The Deepest Cut Page 14

  She nodded, looked back at me and smiled. She said, “I had noticed the same thing.”

  I said, “What? While you were biting me?”

  She smiled. “You don’t recognize me.”

  I said, “I recognize you.” But she was right. Her face was familiar, just like the hippie’s had been. Her manner and her voice, too, but I couldn’t place them. I turned back to Serafino. “As we are observing social conventions, let’s catch up. Whatever happened to Catherine Howard? You have her killed?”

  His face darkened. “That is none of your business, Murdoch.”

  I smiled. So, she had gotten away, with Sinead Tiernan. If he’d killed them, he would be gloating. The waiter appeared with my drink.

  Serafino said, in a way you could describe as urbane, “Put it on my bill, would you, Peter?”

  My lip curled. “Thanks. I can pay for my own drinks.”

  He raised his hands and laughed. “Please! I insist. It’s the least I can do after all the inconvenience I have caused you.”

  That stopped me. He dismissed the waiter with a flick of his fingers and sat waiting for me to talk.

  I said, “Okay, you got me here and you’ve got my attention. What’s with the psychotropic drugs and the free strip-o-gram? Couldn’t you have just phoned?”

  He chuckled. She watched me, smiling, like I was an interesting specimen. He said, “You caused me a lot of pain, Murdoch. I have to admit it.” He blustered a moment, shaking his head, shrugging, spreading his hands. It was real Spanish. “Our project is vast. Far too big for one simple simian to stop it. But you caused us serious inconvenience. And the loss of the Çabra Stone…” He shook his head, and he seemed gray and drawn. “That’s unforgivable.”

  I exhaled smoke through my nose and said, “Good.”

  He looked amused, opened his gold cigarette case then extracted two cigarettes. He handed one to the woman and lit them both with a fine, gold lighter. When he was done, he squinted at me through the smoke and said, “Really? Good? Two innocent girls and one wretched schizophrenic have died horrific deaths because of you. And, at some point in an indefinite future, Maria, the woman you profess to love, will die in a far more horrific way. So, do you still think it is good?”

  I flicked ash on the lawn and said, “What do you want, del Roble?”

  He smiled then laughed out loud. A couple of people glanced at him.

  “Oh,” he said, “wouldn’t you just love it to be that easy!”

  A hot pellet of anger built in my gut. I said again, “I asked you what you want.”

  He stared at the tip of his cigarette like there was something interesting and amusing there. He said, “Let me ask you a question, Murdoch. You hairless simians, what do you want with all your nature reserves?”

  I narrowed my eyes and fought the desire to take a butter knife and stick it in his heart. I said, “What?”

  He waved his hand around, like he was showing me all the nature reserves in the world. “You hairless simians, you have practically eradicated nature from the planet, and, in its place, you have created thousands of nature reserves, as though you could reserve nature. What are they for? What do you use them for?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not in the mood, del Roble.”

  “For what? For playing games? And yet that is precisely what your nature reserves are for. Games. You even call the animals ‘game’. What does the most powerful species on the planet do when it has achieved ultimate power? What does it do with the lesser species? It studies them, and it plays games with them—the elephant, the lion, the fox, the bull…”

  I crushed out my cigarette and sipped my Martini. “Is that what you’re doing with me? Is that what you’re telling me? That you’re playing a game with me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Because I can. It has been very easy for you so far, but it is about to get much harder, Murdoch. I have been feeding you clues, leading you toward your own punishment, and you have followed them all to here.”

  I interrupted him, deliberately offensive. I said, “Harder? Really? Lady Deepthroat here told me, ‘underneath the power station.’ That’s harder?”

  There was a flicker of something in his eye that I couldn’t place. He smiled. “And you believed her.”

  It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer it. I said, “Come on, del Roble. How stupid do you think I am? I’m a hairless ape, but I get the game. You feed me easy clues that are good intelligence. Then you feed me a false clue, I fall in your trap and you crucify me as punishment for stealing your fucking stone. The game is, I have to guess what the false clue is when it comes along. And the prize if I guess is that you kill me in a different way. So, the next clue is, ‘under the power station.’”

