The Brotherhood of the Rose (45 page)

We're not animals. The board's prepared to compromise. You paid for services you didn't receive, so here's a check refunding the balance of your fees. It's only fair. You devoted your life to the profession. You deserve a chance. So what we're giving you is twenty-four hours. That's plenty of time for a man of your experience. You could disappear forever, given your contacts. Take all night. Relax. Tomorrow morning, though, at eight o'clockthat's checkout time. I want you out of here. And one day later, Grisman has to leave as well. Maybe then the other guests can enjoy themselves again."

Twisting in his chair, Eliot fumed at Saul. Who merely grinned and shrugged.

The sun dipped relentlessly toward the mountains, casting a ruddy glow through the window of Eliot's room. "It doesn't make a difference," Eliot blurted hoarsely into his phone. "I don't care how many men it takes or what it costs. I want this valley bottled up tomorrow. I want him killed as soon as he leaves the rest home. No, you're not listening. Not the team who tried to stop him from getting in here. What's the matter with you? I'm sick of losers. I said I want the best." His knuckles ached from his tight grip on the phone. He scowled. "What do you mean there's nobody better than Grisman? I am. Do what you're told."

Eliot slammed down the phone and turned to Castor. Pollux was out in the hall, where guards sent by Don kept Eliot and his escorts under house arrest. "You confirmed the reservations?"

Castor nodded. "Air Canada out of Vancouver bound for Australia. Seven o'clock tomorrow evening."

"That ought to give us plenty of time."

Castor raised his shoulders. "Maybe not. Romulus knows he'll never be able to find you if he's twenty-four hours behind. The chances are he'll try to break out of here before then."

"Certainly he will. I'm counting on it. He'll want to chase me as soon as possible... and that's my advantage."

Castor frowned. "I don't see how."

"What I told that idiot on the phone is true. Nobody's better than Romulus. Except myself. And the two of you. I supervised his training. I can out-guess him. The mistake I made from the start was delegating other men to do my work."

"But you ordered a team to seal off the valley."

Eliot nodded. "Romulus expects me to do that. If I didn't provide a distraction, he'd sense the greater trap. Of course the team might get lucky and kill him." He pursed his wrinkled lips, musing. "I doubt it, though. The wilderness is his home. if he leaves the way he came in, even a thousand men couldn't watch every outlet through the mountains," Castor brightened. "In that case, though, we'd be protected. Going through the mountains takes time. He'd still be far behind us. He couldn't catch up."

"And that's why he'll choose another way."

Castor's bright look darkened, his frown returning. "But what way is that? And how can we stop him?"

"Pretend you're him. It's not too hard to predict what he'll do. Logically he's got only one choice."

"It might be logical to you, but- " Eliot explained, and Castor nodded, confident again, impressed.

The sun was three-quarters down. Shadows lengthened across the valley, at first almost purple, then gray, soon black ringed with mist.

Saul didn't notice. He kept his room dark, sitting cross legged on the floor, clearing his mind, preparing himself. He knew the door to his room was being watched by guards outside to prevent him from making a move against Eliot while the old man was still inside the rest home. He assumed that Eliot and his escorts were under surveillance as well.

It didn't matter. Despite his need, he couldn't risk killing Eliot here. Since arriving, his primary intention had been to achieve revenge and yet survive to enjoy the satisfaction of knowing he'd repaid his debt of honor to Chris.

His brother. Anger flashed inside him. He concentrated to subdue it. Now that his goal was close, he had to purge himself of distraction, to reach the purity of a samurai, to prove himself the professional Eliot had taught him to be.

As he meditated, arriving at a core of perfect resolution and stillness, consolidating his thoughts, instincts and skills, he silently repeated a mantra, over and over.

Again and again. He sensed his brother's spirit merging with him.

Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris.

The morning was bleak. Clouds hung low, the air damp and chilly with the threat of rain. A dark blue Chevy station wagon-no chrome, no whitewalls, nothing to draw attention to it-waited on the gravel driveway before the lodge.

