The Discrete Charm of Charlie Monk

by David Ambrose

  “Buzz—come back! Buzz! Good boy, come back, come back…!”

  Christopher’s voice snapped her out of the vortex of her thoughts. She looked across the room in time to see him disappearing out the door, running after the little dog, who was making one of his periodic “bids for freedom,” as John used to call them laughingly. It was a game the animal seemed to play almost consciously with Christopher, a breathless chase of hide-and-seek around the house. Of course, like all dogs, he would sometimes choose the worst of all possible moments to play—when they were on the point of going out, for example, and had to get him into the car and were already late. But the little dog had never chosen, she decided as she sprinted down the corridor, a worse moment than this. If he disappeared now, Christopher would never leave without him—unless she physically forced him to, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Christopher, come back! We haven’t time! Buzz!”

  The dog disappeared around a corner and Christopher went after him, neither of them paying the least attention to her. She tore after them, around another corner and down a longer passage. The dog had his nose to the floor now, following a scent. She could see an open door and daylight in the distance and prayed that something would happen before Buzz got there. But there were no miracles, nobody stepped out of the shadows, no gust of wind banged the door shut in the nick of time.

  Suddenly they were outside, racing along the back of the house, then toward the stables and various outhouses, and beyond that a barn. Buzz made for a small door on the side, which was closed. He jumped up and tried to push it open, without success. Then he realized that Christopher had almost caught up with him and was about to grab him, so he made a dash to the left. It was a bad move because his way was blocked after a few yards by a fence. Susan and Christopher closed in, and he was cornered. He gave up without a struggle, as he always did at the end of one of these games, content to have had some fun but not wanting anybody to be really mad at him.

  Susan bundled him up in her arms, insisting despite Christopher’s protests on carrying the dog herself. Then she saw something, just a glimpse, a brief image passing a dusty window farther along the wall of the barn. It was her father. He hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that. He seemed to be talking animatedly, waving his hands. She couldn’t see who was with him, but she knew at once that something was wrong—in the sense that this was not the role he had been playing until now. He no longer looked like a man being held prisoner. Something about that glimpse of him, the way he was moving, the way he was talking, suggested authority. He was giving orders, telling people what to do.

  She felt that same strange jump of fear in her heart that she had felt when Charlie had first made his claim about her father’s real identity. Her whole being said it couldn’t be true; yet, if it was true, it had to be faced, and faced now.

  “All right, you take him,” she said, handing over the dog to Christopher. “But make sure he doesn’t get away again.”

  “Okay!”

  Christopher took the dog delightedly, holding him tight while Buzz licked his face.

  “Take him back to your room and make sure he stays there. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  She watched until the boy and the dog had disappeared into the house, then turned back to the barn. The fence had a gate that she opened carefully, keeping her eyes on the window where she had glimpsed her father. But she didn’t see him again until she got much closer. Then she saw him farther away, framed against the light from the big doors on the far side, which were open. He was still talking, still giving orders to people she couldn’t see. She ducked below the window to get past and headed for the corner. Her heart was beating now, and she realized she was biting her lower lip so hard she had almost drawn blood. It was something she’d done as a child when she felt under pressure or afraid of being discovered in some small transgression.

  But now she wasn’t the one who was about to be found out. Her fear was of what she was about to discover. Her greatest fear of all was that she already knew.

  She could hear his voice now. She stopped and listened.

  “Remember—his reaction times are less than half yours. Once he’s in the open, that’s when he’s most dangerous.”

  Somebody else spoke, though she couldn’t make out what the person said, but it must have been a question because she heard her father’s answer as clearly as before. “No, you wait till I give the signal. Have you all got that clear?”

  There were murmurs of assent from several voices. Then her father’s voice again, firm and confident, the man in command. “All right, get to your places. They’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

  She pulled back around the corner so that the men didn’t see her as they filed out. She knew them all, had spoken to most of them at times. They did various jobs around the place—driving, looking after the horses, tending the pool and garden. Michael was among them. And Joe, the helicopter pilot. Seven of them in all. Each one of them carried a small, compact, lethal-looking machine gun.

  A moment later they had all dispersed. She heard a car start up. It sounded like the station wagon, but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see her father either. After a while she wondered if he was still in the barn or if he’d left by some other door. Then she heard his footsteps. They were unmistakably his, and they were coming toward her. Any second now he would turn the corner and they would be face-to-face.

  She wanted to run, to hide the fact that she had been spying on him. She felt guilty, as though the fault was entirely hers. She had spied and eavesdropped on her father, and had been punished by learning things that only caused her pain. That was what happened to naughty girls who thought they knew best. It always ended in tears, like now. She realized that her cheeks were wet, and she was sobbing.

  When he saw her, he stopped dead. His face turned white and his mouth fell open in shock. She tried to say something, but all that came from her was a whining sound that made her hate herself for such weakness.

