Eichen/Alec’s bedroom was the largest and when Tom entered he found himself in darkness. The room was lit by a large ceiling fixture with a rheostat switch, but when Tom pushed the button the light barely glowed. He turned it up and was struck by what he found.
The furnishings were simple enough: a cherry bed with extra pillows and a large eiderdown comforter; a plain walnut work table with a telephone and a keyboard with braille buttons and keys. The bathroom was simplicity itself: tub, toilet, and sink, with support bars everywhere, and simple white cotton towels and wash cloths.
It was the open wall across from the bed that seized Tom’s interest. There were two oil paintings hung in parallel, each by Van Gogh, each never seen before. The first was a spray of fuji mums, the second a sunset over a field of wheat. The oils were so thick you could trace the paintings’ lines and swirls with your fingertips, doubtless their possessor’s desire.
A few feet from the paintings was a large leather chair surrounded by bronze statuary, some by Degas, some by Giacometti, some by Brancusi. The pieces were positioned on a half-moon shaped table which partially encircled the front of the chair, so that Alec could sit among them and touch them endlessly. Each was a human figure, the great majority female.
The tick of the clock in the foyer seemed louder when Tom returned. He checked the elevator hallway. The light was cool, the elevator inoperable. The steel door—like those above—was locked tight and could not be opened unless the car was at that floor. Tom probed it with the point of his pocket knife and quickly realized that the door could not be jimmied without causing sounds that would immediately disclose his position.
He returned to the foyer. There were no more steps. They were all in the cave below and there was no way he could reach them. The Chief and Bill Brighton were probably down if not dead. They had taken Diana or were about to and they would come for him next. His leg was throbbing with pain and while the napkin had helped, he was leaving smears of blood from his pantsleg and shoe. If they were able to remove Dietrich, Brighton, and Diana as well as Alec, they were in good enough shape to take care of him.
The window opposite the foyer was tightly sealed, probably bullet-proof, and at least fifteen feet above the cliff below. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t stay in place and wait. He couldn’t attack. For the moment all he could do was listen to the tick of the clock, which seemed to grow louder and louder.
Chapter Fifty-Two
San Clemente
Tuesday, 10:12 a.m.
Tom looked at the clock and compared the time with that on his watch. In a few minutes the backups would come in. If Karl and Lorelei were still here with their captives and there was any problem subduing the backups they would kill all three of them immediately.
He rested his leg for ten seconds, counting off the last three, and then hobbled back to the elevator, trying to keep as much weight off of it as he could. The elevator light was cool. He got down on the floor and felt along the bottom edge of the elevator door. There was a steady, cool breeze all along the frame. The air from the cave. High School Earth Science. What was the constant temperature—54 degrees?
There had to be another way down. What happened when the elevator was inoperable? A simple power outage or tripped circuit breaker would trap the occupants of the car. A repairman would have to be able to get at the elevator motor and cabling system. That would have to be at the bottom, deep in the cave, since the elevator’s works were inaudible throughout the house. They couldn’t be sealed in some soundproofed wall; how could they then be repaired? But where was the alternate way down? And if he found it, wouldn’t that be the logical spot for them to be waiting for him?
He returned to Alec’s bedroom. An ego like his would seek control of everything. Tom checked the walls, looking for moving panels; then he slid along the floor, probing the toe moulding with his pocket knife, feeling for cool air. The room was warm; it would have been easy to detect any break in the air temperature, but he found nothing. He checked the linen closet in Alec’s bathroom, feeling along the tiles. Nothing.
But Alec was in a wheelchair. Unless the alternate route was another elevator or a very long inclined plane it wouldn’t do him any good. Forget the hidden panels and all that Nancy Drew stuff. Kick out the cobwebs and the confusion and think rationally. What area of the house had he not checked?
