Sunder (23 page)

His final steps brought the occupants of the cell into sight, and Thorstein froze in an awkward pose, his face contorting in confusion.

Lady Annis, wearing only her shift and a single fur, stood in the cell with Einar, the Dane prisoner. Einar sat in a corner still shackled—by his wrists, his ankles, and his neck—so there was no danger. But what was Lady Annis doing in here with him? And in such a state of undress.

Thorstein could imagine the look of shock painted on his own face, though it would likely not compare to the flash of abject terror in Annis’ eyes.

“My Lady, what—”

“Thorstein, you surprised me. I was here to tell the news of Jesus Christ to your countryman here and I wasn’t expecting you to have allowable time, as surely I would have invited you to join me in this holy task,” she rattled off, barely breathing as she fired her words at him.

“My Lady,” Thorstein narrowed his eyes, “what are you doing out of bed? And why are you in the stockade with this killer of priests?”

The panicked expression in Annis’ eyes hardened. “Do not dare question me, Slave,” she spat. “Even in my frail state, I can still bring the possibility of salvation to a Pagan, as I did for you when my husband brought you into our home.”  In a painful, shuffling motion, Annis walked past Thorstein, shooting him one last glare as she did so. “Do not follow me, Slave. I will return to my bed without your company.”

There was a clanging sound as Annis held up a heavy ring of jailer’s keys in front of Thorstein’s face.

How did she get those?
He reached out his hand to accept the keys, but Annis released them, allowing them to drop to the ground. She gave a hateful smile, then turned away and continued her painstaking trudge out of the stockade.

Thorstein stayed in the doorway of Einar’s cell as he watched her go. He could not be certain, but he thought he saw droplets of blood fall around her feet as she walked.  When the last glimmer of her form had melted into the darkness, Thorstein turned to face Einar.

“What was she really doing in here?”

From speaking to Sigbert, Thorstein knew Einar was a year younger than himself, but he would never have made that assumption based on the prisoner’s appearance. He had a full beard and the hard look of a man twice his age. Despite his prisoner’s diet of bread and water, his shoulders were broad and his arms well-muscled, giving Thorstein the distinct impression he would be a formidable adversary on the battlefield and was grateful for the chains.

Einar countered Thorstein’s visual appraisal with a smug smile and leaned back against the wall. “She regaled me with stories of your silly God who allowed himself to be nailed to a cross.” Einar raised a defiant eyebrow, not even attempting to be convincing in his lie. “Is it true what she said?” he asked, switching to Norse. “Are you really one of my
countrymen
?”

Hearing his mother tongue caused a sudden and unexpected ache in Thorstein’s chest.

“I am not one of you. I am a follower of Christ.” 

Einar stared back at him with the same pompous, knowing smile on his face. “Ah yes, a follower of Christ. All you Christians love to declare your kind and gentle ways, but you are nothing but lying snakes using the mask of righteousness to cover your cowardice. Even a dullard like you should see that shrew,” he jerked his head toward the open cell door, “is a perfect example of why any
true
Dane would rather die than pledge fealty to her lying god.”

Thorstein let his gaze linger on Einar’s face a moment longer, taking in how disgusted he looked. There was no reason why the Lady of Shaftesbury would ever come to see a prisoner, even in the best of health. He had stumbled upon something untoward in this dark corner of the night, and he did not know what to do about it. He knew he should leave, as it was sin to listen to such blasphemy, but something held him in the doorway of the cell.

“Perhaps you find the lady of Shaftesbury to be unimpressive. But even she is more worthy than you. Our God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all forgiving. Can you say the same for your idols?”

Einar let out a snorting laugh. “What a sad little Saxon you’ve become. Who is your family?”

“The people of Shaftesbury are my family,” he blurted, instantly sorry he had stayed in the cell. Turning away quickly, Thorstein jumped outside and slammed the door behind him, then bent to the ground to snatch up the keys. Twisting the key in the lock, he heard the satisfying click, with only silence coming from beyond the door. After a moment, curiosity brought him up on his toes to peer in through the tiny window in the door.

Einar was staring up at the tiny window, meeting Thorstein’s eyes. The look of smug anger had faded from his face, leaving it grey and empty. “I feel sorry for you,” he whispered.

Gripping the bars on the window, Thorstein leaned his forehead into them. “There is no reason to pity me. The end of my days will lead me to heaven. In a short while, you will be dead. You should spend what time you have begging forgiveness for your sins.”

“That remains to be seen, Saxon. But if it comes to pass, I will feast in Valhalla with my father.” He turned his face away from Thorstein. “And probably yours as well.”

