The Three Most Wanted (19 page)

I put it down and headed downstairs. No wonder he found it all so painful to talk about! His wife might’ve been dead barely six months—a year and a half, maximum. How horrible. So much easier for him to let us assume them long dead and gone, but… well, I knew now. I’d rather get it out in the open.

Bane was in the sitting room, just turning on the TV to sneak a look at the trial.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Haven’t started yet. Can’t expect a judge to be up at this time, can you?”

I snorted. We were hardly early.

“Look at the dock,” Bane said. “The judge must be afraid of another hat attack.”

They’d put up Perspex screens around it.

“Seems a bit excessive. He could hardly stand up. Oh look, here he comes…”

The guards entered, the Major stumbling between them, looking lucid in an exhausted sort of way. He staggered when they let go of him and almost fell. His eyes narrowed on the Perspex and he raised a hand to touch the cap, which was back on his head.

“No chance,” sniggered one of the guards.

Without changing his expression, the Major snatched the cap and hurled it at the Perspex. It bounced off and struck the guard square in the face. Clutching his nose, swearing, the guard lashed out furiously with his truncheon. His partner grabbed for his arm...

Too late. The prisoner was down on hands and knees, back arched in pain, a thin sound of agony coming from his throat and the gallery was erupting, delighted reporters scribbling about “brutality in the courtroom,” no doubt. The officer of the guard looked as though he wanted to personally lay the truncheon across his subordinate’s backside.

The Major remained as he was for several long moments, shuddering, then his arms buckled and he slumped the rest of the way to the ground. But as the minutes drew on, those long spasms of pain died down, his body gradually relaxed and his breathing grew slow and deep—he’d fallen asleep.

The guards seemed afraid to lay a hand on him—the one was busy plugging his bleeding nose with tissue. They just left him lying there on the carpet, sleeping peacefully in front of the watching world. Clearly he’d
not
had a good night’s sleep.

“Oh, typical, here’s the judge.” I muttered, making room for Jon on the sofa as he came in.

“All rise, all rise…”

The guards shook the Major’s shoulder—he curled straight into a protective ball. Hissing and muttering at him to get up, they finally pried his arms loose and simply lifted him onto his feet.

The judge settled himself behind the bench, as calm and self-possessed as he’d been the previous morning.

“Obviously expects things to go right today,” said Bane.

“Surely you don’t think that would be a good thing, do you?” I said scathingly. “Not like you to side with the EuroGov!”

“I’m not siding with the EuroGov! The more embarrassed they are the better. Just don’t expect me to shed any tears over their victim. The man would’ve watched you die. You and Jon both. And all the others.”

“Actually he didn’t used to watch. That was the Menace.”

“Speaking
metaphorically
… wait, she actually
did?
All of them, not just…?” Not just Uncle Peter.

“Oh yeah. Twisted cow.”

“Yeugh. Perhaps I understand a bit better why you and Jon wish it was her in that dock.”

“I don’t think I’d wish anyone in that dock.” Hoped that was true. “But her before him.”

“Yeah,” said Jon. “He gave me a cane once. And there
was
Finchley’s face…” He tamed an involuntary grin. “Of course, I’m just glad Finchley was
punished
. Not that it was… y’know. Like that.”

“No, I don’t know,” said Bane. “What did happen to foul Finchley’s face? Hope it hurt.”

“Major Everington happened,” I said.

“Yeah, he cut… um,” Jon’s head turned slightly in my direction, his cheeks heating. “Uh, he cut a…
phallic symbol
… into Finchley’s cheek. For what he did to Margo, y’know.”

“A phallic… oooh.” Bane nodded in sudden understanding, then his eyes widened. “He
did?
Sweet!” He glanced at the dock. “Y’know, the man’s suddenly grown on me a bit.”

Jon laughed and I concentrated on the screen. So long as neither of them made the connection with the equally, er... imaginative... design on my forehead. Certainly wasn’t ready to try and explain my suspicion that in his own twisted way, the man might’ve been trying to do me a favor.

“Major Everington, do you have something to say?” said the judge, having opened the session.

The guards were still holding the Major upright, because he was refusing to put his weight on his feet. Chin on chest, he stared down at his limp toes and said nothing.

“Major Everington!” The judge’s confident tone disappeared. “
Am I under the impression you wish to speak
?”

The Major wouldn’t even look up. Showed every sign of imitating a silent sack of potatoes all day, in fact, so I dragged myself from the sofa. François was probably hard at work getting our breakfast and anyway, I wanted to speak to him.

