Whiteout

8:30 AM

IT took Craig a long time to work up the courage to look again at the motionless form of Daisy.

The sight of her mangled body, even viewed from a distance, had made him throw up. When there was nothing left in him to come out, he had tried to clean his mouth with handfuls of fresh snow. Then Sophie came to him and put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her, keeping his back to Daisy. They had stood like that until at last the nausea passed and he felt able to turn and see what he had done.

Sophie said, "What are we going to do now?"

Craig swallowed. It was not over yet. Daisy was only one of three thugs—and then there was Uncle Kit. "We'd better take her gun," he said.

Her expression told him she hated that idea. She said, "Do you know how to use it?"

"How hard can it be?"

She looked unhappy, but just said, "Whatever."

Craig hesitated a moment longer; then he took her hand and they walked toward the body.

Daisy was lying face down, her arms beneath her. Although she had tried to kill Craig, he still found it horrible to look at a human being so mangled. The legs were the worst. Her leather trousers had been ripped to shreds. One leg was twisted unnaturally and the other was gashed and bloody. The leather jacket seemed to have protected her arms and body, but her shaved head was covered with blood. Her face was hidden, buried in the snow.

They stopped six feet away. "I can't see the gun," Craig said. "It must be underneath her."

They stepped closer. Sophie said, "I've never seen a dead person."

"I saw Mamma Marta in the funeral parlor."

"I want to see her face." Letting go of Craig's hand, Sophie went down on one knee and reached out to the bloodstained body.

Quick as a snake, Daisy lifted her head, grabbed Sophie's wrist, and brought her right hand out from under her with the gun in it.

Sophie screamed in terror.

Craig felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He shouted: "Christ!" and jumped back.

Daisy jammed the snout of the little gray pistol into the soft skin of Sophie's throat. "Stand still, laddie!" she yelled.

Craig froze.

Daisy wore a cap of blood. One ear was almost completely ripped from her head and hung grotesquely by a narrow strip of skin. But her face was unmarked, and now showed an expression of pure hatred. "For what you've done to me, I should shoot her in the belly and let you watch her bleed to death, screaming in agony."

Craig shook with horror.

"But I need your help," Daisy went on. "If you want to save your little girlfriend's life, just do everything I tell you, instantly. Hesitate, and she dies."

Craig felt she really meant it.

"Get over here," she said.

He had no choice. He stepped closer.

"Kneel down."

Craig knelt beside her.

She turned her hateful eyes on Sophie. "Now, you little whore, I'm going to let go of your arm, but don't you try to move away, or I'll shoot you, and enjoy it." She took her left hand off Sophie's arm, but kept the gun pushed into the flesh of Sophie's neck. Then she put her left arm around Craig's shoulders. "Hold my wrist, lad," she said.

Craig grasped Daisy's wrist as it dangled over his shoulder.

"You, lassie, get under my right arm."

Sophie changed her position slowly, and Daisy put her right arm over Sophie's shoulders, managing all the time to keep the gun pointed at Sophie's head.

"Now, you're going to lift me up and carry me to the house. But do it gently. I think I've got a broken leg. If you jog me it might hurt, and if I flinch I might accidentally pull the trigger. So, easy does it... and lift."

Craig tightened his grip on Daisy's wrist and raised himself from the kneeling position. To ease the burden on Sophie, he put his right arm around Daisy's waist and took some of her weight. The three of them slowly stood upright.

Daisy was gasping with pain, and as pale as the snow on the ground all around them; but, when Craig looked sideways and caught her eye, he saw that she was watching him intently.

When they were upright, Daisy said, "Forward, slowly."

They walked forward, Daisy dragging her legs.

"I bet you two were hidden away somewhere all night," she said. "What were you up to, eh?"

Craig said nothing. He could hardly believe that she had enough breath and malice left to rail at them.

"Tell me, laddie," she jeered. "Did you put your finger in her little *, eh? You dirty little bastard, I bet you did."

Craig felt dirty when she talked like that. She was able to sully an experience that had been carefree. He hated her for spoiling his memory. He longed to drop her on the ground, but he felt sure she would pull the trigger.

"Wait," she said. "Stop." They halted, and she put some of her weight on her left leg, the one that was not twisted.

Craig looked at her terrible face. Her black-lined eyes were closed in pain. She said, "We'll just rest here for a minute, then we'll go on."

* * *

TONI stepped out of the barn. Now she could be seen. By her calculations, there were two of the gang in the house—Nigel and Kit— and either of them might look out of a window at any moment. But she had to take the risk. Listening for the shot that would kill her, she walked as fast as she could, pushing through the snow, to the guest cottage. She reached it without incident and dodged around the corner of the building, out of sight.

