Siege of Stone

by Williamson, Chet

  "The word," said Mulcifer dryly, "is 'fuck,' and it's one that gentlemen shouldn't use. Therefore, you die no gentleman's death, you shortbread-sucking, haggis-gobbling, kilt-wearing, jock scotty McAsshole!"

  Mulcifer's words had increased in volume and intensity, but now he dropped the volume again. "No offense intended, of course. Just as I'm sure you didn't intend to offend me with your little fusillade of lead. Everyone, turn your lights directly on our friend Angus here."

  The flashlights that had not already illuminated Angus now shone on him, making it hard to see. "Now, Angus, let's see how those fine Scottish teeth can gnaw through fine Scottish flesh. I want you to chew through the veins in your wrist, Angus. Just ignore the pain and gnaw right through until the blood starts spurting."

  Angus looked down at his right hand, still holding the pistol. He didn't think about what he was going to do, not about the horror of it, or the agony it would cause him, or the death that would follow from the loss of blood. He didn't wonder about how he had come to be doing such a thing. He simply did what he was told. He felt no anger, no terror, no desire to strike back at the man who had directed him to oblivion. He simply chewed.

  Chapter 38

  The ones who felt all the emotions that Angus could not were the men watching him. Rob could only stand there as his friend scraped at the skin over his own wrist, piercing it with his teeth, and then tearing away small bits. The bleeding started quickly, and by the time Angus reached the artery, his face was already smeared red. The pulsing blood struck Angus in the eyes, but he merely closed them and continued to worry at his arm like a dog ripping meat off a soup bone.

  After a few more minutes, he toppled over onto his side, but continued to chew weakly until his only motion was the blood that continued to run from the gaping wound in his wrist. His eyes glazed over, and Rob knew he was dead.

  "All right," said Mulcifer. "Let's be on our way. We'll leave Angus here." He knelt and picked up the canister he and Rob had been carrying and slipped it under one arm as easily as if it had been inflatable. Then he nodded to Rob to pick up the front end of Angus's canister, turned, and walked leisurely down the tunnel, his head slightly bent.

  Rob and the others followed. He could not remember ever feeling so much hatred, and knowing that hatred was what he must not feel. If the thing felt it, he might do the same to Rob as he had done to big Angus, and then Rob would never know the joy of avenging his friend, who would have fought a bear with a fork for the fun of it.

  So Rob tried to think of other things, of heather and mountains and glens and the beauty through which they had come and through which they would return in daylight with their terrible burden. He hoped that the honor walking ahead of him could not see what was not consciously thought, and then, acknowledging his own dreams of revenge, tried to bury them deep under images of white clouds and blue skies.

  When they arrived back at the barrow, early morning light was glowing through the opening they had dug. At Mulcifer's orders, they covered over the hole in the floor with the heavy metal sheet again and shoved the four boulders onto each corner. Then they replaced the stones and the dirt, finally putting the turf back over the bare earth so that unless one looked carefully, the barrow appeared undisturbed.

  When they finished, Mulcifer had them load four of the five canisters into the rear of the first van, and the fifth canister into the other. Then he went up to Brian and Henry Baird, two brothers in their twenties who had been among the most militant of Colin's small cadre, and drew them aside, out of hearing of the rest of the men.

  He talked to them for ten minutes, and they showed no response other than to nod when he was finished. The Baird brothers got into the second van, and Mulcifer told the other men to get into the first. "It may be cozy, but we're all brothers in the cause of Scottish freedom, now, aren't we?"

  Rob drove next to Mulcifer, and the other men arranged themselves three in the backseat and two sitting on the floor in the rear, amid the canisters. The two vans pulled out onto the A837, but when Rob turned west to head back to Castle Dirk, the van behind went east. "Where are the Bairds off to, then?" Rob asked.

  Mulcifer shook his head. "Don't worry about them. Just concentrate on the road. You wouldn't want to have an accident with what we're carrying, would you?"

  Rob didn't answer. He didn't have to. This monster next to him knew exactly what he was thinking. So Rob watched the road and admired the scenery. The day was bright and fair. The rain clouds had scudded away, leaving a blue sky with wisps of cirrus high above.