Hugo slipped passed me as I went into the kitchen. Yes, François was there. Oh dear, his face was still grey and strained.

“Good morning, François.”

“Oh, Margaret,
bonjour
. Is your young man far behind you? I haven’t given him his pill, have I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reassured him. “He’ll be through in a moment.”

“Oh… good. Good.” His hand flew suddenly to his chest and he drew a sharp breath. His face whitened even more.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just a touch of heart trouble, it’s always like this. Nothing to worry about. Ah, glad you’re here, though, would you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” Was he really okay? He seemed so agitated.

“Could you get me an armful of wood from the woodshed? Just follow the garden path to the bottom, by the forest…”

“Oh. Yes, no problem.”

“I’ll… I’ll lay the table…” He grabbed a pile of plates and disappeared.

I took the key from the peg and unlocked the back door, heaved it open. I could mention the letters when I got back.

“Where are you off to?” Bane had managed to drag himself away as well.

“Just getting some wood for François.”

“I’ll do that. You go and rescue Jon from that bloody dog. He’s being licked to death.”

“Oh…” Well, I’d get a few minutes alone with François. “If it won’t hurt your arm. Woodshed’s right at the bottom of the garden path, apparently.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it.” Bane breezed out, slamming the doors behind him. He still hadn’t taken his pill… Oh well. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

François came back in, still holding the plates, and looked shocked to see me. “Margaret? Aren’t you fetching the wood?”

“It’s okay, Bane’s getting it. He doesn’t really take no for an answer, y’know.” How to bring up the letters? He looked so… anguished already. Perhaps I should just let it lie. If he’d
rather
pretend they were dead and… dismantled…

The door smashed open…
Bane, gently!
I spun around…

Not Bane. A soldier stepped across the threshold, rifle in hand.

***+***

15

A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

No time to think, I snatched in a desperate breath and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Soldiers, François!” I wanted to warn the others, while not letting the soldiers know they were definitely here...

The soldier cannoned into me, slamming me back into the fridge. By the time his huge hand clapped over my mouth, I was silent already, breath knocked from me.

François stood as though paralyzed, still clutching the plates. How could he not have dropped them in the shock?

Soldiers pushed past into the rest of the house, knocking the plates from the old man’s hands. They rung and shattered deafeningly on the floor. One spun on its edge, round and round...

Crack-Crack. Crack. Crack-Crack.

A volley of shots from outside. My chest constricted around my heart, crushing it. Bane?
Bane?
I couldn’t breathe.

A black-uniformed Captain stopped in front of me—uh oh, specialCorps: they only did secret stuff. Big-shouldered and heavy-browed but a shrewd glint in his eyes, and a greedy look that scared me far more. He held a nonLee in his hand, a Lethal pistol holstered at his right hip. A more junior officer—lieutenant?—hovered at his side.

“Here’s the big prize.” Smiling, the Captain used the point of the nonLee to push my hair aside, baring my forehead.

Had François’s gate sensor failed? Been circumvented? Did he not have the alarm on him?

A soldier rushed in from outside.

“Well?” demanded the Captain.

“We found a boy answering the description of Blake Marsden at the bottom of the garden, sir. My men are pursuing him.”

“He got away?”

“Took off into the forest like a startled deer,” said the soldier defensively. “We fired at him, but missed.”

The Captain hissed angrily through his teeth. “They’d better not let him escape!”

The crushing pressure in my chest eased slightly. Once in the forest, Bane was unlikely to be caught, not with any kind of head start.
Thank you, Lord, that he used his head! Thank you he didn’t come rushing back to the house to try and help me… would’ve been useless
.

Jon… had they got Jon? How could he have escaped? My scream would’ve given him mere moments…

And François… they had him. He’d die for helping us, just like Doms and Juwan…

Another soldier shouldered back through from the hall. Hugo followed, snarling, and ran to François.

“No one else in the building, sir. We found this in the living room, against the sofa. The dog was in the room and the TV’s warm.” He displayed Jon’s long, thin, hiking stick.

I struggled to keep my face smooth. A stick, abandoned against a sofa… let’s hope the Captain was stupid after all.

He swung around to face me. “Where’s Jonathan Revan?”

Not that stupid, apparently. I kept my mouth shut. He wouldn’t expect me to tell him immediately.

“Where is he?”

