Sacrifice (46 page)

‘I can’t see …’

‘Keep them closed and stop rubbing them.’ He turned the incapacitated boy over and pinned him down with a knee, while twisting his left arm and his right leg behind his back, and cuffing them wrist to ankle. ‘It’ll wear off in an hour or so.’

‘An hour … Jesus Christ!’

‘That’s only the start of your problems, pal.’ Heck got back to his feet, dragging the phone from his pocket, and stabbed in a number. ‘Eric … you ready?’

‘I’ve done the best I can,’ Fisher replied, having to shout to be heard over a clamour of voices.

‘Let’s hope it’s good enough.’ Heck pushed on through the thickets towards the firelight. ‘And shut that racket down! I don’t care if it’s the Home Secretary himself. It’ll bollocks up everything!’ He lowered the phone as he emerged fully into the firelight. He’d been prepared for something shocking, though perhaps not quite as shocking as this, even after everything that had happened.

The corpse of a young man lay face-down several yards to his right, divots of flesh and muscle blown out of his back, exposing a mess of broken bones and shredded organs; but worse than this, perhaps thirty yards away, Claire was balanced on a tilted stool with an orange cord around her neck, pulled taut against the oak branch above. Her ragged, ritualistic costume only added to the immense horror of the scene.

Four figures stood alongside her, apparently awaiting him. Three were females, including the tall girl he’d just confronted, who was still wielding her two-handed mallet, and the blondie, Jasmine Sinclair, who carried yet another sawn-off shotgun. The fourth, of course, was Dr Enwright.

‘I told you he was alone,’ the tall girl said. She’d ripped away her scarf to reveal unusual elongated features. ‘He’s not armed either.’

‘It’s over, Enwright,’ Heck said. ‘You surely realise that?’ He tried not to glance at Claire, though it was clear that she held her rigid posture out of sheer terror. Even from this distance, he could see that she hardly dared blink her eyes against the sweat streaming into them.

‘Nice to see you again, sergeant,’ Enwright said, with another of those catlike smiles.

‘I may be alone now,’ Heck advised him, ‘but others are en route as we speak.’

Enwright shrugged. ‘Arrest and capture were always part of this deal.’

‘You can stop pretending. If you’re not frightened, all that proves is how insane you really are. But I can see it in your face … you know the game’s up and you’re frightened to death.’ Actually Heck could see no such thing. Enwright was still smiling; there wasn’t so much as a dimple on his brow. But he was undoubtedly a deep pool. There could be a lot going on underneath. ‘It may have been part of the deal that these kids would get captured, but I’d like to bet you’ve prepared yourself a bolt hole. Just out of interest, what brainwashing techniques did you use on them?’

‘Drastic measures like brainwashing aren’t necessary if the goal you strive for is a worthy one,’ Enwright said. ‘Upright people, particularly
young
upright people – whose sense of morality is unsullied by cynicism and self-interest, make great activists. You wouldn’t understand that, sergeant.’

‘Oh, I understand perfectly. You made them into killers. On purpose.’

‘A means to an end …’

‘The end in itself!’ Heck switched his attention to the girls. ‘You’ve been conned … you understand that, don’t you?’

Their faces remained blank, but Jasmine raised the shotgun to her shoulder, aiming it directly at him.

Heck persisted. ‘This masquerade of murder he’s launched is nothing more than a hate campaign against a world that failed to indulge him.’

Enwright chuckled – he sounded genuinely amused. ‘Let me guess, sergeant … the police made you take a degree in psychology? Well done, but there’s no need to show off.’

‘He doesn’t care that British culture is vacuous. He enjoys that … because it means that deep down, people aren’t happy. And this little war you’ve started is designed to make sure they’ll never be happy again. But even that isn’t his real purpose …’

‘Enough of this playing for time,’ Enwright interrupted, stepping up to Claire’s stool. ‘We intend to celebrate Royal Oak Day in grand fashion, even if we are twenty-six days early. You’ll be privileged enough to witness it, sergeant. But try to interfere, and Jasmine will blow your head off …’

‘Don’t take my word for it, girls,’ Heck said, raising his phone into the air and thumbing its loudspeaker button. ‘Listen to the man himself.’

Jasmine’s attention remained locked on him, even though the other two had turned to deal with their prisoner – and then they heard the voice.

