He met her at the water's edge, with a towel. The sun was just up and though she was still dry she looked none too warm in her brightly stripped swimsuit.
Her run through the wet sand had left her a bit winded. causing her to greet him between heavy breaths. Her physical conditioning was far from ideal.
She was thin. Half naked as she was he could see every bone. The state of her gave him no confidence. She would need every bit of that fiery spirit of hers to make it. A life jacket would improve her odds. Though it presented another complication he would have to lay his hands on one.
When she had caught her breath he asked, "How far did you swim yesterday?"
"Maybe a hundred yards."
"You'll do better today."
She gave him a questioning glance but said nothing. Her trust in him was growing. And with it he felt within himself a desire to allow the natural bond to form. Under the circumstances that would be most unwise.
"The run took a little out of me." She confessed."I'm not feeling very strong."
"I'll see that you don't drawn."
She looked at him quizzically, dressed in his street cloths, and asked, "Are you coming with me?"
He was aware that he very much wished that he were. Not merely for a quick swim in a cold ocean, but much, much farther. To freedom. He put the idea forcefully aside and touched his shoulder, where the little wound, all but healed, lay. Joining her in a swim might give a creative thinker ideas and the injury provided a good excuse. It was useful to have them believing him somewhat impaired.
"Salt water will sting." He complained good naturedly.
"I better not drawn, then."
He gave her an almost approving smile, once again in control of his thoughts. "Best not." He pointed at the water. "If you get more than three hundred yards out, they will send the Rovers after you."
She looked out over the water, still grey in the early light. He saw a little fear in her face at the mention of the white monsters.
But she said nonchalantly. "I don't think I can go that far anyway."
"Go as far as you can. But," he cautioned, "be sure you reserve enough strength to make it back."
Eager now to finish her task, she wadded out to deep water.
"If you should get too near the danger zone," he said to her back, "I'll give a yell."
She glanced over her shoulder with a narrow smile, then with long, easy strokes set out determinedly for the some imaginary mark in the gently rolling ocean. She had good form, a practiced swimmer who knew how to conserve her energy. That much was encouraging.
But in any case, he slipped off his shoes.
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The Restaurant was already filling up when they arrived. The Village went from dead quiet to a bustle the moment the morning the bell chimed. It gave one the impression that the Villagers were waiting behind their doors like race horses at the gate.
Six found a table for them and a waiter materialized at his elbow.
"Coffee, sir?"
"Yes, make it black."
"And you, miss?"
Casey, hair still damp from her shower, was all smiles. Her swim had gone well. She'd made it to the outer zone and back in good form. For all the girl's apparent weakness, in the water she was a fish. His optimism was somewhat improved.
"I'd like a glass of orange juice." She said brightly.
The waiter laid down menus and was promptly sucked back into the ether from which he'd come.
"Number Two kept you past curfew." Six said casually.
"We danced," she returned his casualness, "It was very romantic."
He studied her face. She was good at pretending. If she were pretending. He wondered if she remembered the warning given that day in the grove when he'd presented her the red scarf she was now fingering absently.
"I should think fraternizing with the prisoners would be frowned on." He said.
"He's Number Two," She returned, now with a lilt in her voice, "Who can tell him what to do?"
"Number One." That should burn their ears.
"Who's Number One?"
The waiter, just returned with their drinks, looked as if he might faint at the sacrilegious nature of her question. He set the coffee and the juice down quickly and vanished again as if lightning might strike them. Those close enough to have overheard fell silent and seemed as if they too would like to disappear.
Casey, immediately aware that she had ventured where no man dare tread, waited to see what he would do with so dangerous an inquiry.
"I've been asking for the longest time." he laughed, "No one will say." he took a sip of his coffee and enjoyed the bitterness of it. "Perhaps you could find out."
"Perhaps I will," she almost laughed herself. The tight, uncomfortable faces round them elated her. She was a girl who would get a lot of fun out of poking a bear.
"I think it only fair to warn you," he said, "it's against the rules to ask such questions here."
She looked around at the unhappy patrons, almost frozen in place as if Rover were loosed among them.
"Rules don't apply to me."
"Don't they?"
She shook her head. "I'm not a tame animal."
Amused, he laughed, "so I see."
A dark shadow fell across the table as if to spoil the fine mood. He looked up to see Number Two but he didn't bother to rise. The unfriendly look the man gave him was meant to whither. He smiled at it.
"Why, Number Two," he said, carried aloft by the merriment of their little game, "You're up early. Have you had breakfast?" his hand motioned for the waiter like a wand, drawing him back from the beyond.
