The Messiah Choice (1985) (27 page)

Others have been working on that question. The only thing I'm sure of is that it was real, at least for the time it was after me, and it almost got me. After they took King's Knight everybody told me to get out of there. I'm surprised they let me go as long as they did. I guess it was because of Angelique. They needed to keep
her
there until they were ready to move, and she stayed because
I
was there."

"You said they took out the other knight?"

He nodded. "Yes. Camille Jureau. He was one of the first to stumble onto a real plot, and he apparently tipped it to Sir Robert, which forced their hand and started the ball rolling. They must have figured Jureau for an obstacle, but at Sir Robert's insistence he was recalled to Brussels for consultation and to help set up an independent organization that could investigate and fight this thing. Why he came back I'll never know. He was a cocky, arrogant little bastard always real full of himself, but who am I to talk, considering how long I stayed with my neck in the guillotine? I guess we all think we're immortal."

"And you—you know of this when you arrived on the island?"

"Only part of it. I was really ignorant until Sir Robert's murder. Then, when I was contacted by the company to investigate it, they also told me that something was really rotten there, that he and Jureau were investigating it, and so forth. I was given contact names and addresses and a method of getting information in and out using couriers and go-betweens who worked the supply ships.

Sir Robert had set up the King's side; the Queen's pieces were added as we went along, starting with me. In a way, it's still Sir Robert's game, played from beyond the grave."

"And after you escaped?" She was fascinated by it all, even if it still seemed unreal.

"I got lucky running into that trawler. I'm no big shakes as a sailing man and that sea was still rough. They put in at Port of Spain, where I was able to slip off and call one of the emergency numbers. By that time the opposition had a lot of the region well bottled up and had put a price on my head, and I didn't really want to try and run for it anyway, since that'd just take me completely out of the game. So, since that time, I've lived on various boats like this one, shuffling from one to the other before they make any major port. We have a lot of connections and some big money, thanks to Sir Robert's planning. Not that it's done much good. Allenby's been bottled up for weeks now and any time you call you get cheer and a lack of problems from anybody. I guess that damned computer can imitate anybody. Jureau is still making reports— or so it seems—and Angelique even gave a mini press conference on what it felt like to inherit all that money and take over all this. It was very convincing—I've seen a tape of it."

"You know the doc believes we were allowed to escape," she said nervously. "I find it hard to believe, but...."

"Yeah, well, I don't doubt they made you work hard on it, but he's probably right. That's why this is gonna be hairy— particularly in daylight, if that's what it takes."

"But—they can send orders to the navy to pick us all up and turn us all over to
them!
I know it!"

"Yeah, they can—but I don't think they'll take the chance. Things just might explode. Too many witnesses, too many people to doubt and maybe buck it upstairs. No, if they try anything now it'll be with their own people and as closed as possible. At least, I hope so."

And, with that, Gregory MacDonald got himself that shot of whisky and tried to relax.

The sun was not yet over the horizon, but the sky was rapidly growing light. There were signs of gathering storm clouds to the east that the marine forecasts said were heading in their direction, and the seas were already starting to be choppy as the little dinghy closed on the island. Aside from the rowers, it contained only Maria, Greg, and three submachine guns.

Maria was feeling very weak and nauseous, and the rapidly roughening sea did not help matters any, but she was determined now to see this through. She pointed to the island. "There! In back of those rocks! This is it, I
know
it!"

MacDonald frowned. "Damned if I can even
see
an inlet there. How the hell did you ever find it the first time?"

"I—I don't know. Angelique, she's got some of those crazy powers herself. Oh, I hope she's still here and all right!"

They rounded the rocks with difficulty and found the little safe cut just as Maria had predicted.

She was not physically able to manage climbing up there, though.

MacDonald looked at her. "You say you can speak that crazy language?"

"Yes. She—taught it to me, somehow."

"Call to her, then. Tell her she's got to get down to us and fast!"

