Читать книгу Labyrinth - Alex Archer - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Fifteen minutes later, the van rolled to a stop before turning left down a long winding gravel road—to Fairclough’s estate, presumably. Annja tried her best to pick out details as the van rolled in, but the cloudy evening sky cast long shadows across much of the landscape. Still, Annja could see sprawling lawns, well manicured, and shrubs perfectly coifed, creating the idea of an English country estate. As they drew around the corner hedged in by a massive rhododendron, Annja could see Fairclough’s house for the first time.

Floodlights aimed at an angle to the brick and stone exterior displayed the full magnificence of the mansion. Light poured out of the massive windows and ivy crawled over one entire side wall.

“Impressive,” Annja said.

Greene sniffed. “It’s horrendous. A grotesque stain upon what would otherwise be a beautiful landscape.”

“You’d deny him his right to own a home like this? It’s not like he got his money from poisoning kids or burning down forests.”

Greene shrugged. “Money is greed. Its only real value is in bringing our planet back closer to the purity of its origins. Does it look as if Fairclough cares about anything but his own personal pleasure?”

Annja shook her head. “His bank account is his own business. As far as I’m concerned, Fairclough got his money doing something good—promoting the value of books. I think a lot more people could use a reminder of how great books are. No one reads much these days unless it’s an easy-to-digest sound bite. Just take a look at the last election cycle.”

Greene cocked his head to study her. “I don’t vote.”

“Then you’ve got no right to complain.”

He laughed. “You’re pitifully naive, Annja. You think your vote matters?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a right and a responsibility, so I take it seriously. Not that I’m around much during elections.”

“You’re allowed to vote only because the corporations—those with the real power in the world—let you. This is how they manipulate you into thinking you have some measure of power, when you don’t. None whatsoever.”

“What paranoia.”

Greene raised his eyebrows. “Think about it—what happens if one party gets too much power? Next election, the other party gains more power to balance it out. In recent years extremism has become mainstream with the advent of the Tea Party. I mean, really, look at that swath of candidates who came to power last year. Idiots, racists and people who wanted to destroy the Constitution they claimed they would die to protect. And you all fell for it. Pathetic.”

“So, what would you do—kill them?”

Greene shrugged. “Well, it’s not a perfect solution. But for the time being, it works pretty well.”

“Can I get out of this van now and get some fresh air?”

Greene nodded.

Annja grabbed the side panel door release and jerked it back on the rails. As it slid open, a rush of fresh air greeted her and she breathed it in deeply. It felt good to flush her lungs.

The air outside was heavy with moisture and she could see droplets of water on the grass. She stepped out and felt the gravel beneath her shoes.

Greene emerged behind her and she heard the driver’s door close with a slam. She glanced and saw Greene’s associate come around the hood of the van.

Greene waved him over. “Annja, you haven’t been properly introduced to Kessel yet.”

Kessel stood in front of Annja and folded his arms. He said nothing.

Annja looked him up and down. “Does that pose go over well with the ladies?”

Kessel said nothing. Annja glanced at Greene. “Real conversationalist you got yourself here.”

“His tongue was cut out during the first Gulf War by the Iraqis when he was captured and tortured for information.”

“Why would they cut his tongue out if they wanted him to spill?”

“Kessel told them from the start that he wouldn’t divulge any information that would compromise his unit. They didn’t like that response. So, instead of trying to break him, they simply sliced his tongue off like some piece of meat and fed it to a dog.”

Annja shook her head. “Horrible.”

“Effective,” Greene said. “But it did have an effect on Kessel that led him eventually to me. He came to see that all the wars being fought were simply proxy battles engaged in by corporate masters. That soldiers like him were being manipulated as expendable pawns. He grew to despise the vast industrialism rampant in the world today.”

“You really think that?”

Greene nodded. “Yes. I do.”

Kessel nodded, as well. “All right,” Annja said, “let’s go see Fairclough and get this over with.”

Greene stopped her. “Annja, I don’t want you thinking this is going to be a quick job. If Fairclough is as I expect him to be, you may find yourself in for quite a challenge.”

Annja frowned. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

They walked up the footpath to the main house. As they approached, the door swung open and another gun-toting associate of Greene’s waved them inside. “Welcome back,” the man said.

Greene nodded at Annja. “This is Creed, the one Fairclough wants to see.”

“Good stuff.” He beamed at Annja while pushing his dreadlocks back with his free hand. “I’m Jonas. Nice to meet you.”

Annja smirked. “Another true believer?”

Jonas smiled at Greene. “She didn’t swallow the Kool-Aid, huh?”

“Hardly,” said Greene. “I think we’d best treat Miss Creed as a hostile witness, if it pleases the court.”

Jonas bowed low. “Well, there will be time enough for us to bring her around to our cause.”

