The Brotherhood of the Rose (40 page)

The protocol was important. Outside the rest home, The valley was fair to use as a killing ground-there'd be no punishment to the snipers; they wouldn't have broken a rule.

But what about directly in front of the gate? What if someone demanding sanctuary was shot as he reached the fence? A rest home was meaningless if no one could get inside. Logic suggested a buffer zone around the place, a small ambiguous strip-no more than a hundred yards perhaps-that wasn't protected but wasn't unprotected either. A gray area, requiring prudence. An assassin might not risk execution by killing outside a rest home, but he'd face inquiries. There'd be an investigation before he was absolved.

The ambiguity could work to Saul's advantage. I have to show myself to reach the fence, he thought. A mile down the road, I'd be dead the instant they spotted me. But what about directly outside the gate? Would they hesitate, pondering the rule?

in their place, I'd shoot. But I'm not them. He crept back from the boulder, entering bushes, working lower. His map protected him. In the crowded trees, he couldn't see the bluffs the snipers lay on. Without a chart and a compass, he could easily wander into their sights. But having marked their positions on the map, he studied contour lines, carefully choosing a middle course through rugged terrain toward the gate. His progress was slow. This close, he had to scan the undergrowth ahead of him in case another sniper watched the gate.

He stopped, not needing to see the gate-his map showed he was in a trough fifty yards from the road, separated by thick shrubs and trees. All he had to do was... Nothing. Yet. The sun was still too high. It would make him too vivid a, target. The best time to move was at dusk, when there'd be just enough light for him to see up close but not enough for them to aim at a distance.

He took off his backpack, eased it to the ground, and rubbed his shoulders. His stomach cramped. Till now he'd controlled impatience. His goal had been distant. There's been much to do. But with the rest home fifty yards away, with Eliot almost in his grip, he ached from tension.

Waiting was agony. To keep his mind alert, he studied his surroundings.

A squirrel ran along a branch. A woodpecker tapped a tree. The woodpecker stopped. The squirrel threw up his tail, barked once, and froze.

His skin crawled. Drawing his pistol, Saul crouched and swung to stare around him, quickly attaching a silencer. Alone, the woodpecker's sudden quiet meant nothing. In tandem with the squirrel's behavior, it became significant. Something-someone else?was out here.

His position was risky. Three hundred and sixty degrees of space to defend, and no suspicion of where the threat would come from.

If there was a threat. He had to assume it. Think. If there's a sniper, he isn't behind you. Otherwise you'd have passed him. He'd have made his move by now.

Then he's ahead or on your flank. Trusting his instincts, Saul ignored his back and concentrated on the trees above the trough along the road. He heard me coming and waited for me as the target. When I stopped, he started to wonder if he was wrong. Maybe he isn't used to the forest and he thinks the noise was an animal.

But he can't take the chance. He'll have to find out. Or maybe I'm the one who's wrong. Maybe it's me who spooked the squirrel. He shook his head. No, the squirrel kedt runming after it saw me. Something else made it freeze.

Sweat trickled past his eyes. Where? A patch of green shifted slowly to his left. His backpack stood upright beside him. Saul toppled it to the left-as a distraction, to make it seem he was diving to the ground. At the same time he pivoted to the right, coming up behind a bush, aiming at the patch of green.

A man in camouflage sighted a rifle where the backpack had fallen. Shooting, Saul heard three spits from his silencer as his bullets struck the man in the face and throat.

But he hadn't been quick enough. The man squeezed off a shot just before he lurched, unable to scream because of blood gushing from his throat. The crack of the rifle echoed through the forest, the bullet walloping the backpack.

Saul didn't bother getting his gear. He didn't pause to see if the man was dead. He didn't have time. He charged up the rim of the trough, scrambling through the undergrowth, not checking to see if someone else was ahead of him. It didn't matter, The shot would have warned them all. They'd turn glaring at the forest, aiming their weapons. When they couldn'i raise their partner on his walkie-talkie... They'll know I'm here. They'll radio for help and... Now or never. Branches lashed his face. He scraped past a stump. But he kept sprinting, bursting from the trees, abruptly facing the road.

