The Three Most Wanted (20 page)

“Get them in,” the Captain ordered the soldiers standing over us.

A small secure transport van had been backed up to the garden gate. The soldiers hauled us both to our feet and marched us to it; shoved us up into the back. Two of them climbed in and sat opposite, rifles trained on us.

The Captain leant in to speak to them. “This door does not open until we reach the Detention Facility, understood? Be aware, they may try to provoke you. Shoot them in the leg if necessary, but don’t kill them—the bosses would prefer them alive.”

“Sir.”

“Sir.”

The Captain slammed the doors shut. Through the bulletproof rear window, we could see him issuing final orders to the other soldiers, clearly remaining behind to carry on the hunt for Bane, then he got into the passenger seat and nodded to the driver. Bumping forward, the van maneuvered around the troop transport truck and onto the drive. The cottage was barely out of sight when a pillar of black smoke began rising above the treetops.

Lord, let that poor dog die quickly. And receive François, Jean, and Philippe to yourself.

Then... nothing to think about but… where we were going. The word
Facility
had started strange cold shudders all down my spine.

Would it happen quickly, when we got there? Would they just give me the injection straight away? Or try again to break me? The final instruction to the dismantlers had already been signed, hadn’t it? The final instruction… the final instruction… the
dismantlers
…

“It’s okay,” Jon whispered into my hair—I fought free of my mental maelstrom enough to realize I was sobbing into his gaunt chest. “It’s okay…”

Unfortunately the evil Captain was right: there was nothing “okay” about what awaited me. An icy ball of panic had taken the place of my stomach, and my heart juddered in terror.

Why had we even tried this crazy trek? Now all was lost…

The thought of the dismantlement itself drove all reason from my mind; the thought they might try to break me plunged me into a dark place of mindless dread I’d never had the misfortune to visit before.

‘Cause I’d barely held out last time…

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…

...There was sound, a gentle humming. Familiar. Soothing. It floated into the darkness of my fear and drew me up and out, towards the light. A tune. A tune that summoned words into my mind, words which acted as a blowtorch on the icy blackness.

Ipse tantum est petra mea et salus mea,

Praesidium meum: non movebor.

The Lord is my stronghold and my deliverer,

my protector: I will stand unmoved.

I clung to the tune and the remembered words, allowed them to tow me to the surface, where I found… Jon. Of course. Jon rocking me gently, his hands rubbing my hair and back as he hummed that lifeline.

Breathing shallowly, I clung to the psalmody, let it fill my mind and drive the terror away.

Lord, please don’t let them try to break me. Please don’t let them try.
The prayer came at last.
Let them just give me the injection. I might be able to hold out that long…

“What if they break me, Jon?” I whispered in Latin, regaining the use of my voice.

He hummed a few more bars, still rocking me slowly, slowly.

“All you have to do is your best,” he murmured. “Just do your best, and the Lord’s mercy will take care of the rest. But they probably won’t try again and if they do, I don’t think they
will
.”

“How d’you know!”

“Think it through, Margo.” His lips brushed the top of my head and he must’ve felt my breathing speed up, because he started humming again.

I grabbed the sound once more, clung to it.
Think it through?
How would that help? Because I could see it, all too clearly, back on that gurney, with those swine tempting and threatening, could hear those awful words squeaking from my cowardly throat. I shuddered and burrowed against Jon.

They’d still dismantle me in the normal way for the Sedition charge, of course. But not before they’d paraded me in front of the press, had me say it again and again… I choked, my head flying up. “I will not say it in front of the press! I
will not.
”

Jon
was
right. I wouldn’t say it to the press. So how many times could I get myself on and off the gurney, like that? I must hold silent: simply no point doing anything else.

I rested my head against Jon’s shoulder, breathing as though I’d just run a race, and looked through the cab and out the windscreen. Forest. From the way we bounced and jounced, we were still on the drive.

“Wish you hadn’t come out, Jon.”

“What, you’d rather I was still in the house! I beg to differ.”

“You know what I mean. I wish you were free like Bane.”

“Never mind
me
. I wish
you
were free like Bane. Or
instead
of. And I can say that as his friend because I’m absolutely certain he’d agree.”

