“They tried to ruin me, to destroy my collection, to destroy me. I lost my sight protecting my beautiful things. Bachmann! We took out his eyes in reprisal, one first, then, days later, the second. For me there are now only shapes and textures. It is the textures which I prize most. So pure. So basic. We cut off Bachmann’s fingers, to deny him that pleasure. After the fire I withdrew, waiting, healing, planning. Then we hunted them down one by one. Karl was not with us yet. What you see is the result of Helena’s work and my plans. It would have been impossible without her. Her sense of revenge is exquisite and she takes pleasure in the work.”
Her eyes were fixed on his lips, her ears on the sounds of his voice; she was worshipful, entranced.
“For a moment I thought about adding you and Deaton to my human gallery. It might have been quite interesting—Deaton frozen forever in time, staring at you in frustrated desire, no more than an inch away, while your eyes and lips and breasts and nipples were mine, mine to touch at any time. A pity we need your bodies elsewhere. I shall miss the scent and feel of yours.”
“I wouldn’t count on escaping. I wouldn’t count on anything if I were you,” Diana said.
Alec laughed. “Look at the remains of Tenedos. They attempted to hide from us and after we seized and killed them the police attempted to discover the identities of their abductors. Needless to say, all of their attempts failed. The Tenedos partners are mine. Look at them. Look at them! The triumph is mine. Their bodies are mine, fixed in time, displayed on my walls like impaled bugs beneath collector’s glass. Kepler would have joined them, but I needed him for other purposes. Kepler and his orders, his endless little personal requests, the obnoxious sound of his voice, his cheap suits and scuffed shoes . . .
“I touch them often . . . to remember them . . . and to savor my victories over them. Thoughts of former times, sweeter now by far. The touch and the memories of you might have been sweeter still, but there will be memories nonetheless. And memories you should now realize, are all that you will be able to provide.”
“You collaborated with the Russians, betraying the Tenedos partners’ clients,” Diana said. “You told the Russians where the best collections were hidden and in return they gave you the opportunity to escape. They also gave you enough of the artworks themselves to enable you to become a rich man.”
“Is that the way you see it?” Alec asked. “How shortsighted. How small-minded. To me the art is everything. Its temporary ownership is immaterial. There is nothing else of value. Art is life. Without it there is nothing. The art had to be protected from the shelling, from the fires, and from the looters. It went to Russia and now you see the result. The art is preserved and the world may see it again. I am happy to have played some role in accomplishing that. That I should be rewarded in some small way seems only just.”
“The Tenedos partners saw it differently,” Diana said.
“Yes, they were embarrassed. They felt that confidences had been betrayed. They were fools. They put their personal reputations above the preservation of the art.”
“And now you will lose everything anyway,” Diana said.
“I beg your pardon . . .”
“Our police backup will be here any second. Unless you have an army protecting you the police will keep adding men until they succeed.”
“Of course they will,” Alec said. Diana could see the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.
Helena walked toward a corner of the room. Diana could hear the click of a switch and saw the glow of a television monitor. “They are talking over bullhorns now,” she said.
“Excellent,” Alec said. “We have at least another thirty minutes. Take these two with the others and position them.”
“Killing us will only add to your list of charges,” Diana said. “All of you will die for this.”
“I don’t think so,” Alec said. “Planning is everything. I would not be sitting here among the treasures of the world and the dead bodies of my enemies if I were not able to anticipate my enemies’ moves and adjust to them. You see, Miss Bennett, our guards are simple criminals, hired for this occasion. They are not aware of it yet, but the trunks of their vehicles contain artworks. Nothing that I couldn’t spare, of course. A minor Goya, some Picasso prints, a Rouault Miserere . . .
“If any of them survive they will protest that they were working for me, but the evidence will suggest otherwise. They were burglars, you see, caught in the act, contriving a preposterous story to save themselves. My own preference would be for total success on the side of the brave police. Far tidier that way. You see, Miss Bennett, Helena and I have actually been absent all the while; we’ve been thousands of miles from this place. Charges are being made on my credit card at the Royal Opera even as we speak. Today my beautiful Helena shopped at Harrods, Selfridge’s, and the Burberry shop in the Haymarket. Phone calls have been made, faxes have been sent, orders have been placed. You see, Miss Bennett, we are not here.
“But you, Miss Bennett, you and Detective Deaton and Lieutenant Brighton and Chief Dietrich are here. You surprised the burglars and they did precisely what they would be expected to do. They killed you. That is what the positioning of your bodies will show. You see, you will be little more than detritus—rubbish in their wake. They killed you and then left the building to return the fire of the police. We’ve been waiting for the escalation of the violence, you see. We’ve planned for it, counted on it. It’s all quite simple really.”
Diana heard a door slide open behind her. The terminus of the elevator. The standard elevator door opened on the other side of the cavern wall, in the common area, but this provided Alec and his assistants access to the elevator car from inside the private chamber. The sliding door would later be returned to its original position and the chamber sealed. When the police found the cave they would find a forged painting of the horses rather than the original, a legal forgery, prepared for the quaint amusement of a harmless, rich old man. With the right lighting and the right compound to seal the artificial calcite they would never discover the cave within a cave with its four gallery chambers. From inside the car of the elevator they would see a blank wall and have no idea that there was a space beyond it.
