Kisses From Satan

by George B Mair

  Zero pointed through the window to the darkness beyond. ‘With your permission we shall floodlight an area just beyond the lawns. Our switches are in a box outside the back door and again with your permission I shall go first.’

  Grant stood up and his Magnum was rock steady. ‘Men of honour or not I’ll give you half the magazine if you put a foot wrong.’

  Zero stared at him with insolent self-confidence. ‘You lack the suave manner which comes from complete self-control, Doctor. If Hancke ever recovers and returns to his Clinique I would advise you to put yourself in his most expert hands.’ He strolled to the back door and fumbled with the wall. An oblong of lights flashed upwards in the distance and Grant could hear the throb of a machine circling overhead. ‘Your lady friend,’ said Zero, and stared into the darkness as a lurching shape dropped down from above the trees to the brilliance of the landing strip.

  They watched it rock for a last second and then the engine was switched off. Zero glanced at his watch. ‘Five minutes before midnight. You will give me until 1 a.m.?’

  ‘Provided that Miss Koren is safe.’ Grant felt a chill of fear gnawing at his bowels and stood behind Zero as three figures walked across the lawns. Maya was moving with the easy swing which hall-marked her from almost every other woman. Two men were close behind her and he guessed that one of them was carrying a gun. ‘Tell him to drop it,’ he whispered, and nuzzled his own automatic into Zero’s ribs.

  Zero sounded amused. ‘No need to worry, Doctor.’ And then he raised his voice. ‘Drop your gun, Manoel, and put your hands well above your heads. All of you.’ Grant saw Maya hesitate and then all three continued forwards with their arms raised. He marked Manoel’s gun fall on the grass and relaxed with relief as he saw that Maya seemed unharmed.

  He knew that she still hadn’t seen him and he continued to stand in the shadows until all three were caught by the glare of lights from the house. The two men were eyeing Zero suspiciously. Manoel was bearded and the other clean shaven, with a jerky gait which reminded Grant of a puppet.

  He spoke rapidly into Zero’s ear. The men would move into the house and Zero would follow. They would go straight to the front door and cross to the car park where Zero would take his own car, load the others into the back and then continue non-stop down the drive to the entrance gate.

  And it was then that Maya saw him. Her eyes lit up with astonishment and she made to move forwards as Grant rapped out an order in his parade ground voice. ‘Keep in the background. Out of any line of fire. And follow well behind us when we go inside.’

  The two newcomers had eyed him dead pan and listened silently as Zero drawled out Grant’s instructions. Manoel entered first with his tall companion lazing close behind. The corridor stretched ahead and Grant’s fingers slowly firmed round the trigger as he saw that the party was suddenly beginning to straggle. Manoel was walking too fast, and as they reached the corner where the corridor ran into the square entrance hall at least six paces separated them. The tall man who had been Maya’s guard had slowed down, Zero was crowding into him and Grant’s attention was distracted for a critical instant as Zero stumbled on the carpet.

  He got a glimpse of Manoel diving for shelter and threw a burst with his automatic along the corridor. The pilot screamed threw up his arms, and collapsed writhing on the parquet while the last few shots of Grant’s volley ripped into Maya’s guard and sent him staggering towards the wall while Zero seized a seventeenth-century sword from the wall and aimed a thrust at Grant’s neck.

  The blade grazed skin and as Zero leaped backwards he used the sword like a sabre, swinging it round to knock the gun from Grant’s hands and lay open the flesh across his knuckles. His left hand also grabbed a round glass door stop which was used as a paper weight, and moving with athletic precision he lobbed it straight at Maya.

  The girl saw it coming and dived as it hit the wall but glanced off to strike her on the shoulder. She yelped with pain and Grant hesitated for long enough to let Zero kick the gun out of range and rip his sword through the slack of Grant’s shirt below the armpit.

