Chapter 34
Tony and Laika had dug in. There was little else to do. If Joseph had escaped from the prison, he would get in touch with them when he could. Tony had seen the van return to the castle, but there had been no sign of Joseph among the passengers. And then the shit had hit the fan.
The six terrorist acts struck them like a strong slap across the face, and the follow-up news made it clear that they were the results of the same Scottish nationalist group responsible for the escapes, the group that was very possibly located in Castle Dirk.
"Laika," Tony said, as they walked behind the cottage, trying to work off some of their excess energy, "we need to do something. If they've got the Prisoner in there, and if he's behind this, my God, we don't know what might happen next."
"What do we do, Tony?" she asked impatiently. "Go to the police? Tell Molly Fraser what we suspect? Get MI5 to send in a SWAT team? If our mystery man is in there, that'll do a shitload of good. You know what happened in Utah—he'll just turn them against each other, it'll be a slaughter, and he'll escape again."
"We can tell them about his . . . powers. Maybe they could find some other way—"
"They'd never believe us. You know damn well they wouldn't. Besides, we still don't have Joseph back, and I'm not going to take a chance on his getting killed in the crossfire if he's in there. Maybe we'll go in after him, you and But I don't think it's urgent, not yet."
"How can you say that, especially after what's happened in London?"
"It's especially because of that. Look, six terrorists were freed, and six terrorist strikes occurred. We've got every reason to think there's a connection between the two events, and if there is, then they've shot their wad for the time being. If we're wrong, if the castle crew isn't involved, then it doesn't matter at all."
"I just feel . . . I don't know, responsible for what happened. If we'd shared our suspicions—"
"Stop it," Laika said sharply. "The blood of all those people isn't on our hands. Maybe if we were dealing with anyone else, with someone human, it would be different, but this ex-prisoner of ours is beyond humanity. There's no way we can ever guess what we can expect from the sonofabitch, other than blood and more blood. But if it's going to be anything like the last time, he's going to have to set it up first. And before we see any signs of that, Joseph might get back."
As if on cue, they heard the sound of a car coming down the stone road to the cottage. Although it didn't sound like the Peugeot, it was unlikely that Joseph would have gotten the car back anyway. It was nearly dark, and just starting to rain again as they rounded the side of the cottage and saw the vehicle, a large sedan that might have been dark blue, but looked black in the dying light.
The front doors opened and two men got out. They were both wearing khaki-colored raincoats, belts cinched tight at the waist. Neckties knotted like clenched fists sat beneath their white dress collars. Laika didn't know who they worked for, but they looked like pros. Then the man on the passenger side opened the back door, and Richard Skye stepped out.
He gave the drizzling sky a disapproving glance and then offered Laika and Tony his usual unenthusiastic smile. There was not enough effort in it to label it insincere. "Agent Harris, Agent Luciano," he said, with a curt nod to each.
"Good evening, sir," Laika said, her heart racing as she wondered what the man was doing there. "Will you come inside?"
She turned and led the way, and the others followed. Tony came up next to her, looking mildly panicked, but she quickly shook her head, telling him not to say a word. This was hers to handle, whatever it might be.
Once inside, Skye introduced the two men as Agents Finch and Weyrman. Finch was slightly taller, and Weyrman's features were more regular, but other than that Laika didn't see any more difference between them than two dogs from the same litter.
Tony served them all coffee, and after they had discussed the weather and the landscape, Skye asked Finch and Weyrman if they would mind going out to the car while he discussed "some matters" with Agents Harris and Luciano. They took a cup of coffee each, and left with brief nods. Laika was sure they were packing under the raincoats, which they had not removed.
"Now," said Skye when they were alone, "you're undoubtedly wondering why I came all the way over here rather than using other methods of communication. It's simply because I've put two and two together and come up with four, or at least what appears to be four. It's not so much the so-called ghostly appearances in this area that have piqued my interest as it is these prison escapes I asked you to look into, with your very limited resources. I received this photograph from MI5 the other day, asking if my people could identify the gentleman."
