TWO
Questions, Questions
When some agents know they’re heading into dangerous territory, they like to go loaded for bear. Heavily armed bears, wearing Kevlar. I prefer to avoid guns. Specific weapons can limit your responses and I like to leave myself room to improvise. And to be fair, I am nearly always going to be the most dangerous person in the room.
But none of the usual rules apply to Ringstone Lodge.
The Lodge can be found in the North Riding of Yorkshire. About as far north as you can go before you bang your head on Hadrian’s Wall. Beautiful countryside, wild and free; easy on the eye, but hard on the heart. You have to work to make a living out of that cold ground. The North Country is old and heavy with history. And what secrets it has, it holds close to its chest.
Ringstone Lodge stands alone, miles from anywhere. So no one can hear you scream.
In the end, I decided to take the train. It would have been a really long drive, and I didn’t want to arrive at the Lodge exhausted and running on fumes. I was pretty sure I’d need all my wits about me when I came face to face with the seekers after truth. I sent Penny home to pack while I stopped off at one of my safe houses to pick up a few essentials, and we met up an hour later at King’s Cross Station. I like King’s Cross. You can always be sure of any amount of noise and bustle to hide yourself in. I arrived with just a backpack, because I have always believed in travel light, travel fast. It’s a battered old thing that’s seen a lot of use, with colours so faded it’s become as anonymous as me. Never carry anything you’re not prepared to leave behind in an emergency. I once had to bolt down the backstairs of a well-known hotel wearing nothing but my socks, plus my backpack with a stolen laptop in it.
Penny had taken the time to dress in a whole new outfit: a dark blue jacket over a gleaming white blouse, a dark skirt over dark stockings, high heels and a really big hat. I looked her over thoughtfully, as she stood poised and smiling before me.
“Why?” I said finally.
“Because we’re going to be meeting people, darling. Important people. Dress to impress, that’s what I always say.”
“Well, if nothing else you should make a fine distraction,” I said.
She sniffed loudly. “Your look never changes, basic and scruffy. I’ve seen better-dressed people selling the Big Issue.”
“I like to feel comfortable,” I said calmly. “No one’s going to look twice at someone who looks like me.”
“Once would be bad enough,” said Penny.
She’d brought a really large suitcase. It was also quite remarkably heavy, as I found out when I tried to carry it for her. I made some dramatic noises, indicating imminent back problems and popping knee joints, and looked at her reproachfully.
“We’re only going to be at the Lodge two days, maximum. What have you got in here?”
“A girl likes to be prepared,” Penny said loftily.
“What for?” I said. “Moving house?”
She smiled sweetly at me. “You know I’m going to make you pay for that remark, darling. And anyway, what are you carrying in that dinky little backpack? Guns and explosives and secret spy devices?”
“Just a change of clothes,” I said. “We won’t need guns and explosives where we’re going.”
Penny shot me a look. “Are you sure about that?”
“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be going,” I said. “And I’ve never had much faith in clever spy toys. In my experience they always let you down just when you need them most. I prefer to improvise, with whatever’s around at the time. I have learned to depend on myself and my own abilities, because I’ve never let myself down.”
Penny sighed and shook her head. “James Bond would have had a fold-up helicopter in there.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” I said, “Bond gets beaten up on a regular basis. This way to the train, Penny Galore.”
I’ve always believed in travelling by train. You can pay in cash, leave no paper or electronic trail, and step on and off at as many platforms as you like if you want to check whether someone is following you.
Paranoid? Why do you want to know?
We travelled first class, in the designated quiet carriage, because Penny has been known to attack people who insist on talking loudly into their phones when she wants a bit of peace and quiet. You really don’t want to know where she was going to stuff the phone belonging to one particularly obnoxious city trader. Fortunately, it turned out he could run really fast, for a fat man. But such moments, enjoyable as they are, do tend to attract attention; so the quiet carriage it was. Penny stretched her long legs out into the aisle and happily worked her way through the latest issue of the Fortean Times, while I looked out the window at the passing scenery and thought of many things.
Starting with Frank Parker. We’d never worked together, never moved in the same circles. Never even been in the same city, as far as I knew. Parker left the weird side of things behind as he moved up in the Organization. From field agent to supervising officer, with responsibility for the more political operations. Because even the Organization has to deal with the realities of the world as well as all the weird things that threaten it. Parker worked all over the world, according to stories I’d been told in strict confidence. Slipping across borders and in and out of countries. Often talked about, but never seen.
The two of us must have started out in the Organization at much the same time. He’d risen a lot further, but then I never was ambitious. Because ambition gets you noticed. We’d be about the same age; but whereas I still looked like a man in his twenties, just as I had since I first appeared in 1963, Parker would look his age. Plastic surgery can do many things, but it can’t make you look twenty again. We’d both seen the world change a lot; but it seemed the world had changed Parker a lot more than it had ever changed me.
Of course, Parker was only human.
I thought hard about what might be waiting for us at Ringstone Lodge. I try to plan for every eventuality, including the ones most people never think of because they’re too extreme. When you work for the Organization, strange shit and weird menace come as standard. If you get caught off guard, you have no one to blame but yourself.
Proper preparation prevents having your soul stolen, or your aura left in tatters. Or being locked up and interrogated by your own people.
Some hours later, we arrived at the nearest station to Ringstone Lodge. Penny was fast asleep, not even stirring as the train slowed to a halt. I retrieved my backpack and her suitcase, and shook her shoulder firmly. She came awake with a jolt and looked at me with wide eyes, then sat bolt upright as she realized the train wasn’t moving any more. She erupted out of her seat, crammed her hat on her head, grabbed her suitcase from me, and headed for the carriage door.
“You should have woken me before!” she said loudly, not looking back. “Given me time to prepare . . .”
“You looked so peaceful,” I said, ambling unhurriedly after her. “I didn’t like to disturb you.”
“You know I hate waking up in a hurry! I’ll be feeling disturbed and upset now for hours.”
“Probably the best frame of mind,” I said, “when it comes to Ringstone Lodge.”
Evening was fast approaching, and the darkening sky pressed in around the platform’s dull yellow lights. I made a point of volunteering to carry Penny’s suitcase off the train, as well as my backpack, and she walked ahead of me with a satisfied smile on her face. I couldn’t see it from behind, but I had no doubt it was there. She strode down the platform with her head held high, one hand holding her hat in place against the gusting breeze, her high heels clacking loudly in the quiet. I followed after, but thanks to years of long practice I didn’t make a sound.
Ringstone Halt was just a small local station, consisting of two platforms with old-fashioned greystone buildings. The station sign looked to be decades old, and no one had attended to the overgrown flowerbeds for almost as long. No one else got on or off the train, which didn’t hang around. It seemed positively eager to be on its way again, as though it had heard about Ringstone Lodge and wanted nothing to do with it.
