The White Mountain (14 page)

He was about to answer the Marshal, to say something to alleviate the old man's pain, when a three-tone signal sounded in his head. There was news. He narrowed his eyes, listening, then smiled; a huge grin of a smile.

‘What is it?' Tolonen asked, getting to his feet.

‘It's Viljanen, from Jakobstad. He says to tell you that Jelka is there. And safe.'

Jelka stood at the end of the old stone jetty, waiting for him. Waves crashed against the rocks across the bay. Above her the slate-grey sky was filled with huge thunderheads of cloud, black and menacing.

The island was in winter's grip. Snow covered everything. She stood there, above the deep green swell of the sea, wrapped in furs against the cold, only her face exposed to the bitter air. The boat was small and distant, rising and falling as she watched, labouring against the elements. Beyond it, its scale diminished by the distance, lay the cliff-like whiteness of the City, its topmost levels shrouded by low cloud.

Only as the boat came nearer could she hear the noise of its engine, a thin thread of regularity amidst the swirling chaos of wind and wave. Entering the bay, the engine noise changed, dropping an octave as the boat slowed, turning in towards the jetty. She saw him on the deck, looking across at her, and lifted her arm to wave.

They embraced on the path above the water, the old man hugging her to him fiercely, as if he would never again let her go. He pushed back her hood and kissed her on the crown, the brow, the lips, his hot tears coursing down her frozen face, cooling in her lashes and on her cheeks.

‘Jelka… Jelka… I was so worried.'

She closed her eyes and held on to him. Snow had begun to fall, but he was warm and close and comforting. The familiar smell of him eased her tortured mind. She let him turn her and lead her back to the house.

He built a fire in the old grate then lit it, tending it until it was well ablaze. She sat, watching him in the half-light from the window, her hand clasping the pendant at her neck, the tiny
kuei
dragon seeming to burn against her palm.

Still kneeling, he half turned towards her, his face a mobile mask of black and orange, his grey hair glistening in the flickering light.

‘How did you get here?' he asked gently. ‘My men were looking for you everywhere.'

She smiled but did not answer him. Desperation created its own resources, and she had been desperate to get here. Besides, she wasn't sure. It was as if she had dreamed her journey here. She had known. Known that while the storm might rage on every side, here was safety, here the eye. And she had run for the eye. Here, where it was warm and safe.

He watched her a moment longer, his moist eyes filled with the fire's wavering light, then stood. He was old. Old, and weary to the bone. She went across and held him, laying her cheek against his neck, her arm about his waist. For a moment he rested against her, thoughtless, unmoving, then he shifted slightly, looking down into her face.

‘But why here? Why did you come here?'

In her head there had been the memory of brine and leather and engine oils, the strong scent of pine; the memory of a circle of burned and blackened trees in the woods; of an ancient stone tower overlooking a boiling sea. These things, like ghosts, had summoned her.

She smiled. ‘There was nowhere else.'

He nodded, then sighed deeply. ‘Well… It's over now.'

‘Over?'

His hand went to her face, holding her where the jawbone came down beneath the ear, his thumb stroking the soft flesh of her cheek. His own face was stiff, his chin raised awkwardly.

‘I was wrong, Jelka. Wrong about many things, but most of all wrong to try to force you into something you didn't want.'

She knew at once what he meant. Hans. She felt herself go cold, thinking of him.

‘I was blind. Stupid.' He shook his head slowly. His face muscles clenched and unclenched, then formed a grimace. This pained him. As much as the deaths.

She opened her lips to speak, but her mouth was dry. She nodded. She had tried to tell him.

‘He's gone,' he said, after a moment. ‘Hans has gone.'

For a moment she said nothing. Her face was blank, her eyes puzzled. ‘Gone?'

Her father nodded. ‘So it's over. Finished with.'

For a moment longer she held herself there, tensed against the news, afraid to believe him. Then, suddenly, she laughed, relief flooding her. She shivered, looking away from her father.
Gone. Hans was gone
. Again she laughed, but then the laughter died. She looked up suddenly, remembering.

‘He told me to stay there. He was coming for me.'

She shivered again, more violently this time, her arm tightening about her father's waist, her hands gripping him hard. She looked up fiercely into his face.

