Down: Pinhole (37 page)

Arabel Duncan opened the door and when she saw Trevor she began to cry.

“No, no, no,” he said in a torrent. “Everything’s okay, luv. I’m an idiot. I should have rung first but I was nearby and thought I’d stop in. There’s been no change in Emily’s situation. None whatsoever.”

Her tears stopped but she was still shaking while making him a cup of tea.

“I thought the worst,” she said, handing him a mug and sitting across from him in the sitting room. “I just put the children down for their naps and was about to have a cup myself.”

“I really should have called. I just wanted to see if there was anything you needed, anything at all.”

She asked if he was sure he wasn’t holding back bad news and he assured her it wasn’t the case.

“It’s just that I’m so confused and my parents are so confused why no one can tell us what’s happened. We’re scared out of our minds.”

“Believe me, I wish I could tell you more. I’m not sure if I’ve got the whole story either, to be honest with you. I’m not a scientist, anyway, just a glorified security guard.”

“Oh, I think you’re more than that, Mr. Jones. I saw the way your men looked up to you at the lab.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said sheepishly. “The main thing is the best experts in the country are working on the problem right now and I’ve got every hope that Emily will be back with her family soon, right as rain.”

“God, I hope so.”

He complimented her on the house and asked how long she’d lived there. She told him that she and her husband had moved to Croydon six years earlier. This had been their first house, though she and her husband had lived together in a flat in north London for several years before. He’d been a salesman for a bioengineering company and had been traveling from a company meeting in Brussels when he had his fatal car accident. She’d been left with a one- and a two-year-old and had decided to stay put because of a good network of friends and young mothers about the estate.

They talked about the trouble youngsters got into and Trevor, while professing no direct childrearing experience, mentioned his nieces and nephews and their antics.

While she talked, he admired her easy bearing and light sense of humor. He’d often thought about her since their first visit and, if truth were told, wanted to find out if she was seeing anyone. But he wasn’t going to take advantage of her emotional state to snag a date.

That’s why he was pleasantly blindsided when, having finished his tea and getting up to leave, she said, “Maybe we could get a coffee sometime when the kids are at a play date.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Hopefully I’ll have more to tell you about your sister then.”

“Please don’t wait for then to give me news.”

“No, of course not.”

She looked down at the carpet self-consciously while saying, “I was suggesting a coffee to get to know you better, actually.”

He couldn’t resist flashing a big smile. “You’ve got my number. Text me when you’re going to be free. I’ll be there with bells on.”

On his second morning at the flat, Woodbourne woke again on the floor by the door. This time he had the use of a pillow and a blanket. The smell of baked beans and toast filled his nostrils. Benona was at the stove with the TV news on low.

“Am I on the tele today?” he asked.

“Not yet. I haven’t watched long.”

“Beans?”

“It’s all we have. I can’t spend another day locked in here with you. I must go shopping for food. And cigarettes.”

He had allowed her to use Polly’s mobile to call in sick to work and Polly again, sick to school. They had spent the day watching television and videos. While Polly offered a running explanation of all the things Woodbourne didn’t understand, Benona chain-smoked three for every one that Woodbourne had.

Woodbourne went to the loo for a piss and called out the door, “I told you yesterday I’d let you go off while I stayed with the girl.”

“And I said I wouldn’t leave you alone with her. Whether you’re from Hell or from down the road, you’re a murderer and I don’t trust you.”

“I told you I’d only hurt her if you called the police.”

“Well, I’m sorry, mister, but I don’t believe you. No mother would believe you.”

He came out and asked if she had any more cigarettes but the question was like pouring fuel on a fire because she was out and she was angry.

“Calm down, damn you,” he growled. “We’ll work something out.” He went to the rack of clothes and looked through it. “Any more clothes about, gent’s clothes?” There was a cardboard box next to the rack. In it were a few items that smelled of mothballs. “These your husband’s?”

“Ex-husband.”

He tried on a raincoat and a wooly hat.

“Got any sunglasses?”

“A few pairs.”

“Women or men’s”

“They’re mine.”

“Any that won’t make me look like a ponce?”

