The Third Antichrist (13 page)

‘Ever since that dreadful time, Madame, I have been churning things over in my mind. Trying to make sense of them. My feeling now is that these foot-soldiers must have been sent by an associate of the
cacique
– perhaps someone working for the local police – in order to find out exactly what had happened to their leader and his men. The timing points directly to that.’

‘The timing?’

‘By that I mean the fact that they arrived so early in the morning.’

‘Just as you were climbing out of the cenote, in fact?’

‘Yes, Madame. Just at that moment. It was an unbelievable piece of bad luck.’

‘Go on.’

Abi shot a glance at Milouins and Madame Mastigou. Both of them seemed to be taking his narrative worryingly in their stride. Milouins had the ghost of a smile on his face, as if he were publicly enjoying Abi’s discomfiture, and had a further series of surprises – along the lines of the concealed pressure pads and the US Navy SEAL-style assault entrance – concealed up his sleeve.

‘Anyway, I immediately decided to direct the enemy away from my brothers and sisters as being the lesser of the two evils facing me. Taking to the road was the only option available to me. There ensued a high-speed chase. I soon realized that my car must have a snooper hidden inside it – there was no way they could have followed me otherwise. But I could not stop for long enough to find out where it was hidden. It was a classic catch-22 situation.’

‘A what?’ The Countess inclined her head towards Madame Mastigou.

‘A predicament that is impossible to dominate whichever way you approach it. What the Americans might call a no-win situation.’

‘Ah. I see. Continue with what you were saying, Abiger.’

Abi fantasized about calling Madame Mastigou a supercilious bitch straight to her face. He nodded his thanks to her instead, to the extent that his cheekbones actually ached with the effort. No wonder she always dressed in those ultra-feminine southern-belle clothes. It was patently obvious who wore the trousers in that little shack-up. ‘My only recourse was to keep going and stay ahead of the pack. And to switch my route often enough so that my pursuers could not call ahead and arrange for someone to lie in wait for me.’

‘Incredible.’

‘These people tailed me all the way to the US border, Madame. For sixty straight hours. There was no earthly way I could have got back to the cenote. No possible way I could warn anybody. It was clear to me, by the time I reached the border, that Rudra, Nawal and Dakini must be dead. No one could have survived in the cenote that long. Added to which the
cacique’s
remaining foot-soldiers would no doubt have discovered them and finished the job the
cacique
had started. At least that was my logic at the time.’ Abi was getting into the swing of his new story. Yes. This was much better than his old story of escaping the massacre. This way he could make himself out to be a hero, sacrificing himself for his siblings, who, unfortunately, had failed to benefit from his great-heartedness. ‘I finally abandoned my car at Ciudad Juarez and bribed my way across the border and into the US.’

‘Without your passport?’

‘No. No. I forgot to mention. The
cacique
and his men had obviously rifled our rental cars before driving to the cenote. My overnight bag was in the back of his car, alongside those of my brothers and sisters. Our passports, money, and credit cards were still intact. The
cacique
must have wished to find out who exactly he was dealing with. I think that goes without saying.’

‘That was lucky for you.’

‘Very. It was an incredible stroke of good fortune. Otherwise I would have had to smuggle myself across the border and then make representations to the French Embassy that I had lost my passport and my green card.’

Madame Mastigou spoke for the second time that morning. ‘But in that case there would have been no record of your having ever entered the US in the first place. They would have smelt a rat, surely? And I thought you just said you “bribed” your way across the border? What is the difference between “bribed” and “smuggled”? I do not understand.’

‘Oh yes, Madame, there would have been a record. Because I originally entered the US under my own name. But I passed into Mexico on a false passport. As far as the US authorities were concerned, therefore, I was still legally in their country. And when I say “bribed”, I simply mean that I had to pay an appropriate “fine” for the loss of my green Mexican exit voucher, which had somehow become mislaid – probably when the
cacique
was leafing through my passport.’ Abi was beginning to feel light-headed. If his nose had been wooden, it would have grown to twice its own length by now.

‘What did you do then?’

‘I made my way to Boston. Spent a small amount of time establishing myself back at the apartment. Then I came straight here. I didn’t want to telephone or e-mail you in case news of what had happened in Mexico had been passed over to the French police. Given what occurred here last summer, they might have chosen to eavesdrop on your telephone and internet connections. My first thought, as always, was to protect you, Madame. To protect the Corpus.’

‘I am touched, Abiger. Genuinely touched by your consideration for my safety.’

The Countess was sitting on her dressing-table chair. Madame Mastigou was standing beside her. Madame Mastigou had her nightgown tightly closed, with the collar turned up against the cold. It was that dead moment before the dawn when spirits are at their lowest and the body at its most listless.

The Countess, however, seemed unconcerned by either the intemperate hour or the chill in the air. She waved an imperious hand. ‘Milouins. It is time for you to go and wake the others.’

Abi’s throat contracted. He found it almost impossible to speak. ‘The others? You mean Lamia, Aldinach, and Athame?’

‘No. They are dead.’ The Countess’s face was as pale as marble.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said they are dead. I haven’t heard from them for five days. Lamia had the strictest instructions to contact me twenty minutes past the hour, every hour, until her task was completed. Her communications stopped five days ago. It is inconceivable that she is lying non compos mentis somewhere and that the other two haven’t called in and alerted me to the fact. So I can only assume that they must be dead also. The little Gypsy tart and her offspring must have been better protected than we thought.’