  But the anger that followed on its heels strengthened her determination to go on and get through this. She owed it to herself, above all to Christopher, and in a strange way she felt she owed it to her dead mother. They had all been betrayed by this man who stood before her, and she owed it to them to be the stronger of the two, the one who stood her ground and judged, not the one who backed off and became his victim.

  “So,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion, “it was true, what Charlie said.”

  He didn’t even try to deny it. His jaw worked a couple of times, and then he found the words by which he sought, she supposed, to excuse himself.

  “I had no choice,” he said. His voice was hollow, lacking resonance, unrecognizable as the same voice she had heard issuing crisp orders to his men only moments earlier. “Believe me, they would have killed you.”

  She tried to say something, but all she managed was another wrenching sob. She passed her hand and part of her sleeve across her face, angrily wiping away the tears she so despised in herself.

  “Like you killed John?” She got the words out in a rush, failing to suppress the howl of pain that came with them.

  He shook his head. “No, not me.” There was an urgency in his voice, as though he really believed that if he tried hard enough he could still convince her. “I tried to save John, and failed. But I managed to save you.”

  “You delivered me right into their hands. The Pilgrim Foundation!” She spat the words contemptuously at him. “I suppose you put them up to approaching me in the first place.”

  “Try to understand—your work was always going to be in someone’s hands. That’s inevitable when you need the kind of funding you needed.”

  “Who’s behind them? The government? The CIA? Who are you working for?”

  “For people who make sure that what needs to be done is done.”

  “My God…!”

  She almost laughed at the pathetic attempt at self-justification that lay behind his w
ords. She felt a sudden irrational elation. This man couldn’t be her father. It wasn’t possible, there was some mistake. It was just another lie that would be exposed and discarded in the end.

  “If I’d known it would go this far,” he protested feebly, “if I’d even suspected…”

  “What would you have done? Changed your convictions? Or just made even more sure that I never found out the truth?” She paused, feeling stronger every second, more secure with each successive breath she took. “You should have let them kill me.”

  But no, she thought as soon as the words were out of her mouth, that wasn’t what she wanted. That way her father would have got his hands on Christopher, remade him in his own image—or tried to. It would never have worked, of course. She believed profoundly that her son would have remained her own and John’s child, never her father’s. But the experiment would have caused him a lot of pain and trouble, and that was something she would give a great deal to avoid. No, Amery Hyde would never get his hands on Christopher.

  “You disgust me,” she said, and her voice, though unsteady, had an icy edge to it. She saw the dismay in his eyes as the words cut into him.

  Then his gaze shifted and focused on something over her shoulder. She turned.

  Mrs. Hathaway stood in the doorway through which Christopher had disappeared with his dog only moments ago. There was no sign of the dog now, but Christopher was there, standing in front of her, with the woman’s strong hands resting with proprietorial firmness on his shoulders. He was watching the strange drama unfolding between his mother and his grandfather. He couldn’t hear what they are saying, but he was troubled by what he saw and what he sensed. Something was wrong, though he didn’t know what.

  But Mrs. Hathaway knew. A thin smile of triumph played around her lips as she met Susan’s gaze. It was as though she’d read the younger woman’s mind. “Never get our hands on him?” she seemed to say. “But we already have. He’s ours. So are you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Go back to your room, Susan,” Amery Hyde said. His voice was tired and drained of emotion and sounded to her as though it came from far away. “It’s better if you stay there till this is over. It won’t take long.”

  Chapter 52

  WE’LL BE READY to leave as soon as you land.”

  Amery Hyde’s voice came loud and clear over the cell phone that Latimer West held so that both he and Charlie could hear what was being said. There was a film of sweat on West’s upper lip. His whole body felt clammy with fear. The main reason was that Charlie’s right hand rested with apparent casual-ness on the back of West’s neck. But West knew the strength in those fingers. His spine could be broken in an instant, or the life choked silently out of him, or he could simply be rendered unconscious. Whatever Charlie chose to do, he could. And if West made one mistake, made even the slightest attempt to warn Amery Hyde of what was heading his way, then Charlie would do it.

  “That’s good,” West said, managing to keep his voice steady-only because Charlie’s eyes burned a warning into his. “We’ll be on the ground in just over five minutes.”

  “Look out the window—you’ll see us when you fly over,” Hyde said.

  “Will do.”

  West signed off and slipped the phone back into his inside pocket. Charlie looked out the cabin window as the small jet tilted and prepared to head for the narrow landing strip that wasn’t yet visible beyond the trees. His eyes flickered briefly to the pilot, whose back was just visible through the open cockpit door. The pilot, so far as Charlie knew, was unaware of what was going on, but he kept an eye on him just in case, and he would be especially watchful once they touched down.

  He looked out the window again. They were passing over the highway that Susan had shown him in the VR demonstration, losing altitude rapidly, the small plane seesawing one way, then the other, throttling up and then back. Suddenly, sprawling out to one side, he could see the main buildings of the ranch, their layout just as he’d memorized it. Looking forward over the pilot’s shoulder, he could see the landing strip. Something was moving on the ground. As they got closer, he saw it was a station wagon driving from the main house to meet them. Just as Amery Hyde had promised, they were going to be ready for an immediate departure. That was good.

