Ice Claw (28 page)

Tishenko took his drink through a straw. “You know his boy, Max. He has become involved in something quite extraordinary. He has slipped past my people, and he has discovered information that could cause me damage if anyone had the understanding and the knowledge to study it carefully,” Tishenko said quietly.

Farentino had once tried to have Tom Gordon killed and Max had been caught up in that assault as well. He knew the boy, all right.

“Why is Max Gordon involved?” Farentino asked.

“I am uncertain whether he stumbled upon the information I need by accident or his father has something to do with it.”

“Tom Gordon would never deliberately send his son into anything dangerous. That’s ridiculous,” Farentino protested.

“There has been contact between father and son. If Tom Gordon knows anything about my plans he could cause me trouble. He could stop everything. My destiny will not be thwarted by a teenage boy and a man who has lost his mind.”

“And I am supposed to walk in on Tom Gordon and ask him if he is involved? He would kill me. On the spot. He would kill me!”

Tishenko watched the sun rise across the Alps. The ball of fire threw spears of light through the jagged peaks. The fiery orb gave life, but it would pale into insignificance if his plans succeeded.

He kept his gaze on the sunrise, its warmth lighting the sky. “Tom Gordon does not know who he is most of the time. He has only fragments of memory. But if he has instigated an investigation, using his son as an unofficial source of information, then he would be in command of his faculties—at least for these recent events. I don’t care how you do it, Farentino. Go and speak to him. Convince him you are still his friend.” Tishenko turned and stared at the subdued Farentino. The disfigured face smiled. “And then you can enjoy the act of betrayal yet again.”

After an hour’s driving, while Max slept, Abdullah had pulled into the crease of a hillside, the darkness cloaking the Land Cruiser’s bulk. He wanted to make sure they were not being followed. If word of their escape had somehow got out of the city there might also be ambushes in place. To learn patience was to survive. Besides, Sophie’s friend was sick. Abdullah had stopped twice to allow Max to vomit. It was the
monkey bite. Now he lay in a deep sleep, sweat dappling his face. But Abdullah didn’t want to wait too long—the boy would need medical attention.

While Max slept, Sophie clambered into the backseat and used the vehicle’s first-aid kit to clean and dress the bite on Max’s arm. As the desert’s night chill penetrated the Land Cruiser, she pulled a rug across them both. Abdullah and his man would stay on guard.

Max felt marginally better when daylight came. He had barely moved all night. It seemed obvious that all his recent exertions had been responsible for accelerating the infection from the bite. The glands in his neck and under his arm were swollen, and his stomach muscles still hurt, but the giddiness had gone. His arm, though, was stiff and felt numb. Once he’d checked the dressing he realized it must have been Sophie who had cared for him. She lay curled across his lap, still sleeping. He gulped from the bottle of water Abdullah’s man offered him to ward off dehydration from vomiting. The day was going to be hot, so he needed liquid more than food right now.

Sophie moved slightly. Uncertain what to do about the sleeping girl, he decided to leave her undisturbed.

As the sun threw its light across the landscape, the richness and beauty of the mountains and valleys surprised him. In the distance, to the west and south, a rugged, stone-flecked desert leveled out across the horizon—a shimmering warning that a harsher terrain was not far away. The Land Cruiser gripped the dirt track that led through the mountains and their snow-capped peaks that sucked in the orange warmth.

The 4×4 hit a deep rut, jolted and righted itself. Sophie was wide awake in an instant. She looked at Max, gazed through the windshield, then licked the dryness from her lips. Max gave her the bottle of water. She drank thirstily and handed it back.

“Are you all right?” she asked Max.

He nodded. “Thanks for doing my arm.”

She shrugged. “It needs attention. My father will look at you. He knows about these things.”

“If it lives on the face of the earth it has probably bitten Laurent Fauvre,” Abdullah said.

They could see from his eyes in the rearview mirror that he was smiling.

“And probably died from blood poisoning as a result,” Sophie said as she pulled her fingers through her hair.

“Sophie, go easy on your father. Show some respect, yes? He lives a hard life,” Abdullah said gently.

“And it takes a hard man to live it,” she said to no one in particular.

