The Devil's Footprint (15 page)
Read The Devil's Footprint Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
Maury
beamed.
He loved to
travel,
and no more so that around the
States
But meeting strangers day after day was a strain.
He had designed his own solution and built it
himself.
"Power
steering; air conditioning; quad sound; satellite dish; multichannel TV;
microwave; dishwasher; three bedrooms; two showers; and four networked
computers.
All the comforts of a luxury
condo, and it travels," said Maury proudly.
"And you
can train for the Boston Marathon while running up and down the aisle,"
said Fitzduane dryly.
"Maury, this
thing is HUGE!
Is it legal?
What does it eat?
Aah!"
Kathleen
retrieved her elbow from her husband's ribs.
True, it was the weirdest mobile home she had ever seen, but she and
Romeo y Julietta were not averse to some modest adventuring.
And if two-thirds of the present family felt
like that, well — Hugo could come too.
It was democracy.
He was
outvoted.
Fitzduane had
planned to fly to
Maury had pointed out that by the time they
had changed planes and hung around the airport for the connection, they might
as well drive.
Further, he would drive
them.
He had met Kathleen and it had
been devotion at first sight.
He was, he
had announced, instantly enslaved.
Neither
Fitzduane nor Kathleen found any reason to disbelieve him.
Maury, once he had broken through the initial
contact barrier, was proving to be no fan of moderation.
On the other hand, he was a marvelous companion
and had snippets of information about practically everywhere and everything.
General Shane
Kilmara was more dubious.
He had reached
the stage in life where he had a sense of order.
But he was prevailed upon.
kind of effect on him.
The impossible
suddenly seemed possible.
They set out
for
As they passed one Civil War site after another, Kathleen was strangely
moved.
"It's all
so much and it's all so close," she said quietly.
"It has an effect.
You can see — feel — why they fought.
I'll never feel quite the same about the
South again."
She wanted to
cry.
There were reasons why people
fought and died, and some of them were good reasons.
She reached out for her husband's hand and
grasped it, and he put his arm around her and hugged her to him.
General Shane
Kilmara, who had seen more of war than most, felt exactly the same way as he
looked out through tinted picture windows.
He had been
there before, and he always did.
He was
reminded of a visit to
The graveyard had originally been Robert E.
Lee's home until a Northerner, disgusted by the bloodshed, had made sure Lee
would never return again by using the immediate surrounds of the house in which
to bury the dead.
The cherry orchards
were cut down and it became the
Not far from
the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Kilmara had found an impressive monument
erected to the memory of the Southern dead and had expressed some surprise.
This had started, after all, as a Northern
graveyard, and the South were the vanquished.
Yet their dead, the enemy, were honored and within living memory of the
war itself.
"Don't be
surprised,
General
," his guide, a young
lieutenant from the Old Guard, had said.
"It's appropriate, sir.
You're standing in
6
Dana and
the forecourt of the
They had been assigned
by Lee Cochrane to keep an eye on the Fitzduane party and had followed them
down all the way from
They had not enjoyed the scenery.
On the open road they considered that goddamn
mobile home too damn vulnerable.
They could not
figure out why four sensible adults who all knew they were potential terrorist
targets should expose themselves in this way.
They had finally come to the correct conclusion that even if you were a
target you had to try for some semblance of a normal existence or life would
scarcely be worth living.
You would be a
prisoner.
It was the same thinking that
had kept the security down to two.
Still, however understandable that was, it was tough on your bodyguards.
A vast sign
reading ‘The Spec-Forces Show’ was festooned across the front of the
hotel.
A large sticker in the rear
window of a pickup advised:
"Special Operations Exhibition — Don't Drink & Drive:
You Might Spill Your Drink.’
Another simply read:
‘I Don't Brake For Terrorists.’
Dana, who had
been driving, glanced across at
"Boys will be boys," she said.
"I guess we're in the right place."
eyes.
Following a vehicle was
exhausting.
You were not only keeping an
eye on it, but you had to both look out for potential trouble and remember your
own security.
And that meant covering
your ass.
She had tired eyes and a crick
in her neck.
A soak in a hot tub was an
inviting prospect.
It was more likely to
be a quick shower.
This was a working
trip.
"What's
the brief?" she said.
Dana was the
more
cerebral of the pair.
She handled the paperwork.
the action.
"The
hotel is an open rectangle," said Dana.
"The main block houses reception area, restaurants, and the actual
conference center.