It was tinny and distorted, but unmistakably it was Dr Enwright’s, and it echoed across the meadow from Heck’s mobile.

‘
Arnold Wisby
…
his facial injuries have rendered him a ludicrous clown
.’

Susan and Heather’s heads jerked around. Enwright himself looked briefly fascinated, as if he was witness to something that simply couldn’t be happening.
Only Jasmine remained unaffected, gazing at Heck along the shotgun’s upper barrel.

‘
Little wonder he has no self-esteem. He’s been mocked wherever he’s gone. It won’t be difficult affecting a significant degree of control. A child traumatised by isolation is always so eager to please
…’

There was a burst of static, a scrambled dirge of electronic disruption. Eric Fisher had said that his editing skills weren’t high-end.

Enwright now seemed to have regained his composure. He stepped forward, pausing, only to throw at Heck a look of such loathing that fleetingly, he seemed animalistic. ‘Just shoot him, Jasmine. This meddling fool has had his chance …’

‘
Jasmine is a naturally beautiful child
,’ his electronic twin added. The pretty schoolgirl’s icy gaze was still fixed on Heck, but suddenly she wasn’t seeing him.

‘
One would never have expected to find her an outcast
…’

‘These are my private files, compiled in my capacity as school counsellor,’ Enwright said hurriedly.

‘
But her emotions are in ribbons. Raped repeatedly by her stepfather, she embraced her new life at boarding school as an escape
…
only to find difficulty associating with others. Her looks and femininity have become millstones around her neck. Abused women often seek to reduce their attractiveness, hacking off their hair, disdaining beauty products
…’

‘If you won’t do it, I will,’ Enwright said, reaching for the gun – only for Jasmine to lurch away from him. Her attention was still riveted on Heck, but she was listening intently.

‘
Jasmine closes herself off. Refuses to participate in any form of social life. But she is a human being, with human needs
…
it will be easier to target her through Gareth, the most handsome boy in the school. Of course, he won’t lay a finger on her until she is ready
…
his is to be a caring role, not a sexual one. But the sex will come, and that will have a purpose too
…’

There was another burst of static. Heck watched the muzzle of the shotgun tautly. Jasmine’s expression was impossible to read, but Enwright’s face gleamed with sweat.

‘
Those with a yearning to be wanted, a desperation to belong
…
one must include them, give them a sense of worth. Only then can one break their individuality
…’

‘Are you hearing this?’ Heck shouted.

‘
Desensitising children to suffering is never easy, but these particular specimens
…’

‘Did you hear
that
?’

‘…
will be easier than most, because all they have ever known is suffering. Heather Greer is clearly a lesbian, though she doesn’t yet suspect, or if she does she is in denial
–
a form of self-loathing enforced on her by her distant, archly-conservative family
.’

‘That’s not true!’ Heather blurted, unsure who she was supposed to be addressing.

‘
She doesn’t understand why she isn’t attracted to boys and subsequently is hostile to the endless game of tease and titillation. Likewise, Susan Cavanagh
…
an ugly, ungainly girl, nicknamed “Craptits” by her classmates. She reviles the culture of the female sexual icon, the glamour models, the Z-list celebrities with enhanced assets and the soulless society in which they are idolised
…’

Susan stood stock-still, face frozen.

‘I made these recordings in my role as carer,’ Enwright insisted.

‘Some carer,’ Heck retorted.

But now Jasmine’s finger tightened on the trigger again; her face wore a grimace of rage. ‘This,’ she stammered, ‘this is some sort of trick …’

‘That’s it,’ Enwright agreed. ‘It’s a trick.’

‘Really?’ Heck wondered. ‘They go all the way back through your time at St Bardolph’s.’

‘
How easy to persuade such creatures that Britain, a land they have no investment in, is a spiritual desert where sin is rewarded and merit ignored. Religion will be a problem. “
Thou shalt not kill
”, says the Bible
…’

Heck advanced towards the blonde-haired girl. ‘Why don’t you give me the gun, eh?’

‘Back off!’ she snarled.

‘
But it has been circumnavigated before. Christians have launched homicidal attacks upon non-Christians. The same goes for Jews and Muslims. This happened because they regarded their targets as evil. Or as innocents who must perish in a greater cause
…’

‘Shoot him!’ Enwright urged her. ‘This man has come here to destroy us.’

