by Sam Christer
They stand and watch. Groups of guards begin fixing massive sheets of black plastic to the wire mesh fencing. Blocking out any views from the nearby highways. Megan scurries towards the nearest team. ‘Hi there. What are you guys up to?’
They ignore her and carry on stretching out a vast swathe of black plastic.
‘What are you doing?’ shouts Jimmy.
‘Minding our own business.’ The reply comes from an older, unshaven man wearing a black T-shirt and cargo pants.
Megan slaps her police ID against the wires. ‘I’m a police officer. I just made it my business.’
The man gets up off his knees. Stanley knife in hand, he walks her way. ‘Carry on,’ he calls to the others. He pins a smile against the wires, right next to her ID. ‘It’s a private party. Booked by a VIP for tonight. Now tell me exactly why any of that can be your business?’
Megan ignores the aggressive tone. He’s probably an ex-cop in a dead-end security job who wants to make out to his cronies that he’s more important than he is. ‘And the sheeting.’ She gestures to the river of black now rolling across the field. ‘What’s that for?’
He looks at her like she’s dumb. ‘Privacy. Private land. Private party. Get it? If you pay out big money for your own personal pleasure, you don’t want nosy parkers at the fences troubling you all night. Understand what I mean? Now if you want to know more, you can ring my office. Maybe they’ll tell you who made the booking. Maybe they won’t. Now excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.’
He turns his back and walks away.
Bastard, she thinks.
‘I’ve got the number for the security company,’ says Jimmy. ‘I’ll call them from the car.’
Megan slaps a hand against the wire as she walks away. ‘Looks like your informant was right. They’re preparing for something big tonight. Something they apparently want to keep very, very private.’
161
The cell door creaks open and the draught causes the torch lighting on the wall to flicker.
‘Phoenix.’ Musca beckons him away from the sacrifice.
Gideon leaves Caitlyn on her bunk, lying on her side, her eyes glued to the hooded and robed figure filling the door frame.
Musca is wearing white cotton gloves and holding another pair. ‘Put these on.’
‘Why?’
The big butcher looks at him as though he’s stupid. ‘Fingerprints. We don’t want any prints on what I’m about to give you.’ He leans closer. ‘We will come for her in an hour. You need to tell her. So she has this final time for herself. For her to prepare for her death.’
It’s more than just a ritual to Musca, Gideon can tell. It’s sadism. The thrill of watching someone suffer. The man is enjoying it.
The big butcher steps outside the cell and takes a sheaf of plain A4 paper and a cheap pen from one of the Lookers. ‘Give her this. Tell her she’s allowed to write a final letter to anyone she likes. You can assure her they’ll get it.’
‘And will they?’
‘Providing she doesn’t do anything stupid like try to describe any of us or where she is, then yes, they will.’
‘I understand. Anything else?’
‘No. Sixty minutes, that’s all she has. Not a minute longer. Make sure she’s ready.’
The cell door clanks closed.
Caitlyn is sat up, anxiously watching him as he returns.
He hands the pen and paper to her. ‘They have given you this. To leave a message.’
‘For my parents?’
He can see that she’s got the wrong idea. ‘It’s not for ransom. I told you, there isn’t going to be any ransom demand. These people have no plans to release you.’ He sits alongside her and tries to help her through. ‘This is it. They are getting ready to start the ritual. You have an hour, that’s all. Then it will begin.’
162
Caitlyn writes two letters. One to her mother, one to her father. She wishes it could be just one. But it can’t. This is the way that she has to do it. Her parents’ divorce is screwing up her death almost as much as it did her life.
Words don’t come easy. At first, they don’t even come at all. Longhand is an alien lifeform to her. And letters like this, well, nothing prepares you for drafting letters like this. They should be the sole preserve of old people or people with awful diseases.
In the end she just writes down what she’s thinking.