I said nothing. His big hand flew out and caught me across the face. I staggered back, just taming a yelp to a mere indrawn breath. Jon had managed to hide, but if he heard me...

“Where?”

I said nothing. He hit me again. My head thudded into the fridge door. François flinched and clung to Hugo’s collar as the dog’s growl grew ear-shattering.

“Where is he? I can keep this up until your face is pulp.”

Would, too; the bastard was enjoying it.

He raised his hand again.

“Don’t!” I cried. “What does it matter! He’s dead! The bear killed him!”

Damn, hated lying. Wasn’t good at it, either. Tell lots of truth, Margo…

“Bear?” He raised his eyebrows and casually flicked his hand across my face again.

“I
told
you! Bear! It attacked us. We were starving, we’d found a dead deer, the blood brought the bear. We didn’t dare leave the meat so it attacked. Clawed Bane’s shoulder and killed Jon.”

“Show me this living room,” the Captain told the soldier. “Bring the reAssignee.”

Marching me along the hall, they pushed me through the doorway.

“Where was the stick?”

“Against the sofa.”

“The boy was here, then.” The Captain ran his eyes around the room. “Can’t have gone far.” He turned back to me. “ReAssignee, Jonathan Revan is alive and here in this house. Tell me where he is before I get nasty.”

Nastier.

I said nothing. He didn’t believe the bear story. And I’d no more idea than he did where Jon had hidden.

“I suppose you don’t know either…” he muttered. “Well, let’s give him a reason to come out.”

He grabbed my blouse and ripped. Buttons bounced and flew around the room. I tried to get my arms free of the soldier holding me to pull my blouse together, but he squeezed until I gasped in pain.

“Put her on the sofa,” said the Captain with a horrible smile. I couldn’t see the soldier’s face, but without hesitation he yanked me backwards and flipped me onto the cushions, holding my shoulders down effortlessly.

Oh,
come back Major Everington, all is forgiven
...

The Captain climbed on top of me—hot, heavy, terrifying weight—
No!
His cold hand touched my bare skin… a scream rose in my throat… no, I mustn’t, Jon’s
life
… I panted with the effort of choking it back...
A knee, could I get a knee up
…

“Don’t plan to make any noise, huh? Well, Jonathan Revan, I’d better fill you in. Your little bitch and I are about to have some fun. If you hear her moaning, don’t worry, she’s not in pain. Not much, anyway…”

His hand slid to my waistband. I twisted, tears spilling down my cheeks, my breath catching more and more noisily, but I couldn’t help it, I had to get away from him I had to,
please, please, get off me, just get off me, get off me, get off me, GET OFF ME!
…

Just when the words must’ve escaped from my throat, a sooty shape dropped from the chimney, hurtled across the room and tore the Captain away… the sofa went over backwards with the force of the rush, Jon and the man rolling into the wall in a heap.

Thunk, smack
… Jon’s fists found their target. I’d been yanked from the soldier’s grasp as the sofa tipped, and I grabbed for my blouse… But two soldiers were pulling Jon off the Captain already. They flung him down on the floor and raised their booted feet, drove them into him. I dived forward, trying to shield him.

“Leave him
alone!”

They desisted. So they’d stand back and watch their Captain treat me like that, but they weren’t prepared to kick me themselves! Bastards!

“Jon, are you okay? Jon, I’m so sorry! Why did you come out? Why did you come out!” I tried to hug him, thought I was comforting him until he managed to sit up, wheezing and clutching his chest with one arm, and got the other around me. Suddenly I was clinging to him like a vice, crying.

“Shss, Margo, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He eased his other hand from his chest and started rubbing my back, his breathing labored.

The Captain climbed to his feet, a small trickle of blood coming from one nostril, otherwise depressingly unaffected by Jon’s blows.

“I suppose you meant to say he was
channeling
the bear,” he sneered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Well, that’s two of them.” He looked up, over us, and there was François, between a pair of soldiers, clutching Hugo’s collar and staring at my torn blouse in sick dismay.

His eyes rose to the Captain.

“Please, where are they? Where are my boys?”

Oh Lord, no! François had turned us in. Yet… he’d been a hundred percent committed to helping us, hadn’t he? Right up until the moment last night, when he thought of doing a deal with the devil…

“You’ve got two of them!” François went on, when the Captain said nothing. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Two for two, where are they? You were supposed to bring them!”

