“I don’t understand that confining brassiere. Your breasts are full and well-formed. Why hide them under all that cloth and elastic. If you were with me I should touch them constantly. The buttocks are very nice as well . . . and the waist and back. Backs are too often forgotten, don’t you think? I love the line of a woman’s back. I had a Modigliani once that could bring me to orgasm. It was a painting of a woman reclining on the grass. Its subject was the curve of her back. The side of her face was in view. Also, her right arm and left elbow. The portrait ended just below her hips and buttocks. It was absolutely lovely. Five years ago, or perhaps ten, you could have served as the model.”
His hands and fingertips continued to touch her as he described the painting. Diana’s expression was one of revulsion. Tom could see now that there was a post in the ground to which she had been secured. Her arms were behind her back and she was unable to move her legs more than an inch or two. It exposed her at the same time that it constricted her.
Alec’s hands were now around her bare waist. “He will come, you know. He won’t allow me to touch you like this. Perhaps he’s here already, contemplating his next step. Still, if he’s not . . . that’s all right. I can be quite patient. I won’t tire of touching you. It’s been so long since I had an opportunity such as this. There is always Helena, but I’ve grown so accustomed to her. I know her body like my own. It is like staring at oneself in a mirror. It has its purposes but they are no longer aesthetic.”
“Helena. Your granddaughter?” Diana said.
“Yes.”
“You touch and fondle your granddaughter?”
“Of course. How else am I to appreciate her beauty?”
“You don’t find it odd that you should do that to your own granddaughter?”
Tom pulled himself closer. He could see Diana’s eyes. She was only half engaged in the conversation. She was also playing for time. She knew that the backup would be coming in or at least attempting to and she knew that Tom would eventually find her. Alec’s willingness to talk was an opportunity.
“She is not actually my granddaughter. My wife, you see, died shortly after the war, before we had the opportunity to have a family. I knew that I would need someone upon whom I could rely absolutely, someone who could aid me in difficult times.”
“And you adopted her?”
“Oh no, I would never adopt. Too uncertain. There was a German girl in Athens, an art student. She was very bright and very fit, also very poor. I persuaded her to do me this service.”
“Have your child.”
“Yes.”
“Which you then took from her.”
“Took from her? She was my child.”
“And the art student’s.”
“She was paid. It was a business arrangement, one of the best I’ve ever made, by the way. Helena has pleased me in so many ways. She has helped me acquire so many beautiful things. She has also helped me destroy my enemies.”
“And she has no life of her own?”
“Why should she? What other life would she want?”
“What will she do after you die?”
“I don’t think of that. Why should I?”
“Perhaps she has.”
“Perhaps.”
“And who is this Karl?”
“An employee.”
“Nothing more?”
“What are you inferring?”
“He shares your home.”
“Only as a matter of convenience. His presence in this country is not something he is anxious to reveal to the authorities.”
“Why? Is he a criminal?”
“I would say he has been . . . misunderstood.”
“And Helena . . . the irony of the name would not be lost upon the Tenedos partners.”
“Irony? There is more of it than you could possibly imagine, Miss Bennett.”
“In what way?”
“Never mind,” he said, teasing her.
“I would appreciate it if you would pull my sweater down,” she said.
“Certainly,” Alec said, beginning with the bra and tanktop and then proceeding to slowly pull the sweater across her breasts, down to her waist.
“The vulva, you see, is of less interest to the artist. There is line but little form, unless one proceeds to the clinical. To the painter there must be both. The curves and swells, the extremities, the eyes, nose, ears, mouth and hair are everything. That is why I have not proceeded to touch you everywhere. You see, I am being quite honest with you. My appreciation of your beauty is that of the true connoisseur.”
“Tell me something,” Diana said.
“What is it?”
“Why did my brother agree to paint the horses for you?”
“Why do you think?”
“You threatened him.”
“Yes, he was quite stubborn, you know. I offered a cash arrangement but that was of no interest to him. I was forced to give him an ultimatum, something I personally abhor, but I had to have my horses and he was the only artist capable of helping me secure them. When our negotiations broke down I informed him (actually Helena informed him) that your death would follow upon his recalcitrance and that the death would be a lingering and unpleasant one. Another irony. He died to save you and now you see what little good it did him. He should have taken my offer of money.”
Diana was literally shaking with rage as the small chain that was wrapped around her wrists rattled against the post to which it had been secured. Alec was silent, enjoying her anger and helplessness. With the interruption of their conversation Tom knew that he would have to make his move. Otherwise, Alec might proceed to the next step in his plan and the opportunity would be lost.
Getting up on his knees he high-crawled toward the plexiglas enclosure. His leg was throbbing and his pantsleg was sodden with blood and the damp earth from the cavern floor. Moving into the open doorway Diana saw him. Her eyes opened in surprise but she tried not to move her head and signal his presence. Suddenly her eyes darted from left to right. He cocked his head to the side, as if to ask “What?” Her lips formed the word “No.”