He passed Laika a black-and-white laser-printed image of Joseph Stein. Laika could see that he was subtly twisting his features, doing his best to preserve his identity.
"Try as he might to make silly faces," Skye said, "I couldn't help but recognize Agent Stein. But no sooner had I received this photograph, to which, by the way, I made no reply, than the news came that this unknown prisoner had also miraculously escaped. Now, from every official report I've seen, and from those we've intercepted, there is every reason to believe that these prisoners, including Agent Stein, actually passed through solid walls, along with their liberator, in order to escape.
"What's more, it's obvious that these terrorists were freed for the sole purpose of carrying out the six bombings that just took place. So, along with the odd method of escape that is most definitely deserving of direct investigation, I also find that one of my field agents may be somehow involved with the worst terrorist attack ever to strike one of our country's staunchest allies. So my first question, and my only question for now—what do you know of Agent Stein's whereabouts?"
"Nothing," Laika said. "We haven't heard a thing from him, but we're confident that he'll contact us as soon as the opportunity arises."
"If it does," Skye said. "At any rate, I trust that you now understand the reasons for my presence. Now. I've lodged Agents Finch and Weyrman in the town, but since there is an extra bedroom here, I shall be staying with you. It's been a very long day. I was among the many people at Langley who got no sleep last night, and I'd like to regain some alertness before we discuss these matters further."
At Skye's direction, Finch and Weyrman brought in a small suitcase, a laptop computer, and Skye's briefcase, then drove back toward Gairloch. Laika showed Skye the remaining room, and offered him the larger one that she was using, but he declined, saying the smaller room would be sufficient, since all he intended to do was sleep in it.
After getting Skye settled in, Laika rejoined Tony downstairs. She hesitated to say anything, not knowing how much Skye could overhear from upstairs, should he be listening. Tony had only one comment to make, and he did so just loud enough for Laika to hear:
"If Joseph knows what's good for him, he'll just stay wherever he is."
Chapter 35
Joseph had learned to sleep with the light on a long time before. The naked overhead bulb proved no impediment to his slumbers, but the light made him sleep just lightly enough to be awakened by the sound of the trapdoor opening twenty feet above.
He didn't move at first, wondering what it meant. Were they bringing him a meal? Or were they going to kill him? The possibility of both life and death were very real for a hostage held by terrorists, which was after all exactly what he was.
The ladder came down, and Mulcifer scuttled swiftly down it, turning and smiling at Joseph as his feet landed lightly on the stone floor. Joseph didn't know whether to feel relieved or frightened. "Pretty pedestrian entrance," he said. "So why didn't you vaporize yourself and drift through the trapdoor and down to me?"
"The law of conservation of energy rules us all, Joseph. I perform only when necessary. I've already impressed you enough, haven't I? Besides, there's something I need you to do for me."
"What? Walk into Parliament wearing dynamite sticks strapped to my ass?"
"News tr
avels fast, I see." Mulcifer didn't lean against the wall, or make any move to relax. He simply stood there, arms at his side, as if it were the most comfortable position imaginable. The creature's lack of humanity, in this and so many other things, was disconcerting.
"No," Mulcifer went on, "I don't want you to do anything like that for me. Your goal is much closer to home. You see, Joseph, your mind is like an open book to me. When I care to turn the pages, I know pretty much what you know. I know what you and your two colleagues have learned about me, and I know that your connection to the CIA is among the greatest risks and dangers that I face. I know that you know my weakness, and there are few who do. Therefore, I've decided to eliminate you all."
It was the casualness with which he said it that chilled Joseph most, but he tried to disguise his fear. "That comes as no surprise. I never thought I'd get out of this castle alive. So are you going to do it, or have one of your flunkies do the deed?"
