The space between the rocks was narrow. He had scarce enough room to force his way in. Beyond
was darkness. He felt the walls pressing close on both sides as he picked his way over the uneven
floor. For awhile the waterfall still deafened him but as he moved deeper heavy rock swallowed all
sound and he was lost in a silent dark world. The passage way became wider suddenly and he saw
a flicker of light dancing against the face of the stone wall. He had come to a corner. He stopped,
listening. There was only the sound of a fire, snapping and popping. He smelled the aroma of
something being cooked. He realized then how hungry he was.
He went round the corner into a dark open space. The only light came from the camp fire and a
jagged crack in stones high above, through which the darkening sky showed. Casey sat beside the
fire, her face bathed in the warm glow. She appeared harmless at present. He moved close enough
to feel the comforting heat from her fire. Two large fish were roasting on a spit. The girl was well
aware of him but made no move to acknowledge his presents.
The firelight tossed his shadow against the stone wall, grotesquely. All else was cast in deep
shadow. He didn't speak.
From some dark recess he could hear a trickle of water running over stone into a pool. He looked
towards the sound but blackness hid the far walls. His eyes had adjusted enough he could dimly see
the simple camp Casey had made for herself. A bed constructed of pine bows, the few provisions
she had taken from The Village and a pile of branches for fire wood. Large rocks jutted from the
darkness and crowded close to the fire. It was on one of these which Casey was perched. She had
yet to so much as glance his way.
The fish and the wood must have come from somewhere over the summit. A high valley that
offered some resources for both wildlife and fugitives. But nothing more. The girl's presents here
suggested that it was not a passage back to the world.
The floor of the cave was covered with a heavy deposit of sand and smooth stones, like the bed of a
river. It may well have been an underground river in times long past. He wondered if there was still
a way through to the other side of the peaks. It seemed likely. The path along the cliff face was too
narrow to safely traverse carrying heavy loads.
He moved farther into the island of light and warmth, watching the play of shadows across Casey's
face. She looked like nothing more than a very young and very lost girl. But he knew better. She
was everything The Village could hope for. A cunning and ruthless killer. Though she was not yet
their killer.
Wearily he sat down on a rock near to the fire and stripped off his wet coat. Casey got to her feet
and went out of the light. He listened to the sounds the girl made rummaging through her bag
behind him. She had not harmed him back on the trail, he doubted she would try now. That was to
her credit.
The fire seemed to draw the cold out of his bones causing him to shiver violently. The shaking
made his shoulder throb. With clumsy fingers he tore open the shirt enough to reveal the blood
soaked dressing. He peeled it off and examined the small unimpressive hole made by Casey's
bullet. It burned furiously. But the bleeding, for the moment, had stopped.
Casey had moved farther away. He caught the sound of water splashing into a container. He rubbed
his temples. The hours of lost sleep and physical abuse were weighing heavily. His muscles ached
in protest even as the worst of the tremors passed and the heat of the fire began to penetrate
through his wet cloths. He wanted to sleep. To lay down in the soft sand in the warmth of the fire
and close his eyes. But it would have to wait. There was a long night ahead if Casey proved herself
worthy of saving.
Over the years he had known many killers. Some professional. Some psychotic. Others, human
predators. Then there were those who would kill only if pushed, cornered or threatened. Casey may
have started as one of the latter, but her desire for revenge had shown a more predatory nature. She
was now a hunter of her own kind.
The girl's return was so silent it caught him off guard. She was good at stalking.
She stood at a safe distance, just at the edge of the firelight. In her hands she held some rags and a
tin can filled with water. She had intended to give aid and comfort to the enemy, but now she
hesitated as if not eager to contend with him. Unless she chose to run out into the dark wilderness
she would have to.
She wasn't a girl given to indecisiveness. With her eyes down cast she came forward and extended
the can. He took it and drank deeply. The water felt cold and raw in his empty stomach. Casey was
like a silent, distant shadow, watching him without emotion. When he set the cup aside she moved
a little nearer. He remained quiet, as one might when approached by a timid animal. She was
looking at the injury her bullet had caused. There was nothing to read in her face. It was still as
stone. Only the shifting light of the fire moved across it. Whatever she felt about shooting him,
whether by design or accident, was well hidden.
Everything he had done for her, everything he was prepared to do was for the sake of an old friend.
He couldn't now, allow his loyalty to a memory cloud his judgment.
Wordlessly she laid the rags on the rock beside him and began to dress the wound. She worked
with the steady hand of someone who had done this sort of thing before and the bedside manner of
a mechanic. If she were capable of empathy it was not apparent in the coldness of her manner.
"Did your father teach you how to treat bullet wounds?" He asked.
There was no indication that she had even heard him. He thought for a moment she would not
answer. But it was as if his speaking had broken some spell and she became human again.
