Second Solace Page 8

  She had changed out of her military attire, opting for a pair of faded jeans and a knitted jumper the colour of a banana. Her fair hair had been tied back into a pony tail. The look suited her. When she returned from the kitchen with a bowl of piping hot soup—similar to the dish Cece had wasted—and a few slices of freshly cut bread, I thanked her profusely, and wolfed the whole thing down in seconds. The soup was near boiling, but I didn’t care. It just felt amazing to have something warm in my stomach.

  ‘Oh boy, I guess you were hungry,’ she laughed. Her accent almost sounded Texan. It was slightly out of place in such a cold environment, but it was a welcome change, like a cool beer on a hot summer day.

  Gail snatched up the empty bowl and hustled back to the kitchen to wash it, despite my protest that I would do it for her. I listened to her gentle hum drift through into the dining area while I watched Shotgun Joe absentmindedly caress his shotgun. What a weird place.

  ‘I’ve cleaned out the spare room,’ Gail said, returning to the dining room with a smile on her face. ‘We couldn’t have you spending another night out in the cold, especially with the storm approaching.’

  ‘I… oh…’ I stumbled. ‘Thank you. I didn’t realise you were taking me in.’

  ‘It’s no bother. I live here by myself and, well it can get pretty lonely sometimes. I don’t know why on Earth they gave me such a big house to myself, you know?’

  I didn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter as she continued, nonetheless.

  ‘You know I’ve lived here my whole life,’ she said. ‘Well, technically that isn’t true. I’ve been here since I was a kid, and I don’t remember anything from my life before then, so I feel like I’ve been here since I was born. It’s pretty exciting to have a newcomer round here. I bet you’ll get a lot of attention from the others.’

  ‘Attention isn’t usually something I look for,’ I replied.

  ‘I guess not,’ she mused. ‘Oh, but anyway, I’ll show you up to your room. You must be exhausted.’

  I thanked her again and followed her upstairs, boots tucked under my arm. The house really was quite big. Deceptively so. There were three bedrooms. One for Gail, two were spare. Then there was the bathroom, which I glanced through the open door. It was easily the size of my childhood bedroom, which when you consider how it was made seemed almost ostentatious.

  ‘Here we are,’ Gail said as we walked through into the spare room. ‘It’s nothing special, but there’s no draft, and you get a lovely view of the morning sun rising through the window.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Oh please,’ she grinned. ‘I’m always happy to do my part. It’s not right them putting you in a hole in the ground, not in this weather.’ She turned to address Shotgun Joe. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you would be joining James. I can make a cot for you on the couch?’

  ‘Just a chair outside the door will suit,’ he said. His voice was gruff to match his demeanour. ‘I’m to guard him at all times.’

  ‘Oh, okay then.’ Gail said. ‘I’ve got a chair through in the other room if you’d like to use that?’ Shotgun Joe nodded, and Gail pointed him in the right direction. When he was through the door and out of sight, Gail turned to me once more. ‘Oh, I don’t know if you knew, what with everything going on today, but I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling taken aback, ‘I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘We don’t celebrate it up here. Not really. Daddy says it’s one of the things that’s ruining this country. It’s more a corporate holiday than anything else, but I like to think it’s still about love, and family, and doing the right thing. So I just wanted to share the festivities.’ She smiled at me.

  ‘Well, thank you. I appreciate it,’ I said. ‘And a Merry Christmas to you too.’

  Shotgun Joe reappeared carrying a chair in his arms.

  ‘Sleep tight, Mr Stone,’ said Gail, as she swung the door shut.

  I placed my new old shoes down beside the bed and gently reclined onto the mattress. It was an old bed. The mattress couldn’t be more than an inch or two thick, but it was bliss. The duvet was an itchy woollen throw, but over my clothes it was more than adequate. I nestled my bruised head down onto the pillow and exhaled. No hole, no cold, no killers, no blood, no death, no turmoil. Just a warm, cosy bed. A better end to Christmas Day than I had any right to ask for.

