The Overseer (66 page)

Bending into the hill, she felt the first strain on her ribs. Up to this point, she had been able to put the pain from her thoughts; now it became a constant reminder. Reaching the top, she took a moment to readjust the bandage that O’Connell had wrapped tightly around her torso. As she did so, she saw the lone figure of a guard—rifle still in hand—lying faceup not more than twenty feet from her. Blood trickled from the side of his neck, a pinpoint shot to ensure a silent death. Almost immediately, three more
thwits
tore through the night air somewhere off to her left. Sarah crawled after the others, her gun now in hand, her ribs momentarily forgotten. As she drew up behind Toby, she saw the second and third victims of the point man. They lay some sixty yards apart from each other, at either end of the base of the hill leading up to the house. It had been their misfortune to appear at the same moment. The victim of the third shot, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Spread wide,” came the whispered command from O’Connell, the signal that the approach was clear. O’Connell and the two men darted about halfway up the incline, where they were met by the other trio, the men from the first car, who had secured the approach from the back of the house. All six flanked out along the hill, each donning a pair of infrared glasses. As one, they began to crawl to the summit, Sarah noticing the electronics wizard from the fence placing a series of small boxes in his wake. The pace was excruciatingly slow, Toby more than once shifting nervously next to her. “Patience,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him. A minute and a half later, the sextet had made it to within ten yards of the house, keeping well back of the light shining from the windows. The man from the fence once again pulled the device from his hood, aimed it; this time, two thin beams of light appeared, forming a narrow path up the hill. Wide enough for one person. They had discussed it beforehand. Neither Toby nor Sarah, with her broken ribs, could be expected to wriggle under the trip wires. Too many risks. Instead, they would wait for the electronic path while the others split into teams of two, each pair targeting a window on one side of the house. By the time Sarah and Toby reached the top, the men were gone. She picked up the device, disengaged the path, and crouched in the grass.

 

“Remove the lock, Paolo.” The Italian did as he was told, then opened the door for Lundsdorf. Inside, Xander lay on a bed, his arm pulled over his eyes in the pose of sleep. Paolo waited by the door as the old man entered.

“You have had some rest, I trust,” said Lundsdorf. “You will need it. Put on your shoes and come with me.”

Within a minute, the three were in the hallway, Lundsdorf followed by Xander, Paolo a few paces behind. Xander glanced over his shoulder at the Italian; he recognized the bald head at once. “Did you enjoy Germany,” he asked, “or was London more to your liking?” No response save for a quick adjustment of the gun in his hand. The message was clear. However much Lundsdorf might be willing to trust his onetime protégé, Paolo clearly had no such illusions. Anything amiss and he would shoot, perhaps not to kill, but certainly to incapacitate. Xander knew it would be but a short reprieve. Soon enough, the old man would recognize the truth. In some strange way, though, the threat of death was once again having a calming effect. As with the woman in Frankfurt, Xander felt quite at peace. Somehow he knew it would make the violence to come less jarring.

They reached the elevator and waited for the door to open. Lundsdorf motioned for Xander to enter, then Paolo; he then stepped inside himself and tapped the button, all three in quiet darkness as the small chamber descended. Very gently, Paolo slid his hand under Xander’s elbow, a move Lundsdorf failed to notice. The two younger men exchanged a glance. Another subtle reminder.

“We have managed all the stages from below,” began Lundsdorf. “The first trial in Washington and Chicago, the—what did Arthur call the business with the Capitol, the ambassador, and so forth, Paolo?”

“The mock-up,” answered the Italian.

“Quite right. The mock-up. And now the third stage—the acceleration. As with all things great, always in threes. A shame he will not be able to see the best part.” He turned to Xander. “But you shall. You will see how things must be, how you must take your place, how destiny must play its part.”

Destiny
. Lying awake, Xander had not been able to deny with complete certainty the force of the manuscript’s logic. Perhaps even its practical application—order, social perfection, permanence. The tapes from last night had made that all too clear. The question remained: If the chaos were to come, would he be able to find the strength, the will to reject the theory? Would he become as blinded by it as Lundsdorf?

Xander stared at the small man standing in front of him. And he knew. He knew that one of them would have to die to make certain that the chaos would never come. An hour ago, he had justified the decision as an answer to Sarah’s death. Then, pure brutality had inspired him; now a colder rationale guided his thoughts. Somehow, the line had blurred. Perhaps Lundsdorf had been right to dismiss it as moral indulgence. “
I kill, that’s what I do
.” Her words came back to him. It would simply be a question of how.

The doors opened and the old man stepped out without a word. Paolo gestured with his head for Xander to follow just as the fluorescent strips above flicked off, replaced by the dim glow of blue lights, the sound of an alarm echoing throughout the hallway. Lundsdorf stopped at once and turned to Paolo. Before Xander could take advantage of the moment, however, he felt the clasp of thick fingers on his upper arm, iron spikes driving into his flesh. Again, Lundsdorf did not seem to notice. A woman appeared behind Paolo.

“Disengage the elevator!” barked Lundsdorf to no one in particular.

