by Jon Land
Kimberlain followed Leeds toward a room on the opposite side of the corridor.
“Here’s one of my favorites,” the madman announced, peering through the one-way glass.
Inside was a teenage boy with rock-star long, blond hair. He sat on a couch with his face squeezed by headphones connected to an elaborate stereo system that almost filled the far wall.
“Jon Goldberg,” Leeds recited, “young rich boy who got himself addicted to thrill killing. He and two other boys killed five younger boys with baseball bats. Then one day his friends slept over, and Jon killed them. That was three years ago. He was transferred to The Locks on his eighteenth birthday, just a month before I arrived.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Kimberlain said.
Leeds frowned in disappointment. “We’re only just getting started.”
“These are the people of your ninth dominion, Leeds? Not very stimulating for a man of your standards.”
“Because I haven’t finished with them yet. Come, there really is one more thing you should see… .”
A door at the far end of the corridor opened onto another, shorter hall with rooms on one side. Once again one-way glass permitted viewing, but all of these rooms were unoccupied. Each had one chair or two. Some of the chairs had straps.
“You did it here,” Kimberlain said knowingly. “Renaissance.”
“Yes,” Leeds said, standing closer to him, almost close enough for Kimberlain to risk an attack. Dying would be acceptable, if he could take Leeds with him. But he had to wait for the odds to be better than they were at present.
“In the early stages,” Leeds continued, “several years ago, we used advanced mind conditioning. Deep hypnosis and what might be referred to as brainwashing. Alas, the results have not proved to be longlasting enough. Several of the subjects recall parts of their pasts, and in a few cases all the memories came back. Chaos results. The mind rebels. Such a waste …” They moved on slowly down the corridor. “More recently, we have been successful in erasing memory by exposing the hippocampus and those segments of the cortex where its component elements are stored to direct microwaves via a probe. Fascinating work. Expedites the process remarkably.”
“And after their pasts don’t exist consciously anymore?”
“We implant false memories, enough to provide a sufficient cushion for consciousness. But only the memories themselves are erased. The essences are preserved, allowed to expand and flourish.”
“You make them in your own image.”
“In their own images, but yes, you have grasped the concept.”
“Tools, Leeds, robots.”
Leeds swung toward him in a violent motion. “No. Men and women allowed to express their true natures, their energies channeled where they can best be utilized.”
“But there’s more, Leeds. Your ninth dominion won’t be theirs until everyone else has been pushed out of the way. Just how does that come to pass?”
Leeds nodded. “A fascinating means really. I think even you would approve.”
“Tell me.”
“I will when the time is right, providing …”
They had come to the final room on the hall. Leeds stopped and gestured for Kimberlain to peer through the oneway glass. Inside was the most elaborate room of all, sterile and high tech. Kimberlain couldn’t identify most of the devices inside and wondered if even Captain Seven would be able to.
“It would happen in there, Ferryman. You would step out a different man than when you stepped in. Free of the moral dilemmas that bind you to a life of discontent. Free of everything except your elemental nature. You can’t deny that. You can’t even try.”
“I won’t bother.”
“I am offering you freedom, Ferryman, freedom from what has always enslaved you. I can take your past away and leave you free to express yourself as you were born to.”
“I was born to stop you, Leeds.”
Leeds’s eyes chided him. “Really? How well do you think you really know yourself, Ferryman? Are you really this naive?”
Kimberlain gazed through the glass again at the operating room. “Why ask my permission? Why not just strap me in and have your people go to work?”
“Out of respect, Ferryman. I could not force you to take the chair. Not you, not Peet. The others are my soldiers. You could command by my side. Join us.”
“Us?”
“A small surprise I’m saving until later.”
Kimberlain shook his head. “I’m sorry, Leeds. There is no later.”
“Purity, Ferryman, raw essence—that’s what I’m offering you and what you deny. And in so doing you deny who you are. Accept it for your own good, as well as mine.”