He pulled himself up the stairs by the oak bannister, again braced himself on the dining room chairs, and made his way back to the kitchen. He was back on the level from which Diana had presumably disappeared. He didn’t have to look far. To the right of the island, behind the arch that had outlined the entrance to the kitchen, was a door. It looked like a simple broom closet. A plausible place to hide? Perhaps Diana was just beyond. He put the palm of his hand against the frame. The cool air outlined the door, unimpeded by its thin and rippled weather stripping.
He whispered Diana’s name but there was no answer. She wouldn’t have waited; she would have pursued. Now she needed him. She was doubtless expecting him, but so were they. Lorelei with her .32, Karl with his twin Glocks. He stood to the side, raised his automatic, and turned the knob.
The door was unlocked and ajar. It opened easily. The light from the kitchen illuminated the first few yards of the passageway but the rest remained in darkness. Its floor was stone for the first few steps, with bristle mats to clean the shoes of those using it. The floor beyond was earth. Tom ran his palm over the wall just beyond the door. It was uneven, the material manmade, some compound used to simulate the walls of an underground cavern. There was also a crude wooden railing on either side. The angle of incline was steep. The support would be necessary for most.
Tom reached inside his jacket pocket and took out a penlight. He pressed down the button and partially illuminated the rest of the passageway. It was at least thirty yards long, with a large wooden door at the end. He shined the light against the ceiling and along the edges of the floor, behind the railing and around the kitchen doorframe. No wires. No apparent sensors. There was a single bulb in a fixture halfway down the passageway and a switch just to the right of the kitchen door. Before reaching for it he asked himself, what else does it turn on besides that light?
Checking to make sure that the kitchen door remained unlocked, Tom depressed the button on his penlight and entered the passage to Alec’s cave. The earth was firm beneath his feet and the air was damp. As he got closer to the door at the end of the passage he turned off the penlight, blinking it periodically to assure himself of his position and his distance from the door. The whole place was nothing but doors, with uncertainty always waiting on the other side.
This one somehow seemed easier. It was heavier, but it was old and out of square, with the remnants of a once-functioning keyhole and narrow separations at the corners of three of the panels. A grand wormy relic, it was probably also stolen from a cave in France. There was even, faint light on the other side, more a glow than a beam, and silence. He could stroll right through, play Captain America, and wait for the interviewers from Channel 7 to listen to his war stories.
Too easy. Too damned easy. He checked the edges of the door for wires. Then he stood in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Looking through the ancient keyhole then, trying to see something aimed at the door: an abrupt greeting. Hello. Goodbye.
Chapter Fifty-Three
San Clemente
Tuesday, 10:34 a.m.
The lower left corner of the door was attached to a steel channel in the floor by a single iron bar. As Tom leaned against it the bar moved freely and noiselessly in the channel, the only sound being the slight rush of air as the door opened into the cave.
He pressed the door just far enough for him to slip through. Moving to the side he let the door slip back into place on its track. He could now see the source of the glow—lighting along a path leading to the left whose reflection had struck the opposite cavern wall. His
eyes slowly adjusted as he realized what Alec had recreated: the Pech-Merle cave, in every detail.
The tones were all yellow and brown and peach, with great pillars of streaked stone connecting the ceiling to the floor below, the apparent products of patient millenia. The sparse lights created shadow effects that were all the more haunting because of the number and sheer size of the stalagmites and stalactites. In the back of his mind Tom could nearly hear the sounds of a preternatural organ announcing the onset of some great rite or ceremony. Despite the obvious fact of its artificiality the immediate effect was powerful and overwhelmingly real, probably because the original was itself so haunting and otherworldly.
The path to the left led to the Frise Noire, the Chapel of the Mammoths. From there the horses would be visible below. Tom turned to the right. At Pech-Merle there had been a chamber where the bones of bears had been found, a chamber with an ancient tree whose roots ran all the way to the cave from the sunlit world above. Backing against the wall Tom hit the penlight briefly. The size of the chamber was similar but there was no tree root and there were no bear bones. Alec had no interest in nature; he was interested only in art.
