Chapter 5
Discoveries
Thursday, 2:15 AM
They followed a circuitous route through the night, avoiding what checkpoints they could, and trusting in the magic amulets when they couldn't. MacKenzie also double-backed several times, took random turns, and sometimes just came to a complete stop, shutting down the jeep entirely. By the time they were headed out a dirt track into the countryside, it was clear that were not being followed.
That had been near midnight. They followed muddied tracks and routes that barely qualified as sheep paths for another two hours. About two in the morning, they finally arrived at a remote farmhouse that was as far from civilization as they conceivably could get.
The exterior of the house gave every appearance of being deserted. The porch sagged precipitously; the paint color was indeterminable. The two men made their way through the overgrown brush to the front door, which opened easily to MacKenzie's touch. Passing through the threshold, Rupert could feel the wards that were in place.
Rupert's skin tingled as he passed through. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. More than that, his own inner sight was alive with the astral colors at play in that entrance. It was clear to him that anyone not invited into that home would not be allowed to enter. Anyone attempting to force their way would find their life forfeit.
Inside, MacKenzie lit several oil lamps. The interior was a direct contrast to the exterior. That was not to say that it was perfectly kept up. The paint was equally faded here, and there was nothing resembling decoration anywhere. But it was immaculately clean and well ordered. The few bits of furniture were solid if worn, the upholstery showing signs of age.
MacKenzie handed him a lamp and led him through the front room to the hall and up the stairs. They passed several doors, all closed, until reaching one which MacKenzie opened. He gestured for Rupert to enter the bedroom.
It was simply furnished – a bed, a wash stand, a chair and a table. In the fireplace was a layer of coals which succeeded in keeping the chill off the room. The bed was unmade, but a neat pile of sheets, blankets, and a pillow lay across the foot of it. Rupert walked in and looked around.
"Sleep here," MacKenzie said. "We'll see you in the morning."
"You're boss, is he here? Perhaps we should talk now." Despite his eagerness, the strain of the day was obviously beginning to weigh to him.
"We'll talk in the morning," MacKenzie said, more firmly this time. "Trust me." With that he turned and closed the door.
Rupert looked around and, lacking any other options, quickly made the bed and climbed in. He was asleep within minutes.
* * *
At the back of the house, MacKenzie tapped on the door to the library before entering. He didn't wait for an answer. If he wasn't allowed in, the door wouldn't open. The knock was a courtesy, nothing more. He tried the antique brass handle and found that it twisted easily. He opened the door and entered.
The only light in the study came from the fireplace to the right. There were two stuffed leather chairs flanking it, with a small table between them. Set out on the table was a liberal dose of whisky in a cut crystal tumbler and an unlit cigar. Mac didn't need to check to see that his employer was sitting in the chair with its back to him. He walked around them and took the other chair.
He settled himself comfortably, lit the cigar, and drew deeply from it. It was a pleasure that had become far too rare. He lifted the glass and drank a long swallow. The first flavor was peat, followed after by vanilla and anise. It mixed exquisitely with the taste of the cigar. He took another draw, and then finally focused his attention on the man in the other chair.
Sir Radcliffe Holm smiled at MacKenzie. He took pleasure in seeing him enjoy the rewards that had been set out for him. They were small things, trifles really. But the rewards in this job were few and far between, and he wanted Captain MacKenzie to enjoy them.
He still thought of the man as Captain MacKenzie. In Sir Radcliffe's mind, MacKenzie was still fulfilling his role as an SAS commando. And in this instance, what Sir Radcliffe thought really did matter. Until his 'assassination' a year and half ago, he had been the Director of Special Projects for the British military. But the rise of Arinoth had changed all that. The evil sorcerer had too many connections in both the military and the government.
There was no way to oppose him openly. So, when Arinoth attempted to kill Sir Radcliffe, he took the opportunity to disappear. As long as Arinoth thought he was dead – and MacKenzie neutralized – they would be free to move against him. It had taken a year and a half of maneuvering, but the opportunity had finally come for them.
That opportunity was Rupert Giles and whatever it was that he was protecting. It had forced Arinoth's hand; it was forcing him to rush. And forcing him to rush was, hopefully, forcing him to make mistakes. Time would tell, though, whether or not Sir Radcliffe and his small band of supporters were going to be able to exploit those errors, and bring about the downfall of Arinoth once and for all.
There was no need for them to discuss the current situation. Sir Radcliffe was well aware of all that had transpired. Not the details, no – but those were for MacKenzie to handle. Had there been anything that was beyond MacKenzie's ability, he would have been told before now. Mac was a professional, and Sir Radcliffe relied on him to be such.
