Fraternity of the Stone

by David Morrell

  9

  A hand appeared first. Abraded like his own, it gripped the lip of the cliff. Then another hand. He saw the gray knitted cap. And her effort-strained face, beaded with sweat, as she inhaled deeply, mustering a final surge of strength.

  He watched unseen from the bushes, her features vivid before him. She pulled herself up, raised a knee to the edge of the cliff, and squirmed to the flat stretch of rock, rolling onto her back, her chest heaving.

  She stared at the cloudless sky for several moments, swallowed, then reached for the canteen on her belt. As Drew expected, she drank in short measured gulps, taking care not to make herself sick. When the rhythm of her breathing had returned to normal, she wiped the sleeve of her coat across her brow and slowly sat, her back to Drew, peering toward the autumn landscape below.

  She took off her cap, shook her head to release her hair, and combed her hands through the sides. Her back was as straight as a fashion model's.

  Drew glanced past her down toward the dense forest but still couldn't see the surveillance team. He hoped that she'd stand and relax her legs by pacing through the bushes and thus approach him, but she continued sitting, peering down.

  Finally he couldn't waste more time. He took a chance, depending upon her discipline.

  "Arlene, it's Drew."

  He whispered, but to her, it was likely a shout.

  "No. Don't turn around."

  A ripple of tension and surprise swept across her shoulders. But as he'd anticipated, her training took command. Accustomed to adjusting to instantaneous changes in circumstance, she showed no other reaction, maintaining her gaze toward the woods. A vein throbbed in her neck.

  "Don't talk," he continued. "I'll explain why I'm here. But not in the open. You've been followed. They're watching from down there."

  She took another sip from her canteen.

  Yeah, you're the best, Drew marveled. "When it seems natural, stand, stretch your arms, get the kinks out. Pace a little. Since you're up here, what the hell, you figure you'll explore. Step into the thicket. But once you're out of sight from down there, sit and we can talk."

  She swallowed more water and put the cap back on the canteen.

  "I need your help," he added. "I'm in a mess."

  A minute later, she stood, put her hands in her jacket pocket, turned to survey the bluffs at her end of the basin, and casually entered the thicket.

  With all his heart, he wanted to hold her again, to feel her breasts, to kiss her opening lips. For Christ's sake, Drew agonized, what's the matter with you? You took a sacred vow!

  Arlene sank beneath the bushes toward him, her hand in her jacket pocket. Her eyes disturbed him. They showed neither curiosity nor pleasure at seeing him again. Instead, they looked terribly calm. And her smile was fixed.

  His pulse sped. As she knelt, she pulled her hand from the pocket.

  And at once swung a piton hammer toward his left temple.

  One end of it was curved, its underside serrated. Hearing the point cut the air with a whistle, he toppled back, avoiding it, seeing its blur pass before his eyes.

  "No." His voice was tense, hoarse. As she swung the hammer again, he rolled back in the opposite direction. Fear scalded his stomach. She was strong enough, the hammer deadly enough, that it would at least have shattered his jaw.

  He rolled again, trying to gain the advantage, to overcome his shock.

  "Arlene, why?"

  Air rushed, the hammer going past.

  "For God's sake!"

  This time the hammer, misaimed, snicked the shoulder of his coat.

  He kicked up as she struck at the spot between his eyes. His boot caught her wrist, deflecting the point. She groaned. He thrust up, grabbing her arm at the wrist and biceps, throwing her flat. His body pressed on hers, his hands restraining both of hers, conscious of his chest on her own. He was five inches away from the anger in her eyes.

  Their harsh forceful breathing was indistinguishable. He smelled her.

  "You rotten bastard," she said.

  He flinched.

  She writhed, glaring hate. "Where the hell is Jake?"

  His energy left him. Implications soared through his mind. "Jake?"

  "You heard me, you sonofabitch. Where is he? God damn you, if you killed him."

  Arlene thrashed, trying to knee Drew's groin.

  He pressed her leg down, squinted deeply into her seething eyes, and, shaking his head in frustration, rolled away from her, staring bleakly past the bushes toward the sky.

  The only gesture he could think of to mollify her. To show his innocence. Total exposure - surrender.

  She scrambled up, eyes fierce, swinging the hammer. But he made no effort to repel it.

  With a gasp, she buried the hammer's tip in the shallow ground beyond Drew's neck, the curved edge conforming to the contour of his throat, the serrated underside stinging his skin.

  Neither moved. They glared at each other. On a bluff beyond them, a bird took off, fluttering

  Her chest began to heave, demanding oxygen.

  "You..."

  "Bastard," he said. "I know. I got that idea. And God's going to damn me for being a sonofabitch. I got that idea, too. The thing is, tell me why."

  She hesitated. Gulping more air, she slowly sank to the ground beside him. "I almost..."

