by A. S. French
Grace tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Your friend and her partner are observing from the shadows.’ She pointed at Cope and Wylie, standing like grim statues in the far corner.
‘You distract them while I go upstairs.’ Astrid slipped away before Grace protested.
She dodged a couple of harlequins loping towards her and stepped into the room opposite, an impressive-looking library with entertainers dressed as famous fictional characters serving refreshments. She took a glass from Hamlet and turned on her heels. Further down the corridor, she peered into the rest of the rooms, ignoring the punters and the costumed servants.
A crowd surrounded an Egyptian sarcophagus, from which an exotic princess popped out as Astrid went upstairs to the first floor. It was more of the same, with staff in fancy dress and guests gazing at handsome men or scantily clad women. The surveillance room couldn’t be there; it had to be away from everyone and would probably be locked, so she searched for anywhere that was off-limits.
Astrid continued upwards and on to the next level. Gilded frames hung from the walls, unsmiling characters with a resemblance to Brady glared at her. Opulent soft furnishings lined the corridor, leading to the only room there. She marched towards it and tried the door, happy to find it locked.
She removed a paper clip from her pocket, bending it out of shape so it was stretched and pointed with small indents along the length. Astrid pressed it into the handle and wiggled the metal on metal for thirty seconds before the lock clicked open. She pushed at the door and stepped inside.
Apart from the humming computers and the barrage of screens exhibiting the building’s current events, the room was empty. She checked every monitor, ignoring most of them and settling on the sight of Grace speaking to the Detectives. Grace’s lips twisted upwards and there was a fire in her eyes as she appeared to be arguing with Pete Wylie. Cope stood there impassively and sipped on her drink. Astrid peered at the screen and raised one finger to her neck, touching the mark Julie had left there.
She was about to move away and search for the video footage when something caught her attention behind Cope. A man stared at Grace, the cut of his hair, his physique and his movement marking him out as ex-military. But he wasn’t just staring at her; he was scrutinising her as if she was the most important person there. The intensity of his gaze, even through the screen, made Astrid uneasy. Was he Brady’s security?
No, she’d seen them around the mansion, all of them dressed the same with earpieces and microphones, a physical presence for all the guests to see. This man was different; he was trying to be normal. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t place what it was.
Astrid checked all the cameras, looking through the other rooms, and found three men of a similar disposition. If they weren’t Brady’s private security, perhaps they were secret service operatives. Whoever they were, they just added to her problems if she got caught poking around the mansion.
She turned from the screens and headed for the closest computer.
Let’s see how lucky I am.
She clicked on the keyboard, and the screen lit up. She was fortunate; no password required, and there was a prominent folder named SURVEILLANCE VIDEOS on the desktop. She opened it, flicking through the files to find the date she wanted. She was blessed again because each clip was divided into hours, with twenty-four segments for each day.
Astrid located the clips for the morning Alex was supposedly set free from the compound, fast-forwarding through one before watching the teenager walk out of the gates just after nine. Alex strode into the woods, her movement telling Astrid what she’d already surmised: the girl hadn’t been broken by what these people did to her; she was defiant and determined.
She calculated the time it would have taken Alex to get to Manny’s place, linger there, and then return to the compound. Astrid went through every video taken from eleven until midnight, getting more and more frustrated with each one. There was no sign of Alex or a vehicle to pick her up on any of them. Could she have been wrong about the teenager returning to the mansion for a phone?
Astrid was about to go through the clips from after midnight when the wood creaked behind her. She twisted around in time for a fist to brush her head and thump into the desk. She fell to the floor and rolled into the wall, her shoulder throbbing as she hit the concrete. From downstairs came the sounds of laughter and music, of people shouting and enjoying themselves.
She stood and looked into the face of a giant.
21 Sons of the Silent Age
‘You shouldn’t be in here.’