“It was meant to be me who was free,” I whispered. “François asked me to go out to the woodshed. But Bane went instead.” Jon should know, however briefly, that François hadn’t meant me to die like this.

“Oh. Poor Bane. François’s dead, isn’t he. And his sons.” It wasn’t a question. He’d followed what was going on just fine.

“Yes,” I murmured anyway.
“Requiescant in pace.”

“Requiescant in pace,”
sighed Jon. “Stupid thing to do, though.”

Never a good idea
. He’d been right, of course. You never got more from the devil than he took, but it could be hard to remember that when he had something you wanted
so much
. François’s sons. Probably the only thing for which he’d have betrayed us.

Wearing only François’s wife’s ripped blouse over her ill-fitting bra, I was shivering. My jacket, complete with my bookReader and photos and everything, was back in the cottage, being devoured by the flames. One lonely button remained on the blouse—I fastened it and huddled closer to Jon’s warmth, my arms wrapping around his back. Easy to be resolute and calm—comparatively—with him beside me.

Which of us would they take first? I swallowed down resurging panic and closed my eyes, breathing in his oh-so-familiar Jon scent.

“If… you’re first, I’ll be praying for you,” he murmured in my ear. “Don’t forget it.”

Mind reader.

“And vice versa.”

He gave a faint snort. “Yeah, well, I’ll just be snoozing my way into the next life, don’t worry yourself about me.” A moment’s silence. “Margo, anything I’ve ever done to you, I’m really sorry.”

My turn to snort. “You’ve never done anything to me, Jon, nothing bad, anyway. Anything
I’ve
ever done to
you
, I’m sorry… I’m
so
sorry for.”
Letting you fall in love with me, for example…

“Margo, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”

We were silent for a while, then the van went over a particularly vicious pothole and one of the guards cursed.

“Longest bloody driveway ever,” he grumbled in Esperanto. French accent.

“You know these country places.” His companion sounded German. SpecialCorps was multi-departmental, wasn’t it? “Anyway, only twenty kilometers to the Facility once we hit the main road. Could be worse, eh?”

My blood chilled again. Twenty kilometers. A fairly short trip, even on curving mountain roads like the ones around here. I tucked my nose under Jon’s chin again, clasping my hands behind his back.

“Jon, you’re my best friend and I love you, you know that, right?” I pressed a kiss onto his neck since his face was half covered in beard and rested my cheek on his shoulder again, swallowing back a sudden wave of tears as I turned my engagement ring on my finger. Oh,
Bane
—former best friend, current fiancé... never to be husband...

“I know, Margo. Love you too.” His lips caressed the scar on my forehead. No best friend qualification from him.

His nose slid into my hair, putting his lips by my ear. “Now we’ve dealt with all these very important matters, tell me, is there any possible way of getting out of here?”

In other words
, now that you’ve stopped being catatonic, Margo, look around for me, will you?

Under cover of looking out the front, I stole a glance at the guards. Eyes fixed unwaveringly on us and their grips on their rifles firm.

“The guards are very alert,” I said just as quietly, despite the fact we were both speaking Latin. “If we try and jump them they’ll probably just shoot us somewhere non-fatal: you heard the Captain. And getting out…” I turned as though to see out the back windscreen. “It’s a code lock. We can’t get out without shaking the code out of the guards or getting someone to open it from outside.” I sorted through my confused recollections of being loaded into the vehicle. “No, it’s code locked from outside as well. Damn, I
hate
code locks.”

If every lock in the Facility had been a code lock with a covered keypad, we’d all still be there. Hellishly difficult to get around—unless you’d a lot of cash handy.

Jon gave just the tiniest wince. “Doesn’t sound too encouraging.”

“’Fraid not.”

“By the time we get there it’ll be too late. Let’s see. We can’t reach the driver. What’s the back like? Bulletproof?”

“Looks like it.”

“Well, if we can’t think of anything else by the time we’re a bit closer, perhaps we should just throw ourselves on the guards and give it our best shot.”

Translation, if it works, wow, brilliant; if not, well, we might just get some nice lethal ricochets flying around back here.

