“It is flying!” Pug crowed inside his mask. “Like a kite! Or a bee!”
“Two birds, one stone,” the Beekeeper said. “We can set an example and test the efficacy of our formula.”
“I would like to watch, dear,” said Mrs. Griffin from behind her mask.
The Beekeeper smiled at her. “Of course, darling.”
Ressler glanced at Aram, who looked sick. The drone rushed down at John, who reflexively looked up at the buzzing above his head. The Beekeeper flicked a switch. The drone sprayed a tiny spurt of sarin over his face then zipped away. Reddington, masked now, moved back a step.
Nothing happened. Ressler realized he was holding his breath. The light breeze was blowing away from him, thank god. Then John coughed. He put a hand to his throat. His eyes were streaming. Mucus dripped from his nose. Abruptly, he vomited over the grass. His trousers wet, and Ressler caught the sharp smell of urine.
“Help him!” Ressler cried, struggling against the drones who held him.
“We can’t,” Aram said in a strange, sad tone Ressler had never heard from him before. “There are treatments for sarin gas, if they’re administered quickly, but for a dose that large, there’s little we can do.”
“How the hell do you know?” Ressler demanded.
“I have relatives in Syria,” he said in that awful, flat voice.
Coughing wracked John’s body, and he squirmed on the ground. Bloody foam bubbled from his lips. Then the convulsions began. They wracked John’s body, twisted him into a shuddering mess that suddenly went still. He wasn’t breathing. Ressler closed his eyes. John the Bodysnatcher lay dead.
“He did something awful,” Pug said in a hushed voice.
“The Hive does not tolerate insubordination!” the Beekeeper boomed in his rich voice. “The Hive does not accept weakness! We are the Hive!”
“We are the Hive!” shouted the entire crowd.
“Donald Ressler,” said the Beekeeper. “Come forward.”
“No!” Ressler fought again, but it had been a long day of running and fighting after many days of bad food and little rest. His strength was nowhere near normal, and Pug easily forced him down next to John’s cooling corpse. The helicopter drone hovered high overhead.
“Don’t do this,” Ressler panted. “You don’t have to.”
“You did something bad,” Pug said. “You have to be punished. It will be okay, though. Don’t worry.”
“I didn’t make this decision,” the Beekeeper said. “You did, the moment you tried to leave us.”
The drone dropped lower. Ressler clenched his teeth and held his breath, though he knew it wouldn’t help.
“Benjamin,” said Reddington from inside his mask, “Donald is one of my more talented operatives. I would take it as a great favor if you would keep him around.”
The drone paused overhead.
“And why would I do that?” the Beekeeper asked. “He’s proven a great liability.”
“You know, I once made the acquaintance of a major in South America. Had the respect of his troops and, more importantly, his wife and family. Great taste for wine, could never say no to a Burgundy taken from the right bank of the Chanteaux River, and who can blame him for that?” Reddington took off his mask and fixed the Beekeeper with a hard look. “But he had one too many secrets, including the fact that he spent a great deal of time with the privates in his army, if you’ll forgive a vulgar jest, and when it came time for him to make an important move, one of the many people who held his secrets threatened to reveal them.
His superiors had to step in and order him to make the right decision. I was forced to quick-step it out of the country at that point, but later I heard he’d been shot in the head. A banal ending, really.”
“What is your point, Reddington?” the Beekeeper demanded.
“Only that everyone should listen to good advice, Benjamin.”
There was a pause. The Beekeeper snorted.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
The drone dipped lower again, deadly canister at the ready. Ressler screwed his eyes shut.
“Darling.” Mrs. Griffin touched the Beekeeper’s elbow and removed her own mask. “Maybe you could keep this one for later. In case he’s useful, like Mr. Reddington says. He might be a good source of children one day.”
Ressler’s eyes opened.
Dr. Griffin blinked at his wife. “Oh. Well, dear, I’m not—”
“Please, darling?” she said. “I don’t think I can watch a second one today.”