“They won’t all fit,” Helena said.
Diana turned and saw the bodies of Chris Dietrich and Bill Brighton slumped against the side of the elevator car. Each was bloodied. She couldn’t see if either of them was still breathing. She looked at Tom. He still hadn’t moved.
“Take those two up and come down for the other two,” Alec said. “Karl will stay here with me.”
Helena opened the gate at the back of the car and got on, a pistol in each hand, aimed at the heads of the unconscious men below her. The door closed and Diana could hear the motor turn the cable that pulled the elevator car to the floors above.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
San Clemente
Tuesday, 11:18 a.m.
Karl was standing above Tom, his weapon at his side. Alec was running on about the Tenedos partners, how they had abused him earlier and underestimated him later. Diana stood patiently, her wrists behind her, still secured by the steel chain. Back in the cave she had tried to bend the links by pressing them against the steel post to which she was attached, but without success. With every sentence of Alec’s she had twisted the links in her fingers, applying all of the pressure she could manage with her thumbs and index fingers, but they refused to bend. If she could sit down now she thought she could pull her wrists under her feet and bring her hands in front of her, but to what purpose when Karl was standing ten feet away, armed with a lethal weapon?
Karl continued to listen to Alec’s words as he talked about the Russians, how misunderstood they were, how helpful they had been, how their love of art had done so much to enrich the world. She feigned interest in what he was saying as she tried to catch a glimpse of Tom. Her eyes darted to the right as if she were blinkin
g and refocusing. She couldn’t turn and stare directly. As Alec droned on about the czar and his Fabergé eggs, then about the Hermitage and its treasures, she thought she might have seen something. She stared at Alec for a moment and then blinked again, trying to get a look at the side of Tom’s face.
His right eye was open. He appeared conscious. For an instant she thought he nodded to her, confirming her hopes. A few seconds later she looked again. His eye was opened wider, his nod more insistent, as if he were saying, “Do it!”
But what could she do? She couldn’t attack, not with her hands behind her and Karl armed. She could kick out at Alec, but what would that accomplish? She couldn’t kick Karl; he was too far away and he had the advantage of ample reaction time. Her only hope was to somehow divert Karl’s attention and give Tom a few inches and seconds in which to make some move.
Alec was talking about the impressionist works at the Hermitage, comparing them with the ‘paltry’ holdings of the Norton Simon. “And that Burghers of Calais tripe at the entrance,” he said. “Think about it, really . . .”
“Think about what?” Diana blurted out. “About your arrogance and pretense? About your insecurity and your ignorance? How dare you even mention Rodin’s name?”
Karl tensed up, his spine stiffening. Alec laughed.
“Laugh, you foolish little man,” she said. “You’re nothing more than a common thief.”
“That will be enough,” Alec said.
“Enough of what?” Diana responded. “Enough of the truth? I think you could use more of that. You’ll never hear it from this pair you’ve hired to fawn over you. No. I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a disgusting little troll, groping at dead bodies and sitting pathetically in a room full of stolen goods.”
“Silence!” Alec said.
“You be silent,” she said. “I’m sick of your maundering on about things you don’t begin to understand and I’m sick of your petty orders. I won’t obey you like this hired help and that daughter out of a bad Nazi propaganda film.”
He was rocking back and forth in anger. “Karl!” he said. Karl stepped forward, anxious to be released, anxious to be permitted to strike her, to hurt her in some terrible way.
As he took his third step Tom bolted to a sitting position. At the same time he grabbed Karl by the ankles, jerking them back and up. Then, as Karl fell forward in a helpless rage, he tried to break his fall, extending his hands desperately, bracing himself, even if it meant crushing the fingers of his right hand beneath his pistol. Tom leaned forward in a second burst of energy. Somehow he found the strength to hurl himself across Karl’s back, his hands at the back of Karl’s head and neck, driving his face into the hard floor with even greater force.
The thud of the pistol grip and the piercing cry which came from Karl’s trembling lips further masked the already-muffled snap of his nose and cheekbones as they split and shattered like twigs in a soft paste of flesh and blood. Using the back of Karl’s head for leverage as he rose, Tom lifted his head by his hair and drove his face against the floor a second time and then a third.
Alec knew what had happened. He seemed to be collapsing into his chair, seeking sanctuary in its folds and creases, terrified of what might happen next. Tom stood behind him in silence, catching his breath and absorbing the pain pulsing from the side of his leg to the top of his head. Diana could see the toll that his actions had taken. After a moment he stepped to the front of Alec’s chair and thrust his hand into Alec’s throat. “Don’t speak and don’t move,” he said. “If you do either one I’ll hold you in the air by your throat until you bleed from every orifice in your body. That is a promise you know I’ll keep. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Alec nodded, his chin jerking spasmodically, and Tom released his grip. He then moved toward the chamber containing the sword. He removed it from its velvet-covered stand and returned to Diana, who was watching Alec. “Here,” he said, “put your wrists there.” She spread her hands over the top of a steel table adjoining Alec’s chair. It was sculpted of brass, tin and steel—a set of geometrical shapes that looked like a frozen mobile.