Number Two scowled, he looked tired. Poor fellow. Must be the stress.
Six caught the waiter's eye, "Fetch a chair for our friend." his tone was jovial as he addressed Number Two, "You will join us?"
"You aren't needed here, Number Six." Two hissed impatiently.
A replay of last night. Six rose, finding the tiresome routine somehow amusing. He offered his chair with a gracious flourish.
"She's in rare form today," he warned gently, "Best watch your step."
Number Two remained standing, glaring hard at him, but it was no more than a snarl drawn on the face of a paper tiger. Still feeling merry, he took his leave.
.
.
He didn't go far, just out of sight, where he could watch unobserved by either Number Two or the girl. It would be reported of course. The watchers were watching the watcher. But he didn't mind. It was nothing less than his adversary would expect. Though his vantage point gave him a clear view of the two seated at the table, there was no chance of catching their conversation. He was too distant and the voices of the other patrons created confusion. Not that it mattered. Number Two was not likely to say anything not carefully curated for all audiences. He was obviously playing a role. In the service of his masters or was he free lancing? The man's nervous manner suggested he had something to hide.
Casey, still lively, seemed delighted at her companion's discomfort as he woodenly gave the waiter their order. The gay tendrils of her laughter reached Six faintly. She did like to taunt.
In the interval between the waiter's return Two's kept up a stilted conversation as if to divert himself from his true purpose. Even from a distance the man looked positively sick. What was he so afraid of? Casey, for her part, was pouring on the charm. She gave every impression of a young girl infatuated with a powerful man.
The waiter returned and set their breakfast before them and for a while, Casey, hungry from her cold swim, was too busy eating to engage in the game. Number Two picked unhappily at his plate. Whatever he had come here to do must be done soon. He looked like the mouse chosen to bell the cat.
Casey had nearly finished her meal and Two had yet to get up the nerve. From his hiding place, Number Six was beginning to feel impatient. Two's cowardice still held him in an iron grip. The waiter was back, clearing away the dishes, with a concerned expression for Number Two's untouched plate. A matter over which he wanted to fuss. No one wanted to be the cause of Number Two's displeasure. It was with great reluctance that Two finally shooed him away. Alone with the girl he was now forced to to carry out his mission.
He hesitated just a moment longer, then like a quail breaking from the underbrush, jammed his hand into his pocket. It stayed there for a long fitful moment, then withdrew with exaggerated casualness. Something was hidden it. This was to be a hand off.
The act of commitment had unthawed Number Two. Suddenly he was leaning forward, his body softening, his smile charming. He stood, reached across the table and took Casey's hand and kissed it, as if he were the knight who won the tournament. The girl was very good. Six could not detect any change in expression as she palmed the note.
Apart from Number Two's guilty conscious the scene had played normally enough. Most would have missed it. The men manning the cameras, unless alerted, would not have been watching their boss with suspicion. It was the girl, and himself, skulking in the shadows like a peeping tom, who would command their attention.
Number Two excused himself and for awhile Casey sat looking after him wistfully. She made no move to tuck away what was concealed in her hand. Though she was careful not to draw attention to it. When she turned her head to look out at the ocean her eyes raked across his hiding place. She knew he was there of course.
After a time she stood, smoothing herself out as she did so and like a magician, made the slip of paper disappear into a pocket. When she left the Restaurant he fell in behind at a discreet distance. She would need a moment out of sight of the cameras to peek at Number Two's love letter.
There were no longer any human watchers. They had fallen off as soon as it was clear he meant to follow the girl. He wondered at that. It could only mean that whatever Two had given the girl wasn't meant to be discovered. But yet the man must be acting, in part at least, at the behest of his masters. The puzzle, like the tail job, was entertaining. It was elements such as these that made him love his job. Even to think of it fondly, now and then, all these years later, when the bitterness of betrayal wasn't too sharp.
Without appearing to, the girl was searching for a blind spot to duck into. Her gaze shifted easily along buildings and structures, searching for cameras. She knew he was there of course, but showed no awareness of it, nor interest in trying to evade him. She strolled along, seeming quite at ease. Her greetings were cheerful and dressed as she was in fresh Village attire she fit naturally into the scene. For all her rebellious talk she looked every bit the part of a true citizen.
It took her almost half an hour for her to find what she was after. The path dipped down into heavy overgrowth. Here the flowering bushes had been allowed to grow almost wild, spreading up and over a little alcove just off the path. She seemed fascinated with the flora and began picking the bright flowers. He stopped at the top of the rise, concealed behind errant branches. From here he could see both sides of the alcove, though not directly beneath it.