Another moment passed. The Beekeeper nodded.
“Very well. The Hive can be merciful. We will allow him more time in the Circle tonight. We are the Hive!”
“We are the Hive!”
“Yay!” said Pug. “See, Donald? I told you it would be okay.”
Ressler felt ready to collapse.
“And now that we have everything we need,” the Beekeeper continued, “we can at last begin the cleansing. Our talented drones will work through the night to create the final stage of the sarin gas and load it into the flying drones. Come sunrise, this country will be ours!”
* * *
Raymond Reddington stared up at the stone tree chipped into the cave wall. The details were exquisite. The roots wrapped around the boulder with the crude G on it with an almost loving embrace, and in the dim light of the cave, the leaves seemed to flutter and the river seemed to be flowing. It was a remarkable illusion, and Reddington would have delighted in meeting the original artist. Unfortunately, that individual was moldering in a grave somewhere. At least the art would last.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Stuart said, coming up beside him.
“I’m glad to see the Beekeeper is keeping his word about our chat,” Reddington said. “But this tree isn’t half as lovely as Vivian.”
A distant scream came down the tunnel from the Circle room.
“That was unkind, Red.”
“The truth is rarely kind. Why is that, do you think?”
Stuart folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The great cavern was deserted at the moment. The Beekeeper was occupied with Donald Ressler, and everyone else had been sent to bed after the exhibition outside.
“The reality is that the universe is falling apart,” Stuart said. “Entropy. Eventually everything will end, everything will die. That’s always the central truth, and it’s painful to hear. You know that as well as I do. Where is your friend?”
“Aram has been shown to the guest quarters. Who knew the Hive had a guest room?”
Reddington touched the tree. The stones were rough and damp under his fingertips. “The Bodysnatcher was an artist, you know. He raised vanishing to an art form. He operated for nearly twenty years, and no one even knew he existed. Not even I knew his real name. Now that he’s dead, his art will vanish. Except his art was a lie, wasn’t it? No one knew about it, no one saw it, no one appreciated it. Is it real art if it’s hidden from the world?”
“The Bodysnatcher’s art wasn’t hidden,” Stuart objected. “He operated out in plain sight. It was just that no one knew what they were looking at. His art was in the hiding. A true artist.”
“Whose art will die with him,” Reddington said, “since no one knew it was there. This beautiful tree, on the other hand, has lasted generations. The artist is long gone, but the art and its message both remain. That’s art.”
“But no one saw this art,” Stuart said. “Until the Beekeeper came, no one knew it was here. You yourself said it’s not art if no one sees it to appreciate it.”
“They could, if only they came to look.” Reddington touched the tree again.
“I’ve missed this, Red,” Stuart said. “You and me, talking about art and philosophy. You were a remarkable young man, and you’ve grown into something more than I could have ever imagined. Certainly more than I ever became.”
“You’re not alone in those feelings, my friend,” Reddington said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve miss
ed it. I’ve missed you.”
“But you never come by,” Stuart said. “You know where to find me. Or you did. I hear of your exploits, my boy. I know you use some of the tricks I taught you, and you keep up your extensive contacts. I introduced you to some of them. But you don’t keep up with me.”
“You know why,” Reddington said flatly.
Stuart sighed. “I had hoped to get past that.”
“Why are you really here?” Reddington asked abruptly. “I don’t believe this idiocy about you joining the Hive. It’s complete nonsense. We both know it.”
“I lost everything, Red,” said Stuart in a soft voice. “After Vivian… the work was never the same. I simply wasn’t as good without her. I made mistakes, I lost contacts, I made enemies. The house in London is gone now, you know. Lost to a shopping center. In the old days, I could have saved it by leaning on this official or buying stock in that company, but now I’m a toothless dog with a hoarse bark. I don’t even have your friendship. Nothing’s left except what’s up here.” He tapped his head.
“So the Hive is your retirement plan?” Reddington said.