  As I said it, my eye caught the leaflet under my pack of Camel. I took the pack, shook out a cigarette and lit up. When I put down my Zippo, I picked up the leaflet, folded it then put it in my pocket like I didn’t want him to notice. He did, but looked at the tip of his cigarette, like he didn’t want me to notice that he had noticed. I sucked smoke and blew it out through my nose like I hadn’t noticed that he’d noticed. Then we sat smoking and admiring the night sky.

  Finally, he said, “Whatever you may think of us, Murdoch, we are not like you. If you find Maria before our hybrid kills her, you may keep her. If you don’t, then you will both become part of our genetic research program, and you will be destroyed.”

  Then he said to the woman, “I’m hungry.”

  She said, “Me, too,” and del Roble turned to me, obviously enjoying himself.

  “We were about to order when you showed up. Will you join us? Balazs is a superb chef. He does a rare steak which is”—he smiled smoothly—“literally to die for.”

  I picked up my cigarettes and my lighter and said, “Thanks. I’ve lost my appetite. Enjoy your evening.”

  I stood and went to walk away, but I stopped and put my hand on the back of the woman’s chair. I leaned across her toward del Roble. She had a curious, musky smell, which was familiar.

  I spoke softly, “Del Roble, before I go, I want to tell you that this time I’m going to kill you, and you’re going to stay dead. Do you understand that?”

  He met my eyes and didn’t answer. I like to believe that he was thinking I might be right. After a moment, I blinked real slow and turned to the woman. Our faces were almost touching.

  I said, “You, too, sweetheart.” I said it real quiet.

  I saw her swallow, then I walked away.

  At reception, I stopped by the stairs and pulled out my cell. I made sure Tank-Top Man was in earshot and turned away like I didn’t want anyone to hear me. I dialed the number on the leaflet. It rang twice and a chirpy voice answered.

  I said, “Hi, I’d like to book a guided tour of the Llyn Celyn fusion reactor.”

  “Oh, yes, sir! No problem! When would you like to come? Would it be just you, sir? Or would you be bringing your family?” She sounded really pleased, like she had a vested personal interest in making that happen for me.

  I said, “My family were all killed in a freak marquee accident at my best friend’s wedding. It will be just me. How soon can you make it?”

  There was a moment’s silence while she tried to decide whether I was the unluckiest man in the world or a wiseass. She gave a small, single giggle and said, “Well, we have a guided tour of the Llyn Celyn reactor tomorrow morning at half past nine, if that would suit?”

  I said, “That will be perfect. Thanks.” I gave her my name then hung up. I asked Norm the Tank Top to send me up a steak and a bottle of Martini, and have someone collect my clothes for the laundry. I laughed like I was a hopeless disaster and wasn’t that just hilarious? “I wasn’t planning on staying over, so these are the only clothes I have!”

  He smiled sympathetically. Over his shoulder, I spotted that rooms three-o-one to three-o-three had their keys in their slots. There was nobody home.

  Once upstairs, I figured I had fifteen minutes before the
steak arrived. I chose three-o-three at random, picked the lock and went fast to the wardrobe. I was lucky. The room was occupied by a couple. I snatched a pair of pants, a shirt, a jacket and a pair of socks and left the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

  In my room, I put the clothes in a laundry bag, tucked a fiver in the top and left it outside the bedroom door. Then I waited.

  After twelve minutes, there was a knock and a voice called, “Room service!”

  I said, “Leave it outside the door, will you? Your tip’s in the bag.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  In a moment, I heard his feet rattle down the ancient stairs. I stepped out and collected the tray. The steak was as good as del Roble had promised, and I followed it with two stiff Martinis. Then I turned out the light and lay on the bed to wait.

  By eleven, the voices outside the window started growing quieter and the clatter of glasses and plates more sporadic. By half eleven, there were only a couple of tables left, and, by twelve, the sounds were those of the waiters cleaning up for the night. By one, there was total silence.