Her activity took her, without apparent intent, into the alcove and momentarily out of sight. She required little time to read whatever had given Number Two such a case of nerves, for she appeared on the other side almost immediately, seemingly absorbed in the bouquet of flowers she had gathered.
He let her go on a bit father before catching up and taking her by the elbow. She feigned surprise delightfully.
"Why, Number Six," she laughed, recovering from her shock, "have you been following me?"
"Since the Restaurant. You're being sloppy." he admonished, "If you want to survive you had better grow eyes in the back of your head."
Her mood seemed to sour with his words. "How was I supposed to know class was still in session?"
"For an assassin, school is never out. Learn that and learn it well."
And suddenly she was all stubbornness. "I was on my way home to take a nap." She sounded petulant. "These late nights and early mornings are taking a toll. Or is sleep derivation in it as well?"
"It is."
She gave no sign of the willing student so he caught her up again.
"Can't have you playing truant, Number Seven. Come along," he guided her with a firm but gentle hand. "there is something I want to show you."
They walked in hard silence as he lead her up the hill and out of the Village. As the forest closed round them and he felt that false sense of privacy. There wasn't any of course. Even here, hidden among the branches, were the mechanical spies. And live ones too. Following not far behind, thinking themselves invisible in the thick growth. Number Two was taking no chances.
They stepped into the small clearing and his private gym. He stopped to allow her admire the crude gymnasium, constructed of whatever he could scrounge, as well as the raw materials nature provided.
"If you have energy enough to chase after Number Two," he said unkindly, "you a have more than enough for a little physical training."
She stepped away from him, dropping as she did, the pretty flowers at her feet. She brushed herself off artfully just as she had in the restaurant. And he felt certain those clever fingers of hers had retrieved the note.
Her tone was hot and mocking. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Number Six."
"Jealous," he scoffed contemptuously, "over a little slip of a girl like you?"
She swung a fist at him. He caught it easily and held the offending hand by the wrist. Her eyes spat fire at him, but through her fingers, now relaxed, he saw the bit of paper.
"It's no good to throw punches," he scolded, relaxing his own grip. "if you can't land them."
As her hand slipped out of his, he felt the paper press lightly against his palm.
She was sullen under his gaze. No one watching would ever suspect. His hands went into his pockets as he stood back to leer at her, Number Two's secret nestled cozily between his fingers.
"Since you're so keen to hit," he said with amusement, "best you learn to do it properly."
The girl gave no answer, looking for all the world as if she would just as soon stick a knife in his ribs. He smiled and led the way to the make shift punching bag.
.
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The cave was large, cut back deep into the stone as if by great quantities of sea water. Though it attempted to give the pretense of having been formed naturally, it failed. Where there aught to have been gloom and dankness, there was an airiness and ample light. And the floor, made of flat stone, had the look of something laid by a set designer. Like everything in this place there was an air of artificialness about it. Yet, in spite of this, as he cowered just inside its mouth, it might have been the den of some terrible creature. He could feel hot eyes at his back. Sensed the saliva dripping from ready jaws. It wanted him. Or was it the hidden eyes of his masters that he felt? Had they betrayed him? Was the cave now peppered with their mechanical spies? He dared not look round as he held fast to the hard stone. She was a long time coming. Was she part of the plot to snare him? She and Number Six? Had he in his zeal given himself up? Paranoia eroded his nerves the way water eats rock.
The tiny gun felt heavy in his pocket. Weighing it down, bulging like an anvil. Anyone who looked would see it. How foolishly confident he had been as he strolled through the Village with the weapon so poorly concealed. The interminably wait continued to rot away at his resolve. He wanted to run back to the Village and fall upon the mercy of his masters. But they had none. Number Seven had reminded him of this cruel reality that first day in his office, when he, in his arrogance, believed her helpless. At the time, seated in his chair, so confident in his allegiances, he had enjoyed the truth of her words. To have no mercy was to wield power unhindered. The power of the Village was absolute. But now he felt it turned against him and longed for a mercy that wasn't to be had.
The hushed sound of foot steps in the sand drove all thought from him. He became like the stone, afraid even to draw a breath.
The girl stepped lightly through the cave entrance, smiling when she saw him pressed against the wall like a fly. Her manner irritated him. So carefree, as if they were casual acquaintances, meeting in the park.
She wasted no time with formality. "What's with all the cloak and dagger?" she said, her tone almost scolding, "I had to eat that note of yours when Number Six wasn't looking. Gave me indigestion. Next time just whisper it in my ear."