“Why not? It’s an army like any other. The bed is comfortable—now—and there’s a purpose. There’s fresh air and something to do. No one cares about my past. It’s a far cry from living on benches in Hyde Park.”
“But do you believe in what the Beekeeper is doing?” Reddington pressed.
“What does that matter? I haven’t believed in anything since Vivian died. The Beekeeper is as good as anything. We are the Hive, Red. We will prevail.”
“No,” Reddington said. “You won’t. That’s the problem, you know. This plan the Beekeeper has—to ‘cleanse’ the area of people so he can carve out a chunk of the country for himself—won’t work, and while he’s never seemed particularly stable, I’ve never seen him as quite that lunatic.”
Stuart shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
“Something else I can’t reconcile,” Reddington said, “is the way Vivian died. What really happened that day?”
“Oh, god.” Stuart rubbed his face. “Red, I’ve told you. It rakes up a great deal of pain just thinking about it.”
“Tell me, Stuart. I need to know.”
Stuart sighed. “After I told you to run, I went back to save Vivian, but it was already too late. She was dead. The arms dealer had killed her. They nearly caught me, too, and I barely got out of the warehouse with my life.”
“Stuart, we’re standing under a piece of true art, a place where lies go to die, like the Bodysnatcher’s art died and like your previous life died.” He fixed Stuart with a hard look. “Tell the truth, Stuart.”
A wan smile crossed Stuart’s face. “I don’t know how else to convince you, Red. That’s the way it happened, and it hurts a great deal to think that—”
In a swift move, Reddington pulled his hand from his pocket and darted it toward the exposed skin of Stuart’s neck. In his hand was one of Dr. Griffin’s syringes. He had lifted it moments ago during the little show outside. The Beekeeper had never noticed, and Reddington was gratified that his skills hadn’t degraded over the years. Stuart gasped as the needle went in and Reddington sent the plunger home.
“Stung,” Reddington observed, slipping the needle back into his pocket. “I only gave you a quarter dose. Even a half dose would kill you, I believe. How are you feeling, Stuart?”
Stuart slid to the wooden platform built over the cave floor. His eyes had gone wide, his pupils dilated.
“I feel… I feel…”
“Think about the day Vivian died,” Reddington said. “Think about the warehouse and the guns.”
“The smoke sounds like sandpaper on my ears,” Stuart said. “The gunshots explode on my tongue like mineral water. I’m frightened. Red is there. We’re hiding outside, arguing with blue and purple words. He wants me to go and get Vivian.”
“But?”
Stuart’s eyes were lost in the distance. “I’m running back towards the warehouse. Gravel crunches beneath my feet with pops of flashbulb light. The guns are still going off, and green screams tear the air. I’m behind the warehouse now. Red can’t see me. I can hear Vivian pleading for help. Her voice tears my head in half. I might be able to help her. The gun is heavy in my hand like the smell of stone, and the Uzi pulls on my back with the snuffling of an elephant. I could help. Maybe.”
“But?” Reddington repeated.
“I don’t.” A soft tear ran down Stuart’s face. “I hear the awful voice of the buyer buzzing against the walls, but I don’t go in. I mustn’t. Vivian speaks again, and then… one more shot, and the dead flower smell of silence.”
Reddington leaned forward. He had to know. Everything had come down to this.
“Why didn’t you go in, Stuart?”
“Never let your feelings for someone else outweigh your own safety,” Stuart said. “I taught you that, Red. I taught you. And I let my Vivian die.”
Reddington let go of a long, long breath.
“I know. I always knew, you son of a bitch. For more than twenty years, I’ve carried that with me, and I’ve been waiting to hear you say it.”
“That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” Stuart asked in his drug-slurred voice. “All this? You intercepted the tribu—tributt—the other gas just to get yourself here so you could get this from me, is that it? Good god, Red. I taught you better than that.”
“I learned many things from you,” Reddington said stonily. “You taught me that you don’t know everything—in fact invariably the right way to operate is the very opposite of what you tried to teach me.”