  I fought sleep just long enough to do something about the blade. I picked up my right boot and worked the blade into the tired rubber heel. It cut through easily enough, and once it was three quarters of the way in, I knew it wouldn’t come loose in a hurry. I returned the boot to the floor and lay down once more.

  I fell asleep in seconds, just as I knew I would. But I couldn’t shut off the dreams. They came almost every night like a slideshow of my mistakes and regrets. Forever determined to haunt my unconscious.

  I saw a hotel room. A large, pristine space with windows overlooking the beach. I drifted across to them and looked out, searching for someone, searching for her, but as I reached the glass the weather turned. The storm rolled in and masked everything under a thick layer of heavy rain and fog.

  I turned from the window and scanned the room. Ahead was the kitchen, beside it was the door to the bathroom. It was closed, but I could see already that the lock had been broken open. I tried to head towards it, but my body wanted something else. It wanted me to go left, towards the bedroom.

  I tried to fight it, but I was powerless. I tried to shut my eyes, I tried to will my mind to wake up. Nothing worked. Like I was watching a film projected directly on to my eyes. Slowly, I slid towards the door, knowing what was on the other side.

  ‘You could have saved us, James. You could have saved us.’

  They spoke in unison, repeating the phrase over and over and over and over. So many faces. Each I recognised. Each hurt by my actions. Eva, Isabella, Ethan, Rosaelin, Pennock, Sandy. All speaking together. Faces gaunt. Eyes lifeless. The ghosts of my life.

  ‘This is it James, this is your legacy.’ It was the Wolf. He stood amongst the crowd, watching them, not with amusement or interest, but with the same vacant expression that adorned all their faces. ‘This is everything you have tried to avoid, yet this is all you will ever create. Destruction and death. Pain and loss.’

  The crowd shuffled closer, like animated corpses. None alive. None really registering me. I tried to back away, but I was unable to. They moved closer and closer until their ghostly silhouettes were almost upon me. I closed my eyes and screamed.

  And then they were gone. Their chanting ceased. I opened my eyes and saw but two people.

  Sophie and Peter.

  Her long hair drifted in a breeze I couldn’t feel. His once beautiful eyes, so bright and radiant, now appeared cold and empty. Her smile replaced by a look or perpetual horror. His youthful skin looked aged and rotting.

  ‘You could have saved us, James,’ they gasped. ‘You could have saved us.’

  I awoke in a cold sweat. My hands trembled. My heart pounded against my chest. The door was closed. I must not have made any noise. I climbed out of bed and looked out through the window. The blizzard had subsided a little. A heavy layer of snow covered the ground. I couldn’t see any footprints. I couldn’t see anyone. Night was still king of the land. I must not have been asleep for long.

  I crept over to the bedroom door and pressed my ear against it. No sound, yet I knew Shotgun Joe would be positioned outside the door. That was fine, he could stay there all night for all I cared.

  But he would be guarding an empty room.

  I slipped on my new old boots and tied the laces. They were a little big, but still leagues ahead of the ridiculous plimsolls. I crept across to the window and fumbled with the latch. With care, I heaved the window open and peered out. The window overlooked the front of the building. Beneath me was the roof of the porch. It looked strong enough to take my weight, an
d would be enough to provide me a way to climb back up. The cold hit me immediately. I couldn’t take long, Shotgun Joe might feel the cool breeze from under the door if I left the window open. I eased myself out onto the ledge and shut the window behind me.

  I dropped down into the snow and crept into the shadow of the porch. I didn’t want anyone to spot me. I scanned the night for some sign of life, but saw none. Most people would already have gone to bed by now. Only those on watch would brave the winter cold.

  The wall was in the distance to my left. I could just about make it out from where a small layer of snow had nestled on the top, creating a thin, straight white line in the darkness. Satisfied there was no one watching me, I crept back out into the road, staying close to the trees, and headed for the wall.

  Getting there was easy. The roads were empty, and there was nothing in the way of an obstruction between me and it. Maddox had said the wall was to the North of the settlement, which meant East was to my right.

