by Louise Voss
Simone suddenly sat up straighter. ‘I’ll handle this,’ she hissed.
The man must have been in his mid seventies, with long threads of white hair combed across his scalp, and huge ears. A pair of rimless glasses perched on his rather bulbous nose. His mouth was set in a frown.
‘Dr Mangold, sir?’ called Simone, and Kate gasped.
Mangold! This was Mangold? So Paul had been right all along. Kate felt as if she had woken up from a nightmare, only to find that the first bad dream was wrapped in another. She had first heard the name Charles Mangold eighteen years ago, the summer of the fire at the Cold Research Unit. Clive Gaunt, the man who’d murdered Paul’s twin brother, had told them that Mangold had helped fund their work creating killer viruses. Kate couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch as Mangold walked unsteadily down the basement steps, looking puzzled.
‘Over here, sir – we’ve, ah, got a little problem.’
‘So’ve I. I can’t find my damned bedroom.’ He spoke in a cracked drawl, and Kate fleetingly imagined he must have been quite an attractive, charming man once. To the outside world, at least. Nothing charming about what he had done with his life. What an odd thing to say, though. Kate wondered if she had misheard. Or was he suffering from dementia? She had seen it in Aunt Lil. Was Mangold suffering the same fate?
‘Dr Mangold, we appear to have got ourselves chained to this here pipe,’ said Simone, smiling sweetly at him. ‘Do you think you might help us? There are some tools on that wall … Please could you see if you could maybe find a hacksaw?’
‘A hacksaw?’ Mangold turned and started to walk towards the far side of the basement.
‘That’s Angelica’s grandpa,’ Simone whispered. ‘He’s nuts. Harmless, though.’
Kate leaned the back of her head against the damp concrete wall, trying to take it all in. So Angelica was Mangold’s granddaughter. That would explain how she had got hold of this strain of Watoto and the ‘antidote’. She wondered how long Mangold had been ‘nuts’, as Simone had put it. Did he have dementia, or was it something else? But even after Mangold had gone mad, he would still have had money, resources, contacts, all exploitable by Angelica …
Mangold drifted back across the basement to them, empty-handed, and Kate heard Simone hiss quietly with frustration.
‘What am I doing down here?’ he said, gazing down at them. He seemed entirely unsurprised that they were chained to a pipe.
‘Helping us, sir,’ said Simone. ‘You were gonna help us?’
‘Ah yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ll go get Angelica.’
‘No!’ Kate and Simone said together. Kate looked anxiously up at the open basement door. Someone could come along at any moment.
Mangold stared at Kate for a long time, then he pointed a bony finger at her. ‘I remember you,’ he said.
‘We met, briefly, in the kitchen last night, sir,’ Kate replied, her mouth dry with tension.
‘No. Before. You were a little girl. I remember talking to your father about this, Miss Carling.’
Kate gasped, shock flooding through her.
‘He gets muddled with names,’ Simone said.
‘Carling is my maiden name,’ Kate managed, the words sticking her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
‘Yes, yes, Derek Carling, I remember. You had a beautiful house in the English countryside. Roses growing in the garden. You and your cistern, er, sister, running about. Leonard took me to visit you once or … maybe twice. Your mother brought us homemade lemonade.’ He licked his chapped lips.
‘Small world, huh?’ said Simone. ‘His long-term memory is pretty good.’
‘And I visited you in Africa too. In your village in … What’s that place called?’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘Tanzania?’ Kate asked slowly.
‘Yes, that’s right. Tanzania. Camilo and I went out there, looking for …’ He stopped mid-sentence and leaned forward, gazing down on them. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened to your parents. You are beautiful, like your mother.’ He winked at her. ‘I was always a little sweet on Francesca, I must confess.’
Kate’s heart was beating so fast she thought she might collapse. ‘No, you didn’t know my parents. You can’t have.’
‘Oh, but I did. Your … daddy … a fine virologist. One of the best.’