“No.”
“Then we must remain as victor and vanquished.”
“We do what we have to, Leeds.”
“Always.”
The four cigarette boats cut their engines and slowed to a drift when Devil’s Claw was two miles away. Each carried four Caretakers; Chalmers and one other were left to fly the Beech 1900 that would pick them up when their operation was complete. Hedda was in the boat farthest to the right. With the engines cut, none of The Caretakers needed to be told what to do. Each had his assigned task and went about it with precision.
Hedda’s task was to ease over the side and hook into place black hang gliders attached to parafoils. Running on autopilot, the cigarette boats would hoist The Caretakers into the air on chutes. Once sufficient speed and height had been attained, they would disengage themselves from the parafoil apparatuses and reach the waters near the island by glider. The logistics were not at all exact. They could only hope that the wind would cooperate enough to bring them within easy swimming distance of the island.
With everything in place, Hedda donned her wet suit. She strapped her equipment and armaments inside a waterproof wrap and eased herself over the launch’s side into the chilling water where the three other Caretakers from her boat waited. She belted herself into her glider, fastening buckles around her waist and under each arm. The four-foot-long skis accepted her feet, and she tightened them in the slots. When she was sitting ready, buttocks to the water with the black wings poised behind her, she nodded to Iago. Iago flashed the proper signal to the other boats and had it returned in kind. Then he activated the remote control device in his hand.
The autopilot engaged instantly. In the next moment, the cigarette boat’s sudden burst of speed jerked her to her feet and nearly upended her. Hedda managed to right herself and almost immediately was airborne. The wind current was straight and easterly, just the direction they wanted to go.
The boats were spread far enough apart to leave a comfortable distance between the four groups of Caretakers. Behind each boat, though, occasional wind swirls caused the four being dragged to be pulled dangerously close to one another. Hedda had to manipulate her parafoil on several occasions to keep it from becoming snarled with another.
The Caretakers waited until the cigarette boats hit top speed and the rope links attaching them were fully taut before disengaging the gliders from the parafoil spreads above them. Hedda dropped suddenly before the wind grabbed firm hold of her and drew her upward again. She felt incredibly light. She picked up more speed than she had been expecting and worried that she might overshoot Devil’s Claw altogether. But she leveled off and saw the island coming so fast that she was late picking up the signal to dive. As a result, she overcompensated and dropped too fast. The glider smacked the water hard, and Hedda sank under the surface, weighted down by the apparatus. She fought off panic, as she clawed back to the surface for breath. She stripped off the glider and began to fight her way through the surging swells toward the rock-strewn shoreline.
Around her only a few of the other Caretakers were visible, but this was of little concern; they would be rendezvousing at a prearranged point before breaking into two teams and going their separate ways. So far Hedda had no indication that perimeter security around the island was anything more than Chalme
rs had predicted. Still, she swam cautiously, eyes never straying from the shoreline.
Finally she climbed over the last of the rocks and reached the shore. Finding a plateau on the ragged expanse of low hills, she joined the rest of her team in inventorying their supplies. Everything had remained dry, most importantly her portion of the trenching dynamite Fagin himself had made back at the estate in Highland.
She was part of the demolitions team that would string the trenching dynamite around three of the rising devil’s claws—enough to ensure an avalanche big enough to bury the town on the flat, palmlike plain below. They would work in four separate groups of two each, one to plant the dynamite and the other to set the fuse. All the fuses were rigged into an electronic transmitter each of the eight carried in case only one survived to detonate the explosives. Hedda estimated it would take between twenty-two and twenty-five minutes to wire the hillsides as specified. During that time, the eight additional Caretakers would secure the town and airfield. Meanwhile, Chalmers would be in the Beech 1900 with Bloom piloting. Pickup would come approximately eight minutes from the time the hillsides were wired, assuming all else went as planned.