I looked up and down the deserted platform. No sense of welcome, or even an acknowledgement of our presence. There was a complete absence of station staff, and the ticket office was locked up tight. A prominent sign made it almost offensively clear that the office was only open until twelve noon. Penny stopped at the single narrow gate that led to the outside and looked back at me. She wasn’t smiling any more. She might not have my exalted senses, but she can pick up on a bad atmosphere as quickly as anyone. The station had everything short of a large flashing neon sign warning that this was somewhere you would not want to be once it got dark. I moved manfully forward, hauling Penny’s suitcase along with me, and we went outside to see what was waiting for us.
Nothing particularly interesting, as it turned out. Pleasant if characterless countryside stretched away before us under the lowering dark-grey sky. Open fields and bare hardscrabble ground bounded by low stone walls. No one to meet us and no one around, not even a few grazing sheep or cattle. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, and there wasn’t so much as a breath of moving air. A long narrow road, completely devoid of traffic, plunged off into the distance before disappearing over the brow of a low hill. The view was acceptable but uninvolving, like a really uninspired jigsaw puzzle.
I dropped Penny’s suitcase down beside her and she immediately sat on it, while glaring at me like this was all my fault.
“How frightfully uninviting, darling. It looks like everyone in the vicinity heard tales of this marvellous new thing called civilization and went running off in search of it. Why can’t we ever go anywhere nice?”
“We go where the job takes us,” I said. “You know what they say about the spy game: if you can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined.”
“Is that really what they say?”
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s classified.”
Penny sniffed loudly and glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m surprised such a small station is still operating in this day and age.”
“Probably only kept open to serve the Lodge,” I said sagely. “For people like us.”
“There are no people like us,” said Penny. She glowered about her. “I can’t help noticing a complete lack of taxis, and not even a hint of a bus service. Hell! I’d settle for a pony cart or a rickshaw.”
“Someone from the Lodge will turn up,” I said.
Penny gave me a hard look. “Did the Colonel tell you that? Did you get it in writing?”
“No. It’s just standard procedure.”
Penny shook her head. “You have faith in the most unlikely things, darling.”
We waited quietly outside the station, and then we waited some more. The day slowly shut itself down, the shadows lengthening while the air grew uncomfortably cool. Nothing moved, no matter where I looked. It was like the end of the world had sneaked up on us while we weren’t looking. I hate it when that happens. I kept a careful eye on the only road, but no traffic interrupted the grim foreboding of the road to Ringstone Lodge.
“If no one turns up, we could be in for a hell of a long walk,” said Penny. “And I’m not wearing walking shoes. If I’d known a forced route march was on the cards, I would have packed my folding bicycle.”
“Where would that have left me?” I said.
“Pushing me up that hill, of course. I’m all in favour of healthy exercise, but you can have too much of a good thing.”
“Someone will come,” I said.
“I blame you,” said Penny. “All that effort you put into staying off everyone’s radar. What if no one knows we’ve arrived? Don’t be stubborn, darling. Get your phone out and tell the Lodge we’re here. Before we die of exposure and end up with small animals gnawing at our bones.”
“A car will be with us in a few minutes,” I said calmly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this down to your inhumanly fine senses? Or are you just being extra confident to annoy me?”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I said. “Listen.”
Her head came up sharply as the sound of a car’s straining motor finally made itself heard on the quiet evening air. Not long after, a car appeared quite suddenly over the crest of the hill and roared down the road to the station. Penny glared at me.
“Show-off!”
A suitably anonymous vehicle slammed to a halt before us. Not new enough to hold the eye or old enough to attract attention, it had probably started out a fierce crimson. But age and a complete lack of attention had reduced it to a two-tone mix of red and rust. I couldn’t even guess at the make, which was probably just as well, as the maker would only have been embarrassed to acknowledge it. The engine cut off in a grateful sort of way, the door opened in a series of jerks, and the driver got out.
He turned out to be quite a large man for such a small car. He stayed where he was, looking us over unsmilingly. A stiff-backed man in his late fifties, grey-haired and impeccably shaved, handsome enough in a hard-used sort of way. He wore his tweed suit as though it was a uniform, along with sturdy, highly polished boots. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, he had large heavy-knuckled hands. Ex-military, and not that long ago. You can always tell. It’s something in the bearing, and the way they look ready to shoot anyone who disagrees with them.
He looked me over first with his cold grey eyes, taking his time, and then Penny; before removing two photos from inside his jacket and comparing our faces with the ones in his hand. I had to wonder where he got them. There aren’t many photos of me around; I’ve seen to that. He gave the matter some thought, before finally nodding briefly and putting the photos away. He strode forward and crashed to a halt right in front of us, as though in his mind he was still on a parade ground somewhere. I half expected him to fire off a snappy salute, or yell at me for having a button undone. When he finally addressed us, his voice had a surprisingly pleasant Scottish burr.
“Mr. Jones, Miss Belcourt, welcome to Ringstone Halt. I am Donald MacKay, head of security at Ringstone Lodge. You’ve come a fair way to be here, I understand.”
“All the way from London,” said Penny. “I was beginning to worry we’d have to spend the night here.”
“My apologies, miss. We were only alerted you were coming a short time ago.”
“Shouldn’t we have code words, or recognition phrases?” Penny said brightly. “Like ‘the snows are particularly bad in Moscow this year’?”
MacKay indulged himself with a thin smile, just for her. “We do not burden ourselves with such things, miss.”
“Then why the photos?” I said.
“Electronic information can be hacked or subverted, Mr. Jones,” MacKay said sternly. “As well you know. I favour the old school, less to go wrong. And we are being especially cautious just at present now that Mr. Parker is a guest at the Lodge.”
“Would I be right in thinking you’re late of a Highland Regiment, Mr. MacKay?” I said.
He inclined his head, just a little. “Indeed, sir. I had the honour to be Regimental Sergeant Major; until I was forced to retire because of my years. I was not ready to sit around the house and do nothing, so I made a new life for myself in security. There is always a place in the Security Services for an old soldier. They value experience. The Ministry of Defence put me in charge of Ringstone Lodge some three years back. And I am proud to say there has not been a single unfortunate incident on the premises since I took charge of things.”
“But you are . . . part of the Organization?” said Penny, dropping her voice conspiratorially even though we couldn’t have been more alone on the surface of the moon.
“I have Organization clearance, miss,” MacKay said carefully. “So I can remain in charge on those occasions when the Organization finds it necessary to take over the Lodge from the Ministry.”
“Does that happen often?” said Penny.
“Often enough, miss.”
“And would I be right in thinking you’ve seen your share of strange and unusual things?” I said. “Enough for the Organization to take notice of you?”
He shot me a quick glance. “Aye, sir. I have seen my share, and some. There is not much that can throw me.”
“What have you seen, Mr. MacKay?” Penny said winningly.
“Those are stories for another time, miss,” MacKay said firmly. “For now, we must needs be on our way. The others are waiting.”
“Others?” I said.
“Not in public, Mr. Jones.”
