Mulcifer wasn't concerned. He stepped out onto the street and walked back to the van, got in, and drove north, toward Castle Dirk. He was going to have to have a very serious talk with Colin Mackay.
Chapter 50
When Mulcifer arrived back at the castle at eight thirty in the evening, the sky was still light enough to see. He drove through the inner gatehouse and was surprised to find that there were no vehicles in the inner ward. He was even more surprised to find, when he got out of the van, Colin Mackay standing up on the walkway around the inner curtain, his arms crossed, glaring down at Mulcifer in hatred and scorn.
"Get a bit of a surprise, did ye?" Mackay asked. "Everything not go quite as planned, then?"
"Where are the men who were supposed to be guarding you?" Mulcifer asked, glancing about but seeing no signs of anyone else. The only disturbing thing, besides the presence of a free Mackay, was an unpleasant smell that seemed familiar, but that Mulcifer couldn't identify. "Where are they?"
"I just had to work at it a little, but I soon brought them around," Mackay said. "They're gone. My organization is dissolved, small thanks to you. If you want to use pawns in your twisted little game, you'll have to find them somewhere else from now on."
"What do you mean, you 'brought them around'?"
"I mean I overcame your orders to them, you poncy shite. I got you out of their heads and I sent them away where you can't touch them again."
"That's . . . not possible."
"You don't sound too sure of yourself, Mulcifer." Mackay sneered the name. "What's the matter? Are you scared, now that you don't have anybody around you can turn into your wee zombies? You can't make me smash my head against a wall or chew my veins open, can you? No, it's just man to man now, isn't it? Or man to monster . . . I can never recall your being anything near to a man. You were locked up like a madman for centuries, because that's exactly what you are—a mad thing, not fit to be among human beings, and my mistake was to think that you might actually have some emotions, like loyalty and trustworthiness." He made a disgusted sound in his throat.
"Well," Mackay went on, "it's just the two of us now. And I'm going to do to you what should have been done when your ugly head first entered the light of day. I'm going to do what my father and the other Templars did. I'm going to beat your power down and imprison it. And this time it's going to be forever. But first . . ." He held up a finger as if in warning. ". . . I'm going to kick your sick, twisted arse halfway into your guts."
Mulcifer felt as close to rage as he ever had. First the disappointment with the canisters, then his own tools laughing at him, and now this young fool—young in comparison to Mulcifer, at any rate—and his misconception that longevity made him not only Mulcifer's equal, but his superior.
"You are badly mistaken," he told the yapping puppy, as he walked purposefully toward the stairs to the walkway above. "Simply because you've felt the power of the cloth of sustenance hardly makes you equal to one who it is intended to sustain. You are immortal, Colin Mackay, but not invulnerable. You can live on only as long as you do not come to a violent end. But a violent end is precisely what I intend for you."
He was only a few feet away from Mackay now, and he stopped and glared at him. "You mock me for not being a man, but I revel in it. My strength is greater than any man's, and if you doubt it, I'll be happy to give you a demonstration."
He lunged at him, but Mackay sidestepped and hit Mulcifer in the midsection, three hard, quick blows that would have punched the air out of any man.
But Mulcifer was not a man, and he pushed Mackay back with his left arm. That arm only traveled a few inches, but the strength of it threw Mackay several feet, and his back hit the hard stones of the inner curtain wall with so much force that he cried out in pain and fell.
"First lesson," said Mulcifer, brushing the shirt over his stomach, symbolically whisking away Mackay's powerful blows as if they had been dust. "You'll definitely need more than fists."
He strode toward Mackay with the intention of grasping his neck with one hand and his balls with the others, then squeezing to create both pain and death simultaneously. He would look deeply into Mackay's eyes as he died, and come as close as he could to feeling the man's death.
Colin Mackay shook his head to clear it, and staggered to his feet. Mulcifer was almost upon him. He stumbled backward, and was only inches from the edge when he regained his balance. Mulcifer reached out for him, but Mackay spun away and ran along the narrow wooden walkway.