Maria's mind was awash with differing thoughts and emotions, and she had some trouble concentrating on that strange tongue. Finally she called out, as loud as she could, in Hapharsi,

"Angelique my mother! Come to your daughter and to friends! Come quickly, for the storms blow
and the sun rises as we speak!''

MacDonald looked at her in amazement, and the two rowers looked dubious. Though sheltered, they reached down and picked up the automatic weapons, ready for the unexpected. If somebody else had found her first, they were the fish in the barrel.

There was no response, which made them all even more nervous than they already were. "Try again," MacDonald urged.

"Come, my mother, or we all perish! Come, or we must leave you forever!'

The wind was picking up, making it more difficult to hear anything, but suddenly a voice penetrated the noise. It was a pleasant, woman's voice, saying words in a melodic tongue that was the same one Maria had used but far sweeter and more expert, like one born to it.

"They must put down their metal spears, my daughter,
said the voice to Maria.
"Then I will
come. They are all friends?"

"Yes, my mother. One is Greg."
She turned to the others. "You must put down your guns," she told them. "She's afraid she'll get shot if she shows herself."

"You're sure it's her?" MacDonald asked worriedly.

"I'm sure."

"No way to tell if she's under her own free will. Still, I'll signal them to put the guns down.

We're dead ducks in here anyway." He gave a hand signal. "Wish I could speak Spanish, damn it all," he muttered.

Suddenly the small, dark perfectly proportioned figure of a woman appeared above. She looked at the boat, then scrambled down the side of the rocky wall as if it had a ladder attached and dropped into the boat.

All three men were shocked at her appearance, MacDonald most of all. They had been warned of this, more or less, but seeing it was something else again.

Angelique and Maria hugged one another, and then the strange exotic-looking woman took a seat next to Maria and looked back at MacDonald with recognition in her eyes and a trace of embarrassment as well.

The detective stared at the strange newcomer as the men pushed out and then fought the increasing surf back to open sea and the trawler. He found it impossible to think of her as Angelique, for not a trace really remained. She was certainly exotic looking, and attractively so, but her skin was so dark and shiny it was almost a blue-black, the deepest and darkest coloration he'd ever seen in an area where ninety percent of everybody was "black." Her hair was straight and long and even blacker than her skin. As she held on with the rest of them for dear life against the pitch and toss of the small boat, she betrayed strong muscles in her arms.

But what set her apart the most from others were the markings. Each cheek bore three stripes, each the thickness of a finger, running back nearly to her ears. The top was a deep blue, the second crimson, and the third yellow. They were regular and smooth, and slightly indented in the skin, as if a natural part of her face. Similarly, the nipples on her firm, hard breasts were ringed with the same three colors in the same order, and so, too, was her vagina, around which there seemed to be no pubic hair.

They made it to the trawler, but had some difficulty securing to the side so that they could all climb up the rope trellis let down for that purpose. The sea was getting rough indeed, and it took several tries before they could make it, MacDonald and one of the crewmen having to just about carry Maria while going up the bobbing ship's side. Angelique seemed to have no trouble at all, and helped Maria to the deck. They then made it inside the cabin while the crew tried to lift and stow the dinghy.

Finally they did, and the captain immediately started forward, turning south and west to try and outrun the storm. There were suddenly a great number of voices yelling at once in Spanish, and Garcia came in, looking worried. "Senor Gregory! Two helicopters approach with strong searchlights! We do not like the look of this!"

MacDonald immediately made his way to the door, finding it hard to walk as the boat seemed to want to move in two dimensions at once, but he made it and looked out to where Garcia was pointing. There was no mistaking their nature or their intent.

One of the choppers approached close to the ship, and it was clear that the pilot was a very good one indeed to hold that thing in these winds.

The captain pulled back the sliding window to the left of the stick and looked back and shouted something in Spanish.