I thought that was pushing it a bit, under the circumstances, but I nodded and went along. MacKay picked up Penny’s suitcase and carried it over to the car, with no visible signs of effort. He loaded it into the boot and then looked back at me and my backpack. I shook my head. He nodded and gestured for us to get in the car. I beat Penny to the shotgun seat by just a few moments and settled smugly into place with my backpack on my lap, while Penny dropped scowling into the back seat. MacKay ignored all of this, as though such childishness was beneath him. He took his time arranging his long legs carefully behind the steering wheel, fired up the engine, and sent the car roaring back up the hill.
Heading for Ringstone Lodge, and everything that lay waiting there.
The road remained entirely untroubled by any other traffic, but MacKay still drove with the exaggerated care of a chauffeur, studying the way ahead with an unwavering gaze as though half expecting something untoward to be lying in wait around every bend in the road. We drove in silence for some time. MacKay didn’t seem to feel the need to make conversation. The open countryside passed us by, grim and contemplative under the darkening sky, with no obvious landmarks or features of interest.
“Fill me in, Mr. MacKay,” I said finally. “What’s the situation?”
“Much as you’d expect, Mr. Jones.” MacKay’s gaze didn’t waver from the road ahead for a moment and his voice was entirely calm. “Everything at the Lodge is secure, including Mr. Parker. All is in order. We’ve merely been waiting on your arrival.”
“Is Parker behaving himself?” I said.
“He has been most cooperative,” said MacKay. “Though he has not as yet had much to say for himself. Nothing of importance or substance. He is perhaps a little more at his ease than one might expect, given his present circumstances.”
“What sort of a man is Parker?” I said. “How does he strike you?”
MacKay gave the matter some thought before answering. “A man who knows things. The kind of things most men are better off not knowing. A man with secrets, his own as well as other people’s. And most definitely a man who hoards such things to himself, like a miser, for when he might need to make use of them.”
“But what’s he like?” said Penny. “Funny, dour, argumentative? Charming?”
“He can be,” said MacKay. “He is well trained, after all. But you can never trust a man like that, in anything he says or does. He will always have his own reason for everything.”
“Any sign of outside interest in the Lodge?” I said.
“No, sir. No one is supposed to know we have Mr. Parker as our guest, though how long that will last . . .”
“Especially if he’s right and there are traitors inside the Organization.”
“Do you think that is likely, Mr. Jones?” said MacKay. He still didn’t turn his head to look at me.
“Anyone can be turned,” I said. “All it takes is enough pressure. Or temptation. But I don’t know enough about the Organization, or its personnel, to know how likely that is.”
“Not many do, sir,” said MacKay.
“Who am I going to be meeting at the Lodge?” I asked, tacitly agreeing to change the subject.
“Only Organization-appointed personnel are in residence at the moment, sir. The bare minimum necessary to debrief Mr. Parker properly.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t got an army surrounding the Lodge,” I said. “A lot of really bad people have really good reasons to want our man silenced before he can spill whatever beans he has.”
“An army would only attract undue attention, sir,” said MacKay. Just a little condescendingly. “We have the very best security measures in place, backed up by all manner of hidden unpleasantness. An army would have trouble getting in.”
Penny could tell I was getting impatient at having to dig answers out of MacKay and turned on the charm. She smiled winningly into the rearview mirror and leaned forward so she could breathe her words right into his ear.
“Who exactly have you got working for you at the Lodge, Mr. MacKay?”
“Two guards, miss. Both supplied by the Organization. Alan Baxter and Karl Redd.”
“Have you worked with them before?” I said.
“No sir, I have not. But they have proved themselves to be most efficient.”
“What did they do before they came to the Lodge?” said Penny.
“One does not ask such questions, miss,” MacKay said firmly. “We all know what we need to know, and only what we need to know.”
“But were they civilian security or military?” I said. “You’d know, Sergeant Major.”
He nodded solemnly. “Indeed I would, sir. And I would say not military. Though there is no doubt in my mind that they have both seen action in their time. Then there are the two interrogators, Doctor Alice Hayley and Doctor Robert Doyle. Again new to me and the Lodge, but both Organization people. Very highly qualified and experienced, I am given to understand. She is a fierce little body. The gentleman is more the academic soul.”
I couldn’t help frowning. “I can’t believe the Organization would send you two entirely new people, not when there must be so many who’ve worked at the Lodge before.”
“If Mr. Parker is right about rotten apples within,” MacKay said seriously, “they would have to be very careful about who they chose.”
“I’m not sure I like the term interrogators,” said Penny, settling back in her seat again. “Sounds too much like the Spanish Inquisition.”
“The Organization has access to techniques the Inquisition never even dreamed of,” I said. “Given how steeped in secrecy they are, the Organization has always shown an unwavering dedication to getting the truth out of others.”
“You’re really not selling me on this,” said Penny. “No wonder you were so reluctant to come here.”
I shot her a warning glance. “Trust me, nothing is going to happen at the Lodge that I don’t approve of.”
“But how much ground does that cover?” said Penny. And she stared out her window, rather than look at me or MacKay.
“You should not feel sympathy for Mr. Parker, Miss Belcourt,” MacKay said sternly. “Given the kind of people he worked for, and the kind of things he did for them.”
Penny remained silent.
“Anyone else at the Lodge?” I said.
“Just our resident technician,” said MacKay. “Philip Martin. He looks after our surveillance systems. He is MoD, but has been granted Organization clearance for this particular debriefing because bringing a newcomer up to speed on the Lodge’s specialized equipment would take too long. Mr. Martin has worked well for me these last three years, and I have no doubt as to his capabilities. I have been assured another qualified technician is on his way to spell Mr. Martin, so he doesn’t have to watch his screens twenty-four-seven. But it will be a while before the new man arrives.”
“Probably searching for someone they’re sure they can depend on,” I said. “That’s the trouble with accusations, they make it hard to trust anyone. So that’s it? No one else?”
“There are normally twenty-seven MoD personnel on site, but they have all been sent away for the duration,” said MacKay. “Including the support staff. So we will have to mind for ourselves, the next few days.”
“They all just left?” said Penny, suddenly taking an interest again.
“No one argues with the Organization,” I said.
“Why?” said Penny.
MacKay allowed himself another of his thin smiles. “A great many people would like to know the answer to that one, miss. If only for their own peace of mind. But when orders come down from on high, we do as we’re told and trust there’s a good reason for it. In the case of Mr. Parker, it does make sense. If he is who he claims to be, we cannot allow anyone access to him who does not have the proper clearances. And if he is not, he could prove to be a very poisoned chalice. The less people are exposed to his deliberate disinformation, the better.”
“What is your own view of him?” I asked.
“He is . . . very polite, very eager to please,” said MacKay. “No trouble at all.”
“You don’t like him,” said Penny. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“I believe we should all be very careful around Mr. Parker,” said MacKay. And that was all he had to say.