"My mom was a nurse." she said in a hushed voice. "She taught me some basic first aid."
"Strange skill for an assassin."
Now she met his eyes, her own angry. But she said nothing. She needed a friend. Her demeanor
softened and her hands became almost gentle as she finished with the dressing. They were getting
on splendidly.
When she was done she straitened away from him. It was a fine job, considering what she had to
work worth.
He pulled the torn shirt over the fresh dressing and said. "Thank you."
In reply she whispered, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
She stood back so he could see her face. She was near breaking. "I couldn't pull the shot."
"You wanted to?"
Only a faint nod.
"Because I got in the way?"
"Yes." Her eyes were bright with tears just held back. She was trembling.
"If I hadn't interfered ," he asked, "you would have killed Number Two?"
The hardness came back into her face, "Without hesitation."
"He isn't the man you're after."
There was a flicker of surprise.
"The Number Two who resided over your father's torture and death is long gone." he watched her
consider his words. "They change them like socks."
She took her lower tip in her teeth and worried it. "I didn't know." She said softly.
"Had you known, would you still have tried?"
The look she gave him in response was cool. She started to turn away.
He stopped her with a light touch of his hand on her arm. "Have you killed?"
"Not yet."
"Apart from Number Two, have you had anyone in your sights?"
"Just the men he sent."
"But you didn't shoot?"
His question seemed to annoy her. "There was no need." she said as if speaking of a practical
consideration. "They were like babies out here. They weren't a threat."
"Not blood thirsty, then." he said coldly. "Just willing enough if you deem it necessary."
Her jaw tightened. She was beginning to dislike him again. "Sometimes it is necessary."
"What of your CIA handlers?" he asked.
Suspicion glittered in her eyes. She couldn't know how much he knew or how he knew it. That
troubled her. All the friendliness went out of her manner.
He said. "You lined them up in your sights, didn't you?"
"That was a firefight." She countered. "They shot at me. I shot back."
"Did you kill for the CIA?"
"No."
Abruptly she turned away from him, seeking escape from his questions. He allowed her go.
She made a business of tending her fire and fish. It was just a ploy to avoid him, if only for a
moment. How could he blame her? Here in this secluded place he could press her for information
and she would have a lot of trouble not giving it to him.
What she had given him thus far convinced him she was not committed to murder. There was no
reason not to return her to the world. But to do so meant returning her first to The Village. The
moment the girl stepped foot in that place her life would hang in a balance. He could not predict
the outcome. He could not even guess what waited for them there. Who would be in charge of The
Village? The old Number Two or a new one? Frustration taunted his tired mind. He could count on
nothing save their desire to manipulate him. It was not desirable leverage.
The fish had been eaten and the fire burned pleasantly, throwing eerie shadows against the wall.
His shoulder ached and the arm felt like a heavy weight. He flexed his fingers experimentally. The
hand wouldn't be of much use and even a slight movement proved unpleasant to the now stiffened
wound. Casey's return to the Village had best be peaceable.
They now sat in that heavy silence that accompanies unspoken words. Casey was on the opposite
side of the fire, aimlessly drawing patterns in the sand with a stick. The tension grew between them
with each passing moment. She was expecting an interrogation. He gave her instead conversation.
"I knew your father a very long time." he said. "We worked together. Did he tell you that?"
She glanced up at him, wondering no doubt what kind of tactic this was. "Yes. He said you were a
good friend."
"You know the sort of work we did?"
The questions were safe enough. She leaned forward, feeling at ease. "You were agents for the
British government."
"Your father was an excellent agent." He went on, watching her as she took in his words. "Very
good with computers."
Casey knew something about that. Her eyes met his, unhappiness flickering across her face.
Whatever Chambers had discovered he'd gotten poking round in some government data base. He
knew of course now what it was. But at the time he knew only that it was sensitive and the boys
upstairs would take a dim view. The desire to discover his friend's fate, what had become of him
the day he failed to make their appointed meeting, stirred.
"Your father's name was Peter." he said. "Peter Chambers."
"He would never tell me." she looked away into the darkness the surrounded them.
"He couldn't. It would have been too dangerous."
"It wouldn't have mattered." She had left off drawing and was jabbing the stick, rather violently,
into the sandy floor. "They found us anyway."
"How?"
"I don't know." Casey was staring at him. But she wasn't seeing him. She was looking into a
distant and terrible past.
He pressed hard, feeling merciless. "Tell me what happened."
"It was a Saturday night. Dad had worked late." her voice shook now. "We were planning on going
to a movie but when he got home he was tired. He could barely stay awake. He told us to go on
without him and went to bed." her eyes were dark as she looked off again into her frightening
memory. "They'd drugged him. They were going to come and collect him when we'd gone."
