The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  The huge country manor house was alive with blinding lights that illuminated the surrounding grounds. Music drifted on the air as they drew closer and through the lower windows Travis glimpsed tuxedos and flowing gowns. Whatever the occasion was, it was obviously a very exclusive affair.

  Fisher returned dragging a body and dumped it into the thick hedge. Travis locked away his feelings for the demise of another Vargas henchman. He had long since abandoned rational thought as a means of operating effectively and knew instinctively that this night was going to get a whole lot more bizarre before it was over.

  ----------

  Charlotte felt a warm fuzzy glow as the party flowed around her. The chamber music gave way to a DJ, and the lights were lowered as the pounding beats shook the ancient house. The long food-laden tables emptied and the gathered guests took to the dance floor. The predominantly stiff guests were shedding inhibitions and even some clothing. She was intrigued to recognise several of the faces that flashed past her in twirling dances, some from the front and back pages of the newspapers. A senior politician tried hitting on her despite his public conservative views on traditional marriage. A well-known sports star regaled her with tales of his new born son and the deep love for his wife, despite his public reputation for wayward morals.

  Vargas left her alone several times as the night wore on. He told her that the preparations were coming along swimmingly and that everything was proceeding as planned. Initially her thoughts had centred on the frustration at being kept out of the loop. She wasn’t used to standing on the side-lines, but the longer the party went on, the more relaxed she became.

  The atmosphere was intoxicating and was becoming a little overwhelming. She put down her champagne glass and moved to the nearest balcony for a little air to clear her muddled mind. She tried to think through the haze to remember just how much she had drunk and was taken aback when she realised she hadn’t even finished her second glass.

  She looked out over the grounds of the manor house and tried to think clearly. She had barely drunk anything and yet her head felt thick and intoxicated as though she had been canning it all night.

  Glancing back at the party she noticed how dark the room was. The DJ’s music was accompanied by flashing coloured lights that hit every beat with hypnotic effect and the faces of the guests were glazed and distant as they danced. Looking closer she could see that they weren’t really dancing, but were merely swaying in a rhythmic mirroring of each other. Their feet pounded in unison but their eyes were now closed as they all shook and trembled.

  Charlotte felt the stab of a cold realisation gnawing at the corners of her mind.

  This whole scene felt wrong, and yet she wanted to join the throng. The beat of the music now seemed to overpower any tune. It was primal and mesmerizing.

  A gentle hand at her arm woke her. Confused, she turned to see Vargas. His features seemed to be so much softer now, so much kinder and she couldn’t believe that she had ever doubted his intentions.

  ‘It’s time,’ he whispered as he led her away.

  ----------

  Travis stayed close to Fisher and Lochay, keeping low against the short wall as they made their way to the side of the building. With disco lights flashing from the large windows, it was essential to stay away from the well-lit rooms of the house. Now that they were only three, they had to find the quietest way into the building.

  Fisher took the lead with simple hand signals to illustrate when they should follow and when they should wait. As he held up a clenched fist Travis felt the wet grass seeping through the knees of his trousers. The low wall they hid behind encased a large rockery garden. Fisher disappeared around the side out of sight.

  Travis could hear the pounding beat of the music from inside the house, the thumping modern rhythms seemingly out of place with the ancient surroundings. He glanced over at Lochay. The doctor’s appearance was now dishevelled, his once smart suit smeared with green and brown stains and his hair unkempt. Travis looked down at his own clothes and realised that his trouser cuffs were smeared with what looked like drying blood from the dash through the woods. God only knew what mess they had run through after the boars had attacked the soldiers.

  Lochay was holding on, but only just. Whatever plans the doctor had, were now up in smoke. A simple search and destroy mission of the mansion had turned into a massacre, but for the wrong side. Judging by Fisher, Lochay’s men were no doubt experts, but things had gone very wrong very quickly. Travis’s confidence in the man had weakened as his fear of Vargas grew.

  Fisher ducked back silently and knelt down beside them. ‘Something’s got them spooked,’ he whispered. ‘The guards are on the move and regrouping. I think they know we’re here.’