‘He would have killed me.'

‘I know,' he said, pulling her face down against his neck, his arms wrapped tightly about her. His voice was anxious now, filled with sorrow and regret. ‘I was wrong, my love. So very wrong. Gods forgive me, Jelka, I didn't know. I just didn't know…'

That night Jelka dreamed. The sky pressed down upon her head, solid and impenetrable. Voices clawed at her with hands of ragged metal, screeching
their elemental anger. It was dark; a darkness laced with purple. She was alone on the tilted, broken land, the storm raging at every corner of the earth.

Each time the lightning struck she felt a tremor pass through her from head to toe, as sharp as splintered ice. And when the thunder growled it sounded in her bones, exploding with a suddenness that made her shudder.

Through the dark, its progress marked in searing flashes of sudden light, came the tower, its eyes like shattered panes of glass, its wooden spider limbs folding and stretching inexorably, bringing it closer.

She stood there, unable to move, watching it come. It seemed malefic, evil, its dark mouth crammed with splintered bone. She could hear it grunt and wheeze as it dragged its weight across the jagged, uneven ground. Closer it came, climbing the hill on which she stood, picking its way through the darkness.

In the sudden light she saw it, close now and laughing horribly, its crooked mouth smiling greedily at her. Its breath was foul, rolling up the hill to where she stood. The scent of rottenness itself.

As the darkness enfolded her again she cried out, knowing she was lost. Her cry rang out, louder than the storm, and for a moment afterwards there was silence. Light leaked slowly into that silence, as if her cry had cracked the darkness open at its seams.

Things took a shadowy form. The tower had stopped. It stood there, not far below her. She could hear its wheezing, scraping voice as it whispered to itself. Her sudden cry had startled it. Then, as she stared into the half-dark, the earth between her and the tower cracked and split. For a moment the land was still and silent and then something small and dark crawled from the dark mouth of the earth. A stooped little creature with eyes that burned like coals. Its wet, dark skin shone with an inner light and its limbs were short but strong, as though it had dug its way to the surface. As she watched, it climbed up on to its legs and stood there, facing the tower. In one hand it held a circle of glass backed with silver. Holding it up before it, it advanced.

Light flashed from the circle and where it touched the tower small leaves of bright red flame blossomed. The tower shrieked and stumbled backwards, but the small, dark creature kept advancing, light flashing from the circle in its hand, the tiny fires spreading, taking hold.

Screeching, the tower turned and began to run, its thin legs pumping awkwardly. Thick black smoke billowed up into the air above it, gathering in a dense layer beneath the solid sky. The noise of the tower burning, splitting, was fierce. Great cracks and pops filled the bright-lit silence.

The creature turned, looking at her, the glass lowered now. Its fiery eyes seemed both kind and sad. They seemed to see right through her, to the bone and the darkness beneath the bone.

She stared back at it as the darkness slowly returned, filling the space between the sky and the cracked and shattered land, until all she could see was the fallen tower, blazing in the distance, and, so close she could feel their warmth, two jewels of fire set into the soft and lambent flesh of the creature.

As she watched, it smiled and bowed its head to her. Then, its movements quick and fluid, it returned to the open crack and slipped down into the darkness of the earth.

For eighteen hours DeVore hadn't settled, but had moved on constantly, as if he knew that his only salvation lay in flight. His disguises had been tenuous at best and he had cashed in old friendships at a frightening rate, but all the while Karr had kept close on his tail. Then, suddenly, Karr had lost him. That had been in Danzig. It might have ended there, but DeVore got careless. For the second time that day he doubled up on an identity.

As a back-up, Karr had programmed the Security pass computer to ‘tag' all past known aliases of DeVore – eight in all – with special priority ‘screamers'. If DeVore used any of them, alarm bells would ring. It was the slimmest of chances and no one expected it to work, but for once it did. A day after Karr had lost the trail, DeVore gave himself away. A screamer sounded on one Joseph Ganz, who had moved up-level in one of the Amsterdam stacks. A random Security patrol had checked on his ID and passed him through, unaware of the ‘tag'.

Karr was there in less than an hour. Chen was waiting for him, with a full Security battalion. He had sealed off all the surrounding stacks and put Security guards at every entrance to the transit lifts. The fast-track bolts were shut down and they were ready to go in.

