Ruby crept through the passageways, past unseen marble plaques carved with the names of the dead.
As she wound her way through, so the passageways widened, the arched ceilings became higher, and soon she thought she could see light.
She had almost reached what she assumed must be the centre, the main part of the crypt where all the passageways met and the great and good of Twinford would be lying in their solid stone tombs. The light she could see came from beyond one of the arches and, curious, she walked towards it.
Blacker was flicking through the book. He stopped when he arrived at the well-thumbed chapter on transdermal poisoning, then he leafed past the frogs and the plants until he reached the bride’s dress. Smart of Ruby to have figured that out, he thought. He turned the page, to an illustration of Snow White.
‘A fairy tale in which three objects are laced with poison in order that they might kill a young girl,’ said the text underneath the illustration.
‘A comb, a bodice, an apple.’
There was a second illustration of the wicked queen looking into her magic mirror, her face aghast as Snow White’s reflection stared back at her. The text underneath read, ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?’
He paused.
The fourth note was in his hand, written on it were the words:
The Twinford Mirror building …
He looked to the wall:
The Little Seven Grocers, the Bodice Ripper movie museum, the music school …
Before it was a music school it was a factory, the comb factory. A bodice, a comb, a mirror and the Little Seven … like the seven dwarves … was it just a coincidence?
His eyes flicked back to the book, the illustration of Snow White with her black hair and neat white teeth. She looked a lot like the kid on the Taste Twister bottle, who looked a little bit like another kid he knew.
His heart was beginning to quicken – what had she said, something about 1922, some joke about it being cryptic? How what they had been looking for had been there all the time. He picked up the phone and dialled through to the records department.
‘Agent Blacker here, I wonder if you could look something up for me. Back in 1922, before the elevated subway was built, what building stood on the Numeral Street–Pythagoras intersection?’
He waited while the researcher went off to find the answer. It didn’t take long.
‘The Sacred Heart Cathedral,’ was her reply.
‘And did this Cathedral have a crypt?’ asked Blacker.
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘and the crypt remains. The entrance is beneath the vacant lot. Anything else you need?’
He thanked her and ended the call. He tried putting a message through to Ruby’s transmitter, but she wasn’t picking up. He sent her an URGENT GET IN TOUCH IMMEDIATELY symbol, but she did not respond. So without further hesitation, he grabbed his weapon, and ran up to the atrium and on out of the building.
THERE WAS AN APPLE SITTING ON THE STONE TOMB IN THE CENTRE OF THE CRYPT. A perfect, rosy-red apple. Ruby walked over to where it sat. What is it doing here? she wondered. Is it even real? She picked it up – it was real all right. So how did it come to be down here in this long-locked space? More importantly, who had brought it here?
The sound of footsteps.
‘Blacker?’ she called.
The tap tap of shoes continued, and a faint whistling and then a voice, a soft rich voice.
‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who must hate you worst of all?’
She felt the tiny hairs rise on the back of her neck.
He laughed as he appeared from the shadows, elegant in a suit and Italian shoes, as always. ‘It’s a riddle, my dear Snow White.’
Still she could not speak.
‘You have been following my clues, no?’ he asked. ‘And all the time wondering, what do they mean? Where could they lead? Tick, tick, tick, tick in that little head of yours until finally you figured it out.’ He waved his arm with a flourish. ‘And here you are.’
Ruby slowly surveyed the scene: she was in a crypt with a madman; she could see nothing else.
‘All the clues were just there to lead us to you?’ she asked.
‘To lead you to me, dear Ms Redfort,’ said the Count. This small but important correction was not something she wanted to hear. ‘I know how you love puzzles, so I designed this one especially for you.’ He frowned. ‘I thought you would be quicker to solve it, I almost tired of waiting.’
She didn’t reply.
He looked at her, his expression full of concern. ‘You’re wondering what I want with you; it’s a reasonable thought given our history. I must confess, you have angered me in the past. How I loathed you when you stole the Jade Buddha from my grasp, snatched back the Sisters’ treasure, the invisibility skin and that wolf.’ His voice filled with such regret. ‘Oh, how I wanted that Blue Alaskan wolf.’
