by Ian Rankin
Not that there was a whole lot to tell. She’d found a young woman first of all, who’d turned out to have studied in England for several years. So she’d wanted to ask Bel all about how England was these days, and then Bel had asked to use the toilet, and only then had she asked the woman what this place was exactly. At which she got the story and even a brief tour. Because she and the woman appeared to be friends, no one else batted an eye at first. Then a man came up and asked who she was, and after that everything was distinctly cooler. She’d lingered over a cup of herbal tea the woman had prepared, but then had been asked politely but firmly by the man if she would leave. She hadn’t gotten to see the inside of the old cabin, just its outside. But there were no alarm boxes, and none of the windows she’d seen had boasted anything other than the most superficial locks. There was more, and at the end of it I felt like hugging her again. Instead we celebrated back at the campsite with a meal cooked on our stove: franks and beans, washed down with black coffee. Clancy had bought a pack of filters and some real ground coffee. It smelt great and tasted good. The insects by this time were out in force, hungry for a late supper before bed.
‘Oh, one other thing,’ Bel said. ‘In a couple of days, Provost himself is visiting the HQ.’
‘Really?’ I looked at Clancy. ‘Any significance?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s rare these days, but not exactly unknown.’
‘It’ll mean his house in Seattle is empty,’ I mused.
‘Yeah, as empty as a high-security bank.’
I smiled. ‘I get your drift.’
Later, Clancy hinted at taking Bel into Port Angeles to check out the night life. They could drop me off first, then pick me up again on the way back. But Bel made a face. She just wanted to crawl into her sleeping bag with a torch, another beer, and her latest cheap paperback. I was pleased she didn’t want to go with Clancy. I sat outside with him for a while longer. He asked if I wanted him to drive me to Piedmont, but I shook my head.
‘I’ll do this one alone.’
When it was properly dark, I was ready.
23
I drove back to Piedmont and parked a little way from the trail-head. I was wearing a camouflage jacket and dark green combat trousers, plus hiking boots. I had the night-scope with me. If anyone stopped me, my excuse would be that I was out looking for nocturnal animals, maybe the rare Roosevelt Elk. Firearms weren’t allowed in the park, but I had the 559 with me too, fully loaded. I reckoned that, laws or not, the Disciples would have an armoury.
There was half a moon, appearing now and then from behind slow-moving clouds. The cloud cover wasn’t thick, so there was a welcome glow, and as my eyes got used to the night, I found I could pick my way forwards without falling arse over tit.
I hadn’t done much of this sort of thing before, though of course I’d recced my hits. There was silence in the camp. Bel hadn’t heard any radios or seen any TV aerials. It looked like the Disciples were early-to-bed early-to-rise types, which suited me fine. Maybe they were busy making love under their patchwork quilts.
The old original cabin faced the newer ones, so I would be at my most vulnerable if entering by the front. I looked in through the rear and side windows, but couldn’t see anyone. The windows were locked though, and I’d no tools with me. I knew Bel could have used her skill here, but no way was I going to bring her with me. In the silence, the sound of breaking glass would be like a foghorn. So I went around to the front of the cabin. Then I saw the torch. I saw the beam first, scanning the ground. Someone had left one of the other cabins. If I moved, I’d be heard, so I stood still, my face averted, hoping I’d blend in with the cabin walls. If they shone the torch right at me, of course, they’d see me instantly. I held my breath and waited.
Someone cleared his throat. Then I heard water pouring on to the ground. He’d come outside to urinate. Yes, I’d seen a compost heap over where he was standing; no doubt he was peeing on to that. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, my heart thumping. Then the man turned and retraced his steps. I heard a cabin door close, though I hadn’t heard it open.
Quickly, I went to the front door of the old cabin and turned the handle. It wasn’t locked. I slipped inside and closed the door again slowly. I didn’t want to use my torch. It would be too obvious. Anyone stepping out to the compost heap would see its glow reflected in the windows.
As far as I could make out, I was standing in an office. There were two desks, and another table with office machines on it. I saw the outlines of computers and file-boxes, what looked like a photocopier, and several large filing-cabinets. I went to these and tried a drawer. It too was unlocked. I knew I really needed some light, so took the handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped it over the torch. Now when I switched the torch on, there was a faint illumination, just enough to read by. I started working my way through the papers in the first cabinet.
Though the night was cool, there was sweat on my back and my brow. The third drawer down was full of details about cult members. I checked out Nathan and Alisha. Alisha had joined in early ’86, having come west from Raleigh NC. Nathan had joined later the same year. His file gave scant details of any life before joining the Disciples, which was unusual. I knew which high school Alisha had attended, when she was born and where, what she had studied at college. All I really knew about Nathan after reading his file was that Nathan was his first name.
His second name was Kline.
It couldn’t just be coincidence. I tucked his file back in place and closed the cabinet. I tried a few other drawers, but didn’t turn up much. There was certainly nothing about the finances of the cult, other than the daily outgoings. The only way Provost could be financing the set-up was if he had a mountain of cash back in his Queen Anne house. I also found no evidence of conspiracy to murder, though any such documents were unlikely to be kept here. Nathan’s house on Hood Canal would be an infinitely better bet, and suddenly I was keen to return there and take a closer look.
