Leopard Dreaming (8 page)

She clenched her fists, wishing him dead before he could hurt anyone else.

‘Which way did he go?’ Lockman asked. ‘I’ll borrow a boat.’

Not a word to him,
Kitching warned as if he’d fore-heard or anticipated the question.
Just meet me tomorrow night, on your balcony.

Balcony? She lived in a tent now, but she had to tell Lockman something. Throw the dog a bone, or he’d hound her until she did. And she wouldn’t blame him.

‘Mira?’ Lockman touched her arm, making her flinch again. ‘Sorry, but the last time you lost colour that fast, I barely caught you before you hit the ground.’

She flung herself against him as if frightened, but hiding her hands flat between them to type finger Braille against his chest.
Can anyone see us?
she asked urgently, then glanced up to imply she also meant via satellite.

His hands came to her arms, as if to hold her, but instead his fingers splayed and played over her skin in reply:
Fog’s still rising. They’d need infrared.

She saw Kitching climb down an old timber ladder to the waterline. Mid-tide.
Guess who left by submersible sled,
she said the moment she saw it bobbing on a tether to the barnacled leg of the pier. She leaned over for a better look, until Lockman’s grip tightened.

It’s okay,
she typed, wishing she wasn’t so useless on her feet.
He was talking to me. Something about where to meet him, but I came in at the end, I think.

No avoiding it. She needed to go back even further.

Taking a breath to steel herself against the next piercing shot of pain from changing shades, she turned sideways to Lockman, using him as a wall again to brace herself. She couldn’t close her eyes this time in case she went too far again by accident.

Lockman steadied her gently by the shoulders, his fingers quiet but still managing to convey how he felt about the situation. Uncomfortable like her.

The tiniest scroll of the controls sent Kitching leaping out of the water, barking silently at Mira and bolting backwards into the alley, where he promptly disappeared and reappeared, retracing his steps to the pier and back down onto his one-man submersible. If he hadn’t come ashore with such an evil purpose, he would have looked comical.

Bubbles trailed away into the bay as the water shifted hues from one subtle shade of violet to another. Mira jerked her hand away, and watched time playing out again at the new frequency.

She waited a long moment before the bubbles returned, knowing exactly where to look now as Kitching’s ghostly head emerged and came ashore for the first time.

After detaching his air supply, he tethered the submersible sled to the pillar and climbed the rail,
dripping. This time, at normal speed, she noticed the bulge of the mobile phone looked much bigger now than it had been. About the size of a football.

He stood up slowly, uncurling himself until he towered head and shoulders above her, then took off his goggles and grinned at her,
through her
, as if he’d expected to make a much scarier impression. And probably would have if she hadn’t already seen him.

Ominously, she heard music begin on the far side of the marina;
Ode to Joy
, an orchestral rock version of Beethoven’s original that sounded eerier than usual through the shifting mists. The same tune her mother had been humming when she’d climbed to the highest limb of a tree and leapt to fly forever with the angels.

Shaking her head, Mira tried to shut out the distracting memories. If she had to listen to alternative music, she much preferred it to be one of Lockman’s compositions. He kept a small set of his CDs in the car, each of which had a knack of swirling up all her turmoil and blowing it out the window on the breeze. Just thinking about him sitting by the campfire again last night, playing guitar under a million stars …

Hello, Miss Chambers.
The colonel’s lips moved in time with his hands, using sign language for the deaf, which made it easier for her to read him through the mists of time. Always a challenge when compounded by an actual fog overlaying in time with a ghostly fog.
You’re looking for me?
His lip curled into a grin.
Repeat nothing I say to your pet soldier — nothing about the alley either, except what he’ll be able to verify on his own later. Or he’ll drop dead before you can finish your first sentence. I have snipers and surveillance assets that rival General Garland’s.
He glanced up, suggesting he meant from every direction.

Mira gulped, fearing she’d said too much already; comforted only by the fact that Lockman was still alive, for the moment.

‘Care to share?’ He bumped his hand against hers as an invitation to speak privately.