  ‘Is there another way in?’ Travis asked.

  ‘This is the quietest. There are three guards here, but lots more around the front at the main entrance. This is still the best way in as far as I can tell.’

  ‘Can you take the guards out silently, like the others?’ Lochay said.

  ‘No chance. There’s not enough cover between us and them. Whoever positioned them knew what they were doing.’

  A noise to the side startled them all. They turned in unison to the intruder and saw a man in an expensive looking tuxedo stagger along the wall holding onto it for support. The man stopped and swayed as he fiddled with his trousers. Travis stared at him in disbelief. He was the current Home Secretary, and only when he was zipping himself up did the drunken politician’s glazed eyes look down and spot the three men kneeling by the wall. Before he had a chance to speak, Travis threw himself forward and head-butted him in the groin.

  The Home Secretary’s eyes crossed and he slumped to the ground in soundless pain. Travis looked over at Fisher and the lieutenant slipped past him and applied pressure on the politician’s neck. After a few seconds he went limp.

  Travis looked over the politician’s prone body. The man was of average height and generous of girth around the middle. ‘Clothes will get us close,’ he whispered. ‘Who’s the best fit?’

  The three of them leant over the body evaluating. Fisher was tall and lean whereas Lochay was tall and broad. Travis was a little shorter and a lot rounder than the other two. ‘Bugger,’ he murmured.

  The Home Secretary’s suit wasn’t a bad fit and Travis felt a little like James Bond in the tuxedo. Or at least Bond’s older fatter brother.

  He stepped out into the garden past the wall and started to stagger forward as though drunk. The three guards were about twenty feet away and close to the entrance to the house. There was no subtlety about these men. All three had what looked like machine guns in their arms and all stood to attention.

  ‘Hello?’ Travis called out with a slurred voice. ‘I seem to have got turned around out here and I think I’ve just stumbled over a body, but it’s so bloody dark back there I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Walk towards me slowly,’ one of the guards ordered as he raised his weapon.

  Travis could tell that the man’s intentions were all business, even from this distance. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he said. ‘There’s somebody hurt back there.’

  ‘Walk towards me slowly,’ the guard repeated as his two companions joined him. ‘Drunken sod,’ one of them muttered.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ Travis yelled. ‘Who on earth do you think you’re talking to? Get your arse over here now and do as you’re bloody well told. Or am I going to have to tell Mr Vargas about his staff treating honoured guests with such disrespect?’

  At the mention of Vargas the three men looked unsure, and Travis pushed the advantage. ‘This way,’ he said, turning to walk back behind the wall.

  For a couple of seconds there was nothing, and then he heard rushing footsteps across the gravel. Drawing the pistol from his pocket he turned the safety off like Fisher had shown him. His hands shook as he aimed the gun upwards from his crouching position behind the wall.

  The first guard jogged around the corner. In a
flash Fisher was on his feet and drove his knife up and under the man’s chin. As the second one rounded the corner, he thrust the dying guard into his surprised companion’s arms. The first guard’s throat was spraying blood and as his confused partner crashed into the body they both fell in a tangle of legs. The last guard came upon the scene with his weapon raised. Travis tightened his finger on the trigger and the guard’s face contorted into a wild scream. Travis could see that he was as panicked as they were. Even outside, the sound of the shots was deafening. Travis felt the whistle of wind as the bullets flew wildly through the air with no discernible direction. He threw himself down onto the ground and rolled away, and just then he heard a soft grunt as Fisher was hit in the shoulder and fell heavily. Lochay curled up into a ball with his hands over his head.

  From his grounded position Travis fired his gun more in hope than expectation. The first shot hit the stone wall and ricocheted uncontrollably. He squeezed off several more that all flew wide of the mark. Suddenly the guard’s gun ran empty and he stopped shouting as the weapon began dry clicking. For a split second they connected eyes and shared a look of bewilderment. The young guard’s face started to twist into a “holy shit” grimace, but exploded as Fisher fired point blank at his head.

