Part 21 (1/2)

'Who's that?'

'McBride. Cody.'

'Cody McBride? b.l.o.o.d.y Nora, that's a turn-up! Can you get me out?' 'Just give me a minute...'

He edged his way along the wall, searching by torchlight for a door.

He found one by accident, set back in the wall, out of the way down a short flight of steps which were almost wholly hidden by long gra.s.s. In fact it was the steps he found first, when the ground suddenly vanished from under him. He picked himself up and looked at the grey double doors. Once again he hefted his jemmy.

The door gave easily He was in a low-ceilinged stone corridor, windowless, with doors at regular intervals.

106.

'Ace !' he called.

'McBride!'

He was at a crossroads. It was difficult to tell exactly where Ace was calling from. Left, he was pretty sure.

'Keep talking, Ace!'

'I don't know what to say.'

McBride grinned.

'Tell me how you come to be locked up in a monkey-house.'

'A bloke locked me in here. He's... well, I suppose you could say he's my bloke.'

'I thought that was me, babe.

Ace laughed. McBride could hear her clearly through the door. He'd found her.

'Stand back,' he said. 'I'm gonna force the door.' McBride had no time for the subtler arts of burglary.

The door splintered and swung. And there was Ace, exactly the same as the last time they'd met. Nineteen years ago. Unchanged.

She rushed from the room, arms and grin wide, then stopped.

Her smile slipped a bit.

'Cody,' she said with forced lightness.

Nineteen years...

'I know,' grunted McBride. 'I got old. Whaddaya expect? It's what people do around here.'

Ace smiled warmly now, and hugged him.

'It's good to see you again, Cody, she said with genuine emotion.

'Did the Doctor send you?'

'Kinda,' said McBride. 'He reckons you're in big trouble.

Someone's out to shoot you.'

'Me?' spluttered Ace. 'Why?'

'Let's just get out of here, shall we?' said McBride. 'This place always gives me the creeps.'

'You ain't going anywhere!'

A lazy Texan drawl echoed down the stone pa.s.sageway.

'What's this, the Seventh Cavalry?'

A man was strolling up to them. He looked tough. He was carrying a machete.

He looked familiar. Fresh, open face, dirty blond tousled hair... he looked American.

'Jimmy you can't keep us here!' Ace yelled. 'What do you want anyway?'

'I'm just doin' my job,' the newcomer said.

He was American. Jimmy...

107.

Then it dawned on McBride.

'You're James Dean,' said McBride. 'The movie star. You're supposed to be dead.'

'Wrong, fella,' said the matinee idol with the machete. 'You're the one's supposed to be dead.'

Suddenly he swung the machete in a broad, swift, lethal arc.

McBride lurched out of its path, feeling it slice the air beside him. He swung again, and again. McBride could do nothing but dance unevenly backwards, hoping to keep his footing.

At least he was leading this psycho away from Ace.

His attacker James Dean, or whoever the h.e.l.l he was was playing with him, grinning and jibing.

'This what you like is it, Joe? They train you up for this, Russkie-boy?'

The blade sliced through McBride's coat.

Worse he'd hit a dead end. He'd run out of corridor. His back was against a brick wall.