We drove on, through increasingly bleak countryside. Just empty moors now, with no signs of life save for some stunted shrubs and patchy grassland. The skies were darkening into night, and a wind was rising. It felt like we were leaving the civilized world behind, to go to a place where only bad things happened.
“Why is it called Ringstone Lodge?” Penny said finally.
“After a circle of ancient standing stones,” said MacKay. “Just over that hill to your right, miss. Ringstone Knoll.”
Penny craned her neck but couldn’t see anything. “Are there stories about the stones?” she said hopefully. “Druids and sacrifices and ghostly sightings?”
“Not as far as I know, miss.”
“But there is a history of hauntings at the Lodge?” said Penny. “Things that go bump in the night?”
“The only spooks at the Lodge will be the agents who pass through on a regular basis,” I said. “Right, Mr. MacKay?”
I expected him to go along with my amused tone, but MacKay surprised me by looking distinctly unhappy. He considered the question for a while. And when he finally answered, his voice, though steady, was troubled.
“Once, I would have agreed with you, Mr. Jones. In my long career, in strange and often exotic places, I have encountered many odd things and seen more than my fair share of dead men . . . but never once did I see a ghostie. I would have said there was no such thing. Until quite recently, at Ringstone Lodge.”
“You’ve seen ghosts?” I said.
“There have been . . . occurrences.”
“How recently?”
“Very. But there are tales of unusual manifestations that go back generations. The Lodge has always had a bad reputation. As a place where the dead do not rest easy and the past is not always over, where spirits range the long marches of the night. I never took such tales seriously before . . . but I have experienced things at the Lodge in the last few days that I would not have believed if another man had told them to me.”
There was a long pause.
“Such as?” asked Penny.
“Sounds,” MacKay said reluctantly. “Sightings. Things moving that should not. The Lodge has an unquiet feel these days.”
“But what kinds of sounds and sightings?” said Penny, squirming impatiently on her seat and leaning forward again. “Are we talking headless figures, or dark shapes walking through walls?”
“Does your ghost carry its head under its arm, Mr. MacKay?” I said. “How does it see where it’s going?”
“You are pleased to be facetious, Mr. Jones,” said MacKay. He didn’t sound pleased to have his judgement challenged. “Whatever it is that walks in Ringstone Lodge, it is nothing so traditional. Nothing any of us can be sure of. Just . . . things heard in the early hours or glimpsed out of the corner of the eye. Strange feelings and uncanny thoughts. You can believe it or not, as you please. But I believe we are not alone, at present, at Ringstone Lodge.”
“Are you the only one who’s had direct experience of these phenomena?” I said.
“No, sir. Everyone present at the Lodge has seen or sensed something unnatural.”
“Including Parker?”
“He says not.”
“When exactly did these disturbances begin?” I asked.
“A night and a day before Mr. Parker arrived, sir. Everyone else had left, and Mr. Martin and I were preparing the Lodge for its new arrivals.”
“And you don’t find that significant?”
“Of course, that was my first thought. But things have been happening for which I can find no rational explanation. For the first time in all my service at the Lodge, I do not feel safe.”
Given the kind of man MacKay was, I found that distinctly unsettling. “And all of this started happening when Parker arrived?” I said.
“Mr. Parker could not be responsible for any of this, sir,” MacKay said firmly. “The first incidents preceded his arrival by many hours. And they did not cease after he was safely locked away.”
“It sounds like a distraction,” I said. “Something to keep us occupied while an escape or an attack was being planned. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“No more do I, sir. But it has crossed my mind that the arrival of this bad man has awoken a more ancient evil. Stirred something from its long rest. I do not necessarily believe in ghosts, Mr. Jones. But I am taking all of this very seriously. I do not like anything happening in my Lodge without my consent.” He smiled one of his thin smiles. “Dead men walking are not conducive to good discipline.”
“I see your problem,” I said. “More complications are the last thing we need. It’s not like we can just call in a priest and have him exorcize the Lodge.”
“I personally have no truck with Roman ritual, being a firm Protestant,” said MacKay. “But still, is there not some kind of professional help that the Organization could provide, Mr. Jones? I have sent in several reports, but as yet all they’ve sent us is you. Do you perhaps have experience in this area?”
“Similar areas,” I said. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“That’s all right,” said Penny. “I’m sure they believe in you.”
“Really not helpful, Penny . . .”
“Anyway,” MacKay said heavily, “it may well be that once Mr. Parker has moved on to another establishment, it will all quieten down again.”
“If anyone could disturb the living and the dead, it’s Frank Parker,” I said.
When we finally arrived at the gates of Ringstone Lodge, they were the kind that told you straight away what kind of visit you were in for. Tall and broad and heavy, with spiked steel bars so solid that you’d need a tank to get through them. And even then, it would have to be traveling at one hell of a speed. Brick walls stretched away either side, topped with long rolls of vicious barbed wire. I’ve seen prisons that looked more inviting. MacKay waited till the very last moment to slam on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a halt just short of the gates. Penny leaned forward again and stuck her head between mine and MacKay’s to study the Lodge.
“How utterly ghastly. What do the locals think of this place, Mr. MacKay?”
“Local people won’t come anywhere near the Lodge, miss. They know it of old, and its unwholesome reputation. It does help that the nearest village is some ten miles distant. We get occasional teenagers coming around, seeking to make a name for themselves by proving their courage, but our security measures are more than a match for them.”
He forced his door open, got out of the car, and moved forward to shout into the intercom at the gates. Penny looked at me. I looked at the Lodge. There was a pause, and then the gates swung slowly open and MacKay returned to the car. We drove through, and the gates slammed shut behind us. It took a while to get to the Lodge. The long gravel path passed through extensive grounds suitable for an old country estate. Wide lawns, neatly trimmed, with no flowerbeds, ornaments or garden furniture. In the distance dark woods cut off the view, holding shadows within. I turned round in my seat to look back at Penny.
“The open space is deliberate, to provide the Lodge’s security people with an uninterrupted view. Nowhere for intruders to hide.”
“Apart from the trees,” said Penny.
“There are mantraps in the trees, miss,” MacKay said casually. “And other things. Not a place for a wise man to go strolling.”
The gravel drive curved sharply around to conclude abruptly before a surprisingly pleasant-looking old-fashioned house. My first thought was that it might have been a family manor house, or even a country hotel, before the MoD took it over. Nothing about it to suggest the kind of things that went on inside these days. Which was, of course, the point. The house was large, and heavy with accumulated history. Generations had come and gone in Ringstone Lodge, and all of them had left their mark. The exterior seemed well-maintained, and I quickly spotted a whole bunch of concealed security cameras, as well as metal shutters stored in place above every window, ready to be brought down at a moment’s notice. To seal the place up against outsiders and intruders. Or make it the perfect trap, ready to close on me the moment I walked inside and hold me there for as long as it took them to work out what to do with me.
