“That’s my problem,” said Seb. “I’ll think of a way. There’s a pizza place on the Upper East Side. Send Walt there tomorrow evening. I’ll tell him how we’re going to do this.”
“You appreciate your head will be separated from your body and both parts burned up?” whispered Mason. “There will be no opportunity for trickery. It doesn’t matter how powerful you are, if the brain and body are utterly destroyed, you will die.”
“Hey, I almost died a couple weeks back,” said Seb. “It’s not that bad.”
“You have until tomorrow night, Mr. Varden. You may wish to reconsider your decision during that time. Ms. Patel will have a long, healthy life. As will your children. If you choose the second option, those children will never be born.”
“Send Walt,” said Seb, getting up. “He’ll tell you how it’s going to play out.”
47
Seb spent the next day on a world tour any travel agent would have sold their soul to provide. From the Zhangye Danxia Landform in Gansu, China, with its breath-taking multicolored mountains, to an Orthodox monastery 1300 feet atop a natural sandstone rock pillar in Greece. He breakfasted at the base of an ancient redwood in Yosemite, had mid-morning coffee in a packed market in Istanbul, walked through a Japanese bamboo forest where tall green stalks waved over his head like living tower blocks. He spent an hour on a beach in Peru, the only human for miles around. He paddled in shallow pools inside a huge cave, lush with exotic vegetation, in Hang Song Doong, Vietnam. He swam in the Dead Sea and watched a rainbow over the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. He saw the sun go down over Paris from the top of the Tour Montparnasse, saw lights dancing on the Eiffel Tower. Apart from three hours in the afternoon, he spent the day as if it might be his last.
The three hours were spent in the Syrian desert, his body automatically adjusting to the heat and screening out any harmful UV rays in the harsh sunlight.
“This is where the founder of the Order is rumored to come from,” said Seb2.
“I know,” said Seb. “It seems fitting, somehow.” He walked up an incline to the mouth of a cave. Bones around the entrance hinted it may have housed some kind of animal, but their dry, brittle condition suggested it had long since been abandoned. Seb sat in the shadows and held out his hand. A plate, jug and glass took shape, the jug full of ice-cold water, the plate seeming to grow fresh sushi directly from the white china base. Seb ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Then he looked at the empty plate and it became sand again. He sat, his mind becoming still, silent and focused.
When he arrived at the pizza restaurant, Walt was already in a booth, drinking bourbon and nervously folding and twisting a paper napkin.
“You gonna make that attack me?” said Seb as he slid into the chair opposite.
Walt half-smiled. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“Mason tell you what was going on?” said Seb.
“Yes,” said Walt. He stopped playing with the napkin and tossed it onto the table. “You trying to make a point?”
“Maybe,” said Seb. “There’s always a choice. Always, Walt.”
“What kind of a choice is death?” said Walt. “Giving up. What good can you do dead?”
“I might not be able to do any good,” said Seb, “but I won’t do any harm, and sometimes that’s the best option.”
Walt stared at him steadily, shook his head, then drained his glass and called the waiter over for more. “You’re making a mistake, kid, that’s all I can say. All for a girl? You’re young, it might seem to make sense to you now, but give it ten, twenty years, you’re gonna feel differently, trust me. No one’s worth dying for, Seb.”
“I’m not sure you entirely believe that yourself,” said Seb. “That’s why I wanted you here.”
“Whatever,” said Walt. “You do what you’ve got to do. But you’ve been given an amazing gift. Manna makes us better, better than them-,” he waved his arm to include everyone else in the restaurant. “And you have the Roswell Manna. You were given that for a reason. You’re gonna throw all that away? You’re crazy.” He shook his head in disgust. Seb could see he had been drinking for a while, and wasn’t using Manna to negate the effects.
“I’m no better than anyone in here,” said Seb. “Neither are you. You forget that, it makes it easier for you to carry on helping that psychopath. But I can’t forget it. I won’t. I’ve made my choice.”
Walt didn’t answer, just drank his bourbon and looked across the table.
Seb stood up, reached into his jacket and tossed an envelope at Walt.
“There’s a construction site in the Bronx,” he said. “The address is in that letter, along with details on how this needs to go down. Sun up is 6:26am, I’ll arrive then. Make sure you’re there with Meera. I won’t be alone, I need someone to drive Meera away, and I won’t let you near me until I know she’s safe.”
“What’s to stop you killing me and walking away with Meera?” said Walt.
“Two things,” said Seb. “Firstly, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Secondly, I give you my word. By now, you should know that’s enough.” He started to walk away, then changed his mind and returned to the table.
“Make one thing clear to Mason,” he said. “If he tries tracking Mee, puts a bug on her, or has anyone nearby ready to follow her, I’ll know about it. Ask him what happened in the Keystone hotel. Tell him I will know if he plans to double-cross me, and if he does, you all die. I know Mee will die too, but it will happen quickly and painlessly. I can make sure of that. But the rest of you will die slowly in the kind of agony you can’t even begin to imagine. And then I will devote the rest of my life to hunting down Mason and doing the same to him.”
Seb leaned across the table and looked into Walt’s eyes.
“Understood?” he said.