“Up for it?” he asked.

Nothing wrong with an escape attempt. “Yeah, count me in.”

“Right.”

I settled closer to him and he snugged his arms more firmly around me, starting on a rosary. I joined him, the better to avoid spiraling back into that black place of fear. The van bounced on up the drive and other than the soldiers’ occasional curses and our soft murmur all was silent in the back.

My mind was jolted from its only marginally successful attempt to meditate on Our Lord’s Agony in the Garden as the van bumped to a halt. In the cab, the Captain threw up his hands in a frustrated gesture; the driver spread his in the universal disclamation of responsibility.

“Which idiot shut that?” echoed one of our guards.

“Don’t look at me,” said the other. “I never got out of the truck.”

Oh, there was the cause of all the irritation. The gate at the end of François’s endless driveway had been closed by whichever over-zealous soldier opened it. Of course, if by some miracle we’d got hold of François’s pickup and made a run for it, the overzealous idiot would be getting accolades for foresight and
using his initiative
.

The Captain flung his door open, slid out, slammed it shut, and strode up to the gates, opening them and dropping the gatestops to hold them open. Good strong gates—in that other reality, they probably would’ve stopped the old vehicle.

The Captain freed the last gatestop—and a dark shape darted from the forest and yanked open the driver’s door.

***+***

16

FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES

“Bane!” I gasped. Jon froze; I could practically see his ears straining.

A glint of silver and the driver went rigid. Bane’s lips moved, some fierce command—but the driver cut the engine. The Captain turned, his hand went to his right hip, drawing the Lethal, but Bane was behind the door.

The driver still didn’t move. Bane snapped something else, and from the man’s flinch and the rapidity with which he suddenly vacated the vehicle, Bane’s words weren’t the only thing that had pierced his skin.

The Captain fired twice as Bane dived into the driver’s seat—the shots ricocheted off door and hood, missing the gap between—he began to sprint towards the van and he was
fast
. Bane slammed the door and scanned the control panel… quick, quick,
quick!

Snick.

The doors locked just as the Captain lunged for the handle. Our guards watched, wide-eyed, paralyzed with indecision.
Don’t open the door until you reach the Facility
…

The Captain stepped back and began firing methodically into the lock. Fumbling with the controls, Bane ignored him. The engine roared back into life: Bane slammed the van into gear, the wheels spun and we were off, tearing through the gates and onto the marginally-smoother road beyond. The Captain fired several more shots after us—at our tires, from the slant of his pistol.

Of course, this not being a movie, he missed, pistols being decidedly inaccurate things over any distance whatsoever, or so our new driver had told me often enough.

“I’m guessing Bane’s now driving…” gasped Jon, feet against the opposite seat and one arm withdrawn from around me to brace us against the front of the van. I’d adopted a similar position, my free arm against the rear window.

“Yep,” I gasped back.

Bane kept up the insane speed, throwing us around the bends as the road left the valley floor and climbed quickly up towards the next pass, growing steep and flanked by precipices. It wasn’t me and Jon he was trying to shake around, of course. Gasping as they were flung to and fro, the two guards held a muffled conversation involving a lot of “Buts…?” and “Whats…?” and not many conclusions.

We reached an unusually straight stretch of road with the usual mountainside on the right and precipice on the left, the entire forested valley stretched out below us—enough to give anyone vertigo, no matter how serious the situation.

Bane brought the van to a screeching halt and all four of us flew forward and smacked into the window—the guards recovered quickly and trained their rifles on us again.

“Sit back,” one of them snapped. “You sit there and don’t make any sudden moves.”

We were quite happy to sit and get our breath back whilst Bane took the vehicle out of gear, put the handbrake on and hunted for the intercom button.

“Are you two okay?” His voice filled the small gloomy compartment as he peered through the window.

“We’re fine.” No point babbling just at the moment. How did he plan to get us out?

His attention shifted to the soldiers and his face hardened. “Open the door and let them out.”

The French soldier snorted. “Oh,
oui
, and would you like a glass of wine, while I’m at it?”

“Let them out.” Bane’s voice thrummed with menace. “I’m warning you.”

