by Sam Christer
The door is open, flanked by two Lookers, one of whom Gideon has seen before with Draco. Inside, high on all four walls are burning torches. On the hard stone ground are two makeshift wooden bunks filled with straw. In the corner of the room, two narrow stone troughs filled with water.
If he’s right, the chamber is no more than a twisting fifty metres of corridor from the steep stairwell that leads to the warehouse. It doesn’t take him long to work out why that is. They bring the girl here so it’s easy to move her into a waiting vehicle.
Gideon hears footsteps outside. A mix of men’s voices, shadows across the gated doorway and then four Lookers lumber into the cell. At first he doesn’t see the woman between them. Two of the men lift her under her arms while others grab her feet. They swing her on to a bunk.
One of the men is Draco. He hangs back while the first two Lookers leave. ‘She is weak, hasn’t eaten anything for almost seven days.’ He puts his arm around the well-built Looker next to him. ‘This is Volans. He’s going to be right outside the chamber. He has instructions to fetch a doctor if you think her condition is deteriorating. Do you understand?’
Gideon nods.
‘Good, because this woman must not die. Her health is our single priority. For the next day at least.’ He gives Gideon a soldierly slap and steps out of the cell with Volans, shutting the iron door behind them.
Gideon wonders if the Master has told Draco about him. About their relationship. It would be the clever thing to do if he was worried about the support of the Inner Circle. It’s what he would have done in his position.
He takes his first look at the sacrifice. Easy to imagine that not so long ago she was very pretty. Even without make-up and her thick black hair matted, he can tell she is naturally attractive. Her short hooded robe has ridden up and he can see a flash of a Union Jack tattoo, a sign of another time, a symbol of flirtatious rebellion and youthful defiance. Gideon bends over her and pulls it down to preserve her modesty.
She slaps his hand away. ‘Leave me alone.’
He is startled and steps back.
The woman sits up defensively in the bunk. Disorien tated. Fear ingrained in her eyes. ‘Keep away. Keep away from me!’
‘I’m not going to hurt you. Honestly, I’m not.’
She looks around. Her prayers haven’t been fully answered but at least she’s no longer in that claustrophobic hell hole. She can breathe and stretch. And lie down. She looks at the stranger near her, her eyes almost black.
‘Who are you? Why are you in here with me?’
142
A mountain of man gets out of Jimmy’s black Golf GTI. ‘Josh Goran, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.’
He towers over Megan as they shake hands. He has short dark hair, blue eyes, looks like he has been hewn from granite. Then it comes to her. He’s the guy from the TV news appeals. From Kylie Lock’s press conference. She guesses Jimmy has already told him about her. ‘You’d better come inside. We can talk better there.’ They follow into the cottage. And once the door is closed, Jimmy fills in some of the gaps. ‘Josh has been retained by Caitlyn’s mother to find her.’
‘And return her safely,’ adds Goran.
‘I know,’ Megan says. ‘You’re some kind of bounty hunter cum private eye, right?’
‘Rescue and return operative,’ he says. ‘I have two decades’ experience in what is the US equivalent of your SAS. Only better.’ He cracks a Hollywood grin. ‘Ma’am, I think we’re kindred spirits. Seems you and I are both being kept out of the loop. It’s why Jimmy here came to me.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she confesses.
‘With due respect, ma’am, I think you probably know more than most.’
‘Meaning?’
‘From the intelligence that I’ve gathered – and believe me, I’ve gathered a lot – your local police, the FBI guys, I think they’re giving too much credence to this theory that Caitlyn’s been kidnapped by an organised gang and is being held in France somewhere.’ He nods towards Jimmy. ‘I think you and Jim are much more likely to be on the right trail, ma’am.’
She can’t help but interrupt. ‘Josh, you’re going to drive me crazy calling me ma’am. Megan will do.’