It all made sense. Heart trouble, no, he’d felt his movement alarm go off. And asked me to fetch wood. Supposed to be me running through the forest, free, and Bane back here with Jon. Two boys, two painless deaths, an even trade. But Bane’s gallantry upset his plan and now...

I blocked off the conclusion to that sentence. Shoved it to the back of my mind and locked it away before I could do something stupid like faint or throw up or cry even harder.

“Please… my boys?” François sounded frantic.

The Captain regarded him contemptuously.

“The EuroGov does not do deals with traitors… Don’t try to deny it!” he spat, as François’s mouth opened in desperate protest. “By your own admission you sheltered them for thirty-six hours before doing what you should’ve done straight away—and then you tried to attach
conditions!
Well, the EuroGov
did
agree you would have your sons—and here they are...”

He waved his hand and a soldier stepped forward and set two objects on the coffee table. Two small, square boxes. The kind that held ashes… François’s face drained to a horrible grayish white and he thudded down on his knees; reached out a trembling hand to touch one…

Hugo’s collar slipped from his other hand and the dog leapt for the Captain, snarling. I made a hasty grab and dragged him back—Jon rubbed his fur and wheezed, “Shss, shss,” rather frantically.

“Bit of a rushed job,” smirked the Captain, ignoring the angry dog. “Rather wasteful, I imagine.”

The foul, evil… trying to wring every scrap of pain from the old man… Mercifully François hardly seemed to hear. He held the boxes to his chest now, one in each hand, silent tears running down his cheeks. I had to look away from the desolation on his face.

“But,” went on the Captain, “since the EuroGov does not do deals with criminals, naturally no one must know.”

I glanced at him, saw the gleam of anticipation in his cruel eyes.

“François,” I said quickly. “François, I forgive you.”

Jon’s head rose. “I forgive you too, François, do you hear me?”

François’s head turned, his eyes focusing slightly. “
Je suis désolé.”
His voice caught so badly it was hard to make the words out. “I’m sorry... I just wanted… I just wanted to save them...”

“We know,” said Jon. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” snorted the Captain. “How very touching. I didn’t know any definition of
okay
applied to Full Conscious Dismantlement.”

My stomach lurched, my throat closed—I clutched Jon’s shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut.
Breathe, Margo, just breathe
...

When I opened my eyes again François’s face had crumpled in on itself, crushed by grief and guilt.

“I forgive you,” I whispered, meeting his eyes.
Please believe me
…

“Well, the EuroGov doesn’t.” The Captain drew his Lethal. “François Bernier, you have been found guilty by your own admission of Sedition, Category One, for which the penalty is death. Your organs being so old and useless, justice to be rendered a little more directly.”

He raised the pistol and fired point blank into the old man’s face. I shut my eyes a second too late—when I opened them again François lay on his back, a box resting beside each outflung hand. Hugo strained against Jon’s grip, barking furiously.

I took a step towards the Captain—Jon’s arm tightened around me, holding me back much as his other hand held the dog. He couldn’t hold my tongue, though. “You
filthy bastard slave
of a
corrupt satanic kakistocracy
…”

The Captain’s fist flew out and caught me in the face, sending me hurtling back into the wall. Everything went vague and confused, like looking through cotton wool. Spinning cotton wool. As if in a dream—nightmare—I saw Hugo pull free of Jon as he reeled from trying to stop my fall. The dog went straight for the Captain’s throat—with shocking speed the pistol appeared in the man’s hand again—a crack and a horrible whine and Hugo went down in a thrashing heap.

“Get them outside,” ordered the Captain.

“For pity’s sake!” shouted Jon, pointing towards the whimpering dog, now kicking its life out on the carpet. “But I s’pose you don’t know what pity is, do you!”

The Captain drove his boot into the dog, drawing an agonized yelp, and Jon leapt at him. A vicious shove from the Captain and he landed on me, hard. Even the muzzy nightmare lost clarity...

...A strong smell of petrol... I lay on the garden path, my head in Jon’s lap. Blood ran down Jon’s face from his nose. Several soldiers were unscrewing the lids of petrol cans and chucking them into the cottage. A whining and scrabbling came faintly from within.

“Bastard…” I gasped, struggling into a sitting position.

The Captain ignored me, focused now on his work. Why
was
this secret, anyway? No one would consider this a bargain made with a criminal… not
kept
, anyway.
Ah
, the secrecy wasn’t for the general population but for all those who might yet be tempted into trying such a bargain. Wouldn’t want to scare them off.