The band of sky showing through the crack in the high ceiling was just beginning to lighten when he rose from his place by the dying fire. For a moment he stood, dizzy and lightheaded. Swaying on his feet. It had been a night without sleep. He had not been certain he would waken at dawn nor that his host would have the good manners not to slip away.
When his equilibrium was well enough restored he walked round the remains of the fire, trying to loosen up the muscles. The long hours of inactivity had left him stiff and the shoulder a constant angry complaint. He was coming near the end of his physical endurance.
When he ceased his restless movement he became aware of the absolute quiet around him. Only the faint trickle of water prickled his ears. It was peaceful here. His watchers were far away. In another world. No one saw him now. No critical eye analyzed his demeanor for signs of weakening or planned the next assault. In the still near blackness of the cave he felt the freedom of the moment. A freedom that must now come to an end.
Some hours ago Casey had retreated to her primitive bed of pine bows. He watched her for a moment, noting the lightness of her sleep. Tension disturbed her restive state, furrowing her brow with troubled dreams. It took only a touch to bring her to full alertness. She coiled up and away from him, then as if remembering their newly forged friendship, smiled almost apologetically.
Neither of them spoke for there was nothing to say. All the required discussion about this moment was had last night. They only need now to carry it out. To whatever end.
The girl slipped on her boots, then took the tin can and went into the darkness. He followed her to the far recesses of the cave where a thin trickle of water ran into a pool. She filled the can and drank before passing it to him. Here there was so little light he had to find his way to the water by sound and feel. He drank deeply. It was to be a very long walk back down the mountain.
They went along the narrow passage way and out under the pounding falls. The grey morning light was bitter and they walked in a silence as cold as the dark stone walls rising above them.
Casey led the way, either weariness or dread slowing her steps. As they moved down the mountain the sun crept above the peaks and the air warmed. He drove himself forward, placing one foot in front of the other. It was grim march indeed.
When they came to a rocky outcrop overlooking The Village he stopped. The sun was now high. He leaned wearily against a rough boulder. From this vantage point he could see the Green Dome shimmering in the distance.
Casey was quiet, the tension mounting in her as she looked down on their prison. However, he noted, she remained near him. The former wariness was all but gone. She had made up her mind to trust him. But how much? Would it withstand the insidious manipulations of The Village? It was best to test its strength now, before it was needed. But to do so required some manipulation of his own.
He spoke suddenly into the stillness, surprising her. "In The Village there is no limit to what they can do to get what they're after."
She gathered his meaning and gave him a reproachful look, that suborn pride predictably rearing up. "I won't talk."
His own confession had been a weak illusion at best, not expected to do more than rattle him. The public announcement of it might have inspired a few confessions from those nearly ready to crack. But its true purpose was to paint him a traitor to the one person in the Village to whom his loyalty mattered. And Casey had spoiled it all so delightfully with her antics. A bitter lose for a man who planned as carefully as Number Two.
The trap had been laid to destroy trust but it might also be used to test, and perhaps even strengthen it.
With two simple words he maneuvered Casey towards the desired question. "Everyone talks."
Her eyes were suddenly full of keen interest. "Have you?"
Number Two's trap was about to be sprung. It remained be seen which one of them it would profit.
There was ice in his tone when he replied. "I am to believe I have."
Like the business with the gun before this revelation earned him no favor. Her eyes flashed and something seemed to crackle in the air between them. In the next few moments he would know what manner of bond existed between them.
"That ceremony you interrupted," He snapped, still cold, "you must have wondered about it?"
That familiar hardness came into her eyes. She had wondered. She was wondering now as the memory stirred. She was thinking back to the display she'd witnessed. To what Number Two had said about him.
The next was a challenge, tossed at her curtly. "Out with it. What did you make of that spectacle?"
She met his eyes coolly, refusing to shrink from the truth. "You were being rewarded for betraying a friend."
"That friend was your father."
There was no evidence of surprise. Only a stillness in her face as that calculating mind took in his words.
In a situation such as this, there are two dangers. Trusting someone who ought not to be trusted and failing to trust someone who aught to be. Casey was balanced now as if on the edge of a knife blade.
"You may be told I have confessed all of your secrets." He said, "That I have betrayed you."
