Death of an Adept

"Think about it: After what happened tonight, did you really think I could risk having my involvement discovered through some accident of indiscretion? As you cannot have failed to notice, I already have more than my share of powerful enemies looking for me; I don't need the civil authorities as well. Sometimes, for the greater strategy of the game, a few pawns must be sacrificed."

"Are they dead?" Taliere asked numbly.

"No, but they will have to die," Raeburn replied, not unkindly, as Richter returned to direct the removal of Taliere's second associate from the RV. "If it's any consolation, Dr. Mallory tells me the preparation will have been relatively painless. It always amazes me what can be done with a couple of bottles of cheap whisky, a funnel, and a few feet of rubber tubing in the hands of someone medically trained - and with a whiff or two of chloroform to ease the inevitable resistance. I believe Mr. Richter has an accident in mind: alas, too much drink before driving an altogether too treacherous road."

While Raeburn spoke, Taliere's second assistant was carried away, and the men accompanying Raeburn and the Druid had stowed the duffel bags and Taliere's staff in the RV. As Richter returned to fetch two fresh liquor bottles, lifting them to the old mas in ironic salute before heading back toward the Land Rover, Raeburn gently removed Taliere's headdress and feathered mantle and handed them off to one of Richter's men to stow. Taliere did not resist as Raeburn took him by the elbow and guided him to the door of the RV, but he shook off the other's grip and mounted the step himself.

Inside, Mallory was adjusting an oxygen mask on the still unconscious Barclay, who was stretched out on the couch across the back of the cabin and wrapped in a bright silver thermal blanket. The physician turned as Raeburn and Taliere entered, picking up a loaded hypodermic syringe while Raeburn pushed his captive into one of the padded swivel chairs toward the front. Outside, the engines of the Mini Cooper and then the Land Rover rumbled to life, the two vehicles pulling out just before Richter and one of his men entered the RV and closed the door.

"Time to settle in for a long ride, Taoiseach," Raeburn said softly, as Richter's man went forward and Richter himself came to hold the old man for Mallory's ministrations. "Dr.

Mallory is going to give you something to relax you."

Taliere turned his face away as the deed was done, not resisting, his eyes dull with incomprehension. When Mallory had returned to his other patient, turning out the interior lights in favor of a small pocket flashlight, and Richter had retreated to the front passenger seat, Raeburn slid into the chair beside Taliere, carefully buckling the old man's seat belt.

"Why do you not just kill me and be done with it?" the Druid asked, as the RV's engine turned over with a muffled purr. "Why should I be spared, when my associates must die? They trusted me, Francis, and you have betrayed that trust."

"Why do I spare you?'' Raeburn said, himself buckling up. "Why, I entertain the fond notion that you may still prove useful to me. At very least, you have provided me with an abundance of red herrings to confound those who would try to interfere with my plans. Why do you think I didn't bother cleaning up the physical evidence at the circle? Investigating it will give the police something to occupy their time, but they haven't the resources to learn much from it. And if, by chance, tonight's work should come to the attention of some higher investigative authority, the signature of power is yours, not mine."

As the RV pulled quietly onto the road and began its slow progress back toward Stornoway, Taliere turned his face away and closed his eyes, not bothering to fight as Mallory's sedative dragged him gently into oblivion.

Chapter Six

I can't claim to be an experienced judge of such matters," Adam said the next morning, over breakfast with Ximena, "but in my humble estimation, your niece's nativity play went extremely well."

"Yes, it did, didn't it?" Ximena agreed, pausing to spread wild blackberry jam on a bite of warm croissant. "I hope your memory is in good working order. Dad is going to want a full account."

"I thought that's why you and Laurel took so many photographs," Adam said, amused.

"The photos are just the starting point," Ximena replied. "They don't cover the backstage details - which, as far as Dad's concerned, is where the meat of the entertainment lies. More coffee?"

"Please!" Adam said with feeling. "If only to hone my faculties as a drama critic."