Hedda stripped her wet suit off and strapped her packs and belt into place. Her ammo vest held four fragmentary grenades and extra clips for her M-16 and Uzi. All The Caretakers were similarly outfitted, the ones charged with securing the perimeter carrying even heavier firepower. By now those two teams would be approaching their positions. It would take Hedda and those charged with the demolitions duties several minutes more to scale the hillsides of Devil’s Claw and begin to lay the explosives. Communication would be via voice-activated, headphone-style walkie-talkies with a chip added to each of them that made eavesdropping or jamming impossible.
Four members of the demolitions team had already headed off. Hedda checked her weapons one last time and gave the ready signal to the three men with her. Eight minutes into their climb Fagin signaled her and Ishmael to break off toward their sectors. The vantage point allowed her a clear view of the plain below. The real settlement was virtually identical to Chalmers’s mock-up. Clearly, most of the buildings had been added after the original construction, as demand for space grew. The prospects of that were chilling. How many like her resided here still, waiting to be summoned for a purpose Chalmers had yet to reveal? But it didn’t matter, because after tonight none of them would be leaving.
“Come in, Hedda.”
“Here, Iago,” she whispered into her walkie-talkie.
“My team is sweeping the town. Everything quiet. No sign of anyone outside.”
“Finn,” Hedda said to the Caretaker in charge of securing the airfield, “where are you?”
“Approaching western rim of the strip now,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Hedda returned, sensing something in his voice.
“Recent stress fractures in the tarmac indicate lots of planes have been landing and taking off from here lately. Also the hangar’s empty.”
“Chalmers, did you copy that?”
A burst of static preceded his response, indicating his plane was almost out of range of the walkie-talkie. When he spoke, the words sounded hollow, and Hedda could picture him holding his speaker against the microphone.
“Yes. Proceed … as planned.”
“This is Iago,” came a sudden call from inside the town.
“Read you. Is your sweep—”
“This place is empty.”
“Say again.”
“I say there’s nobody here. The target’s been abandoned.”
Hedda had her binoculars pinned against her eyes. What she saw seemed to confirm Iago’s report. The settlement was a wasteland, no sign of life or movement anywhere.
“Chalmers”—Hedda had lowered her binoculars and raised her walkie-talkie— “what should we do?”
“Continue … as planned.”
“But—”
“Do as I … say.”
“Iago, did you copy that?”
“Roger, Hedda.”
Hedda brought her binoculars back to her eyes. She swept the town again and stopped at one of the twin guard towers that rose at either end of the single street. Even in the darkness, she could see something was wrong with the picture.
“Iago!” she roared into her walkie-talkie. “Get down! Take—”
Hedda heard the powerful staccato bursts echoing in the wind and through Iago’s walkie-talkie. She was steadying her binoculars again when Iago’s screams found her ears. In the town below, heavy-caliber machine guns were firing in all directions. The two mounted in the towers swept the street, while what might have been a dozen others spit fire, each in a specific grid.
But Hedda could find no trace of any man firing.
“Hedda!” the hollow voice of Chalmers demanded. “What’s … happening?”
“First teams are under attack. No gunmen visible, just weapons. They must have tripped something.”
“I should have … known… .” The rest of his words were garbled.
“What was that? Say again?”
“Underground … I said they … must be underground! … Continue mission … as planned.”
“Finn, do you copy?” Hedda said into her walkie-talkie.
“Under heavy fire. But it’s centered in—the towers on the airfield! Jesus, the towers!”
“Finn?”
Nothing.
“Say again,” came Chalmers.
“He’s dead!” Hedda screamed.
“Please re—”
“This is Hedda. I’m heading to the airfield. Repeat, I’m heading to the airfield.”
Chapter 30
“WELCOME TO MY THEATER, Ferryman.
Leeds led the way into a sloped room that had the look of a college lecture hall, minus the chairs and desks. They had gone down two flights of stairs to reach it, so Kimberlain assumed it was actually some sort of subbasement.
