by Vic Robbie
‘No, that’s impossible.’ The scientist shook his head. ‘She’s unique. I will never have this opportunity again. Give me twenty-four hours, and you can do anything you want with her if she’s still alive.’
Unmoved, Ottomon turned to Solo with a gentleness to his voice. ‘What do you remember seeing in my vault at the party?’
She eyed him suspiciously and decided ignorance was her best line of defence. ‘There were some nice paintings, others not so good.’
That amused him, and he chuckled, ‘Recognise any of the artists?’
Her look suggested that was ridiculous. ‘Saw another painting, or a drawing, in a room off the main vault.’
‘What did you think of it?’
‘Nothing special, just a picture of an old man. Wasn’t even in colour. Hope you didn’t pay too much for it.’
‘Did it strike you as unusual?’
She paused before answering. ‘Not really,’ she shook her head, ‘it was ancient and looked as if it might crumble to dust.’
The tycoon digested her answer, looking around the room as if for advice. ‘While you obviously don’t know the importance of the portrait, the undeniable fact is you’ve seen it.’
‘I thought it was instantly forgettable.’
‘If you talked about it, the Praesidium would hear of it and…’ He shuddered.
One of his men returned from scouting the area. ‘No one else here, boss,’ he reported with a shake of the head.
Ottomon appeared to have decided. ‘Okay, scientist, this is what we’ll do. You will still help me with the research on the drawing, but we’ll deal with the woman. The dead can’t talk.’
Unable to control his anger, Skarab stepped forward causing Ottomon’s men to move to protect him. ‘No, I must have her.’
Unused to dissent, Ottomon turned away with a look of distaste. ‘Very well, you’ve made up my mind for me.’ Terminating the woman was a straightforward business, but the scientist had become a loose end, and you never knew when loose ends could trip you up. He ordered his men, ‘Take them to the woods.’
Alarmed, Skarab blurted, ‘Where are we going? I promised I’d help you.’
‘Promises are made to be broken.’ Ottomon broke into a sly smile. ‘Actions cannot be undone.’ He looked at his watch, wanting the matter resolved. ‘Trust no one, especially those who make promises. I thought you’d be of use, but you’ve failed me. The woods will be perfect. You’ll be buried where no one will find you, at least not until long after we’re gone.’
Headlock stole a glance at Solo who turned away and furtively removed the phone from her pocket. She flipped it open, but a henchman grabbed it from her and flung it at a wall and laughed as it shattered. ‘No one is coming to rescue you,’ he growled with a grim smile. She gave an imperceptible nod. It was their last chance, but any hope of escaping had disappeared.
At the tycoon’s signal, the henchman pushed Skarab towards the exit, and the other grabbed a struggling Solo, pulling her along as she pleaded silently with him. They walked in single file until the trees swallowed them and they couldn’t be seen from the lane. Twenty yards on, they came upon a clearing, and Ottomon looked around. ‘This will do.’
‘What’s happening?’ the scientist yelled as fear consumed him. ‘I’m an officer of the State. If I disappear, they’ll investigate. Killing a State official is tantamount to treason. Not even your money and influence will protect you.’
‘I’m willing to take that risk,’ Ottomon shrugged and motioned to one of his men to hand over his pistol. He looked at it in his hand for a moment and swivelled and without hesitation, shot Skarab in the stomach. ‘Your negativity was beginning to annoy me.’
With disbelief in his eyes, Skarab dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach, and blood bubbled between his fingers as Ottomon turned to the other man and gestured with a thumb. ‘Now the girl. Shoot her in the face. Can’t stand that damned make-up. Get it over with.’
As his henchman moved towards her and she shrank back, a horrendous scream halted them in their tracks.
‘You’re already dead, Ottomon,’ the scientist’s voice was hoarse with pain. ‘You’re dead…’ The words tailed off as he spat blood.
Bewildered, the tycoon hesitated and signalled his man to delay shooting Solo. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded, but fear was colouring his face.