“There is no Valhalla,” Thorstein’s voice cracked on the last word. “There is only heaven or hell.”

“Your heaven sounds like my hell, and you may keep them both. When they hang me, will they say Christian prayers over me?” Einar looked back at Thorstein, his eyes dry but looking as if they should be wet.

“No. They believe you to be bound for hell. They will offer no prayer for you.”

“Good.” He drew in a breath and slowly stood, the effort of it making him wince in pain. “Do you remember
our
prayer? Will you say what should be said over my body?”

Thorstein drew in a sharp breath, knowing his soul could be in danger if he agreed to such a thing—or even for considering it. The instinctual refusal rose up in his throat, but it was replaced by a choking sob as he remembered his father—the image of that last moment as Garrick’s sword ran him through the gut… he had looked so relieved. In order to get into Valhalla, a man must die by the sword, and his father had been glad to pay that price.

“You gave no such mercy to the bishop you killed.” Thorstein murmured, unable to speak above a whisper.

Einar only nodded solemnly, easing himself down to the floor. “He was my enemy as surely as I am yours. But enemy or no, I allowed him his prayer before I finished him off.”

Thorstein blinked rapidly, determined to remain as stoic as Einar as he wrestled with his conscience. Was it not the Christian thing to allow his enemy to die in peace?

Closing his eyes, a single tear sliding onto his face, Thorstein whispered out those long forgotten words, those which had been said for so many men, including his father.

“Lo there, do I see my father. Lo there do I see my mother and my sister and my brothers. Lo there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning.”

Einar’s lips moved in tandem with the prayer, but he made no sound as Thorstein continued.  “Lo they do call to me. They bid me to take my place among them in the hallowed halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever.”

The cell was silent, even the ceaseless dripping of melted snow onto the stone outside had gone quiet in reverence.

“Thank you, Brother.” Einar said without looking at Thorstein. “Perhaps one day we shall see one another again.”

Finally lowering his heels to the ground, Thorstein said no more to Einar, who—in another life—could have been his friend. Confused and alone, Thorstein walked out of the stockade, the heavy key ring cold in his hand. He knew he should run straight to Bertolf and tell him Lady Annis had been in with the prisoner. At the very least, he should turn the keys over to him. But he would do neither of those things. For tonight, Thorstein wanted to do nothing but curl up and wish for a different life.

17

Gabriel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the two guards conversed among themselves in front of the launch depot gates. He took note of the uncomfortable dance they were each doing with their rifles, being careful not to point them directly at Gabriel or his car, but also not slinging the weapons, or even letting them hang towards the ground.
This is ridiculous.

“What is the problem here?” he roared, kicking open his door. “I ordered you to let me in, now why the hell am I waiting on you?”

At his outburst, the two men raised their weapons with synchronized precision, pointing them directly at Gabriel.

“Sir!” One of them, he looked like he might be a Jew, stepped forward slightly. “We have orders not to let anyone into the depot, not even other members of the council; now get back in your car!”

“Orders?” Solely out of habit, Gabriel spread his hands out to his sides in response to being held at gunpoint, but he did not get back in his car. “I am the Vice-President of the Jaramillo-Diaz Council, second only to Alfredo Jaramillo himself, and I know perfectly well
he
did not give you that order. Whose orders supersede mine?”

“Padre Lopez-Castaneda’s, that’s who,” said the Jew.

The gall of him!
Relying solely on his assumption that no guard would shoot a sitting Councilman, Gabriel stepped right up to the man in front of him.

“Captain…” he looked down at the guard’s name tag. “Perez?” He raised an eyebrow at him. “Your name is Perez?”

The man nodded, swallowing a little too noticeably, and Gabriel knew he had been right. The man was a Jew who had probably been born with a decidedly different name. How in the world did he get this job?

“What is Padre Lopez-Castaneda’s position on the council, Captain
Perez
?” Gabriel dropped his voice dangerously, and the other guard, who looked like a good Christian man, lowered his rifle slightly.

“Sir?” Perez had beads of sweat forming on his brow that glinted in the harsh flood lights.

“His position? What does he do?”

“He is the Vatican’s representative.”

Gabriel gave an exaggerated nod, as if he were in awe of the Jew’s intelligence. “Where is he placed in the line of succession?”

“Sir?”

“Are you hard of hearing,
Perez
? The line of succession! I am first in line. If Alfredo resigns, I will become the president. If I am unable to take on that role, then Councilman Pierre Sagnier will take it and so on down the line. Where does the good Father fall in that line of succession?”

“He doesn’t,” Perez said, shifting his eyes down.

