Part 5 (2/2)

The car proceeded up the long drive with the grim majesty of a hea.r.s.e. No, this would not be a garden-variety crazy. This might well be a crown jewel, a member of the hidden leaders.h.i.+p, someone whose knowledge had not been obscured by artificial psychosis-that is to say, someone who was in possession of their information and therefore useful.

So there were perhaps now two, David Ford and this new one. And, of course, MacNamara, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He knew a lot, that one, Mack had always sensed it.

He glanced across at Sam Taylor, who had returned to his bench and his thermos of coffee. Yesterday, Sam had been the victim of a little sleight of hand. He'd never seen Mack trigger the mine with his cell phone. The towers were out of commission, but the radio receiver on the mine was only a few hundred feet away. One of the general's men had buried it two days ago.

So far, there was no suspicion of the CIA officer who'd gone mad in Mexico and started sacrificing drug mules to the old G.o.ds.

He lay back and gazed up into the spray of pale pink flowers that crowded the apple boughs, putting on a show of nonchalance. Above and behind the tree, he could see the top of the wall. The gleam of the new razor wire winked down.

He heard the car's engine stop, and he knew that it was about to disgorge its occupant. And, indeed, one of the rear doors opened a little. The driver got out and came around.

A girl emerged, tall, unfolding herself and shaking her shoulders and her hair as if today's sunlight was her first.

She was auburn-haired, tanned, and-well, was the word ”ineffable?” There was a sense of air in the way she moved, and yet something about her said that she was used to being in control of her life and her world.

She did not look insane, or even particularly troubled, which he found most interesting.

She paused for a moment before the great facade of the mansion, put her hands on her hips and gazed at it. Well, it was normal enough for a person to be impressed by the row of columns, the red brick of the facade, the imposing doors ... for a normal person, in any case.

Then, determined and yet hesitant-a complicated human being, he saw that at once-she went inside.

He needed a surname, and right now, but the secrecy of their operation was so extreme this might be hard to obtain. In fact, the secrecy was so deep that these people, who had been together in a childhood cla.s.s run by Charles Light, the son of Bartholomew, were in a state of amnesia more profound even than the CIA could induce.

They were not insane, but they believed that they were, and that that was security at its extraordinary best. was security at its extraordinary best.

He watched the newbie, who had reappeared quickly after her entry into the building. She went off toward the gate, a curving pour of very feminine milk.

She stopped before the enormous iron bars. Nurse Cross strode across the deep green of the lawn and conducted her back to the building. The newbie's sobs tumbled through the air.

Was this just a patient? this just a patient?

As Beverly Cross tried to get her to enter the building, she shook her off and stepped out along the brick terrace that spread so elegantly beneath the front of the structure.

She took out a cigarette. She puffed, he watched. Puff, white smoke, hold the cigarette aside, puff, white smoke, hold the cigarette aside.

And then, quite suddenly, he was surrounded by the color red. All around him, a rose-red haze. Sunset? No, something else. He tried to wave it away, but found that he couldn't move his arms.

That scared him and he cried out, whereupon he felt warmth on his forehead and a voice, young, female, said, ”You're fine, Mack, you've just been finis.h.i.+ng.”

The taste of rubber from the mouth guard caused him to realize that he'd been in shock therapy.

”How do you feel, Mack?” the nurse asked.

As he sucked in breath, the room appeared around him, all tile and dismal machines. Across the way, a hydro tub moaned and splashed. The head of Glenda Futterman bobbed back and forth, as frantic as an agitated waterbird of some sort.

”Mack?”

”I'm coming out of it!” He gazed around at the room. ”I'm sorry. I thought I was ... outside.”

”Earlier you were.”

”Did I dream about a girl? A beautiful girl?”

”She's a new intake. Very real. You saw her come in.”

When he tried to get off the table, Dr. Ford said, ”Not yet, guy.”

It was so d.a.m.nable to have to endure their ridiculous treatments, but what could he do? This was the deepest possible cover he could create for himself, and the danger that he might be discovered was too great. So he endured the stupid indignity of taking electroshock treatment that he did not need.

The treatment made him forget a lot of things, sometimes too many things. He kept careful notes hidden in his room, but they might eventually be found, he knew that. So speed was essential. He needed to complete his mission, which had two parts. First, find out whatever was hidden here so well, so that it could be taken and used by the people who mattered. Then, the pleasant part: destroy this place.

4.

THE LADY OF THE STARRY SKIRT.

External conditions were deteriorating far more rapidly than David had imagined possible, and the problems this was causing forced him to put his effort to unravel the mysteries of this place aside for the moment. The blackened bodies of Aubrey Denman and her failed protector had been given a quick burial at the end of the estate's formal garden.

He went to his windows, gazing out across the green lawn to the two rough mounds of earth. Close to them, an apple tree bloomed. It reminded him of something, but not something pleasant.

”The apple blossom is the color of ...” What? It was blank, so he left it. But it was disquieting.

A little farther along, an oak spread spring leaves, their pale new green at once rea.s.suring and heartbreaking.

If you did not raise your eyes, all appeared normal and settled and safe. Look up to the top of the perimeter wall, though, and you saw that razor wire. By reading the clinic's activity logs, he'd discovered that Aubrey Denman had not been candid with him about much of anything, and certainly not the security situation, which was far worse than she had claimed-or, it would seem, known.

The razor wire was there because there had been an incursion from the town. People had tried to come over the wall. They'd been forced back and additional defensive measures had been taken, including the acquisition of some very powerful new guns, and thousands of rounds of ammunition.

Look past the wire, though, and a magnificent view of Raleigh County unfolded, the rolling hills brushed now with palest green. Only if you looked closely would you see a blackened house here or there.

The sky was now always that odd color, no longer the blue it had been. Really, not a color, more of an absence of color, a steely whiteness during the day, flickering auroras at night.

The lawn sprinklers came on, clicking smartly. It was a sound from childhood, which the child in him found rea.s.suring, he supposed. But where did they get the water? he wondered. Hopefully, from a well on the grounds.

Katie Starnes's voice came over the intercom. ”The new intake's in prep.”

”Bring in her chart, please.”

When he saw the name on her chart, he was stunned to frozen stillness. He kept his voice as calm as he could.

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