فصل 39

Chapter 39: The Voice

The van arrived in the Italian town of Turin in less than ninety minutes. They drove to a small, private airstrip, boarded a private jet, and flew for two hours. Schema wore the hood the entire way.

“Why can’t I take this off?” he asked.

“Quit whining,” Cassy said. “You’re a smart guy. You look out the window, you might recognize where we are going. You don’t get it off until we reach our final destination, so get comfortable.” The plane landed on a small, seaside airstrip, where they were met by a new driver and vehicle. Then again they drove, this time for nearly two hours, through remote countryside until the car stopped at a mountain gate, where they were met by two guards dressed in camouflage. Both guards were carrying UZIs that were pointed at the driver as they pulled up.

“ID,” the guard said tersely.

Even though the driver and the guard knew each other well, they didn’t show it. The driver handed him an identification card. The guard examined it closely, then asked, “How were the roads in today?” “It’s always beautiful driving through the vineyards,” the driver said.

The guard handed the driver back his card. The question was strictly protocol, and there were seven possible answers. Had the driver been under some kind of duress, his answer would have changed specific to his situation, including, “We got stuck behind an oxcart,” at which point the guard would have triggered a remote switch that would have blown up the car and its occupants.

“Can you remove the hood?” Schema asked.

“Still no,” Cassy replied.

“Where are we?”

“Our destination,” Cassy said.

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“I could, but then I’d have to kill you.”

The car pulled forward through the gate and up a long, tree-lined road. The trees were close together, and their branches reached across the passage, creating a long, arched tunnel. Finally the car drove up to another entrance, where a guard had already opened a gate and now waved them on through.

The road changed to cobblestone for the last fifty meters as they drove up to a beautiful French-style château. The mansion was large and had once been beautiful but was not well-kept, as weeds grew up between the black cobblestone drive and around the property. The surrounding forest seemed to be growing toward the structure, like a slow wave of foliage crashing over the architecture.

The driver pulled the car into an open garage, then closed the door behind them, leaving them in complete darkness. Then a light came on. Cassy turned back toward Schema.

“All right, we can take it off now.” She pulled off Schema’s hood. Schema now looked confused and somewhat subdued.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

“That depends,” Cassy said.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you do anything to get yourself killed. We didn’t go to all this trouble to bring you here just to execute you. If we wanted you dead, I could have done that in France without even getting out of the car. I went to rescue you.” “Thank you,” he said.

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to thanking me for saving your life,” Cassy said. “But we didn’t do it for you. We did it because the voice wants to speak with you face-to-face.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe he is going to let you see him. And before you ask, you are at the headquarters of the resistance. That is all you will ever be told and is all you need to know. Not even our leaders in America know where we are. We intend to keep it that way. If you try to escape, you will be killed. We have no choice. There are just too many lives at risk.” “I understand,” Schema said.

“Good. Now follow me.”

She got out of the car, then opened the vehicle’s door so Schema could get out. As he stepped out onto the cement floor, he suddenly froze, unable to breathe. For nearly a minute he grasped at his throat; then he fell to his knees, then to his side, unable to even make a sound, his panicked, questioning eyes locked on Cassy’s. When he was just about to pass out, Cassy released him. Schema loudly gasped for breath, coughing and wheezing. After a moment he got back onto his hands and knees, then looked up at her. “Why did you do that?” “In case you were feeling bold, I wanted you to know just how easy it is for me to kill you. I don’t even need to be with you. I can smell your electrical makeup, which means I not only can feel you a mile away, I can reach you a mile away. This time I paralyzed your lungs. If you disappear from my sight, even for a minute, I will stop your heart. Those are my orders, and make no mistake, I will do as I’ve been ordered. Do you understand?” “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She smiled at the driver, who stood at attention next to the car. “He called me ‘ma’am.’ ” * * *

Cassy and Schema, followed by the three guards, walked briskly into the mansion. They entered into a foyer, climbed a circular staircase, and then walked down a long, dark corridor with polished parquet floors. Surveillance cameras watched them from every corner. The hallway was adorned on both sides with dozens of antlers from deer, elk, and moose.

For most visitors allowed this far into the house, the guards’ guns would have been drawn, but since Cassy was with them, there was no need. Her power was instantaneous and much more potent than all of them combined. In a fight, she had never lost. Never.

Near the end of the hallway was a single solid mahogany door with an armed guard standing in front of it.

“Hiya, Cal,” Cassy said as she approached. “How’s your day?” “Same old, same old,” he replied. “He’s been waiting for you.” “I hope he’s been patient.”

“Yeah, right,” Cal said with a half smile. He opened the door, then stepped aside for them to enter.

“This way, please,” Cassy said to Schema. She led him into a large, classically decorated reception area. The walls were wood-paneled, and where there weren’t bookshelves, the walls were covered with beautiful still-life oil paintings. The floor was also wood, though mostly concealed beneath an aged Persian rug. The ceiling was coffered and had two brass chandeliers hanging down, lighting the room in a gold-yellow hue.

Sitting at a burled walnut desk in the center of the room was a fortysomething woman with bright red hair, wearing cat-eye glasses. She looked up at them as they entered.

“Howdy, Samantha,” Cassy said.

“Welcome back, my dear,” Samantha said in a formal British accent. “I see you brought us a guest.” “As commanded,” she said.

“And how was your day?”

Cassy adopted a British accent. “I suppose I’m a bit knackered.” Samantha laughed. “You’re so cheeky.”

“Better cheeky than dodgy,” Cassy said.

Samantha smiled. “He knows you’re here. Please take a seat, he’ll be right with you.” “Thank you,” Cassy said. She led Schema to a leather couch, and they both sat down. Schema just looked around in anxious wonder. He might as well have had the hood on, as there was nothing to do as he waited. There were no magazines, no music playing.

The chime of a longcase clock sounded off in the corner of the room. He glanced again at the guards but quickly turned away since they just looked like they wanted to kill him.

After a moment, Schema asked the secretary, “Are you British?” Samantha looked at him as if he’d just muttered some obscenity. Two of the guards stood, stepping before him.

“You will not speak,” one of them said fiercely.

Schema quickly lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Very sorry. I’ll keep quiet.” Cassy relaxed back in her seat. About five minutes later there was a soft buzz from Samantha’s phone. “He’s ready for you,” she said.

“Great,” Cassy said, standing. “C’mon,” she said to Schema. “We don’t keep him waiting.” She crossed the room past Samantha’s desk and opened the office door. She stepped inside ahead of Schema. The office looked and smelled old, with the musty scent of antique leather books and wooden bookshelves, the intricate woodwork interspersed with technology. On the back wall there were five monitors playing the world news. The voice was turned away from Cassy and Schema, watching one of the channels.

“Please sit,” he said.

Cassy and Schema each sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Then the voice turned around and looked at them. Schema audibly gasped when he saw the voice’s face.

“Giacomo Schema,” the voice said. “It’s good to see you again. Not a pleasure, mind you, but good. We have much work to do.” Schema stared, speechless. When he could speak, he said, “Impossible. This is impossible. How could it be you?”