She was speaking of course of The Village. A phantom that had pursued her father all those years
and finally caught up to him.
"Why didn't they?" he asked.
"Mom had forgotten her purse. We came back and surprised them. " She said. "There were two of
them. They tried to grab mom and she screamed. That's what woke him up." Tears were running
unnoticed down her cheeks. "Dad came out of the bedroom. He was staggering and weak, but he
had his gun."
Her body trembled and she fell silent, living now it seemed in that moment. He let her be. She
would tell the rest. It could not be held back any longer.
With a long shuttering breath she shut her eye as if gathering herself for a great effort. When her
eyes opened there was a deep, restless anger moving behind them.
"He killed both of them. But not before mom caught a stray bullet." The tears had stopped, leaving
her cold. "The police were coming. Dad was about to collapse. He couldn't be found there. He
couldn't answer their questions..."
"He ran?" He asked, noting that familiar hardness had returned to her face. "He ran and left you
there?"
"He'd infiltrated them. He knew how to stop them hunting us. He had to get away to finish the
job."
Somehow Chambers had gotten inside. Into the very heart of The Village and altered his files.
Erasing all trace of himself to buy for his daughter some measure of freedom. A freedom that
lasted until the American government attempted to exploit her talents and drew the attention of
their common enemy.
She was drifting away, her eyes had a distant look. He brought her back with another question.
"How did you explain to the police what had happened?"
Without emotion she said. "Dad told me what to do and I did it. I put the gun in mom's hand and
fired it. When the cops got there I told them it had been an attempted robbery."
"Is that the last time you saw him?"
She shook her head harshly. "He came back and arranged to have me stay with a friend." her eyes
now cold came up to his. "He said when he was finished with them he would come and get me."
"But he never did?"
Again the harsh shake of the head. "I don't think he believed he was getting out alive. He told me
about you. He told me to find you if I was ever in trouble."
His friend's fate was no longer a mystery to him. He rubbed at his burning eyes. The girl was quiet,
staring into the fire. The session had been brutal, exhausting her. It wouldn't be difficult to do what
must be done.
"Your father sent you to find me," he said, "because he trusted me."
"He knew you." She said in a voice the cracked with stress. "I don't."
"And yet you crossed an ocean to find me."
"Dad said you would help me."
"I will help you, Casey."
She looked up the shadow of suspicion still clouding her face. "How did you know about the
CIA?"
"Number Two told me about the men you shot." he said. "It wasn't difficult to guess who they
were and what they were after."
"Or perhaps you're his confidant." she accused. "Did he send you up here to get me?"
It must have been bothering her since she first saw him by the river. Number Two was not likely to
let a prisoner simply walk out of The Village. Naturally she would suspect his loyalties lay with her
enemies. In this place such suspicions would always exist.
His slowness in answering irritated her. She demanded impatiently. "Did he send you?"
"Yes."
Shock showed in her eyes, then fear. She got to her feet and stood, facing him across the fire. If he
were working with Number Two she was truly without hope.
"Why would he trust you to do that?" she said in a voice that wanted to shake.
"Desperate people do desperate things." He said. "His only chance is to square things with his
bosses. I gave him the idea I would fetch you for him."
"Will you?"
"I intend to."
She look she gave him was withering.
"If you do as I say," he said coldly, "You may live."
That stubborn chin of her's jerked up and she glared down on him. They regarded each other across
the fire, both resolute, unyielding.
"In The Village?" her voice was filled with fear and anger. "As a slave?"
"Where ever you choose." He said. "As free as you can manage."
The word slipped past her lips as if it were forbidden to utter it. "Escape?"
Though she still eyed him with suspicion, there was also a glimmer of hope. It was misplaced.
Even if his plan succeeded she would pay a heavy price.
"I can promise you nothing." he said. "You've been an embarrassment to them. The Village may
retaliate with measures I cannot counter. But if you are to have any chance at all you must trust
me."
"My father did." her voice was spent.
"Yes."
She returned to her place, her face hidden by shadows. "What will they do?"
"Question you." he said his voice still quiet. "They'll want to know how your father managed to
fool them. Once they've gotten their answers you will no longer have any value save as an
example. I must convince them other wise."
She raised her head. "How?"
"By offering my cooperation in exchange for you life."
She was on her feet again. "You can't do that."
"I will do as I see fit." he snapped.
She said. "I won't be used."
She was defiant and proud. A girl who would die before she broke. A girl who would tolerate
nothing less from the person in whom she placed her confidence.
"You are very clever, Casey" he said icily. "But not very wise. This is a dangerous game we're
playing and there will be no second chances."
With hard eyes she watched him, trying to read in his face, his intentions. He gave her nothing.