He glanced back when he reached the northwest tower, and saw that Mulcifer was following him, walking briskly rather than running, as if telling Mackay to go ahead and run, that he would catch him easily enough. Mackay passed the stairway down, but did not take it. That was not his route. He had one direction in which to go, one destiny only, and it was now twenty yards away.
He ran the length of the northern wall, slowing enough for Mulcifer to draw closer, until only a few yards separated them. The timing and the distance would have to be just right. Nothing must go wrong. He had failed so terribly before, but he could not fail now.
Just past the northeast tower, he glanced behind him to see Mulcifer striding across the boards that passed the stairway down. Mackay stopped, grasped a steel lever that jutted up from between the wooden planks, and jerked it toward him. His action took less than a second, too little time for Mulcifer to even wonder about it.
The wooden floor of the walkway opened under Mulcifer like the trap of a gallows. For an instant he hung there as if suspended, then shot downward.
But the creature's thoughts and actions were faster than gravity, and Mackay saw it reach out and grasp the edge of the opening with its fingertips. In another second it had drawn its upper body over the edge and was climbing back onto the walkway.
"No," said Mackay in a low, firm voice, and then louder, ''No!''
He closed the gap between them just as Mulcifer was straightening up and plowed right into him, grabbing him and pushing him backward so that both of them plunged through the opening, and down toward the now open well below.
As Colin Mackay's body fell with that of Mulcifer's, his final thought was that he had won. Even though he was a dead man now, he had won.
And then his body, still tightly clutching Mulcifer's, struck the molten lead with which the well had been filled. There was a moment of excruciating agony, and then Colin Mackay knew no more.
Chapter 51
"He did it," Tony whispered, looking at one of five monitors inside the control truck. "Dear God, he did it."
Inside the truck, parked on the MacLunie land over the ridge from the castle, everyone's eyes were fixed on the monitor. On its screen was a dim image of two bodies upon what looked like a surface of gray mud. One of the bodies, Colin Mackay's, spasmed, then constricted like a bum victim's, slowly curling up and sinking into the molten lead.
The other body, however, continued to move. It thrashed about as though trying to swim in the thick, tarry mess. Joseph was amazed that Mulcifer could still live in the 630 degree heat of the lead. If Leech, who had been constantly dubious to this point, wasn't convinced that Mulcifer was something other than human, here was the proof.
"Go under, you bastard," Joseph heard someone whisper, and realized it was he. None of them knew what would happen if Mulcifer was not beneath the surface of the lead when it hardened.
"628.5," said an army engineer, reading from an instrument panel. It was cooling fast, down a degree and a half in less than 30 seconds.
They had kept the lead only eight and a half degrees above its melting point of 621.5 degrees Fahrenheit, to ensure that it would not take long to cool and harden once Mulcifer had fallen in. The engineers had set up an electric eye to turn off the heating unit that was part of the refractory liner they had constructed for the ten-foot-deep well. Even though the fire-brick would retain its heat for hours afterward, the lead would harden quickly.
But it appeared as though it might be too quick.
Now the temperature reading was 626 degrees, and Mulcifer was still thrashing about. Leech's eyes were wide as he watched, and Joseph heard Laika say, "Go down, damn you, go down . . ." Joseph felt like Tony Perkins watching the car go into the swamp in Psycho.
"625," the engineer read. Mulcifer's movements were slowing now. His arms looked like they were treading water. His head bobbed, then went under nearly all the way, but he pushed down his arms, and his face, coated with lead, reappeared.
"624." Mulcifer's arms spread out upon the lead as though he were floating on his back. His face was turned upward, toward the trapdoor through which he had fallen, but his eyes were closed.
Then, like a man vanishing in quicksand, he went under, as quickly and completely as if the retributive hand of Colin Mackay had drawn him down, to dwell with him forever in a tomb of lead.
"Thank God," Martin Leech said softly, and Joseph could hear his voice shake. "Thank God."