‘Megan,’ he says, through a whiter-than-white smile. ‘In my experience if you kidnap someone and take them abroad, you leave traces. Driving’s the easiest option. But you do that and you have to dodge a whole lot of surveillance cameras. You got to buy ferry or train tickets, without being seen or recognised. These days that’s impossible. You flee the country, you leave signs. But in this case the Feds, your British police and my operatives, they’ve come up with zip. You know why? Because the perps never left the country. They’re still here. Still local.’
Megan agrees. But there are still loose ends. ‘What about the recordings of Caitlyn?’
He shrugs. ‘Not necessarily what they seem. Be easy enough to have made the recordings of Caitlyn here and then had a guy catch the Eurostar from London and play an edited tape down a French phone line. Point of contact proves nothing.’
‘Except that the kidnappers are well organised,’ adds Jimmy.
‘You can bet on that,’ says Goran. ‘These guys are very well organised. Part of the reason I think they’ve set up camp right in the middle of that military no-go zone.’
‘Imber is owned and patrolled by UK forces,’ says Megan. ‘It’s impossible for anyone to go in and out of there without clearance.’
Goran grins. ‘Not at all. You have working farms nearby and there’s a public footpath thirty miles long that runs around the firing ranges. Besides, the military have the dumbest guards alive. Believe me, I’ve worked with them most of my life.’
Megan smiles. ‘So do you think you could work out a way to get in?’
‘I’m ahead of you. I’m taking a surveillance team out there tonight. Zero one hundred hours to be precise. You want in?’
PART FIVE
Little Imber on the Downe,
Seven miles from any Towne,
Sheep bleats the unly sound,
Life twer sweet with ne’er a vrown,
Oh let us bide on Imber Downe.’
– Anon.
143
SUNDAY 27 JUNE, THE DAY OF RENEWAL,
0100 HOURS
The black Ford Transit that rolls south from Devizes down the deserted A360 bears the green letters ‘ATE’ and a fluttering red flag. Beneath the official logo of the Army Training Estate are the words ‘Specialist Scientific Research Unit’.
The van’s six occupants wear high-visibility rainproof jackets emblazoned with the same crest. They carry in their pockets laminated ID cards and official authorisation to conduct a nocturnal wildlife survey in and around the IRPP, the Imber Range Perimeter Path, that skirts the live-firing area.
Megan looks around at the team and can’t help but be impressed. ‘It’s amazing what you can pull together when you are chasing a potential pay cheque of ten million dollars.’
‘Indeed it is,’ says Josh Goran, sat in the back on a flip-down seat opposite her. ‘Take a bow, Troy my boy.’
Troy Lynton looks up from the submarine glow of his laptop screen and gives a modest smile.
‘Troy’s our cyber king,’ explains Goran. ‘The world’s best hacker, forger and fixer. Give him a little time and there’s nowhere in the virtual world he can’t access and nothing he can’t steal or alter.’
Megan and Jimmy are crammed in the back with the two Americans. The driver is a man called Jay, who appears to be English. The front passenger is Luc, a former Dutch soldier who has been working with the crew for the past two years.
‘Right now there are no major military manoeuvres planned at Imber, so troop numbers are minimal,’ says Goran. ‘Most guys will be lying back at barracks or bedding locals. We should be able to move around without restriction.’
Half an hour later, the van’s headlights illuminate a warning sign: LIVE FIRING RANGE CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC: KEEP
OUT.
The Transit trundles slowly on, then pulls over in front of a deserted farmhouse. Jay guides the vehicle up behind it, out of sight of the main road.
‘Okay,’ says Goran. ‘Let’s move.’
They grab backpacks and quickly spread in different directions. Goran has equipped them all with two-way radios, compasses, night-vision goggles, flashlights and, for the sake of the cover story, cameras and clipboards. Lynton has also briefed them on Imber’s stone curlews, roe deer and badgers.
They move silently past shells of buildings, windowless and doorless brick hulks more reminiscent of Kosovo than Wiltshire. Once-beautiful thatched roofs have been replaced with rusted corrugated iron. Wildflower gardens have become mud pits, churned by the caterpillar tracks of tanks. Sprouting in the darkness, they see a red-and-yellow sign declaring, DANGER: UNEXPLODED MILITARY DEBRIS.