Holding his wound with one hand, Skarab grasped the scanner in the other. ‘You’re now officially a non-person,’ the scientist rasped, punctuating his words with gasps of pain. ‘I’ve deleted you. Look!’ He held up the scanner, the screen facing Ottomon who stumbled forward and snatched it out of his hand. Under his image, a thin red line moved inexorably across the screen. ‘How do you stop this?’ he screamed. ‘You must stop it.’
‘Too late for you.’ Skarab tried to smile, but his expression was more like a gargoyle. ‘You’ll die before me.’
Ottomon knew that. His expression was a combination of surprise and bewilderment as an inner turmoil surged through his body.
In a strangled hiss, he rasped, ‘Kill her,’ as blood roared through his veins with such intensity it seemed his eyes were filling up and were about to explode. His pulse raced so fast, and with such power, he could hear his heartbeat as loud as a drum as an excoriating pain swept through his body, tearing him apart. And in his head, a voice whispered to him, mocking him. And the last thing he saw was Leonardo da Vinci smiling, the eyes sparkling and mouth growing wider in a sardonic grin.
Transfixed, his men stared in terror as their boss appeared to collapse inward like the demolition of a building. His face crumpled as the head dropped onto his chest, and the legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, blood flowing from his mouth and nose and eyes.
Following him into oblivion, Skarab reached out, spluttering his last words, ‘Headlock, you don’t exist here. They can’t see you.’
He exploded into action, covering the ground to the two henchmen in seconds and bowling them over with the power of his charge. And he hit the first to regain his feet in the solar plexus and then head-butted him on the nose which flowered like a red rose.
Unsure where the next attack was coming from, the second man staggered in confusion, and he caught him and spun him around in his trademark headlock. The man’s firing arm was trapped by his side as his gun continued discharging into his foot, but the man couldn’t cry out as he squeezed the air from his windpipe and maintained the pressure until his neck snapped.
The other henchman regained his feet and, despite blood running into his eyes, marched towards Solo, aiming Skarab’s gun. He fired once, and the bullet grazed her left cheek, and she put a hand to her head as she spun around but was still standing. ‘Help me, Headlock,’ she cried as a thin line of red cut a groove in the white of her powder.
Her call distracted the gunman, but it ended there as Headlock hit him on the side of the head with a fist that crushed his temple.
She folded into him. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, inspecting the damage.
‘Just a scratch.’ Her head dropped as she sobbed then pulled back, her eyes wide open.
Becky.
Every second counted if there was to be any hope for the child, and they ran hard to the underground lab, jumping down the stairs three steps at a time. Despite putting their weight behind it, the door to the bunker wouldn’t open.
‘It must be locked,’ she shouted, and he picked up a rock and battered at the metal door until it swung open. Almost thirty minutes had elapsed, and Becky if not already dead would be so close to it he doubted they’d be able to save her.
Her face ashen, Bette blocked their path, but they pushed her aside and ran into the room. The lights were dimmed, and all they made out was a lifeless bundle on the bed, and the line for the transfusion had been detached.
‘Papa.’ A child’s voice and they both wheeled around.
With a blanket around her shoulders, Becky sat on a chair and mustered a frightened smile before diss
olving into tears.
Bette followed them into the room, and she began to cry before collapsing, and blood poured from the slashes to both her wrists, colouring her dress red.
‘Get Becky out of here,’ he shouted at Solo and went over to the dying woman and cradled her head. She tried to speak, and he put an ear close to her lips to hear.
‘I’m sorry, couldn’t do it anymore,’ she croaked, then trembled and closed her eyes.
‘Did you get through to the StatPol?’ he asked Solo as soon as they left the bunker.
As if just remembering, she looked concerned. ‘I think I did.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Which means…’
‘They’ll be here at any moment. Quick, let’s get going.’
He lifted Becky onto his shoulder, and they sprinted to the car. He laid her on the back seat and jumped in. But as Solo was driving off a black SUV squealed to a halt in front of them, blocking their exit.