‘He wasn’t a virologist, he was a foreign aid worker.’
‘Um, sir?’ Simone interrupted, fidgeting with impatience. ‘Could you help us out here, and then we could continue this chat later?’
‘One more thing before you do,’ Kate said urgently. If Mangold’s long-term memory wasn’t too patchy, there was a chance that he might be able to tell her. ‘How did you discover a vaccine for Watoto?
He laughed, and for the first time, sounded completely compos mentis. ‘Oh, Miss Carling, your father would be proud of you. I’ve known for years. And when we wanted to recreate the cure, Angelica was kind enough to provide the seeds of what I needed.’
There was a screech from the top of the basement stairs. As if summoned by the sound of her name, Angelica flew down the steps and grabbed Mangold by the arm. ‘Grandpa! There you are! What are you doing down here? Come on, let’s get you back to your room.’
‘I was looking for my room,’ he grumbled sulkily. ‘These here ladies need our help.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Angelica said, leading him away. ‘Let’s get you sorted, and I’ll be right back to assist them.’ She glared at Simone and Kate with an expression that said she’d be happy to shoot them then and there, and shepherded Mangold up the stairs, locking the door behind them.
The basement was thrown into pitch darkness again.
Kate slumped against Simone, Mangold’s words whirling around her head, almost managing to distract her from the fact that they had just lost their opportunity to escape. So Mangold had known her parents in Tanzania? He said her dad was a virologist – but that had to be his memory playing tricks. She had been very young when Watoto claimed both her parents, but not so young that she hadn’t known what her father’s occupation had been. No one had ever said anything to her about her dad being a virologist too. It had been her parents’ friend Leonard who had inspired her to study virology – or at least, that was what she’d always believed. Mangold’s dementia, or whatever it was, must have made him confuse Leonard with her father. All the same, there was something about the way he’d said, ‘Your father would be proud of you.’
‘Shit,’ said Simone into the blackness.
57
By the time they arrived in Feverfew, Paul felt like death would be a merciful release. The sickness had taken over his whole body until all he was able to do was sip from a bottle of water Harley had bought from a vending machine beside a shut-up shop a few miles back. He felt alternately sweaty with fever and shivery with cold.
But his determination to find – and rescue – Kate kept him going, and gave him some strength.
Harley checked the GPS and drove down a long mountain road until the ranch gates came into view. The sky was beginning to lighten, the stars winking out, birds filling the air with morning song. Harley pulled up by the side of the road, out of sight of anyone looking out of the ranch windows, and they sat in silence. It was beautiful here, Paul thought, so peaceful. But if everything they believed was correct, this place was the cradle, the source, of all the death and pain he’d witnessed since coming to America.
Including his own death, in all probability.
Diaz dozed in the back seat, a trail of drool on his chin. Harley, who had been wearing his flu mask for the whole journey, turned round and said, ‘Camilo – we’ve arrived.’
The old man blinked as he woke up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
‘So …’ he said, smiling grimly.
Paul turned round in his seat. ‘Whatever happens next,’ he said, ‘you need to tell us how to stop the virus.’
Diaz unfastened his seat belt and opened the door, getting out of the car. Paul and Harley followed
suit, Paul’s legs almost buckling as he stepped on to the hot asphalt.
‘Camilo,’ he said in the strongest voice he could muster.
‘Yes, of course. Don’t worry. But I want to see Mangold first. Then I will tell all.’
‘You’d better.’ Assuming the man was telling the truth, Diaz was his only hope of survival. If there was some cure that could be created in – well, how long did he have left? A day or two? Would that be long enough? He couldn’t worry about it now. At this moment, the most important thing was getting Kate out.
Harley had been on the phone while Paul was talking to Diaz. He slipped his phone into his pocket and said, ‘Back-up is at least an hour away. Probably two. Every spare person we have has been sent to LA to try to help the situation there. We should wait here until they arrive.’
‘No,’ Paul said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘I have to keep moving. I need to make sure Kate is all right.’