  Travis flinched at the sound of the shot from Fisher’s gun and turned to look at him. As Fisher stood up Travis noticed that the second guard had disentangled himself from the first guard’s dead body and was aiming his weapon at Fisher’s back. There was no time to yell a warning to Fisher, so praying that he hadn’t emptied his own gun, Travis took careful aim at the guard and squeezed the trigger. The shot boomed just as the guard fired. But instead of his shot hitting the guard, it caught Fisher in the calf, dropping him to the ground just as the Guard’s spray of bullets whistled through the air where Fisher’s head had been only a split second earlier. As Fisher fell he twisted and landed on the crawling guard, then he fired several times into the guard’s chest until the gun was empty.

  Travis rushed over to check on Fisher and pulled him off of the guard. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  Fisher grinned. ‘I was a damned sight better until you shot me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Travis said.

  ‘Ah shit, I’ve had worse. Help me up, genius.’

  As Travis pulled him up he winced. Blood was seeping from his shoulder wound and there was a chunk of flesh missing where his bullet landed.

  ‘Well done,’ Lochay said gingerly, standing to join them.

  Travis watched amused as Lochay tried to brush his suit clean.

  ‘Yeah, I do believe it’s ruined,’ he said, his voice oozing sarcasm.

  ‘Well then, onwards. Despite the noise from in there,’ Lochay said, motioning towards the noisy party, ‘I’m sure someone must have heard something. We’d better get moving.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Travis laughed without humour. ‘Our three man army is now missing the one and only soldier. What exactly is your plan?’

  ‘Lieutenant?’ Lochay said.

  ‘I’m fine, sir,’ Fisher replied.

  ‘Onwards then,’ Lochay said again as he started to walk towards the now unguarded door.

  Travis offered Fisher a shoulder to lean on and they limped after Lochay. ‘What the hell are you doing with him, Fisher?’

  ‘Long story and we haven’t got the time,’ Fisher said. ‘And, uh, thanks for saving my life, even if you did shoot me to do it.’

  ‘Happy to,’ Travis said, grinning.

  Fisher stopped and turned to Travis. ‘Maybe I should tell you this before we go any further,’ he said. ‘When you and the Goode woman were in the museum in Florence, it was me and my partner that were shooting at you.’

  Travis thought back. They had been set upon by two black clad assailants before Vargas’s woman saved them. He remembered seeing one of the gunmen fall and the other get away before he and Charlotte managed to escape. ‘Oh’ he said, not knowing what else to say.

  Fisher shrugged. ‘It was just business – nothing personal.’

  When he and Fisher reached the door, Lochay was already entering the house without waiting for them. Travis rolled his eyes in frustration as he helped the limping Fisher in through the doorway.

  The hallway was dark. His eyes took some adjusting but he could just make out Lochay’s shadow as he rounded a corner ahead. ‘Lochay!’ he called as loudly as he dared, but the man disappeared.

  The floor was hardwood and he tried as best he could not to make a sound as he half dragged the now slumping Fisher with him. He looked at the soldier’s deathly pale face and was worried about the man’s blood loss. Determined to find help, hopefully in the shape of a first aid kit, he soldiered on.

  He rounded a bend and Lochay was nowhere in sight. There were several doors along the corridor and he started trying them one by one. He struck gold on the third and opened into a small kitchen. A soft glow from electrical appliances lent enough light for him to see where he was going.

  He dragged Fisher over to a table and set him down on a chair. Quickly he wet a cloth at the sink and grabbed a pair of long scissors that were hanging on a hook. He tucked his gun into his jacket pocket and had to pry Fisher’s from his tight grasp before setting it down on the table. After cutting away the heavy jumper to expose the shoulder wound he cleaned it.

  The blood was still seeping dangerously and he applied gentle but firm pressure.

  Fisher moaned softly and his eyes fluttered open. ‘Easy there, nurse,’ he muttered.