  The unexpected counter-attack started by Manoel and the guard had taken Grant by surprise. And the swiftness of Zero’s movements had placed him at a disadvantage, but now he moved with that computer-like precision which had made him one of ADSAD’s most dangerous weapons. He allowed the sword to slip beneath his arm, but instead of lurching backwards he dived towards Zero and struck him with the force of their joint impact. His hand grabbed Zero’s wrist and then he doubled up with pain as the man shot his right foot forwards and hacked his shoes down the length of Grant’s shin.

  The pain sickened him and he got a glimpse of Maya rubbing her own shoulder while Zero ran for the front door. He had still a few paces to cover when Grant seized the sword by the hilt and sent it like an arrow towards the man’s back. It missed and buried its tip in the wood beside Zero’s head as he fumbled with the handle, flung the door open and leapt outside.

  ‘Stay there,’ snapped Grant over his shoulder as he leaped after him and slithered past the closing door while Zero was still in the patio. The man had a lead of only six or seven feet when Grant forced a last burst of energy, cut the distance to a metre and tackled him round the knees.

  They were now rolling on the flagstones outside the boardroom window and the place was almost floodlit by the reflection of lights pouring over the patio from every angle. Grant marked the cope of the well and subconsciously wondered if they had ever used it. Wells in Switzerland were not so common, but perhaps this one tapped a natural spring, and certainly it would save piping water a long distance to the house.

  He was moving with almost academic precision. Zero had broken his word. The man had talked about honour and played it rough. He had set out from the beginning to twist Grant’s tail. But that was understandable. Grant tightened his grip on Zero’s crutch and his jaw set with satisfaction as he heard the man groan with agony.

  They were rolling like a mongoose killing a snake, Zero’s body threshing the dust as he writhed and twisted below the vice-like grip which Grant had pinned around his thighs and neck.

  Grant got a glimpse of Maya watching near a sundial. She had the sword in her hand and was holding it like a professional when his head thudded against stone and he saw that they had rolled right to the low wall which surrounded the top of the well. Zero’s head was now partially in the shade, hidden by the thatched roof which covered the round gaping hole.

  Zero’s fingers were fastening close to Grant’s eye and he could feel the man’s nails fumbling to blind him. He heaved himself sideways and began to struggle upright, but Zero was now clinging to him like a leech, his wrists and hands taut round Grant’s neck while he leaned backwards in a desperate effort to break Grant’s scissor grip on his thighs.

  And then, as though by mutual consent, they separated long enough to jump to their feet. Zero got in first and aimed another kick at Grant’s aching shin. And as Grant doubled with pain he seized him by the neck while Grant bull-dozed forwards in a frantic effort to slacken a grip which he knew could kill. He felt Zero strike the low wall and then there was an agonising nausea as he realised that the cope had broken, that old mortar had cracked under the strain of impact and that they were falling into blackness.

  Even the air seemed suddenly to have become dank and he could see the outline of ancient hand cut stones oozing with green slime and the reflection of lights far below.

  He heard a thud and even saw Zero’s arm strike the sides of the well as they dropped like stones towards the inky ring of black water until they hit it with a crash which knocked the wind from his body. Grant felt the water close over his head, and it chilled his flesh like ice but he felt Zero sink beside him and heard the man splutter for breath as they began to surface. There was a thin circle of light far above and then they were both treading water in a desperate effort to stay afloat.

  Grant knew that minutes would be enough for the freezing chill of the place to sa
p his last reserves of strength and he knew that the man who got in first would be the only one with a chance of survival. Zero’s head was bobbing a metre away from him. It seemed to be only a pale blob of half light in the jet black darkness and he swung a right jab to the jaw which landed with enough force to send the man below the surface. But he had lost balance, the swing had sent him flopping on to his face and Zero rose just below his chest. He felt the man’s hands frantically grapple for support and then he touched the head which was wriggling beneath him. He got a grip under the jaw, threw a leg across Zero’s shoulder and mounted him from above, but still holding grimly to the chin which was now being forced still further backwards.