‘The stealing of the wolf was your doing – I wasn’t sure, but …’
‘Oh, I was busy with other things, I outsourced help, in retrospect a bad decision, but there we are.’
‘But for what?’ said Ruby. ‘So much effort for what …? Just things.’
‘Yes, I collect things,’ said the Count coldly. ‘Trinkets, souvenirs. Have you never been to Hawaii or Disneyland and felt you wanted to mark the occasion by bringing back a little something for yourself?’
‘An eighth-century Jade Buddha counts as a little something?’ said Ruby. ‘I usually find a keyring or a pin badge does the trick.’
He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘It’s all the same, just there to remind you of your holiday fun or, in my case, a job well done.’
A job well done … did that mean she was right? That all along these cases had been about something else? Not the jade, or the gems, the wolf or the invisibility skin, but something much bigger and much less obvious … Something the Count had been … hired for?
‘I see that little brain of yours whirring. You almost have it, don’t you Ms Redfort?’
‘There’s someone else …’ she said. ‘Someone you work for … and they have a plan?’
‘Bravo.’ He clapped his hands.
‘And the snake woman … that was part of the plan? To kill Amarjargel Oidov?’
‘Yes. My employer needed her out of the way. So I made arrangements.’
She nodded. ‘So it was you who ordered Baby Face to murder her?’
‘Oh yes, poor Mr Marshall, blundering idiot, may he rest in pieces.’
‘He’s dead?’ said Ruby.
‘My associate caught up with him.’
‘The Australian?’ whispered Ruby, like her name was too much to say.
He looked amused. ‘Oh, is that what you call her? I must be sure to pass that on. Yes, she’s not a forgiving woman, so I’m afraid Mr Marshall … well, I won’t spell it out.’
‘And Lorelei von Leyden?’
He sighed. ‘Dear meddling Lorelei. I’m afraid she’s quite out of control. I hear she tried to kill you and that little friend of yours. She’s not a forgiver and I’m sorry to say once you’ve crossed her she’ll never give up.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘If only prison walls could hold her.’ He looked at her with interest. ‘But enough about what is past. You must be wondering why you’re here, right now.’
‘You plan to murder me?’ said Ruby – she said this as casually as she was able.
‘Bravo again.’ The Count clapped.
‘What I don’t understand is, why you went to so much trouble? Why the bottles, the clues, the trail? Why go to such pains to bring me here if you simply plan to …?’
‘Because that is what I was hired to do. I needed to make it look like I was making an effort, my employer is … not easily fooled. Besides, I like the fun of it, the drama. Don’t you? Life is short, one must take pleasure where one can.’
‘Your employer?’ said Ruby. ‘It isn’t you who wants me dead?’
‘No. Did I not explain? This is all
work for me, a job, a task, and one has to earn a living.’
So this was it, her number up, her fate to die alone, her demise witnessed only by the dead.
‘But what if,’ he began, ‘I told you I had changed my mind? That I did not want to undertake this particular … task.’
She swallowed. ‘I think I’d have a hard time believing you.’
‘But have I ever lied to you in this matter?’
No, the Count had never lied to her about his murderous intent – when he said he intended to kill, he meant it. Just because so far he had been thwarted in his efforts didn’t mean his intentions weren’t bad – they undoubtedly were.
He had wanted to kill her before, and now he didn’t.
He had changed his mind, but why?
‘You want me to say,’ he said, ‘that the world’s a better place with you in it?’
‘Not really – coming from you, I’m not sure what that would say about me.’
‘Well, don’t worry, my reasons are far from sentimental –’ he stared deep into her eyes – ‘I need you, that’s the only reason I choose to keep you alive.’
Now that was creepy. A murderous psychopath needed her – for what?
‘My employer wants you dead, but I don’t think you dead is in my best interests – not at this precise moment anyway.’
