She turned and walked away from him. ‘Bad things,’ she said. ‘Very bad things.’
He started to follow her. ‘Care to tell me about it?’
Her pace quickened. She shook her head. She reached a room and ducked inside.
‘Wait!’ he called after her but the door slammed in his face. He stood there for a moment, indecisive. Then he grabbed the handle and pushed it open.
The room was empty.
He flicked on the light. He was in a bedroom. Clothes were strewn over the bed and hanging from the back of a chair. ‘Casey?’ he called. But there was no one there. He was standing with his back to the only door. The window was closed and there was nowhere for anybody to hide. Yet he’d seen her come in here.
He was about to turn and leave when he heard a small peal of laughter. ‘Damn it! This isn’t a game. Where are you?’
‘In the walls…in the air…I’m everywhere.’
He heard the voice, close to his ear, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. ‘Okay. Please yourself. You play if you want to, but don’t waste my time.’
A small draught tickled the back of his neck. He spun round, raising the gun, waving it in front of him. There was nothing there behind him, but the door was now closed. ‘What the hell…’ He grabbed hold of the handle and yanked it down, at the same time pulling at the door, but it refused to budge. The laughter again, feminine, excitable. Under the bed, stupid! He hadn’t checked under the bed! He got down onto his hands and knees, and lifted the counterpane. A suitcase and a pair of hiking boots. Nothing more. Damn! He was convinced…
The blow came from nowhere, from out of the air. Something smashed down on the back of his neck, sending him sprawling onto his face. Dust from the carpet stuck to his lips. He wiped them with the back of his hand and rolled over onto his back. The pain in his neck was excruciating, sending hot spikes of agony up into his skull. He groaned and stared up at the ceiling.
‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
A male voice this time, but whether he’d actually heard it or whether it sounded only in his head he couldn’t tell. He used the bed to pull himself into a sitting position and looked about the room once more. It was still empty, but there was something different. The air seemed charged, pregnant with menace. The blow to the back of his neck had made him drop the gun. It lay on the carpet a yard away. He reached for it but it spun away from him as if it had been kicked out of his reach. And then it rose into the air, spinning slowly end over end. Finally it stopped, the barrel pointing at the bridge of his nose, and gradually the trigger was pulled back. He could see it move, as if an invisible finger was depressing it.
He threw himself backwards a split-second before the gun fired. His head cracked against the floor but the bullet missed him and punched a hole in the small pine cupboard by the side of the bed. He kicked out and caught the gun with the toe of his boot, sending it flying through the air. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.
Harrison sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain in his head, and ran to the door. He yanked at it again and this time it opened, the sudden release making him stagger backwards. He regained his balance and ran from the room and along the landing to the stairs. There was only one thought in his head now. He had to get back to the helicopter and get the hell off this island. Casey Faraday and anyone else in this stinking place could look out for themselves.
‘Wait!’
He was halfway down the stairs. He stopped and turned to look back at the landing. Casey Faraday was standing at the top of the stairs. She was naked.
‘What is this?’ Harrison said, furious now. In some way her nakedness only fuelled his anger. ‘Cover yourself up,’ he said, his strict Baptist upbringing resurfacing. ‘Now!’
Casey started to descend the stairs but, although he could see her drawing closer, he could not see her legs moving. It was as if she was gliding down towards him. And she seemed to be bathed in a shimmering light that was throwing her in and out of focus.
He rubbed at his eyes, trying to see her clearly, but even as he watched her she was starting to change.
Her breasts were sinking back into her chest, the small bush of pubic hair dissolving. The features of her face were smoothing out, becoming bland, anodyne, and the hair was starting to fall from her scalp, leaving a shiny bald dome in its place. Her eyes had rolled back into her head until only the whites were showing, but the gaze was fixed upon him.
He shuffled backwards, finding the next stair, stepping down. He wanted to turn away from her, wanted to run, but the white orbs in the expressionless face held him, and sapped his will.
It was no longer Casey Faraday descending the stairs towards him, but a featureless, sexless creature, white, impossibly thin. Even the ears had disappeared, leaving only smooth skin behind.
He misjudged his next step. His foot caught the edge of the riser and twisted painfully. He cried out and started to fall, but long, thin arms embraced him and held him. The mouth in the blank face was lipless and white, but it opened in a red shriek and buried itself in his neck. Skin and muscle tore, blood poured out of his severed artery and splashed down the leather of his jacket.
I’m going to die, he thought. And ten seconds later he did.
CHAPTER TEN
Jane Talbot squinted slightly in the bright lights of the office. Cold, hard and brittle; those were the words she used to describe the chrome and white décor and the antiseptic, almost futuristic look of the desk, the chairs and other office furniture. It was also the epithet she used to describe her boss, Simon Crozier. She sat on a white leather and chrome chair, designed for elegance rather than comfort, facing Crozier across a glass-topped desk. The desk was another design conceit — smoked glass supported by a chrome-plated tubular steel frame, and Crozier kept the desk clutter to a minimum. There were two white telephones, a small laptop computer and a black leather file, positioned at right angles to the edge of the desk, and nothing more. The glass was polished to within an inch of its life and nothing, not even a thumbprint or a flake of dandruff marred its pristine surface.
