The Malice Box Page 12

  ‘That’s fine. Take the cash.’

  ‘What you found in the cache. Give it to me. Where is it?’

  ‘I’ll have to reach into my jacket pocket.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Inside left.’

  It was a lie, but Robert figured his assailant would find it hard to reach into the pocket without moving his knife hand.

  Fingers reached into the pocket, found nothing. Robert’s head exploded with pain as it was slammed against the metal door.

  ‘Where is it?’

  The assailant wanted Robert’s link to Adam. No way. Robert chose his moment. A detached calm came over him, and he pushed up violently with his legs, hitting bone. He wouldn’t give it up.

  Powerful hands twisted him round. He took punches on the mouth and nose. He went down on one knee, scrambling for footing.

  He began to feel dizzy, and the quality of the light around him began to change. A tenuous yellow light, richer and darker with each second, seeped into the air around his attacker. Robert’s face started to go numb, a fist gripped his mind with cold, and he was back in the dream… geometric shapes… lightning bolts… searing pain stabbed behind his eyes. It was evil. He wanted to vomit.

  Words came into his head. Terri’s voice: ‘Hide with the child and the Man of Light. Hide with them.’

  The picture of the caged-off monument to the child that Terri had sent him sprang into his mind’s eye. He took refuge there. And with Moss. And with the swirling angel figure.

  Outside, the pain doubled.

  Hands went through his other pockets, found the bullet casing and took it.

  Robert felt himself hauled to his feet. Then he was suddenly watching the scene from above, from far away. He thought of Katherine, tried to gauge whether he was going to die. He thought he was. He saw the world shatter like pond ice.

  Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. His mind was released. His knees gave way. The man was walking back towards the rest of the train, stashing the bullet casing in a pocket on the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘No!’

  Robert, with a sheer act of will, launched himself at the man as he slid open the metal door that led to the next car. He forced them both out into the narrow metal and chain-link cage between the cars. The metal platforms shimmied and bucked beneath their feet. Rushing air tore at his skin.

  He looked into his assailant’s eyes, and it was like looking into a malignant sun. He was staring again into the face of death from the night of the fire. The face spat hatred, arcing and warping into a single black hole, drawing him in and down. They grabbed each other by the throat, slamming off the doors and metal harnesses that hung between the cars. They roared through the closed subway station at Cortlandt Street, directly under the Ground Zero site, thrown from side to side, their feet slipping on the metal plates. The tracks rushed beneath their feet.

  Closing his eyes to block the bilious yellow light, Robert twisted out of the stranglehold and took one of his assailant’s wrists with him, turning it until it was between the attacker’s shoulder blades. He jammed a hand into the zippered arm pocket and grabbed back the bullet. Then he slammed his assailant’s head against metal and forced it over the chains towards the speeding tunnel wall.

  ‘Who are you?’ he shouted. ‘Who are you?’

  No reply.

  He forced his assailant’s head and torso further out into the tunnel.

  ‘Who are you?’

  To his amazement, tears of anger filled his eyes. He wanted to kill this creature. He loosened his grip for a moment, disconcerted.

  An elbow slammed into his belly, knocking all the breathout of his body. His assailant twisted away from him and tried to open the door back into the rear car as they pulled into Chambers Street.

  Doubled over with pain, Robert felt his entire body fill with weight, as though he were being pumped full of lead. It pooled into his legs, rooting him to the earth. Time distended, like poured molasses. Yet, to his astonishment, he was able to stand, feeling the heaviness pour through his body, displacing the pain, filling his lungs and chest with a strengthhe had never felt before.

  He slung his weight forward in one mighty step and his torso twisted round like a slingshot, propelling his fist into the back of his assailant as he stepped through the open doorway into the last car. The man flew forward, lifted clean off his feet, as though hit by a shotgun blast. He flew past the metal poles along the midline of the car, hitting one halfway along and rolling and tumbling to the far end, where he slammed into the metal door at the back of the train.

  Robert stared at his fist in disbelief. And he recognized something else too: excitement, and pride. He felt molten metal pouring through his veins and muscles, though already now it was beginning to seep back down into the ground, towards the centre of the earth. His attacker picked himself up and fled into Chambers Street Station as the train doors opened.

  Strength now flowing from him, his head spinning, Robert stepped from between the cars on to the platform and made straight for a trash can. He threw up into it. Then he staggered to a wall, squatted against it on his haunches and held his head in his hands. For a moment or two he blacked out.

  Little Falls, August 26, 2004

  Katherine stared into the mirror, shaking.

  She’d seen the fight. She’d seen her husband attacked, seen him survive. The images had come to her unbidden, sensations of anger and pain hitting her like a hurricane as Robert fought for his life. In the depths of the mirror, for just an instant, she’d seen through Robert’s eyes, and stared with him into the seductive, hating eye.

  It really was happening, at last. The long chain of events begun more than twenty years ago – perhaps twenty lifetimes ago – was winding into its final, choreographed, elegant form. All the events of the Blackout Day were finally coming to fruition.