  "Decided not to miss my neck? Yeah, I figured that. But I also figured I had to take the chance."

  "So I'd think you weren't a threat? I'm still not convinced."

  "But at least you know I could have killed you when I was lying on you."

  "And that's the only reason I didn't..." She scowled at the hammer pinned against his throat. "Same old Drew. You didn't even flinch."

  He shrugged, removing the hammer, then sat up, hefted it, and gave it back to her. "Regrets? You want to try it again?"

  Frustrated, she shook her head.

  "Then what's this all about?"

  Her eyes flared. "The same goes for you. What are you doing here? How did you know I'd be here?"

  "You've been followed."

  "I know."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

  "Three of them. One in a dark blue car down the street. Another lying on basement steps across the street, pretending to be a wino. The third sells umbrellas at a portable stand on the corner. When it's sunny, he switches to bratwurst and sauerkraut." She made a face. "They showed up five days ago."

  Drew tensed. "On Saturday?"

  She studied him. "Yes, Saturday. In the morning. Why? Is that important?"

  Drew rubbed a hand across his mouth. Friday night, he'd arrived in Boston. He'd left his prisoner in the van at the parking ramp in Logan Airport. A few hours later, the death team - and whoever had ordered the attack on the monastery - would have learned that he was out of Vermont.

  Jake? Arlene had wanted to know where her brother was. She'd assumed that Drew had something to do with Jake's disappearance. That was why she'd almost killed him.

  "It tells me a lot," Drew said, still wanting to hold her, with difficulty keeping his voice steady. "What about Jake? You told me he disappeared. Before last Tuesday?"

  Arlene's knuckles whitened on the hammer. "You do know something about him!"

  "Not at all. Come on, we used to be close, remember? Take it easy. I made a guess at Tuesday because that's when my own troubles started. I'm beginning to think that what happened to Jake has something to do with me." His mind raced. "When exactly did he disappear?"

  "Friday. Before that Tuesday."

  "And why did you blame me?"

  "Because of Janus."

  "What?"

  "You and Janus."

  "A woman named Janice?"

  "No. The name from myth." She spelled it. "J-a-n-u-s. You look as if you'd never heard of him. That's your new cryptonym, isn't it?"

  Janus? He abruptly remembered the voice of the Slavic priest: "Yanus! I've got to talk to you about Yanus!" Had the accent distorted the word?

&n
bsp; Drew's head began to throb. The ache swelled, squeezing the inside of his skull. Janus? The Roman god who looked backward and forward. The two-faced.

  Insanity.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

  "But the cryptonym, it's yours. The newspaper articles. The photographs."

  As much as he wanted to hold her, madness was added to madness. Nothing made sense. "Of me?" He feared that his mind would crack. "But there can't be any photographs. It isn't possible."

  She glowered.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "There can't be any photographs... Not possible... That's what Jake kept saying."

  "You bet he said it. He ought to know."

  She slammed the hammer into the dirt. "Damn you, stop playing games with me!"

  "Janus. Who is he? Why is he so important?"

  "If you're Janus, you should know."

  "Tell me."

  "A free-lance assassin. An international killer. A rogue. He executed twenty people in the last two years."

  Drew felt the blood drain from his face. "And I'm supposed to be him?"

  Her hard gaze became uncertain. "The more Jake heard about you, the more he became upset. He wouldn't tell me why. Two and a half weeks ago, he finally said he couldn't wait any longer. He had to find out what was going on."

  "And that's when he...?"

  "Disappeared. Last Saturday the surveillance team showed up. I couldn't go anywhere without them. It didn't matter what tactic I tried. They outguessed me. That's why I'm here. To try to shake them. I planned to stay on top till dark, rappel down, climb a bluff behind the Horn, and lose them."

  "Not bad." His chest aching with affection, Drew smiled at her cleverness. "Then you planned to find out what happened to Jake?"

  "Believe it."

  "You've got a partner." His voice was taut. "I want answers as much as you do. To a lot of things. Look, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you what happened to me." He studied her, almost touching her. "But you're wrong about the surveillance team. They're not watching you. They don't want to stop you from finding Jake."

  "Then?"

  "Me."

  She narrowed her eyebrows.

  "They're watching you in case... They're after me," Drew said. "A while ago, you wondered why Jake was sure that I couldn't be Janus. Why the newspapers had to be wrong. Why there couldn't be photographs."

  She waited, breathing deeply.

  "Because for the past six years, I've been in a monastery. Because six years ago, Jake killed me."

  10

  "Killed?" Her face lost its color. She jerked her head back as if she'd been struck. "A monastery? What are you talking about? Jake killed you?"

  "I don't have time to explain. Not now. You'd have more questions. And other questions after that."

  "But..."

  "No," he insisted. "Those men down there will be getting suspicious. They'll want to know what you're doing. You've been out of sight too long as it is."

  She seemed to debate with herself.

