try, they would try tonight.
H e was standing before the window, looking out at the phosphorescent surge of the waves.
‘Number Six.’
‘Yes, Number Seven.’ He had almost been expecting her.
She hesitated in the doorway, silvered lenses catching the light. ‘You’re not surprised?’
‘To see you? No. You were too good to be true. Out of place, even here.’
Her mouth moved in a smile. ‘Well, I’m close to true, you know.’
‘Everyone always is.’
‘The Colonel sent me.’
‘The Colonel?’
‘Colonel Schjeldahl, your superior.’
‘My former superior.’
‘Whatever, Number Six. I’m here to help you.’
‘And how am I to take that?’
‘Any way you want.’ She took off the glasses and put them in the pocket of her coat. The Colonel wants you back. He has a project you may find tempting.’
‘Is that the price of freedom?’
‘Would you pay it if it were?’
‘No.’
‘He wants you to destroy the Village.’
‘He does? Why?’
‘Let him tell you.’ She reached in her coat and produced a squat little gun. ‘Here, I had to break in. There’s a helicopter waiting on the roof.’
‘From the Colonel?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about radar?’
‘It’s been taken care of. Our men are on staff tonight.’
‘Our men?’
‘Ask the Colonel, I haven’t time to explain now.’
‘Why is everyone always in a hurry just as things become most interesting?’
‘Isn’t life always the most interesting when the most is happening?’
T hey went slowly round a corner. He held the gun in a hand. A guard sat by a door.
The man looked up, the meaty pockets of his eyes creasing with apprehension.
‘Be seeing you.’ He squeezed the trigger. A jet of vapour hissed from the nozzle and shot up around the guard.
The man opened his mouth, straightened, and collapsed.
‘It works.’
‘Didn’t you think it would?’
‘Should I?’
‘Think whatever you like, Number Six.’
He opened the door and they were out in the face of the wind.
The ocean was on one side, a stone wall on the other. Yellow light shone from windows above their heads and fell down against the flaggings. The night was black, and through it they saw the stationary lights of helicopter blades.
‘Your men are on duty tonight?’
‘It’s a faction. Don’t you understand, a faction. The Colonel’s group is opposed to those who maintain this village. They have tried to have it phased out for years. But the men in charge have a great deal of influence. No one knows why. Maybe they like power.’
‘What does he want me to do?’
‘There are three directors. Collectively they are Number One. If they are removed the Village can be declassified and its prisoners released.’
‘Removed?’
‘Killed.’
‘And where are we going?’
The cabin light came on and a man in a blue flight suit waved at them.
‘To that unpronounceable place you chose to retire.’
‘It’s easy to pronounce.’
‘Your car is at the hotel. We’re to get in it and drive to London.’
They were almost at the helicopter. The pilot had switched on the engine and the blades were beginning to rotate.
‘We’re on Aran Island, you’re sure of that?’
‘Positive.’
‘The north coast of Ireland?’
‘Yes.’ She brought out some keys. He took them. ‘To your car.’
‘Be seeing you,’ he said, and shot her with the gas.
Three
H e stood in the foggy Welsh morning and lifted his arm to look at his watch: the hands stood frozen at six.
The watch began to run.
The second hand swept forward and down. The works began to tick. He knew with a cold, sharp certainty that it actually was six: that their power extended even this far. He dropped the arm, lifted his shoulders to settle his jacket, and stepped forward on to the path.
Gravel crunched and popped underfoot as he went around the hotel to the drive.
He had glimpsed the emerald of his car from the air (moment’s shock of recognition marring the landing as he brought
H e was standing before the window, looking out at the phosphorescent surge of the waves.
‘Number Six.’
‘Yes, Number Seven.’ He had almost been expecting her.
She hesitated in the doorway, silvered lenses catching the light. ‘You’re not surprised?’
‘To see you? No. You were too good to be true. Out of place, even here.’
Her mouth moved in a smile. ‘Well, I’m close to true, you know.’
‘Everyone always is.’
‘The Colonel sent me.’
‘The Colonel?’
‘Colonel Schjeldahl, your superior.’
‘My former superior.’
‘Whatever, Number Six. I’m here to help you.’
‘And how am I to take that?’
‘Any way you want.’ She took off the glasses and put them in the pocket of her coat. The Colonel wants you back. He has a project you may find tempting.’
‘Is that the price of freedom?’
‘Would you pay it if it were?’
‘No.’
‘He wants you to destroy the Village.’
‘He does? Why?’
‘Let him tell you.’ She reached in her coat and produced a squat little gun. ‘Here, I had to break in. There’s a helicopter waiting on the roof.’
‘From the Colonel?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about radar?’
‘It’s been taken care of. Our men are on staff tonight.’
‘Our men?’
‘Ask the Colonel, I haven’t time to explain now.’
‘Why is everyone always in a hurry just as things become most interesting?’
‘Isn’t life always the most interesting when the most is happening?’
T hey went slowly round a corner. He held the gun in a hand. A guard sat by a door.
The man looked up, the meaty pockets of his eyes creasing with apprehension.
‘Be seeing you.’ He squeezed the trigger. A jet of vapour hissed from the nozzle and shot up around the guard.
The man opened his mouth, straightened, and collapsed.
‘It works.’
‘Didn’t you think it would?’
‘Should I?’
‘Think whatever you like, Number Six.’
He opened the door and they were out in the face of the wind.
The ocean was on one side, a stone wall on the other. Yellow light shone from windows above their heads and fell down against the flaggings. The night was black, and through it they saw the stationary lights of helicopter blades.
‘Your men are on duty tonight?’
‘It’s a faction. Don’t you understand, a faction. The Colonel’s group is opposed to those who maintain this village. They have tried to have it phased out for years. But the men in charge have a great deal of influence. No one knows why. Maybe they like power.’
‘What does he want me to do?’
‘There are three directors. Collectively they are Number One. If they are removed the Village can be declassified and its prisoners released.’
‘Removed?’
‘Killed.’
‘And where are we going?’
The cabin light came on and a man in a blue flight suit waved at them.
‘To that unpronounceable place you chose to retire.’
‘It’s easy to pronounce.’
‘Your car is at the hotel. We’re to get in it and drive to London.’
They were almost at the helicopter. The pilot had switched on the engine and the blades were beginning to rotate.
‘We’re on Aran Island, you’re sure of that?’
‘Positive.’
‘The north coast of Ireland?’
‘Yes.’ She brought out some keys. He took them. ‘To your car.’
‘Be seeing you,’ he said, and shot her with the gas.
Three
H e stood in the foggy Welsh morning and lifted his arm to look at his watch: the hands stood frozen at six.
The watch began to run.
The second hand swept forward and down. The works began to tick. He knew with a cold, sharp certainty that it actually was six: that their power extended even this far. He dropped the arm, lifted his shoulders to settle his jacket, and stepped forward on to the path.
Gravel crunched and popped underfoot as he went around the hotel to the drive.
He had glimpsed the emerald of his car from the air (moment’s shock of recognition marring the landing as he brought
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