She pointed to a drawer and he picked a vaguely uni-sex pair, put it on, and checked himself in the bathroom mirror.

“I reckon I can go out in this get-up without being noticed.”

When Polly got up Benona gave her a stern lecture on how to behave on the street and in the shops. Woodbourne, who was wearing plenty of cologne, would be holding her hand. She wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone or even look at anyone. While the girl brushed her teeth Woodbourne reminded Benona it would take him no more than two seconds to snap the girl’s neck if either called for help.

“I may be nabbed,” he told her, “but your daughter’ll be dead and I’ll do my best to put a bullet in you too.”

It was Woodbourne’s first time walking about openly in the daylight and he was nervous, even phobic. Strolling down Kingsland Road he found himself grasping Polly’s hand too tightly and she made him loosen his grip. He took his anxiety out on the pistol in his pocket that he gripped as tightly as could. Benona couldn’t mask the fear on her face but she obeyed his orders and kept her eyes lowered to avoid the gaze of strangers, and the three of them seemed to pass as one more family unit, albeit an unhappy one, going about their business.

The first stop was a grocery store where Benona filled a trolley with provisions while Woodbourne and Polly trailed closely behind. Woodbourne studied the aisles, fascinated with the abundance of choice but didn’t participate in selections until he spotted a brand that triggered good memories. He tossed a box of Jaffa Cakes into the trolley.

Polly, though sullen, said, “I like those too.”

The next stop was the chemist where Benona bought more cologne, some deodorant and a toothbrush, all with the aim of making Woodbourne less offensive. And finally they stopped at the tobacconist to stock up on cigarettes. She bought her brand and he silently studied the rack behind the counter and was emboldened to speak for the first time out.

“Where’s the Woodbines?”

The owner, an old fellow, looked at him and said, “You’re joking, right? They haven’t been on offer for a good twenty years.”

Woodbourne shrugged. “You got Navy Cut?”

“What are you, Rip Van Bloody Winkle?” the man asked. “They’re also gone like the dodo bird.”

Woodbourne’s lip trembled. The man behind the counter couldn’t see the murderous rage hidden behind the sunglasses. Woodbourne used his free hand to point at the Lucky Strikes and he had Benona add four packs to the bill.

Outside on the way back to Glebe Road he muttered that for the thirty-two pounds it cost to buy his eighty cigarettes he could have lived high off the hog for a couple of months in his day.

“Is expensive to live,” she said. “If you don’t leave I can’t work. If I don’t work we don’t eat.”

He sighed. “We all have our problems, don’t we? But at least we’ve got smokes.”

For the second MAAC restart it had been even more difficult for Delia to get Duck out of his quarters and into the control room. No manner of food or video bribery was getting him out of bed and dressed, and with the deadline approaching, Delia had two options: either having him bound and carried out by Trevor’s men or finding a magic, persuasive bullet, which would be preferable to force. Yes, he’d been a murderer in his time, but she’d grown fond of the lad in a Stockholm Syndrome kind of way, because in truth, she was as much a prisoner as he was. Her superiors made it plain they weren’t about to let her off the hook and return to her normal duties until Duck was sorted.

“Tell you what,” she said in exasperation, “if you cooperate and come on your own two legs, then after it’s over, I’ll arrange for you to have your first walk in the sunshine. It’s a lovely sunny day today and we could have a tramp around the grounds and look at the birds and the rabbits and whatever we can see. How would that be?”

He pulled the duvet down to uncover his head. “What if it works this time and I get sent back?”

“Well, it’s not very likely, is it?” she said. “You saw what happened, or I should say, didn’t happen last week.”

“And after me walkabout I can ’ave anything I want to eat?”

“Anything your little heart desires.”

There was a collective groan of frustration from the assembly when the MAAC reached its full 30 TeV capacity and Duck was still among them. Quint stopped clicking his pen and stormed out, the VIP observers from London and Washington trailing behind.

Duck reacted by stepping off his taped X and cheerfully taunting them all. “Oy! ’Appy? Duck’s still ’ere. Let’s ’ave a party, then. Come on, then, time for me walkabout in the sunshine.”