Annja shook her head. “You’re wasting your time, Jonas. I don’t go in for extremism. You guys might have some good ideas about cutting back on pollution and making sure corporations are responsible for taking care of the environments they operate in, but there’s no way I can condone how you carry out your goals. Murder doesn’t wash with me.”

“Then you’ve obviously never been presented with some of the greedheads that we’ve met,” Jonas said. “When you can’t even get them to try to see your perspective, what choice is left?”

“I might hate them,” Annja said. “And I could understand the frustration you feel, but I wouldn’t resort to murder.”

Jonas laughed. “Murder can never be justified—is that so? Well, we’ll see how you feel about that later. Right now, I’m sure our leader wants to get back to see his patient.”

“Indeed I do,” Greene said. “Let’s go.”

Jonas led them down a carpeted hallway lined with huge mahogany doors and beautiful landscape paintings. Annja pointed at one as they passed. “Seems like Fairclough has an appreciation for nature, as well.”

“Paintings hardly express a passion for saving the world.” Greene sneered. “Investments that will eventually yield him even more money and power. There’s little to celebrate in such a collection.”

Annja rolled her eyes. “Good God, man, do you ever take a break from the self-righteousness?”

“The environment is my religion,” Greene said. “And I take umbrage at your insulting tone.”

“Yeah, well, I call it like I see it,” Annja muttered.

Jonas paused at a set of double doors. “This is Fairclough’s bedroom,” he said to Annja. “We’ve had him cooped up in here since we arrived.”

“And when was that?”

“Two days ago.”

“Did you explain what it was you’re looking for?” she asked Greene. “After all, if you asked nicely enough, he might give it to you.”

Greene shook his head. “We asked him. Begged him, in fact, to release it to us. We told him we could keep it even safer than he could. But he refused to listen to us. Said something about us not understanding its nature and how we’d destroy it. Imagine the arrogance of the man.”

Annja sniffed. “Yeah, I guess I can certainly relate to that.” She eyed Greene. “So that’s when you hooked him up to your poison drip?”

“Well, we needed to convince him,” Jonas said. “No sense only taking a threat so far. You need to show people you mean business, after all.”

Greene smiled. “Jonas is our medical professional. He did three years on an extended tour with a small missionary outfit down the Amazon. What he saw there propelled him to the realization that modern society is corrupt. That the only true way forward is to go backward.”

“Back to what our ancestors practiced,” Jonas added. “Their knowledge of nature and the universe was without peer. And yet we’ve gotten away from that with our machines and our supermarkets and shopping malls. The whole thing is so ludicrous, it amazes me that more people don’t see it.”

“Yeah,” said Annja, “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t all flock to the notion that killing people and engaging in terrorism is a viable means of helping the planet. Crazy.”

Jonas frowned. “Your sarcasm is a real downer, Annja. I hope that before this is over you at least try to keep an open mind.”

“I always have an open mind,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I let my brain and common sense fall out.”

Greene chuckled. “Good one.”

Jonas nodded. “I like her.”

“Look,” she said, “enough with the brainwashing, okay? Let’s see Fairclough and be done with this. My head still hurts from force-smoking your blunt in the van.”

“Fair enough,” Greene said, nodding to Jonas. “Let’s get inside.”

Jonas pushed the doors open and they filed in. As Annja stepped into the bedroom, she was amazed at the opulence. She’d never known the antique book market to pay so handsomely. But Fairclough had either invested wisely over his career or he had money coming in from other sources.

Fairclough’s bed was a towering four-poster surrounded by several modern paintings that looked familiar, as if she’d seen them in exhibitions.

She saw the array of medical equipment next. Machines buzzed and beeped and hummed while digital readouts kept chirping out updates and monitoring the health of the man they were hooked up to: Reginald Fairclough.

For his part, Fairclough looked tiny in such a huge bed. His frame was thin and wiry and his face appeared gaunt. A mop of white hair topped his head, which seemed almost unnaturally large for his body.

Annja saw the IV drip stand next to the bed and watched as the clear liquid in the plastic squeeze bags dripped down the tube and into the old man’s arm. God knows what they’re pumping into his bloodstream, she thought. No matter who he was, Fairclough didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

No one did.

“What are you poisoning him with?”

“I told you,” Greene said. “It’s a little concoction we came up with based on Jonas’s experience in the rain forest. It’s quite a compelling cocktail of native herbals.”

“And the great thing is,” said Jonas, “if he helps us, we can reverse the effects almost immediately.”

“You can?”

“Well.” Jonas hesitated. “If he tells us soon. Otherwise, it will get progressively worse until it’s irreversible.”

“What happens then?”

“He’ll lapse into a vegetative state.”

“And then he’ll die,” Greene said. “So I suggest we get started.”