Jimmy and Megan stick to the instructions Goran has given them and methodically work their way through the ruins of Imber. English Jay does the same along a northern stretch towards Littleton Down, while Goran scouts the outer parts of West Lavington Down and Lynton works east through Summer Down.
They search for three hours. And find nothing.
As they regroup, Goran lays out a map on the bonnet of the van and jabs a finger south of Imber. ‘This here is the very heart of the firing range. The military call it the danger zone. We’ve barely been in it. So far, we’ve just skirted the outer areas.’
Jay glances at the topography. He’s still catching his breath. ‘It would take all day to drive around that amount of land, let alone walk it and search it.’
No one argues with him.
‘So now we have to make a decision,’ says Goran. ‘It’ll be sunrise any minute. If we carry on, there’s a high risk of being stopped and no longer any documented excuse for us being here.’
‘We need another cover,’ says Lynton. ‘We simply swap the nocturnal survey for a daytime one. It’s Sunday. No one is likely to call ATE and check. But I have to get near a computer and printer to change our papers and pin down some details.’
Goran looks at his watch. ‘Zero four hundred hours. I say we pull out of here before we’re seen. We grab a few hours’ sleep while Troy creates the new documents. Regroup at midday, return and work until nightfall.’
Megan agrees along with the rest but suffers a pang of motherly guilt at the prospect of leaving Sammy with her parents again.
They’re in the process of packing the rucksacks in the van when Goran quickly raises an arm. They freeze. From way off in the distance blink the headlights of an approaching vehicle. They take cover behind derelict buildings and the car zips past on the road heading out of the village.
‘White builder’s van,’ says Goran, getting to his feet. ‘It had a name like Smith and Son on the side. The back light over the number plate was out, so I don’t have a registration.’ He looks to Jimmy and Megan. ‘Did either of you recognise it? Did it mean anything to you?’
‘Yes,’ says Megan. ‘It meant a lot to us.’
144
The Henge Master sits alone in the darkness of the eastern chamber. He is waiting. Passing time. As he did yesterday morning. And the morning before.
It has always been the chore of Masters to plot the sunrise and sunset over the Sanctuary and Stonehenge. It is the Followers’ own geocentric model. Like the Greek philosophers, like Aristotle and Ptolemy, they follow a belief that a fixed point of the earth is the centre of the universe.
All things revolve around them. Only the Followers are wiser. It is not the orbit of planetary motions alone that they focus on. It is also their effect that is important. The resultant swirl of spiritual forces. The realignment of souls and energy. The gravitational drift of eternal power and essence.
The knowledge of the Followers predates all others. Theirs is the science that gave birth to astronomy, astrology, geography, meteorology and all others. The wisdom of the ancients.
Through the eastern star shaft, the Master sees the first trace of sunrise. Not dawn. This is different. More precise. The exact time the upper edge of the great orb appears above the horizon. The moment that the balance of power shifts. The split second the rule of night is over.
The first gasping breath of a newborn day.
Eyes fixed on the rising red and orange disc in the morning sky, the Master wonders for a moment about his new recruit. Phoenix. His son. His own flesh and blood. Today will be a telling one for him. For both of them. Blood is said to be thicker than water. Sunset will put that theory to the test. When the ball of fire dips in the west and the last of its trailing edge sinks below the horizon. The answer will be known.
Then history will be written.
145
Caitlyn wakes screaming.
The cell is compost black, wall torches long since burned out. Gideon heaves himself from the straw bunk beside her.
‘Eric! Eric, help me!’
He follows the nightmare voice, feels his way in the utter blackness. The red glow of torches held by Lookers spills through the iron doors of the cell and he catches a glimpse of her. Knees tucked high against her chest, eyes glazed with terror.
‘What’s happening in there?’ calls a Looker.
‘Help! Someone, help me!’
Gideon tries to calm her. ‘It’s okay. You’re all right.’