“Behold.”
The madman flipped a number of switches, and the lighting changed from dull to bright. At the lowest point of the room, a man-size cage attached to the high ceiling by a steel cable rested on the floor.
“If you do not change your mind, Ferryman, this is where it will end for you.”
“In a cage, Leeds? I would have thought you more sporting than that.”
Leeds was smiling again. “Oh, but I am. I’m still clinging to the hope that you won’t make me prove it to you.”
He had barely finished speaking when a rattling sound reached the chamber from above. Heavy machine-gun fire, Kimberlain realized, intermixed with explosions.
“Looks like your private world is under attack, Leeds,” the Ferryman taunted. “And from the look on your face I’d say you weren’t expecting it.”
“A minor misjudgment,” the madman said through the obvious dismay on his features, “one that is more unfortunate for you at this point than me.”
Leeds nodded, and the men holding Kimberlain’s chains dragged him down toward the cage. Drawing closer, he saw it was like an antishark cage, accessible through a hatch in the top. Two of Leeds’s henchmen lowered the cage onto its side and opened the hatch. Leeds was keeping a safe distance.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay for this, but I think you’ll find it most interesting,” he told the Ferryman. “I’m even going to give you a chance to survive, though not much of one, I admit.”
Kimberlain’s eyes fidgeted.
“Please, Ferryman, do not even contemplate any desperate lunges. I gave you plenty of opportunities earlier and you passed on every one. Get into the cage.”
Before Kimberlain could respond, the guards holding him yanked brutally down on his chains. He dropped hard face first against the floor. They dragged him backward, keeping his bonds taut as they shoved him feet first into the cage. On the hatch hung a lock; one of the guards turned a key in it, then popped the key back into his pocket. Then the others stood the cage upright.
The Ferryman watched as Leeds
flipped a switch on the wall. Instantly, the cage began to rise toward the ceiling, with the madman and his henchmen gazing upward to follow its ascent.
“I’d give you one more chance to change your mind and join me,” Leeds said, “but I know your answer would be the same.”
“So instead you leave me up here to die slowly. Maybe cling to the hope that I can find a way out.”
“On the contrary, Ferryman, I am going to activate a control that will lower you slowly back to the ground. And …”
Leeds paused, as another of the men flanking him tossed a key up through the bars. The Ferryman caught it and gazed down again.
“… This is the key to the irons on your hands and legs. I do wish to make it interesting for you.”
“You can do better than this, Leeds.”
“No,” Leeds said over the sound of a stampede of feet approaching, “I don’t think so.”
A trio of doors opened, and Kimberlain watched as the eighty-three escapees from MAX-SEC spilled into Leeds’s theater.
Kimberlain had his chains off by the time the cage stopped ten feet from the ceiling and dangled there. Thirty feet below the escaped inmates of MAX-SEC shook their upraised hands and fists at Kimberlain. From this distance they were indistinguishable from one another, little more than a white blanket of madness spread across the floor.
Andrew Harrison Leeds stood directly below Kimberlain, watched by his half-dozen guards.
“I believe they know who you are, Ferryman. Won’t be pretty when they get their hands on you.”
The cage had begun its agonizingly slow descent. Leeds lingered in the doorway briefly, then smiled.
“Good-bye, Ferryman.”
He disappeared into the darkness, and Kimberlain turned his attention to escape. He shook the top of the cage to test the strength of the lock securing the hatch in place. It didn’t give in the slightest, which meant his only chance lay in picking the lock. The mechanism was simple in design but would nonetheless require the usual pair of implements: one to maintain pressure on the pins and a second to work those pins into the proper slots. Kimberlain gauged his rate of descent and estimated he had another minute-and-a-half at most before his cage came within reach of the madmen below. Allowing fifteen seconds to pick the lock, that gave him just over a minute to come up with reasonable facsimiles of pick tools, but where to find them?