‘But, Paul, you’re not well. You need to rest.’
‘Resting isn’t going to do me any good. If you don’t come with me, I’ll go on my own.’
‘Don’t be foolish.’
Paul stepped towards Harley, acting much harder than he felt. ‘Listen – you brought Kate and me over here.
It’s your fault we’re in this mess. And I am not going to sit here while we wait for back-up that might never arrive.’
‘You never want to sit tight, do you, Paul? If you hadn’t run off in the first—’
‘What? If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have found Camilo. We wouldn’t have a clue where Kate or Mangold or his granddaughter were.’
Harley sighed. ‘OK, OK. Let’s take a closer look. Just hold on one minute.’
He got back into the car and opened the glove compartment. A few moments later he reappeared and handed Paul a small black pistol. Paul took it, felt its weight in his hand. Harley produced another gun from inside his jacket.
‘This is against every procedure in the book, but … I guess these are extraordinary circumstances. Do you know how to use a gun?’
Paul nodded.
‘Got one for me, young man?’ Diaz said.
‘No way,’ said Harley. ‘You wait here, in the car.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! I came all this way to see Mangold. You’re not leaving me here now.’ He folded his arms and Harley sighed again.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘What a team. Me, the walking dead and a cast-off from Dad’s Army. Come on.’
Harley set off down the hill towards the ranch, Paul and Diaz following close behind. Paul sneezed. Every step hurt. The walking dead. You said it, Agent Harley, he thought, stroking the trigger of his gun with a fingertip. But if I can stay upright long enough, maybe I can take a few of the bastards with me.
They stood at the gates of the ranch, looking in. The gates were black wrought iron, fifteen feet high and surrounded by an equally high fence, with a brick wall running along its base. Beyond the gate, a path led past some stables towards a magnificent ranch house. Behind where the three of them stood now was a wood, the trees standing like sentries, watching them.
‘Now what?’ said Paul. On a post beside the gate was an intercom with a keypad. Above the intercom button was a small camera lens.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Harley. ‘Hang on, what’s that?’
All three of them turned. It took Paul a moment to realise the sounds he could hear were those of a horse’s hooves on the road. It was coming from somewhere just beyond where they’d left the car, and getting closer.
‘Quick,’ whispered Harley, dashing across the road into the trees.
As they watched, the horse came into view, ridden by an Asian woman wearing black leather. She pulled the creature up beside the post, pressed a few buttons on the keypad and waited while the gate opened. She rode through and directed the horse towards the stable on the right, vanishing from view. A couple of minutes later, they watched her go into the house and shut the door behind her.
Paul, Harley and Diaz emerged from the trees.
‘We have to get in there,’ said Paul. His head was swimming and his eyes were so sore he could barely see. But he felt desperate to find Kate. They were so close.
‘One-three-seven-six-E,’ said Diaz.
Harley turned to him. ‘What?’
‘That’s the code to open the gate.’
Paul was astonished. ‘You could see that from where we were standing?’
Diaz shrugged. ‘I may be an old man, but I have the eyes of an eagle. And I could see the pattern of her fingers as she pressed the buttons.’
‘Amazing.’
Harley pushed the buttons on the keypad. The gate opened and the three of them slipped through, the gate automatically shutting behind them. There was a white Porsche parked in front of the house, and they ducked behind it, peering through the vehicle’s windows at the front door.
‘OK,’ said Harley. ‘You two wait here. I’m going to go see what I can see.’
Keeping low, Harley jogged off down the left side of the house, his gun in his right hand.
He’d no sooner disappeared from sight than the front door of the house opened. Paul and Diaz shrank down; then Paul carefully raised himself into a crouching position so he could see through the rear window of the Porsche. He almost lost his balance, but steadied himself against the door, his head throbbing, white light pulsing at the edges of his vision.
The Asian woman came out of the house, followed by a stunning woman with hair the colour of wheat.
‘That’s Angelica,’ Diaz said calmly in Paul’s ear.