‘Help!’ The screams are louder.
He sits on the edge of the wooden bunk and tries to steady her. ‘Caitlyn, you’re dreaming. Wake up.’
Two Lookers step quickly into the cell, torches grotesquely illuminating their faces.
‘It’s okay,’ says Gideon, half-turning to them. ‘Light the wall torches and she’ll calm down. She’s just frightened.’
He puts his arms around her and holds her. ‘Don’t worry. No one is going to hurt you.’ The words stick in his throat. Liar.
Light gradually crawls across the walls as the lit torches burn. Caitlyn wakes from the horror of her dreams to face the stone-hard reality of her fate. She holds Gideon for protection. Her voice is rough and raw. ‘I need some water.’
The two Lookers wait for Phoenix to give his consent.
‘Get her some, please.’
The taller of the two, the man previously introduced as Volans, moves to the back of the cell and fills a pot beaker with water from one of the stone troughs. He hands it to her and she drinks.
Gideon looks again at the two robed men. There is something different about them. The way they are holding themselves, the way they stand. He looks into their faces. Reads their concern, their intensity of focus. Then he notices their robes.
They are armed. Both are carrying guns.
146
Megan wants to chase after him. Wants to get up behind Smithsen’s van and put him in a ditch. Find out what the hell he’s doing on MOD land at four in the morning.
Goran unclips the radio from his belt. ‘Command to Echo Leader. We’ve eyeballed a white van heading east out of Imber. Name on the side is Smithsen – Sierra Mike India Tango Hotel Sierra Echo November. Recon and report until otherwise instructed. Over.’
There is a hiss and then a crackly reply, ‘Copy that, Command. Over.’
Megan looks irritated. ‘Who was that?’
Goran looks smug. ‘I have surveillance units pegged to all corners of the compass,’ he says. ‘They’ll be effective for a while yet, until the roads fill up. After that, it’s going to become more difficult. Echo Team is on the van and will report back.’
‘I wish you’d told me you had those kind of resources. How can I help if I don’t know what you’re running with?’
The American grins widely. ‘Sorry, lady. I’m afraid you only get to learn about my resources on a need-to-know basis.’ He can see she’s about to give him a mouthful. ‘We don’t have time to argue. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s fully light.’
Megan glares at him. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know exactly where that vehicle came from?’ She looks
into the twilight, in the direction of the MOD danger zone and the route Smithsen took.
As he is about to reply, Goran’s radio spurts to life again. ‘Echo to Team Leader. We’ve got a problem. I think the target just made us.’
147
Caitlyn’s unsure of the man she’s sharing a cell with. He introduced himself yesterday as Gideon but she was too sick to do anything but just stare warily at him. Why is he in here with her? What does he want? He’s dressed like all the others but behaves differently. Not as mean. She looks across to him.
He acts friendly. Like he’s on her side. But he is one of them. She knows he is. The other guards listen to him. He told them to light the torches on the wall and they did it. They did as he said. No hesitation. He has influence over them. So why is he in the cell?
She feels weak and nauseous as she creaks her way out of her bunk and tries to take a step or two. He sees the tension on her face. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Why do you care?’ She glares at him like a frightened animal.
‘I’m not here to hurt you.’
Her heart jumps. A sudden rush of hope. ‘Have my parents paid the ransom? Am I going home?’ She forgets her caution and goes over to his bunk. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? It’s why I’m in here instead of that goddamned hole in the wall. It’s why you’re being nice to me. You’re preparing me for my release. Acclimatising me.’
Gideon stands and steadies her. ‘No, Caitlyn. That’s not it.’ He glances towards the iron bars. ‘For all I know, your parents haven’t even been asked for a ransom. The people who abducted you are not after any money. I’m sorry.’
She doesn’t understand. If they don’t want her money, then what do they want? The fear returns to her face. ‘So what’s going on, then?’ She gestures to the room. ‘Why this?’
‘Sit down. I’ll try to explain.’
She sits, nervous as a kitten.