She looked at him almost anxiously and her voice was small, coming from far off. "Did you?"
There was no point in denying it. She would have to decide. "If you are to trust me," he said, " it must be completely. No half measures."
She looked away to some distant place, seeking her answers.
"I can spare you from some of their cruelty, but not all. Any interrogation they subject you to will be designed to break you." He watched her carefully. "Or to destroy you."
Her eyes came back to his. There was no stubborn pride in them now. Only fear and uncertainty. She wanted guidance.
"If you show some willingness to cooperate," he said, "they will hold back the worst of it, hoping to get more from you."
"What should I tell them?"
"Only what they already know."
She looked down on The Village again, ridged with dread. But when she spoke her voice was steady. "How much is that?"
"A good deal, perhaps all of it. But you only need tell them enough to wet the appetite."
"Dad didn't talk." She said quietly.
There could be no room for equivocation.
"You must." He said harshly. "You must convince them they've broken you."
Her head came up as she turned back to him. She had resolved the inner conflict. "I will make them believe it."
"Good girl." He said it with no softness. No affection.
He might as well have been a general sending men to die in battle. There was little difference. Anger mingled with exhaustion, leaving him irritable. He scowled at The Village, laying peaceful in the mid day sun. They had no right. And yet, he could do nothing to stop them. It would have to be enough, for now, to snatch from them this one small victory.
As he stood away from the boulder, his head swam with the slight effort. Casey was beside him, grasping his arm as if she expected him to fall on his face. She was devoted to him. The thought was bitter.
It took a long moment for the world to settle back on its proper axis. They needed to get off this mountain while he still had the capacity.
"I don't want them having any trouble spotting us." He said. "We'll go down to the beach."
The beach was quiet and empty when they stepped out of the trees. He lead the way to the water's edge. There was no point in walking further. They would come. It was a fine day, with a pleasant breeze off the ocean. It was as if they were alone in the world, watching the hypnotic roll of the blue water.
The peace of the moment did not endure long. Rover was spat up from some dark pit of hell, rising out of the water in a violent rush. Its mechanical howl filled the air with a kind of terror as it bounded across the waves at them. It closed the distance and Casey tensed, her eyes fearful.
"Don't run." he hissed.
It rolled close, until it almost touched him. The sound and the electrical energy seemed to draw the will out of him. He stumbled blindly away from it. Casey was beside him, her eyes locked on their mechanical shepherd. With an almost gentle menace it herded them towards The Village.
Sirens sounded. He was dull and it took great effort to look down the beach. The distance seemed hazy as if a fog had settled in. He saw the dim form of the ambulance, with its silly canopied wagon, speeding their way. A car followed behind.
Rover brushed against him, dropping him to his knees. His head was full of paralyzing sound and agony. When it subside he saw the girl facing the ambulance. Two men and a woman dressed in white had stepped out of it and were coming across the sand towards her.
He made his feet and swayed like a tree in high wind. Casey threw a wild glance his way, her eyes pleading. In this moment there was nothing he could do for her. The opening move had been made. The game was set in motion.
Rover hummed between them, forcing him to step back to avoid its brutal touch. His mind became dreamy, making the world less real, almost fantastic. He watched what was taking place with the emotional detachment of one watching a stage performance.
The woman in white had stopped. The drama of the play was moving forward but she seemed to be waiting for her cue to join the scene. The motion of her hands caught his attention and he saw she was preparing a hypodermic needle.
The men continued on, narrowing the distance to their quarry. Casey stood, her back to him, with no more life than a stage prop. The only perceptible movement was that of the breeze stirring her tangled hair. He became dimly aware of muted anger. The men overwhelmed her, both and size in strength, cruel in their intentions as they took hold of her arms. She came alive then, fighting because instinct drove her to it. The anger was suddenly in sharp focus, nearly breaking the spell. He took an unsteady step forward. Rover, as if sensing in him the impulse to intervene, hummed nearer. Its electrical surge, for a brief moment, lit him on fire. When it subsided he was once again the detached spectator, watching dreamily as the nurse received her cue.
The woman glided onto the stage like the heroin in the final act and with a practiced ease put an end to Casey's frantic struggle. The drama was over. The girl was now merely a puppet, sagging awkwardly on her strings.