“Yes,” said Walt.
“I’ll see you at dawn,” said Seb, and walked out.
48
Seb had often been awake at dawn, not because he was an early riser, but because most shows finished in the early hours, and if the band wasn’t staying overnight, they’d board the tour bus and get back on the road. Some of the best musical ideas he had ever come up with had come to him while half-dozing on the Interstate as the first thin sliver of red light began to warm the landscape. He still had hundreds of pieces of scrap paper in the apartment with fragments of lyrics hastily scribbled down, many indecipherable. He thought of it as a haunting time of day, unformed, full of mystery and possibility.
An hour before dawn, an old station wagon arrived at the building site named in Seb’s instructions. The occupant got out, walked over to the site, then returned to the vehicle twelve minutes later. During this time, the sound of a large engine could be heard within the site itself, a sound which continued to rumble. As the sky slowly lightened, colors and textures bled into the scene like someone turning the color dial in an ancient television set. The occupant of the car was revealed to be a man in his sixties, dressed in the plain black habit of a Catholic priest. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly, taking long deep breaths as if to calm himself.
A second vehicle arrived at 6:35am. It was a black SUV, the privacy glass making it difficult to see the occupants. It stopped near the site entrance, opposite the station wagon, about fifty feet away. Both doors at the front opened. Two men stepped out and stood still, their breath making wisps of smoke in the cold. It was Sunday, so no interruptions were anticipated.
The older man in the station wagon watched intently as another figure appeared, this time walking out of the site entrance. The newcomer approached the two waiting by the car.
“Where is she?” he said. Westlake took a step back and opened the rear door. A few seconds later, Meera emerged. She looked older, her eyes still sparking with feisty intelligence, but her face drawn and pale. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, no coat. She was shivering, partly from the cold, partly through fear. Her right hand was bandaged. She looked up at the man appro
aching from the site.
“Seb,” she said.
“Mee,” said Seb, a small smile on his face. “Are you ok?”
“I’ve had better weeks,” she said, trying to smile back. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away, you stubborn idiot?”
“You did,” he said.
“Well, you’re even more stupid than I thought, then,” she said.
“I love you too, Mee,” said Seb. She started crying then, silently, her eyes never leaving his face. Seb turned to Walt.
“Take her over to the car,” he said, pointing out the station wagon. “She leaves now.”
Walt walked up to Mee, who promptly punched him in the face as hard as she could. Walt staggered backward, blood pouring from his nose.
“You broke it,” he said as the nose straightened itself and the blood turned transparent before sinking into his skin like moisturizer. “You really are charming. But not much point trying to hurt me.”
“Good point,” she said, and kicked Westlake in the balls. She winced as her sneaker collided with something far harder than the testicles she had hoped to crush. Westlake rapped his knuckles on his crotch, which sounded like someone knocking on a door.
“Had dealings with your type before,” he said. Mee suddenly launched herself at him, screaming. As she shouted, she pummeled him with her fists, not caring about the pain from her missing finger, trying to reach his face with her nails. He fended her off with smooth, practiced ease.
“Don’t you lay a finger on him, you vicious bastard,” she yelled. “Don’t you touch him, you do what you like to me, just leave him alone, don’t you dare-.” She slumped suddenly as Westlake sprayed a puff of something from a small bottle into her face. Walt caught her. Westlake turned to Seb and shrugged.
“You want this to go down smoothly, this is the best way. She’ll only be out for a couple minutes.”
Seb shrugged right back at him, the distaste he felt barely concealed.
“Take her to the car,” he said. “I want to see her leave.”
Westlake nodded at Walt who hoisted the unconscious woman over his shoulder and walked over to the station wagon. The driver got out and Walt’s eyebrows went up at the unexpected sight of a priest.
“Who the hell are you?” said Walt.
“An old friend,” said the priest. “Sebastian asked me to help him.”
“He might trust you. Why should we?”
The priest looked at Walt, his expression unreadable, but gentle. “He made me swear to treat everything I heard or saw as if it was protected by the sacrament of confession,” he said. “I don’t like what I’m seeing, and I’d strongly suggest you give some thought to the state of your immortal soul. You are a precious child of God just as much as this girl is. But you needn’t worry about my telling anyone anything. As far as I’m concerned, this morning never happened.”
“Good,” said Walt, as the two of them laid Meera onto the rear bench of the car. He walked back to Westlake, who went to the trunk and handed him a flamethrower. He hoisted the harness awkwardly over his shoulder. Westlake went back into the trunk and produced a large axe. Then the two men walked to the site entrance and joined Seb.
The priest waited for Seb’s nod, then got back into the station wagon and started the engine. Meera stirred in the back and opened her eyes. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked quizzically at the man in the driver’s seat.
“You’re the guy in the photo,” she said. “The photo Seb keeps on his piano.”
“Father O,” said the priest, turning and smiling at her over his shoulder. “I need you to trust me. It’s going to be all right.”
“How?” said Mee, pushing herself into a sitting position as the car moved away. She looked out of the window and saw Seb walking through the site entrance, the two men following. “How can it ever be all right again?”