  God, his was a bonnie land, and he loved it more than life. But he found himself wishing that they had all loved good sense more. They'd shaken hands with the deil all right, but the deil hadn't let go.

  Chapter 39

  Although he was sheltered from its rays by the cliff, the sun on the water woke Joseph Stein. When he opened his eyes there was a sparkling like thousands of diamonds, and he pressed them closed again, then opened them more slowly. He knew that he had something to do, but couldn't recall what it was.

  Not until he sat up did he realize that he held a pistol in his hand. He looked at it for a moment, and then he remembered what he was supposed to do.

  He got to his feet and took a deep breath. It was going to be a beautiful day. He looked at the dancing light on the water for another minute, then turned and walked south on the beach, toward the cottage where Laika and Tony waited.

  Others waited there too. Richard Skye waited for the woman to leave so that they could all stop lying and he could get to the root of these phenomena and find the one that he had been looking for, the one with all the powers, the one whose might Mr. Stanley wanted to harvest.

  Through his ties to MI5, Molly Fraser's name was known to Skye, so there had been no subterfuge in that regard. In fact, some of Skye's agents had worked with her back in the eighties, so he was familiar with her career and skills. She had dropped by this morning with a bagful of scones, just as Skye had been coming down the stairs. It had been an awkward moment for everyone, and Skye had been piqued when he'd learned Fraser's identity, and that she knew his agents' covers and mission.

  But they had explained to him how Fraser had seen Stein, with whom she had worked in the past, and drawn the logical conclusions. At least Fraser, who was now a police inspector, had not informed MI5 of his team's true identities, or at least so she claimed. Agents were in the business of lying, and Skye trusted the woman no farther than he could have thrown her.

  So they sat and ate scones and drank tea and coffee and prevaricated. The last thing Skye wanted Fraser to learn was anything about the mysterious prisoner. He didn't even want his operatives to know about him, though he strongly suspected that they had already learned, if not actually crossed his path.

  The official story from Skye's side was that his three agents were simply here to try and debunk any purported phenomena before the British and American press had a field day with it. Fraser's story was nearly identical, with the proviso that the MI5's presence was due to a scientific interest in the occurrences, and the possibility of discovering new technologies.

  It was all bullshit and Skye knew it. From the cynical look on Fraser's face, he was certain that she knew it as well, but wondered in frustration how much she knew.

  Fraser was telling them MI5's official story about the terrorist attacks on London, the same data that Skye had received just before he'd left Langley, when they heard someone rattling the knob of the back door. Agent Luciano made a quick movement behind his back, came out with a pistol, and walked swiftly into the kitchen. His quickness made Skye feel secure and protected. Luciano was the right man to have in the event of danger.

  Agent Harris's hand also held a gun, and she too walked to the kitchen door. "Visitors come in the front," she said, as if to explain the firepower, and Skye nodded approvingly, but still looked around to decide what piece of furniture to get behind should shooting start.

  But instead of gunfire, he h
eard a burst of laughter from Luciano, and the sound of the door opening, and Luciano and Harris babbling happily. Skye and Fraser walked to the kitchen door and saw the two agents patting an extremely disheveled Joseph Stein on the back and shoulders. Stein's stubbled face was smiling gently, and he looked slightly embarrassed as they walked him into the living room.

  What should I say? Or should I kill them right away? Now? When they're so happy to see me back, safe and sound? There, Tony put his gun away, tucked down behind his back, right where I have mine. He's quicker than me, but he won't be expecting me to . . . oh Christ, I can't do it, I won't do it.

  Skye. There's Skye, and Molly, too. They have to die, too, then. Oh Molly, oh God, Molly. All right, Tony first, then Laika, they're the ones with guns. Then Molly and Skye. Skye never carries. Then myself. All right, but when, when? Now?

  ". . . They have you? Was that you?" Joseph tried to turn his attention to Laika's words. She was easing him down into a chair. "How did you escape?" she asked, as she joined Tony on the sofa only a few feet away.

  "Yes, Agent Stein," Skye was saying. "How did you escape?"