This was not very reassuring news.
‘So I have lured you here, and kept my employer happy thus far. But now I intend to let you go. Not that it will do you much good.’
‘Why do you say that?’
He leaned down closer to her. ‘It’s true what they say,’ he said, his voice sympathetic, ‘every secret agent’s career ends in failure.’
‘Do they say that?’
‘Probably not, but they should – it’s inevitable, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’ said Ruby.
‘Failure. You strive to identify the bad apples hidden in a barrel of good ones, but as we all know, good apples can’t cure the bad, yet the bad do contaminate the good. Isn’t that so? When you return to your little agency, do you really think you will be safe there?’
‘You’re saying that you have contaminated Spectrum?’
‘Oh no, not me, the apple has been there for a long time. Look no further than your own colleagues, Ms Redfort.’
‘That’s garbage.’
‘You’re sure about that? Is there not as we speak an investigation to seek out a mole?’
Ruby was silent.
‘Is that a little maggot of mistrust eating away at your apple?’ He smiled. ‘You see what happens when you linger too long with the bad folk.’
‘Who are you working for?’
The Count put his elegant finger to his lips.
‘Information is power, Ms Redfort, that is for me to know and you to find out, but don’t leave it too long … Just as for the fly caught in a web, the spider will come – so just because your predator is not yet upon you, it doesn’t mean your fate is not sealed.’
‘So I’ll make sure I don’t get caught in any webs,’ said Ruby.
‘Too late dear Ms Redfort, you already are.’
He turned as if to leave, and then: ‘One final clue for you, little Ruby, did you ever wonder why Bradley Baker had to die?’
‘You told me he was killed in a plane crash.’
‘So Ms Redfort, you believe everything you’re told?’
‘Not when you put it like that,’ she said, ‘but you said you didn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘I told you his death was not my undertaking, but an accident? Maybe not. There are many ways for a plane to crash.’
‘You’re suggesting someone sabotaged his plane?’
‘It would seem likely, wouldn’t it?’ said the Count. ‘Though shooting it from the sky would be simpler. Yes, let’s say it was shot down. A spy as clever as he has many enemies. But the question is: who pulled the trigger?’ Suddenly he plucked the apple from the tombstone and threw it into the air. ‘An apple for the teacher,’ he called.
She stooped to pick up the fallen fruit, turning it in her hand, and saw that far from being perfect, there was a hole where a maggot had burrowed.
She looked up to face him, to stare deep into those shark-black eyes, to see if she might search out the answer to this complicated game, but he was no longer there.
Ruby was sitting in LB’s office. She had told her boss and fellow agents most of what had happened in the crypt of the Sacred Heart, and the mood was sombre.
The Spectrum 8 boss was looking unusually unsettled – talk of Bradley Baker’s death had opened an old wound.
LB: ‘So we are in no doubt now, the Count is not working alone.’
RUBY: ‘No, and whoever he’s working for has been working on this plan since this whole case began, seven months back.’
LB: ‘Yet we have no idea what or why?’
RUBY: ‘No.’
DELAWARE: ‘Did the Count give any reason as to why this employer of his might have targeted you?’
RUBY: ‘No.’
DELAWARE: ‘And he gave no reason as to why he then decided not to follow the instructions he had been given?’
RUBY: ‘To kill me you mean?’
There was no point dancing around the subject: someone wanted her dead.
RUBY: ‘He just said it was in his best interests that I live – though he made it kinda clear that this interest in my continuing to breathe would one day wane.’
DELAWARE: ‘But there was no explanation for Amarjargel Oidov’s poisoning? What their motivation might be for wanting her dead?’
RUBY: ‘No.’
HITCH: ‘And Lorelei? Where does she fit in?’
RUBY: ‘Nowhere, as far as the higher purpose goes. She used to be on the Count’s payroll, was an assassin for hire, but now as far as I can tell, she’s gone “rogue”.’
DELAWARE: ‘So what is her backstory?’
