The phone rang and made her jump. It was an internal phone; she had no outside line, but it was unusual for anyone to call this early. She answered on the second ring. It was West.
“Just to let you know, Dr. Flemyng, that a package is being delivered to your door as we speak. You’ll find it on the small table outside. When you open it, you’ll see just how foolish you have been in abusing the freedom granted to your father. I hope in the future you’ll think twice before—”
She didn’t hear any more. She was already wrenching open her door and reaching for the small, two-inch-square box she saw there. It looked like a jeweler’s box, and when she opened it she saw it did indeed contain a ring.
There was no mistaking it. It was her father’s signet ring.
Chapter 39
IT WAS SUNNY. Charlie lay curled on a rock, enjoying its warmth. Through half-shut eyes he watched the cameras and the people behind the observation window. Was their attention focused exclusively on him? Chiefly? Partly? Or hardly at all?
He came to the conclusion that he was of no special interest, certainly no more than any other member of the group. Of course it was always possible that they were putting on a performance to deceive him, to lull him into a sense of false security. But to what end? It was a hypothesis that he could only test in some practical way, and he intended to.
Stirring slowly, he stretched, yawned, and glanced with studied casualness around him. Nothing special was going on: no fights, disputes, displays of jealousy or overt sexual courtship. Small groups were gathered here and there, some playing with children, some grooming one another. He spotted a couple returning separately but plainly from the same spot among the trees. It was one of the males he’d fought with and the female he had copulated with the day before. He turned away, ignoring the anxious glance in his direction from the male, and pretended he’d seen nothing.
He ambled off in no particular direction, moving not in a straight line but zigzagging vaguely here and there until he found a patch of shade and slumped down in it. He looked back at the various cameras high in the trees; as far as he could see, none had moved to follow his progress. He looked up at the indistinct figures in the observation window; none of them seemed to be concentrating on him either. That was good. He would stay where he was for a while so as not to arouse their suspicions by appearing restless, and he would reflect yet again on the thoughts that had gone through his mind since his strange encounter with Kathy.
The thing that had struck him, not at the time but later when he had thought about it, was a curious inconsistency in what she had said. First of all she’d told him that he wasn’t supposed to have remembered anything of his experience in the virtual reality suit, and later she’d said that she had planted a memory of herself in his past—a past that had never existed. But what was the point of planting a memory in his brain if he wasn’t supposed to remember it later? It made no sense. But then very little made sense at the moment, and he wasn’t about to puzzle over it endlessly. What he was going to do was get out of here.
He let some time pass, around twenty minutes he guessed, before he moved again. When he did, it was with the same careful casualness as before. He sat up and looked around, making sure he wasn’t the object of anyone’s undivided attention, then loped off farther into the trees. He had the whole layout of the place clear in his mind now and knew where he was headed.
If he was right, there was a spot where the moat disappeared past a boundary wall in the northeast corner of the compound. He’d worked out that it was the northeast corner by following the movement of the sun. It was a place generally ignored by members of the group. The ground was rocky and, owing to the height of the wall and the shade of nearby trees, never touched by sunlight. There was no camera directed toward that spot, and it was invisible from the observation window. Obviously the people who designed and ran the place thought there was no danger of escape here because the wall was unscalable and chimpanzees, as Charlie now knew to his cost, couldn’t swim.
But Charlie wasn’t just any chimpanzee, and even if he couldn’t swim he could do other things. For example, he now knew the depth of the moat, and he could calculate how many rocks he’d need to roll in to be able to stand in the middle and be no more than waist deep. He had already selected, while casually wandering around, the rocks he was going to use. Also he’d found the log—in fact a heavy branch broken off one of the great bare oaks—that was going to form the second part of his plan. All he needed was about ten minutes undisturbed.
The first rock went in without a problem. It was big and took all his strength to move it, but it had an irregular shape and would wedge perfectly into the V-shaped bottom of the moat. Next he pushed in two smaller squarish ones alongside. They came to about the same level, creating a solid underwater platform; all he had to do now was reach it, and that was where the log came in.
He had already tested it and knew that it was strong enough to bear his weight, though he doubted whether it would be big enough to support him if he tried to float across on it. his first thought had been to find something of the same strength but longer that would go right across the moat, but a piece of such length would be difficult to handle without someone on the far side to help him place it. As this was impossible, he’d come up with his current plan, which involved dragging the branch over the hardened earth and then maneuvering it carefully into the water so that the far end lodged in the niche where the three underwater stones came together.
This was accomplished quickly and with an ease he had hardly dared hope for. Satisfied that the log was secure, he climbed down it, and moments later was standing only waist deep in the middle of the moat. The next stage of his plan was to haul the log in and lever the end that he had originally fixed in the rocks up and onto the far bank. He had already identified the spot he should aim for where there would be the least chance of the branch’s rolling and tipping him off. He looked at it again from this closer perspective, then turned to continue his work—and stopped, astonished and angered by what he saw.