Two wings at the back
house the rooms.
Between the wings there
is a heated pool."
"What I wouldn't give!"
"We
should be able to work it out," said Dana.
"Special security has been drafted in for the run of the
exhibition, and the entire hotel is restricted to exhibitors and invited guests
for the duration.
There is going to be
more firepower concentrated here for the next few days than the 82
nd
can deploy.
If there is one place where
our clients should be safe, it is here."
"So what
do we do?" said
"Soak up a few rays and
maybe connect with a paratrooper or two?"
"We keep
a general eye on things," said Dana, "but we focus on Kathleen
Fitzduane.
She's only here to be with
Hugo, and I've got a hunch al this high-tech killing hardware will pall.
She will want to do a little touring, and
where she goes, at least one of us will follow."
"What do
you think of Kathleen?"
"Nice
lady," said Dana, "and very dishy.
More the homemaker than the feminist.
A good match for
Hugo."
"More is
the pity," said
Dana and
other and grinned.
Both fancied Hugo.
"Amen to
that," said Dana.
*
*
*
*
*
Fitzduane
inserted the key in the elevator lock.
They were
staying on the fifth floor.
Without the
special key, the fourth floor was as high as you could go.
Well, that was the theory.
It was not the social norm to quiz everyone
else in the elevator as to their floor entitlement.
So, from a security point of view, the
special key helped — but not too much.
Out of
curiosity, Fitzduane had checked the fire stairs access and that had been
thought through.
You could get
down
the stairs but not back up.
The security door clicked shut behind you,
and that could only be opened from the inside.
Unless you had a passkey, which every cleaner was
equipped with.
Security, like
most things in life, was a compromise.
Perimeter security was much tighter.
Yo could not get in or out of the hotel without a special pass that bore
your photograph and thumb print.
Armed
guards enforced the edict.
It was
reasonable.
There was a great deal of
very dangerous hardware inside.
Kathleen had
accompanied Fitzduane for all of the first day of the exhibition.
Now she was tired and said little.
It had indeed been a busy day.
From Fitzduane's point of view, it had been fascinating.
As to Kathleen's reaction, he was not so
sure.
Or maybe he was and did not want
to admit it.
Kathleen was unhappy; in
fact, she was downright disturbed.
She lay back
down on the bed without switching on the light.
Some light from the general hotel illumination outside percolated
through the blinds, but otherwise the room was in darkness.
Fitzduane knew the signs.
When Kathleen behaved like this she did not
want to be held and caressed, and her thoughts brushed aside.
She wanted to think and talk the issue out in
her own time.
He sat in an
armchair beside the window and waited.
Sounds floated up from the illuminated pool below.
Kathleen spoke
when she was ready.
He had no idea how
long it took.
It was not important.
Her hands were loosely clenched in and rested
on her eyes.
He could smell her perfume
from where he sat.
Her long legs gleamed
in the ambient light in contrast to the prevailing darkness.
"How many
booths are there?" she said.
"Three hundred, four hundred?
And all devoted to the business of
killing.
Sniper rifles; grenade
launchers; anti-tank weapons; laser range finders; radio-detection devices;
silencers; night-vision equipment.
It is
all about the taking of human life, and here we are bringing another small life
into the world.
I don't understand
it.
If frightens me.
I just can't work it out.
"God
knows, I have been on the receiving end of terrorism, but still, I can't make
any sense of it.
Surely we can find a
better way?
Is violence the only answer?
Are we making a little baby just to have it
blasted into oblivion by one of these terrible devices, or maybe it will just
be maimed?
It is all incomprehensible to
me.
"And
then, when I meet the people who supply all this lethal equipment, many friends
of yours, I find them so nice and charming.
They are not horrible warmongers.
They are just ordinary people like you and me.
And that is truly terrifying.
THESE FRIGHTENING PEOPLE, THESE KILLERS —
THEY'RE US!
THEY'RE YOU AND ME,
HUGO!"
Kathleen's
words cut like a knife through Fitzduane.
Their real effectiveness stemmed from the fact that these were the very
thoughts that he harbored himself.
"I love
you, Hugo," continued Kathleen, "but sometimes you make me
despair.
You're the kindest, gentlest,
sweetest man and the most loving father — and yet when I see you with these
people talking about the techniques of killing, I feel I have married a
monster."
She gave a small sad
laugh.
"I'm in love with a
monster.
I'm bearing a monster's
child.
And I have no regrets."