Reddington walked away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The chem lab bustled. Everyone who wasn’t asleep was here. Canisters clanked, helicopter drones hummed, computer keys clicked. Gas hissed. Teams of masked drones filled little canisters with the deadly mixture of sarin and tributylamine and attached them to the sleek black helicopter drones. The process was laborious and careful, but the drones remained focused behind their masks. Reddington scanned the crowd, mouth tight. Even with the masks on, he was certain he would recognize—
There.
The one tapping at a computer near a set of helicopter drones. Reddington strode up to her and tapped her shoulder.
“Lizzie.”
Great relief swept over him when she turned to him and pulled her mask off. She seemed to be uninjured. He hadn’t been able to tell before. It had taken all his willpower to keep from opening fire on the Beekeeper and his vile Hive out in front of the cave. The only thing that had stopped him was the sure knowledge that he was outgunned, even with Dembe hiding in the forest with a sniper rifle. Damn it, why hadn’t he seen this coming? He should have known Elizabeth would hare off to follow her plan. He should never have allowed her to set foot outside the house. She had been so sure she could outwit Benjamin Griffin, and now…
“Lizzie,” he said again. “Are you all right?”
“We’re working here, Reddington,” she said. “You’re slowing us down. See here?” She pointed at the screen. “We have the coordinates set for the cleansing. We have to move fast now, before they find out.”
Reddington glanced at the screen, then at Elizabeth. He started to take her shoulders, but held back. Her eyes were hard and glassy.
“Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice, “thousands of people will die at sunrise if we let the Beekeeper go through with this.”
“Like I nearly died?” she countered.
That stung. “Has Dr. Griffin hurt you? We can leave right now, if you—”
“No!” she said. “I won’t leave. I want to be here.”
He drew her aside and the other drones continued their work, though more than one glanced their way.
“Listen, Elizabeth. I have something important to give you, and something important to say. You have to listen. Can we talk in private?”
“I’m protecting the babies,” she said. “I’m going to be here for them, no
matter what.”
“The babies,” Reddington repeated.
“You have to leave, Reddington,” she said in a flat voice that chilled his spine. “You’ll wreck everything. You wrecked my wedding. You wrecked the birth of my baby. You wrecked my life. That’s why I’m staying, Reddington.”
The words pierced him with icy daggers. Every fear he’d ever had about Elizabeth roared to life inside him, including the fear that she was right.
“Lizzie, I never meant for anything to happen to you. I did my best to keep you safe and help your career.”
“Leave me alone!” She slapped him—or tried to. He caught her wrist and they struggled for a moment. Blood drained away from Reddington’s face at the look of hatred she wore. He backed up a step, fighting to keep his expression clear. A pair of drones detached themselves from their work stations and moved toward them.
Reddington said harshly, “Lizzie, you’re not yourself. You don’t know what you’re—”
“Dude,” said another voice behind him. A man with receding red hair pulled into a ponytail loomed. “I think Elizabeth wants to be left alone. Maybe you could toddle off to bed like Dr. and Mrs. Griffin, man.”
Reddington rounded on him, glad of the distraction, glad of a target for his own fears.
“And who might you be, dude?”
“I’m Vernon. Dr. G’s second in command, man,” he said. “We’re busy here, Mr. R, and Dr. G is totally safe in bed with his wife after a rad session with that Donald guy. I don’t know why he’s giving you the run of the Hive, but I wouldn’t abuse it, you know?”
“Indeed.”
This was a bad place to be. Reddington straightened his hat and nodded to Keen.
“Good night, then. I’ll leave you to your honey.”
He left, feeling Vernon’s eyes on his back.
* * *
Aram had never seen a guest room with bars instead of a door before. On the other hand, he’d never been the guest of a weirdo lunatic before, either. He paced back and forth, trying not to feel like a panda in a zoo. No—a lion. Or a cheetah. Cheetahs were cooler than lions.
The Blacklist--The Beekeeper No. 159 Page 20