by Louise Voss
Paul raised the gun, his arms shaking, pure adrenaline keeping him going.
Preeti raised her gun too, her fear gone, her face twisted with hatred.
He shot her in the chest. Blood bloomed across the front of her white robe and she dropped to the ground.
‘Good shot, young man.’
Paul turned round, and Diaz smashed a rock against his forehead.
58
Camilo Diaz dropped the rock, which landed with a thump next to the unconscious Paul’s head, then stooped and picked up Paul’s gun. Shame this had to happen – he quite liked Paul Wilson. But he would be dead from the virus soon, anyway.
‘High Priest.’ He looked up and saw Angelica’s ugly friend, Heather, the one who had stuck next to her like a shadow her whole life. She walked over and pointed her own gun at Paul, who was already stirring, his eyes flickering, too dazed to move.
‘When the sacrifice is done,’ Heather said, ‘I’m going to torture this motherfucker until he begs for the flu to take him.’
‘Do as you wish,’ Diaz said dismissively.
She bowed to him. ‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t prevent Wilson reaching you at the prison. We were worried that he might have found out that you were working with us.’
‘How could he have known that?’
‘Forgive me. We had no idea how much he had learned in Sagebrush. We didn’t know if he was aware of Angelica, and her visits to the jail. We decided we couldn’t take any risks.’
Diaz nodded. Ugly but thorough. ‘Well, it turns out it was fortunate that Wilson did show up. It was taking longer than expected for everyone at the prison to die.’
‘With respect, perhaps you should have let us break you out of there.’
That had been what Angelica had wanted to do. Bomb the prison or storm in with all guns blazing. But Diaz knew it was too risky. He, or one of the women, could have been injured. Instead, at the same time the Sisters had unleashed the virus, Angelica had visited the prison and sprayed it into the air using a perfume bottle, close to several of the guards. This was to ensure the guards and other prisoners were among the first victims of Watoto. The plan had been that, once they were all dead, or too weak to stop him, Diaz could simply walk out of the prison and join the women here. But in the end, Wilson and Harley had simply given him a ride to the ranch.
‘No. It has all worked out perfectly. There was no need.’
He was tired of talking to this troll because, standing a few metres behind her, wearing ceremonial robes, was his angel, his little beauty. She was holding a gun to the head of an attractive woman with brown hair – Dr Maddox, he presumed – but he only had eyes for Angelica.
He still remembered the first time he had seen her, when she was a baby. She had radiated beauty even then. Mangold was so lucky to have been given such a gift, a granddaughter whose eyes shone with precocious intelligence. As she became a toddler, then a small child, a schoolgirl, her radiance had become even brighter. But Mangold, that fool, never noticed; he was too obsessed with his viruses, his stupid game of trying to create the ultimate virus, played out with his friends around the world, like that walking cadaver Gaunt. And Mangold’s daughter – Angelica’s mother – was a drunken slut who neglected her little darling, the father absent if he was even known.
Camilo had decided to take that precious little creature under his wing. He took Angelica on expeditions to galleries and museums where he introduced her to the Ancient Egyptians, the mythology seizing Angelica’s imagination from the moment she first saw those wonderful relics and heard the stories of the gods and goddesses. He took her to fine restaurants and walked with her through the park. She was the daughter he had always longed for, and he was the father she deserved. He loved her and she worshipped him. Now here she was, all grown up; stunning and so powerful too. Of course, he had seen her numerous times over the years, as she had visited him at the prison, pretending to be his granddaughter. But every time he saw her, he felt a great rush of emotion.
‘Angelica,’ he beamed, walking over to her and leaving Heather to watch Paul.
Angelica bowed and proffered her gun, holding it out towards him on two open palms.
‘Your Holiness – you can carry out the sacrifice.’
He wanted to embrace her, but it would have to wait until after the sacrifice.
‘With pleasure,’ Diaz smiled, sticking Paul’s gun into the waistband of the too-small jeans Paul had lent him. He stroked Angelica’s cheek and she closed her eyes, her face alight with an expression of bliss. She kissed the back of Diaz’s hand as he took her pistol.