  They made a perfect touchdown, landing with scarcely a bump. The twin jets roared into reverse thaist and the plane braked with a sharpness that would have been impossible in a larger craft. Charlie glanced at West, warning him to stay silent as the pilot maneuvered the plane through a tight circle in readiness for takeoff, as West had instructed him earlier.

  “Keep the engines running—right?” he said over his shoulder.

  Charlie glanced at West and nodded.

  “Right,” West answered. “Open the door, we’re going to board passengers immediately.”

  “Any idea where we’re headed from here?” the pilot asked, levering himself out of his seat and automatically putting on the gray cap that matched his uniform. “Just thinking about fuel.”

  Another warning glance from Charlie.

  “We’ll tell you in the air,” West said. “Just open the door.” Then, in response to the slightest increase in the lift of Charlie’s eyebrow, he added, “You board the woman and child first, then Mr. Hyde. Is that clear?”

  “Got it.”

  The pilot threw a catch and was about to turn a lever that would open the door when Charlie’s command exploded at him. “Stop!”

  The man froze, and looked toward Charlie to see what was wrong. Then he followed Charlie’s gaze out the cabin windows and saw all four doors of the station wagon fly open and four men with machine guns pile out. On the other side of the plane three more, also armed, had emerged from bushes and a storage tank. The fifth man out of the station wagon was Amery Hyde, unarmed, the general in command of his troops.

  “Get over here,” Charlie ordered the pilot. “Move!” he pointed to one of the empty passenger seats.

  The pilot looked uncertain. He glanced at Latimer West, whose eyes had glazed over with terror. He wasn’t even aware of the pilot’s questioning look. Instead he was pleading with Charlie. “I didn’t know,” he kept repeating, “I didn’t know… I didn’t warn them, I don’t know how they…”

  “Shut up,” Charlie said, getting to his feet. West obeyed, falling silent except for his breathing, which was hard and ragged, like a man out of condition who’d been running.

  “You,” Charlie said, pointing again to the pilot, “over here.”

  A gun, the pilot now saw, had appeared in Charlie’s hand. It wasn’t pointed anywhere in particular; all the same, the pilot held up his hands and moved to where Charlie had ordered. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know what’s going on here, I just fly this thing….”

  “Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them,” Charlie snapped. The pilot obeyed.

  Through the window Charlie could see Amery Hyde taking out a cell phone and dialing a number. The phone in West’s pocket buzzed. Charlie nodded for him to answer. West’s hands were shaking so hard he could barely manage. “Hello?” he said, after clearing his throat a couple of times.

  “Give me Charlie,” Amery Hyde said. “And don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there safely.” Charlie could hear Hyde’s voice faintly from the phone, synchronized with the movement of his lips outside.

  “For God’s sake be careful,” West said, his voice cracking.

  “Don’t get me killed. Tell him! Tell him it wasn’t me who warned you!”

  “I don’t give a damn who warned them,” Charlie said, and snatched the phone impatiently. “All right, I’m listening.”

  “And I imagine you’re looking at me, too, Charlie. So you know who I am.”

  “I know who you are now—Mr. Hyde.”

  “I’m still Control, Charlie. I’m still giving the orders.”

  “Not to me. Not anymore.”

  “Charlie, you’re good. You and I both know how good. But even yo
u can’t win this one.”

  Everything Charlie had been trained to do in a situation like this flashed through his mind. The first thing was to take his time, stretch things out, and begin scoring points to unnerve his enemy. Then he recalled it was Control who had taught him most of those tricks, so they would be wasted here. He cut to the chase. “Where are Dr. Flemyng and her son?”

  “That’s none of your affair.”

  “I’ve got two hostages here. I want Dr. Flemyng and her son on this plane now. You’ll get your hostages back when I’m through with them.”

  Amery turned and coolly nodded to one of his men. There was a burst of automatic gunfire, aimed low. The plane rocked, then hunkered down like some ungainly bird settling on its nest.

  “We’ve shot your tires out, Charlie,” Amery said. “This plane’s going nowhere. Nor are you. Just come out with your hands up, and we’ll get this whole misunderstanding sorted out.”

  Chapter 53

  THE SUN CAME out from behind a cloud and hit Amery Hyde full in the face. He narrowed his eyes, which meant he had even less chance of seeing any movement inside the cabin. The windows were just opaque black spaces.

  He knew Charlie had a gun. Along with two hostages, that was quite a hand he had to play. All Charlie’s conditioning would make him fight this out and if necessary die in the attempt. Charlie was not programmed to quit. If he did, it would be an interesting development.

  “Okay, while we’re sitting here, let’s talk.” Charlie’s voice on the phone was laconic. Amery waited a moment, then was about to respond—when a piercing scream of such force came over the phone that he jumped—only slightly, but he knew that Charlie would have noticed. He was annoyed about that; it would make Charlie think he was getting the upper hand, which wasn’t true.