The girl's presumptuous manner made his temper flare. How dare she speak to him like that. "Not everyone in the Village knows of our arrangement and I should like to keep it that way."
Her smile was suddenly full of wickedness. "If your masters knew the our true arrangement, neither of us would still be breathing."
"I've had quite enough of your insolence." he snapped.
This she ignored. "Do you have it?"
He came away from the wall. Fumbled in his pocket for the little revolver. It seemed like a toy in his hand and not much more in hers. Hardly the manner of weapon to bring down the great Number Six. A tank was unequal to the task.
She opened the cylinder and was pleased to find it loaded. Then she was examining the weapon carefully, no doubt checking to see if it was operational. It was of course and it occurred to him that he had just given her the means, should she desire, to kill him.
"Feminine little thing." she remarked. "Did it belong to your wife?"
"Don't be impudent." he scolded in sudden rebuke of her prying.
She met his eyes, hers were full of myrrh. "Girlfriend, then?"
She, like any common peasant, enjoyed an opportunity to humiliate a better. But he dare not challenge her now. She was, after all, armed. How many empires had fallen due to just such a mistake?
"I will have to get very close." She was saying, content to rest in her small victory. "But I don't think that will be a problem."
Involuntarily he moved back, as he heard his own chocked voice asking, "Are you sure he trust you enough to allow it?"
"As much as can be expected." To his relief she tucked the weapon away. "You'll have to arrange for Six and I to be alone. No cameras. No watchers."
With the gun safely out of sight. boldness returned and with it the desire to be in charge. "Out of the question. It was difficult enough to convince them to allow you and I to meet, unobserved"
"If you want Six dead, you'll find a way to get them to turn a blind surveillance eye."
Her presumptuousness angered him. Allow the two of them to elude his observation, indeed. In his weakness he had given ground. He must now remind her that she was the servant and he, the master.
"I shall determine how this is to be done." he informed her coldly.
"In that case you're wasting both of our time." She made a move as if to retrieve the gun.
Whether to shoot him or return it, he did not know. Neither option was desirable. Impulsively he sprang forward to put a hand on hers, halting the motion. She looked down at the hand, but made no move to dislodge it.
"No. You must go through with it." the panic was intoxicating. "Six must die."
She was looking at, or rather, into him. Seeing everything. Number Six had been right. She was a mind reader.
"I'll give you anything you want." he said hurriedly and his lie seemed a naked thing, exposed before her.
But she simply said, "I want my freedom."
"You shall have it." this was just a rush of words. "As soon as he's dead, I'll arrange for your escape."
His mind, made clever by his frantic desire to preserve his own life, began to devise a convincing deception.
She looked skeptical. "You can do that?"
"Of course," I'm Number Two," this was delivered with the authority of a man in high office. Supreme ruler of his domain.
"How?"
Did she know? He searched her face, still as quiet water, concealing an unseen danger. His tone became wheedling, sickening him. "There is a secret way off the Island." he pleaded. "I have access."
The relief of telling the truth almost made him weep. The authenticity of his words gave them power. The girl did not suspect. Not yet.
"Not the helicopter?" she asked carefully.
He shook his head much too emphatically. "That is merely for show. Convince the riffraff of their isolation."
"Tell me about it."
She was in charge now, demanding, and he, like a child was answering. "Under ground. There is a whole world down there." the confession spilled easily from his lips, betraying an eagerness to please. "That is where we preform the real work of the Village...In my office," he nearly giggled at the silliness of it all, "my chair is the lift. Takes you right down into the catacombs as it were."
She looked at his hand, now offending with its touch. He removed it as if she had become hot.
"I want to know how my father died."
He grew suddenly cold. She still considered him an enemy. But it wasn't him. It was the Village. They had killed her father. Not him.
Now he he found himself pleading as if she held the little weapon to his very head. Though it was only those eyes, trained on him like twine barrels.
"That was before my time." Surly she would recognize his honesty in the matter.
She tossed his words aside. "You know who did."
"Yes, yes, of course," he said desperately, "I've read the file. It was under interrogation. It happens sometimes. An accident. Couldn't be helped."
His defense of their ways angered her. He caught the hardening of her eyes. She was thinking, no doubt, of her own experience under that light. The fact that he had not personally resided over her father's death was of no consequence. He had overseen her torture and she hated him for it. The memory of her suffering stirred his passions and the vile thing within him yearned for more.
The ecstasy of it almost deafened him to his own voice. Dimly he heard himself saying, "He refused to give in," his words were spilling out in appeal, as it hoping to reach that part of her that belonged to the Village and all the while he saw, in his mind's eye, her face contorted in pain. "If he had, he would have been shown mercy."