The fence was tall. Barbed wire. Shit. Not breaking stride, he veered toward the gate. At least, it was lower.

Something cracked on the asphalt behind him, a shot rumbling from a bluff. He zigzagged, a second bullet whacking the pavement ahead of him. He hit the fence, barbs tearing his clothes, ripping his hands. A third bullet snapped the strand of wire he reached for, whipping it forward, then back at his face. His cheek stung, bleeding. Clambering, he grabbed the top, swung over, and jumped.

Bending his knees as he hit the ground, he rolled. But something stopped him. Boots and bluejeans. An angry man pointed a magnum revolver at his chest.

Another man flanked him, wearing a brown checked hunting shirt, aiming a rifle.toward the hills.

At once, the shooting quit. Of course. He'd reached the rest home. They didn't dare kill him now. "You'd better have a damn good reason-" Saul dropped the Mauser, raising his hands. "It's my only weapon. Search me. I won't need it now." '@--for coming here."

"The best." Blood dripped from his upheld palms, but he almost laughed. "Abelard."

It was all he had to say to gain asylum here.

They forced him back to the cover of trees and did indeed search him, totally, making him strip.

His scrotum shrank. "I told you the Mauser's all I have." They checked his clothes. "What's this packet taped to the inside of your shirt?" Instead of waiting for an answer, one guard tore the seal, opening the plastic, scowling. "Papers." He threw the pouch dismissively on the pile of Saul's clothes. "Get dressed."

"Who shot at you?" the other guard said. "I thought they were sentries."

"Vute. We don't shoot at guests. We protect-2' "But I wasn't a guest yet. Maybe some of your people thought I meant to attack."

"Sure. One man. Attack. Quit being cute. Who was it?"

"I wouldn't have come here if everybody liked me."

Engines roared, approaching. "We'll find out." At once two vans appeared through the trees, swerving around a curve in the lane. They skidded, brakes squealing. Before they stopped, men jumped from the sides, dressed in outdoor clothes the same as these guards, burly, square-faced, cold-eyed, some holding rifles, others handguns, walkie-talkies dangling from their shoulders. "The shots came from over there." The first guard pointed up at bluffs to the right and left across the road.

The men scrambled for-ward as the second guard freed the gate. "They've got five minutes on you," the first guard said. "The roads are blocked." A man with a brushcut hurried through, his walkie-talkie slapping his side. Two others with anxious silent Dobermans rushed by. "One man's across the road," Saul said. "Fifty yards through the trees. "By now, he'll be gone," a heavy man snapped. "I doubt it. He's dead."

They turned as they ran and squinted at him. In twenty seconds, they'd disappeared. The guard in the hunting shirt locked the gate."The other glared at Saul. "You come with us."

Saul gestured toward the fence. "Who'll watch the store?" The drivers of the vans came over, drawing pistols. -Good," Saul said and meant it. If the rest home's security was first rate, the guards who'd found him ought to be his escorts. They knew little about him. Even so, it was more than the others did.

They took him down the lane. He expected a Jeep or Vother van. Instead he saw a Pontiac with high suspension and oversized wheels, capable of crashing through the forest and ramming out of mud.

He nodded in approval, getting in back. A stout metal grill separated him1from the front.

The driver pulled a lever near the emergency brake, locking Saul's doors. As the car surged from the trees, the second guard studied him through the grill, his handgun propped on the seat. "If I wanted a concentration camp.. "You'll get your retirement. First you have to qualify. "With what? A blood test?"

"If we let you in Ue this was a tourist trap, how safe would you feel? Relax. When you're registered, I'll even buy you a drink."

"Did you say 'buy'? You mean they're not free?"

"This isn't welfare, you know."

"It's sure not paradise either."

"Buddy, that's where you're wrongthe Pontiac lurched down the lane. Saul gripped the seat, glancing out, seeing metal boxes attached to trees. "Electric eyes?"

"And sound detectors."