MacKay brought the car to an abrupt halt directly in front of the main door, and was out of his seat and heading for the boot while Penny and I were still getting used to the idea that we’d arrived. I looked the Lodge over, bracing myself to walk into the jaws of the beast. I’d had nightmares about ending up in some place like this, strapped helplessly to a table while the doctors got out their surgical kits and trained interrogators asked me increasingly angry questions that I didn’t have answers for.
Penny started to say something as I got out of the car. I’d spent most of my career confronting seriously scary things, and this was just another. I wouldn’t allow anything to get in the way of doing my job. Not even myself. Perhaps especially not myself. I shrugged my backpack over one shoulder, in order to leave my arms free, and glared at Ringstone Lodge.
I could make out just two storeys, with windows that stared back at me like so many unsympathetic eyes in a cold blank face. An old house haunted by too many years of bad memories. I’d blown up and burned down places like this, in other countries. Sometimes just on general principles. Penny came and stood beside me and held my hand.
“We don’t have to do this,” she said quietly. “If you’re not happy about things, if this doesn’t feel right, let’s go back to the station. Tell them you’re not feeling well. Tell them to get someone else.”
“If they really do have suspicions about me, that might be all the evidence they need,” I said, just as quietly. “So, we go in. But Penny . . . If at any time I turn to you and say ‘Run!’ don’t stop to ask why. Just try to keep up with me.”
“Got it, Ishmael. But what on earth is that?”
I looked where she was looking. “Well,” I said. “It appears to be a cemetery.”
“They kill people here?” said Penny, her voice rising.
“Not recently,” I said. “Not from the state of those headstones. They’ve been here for some time.”
I wandered over to take a better look, glad of the distraction. Penny stuck close beside me. It was getting seriously dark now, but the Lodge had its own exterior lighting. More than enough to hold back the night. The small graveyard had been tucked away unobtrusively around the side of the Lodge. Just a few dozen headstones, weather-beaten and speckled with mould. I walked along the rows, peering at the stones, trying to make out the faded names. Some of the dates went back to the seventeenth century. One stone, standing a little apart from the others, caught my eye. No name, no date. Just a single inscription: God Grant She Rest Easily.
“Some pour soul convicted of being a witch,” said Penny. “That’s an old prayer to keep a witch in her grave and prevent her rising up again to trouble the living.”
“The Ringstone Witch,” said MacKay. Penny jumped a little, I didn’t. I’d heard him coming up behind us. MacKay came forward to study the headstones with us. “Quite famous in her day, I understand. There were songs written about her. Long forgotten now, along with her crimes.”
“What is a cemetery doing here?” asked Penny.
“Once upon a time the Lodge was a family home, miss. And this was the family burying place. No one has been interred here for years. There was some talk of moving the bodies, it’s not like there is any family left who might want to visit.”
“That’s sad,” said Penny.
“Yes,” said MacKay, unexpectedly. “It is. We should go in, Mr. Jones. The others are waiting.”
“And Frank Parker,” I said.
“If that’s who he really is,” said Penny.
“Indeed,” said MacKay.
He dropped Penny’s suitcase at her feet, to make it clear he wasn’t anyone’s servant, and looked at me inquiringly. I nodded jerkily, and he led the way back to the front door. I followed him as casually as I could. It helped that Penny stuck close beside me. Hauling her suitcase along with her.
The main entrance hall turned out to be very comfortable, even cosy. A wide-open space with thick carpeting, heavy antique furniture and nice cheery prints on the walls. All very bright and charming and agreeable, the smile on the face of the Medusa. A group of people stood waiting to meet us. They all had that look about them: fascinated to meet an actual field agent in the flesh, staring at me like I was some rare species in a zoo, and just a bit disappointed I wasn’t Daniel Craig. None of them paid much attention to Penny. She frowned; she wasn’t used to not being noticed. She shot me a look, and I managed a quick reassuring smile, just for her. I looked the group over, keeping my face carefully calm and unimpressed, and left it to them to make the first move. The first to step forward was a big brawny alpha-male type in his late twenties, squeezed into very tight clothes to show off his muscles. Dark hair, hard face, deep scowl. He thrust out a hand for me to shake.
“Alan Baxter. I’m here to make sure everyone behaves.”
“Good for you,” I said. “I’m Ishmael Jones, and this is Penny Belcourt. The Organization sent us to make sure you behave.”
Baxter went for the crushing handshake, putting all his strength into it. I shook his hand easily, not feeling any distress. His scowl deepened as he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, and he snatched his hand back. He looked to Penny, but she had already dumped her suitcase and placed both her hands firmly behind her back. She smiled at him brightly, but Baxter hardly gave her a glance before turning back to me. He looked me up and down, doing his best to make it clear he wasn’t in any way impressed.
“Ishmael Jones . . . Never heard of you.”
“I should hope not,” I said. “I am supposed to be a secret agent, after all.”
“I’ve got a job to do here,” Baxter said heavily. “Don’t get in my way.”
He sounded like he had a lot more to say on the subject, but the man behind him tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Surprisingly, Baxter immediately stepped back to let the other man take his place. A few years older than Baxter, he had colourless blond hair, pale-blue eyes and a cool, thoughtful air. He dressed well, if inexpensively. He smiled briefly at Penny and me, and his voice was quiet and easy-going.
“Karl Redd. Security. Good to have you here at last. We’ve been feeling a bit abandoned, all on our own. Good to see the Organization hasn’t forgotten us. Hopefully we can get things under way now.”
His words were carefully considered and scrupulously polite, but I could sense a real strength in him held in reserve for when he needed it. Such men are dangerous because they think before they act.
“We’ll keep you safe while you’re here,” he said. “No one gets past us.”
“Well,” I said. “That’s good to know.”
Penny smiled radiantly at Baxter and Redd. “Do either of you have a gun?”
“Of course,” said Baxter.
“It’s part of the job,” said Redd.
And they both pulled back their jackets to reveal handguns in shoulder holsters. Baxter started to reach for his gun, only to stop after a cold glare from MacKay.
“Don’t you have a gun, Mr. MacKay?” said Penny. “You’re an old soldier, after all.”
“I do not carry a weapon, Miss Belcourt,” said MacKay. “I leave that to those who might need to use them. The Lodge does of course have its own armoury. For emergencies. I have the only key.”
“I’d like a gun!” the young man at the back said loudly. “I’d feel a lot safer with a gun, especially now Parker’s here, but they won’t let me have one.”
“You stick to your computers, Mr. Martin,” said MacKay. “You are dangerous enough as it is.”
“You have no idea,” said Martin.
Dr. Alice Hayley shouldered her way past Redd, to announce herself in a loud and carrying voice. A middle-aged black woman with close-cropped hair, sharp eyes and a severe mouth. She wore a smart suit, no jewellery, and didn’t offer to shake hands. Or even try for a smile. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something wrong, so she could pounce on me. So, of course, I just smiled easily back at her.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she said flatly. “Neither Doctor Doyle nor I made any request for a field agent, and we certainly don’t need another layer of authority. We know our job. We don’t need anyone interfering. I don’t see what you could possibly hope to contribute . . .”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “To ask the questions it would never occur to you to ask.”