"One of my flunkies, I believe. And you're wrong—you are going to get out of here alive. Only you won't be alive for long." Mulcifer reached behind him and drew out a small automatic pistol. "It may not look like much," he said, "but it will get the job done. When you get back to your cottage, I want you to act perfectly natural, like the prodigal returned, glad to see them and be seen, and as soon as you have the opportunity, I want you to first kill Agent Luciano, and then Agent Harris. Then I want you to turn the gun on yourself.
"Shoot yourself in the abdomen first, six inches below the sternum. That should provide a nice, slow, bleeding wound that will eventually kill you. Keep the pistol in your hand, but shoot yourself in the head only if someone else comes in." He held out the pistol to Joseph. "That about covers it. It's got a full clip, so if you happen to miss your friends the first time, keep shooting."
Joseph reached out and took the pistol, but not for the purpose of assassinating his friends. He had no intention of doing anything that Mulcifer had just told him. Instead he jacked the slide, putting a round into the chamber, and turned the muzzle toward Mulcifer. The hammer was raised, the gun ready to fire. "Lead's your weakness," he said. "How about lead bullets?"
"They sting a bit. They're merely projectiles, though. You'd have to have a bullet that would expand to my size and wrap entirely around me for it to do any good. Besides, even if it could harm me, you won't be able to pull the trigger, because I don't want you to. I won't even use that usual villainous bravado and ask you to try. There's no point in wasting bullets. And this way you'll think it's your own choice not to fire. Then you can still maintain the illusion that once you get away from me, your own will can be strong enough to dismiss my order. But it won't be, despite your feelings to the contrary. Those are merely emotions. What I'm dealing with is science."
"You are so full of shit," Joseph said through clenched teeth.
"And you are so full of me," Mulcifer said. "But if it comforts you to think, 'Out of sight, out of mind,' go ahead. It doesn't matter what you think. All that matters is what I've put in there." He pointed to Joseph's head.
"Whatever you've put in," Joseph said, "it's not going to stay for long. You can't make me kill my friends. You can't make me kill myself. I have my own will. I'll fight you and I'll win." Then he paused for a moment, his mind whirling with thoughts and strategies. "That's why you're telling me all this, isn't it? Just to implant the idea, to make me think that it's inevitable, when it's nothing of the sort."
"No, I'm telling you because it doesn't matter at all what you think. Thinking has nothing to do with it. You are water. I am heat. With enough heat, water will boil. The water's wish not to boil doesn't enter into it. Water has no will. It responds when acted upon."
"You go to hell," Joseph said, his finger trembling on the trigger. But he knew that if he pulled it, nothing would happen.
"I'm tired of talk," Mulcifer said. "It's such a primitive, imperfect method of communication." He turned to the ladder and climbed up it quickly. Joseph watched him go, the gun still clenched in his fist. He waited to see if the ladder would be pulled up, but it was not. Then he lowered the gun and tried to think.
Despite what Mulcifer had said, Joseph knew that he was incapable of turning on Laika and Tony. They had become far more than colleagues. The experiences they had gone through and the secrets they had shared had bonded them together like family. Maybe it was a family that had its little spats and disagreements, but it was a family nonetheless. He would no sooner harm them than he would have killed his own mother or father.
He knew that Mulcifer had been responsible for turning other people against their friends, and even their loved ones. But Joseph refused to believe that the same could be done to him. He was not other people, he was Joseph Stein, and his will was his own. No shoddy hypnotist, even if he did have powers beyond Joseph's comprehension, was going to tell him to hurt his friends and get away with it.
No, Mulcifer wouldn't get away with it at all. Joseph would return to Laika and Tony, tell them everything that had happened, and then they would bring down the might of the whole goddamned British army on the bastard, maybe the whole might of NATO, for that matter. They'd drop so many shells on the castle that Mulcifer would be covered with lead, if that was the only way to take him down. "You want lead, I'll give you lead," Joseph whispered, and started to climb the ladder.