Father O’Hanoran put the car in gear and drove away. Mee looked over her shoulder but Seb, Walt and Westlake had disappeared into the building site. The last thing she saw before the car rounded the corner was diesel smoke rising from behind the fences. Her tears blurred the scene, but she didn’t wipe them away.
49
Walt looked at Westlake as Seb led them a hundred yards into the site to the edge of a pit. Two large mechanical diggers stood near the side. The engine noise and smoke was revealed to be coming from a cement truck, the huge mixing shaft slowly rotating to keep the concrete in its liquid form. It had been backed up to the edge of the hole, ready to start on the foundations.
“What’s he gonna do, build something?” said Walt.
“Shut up,” said Westlake, his eyes never leaving Seb’s back.
Walt opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Although Westlake had no Manna ability, he was the closest thing Mason had to a second in command, so antagonizing him was never going to be a wise option. He had also once seen him snap a man’s neck while making a phone call. Seb stopped near the edge of the pit and turned to face them. He said nothing.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Westlake, taking grip of the axe and stepping forward.
Seb held up a hand. “One more step and I’ll superheat that plastic box between your legs so that it melts onto your genitals.” Westlake visibly paled, and hesitated. He had a very high tolerance for pain and a below average libido, but enough imagination to decide to do as he was told.
“We wait,” said Seb. “I know I can’t trust you, I assume you’re having Meera followed. However, I allowed for this when I planned this morning’s adventure.” He pulled out a cheap cell phone and held it up. “If I don’t get a call on this phone in -” He glance at his watch, “- four minutes, I’m going to reduce both of you to your composite atoms and spread them all over Manhattan.”
Walt put the flamethrower on the ground and held up his hands.
“Look, Seb, think this through,” he said. “There’s no need to rush this decision. Why not take a few weeks and really consider your options? No one’s going to hurt Meera, she’s just insurance. But do you really think she can hide from Mason when you’re gone? By doing this, you’re killing her as well as yourself.”
“I’ll take that risk,” said Seb.
“Ok, you think you can out-smart Mason, I get it. But what if you’re wrong? What if-“
Seb held up a hand. “Shut up, Walt,” he said.
They stood in silence, the only sound the steady rhythmic chug of the truck’s engine. Finally, the cell rang. Seb held it up to his ear, listening intently. Then he smiled, turned it off and tossed it into the pit.
“Ok,” he said, “I’m ready.” He walked over to the truck, pushed a button at the rear, and the trailer lifted, liquid cement pouring out of the back into the hole. He came back to Walt and Westlake, turned his back on them and knelt on the edge, without saying another word. Westlake hoisted the axe and walked forward. Without knowing why, Walt looked away.
The next few seconds seemed to pass extraordinarily slowly to Walt. There was no scream, just a grunt from Westlake as he swung the weapon. Nothing else could be heard above the noise of the engine, but when he looked again, Walt saw Seb’s body on its side, his head about four feet away. Blood was still pumping out of the neck.
“Don’t just stand there,” said Westlake. “Burn it up.”
Walt walked forward as Westlake backed away. He pulled the trigger that released the gas and simultaneously ignited it. A jet of flame roared out of the nozzle.
They stayed long enough to make sure it wasn’t a bluff of some kind. Then they kicked what was left into the bubbling cement, turned off the truck’s engine and walked away. Westlake sent a message to Mason and they drove back into the city.
The priest drove for about five minutes without stopping, then took a right into a parking lot, swiftly climbing four levels before backing into a space. Meera sobbed in the back. The priest made a phone call.
“Good to go,” he said. “This feels weird. Thank you for doing this. Goodbye.”
Then he closed his eyes for about ten seconds. When he opened them again, he turned and grinned at Meera.
“It worked,” thought Seb.
“Of course,” said Seb2.
“Can’t quite believe they bought it,” said Seb.
“Hey, a homunculus that smart could have spent a week with them without being caught. He was something else.”
“He was me. You. Whatever.”
“Not a person. A complex sub-program designed to emulate one. If an AI programmer could have met it, he’d have passed out.”
“Yeah,” said Seb. And Walt and Westlake just covered the evidence—or lack of it—with concrete.”
“Enough patting on the back. Now life is going to get really interesting.”
“Why?”
“Better ask her. Hope she’ll be pleased to see you.”
Meera watched the priest turn around and grin at her. Something about that grin. It just didn’t seem to belong on that face. But it sure looked familiar. Then she forgot to breathe for ten seconds. The priest’s face blurred, moved, the features softening like clay, the whole body shifting, the clothes changing color. The grin stayed put. But when it was on the new face, Seb’s face, it suddenly belonged. She laughed, burst into tears, then leaned forward and punched him on the arm. He started laughing too. She climbed into the front seat, sat on his lap, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like she had never kissed anyone before. When they finally broke apart, they looked at each other for a minute or two.
“Couple of things,” said Seb. He put his hand flat on the faded walnut veneer dash. It changed to leather under his fingers, the interior of the vehicle remaking itself in seconds, the changes spreading out from his fingers and increasing in speed and scope as they encompassed every last inch of the car. She looked at the badge on the steering wheel. Apparently, they were now sitting in a BMW. Mee looked at him google-eyed
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 35