Moving to the left, past the door to the cave, Tom felt an uneven iron bannister. It was designed both for support for those walking along the moist earthen floor and as a barrier, to keep the tourists on the intended track. Alec had reproduced it exactly, choosing to endure a difficult wheelchair path in the interest of authenticity.
Approaching the Frise Noire Tom realized that there were no lights to illuminate the position where the drawings of the mammoths would have been found. Why? Because Alec would not have been able to experience them, painted above him, out of reach. Even if he had attempted to touch them he would feel relatively little. The cool, damp air of the cave, the moist earthen floor, the bumps and ruts, the texture of a large oak door—they were his reality.
And so were the horses. While he couldn’t feel the drawings themselves he could feel the outline of their magnificent stone canvas and he could trace the prominent nose, forehead, forelock, poll, and mane of the great horse on the right, its lines deftly following the curve of the stone slab.
He moved a few feet farther and turned to the right. There were the horses, the centerpiece of the limestone cathedral. The lighting was soft and direct, the horses glowing, seizing and commanding attention. As he looked closer he could see the outline of a large plexiglas chamber, protecting the stone from interlopers. Even in his own home Alec had to possess the artefact more completely. To the side of the horses were the reflections of two shadowy figures. He tried to make them out, but the light was too faint and their outlines too vague.
Then, suddenly, a sound. A voice. Alec’s. Coming from the left, out of the darkness. At Pech-Merle the path would have curved off to the right, circling behind the horses and then bringing viewers back to the horses themselves, the climax of their journey, but Alec had created an addition.
What? A private apartment to bring him closer to his precious horses, away from human contact? Tom moved closer and could see a trace of distant light emerging from what looked like a tunnel. Inside there was reflecting light and the corner of some frame that looked like plexiglas. What was this, a series of chambers or galleries? For what? The Beowulf manuscript of course, and the sword of Angus. The entire collection must be in the cave. That was why the house was empty except for the Van Goghs and the statuary over which Alec could run his fingertips, taking his delight. This was the treasure room, the final chamber.
Alec’s voice became more pronounced, but as Tom shifted position, trying to fix its origin, he realized that he had been hearing echoes. The plexiglas chamber enclosing the horses had deflected Alec’s voice, making it appear to be coming from the left. Tom moved closer. He could see now that Alec was inside, next to the horses. He was propped against the side of his chair, speaking to Diana, who was standing before him in the semidarkness, her hands behind her, the two of them protected by the front panel of the plexiglas chamber enclosing the horses. His hands were on her face, tracing its shape and outline.
Tom started to move more quickly. Where were Karl and Lorelei? Diana was the bait to lure him closer; that much was clear. They knew he would be there sooner or later. Why waste time tracking him through the house and risk being shot? Far easier to put the old man in plain view, have him run his hands over the helpless woman as she waits for the knight errant to show himself, proclaiming his love and dedication as he plunges into the center of the crosshairs.
Where were they in the darkness? Behind the wall curving to the left? Beyond the parallel stalactites a few yards to the right of the horses? Somehow he would have to take them out first. Only then could he free her and see the sweet tableau of Diana released from her bonds as her brother’s murderer cried out pathetically for help, the realization becoming increasingly clear that he was finally alone and unprotected. And, of course, they would be counting on all of this, counting on his trying to find them before freeing Diana. They would be counting on his desire for justice and revenge. They would have anticipated each of these steps, each of these emotions, planned for them, prepared for them. They knew every inch of the cave, its paths and dark corners. They had the weaponry. And, perhaps most crucial of all, they controlled the lighting within the cave. Perhaps they were now sitting next to a bank of switches, ready to throw floodlights on him or to plunge them all into total darkness.