Abdullah shrugged. He knew about the friction between father and child. Max felt the tension. Sophie and her dad clearly had problems. What was he getting into?

“Is it much farther?” he asked.

Sophie nodded towards the front of the vehicle. “It’s there.”

Max squinted through the dust-smeared windshield. The low morning light gave a distorted reflection on the dirty glass. Across the distant, bare valley were what looked to be rows of hewn sandstone boulders, standing rigidly together
like dominoes. They were almost indistinguishable from the mountains rising behind them, whose torn skirts of rock diffused the land’s harshness with light and shadow.

Once Max focused more clearly he could see the tips of date palms, and for a brief moment the glint of reflection as the low sun caught a slick of water tumbling down the mountainside.

“It looks like a town,” Max said.

“You’re right. It’s called Les Larmes des Anges,” Abdullah said. “It was once the toughest Berber stronghold in these mountains. Then, when we fought the French, they held it for years—I’m talking back between the world wars, 1920s. There was vicious fighting here. Neither side would think of surrender. It’s the only walled town around here. During the final battle a rainstorm swept across the mountain between the sun and desert. The raindrops were lit by the sun’s rays. Les Larmes des Anges—‘the Tears of the Angels.’ They blinded the defenders. The French garrison died where they stood. Now, when the wind comes down from the mountains, it is said you can hear the cries of the dying.”

The Land Cruiser left a wisp of dust behind it as Abdullah accelerated towards the ancient town. Sophie fell silent, gazing straight ahead at the crumbling walls and the place where her father waited.

Once they were closer the size of the walled town became more apparent. The walls had to be thirty, forty meters high. Two huge, iron-studded doors began to swing open as the Land Cruiser approached. Max wondered what was waiting for him as they drove beneath the entrance arch into the town the French had named the Angels’ Tears.

There was in fact very little left of the town; it was mostly perimeter walls and a few other buildings that remained. The whole inside area was like a massive zoo. Huge, scooped-out troughs of earth, some filled with water, served as drinking holes for the animals. Others were natural enclosures for the assorted creatures. The thick walls stretched for as far as he could see, until they buttressed the mountain’s skeleton fingers that stretched down to touch the fortress town.

Towards one side of the wall Max could see cavelike openings, beneath which some craters dropped away. Twisting in his seat, he looked back as he caught a glimpse of deep orange and dark stripes. A tiger was climbing an old tree trunk conveniently laid against the face of the rock, allowing access to its lair. Fur and muscle glistened, rippling like oil on water as the huge cat, carrying a dead goat in its jaws, sprang and disappeared into the darkness of its lair. But more awesome was the tiger that watched it. A big male reclined on a rock ledge, indifferent to the female’s activities. The massive head turned its attention towards Max. Amber eyes, impassive but watchful, followed him.

“Did you see the tiger?” Max blurted out. “It was huge. What is this place? It’s like a safari park.”

Abdullah swung the Land Cruiser around the edge of another crater. Manmade obstacles, like an assault course, mixed with boulders and dead trees created a perfect haven for monkeys.

“That’s the best way to describe it, Master Gordon,” Abdullah said, easing the big 4×4 towards a more open area where a gantry of iron platforms broke the skyline. “Those big holes? They’re bomb craters. They’re perfect for a lot of the
animals here. Don’t forget, many of these are protected and endangered species. By good fortune, war and destruction gave these animals the chance to survive. The town was flattened, but they could not breach the walls. Sophie’s father redirected the water from the mountains and created natural watering holes. The animals are as safe as they can be. Ah! There’s Laurent.”

It was already getting hot in the shelter of the walls as Max stepped out of the Land Cruiser. They had stopped in front of the gantry, which Max could now see was scaffolding built as a trapeze platform straddling another crater. The steel bars reached up twenty-five meters or more and Max’s eye was drawn to the figure swinging across space, gripping a trapeze bar.

Max shielded his eyes. He could see it was not a young man on the trapeze—his gray hair caught the sunlight; but despite the man’s age, Max could see his upper body was bulked with muscle stretching through the gymnast’s cutaway vest. An Arab boy, dressed in white cotton shorts and T-shirt, stood on the opposite gantry—and swung another trapeze bar into the void. Max saw the man’s biceps bulge with exertion as he hoisted himself into position, torsioned his body and let go in midair.