‘It’s all about the cause. Any cause.’

‘Any
cause, Jasmine?’ Heck said. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

There was a further fizzing of static, and then the voice assumed the air and confidence of a commandant: ‘
We must remind the world that things were better in the past, that there was a golden age of faith
…
when community mattered, when people lived simple, healthy lives, enjoying innocent pleasures. Merrie England! The greatest threat to a restoration of which lies with our new heretics, the thoughtless godless who believe in nothing but their own pleasure
…’
It relapsed into a sly, fluting chuckle.
‘What babble! Merrie England
…
what tosh!
’

Heck watched the girls’ reactions. Jasmine included, they listened incredulously.

‘
A faith of all faiths. Where the enemies are the party-goers
…
you couldn’t make it up. But there is a serious side
…
this will be the greatest experiment in history. The Stanford Prison debacle will have nothing on this. That zealous belief can be drawn from the incoherent ramblings of a hack horror writer
…’ More static intruded, more devious chuckles.
‘But they are ripe for it. They nod when I tell them we must make examples. No one wants to kill, I assure them, yet some, I can tell already, will kill more easily than others
…
the world despises them. Why not strike back?’

‘We were an experiment?’ Jasmine said, turning slowly to face her leader.

‘The outcome is the same, Miss Sinclair,’ he replied. ‘Together, we’ve struck mighty blows against a morally bankrupt world.’

‘We were an
experiment
?!’

‘Not even a real one,’ Heck said, venturing forward. ‘Just his crazy control fantasy. You surely see now that he’s stark staring mad!’

‘You shut up!’ she screeched, her emotions breaking as she whirled back around, training the shotgun on Heck’s midriff – and not noticing Enwright spin and hurl a heavy punch at her jaw.

Jasmine crumpled to the floor, and as she did, Enwright snatched the shotgun from her grasp, twirling to face Heck, who, at only twenty yards’ distance, was well within range.

‘Callow youth,’ Enwright sighed. ‘They promise so much and deliver so little.’

He took casual aim but, like Jasmine, never saw the blow coming from behind.

It was delivered with a two-handed mallet, and it struck him squarely between the shoulder-blades. The impact was gut-thumping, and Enwright turned grey in the cheek as he slumped forward to his knees, dropping the shotgun. Heck dived towards it. Susan, her face streaked with tears, stood over her fallen mentor, still hefting the mallet.

‘You sodding, lying bastard!’ she screamed down at him, only for Heather to snatch her by the collar, screaming equal obscenities.

Heck grabbed up the shotgun and rolled over, only to see the twosome struggling.

‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’ Susan wailed, but Heather thrust her backwards, and she blundered against Claire. There was a splintering
crunch
. A stool leg collapsed, and Claire was left swinging between heaven and earth, face contorted.

‘It’s that copper who’s lying!’ Heather raved, drawing a blade from inside her coat, raising it high, and charging at Heck. ‘He’s the real liar!’

Heck, who was still on the floor, took aim. He only had one shot left; he would hit his assailant easily – but instead, he elevated the barrel and fired over Heather’s head.

The orange cord was cleanly severed. Claire dropped.

Heather seemed to sense this. She shrieked like a banshee as she ran the last few yards, intent on hacking and slashing her enemy to death.

The shotgun was out of shells, but it was heavy, and Heather was less than three yards away when Heck threw it horizontally into her gut. It struck with a thumping impact, doubling the girl over. She fell to the ground, gagging. Heck stamped on her hand, the knife came loose and he kicked it away.

‘You … you bastard,’ she whimpered, in a combination of pain and frustration.

Heck glanced up, and saw that Susan was halfway towards the farm gate when the headlights of a vehicle blazed over her. She tottered to a standstill as the police carrier that had passed them earlier came wallowing to a halt on the other side.

Meanwhile, Claire lay motionless, the orange silk tight around her throat.

Heck lurched towards her, grabbed her in his arms and quickly worked the material loose. A horrific purple welt was visible underneath. She was alabaster white, and didn’t even stir in his grasp. He called her name, slapped her cheeks, and then felt something warm against his face – his head sagged down with relief – her breath.