The Lure Part 22

The valley mist had reached them and snowflakes were beginning to drift lightly down. They were into the trees: maple, birch, hazel and dogwood surrounded them.

Harris went on relentlessly. 'Look, Seth, if there were men on other worlds, then men here on Earth wouldnt be of unique importance to the Creator. You just have to open a Bible to see the absurdity of that belief. The Bible tells us that man was made in the image of G.o.d. Were special to Him, like children to a father. G.o.d so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son...

'Turn left here. Itll take us back while our ears are still attached to our heads. The President was frowning. 'Logie, how far do we go back?

'Nam.

'Right. And as Christians go, would you call me a lousy one?

Harris grinned. 'You want a sin list? Ive picked you up legless from the sidewalk a few times. There was the drink driving charge which the media have miraculously overlooked. There was that business with the Saigon hostess...

'Before Beth, bless her memory.

'... but as old sinners go, youre no worse than me.

'Well, old habits die hard. I still pray at night, and I try to grab a few verses of the Book in the morning.

'What are you on now?

'Psalm 72. Give the king Thy judgements, O G.o.d, and Thy righteousness unto the kings son.

'You have more power than any king ever had.

'Sure. The people gave and the people can take away. I have a duty to do my best for them. But I also have a duty to G.o.d. So far, the two have coincided. My dilemma is that in the present situation I cant find a path that embraces the two without compromising either.

'Render unto Caesar...

The President interrupted impatiently. 'Logie, Im being given hard evidence that advanced beings are out there and have signalled us.

Harris stopped. He stared disbelievingly at the President. 'Youve been given wrong information, Seth. Intelligent life beyond the Earth is just plain unBiblical.

Bull shook his head in irritation. 'Im getting no concrete help from you. Frankly Im becoming frustrated by your evangelical fantasies. Youre telling me theres a flat contradiction between my Christian faith and the evidence my people are bringing in to me.

'I am. Harriss face was set in an expression of righteous determination familiar to millions of television viewers.

'But for once in your life, suppose youre wrong. This is what I want to know from you: what would these aliens be like? Would they share our moral code? Would they be well disposed towards us? I need answers to that like a man in the desert needs water and I dont need any f.u.c.king medieval monks.

They were back at Aspen. They climbed steps. Harris turned to the President, his face grim. 'Youre looking for something concrete, Seth? Ill give you something concrete.

'Im listening, for Christs sake.

'If these creatures exist if you have hard evidence, which I gravely doubt...

'Well?

'Theres only one remaining possibility.

The President waited.

'Think about it. Were G.o.ds beloved. Here on Earth, not scattered around the stars. Therefore any message reaching us couldnt come from creatures born of G.o.d. Whats left? Angels, yes. But angels born of Satan before the Fall. Harris paused. 'The message would have to come from the sp.a.w.n of the Devil.

'What are you saying?

'Say you truly received a signal from s.p.a.ce, Mr President, a phone call from some advanced intelligence. On no account answer the phone. Keep quiet. Keep very, very quiet.

27.

Siege A scrawny hand, all skinny grey talons and sharp nails, was stretching over the castle, and black clouds were rolling down the hills on the horizon like an advancing army. But even at half a mile, in the dull light, there was no mistaking Shtyrkovs oblate form. He was moving at a fast waddle, as if trying to escape from the approaching claw.

Svetlana, looking out over the parapet, watched his approach curiously, but with a touch of alarm. He cut across the gra.s.s, puffing and wheezy, his eyes fixed on the ground ahead of him, and toddled briskly under her before disappearing from sight round the corner. She went into the building and stood at the top of the marble stairs. In a moment he appeared at the foot, breathless. He looked up at the stairs helplessly. Anxiety showed in his eyes.

'Stay down there, Svetlana called to him. 'Ill get the others.

A few minutes later she had herded the scientists into the computer room. Gibson entered carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits. Petrie was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed. He was carrying a bundle of papers as if reluctant to let go of them.

'Wheres Hanning? Gibson wanted to know.

'I cant find him, Svetlana complained.

Gibson poured coffees. He looked at Shtyrkov, who had collapsed into one of the blue armchairs. 'Whats the problem?

'I go for a walk, to think. I meet soldiers in the woods. They turn me back. Ladies and gentlemen, they will not allow us to leave the castle. They intend us to die here.

Gibson said, quietly, 'Thats a bit dramatic, Vashislav.

'But I tell you, they turn me back!

'Maybe theres some military exercise going on in the woods, Petrie suggested.

'Not an exercise. Shtyrkov shook his head vigorously. 'An operation. To keep us here. We are prisoners in the castle.

'Prisoners? Freya giggled nervously. She was stirring coffee with brisk little movements, the spoon jangling in the china cup.

Petrie stood up. 'We can test this.

'Spoken in the best scientific tradition, said Gibson. 'Take a walk in the woods. Ill give you five minutes and then stroll out the front gate.

'I tell you were prisoners, Shtyrkov said. 'We will die here.

Into the woods.

The black clouds are now overhead and the light is fading by the minute. Petrie tries to look like a man out for a stroll, tries not to peer into dark corners.

Stop, stretch, glance behind. All very casual. The castle is still visible in outline through the trees, a dark silhouette against a white misty patch of sky. The air is damp. Rain will come at any minute. The witchs fingers are at ground level now, little tracers of mist creeping through the trees on either side of him. In Petries imagination they are purposeful, enclosing him in a pincer movement.

And there are shapes, lurking in the shadows.

Tricks of the light: be rational. He turns up the collar of his fleece jacket and walks further into the forest, his mouth dry.