Thank you for bringing me into this world, for giving me your beauty and your love of fun. Momma, I’m sorry we argued so much about Daddy and François. Love whoever you want to love. Love them both if they’ll let you! I wish we’d had a chance to kiss and make up.
Be happy Mom.
Love Caitlyn xxx
Her note to her father is touchingly different.
I’m sorry, Daddy. I know I should have done what you said. Please don’t blame Eric. I tricked him, that’s all. I love you Daddy and will miss you. If there is a heaven, I’ll have coffee and pie waiting for you, thick cappuccino like we had in Italy together and a Mississippi mud like the one we made a mess of in the Hard Rock in London. Big kisses from your little girl, I’ll always love you, Daddy xxx
Gideon doesn’t look at the letters when she’s finished. He just takes them off her and folds them in three. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really.’
She looks drained. Like the life has already gone from her.
She pours herself some water.
‘Damn it!’ She hurls the pot to the floor and starts to sob. ‘I don’t want to die. Oh, please God, don’t let them do this to me!’
163
The security firm’s number goes straight to answerphone. A recorded message. No one available until tomorrow.
‘Have you got the owner’s home number?’ asks Megan.
‘Yeah, John Doran-Smith. I’ve got a mobile.’ Jimmy thumbs through his notebook again and punches in the digits.
No answer.
Jimmy leaves a message, makes it sound serious, official police business, the man has to call him urgently.
Something’s happening. Megan knows now. She switches her thoughts back to Lee Johns. What is he not telling them? There are three main reasons why people like him start becoming helpful to the police. They’re afraid of going to prison. They need money for something, probably drugs. Or they’re into something they simply don’t know how to get out of it.
She turns to Jimmy. ‘Did Johns ask you for any money?’
‘Not a penny.’
‘He talked to you solely because his mate Grabb disappeared?’
‘Right.’
‘We should sack ourselves.’ Her face colours. ‘How could I be so stupid? He must have been with Grabb when they murdered Timberland and took Lock.’
Jimmy quickly dials Lee Johns’ mobile number. They should never have let him go, she knows that now. Half her mind was still on Sammy at the time.
‘No answer, boss.’ Jimmy holds up the phone as though to prove the point.
‘You know where he lives?’
The DS doesn’t need any bigger hint. He starts up the car.
‘Pray he’s there, Jimmy.’
164
The visit of the Master to the henge is unexpected.
Trusted members of the Inner Circle speed up the positioning of the black sheeting. The site is completely cleared. Only when veteran Lookers are in position outside the makeshift privacy curtain does the Master pass through the passageway under the road to the sacred site.
The day is finishing in cloud, the sun sinking mournfully low in the west. Time is of the essence. He walks the edge of the field. As always, he will enter the linked arms of the giant sarsens on a sun-line from the Heel Stone to Altar Stone. He stops at the horseshoe of five great trilithons and kneels.
‘Sacred rulers of our universe, I supplicate myself before you, seeking your guidance and wisdom. I do so in all my mortal frailty and loyalty. I dedicated myself to the ritual of renewal and have ensured all preparations
to honour you are in place. The one you chose is ready. A small repayment of the vast debts we owe you.’
He glances up, sees a further ominous dimming of the daylight. An unexpected storm may be brewing. A force of nature augmented by the Sacreds.
‘Lords, our enemies are gathering. They close on us just as clouds surround the sun and moon. I know this to be a trial, a test of our faith and our resolution as Followers, but I cannot undertake it without your guidance. Without your consent.’
He feels his arms growing heavy. They drop by his side as though exhausted from holding a great burden. There is no need to talk now. The Sacreds know everything.
They are in his mind. In his doubts. They race through every atom of his existence. When they are done they leave him prostrate and gasping for air. But the Master has his answer.
He knows what he must do.
165
Kylie Lock slams the phone down on her husband.