“No, he doesn’t. He cannot take on any leadership position in the council. He is there to observe and to indicate the wishes of the Vatican, is that not so?”

Hunching his shoulders like a school boy, Perez just nodded, his lips tightly pursed.

“So what are you doing taking his orders over mine?”

The man, clearly conflicted, started to speak several times, but cut himself off each time.

With a disgusted snort, Gabriel snatched Perez’s rifle, his palm cracking against the hand guards. The other guard cleared his throat.

“We apologize, Mr. Vice President. It’s just that Father told us Councilman Jaramillo needed some privacy.” He slung his weapon over his shoulder. “We meant no disrespect.”

Now Gabriel shifted his haughty glare to this other guard, Silva was his name. He was also a Captain, but by the looks of it, he understood the game a great deal better than did Perez. Padre Lopez-Castaneda spoke for Alfredo; everyone knew that, so there was every reason for these guards to follow his order. But when Gabriel had become aggressive
after
learning of the priest’s order, Silva was seemingly smart enough to realize something was going on that far exceeded his paygrade. Now he was backpedaling to save his career.
Smart boy
.

“I’ll take that into account,” Gabriel softened his expression slightly. “But I’ll need your weapon too, Son,” he said.

Silva complied, clicking the safety on prior to handing his rifle over.

“Now both of you get back into the guard shack.”

“We can’t protect the gate unarmed, sir. Absolutely not.” Perez seemed to have regained some of his dignity, and was giving Gabriel a quasi-defiant look as he stayed solidly where he was.

In spite of himself, Gabriel felt an approving smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “In a few moments, you won’t need to guard anything.” He flicked his head towards the shack and, after a brief exchange of looks, the two men nodded and walked into the small building in front of the gate.

“The remaining six councilmen will start arriving within the next hour or so. Once they have all arrived, they will proceed into the Depot. At that point, you may both return home.”

Captain Silva cocked his head at him, a confused look on his face.

“You’re in full compliance with your duties,” Gabriel nodded reassuringly. The fact that Silva looked so confused was a good sign. Sometimes privileged information got leaked, but in this case at least, the guards were seemingly oblivious to what Gabriel planned to do.

He got into his car and released the brake, allowing the vehicle to roll just inside the gate. After placing the car in park once more, he got out and walked to the interior of the concrete wall that surrounded the launch depot. He leaned in close to the concrete. There was no key pad, no microphone. Just wall.

“Gabriel Ruiz requesting Omega 314,” he whispered into the concrete.

“Vice President Gabriel Ruiz, please verify activation code,” the female mechanized voice rang out into the surrounding swamps and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards on the other side of the gate jump.

“Verification Ruiz, charlie sigma three seven niner, execute.”

“Accepted. Please stand clear.” A wailing siren filled the air and the solid steel security wall rose up out of the ground, completely blocking the entryway to the depot. It was heavy and huge, and the siren continued its claxon until the wall had risen to its full height and locked in place.

With the steel barrier sealing the depot, the siren cut off. In the silence, Gabriel realized his port phone was ringing in his pocket. Fishing it out, he answered without looking at the caller ID.

“You can relax Sergeant Bullock; I was the one who triggered the alarm. No one but the remaining council members will be able to get in here now.”

There was a crackling silence on the other end of the phone, then “I’m afraid it’s not Bullock, Gabriel.” The voice of Manuel Lopez-Castaneda rasped in his ear. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Gabriel’s heartbeat pulsed violently, sending a reverberating tone through his ears. It was not fear or even surprise that unleashed the stab of adrenaline, but rather anger. He should have expected Lopez-Castaneda to respond to the sirens, should have known he would have to get through the priest to get to Alfredo.

He rolled his eyes at his lack of foresight as he walked down the driveway toward the Launch Depot, cutting across the grass to get to the building more quickly.

“Don’t you use that ‘disappointed daddy’ tone with me,” Gabriel rebuked, his voice snapping at every syllable. “I don’t know what you’re playing at in there, but Alfredo is out of control, and you—”

“Alfredo is
not
out of control, but merely overcome with grief. In accordance with the plan we all agreed to—including you Gabriel—I stopped him from travelling. The timeline is secure, no crime has been committed; I consider the matter closed. For you to trigger the alarm and alert the other council members is cruel and hypocritical of you. I’m sorry to admit I didn’t think your ambition would get the best of you.”

Gabriel let out a disgusted laugh, shaking his head at the patronizing ass of a priest. “If I had an overabundance of ambition, Manuel, I could have had Alfredo removed long before now. That man has more enemies than I have teeth so it would be more than easy to pull off a coup d’état, had I the inclination.