“What’s he talking about?” Trevor asked Delia.

She cleared her throat. “I promised to take him outside if he came along today like a good lad.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I was desperate. I’m sorry. I was rather hoping he’d be sent back today.”

“We all were, but we can’t allow him out of the lab. It’s a bonkers idea.”

“Just a five-minute walk on the grounds with as many guards as you like. It will make our job much easier next week if we can find a way to keep my promise.”

Trevor didn’t look too pleased but said, “I’ll talk to Quint and see what I can do.”

Emily awoke in a groggy and confused state in her old room at Marksburg Castle. A cool breeze flowed through the open window. A small drab bird perched at the sill looked at her then flew off over the river. At first she wondered whether she had dreamed all that had happened the past several days but then her hand brushed against the jacket she was still wearing. Ann’s jacket.

The ghastly image of the poor girl’s head wound shook Emily to her feet and she shuffled to the table to have a glass of water.

Andreas must have been listening outside her door because he immediately entered with a dumb grin on his large face.

“I heard you came back last night. You did not say goodbye to Andreas. You made me sad.”

“I ran away,” she said. “I couldn’t very well say goodbye under the circumstances.”

“Where is the girl with black skin?”

“She wasn’t caught.”

“I do not care so much about her. You are nicer and you smell nice too.”

“I’ll smell even better if you can fix me a bath.”

He beamed at the suggestion. “I will fetch the hot water and I will bring you some breakfast even though it is late in the day for that.”

Then his smile faded.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“They told me to tell them when you woke up. They want to see you soon, I think. I hope they are nice to you.”

“Who?”

“The king and the new chancellor. I liked the old chancellor better but I can still visit him.”

“Rainald? How can you visit him?”

“His head is on a pike in the bailey. I spoke to him this morning. His eyes were open but I do not know if he could understand me. I wet his lips with some water but I do not know if it makes him feel better. I hope I never lose
my
head.”

Emily took her own sweet time getting ready for her audience and Andreas finally had to prod her out the door and down the tower stairs. Fortunately, their route to one of the palace buildings she had not yet visited, did not take them past Rainald’s head. This new building was dark and dank and reeked of antiquity. Andreas left her alone in a dreary chamber filled with the trophy heads of deer, elk, bear, and boar. There was a large dining table that seemed to be repurposed as a desk, cluttered with parchments, bound portfolios, and maps, and in one corner she noticed a coil of tightly wound wire with two protruding terminals.

“Primitive but interesting, no?”

Himmler glided in on his dainty feet and sat behind the large desk where he looked comically small. He motioned for her to sit on the opposite side.

“It looks like an electromagnet,” she said.

“It is one,” he said looking delighted. “I know it is like a toy but for us it is very advanced. There is a Russian who came to Hell, oh a hundred years ago, who was involved in electromagnetic experiments in life, not as a scientist but as some sort of technician. Our spies found him in a village near Kiev, where he had been boasting in an inn that he knew how to invent things. Well, the Russians had never spotted his talents—they are as inefficient in Hell as they were on Earth—so we abducted him and brought him to Germania. He will be one of your assistants.”

“My assistant for what?”

“Why, to start us on our path to overwhelming technical superiority. As I told you, I am tired of these primitive wars we wage with weapons that are quite pathetic. Yes, we have cannon and single-shot guns but our soldiers still use swords and clubs and ride about on horses! Can you imagine that?”

“All you seem to care about is how to improve your ability to kill, no sorry, to maim as many people as possible. Why not worry about how to improve the lives of people? Feed them better, build better houses, make life less miserable?”

Himmler nodded thoughtfully then launched into a sarcasm-laced shtick. “Oh, you have softened my hard heart. You have turned my head toward the light. I now see the error of my wicked ways.” He smiled at his performance. “Allow me to be painfully truthful. I care only about two people. King Frederick and myself. In a way, existence can be so simple here. My goal and the goal I have promised Frederick is to achieve complete domination of our enemies, to enslave as much of the world as we possibly can through new technologies. The only way we can ensure our healthful longevity is to prevent others from conquering us. I for one do not wish to wind up like Rainald. Better to be predator than prey.”