by Ciaran Nagle
While the boys' attention was focused on Martin's story, Nancy's thoughts tumbled over the earlier events of the evening.
After Pete had finished, Nancy got up from the bed, wrapped herself in her now-damp towel, excused herself politely to Pete and slipped across the hall into the shower room.
There she soaked herself again in the shower and made sure she was ready to go out and eat with the boys.
But how was she going to disappoint Martin? He'd be bound to feel left out. Not to mention frustrated. She'd have to find a way to let him down gently.
Returning to her room she gratefully found it empty and this time dressed in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. She completed her relaxed look with a pair of casual seaside shoes and turned towards the mirror to check her appearance.
Then she ventured towards the lounge. And there was Martin looking at her.
Wanting to be called. And not wanting.
Part of the gang. And not part of the gang.
Smiling happily. And terrified of being found out.
In that instant, Nancy knew his secret. She had to protect him.
'Martin, I can't get the top off my deodorant. Can you come and help?'
And Martin glanced nervously at his two mates, forced a smile onto his face and walked towards her. Like a man facing the gallows.
Nancy closed the door behind them. Martin stood in the middle of the room, as nervous as a child in a haunted castle.
'Look…' he began.
'It's all right,' whispered Nancy, walking forward and putting her finger to his lips. 'I know. You're gay. I won't tell.'
Martin almost melted and sat himself on the bed. 'I know I should tell them. Just come out with it. One day I will. I'm just not ready yet. For now I just want to pretend. Is that all right?'
'Of course. Tell them when you feel ready. Look, why don't we sit here for a bit and chat? How about you tell me what it's like to be at university? I've never been.'
'OK, why not.' Martin sat back against the wall. 'Well, you've just got to hear about Professor Gibson and the striped cow…'
As Martin embarked on his story, Nancy watched him tenderly. Then she slipped off her shoes and went to sit beside him on the bed. She drew her knees up to her chest and leant her weight against the brawny scrum forward who didn't want her like that. She giggled when he reached the bit about the sudden shower of rain which exposed Professor Gibson's zebra creation. As he started to tell her about the incident with the policeman and the frozen duck she let her head fall against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
And just for a moment she felt a yawning gap in her heart as she wondered, for the millionth time, what it would be like to have a brother.
Ten minutes later, Nancy stripped off while Martin looked the other way. She wrapped the towel around her and returned to the bathroom. It was important to keep up the pretence. The mirror, she noticed, was clear and bore no marks except the faint outline of where she had rubbed it with her hands earlier.
She ran the shower for a minute and then turned it off. But as she gathered up her things and prepared to leave she had a shock. The mirror that was blank just a moment ago had something written on it once again. It was the same capital letter R that had been there before. But this time it was twice the size it had been previously and the serifs, curves, bowl and stem were as pin sharp as if they had been etched. Nancy fairly hit the mirror with her hand and wiped vigorously over the arrogant letter. It had no effect. Notice me, it seemed to say. Don't ignore me.
Nancy stared hard at the capital R. This time she knew she couldn't forget it. A shiver ran through her as another thought occurred. Was she being watched?
Martin's story and Nancy’s reflections were interrupted as a waiter came and deposited some menus on their table. This would be their first meal in Israel together and they turned to concentrate on the choices awaiting them.
'Chicken, chicken or chicken, it looks like', said Pete, as he surveyed what was on offer.
'Shame, I was hoping for chicken', offered Martin who always ate the most. 'Do they really not eat pork at all in Israel?'
Nancy saw a shiny black Mercedes draw up to the kerb near where the group’s table was set. Inside were three men of Arab appearance, unshaven and smoking. One of these had been staring at Nancy for some time. Now he managed to catch her eye. He smiled at her and a moment later got out of the car and approached the table.
'Good evening. English, American, German?' he asked in a voice that was accented but richly-toned.
Nancy was just about to say 'what do you want?' in her frostiest voice. But brawny Martin, who was on his second beer and clearly enjoying himself, butted in first.