A second later he was inside the chamber. He spun Alec’s wheelchair to the left and put his left arm around Alec’s throat, putting the old man between himself and the line of fire. “Speak and I’ll crush your windpipe,” he said, using his right hand to work at the connection between the chains on Diana’s hands and the ring on the post to which they had been attached.
“No, Tom!” Diana said.
He looked up at her just as the crop came down on his wrist. It was thin leather with a steel core, a combination whip and sap. The sound of steel against bone was audible. Tom tried to reach inside his jacket for his automatic as the crop came down a second time, now across the bridge of his nose. As he fell backward he felt the boot on his throat and the muzzle of the gun against his temple.
Chapter Fifty-Five
San Clemente
Tuesday, 10:52 a.m.
“Why not give him another stroke, Karl. I think the added reminder might prove useful.” Alec’s voice. Tom could just make it out. The crop came down a third time, this time across his cheek and mouth, tearing into his lip and cracking his teeth. The blood was now running freely from Tom’s nose and mouth. Karl—who had been waiting for him behind the slab—removed Tom’s automatic and ordered him to his feet. As he rose slowly Karl kicked him in his bloodied leg with the toe of his boot and Tom barely suppressed the gasp of pain. He turned, trying to see Diana, but his vision was blurred and Karl was pushing him forward.
Alec remained with Diana and was joined by Helena a few seconds later. Helena unlatched Diana’s chains from the post and pushed her away, in the direction of Tom and Karl. Alec followed behind, his wheelchair moving smoothly along the edges of the path. When he got outside the chamber he turned in his chair and locked th
e plexiglas door. Diana turned and looked at the horses directly for the first time. Her mouth fell open as her eyes darted across the paintings, counting the red and black dots in the bodies and along the edges of the horses.
Helena slapped her hard across the face and shoved her forward. Diana’s ear was ringing, her jaw numb. The edge of Helena’s nail had cut her cheek just below her right eye. She refocused again, staring as best she could at the tableau of the horses.
Helena slapped her a second time. “Would you like me to borrow Karl’s rod?” she asked. “It would turn that little neck and chest of yours to bloodied pulp.”
Diana looked ahead, walking quicker now, trying to keep an eye on Tom as Karl pushed and kicked him into the darkness ahead. “Alec,” she said, in a voice loud enough for Tom to hear.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your paintings are forgeries.”
“Of course they are,” he answered. “I forced your brother to make two sets.”
“You built all of this and then risked your life and the life of your daughter for forgeries?”
“Silence her, Helena,” he responded. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.”
Helena kicked her at the base of her spine, hurtling her forward. As Diana started to fall, Helena grabbed the end of the chain hanging from her hands and jerked her upright. “I can do that until you’re unable to walk and then we’ll drag you,” Helena said.
Diana stumbled forward in silence, the pain in her legs and back nearly unendurable. She tried to balance her pace, breathing deeply and exhaling quietly through her mouth.
They were heading away from the center of the cave, past the break in the ceiling where Tom had thought he had seen the reflections in human eyeglasses. As he passed he might have seen that they were actually shiny lumps of imitation calcite. Diana tried to stay close enough to be able to see him. He was walking uncertainly, swabbing at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to clear the blood so that he could see and breathe more clearly. She heard an occasional retching cough and saw Karl poke him in the back with the tip of the crop. Trying to keep her own balance and shake off the pain burning at the base of her spine, she tried to walk a little straighter. At the same time she wanted to look as weakened as possible, so she rubbed her ear and cheek with her right shoulder and breathed heavier as the path rose before her.
It appeared to her now that there might be another path, circling the rear of the cave. She could see a clearing off to her right, but she did her best not to turn her head. Tom had come in at the entrance below the kitchen and turned left, with Diana in the chamber to his right. Continuing to circle to the left he eventually found the path that led to the center of the cave and the tableau of the horses. Now they were walking to the left of the plexiglas chamber, back in the direction of the path that Tom had followed when he entered. Perhaps that path circled the cave, with the path to the horses and the path on which they were now walking each bisecting it.
What was in the darkened corner beyond the artificial light? Where were the two of them being taken? Moving through the shadows she could now barely see the back of Karl’s jacket. Then, suddenly, he appeared closer to her. He had slowed or stopped. She dipped her head down and increased her breathing as her eyes rose, scanning the area.
“Keep moving,” Helena said, striking her in the back with the butt of her pistol. The pain shot up and down her spine as if she had been struck with electrified barbwire. She distracted herself with thoughts of high school physics—the students all holding hands, conducting electricity around the room in an elongated circle. It rippled across their hands and wrists like a tremor under the southern California desert.
Karl was clearly visible now, no more than thirty feet ahead of them. Tom was visible as well; he seemed to be leaning against the side of the cave. As she got closer she saw Karl pull him back and small shafts of light appear in the cave wall.
The wall was covered with artificial calcite which masked the seams and edges of a sliding door. The chamber beyond was not yet visible, though she could see a bright glow and shadowy reflections. Karl and Tom went inside, Tom bracing himself against the edge of the open door. When Diana paused, Helena hit her again with the barrel of her pistol. She winced and walked more quickly, wondering what awaited them there.