The cheapskate son of a bitch still won’t agree to match the money. Okay, she gets that publicly he can’t do it. Vice Presidents don’t negotiate with terrorists, that she understands. But he could still put his hand in his damned pocket. Do it privately. She could tell the police and the press she raised the extra bucks herself.
But he won’t even do that. Can’t compromise his precious principles. Oh no, that would bring his integrity into question. Would cost him votes is what he means. Thom ‘Iron Man’ Lock can’t be seen to parley with the bad guys. Not even for his family. Certainly not in election year.
She stomps around her suite at the Dorchester. Rage building. Can’t even take it out on Charlene. The press aide has gone sick with food poisoning. On this day of all days. Kylie goes to the minibar, looks at the vodka. God she needs it. But she won’t. She takes a bar of chocolate instead. Sits chewing on the bed, watching TV and listening to the radio at the same time. She needs some valium. Or amphetamine. She snatches up the TV remote, switches to Sky News. Praying for another fix of news about her baby.
Kylie fires up the iPad and browses the internet, searching for snippets of information about her daughter. She shouldn’t. The web gossip is bitter. Twisted. Cruel. There is already a virtual tombstone, spray-painted with messages from fans. Mostly boys.
But she has to read it. All of it. She has to tune in to everything and anything to do with Caitlyn. Because deep down, deep inside her, she feels something she can’t explain.
Something instinctual. Maternal. Her nerves are jangling. Something bad is happening to her baby. She just knows it.
166
The sound is the one Caitlyn has been dreading.
Metal on metal.
A worn key turning in an old lock. The cell door is opening. They have come for her. The ritual is about to begin. She is going to die.
Gideon puts his arms around her. ‘Be ready,’ he whispers. ‘Whatever I do, whenever I do it, be ready to fight for your life.’
He can feel her heart hammering against his chest. She is trembling from head to toe.
‘It is time,’ says an impatient voice by the door.
Caitlyn clings to Gideon.
‘Be brave. Be strong.’ He peels her off him, holds her hand. ‘I’ll be with you.’
She takes a deep breath, tells herself to keep her wits about her. Don’t fall apart now. It would be the worst thing to do. The fight isn’t over until all hope is gone.
From somewhere deep inside, she finds courage, pulls her hand free from Gideon’s and walks towards the two robed men waiting by the cell door.
Draco nods to Gideon, gestures to the letters on the girl’s bunk. Gideon understands and rushes to collect them.
They walk the corridor of death, flames crackling from burning torches fixed to the walls and reach the cleansing area.
Caitlyn is pulled from Gideon, undressed and manhandled into the deep stone trench. Clear, cold mineral water powers down on her from the channelled inlets set in the rock ceiling. She shivers, fighting for breath.
Gideon turns away as the Cleansers pull her from the water, dry her and dress her in the long sacrificial robe. One of the Lookers walks over and talks quietly to him. ‘Come with me, Phoenix. You must stand for her in the Great Room. The circles of light are lit. They await her there.’
Gideon doesn’t want to leave her side. He feels a tug on his elbow and looks back at Caitlyn as they walk. He can’t see her face, he wants to see her face, make some human connection with her. But he can’t. Too many people around her.
In the Great Room, he looks helplessly around the chamber, smells the newly warmed wax of the candles. He looks up and sees that the star shafts are open. The sunless sky is grey and edging towards twilight.
Time is running out.
His eyes fall to the Slaughter Stone, the spot where Caitlyn will be strapped down and the marks of the trilithons opened up on her legs, arms and spine. There is a noise outside. Footsteps. They are bringing her in. The ritual is about to begin.
Draco’s hooded head appears in the doorway. His dark eyes fix on Gideon. ‘Come with me, now! The Great Room must be cleared. There’s a change of plan.’
167
‘Is there no other way round, Jimmy?’
The DS shakes his head. ‘Bulford’s a horror. You’ve got half the bloody army out here: 3rd Mechanised, the Rifles, Royal Logistics, even the RMP.’