'We’re English, my good fellow. Archaeologists actually. Just here for a couple of weeks digging in the desert.'
'Shut up, Mart, don’t tell everyone our business,' hissed Andy.
But it was too late.
'Archaeologist? You all archaeologist?' smiled the Arab, pointing in turn at all four of them.
'Yes' said Nancy.
'No' said Martin. 'We’re archaeologists', indicating himself and the two other boys. 'She’s our organiser. She looks after us'. He ignored the savage look from Andy.
The Arab smiled widely and turned to Nancy. 'Fixer. You’re the fixer for them. You’re the fixer that make things happen'. He was laughing now and leaning over the table, his hands resting on the tablecloth. But his eyes weren't smiling. They were cold. They were calculating. They were ruthless.
Nancy returned his stare evenly, saying nothing. But when he remained grinning she spoke up again.
'We're perfectly all right on our own. We don't need any help, thank you.' Nancy continued to look directly at the Arab all the while. Her words were sharp and her message was clear: go away.
But Nancy was surprised to see that her cold words were having the opposite effect. If anything, he was looking at her with increased interest. Respect even.
He turned and cast a quick glance at the doorway through which a waiter might come at any moment. Then looked back at them. He dropped his voice to a whisper.
'Look, you like some hash? I get you very good hash at very good price. You here for holiday or work, no matter. Enjoy good hash. Your first evening here?' he addressed the question to Martin who had been the most willing to talk to him.
'Yes, our first evening,' said Martin who was finishing his beer.
'OK. Look what I do for you. Because you nice people and you come to my country. I give you special price for first night. Four hash cigarette, four Israel pounds. One pound each.'
A moment later four rough looking rolled and stuffed leaves had appeared on the table.
'You have nice time tonight,' he continued. 'Nice food and nice smoke later. At your hotel. Not smoke here. Not safe. What you say, four pounds?'
The boys looked at each other. It was the perfect way to end a perfect day. Sun, sex, food, beer and now drugs. In the morning they’d go to work in the desert but tonight they were on holiday. They were young, foolish and it was the thing to do.
A five Israeli pound note came out of Pete’s pocket and landed on the table beside the joints. The man snatched it up.
'OK I bring you change here tomorrow. You have good night.'
Then he was gone.
The four looked at each other.
'You three have got brains the size of peas,' exploded Nancy. 'What is the matter with you all? We don’t know who that man is or what he's going to do now. We’re in a effing foreign country, with not much effing money and where they jail people who do drugs and throw away the key. This isn’t effing Leeds students union you three great effing idiots.'
'Calm down Nance. We’re here for a good time. They’ve been smoking this stuff here for centuries, it’s just part of the landscape,' defended Pete who was feeling guilty because he’d produced the money.
Nancy was still feeling annoyed at the risk they’d exposed themselves to.
'You boys n
eed a drill sergeant to look after you, not a mother hen at all.'
They stared at her. So she'd thought of herself as a mother hen?
'Let's not do anything more that's stupid, OK?'
'That's quite a temper you've got there, Nancy,' said Pete. 'There's more to you than you let on. Look,' he said, glancing meaningfully at the other two boys, 'we promise to behave in future. We may have placed too much trust in people who don't deserve it, that's true. We were a bit rash, and we're very sorry. So it's time to put the incident with Mr Hash…'
'…and his four Israel pounds…' interrupted Martin.
'…behind us.' Pete pretended to throw a salt cellar at Martin. 'And get some food ordered. Come on. Let's see what's on offer.' He picked up his menu again. 'But while we're choosing, I couldn't help noticing your surname on your passport when we came through the airport. Nancy, where does the name Kay come from?'
'Oh, trying to change the subject and thought I wouldn't notice?' Nancy's good humour was restored. 'I can see you should be a diplomat, Peter Temple. Unfortunately, a career like that requires connections. Which a poor boy like you hasn't got.' She gave the future Duke of Buckinghamshire a knowing look. 'So you'd better stick with working hard.'