One of the other male chimpanzees, who had probably been watching him from some hiding place throughout the whole operation, had climbed onto the log and was crawling precariously down to join him in the middle of the moat. Charlie gave a cry of anger and waved his arms threateningly, urging the other chimp to go back. His warning was ignored. The other kept on coming, showing his teeth and chattering nervously. He was one of the males that Charlie had beaten and then accepted a gift from the other day, and he seemed determined now to regard the incident as having created a bond between them. Wherever Charlie was going, he planned to follow.
The last thing Charlie wanted was a sidekick on this excursion. He didn’t know what lay in store or where he might wind up, but he was going to get a lot farther and travel much faster without a passenger. Beside himself with fury, Charlie stamped on the log, making it vibrate alarmingly. The other chimp hesitated, unsure now what he should do.
To make absolutely sure that he got his point across, Charlie reached down into the water and seized the end of the log, which he jerked sharply up and down several times. He wasn’t trying to shake the intruder off and into the water, just make him go back.
At last the chimp seemed to get the message and started to turn. At the same moment the wet log slipped from Charlie’s hands, and the jolt as it hit its underwater foundation was enough to make the chimp lose his balance and fall, screeching, into the water.
The noise, Charlie thought, would be sure to bring people running. That meant he had only a few seconds at most to make his getaway. Someone, he supposed, would see the damn-fool drowning chimp and rescue him as Charlie had been rescued the other day.
He heaved the log up out of the water and pulled it toward him so that the far end slipped from the bank and the whole thing floated. He hauled it toward him, then, with considerable effort, picked it up and tossed it toward the other side. The tip landed, as he’d hoped, on the far bank, and he low
ered the end nearest him back down to the stones beneath the water’s surface, wedging it as securely in place as he could. Then he started to climb along it.
It alarmed him, looking down, to see the distorted image of his would-be companion still scrabbling and choking in the water. Any second now, surely, one of those sections, the one directly underneath the drowning chimp, would open and drop him to safety the way Charlie had been.
Yet, as Charlie watched, the seconds passed and nothing happened. He saw the chimp’s eyes bulging, as though about to burst from his head, and he could sense the agonizing pressure of the air trapped in his lungs and that he daren’t let go.
Instead of moving on and making good his escape, Charlie found himself paralyzed by the macabre spectacle. There was guilt, of course: He was partly responsible, though the other’s stupidity in trying to follow him had been a far greater element in his fate. However, the fact that Charlie himself had almost drowned so recently created a powerful empathy—an emotion that he was unaccustomed to and that affected him surprisingly. In fact it came as a shock to realize that he was incapable of leaving the wretched creature to die, even if the price of saving him was the loss of his own chance to escape.
Another glance around confirmed his fears. There was no other help in sight, which left Charlie no choice. He started back down the log, planted his feet firmly on one of the two smaller stones, and, while clinging to the log with one hand, reached out the other to the drowning chimp.
The chimp understood the gesture and began scrambling desperately at the stones in an effort to grasp the profferred hand. But he still couldn’t make it.
Charlie leaned out farther—dangerously far. This time their fingers touched, and then, with an effort, they clasped hands. Charlie heaved with all his strength. The other weighed as much as he did himself, and the muscles of Charlie’s arm burned as he hauled him up, as much by sheer determination as physical power. For a while he thought he wasn’t going to make it, but suddenly the other’s head broke the surface of the water and he opened his mouth for an almighty life-giving gasp of air. Charlie gave one last heave and pulled him up to safety on the rock—and as he did he heard something that made his heart miss a beat.
He heard the ominous splintering of wood as the log he was clinging to began to break.
It was, Charlie realized, too late to regain his balance. As the log gave way he pitched headfirst into the water. He felt himself executing a long, elegant, and quite involuntary underwater somersault, at the end of which he lay spread-eagled on his back in the very bottom of the moat. Looking up, he could see the chimpanzee whose life he had just saved now gazing down on him in a bleakly ironic reversal of their previous positions. The other chimp was obviously distraught at his inability to help, hopping from foot to foot and calling for help, which, as mysteriously as before, was not forthcoming.
Charlie realized he would have to fend for himself, and the first thing he needed was a clear head. Shimmering before him in the water he could see the stones that he had rolled into place. If he got to them he would find a way up, as his companion had with his help; and as long as his companion remained there, he, Charlie, should also be able to regain his island of safety without too much trouble. Then they would make a pretty pair—two chimpanzees stranded in the middle of a moat with no way of reaching either side.