Somewhere ahead, a dog barks. Its a big dog, heavy on the low frequencies, and its more of a howl than a bark. Maybe a mile ahead, maybe less. His breath is misting in the cold, and his footsteps are m.u.f.fled; the acoustics remind him of a tomb inside a pyramid.

The path still easily visible, but dark shapes are now everywhere. More tricks of the light. Of course.

A low whistle, off to the right, on the limit of hearing.

Nonsense. Just a sound in his head.

Petrie feels his nerve going. He thinks he must be a mile from the castle. He wonders where the path ends: at a lodge house? Or does it wind into ...

'Stj! Stop!

The voice, all Slavic intonations and deep-chested, cuts into the stillness. He freezes. Suddenly, half a dozen soldiers in camouflage gear are emerging from the trees. They look like sixteen year olds. They are carrying rifles which resemble black plastic toys. Petrie thinks a burst from one of them would probably cut you in half.

One of the soldiers approaches to within a couple of feet of Petrie. He is older than the others, maybe in his late twenties, with a grey, thin face. He smells of stale nicotine. 'You are not allowed here, Englishman. Get back to the castle.

Petrie knows the answer but he tries it anyway. 'Why should I? These woods belong to the Academy of Sciences. Im their guest and I have every right to be here.

The officers expression becomes one of amazed disbelief. He gives some order without taking his eyes off Petrie. Two of the teenage boys step forward. They are plainly nervous, but their expressions are heavy with truculence. Then: 'Turn back now while you can. Rozumte mi? Understand me?

Somewhere, in some magazine, Petrie has read about the best response to an armed opponent: dont discuss, dont argue, do what youre told. He shrugs, says, 'Rozumm, understood, and turns back on the path. A simple fact fills his mind: he has his back to half a dozen nervous teenagers with rifles. His mouth is parched and his shoulder-blades ache with tension.

Stroll. Dont run.

A light glimpsed through the trees; lights have been switched on in some of the castle rooms. He glances back, casually. The path is empty; he is alone in the woods. Petrie wonders about another experiment: leave the path, take off at some angle, run clear to G.o.d knows where. But then his imagination sees dogs unleashed, the chase through the woods, kids with nightscopes and black plastic toys that cut you in half. Rain starts pattering on leaves.

The dog again. A lot closer, maybe half a mile behind him, maybe a couple of hundred yards. The castle is half a mile ahead. The temptation to break into a run is becoming irresistible, but he keeps strolling, his nerves at breaking point and a light sweat inside his gloves. His ears strain for the sound of running dogs but the rain is now battering noisily on the leaves.

By the time Petrie reaches the glorious front door of the castle it is dark, the rain is teeming down, and he is shaking with fright.

'They intend to kill us.

Shtyrkov was putting together something which he had described as 'monastery stew. A handful of finely chopped carrots went into an outsize frying pan. It sizzled as it hit the oil, and he stirred it with a big wooden spoon.

It fitted.

'You cant mean that. Worry lined Svetlanas face, but she had clearly followed the same logical route as the fat Russian. 'I mean, governments dont do things like that. Not nowadays. Not in civilised Europe. She turned to Hanning as if for rea.s.surance. The civil servant was draining water away from diced potatoes and pretended not to notice her anxious gaze.

'Pa.s.s me the mushrooms, Svetlana, and dont be so naive.

'You cant be right, Petrie said, but he had already made the same deduction. It must have been a multinational decision, taken at the highest level.

'Why not? It fits like a coffin. Shtyrkov was now waving a big pepper mill over the frying pan.

'But why?

'Now the onions and the olives, please. Fear of the unknown, Svetlana. The fools think the signallers are trying to flush us out, to see if we have reached a level of technology where we might threaten them in a century or two.

Svetlana brought two Pyrex bowls over to the Russian. She seemed close to tears. 'Why dont we confront them?

Hanning, at the sink next to Shtyrkov, emptied a big saucepan of water and rice into an orange colander. Steam was rising. 'You really are being absurd.

'We have to give it fifteen minutes.

'How can you think of food?

'We need to keep our sugar levels up. This is no time for slow thinking.

Potatoes and rice were transferred over to the brew. Shtyrkov sprinkled salt, and then half a bottle of wine was going into the mixture. Back at the kitchen table, he poured the remaining wine into gla.s.ses. He seemed almost euphoric, as if he was involved in some sort of game. Then Petrie caught him looking in the wine gla.s.s, reflecting light from the overhanging chandelier.

Freya broke the tense silence. 'What now?

Petrie said, 'We have one advantage. They think we dont know.

She swept long blonde hair back over her shoulders.

Gibson rubbed his chin. 'The fact is, we dont know. Maybe were getting steamed up over nothing.

Automatically, the scientists looked over at Hanning, the insider in the counsels of government, the man who would know about things like this.

'This place must be getting to you. These things just arent done.

'How would you see it from Lord Sangsters chair? Petrie asked.

Hanning sighed. 'If, as a matter of policy, it was decided that knowledge of the signal poses an unacceptable risk to humanity or even to the country then yes, we pose a problem. An awkward problem.

'All present and correct? Gibson said to n.o.body in the administrators office. The office was brightly lit with standard lamps commandeered from alcoves and corners. The video camera atop a computer terminal stared at them from the polished teak table.

He tapped at a keyboard. Snow appeared on the terminal.

'Were cut off?

'Nonsense, Svetlana. Hanning typed in a string of numbers again slowly, with one finger. Then a mature, white-haired female, all cashmere sweater and pearls, appeared. 'Lord Sangsters office.

'Sandra? Jeremy here. Id like to speak to Lord Sangster, please, on the video conference circuit.

There was a hesitation. Then: 'A moment, Mr Hanning.