Blood dripped from his knuckles as he towered over her. He was taller than Grace, with a body packed full of sinew and muscle. His forehead was almost square, large and imposing, crisscrossed with lines. He might have come straight from the circus if he hadn’t been wearing an expensive suit adorned with a prominent RE-ELECT BRADY button.
Astrid touched the side of her head. ‘I got lost coming up the stairs.’ He’d missed in his attempt to punch her, but she faked a grimace as if in pain. ‘Did the Senator tell you to hit his guests?’
‘Don’t lie to me, English. I know who you are.’ He flexed both hands. ‘My orders are to bring you downstairs, but you don’t have to be in one piece.’
As he reached to grab her, she punched him in the chest. It was like throwing her arm into a brick wall. Pain shot through her fingers and wrist, but he didn’t move.
‘Fuck!’ she shouted as he dug his hand into her, dragging Astrid across the room and tossing her onto the floor. Dust swirled over her face and into her eyes, her hands scrambling for anything to use as a weapon. He seized her foot and pulled again as electricity shot up her leg.
‘Stop struggling,’ he said as they reached the door. ‘Or I’ll drag you like this all the way downstairs.’
Astrid found some leverage and kicked him in the groin with her free foot. He screamed, digging his nail into her ankle and throwing her into a desk. A laptop tumbled from it and fell into her stomach. A small table lamp followed and landed on her neck, the bulb catching the marks Cope had left there earlier.
She lay there, wondering how she’d gone from rolling around on the floor with the copper to pushing bits of electric equipment from her damaged body a few hours later.
Astrid grabbed the lamp and stood, the computer slipping from her gut as she watched the tall man clutch at his groin as he staggered up. She recognised the hatred in his eyes.
Hate is power, and he’s bursting with it.
She moved back towards the far end of the room, seeing the surveillance screens flickering as she went, noticing performers dressed as Charlie Chaplin and Wonder Woman entertaining Brady’s guests. She couldn’t see Grace or the Senator as her assailant growled and stumbled at her.
There was murder in his eyes as she dodged to the side, kicking the laptop so it slid into his foot. His grin was crooked, his head lopsided as if the weight of the world was in his shoulder as he bent to pick up the computer. It seemed small to her in his massive grasp; and then he hurled it at her.
She ducked as it smacked into the wall, bits of the screen splintering near her hands. She grabbed the largest piece as he sprinted forward. Her reflexes were quicker than his, and she pushed the broken glass towards his foot. He stepped on to it and twisted his ankle, stumbling and crashing into a table. As his bulk thumped into the ground, she reached over and seized the lamp. He tried to push up, but she smashed the light into his head. The porcelain crashed apart, the bulb splitting into pieces as he crumbled.
She stood over him as he rolled on the floor. Astrid thrust her hand down so quickly he had no chance of stopping her jabbing her fingers into his throat, hitting the precise spot she knew would render him unconscious.
She hobbled out and down the stairs, dodging over-excited clowns and flappers, and headed for the main room. Grace was nowhere around, but Julie Cope waved at her from the far end of the corridor. Astrid limped forward as Wylie scowled at her.
‘Too much to
drink, Snow?’ Cope’s smile wasn’t as attractive as she remembered.
‘Do you know where Grace is?’
Cope shrugged. ‘Probably preening herself somewhere before signing up for the circus.’
An elephant trumpeted outside the window as Detective Wylie leered at Astrid. ‘You’ve missed the boat, English.’
She grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter and downed it in one. ‘I am the boat, mate.’ Then she turned to Cope. ‘What’s going on, Jules?’
‘Brady wants to see you in the drawing room,’ she said. ‘You need to follow me.’
Astrid did so while trying to shake the pain from her leg. ‘Are you acting in a Cluedo recreation, Jules?’
They strode into the corridor past guests and entertainers. The Detective moved towards the room and opened the door. ‘I want you to know this isn’t personal, Snow.’
