The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death

by Brendan Carroll

  “I’ll see what I can do, Brother.” The little fellow looked very disappointed. He was a pitiful excuse for a spy. He stepped forward again and took Mark by the shoulders causing him to freeze. Before he could recover, the man planted another kiss on his lips. Mark silently thanked God that he was so repulsed by the man. At least he could be sure that Valentino’s accusations about the initiations and young boys were indeed lies. The man’s kisses only made him shudder. Not like Merry’s kisses or even Valentino’s twisted attentions. He had no desire to throw the man on the floor and make mad, passionate love to him. He almost laughed at the absurd thought. Of course, this fellow was no young boy either, but……….

  “Great Scot!” Mark slapped his forehead in frustration. Valentino was driving him crazy!

  “I’ll be back,” the weasel smiled at him and headed for the door.

  “Wait!” Mark went after him and caught his arm with the intention of taking the key by force. The man turned and looked up at him, completely trusting this time.

  “I must hurry,” the little fellow told him and Mark’s conscience slapped him. “Miss Valentino’s security man will be looking for me if I stay gone too long.”

  Maxie! The idiot was probably waiting right outside the door for this fellow, ready to shoot him if he tried anything. Mark would let him go, this time. When he came back, he would be ready for him and Maxie. He’d take the key and use him as cover to get out of the house to his car. He needed to gain his confidence if possible. Make him think the scheme was working.

  “Brother, would you… could you… do you mind…?”

  “What? Anything… Brother.”

  The man looked up at him almost lovingly and Mark cringed inwardly. He thought the man might like to throw him on the floor.

  “Send up some breakfast? They are treating me terribly. It’s awful here. I miss all my… Brothers. All eleven of them. There is nothing like a Brother’s love in time of need,” Mark sniffed, smiled down at him, trying to play on his sympathy.

  The man reached for his arm and Mark stepped back before he could receive another kiss from the man. He felt he had somehow violated himself just by having called the man Brother, but it seemed to have worked. The man’s face virtually glowed with excitement at his perceived success.

  “Ohhh, I know exactly what you mean, Brother. Of course,” the man’s face took on a new expression, one of disgust. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? She’s throwing herself on you, isn’t she? Disgusting, I know, but if we can get away perhaps there might be time for a bit of R and R before we meet with the Master?”

  “R and R,” Mark repeated the phrase and nodded his head. “Yes. R and R!”

  The man grabbed him and kissed him yet again before he could react. His kiss attack was faster than a fleche from an able swordsman or an enraged cobra. If the man had come at him with a rapier rather than lips, he would have been a dead man. Suddenly, he was gone and the key was turning in the lock. Mark spit on the floor and wiped his mouth as he listened with his ear pressed against the door. As he suspected, he could hear the faint sound of voices in the hall beyond the door.

  “R and R,” he gritted his teeth. “Run and Rip. Run you through and rip out your heart.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “I think it may have worked,” the little rat-like man reported to Valentino excitedly, when they were alone in the library a few minutes later. “He told me at first that he just wanted his car keys, but I don’t think he really trusts me yet. He let me kiss him three times. And he called me brother several times. I just need a little more time to convince him.”

  Valentino did her best to smile at the man. Why was she surrounded by so much incompetence? Three minutes with the bastard and the little fool was falling in love with him. If he only knew! Ramsay would have had the ferret for breakfast. Oh well, it didn’t matter… ultimately.

  “What did he tell you?” she asked with failing hope.

  “He seemed surprised to see me, of course. He said we didn’t need to bother the Master. He just wanted me to get him out of the house and get his car keys. And he wanted the stuff from his car.”

  “Yes, of course. He would ask for that in any case, or at least, I would if I were in his position. What else?” She tapped one finger against her front teeth.

  “He said he was having trouble concentrating,” the man added.

  “Did he mention memory? Having trouble remembering things?” she asked.

  “He said something in Spanish.” The man shook his head and sighed. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “It might have been important. Can you remember it?” She urged him on.

  “Let’s see. Yes, I think so. Something like ‘No con prendo, mia me go’.”

  Valentino’s face fell.

  “Oh, yes and he asked for breakfast, more like pleaded for something to eat. He said you were starving him. You aren’t really starving him, are you? He looks like he would be a hearty eater, I mean, he looks like he might be one of those guys that eats like a horse,” the man smiled importantly at her and then shrugged apologetically. “Do you want me to take it up to him? I don’t think he would mind and I might be able to get some more information out of him while he eats. If I could spend some time with him, you know? An hour or two, perhaps?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said much too quickly. What on earth had Ramsay done to this guy to make him think he’d like to have breakfast with him? Was the idiot crazy? “You’re right. He eats like a horse. In fact, everything he does reminds me of some animal or another. Of course I’m not starving him, John. What did you think he would say? That we’re really nice guys?”

  “Mmm, yes, well, he looked hungry enough to eat me,” the man said dreamily. “He did remind me of a predator of some sort. A wild predator, yes. Taming him would put a feather in one’s cap all right.”

  Valentino rolled her eyes and shook her head. The ferret was crazier than she’d imagined.