‘Wait!’ she snapped. ‘I can’t …’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on. Just give me a minute. It’s foggy, very blurry.’ And it was, although Kitching’s yester-ghost seemed as clear as he could be.

Good girl,
Kitching signed, as if he could also hear her in advance.
Stay vague and follow me. There’s something you need to see if you want your matron to survive the week.

He strode through her, giving her no room to sidestep as he headed for the alley, and she stiffened, trying to hide her reaction.

‘Come on.’ She tugged Lockman’s jacket again. ‘I’m afraid I missed something.’

Kitching turned his laptop around on the desk, ensuring his brother had a better view of Lockman and Chambers returning into the foggy alley.

Sitting cross-legged on the bunk, Freddie propped himself up in his straitjacket in a rare exhibition of defiance — until Kitching unbuckled his arms, leaving him free enough to speak with his hands.

Explain this!
He pointed at the foggy live footage of blurry neon globs, which only vaguely resembled two moving humans.

Freddie stared at the screen, then at Kitching, as if it made no sense to him without a spoken explanation. Remarkable, considering he was deaf in real time.

Cat got your tongue?
Kitching goaded him.

Freddie shrugged. ‘Pea soup and two goldfish?’
I never was good at inkblots.

That’s infrared!
Kitching kicked the bunk to show he meant business, but triggered a reaction he hadn’t expected. His brother shook like a cat shedding water, then huddled tighter into the corner where he cowered with his proverbial tail between his legs.

That’s Lockman and Chambers,
Kitching explained, hoping to ensure his unpredictable brother didn’t retreat too far into his shell.
They must have a signal jammer nearby with a limited range. We only picked them up as they came out this side of the alley.

The two technicolour heat signatures contrasted loudly in orange, reds and purples amidst the grey mist.

‘That could be anybody.’

Kitching turned up the volume to guarantee there could be no mistaking them.

You told me she’d see the day replay, starting from the moment I took you there.

Freddie shook his head timidly and replied with a clumsier tongue, ‘I said she’d know I was there, and she does, see?’

Through that fog? Not for a while yet. We’re about to lose her again.

‘Matters not if she looked back that far anyway. Matters not, matters not. She’ll get where she needs to be; I’ve been there and heard the echoes she’ll leave to ripple back to me.’
So she’ll see all she needs to see in order to lead her there.
‘You sent the team I suggested?’

Kitching closed down his laptop.
I would have sent them anyway. And stop speaking aloud. I’m onto your verbal breadcrumbs, and any attempt to use them against me will have serious consequences for your matron.

He rapped his knuckles on the wall mirror, drawing Freddie’s attention up to the long shelf of primitive surgical equipment above it.
Commander Kurst may be a rough field medic, but hers wouldn’t be the first foot he’s amputated.

Freddie gaped at him, horrified.

He’s already offered to straighten her up a little. First case in history where mutilating the good leg could be a good thing. Shall I have him pay her a visit?

Freddie clamped both hands over his mouth, suppressing his wails as he shook his head violently.

Good, then I’ll give Kurst the go-ahead to shift waters.
He patted the Braille manuscript to warn that he still had questions about it.
Apologies, old man. It’s going to get noisy.

Mira led Lockman back to the place in the alley where the teenager’s body would be — had been, and would be again from her perspective.

Kitching beat her there on his longer legs, and crouched into the darker shadows behind the dumpster.

Watch,
she read from his lips, and without pointing, he stared up at the fifth-storey penthouse.
I’m told this will be quite a show.

Mira followed his gaze upwards and saw the teenager up there, naked, with a tree snake draped around his neck. Not on the roof of the shower block, as claimed by the witness. He messed about up there on the patio of the penthouse, inspecting the sturdiness of the railing by shaking it.

She glanced back at Kitching to see if he’d drawn anything to shoot or knock him down, but the only foreign bulge in that wetsuit was still fully zippered and concealed.

The boy disappeared briefly from view, then reappeared at the furthest end of the railing, pushing a patio table hard up against it, and laughing, as if to an unseen companion. The table bloomed with a centrepiece of balloons — half deflated and wilted. Streamers hung off it too, until they blew off and away in the breeze. Again he disappeared, reappearing more quickly with two tall bottles of beer, and laughing again, as if reacting to whoever else was up there with him.