He stood dumbly, observing as Casey's limp body was loaded into the ambulance. When it carried her away, he listened, without thought or feeling, to the curious cry of the siren, fading into the distance.
Rover pulled in its claws and he scrambled away from it as if waking from a nightmare. It was quiet now save the gentle quivering of its white skin. He gave himself more distance and it paid him no mind. As the fog that had invaded his brain slowly cleared he looked down the beach, now empty. Casey was gone.
Clarity returned and with it the realization that the car he'd forgotten was pulled up beside him. The familiar face of Number Two leaned out of it, smiling. The fact that the man had not been replaced was a good fortune. It made his plan more secure. But he was not, just now, cheered by it.
He faced the man, a rage he dare not unleash threatening what little capacity he yet possessed for rational thought. "What's going to happen to her?"
"Never mind about that." Number Two said. "She'll be well looked after."
"What will happen to her?"
"For the time being a simple medical exam." Number Two soothed, "We just need to be sure she's fit."
"Fit for what?"
Two seemed unperturbed by his belligerence, the smile was as bright as ever. "Come along now, I'll give you a lift."
"To where?" he demanded.
"The hospital. Can't have you dying on me."
He held his place. "I didn't know you cared."
"Of course I care, Number Six." Two still smiled but there was something nasty at the edge of his voice. "I owe you debt of gratitude."
"For saving you from the gallows?"
"That's a bit dramatic."
"Is it?"
The smile went away as if it had never been. "Number Six, still the stubborn man,." he said almost sadly. "But you did bring the girl back to us. That shows progress. My masters are pleased."
He'd had too little sleep, too much of Rover and far too much of this verbal sparing. There was no strength left for patience.
He spat viciously. "Perhaps you could give me another ceremony."
"Not this time, old man." Two laughed without humor. "I'm afraid I've rather lost my taste for public speaking." He settled back into the driver's seat. "You look nearly done for. Why don't you get in before you fall down?"
Six only noticed the men when they stepped away from the car. There were always men. Big and sour, eager to force Number Two's will on him.
"Must everything be a fight to the death?" Number Two chided.
If it were to be a fight it would be a very short one. He gave the men no trouble as they helped him into the seat beside Number Two.
It was good to lean back and close his eyes. But he mustn't sleep. Not just yet.
He heard Number Two say. "I can manage him from here."
The car rolled forward and swept gently along the beach. The breeze was soothing. He felt himself relax. Exhaustion overcoming pain as the tension slipped away. He mustn't sleep. There was still work to be done. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. He slept.
Something touched his shoulder, prodded at the wound unkindly. He came awake, groggy and disoriented. The car had stopped but not at the hospital. They were still on the beach, some distance from The Village and Number Two was looking over at him, the way a fox might look at a rabbit.
"Time for our little chat, Number Six."
"We've had our chat." He croaked, trying to gather his wits for the coming contest.
"Less theatrics this time." Number Two said. "More truth."
A wise man knows when to abandon a charade. For the moment he was content to remain quiet, giving himself time to recover his strength and Two an opportunity to reveal his next move.
Two leaned towards him and spoke softly, like co-conspirator. "I trust you've told the girl of your supposed confession?"
"Have I?"
"You aren't so careless as to leave landmines lying about."
"You know me so well." Six said irritably.
"I know everything about you."
"Not everything."
That humorless laugh again. "It won't be very long now and I will."
Though it was not hot, he was sweating. He felt ill and weak. Everything Number Two would want him to be. He closed his eyes, needing sometime to gather his thoughts.
Two said. "My masters think you are beginning to crack, but I think it's something else."
"Do you?"
"That girl has a great deal to fear from The Village, she did after all try to kill me." Number Two said almost wistfully. "And yet she came down the mountain, quiet as a lamb."
"What of it?"
"You're planning something."
A plan he was eager to share. And the sooner the better for his own sake. But to rush would arouse Number Two's suspicions. A deception one has to work to obtain is more readily believed. The man must be made to feel as though he had extracted the information through his skill as an interrogator.
The question came again. "What are you planning, Number Six?"