  ‘This is it,’ he snapped and broke the man’s neck with a twisting violence which forced his chin round and up until he heard atlas and axis grind together behind Zero’s skull. The man jerked convulsively and as Grant paddled away from him he saw the body float dimly pale in the darkness beside him, until it slowly sank as the man’s clothes filled with water and carried him below the surface.

  Grant stared upwards. The round ring of light could have been anything from thirty to fifty feet above him, and he swam slowly round the ring of water feeling every inch of wall for a grip which would help him to hoist himself out of the ice cold spring and give him the respite he needed.

  But there was nothing. He guessed that the stones had been hand cut and morticed together by craftsmen who knew secrets of building long forgotten. And then he heard a voice echoing against the stones.

  He could see Maya’s silhouette against the circle of light above and he forced himself to speak very calmly. ‘Maya.’

  The girl was in control of herself and her voice was rock steady. ‘What can I do, David?’

  ‘Can you hear me?’

  She flashed a torch and the beam almost blinded him as it reflected from the shimmering slimy walls above. ‘I’m going to lower the bucket. See if it gives you a grip.’

  He could hear the creaky handle rotate high above and saw the bucket swing down towards his head.

  ‘Give me a yell when it is near you.’

  He saw that the girl was moving fast. The bucket was now swaying almost like a pendulum. But it was dropping rapidly and he roared ‘stop’ as it hit the water beside him. He felt the rope. It was thin and old. Strong enough to lift a bucket of water, but too thin to carry a man of his weight. The well was about ten feet in diameter. Too broad to climb like a chimney, and the rope dangled about five feet from the masoned sides.

  But the cold was biting through to bone and his feet felt as though they were weighted with lead. He cautiously gave it some of his weight and two strands snapped a foot or two above the bucket handle.

  The rope was also frayed where it linked with the handle and he guessed that it had long been out of use.

  ‘Maya.’ He forced himself to think lucidly and to speak clearly. ‘Go back to the car park. Take any cars you like and bring as many tyre levers as you can carry. Fetch a hammer, or a heavy spanner if you see one, and then haul up the bucket, load them inside and drop them down. Keep the torch shining and stick around.’

  He heard her repeat his instructions and then he swam round once again, his fingers clawing against the sides, seeking for the slightest weakness in the curtain of sheer stone which rose above him.

  But the old-time masons had known how to fashion waterproof joints and in many places slime had covered what little cracks had separated block from block.

  He was shivering with cold, but the pain in his shin had faded to an ache which was almost anaesthetised by the freezing chill of the deep natural spring water when his fingers caught a roughness just below the surface. The mortar was fragmented and he could thrust the tip of his index finger into a worn socket.

  A light suddenly flashed from above and he heard the bucket begin to drop.

  ‘Hold it.’

  Maya stopped turning the crank handle in the same instant that he called, and the bucket stopped just at water level. He drew it towards him with one foot while he floated with his finger still in the shallow recess and then he called up once again. ‘About another metre.’

  The rope slackened and he anchored it with a loop round one thigh while he fumbled in the bucket for the tyre levers.

  She had collected no fewer than eight and a short heavy hammer lay beside them. Grant’s fingers were stiff and heavy. Whatever happened he didn’t dare to drop anything, and one part of him knew that he couldn’t face it if Maya wasn’t standing above ready to help.

  He was treading water like a dog as he tapped one lever into the crack, but he felt it bite home and slowly he gave it his weight. It was like driving pitons home on the Eiger and slowly he wriggled a foot on to it until he was standing upright with his shoulder against the slippery wall.

  The rope gave him a sense of support which he knew was absurd, but he asked Maya to take up the slack and called out when he felt the tension firm against his crutch. A rope which couldn’t take his whole weight might still give that little bit of extra support which could bring him up alive. The bucket was dangling beside his thighs and he lifted out another tyre lever. The hammer had a sharp claw on one side and he allowed it to bite into the cracks between the stones at waist level. He was bending down and his right foot was beginning to tire, but at last he managed it. A cubic inch of old mortar splashed into the water and he began to drive the lever home.