The reply was strangled in Astrid’s mouth by the sight of Grace held by two men. She pushed beyond the pain and strode forward, with Cope closing the door behind her. Brady stood in front of the fireplace, flanked by two of his security guards. The thugs holding Grace were not his goons, but similar types to the ex-military bloke she’d seen on the screen earlier. He was also in the room, with one other.
‘How bad are your secrets, Senator, that you’d assault a Police Officer?’
Astrid was halfway between him and Grace when his men stepped forward. Even in pain and hobbling, she was in no doubt she could deal with them, but the six others were a different matter.
‘Follow me, Ms Snow.’
Brady moved past the grand piano, with a goon in front and another behind. The front one grabbed the edge of an ornate cloth hanging from the wall and pulled it to the side. Another door was behind it, Brady walking through it and indicating she should as well. She glanced over at Grace to see she was okay. The goons had let go of her, but stood by her side; close enough, she wouldn’t be able to get away without a fight. Astrid rubbed at her bruised stomach and knew it was too soon for that.
‘How far into the labyrinth are you taking me, Senator?’
Was this some elaborate extension of the secret tunnel they’d found near the river? Was he connected to the missing children, after all?
Am I walking deeper into a trap, one I’ll never get out of?
‘I thought it was time I showed you my collection, Ms Snow.’
She trailed him inside, unmoving when the second thug brushed by her to close the door. The Senator smelt of cheap aftershave, moving as if he’d had too much to drink. Astrid strode inside and scanned the surroundings, identifying where the dangers and escape points might be.
The room was unlike the others, more modern as if added as an afterthought. There was a giant screen at the back, with portraits of old movie stars covering the walls: Valentino, Garbo, Harlow, Swanson, Chaplin, Brooks, and Pickford. As a child, locked up physically and mentally at home, Astrid had escaped into other worlds via the internet and television, dreaming of a life she might have had in different black and white days. History and fiction had been her only friends then, but now there was one upstairs, a real, live friend whose life depended upon her.
She ignored Brady and his goons and strode towards the paintings of faces she hadn’t seen for a long time.
‘All this so you can show me pictures of dead people?’
Brady’s eyes narrowed as he peered at her. ‘The first time I met you, once I got past the annoyance of someone intruding into my business, I knew you’d appreciate what I have here.’ He moved by her side and pointed at a painting. ‘Do you know who this is?’
She scrutinised the canvas while struggling to create an escape map out of the building. Hypnotic eyes stared from the frame underneath thick curls covering the top of the subject’s face. She clasped her hands together as if they contained some dark secret.
‘That’s Norma Shearer,’ Astrid said. ‘The portrait on her right is Kay Francis; the one on her left is Ann Harding.’ She turned to him. ‘So, you have a fixation for little known 1930s movie stars.’
He stepped from her and reached into his pocket. He removed a remote control and switched on the large screen.
‘They’re not just from the thirties; I watch their movies and the best of the silent age. I like to escape into their worlds when mine doesn’t satisfy me.’ He stared at her. ‘I think you know how that feels.’
‘Does your world include kidnapping children?’
The cinema whirred into life, electricity charging the air. Brady’s eyes shrank into his face as he shook his head. ‘It was only the one time with Alex Sanchez, and that was a mistake. I listened to bad advice and learnt a valuable lesson from it. We let her go, and her mother was well rewarded.’
Astrid flinched at his words. ‘You gave Christina money?’
He laughed at her. ‘It was nothing so vulgar, Ms Snow. One of my businesses bought the land she and her community live on, made some adjustments to it, and let them run it as a co-op for the rest of their lives.’ He sank into a chair as the titles came up on a movie over a hundred years old.
Astrid moved to the side of the screen, still processing what he’d told her. ‘Why would you do that?’
Brady muted the sound. ‘My mother’s heritage was one of backwoods trailer trash. She was fourteen when she married her cousin, a violent man twice her age who thought he was Jerry Lee Lewis’s reincarnation, even though the Killer wasn’t dead. He had none of Jerry Lee’s musical talent, but all of his rage and anger.
