October skies

‘Either way, Shepherd’s unstable, right? Did you notice right before we ran how weird he was?’

‘No I didn’t really… it’s a bit of a blur.’

‘He seemed out of it, vacant, like he was slightly stoned.’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he’s got a few skeletons of his own to hide somewhere.’

‘What… some bodies buried in his basement?’

Julian hugged his knees for warmth. ‘Who knows? Maybe he’s got himself a typical serial-killer basement complete with a Gothic well, where he’s been busy stitching together a woman-suit. ’

Rose snorted.

‘He seemed prepared to kill us just to bury a story about his.. what?… his great-great-grandfather?’

‘It would have damaged his campaign. I can believe someone like that would do what he could to stop it.’

‘Maybe. But would you kill someone for that?’

Rose shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘Would any normal politician murder someone just to bury a negative story?’

Shepherd looked up at the deep blue sky, robbed of the sun and left only with a stain of its memory on the horizon. It was going to be a freezing cold night; the thinly combed clouds stretched in front of a growing early audience of stars made that solemn promise.

Several paces ahead, a small piece of glowing technology was leading Carl forward. He held something no bigger than a slim cell phone, with a pale backlit screen displaying a direction and a distance. He’d assured Shepherd that although the tracker was a few years out of date — CIA surplus — it was more than adequate for the job out here.

Tracker’s good for five to ten miles depending on line-of-sight obstructions. That had been Carl’s crisp and businesslike explanation of the gadget’s efficacy as they set out from the clearing after them.

‘Not so good for urban detection,’ he’d added. ‘Lot of walls and electrical interference, but more than good enough for the job out here. This’ll lead us right to them, Mr Shepherd.’

You disapprove?

Shepherd winced at the sudden intrusion of the voice in his head. It seemed a little louder than last time, more insistent, shrill even, certainly so much louder than any others he’d played host to.

We don’t need to kill any more people, he replied. It’s an unnecessary risk. We didn’t need to kill that old woman.

There was no response. He managed an edgy smile in the failing light. If Duncan knew… if any of his campaign sponsors knew, if those millions of voters out there knew that his mind played out such terrible dialogues, that suggestions — malicious ones, spiteful ones, murderous ones… genocidal ones — were quietly whispered to him every day and then cautiously argued down, well… he could imagine spilling it all to Dr Phil or Oprah on live TV.

What a release that would be, to share his burdens with someone.

They will talk.

I can persuade them not to.

Are you a good man?

Yes… yes, I think I am.

You are also a weak man.

The hectoring, disapproving tone in its voice sent a sharp pain through his head.

I’m not weak.

The voice was quiet again.

Several yards ahead of Shepherd, Carl suddenly cursed under his breath and stopped.

‘The damned signal keeps dropping. Hang on a second… we need to let it pick up again.’

While he waited for his tracker to sweep for the signal, he looked out at the wide, graceful valley below them, silently scanning it with sniper’s eyes for any signs of life. Evening was settling across it fast, and amidst the muted tones of dusk he was reassured to see no pin-pricks of light anywhere; just more endless wilderness and no one else around. No one for miles… and miles.

His eyes, however, picked out the artificially straight lines of a man-made construction down by the river.

‘Some buildings down there, Mr Shepherd,’ he called out, pointing towards a horseshoe bend in the river.

Shepherd shook away his thoughts and looked at where Carl was pointing. He could see a dark huddle of huts nestled close to the river’s edge in an area swept clean of trees. He was familiar with the history of this area; he knew what it was. The trees down there had gone a long time ago.

‘It’s a logging camp, closed down like all the others round here, back when they started moving logs on rails instead of along the river.’

Carl nodded, then looked back down at the tracker display. ‘Fucking mountains here are playing havoc with the line-of-sight signal.’

‘I should imagine they’ll be hiding in that camp,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s where I would head if I was running.’

Carl looked up from the display and nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s where I’d head too. Ahhh… there it is,’ he said, ‘signal’s picked up.’ He studied it silently for a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. They’re in there somewhere, Mr Shepherd.’

‘Good, then let’s not waste any time. If we can run them to ground there, that’ll do just fine.’

‘This is a straightforward locate and terminate, right?’

Shepherd turned to him. ‘I’d like to talk with them first. But if an instant kill is required, then so be it.’

Carl nodded. ‘Understood.’

CHAPTER 84

2 November, 1856