There was no possibility that DeVore had gone far. All the local Security
posts had been alerted at once. If DeVore was coming out, it would be by force this time, not guile. He had worn his last disguise.

Karr smiled fiercely and rubbed his big hands together. ‘I have you now, old ghost. You won't slip away this time.'

There were five decks to check out. Chen planned to move through them carefully, one at a time, from the bottom up – fifty levels in all – but Karr knew already where he would find DeVore. At the very top of the City. He left Chen in charge of the sweep and went on up, alone, taking the transit to the uppermost deck.

He was an impressive sight, coming out of the transit: a seven
ch'i
giant, in full combat dress and carrying a fearsome array of weaponry. He walked slowly, searching faces, but knowing that he wouldn't find DeVore there, in the corridors. His quarry would be higher, holed up somewhere in one of the penthouse apartments. With an old friend, perhaps.

Karr lowered his visor and pressed out a code into his wrist comset. On to the transparent visor came a read-out. He thumbed it through as he walked, until he came upon a name he knew.
Stefan Cherkassky
. An old associate of DeVore's and a retired Security officer. Karr checked habitation details, moving towards the inter-level lifts. Cherkassky's apartment was on the far side of the deck and at the highest level. Just as he'd thought.

DeVore would be there.

Karr took a deep breath, considering. It would not be easy. DeVore was one of the best. He had been an excellent Security Major. In time he would have been General. But he'd had more ambitious plans than that. Karr had studied his file carefully and viewed training films of him in action. Karr respected few men, but DeVore demanded respect. Speed, size and age were on Karr's side, but DeVore was cunning. And strong too. A fox with the strength of a tiger.

People moved hurriedly out of Karr's way as he strode along. The lift emptied at his bark of command and he went up. He thumbed for a map, then thumbed again for Cherkassky's service record. The man may have retired, but he could still be dangerous. It did not pay to make assumptions.

Cherkassky, Stefan
. The file extract appeared after a two-second delay. He took in the details at a glance, then cleared his visor and stopped.

He hadn't realized… This gave things a new complexion. The old man had been specially trained. Like Karr, he was an assassin.

Karr checked his guns, all the while staring down the wide, deserted corridor. He was less than a hundred
ch'i
from Cherkassky's apartment now. If they were being careful – and there was no reason to expect otherwise – they would know he was coming. There would have been an ‘eye' close by the transit; someone to report back at once.

Which meant they would be waiting for him.

He switched to special lenses. At once his vision changed. Using lenses, he could pick out the shape of a tiny insect at five hundred ch'i. Squeezing the corners of his eyes, he adjusted them to medium range and checked all the surfaces ahead for signs of anti-personnel devices. It seemed clear, but for once he decided not to trust the visual scan. He set one of his hand lasers to low charge and raked it along the walls and floors, then along the ceiling. Nothing. Yet he still felt ill at ease. Some instinct held him back. He waited, breathing shallowly, counting to twenty in his head, then heard a sound behind him – so faint that it would have been easy to miss it. The faintest clicking, like a claw gently tapping the side of a porcelain bowl.

He tensed, listening, making sure, then turned fast and rolled to one side, just as the machine loosed off a burst of rapid fire. The wall exploded beside him as the heavy shells hit home. He cursed and fired back, the first few rounds wild, the next deadly accurate. The machine sputtered, then blew apart, hot fragments flying everywhere. A piece embedded itself in his side, another cracked the front of his visor.

There was no time to lose now. The machine was like the one they had used to attack Tolonen, but more deadly. A remote. Which meant they had seen him. Seen how good he was. He was using up his advantage.

He considered the situation as he ran. They knew he was coming. Knew what he was like, how fast, how agile he was. There was one of him and two of them. Older, yes, but more experienced than him. A Security Major and a special services assassin, now sixty-eight, but still fit and active, he was certain. On those facts alone it might seem he had little chance of succeeding. But there was one final factor: something they didn't know – that DeVore couldn't know, because it had never got on to Karr's service record. In his teens – before he had become a blood – he had been an athlete, perhaps the finest athlete the Net had ever produced. And he was better now. At twenty-nine he was fitter and faster than he'd ever been.