The Keepers of the Library

by Glenn Cooper

  There was little to be seen, just a few bales of hay and some long-poled farm implements. He scanned the interior for a weapon—a hammer, a scythe, an axe—but there was nothing suitable. Should he grab a rake? He thought not.

  “What’s the deal?” he asked the girl.

  “Th’ deal?”

  “What is this place? Where’s Phillip.”

  “Help me shift th’ hay,” was her answer.

  They pushed the heavy bales to the side and Haven shined her beam onto the floor. An iron ring lay in a circular recess. She stooped and tugged at it, grunting, “It’s heavy.”

  Will intervened and took hold of the ring. The hatch creaked on its hinges and yielded. He laid it down flat. Without light, there was only a dimensionless void; with the benefit of the flashlight, there were stairs. Rough wooden stairs, a long straight run of them pitched at a steep angle.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Mind your step.”

  “No electricity?” he asked.

  “When we get down, there’s light. Swing th’ hatch back after yourself.”

  He counted stairs and tried to keep track of the depths to which they were descending. At the last step, he decided they were about ten meters below the surface.

  They were in an anteroom of sorts, a limestone box hewn from the natural bedrock, the pickax swipes left rough. There was an old door. This one was locked. He watched Haven press on a section of wood above the keyhole until she found the right spot. A small panel swiveled open; there was a key in its hollow.

  Very clever, he thought. Hidden in plain sight.

  The lock yielded with a clunk, and she slowly swung the door open and switched on a light. They were in a much larger room, also low-ceilinged, but this one was a storage area lined with cheap metal bookcases stocked with all manner of goods. In the yellow glow of old-fashioned incandescent bulbs Will saw a trove of tinned and dried foods, jerry cans marked “water,” and rolls of toilet paper. It looked for all the world like a survivalist’s bomb shelter.

  He was about to ask her if that’s what it was when he noticed another set of shelves. These were packed with reams of printer paper and boxes of Papermate Black Biro pens.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Haven hushed him. “We’ve got t’ be quiet now. Really quiet. We’re going through th’ next door. You’re going t’ see another room, but we’re not going t’ turn on th’ lights. I’ll use th’ torch again. It’s quite a big room, but it should be empty.”

  “Should be?”

  “Should be,” she repeated. “ ’Cept for Phillip.”

  Will felt prickly with anticipation. “Then let’s go.”

  She switched off the lights in the storage room and opened the other door at its far end. She held her hand over the business end of the flashlight, torch restricting the beam to the space between her fingers.

  This new room was warmer than the other though not by much and just as dark. As they walked down the middle of the room, Will made out what was lining the walls: beds. Low camp beds with pillows and blankets in heaps. All of them empty.

  At the far end of the room, Will saw a rectangle of orange on the ceiling. Drawing closer, he realized there was a partition, a pen made of walls that didn’t reach the full height of the room.

  There was a humming sound. The orange glow was coming from a space heater, he thought. Someone was being kept warm.

  Phillip.

  He tried to prepare himself.

  He’d have to postpone his normal impulses to greet him loudly and volubly, to give him a great hug, to transition at speed to a scorching scolding.

  This was going to be a snatch and run. He’d save the father-son thing for later.

  They’d leave the way they came in. Hopefully, Phillip was in good shape and could make it on his own steam. If not, Will was prepared to put his healing heart to the test and do a fireman’s carry. Once outside, he’d take Haven’s flashlight and send her on her way and get to the car as fast as they could.

  He’d leave it to the police to figure out what the hell was going on underneath Lightburn Farm.

  Drawing closer, he heard a low, guttural rasp. Snoring. Phillip asleep.

  Will picked up the pace to cut in front of Haven and in a few long strides he was at the flimsy door to the partitioned space. He pulled it open. There were several camp beds inside, one occupied.

  He dropped to a knee, felt for a shoulder under a rough blanket, turned the sleeper from his side to his back and peeled the blanket back from his face.

  He heard Haven say, “Oh God!”