  The ground directly beneath the wall was lacking in snow. The winds had protected it from the brunt of the storm, leaving a nice, easily traversable patch to skulk along.

  I picked up the pace and followed the wall as it stretched off into the dark. I didn’t know how far it would reach, or how big Second Solace was. But through the darkness I could see the shape of the tall mountains close by.

  Something moved up ahead. I ducked down and pressed myself tight into the wall and watched. Two figures trudged slowly through the snow. They were a good few yards out from the wall, walking in the snow instead of following the drier area. Slowly, I moved into a prone position. The grass was damp, and the cold water soaked into my clothes.

  The figures hiked steadily onwards, unaware that I lay in wait so close nearby. Both were armed. They chatted amiably together. They didn’t so much as glance in my direction. Just another night on watch. Nothing special. I waited until they had walked out of sight before I got to my feet and continued. I figured there would be a number of guards on watch. Probably in pairs to ensure no one slacked off, especially in this weather. If they were circling the settlement, I could hopefully be done without running into anyone else.

  Hopefully.

  The high mountain cliffs loomed up ahead. From what I could see, they were almost vertical, and stretched high into the sky like, well, mountains. Maddox had spoken about how well fortified this area was, and he wasn’t kidding. No way was anyone scaling a head on attack over these stone behemoths.

  But that wasn’t a problem for me. I wasn’t climbing out. I stood at the point where the mountain rock met the ground and pressed my back up against the wooden wall. Then I pushed off and walked with one foot after the other heading south.

  I counted my footsteps. It was vital I got it right. I needed to make absolute certain that I didn’t over or under count, lest I be left to search helplessly in the darkness until the dawn came calling or a guard spotted me.

  I reached three hundred steps and stopped. It had to be around here somewhere. I knelt down and patted at the ground, searching for some sign. It had to be near the tree, right? Somewhere around here.

  My hand grazed over the rock and my heart froze. Here. Yes. Hurriedly, I clawed at the dirt, searching for what lay beneath. It couldn’t be too deep.

  And there it was. My fingers stroked the plastic bag carefully, and I pulled it free from the dirt and snow. I removed the plastic bag and held it in my hand.

  The satellite radio.

  Eight

  The Art of the Deal

  The van came to a halt a staggering fifteen hours later. From the floor of the public bathroom, I had been hurled back into the van, cuffed back in place, and left to starve for the remainder of the journey. None too pleased with my attack, Officer Gomez had ensured that the restraints dug into my wrists as deep as humanly possible.

  By the time he pulled up and hauled me out, I felt like I had slipped into a coma. The lack of water combined with the intense heat had left me little more than the ghost of a human. My mind had turned to static. My skin had shrivelled and pruned. As Gomez pulled me out, I flopped onto the ground like a corpse.

  ‘Get up, asshole,’ he snapped.

  I tried to engage some form of response, but I could manage no more than a nonsensical gargle. With a massive sigh of reluctance, Gomez scooped me up and pushed me forwards.

  The cold breeze felt good on my skin. The ludicrous heat of the daytime had been replaced by a glorious chill. Even with heavy clouds blanketing the sky, the temperature had to be around zero.

  We were in what looked like the centre of a deserted parking lot. A large nondescript office building stood off to my right, with two armed men at the door. I waved stupidly at them, but they ignored me. Charming.

  ‘This way,’ Gomez snapped. He shunted me towards the door. With my severely restrained bonds, I hobbled forwards like some sort of disfigured golem. My breathing was hoarse, every inhale sounded like a donkey whine. Gomez pushed me again, forcing me to speed up, but all it achieved was sending me face first back to the ground.

  ‘Christ. You two, pick this asshole up,’ he barked at the two guards.

  They hurried forwards and scooped me up and dragged me inside.

  The refreshing chill of conditioned air soothed me as we crossed the threshold. Legs limp and trailing behind me, the two guards dragged me down a narrow corridor. On either side I could see doors leading off to hidden rooms. None of them were for me. My door, apparently, lay up ahead.