"Thank Colin Mackay," Joseph said. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He sacrificed himself to get Mulcifer into the well."
Leech cleared his throat. "It was his responsibility," he said. "He was the one who used him. All those deaths are on his head, too."
"Were on his head," said Molly. "He's paid the price."
"Not enough of one," Leech said, and Joseph thought that in his eyes he could see the dead children of London.
"Would you have him 'nine years a-killing,' like Othello?" Laika asked. "Let him go. He's done more than any of us could." She looked at the panel. "What's the temperature?"
"620," the engineer said.
"How long before it's completely hard?"
"I'd say until dawn."
"I think we should have someone keep an eye on this monitor through the night," Laika said. "I don't want any surprises in the morning."
"And then we'll airlift the whole plug of lead out," said Tony, "and drop it in the middle of the North Sea."
"'Deeper than did ever plummet sound,'" quoted Laika.
"The Tempest," Joseph said. "You're feeling severely Shakespearean this evening."
"There's an element of tragedy to all this," she replied. "We've won, but there have been too many losses." Laika turned to Leech. "No one goes in there until morning, when we all go, right?"
Leech nodded. "Absolutely. I'm not taking any chances with . . . with whatever that thing was."
"Good," said Laika. "I think we could all use some sleep. We'll head back to the cottage and be back at the castle before dawn. Thank you, Mr. Leech. And thank you, Inspector—Molly, for your help and for believing us in the first place."
"It's hard to disbelieve what I saw with my own eyes," Molly replied.
Leech cleared his throat. "There's a lot here that needs to be ironed out, you know. You three aren't going to be able to just walk away from this. We're going to have to . . . straighten all this out with the CIA. There are a lot of unanswered questions."
"And we'll try and answer as many as possible."
"Nevertheless, you'll forgive me, Agent Harris," Leech went on, "if prudence dictates that I put a military guard on you and your fellow agents. I should hate to find the three of you gone, come the dawn."
Joseph saw Tony's back go up, but Laika calmed him with a look. She would have done the same thing in Leech's place. "A reasonable request," she said, and added, with a smile, "I'd be happy to have someone watch over us while we sleep."
Joseph thought amen to that. He was exhausted. They had spent the entire day preparing for Mulcifer's return, putting into play the plot that Laika had come up with to capture him again. The simpler the better, she had said, and it had worked, with a great deal of luck.
The old well had been the only trap large enough, and the inner curtain walkway passed directly over it. There would have been no time to prepare anything more elaborate. As it was, the engineers had barely finished lining the well with refractory brick, installing the heating equipment and sensors, preparing the trapdoor mechanism, and getting an electric eye rigged up that would trigger the heating elements to shut off, when the van had been sighted approaching Gairloch.
Naturally, they had to be able to see what was happening with their plan, so Joseph and Molly had set up the cameras and microphones that had allowed them to view what occurred from five different angles. When Laika and Tony had returned from Edinburgh, they had helped finish the installation.
But the success of the plot had been dependent upon one man, Colin Mackay. No one could be in the vicinity of the castle for fear that Mulcifer would sense their presence and turn them against Mackay. It had to be the two of them alone, and Mackay had to be able to enrage Mulcifer sufficiently so that the creature would follow him to the one spot where the trap could be sprung.
Mackay had agreed, and had done what was asked of him. And more. "He had a lot of guts," said Joseph, as they drove back to the cottage. "Bad way to die."
"It was probably fast," Tony said. "There are worse ways. And besides, he didn't have to go through a trial. It would be a helluva thing to try and explain."
"MI5 wouldn't have let him go to trial," said Laika. "I think he would have died while trying to escape. There was too much he could tell that they didn't want anyone to know."
"Is that what you told him when you were talking him into it?" Joseph asked.
Laika glanced out the window. "Let's just say I was at my most persuasive. And my most honest."