‘I was born the day before her fifteenth birthday. When my father died, I was five, standing in the wings as he was electrocuted on stage while trying to tune a guitar he couldn’t play. If only someone had told him Jerry Lee was a piano player.’
Astrid tried to shake the confusion from her head. ‘What’s your sordid life story got to do with this?’
‘Our childhood experiences are what forge the whole of our existence, don’t you think, Ms Snow? Some use the terrible things that happen to them to become terrible people; I used mine as real-life education.’
‘You’re an inspiration to us all, Brady.’ She glanced around the room. ‘It must be difficult for you, having to live in such splendour.’
He waved his hand in the air. ‘This is all spectacle; size and grandeur to draw the masses in, but the thing that hooks them, the thing that creates the connection, is intimacy. Give them something which fills the four chambers of their hearts, and you’ll have them for life. There are several ways you can achieve this: generosity, love, sacrifice, tragedy.’
‘Is that what you’re giving to the people?’
‘The world is a prison, and we can either be its inmates or its governor. I choose the latter.’
He was different now to when they’d first met. There was hypnotic power in his voice: the tone, the resonance, the way it rose and fell; she imagined it had a powerful effect on all who heard it.
‘Is that why you’re keen to lead the nation’s youth into a better world?’
‘You mean the Future Youth Project?’ He reached into his pocket, removed a photograph and handed it to her. She stared at the image of a teenage girl with long blonde hair and the same sparkling blue eyes as him. ‘That’s my sister, Jocelyn. She died of cancer when she was twelve; I was sixteen.’ He took the photo from her and placed it on the table near them. ‘To survive that trauma, I convinced myself her death was the best thing for her, considering our circumstances.’
‘Your circumstances?’
‘My parents lived in poverty, Ms Snow. Jocelyn and I barely had enough to eat or adequate clothes to wear. We were the butt of everyone’s jokes, ridiculed at school and everywhere we went. It toughened me up, but it was a struggle for her. At home, we knelt around dilapidated chairs every night to say our prayers, asking God for release from our burdens.’ He glanced across the large room. ‘And perhaps he did.’
‘So, you worked your way up from poverty into the most powerful man in the state, and now you
want to give something back to the youth of the nation?’ Astrid tried to rein in her sarcasm.
‘Good God, no. These kids are scenery, that’s all; background figures in my story, insignificant actors to a drama they don’t understand.’ A sneer slithered across his face like a fat slug. ‘Handing things to people for free only makes them lazy and ungrateful; everyone needs to work for what they get. There’s no sense of achievement if everything gets handed to you on a plate.’
She watched the snake oil veneer slip from him. Quite why he was so keen to parade his ignorance was a mystery to her; she’d have thought he’d have preferred to leave room for doubt.
‘You’re no different from every other slime ball eager to exploit others for their own ends, and while I’d love to spend some time explaining the error of your ways, I’ve got more pressing things to do. And you need to let Grace go.’
He shook his head. ‘My upbringing taught me that if I didn’t think and act big, I’d get swept up amongst all the human debris in life. Unfortunately, it means I have to make deals with some unsavoury characters, which is why I have to apologise to you, Ms Snow.’
He increased the sound from the speakers, and a giant gorilla howled from the screen.
‘What do you mean?’ Tension rippled through her fingers.
‘You need to leave here and return opposite if you want your friend the policewoman to remain unharmed.’ Brady turned from her and concentrated on the movie. She ran past him and out of the door as Fay Wray grimaced in fear.
She burst into the other room. Grace stood at the back, perspiration dripping from her. Astrid marched across to see if she was okay, only realising they weren’t alone when she was halfway there. She stopped and turned: six men peered at her, only one of them smiling.
Daniel Gideon’s grin chilled her heart.
22 Absolute Beginners
The grin dripped from his mouth like dirty water from a leaky pipe.
‘You don’t have me at a disadvantage anymore, Snow.’