Hayley looked disappointed that I wasn’t going to dispute her authority, but I was too old a hand to show my cards that early.
“I trust you know better than to get in the way of the actual interrogations?” she said.
“I’m just here to oversee the operation and make sure everything goes smoothly,” I said. “Though I will need to speak to Parker before you start.”
“I can’t permit that,” Hayley said immediately. “Establishing the proper relationship and rapport between interrogator and subject is a delicate matter. I won’t allow you to jeopardize our work.”
“You don’t get to permit or allow anything where I’m concerned, doctor,” I said patiently. “I will decide what is and is not for the best. Feel free to make an official complaint about my attitude, if you like. Many have. See how far it gets you.”
Hayley glared at me fiercely but had nothing else to say. She had the look of someone who preferred to nurse her grudges then attack from ambush. She turned to the man who had to be her colleague and he smiled back at her, entirely unperturbed. He then turned his smile on me; a short dumpy man in his fifties, with a gleaming bald head and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His suit was good quality, but a little faded. He had the look of a college professor who’d stayed on past his best days. His smile was an entirely professional thing and didn’t touch his eyes. He put out a hand, and I shook it solemnly. Like two boxers touching gloves before the fight begins.
“Doctor Robert Doyle,” he said breezily. “Don’t take any of this personally, Mr. Jones. It’s just that we’re all very keen to get started. When we were brought in, we weren’t told you would be overseeing things. Doctor Hayley and I are used to a certain level of autonomy . . . I’m sure we’ll all work perfectly well together, once we’ve had a chance to get to know one another.”
He was going out of his way to be friendly and present himself as the reasonable voice, the man I could trust. I didn’t buy any of it. His voice and his attitudes were practised things, the false face of the interrogator who wants you to have faith in him. The one who persuades you to say things that aren’t in your best interests. I gave him my best false smile in return. Because I can fake it with the best of them.
Up close, I could smell gin on Doctor Hayley’s breath. And the presence of tranquilizers in Doctor Doyle’s perspiration.
I looked to the one man who hadn’t introduced himself, slouching at the back and looking at everything except Penny and me.
“Philip Martin?” I said.
“Indeed,” said MacKay. “Step forward and make yourself known, Mr. Martin. Move yourself, you idle fellow!”
“I was never in the army!” Martin said loudly. “Don’t think you can order me around! I have qualifications.”
“Of course you weren’t in the army,” said MacKay. “Look at the state of you. None of the services would take the likes of you on a bet.”
Martin moved reluctantly forward and nodded grudgingly. His gaze lingered on Penny. He seemed the typical techie; early twenties, grubby jeans and trainers, a World of Warcraft T-shirt, and a baseball cap on backwards. He shrugged at me with a put-upon air.
“I’m the one who really runs things around here. The one everyone relies on to work miracles with outdated equipment and a limited budget. And do I get any thanks, any appreciation? The hell I do! Can we get this over with, MacKay? I want to get back to my screens, so I can keep an eye out for orcs and trolls.”
“How is the security situation?” said MacKay.
Martin glowered at him. “Nothing’s changed in the hour or so since you last asked. All my cameras and microphones are working, all the recorders are running, and my exterior sensors are functioning perfectly. No one can get in or out of the Lodge, or the grounds, without my equipment knowing all about it and raising all kinds of sweet merry hell. I’ve got it all running on cruise control for the moment, but never trust a computer to do a man’s job. They’re not sneaky enough. The sooner I get back to my screens, the better I’ll feel and the safer you’ll be. Can I go now?”
“How extensive is the surveillance coverage?” I asked. Because I felt I ought to say something.
Martin sniffed moistly and rattled through his answer at speed, half proud and half resentful at being made to sound off like a performing seal.
“There are cameras and motion sensors in place all through the grounds, and along the boundaries. There isn’t an inch that isn’t covered by something professionally suspicious. I can hear the grass growing and track the flight of butterflies. Nothing happens here that my machines don’t know about.”
“Defences?” I said.
“Land mines,” said MacKay. “Set off by contact or remote control, singly or in groups. So let me remind everyone once again to stick to the designated paths. Unless you want to find out just how high you can jump. There are also gas jets hidden throughout the grounds, ready to dispense everything from soporifics and hallucinogens to deadly measures, as required.”
“Deadly measures?” said Penny. “What kind of intruders are you expecting?”
“The kind who come prepared for ordinary defences, miss,” said MacKay. “But in a real emergency I would have Mr. Martin place the Lodge in lockdown, and we would sit tight and wait for armed reinforcements.”
“Lockdown?” I said.
“All the doors are electronically locked,” said Martin. “And steel shutters slide into place over the windows. Don’t let the pleasant exterior fool you, Ringstone Lodge is a fortress.”
“Of course it is,” I said.
“How long would it take for help to arrive?” said Penny.
“An SAS contingent could be here in under an hour,” MacKay said calmly. “And we are required to report every twelve hours, to give the All’s Well. If we miss a report, the SAS are sent in automatically. So we make sure never to miss a report. Those gentlemen are not renowned for their sense of humour when it comes to being called out unnecessarily.”
“All of this, for just one man,” said Penny. “Is Parker really that important?”
“He might be,” I said.
“This is all standard procedure, miss,” said MacKay. “We have had some very important personages as our guests. Prominent enough to require such levels of protection.”
“When was the last time your defences came under attack?” I said.
“You will understand there are some questions I am not permitted to answer, Mr. Jones,” MacKay said carefully. “You would have to contact your superiors for such information.”
“And see how far that gets me,” I said.
“How long before my backup gets here?” Martin said loudly. “I can’t run everything on my own. Well I can, and I do, but even I have to sleep sometimes.”
“He’s on his way,” said MacKay. “Now contain yourself, you overpaid mechanic, and try not to let the side down in front of company.”
“I should have asked for another raise,” said Martin. “You people don’t deserve me, you really don’t.”
“I often wonder what I did to deserve you,” said MacKay.
From the amicable way the two men snarled at each other, it was obvious they had years of shared experience behind them.
Martin looked at me squarely. “I quizzed Headquarters about you once we were told you were on your way.”
“Even though you were instructed not to,” said MacKay.
“I like to know who I’m going to be working with,” said Martin. “But interestingly, they wouldn’t tell me anything about you. Almost as though they didn’t know anything about you themselves.”
“Well,” I said. “That’s sort of the point of being a secret agent. We like to keep the element of surprise on our side.”
“Doctor Doyle and I have read your Organization file,” said Hayley.
“It made for very interesting reading,” said Doyle. “What there was of it.”
“We have a great many questions to put to you,” said Hayley.
“Save them for Parker,” I said.
And there must have been something in my voice, because everyone looked away. MacKay cleared his throat.