There was a moment, like a plane stalling, when he was motionless in the air. If he did not turn in time he would miss the approaching trapeze. He twisted, his hands slapping the approaching bar at just the right moment. With practiced ease he swung across to the boy, who caught the trapeze. Laurent Fauvre sat on the support platform, dusted his hands
with talcum powder, gripped a rope and slid down to the base of the tower.

Abdullah nudged Max, flicking his head towards the base of the trapeze, a scooped-out crater like the others, but this hole was full of jagged rocks.

“No safety net,” Abdullah whispered. “He falls, he dies.”

Max followed Abdullah as he strode towards the scaffolding. Bad enough that Laurent Fauvre took his life into his hands every time he went up onto the trapeze, but now Max saw that he had lowered himself down the rope and placed himself into a wheelchair.

Fauvre dabbed his face and draped the towel around his neck. Abdullah bent down, kissed his friend’s cheeks, shook his hand and held it for a moment in the warmth of friendship.

“Allah the Merciful keeps you safe, my friend,” Abdullah said.

“You’ve obviously put in a good word for me.” The Frenchman grinned.

Laurent Fauvre looked towards Sophie. Max hung back. Fauvre had already cast a glance in his direction and seemed to dismiss him immediately.

“Sophie,” Fauvre said, the love for his daughter obvious. The etched lines in his face, like worn leather, creased into a smile. She kissed him.

“Papa.”

She smiled, but Max could see it was not genuine. And Fauvre knew it. A shadow of sadness clouded his face for a moment, but left as quickly as it arrived. He nodded.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he said gratefully. “You cause me more worry than these animals I care for.”

“Don’t start, Papa,” she said quietly.

Her father was going to say more but thought better of it. He looked at Max.

“And this is the boy who helped you?” He extended his hand to Max, who stepped forward and shook it. Fauvre’s grip was firm, but there was no attempt to crush Max’s hand in a macho show of strength.

“You are welcome.”

“Monsieur Fauvre, thank you. But I think I’m the one being helped now.”

Fauvre nodded, held Max’s eyes a moment longer, then pressed the buttons on his wheelchair. “We’ll have breakfast once you’re settled. Abdullah, let’s talk. Sophie, show young Mr. Gordon his room.”

The wheelchair purred away and for the first time Max noticed that wherever he looked an undulating track had been built around all of the animal pens. Laurent Fauvre could go anywhere he wished in his own walled town.

Max watched him leave. As Fauvre and Abdullah moved past an iron cage that enclosed a platform built above a cavernous gully, a male lion lunged at the bars. Teeth bared, its belly-growling roar caused monkeys to chatter in fear and Abdullah to jump back, hand on his heart. The surprise attack had no effect on Fauvre.

He shouted at the lion, “Don’t do that! You frightened Abdullah!” He reached through the bars, scratching the snarling jaw. The lion grunted and flopped down on his stomach, like a house cat content with the attention.

A car door slammed. Max turned. Sophie had grabbed their backpacks.

“Don’t ever try that. That lion is a killer. All the big cats here are, except my father doesn’t believe it. One day they’ll take him. Come on, I’ll show you your tent.”

Max took his backpack and followed her. Now he was going to sleep in a tent? Better hope Laurent Fauvre didn’t put the cats out at night.

He looked at the ancient fortifications. It would take a couple of hours to walk through this sanctuary. And anyone foolish enough to enter uninvited could end up as breakfast for at least a dozen wild animals. No point in having a
BEWARE OF THE DOG
sign on the gate;
BEWARE OF THE CAT
would be more appropriate.

Max would use the day to rest and then he would question Laurent Fauvre. Behind these vast walls, he felt a sense of safety for the first time in ages. The fragmented clues were coming together in his head. He realized that the friendship and association between Zabala and Laurent Fauvre were vital to everything. When Max had laid the drawing of the triangle on the atlas, it was as if its longest side were showing him the way to this desolate place. And Zabala would not have brought the inheritor of his secret out into the middle of nowhere without a reason. It had to be
this
middle of nowhere. Max hoped that Laurent Fauvre was the reason.