But I had other things to do first. Beyond the front office there was a narrow hallway with doors leading off. More offices, by the look of things. I tried a door, opened it, and looked in. Yes, if the front desks were manned by underlings, then these two offices most probably belonged to Nathan and Alisha. One of them might even be Provost’s. There were no clues to the owner of either office, and the desk drawers and filing-cabinets were locked. It wasn’t very trusting, was it? It told me something about the Disciples. So open on the surface — witness the unlocked front door — yet with secrets which had to be kept locked up. I decided against forcing any of the locks. I didn’t want them to know how close I was.
Out in the hall again, I noticed a staircase. It was right at the end of the hall, and led up into the roof-space. I hadn’t thought about the roof-space. There were no windows up there, so I hadn’t considered it used. Yet here was a stair leading up.
I’d climbed three steps when I saw the figure standing at the top.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he said.
But I was already running. He took the stairs quickly, but not quickly enough. I was out of the front door and running. I didn’t think he would follow, but he did. He must have been wearing shoes, or the forest floor would have cut his feet open in seconds.
I didn’t have any plan other than flight, but of course my pursuer knew the woods better than I did. He hadn’t yelled out for help, so it was one-on-one. What’s more, I had a gun and a knife. I was feeling a little more confident when he appeared suddenly in front of me. I went for the knife, but he slammed a fist into my face and a foot into my leg. I knew he was trying for the kneecap, which told me he’d been trained. But he landed high, numbing my thigh but not paralysing me. He was quick, no doubt about that. But now I had the gun in my hand. He snatched at it, his hand snaking out of the dark, and twisted my wrist until it nearly broke. I let the gun fall and went for the knife with my left hand. This gave him all the time in the world to land another punch and kick. The punch caught me
on the side of the head, and the dark suddenly became fifty shades of stunning blue. His kick was Kung-Fu style and just missed my heart. It had enough power to throw me back through the trees. I kept my balance, God knows how. I knew I had to get the damned knife into play.
The moon appeared, lighting his bare torso. It was criss-crossed with cuts from branches, but that wasn’t going to slow him down. There was a snarl on his face as he launched himself at me, hurling himself forward, arms outstretched. He knew all about close-quarters combat, knew I couldn’t use the knife once he got me in a hug.
I dived sideways, falling as I did. I heard him grunt as he missed me. There was a cracking sound. I got to my feet as quick as I could. He wouldn’t miss a sitting target. But when I looked, he was standing very still, his arms hanging by his sides. Then I saw why. There was a low branch sticking out through his back. He’d speared himself on a hemlock.
‘Thank Christ for that,’ I said. Then I switched on the torch and found my pistol, sticking it back into my trousers. I considered burying the body, but knew it wouldn’t be easy. At least leaving him here, any coroner might be persuaded of a bizarre accident. It certainly didn’t look like murder. I shone the torch into his face, and saw the resemblance to his brother immediately.
‘Hello, Nathan,’ I said.
I was shaking as I drove back to the campsite. I hadn’t been so close to death before. I’d never seen that much fresh blood close up. I’d seen Max of course, but Max’s corpse hadn’t been warm. The picture of Nathan Kline would stay with me long after my victims’ had faded. I didn’t think liquor and a holiday would ever wipe out Nathan’s staring face. Clancy and Bel were still awake, awaiting my return. When they saw me, they knew something had gone badly wrong. One side of my face was swollen, bruising nicely. My chest hurt, and I was still limping from the kick to my thigh. My hair was tangled with sweat, and my clothes were smeared with earth.
‘I need to get to a hospital,’ I said.
‘There might be something at Port Angeles.’
‘This is sort of specialised,’ I said.
‘Michael’s got haemophilia,’ Bel explained.
‘It’ll have to be Seattle or Tacoma,’ Clancy decided.
So we packed everything up by torchlight. Or rather, they did while I stayed in the car. A couple of campers complained about the noise, until Bel explained that we had an emergency and had to get someone to hospital. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t say anything. Now we had campers out looking at me like I was a zoo exhibit. I kept my head bowed so they wouldn’t see the bruises. I knew most of the campers would be gone by morning, when Nathan’s body would be found. But the police could find them elsewhere in the park and ask them about tonight. And now they’d be able to tell all about a man with his head hidden from them, a sudden need to break camp in the middle of the night.
Things, I thought, had taken a very bad turn.
We got out of there and Bel apologised.
‘I just didn’t think,’ she said.
‘That’s okay.’
Clancy was driving. There were no ferries that he knew of, not this late, so we headed south on 101 and picked up I-5 through Tacoma to Seattle. There was a hospital not too far from our hotel. We had to go through the usual American bureaucracy, details taken, disclaimers and waivers signed, and of course they wanted to know how they’d get paid, before a doctor took a look at me. He wasn’t a haemophilia specialist, his first few questions were all about what had happened.
‘A fight outside a bar,’ I told him.
‘You’re not supposed to get into fights.’
‘That’s what I told the guy who hit me.’