  “Thank you, Brother,” she said and had to make an effort to kiss him on both cheeks as required by her station in the Order. “Maxie is in the control room. Maybe you should go visit with him.”

  “Could I?” the idiot’s face lit up. He had been in Maxie’s control room before. Perhaps he would have a monitor in Ramsay’s room.

  A half hour later found her sitting on the patio enjoying the bright morning sunlight while watching her ‘guest’ enjoy a breakfast big enough for four men. Why did he eat so much? Didn’t he worry about getting fat? No, perhaps immortals didn’t have that problem. He refused to talk to her while he ate and he would not drink anything either. She doubted he would have heard her if she had insisted on talking to him so intent was he upon the pork chops and eggs. The toast was gone and she’d had to call for light bread to keep up with his signals. When he had finally finished the last bit of bread and scraped his plate clean with one finger, he looked at her expectantly.

  “What? You want more eggs?” she asked in surprise and he shook his head before picking up the glass of orange juice. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  “No,” he said simply. There never seemed to be time to sleep in Texas. Plenty of time spent in bed, but very little actual sleeping took place. He looked around the elegant flower garden in the back yard and wondered where Maxie would be lurking. There was no doubt the man was somewhere nearby with his ever-present shotgun or else they were very confident that he would not run.

  “I thought you might like a tour of the grounds,” she said after a moment. “You might want to stay for a while of your own accord.”

  “I suppose it would be preferable to confinement,” he agreed, finished off the orange juice and started on the milk. ‘No drinking with meals.’ Some kind of strange ritual he felt obliged to observe. Until he knew the reasoning behind it, he would continue to practice it. Perhaps, he was a superstitious fellow and just didn’t remember it. One thing he did know was that he liked almost everything set in front of him.
He wasn’t a picky eater. He took a mug of coffee with him when they left the table.

  They walked down the back steps and out onto a bricked path that led into the flower garden. When he finished the coffee, he set the cup in a granite birth bath and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked up into the branches of the old oak trees overhanging the path. It seemed he could see or hear something up there. Something fleeting that stayed just out of sight. Squirrels, perhaps.

  The garden itself was more like a small, private park with manicured flowerbeds, shrubbery and ornamental trees arranged in tasteful curves and lines that complimented the natural flow of the land as it rose up the hillside behind the mansion. She carried her habitual cup of chocolate, alternately smelling it and chattering about topics he had no interest in whatsoever. He noticed that the hand print on her face had disappeared completely. He had expected to see a bruise at least, but she was the picture of health. No blemishes marred her olive complexion. In fact her skin was perfect… too perfect and her hair was immaculate, not a hair out of place. Her fingernails were perfect. Her teeth were perfect and the blush in her cheeks reminded him of a child. She would have been a strikingly beautiful woman if it were not for her personality flaws. Her mannerisms were a bit uncouth and seemed out of place on such a lovely woman. There were odd notions in his head that she should be sitting somewhere beside a warm fire spinning wool, but that was certainly not a modern portrait of femininity. He knew very well what ‘modern’ women were about, but he seemed completely without practical experience to draw upon. It was as if he had been living inside a box somewhere while someone showed him pictures of what the world was like outside. The unshakable notion that he had always avoided contact with people in general made him even more curious to learn exactly what it was that he had been doing with his life.

  Mark pushed these thoughts aside before they drove him crazy. Her sexual preferences meant nothing to him or at least he liked to think so. To each his own or her own, he always said, but to whom did he say it? He scanned the gardens for signs of the bodyguard again while trying to memorize every bush and path and tree for future reference.

  It was nice just being outside in the fresh morning air with nothing between him and the sky above. He was torn between leaving her in the garden with a broken neck or waiting for a better opportunity out of concern for Merry. He desperately needed to know that she was all right. The new day had dawned and his resolve to leave had faded when he had been allowed downstairs without restraints and without Maxie’s ugly presence. The nagging feeling that there was something he had to accomplish here besides bedding the Pixie returned. Whatever it was, he hoped to make good on it and assure her safety at the same time. Perhaps he had been sent here to rescue her. Perhaps he was one of those fellows that infiltrated cults and stole away with brain-washed sons and daughters. They made quite a sum of money for doing such things. That might explain why was he concerned for Merry’s safety, but how would he explain his relationship with her to her parents or, worse yet, her husband? Surely she was as loony as this one and was probably still mad about what had happened the night before, but he was there for some reason and he had a need to know what it was. Every time he thought of leaving now, a terrible sense of dread washed over him along with the unshakable idea that he had failed at something extremely important.

  Cecile took him to a quaint little Victorian gazebo set amidst a profusion of climbing pink and white roses. There were more silk banners bearing strange symbols hung from the rafters of the little building. In the center of the open-air structure was a low rectangle made of white marble. She went inside and he followed her reluctantly up the steps and stood looking around the interior. The vague sense of dread he had been suffering spiked, and he felt sure that it was somehow unholy and profane. Repressing the urge to turn and flee back down the path, he walked deliberately to the stone and sat down on the marble slab between two silver candlesticks. The heavy antiques would have made good weapons. The stone was cold and seemed to penetrate his clothes and into his flesh with an unnatural chill. Valentino was not happy with his disregard for the thing that he knew quite well was probably an altar.