Finally, they edge past the slow-moving convoy of squaddies and Jimmy works the car hard down Marlborough Road, takes a right into Hubert Hamilton Road, then a left into Harrington. At last they’re in the road where Lee Johns lives.
They slew to a halt, get out and sprint through a communal garden, up white concrete steps to a run-down flat. Megan keeps her finger pressed on the button while Jimmy shuffles along the small balcony to bang on the lounge window.
There’s no answer.
She crouches and shouts through the letterbox. ‘Lee, it’s DI Baker and DS Dockery. We need to talk to you. Urgently.’
Still nothing.
‘Put the door in.’
Jimmy hesitates.
‘Put it in, Jimmy, or I’ll do it.’
He steps back, plants a kick below the handle. His foot bounces off the lock but the door doesn’t break. He steps back again and delivers a firmer thump with his heel. This time it swings open and they pile in.
Jimmy runs through the lounge into the small kitchen. Megan takes the bedroom. Then the bathroom. Nothing. He isn’t here. She goes back into the bedroom. Opens the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. Full of clothes. Into the bathroom again. She finds his toothbrush. No sign of a hurried exit.
They wander outside, thinking about where next to hunt. Forty metres down the street Megan notices a thin man holding a newspaper in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
It’s him.
Johns sees them on the stairs. And starts to run.
He’s quick too. Much faster than Megan expected an ex-junkie to be. He makes a break for the fields behind Harrington Road. She barrels after him. Jimmy jogs back for the car, hopes to head him off as he comes out on Marlborough Road.
Megan is catching him.
Johns glances over his shoulder and sees her gaining. He also notices Jimmy is not there. It doesn’t take a lot of working out to figure he is following in the motor.
Johns peels away from Marlborough Road. He’s not going for the open fields. He’s not that stupid. Instead he goes north towards a dense copse. With any luck, he’ll lose her in there.
But he doesn’t make it.
Megan finds an extra burst of energy just as his tank runs empty. She takes him down metres from the edge of the woodland.
They are both breathing heavily but the DI is fitter and stronger. She grabs his wrist and twists his arm hard up his back.
He kicks a little but his lungs are on fire.
‘Don’t even think about it, Lee.’
168
Six Followers, led by Draco and Musca, briskly escort Caitlyn and Gideon back t
o their cell.
She is terrified by the men’s haste, their infectious nervous energy.
‘What’s going on?’ Gideon asks Draco.
‘Wait a minute.’
The Lookers push the sacrifice inside and Draco pulls him away from the bars. ‘The Master has changed the plans for the ritual. He has been to the henge and he has himself become a vessel for the Sacreds. The gods are within him. He is in the Great Room right now, allowing them to take their places in the Sanctuary.’
‘He is switching the location for the ritual?’
‘That’s right. He believes it safer to take place here, than out in the open.’
‘And that accords with tradition?’
‘It does. The henge in the Great Room comes from the same tabernacle stone as those on public display. In many ways it is a holier site.’
Gideon realises the implications of the switch. They’re not going to take her outside. He will have no chance to help her escape. He looks through the cell bars. She will be put to death just a short walk from where she is now.
‘I have to see my father. I must speak with him.’ He tries to push past him.
Draco blocks his way. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘I must.’
‘I said it is not possible.’ His eyes narrow. ‘The Master has left instructions that he must not be interrupted. Twilight is upon us. The ritual has begun.’
Gideon is returned to the cell and the door locked. Caitlyn sits on her bunk, her hair still wet, awkwardly holding the ceremonial gown about herself. It is split up the back so the knife of stone may be used on the naked flesh displayed beneath it.
Gideon slips off the rope from around his waist. ‘Here, use this. It will help you fasten the gown.’
She takes it and chokes back a sob. ‘It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m about to be killed and here I am worrying about showing my ass.’
He understands her need to maintain some self-respect, some dignity. ‘It’s not stupid. It’s dignified.’