He turned his attention to Maddox, who stood straight, a look of defiance on her face. Another attractive woman. Sweet Jesus, he had missed women!
‘Who are you? Angelica’s sugar daddy?’ Kate spat.
Diaz reached out and touched Kate’s hair. ‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘No, don’t worry, Angelica, not as beautiful as you.’
‘Take your hands off me.’
Diaz sighed, a sound like a man enjoying that first taste of beer after a hard day at work. ‘Dr Maddox, I am a great admirer of yours. Your paper about Watoto was almost brilliant. You were so close, you and Dr Larter. That’s why I instructed Angelica to kill you both.’ He realised with a start that he’d almost forgotten something. ‘Where’s Mangold?’
‘Inside,’ Angelica replied.
‘Will you fetch him?’ he asked. ‘I want to … see him. I have some things to say to him.’
‘Can’t you kill Maddox first?’
Diaz stroked Angelica’s face again. ‘Sweet, sweet girl. So … lusty. Be patient. You were always impatient when you were a little girl, never willing to wait for anything.’
Angelica entered the house, leaving Diaz guarding Kate.
Diaz was amused by the look of contempt she gave him, until she spoke. ‘Like children, do you?’ she asked. Her eyes shone with fury.
‘How dare you accuse of me that!’ Diaz yelled, sticking the gun in Kate’s face.
Standing over Paul, Heather whispered to Diaz, ‘Do it.’
‘That’s not what it sounds like to me,’ Kate said. ‘All this talk of when she was a little girl.’
Diaz’s pulse rate had accelerated dangerously. ‘That poor child had nobody who gave a fuck about her except me. I was the only one who was kind to her.’
‘Kind, eh?’
‘I am not a pedophile! I loved that child like my own flesh and blood. I still love her. And she loves me like the father she never had.’
It was outrageous, yet another sign of a ruined society that deserved to be destroyed. A man couldn’t even show affection to a young girl without everyone thinking he was a pervert. His feelings towards Angelica were pure. He had hardly ever …
Maddox interrupted his thoughts. ‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’
‘My name is Camilo Diaz. I was Charles Mangold’s partner at Medi-Lab, the head of research. I was also supposedly Mangold’s best friend – but the son of a whore betrayed me. He let me take the rap for the crimes committed in those labs. I was only ever doing what he instructed.’
Paul Wilson had dragged himself into a sitting position, clutching his bloodied head. To Diaz’s surprise, he called out weakly but clearly: ‘If you loved Angelica so much, why didn’t you help the Mangolds when they contracted Pyrovirus?’
Diaz felt a grudging respect for the man. Others would have rolled over and given up.
‘Because I couldn’t help,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t know how to treat what they had. It broke my heart, thinking of poor Angelica suffering because of what her bastard of a grandfather had done, playing with things he didn’t understand, unable to cope without me to hold his hand. And, anyway, they survived. The two of them.’
‘They had Pyrovirus?’ said Kate. ‘That … explains a lot.’
He knew what Maddox was alluding to. Pyrovirus was a type of viral encephalitis, causing swelling of the brain. It was a rare virus, spread by mosquitoes and us
ually found, like Watoto, in Africa. It was fatal in about fifty per cent of cases, and those who survived were rarely the same; their brains were damaged. Some survivors were unable to function afterwards. Others were driven insane.
Like Angelica and Mangold.
A few years after recovering from the disease, Angelica had come to see him. She was sixteen and allowed to visit him in the prison on her own. She told him he was the only man who had ever been kind to her. She remembered their outings, the trips and educational visits. But even though she was more beautiful than ever – a stunning young woman – her personality was different. She was harder, colder, and there was a madness in her. Something dark – and he had seen an opportunity.
He remembered Angelica’s fascination with the Ancient Egyptians. On her second visit to the prison, he noticed she wore an ankh on a chain. He went away and did some research using the prison’s decent library.
