewhere bad things were happening, and Lizzie itched to know what they were.
I want to join in.
And one of those tiny tremors approached the castle. Lois walked beside her. Lizzie sensed the need to ask about how she knew, but Lois was well drilled. All those years in the army helped, being broken down in basic training into someone who only obeyed orders. Serving in nice places and not so nice places. Watching friends die, feeling lost and isolated when returning to civilian life. Being absorbed into a special unit when it looked like life was about to fuck you over.
All of the people who worked in the castle were like that, apart from the teachers who came in to do Lizzie’s lessons. The rest, from the guards who patrolled the grounds to the staff who cooked and cleaned, were ex-military with disciplinary records that meant they struggled to get decent jobs on civvy street and who were grateful to the man who employed them. Grateful to the point where their loyalty couldn’t be questioned.
The castle loomed above Lizzie as she walked between the mammoth doors. She emerged into the quadrangle. The outer wall formed a rectangular shape, one short end held the huge oak doors, the other three were unbroken. The grounds of the castle were dominated by the main house, a six-storey building with pitched roofs covered in red clay tiles. Beyond the house lay a cluster of smaller structures, huddled together like chicks beside their mother hen. All were built of the same stone and it shone in the post-storm sunshine. Only the main house projected above the outer wall. Lizzie and the staff lived inside there, the other buildings contained offices and security sections. Lizzie had rooms of her own, although the windows left a lot to be desired, and at first had enjoyed the idea of being a Princess in her own castle.
Now, getting a little bit older and wiser, she no longer wanted to be a princess. Lizzie wanted to be a Queen. The thought made her smile. She’d be another Queen Elizabeth.
“What’s my first lesson?” Lizzie asked as they entered the central tower.
“History,” Lois told her.
Lizzie pulled a face. The Industrial Revolution. Not a topic to inspire a soon-to-be teenage girl. In particular, one who preferred reading about pain and death. Maybe today they’d touch on how many workers died falling into furnaces or were crushed when canal walls collapsed.
“I will introduce you to
the new member of staff later,” Lois said as they reached the classroom.
“No, not yet.” Lizzie paused, with her hand on the door handle. “I want to observe her first.”
“Are you sure?” Lois frowned.
“Oh, yes.”
***
The taxi driver dropped Hannah off outside the castle, where the gravel approach road lined up to the imposing doors.
“Good luck to ye,” the driver said, as he lifted her suitcase out of the boot.
“That doesn’t sound very promising.” Hannah tried to smile, but nerves got the better of her.
“Aye, and it’s not meant to.” He extended the pulling handle on the case and gave it to Hannah. “Some odd folks working here. We get them in the town from time to time, and they can be, let’s say, intimidating.”
“I think they’re military,” Hannah suggested, hoping to get a little bit more information out of him.
He shrugged as he accepted her payment. “What was it Wellington said about his army? I don’t know if they scare the enemy, but they scare the hell out of me?”
“Something like that,” Hannah said, as he walked around to the driver’s door.
“Well, that’s what these people do to the townsfolk. You take care, you don’t seem like them, but I might be wrong.”
You are.
He turned the car, gave her a wave that didn’t come with a smile, and her last chance of getting out of this job disappeared in a cloud of diesel fumes. She sighed, looking out across the loch, and took in a deep breath of the clear air that had followed the rain. The driver’s words echoed in her head. Not a good start. She let her gaze wander across the landscape. I hope you’re close, Josh. I think I might need you sooner than you think.
Hannah dragged the case across the last bit of gravel and found the going a lot easier once she hit the flagstone approach. The castle walls closed in around her like the mouth of a giant predator, and she thought, for a moment, that she caught a glimpse of armed guards patrolling the wall. Places like this had history, much of it bad. Her quick read up on the place showed it had been used by the English to enforce their claims on Scotland. Most of the locals had been displaced off the land at some point or other, and they were the lucky ones, the others killed to prove English dominance.
The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3) Page 24