"They are ordering us to turn and follow them," Garcia told him. "They want us and them clear of the storm and then we will stand to and be boarded. They say they are outfitted as helicopter gunships and in this weather are in no mood to argue!"

"I don't blame 'em," MacDonald replied. "Have the captain follow their direction for now. Have the men stand by their weapons but they are not to fire. Come on—let's go up to the wheelhouse."

As he said that, one of the helicopters let loose a tremendous but short burst, striking just ahead of the ship. There was no question that they were what they said they were. The captain didn't have to have MacDonald's instructions relayed, and he began to turn as instructed.

MacDonald made the wheelhouse and walked back to the marine radio. "This is a vessel of Panamanian registry in legal commerce in international waters," he said, trying to sound as indignant as possible. "You have no right to order us about or fire on us. This is an act of piracy!"

"So yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," somebody on the radio cracked back, apparently less than intimidated. "Now just don't give me any of that legal shit or I might put a few hundred rounds in that wheelhouse. And nothing funny, see? Each of these choppers got two rockets underneath, any one of which could blow you all to hell. Just shut up and keep off the air waves and do exactly what you're told to do."

"He does not seem surprised to hear a Canadian accent," Garcia noted. "I think we have been had, senor."

"Maybe, maybe not. We expected something like this. Don't think they got it easy up there. If you think
this
is rough, you should feel what they're feeling. Those pilots are fighting a war just to stay up at all right now." He stared at the helicopters at the window. "They got the missiles, all right, but they won't use them. If they kill us, they kill who they're after, too, and this all becomes a waste."

"It seems we could knock them down with the machine guns," Garcia noted, sounding almost wistful.

"No, not those babies. I don't know which division of Magellan they got 'em from, but those are combat choppers. Armor plate, bullet proof glass, the works. We'd need good armor-piercing stuff to get anywhere inside them. Tell the captain not to hurry, though. Go as cautious and slow as they'll allow and safety permits. If that storm comes in faster than we can get out of its way, they'll either have to break off or go for a swim."

The captain, an old hand, was already doing just that.

After several minutes in which the choppers took a real beating, the radio crackled, "Snap it up down there! You get cracking faster than that or we'll put some rounds where they'll do the most good and light a fire on your tail!" The message was repeated in perfect Spanish, just for emphasis.

"We may have to try and knock 'em down," MacDonald said worriedly. "Let me get back and prepare the women, eh?"

He made his way back, and found them both sitting on the deck, holding on to whatever they could. As quickly as possible, he explained the situation to a very sick looking Maria, who tried to translate as much as she could.

"There are evil men in great metal birds that can shoot thousands of arrows in the blink of an
eye,"
she told Angelique. "
They are making us run from the storm so they can take us back.''

Angelique frowned and got up, then went to the window and looked out. She knew what helicopters and guns were even if there were no words for it, and she saw that all was not perfect with their tormentors.
"How can they still fly in the storm?"
she asked, and Maria translated.

"Not very well," MacDonald replied. "They're having a worse time up there than we are here, but we're going out of the storm's path."

"She asks if they would fall to the sea if caught in the midst of the storm," Maria told him.

"They aren't made to take this kind of beating, yeah. But the storm's on a different track. We're going out of it."

Angelique cast out her mind to the things and felt the evil there, but not evil of the depth she feared. She stepped back, grabbed a rail to keep standing, closed her eyes, concentrated, and began her soft chanting.

"Spirits of nature come to the Mother of Earth. Speak to the great storm. Tell him that his
power is great and we are awed by its fury and also by its beauty. Beg for his great presence to
come to me."

The men on the ship and the men in the helicopters were suddenly aware of the clouds behind them. One by one, as they noticed, they turned and called to their fellows and pointed as the clouds rumbled and gathered and began to flow towards them at a fantastic speed. They seemed like something alive, something not altogether natural. In less than two minutes the storm had rolled over them like a great wave, and lightning and thunder rumbled all around them and strong rain pelted their frail vessels.