RUBY: ‘The Australian told me that Lorelei was her kid; they obviously don’t have such a great mother–daughter relationship since Lorelei looked like she was going to puke when I mentioned her mom was about to pay a visit. The first time I saw Lorelei she was working for her mom, the second time I saw her she was working for the Count, but she double-crossed them both.’
DELAWARE: ‘So coming back to the Australian – is she working with the Count?’
Ruby made a face; the expression said, oh so now you all believe she exists?
LB, who was no slouch in reading faces, read her expression correctly.
LB: ‘Stop being a child, Redfort, and answer the question: is the Australian working with the Count?’
RUBY: ‘She and the Count seem pretty cosy, but he seems to call the shots.’
Ruby was silent for a moment.
RUBY: ‘You know she’s a dangerous woman?’
HITCH: ‘You don’t have to convince me, you should see the state she left Baby Face in – or rather I should say, states.’
DELAWARE: ‘How do you mean? Where is he now?’
HITCH: ‘Well, he left his heart in San Francisco.’
BLACKER: ‘His head was found in Monterrey.’
HITCH: ‘And his legs have yet to show.’
LB: ‘Excuse me?’
BLACKER: ‘He’s a goner.’
LB took a gulp of water.
LB: ‘So getting back to the issue in hand, where does this leave us?’
BLACKER: ‘My concern is for Ruby.’
Ruby gave Blacker an appreciative look.
LB:‘That’s very touching Blacker, but my concern is for Spectrum. I’m sorry Redfort, but this is much bigger than you.’
RUBY: ‘That’s OK, I won’t take it personally.’
LB: ‘You say the toast message came through to you as if from Blacker, yet we know Blacker could never have sent it since he was in a briefing with myself and Hitch.’
DELAWARE: ‘So not only do we know Spectrum has a double agent …’
HITCH: ‘… We
now know this agent is feeding information to the Count.’
His face looked grave.
HITCH: ‘It’s a great deal worse than we’d first thought.’
LB: ‘I agree. Given the reference made to Baker’s death, the premeditated attempt on Redfort’s life and the recent security breach, we have to assume that Spectrum has not only been infiltrated in order to leak information out but is also under attack from within.’
LB looked at them all in turn.
LB: ‘And what we need to ask ourselves is, can we survive this?’
In many ways, Mayor Abraham’s Halloween pageant of 1973 was a success – it really put him on the map. He had ignored all meteorologists’ advice and insisted that Twinford get this show on the road.
‘Don’t let me down Twinford!’ he had rallied on the radio airways. ‘Let’s make this Halloween a Halloween to remember!’
And as darkness fell, it looked like the whole city had lined the lantern-lit streets to watch the parade wend its ghoulish way.
The rains had ceased, the winds had stilled. It was a perfect night.
The Redfort household were all there, all except Bug, who had been behaving oddly all day, barking loudly when anyone tried to venture out. At the very last minute before they were all due to leave, he had crawled under Mrs Digby’s bed and refused to move. Not even a cut of prime Texan steak was enough to tempt him out, and in the end the family had departed dogless.
Mrs Digby, Sabina and Brant were gathered on the sidewalk of Twinford Square along with Marjorie and Freddie Humbert, and Elaine and Niles Lemon.
All were eagerly waiting for their children’s float to appear.
‘I’d so wanted her to go as Snow White,’ said Sabina. ‘Don’t you think she’d make a heavenly Snow White, Marjorie? I mean, I hadn’t really pictured her going as a severed head.’
‘She’ll look cute whatever she’s wearing,’ said Brant.
‘What she’s wearing is Del Lasco,’ said Mrs Digby, ‘and that child is no portrait of cute.’
‘Kids,’ said Marjorie, ‘you just gotta love ’em.’
‘Is your boy in the pageant?’ asked Freddie.
‘He is,’ said Niles Lemon, loud and proud. ‘I wasn’t sure he could handle the excitement since the biggest thrill he has ever had is taking the bus into town.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘He’s such a timid kid.’