‘Shit!’ She slammed both hands on the steering wheel.
The passenger door of the SUV opened, and Trenton emerged, followed by three cops. He studied the car and came over to her door and leant in. ‘You look in a hurry to get away.’
Struggling to control her trembling voice, she gestured to Becky in the back. ‘It’s my niece, she’s upset, and I want to get her home to her mother.’
As if accepting the answer, he nodded and straightened. ‘You called us even though we’d dealt with the terrorist?’
‘Must have done it by mistake. Sorry.’ She offered her most ingratiating smile.
‘So, just the two of you out here?’
‘Ye–s.’ She glanced at Headlock, trying not to show her confusion. ‘Just me and Becky.’
Trenton’s eyes followed her gaze, staring at the vacant passenger seat, and Headlock held his breath as the cop walked around the car and rested his hands on the top of the door, scrutinising the footwell.
‘Perhaps we should look in the trunk.’ Trenton nodded to one of his men, all the while staring straight at him. After opening the lid, the cop shook his head.
‘Looks as if you’re in the clear. But why here?’
‘Just a picnic.’
Trenton softened, and he turned to Becky. ‘Did you enjoy your picnic, child?’
Becky shrank back and started crying again. ‘Papa, papa,’ she reached out to him in the front seat, and he turned to her.
Trenton stepped back. ‘But your papa isn’t here, child.’
Confused, Becky appealed to her father, while he held his breath.
Trenton came back to Solo and studied the car. ‘Why is she so distressed?’
‘We were over by the woods, and men were fighting, and it frightened us, so we ran back to the car.’
‘Check it out,’ Trenton ordered one of his men and lit a cigarette and studied them as if wrestling with a puzzle. Within minutes, the cop returned. ‘Boss, boss, you need to see this.’ And he stepped up to Trenton and whispered in his ear.
Animated, Trenton wheeled around and barked an order to his men before turning to Solo. ‘Take the child home to her papa,’ he said with a jerk of the thumb. ‘Go.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
In silence, they drove to Fisherman’s Quay to pick up his car. Even if she had begun a conversation, Headlock might not have replied so engrossed was he in his own thoughts, rationalising all the anomalies since their first meeting in the alley and the discovery of the girl’s body.
How had he escaped Benton’s thugs the first time around? Why was everyone microchipped? Why didn’t they show up on Barney’s CCTV? How did the StatPol materialise in the alley and why hadn’t he heard of them? Why did his brother and other cops never speak to Solo? What did Skarab mean that he didn’t exist here?
Everything was different, the atmosphere, the air-conditioning machines, the constant music playing in his head, the billboards atop buildings, and no smog, and 1898. Her strange appearance. And Solo claiming she was famous when no one knew her. Blown up in the taxi. The ever-present blood moon.
None of it made sense, and some of it was impossible, even unnatural. The possibilities tormented him, and from the depths of his mind an idea presented itself, contradicting everything he believed in. And he suppressed a laugh. If he told anyone what he was thinking, they’d lock him in a straitjacket for the rest of his days.
Solo declined to join them at his brother’s home, explaining, ‘It’s for the family, and you and Becky should spend special time together. A chance to make up for previous years. Good luck!’
Solo moved in close, and the embrace lasted longer than expected, and she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. They promised to meet again as soon as possible, but once they parted, he realised he still had no way of contacting her. And he went to find her, but she’d gone.
His brother, Jane and Brett gave Becky an exuberant welcome, and she chatted to them as if it had been a marvellous adventure, telling them amazing stories. And they laughed, not aware of the truth. But the lieutenant observed him with a raised eyebrow, and he accepted he’d have some explaining to do.
After the family doctor examined her, they enjoyed a meal together. And, later, as Jane prepared to put her to bed for a much-needed rest, Becky reached up to him, her arms outstretched. ‘Can I ask you a question, papa?’ She thought about it. ‘No, two questions.’
He smiled, wondering what they might be.
‘Go on,’ he said and brushed an errant hair from her cheek.