  In the orange light he saw a face, but not Phillip’s.

  It was the face of another young man, who awoke with springing eyelids revealing bright green eyes.

  At that instant, Will felt a blinding pain on the crown of his head and he went down very hard and very fast.

  When he awoke, he thought he was back in the hospital. There was the same disorientation as after his heart attack. He knew who he was but he didn’t have the foggiest idea where he was or what had happened to him. Had he had another coronary? Or was he awakening from his first? Had everything he thought had transpired merely been a dream?

  But the ache was in his head, not in his chest. He tried to touch the spot with his right hand but he couldn’t get to it. Something was keeping his hand from reaching higher than his shoulder. In the low light he tried to figure out why and found himself staring curiously at an iron manacle around his wrist. It was then that he realized he was lying on his back, and recent memories began to flood back.

  “Dad?”

  He turned his head and there, sitting on a second bed inside the partition was Phillip.

  “Phillip,” Will said weakly.

  “You okay?” the boy asked with a concerned look.

  “I’m not sure. How the heck are you?”

  “Reasonably shitty,” the boy said. “This wasn’t supposed to work out like this.”

  Will tugged at his manacle. “You think?”

  “Kheelan saw you and Haven in the fields.”

  “Her uncle, right?”

  “He’s big, and he doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

  “Is he the one who nailed me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure the girl wasn’t in on this?”

  “I’m sure,” Phillip insisted. “She’s not like that. She’s in big trouble now. I hope they don’t punish her too bad.”

  Will swung his feet over the low bunk and discovered that his left hand was free. He used it to rub at the painful area on his head and discovered a sticky patch of coagulating blood. “Are you chained up?”

  Phillip showed him his manacle. “It sucks. They let you go to the bathroom, if you want to call it a bathroom, but that’s pretty much it. It’s really boring.”

  The boy didn’t look bored. He looked scared.

  “Did they hurt you?” Will asked.

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I said no.”

  “I got your emergency beacon,” Will said.

  Phillip pursed his lips, and Will could see he was struggling to keep himself from losing it. “Thanks for finding me.”

  Will remembered the storage room chock-full of provisions and the blank-faced young man who had been lying on the bunk that Phillip occupied. He waved his hand at the rows of empty beds in the dimly lit chamber. “What goes on here?”

  “You don’t know?” Phillip asked.

  “Phillip,” he said testily, “I don’t know a damned thing. I don’t know why you ran away. I don’t know why we’re being held. I don’t know what the hell is going on in this goddamned farm in the middle of goddamned nowhere. So if you’d care to enlighten me, I’d be much obliged.”

  Phillip shrugged. “I just thought you were further along.”

  “Well I’m not!”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what I know, but first tell me one thing. Does Mom know where we are? Is the SWAT team com
ing?”

  Will softened his tone. There was palpable fear in the boy’s voice, and it was time to stop being an irritable jerk and time to be a father. “She doesn’t know. No one knows. There’s no SWAT team, just you and me, kiddo. We’ve got to get ourselves out of this. I don’t know about you, but I think we’ll make a pretty good team. But first I’ve got to know what we’re up against.”

  Phillip nodded and was about to speak when the door opened, and two men swept in.

  Daniel Lightburn, his arm still in a sling, had a poisonous look on his face. The other man, Kheelan Lightburn, was taller by a head, with the same straight black hair as his brother. His clothes were dirty, and his boots were muddy. Will locked onto the frightening size of Kheelan’s fists and the complete absence of animation in his face. At best, he’s dull-normal, Will thought. At worst, he’s a psychopath.

  Will liked to seize the high ground even when the chips were against him, so before one of them could say anything, he said, “Hello, Daniel. Nice to see you again. And this handsome guy must be Kheelan.”

  “Shut it,” Daniel said.

  “So tell me, Kheelan, did you use a club on me or just one of those hams attached to your wrists?”

  “Let me ask you something, Mr. Piper,” Daniel said. “Do you want t’ get kilt in front of th’ lad?”