  As the two guards reached the door at the far end, it opened wide, revealing a plain boxed room not unlike the room back in Florida. Sitting behind the table were two familiar faces.

  ‘Here he is, the fugitive himself!’ cheered Agent Whyte. ‘You were a good boy for the rest of the journey, yes?’

  The guards deposited me into a vacant chair on the other side of the table and backed out of the room.

  ‘Look at him,’ said Agent Miles. ‘The poor kid can barely hold his head up. You want a drink? Water, coffee? How about a beer? You look like a beer guy. Am I right or am I right?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘I thought we were past the silent treatment James,’ sighed Whyte. ‘If you want to be treated like a child, then so be it, but don’t blame us when you get your time out.’

  ‘Just get it over with,’ I croaked. It hurt to speak.

  ‘Get wha… oh, the “torture”,’ Miles said, using air quotes for the last word. ‘Relax kid, we had to tell the brass something. But that’s not why you’re really here.’

  ‘Well, not if you cooperate,’ smiled Whyte.

  ‘That’s right. You know, we’re on the same team James. You and us, we’re fighting the same fight,’ said Miles. ‘You think we really give a damn about the people you’ve killed? All the scum, and detriments to society. Hector Salazar, Domingo Reyes, Derek Reddington. Hell, we should give you a damn medal. You’ve done the dirty work for us. You’re quite the efficient killer, you know?’

  ‘And all this stuff to do with Afghanistan,’ sighed Agent Whyte. ‘That’s not our concern. Unless you’re planning on blowing us off the face of the Earth, we couldn’t give a damn about any memory drives you’ve got tucked up your ass.’

  ‘If you say so,’ I croaked.

  ‘Out of curiosity,’ Miles said, leaning forwards. ‘Did you ever look at what was on it? I know the papers say you did, but I want to hear it from the mouth of the horse, so to speak.’

  ‘What does it matter whether I did or not?’ I said.

  ‘It doesn’t, it’s just to satisfy my curiosity.’

  ‘The famous cat killer.’ I said.

  ‘What? Oh, right. Smart. But you know, we are serious. As far as we are concerned, right now, you’re free to go.’

  Agent Whyte leaned across the table and unlocked my cuffs. I rubbed my sore wrists, looking at the mark left from over twenty-four hours in chains. Deep red marks bruised the skin.

  ‘We are currently in the grand old
state of Kansas, so you’ve got a whole lot of land in every direction that you are more than welcome to go and explore and get yourself killed in,’ said Whyte. ‘You know where the door is. We won’t stop you unless you commit a major crime, of course.’

  ‘But for the most part, you’re free to do whatever you see fit,’ said Miles. ‘You could hop a freighter back to England and see how much they’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’d go to the Maldives if I were you,’ said Whyte. ‘Sun, sea, sand and sangrias. Oh my, I’m getting a hot sweat just thinking about it.’

  The FBI Agents smiled at me as though waiting for a response.

  I sneezed.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, rubbing my nose. ‘It’s my allergies. They always flare up around bullshit.’

  ‘You’re funny, James,’ said Whyte. ‘Real funny. But what’s there stopping you? The door is right behind you. We won’t object if you want to just walk right out.’

  ‘Except you wouldn’t have brought me out here without an agenda,’ I said. ‘As fun as this game is, can we just skip this horse shit act that you two have spent countless evenings perfecting, and just tell me why I’m here?’

  ‘You’re here to spend the next few weeks subjected to all kinds of unspeakable interrogation techniques in order to determine precisely what you know,’ said Miles. ‘That’s what the whole world thinks. Or rather, the people who know you’re here, which is admittedly quite a select few. We’re not due to update our bosses until the start of the new year, which gives us precisely,’ he looked as his watch. ‘Eleven days to play with. That’s a lot of time. You could travel around the world in that time. You could dig a hole so deep, ain’t no one going to find you.’

  ‘Then why do I get the feeling I wouldn’t even get my hands on a shovel?’ I said.

  Both agents smiled. Agent Whyte took a stick of gum out of his pocket and put it in his mouth.