Standing with his back to the wall, the cool, moist curve of the stone against his neck, he looked beyond the plexiglas chamber where Alec held Diana. In the shadows he thought he saw a glint of light, a reflection. He concentrated, focusing his eyes. Then he saw a second and a third. Reflections from eyeglasses? There were at least three or four figures standing in the darkness. Or were there? Neither Karl nor Lorelei had worn glasses. There could be many more of them than he had thought. Their glasses were more obvious now as they seemed to be leaning forward, watching the old man, his hands moving over Diana’s neck and shoulders, finding her throat and breasts.
Chapter Fifty-Four
San Clemente
Tuesday, 10:41 a.m.
The plexiglas screen protecting the horses was approximately twelve feet wide and eight deep, with ample room for Alec to maneuver his wheelchair. It was at least ten feet in height, too high to scale. Tom couldn’t come in from the right, putting Alec in the likely line of fire. He would have to come in from the left, where the door to the plexiglas chamber permitted him access, and that was directly in the line of fire, if not from Karl and Lorelei, then from the voyeurs with the eyeglasses hiding in the shadows.
Keeping his back to the wall and wiping the cool moisture from his forehead he inched around to the left, trying to keep the weight off of his bad leg whenever possible. The ground was drier now as the path rose above the floor of the cave. He watched each step, trying desperately to insure his silence. In the distance he could see Alec. He was seated, leaning forward in his wheelchair now, as if he wished to rise up. Even though Tom was at least thirty yards from Diana and the light was faint he could see the expression of disgust on her face as she bent her body sidewards in an attempt to elude Alec’s touch.
After ten or twelve seconds of lateral movement Tom could see the light reflecting on the far left wall of the cave. There was no sign of Karl or Lorelei. Ready to risk that the area behind him was clear, he only needed to concern himself with the voyeurs to his front-left. They were at 10:00, Alec at 2:00. They had an unimpeded line of fire on the door to the plexiglas chamber. If Tom could just crawl forward along the path that right-angled out from the wall and get close enough to the plexiglas and the horses he might get into the chamber, free Diana, and use Alec for cover. At any rate, Alec would have ordered his people not to fire indiscriminately, lest their rounds strike himself or his possession.
Alternatively, he might get close enough to the chamber to protect himself inside after
laying down some unexpected fire in the general direction of the glistening eyeglasses. From there he could either shoot his way out behind Alec or negotiate, using Alec’s life as his bargaining chip.
Either way he had time to decide and to react to circumstances. The upside now was that while Diana was in an unpleasant position it was not a position of immediate physical danger. She had to endure the old man’s hands but that was far less serious than the weapons’ fire of his subordinates.
As Tom lowered himself to the ground and began a slow, low crawl, the cool, moist earth felt good against his face. He had enough strength in his arms to pull himself forward without putting undue stress on his leg while the stalagmites provided him both cover and concealment.
Within minutes he was in earshot of Alec’s voice. Its shrill ugliness urged him forward. Tom could see that he had slid Diana’s sweater and tank top above her bra.
“Are you cold, Miss Bennett? It makes the nipples rise, of course. An added benefit. The Hollywood starlets used to apply ice to their nipples to make them erect under their satin gowns. Did you know that? Nipples fascinate me—the manner in which they can both feed children and attract men. So functional and yet so lovely. So common, really. They’re not like faces. They differ from woman to woman, but not greatly. Yet they still interest us and stir our imaginations.”
Diana didn’t respond.
“I myself have grown used to the temperature of the cave. It is my home now. I find the constancy of the temperature very reassuring.” He paused, returning his fingers to her breasts. “You’re quite lovely, you know. I suppose Detective Deaton would have told you that by now. I was surprised by your nose and ears—long, but not pronounced. Different from your brother’s. Of course, I could feel his only in death.
“The fingertips are quite amazing, don’t you think? I read four languages in braille. By touching your face for no more than a few seconds I can recall it forever. I could draw it and it would be accurate to the last detail, except for the colors. You could wear your hair longer, you know. You’re young enough and it would complement the rest of your figure.
INTO THE DARK : A TOM DEATON NOVEL Page 27