“Look, you filthy jackal pup,” said the German soldier. “We may not be able to catch
you
—though by all means stick around until someone does it for us—but we’re certainly not letting
these
two out. You can’t make us, out there with that pitiful little knife. End of story.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning to use the knife,” said Bane softly. “Margo and Jon have a friend in a very high place and He’s provided a much, much more impressive weapon, which I may just borrow. So
let them out.”

“Perhaps we’ll put a bullet in each of their legs,” said the French soldier. “Think that’ll shut you up?”

Bane’s face went very bleak indeed. “You don’t want to leave me with only the one option, trust me. Just. Let. Them. Out.”

“No,” said the soldiers, in unison.

“Fine.” Bane’s face was as grim as I’d ever seen it. “If you’re going to change your minds, you’d better do it awfully quickly.” His eyes shifted to mine, softened. He mouthed, “I love you.”

I mouthed it back to him. Slowly, deliberately, he put on the seatbelt. What was he going to…?

He slammed the van back into gear, slipped off the handbrake and put his foot on the floor. We accelerated rapidly, tearing headlong towards the unfenced drop on the corner a half kilometer away… oh. Of course.

My heart sort of went
thunk
up into my throat and I clutched Jon, despite my brain’s instant comparison of dismantling and precipices coming out highly in favor of the latter.

“What’s happening?” Jon sensed my body’s alarm. Internally I was rather calm. Compared to what’d awaited me… this was like getting an unexpected treat. Except for the horrible fact that Bane and Jon were in the vehicle too…

We sped on. The point of no return was coming up awfully soon—Jon still waiting for me to respond…

I managed: “Act of perfect contrition, if needed,
now
.”

Translation:
we are about to die.
His grip on me tightened, and I heard him praying. I couldn’t take my eyes off the approaching drop, watching it racing towards us with fascination as my body tried to panic and my mind floated on a cloud of relief.
I’m spared. Thank you, Lord. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I got to Confession or… or anything. You know Bane means well; I hope you’ll take us all just as we are
…

As the cliff edge got closer, it occurred to the soldiers Bane wasn’t bluffing. They wasted another second looking at me and Jon—our expressions must’ve provided the final confirmation.

They lunged for the microphone.

“Stop!”

“Stop-we’ll-let-them-out!”

Bane’s foot slammed down on the brake.

Smack
.

The four of us hit the window twice as hard, and watched, faces pressed to the glass, as the edge approached. Rapidly.
Too late
.
We’ve had it
…

We’d slowed to a crawl… The edge of the precipice disappeared under the hood of the van.
Uh-oh
… And… wait for it…

…
Stopped?

The front wheels must be
touching
the edge. No one moved. The soldiers panted, shallow breaths, not daring to twitch.

I tightened my grip on Jon. “Hold still,” I breathed.

“Oh.”

He didn’t understand but I didn’t explain, too busy watching Bane. Bane was also doing the not-daring-to-breathe thing, but now he reached out, slowly, carefully, and put the van into reverse. From the gentle, gentle vibrations of the engine, he was pressing the accelerator as though it were a butterfly’s wing about to crumble to dust.

The van eased backwards several inches and stopped again. Bane didn’t take it out of gear or put the hand brake back on, nor did he turn to speak to us again. He looked in the rear view mirror instead. His first words explained why.

“First of all, the accelerator is flat on the floor. So is the clutch. If you give me the slightest reason to suspect you’re not following my instructions to the letter, I’ll simply lift the clutch. So unless you actually think you can jump clear in time, you’d better do as I say, understood?”

Sweat trickling down their faces, the soldiers nodded.

“Okay. Listen carefully. One of you is going to swap with Jon so you’re both pressed against this window. If I see any part of your side leave the window after that, I will raise the clutch. Then you’re going to pass your rifles to Margo and tell her the door code. They’re going to get out and close the doors again. Providing you behave, we’ll leave you here safe and sound. Though, if I were you, I wouldn’t get out in a rush once we’re gone, because I won’t be putting the emergency brake on. Understood?”

They nodded again.
Quick, let’s get this done before they recovered.
Not much they could
do
, when any attempt to recapture us would make Bane drive off the cliff… still, better not let them think too hard about how angry their superiors were going to be.