He took a deep gulp from each bottle, inspected their long necks — sipped a little more from one, as
if equal volumes mattered to him — then stepped up onto the table, and from there, up onto the railing. Still with the snake draped placidly around his shoulders.

Grinning with outstretched arms, he took five bold steps along the rail facing Mira, using the beer for balance like a tight-rope walker at a circus. Teetering, he paused for another gulp from each bottle. The dark-haired woman approached, dropping her bathrobe and revealing herself to be naked except for her jewellery. She offered to hold his beer. Instead, he took another step past her, and she shoved him at the hip. His expression snapped to fear as he fell. The snake sprang clear; swimming through the air, as if through water.

Mira spun away, unable to bear the sight of the young man falling. His screams had long since beaten him to silence, but she heard him anyway in her mind, just as she would time and again from now on, in her nightmares.

She noticed Kitching still in the shadows, staring at the dead boy while his life spread out in a broad stain. Strangely, he seemed disturbed by what he’d seen too, as if he hadn’t expected events to play out that way. He stared up at the penthouse again and Mira did too, in time to see the dark-haired woman, still naked except for the gold chains around her neck, wrists and ankles. She was staring down over the rail with a broad grin on her face, saying
bye bye, Kevin.
Then she blew him a kiss. She didn’t appear to notice the colonel at all. She only sauntered to the far end of the rail, where she disappeared, sliding the patio table away with her.

Clearly, I played no part in this,
Kitching signed to Mira.
I don’t do kids. I only needed you to see it, so you’d believe me and trust me for the coming situation.

Trust him? She cringed.

This one small event has already shaped our futures together.
Reaching inside his diving suit, he withdrew the mysterious lump, keeping the watertight phone
while revealing the toy leopard.
My men acquired this from Lina’s apartment earlier. A gift from her late husband, the merchant banker, Sir Cyrus Creed, and evidence to implicate her unless she cooperates with us.
He looked up towards Mira, and winked; his focus off a little to the left as if he only had a rough idea where she’d be standing.
My brother also sends you his compliments.

Mira gulped, her worst fears confirmed. The toy signified both a lynx and a leopard. But if Kitching still hoped that she’d cooperate willingly, he was dreaming. She opened her mouth to argue — creating a possible alternative future where she really would ask for proof of life for the matron.

You want proof?
Kitching grinned. He unlocked Maddy’s phone, keeping it inside the clear waterproof bag, and opened it in gallery mode for the inbuilt camera. Holding it out towards Mira, he played a brief video of Maddy stumbling past a door, filthy and dripping wet, with the contrast of a baby’s bunny rug and pacifier looming hugely in the foreground.

You’ll never find her unless I wish it. Poor Mira. I know far more than your future. I know every choice you’ll try to make. So you’ve guessed by now, your matron wasn’t alone when our paths crossed.
He closed up the phone and stashed it back inside his wetsuit.
Must be fate rewarding me for my good deeds.

Good deeds? Mira nearly choked.

Don’t laugh, Miss Chambers. It’s time you learned I’m not the real enemy.

Mira backed into Lockman, and felt his hands return to her shoulders.

What’s going …
he began to type, but she stilled his hands with her own.

Here’s the deal,
Kitching said.
A simple swap, you for her. Get to the hotel at Point Lookout by twenty-one hundred tonight — that’s 9 p.m. real time, your
time. Alone. I’ve booked a room for you. A nice one with a balcony and the key reserved in the name of your alias. Go and see Ben on your way, and let that be a reminder of what you’ll force me to do to your matron if you fail to ditch your pet soldier once he’s delivered you safely. Sack him, distract him, sidetrack him, I don’t care. Tell him to go and research what really happened here with the kid if you doubt me. But remember: if you try to warn him about any of this, I’ll know exactly where and when — and he’ll drop dead before he can draw his next breath. Now, be a good girl, and get on your way. You’ve got a busy day ahead.