‘Why does your friend, Solo, have a white face?’
‘Maybe, she doesn’t want you to see who she really is.’
She touched her mouth, stifling a giggle. ‘That’s spooky.’ But she understood.
‘And the second question?’
In puzzlement, she stared up at him and bit her lip. ‘Why were you still talking to her even when she wasn’t there?’
‘Maybe it’s me that’s spooky.’ He offered a wide-eyed stare, and she giggled again, settling into the bed and falling asleep immediately. He looked at her, thinking he’d been so close to losing her forever. And he promised he’d never leave her again, and she’d always be with him.
Back downstairs, his brother gestured him outside. He brought two beers and lit a cigar, and they sat at a garden table, not talking for some time before the lieutenant turned to him, eyes demanding an explanation.
‘Guess you want me to tell you what happened?’ he said.
His brother raised a hand and stared towards the house. ‘Don’t want to hear anything I’m duty-bound to follow up. Tell me what you can, and if you did something illegal, don’t mention it. Probably out of my jurisdiction, anyway.’
He recalled his brother’s reaction after they’d gone to what he thought was Skarab’s old lab, and he paused, wondering just how much he could tell him. Although he now thought he knew why Solo was different, what Skarab meant about space and time and why he thought he was going mad, he couldn’t expect a buttoned-down cop to understand.
Without interruption the lieutenant listened to the edited version, his eyes showing doubts he didn’t want clarifying.
‘You saw the killer die?’ He exhaled the cigar smoke, sending it off to join the cloud of smog obscuring a golden moon.
‘Yes, he’s dead.’
‘And the mother?’
‘She helped us but took her own life.’
His brother was relieved. Like most cops, he preferred things wrapped up in a neat bundle. As the girls were still unidentified and no families had reported them missing, there was no one to answer to.
‘Want to hear how he died?’ He hoped he didn’t have to explain.
‘Naw,’ his brother replied with a vigorous shake of the head. ‘As long as it doesn’t land on my desk, the less you tell me, the better. How about your friend, Solo, did she survive?’
‘Yes, thankfully.’ He smiled, wondering what she was doing.
‘Good, where is she?’
‘Far away, out of reach.’
&n
bsp; His brother gave him a strange look. ‘Pity, I wish I’d met her.’
He left him in the garden chewing on the cigar and staring into space, trying to put the pieces of the story into an order he could understand.
He had one thing to do before Becky awakened, and he had to do it alone. He didn’t remember driving back to Fisherman’s Quay but guessed the car could make its own way there. Before ending it once and for all, he required several drinks to boost his courage.
Barney lined up two iced beers with whisky chasers and, seeing he was in no mood for conversation, left him to it. Over in a corner, a blonde gave him the eye, but he turned away, concentrating on what he must do.
After a few drinks, he couldn’t delay it any longer and went up to the bar. ‘Need to clean up, Barney, can I use the room out back?’
‘Sure, you know where it is.’ Barney waved a thumb in its direction.
‘Thanks.’ Then he turned back, curious about the outcome of the battle in the alley. ‘Were there many casualties in the alley?’
Barney stopped polishing some glasses and eyed him suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The altercation between the police and a mob. They shot some of them.’
A look of incredulity crossed Barney’s face before it softened to one of concern. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He shook his head. ‘Why don’t you splash some water in your face and sober up.’
As he pushed open the swing doors, the kitchen was in manic mode, preparing dinner for the bar’s guests, and they were too busy to notice. That suited him as he strode through the kitchen to the room.
What he needed lay on a countertop, and he snatched it up without breaking stride. Once inside the room, he locked the door and turned the cold water on full to disguise any noise. Feeling an irritation to his left cheek, he inspected it in the mirror over the sink. It was an abrasion that had hardly broken the skin, and although there was a small amount of blood, it was of no concern. Now he was sure that the impossible could be true.
The knife was perfect, long-bladed and sharp. He tested the point on his forefinger and drew blood, and he was convinced it would do the job without collateral damage.