"To die if you don't get me to the hospital." Six raised a shaking hand and rubbed his face, moist with perspiration. The shoulder hurt like the devil.
"All in good time."
It slipped up on him suddenly, a rush of feverish impatience. "You'd risk it?" he snapped.
"Risk, thus far, has proven profitable." Two said. "I'm up for promotion, you know."
A thought struck him. "The new Number One?" He allowed himself a chuckle and nearly lost control of it.
"I'm afraid not." Number Two replied. "That position is already filled."
Almost reflexively he asked. "Who is Number One?"
"Perhaps you are." Two mocked.
"I'm Number One?" Lightheaded and giddy with fever he laughed deliriously. It brought on a fit of coughing and more pain. When it passed he fell back against the seat, breathing hard.
"Why not?" the man said airily.
More feverish laughter. "Why not?" he repeated stupidly.
Talking made him tired and faint. He closed his eyes. There was spinning sensation as if the car were set on a turn table.
"You are in a bad way, old chap." Number Two reached out and casually bumped his shoulder. "Bullet wounds can be very nasty. Or so I've heard."
He ground his teeth against a wave of nausea.
"What are you planning, Number Six?" Number Two cooed.
It was almost as difficult to speak as it was to think. "What about the girl?"
"Little Casey." Two said in a dreamy voice. "Spy. Saboteur. Assassin." His tone grew hard. "What do you suppose?"
"It's what you wanted!" this came out in a chocked, angry sob.
"But not in the manner we desire. As you say, we can't have our pet killer killing us."
He'd gone away for a moment. The jab of pain in his shoulder brought him back to the world, weaker and sicker than before.
Number Two smiled at him."You were just about to tell me your plan."
A good interrogator always presses the advantage. A good operative knows how to make him to believe he has it.
Six rolled his head on the back of the seat fitfully, his eyes half closed. He allowed the silly laugh to burst forth again, as if lost to delirium.
"Tell me, Number Six.
"I can't." he nearly giggled. "It's a secret."
"We have no secrets here." Two leaned close. A confidant. A friend. "You can tell me anything."
"Can I?"
"Of course."
A moment of lucidness, with a hint of fear in the voice. A man aware of his own mortality. "I need to go to the hospital."
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll take you." Two played his part well. Gentle, yet firm. A patient man making a reasonable inquiry. "What are you planning?"
"Planning?" The word slurred artfully.
This earned him another tap from Number Two. Pain shot all the way through him. He gasped, glassy eyes wide and blind.
"Come now, Number Six." Two coaxed. "You're stalling."
He collapsed back in his seat. A beaten man. Two leered at him. Enjoying the moment with sadistic pleasure.
"Tell me, Number Six." He was so close, his voice a near whisper. "Tell me what I want to know."
His own voice whispered back, weak with pain and defeat. "I told the girl I would help her to escape."
There was a pause full of careful consideration,. Number Two was no doubt calculating the purpose of the confession as one calculates an opponent's move a chess board.
Finally he said, "You know escape is not possible."
"She doesn't." the voice, fainter yet, perhaps diminished by a profound regret of having spoken at all.
Number Two scowled in unhappy puzzlement. "You lied to the girl?"
"I did what was necessary!" It was as near a yell as a dying man could muster.
"Perhaps you are cracking?"
"Never." Defiant. Just as Two would expect. But tainted with enough uncertainty to get his hopes up.
"This does make things interesting." Number Two said. "Very interesting, indeed."
He allowed his anger to give him strength. "You won't tell her!?"
"Of your betrayal?" Number Two said the last word great care, sampling as if it were a fine wine.
The confession had cost him dearly. He seethed quietly as Two savored the moment.
"She would be most distraught, wouldn't she?" Number Two said. "She'd got away, only to have you bring her back under faults pretenses."
"She doesn't have to know." Again he was the beaten man. Seeking mercy where he could expect to find none.
The smile Number Two gave him was serpentine, reaching thinly to the outermost corners of his lips. "That will depend," he said, "entirely on you."
Casey was safe enough for now. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. At last he could sleep. It came swiftly, before the lovely thought was even finished.
Number Two's voice seemed to follow him into his dreams, saying, "You are a curious fellow, Number Six."