How different, she thought, to the desk in her office at home with its clunky, antediluvian computer that hissed and wheezed and made hard work of all but the most simple word processing tasks; the piles of unkempt, dog-eared paperwork that never seemed to reduce in size no matter how many hours she put in trying to clear them; the cracked plastic telephone with the answer phone that refused to record messages; and Amy’s headless teddy bear, that was renting space on the desktop while it waited for emergency surgery. There was nothing pristine about the surface of her desk, marked as it was with sticky rings from a succession of coffee cups, and the dark brown burns from neglected cigarettes that had tumbled from the permanently overflowing ashtray.
Simon Crozier leaned back in his plush leather chair and stared at her over the top of his half rims. ‘I’m sorry to drag you in on your day off, Jane. I hope you had nothing important planned.’
‘It’s okay. Gemma’s at school and David’s at home today, so he can take care of Amy,’ she said with a smile, but actually it wasn’t okay — it wasn’t okay at all. David had purposely taken the day off so they could be together. They’d arranged to drop Amy off with Jane’s mother and then come up to town.
The plan was to go to the Tate Gallery to see the Turner exhibition, and then to go on to Clerkenwell for something to eat at one of their favorite restaurants. Jane’s mother had agreed to pick up Gemma from school and have the girls overnight, to give them some much needed time together. It was so long since it had been just the two of them for any length of time that tiny cracks were beginning to show in the marriage. Nothing too serious, not divorce material yet, but given time and left unchecked, the cracks would turn into fissures and then into bloody great canyons that would be impossible to bridge. She’d seen it happen to other couples, friends of theirs whose romance had turned sour and whose marriages had become battlegrounds on which to mount a daily fight
to the death. She didn’t want things to get to that pitch, so she’d planned a quiet day together, to help heal the cracks, and to soothe the real, or imagined, grievances and slights that two busy working people with hectic lives and two delightful but demanding daughters, allow to mar an otherwise solid marriage.
None of which mattered to Simon Crozier, who lost patience with people when they let their lives outside the Department get in the way of their work. He was a large man in his early fifties, with iron-gray hair cut close to his skull. His eyes were deep brown and penetrating and his hawk nose gave him a predatory aspect that was reflected in his manner. Simon Crozier was not a man to suffer fools gladly and made no pretence that he did.
The atmosphere created by his austere office and his fierce manner was almost like being in church, Jane realized. As a strict Catholic, and bringing her children up within the faith, she found her own church comforting. Crozier’s office was religious in appearance but held little comfort.
He leaned further back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘Kulsay Island,’ he said. ‘What do you know about it?’ There was something about his appearance today that was different from usual, but Jane couldn’t quite decide yet what it was.
Jane thought for a moment. The name was ringing bells in her mind but it took her a few moments to retrieve the information. ‘It was in the news a few weeks ago,’ she said finally. ‘It’s an island off the east coast of Scotland. There was a helicopter crash. Wasn’t it something to do with an adventure holiday going horribly wrong?’
‘Yes…’ Crozier said. ‘…And no. It wasn’t an adventure holiday but one of those Outward Bound courses that misguided company directors like to send their middle-management people on. Take a handful of highly stressed, out of condition, soft living people and dump them in some extreme conditions to see how they cope and interact; that kind of rubbish. There was a helicopter but it didn’t exactly crash.’
‘But I remember seeing it on the news. Footage of the Navy searching for the wreckage,’ Jane said.
‘Yes, but that was all part of the cover-up. An elaborate fiction to satisfy the families of those poor souls who went missing. It was a smokescreen, designed to hide what really happened.’
Jane was intrigued. She ran her fingers through her cropped brown hair. ‘So what really happened?’
Crozier leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Ah, now that’s where it gets interesting. Nobody really knows. Six people in the management group, the helicopter pilot, and the entire staff of nine from the island. Sixteen people, disappeared without a trace. The Ministry of Defense sent a team out to Kulsay to search the island and they found nothing. Not even the helicopter, and that was the most extraordinary thing. They know the helicopter landed there from the last communication from the pilot, a man named Harrison, ex—U.S. Air Force, very experienced. He contacted them just as he was coming in to land. But there were no further communications, nothing to say that he collected his passengers and took off again.’
‘So what does the Ministry think happened? Come to think of it, why were the MOD involved in the first place?’ There was a huge bruise on Crozier’s lower jaw, that was what was different about him.
‘The missing people worked for Waincraft Software, and Waincraft are fairly tied in with the Ministry. They provide the software for various missile systems and defense projects of a highly sensitive nature. The MOD is not speculating. There were some half-hearted rumors of a Middle Eastern conspiracy, but I think that was just pie in the sky; if no other explanation fits, blame Al-Qaeda. You know the thinking. But I think the truth is that they really haven’t got a clue what happened on Kulsay.’ He sat forward in his chair, opened the black file on his desk and took out a sheaf of paper. He slid it across the desk to her. ‘These are the personnel files of those who disappeared.’