  What she needed now was the instruction to go ahead with her final assignment.

  So many years of waiting for orders, of setting up and carrying out missions, of living in a world of deception and half-truths and betrayal. All of it for nothing, except the tainting of her soul.

  And now the only secret mission she had ever really wanted. She awaited the word from the Watchman to go undercover one last time.

  She loved Robert. Was she still in love with him, as the cliche ran? Did it even matter after so many years together? Deceiving him was painful. She was ashamed, even when it was for his own good. She was too good at it. Always had been.

  She walked out into the backyard and lit a cigarette, her first. There were days when she could barely abide herself, but today she felt she could finally get there. Finally find a form of redemption.

  There were costs for having lived for so long in the secret world – a world she’d seemed born to, that she’d been so good at inhabiting.

  Today she’d amused herself for an hour with Grief Counsellor Sarah, making all the right noises about knowing the stages of grief, recognizing where she wasinthe process, embracing her pain. She was still in a period of magical thinking, she had been told, when it was quite natural to try to bargain with God, associate bad things she’d thought or done with the terrible loss she’d suffered, as though she had somehow caused it. It was natural to cling to the belief that somehow her little boy wasn’t really gone. Everyone knew it was nonsense, of course. A natural, childish, false response to loss. This is what Sarah had said.

  Except Katherine had learned more terrible things than most people. How to deceive, blackmail and extort. How to betray. How to use people up and throw them away like litter.

  And she had known for many years that magical thinking was more than just a stage of grief.

  The counselling sessions were a crock. She’d been going to them for three months to keep Robert happy, with and without him, biding her time. It had been a way of protecting him. She had always sworn she would shield him for as long as possible, until the moment arrived to call upon his gift. Deception was not always a bad t
hing.

  The phone rang.

  She listened carefully to the Watchman and hung up.

  She stared for a moment into space. The race was afoot, the Watchman had said. Robert had made contact with Terri, embarked on the quest and found the first cache. He’d had to fight to keep the key. Everything was balanced on a knife-edge. If she had any doubts, now was the time to confess them.

  Katherine had no doubts. It would be terribly dangerous if she were discovered. But now at least she had the clarity of final marching orders. She had broken one code, and now she had to break another, for the greater good.

  There was equipment to locate, a role to prepare.

  And, above and beyond her formal mission, she would complete her own secret task. She didn’t know how, but she would make things right.

  At last, the quickening had come.

  She wrote a note to Robert, explaining her absence in a way that would help him take his next step. Then she left the house.

  New York, August 26, 2004

  Dabbing his bleeding mouth on a handkerchief with a shaking hand and feeling thankful that no one was paying much attention, Robert took the subway from Chambers Street to the parking garage where he’d left his car in the morning – it seemed several days ago – and drove slowly across town towards the Lincoln Tunnel.

  It was 6 p.m.

  His mouthand throat were sour with vomit. He wanted very muchto be with Katherine.

  He kept the Quad firmly turned off in his pocket. He focused on the robotic tasks of driving a vehicle in close traffic. Everything else he shut out.

  This worked well until a Ryder truck cut in front of him, forcing him to brake hard and setting off a barrage of horn-blowing from the car behind. His heart started to hammer, he wanted to urinate, he wanted to weep, he wanted to punch someone in the head and keep punching till their skull cracked. What. The. Fuck. He slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Again. Again.

  He breathed out long and hard. Collected himself. Edged into the tunnel lane. Crept forward. Calmed down. Miraculously, he made it across to New Jersey without killing anyone.

  Robert stopped off along Route 3 at the Tick Tock Diner, all gleaming chrome and burgundy panelling, for coffee and a sandwichand to try to get cleaned up. The decor around the entrance was patterned like the cracking ice of his dream. He looked like he’d splintered into a dozen versions of himself.

  Metabolized alcohol and adrenalin sloshed around in his bloodstream and fought with the coffee and the digestive rush of blood to his stomachas he downed a BLT. He got the Quad out to call Katherine, but closed his eyes first for a moment to think about what he’d say. He didn’t know what to tell her. He called anyway and got voicemail again. He told her he was on his way, not to worry.

  Then he crashed: dozed off, right there in the booth, till the waitress nudged him awake so he could pay up. As soon as he sat down in the car, he realized he was no longer fit to drive. He fell asleep again.

  When he came through the door he expected Katherine to be aghast at his swollen lip and nose. His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour, shooting off at different tangents. What could he tell her? What had to remain secret?

  But she wasn’t there. All he found was a note.

  Darling Robert

  I need some time to clear my head. I love you, but I know I’m not being the wife you want or need. I feel hopeless, sexless, lifeless. I’ve gone for a drive. I’ll be back late. Don’t worry about me, I just need some time.

  Kat

  He took a deep breath.

  She had done this before, heading off on her own to see a movie or eat dinner or occasionally see a friend. Mostly she said she was alone, and he believed her. She always came back.

  He felt bone tired. He didn’t know how to help her return to him.