Eventually he gave me a dubious all-clear, but told me to come see a specialist in the morning. I paid cash back at the desk and Clancy drove us back to the hotel.
The night staff didn’t say anything when Bel asked for the room key. Maybe they’d seen wasted-looking people before, turning up in the wee small hours wearing hiking outfits.
We broke into a bottle of tequila Bel had bought, and I put some ice into a towel for my bruises.
‘I still don’t get it,’ said Clancy. ‘You say his name’s Nathan Kline?’
‘That’s what it said on his file.’
‘You think he’s some relation of Kline’s?’
‘There were facial similarities.’
He shook his head. ‘Jesus,’ he said.
‘And whatever he was, he wasn’t my idea of a “disciple of love”. He knew unarmed combat like I know rifles. I’m lucky we were fighting at night. In daylight he’d have killed me.’
‘So what does that make him?’
‘Ex-military, something like that. Maybe CIA or NSC. All I know is that it makes him dead.’
Bel was staring at me, so I turned to her.
‘I don’t feel great about it, Bel, but this time it was him or me. And I didn’t kill him, a tree-branch did. But I would have killed him. And he’d have killed me.’
‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m glad he’s dead.’ Then she went back to her drink.
Clancy didn’t go home. He slept in a chair, while Bel and I took the beds. We talked some more, and finally settled down to sleep as the sun was rising. I probably slept for an hour, maybe a little more. Then I went into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light. I looked like I’d been in an accident with a timber-lorry. My chest and thigh were purple with shades of mauve and black. My eye had closed up a little as the flesh below it swelled. It was tender to the touch, but at least I hadn’t lost any teeth. I didn’t think I was going to die. Haemophiliacs rarely die these days, not if they look after themselves. But I’d go back to the hospital anyway and have a proper check done.
I went down to the lobby and out into the fresh air of a new day. Only in my head it was still the middle of the night and I was out in the woods, being taken apart by a crazed jungle-fighter. I tried not to limp as I walked. I’d changed into some clean clothes. There were a few early risers about, driving to work, or shuffling through the streets examining garbage. I headed for the waterfront to do some thinking.
I didn’t doubt that Nathan was Kline’s brother, which tied the Disciples of Love very closely to the NSC. But a question niggled: did anyone at the Disciples know Nathan’s real identity? And come to think of it, what was so important that Nathan would go undercover for nearly eight years to protect it? They might have discovered his body by now. They might be contacting the police. If they didn’t contact the police, that would be a sign of the whole cult’s complicity. I knew I had to go back to the peninsula to be sure.
I also wanted to investigate Nathan’s house on Hood Canal. If I wanted to do it, I’d have to do it fast, before Kline got to hear of his brother’s all-too-suspicious demise.
‘Great day for it,’ a woman told me as she pushed a supermarket shopping-trolley over the train lines. A train had just crept past, holding up the few cars. It carried wood, thousands of planks coming south from Canada. We’d both watched it roll inexorably past.
‘Great day for it,’ she said again, waving to me as she moved away.
We went out for breakfast and ate huge blueberry muffins, washed down with strong coffee. I told Clancy and Bel I wanted to go back to the peninsula. ‘You’re out of your mind,’ Clancy said.
We’d listened to the early-morning radio news, and there’d been nothing about Nathan’s death. And only a few minutes ago, Clancy had phoned a colleague at the newsdesk and asked if any reports had come in of ‘anything’ happening in the park. The colleague’s reply had been negative.
‘First,’ Bel said, ‘you’re going to go back to that hospital. I don’t want you keeling over on me, Michael.’
‘And we need to change cars,’ Clancy added. He had a point. It would be a lot safer heading back to the peninsula in a new car. The campers had seen me sitting in a VW Rabbit, which was a world away from a Trans-Am. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I drop the two of you off at the hos
pital, go fetch the Trans-Am and pick you up again afterwards?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Bel.
So that was agreed. We checked that the car was ready and that my hospital appointment was confirmed. I checked we’d left nothing in the Rabbit before we left the hotel.
The car worried me. All it needed was for one camper to remember the licence plate and reel it off to the police, and they would track it instantly by computer to the repair shop, where the owner knew Clancy. And once they knew about Clancy, that would be the end of it.
I had to trust to luck that no one would remember the plate. And I hated trusting to anything other than myself.
Bel and I sat in the hospital for a while. She remarked how bright and new it seemed, how well equipped. She was just making conversation, that was all.
‘Wait till you see what they charge,’ I told her, ‘then you won’t be surprised.’
We were getting through the money. I didn’t like to think about how I’d go about earning some more.
‘I wish I’d been there when you killed him,’ Bel said quietly.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ I reminded her. ‘And for God’s sake, why would you want to be there?’
She turned to me and smiled a humourless smile.
I saw the doctor and everything seemed to be all right. He insisted on a few blood tests, since he wanted to be ‘on the safe side’, even though I objected I’d be flying back to England in a few days.
After all of which, I parted with some cash. The person behind the desk pointed out that they couldn’t know yet how much everything would cost, since the blood tests were done at an independent lab, so they’d bill me later. I gave my fake address again, the same one I’d given the previous night, and walked out of the hospital knowing I’d saved a few dollars at least.