But he stopped just before he stuck his head through the trapdoor. What if the spooky bastard had been lying? What if it had all been a setup just to get him killed, and Mackay's men were waiting above with drawn guns? Mulcifer liked his little games.
Hell, he thought, what if they were? Better to die clean trying to escape than stay down in that pit any longer. Besides, despite his paranoia, Joseph thought Mulcifer had been telling the truth, at least about what he wanted Joseph to do.
The arrogance of the creature was even greater than its powers, and this was one time that its hubris was going to prove stronger than its ability to deliver the goods.
Even though Joseph had expected to see Mulcifer at the top of the ladder, watching him beatifically, no one was there. His pistol at the ready, Joseph left the guardhouse and scuttled through the inner ward to the gatehouse. He didn't want to take the chance of being spotted from the castle, so instead of going through and up the drive to the road that would take him back to the cottage, he hugged the castle wall until he reached the steep stairway, and descended it carefully down to the stony beach.
The rain had stopped, and he started southward on the several-mile walk to the cottage. But he had gone only a hundred yards when he stopped and considered the possibilities.
Though he had no doubt of his ability to disobey Mulcifer when it came to harming his friends, he realized that he had had no doubt that he would be able to disobey him regarding accessing the information from the data banks. True, as he had told Mackay, there was a difference between hitting keys on a computer and pulling a trigger, but just the same, why take chances?
He looked down at the pistol in his hand, and then turned toward the Minch. He drew back his arm, intending to throw it far out into the water, but stopped just as his arm was about to snap forward. He suddenly felt as though the gun was a part of his body, and that to try and throw it away would be like trying to throw away his fingers—silly, absurd, unheard of.
He lowered his arm, the gun at his side again. He realized that he had not done what he had intended to do, and with that realization the fear returned. He tried now to simply drop the pistol, but the fingers of his right hand would not obey him. He snatched it with his left hand, as though he were in some horror movie in which the hand of a killer had replaced his own, and he must defeat its murderous purpose. But he could not drop it from either hand, and he fell on his knees on the rough pebbles, breathing hard.
At last he pushed himself upright, thinking that maybe his legs would obey him, that he could go away from the cottage, just keep walking in the other direction until someone found him or he fell from exhaustion. But he had mo
ved only a few steps northward when he stopped, unable to go further. "Please," he whispered roughly, unsure of what or whom he was addressing. "Please . . ."
His feet would not take him where he wanted to go. He could not drop the gun, could not move away from his targets and his friends. But maybe . . . maybe there was one other thing he could do. As long as he didn't think about it.
Joseph jerked the pistol up, pushing the muzzle against his temple, and tried to pull the trigger.
He couldn't. His finger on the trigger was like stone, the trigger immovable, as if the entire pistol had been cast from iron. For a long time he stood there, the muzzle against his flesh, but no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how often and how insistently he told himself that this was now the only way, he could not move the trigger.
Finally he dropped his arm, fell to his knees, and rolled over on his side, weeping until it seemed that all the moisture in his body had turned to tears. At last, there on the cold, wet pebbles, he closed his tear-filled eyes, and his anguish and sorrow and loss over what he must do exhausted him, and drove him into the dark pit of a restless sleep.
His fingers holding the gun did not relax. They remained clenched around the deadly metal all the time he slept, through what was left of the night, and into the gray light of the next day.
Chapter 36
After he spoke to Joseph Stein, and gave him his command, Mulcifer thought no more about him. That Stein would do as he had been told, Mulcifer had no doubt. Now it was time for something else.
It was shortly after midnight, and Mulcifer first went to Colin Mackay's room and pounded on the door. "I want everyone in the great hall," he told Mackay when he opened his door. "As soon as possible." Then he turned from Mackay and continued down the hallway, pounding on doors and telling the men to come to the great hall for a meeting, and to bring their weapons.
Siege of Stone Page 20