  "I . . ." He knew that he could say nothing about Mulcifer. They couldn't know that he knew him, more than knew him, that he was Mulcifer's red right hand. "Yes, the police captured me during the jailbreak, but they let me go."

  "Let you go?" Laika asked. "But . . . why?"

  Because I have to kill you. Because walls can't keep out the one that wants you dead, and neither can my will. I have no will. He was right, he was right. Will doesn't enter into it. He is fire, I am water. I have no choice but to boil.

  No! No! I do have a choice! I don't have to do this, I don't!

  And then the gun was in his hand, and he was pointing it at Tony, and Laika was saying something, saying no, no, fight it, Joseph, you can fight this. We're your friends. Put it down. Just put it down. Don't listen. Fight it.

  But he could hardly hear her, and he knew that it didn't matter what she said. He couldn't fight. He could only obey.

  Fight it, Joseph. Joseph, fight him. You can. You can. He can't make you do this. Fight him. Give me the gun. Just give it to me, put it in my hand, and you've beaten him, you've won. You can win, Joseph, you can beat him.

  And now she was standing up, coming slowly toward him, and he was trying to keep the gun on Tony, because he was the one he had to shoot first, but Laika was coming toward him.

  Maybe she's right, I can fight him, I can win. The fire won't make me boil, no, the water won't boil, not this time, not ever. I can fight him, I can win, I can . . .

  Tony thought Laika was going to do it, but then the pistol went off, and Tony saw the blood blossom on Laika's chest as she fell back, her eyes wide in shock and pain. Then Joseph pointed the gun at him.

  Tony threw himself off the couch, yanking out his pistol as he fell, hearing the second gunshot, feeling the bullet graze his shoulder, and then his gun was up and he was firing at Joseph, once, twice, three times, until finally Joseph stopped firing, and the gun dropped from his hand and he slowly fell, his face gone suddenly gray, bloody froth at his lips, landing heavily next to Laika.

  Chapter 40

  Molly Fraser dropped to the floor, ripping open Laika's blouse to inspect the wound. Tony saw how bad it was before Molly started to put pressure on it. The bullet had caught her on the left side of the chest, piercing the lung and possibly nicking the heart as well. Laika was breathing lightly and shallowly, and Tony could see blood on her lips, too. Dear Christ, he couldn't lose them both.

  Joseph was lying on his side, his eyes wide. His breathing was worse than Laika's. Tony knew he would be dead in minutes. Joseph's lips were moving, as if he were trying to say something. Tony lay down next to him until their faces were only inches apart. "What?" he asked urgently. "What, Joseph?"

  The words came out like air from a slowly leaking tire. "Save . . . her. Get . . ."

  Tony couldn't understand the next word. Hell, he didn't understand any of it. How could he save Laika? In another few minutes she'd be dead from internal bleeding, and so would Joseph. "Get what?" he asked.

  "Get . . ." Joseph closed his eyes, and Tony thought he was gone, but he was only trying to fight for the word, which came out weakly, but clear. "Grail . . ."

  Tony didn't know if it was possible, but he knew that nothing else was going to help Laika live. Without a word to the others, he ran up the stairs into Joseph's room and hauled the suitcase from the closet.

  There, wrapped in sheets, was the ornate box that they had taken from the spartan room of Sir Andrew Mackay, the last of the Templars, after they had killed him in a shootout. Tony opened it, took out the simple wooden cup inside, and ran down the stairs. It was a wild chance, but it was the only chance.

  "What's going on here?" Skye had regained his composure enough to take command, but Tony ignored him. He went into the kitchen, ran water from the tap into the cup, and went back to where Laika lay.

  "Hold her shoulders up," Tony said to Molly. "She's gotta drink this."

  "A wee bit late for that," Molly said, her eyes on Joseph.

  "Just do it!" Tony barked, and Molly got her hands under Laika's shoulders and raised her slightly from the floor. Tony held the cup to her lips and tipped it so that the water ran into her mouth. Most of it dribbled down over her chin, but some passed her lips, and she choked for a moment. Then Tony saw her throat working and knew she had swallowed some.

  Then he sat back, exhausted spiritually and physically, the half-full cup in his hands. He didn't expect anything to happen. Joseph's mention of the grail was a dying man's delusion, a man so crazy that he'd tried to kill his friends.