MacKenzie finished the whisky and the cigar, and then looked to Sir Radcliffe expectantly. The reward had been consumed – and enjoyed. But now it was time for instructions.
"Get some sleep. I'll interview Ripper in the morning." He waited for questions.
"We've been made by MI-5, as you thought we might. How will this impact our plans?" MacKenzie knew that he didn't need to ask these questions, but Sir Radcliffe liked to see what he was thinking about.
"The Fourth Speaker has entered directly into the conflict, as I thought he might. It is important that the disguise spell you obtained continue to shield you. But even if it doesn't, our plans remain the same." He sipped his own glass of claret. "However, there's a wildcard in the midst." MacKenzie's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't interrupt. "Roger Crombey has been more foresighted than I had credited him for. He's assigned one of his teams to investigate the Weber Institute. If they can pierce the veil that's been spread around it, we may be able to rely on them for allies."
"That's a big 'if'," MacKenzie replied. It wasn't a criticism, it was a simple assessment of the situation. He was sure that Sir Radcliffe had reached that conclusion on his own, but he voiced the statement anyway.
"Well, I was able to assist their investigation somewhat. Records that had been previously buried suddenly came available to them." Sir Radcliffe smiled mischievously.
"Won't that tip our hand to Arinoth?" MacKenzie queried. Their success to date had been completely dependent on their anonymity. They had refrained from using their former contacts and privileges to fight Arinoth. The enemy's fingers ran deep, and any misstep would signal that Sir Radcliffe was still alive, and MacKenzie still in play. That could prove truly fatal to them both.
"I used the old network," Sir Radcliffe replied. "There is no way that it could be traced back to me. Just like your blue Range Rover."
MacKenzie snorted but said nothing. He did lift his empty glass inquiringly. Sir Radcliffe barked a laugh, but pointed to a cabinet in the back of the room. MacKenzie got up and refilled his glass, and then took himself to bed.
* * *
Jerome and Darla joined the rest of the team just after two in the morning in the records room. They had nearly half and hour before Jonathan joined them. In that time, they managed to compare their notes and come to some startling conclusions. They were all grinning like Cheshire cats when Trimble finally arrived.
Jonathan stopped in the dim light and surveyed his team, a worried look crossing his face. "Have you gone soft in the head or something?" he asked. They shook their heads, and invited him to sit down. "I take it this is good news."
Jerome took the lead for the team. He was the most senior of them, next to Jonathan. He had led the discussion prior to their boss's arrival. His remarkable mind had quickly begun to codify the information and come up with the sequence of questions and answers that led to their startling conclusions.
"I'm not sure if it's good news, but it's certainly interesting. How do you feel about coincidences?" Jerome smiled deviously.
"I don't trust them. What have you got?" Jonathan's eyes were alight. He could already smell their prey.
"Let's do it sequentially." Jerome took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Two years ago, Turcey begins making his way through the Military procurement teams. Eventually, he makes his way to Brigadier General Atwater by way of Sir Blackwell. Next thing you know, Atwater forms himself up a special team under the direction of Major Tom Sheffield. Special Projects gets wind of it – "
"Sir Radcliffe was Director of Special Projects," Jonathan filled in.
"Right. And by Sir Radcliffe's order, Captain Collum MacKenzie is assigned to Sheffield's team. What their orders are, we don't know. But we have some interesting suspicions."
"This was MacKenzie's last known orders?" he asked.
"Yes. And guess what happens? Sheffield and his team – minus MacKenzie – end up arrested and disavowed after an operation in the United States." Jerome smiled devilishly.
"The U.S.? What are we doing sending a Special Projects team to the U.S.?" Jonathan was shaking his head.
"It gets better," Jerome replied, rubbing his hands together. "Guess who gets assigned to foreign office to hush the whole thing up?"
"Sir Blackwell." It wasn't a guess. He'd known the answer as soon as the question had been asked. "We have a botched job in the United States by team organized by Atwater and covered up by Blackwell. Interesting."
"You haven't heard anything yet," Jerome replied. "According to the foreign office records, MacKenzie went AWOL during that mission and caused it to fail."
"What? You're kidding. That was in the foreign office records?"
"Well, it was in an expunged record. But, interestingly, a mistake on a computer file restoration earlier today got it back. No place obvious, but somewhere that Eric was able to come across it." Jerome held up his hand to forestall more questions. "Now, in that file was some confidential communiqués from the United States State Department. Sheffield was accused of kidnapping and attempted murder – of a U.S. Congressman." Jonathan's eyes had gone wide. Assassination of a U.S. Congressman was nearly unthinkable. "Yes," Jerome continued. "The attempt was made in Sunnydale, California, where, interestingly, a Mr. Rupert Giles ran a magic store."