  I swung my legs off the bed and leaned out of the window. There was dense ivy up the side of the building, like there is on most British houses from that period. It’s pretty tough stuff and I hoped it would hold my weight. I took the Smith & Wesson from my bag, slipped it in my waistband, then leaned out and grabbed hold of the creeper with both hands. I eased myself out. It held firm. A few seconds later, I dropped onto the lawn and stayed squatting, immobile, for five beats. There was absolute stillness and silence. The moon watched me, and I swear she was smiling. Her light was turquoise and washed everything with a strange translucence that made it hard to judge distances. The shadows under the nearby trees were bloated and diffused. I made a quick sprint for them.

  Remote Wales at one-twenty a.m. is quiet. Like most of the roads in the area, the road to the power station was bordered by high banks and hedgerows that blocked out the moonlight. It was like walking through a dark tunnel of trees with a faint blue-green glow overhead. Rustles and snuffles crept on the cool night air, from obscure places below the brambles where small animals played out their own life and death dramas. The moon didn’t care. It was all a game to her.

  It took me ten minutes at a steady trot to make the station. When I got there, I strolled across the car park to the barrier. Light was filtering out of the cabin and I could see a uniform inside watching a portable TV. He looked up when I leaned in and wished him a good morning. He wasn’t the ‘Seth Efrican’ from earlier, but he was from the same gene pool.

  He gazed at me with no expression and said, “Who are you? This is a restricted area.”

  I hesitated a moment and that made him stand up and step out of the cabin.

  I said, “My name is Murdoch. I have an appointment with Serafino del Roble here at one-thirty.”

  His forehead clenched into a painful knot. “An appointment…” He reached for the walkie-talkie on his hip.

  I scratched the back of my neck with my left hand and said, “Yeah, I know it’s an odd time,” and, as he looked down at his radio, I put all of my two hundred and twenty pounds into a perfectly executed uppercut to the tip of his chin.

  It would have laid out a rhino. This guy had the courtesy to wince and stagger and his eyes glazed. He dropped the radio and reached for his piece.

  However tough you are, there are some parts of the human anatomy you are never going to make any stronger than they were created. I took a small step to my left and delivered a kick worthy of a Shire horse to his nuts, and deprived the world of at least one perfect Arian baby. He made a noise like air escaping through a small hole in a balloon and sank to his knees. I have never pretended to be honorable or noble. I kicked him again, in the head, which was neither.

  I grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him back into the hut. I rifled through his pockets and found a pass card for first level security access. I knew it would need a PIN, and second and third level would use laser iris recognition. I stripped him of his uniform and put it on. Then I hefted him into his chair and pulled out my penknife. I made a small incision in his wrist and let the blood flow a bit. I slapped him a few times to wake him up and, as I saw his eyelids flutter, I pressed hard with my thumb on the cut.

  He came around. His pupils were dilated. He tried to focus, first on my face, then on his wrist.

  I said, “I just sliced through your vein, pal. All the way through. When I let go, you’ll be dead in a couple of minutes. Tell me the PIN for your pass card, and I’ll call an ambulance.”

  His face drained and he gaped at me. He was struggling to make sense of what had happened between his decision to call his superior and having his vein cut open. I didn’t let him.

  I snapped, “You have no choice. Do it!”

  He moved his mouth and swallowed.

  I said, “You are two minutes from being dead. React!”

  He burbled, “Hash seven two six five four three eight hash.” Then his face crumbled and he added, “Oh, shit!”

  I made him repeat it and memorized it as he did. Then I let go of his wrist and stepped behind him. He stared dumbly at the small flesh wound.

  I said, “Sorry, pal. I lied.” Then I took hold of his head and broke his neck. “It was less than two minutes.” Like I said, I am not honorable or noble. Besides, the world was probably a better place with him doing something useful, like feeding maggots.