"Quiet," the driver told his partner. "You want to give him a fucking guided tour?"

The second guard's eyes narrowed, dark at Saul. They burst from the forest. Seeing the estate, he understood. Lawn stretched forever. To the left of what was now a paved road, golfers avoided a sandtrap, heading toward a pond. To the right, guests strolled along a white stone path near flower gardens, benches, and fountains.

A country club. A park. The road led up to the lodge the peaks in the background reminding him again of Yellowstone. A helicopter took off.

But he didn't allow distraction. Concentrating on the resert, he prepared himself for... What? He didn't know. The Pontiac braked in front. Unlocking Saul's door, the driver got out, then the other guard, then Saul.

They flanked him, climbing concrete stairs to a porch that stretched the width of the building. It was made from sweetsmelling cedar, solid beneath his boots. Along one side, he glimpsed the edge of a tennis court, hearing the pock of balls. An unseen player laughed in triumph. With dusk approaching, they'd soon have to quit, he thought.

Then he noticed the arc lights rimming the court. Sentries? He studied a gardener on a riding mower, a in a white coat running with towels to the tennis court, a repairman caulking the edge of a window. But they seemed less interested in their duties than in Saul.

Okay then. The guards took him in through large double doors. A tobacco and magazine counter to the left, a sports shop to right. He passed a clothing store, a record shop, a druggist reaching a lobby, spacious and high with wagon-wheel cha:,.deliers and a gleaming hardwood floor. A counter with railail and key slots in the wall behind it reminded him of a hotel.

A clerk spoke urgently from behind a desk. "He's waiting for you. Go right in." He pointed quickly at a door marked Private.

The guards made Saul walk ahead-through the door, down a narrow hall, to a second door, this one unmarked. Before the guard in the hunting shirt had a chance to knock, a buzzer unlocked the door. Saul glanced behind him, seeing a closed circuit camera above the first door he'd come through.

Shrugging, he went inside. The office was larger than he'd anticipated, richly decorated, faddish, leather, chrome, and glass, The wall across from him was a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of a swimming pool-people splashing-and a cafe. But directly ahead of him, beyond plush carpet, a man sat at a desk, scribbling to the side of a densely typed sheet of paper. "Come," the man said, too busy writing to look up.

Saul stepped across. The guards walked in behind him. -No." The man glanced up. "Just him. Wait outside, though. I might need you."

They eased back, closing the door. Saul studied him. The man was in his early forties, his round face somewhat heavy, his hair cut modishly so it covered the tops of his ears. He had a bulky chest which, when he stood, became an equally bulky stomach. He wore a red blazer and navy pants, both polyester. When he came around the desk, Saul noticed his white shoes. When he held out his hand, Saul noticed his multibuttoned digital watch. But if the man looked like a high-pressure salesman for a Chamber of Commerce booster, his eyes were sharply alert.

He's dressing a part, Saul thought. Not a salesman. A recreation director. So garish he won't seem threatening to the guests. "We weren't expecting a new arrival." The man's smile dissolved as he glanced at blood on his palm from where he'd shaken hands with Saul. "I had a little trouble"--Saul shrugged ----'getting in."

"But no one said you'd been hurt." The director's voice was alarmed. "And your cheek. I'll have a doctor take a look. Believe me, I'm sorry. It shouldn't have happened."

"it wasn't your fault."

"But I'm accountable for what happens here. Don't you see? You're my responsibility. Sit down and relax. Would you like a drink?"

"No alcohol."

"How about some Perrier?"

Saul nodded. The man seemed delighted, as if his every wish was to serve. He opened a bookcase, then the door to a small refrigerator, twisting the cap off a bottle, filling a glass with ice, and pouring it full. He gave it to Saul, along with a napkin.

Drinking, Saul hadn't realized how thirsty he was. The man looked pleased. Rubbing his hands, he sat behind his desk again. "Food?"

"Not now.

"Whenever you're ready." He tilted back in his chair, scratching his eyebrow. "I understand you came in the hard way, over the mountains."