"Fear a Painted Devil"
Chapter 8 part two
Which V? All of them
Rated PG
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB
"…Our fears do make us traitors."—the Scottish Play. Act IV, Scene II
Major Rumfries stood before him, pale but showing no other sign that he felt like a prisoner. V glanced down at the young woman who lay at his feet, a black bag over her head. "Take off the hood, Major. Release her hands." The Major did not move, and V did not like the steely look that came into his eye. "Do it now, Major." Still the Major made no move, though his eyes shifted to the doorway and back to V. "Yes, there were shots fired, and no, I'm afraid the good citizens in this neighborhood will find it difficult to dial the emergency number." V moved his arm and a long knife appeared in his glove. It will be better for all of us if you comply, Major."
Rumfries knelt. He pulled the black bag from Miss Bartlett's head, used his key to unlock her cuffs. She staggered to her feet, blinking, her blue eyes wide, but V was relieved to see the good sense that he saw reflected in them. No hysterics from this woman. She smoothed her blond hair back from her face, touched her swollen lip with her finger, sized up the situation in a heartbeat. She looked from V to the Major, back to V, her eyes took in the long blade touching the Major's neck. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth set as V saw the muscles of her jaw contract. Her hand flew back and with surprising force for one so slight slapped the major full in the face. The Major flinched, but did not otherwise react. V could not suppress a laugh. Miss Bartlett has made a decision to act.
"Miss Bartlett, if you please. I would greatly prefer that you leave the violence to me. I assure you Major Rumfries will regret any pain he has caused you this evening." V moved the tip of the knife to the soft spot above the Major's carotid. He could feel the pulse through the blade. He knew the Major could feel the blade with his pulse.
"Who are you?" she asked him.
"Miss Bartlett. Let us conclude our business tonight before we enter into any pleasantries."
"Our business?"
"Yes, if you would do me the honor of stepping outside and looking in the bushes beneath your sitting room window. You will find an old satchel. Please bring that inside. Be careful with it. And watch your step. The porch seems to be a bit slippery tonight."
She obeyed him, stepping carefully around the bodies that lay between her and the front garden.
"And now for you, Major. I have something for you." V took a step closer, stroked the major's neck with the tip of his blade. "I have a task for you. Miss Bartlett, who you see coming through the door carrying a satchel, will need a military escort tonight."
"What?" Miss Bartlett had heard the last sentence.
"Yes, Miss Bartlett. You will be paying a visit to Chancellor Sutler tonight. In his bunker."
"What? No I'm not. You're insane."
Ah, touché. "I believe you fully understand the situation at the Museum." Yes, your eyes are fearful now. I must know everyone's weakness, and yours is your passion for the Museum, Miss Bartlett. "Until you visit the Chancellor, the museum will never be safe. Ever. And neither will you, Miss Bartlett."
"Call me Violet, please, Mr. Terrorist."
"Violet. Do you understand what I am saying to you?
She glanced at the Major. "Yes. I do. But I have to tell you that there is no guarantee that the Major will comply, or that I will get in to see Chancellor Sutler. Please don't leave me alone with him. He may not allow me in. He never sees anyone, you must know that."
"I do. But tonight you have something that no one else has. You have a Golden Ticket, Violet."
"A what?"
Please open your satchel. Carefully."
He watched as she knelt down to pull apart the mouth of the satchel, one eye always on the major. He watched with pleasure as she pulled out the packing material. He watched her face as she reached in and slowly brought out the missing Dali.
"Oh my god!" Her voice broke as she touched the tiny painting. "Here it is. And it's not damaged, it's not ruined."
"No. It is quite safe. And that little painting will grant you admission into the Chancellor's bunker."
"Will it?" She looked apprehensively at the Major.
"Major. I believe I have your Golden Ticket." V wiped the bloody blade across the major's neck, then moved it lower, pressing the point against the Major's genitals. "These dangly bits have been busy the last few years. I believe you have six very good reasons to deliver Miss Bartlett safely to the Chancellor tonight. Those reasons…" Here V let his voice soften to a whisper. This is just between the two of us, Major, "Trevor, your eldest, Graham with the dark eyes," the Major's face paled with the pronunciation of each name, "Cecil with the blond curls, takes after his grandmother. Derek, who wants to be a football star, and the little one, Michael, who just cut his third tooth yesterday; isn't that right? And Cynthia. How will she feel, holding the lifeless bodies of her little ones?" He whispered the last line with as much savagery as he could draw up from his own tortured soul and pressed the knife hard enough so the Major would feel the bite. The Major went green around the mouth. Yes. This man has an easy weakness.
"Violet, I believe you will now be able to trust the Major with your life. Other lives depend upon it. When you get to the Chancellor, please tell him about your adventures in the Museum after hours and your intimate discovery from the late, unfortunate Mr. Abernathy. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly."
"Major Rumfries would like to give you a ride in his jeep." V bowed to her, removed his knife from Rumfries' groin. "I think the Chancellor will be very happy with his choice for the new Museum Curator. I am certain Mr. Abernathy would have been pleased."
"What are you saying?"
V tipped his mask. "Miss Bartlett, Violet, you are a remarkable woman. I am proud to know you. I am counting on you to protect the heritage of the British people and be caretaker to the heritage of countless cultures for many years to come. Good-bye." He bowed low and was gone.
In the Shadow Gallery he looked for Evey. She is sleeping. I won't wake her. I must spend the rest of the night in the Surveillance room. I am confident that Rumfries will be an exemplary bodyguard, but I prefer to watch and be sure, especially since I have no intention of murdering his little children. I am not Richard III. That is my weakness, but Rumfries does not know that, so it is also my strength. I need to see that Violet gets safely inside, and then I will sleep. He pulled the flak jacket off, tossed it on the floor, rubbed his chest. I hate being shot. Damn, it hurts. Every time.
In twelve hours I will be at the Cathedral. Will I have time? He did the calculations. I must have at least six hours sleep. Some food. I must watch Sutler's bunker. He locked himself in the Surveillance room. I will tell Evey all about what happened tonight over dinner, after the Bishop. I will prepare her favorite meal, give her some wine. She will like that. And when she finds out about Miss Bartlett…the pain in his chest faded away. She will forgive me. Perhaps then she will dance.