  "I promise. Later," he said.

  With a sudden nod, she glanced toward the brush that concealed her from the surveillance team. At once she unbuckled her belt, undoing the button on her pants, pulling down the zipper.

  He reacted with shock. "What are you doing?"

  "You said it yourself - they'll want to know what I was up to."

  His shock turned to understanding, then admiration. "Smart."

  "But you're in this with me? You'll help me to find Jake?"

  "I have to find Jake. From what you've just told me, I'm sure he knows who's after me. We'll wait till dark, then leave together. As soon as we're someplace safe, I'll answer your questions. Between what you know and I do, maybe we can figure out where he is."

  She studied him, smiling, her eyes loving. "It's been a long time. I always wondered what happened to you." She took his hand. "I'm sorry about the hammer."

  "Forget it." Emotion made him tremble. "I figured that if you'd really wanted to kill me, you would have."

  "I figured the same. You could have killed me." She squeezed his hand. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again. How I've missed you."

  His voice was thick. "I've missed you, too." He felt torn apart, his love for her tugging him one way, his vow of celibacy the other. The turmoil increased as she leaned close, kissing him on the lips. He felt her breath on his skin. Badly he wanted to kiss her in return, to hold her, to feel the comfort of her flesh. But his crisis of will passed. What he felt now wasn't lust. He didn't want to make love to her. He wanted to show he cared. How could that be sinful? He held her tight.

  "Those men down there," he said.

  "I know." She grinned. "We'd better not get distracted." Sobering, she stood and left the bushes, pulling up the zipper on her pants.

  Still feeling the touch of her lips against his own, straining to subdue his confusion, he peered unseen from a gap in the thicket, nervous for her. She closed the button at her waist, then buckled her belt, and sat on the flat stretch of rock at the lip of the cliff. Her gestures were convincing, he decided. The impression she'd give the surveillance team was that she'd gone out of sight to relieve herself. In their place, I'd accept the explanation.

  He watched her eat some trail food. She drank more water and lay back on the rock as if to rest before her descent. Through the bushes, he saw that she closed her eyes. In a while, except for the rise and fall of her chest, she didn't move. Whether or not she'd actually gone to sleep, the surveillance team would think that she had.

  He scanned the forest but couldn't find any sign of the team. Either they're awfully good, or they're not down there. Wouldn't that be a joke? he thought. To go through all this trouble when we didn't have to.

  11

  After dusk, he chose the best support on the rear side of the Horn - a boulder that his full strength couldn't budge.

  Arlene came through the bushes, holding her rope and pack, kneeling beside him. "You found an anchor?"

  "Here." He put her hand on the barely visible rock.

  "You tested it?"

  "It'll hold. With luck."

  "Luck? Oh, brother." But she seemed to know he was joking. "We'd better get started." She reached in her pack and pulled out a nylon sling.

  "I'll need your extra hardware. All I have is a rope and sling."

  "That isn't like you, not to come fully prepared." Now she was joking.

  "Well, I had a slight problem. A temporary shortage of funds."

  As they spoke, keeping their voices low, Drew felt good to be working with her. He tied his nylon sling around the boulder. Arlene hooked a metal carabiner onto the sling, making sure that the carabiner's hinged flap was safely closed. She knotted the ends of her rope and looped its midpoint onto the carabiner. Drew knew that a simpler method would have been to attach the rope directly to the sling, but the rope, like the sling, was made from nylon, and nylon had a dangerously low friction point. If the rope and the sling were allowed to rub against each other, the weight of a climber could easily make them overheat and snap. This way, the metal carabiner acted as a buffer, reducing the heat.

  Almost ready. Arlene tied a sling around her legs and waist in a pattern that resembled a diaper. She hooked a carabiner through it, at her crotch. Drew did the same, borrowing equipment from her pack. As night enveloped them, he was nonetheless able to see her shadowy outline, athletic and lithe. His love for her intensified.

  She hooked the doubled rope into the carabiner, looped the two strands of rope around her left shoulder, down her back, and around to the right side of her waist. The carabiner at her crotch would thus take the main stress of the rope. Her shoulder and back would absorb the remainder of the stress, and if she needed to, she could use her right hand to press the rope against her waist, applying a brake.

  "I'll take the pack and go first," she whispered, "There's a ledge sixty feet down. I'll rig another anchor. And another one farther down after tha
t. It takes three separate rappels to reach the bottom."

  "I know."

  "Then you still remember how to do this?" She seemed to grin.

  "I had a good teacher."

  "Flattery. My, my."

  She was gone, walking backward off the cliff, gripping the section of the rope above the carabiner, pressing the other section against her waist. He imagined the graceful ease with which she would drop. She'd always enjoyed a free-fall. A piece of cloth tied near the end of her rope would warn her when she would soon run out of rope. Then she would stop and rig yet another anchor.