CHRYSALIS Page 15
The truck came to an intersection and turned toward the runways, pulling up alongside the transport aircar, now seen, from up close, to be gigantic, its flat underside a man's height above the ground, its giant bulk resting on a forest of double-wheeled landing gear. A forklift truck trundled up, a metal coffin in its arms. The two shovel men got out of the cab and hefted the canvas shroud off the truck and into the coffin.
The loading master’s head popped out of the aircar hatch above them and watched the shroud being placed in the coffin. “You sure this is Gaeton Thon now, are you?” he called. “The Director will be damned displeased if it isn't.”
“Of course it's him!” Sandy called back. “He were the only one there! He weren't in no bleedin' cemetery!”
“No need to get all huffy,” the loading master said, aggrieved at the tone. “Just checking.”
Juan Marie watched the fork lift load the coffin onto the transport. This was very interesting news! He knew who Gaeton Thon was, he knew he was one of the Director's old cronies, but he didn’t know he had died. Now, evidently, they were taking his remains to the Director, which meant the transport was going to Linngard! He had to get on that aircar! He lifted himself painfully onto his haunches, sitting up, the effort causing the wound to bleed again.
“Take it easy, boy,” Sandy called. “Lay back down. We'll have you looked after in another two hours.”
The loading master leaned out the hatch to see who the civilian was talking to. He looked at the hound for several long moments. “You fellas stay right there,” he yelled down, and disappeared into the ship, reappearing several minutes later with an officer. The officer looked long and hard at the hound.
“I think you’re right, Sergeant,” the officer said, bounding down the ladder and over to the truck to have a closer look. He held the hound by the muzzle, gently, looking at his face, looking into his eyes, looking, finally, at the wound in his side.
“Where did you find him?” the officer said, still looking intently at the hound.
“In the furrow field,” Sandy said, “near dead, not forty paces from the grave of Gaeton Thon.”
“Then this is Old Bo,” the officer smiled, “and the Director was very displeased, I can tell you, when he heard the hound had died. This will no doubt fetch a fine reward. What’s your name, fellow, so I can relay it to the Director.”
“It’s Fred, for Frederick, sir, though most call me Sandy, and if you don't mind, where are you taking him?”
“Why, to Linngard. Where else would you imagine the Director to be?”
“I was wonderin' if I could accompany him, sir. You see, him and me has gotten somewhat attached, you might say, and besides, he needs someone to look after him. I won't be no trouble, I'll just stay in the back with him.”
“Don't trust me to tell the Director who found him, eh? Well, I can hardly blame you. In fact, it might not be a bad idea. The Director likes the personal touch, especially with the common folk. Yes, I believe this will go very well with the Director.” He turned to the aircar hatch and ordered a pallet be brought out. Sandy and the officer carefully transferred the hound to the pallet and loaded him into the aircar.
“All right,” the officer said, “up the ladder with you.”
“Tell my wife I've gone to Linngard to see the Director!” Sandy called to the truck, laughing happily. He bounded up the ladder and into the back of the cargo compartment, where he settled down next to the hound.
“Old Bo, eh?” he said, stroking the hound's head. “Never heard of you. But I bet the Director doesn't treat you any better than my boys would’ve. I'm gonna tell you a secret. The reason I wanted to go to Linngard is to ask the Director if I could take you home and look after you. Like, if he says I can have a reward, I'm gonna ask him for you. Whattya think?”
Juan Marie made a small whimpering sound, all he was capable of, but it seemed to satisfy Sandy. He smiled and stroked the hound's head. “That's a good pup,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”
Juan Marie closed his eyes gratefully, secure in the care of someone who liked him, maybe even loved him, though they scarce knew each other. Still, there’s an undeniable attraction between a dog and a man, especially if one of them needs help. He couldn’t help thinking how odd this whole thing was, how mysterious the workings of chance, or god, or fate. He was going to Linngard, on one of Director Kosh's own aircars, and when he got there he would kill the medusa, which in turn would mean the end of Director Kosh. The murderous thoughts comforted him, and he drifted lazily in and out of morphia-sleep, the emerald aura misty green in his mind, gently speaking to him, calling him home, calling him to Tal Avenger.
The aircar doors clanged shut and the ship began to vibrate. A moment later she started her roll down the runway, gathering speed. She became airborne, and the wheels came up with a thunk into their wells.
“Two hours to Linngard,” a metallic voice said. A few minutes later, the ship settled into a shallow climb, the voice came on the intercom again. “We have radioed ahead to the Director that we have Old Bo on board, alive and reasonably well, and I’m pleased to say to all of you that the Director has extended a “Well done” to the entire crew of this aircar. We’ll be landing at Lakeside Air Base, as usual, but will be met by a special car that will transport us all, including Old Bo, to the Director's personal landing platform at Linngard, where the Director will congratulate you all personally. And our personal congratulations to Sergeant Stebbins, who recognized the hound from his position at the starboard after hatch. Well done, Airman Stebbins.”