  Suddenly, Laika's shallow breathing stopped, and there came one long, deep breath, and Tony knew that this was the last, the final escape of air from her dead throat. But then there came another, and another, and he was shocked to see that the wound in her chest was changing, becoming smaller, glistening less with blood.

  As he and Molly and Skye watched, the wound healed itself in less than a minute. Only the blood that had been originally shed remained. Laika blinked, propped herself on one elbow, and looked at Tony, then at the cup he was holding, and then at Joseph. She tried to talk, spat out the residue of the blood, and then cleared her throat. "Give it to him," she said, and her voice seemed faraway. "Give him the cup, Tony."

  He knew what she meant. Whatever had shot her and tried to kill him, it was not Joseph. But it was Joseph who had told him to get the grail.

  "Wait just a minute," Skye said. "Stein just tried to kill us."

  "That wasn't Joseph Stein," Laika said.

  "Who was it, then?" Skye asked, getting between Joseph and Tony.

  "It was the man you've been looking for, Mr. Skye," Laika said. "Now, get out of the way. We have to save our friend."

  Tony stood up with the cup and gave Skye a look that made the man shuffle aside instantly. Then he crouched next to Joseph and raised his head. God, he hoped it wasn't too late. Joseph's eyes were dull. The blood was running from two of the three wounds, and blood trails snaked from his mouth down over his chin. His jaw was slack.

  Tony poured the water into Joseph's mouth, but it simply lay inside like rainwater in a hollow stump. He pinched Joseph's nose shut, pressed his own mouth over Joseph's, and blew, once, twice, three times.

  The fourth time, something lurched inside Joseph. The gag reflex at least had come back to life. Tony immediately pressed his mouth on Joseph's again, and blew hard and long, forcing the water down Joseph's throat. At last he heard a slight rattle, and saw the throat muscles twitch.

  Then he pushed Joseph upright so the water would run down his esophagus, if the muscles were no longer capable of drawing it down. At least it had not run back out his mouth. "Come on, Joseph," he whispered harshly, using his sleeve to wipe Joseph's blood from his mouth. "Don't you die on me. You smartass sonofabitch, don't you die . . ." He held the cup out to Laika. "Get some more water—I don't know if I go
t enough down him."

  She went into the kitchen, and Tony heard the tap running. "Come on, Joseph . . . please . . ."

  "What's going on here?" Molly Fraser asked. "I don't understand any of this. . . why did Joseph try to kill us? How did . . ." she gestured feebly to the kitchen, through whose door Laika now returned, ". . . she become . . . healed like that?"

  "Joseph didn't try to kill us," Laika said. "It was someone inside Joseph. But it was Joseph we had to shoot."

  Tony had just begun to dribble more water into Joseph's mouth, when Joseph took in a quick, harsh breath. The air stayed in his lungs for what seemed an eternity, then rushed out again with a force that startled them all. Again he gasped in a ragged breath, held it as though his body was being restored by it, and expelled it.

  Then his breaths began to come more easily, though the exhalations seemed almost like shudders. Though they had not pulled away Joseph's torn shirt, Tony could see that no new blood was being added to that which already soaked the cloth. The bleeding had stopped.

  "That's it," Tony said, "just keep breathing, just keep it up . . ." He unbuttoned Joseph's shirt and saw that although his chest hair was matted with blood, the bullet wounds were not visible. It was as though they never had been.

  In another minute, Joseph was breathing normally, and he looked at Tony and Laika and Molly and Skye, his face filled with agony. "He had me," he said, with the same faraway quality that had cloaked Laika's voice at first. "I couldn't fight. I tried, oh God, please believe me, I did try, but I couldn't . . . it wasn't any use. He had me . . ."

  Then he looked at the cup Tony was still holding, and a rocky smile came over his blood-caked mouth. "You did it," he said. "Thank God. I found out . . . from Mackay . . . that it was what kept them from growing old. When I was . . . lying there, I remembered the legends, how it could restore the dying to life. I hoped you'd give it to her, but I never thought you'd give it to me. I thought you'd believe I turned."