  Will had the information he needed: their captors weren’t screwing around. They meant business. He adjusted himself to the situation. “No, let me tell you something, Daniel. The police and MI5 are on the way here. Things will go a lot better for you if you let us go. And if that’s too much for you, let the boy go.”

  “I very much doubt it,” Daniel said. “Haven tells me you agreed t’ come on your own. You wouldn’t have risked a cocked-up police operation on account of Phillip here.”

  “The MI5 are pros.”

  “Are they now?” Daniel said with a harsh laugh. “Maybe down in London, but not up here. Just to be safe, I searched you good for bugs or whatever they’re called. Bashed your mobile phone for good measure.”

  Will said, “Look, friend, you can think whatever you want about the authorities, but you tell me, what do you think your move is?”

  Kheelan spat back in an accent even thicker than his brother’s, “Our move, marra, is t’ keep you lot in chains till we decide when t’ finish ya.”

  “I told you he was a real comedian,” Phillip said, shakily.

  The threat didn’t much unsettle Will, but he hated that his son was inside a pressure cooker. Will knew full well that he, Phillip, and Nancy were all BTH. He’d never told Phillip—it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever wanted to talk about with his son—but if he thought the goon’s threats were getting to the kid, he’d tell him the score when they were alone.

  “This isn’t the kind of thing you can get away with,” Will said evenly. “You will be found. You will be caught. You’ll go to jail, and whoever in your family is complicit will do time as well. You will lose this farm. Whatever operation you’ve got going on here will be shut down. Trust me. These are facts.”

  “Mebbe so,” Daniel said. “But the Horizon’s coming, in’it? That’s what you’re famous for, Mr. Will Piper. If we do go t’ jail, our sentences’ll end next February, won’t they?”

  With that, Daniel and Kheelan started laughing so hard they appeared loose-limbed.

  “What’s so damned funny?” It was a woman’s voice, and Cacia came through the door, carrying a tray of food. Trailing behind her, Haven carried another tray of drinks.

  Daniel challenged her. “Why’d you let Haven out of her room?”

  “She’s been cryin’ her eyes out,” Cacia said. “She feels bad about what happened t’ Mr. Piper. And she wanted to see th’ lad.”

  “She should be feeling bad about what she done t’ us!” Kheelan shouted. “She’s brought in offcomers! She’s ruined us! She’s a wicked creature who needs t’ pay!”

  “How-ee then!” Daniel shouted back. “She’s my daughter, and I’m th’ one who’ll decide what’s t’ be done.”

  Kheelan lowered his voice. “I’m just sayin’ ”

  “Get out now, you two,” Cacia said, shooing her husband and brother-in-law out. “Go and keep watch with Andrew and Douglas. And make sure his car’s well hid. We’ll tend t’ this lot.”

  The men silently assented and left.

  Will decided to stay quiet and observe mother and daughter for a few moments. He couldn’t tell if Cacia wore the pants in the family, but she was a force to be reckoned with, that was certain. He could see the masseter muscles in her face rippling as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. Was it in anger or frustration? Was her ire aimed at them or her own?

  But Will had no doubt about her feelings toward her daughter. She passed instructions to Haven with tenderness. The girl might have gone rogue, but it seemed as if no transgression would be enough for Cacia to withdraw a mother’s love.

  Will also caught the furtive glances going on between the girl and Phillip. As Haven laid out a meal for the boy her face radiated sunshine. And Phillip responded in kind. Will could understand why. The girl was very pretty and shy, not the kind of out-there, brash girl his son hung around with in Virginia and Florida.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Piper,” Cacia asked. “Were you hurt bad?”

  “I’m a little sore, ma’am. But I’ve been cracked a few times. Makes the skull thicker.”

  “Does it now? Well, have some soup and bread while they’re hot. What do you think about having your father here, Phillip?”

  He replied through a mouthful of warm bread, “It’s good, I guess.”

  “You’ve got to let us go, Mrs. Lightburn,” Will said.

  “I hate being called that. Would you call me Cacia?”