Yes, Juan Marie thought drowsily, speaking to the emerald mist, when I get to Linngard I shall immediately kill the medusa, and then all the snakes, one by one. The kind, smiling, freckled face of his friend Sandy floated dreamily in the mist. And after that, amigo, he said, we shall go home with Sandy and see his boys.
32
Shallcross and Pearlman were waiting in his room when he returned from the search for Marianna.
“Not a sign of her, sir,” Shallcross said. “Any luck on your end?”
“No more than you, Sergeant,” Simon answered wearily. “I’ve been down more corridors and up more stairs than I ever want to see again. Someone will be here soon to take me to dinner, and it would probably be best not to be here.”
“Right, sir,” Pearlman said. “We'll get something to eat ourselves and continue looking. If we find her, we'll bring her back here.”
“What time do you think you’ll be back, sir?” Shallcross asked. “I think we'll probably have to rack in here tonight, on the floor. I don't think they're looking for us, but if we're going up that elevator shaft tonight, I think we should stay together.”
“I’ve no idea when I'll be back, I imagine that will depend on the Director. And by all means, let's stay together.”
“Right, sir,” the two men said, and left.
Simon stripped off his uniform and stepped into the shower. The emerald and the sapphire were around his neck, and when he looked in the mirror he saw the emerald was alive again. He turned off the bathroom light and held the two gems in his palm. The sapphire hadn’t changed, it was the same pale, shimmering blue, but the emerald was once more a flaring, brilliant green.
“So,” he said with a smile, “Old Bo is still alive.”
He felt good about that, and he remembered his mother's old saying that good things come in threes. He knew what the next two would be, if he had anything to say about it. They’d find Marianna and bust out of here, for the second good thing, and in the process take Kosh with them to answer for his crimes, for the third good thing.
Humming something jaunty he’d have recognized as Mozart if he’d thought about it, Simon dressed for dinner, white jacket, bow tie, the works, and when he examined himself in the mirror he found himself more than acceptable.
The knock at the door came at just the proper instant, and Simon walked whistling into the corridor.
“What's for dinner?” he asked the
smiling young woman. “Not fish, I hope.”
33
After stuffing Hernandez in the shower, Marianna searched the room thoroughly again, but as before, found no way out. She didn’t know when the dinner cart would be here, she wasn't even certain there would be a dinner cart. She didn’t know what Neal had planned, what surprises lay in store. Whatever, she knew she had to get out of the room, get out of Linngard.
She tried the door again, and though it was still locked from the outside, she saw with a flash of hope the hinges were on the inside. If she could get the pintles out of the hinges, she was out of here. When no useful tool presented itself, she tried to pull them out with her fingers, without success.
She remembered back-to-back bathrooms sometimes had recessed back-to-back medicine cabinets, sharing a common opening in the dividing wall. She didn’t know if the bathrooms were back to back, and in any event a quick look into the bathroom showed the medicine cabinet was surface mounted. She paid no attention to the body in the shower. As far as she was concerned, Neal Hernandez could stay there forever.
Disappointed, the only thing she could think of was to wait for the meal cart and when it came to simply walk out the open door, run if she had to. What she would do after that depended on circumstances. She thought it might just be possible. Neal had told the guard he would be here for a few hours, and to take a walk. Well, he was going to be here for more than a few hours, but the question was, has the guard returned? She looked at her watch. Four o’clock Denver time, two hours later here.
She heard a tentative knock, and a deferential voice call, “Kitchen, Colonel.”
The door opened and a dinner cart came through the opening, followed by a man carrying her cleaned and pressed Air Force uniform, which he hung in the closet.
“Dinner for two,” the white uniformed kitchen attendant smirked, pretending not to see her torn coverall. Behind him she saw a guard, looking in, smiling, getting a look at the skirt the Colonel had the hots for.
The uniform carrier left and the kitchen attendant busied himself with the tiny table, setting the places just so, good china, good tableware, a small vase of fresh flowers. Humming to himself, he placed the ice bucket and wine next to the table and plugged the cart into a wall receptacle, keeping everything hot. Finished, he smiled at Marianna and looked to the closed bathroom door.
“Dinner, Colonel,” he called, and with a last appreciative look at Marianna, left and closed the door. So that was that. She clenched her fists in rage and frustration, screamed, “Goddammit all to hell anyway!” and lifted the cover on the Colonel's seduction supper. Filet, baked potato, salad. She realized she was hungry. The filet was tender, the salad greens crisp and tangy. She glanced at the bathroom door and called mockingly, “Dinner, Colonel!”
34
“Cocktail, Mr. Pure?” Ellysia smiled, greeting him at the door and leading him to one of the large sofas facing the fishwall. “The Director will be with us presently. We’ve had some very good news. The hound has been found alive, and is being brought to Linngard at this very moment. We have had a worrisome time, Mr. Pure, not knowing how Dorothea would react to the news of poor Juan's death. And now, any possible unpleasantness has been avoided, at least on that score.”
“That is good news,” Simon said, noncommittally, selecting a Bushmills Irish whiskey with ice. “Do you still want me to try to get her out of Linngard?”