Seating reorganized, I accepted each rifle, checking the safety catch and making sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, then passed them to Jon to hang onto. Who knew my years of tolerance for Bane’s passion with weaponry were going to prove this useful?

“Code?” I asked.

The French soldier licked his lips and glanced at his companion. Fear of the EuroGov beginning to kick in? “We don’t know the code. Only the Captain knew it.”

Ninety-nine percent sure it was a clever lie, or what would’ve been a clever lie in different circumstances…

A worm of ice twisted in my stomach nonetheless. “Inconvenient,” I said.

“Very,” said Bane over the intercom. “Too bad, I did warn you about leaving me with only one choice…”

He raised the clutch… slowly.

Biting point… the van quivered…

“Five six four nine,” said the German quickly.

The Frenchman spoiled the glare he gave his companion by simultaneously sagging in relief.

I typed quickly.

5 6 4 9…

Click.

Deo gratias!

I scrambled out, turning to take the rifles from Jon and help him quickly down.

“Not one twitch…” Bane was threatening.

I slammed the doors shut. How to stop them getting out? The lock! No way was it as bulletproof as the rest of the van.

“Just... stand here for a moment…” I moved Jon around the side of the van for safety, and cocked one of the heavy guns. “Oh, I’m about to shoot the lock. Don’t be alarmed. You might want to cover your ears.”

Taking careful aim at the keypad—there’d be ricochets if I missed—I glanced in the wing mirror. Bane gave me a thumbs up—he’d got his foot on the brake.

CRACK CRACK CRACK

Ears ringing, but keypad trashed, I made the rifle safe again and hurried to the driver’s side. Bane was just closing the door gently, white-faced. We each grabbed one of Jon’s arms, and we bolted.

We’d made it about a hundred yards up the road, looking all the time for a way up the mountainside, when Bane seemed to notice my appearance. He jerked me to a stop, his eyes travelling from my swollen, bloody face to my gaping blouse. His face darkened.
“WHAT DID THEY DO?”

“It’s okay.” I flung myself into his arms. Pressed my face into his shoulder, inhaling. Dirt, sap, sweat, Bane. I held him like he was the most precious thing on earth.

“It’s okay,” I told him again, as his arms closed around me. “The Captain was rough with me, but he didn’t do anything.” But my stomach fluttered at the thought of the Captain.

Jon’s hand came to rest on my shoulder and very comforting it was too. It’d been a rough half hour. “He did do
something
,” he panted, “just not
that.”

“I should’ve run the bastard over!” snarled Bane.

“It’s... okay.” My conviction rather lacking. A few more words spilled out, “I just... just...” I trailed off with a gulp.

Bane hugged me so protectively he seemed to be trying to merge us into one and Jon went on rubbing my shoulder until Bane released me—in a surprisingly short time.

“Look, sorry, we have to move.” He shrugged off the loose shirt he wore over the borrowed t-shirt. “Here, put this on. Seeing you like that makes me want to kill some… thing.” His eyes strayed back to the van. Probably better not mention that one of those soldiers had been holding me down on the sofa. Did Jon know? I’d learnt not to underestimate what Jon picked up on. If so, he kept quiet.

“Did you really leave the emergency brake off?” I eyed the precipice uneasily as I slipped into the shirt and buttoned it up. Much less draughty.

“Yeah. But I slipped it back into reverse while they were staring like they’d never seen a girl with a gun before. Doubt they’ll be able to tell from in the back. Now let’s move before I go back there, take it out of gear, and give it a good shove.”

He was joking. Just. Sort of.

“Oh, first things first…” He grabbed the rifle from me, examined it, swore in a rather unsurprised sort of way—then
chucked it over the side of the cliff!

“What did you do that for?”
I demanded.

“What?” asked Jon.

Bane reached for the other rifle, but I grabbed it from Jon and held it tight. “Have you gone
mad,
Bane? We’ve got the SpecialCorps coming after us—to say nothing of all the starving, the wolves, the
bears!
—and when we finally get a rifle you
throw it
off a
cliff?”