“And I won’t take your terms.” Kane rises, nods at Helena, and walks out, leaving Craig looking confused. The cagey man stands, hesitates for a moment, whipping his head back and forth between me and his fleeing master, then chases after Kane.
When the door closes, Helena leans back in her chair and runs a hand through her hair. “God, I was scared to death you were going to take that job.” She stares at the ceiling for a moment. “They told me they wanted you for some sort of research project. I told them you were quite clever and that it could be a good fit. I never would have let those scoundrels in here if I’d known what they were after.”
The next day, when Helena is at work, Mallory Craig calls. He stands on the stoop holding his flat cap in his hand at his chest. “Apologies for that nastiness yesterday, Mr. Pierce. Mr. Kane’s under a great deal of pressure, what with… Well, I’ve, uh, come to say we are quite sorry and to give you this.”
He holds out a check. $5,000 drawn on the account of Immari Gibraltar.
“We’d be honored to have you lead the dig, Mr. Pierce. On your terms of course.”
I told him I was uninspired by the conversation yesterday and that I would be in touch, one way or the other.
I spent the rest of the day sitting and thinking, two things I was never good at before I left for war, two things I’ve had a lot of practice with since. I imagine myself walking back down into that mineshaft, the light of day giving way to candlelight as the air grows cold and damp. I’ve seen men, just back from a cave-in or other injury, strong men, crack like an egg on the side of the skillet at breakfast as the light disappears. Will I? I try to imagine it, but I won’t know until I walk down that tunnel.
I consider what else I could do for work — my options. I can get mining work, at least until the war ends. After that, there will likely be more miners than ever, some newly trained in the war, many more former miners returning from it. But I’ll have to leave Gibraltar to find mines that need a man like me — there’s no way around it. The other issue, which I don’t linger on long, is that it would be a hell of a thing to sail to America or South Africa just to piss myself in a mineshaft and scurry out.
I eye the check. $5,000 would give me a lot of options, and touring their dig could be… revealing personally.
I’ll “just have a look,” I decide. I can always walk away, or, depending on my bowel control, run away.
I tell myself that I’ll probably rule out the job and there’s no reason to tell Helena. No reason to worry her. Being a nurse at a field hospital is stressful enough.
CHAPTER 80
Situation Room
Clocktower HQ
New Delhi, India
Dorian rubbed his temples.
“We’re getting satellite footage, sir,” the technician said.
“And?” Dorian replied.
The squirrelly man leaned in, studying the computer screen. “Several targets.”
“Send the drones.”
The monasteries were like needles in a giant Tibetan haystack, but they finally had eyes on them. It wouldn’t be long now.
CHAPTER 81
Kate scrutinized the wound and changed David’s bandages. It was healing. He would come out of it soon. She hoped. She picked up the journal again.
August 9th, 1917
When Craig called yesterday he told me Immari Gibraltar was “just a small local concern.” He quickly added, “although we’re part of a larger organization with other interests here on the continent and overseas.” Small local concerns don’t own half the wharf and they don’t do it through a half a dozen fronts.
The tour of the dig site is the first indication that Immari isn’t what it seems. I arrive at the address on Mallory’s card and find a rundown three-story building in the heart of the shipping district. The signs on the buildings all end in some variation of “Import/Export Company” or “Shipping and Sea Freight” or “Shipbuilders and Retrofitters.” The long names and liveliness of the buildings contrast sharply with the dimly lit, seemingly abandoned concrete structure with “Immari Gibraltar” scrawled in black block letters just above the door.
Inside, a lithe receptionist pops up and says, “Good morning, Mr. Pierce. Mr. Craig is expecting you.”
Either she knew me by the limp, or they don’t get many visitors.
The walk through the office reminds me of a battalion HQ, hastily set up in a city that had just fallen in a siege, a place that will be abandoned quickly as soon as more ground is taken or in the event of a sudden retreat. A place that doesn’t warrant settling in.
Craig is gracious, telling me how happy he is that I decided to take them up. As I suspected, Kane is nowhere to be seen, but there is another man there, younger, late 20s, about my age, and strikingly similar to Kane, especially the condescending smirk on his face. Craig confirms my suspicions.
“Patrick Pierce, this is Rutger Kane. You’ve met his father. I asked him to join us on the tour, as you’ll be working together.”