And then, side by side, two more people emerged from the house, handcuffed. One was a beautiful black woman who looked like she’d just been told she had a terminal illness. The other was Kate, looking pale and strained, but defiant.
Paul had to clasp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out her name. Behind Kate and her handcuffed companion came a fierce-looking white woman with short hair, who had a gun trained on their backs. Apart from Kate, they were all clad in long robes of either gold or white. Kate was wearing unfamiliar pale brown clothes and, oddly, her shirt only had one sleeve. The sight of her bare arm touched Paul deeply. There was a bloody bandage tied around her forearm. What had happened?
The blonde spoke: ‘Bring them round here, Sister Heather.’ She gestured to the right, the opposite side of the house to the one Harley had gone down. ‘Sister Preeti, you decided to join us after all, I see. Give me your gun.’
‘Yes, Dadi Angelica … I want to prove to you that I am your humble servant. I am not afraid. It is Sekhmet’s will.’ But Paul saw that the Indian girl, Preeti, was shaking like a leaf.
‘I’m not going to harm you. Only the traitor Simone and the English bitch.’
From his position twenty feet away, Paul could see that Angelica’s face was twisted with anger and hatred, but she appeared to be trying to look serene. It was as if her face was fighting a battle with itself. The calm side was losing. She looked completely mad, and the madness disfigured her beautiful face as dramatically as scar tissue would have done.
The party went round the corner of the house, the short-haired woman, Heather, jabbing a gun periodically between the prisoners’ shoulders.
Paul gestured for Diaz to wait. To his surprise, the old scientist assented. Leaving the cover of the Porsche, he jogged slowly towards the house, throwing himself against the wall and peering round the corner. His fever was getting worse by the minute and he felt as if he was trying to run through storm waves rather than across flat ground. The wall rippled and undulated against his body, and he had to grip on to it to stay upright. Sweat trickled into his eyes and he blinked away the stinging sensation.
At first he couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Kate and Simone, as he had heard Angelica call her, were on their knees on the grass. Angelica and Heather were standing behind them, guns pointed at the backs of their heads. Heather was grinning. Angelica looked
insane.
It was an execution.
Paul pressed himself against the wall, heart thumping so fast he thought he might have a cardiac arrest, sweat pouring off him. He raised the gun Harley had given him and released the safety.
He could hear Angelica chanting in a sing-song voice: ‘Oh, great Sekhmet, Goddess of Pestilence, lady of the plague, who has guided and sustained us, who has blessed us with her love and her light, we, your humble servants, offer to you a sacrifice. The traitor, Simone, who like Judas was sent to betray us, and your enemy, Kate Maddox, who would undo your great work. Sekhmet, please accept this—’
Paul stepped round the corner, holding the gun out with both hands. His vision was blurred but he somehow managed to keep the gun steady.
‘Put the guns down,’ he shouted, hoping Harley would hear.
Several things happened at once: Kate looked up and gasped, ‘Paul!’ Preeti reached inside her robe and produced another gun. She squeezed off a shot at Paul. The bullet struck the wall beside his head, and he threw himself behind the corner, the sudden movement causing the world around him to explode in a burst of stars.
‘Kill her now,’ Angelica screamed, and another shot went off.
Paul roared, ‘No!’ and thrust his head back round the corner, expecting to see Kate lying dead on the ground. But at the same moment Kate had also cried out, the same word: ‘No!’
It was the other woman, Simone, who had been shot.
She was on her side, blood pooling around her, her dead eyes open and staring right at him, piercing his heart. He couldn’t see Kate’s face, but her shoulders were heaving as if she was crying. He retreated behind the wall again. His hands shook and nausea swept over him. The air swam around him, but he forced himself to step out from behind the corner, heart pounding when he saw Preeti running towards him. Behind her, Angelica had her gun against the back of Kate’s head while Heather was close to the wall of the house, moving swiftly towards him, that malevolent grin still etched on her face.