  “Well? What do you think?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

  “It’s… very nice,” he lied.

  Glass, copper and pewter wind chimes clinked in the breeze. It occurred to him that he had been to a place like this before and had destroyed it. Pulled it down with his horse and razed it to its foundations before setting fire to the resultant rubble pile. Why would he destroy such a pretty place? Mark Andrew was having serious doubts about himself. Maybe he really was an escapee from an insane asylum.

  “We only come here on special occasions,” she emphasized the word special and raised both eyebrows as if he should recognize some hidden meaning in her words.

  He studied the banners on the upper walls instead, wondering what she wanted him to say. The flags were very similar to the flags in the dining room.

  “You would enjoy one of our ceremonies, I think,” she told him knowingly and he shrugged. “We like to enjoy ourselves when we have the chance. Our members are a very jovial bunch. They are quite… free and easy.”

  “Free? It reminds me of a place of ceremony,” he raised his own eyebrows, matching her expression. “This looks like a good setting for a chemical wedding.” He laughed without knowing why and then added “I mean a wedding… a wedding.” He stammered to a halt and frowned.

  “A chemical wedding?” She looked around the small enclosure. “I suppose it would be, symbolically speaking perhaps. A play or something for the Spring Equinox. I never thought about it. I’ll suggest it at our next meeting.” She held the cup under her nose and took a deep breath.

  Finally unnerved by her obsession with the cup, he got up and took it from her. He drank the last of the cold chocolate and set it on the marble rectangle, then stood looking down at her. She waited as if she expected him to do something more. She almost seemed ready to kiss him. Inconceivable! Even though a few good kisses might be good for her, he would not be the one to deliver them. He shook his head slightly as if telling her no subconsciously. That was not going to happen. Not ever. No. He detested everything about her and he would not be a whore for these perverted people. Whatever they wanted of him, he would not give it and he would not sell it, nor would he bargain with them. They were an abomination in the sight of the Lord. He shook his head more vigorously to dislodge these disturbingly religious thoughts and she frowned at him.

  Contempt and hatred filled her expression with surprising ease.

  “I really need to be going,” he said simply and cupped her chin in his hand. He looked into her dark eyes. “You need to let me go… peacefully. You can go on with whatever it is that you people do and I will get on with my life. I think you have the wrong idea about me altogether and I don’t want to get to know your people. I am not free and easy, no matter what you might think to the contrary.”

  “Releasing you poses a problem,” she turned away from him and leaned both hands on the railing. The gazebo overlooked a crystal clear pool where huge goldfish could be seen swimming among the lilies. A misting fountain added an ephemeral touch and he expected to see shimmering wings in the lilies. “We have committed a terrible crime keeping you here against your will. We could be arrested and sent to prison if you reported us.”

  “I know,” he told her. “I told you that to start with. But things happen. The world is a very strange place. I will not report you… for Merry’s sake.”

  “I’m not sure I can trust you even on her account,” she continued, but did not look at him.

  He could have killed her so easily at that moment. One well placed blow from the candlestick would have been enough, but it would also be murder and he knew she was not his objective. It was Anthony he had come for and until he found him, dead or alive; he would need to stay in one piece. The two memories came to his mind suddenly, with great clarity as if it had been t
here all along. Anthony Scalia was his objective. Stay in one piece. “I believe that if you would agree to stay a bit longer with us, you might be able to convince me of your sincerity. I mean, the crime has already been committed. It would make no difference if I kept you one hour or one year longer. The results would be the same. I am guilty of kidnapping.”

  “And how long would I need to stay to do that? To convince you?” he asked.

  “Long enough for you to get to know us. Understand what we are about.” She turned to lean on the railing. “We are not bad people. Just ambitious, perhaps.”

  Her tone was conciliatory, but the contempt was still visible in her eyes though she refused to meet his gaze.

  “Not a bad lot of kidnappers. I see.” He smiled ironically. Had they also kidnapped Anthony Scalia? And, if so, why? To find d’Brouchart. The same man they kept asking him about. Scalia sounded like a mafioso name. Did this have anything to do with the mafioso? Was he a mafia hit man or a member of one of the families? What did he know about such things? Memories of Italy and especially Rome filled his head. He had been in Rome, not Sicily. The Italian mafia came from Sicily, didn’t they? But they were just sophisticated criminals. Not like… not like… what? Not like what? He would have to ask Dambretti… his thoughts trailed and then he slapped his forehead. Dambretti. Dambretti. Right. His Italian brother.

  “I should think that this morning proved my desire to make you happy.” She tilted her head to one side and studied his face. “It was a sort of apology, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course,” he nodded and pulled his attention back to the immediate situation; he hadn’t heard a word of the last three or four moments of her commentary. Only the last few words had caught his attention and he didn’t know what she was talking about. At first, he thought she meant breakfast, but then his thoughts took a darker turn. Had she actually sent Merry to him in the night? Did she think he could be paid off with sex? How dare she use Merry in such a manner as befitting a prostitute? His anger began to make itself known as his face flushed deep red.