She didn’t answer. She walked slowly away, and he watched the pleasant sway of her hips under the sheer, tight fitting lavender gown. She stopped in front of the fishwall, where she stood silently, looking out into the depths of Lake Champlain. He watched her reflection in the glass, her face framed by the halo of burnished-bright silver hair.
“The other problem is still upon us, Mr. Pure,” she said softly, “and I fear closer than ever. Dorothea is about to do to my husband what she has done to Khalid and Juan, and no doubt to countless others.” She turned to face him, and the tears on her cheeks convinced him she was sincere. “I love my husband, Mr. Pure, and I will not see that woman make of him a beast of the fields, an animal, a cockatoo perhaps, a creature of her own amusement. My husband scoffs, but my fears are not unfounded.”
“Tell me what it is you propose, Mrs. Kosh,” he said, and realized he might not have a choice. Unless he found Marianna quickly, he’d have to agree to a partnership with Ellysia, for he had a dread of being called to Dorothea again, and was determined to leave before that happened.
She sat next to him, her perfume delicate, her nearness exciting. “Things are falling into place, Mr. Pure. The hound is being brought home, and Dorothea and Juan will no doubt wish to be reunited. The hound is sorely wounded, and very weak, much in need of medical care, and thus will be unable to attend to Dorothea. I have full confidence that Dr. Asoki will announce the hound is much too unwell to do anything but rest.”
“And?” Simon said, not seeing it.
“Dorothea lives in the dark, she does not leave her apartments, and she sees no one she does not wish to see. We shall announce that the Director is attending the hound personally, in his private study. There’s a private elevator connecting my husband's study with Dorothea's apartments. Dorothea will be invited to visit Juan, in the darkness of the early morning hours, at her convenience, and in complete privacy.”
“And when she arrives in the study, assuming she does?”
“I cannot do all the work,” she snapped, and instantly apologized. “Forgive me. If I deliver Dorothea to my husband's study, away from her apartments, it may be she’s away from her source of power. Perhaps a simple thing like turning on the lights will be enough to disarm her. I don’t know. I don’t know the ways of the medusa. There is danger, but if you can subdue her, I’ll arrange for escape from Linngard and an aircar to take you wherever you wish to go.”
“Where is Marianna?”
“I’ll deliver Marianna when you deliver the medusa.”
“Agreed.”
She smiled and kissed him, a brushing of lips, a touch of gloss, the merest taste of raspberries.
“You will say nothing to my husband,” she said. “He’s to know nothing of this.”
“The kidnapping or the kiss?”
She laughed, the kind of laugh a man would kill for just to hear again. “He knows nothing of this. The hound will not be in the study, but Dorothea will not know he is not. If she accepts the bait, she may be vulnerable. If she does not, we know where she’ll be. A young woman in my employ led you to her apartments, showing you the way. I will assume you met Dorothea.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I met Dorothea,” and his stomach muscles tightened in remembrance.
“Dorothea was about to remove her love from my husband, so I gave her Tal Avenger. I play to win, Mr. Pure, and it is difficult to win if you don’t know the players. I did not want Dorothea taking a new lover I did not know.” She rose, smiled, and said, “I’ll keep you informed. May I freshen your drink?”
“Please.”
“You know, of course, that my first choice would be to maintain the status quo, with my husband remaining the medusa's lover. This does not seem likely. But if the abduction fails, I may have to resort to other measures. I may have to take Dorothea's new lover away from her, by whatever means at my disposal.”
He was silent at this, and she sat close beside him again, all raspberry lipstick and silver-bright hair, soft body and lavender gown. “I’m as good as she, Mr. Pure,” she said softly, looking straight at him. “You would not lose by taking me as lover. Together, with Dorothea’s power, we could rule the world as we wish.”
“Mrs. Kosh,” he said thoughtfully, after a moment's silence, “I don't want to be anybody's lover, except Marianna's. All I want to do is get the hell out of here, with my crew, and if the only way to do that is to abduct the medusa, then I'll do my level best. I’m going to think very hard about how I'm going to accomplish that, Mrs. Kosh, for abduction isn’t exactly my line of work.”
35
Dr. Asoki was not pleased with what he saw. He said hmm several times, and ah so a couple of times, making long faces as he did so, scaring poor Sandy to death.
“He very bad hurt,” Dr. Asoki said. “Morphia good. Very good job, number one. Something go through body, maybe spear, too big for arrow. No shotgun, no bullet. Very bad hole, very bad infection. Miss heart, yes, or he not be here, but hit lung, see frothy blood.”
“Will he live?”
“Oh yes, very much. I will take care.” Dr. Asoki turned and gave a quick gesture with his fingers. An assistant materialized, and he and Dr. Asoki gently moved the hound off the pallet and onto a stretcher.
“Good,” Dr. Asoki smiled, and indicated that Sandy should take one end, a kindness that Sandy much appreciated. Still smiling, Dr. Asoki led them to the transport gangway, where they loaded the stretcher onto the Director's aircar.