Paolo turned to the woman and spoke, maintaining his grip on Xander. “Seal the house, and make sure you open up the secondary vents for the lab.” Xander remained silent as several others appeared in the hall, Paolo quick to shout out orders. Lundsdorf, meanwhile, had moved to the lab, undeterred by the events; as the alarm stopped chirping, the lights returning to normal.

Lundsdorf was talking with a technician below when Paolo appeared on the balcony, Xander in tow. “Where do you want Jaspers?”

Preoccupied with the technician, Lundsdorf replied, “That depends on whether he means to behave himself.” He now looked up, an odd smile on his lips. “Truly exhilarating down here, would you not agree? Everything but a moment away. I cannot imagine that you would want to miss it, but that, of course, is up to you. For the time being.”

Xander said nothing. “I could put him with the other one,” suggested Paolo. “Let him think about it.”

Lundsdorf slowly began to nod. “Yes. Excellent. He started to move off, then turned back to Xander. “Use the time wisely.”

Several mazelike corridors later, Xander found himself in a darkened room, enough light to make out a figure in the far corner.

Silence. Then a voice. “You must be Jaspers.”

“Yes,” he answered, still trying to gain his eyes. “Who—”

“Stein. Bob Stein. Today must be the open house.”

The outline of a bed off to the left began to come clear. “I don’t understand,” said Xander.

Stein moved away from the wall, toward the bed. A moment later, he pulled back the sheet. “This one arrived about half an hour ago.”

Xander stepped slowly to the bed and stared at the face. A lifeless Jonas Tieg peered up at him.

 

The house went black. Toby turned to Sarah, but she was already crouching her way to the near wall, signaling for him to stay where he was. They both knew this had not been part of the plan. Silently, back flat against the wall, she inched closer to the window; then, raising her head just above the sill, she peered into the darkness. Nothing. Toby was suddenly by her side.

“What the
hell
is going on?” he whispered.

“
Quiet!
” she said, not bothering to explain. Instead, she watched as a mist began to collect on the inside pane, thousands of gray specks frosting the glass. It took her less than a second to realize what was happening.
Gas
. Sarah reached for her gun so as to shatter the window, only to stop as the sound of a motor broke through the silence. Before she could react, a steel door, the height of the window, began to slide across the sill. It was only then that she spotted the narrow runner guiding the door to the far wall. Turning to Toby, she grabbed the pack, hunting for the canisters of liquid Mace she had placed inside less than two hours ago. The size of beer cans, the canisters were pressurized and made of reinforced metal, dense enough to slow the door’s progress. She pulled out the three cans and positioned them lengthwise on the sill. She then removed two gas masks from the pack.

“Put this on!” she ordered. Hers was already in place when the sliding door met the first canister, the door’s motor grinding more angrily, her gun smashing into the glass an instant later, a wave of gray smoke pouring out as she hoisted herself to the ledge and forced her way through the shards of glass. She then reached out and pulled Toby to the sill as the first canister began to let off a high-pitched squeal, the sound of imminent explosion. Without prompting, Toby tossed the pack through and dove in, his pants leg ripping on an errant piece of glass. Sarah yanked him free as the strain on the can reached critical, both of them falling into the room before the can exploded. A moment later, the other two canisters spun harmlessly from their perch as the steel door slid shut against the wall.

A harsh residue of gas hung in the air, biting at their unprotected skin, both of them quick to pull their turtlenecks higher on their cheeks. Sarah found a flashlight in her pack and flicked it on, watching as a thin beam cut through the dusted air. The room seemed to shimmer, tiny flecks of moisture spinning from the ceiling in strands of fine wire. She handed the pack to Toby and pulled her gun from its holster. Without a sound, she eased the door open. The hallway stood dark and empty, a heavy mist settling on its wooden floor. Sarah darted out, stopping some twenty feet down in front of a second door; she motioned for Toby to stay back. She reached for the handle.

From nowhere, an arm reached out and grabbed her gun, the strength of the grip enough to pull her into the room. Her flashlight streaked to a distant wall; somehow, she managed to hold on to the weapon, discharging two bursts in the direction of her assailant. The shots flew wild as a figure appeared out of the darkness, its massive frame outlined in a strange glow.

“Don’t shoot, Toby!
” the command echoed in her mask. It was O’Connell. Sarah peered around the Irishman and saw Toby kneeling in the doorway, his gun raised. Two other men from the team now appeared, one quick to take the gun and place it in Toby’s holster. The other signaled all was clear. Within a minute, all five were moving along the corridor, the point man raising his hand as they approached an archway, the living room beyond. Inside, three others waited. The gas, Sarah realized, had been a blessing in disguise. It had forced Eisenreich to take shelter below.

“Trace the corridors for anything that might get us downstairs. Let’s be quick about it, lads.” Turning to Sarah, O’Connell added, “You and Toby stay here.” Sarah watched as the five men disappeared through the various archways. Three minutes later, a voice broke the silence.

“We have an elevator in the eastern corridor. Steel door. Sealed. We also have six or seven people who didn’t quite make it out before the gas.”

“Move them,” it was O’Connell, “but don’t touch the elevator. We’ll be right there.”