Jane flicked through the pages, staring for a few moments at each of the small photographs attached to each individual file. Six average-looking people, captured in that flat, rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights style of all passport photos.
‘Do we have the files on the island’s staff, or the pilot?’
‘Any day now. They were all employed by the Kulsay Development Corporation, the owners of the island. They’ve promised me “every assistance.” They are a division of The Anderson Corporation, one of the U.S.’s Top Ten companies. International as well as national. Into every sector you can think of.’
‘So have we been assigned to investigate? And what happened to your face?’
‘The Minister thinks what happened might fall into our sphere of operations.’ He totally ignored the remark about his face. Since being hit by Carter he had suffered a couple of loose teeth, some bruising, but mainly a lot of damaged pride. He wasn’t a physical man, and had never been in a fight in his life. In fact that was the first time he had ever been hit by anyone.
‘I see,’ Jane said. ‘So they’ve exhausted all rational explanations.’
‘It would appear so. And there’s something else. There was another incident like this. Remarkably similar in fact.’
‘On Kulsay?’
He nodded.
Alarm flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. She knew Crozier well enough to know that he didn’t make unsubstantiated remarks. He was a very careful man. ‘You’re really sweetening the cake, Simon,’ she said. ‘Have you got any details?’
‘I haven’t got them to hand, but I can lend you Martin Impey for the rest of the day. He’s been researching it for the last twenty-four hours. I’m sure, by now, he’ll be able to give you chapter and verse. You know how thorough he is when he gets his teeth into something like this.’
‘A dog with a bone,’ Jane said. She knew Martin well and had worked with him many times in the past. A painstaking and tireless researcher, he was the Department’s fount of all knowledge.
Crozier was watching Jane’s face carefully. He was confident that despite any initial doubts she might have, she would take the assignment. She was one of the Department’s greatest assets. She’d earned a master’s degree in psychology at Cambridge and was the owner of an astute and incisive mind. Intellectually, Jane could wipe the floor with the majority of the Department — in fact with most of the people he knew, himself included. Crozier’s only reservation about her was her tendency to let domesticity come between herself and her work. He’d known David, her husband, for years, and was indirectly responsible for bringing the two of them together, but he felt now that David was the worst thing that could have happened to her. Being with David had softened her and dampened much of the fire that had previously enlivened her work.
She laid the files on the desk and sat back in her chair. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘When would you need a commitment from me?’
‘I want to proceed on this as quickly as possible, so I need an answer today.’ He was slightly surprised she might consider his request as something to consider. In his world a request was the same as a demand.
She raised her eyebrows but said nothing. What David was going to say was uppermost in her thoughts.
Crozier pressed on. ‘Would you like me to call Martin in?’
She nodded and he stretched out his hand, hitting a key on his laptop. ‘When you’re ready, Martin.’ he said.
Somewhere within the microchips of the machine his words were transformed to a printed message and flashed directly onto the screen of Martin Impey’s computer in an office down the hall.
A few moments later the door to Crozier’s office opened and he entered the room. He was thirty-eight, five years older than Jane, and had been with the Department for the best part of ten years. He was a small, energetic man who reminded Jane of a Jack Russell Terrier. Fiercely intelligent and possessed of a cutting wit that more than compensated for his lack of physical stature, he was one of the most popular members of the Department. His brown eyes always seemed to be smiling, as if he had looked at the world and decided it was one huge joke, but
today he seemed unusually somber.
‘Martin, how’s the work on Kulsay Island coming on?’
‘Hello, Jane. How are you?’ Martin said, ignoring Crozier’s question, but managing not to seem rude in doing so.
‘Fine, Martin. And you?’ Jane stood and shook his hand.
‘Good. I’m good. David okay?’ They might have been at a cocktail party and both were aware that Crozier was firing daggers at them with his eyes.
‘He was, last time I checked. And Emilie?’
Crozier held up his hands. ‘Enough! You can catch up on small talk later. Martin, I asked you a question.’
Martin winked at Jane. ‘Finished, Simon. Actually I finished a couple of hours ago, in as much as you can finish something like this. There are dozens of question marks, a score of anomalies and a couple of things that make absolutely no sense at all. Would you like me to bring you up to speed?’
‘You can fill me in later, but for now, take Jane back to your office and run her through everything you’ve found out.’ Crozier turned to Jane. ‘When you’ve finished down there, perhaps you’ll come back and give me your decision.’
Jane got to her feet. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘By the way what did happen to your face?’
‘Emilie’s pregnant,’ Martin whispered in her ear as they walked to the door.
Jane clutched his sleeve. ‘Martin, that’s brilliant news.’ She, like most of the Department, was aware that they had been trying for a child for the best part of eight years. ‘How far along is she?’
‘Three months. Early days yet, but fingers crossed.’ He grinned at her.
‘Close the door behind you,’ Crozier said.
Martin turned and threw him a mock-salute.
As the door closed behind them Simon Crozier slid the folders back into the file, then sat back in his seat and frowned. He had a bad feeling about this case. A very bad feeling.
Black Cathedral (department 18) Page 7