“Mr. Jones, Miss Belcourt, your mobile phones will not work inside the Lodge, for security reasons. If you need to make a call you will have to go outside, into the grounds. And even there, your conversations will be recorded. I should remind you that there are surveillance cameras in every room, including the living quarters. Everything is recorded, for later scrutiny. Our security cannot be compromised.”
“What about the bathrooms?” said Penny.
“Take a deep breath and try not to think about it,” said Martin.
“Oh, ick . . .” said Penny.
“Where’s Parker?” I said.
“Down in the basement, sir,” said MacKay. “Entirely secure behind thick stone walls, a great many steel bars, and an electronic lock that can only be opened from the main security centre. We are keeping Mr. Parker comfortable enough, for the moment. He hasn’t made any complaints. Not that it would do him any good if he did. He has frequently expressed his desire to get the process started. Perhaps he feels confession will be good for his soul.”
“I need to talk to him,” I said. “Right now, Mr. MacKay.”
Hayley started to say something, only to back down as Doyle put a hand on her arm. Interesting power dynamic there. I made a mental note to look into that later. MacKay produced an official file from a desk drawer and handed it to me. He’d clearly been expecting me to ask for it. The file was large and heavy. I leafed through it quickly, with Penny crowding in behind me and peering over my shoulder. Frank Parker’s official file had little in it that I didn’t already know, or at least suspect. There were half a dozen photographs, of six entirely different faces. I felt like wincing. After so many plastic surgeries, it would be a wonder if Parker had any working facial nerves left. If he wanted to raise an eyebrow, he probably had to give himself plenty of warning or use a wire. The file contained extensive reports on places he’d been and people he’d worked with, but only code names for his various cases. Never any details. I closed the file and handed it back to MacKay.
“There is a more complete file, of course,” he said. “But that has been declared ‘Eyes Only’ for the two doctors. So they can check details of past cases against what our guest tells them. If you wish to see that file . . .”
“I know,” I said. “Talk to my superiors.”
MacKay put Parker’s file back in the drawer and locked it. “Now, if you will come with me, Mr. Jones . . .”
“And me!” said Penny. “We’re a team.”
Hayley raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes,” I said. “I value her input.”
“It’s true,” Penny said brightly. “He does.”
“But not this time,” I said. “Parker might say things to me, as a fellow agent, that he would never admit to in front of company. You can meet him later, Penny. After I’ve pulled a few of his teeth. You stay here and make friends. Or failing that, teach them a few useful tricks.”
“You will tell me everything later?” said Penny.
“Of course,” I said.
“I want to make it clear, here and now, that I officially object to this intrusion into our procedures!” Hayley said loudly.
“And now you’ve done it!” I said. “Do you feel any better? Good. Now find something to keep yourself busy until I’ve finished with Parker. I recommend flower arranging. Very soothing to the troubled mind.”
No one so much as smiled.
“Tough crowd,” I said to Penny.
“Fuck them if they can’t take a joke!” she said sweetly.
MacKay led the way down the backstairs. All bare plaster walls and rough stone steps, descending a lot further than I was comfortable with. The surveillance cameras observing our every move weren’t even hidden down here. A narrow corridor with locked doors on every side finally brought us to the main detention cell. No door for Frank Parker, just steel bars. No privacy, and no chance for him to hide anything. All to put him in the right frame of mind, no doubt.
He was already standing on the other side of the bars, waiting to greet us. He seemed perfectly calm and relaxed. They’d let him keep his own clothes, but it was clear from the way his trousers drooped that they’d taken his belt. Just in case. He had no jacket, and looked a little chilly in his shirtsleeves. I glanced at his shoes; they were slip-ons. I turned to MacKay.
“Go back to the stairs and wait for me there.”
“Are you sure, sir?” He didn’t actually raise an eyebrow, but he sounded like he wanted to.
“Three’s a crowd.”
“As you wish, sir.”
He nodded to me, just a little stiffly, gave Parker a look that made it clear he’d better behave himself, and then disappeared back the way we’d come. I waited till I was sure MacKay was out of earshot, and then nodded to Parker.
“Hi. I’m Ishmael Jones.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” said Parker. He had a light, careless voice. “Just as you know who I am.”
“Well,” I said. “I know who you’re claiming to be.”
The man before me looked to be in his late fifties. Several years younger than he was supposed to be. A little overweight, with receding hair, and a very ordinary-looking face that was completely unlike any of the photos in Parker’s file. But then that was probably the point. Looking closely, I could see scars concealed in his face and neck, along with surgical implants designed to change the shape and structure of his skull. Whoever he was, he really didn’t want to be recognized. He studied me carefully, dark eyes peering out of old scar tissue, like an animal from its cave.
“If I’m not Parker,” he said. “Who am I?”
“A lot of people could have a vested interest in undermining the Organization through carefully tailored disinformation,” I said.
“But how many of them would be willing to place themselves in the hands of the Organization’s interrogators?” he said.
“Why would Frank Parker be willing to do such a thing?” I said.
He shrugged, briefly. “Penance, perhaps.”
“Penance for what?”
“I wondered who they’d send,” Parker said thoughtfully. “I thought it might be the current Colonel, or perhaps another field agent, but I really didn’t expect the infamous Ishmael Jones.”
“We’ve never met before,” I said. “I’d know.”
“I know your reputation,” said Parker. “You’ve made quite an impression in the darker corners of the hidden world. You look just like your photo. Even though it was taken a long time ago.”
“I’m amazed you were able to find one,” I said. “I’ve destroyed most of the ones that have made it out into the world. Where did you find it?”
“In your Organization file, of course,” said Parker. “Not the official one, I mean the one they don’t let just anybody see.”
“Good thing there isn’t much in it,” I said.
“More than you’d think,” said Parker.
“You don’t want to believe everything you read,” I said.
There was a pause, as we looked each other over.
“You’d be surprised how many people are genuinely scared of you,” Parker said finally. “Mostly because they can’t figure out how you do what you do. Though I have heard things . . .”
“Oh yes?” I said politely. “Such as what?”
“That would be telling.” He smiled and winked roguishly. “In my current situation, information is all I have to bargain with. I’d be a fool to give it away for free. Let’s just say certain people have been studying you for some time. From a distance. You’d be amazed how much I know about you . . . Ishmael Jones.”
“You only think you know about me,” I said. “Let’s make a start. What can you tell me about the traitors inside the Organization?”
“Sorry,” said Parker. “I’m not giving up anything until I have a deal in place.”
“You really think you’re in a position to dictate terms?” I said.
“I have something the Organization wants,” said Parker. “I’m sure the two doctors could get it out of me, in time. But you don’t have time. The information I possess is very time-sensitive. So yes, I think they’ll make a deal. Don’t you?”
“How long has the Organization been compromised?” I said.
“Too long,” said Parker.
I looked at him for a moment.
“What exactly is the Organization? Do you know?”
“No,” said Parker. “Even after all these years, I’m not sure anybody knows. Except for those at the very top.”