  Should he worry? He dismissed the idea. She wasn’t going to hurt herself, he was sure. But his fear was that one day she just wouldn’t come back at all.

  Drained and aching, he cleaned his face up in the bathroom, then poured himself a drink and sat in his study. One thing at a time.

  He tried to pull it all together, retracing his steps and interpreting everything that had stuck in his mind since he’d left Adam’s apartment.

  Stars beneath his feet: a magical path. A yellow-brick road?

  Masks and costumes: disguise and deception. Not all is as it seems.

  Spiral designs: ascent and descent.

  A breathing wall: things that seem dead coming to life.

  Code-breaking: find the deeper reality.

  ‘Remember death.’ As if he could do otherwise at Ground Zero, a place of deathand hatred, courage and sacrifice.

  A grave, a bullet casing, the attack. More death. His desire to survive, to kill. His shame in being ready to kill. His pride in surviving. He had literally seen red. He could still feel the echo in his body of the power he had been able to tap into while fighting for his life.

  Trying to still his mind, he plunged into automatic behaviour, which for Robert was research. He started googling, printing out results, making piles of related-sounding findings. He needed to understand. He called Horace. No reply.

  He went to the website she’d told him to post to and checked if there were any other responses or comments. There were none.

  He took a look at how the website worked. It was a free weblogging service. Very simple to use. He posted the pictures Terri had sent him, and some more of the photographshe’dtakenwith the Quadduring the day. Maybethey had someone else doing the same thing with a different URL to compete withhin. Blog versus blog. A blog-off. The prize? Adam. Or Adam’s life? Everyone’s life?

  It occurred to him that Terri might not know his email address. He signed on as Adam on AOL and continued his research.

  Then there was a trill, and Terri was online. He messaged her immediately. ‘Are you OK, Terri?’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘No, sorry. Robert here.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to pretend to be him again this evening. You must really enjoy it.’

  ‘There are limits.’

  ‘Do you know your limits, Robert?’

  ‘I nearly got killed after you vanished.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help you. You fought. You survived. You still have the first key. I felt it.’

  ‘That’s what it is?’

  ‘Yes. And you still have the core on you, the major key, don’t you? You did well to survive. Protect them now.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘What did you see? If you had to blurt out one thing. Say it.’

  His mind flashed back to the moment he’d released his assailant, blinded with tears of rage. He’d wanted to kill the man. Hurt him. He’d made him a nothing, a creature beyond the pale, meriting no human consideration.

  ‘Something happened to me. My rage stopped, when I saw myself about to grind his face into the tunnel wall. I let him go. Just for a few seconds. Then I was as strong as an ox. Made of steel. I punched the guy into the middle of next week.’

  ‘But what did you see?’

  ‘Hate. Fear.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s all. I had to stop.’

  ‘You did well.’

  ‘I let him go.’

  ‘You had to.’

  ‘I would have killed him.’ Robert sighed. ‘This blog… Can Adam see it?’

  ‘He’s on the run, but I hope so.’

  ‘It’s not him sending you the GPS waypoints? The little clue ditty wasn’t from him?’

  ‘I don’t know who they’re from, I told you. All I know is this: Adam doesn’t know where the caches are. They were placed by the maker of the Ma’rifat’.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Explain those trances – or whatever it was you were doing when you were giving me directions. You sounded as though you were in pain.’

  ‘I’m not guiding you out of full knowledge, Robe
rt. I’m picking up fragments of meaning from your surroundings and passing them on to you. We are both trying to solve the puzzle, you see? I get spatial perceptions – go right, stop here, turn left – and I get images of what is there that is relevant – buried stuff, or a shape, or an emotion, an echo of past activity at the site, or a sense of geometry, of the figure you are making as you go. Sometimes it’s like a set of coordinates, but in time and emotion as well as space. Sometimes it’s shapes, or rhymes… and I can’t remember what I say. I need a record, I need the blog… so I can try to work it all out. You need to ground me and relate what I see to the material world, here and now.’

  ‘That’s astonishing.’

  ‘You have greater abilities than I do. In potential. I work with some strong women who’ve taught me how to use it, but you outstrip us all. You’ve always known it. There’s always been part of you that understood what we call the green language, or the language of the birds.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I was brought up to kill it off in myself.’

  ‘And you nearly did. I’ve felt the fear around it. I’m going to help you bring it back. I need to, for the sake of us all. You’re a real Unicorn. You’ve no idea what a privilege it is to help you.’

  Robert rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, fumbling for the right response. ‘Thank you. What’s so special about a Unicorn, exactly?’

  Her response seemed to take several minutes. When it came, he felt his chest fill with a gratitude he had no idea how to share.

  ‘A Unicorn is the most powerful kind of healer. It is a being who can take the full array of human energies – and I mean the full array, starting with the energies of killing – and channel them all into building a body of light so intense that no evil can penetrate it, or with stand its touch.’

  ‘Body of light? Like the Swirly Man?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like. Adam said it’s so intense that even unawakened people can see it. It shines around you. Makes you look seven feet tall. They show up in myths as giants, as luminous teachers, as angels…’