Two servants filled the back with suitcases and garment bags, then shut the hatch and waited at a distance.

Precisely at eight, the door to the lodge came open. Eliot, Castor, and Pollux, flanked by guards, stepped out on the porch. Don walked directly behind them.

Eliot wore his uniform-his black suit and vest, his homburg. He paused when he saw the car, then turned to the right, squinting sullenly at Saul, who stood at the end of the porch, flanked by other guards.

A gloomy mist began to fall. Eliot's nostrils widened with contempt. The tense moment lengthened.

Turning abruptly, the old man gripped the rail and eased himself down the steps. Castor opened a back door for him, closed it as soon as his father was settled, then got in the front with Pollux and turned the ignition key. The motor engaged at once, sounding like a large V-8.

The station wagon pulled away, its tires crunching on the gravel. Saul narrowed his vision till all he saw was the window of the Chevy's hatch. Intense, he focused on the back of Eliot's head, on the silhouette of the homburg.

But the old man never looked back at him. The Chevy moved faster, shrinking, its roar diminishing. Soon its dark blue merged with the green of the forest.

Watching it disappear, Saul bristled, his heartbeat thunderous.

Haughty, Don came over. "Long time to wait, huh? Twenty four hours. Bet you're tempted to run to the motor pool and steal a car to chase after him."

Saul stared at the road between the trees. "Or the chopper in back," Don said. "Bet you can barely hold back from making a try for it, huh? It sure is tempting, isn't it?"

Saul's eyes were black as he turned to Don. "Go on and try," Don said. "That's why I let you out of your room this morning. So you could watch the old man drive away and maybe lose your cool. Do it. Fall apart. Make a break and try to chase him. You've been a pain in my ass since you got here. I'd love to see you shot to pieces for disobeying the board's directive."

Still Saul didn't answer but instead slipped past him, calmly heading toward the door to the lodge. "No?" Don asked behind him. "Don't feel like making trouble today? My, my. Well, that's a change."

The guards flanked Saul as he opened the door. "In that case, pal, go back to your room and stay there." Don's voice snapped. "Twenty-four hours. That's the agreement. Tomorrow morning, you can chase him all you want." He rose to his fullest height. "Provided you can find him," Saul glanced indifferently at him and walked inside. He'd thought it through with care last night, analyzing various plans... When everything was considered, there'd really been only one choice.

Don rubbed his eyes. It had to be he was seeing things. This couldn't be happening. With eyeblink speed, Grisman did something with his elbows as he walked inside. At once the guards behind him tumbled back, collapsing against each other, toppling. As they did, the door to the lodge slammed shut. The lock shot home. "What the-?

Jesus!" Pushing away from each other, scrambling to their feet, the guards cursed, rushing to the door, jerking at it, pounding angrily.

Don in turn felt frozen, disbelieving, dismayed. It wasn',1, possible. He'd felt so confident when he taunted Grisman he'd have bet his bonus that the goddamn troublemaker had finally been put in his place.

Oh, fuck, no. It couldn't be, Grisman was actually doing it, making a break. "The motor pool!" Don shouted. "The chopper pad! Stop pounding at that goddamn door, you assholes! Head him off!"

Already Don was racing down the steps. He twisted hysterically to the left and lunged toward the side of the lodge.

It hadn't been complicated. Once Saul had decided on the only logical tactic, he'd simply imagined various scenarios, looked ahead, and predicted when he'd have the best opportunity to implement his plan. At the first likely moment, he acted. On the porch, in the open, in the presence of Don and many guards, with Eliot barely off the grounds, who'd have expected Saul to make trouble that soon? Certainly not Don and the guards. Their confidence had been his advantage.

By the time the guards had recovered enough to lunge at the bolted door, Saul was sprinting through the lobby. No guests were in view, but several staff members froze openmouthed in surprise. To the left, at the fuzzy corner of his vision, Saul detected a hurried gesture as the desk clerk lunged for a phone. Behind him, Saul heard muffled pounding as the guards tried to break through the door. He raced toward a hallway beside the staircase, sensing motion to his right: a guard coming out of the restaurant, seeing Saul, hearing the shouts, understanding, and drawing a pistol.