  What I did next I had never done before, and I hope I never have to do again. I pressed my thumb into his eye socket and pulled out his right eye. I severed the optic nerve with my knife and wrapped the eyeball in my handkerchief. You have to wonder about the direction your life has taken when you find yourself putting somebody else’s eye in your pocket.

  I walked across the forecourt toward the main building and followed the wall around, away from the main entrance, hoping there would be at least one side door. There was, and it had a keypad beside it with a slot for the card. I slipped it in and punched in the number he’d given me. A green light came on and the door clicked. I pushed in.

  I didn’t know what I was looking for. Knowing these freaks, there could be a big red sign saying, ‘Murdoch, this way to the dungeon.’ There wasn’t. It was a very normal institutional corridor with a very normal institutional carpet and no signs. I knew the main entrance was right, so I turned left. The corridor did a full circuit of the building. There were a couple of doors that were not particularly interesting. One led to a library, another to the station manager’s office, and the passage eventually took me to a large atrium with a security desk at the bottom of a broad flight of steps.

  The guard at the desk looked bored, but he frowned at me as I trotted down the stairs and he said, “I don’t recognize you.”

  I stepped over with a big smile on my face and said, “Tomorrow they’ll ask you my name.”

  He frowned and stood. “Huh?”

  I nodded, like it was obvious. “Yeah. You can tell them it was Murdoch.”

  He wasn’t as tough as the guy outside. He went down easy. I still broke his neck, though, so he wouldn’t be telling them anything tomorrow. I made my way back along the passage to the first door. There was no keypad, but there was a laser scanner. I fished out Superman’s blue eye and let the laser scan it. The door opened. It was too easy, but it was always going to be a fifty-fifty chance they were expecting me, despite the laundry bag and the telephone booking. I pushed open the door then stepped in.

  I was on a plain concrete landing with a bare rail of steel tubing. To my left, the landing became a flight of steel stairs that followed the curve of the wall down into semi-darkness. Above me, the ceiling domed into shadows. I couldn’t see the light source, but it was dull and ineffectual. I heard a soft clang behind me as the door closed.

  Unconsciously I reached back and touched the Smith & Wesson in my belt. It was good to know it was there. I began to descend the stairs into the vault. The farther down I went, the more
the vast size of the place became apparent. Every step, however softly I tried to tread, seemed to scrape off the metal and echo around the huge cavern, multiplying into a thousand reverberations as it went. The air was dank and cold, and, though it wasn’t pitch black, the light was gray and visibility was poor.

  I must have descended a hundred feet before I saw the bottom, then climbed down another twenty to get there. I was in a vast, concrete vault. The ceiling was too high to see, and the far walls were lost in tenuous shadows. About thirty yards away and slightly to my right I could see the hulking forms of steel containers, like the ones you see on transport ships. There must have been a hundred of them, stacked on top of each other. For a moment, I wondered how the hell they’d gotten down here, but I shelved the thought.

  The ghost of a voice came rolling through the half-shadows and dissipated in the cavern. It was answered, but the words were indistinguishable. I gently pulled the revolver from my waistband and inched along the wall on my left. Ahead of me, it fell back and I could make out, maybe forty or fifty yards away, some kind of porter cabin. Beyond it, the cavern was lost in darkness. I flattened myself against the wall and inched toward the cabin. I saw a guy come out, turn, then say something that was again lost in echoes. There was laughter and he walked away among the reverberations of his feet, till he was swallowed up in darkness.

  It took me a whole minute to cover the distance without making any noise. By then, I could see there were no windows on the thing, just a door that stood open. I peered in and wondered why it was that whenever you leave a slob on his own, he starts watching porn. He had a burger frozen halfway to his mouth. He’d stopped chewing and all his attention was concentrated on the two women who were making out naked on the screen. That’s why he didn’t hear the hammer click, and that’s why he didn’t notice me till the muzzle was pressing against the back of his neck.

  I said, “You know why I’m not going to shoot you in the back of the neck?”

  His hand went limp as the burger hit the floor with a ketchup splat.