But the comic aspect of his situation did not preoccupy him greatly for the moment. All his effort was going into levering himself upright, or at least onto all fours. For some strange reason, however, he found he couldn’t move. Perhaps he had injured himself in the fall, though he couldn’t think how, and he felt no pain. Yet his body would not respond to the commands of his brain; it was as though all connection between the two had been severed. Could he conceivably have broken his neck?
A sense of panic the like of which he had never known before began to take possession of him. He could feel his body, but he could not move it. He could also feel the bursting pressure in his lungs, and felt sure that his eyes must be bulging from their sockets as his companion’s had only moments ago. He knew he didn’t have long. If rescue didn’t arrive now, he was finished. But all he could see was the rippling, misshapen image of his fellow chimpanzee, jumping up and down and screaming on the rock, beside himself with helpless alarm.
Something happened to Charlie’s vision. Dark patches began appearing like burns on a film that has become stuck in the projector. It was something to do, he supposed, with a lack of oxygen in the blood reaching his brain. At the same time the pain in his chest became insupportable, and he knew that at any second his resolve to hold his breath would be undermined by the physical impossibility of doing so any longer. He would swallow death into his lungs as surely as if he had taken poison.
So this is how it ends, he thought. It made no sense. But maybe it wasn’t supposed to make sense. That struck him as the scariest thought of all, and quite possibly his last, because he knew now that his endurance had reached its limit.
The end was surprisingly painless, just a distant roaring sound and a blackness that came from all around and devoured him.
He felt only gratitude that it was over.
Chapter 40
MOM, where’s Grandpa gone?”
“He had to go away on business, darling. He’s as sorry about it as you are.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“I don’t know, Christopher. I think what he has to do may take a while.”
“When are you coming again?”
“On Saturday.”
“Can you stay longer this time?”
“I can stay the whole day, like I always do.”
“Why can’t I come home now? I don’t want to stay here on my own any longer.”
“Darling, it won’t be for long. I promise you.”
“I want to go home now.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not there. I have to finish what I’m doing. Then we’ll go back.”
“How soon?”
“Soon.”
“If Grandpa’s in Washington, why can’t I go stay with him?”
“He’s traveling around. I have to go, darling. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll see you Saturday…. Christopher?… Darling?… Are you there… ?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, darling.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
A pause, then: “Mom…?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Can I go up in the helicopter?”
The question came as a surprise. “The helicopter?”
“Michael’s friend Joe says he’ll take me up if you say it’s okay. Grandpa went in it last week to the airport, but they wouldn’t take me. Auntie May says I have to ask you. Can I, Mom? Please? It’s a really neat helicopter.”
Susan hated the idea. Flying and death had been uncomfortably associated in her mind since John’s murder, but she didn’t see how she could refuse this request. Christopher would only be more unhappy than necessary if she said no.
“Of course you can, darling. But be careful.”
The warning was lost in his shouts of thanks and happiness. She smiled at the sound despite her misgivings. But when she hung up she buried her face in her hands and fought back the tears of rage and frustration that she was determined not to give in to.
West agreed to see her at once when she called. His outer office was on the ground floor, where two assistants were always on duty and in contact with him by video intercom. West himself controlled the operation of the elevator from his desk. There were cameras at the door and on the inside, plus something that she suspected was a metal detector.
The ride up was fast, but she used the time to compose herself. She emptied her mind of all thought, even repeating in her mind a mantra she had learned years ago for meditation, though wit
h one thing and another (marriage, motherhood, career) she’d never persevered with it. But now she wanted to arrive in West’s office in a calm frame of mind, or at least as calm as possible. Going in with overt hostility wasn’t going to achieve what she needed to achieve.
When she stepped out onto the thick carpet, he was sitting behind his desk as usual, looking up expectantly at her.
“Dr. West,” she began, without greeting or rigmarole, “I’m not going to fight you anymore. I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”
Chapter 41
Nobody can write a scenario for death, Charlie.”
It was a man’s voice. He didn’t recognize it.
“Come on, wake up, Charlie, it’s all over. Open your eyes.”
His eyelids fluttered open. He found he was lying horizontally and a man was standing over him. The man was vaguely familiar, but only vaguely. He could have been the brother, almost the twin but not quite, of the sleek-haired man who had stood with the general in front of Charlie’s cage a few days ago.
Seeing the look in Charlie’s eyes, the man looked faintly amused, pursing his lips in a curious way, as though fearing that a normal smile would somehow rob him of his dignity.
“You think you recognize me from the VR—right, Charlie? That was just Dr. Flemyng’s little joke. She morphed a semilook-alike—not quite the same thing. Just another test of the acuity of your recognition. You recognize Dr. Flemyng, I know.”
The Discrete Charm of Charlie Monk Page 18