Tom stood back, took the handle of the sword in both hands, lifted it into the air and brought it down in a single violent stroke, shattering the links of the chain and bending the table in the process. Then he handed Diana the sword and positioned her to the side of Alec. “If he moves or speaks, drive the point of the blade into the center of his throat.”
Then he retrieved his automatic and Karl’s pistol, first peeling back Karl’s bloodied fingers from its grip, and hobbled toward the passageway leading to the main cave. “I’m going after her,” he said. “I may be able to be of some good to Bill and the Chief. If she gets past me . . .”
“Don’t worry,” Diana said. “I’m not going down alone.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
San Clemente
Tuesday, 11:26 a.m.
At the rear of the cave—behind the room where Diana was holding Alec—was the door to the elevator. The call light to the left of the handle was not lit. Tom walked further into the darkness, using his penlight to find the works for the elevator. To the left of the motor and cable assembly was a box with circuit boards which drove the elevator’s electronics. Below that was the circuit-breaker box. Attached to the right of the box was a handle which was connected to the motor by a taut chain. When there was a problem with any part of the system the device was programmed so that the chain would jerk automatically, pulling down the handle, breaking the circuit and stopping the car. Tom thought about the fact that the assembly seemed so complex and yet so crude. Pulling down the handle he immobilized the elevator.
Opening the circuit-breaker box he compulsively flipped the switches. Then he proceeded toward the door. Helena would not be able to slip by him on the elevator and get to Diana. She would have to get past him on the stairs.
The kitchen and dining level was empty. Tom had worked his way through that area as quickly and quietly as his leg would permit, and there were no bodies, no bloodstains, no smell of cordite. There was also no sign of Helena.
He went to the stairs leading down to the bedroom level. If Helena was below him she would have to come back to the middle level in order to return to the cave. The most plausible place to put the bodies was on the upper level, but Tom didn’t want to go there immediately and be forced to risk her slipping behind him. Instead he decided to return to the kitchen. He quickly checked the drawers, found some large metal spoons and measuring cups, and a ball of twine.
Cutting a piece of the twine and attaching the ends to the metal utensils, he returned to the door to the cave. Gently hanging the objects on the doorknob on the cave side of the door, he closed the door quietly and then pulled the knob slowly but firmly, forcing the warped door against the jamb. If Helena Alec did slip past him he would hear her the moment she attempted to open the door.
Pausing for a moment at the base of the steps, he tested his leg, braced himself on the railing with his left hand, raised his automatic, and began his climb to the top level. Looking behind him from time to time he noticed the trail of blood droplets he was leaving in his wake.
The stairway wound more steeply to the right as he got closer to the top. He was moving a step at a time, waiting and listening. Staying as close to the floor as possible, he leaned forward to see as much of the entry level as he could. To the right he could see a pair of legs. The body was slumped against the wall, the shoes large. Bill Brighton. On the left was the top of a man’s head. The hair short and gray. Chris Dietrich.
There was no sign of Helena. Beyond the hall leading to the entry foyer he could hear the sound of gunshots and bullhorns. Was she just beyond, listening and watching? Was she hiding on the elevator? If the car was on this level the door would have opened even if the car was immobilized. She had several choices. If she had chosen to hide inside the elevator car or, perhaps
, above it, the steel door would afford her some protection, forcing Tom to commit and giving her some slight advantage.
Toward the center of the room was the leather couch. She could be laying behind it, her body hidden from view. If he went in too quickly she would hear or see him and he could be shot. If he waited too long he might lose the chance to keep Bill and the Chief from bleeding to death, assuming they were still alive.
He put that thought out of his mind, leaned forward, still saw no sign of her, and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled toward the short set of steps up to the foyer, climbed them as silently as possible, saw that she was not there, and returned to the first level. Dietrich was on his left and he walked toward him first, keeping his weapon aimed in the general direction of the elevator door.
As he approached him he paused for a second to check the stairs. He leaned to the right and as he did the sound of the shots and the realization that one round was ripping through his shoulder came simultaneously.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
San Clemente
Tuesday, 11:41 a.m.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her words edged with surprise and contempt.
Tom lay still, his eyes partly closed. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You can stay here with your friends. One more body will add to the effect.”
His vision was blurred but when she turned he could see that she had changed her clothes. The white lab coat was gone. She was wearing a dark suit and had a purse hanging from her left shoulder. It swung back and forth in a short arc, like the hypnotic device of a Saturday-serial villain. He realized what had happened. She had positioned the bodies, then returned to her room on the lower level to change. When she had called the elevator there was no response. Figuring that the gate or door were not closed tight she returned to the top level, hearing Tom and then shooting him.
INTO THE DARK : A TOM DEATON NOVEL Page 29