“I have been nothing but loyal to the council, but Alfredo has pushed this too far now. Attempting illegal travel, sentencing a minor offender to death! And what about the A714, Manuel? What about the woman who—for some strange reason—neither you nor Alfredo called in to report?”

The silence on the other end of the phone was telling. As it stretched on, Gabriel walked the few remaining feet to the entrance to the Launch Depot. In the smooth glass doors, he noted how old he suddenly looked.

“I take no pleasure in this, but for the good of the Agency, it’s time for Alfredo to step down. He has left us with no other choice.”

The green laser emerged from the glass, scanning Gabriel’s retina, and still the priest on the other end of the phone did not speak.

“
Access denied. Please step back and wait for security
,” the computer said sharply.

For a moment, Gabriel could do nothing but stare stupidly at the glass doors, suppressing the desire to ask the computer to repeat itself. How could his access be denied?

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Padre’s voice returned to the phone. “But I’m not going to let you in just now. You may be correct about Alfredo needing a sabbatical, but at the moment, we are dealing with a personal matter. I assure you, your credentials will be restored within the next two to three hours. Everything will be settled by then.”

“What?” Gabriel screamed into the glass. “You can’t—”

“It would appear that I can. And Gabriel… please don’t shout again. You know how sensitive the security systems are. Reyna would be inconsolable if the computer ordered you shot.”

***

Alfredo watched as Shannan’s eyelids fluttered open, her head lolling from side to side as she fought her way to consciousness. He had turned the lights up, the glaring fluorescent bulbs flooding every corner of the room, illuminating every inch of her body, and even the slightest twitch in her face. What did she notice first, he wondered—that she was sitting in a chair, or that she was tied to it?

Shannan’s groggy head-lolling stilled as she gave an initial tug at her restraints. The gentle pulls gave way to frantic tugs, her chin quivering with panicked tears. Alfredo had never been forcibly sedated, but he could appreciate how terrifying it probably was to wake up in a strange place, to have so much difficulty thinking clearly, and then to see you’re tied to a chair. Yes, it must be very frightening indeed. But then, it was supposed to be.

“Welcome back,” he said, intentionally making his voice deeper.

“Fredo?” She squinted against the powerful lights, trying to look at him directly through the blur of her tears. “What are you doing?”

He did not answer her. The hurt in her voice—clearly audible despite her fearful trembling—gave him a momentary twinge of remorse. But as the seconds of silence ticked by, and her alarm became ever more visible, he knew this was the best—the only—way to do this. A few moments of terror would prompt her to talk, and then it would be over.

“Fredo…” This time her voice came out as a hoarse, pleading whisper, and he fought to keep the victorious smile off his face.

“We seem to have had a misunderstanding when you first arrived.” He leaned back against the wall, taking in a deep breath as if he were terribly bored. “When I asked you where my daughter was, you apparently believed you had the option not to answer. I hope that unfortunate miscalculation has now been corrected.”

It had been so long since he spoke English he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it, particularly now. The beautiful sounds of Spanish were unsuited to this ugly business—the nasal vowels of his American English felt much more appropriate. Turning his eyes back to Shannan, he saw the quiver in her chin had stopped and her mouth dropped open in an expression that silently asked him,
surely you cannot be serious?

“Where and when did you encounter Isabella?” He eyed her expectantly, and as expected, she took in a breath to answer his question.

“I have done nothing to deserve this treatment from you,” she said quietly, not dropping her eyes for even a second.

What?
Alfredo squinted his eyes at her, astonished at her defiance. She was frightened; he could see it. Why was she stalling?

“I understand you were angry with me for withholding information about Isabella, but I have a reason.” She spoke slowly, perhaps because of the lingering effects of the sedative, but more likely in an attempt to control her shaking. “You know me, Fredo. We’re friends, or at least we were. I am so sorry for your worry over your daughter, but she is not now nor was she ever in mortal danger—of that you can be certain. I did nothing to deserve what you did to me. I have done nothing to deserve
this
.” She pulled her wrists against the restraints, rattling them on the steel chair.

“We’re not friends, little girl. I’m not interested in your manufactured outrage; I’m only interested in getting what I want. You think you can pull one over on me by putting that little ‘who me?’ look on your face?” Sweat beaded up on his forehead and he stood straight up, abandoning his pose of indifference against the wall. “You came here because you thought it was for you to decide which timeline is correct. You came here to dangle the knowledge of my daughter’s whereabouts in front of my face to get me to help you change the timeline back. Do you think I’m stupid?” At his last word, a ray of spittle flew from his mouth, shining in the bright lights for a brief second before falling to the floor.