‘Then which others do you mean?’ Abi knew very well to which others the Countess was referring. But he had to play the hand he had dealt himself through to the bitter end. No wonder Milouins had been smiling.

The Countess turned towards the door.

Abi could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. His mind seethed with survival strategies. Should he try to bolt? But that would reinforce his guilt in the mind of everybody. No. He must stay and brazen it out. Swing with the breeze like Cicero. He’d always known he had the gift of the gab – now was the time to use it.

At the very last moment Abi remembered that Cicero had ended up being proscribed and murdered by the very people he had striven to win over via his oratory.

‘Ah, our brother.’ Rudra, Nawal and Dakini entered the room, accompanied by a grinning Milouins. Rudra was limping worse than usual, on account of his club foot. Dakini peeked out at Abi from between her two floor-length curtains of hair – her face, which looked rictal at the best of times, was now set into a sort of diabolical snarl. Nawal, who suffered from hirsutism, looked drained, and thin, and even more ferret-like than she normally did.

Abi threw his hands up into the air in a clumsy attempt to mimic unfettered joy. ‘You’re alive. This is marvellous.’

Rudra launched himself across the room.

Abi had been expecting something of the sort. He ducked under his brother’s body like a bull beneath a Minoan acrobat. Rudra cart-wheeled over Abi’s back and struck the bed frame with his head.

Then Abi’s two sisters were on him.

‘Milouins. For Christ’s sake get them off me. I can explain.’

Nawal raked Abi across the face with her fingernails. She had been aiming for his eyes, but Abi managed to dodge her. Dakini tried to knee him in the groin, but missed, and struck him on the thigh instead.

Abi pushed out with both hands. He took care, though, not to bunch his fists or to put any real power into the push. He knew he needed to keep the girls away from him while he waited for Rudra to take his next shot, but he didn’t dare damage them – such a thing would be fatal. And quite contrary to the drift of his story. Rudra was where the real danger lay. Rudra could cripple him.

‘That’s enough.’ The Countess stood up. ‘Milouins. Separate them.’

Rudra wasn’t listening. He barrelled at Abi with his head down.

Abi realized that Rudra was so angry that he had completely forgotten even the basic tae kwon do moves they had all been taught as children. Abi threw off the girls and moved towards him. At the last possible moment he side-stepped, using Rudra’s own momentum to straight-arm him against the wall. Rudra kicked out backwards, catching Abi’s knee with his heel.

Abi doubled up, cursing.

Rudra aimed a kick at Abi’s head, but Abi dodged it, sweeping upwards with his hands and catching the underside of Rudra’s calf.

Rudra struck the floor with his head and lay still.

Abi turned to see what had become of the girls. All he needed now was for one of them to smash him over the head with a chair.

Milouins had both of them in a neck-grip. One under each arm.

Abi moved towards Rudra, meaning to stamp on his head.

‘Abiger. Stop it.’

‘But the bastard tried to kill me.’

‘He thought you tried to kill him.’

Abi turned to Madame, his mother. He knew that he had to put an end to this. Now. This minute. Once people started to think for themselves, he was done for.

‘Right. Well you explain it to them then. I’ve had it. I’m going to the kitchen to put an ice pack on my knee. Then I’m going to my room. If anyone comes in and disturbs me, I’ll kill them. Is that clear? You can all apologize to me in the morning.’

22

Abi took his breakfast alone. He knew what was coming. Wisdom dictated that he hold his powder dry until then. He had a plan that might, just might, put him in the clear with the rest of his family.

After his solitary breakfast he made his way to the hidden chamber behind the library in which the Corpus Maleficus always held its meetings.

‘Any voice-activated tape recorders hidden under the table this time, Milouins?’

Milouins pretended not to hear him.

I’ve got a true ally there, thought Abi. How to make friends and influence people? I could write the bloody primer.

The Countess and Madame Mastigou were, as always, occupying the head of the table, with Rudra, Dakini and Nawal in subsidiary positions. Madame Mastigou was preparing to take notes on the finely milled Florentine paper she appeared to feel the occasion demanded.

Without asking, Abi took his seat in the place set aside for the oldest male de Bale – the one currently holding the family’s titles. Madame, his mother, had always been a stickler for correct form. She wouldn’t dare cavil.

Strike one for the black sheep.

Rudra, Nawal, and Dakini stared balefully at him from across the table. It was clear that the Countess had read them the riot act before sending them back to bed earlier that morning. Rudra had a large bruise across his forehead and still looked half out of his wits. It occurred to Abi that if something happened to him, Rudra would become the new count, not to mention sharing in an extra quarter of their mother’s estate. He’d have to tread carefully. Rudra had always been something of a loose cannon. And marinating in the cenote didn’t seem to have improved him one bit.

Abi checked out his two remaining sisters. Dakini was refusing to meet his eyes, while Nawal was staring at him like a mongoose facing up to a cobra. Nothing new there, then. ‘You still don’t believe me, do you? That I couldn’t get back to save you all from the cenote.’

‘What do you think?’

‘What if I were to tell you exactly how you got out? What then? Would you believe me then?’

Dakini shot a glance at Rudra. ‘That’s impossible. There’s no way you can know that.’