At the mention of mercy she scoffed and that part of him that watched, grew in awareness of her spirit, yet unbroken.
"There was no need for any suffering on his part,"his voice went on, insisting plaintively that she believe. "In exchange for his cooperation he would have been given a position of authority. Anything he desired."
"My father wasn't the type to accept slavery."
"He could have been free." his voice became the insistent whine of an insect. The image of her helpless before him. faded, "He was only asked to give us what we wanted."
She laughed, a strange echoing sound against the cavernous walls. "Freedom can't be bought with obedience." then her face was all bitterness. "A concept most will never understand. But it does account for the success of the Village."
He shrank in fear. She had not surrendered, even on a subconscious level. It had all be a trick to trap him. And he, like fool, had built the trap himself.
"What was the name to the man who tortured my father to death?"
In sudden relief he saw her wrath turned away from him. A new target presented itself. She may not have broken, but her desire for revenge was still a leash. He picked it up.
"Not a man," he said quickly, "a woman,"
She shrugged her indifference. "Does this woman have a name?"
He mustn't tell. The members of the Village never gave up their own.
But to his shame he heard himself proffering the name, his tongue made clumsy by his effort to still it.
She seemed pleased with the information. What did it matter? This wisp of girl would never again set foot off the island. In sudden realization he stifled the thought, least she hear.
"Do you know where I can find her?"
He shook his head, glad that he did not, for had he, this too would have been offered just as readily. Anything to divert that restless anger away from himself.
"That information wasn't in your father's file." he said in welcome honesty.
"It's in the file of that female sadist." She reminded him. "Get it."
"Of course, of course." he said in soothing eagerness. "That will be no trouble at all."
She was thoughtful, looking down at the smooth floor of the cave. "What else is buried under this God forsaken place?"
What lay in the depths of the Island was only for the inner circle to know. He had already told her more than he aught.
At his silence, she demanded again."What else is hidden down in those catacombs of yours?"
He thought of it then, that pulsating light, beckoning, commanding. What had he seen at the top of those curving stairs? A man, like himself? Or something even more terrible?
Believing her previous inquiry had been in jest, he was shocked when she said, "Number One?" She was as brazen as Number Six when it came to meddeling.
In sudden defense of a secret worthy of his life, he snapped, "Why do you care?"
"Never mind," her tone was pleasant, "Leave him to his twisted kingdom. I just want out."
Relief left him almost giddy.
"Yes, of course." His mouth twitched into a serpentine smile, "I'll arrange everything."
"The moment Six disappears this entire place is going to turn into the three ring circus. "she pointed out practically. "And I can't exactly stroll into your office and take the elevator to the basement."
"The panic caused by Number Six's disappearance will work to our advantage. It will provide the perfect cover." he assured quickly, as trusted ally, a friend with common purpose. "All attention will be focused on the search. The price for his loss is very dear. Not one resource will be spared in his recovery."
There was a comforting truth in every word. Fear would blind them to all but Number Six. They would not think to search for the girl until his body had been discovered.
"There are many entrances hidden about the Island. I will draw you a map, of course." His next words tasted sweet on his tongue. "No one will expect you to find your way under ground. They won't think to look for you there. You will be safe."
She could not help but believe him. He searched her quiet face for indication of suspicion and saw none. The plan had met her approval. How could it not? It was more than she could have hoped for.
But now his duplicity was in danger of exposure. There was no way to avoid the lies that seemed ready to bare themselves before her.
"Once you reach the chamber I indicate. Wait for me." he said hurriedly, then hesitated, His next utterance was to be his undoing. Yet, like a man facing certain death, he forced himself to speak. "I will show you the way out."
She considered for a long quiet moment. Were she truly a mind reader she would draw the weapon he had so thoughtfully provided and shoot him dead. In light of the consequences, should his plan fail, he might almost welcome it. But she only nodded.
"Get everything ready. The sooner this is finished, the better."
She started for the cave entrance and he nearly laughed in relief. She was no clairvoyant. He had been duped by his own unruly imagination.
At the cave mouth she stopped and turned back. In a smooth motion the little gun was in her hand. A ball of ice formed in his stomach, though she didn't point the thing at him. It lay in the open palm of her hand so that he could admire, as one might a cobra behind glass.
"I don't suppose this type of thing is very common here," her thumb caressed the pearly hand grip almost affectionately, "If you double cross me and live, you will find yourself trying to answer some very uncomfortable questions."