Pete maintained a steady smile.
'But since you ask,' she continued, 'my ancestors came to Britain a long time ago from foreign parts. And they had an unpronounceable name. So they abbreviated it to the first letter. Which was K. But K isn't a name so they expanded it to K-A-Y which is why it's Kay.'
'Fascinating.' Andy decided to join in to show he wasn't asleep. 'So you're really just an ordinary English girl through and through.'
'I suppose I am. Now.' Then with pretended nonchalance, 'But since you've asked, I may as well tell you. All my grand-parents were Russian.'
'Russian?' they all shouted at once.
People at other tables were turning around at the outburst and looking at them.
'Calm down, for goodness sake,' ordered Nancy in a whisper.
'Russian. Yes. But not communist Russian,' she answered their unspoken question.
Seconds went by, all three staring at Nancy waiting for an explanation.
She looked back and then sighed in exasperation. 'You know, for a bunch of archaeologists you three seem to know nothing about history. Look, if you need me to spell it out for you, I'm a Jew.'
A waiter came out and stood beside the table, pencil poised over notepad to take their order.
Nancy picked up her menu, smiled at the waiter and wished him shalom. She glanced down at the descriptions of the dishes, all laid out in English and Hebrew. Then with the boys' eyes still on her, she looked back at the three of them, smiling sweetly. 'It's a tough choice but I think I'll have the 'tender white breast surrounded by three thick dumplings'.' She paused for effect. 'Then I can eat and think of all of you.'
Kodrob's Squadroom, Pentacurse Region, Inferno
Kodrob watched as Bezejel strode back and forth in front of them like a tiger. Only Bezejel could give off the air of a predator when performing the role of teacher. Her gaze darted from one to the other of them constantly, ensuring their full concentration. In truth, none of them had problems keeping their attention focused on her. She was easy to look at. But she had brains as well as beauty. She was using them now.
'Nancy is hugely talented, Kodrob. She's got empathy. She can manipulate others. She's brave. She uses fear to get what she wants. She uses sex to get what she wants. She has a mind for detail plus she can see the big picture. That's very unusual. But if it wasn't for us, Nancy would have a very ordinary life.'
'How ordinary, ma'am?'
'Without us, her life path shows she gets married. Her husband is a car dealer. She has three children. One of them is disabled. She sets up a children's charity. Her husband leaves her age fifty. She works in the charity for the rest of her life. Always worried about money. Eventually her children put her in a care home where she dies.' Bezejel was smiling now. 'So ma'am,' interjected Holzman, 'she is a failure. She doesn't really achieve anything.'
'That's right, Holzman. She fails. A thousand people come to her funeral to mark her failure. Most of them are in wheelchairs. Not a warrior among them. And that is why our project is so important. To the world but also to Nancy herself. When she follows our code trail she is led to a life of power. A life of significance. A life of meaning. She pulls the strings behind many governments. She causes the implosion of entire nations. People learn how to fight again. They rediscover survival skills. She is remembered by billions, not just a few thousand here or there.' Bezejel's face glowed as she continued her prowling in silence for a moment.
'There's only one thing Nancy is missing. Do any of you have the wit to tell me what it is?'
Bezejel looked around the table from Kodrob to the others of his squad, Lafarge, Holzman. Lafarge responded first.
'An army ma'am?'
'No, Lafarge. There are lots of armies on planet Earth. Another one, even under Nancy, won't make a difference.'
'A philosophy?' suggested Kodrob.
'Explain.'
'Well, ma'am, lots of souls have been brought to us by men who found a philosophy, a political philosophy that is, and forced others to follow it. This brought conflict and war. Like communism and fascism. Maybe that's what Nancy needs. A philosophy.'