She had left Caroline searching tearfully for her pet rats. Elton was trussed up under the billiard table, blindfolded and gagged to make sure that when he came round he could not talk dopey Caroline into untying him.

Toni circled the cottage and approached the main house from the side. The back door stood open, but she did not go in. She needed to reconnoiter. She crept along the back of the building and peeped in at the first window.

She was looking into the pantry. Six people were crammed in there, bound hand and foot but standing: Olga; Hugo, who seemed to be naked; Miranda; her son Tom; Ned; and Stanley. A wave of happiness washed over Toni when she saw Stanley. She realized she had feared, in the back of her mind, that he might be dead. She caught her breath when she saw his bruised and bloody face. Then he spotted her, and his eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. He did not appear to be seriously wounded, she saw with relief. He opened his mouth to speak. Quickly, Toni raised a finger to her lips for silence. Stanley closed his mouth and nodded understanding.

Toni moved to the next window and looked into the kitchen. Two men sat with their backs to the window. One was Kit. Toni felt a surge of pity for Stanley, having a son who would do something like this to his family. The other man wore a pink sweater. He must be the one Kit had called Nigel. They were looking at a small television set, watching the news. The screen showed a snowplow clearing a motorway in the light of early morning.

Toni chewed her lip, thinking. She had a gun now but, even so, it could be difficult to control the two of them. But she had no choice.

As she hesitated, Kit stood up, and she quickly ducked back out of sight.

8:45 AM

NIGEL said, "That's it. They're clearing the roads. We have to go now."

"I'm worried about Toni Gallo," Kit said.

"Too bad. If we wait any longer, we'll miss the rendezvous."

Kit looked at his watch. Nigel was right. "Shit," he said.

"We'll take that Mercedes outside. Go and find the keys."

Kit left the kitchen and ran upstairs. In Olga's bedroom, he pulled out the drawers of both bedside tables without finding any keys. He picked up Hugo's suitcase and emptied the contents onto the floor, but nothing jingled. Breathing hard, he did the same with Olga's case. Then he spotted Hugo's blazer draped over the back of a chair. He found the Mercedes keys in the pocket.

He ran down to the kitchen. Nigel was looking out of the window. "Why is Elton taking so long?" Kit said. He could hear a note of hysteria in his own voice.

"I don't know," said Nigel. "Try to stay calm."

"And what the hell's happened to Daisy?"

"Go and start the engine," Nigel said. "Brush the snow off the windshield."

"Right."

As Kit turned away, his eye was caught by the perfume spray, in its double bag, lying on the kitchen table. On impulse, he picked it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

Then he went out.

* * *

TONI peeped around the corner of the house and saw Kit emerge from the back door. He went in the opposite direction, to the front of the building. She followed him and saw him unlock the green Mercedes station wagon.

This was her chance.

She took Elton's pistol from the waist of her jeans and moved the safety catch to the unlocked position. There was a full magazine in the grip—she had checked. She held the gun pointing skyward, in accordance with her training.

She breathed slowly and calmly. She knew how to do this kind of thing. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum, but her hands were steady. She ran into the house.

The back door gave onto a small lobby. A second door led to the kitchen proper. She threw it open and ran in. Nigel was at the window, looking out. "Freeze!" she screamed.

He spun around.

She leveled the gun at him. "Hands in the air!"

He hesitated.

His pistol was in the pocket of his trousers—she could see the lumpy bulge it made, the right size and shape for an automatic just like the one she was holding. "Don't even think about reaching for your gun," she said.

Slowly, he raised his hands.

"On the floor! Face down! Now!"

He went down on his knees, hands still held high. Then he lay down, his arms spread.

Toni had to get his gun. She stood over him, transferred her pistol to her left hand, and thrust its nose into the back of his neck. "The safety catch is off, and I'm feeling jumpy," she said. She went down on one knee and reached into his trousers pocket.

He moved very fast.

He rolled over, swinging his right arm at her. For a split second she hesitated to pull the trigger, then it was too late. He knocked her off balance and she fell sideways. To break her fall, she put her left hand flat on the floor—dropping her gun.

He kicked out at her wildly, his shoe connecting with her hip. She regained her balance and scrambled to her feet, coming upright before he did. As he got to his knees, she kicked him in the face. He fell back, his hand flying to his cheek, but he recovered fast. He looked at her with an expression of fury and hatred, as if outraged that she should fight back.

She snatched up the gun and pointed it at him, and he froze.

"Let's try again," she said. "This time, you take the gun out. Slowly."

He reached into his pocket.

Toni stretched her arm out in front of her. "And please—give me an excuse to blow your head off."

He took the gun out.

"Drop it on the floor."

He smiled. "Have you ever actually shot a man?"

"Drop it—now."

"I don't think you have."

He had guessed right. She had been trained to use firearms, and she had carried a gun on operations, but she had never shot at anything other than a target. The idea of actually making a hole in another human being revolted her.