The fire was dying down, allowing the cold and dark to creep closer. He got stiffly to his feet and
tossed more wood into the waning flames. Sparks rose up with the smoke. He watched them burn
bright and die away.
"In the morning we go back down the mountain." He said.
He noted she offered no objection. She knew as well as he that life in these mountains would be
short and brutal. If she wanted to live she would have to follow his lead. With a defeated look she
retook her place by the fire. He likewise sat and considered her in silence. She could still defy him.
It would not be possible to watch her every moment and he did not wish to resort to forceful
methods of control. It would be best to preserve whatever fragile confidence she still had in him.
It was growing later, bringing him that much closer to the point of collapse. If he were to do what
he intended, it need be soon. It was clear the topic of conversation had put Casey in an wary state.
A more open frame of mind was required.
"Have you been to the summit?" He inquired.
She nodded, already relaxing into less troubling thoughts. "There's a high valley," She seemed to
be seeing it as she spoke. "It's beautiful. Tall grass and wild flowers. There is a lake. The water is
so clear."
"How's the fishing?"
A smile crossed her lips. "The fish in that lake are easy to catch."
"There is a passage through this cave to the valley?"
She looked in the direction of the trickling water. "It runs a quarter mile underground. There are
boulders and debris near the entrance, left by a flood. That's what rerouted the river."
Then she fell silent. She was thinking, no doubt, how long she could live here, isolated but free. He
felt the temptation of it. His enemies were far away. His life, however short, could indeed be his
own. But it was not to be.
He broke the heavy silence. "What's beyond the valley?"
"More peeks." She said dully. "High and snow covered. I can't cross them."
She stopped talking again, her mind drifting. Weariness was working its magic. He said nothing
more allowing the quiet to fall over them like a blanket. The heat from the fire was reaching
deeper, lulling him with its comfort.
When winter came to this high, wild country the valley with its meager resources would become a
hostile wasteland of snow, ice and wind. But this place, while not a suitable refuge, would serve
another purpose.
The girl was fighting now to stay awake. He looked at her without seeming to. Noting the droop in
her body, the exhaustion in her hollow eyes. She needed to sleep but was yet too wary to make
herself so vulnerable.
"You trusted your father." He said. "You followed his lead without question because he would
never fail you."
Her only response was to become more attentive. She leaned forward, listening.
"Your father was a dear friend." he said. "I would never betray him."
She was still quiet, but her demeanor had changed. A girl who knew only fear and suspicion put her
hope in a stranger because her father had told her he was someone who could be trusted. And now,
though she didn't yet realize it, that inherited trust would lead her out of her sanctuary to an
uncertain future. It was time to prepare her.
He unbuckled his watch. The action caught her attention. She watched curiously as he held the
watch out towards the fire. The light played off the polished surface enticingly. He waved it
carefully, catching the flickering light and observed the girl's eyes as they followed the motion.
Then with equal care, he lied."He gave this to me."
Her eyes locked on it, now full of interest. How could she resist this remnant of her father? He
swung the watch casually with his hand resting on his knee, letting it flash in front on his leg. He
did it as if it were an unconscious thing. A thing of no consequence. Her eyes followed the gentle
swing, memorized.
"It was a special gift for my birthday." His voice was soft, blending with the rhythm of the
swinging watch. "That was just before he disappeared." More interest, she almost lifted her gaze to
look at him, but the effort seemed too much. The watch held her.
"I've always liked the way the light reflects off of it." He said, lifting the watch a bit higher. Now
the fire light glinted off the surface into her eyes. "I find it fascinating."
Her face softened, the anxious years slipping away, leaving her young and innocent. The watch
swung and her gaze traced its path.
"It makes me sleepy." He said, "My eyes get so heavy."
She blinked, slow and long, following the long swinging arch of the watch.
"You are very tired." He said. "So tired. You want to close your eyes."
He held the watch quite high now, directly in front of her eyes. She didn't mind. She couldn't mind.
She was gone away, leaving her subconsciousness unguarded. Waiting to be commanded.
"Close your eyes." He said.
Obediently her lids dropped down. He let the watch drop as well and sat back. The darkness of the
cave seemed to push in closer and the silence of it was broken only by the snapping of the fire. He
felt cold and empty as he watched the girl sitting before him in this unnatural state. He could
implant in her mind what was required. Whatever torments The Village subjected her to she could
not divulge his plan. It would remain safely locked away until he called it forth.
He leaned forward again and said. "Casey, you are to pay very careful attention to every thing I say
to you."
There was no response, the eyes remained softly closed and the face full of peace. He knew his
words reached her eager subconscious mind, to be recorded with perfect precision.
"I am going to give you a set of instructions." He said. "When I say a number to you, you will
carry out these instructions exactly as I have given them to you. Listen and remember. The number
is 23."