As she got closer to the open passageway to the inner chamber things began to come into focus. Tom was on the floor now, his body in a vaguely fetal position, Karl standing above him with his crop in his left hand, his pistol in his right. Tom’s automatic was stuffed into Karl’s pants, the handle hanging over the top of his belt.
The reflections were brighter now. The room appeared to contain more plexiglas chambers. Diana heard some scuffling behind her. Alec had bumped into Helena with the side of his wheelchair. Helena apologized for being in his path and then struck Diana in the back, telling her to move forward, out of the way. “Get in there, you stupid bitch,” she said. Diana remained silent.
Diana moved forward, into the passageway. The tunnel was short, no more than a few yards in length. Diana approached its end, turned slowly, and beheld a vision of hell.
Chapter Fifty-Six
San Clemente
Tuesday, 11:05 a.m.
Alec had lifted himself out of his wheelchair and into a leather chair at the center of the room. “The true Chevaux Ponctués,” he said, pointing to a chamber to his left. “The plastic capsule protects them against moisture and cold, but I can touch them whenever I choose. I’ll return them to their rightful place in the center of the cave after this unpleasantness is over. I touch all of my possessions. Touch is all that remains, but I love the textures—stone, paper, steel, bronze, wood. Flesh.
“The dotted horses are my special prize. In the chamber to their left, the single surviving copy of the manuscript of the Beowulf. We kept the capsule the same size for purposes of symmetry. To its left the sword of Angus or, as the vulgar would say, the sword of Lancelot. You were not aware of the contents of the fourth chamber. You could not have been. Regrettably its condition has deteriorated seriously, but it is quite authentic.”
Diana was staring at the walls and ceiling and the shapes projecting from them, her mouth frozen open in horror, but Helena struck her ear and cheek with the butt of her pistol, ordering her to listen to Alec’s words. Stunned and shaking with pain she turned, tried to focus on the fourth plexiglass chamber, and began to make out the outlines of the head of a horse, ending in the front at the forearm and projecting at the top as far as the withers. It was constructed of planks of wood that were now warped and worm-eaten.
“Of course it was never of the size depicted in films. The walls of Troy were not that high. It is a great source of pain to me that so little remains, but what can one do when authenticity is demanded. Would you like to know how I secured it?”
Diana remained silent as Alec continued.
“It was in the possession of the Vatican. It had been there since the fourteenth century, as a matter of fact. Therein lies a story, of course. It is a pity we have so little time. Suffice to say that the Vatican was anxious to keep the horse’s existence a secret. The story of the siege of Troy had long been known, of course, but somehow the actual existence of the horse added a reality that the Vatican preferred not to provide.
“All pre-Christian, of course, so where was the harm? I believe it all had to do with the power of pagan myth and story. That was the word that the cardinal used: pagan. I have no idea what it is they feared. The best guess is that Homer’s Trojan war really had nothing to do with Helen or Paris. Oh, there may have been a stolen slave or concubine, some event which set things off, but the war was really over trade. Access to the Black Sea. They fought for control of the Dardanelles, not for some lost girl.
“One would think that the Vatican might have played that up. The true reality of paganism, you see. Material wealth, lust, t
heft, piracy, whatever. Godlessness. Well, who can understand them? I was the beneficiary in the end. I have the horse and they have a second-rate El Greco and a third-rate Titian, if anything of Titian’s can be said to be third-rate. They also have a chest full of my gold, but less of it than they had originally wished.”
Karl and Helena were fixed by the sound of his voice, drawn to it like birds to an overflowing winter feeder. Diana tried to look at Tom from the corner of her eye, but she could see nothing but a motionless shape.
“And in between your plastic chambers are the remains of the Tenedos partners,” Diana said, suppressing her emotions as she stared at the heads and limbs projecting from the cavern walls and ceiling, fragments of human gargoyles, gaunt, distorted with silent pain.
“Yes, these too are now my possessions. That is Bachmann there, the first on your right. The pigheaded one with the pointed ears. To his right, next to the Beowulf, is Driessen, then Berthold, and finally Erhard. I tried to preserve some of their most memorable features: Berthold’s heavy peasant feet, Driessen’s hands, the hands of a woman, lovely in their way, but anxious to take all that you have, Erhard’s thick arms and broad, stupid forehead.
“Erhard called me Willy. Time and again I asked him not to, but he persisted. He treated me like an errand boy; they all did, but he especially. ‘Willy, do this . . . Willy, do that; whatever else you’re doing can wait.’ His needs always came first; mine were inconsequential. He introduced me to clients as Willy, never as Wilhelm. They came to believe that I had no last name, like some foolish lab assistant in a bad film. Willy. As if I were some servant. He especially enjoyed humiliating me before women. Willy. Willy. He stopped saying it when Helena removed his tongue. She used the small clippers, taking a piece at a time, ever so slowly. When it was finished and the screaming had stopped he tried to curse me, but all he could do was choke on his own blood and make the ah and oh sounds of an idiot boy. It was a moment I shall always cherish.
INTO THE DARK : A TOM DEATON NOVEL Page 28