The big screen revealed Number Six. Back in his room. Physically contained. But not mentally. Number Two watched from the mouth of the black chair, unconsciously fingering his swollen lip. Even as the man sat slumped on the edge of the bed that restless mind of his was at work. Testing the bars, chipping away at the walls. Relentlessly searching for a means to defy the power that held him. The lip ached under Number Two's fingers. A nasty reminder of how willing Number Six was to defy power.
Six rose slowly, pain twisting his face as he took the first steps. He had given the guards a good deal of trouble. All by design. A few bruises were a small price to such a mercenary mind. While the guards had been occupied with subduing Number Six, the girl had slipped away. With a weapon. The thought had a bile taste. Number Two tightened inwardly. She was now armed, skulking in the shadows. Waiting for the perfect moment. Sweat glistened on his brow. His fingers left off worrying the lip and touched the place between his eyes. Tension began to throb at the point where his finger tips rested. She could easily put a bullet there. Number Six had allowed her get the gun. Perhaps planed it. And now as he paced the confines of his cage he was no doubt plotting his next move.
Suddenly, Two leaned out of his chair, hands perched on top of the cane. His eyes were on the red phone. The recent events in the Village would not have escaped his masters' notice. Things had gotten out of hand. Number Six had seen to that. They would demand an accounting or worse. The knuckles turned white as his fingers strangled the cane. They might demand his resignation. He wouldn't give it. His eyes flashed back to the screen where Six prowled. Not yet. Not until he was finished with him. Perhaps Number Six could never be made to break, but he could be made to suffer.
For a moment their eyes seemed to meet as the man glared into the camera. Merely an illusion. And yet to his irritation, Two felt himself shrink under the hard stare. With a hand that might have shook, he switched off the screen.
A phone buzzed. He jerked up out of his chair. It buzzed again and he saw to his relief that it was not the red one. He smoothed himself and picked it up.
"Yes?"
The voice on the other end belonged to the Supervisor . "Sir, there is some new information regarding Number Seven."
He held the phone too tightly. "Has she been found?"
"No, sir. All indications are that she is no longer in the Village."
"She's gotten off the Island?" His voice climbed, tinged with panic. "Escaped?"
"Impossible. We have been in full lock down. Nothing coming in or leaving the Island." The Supervisor said. "In all probability she has gone into the mountains. Our surveillance doesn't reach that far."
This complicated things but at least he could step out of his front door without that girl putting a bullet between his eyes. Reflexively he reached up to touch the spot and caught himself. He yanked his hand away, glancing furtively at the red phone. Mustn't give them cause to question his mental state.
The Supervisor's voice came back into his ear. "Sir?"
"What is it?" He snapped irritably.
"There is another matter." The Supervisor said in a cool distant voice. "We've discovered an inconsistency in Number Seven's history."
His betters had missed something. A shift in fortune perhaps. His swollen lip tried to pull into a smile. "Bring it to me immediately."
During the insufferably long wait the red phone seemed to have some perverse magnetism. It was difficult not to stare at it. They were likely watching him now. To their minds, this was no doubt a failure. They thought too narrowly and judged too harshly. His play with the girl had worked. Number Six was invested in her. He trusted her. The thought soured. Number Seven was a weapon, now turned against him. The inside of his lip was raw. His tongue probed the ragged place where the teeth had torn it. The pain suited his mood.
The door sliding open grabbed his attention. The Supervisor came through carrying a file. Number Two refrained from lunging for it like a drowning man going for a rope. Instead he sat back, legs crossed at the ankles, cane tapping. Patient as a hunting cat.
When the bald man handed it across the desk he leaned forward and took it with measured care. "I trust this is illuminating." He caressed the edge of the file with a thumb.
"It raises more questions."
More questions was precisely what he didn't need. He opened the file. It contained images from the murder of Number Seven's mother and the usual information. He flicked through it impatiently seeing nothing new. Then there was something. It was a wider angle of the crime scene showing two dead men. One stretched out on the living room floor, the other crumpled in a doorway a few feet away. Guns lay within easy reach of dead fingers. Blood pooled under the head of the prone man. The other had a dark stain spreading across his shirt at about the place where his heart would be.
"What is this?" Two demanded.
"The account of the incident was altered." The Supervisor said. "The presents of these men was never included in the official report."
His suspicions about the death of Number Seven's mother had been correct, something was indeed amiss. Though this was unexpected.