Before she went home to go to bed, Molly Fraser stopped by the small jail in which Rob Lindsay and James Menzies, the only survivors of Colin Mackay's group, were imprisoned. The two men were sitting in the same cell, and stood up when they saw her.
"What's happened?" Lindsay said. "How's Colin?"
"Colin Mackay is dead," said Molly. "So is Mulcifer. I don't know what's going to happen to you two. That's up to others. I just wanted you to know that he died bravely."
Lindsay sat down heavily on his cot and buried his head in his hands. Menzies came closer and grasped the bars that separated them. "But did he die for Scotland?" Menzies said, a flame in his eyes.
Molly looked at him, anger and pity warring within her. "He died for Scotland," she said. "And I think he died for the world." She started out the door, then turned back. "Tomorrow morning we're going to require your presence at the castle. There may be some questions that only you can answer, since you were staying there. I can't make any promises, but if you cooperate, it may be helpful to you. Will you go with no protests?"
Menzies nodded, and Lindsay looked up and whispered, "Yes." Molly saw his eyes were wet with tears. She had only spoken to Mackay for several minutes earlier that day, but she could understand how he might be a man worth following, and worth weeping for.
Molly went out into the cool night and looked up at the sky. It was clear, and the stars were sparkling overhead. Things were going as well as they could, she supposed. MI5 was in control, the terrorist threat was ended, and the even worse threat to the world was at least contained, if not destroyed. And on top of everything else, there had been no sightings of those strange apparitions for several days now. Maybe everything was going to be all right, after all.
Chapter 52
The next morning, the three operatives gathered outside Castle Dirk with Martin Leech, several other MI5 representatives, Molly Fraser, her two DIs, who were guarding Lindsay and Menzies, and a dozen armed soldiers from the group who had captured the castle the previous day. The soldiers who had taken shifts watching the lead-filled well all night on the monitor had reported no visual change, and the temperature of the lead now read forty-eight degrees, the temperature of the morning air.
Joseph remembered the two Scots, Rob Lindsay and James Menzies, from having seen them in the castle earlier with Mackay. They looked abandoned, like men who had lost a cause and a leader, and were left with nothing. Still, he tried not to feel too sorry for them. Terror had been their chosen tool, and people would have died at their hands even if Mulcifer had never crossed t
heir paths. As it was, terror had turned around and bitten them in the ass.
The group went through the inner gatehouse and into the inner ward. Then they turned to the right and went toward the northeast tower, and down the narrow opening between the former stables and the blacksmith's shop where Tony had hidden earlier to the small open area that held the well. Several of the soldiers went up the tower stairs onto the platform above, and looked down through the open trapdoor.
The operatives, Molly, and the MI5 people went to the edge of the well, but Lindsay and Menzies held back, and the policemen stayed with them. What lay over the top of the well was a dark gray, relatively smooth surface of lead, but Joseph knew full well that that surface went down ten feet. Mulcifer, along with the corpse of Colin Mackay, was now encased in a leaden cylinder ten feet in diameter and another ten deep.
"We'll have to remove the walkway above," Leech said, eyeing the situation. "Then we should be able to attach a cable and pull the thing right up with a helicopter—the bricks will adhere to the lead."
"You'd better have a strong cable," Tony said. "That plug's got a lot of tonnage."
"All the better to sink it deeper," Joseph said, uncomfortable at the close proximity to Mulcifer, even if he was sealed behind lead once again. To reassure himself of his safety, Joseph reached out a hand and rubbed it over the flat surface. It was cool and unyielding, a fitting, permanent prison for a cold and hard creature.
"What's that?" he heard someone ask, and looked next to him to see Laika staring fixedly at the center of the well. He turned and saw a slight rise that he had not noticed before, a small, fist-shaped lump on the leaden surface, like a nodule signaling the growth of a cancer.
Then, as they all watched, the metal over the lump started to crack.
Something was pushing up from beneath, and now pieces of lead started to separate from the whole and slide down the incline that had been made. Suddenly, an arm shot out of the lead, fist clenched.
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