  “I hate being called Mr. Piper.”

  “Okay, Will,” she laughed. “I wish t’ God we could set ya free. I wish t’ God Haven had talked t’ me before luring your son over ’ere. I wish none of this’d happened, but it did, and we’ve got t’ deal wit’ it.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you do here?” Will asked placidly.

  “Aye, I will,” she answered. “In the morning, I’ll tell ya, and I’ll show ya.”

  “I’ve lost him,” Annie told her superior.

  “What do you mean, you’ve lost him?” the voice boomed over her NetPen’s speaker.

  “He lifted my car keys and took off. I don’t know why, and I don’t know where he’s gone. We came up empty today. It’s not like we identified any good leads.”

  “Maybe he saw something you didn’t,” the voice said caustically. “He may be retired, but in his day, he was one of the best. But you wouldn’t know that, would you, as you weren’t born then?”

  Annie took a breath and maintained a professional tone. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

  “I’d like you to mobilize the police and find the man. I’m sending a team up there led by Rob Melrose. When they arrive, brief him, then follow his orders. I should have sent him in the first place.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  “And I will brief Piper’s wife in Washington, who will, in all likelihood, remove some vital parts of my anatomy.”

  Kenney tried to straighten his legs out, but there wasn’t enough room. “Is this seat back as far as it’ll go?” he asked no one in particular.

  Harper was driving, relying on GPS navigation, which delivered instructions via a curiously sexy British voice. “We’re almost there, chief.”

  Lopez was crunched into the backseat, his knees bent up. All three men had short hair, and with their jeans, sweaters, and leather jackets, they looked as American as they come. “No point in trying to look like Brits,” Kenney had told them. “Couldn’t do it if we tried. We’re tourists, if anyone asks.”

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” Harper had replied, rolling his eyes. “Tourists with a trunk load of weapons and ammo.”

  Lopez started to snore.

&n
bsp; Kenney reached behind and backhanded the side of his big head. “Keep sharp, for Christ’s sake.”

  Lopez awoke with a sharp inhalation. “Sorry, chief.”

  “Hey,” Kenney scolded, “I’m beat too, we’re all as tired as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, but we’re on a mission.”

  Lopez’s communicator beeped. “Surveillance alert. Subject Anne Locke, MI5 comm protocol. Decoding now.”

  “See, what did I tell you?” Kenney said.

  Lopez grunted and turned up the volume.

  As the three men drove through the dark countryside, they listened to a recording of Annie’s conversation with her station chief in London about a missing Will Piper.

  “Piper’s three steps ahead of those clowns,” Kenney said. “He’s probably found his son. The question is, what the hell did his son find.”

  Chapter 14

  Lightburn Farm, 1297

  The contractions were coming every few minutes now. The nether reaches of her body were ablaze with searing pain and she prayed to God the baby would come soon, or if that was not God’s will, that her life would mercifully end.

  Clarissa was on her back beside the family hearth, knees up on a heap of woolen blankets. She could barely hear the exhortations of her mother or the encouragements of her sisters.

  All she could do was try to let her mind drift onto other things.

  The journey from the southern shores of Britain to the north country had taken six weeks. Adam, the brother of the ferryman, proved to be a kind and faithful companion. It had struck Clarissa that the payment she had arranged was inequitable. The ferryman received a silver candlestick for making a two-hour crossing in rough seas. The cart man received the matching candlestick for six weeks of slogging on rutted roads, often sleeping in the open while allowing Clarissa to shelter in his lean-to. But Adam suffered the labors cheerfully, dodging highwaymen, changing horseshoes himself, negotiating meager rations in village after village. He was a poor man, far worse off than his nautical brother, and the silver, he told her, would transform the lowly state of his family. Why doesn’t he just kill me and take the candlestick, she had thought? The answer, she had learned, was that he was a good, honest man, pure of heart and now, in her agony, she took comfort in remembering his goodness. “I’ll get you and your baby home,” he’d say time and again. “You can count on me.”