“It has been suggested to me,” I said carefully, “that the whole thing might just be smoke and mirrors. That there is no actual Organization, just a handful of people running a gigantic bluff.”
Parker smiled. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Then how can there be traitors?” I said.
“That’s part of the information I’m selling,” said Parker.
“I’m not buying,” I said.
“You want to ask me something,” said Parker. “Something specific. Be my guest, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why did you leave the Organization?” I said.
He smiled, but there was no humour in it. He looked suddenly tired, and perhaps a little sad. Not that I trusted any of what I was seeing in his false face.
“One of these days you’ll feel the need to walk away and leave it all behind. All the lies that are our life, all the compromises and small betrayals of everything we think we believe in, that break our spirit piece by piece. And then maybe you’ll end up here, standing on my side of the bars, waiting to answer questions and hoping you can make a deal. We come home because it’s the only place we can go where they’re sure to take us in. Not because the Organization cares about us, but because we’re valuable.
“I’ve worked for so many people, so many causes and ideologies . . . But in the end the Organization is family. They make us, they shape us, they hold the paperwork on our souls. Not surprising, really. It’s the nature of our job that we lead isolated lives. Always on the move, never a chance to put down roots or get close to anyone.” He caught something in my expression. “Oh, you think you’ve found someone. Make the most of it, Ishmael. It won’t last.”
I didn’t argue the point. “Is there really no one in your life? What about family, friends, lovers? Even people like us can’t move through the world without making some connections. Is there no one you’d like us to contact?”
He smiled. “So you can check with them, to check up on me? No, there’s no one. There was someone once . . . She left me after she became pregnant, and I wouldn’t leave the spying game to be with her. How could I tell her it was all I knew? I could have tracked her down but she’d made her decision. And I didn’t want to endanger her or the child by drawing attention to them. She chose to go, and I let her. It was for the best.”
“There’s nothing about that in your file,” I said.
“Not everything gets into the files,” he said. “You should know that, Ishmael. Why are you here? I mean, why you of all people? And why are the interrogators taking so long to get to me? Come on, let’s get this show on the road. I have so much to tell them, secrets like you wouldn’t believe. In return for being allowed to retire and put all this madness behind me.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “You must know that. First you have to convince us you are who you claim to be.”
“Understandable,” said Parker. “I often feel the same way when I look in the mirror. I’ve had so many faces, so many identities . . . How can I prove to you that I’m really Frank Parker?”
“You tell me.”
“I could tell you things about the Organization. Names, codes, protocols. Past and present.”
“How would you know the up-to-date stuff?”
“That’s part of what I’m offering to trade,” said Parker. “I could tell you the names of the past two Colonels. Oliver Cranleigh, and after him James Belcourt.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at that. “I didn’t know the name of my Colonel until he was dead.”
“Yes,” said Parker. “I heard about that. And now there’s a new Colonel. Would you like to know his name?”
“Maybe later,” I said.
“I could tell you why they’re always called the Colonel.”
“I’m not that interested.”
“You would be,” said Parker. “If you only knew.”
“You’re tempting the wrong person,” I said. “I have nothing to offer you.”
“You could get me out of this cell. Arrange for better treatment.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because if you did, I’d tell you what I found out about the Organization that made me leave. It’s too late for me, Ishmael, but you could still save yourself.”
“Tell me why you went rogue,” I said, “and I’ll think about it.”
Parker shrugged heavily. “What I found out . . . didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Not after some of the things the Organization had me do for them. Maybe I was just tired of what my life had become. But in the end, the new life I made for myself wasn’t that different. Same puppet, different strings. Why do we do this, Ishmael? Why do we give our lives to shadows and lies?”
“Because it’s a job worth doing,” I said. “The Organization makes the work possible.”
“But what exactly is the job?”
“Keeping people safe,” I said. “From all the things they don’t need to know are out to get them.”
“I used to believe that,” said Parker. “But . . . do we keep the general populace ignorant of all the dangers in the hidden world because they couldn’t cope? Because they’d panic or go crazy? I don’t think so. I think it’s because that makes them easier for our lords and masters to control. We deny them knowledge because they might use it against those in power. We should tell people the truth. Tell them everything. And then, what would we need an Organization for?”
“Are we qualified to make a decision that big?” I said.
“If not us,” said Parker, “then who? And if the Organization really are such saints and benefactors, with everyone’s best interests at heart, why isn’t anyone allowed to know who and what they are?”
“Do you know?” I said.
He smiled.
“Did you ever think you’d end up here?” I said. “Deep in the bowels of the infamous Ringstone Lodge?”
“I asked to be brought here,” said Parker.
I had to raise an eyebrow. “That has to be a first. Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Did you expect to find a friendly face here?”
“Something like that. How do you feel about being here, Ishmael Jones? Are you sure that when the time comes they’ll just let you go?”
“Why would they want to keep me?” I said.
“Because you’re the infamous Ishmael Jones.”
I have a lot of experience when it comes to hiding my true nature from the rest of the world. I was aware of the irony involved in my quizzing Parker over who he really was. But then who better than someone like me, who knows all the tricks? Did the Organization know that, and was that why they’d sent me? So many questions, and so few answers. Or at least none I could trust.
“Can you think of any way to prove conclusively who you are?” I said.
“No,” he said. “I’ve destroyed my past quite thoroughly. First, when I joined the Organization; and then later, when I had to hide from them. It wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t like there was anything I wanted to hang on to.”
“What about the child?” I said. “We could always run a check on his DNA, to see if it matches yours.”
“No,” he said flatly. “I won’t put the child at risk by exposing him to our world. In the end, you people are going to have to decide just how badly you want the information I’ve got. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Trust is a hard thing to come by in our profession,” I said.
“You should know, Ishmael.”
He turned away from the bars, sat down on his bed, and stared at the wall opposite.
“I have nothing more to say to you. Get out of here and send in the interrogators.”
“You’re really prepared to tell us everything you’ve done?” I said.
“Everything.”
“Even the bad stuff?”
“Especially the bad stuff.”
Was he looking to do penance, or just bargaining for his own safety? I couldn’t read his false face or his carefully controlled body language. He was an agent, after all.
“Are you sure that’s all you want to say to me?” I said. “Once I leave, the real questioning begins.”
“That’s what I want.”
“You must be the first man in your position to say that,” I said. “You know it will get rough.”
“Good,” said Parker. “I deserve it.”
“Are your sins really so bad?”
“You have no idea.”
I left him sitting on his bed, staring at nothing, and went back to join MacKay at the foot of the stairs.
“Well?” said MacKay. “What did he have to say?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect,” I said. “Nothing particularly useful.” I looked at MacKay. “I take it there is a recording of our conversation?”
“Of course,” said MacKay. “Cameras and hidden microphones. I’m sure the two doctors are digging through your words for clues even as we speak. But if you knew that, why did you send me away?”
“To give Parker the illusion of privacy,” I said. “To make it easier for him to open up to me.”
“And did he?” said MacKay.
“Hard to tell,” I said.