The next time she visited, he introduced her to the idea of Sekhmet. He explained to her that this Egyptian deity was the lion-headed goddess of healing who was also known as the Lady of Pestilence. She could prevent plagues, but also send them against her enemies. Diaz told Angelica in murmured conversation that Sekhmet had visited him in a dream and told her that she had great plans for Angelica.
Every time Angelica visited, Diaz fed her more stories about the goddess and her plans, her love for Angelica. Soon, Angelica began to dream of Sekhmet. Not long after, her dreams became visions. She was a believer, and Diaz knew that her personality was strong enough to convince others to ‘believe’, too. He continued to feed ideas to her – ideas that would eventually lead to his freedom and his revenge against the country that had imprisoned him and the man who he held responsible.
He also knew that the key to this lay in the new strain of Watoto he and Mangold had developed at Medi-Lab, along with the cure. The Pyrovirus meant that Mangold could no longer continue his work for the government, the work he had been recruited to do in exchange for his freedom. He was too erratic. But Diaz was confident that if he sent instructions through Angelica, Mangold would be able to recreate the strain again. Or perhaps he still had samples, kept over from Medi-Lab.
Then Angelica had hit him with a bombshell. She was joining the CIA, having passed their recruitment process. Sekhmet had told her that if she was to become the ruler of the earth, a living deity, she needed to train, to build the skills necessary to be a great warrior and leader. She had decided the Agency could do this better than anyone else. Before Diaz could stop her, she was gone. Into the bosom of the loathed CIA. He could see the warped logic behind her actions – the story he had fed her about Sekhmet had grown and distorted inside her own damaged mind. Now it was her duty to lead seven Sisters to fulfill a great prophecy. Diaz didn’t see her for over a decade. It had hurt so much, and he believed he would never see her again. He thought he had failed.
But then, one glorious day, she returned. Her eyes were crazier than ever. She was leaner and harder and wearing a disguise, using a new fake name to visit him. She told him that she was ready, that she had also persuaded her grandfather to help her, and had begun to recruit her seven Sisters, her own small army.
Soon, she would be ready to unleash the plague and make the prophecy real.
Diaz had been thrilled beyond words. At last he would be able to get out of that shithole. At last, he could be with the girl he loved like a daughter. At last, he could have his revenge on the USA and Charles Mangold.
And, speak of the devil, here he was.
His old friend Mangold.
Walking to his death.
59
Paul watched the scene unfold before him with astonishment and confusion. He had liked Diaz. Trusted him, even. Now he wanted to kill him. But he felt worse than he’d ever felt in his life, incapable of killing anyone, his head pounding, sweating and shivering at the same time. His body had become his enemy. Only adrenaline and fear were keeping him from falling unconscious again, and it took all his concentration to follow the conversation.
He looked up as Diaz said, ‘Hello, Charles.’
Angelica walked out of the house, with Mangold beside her. She was carrying a set of ceremonial robes and she strode purposefully towards Diaz, stretching out her arms for him to take them.
Mangold’s face was creased with confusion, but when he saw Diaz he seemed to have a moment of crystal
clarity.
‘Camilo? What are you doing here?’
‘I came to say hello,’ Diaz said.
Mangold walked closer to him. ‘And you’re not angry with me?’
‘Oh, I’m angry,’ Diaz said, curling his lip. ‘I also came to say goodbye.’
He raised the gun and shot Mangold in the stomach. Angelica gasped and dropped the robes. Beside Paul, Heather clapped her hands with glee. Mangold toppled to the floor, clutching his guts as if he was trying to keep the blood inside his body.
Diaz turned away from him and back towards Kate. He gestured to Angelica. ‘Come here, my darling girl. Let’s remove the one last person who can stop us.’ He winked at Kate, so Angelica couldn’t see. ‘The person who would defy the will of the Goddess.’
Kate said, ‘He doesn’t believe, Angelica. He’s trying to fool—’
At that moment, two things happened. Paul gathered every final ounce of strength in his body and grabbed the gun from the distracted Heather. And Harley – whom everyone, including Paul, had forgotten about in all the commotion – came running round the corner of the house, pistol raised. He must have been watching the whole time, figuring out the best course of action.