"Who altered the report?" He asked
"The Police, by the look of it."
It would have been done at the behest of someone very powerful. Number Two found himself looking at the red phone. He made himself instead look at the Supervisor."Would you ever lie to me?"
"No, Sir." There was not even a hint of indignation in the man's voice, as if he had simply asked the time.
"This matter is very delicate." he said. "I must know I can trust you implicitly."
"I always carry out my duty."
"Duty to whom? The Village?"
"Of course."
"And to me?"
"You are Number Two."
A status that brought him little comfort. Sullenly Number Two turned away. The Supervisor's first duty was to the Village. He ground his teeth. As was his own. To whatever end. He activated the screen, setting it to mirror the file. The slack faces of the dead men loomed large.
They were nigher young nor old. Medium builds. Average in every way. They wore suits of good quality. Dark and well fitted. But not distinctive. Cloths a man would wear who's intention it was to be unnoticed. The watch on the prone man's out flung hand was visible below the cuff. It was expensive. But like the cloths, unremarkable. They were professional men. Men who would be contracted to preform delicate work such as a killing or a kidnapping. .
"It is clear," he said, "that our records are not to be trusted in regards to Number Seven. I want everything rechecked. This is a most serious breach of Village security."
"It is being given the highest priority."
Someone had killed those men. A 10 yer old girl would have been no match against trained killers. There was a more likely suspect. He flipped to the photograph of the girl's father. "Where is this man now?"
The Supervisor turned his head to look at the man on the screen."Unknown. After the mother's death, he left Number Seven in the care of a friend. He never returned."
"There was no attempt to find him?"
"By the time The Village became involved, eight years had passed." The Supervisor turned back
to face him. "Our only interest was in the girl. He was not considered to be relevant. There was no cause to expend the man power."
"There is certainly is cause now." Aggravation colored the words.
"Yes, Sir." The Supervisor said, irritatingly obedient.
From the screen the mystery man seemed to regard him with hostility. Number Two studied the face with greater care. It was hard. Etched deep by the sun. The eyes, lurking beneath heavy brows, were watchful, even cunning.
As he glowered at the face, Number Two allowed his tongue to slip between his teeth and punish the lip again. The infallible Village had been fooled. Or had they? He must consider the possibility that he was the one being fooled.
The Supervisor interrupted his brooding, "There is something else" he said, indicating the file Number Two still held in his hands.
Almost reluctantly now Two thumbed through the file until it fell open to the image of a young girl of perhaps 18 or 20 standing in front of Number Six's former residence. The sight of it brought renewed suspicion. Whatever this was it was not to his benefit. He flicked an eye at the red phone, then back to the screen to study this new puzzle.
It was a surveillance photo, taken without the subject's knowing. The girl was poised to ring the bell but her face was turned towards the camera as though something down the street had caught her attention. She was of medium height. with a slender build and a good deal of blond hair spilling out from under a small black hat set at a rakish angle.
Something about her made his nerves jump. He stood hastily, leaning across the desk. "When was this taken?" His voice was trying to thrill up again.
"Three days after Number Six resigned."
Number Two zoomed in until the girl's face nearly filled the screen. It was an unfamiliar face that he had seen some where before. He studied it with a kind of dread. The makeup had been applied so heavily it was nearly a mask. There was a wild splash of rouge, high up on the cheeks, vivid against the paleness of the skin. The too bright lipstick made the mouth a gaudy smear. The eyes appeared unnaturally large, accentuated by heavy mascara and a dark blue eyeshadow that covered the entire upper lid. He froze. Even behind the lurid colors, those eyes could not be mistaken. The girl was Number Seven.
The Supervisor had not spoken, preferring, it seemed, to watch him make this jarring discovery.
Number Two wheeled on him. "How long have you known about this?"
"I brought it to your attention as soon as it was discovered." The Supervisor said, his tone was all coolness. "As you requested."
Number Six had already been brought to the Village. Number Two's eyes flashed to the red phone. The girl could not have made contact. But she had tried. He felt it deep in the pit of his stomach, a cold knot like a fist made of ice. There was a prior connection between Six and the girl. He could not have known and yet he would be blamed. He had allowed, no encouraged, contact between the Village's most prized prisoner and someone from the man's past.
He made a try at steadying himself. "Where did this come from?"
"The photograph was taken by a surveillance team stationed on Number Six's residence in the event anyone tried to contact him. It was discovered during a search of Number Six's file for irregularities."