"You're not going to shoot me," he said.

"You're a second away from finding out."

Her mother walked in, carrying the puppy. She said, "This poor dog hasn't had any breakfast."

Nigel raised his gun.

Toni shot him in the right shoulder.

She was only six feet away, and she was a good shot, so it was not difficult to wound him in exactly the right place. She pulled the trigger twice, as she had been taught. The double bang was deafening in the kitchen. Two round holes appeared in the pink sweater, side by side where the arm met the shoulder. The gun fell from Nigel's hand. He cried out in pain and staggered back against the refrigerator.

Toni felt shocked. She had not really believed she could do it. The act was repellent. She was a monster. She felt sick.

Nigel screamed: "You fucking bitch!"

Like magic, his words restored her nerve. "Be glad I didn't shoot you in the belly," she said. "Now lie down."

He slumped to the floor and rolled over on his face, still clutching his wound.

Mother said, "I'll put the kettle on."

Toni picked up Nigel's dropped gun and locked the safety catch. She stuffed both guns into her jeans and opened the pantry door.

Stanley said, "What happened? Was someone shot?"

"Nigel," she said calmly. She took a pair of kitchen scissors from the knife block and cut the washing line that bound Stanley's hands and feet. When he was free, he put his arms around her and squeezed her hard. "Thank you," he murmured in her ear.

She closed her eyes. The nightmare of the last few hours had not changed his feelings. She hugged him hard for a precious second, wishing the moment could last longer; then she broke the clinch. Handing him the scissors, she said, "You free the rest." She drew one of the pistols from her waistband. "Kit's not far away. He must have heard the shots. Does he have a gun?"

"I don't think so," Stanley replied.

Toni was relieved. That would make it easier.

Olga said, "Get us out of this cold room, please!"

Stanley turned to cut her bonds.

Kit's voice rang out: "Nobody move!"

Toni spun around, leveling the gun. Kit stood in the doorway. He had no gun, but he was holding a simple glass perfume spray in his hand as if it were a weapon. Toni recognized the bottle that she had seen, on the security video, being filled with Madoba-2.

Kit said, "This contains the virus. One squirt will kill you."

Everyone stood still.

* * *

KIT stared at Toni. She was pointing the gun at him, and he was pointing the spray at her. He said, "If you shoot me, I'll drop the bottle, and the glass will break on these tiles."

She said, "If you spray us with that stuff, you'll kill yourself as well."

"I'll die, then," he said. "I don't care. I've put everything into this. I made the plan, I betrayed my family, and I became a party to a conspiracy to murder hundreds of people, maybe thousands. After all that, how can I fail? I'd rather die." As he said it, he realized it was true. Even the money had diminished in importance now. All he really wanted was to win.

Stanley said, "How did we come to this, Kit?"

Kit met his father's gaze. He saw anger there, as he expected, but also grief. Stanley looked the way he had when Mamma Marta died. Too bad, Kit thought angrily; he brought this on himself. "Too late now for apologies," he said harshly.

"I wasn't going to apologize," Stanley said sadly.

Kit looked at Nigel, sitting on the floor, holding his bleeding right shoulder with his left hand. That explained the two gunshots that had caused Kit to arm himself with the spray before coming back into the kitchen.

Nigel struggled to his feet. "Ah, bollocks, it hurts," he said.

Kit said, "Hand over the guns, Toni. Quick, or I'll press this nozzle."

Toni hesitated.

Stanley said, "I think Kit means what he says."

"On the table," Kit said.

She put the guns on the kitchen table, beside the briefcase that had contained the perfume bottle.

Kit said, "Nigel, pick them up."

With his left hand, Nigel picked up a gun and stuffed it into his pocket. He took the second, hefted it, then, with sudden speed, smashed it across Toni's face. She cried out and fell back.

Kit was furious with him. "What do you think you're doing?" he cried. "There's no time for that! We have to get going."

"Don't you give me orders," Nigel said harshly. "This cow shot me."

Kit could tell from Toni's face that she thought she was about to die. But there was no time to enjoy revenge. "That cow ruined my life, but I'm not hanging around to punish her," Kit said. "Knock it off!"

Nigel hesitated, staring malevolently at Toni.

Kit said, "Let's go!"

At last Nigel turned away from Toni. "What about Elton and Daisy?"

"To hell with them."

"We should tie up your old man and his tart."

"You stupid fool, don't you realize we're out of time?"

The stare Nigel gave Kit was sulfuric. "What did you call me?" Nigel wanted to kill someone, Kit realized, and right now he was thinking of shooting Kit. It was a terrifying moment. Kit raised the perfume spray high in the air and stared back, waiting for his life to end.

Then Nigel looked away and said, "All right, let's get out of here."