Paul struggled with Heather, clinging to the gun, both of them holding on to it with two hands. She screamed in his face but he wouldn’t let go. To his left, there was a blur of action: Diaz shot at Harley but missed; then Angelica aimed at Harley, but Kate threw herself against Angelica’s legs, knocking her off balance, sending the shot wild.
Harley shot Diaz in the chest. The old man dropped silently, landing flat on his back.
Angelica screamed, ‘No!’
Heather finally managed to wrest her gun from Paul’s weakened grip, swivelling to take aim at Harley. But Paul shouted, ‘Jason!’ and the agent dropped to one knee, squeezing off a shot at Heather. A perfect shot that hit her in the upper chest and sent her sprawling, lying still in the dirt.
Harley then trained his gun on Angelica, who had her own gun aimed at the kneeling Kate. ‘Drop it,’ he ordered.
Angelica looked at him, then at Paul. She pushed her gun against the nape of Kate’s neck, in the exact place that Paul loved to caress while Kate was driving. He remembered the feel of her silky hair against his fingers, and the way she’d rub her head deeper into his hand.
‘Drop the gun,’ Harley repeated, walking closer to her.
Angelica shook her head, her eyes darting left and right.
She grabbed hold of Kate’s hair and pulled her to her feet, the gun still resting against Kate’s neck. She repositioned herself so Kate was between her and Harley, meaning he didn’t have a clear shot. Heather’s pistol was under her body, as was Preeti’s. Diaz had taken Paul’s own gun away after he had hit him with the rock.
She knows, Paul thought, that if she shoots Kate, Harley will kill her.
He had to act.
He managed to stand up, staggering forward with his palms out. ‘Come on. Angelica.’ His voice shook. Kate was looking at him, her face ashen. She stood in a puddle of Simone’s blood. ‘Put the gun down. You can’t win. Let Kate go and we can talk.’
Angelica laughed. ‘You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe you won’t kill me immediately?’
Paul stepped closer, as did Harley, the two of them approaching Angelica in a pincer movement. Angelica looked over her shoulder at Paul.
‘Back off or I will shoot her.’
‘Kate, I love you,’ Paul said.
She gazed at him, drinking him in with her eyes. ‘I love you too.’
/> ‘If you hurt her …’ he said to Angelica.
Angelica gave him a look of utter contempt. ‘What are you going to do to me? Hold me down and rape me? That’s what you’d like to do, isn’t it? The High Priest told me that that was what most men would want to do to me, that he was the only man who would ever love me purely.’
Paul’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘Angelica, he was using you. Not all men are—’
Before he could finish his sentence, he saw a movement to his left. It was Mangold. He was still alive and trying to get to his feet. His stomach was a mess of blood, his shirt dripping red. His weather-beaten old face contorted with pain and confusion.
‘Grandpa!’ Angelica cried.
‘Let Kate go, and we can still save him,’ Harley said. ‘We can get him to a hospital.’
Angelica looked from Mangold to Harley then back to her grandfather. She seemed to be battling with her thoughts.
Then she shot Mangold in the chest. Another hole blossomed above the one in his stomach.
‘No!’ Paul shouted. No matter what he thought of Mangold, and what he had done in the past, Mangold knew how to stop Watoto – assuming the madness hadn’t overpowered him. Diaz was dead, and Paul had no idea how much of their scientific knowledge the two old men had passed on to Angelica. Plus, he couldn’t see her being very co-operative. Maybe Mangold was too crazy now to help, but he might well have been their last chance.
Angelica turned her gun on Harley – and Kate flew at her back, launching her whole body at the blonde, wrapping her arms round her and clinging to her. Angelica grunted and tried to wriggle from Kate’s grasp, attempting to swing the gun against Kate’s head, but Kate held on. Harley sprinted over, as did Paul – although his was more of a lunge than a sprint – and between the three of them they wrestled Angelica to the ground, pinning her against the grass. She bucked and writhed and swore at them until Harley said, ‘Stop struggling or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
Then she went limp, and Kate climbed off her.