  When the bleeding stopped Travis tore a dry tea towel into strips and wrapped them around Fisher’s shoulder, then stood back to survey his handiwork. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘I’ll live,’ Fisher replied, his voice sounding a little stronger now. ‘Where’s Lochay?’ he asked, looking around.

  ‘Beats me,’ Travis said. ‘He slipped in first and slunk off somewhere. What exactly was the plan anyway?’

  ‘We were strictly a security detail. Lochay wanted the building taken, guards neutralised and perimeters secured. Outside of that, well it’s not our place to ask.’

  ‘Bet you’re wishing now that you did, huh?’

  ‘Help me up, smartass,’ Fisher said, struggling to stand. ‘Right about now I‘m thinking we find a quick and quiet way out of here and hit the road. You in?’

  As appealing as the thought was Travis couldn’t leave until he knew for sure that Charlotte was safe. ‘No can do. There’s someone here that I’ve got to find. Did Lochay ever mention anyone to you called Charlotte Goode – maybe Charlie Goode?’

  ‘Sorry, no. Why? She’s here?’

  ‘That’s the question.’

  ‘Well I guess I owe you one, so let’s go and find her first, then get the hell out of here.’ Fisher pushed himself away from the table and stood on shaky legs.

  Travis watched the soldier expertly check over his gun and spare magazine clips in his holster. He tightened the makeshift bandage on his shoulder and adjusted the remains of his jumper. ‘Okay, let’s find Lochay and I’ll ask him a few questions,’ Fisher said grimly. ‘I’ve lost five of my best men because of his planning and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to slap his smug face around some.’

  Travis reached the kitchen door first and grinned at the soldier. ‘You know, Fisher, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’ he said as he opened the door.

  Out of nowhere a woman suddenly appeared in the doorway and aimed her gun at Fisher’s face. Travis heard the soft pop of a silenced gun and turned just in time to see Fisher’s brains hit the tiled wall behind him. Reeling from the shock, he looked back to the woman to find that he knew her. It was Vargas’s bodyguard who had been tasked with his protection during the search across Europe for the painting.

  ‘What the fuck did you do?’ he gasped. ‘That guy wasn’t trying to hurt me. I don’t care if you were doing your job.’

  Sage Adderley smiled as she stepped forward. ‘Honey, these days I’m strictly freela
nce,’ she said as she swung the butt of her gun hard against his temple. She was still smiling as with barely a whimper he crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  THE LAST DANCE

  As Vargas led her through the house, Charlotte felt as though she was in a dream The corridors, lined with wooden panels that must have consumed half of the African rainforests, stretched on endlessly.

  Vargas held her hand, which seemed twice the size of hers, and as they walked she could feel herself regressing to a childlike state. The years seemed to slip by as she fell into the past.

  The faces of the paintings adorning the walls looked on with passive interest – exquisite art pieces that told the tale of Vargas’s wealth and importance. She felt her fierce independence wilt under the gaze of Vargas who increasingly began to feel more like her father. She felt a desperate need to win his approval and defer to his will. Her own mind and thoughts became secondary to her father’s wishes and to the burdening slab of guilt that still lived over her heart. Her parents were dead at the hands of Hugo Montague and she had failed to protect them once, but never again.

  The manor house was huge and they seemed to walk forever. At times she felt like a powerful warrior – one possessed of the skills and strength to finally save her parents. In this strange time tunnel, as her past existed alongside her future, everything seemed possible. She could even see her father bouncing his grandchild on his knee, with a face contorted in pleasure as Travis watched in delight, his arm wrapped around her as their son gurgled at his grandfather.

  She knew with a newfound certainty that she could save her mother and father from the past, a past that was only one possible outcome and that nothing was ever set in stone. She knew that this window had been opened by Vargas. He was her saving angel – the angel who would make everything possible and allow her to correct her past mistakes. Vargas was at both times her father and her husband, her saviour and her saint. She owed him all and she would never let him down.

  Eventually he stopped outside a towering oak door. Looking to ensure that the corridor was deserted, he pushed it open and led her into a room dimly lit by the dancing flames of an enormous open fire. She looked up into his open face and saw in it only love and hope.