  It took his weight and for the first time he was able to relax, one part of him leaning against the second piton, the other holding to a rope which now seemed to be part of his life.

  But above all he was clear of the water. Only his feet and ankles remained below the surface and as he clawed high up he felt still one more crack which opened up to a series of blows with the claw of his hammer. Every bite jarred his wrist, but at last the third piton was firmly anchored and he was faced with a technical problem which can baffle even experienced mountaineers: how to get his weight from the first piton on the second while he pulled the first one out and prepared to use it again higher up.

  Some of the levers were not more than eight or nine inches long. Two were nearer sixteen, and it was these that he used at critical points from now on as he bit and clawed, felt and wriggled, leaned and balanced his way towards that distant ring of light which was life.

  Maya seemed to sense his need and understand the drill almost automatically. The girl handled the rope like an expert and its rotten ageing strands still anchored the bucket around Grant’s crutch as he eased slowly upwards.

  He used a technique which he later found was original, using two pitons behind to lean against and one in front which acted as a fulcrum while he swung up on the others, rotating the three one after the other with desperate determination.

  And he dared not look down. He could guess height only by sensing how long it took for chips of mortar to fall from the edge of his hammer to the water now far below. Maya handled the torch so that its beam never shone on his face, but focussed on the hammer, and now he could hear her voice clearly as she occasionally asked for directions.

  He later discovered that his climb was equal to cutting steps with tyre levers up the outside of a five-storey block of flats. But as he clambered upwards with that monotonous ringing of changes of pitons he knew only that he was leaning against walls slippery as ice, clinging to a frayed rope which would break under any real strain and balancing like a tight-rope walker on narrow surfaces which had begun almost to cut through his light-weight shoes and burrow into the sodden skin of his feet.

  But the air was becoming fresh again. The chill had begun to fade and he guessed that he was less than ten feet from the top. Maya was watching him as he began to place his pitons once again and she saw that he was tiring. She left him for the first time since he had begun the climb and rushed to a car where she remembered seeing a thick tow rope. The thing was about eight metres long and she tied it to the fender of a Mercedes, driving the car almost to the edge of the w
ell.

  ‘David!’ She dropped the rope cautiously beside him. ‘Fix it round your waist and I’ll pull you up.’

  She saw that his strength was fading and guessed that he hardly understood her. ‘Your waist,’ she said quietly. ‘Tie it firmly round your waist, David.’ Her voice snapped him back to attention. He had begun to feel dizzy and his shoulder was chafed to near raw flesh where it had leaned for so long against the rough stones. His silk shirt was already in ribbons and there had been no protection against the roughness of the masonry. He saw the rope dangle beside him and forced a smile as he saw that it ended in a strong metal hook. He made one last effort and gathered it round his body, hooking the metal around the rope itself and then twisting a few turns under his shoulders.

  Maya saw that this was the end. She knew that he might never have made it. His face had aged ten years in as many minutes and he had begun to sway on the pitons. She saw him rub his forehead and then he toppled sideways. He must have fallen for over ten feet and she heard his gasp of pain as the rope jerked around his flesh and left him swaying in mid-air.

  She ran back to the Mercedes and nursed it into reverse.

  The rope was now rubbing against the remains of the cope, but she guessed that it would hold. And then she saw a dark shape rise level with the ground. She slammed on the brakes, ran to the rim of the well and leaning forwards managed to clutch Grant’s ankle.

  She braced herself against the upright which held the crankshaft, slowly pulling until she could drag him feet first on to the smoothness of the patio. And then she unhooked the rope and knelt down beside him.

  There was nothing to say.

  He grinned lopsidedly and slowly struggled to his feet. ‘We’re still fighting the clock, honey. But police or no police we’re going to take one more chance. I want a bath.’

  He stumbled into the house. The water was warm and slowly he felt the biting chill thaw from his bones while Maya found the kitchen and brewed strong coffee.