"Was the girl detained? Questioned?" He tried not to sound frantic and in trying, failed.
The man shook his bald head. "The team was observe and report only. A search was made for her a few days latter but it turned up nothing."
"She would have flown in from America. Have the airports been checked for new arrivals on that date matching or nearly matching her description?"
"It's being looked into."
It would lead nowhere. Number Seven would have abandoned the identify as soon as she was in the country. Taking up another to move about. And perhaps another still to get back out. Whoever she was getting convincing papers did not seem much of a difficulty. He flipped to another image. This of a woman in a maid's uniform, leaning out of the door, speaking to Number Seven.
His head was beginning to ache and the lip throbbed unpleasantly. He forced his voice out past the dryness of his throat, "Did the girl say anything to the maid?"
The Supervisor smiled thinly."She asked for Number Six by name."
"How was a relationship between these two missed?" he snarled. "Or was that removed from the record as well?'
"Number Six's file shows no sign of tampering. All indications are that he never knew Number Seven."
"Under another name, then," he waved an exasperated hand, "with a different face."
"All known friends and associates are being cross checked against Number Seven." The Supervisor said in a voice that was growing icicles.
Number Two pinched his brow hard between thumb and forefinger, baring down on the pain that was now pounding in his temples. "Obviously she knew Number Six," he said, "but there may not be a direct connection." This blasted head ache made it hard to think. "It's possible she was sent by someone."
"Something like that could be very difficult to track down." The Supervisor nearly tisked. "It could take months to check Number Seven against all possible connections."
"If I could get my hands on the girl I would bloody well pry the answer out of her." he yelled and instantly regretted it. He massaged his temples and drew a long steadying breath. "How much information did the maid give her?"
"Only that Number Six had retired and moved on."
"And the girl gave her nothing? No name? No address where she might be reached?"
A shake of the bald head. "Apart from her initial inquiry Number Seven said nothing at all."
Of course she hadn't. She had such discipline. Such control. A professional, masquerading as a helpless young girl. She had deceived him. No. He had deceived himself. He saw her as she had been presented not as she was. Hating the thought Number Two closed the file and tossed it on the desk. The screen reverted to the large thick bubbles, drifting slowly, hypnotically upwards,. He watched them numbly.
"Will that be all Sir?"
The Supervisor again, yanking him back into his unpleasant world. He shook his head. There was the matter of the girl. She was no longer simply an irritation to be swept away. He rubbed the side of his face feeling the slight hot swelling left by Number Six's hard knuckles.
He said. "Number Seven must be found."
"The mountains are vast." The Supervisor narrowed his eyes skeptically. "She will be very difficult to locate. And if she has chosen to try to cross them..."
Contemptuously, Number Two cut him off . "Only a complete fool would. Have you seen anything to indicate that the girl is foolish?"
"She has shown herself to be quite resourceful." The words were delivered like a slap.
Scowling Number Two retook his chair. "She wants to kill me." He said almost indifferently. "To that end she will to return to the Village and save you some trouble. Double the guard." He looked at the Supervisor levelly. "None lethal force only. Impress it upon the men. I want her alive."
"That may be difficult. She is armed. "
"She is to be taken alive." He nearly shouted. "If not I will have your head. Do you understand?"
The man nodded curtly and Number Two gave him a dismissive wave. As the steel door opened then close behind the Supervisor, he sank back into the dark recesses of the chair, like a bear retreating to its den. He sulked moodily in the dimness for a long moment as the tension seeped out of him and the throbbing in his head subsided to something tolerable. Then with the tip of his cane he returned the screen to watching, Number Six.
The man stood, back to the camera, facing the door that would not open for him. His body was ridged, fists shoved hard into the pockets of his jacket.
From the pit of his chair, Number Two growled at the screen. "You think you can beat me at this game. Don't you?"
Suddenly, as if hearing, Six turned on the camera. Again their eyes seemed to meet in that uncanny way. This time Number Two did not shrink from it.
"You are the slave and I am the Master. You fight against it," he leered at the face on the screen, "but I will teach you better."
Abruptly Number Six spun away and began to pace in a brutal rage.
Almost savagely Number Two prodded his tender lip. The man might have enough steel in him to hold his secrets, but the girl wouldn't be nearly so tough a nut to crack. A cruel smile twisted his distorted mouth. As much as he would enjoy breaking her, the true pleasure would be in making Number Six watch.
The red phone buzzed.