The roar of shots was amplified by the polished walls of the lobby. Bullets walloped against the banister on the staircase, flinging splinters. But already Saul had reached the protection of the corridor. Charging harder, he veered toward a door at the end, in an alcove behind the staircase, yanking it open just as a guard on the other side reached for the knob. The man must have heard the shots and hurried to investigate, But he wasn't prepared for the heel of Saul's palm slamming against his rib cage. As the man groaned, falling, Saul tugged an Uzi from his grasp and swung to spray the hallway behind him. The guard out there dove frantically for cover.

Saul didn't wait. No time. He leapt across the man he'd dropped, then raced down a short set of stairs, yanking at a ceiling-high metal case with towels, soap, and toilet paper on shelves. The unit crashed behind him, objects cascading, forming a barricade in the narrow corridor.

A puzzled maid appeared at an open door to the right, understood quickly what was happening, and ducked back, frightened. Again Saul spun with the Uzi, fired a warning volley at the guard in pursuit, and charged out a door in back.

When he'd first arrived at the rest home, he'd automatically obeyed one of Eliot's rules and scouted his hunting ground, familiarizing himself with the layout. Now as he burst outside, he faced the short flight of concrete steps he'd expected. He took them three at a time and rushed ahead.

The clouds hung lower, gray and dismal. The bleak grounds stretched before him, the mist-enshrouded motor pool to his right, the chopper pad to his left.

As drizzle dampened his cheeks, chilly in contrast with his burning sweat, he knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Out of breath, stumbling frantically along the side toward the back of the lodge, Don yelled to the guards before him, "Dammit'@--he puffed-"split up! Head him off!" He stopped and panted, wiping drizzle off his face. "The chopper pad! The motor pool!" The guards obeyed.

Straining to breathe, mustering strength, Don lurched into motion once again, swerving around to the back of the lodge as a guard crept out, his pistol trained. "Where is he?" Don shouted. "He came through this door." The guard kept his voice low, crouching beneath the concrete steps, warning, "Get down before he shoots you."

"He's not armed."

"He grabbed an Uzi off Ray."

"That was Grisman shooting in there?" A tingle ran up Don's spine and made him shiver. I thought it was... Jesus! " He dove to the lawn, his shivering worse as the wet grass soaked his checkered pants and burgundy sport coat. "Where the hell is he?"

Hunkered, the guard kept switching his aim to different sections of the grounds.

Don struggled with paralyzing fear and surprised himself by rolling toward the guard, scrambling down the concrete steps, and hunching near the door. "Your walkie-talkie. Give it to me."

Not shifting his gaze from the grounds, the guard pulled the radio from its holster on his belt and handed it over.

Don pressed the send button, alarmed by the croaking sound his voice made. "This is the director. Motor pool, check in."

He released the button. Static crackled. "No sign of him," a voice said. "We're still searching."

"Chopper pad," Don blurted into the radio. "Negative," a voice said. "We've established a perimeter around the bird. With this many guns against him, he'd be nuts to make a try for it."

Don flinched as the door came open behind him, another guard creeping out. "I just left Ray," the new guard said. "A doctor's with him."

Don took a moment before he realized the implication. Again his spine tingled. "You mean he's alive?"

"Grisman slammed his chest. Broke some ribs. The doctor says Ray's gonna live, though."

I don't understand. Grisman's too good to make a mistake like that. I can't believe he slipped up."

"Unless it wasn't a mistake."

"You're telling me Grisman deliberately didn't kill him?"

"if Grisman had wanted to, he would have. All he'd have needed was a little more force behind the blow."

"Then why the hell didn't he? What's he thinking of?"

"Who knows?" The guard made a sound that might have been a chuckle. "Maybe he didn't want to piss us off."