'Hocus pocus, burn and smoke us,' laughed Bezejel, slapping Kodrob on the shoulder. 'You're a smart demon, Captain Kodrob. I understand now why the Leader gave you to me. But philosophies are unpredictable. The men you're talking about pushed their philosophies too hard. And that's why they didn't last. Their enemies eventually pushed back against them and crushed them. We've learnt from that. We're steering Nancy away from politics and into good old-fashioned corruption. Corruption works for us precisely because it's almost invisible. It doesn't make enemies in the same way politics does.'
'But ma'am,' interrupted Holzman. 'Nancy is kind. She gave money to a beggar. How can she become a serious corruptor of men with behaviour like that?'
'All tyrants thought of themselves as nice people,' replied Bezejel patiently, as though talking to a child. 'That's what made them so dangerous. They set out to do good. But ambition always overwhelms kindness. Drowns it utterly. There, I've said the word. Ambition. Ambition is the one thing that Nancy's missing. She needs lots of it and she hasn't got it. Not enough, anyway. She simply doesn't want power as much as we want her to. Not yet. But we have a plan to change that.'
'But how can we give her ambition?' Kodrob asked the obvious question. 'We can't just plant it into her, can we?'
'We're going to give Nancy the lust for power that she doesn't have at the moment. A lust that will consume her so completely that it will squeeze all kindness out of her. But there's someone who knows more about that part of the project than I do. His name is Colonel Hideki.'
'Is that the Colonel Hideki who heads up HARM?' asked Kodrob.
'The same. Human Ancestor Research and Manipulation,' explained Bezejel for the benefit of the other Marauders. 'It's the department that produces background information on people who are the subjects of Destructive Purpose projects. Such as Nancy. Then they develop a plan to use that information against them. HARM projects begin with tracing someone's family history. Then if they can find a criminal ancestor they use the familial psychic back-channels to pass their septic motivations forward in time to their descendants. It's painstaking work but it can achieve powerful results. People who would not normally go dark can be corrupted from within without any obvious bad influences around them. It's genius.'
'That sounds excellent. I would like to be part of that team,' interjected Lafarge.
Kodrob gave him a hard look. 'You're in my team, Lafarge. Remember that. You don't leave without my permission.'
'No, I just think it would be good to be working with them, boss. That's all I meant.' Lafarge held his hands up submissively.
'We are going to work closely with Colonel Hideki,
' said Bezejel, looking intently at Lafarge. 'He has found a criminal ancestor in Nancy's family. A very dangerous female indeed. But don't think about working for Hideki after this is over. HARM has suffered a lot of desertions recently. Their productivity has been down. And they've been missing a lot of family connections in important projects, so I've heard. Their research analysts have been leaving in droves because Hideki has been keeping a load of the department's squawhouse vouchers for himself. How would you like it if your boss kept stealing your squaw vouchers, Lafarge?'
Lafarge looked shocked. 'I couldn't work for someone like that,' admitted the French demon. 'Never.'
'I didn't think so. Well then. Stay with Captain Kodrob. He won't steal your squaws.' Kodrob nodded to Bezejel appreciatively.
'Remind me, ma'am,' asked Kodrob. 'Hideki. Is that the kamikaze squadron leader who sent all his men to their deaths? Then he refused to fly himself, instead getting run over by a car as he left his aerodrome?'
'The same,' replied Bezejel.
'Then I know him. And I believe I know where he'll be right now.'
'How so?' asked Bezejel.
'Ma'am, I believe right now we'll find him in one of the establishments which accepts the vouchers he's been embezzling.'
Bezejel looked at him knowingly. 'Which squawhouse?'
'Navaho's.'
She smiled in amusement. 'All right Kodrob. You and I will set off for Navaho's in a moment and surprise him. Any more questions?'
'Just one ma'am.' Holzman had his hand up. 'About Nancy. I can see that you like her. But when she eventually gets here to Inferno, after she's done everything you want her to do for us in the Fourth, will she become part of your team?'
Bezejel's face filled with anger. She stopped her pacing and stood still facing Holzman.