Jonathan sat back, holding up his hand. He needed a moment to digest what was going being said. "So Mr. Giles works for the Weber Institute. That self-same institute presumably arranges through a Brigadier General to assassinate a U.S. Congressman with an SAS commando team. One member of that team, Collum MacKenzie, hand picked by Sir Radcliffe Holm, stops the assassination and then goes AWOL. Sir Radcliffe gets assassinated, Brigadier Atwater has a sudden, fatal coronary, and Blackwell suddenly moves over to the foreign office to shush it all up."
Jerome Smiled. "And the self-same Captain MacKenzie shows up in London and 'liberates' Mr. Giles from being surveiled by the Weber Institute. Then the institute immediately shows up and claims he stole something from them, and begs us to make sure that MacKenzie is terminated and Mr. Giles turned over to them. Preferably without us doing too much questioning of either one of them."
Jonathan absorbed it all for several long moments. It was almost too much to comprehend. That such a far ranging conspiracy of two separate factions could've worked its way through the government was bad enough. That it was likely responsible for two suspicious deaths – one a Brigadier General and one a military director – and had still gone undetected was unthinkable. What was quickly becoming clear was that the Reginald Turcey was trying to concoct another cover-up.
"Any other coincidences I should know about?" Jonathan asked wearily.
"Well, we know that the Weber Institute is into magic. And so is Mr. Giles – he ran a magic store in the U.S. and had all those magic books in his flat. Well, guess what we found out about Gretta Stevenson?" Jerome waited in anticipation. He actually licked his lips. "She's a witch. She has an entire coven of witches. And she disappeared with her entire coven as soon as Rupert called."
Jonathan nodded. "All right, people," he started, then paused. "We're all tired, but the rest of this agency is out trying to get Giles and MacKenzie. I think it's clear that Turcey is trying to get us to do his dirty work for him, so that means we don't sleep until we find them first. If I'm right, and the Weber Institute has already been involved in the murders of two public figures, then we cannot rest until we stop them." He looked at his clearly exhausted team. "We'll sleep in shifts," he relented. "Alicia and Darla first, four hours. Jerome and Eric can take a turn after that. In the meantime, we keep cracking on this. I want to know where Giles and MacKenzie have disappeared to, and I want to know what it is that Mr. Turcey and his cohorts want so badly."
The team nodded. They all knew that they were going out on a limb. If they managed to get to Giles and MacKenzie first, they were going to hide the pair from the rest of MI-5 until they got to the bottom of their own investigation. That would put them at odds with their own coworkers. It didn't bode well for them, no matter what the outcome.
But Jonathan Trimble was determined. And his team would follow him into anything. He only hoped he knew what he was doing.
* * *
In the west of England, in a once great manor house, an old man sat and brooded. He was far older than his appearance indicated. He was … ancient. He was closer now to gaining absolute power than he had been in nearly a thousand years. He wasn't about to let Collum MacKenzie take that from him.
He had once tracked MacKenzie carefully, especially after their defeat in Los Angeles. The loss of Sheffield and his team had been a blow, but losing the Slayer had been a knockout punch. He burned for revenge against MacKenzie for the role he played in upsetting that plan. However, revenge could come in due time. He was very, very patient.
After the L.A. operation, MacKenzie had dropped from sight. Besides, plans had needed to be rebuilt. He lost track of MacKenzie, intending to catch up with him later. He had other things to think about, to care about. He needed to rebuild his plans for achieving power. He waited. He watched.
And he saw Willow. Her anger, her vengeance. She was far and away the most powerful witch he'd ever encountered. And there was a spot missing from the Ring. Willow had defeated the Seventh Speaker, had caused her death. If she could be turned, made to take her place in the Ring, he would be unstoppable.
But he had lost track of her, as well. Rupert Giles had hidden her well, but he had been close to finding her. Close, until MacKenzie had turned up again. All this time, while he had dismissed him, MacKenzie had, in fact, been stalking them. He had continued to hunt them, to search for a vulnerable place in the organization. And he had found it.
MacKenzie had struck them when they were so close to finding Willow – of finding the key, at last, to ultimate power. He had struck them and crippled them. But the Ring was striking back. Indeed, with MI-5 on their side, MacKenzie would not be long on this Earth.
Arinoth smiled at this, and then went back to his brooding.