The Ascendant Stars - Michael Cobley [54]
Strogalev spat on the ground. ‘Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could … ’
Theo was on the point of desperately throwing himself sideways when a shot rang out, blood sprayed from Strogalev’s right temple and he spun and sprawled on the grassy slope. Theo stared at the corpse for a frozen second before looking across the stream, searching the undergrowth for signs of the shooter. For a moment he thought he saw a form ducking behind curtains of greenery, then he heard movement from nearby. Looking back, he saw the other man sitting next to Strogalev with the gun in his hand once more.
There were footsteps behind him, rustle of grass, a hand on his shoulder. He glanced and was amazed to see his sister, Solvjeg, crouching down next to him. She forestalled his first words with a finger raised to her lips then pointed. Theo looked round and saw a man in dark hunter greens approaching with a rifle aimed at the man sitting by Strogalev’s body. Still muttering to himself, the man suddenly put the gun down. Solvjeg meanwhile had severed the bonds at Theo’s wrists and gave him a short knife with which he freed his ankles. The man with the rifle drew nearer, still holding it on the mumbling man. He wore a black woollen cap and had several days of stubble but Theo suddenly recognised him – it was Ian Cameron, his nephew and Greg’s older brother.
‘Nice to see you again, Ian,’ he said.
‘Aye, likewise, Uncle … ’
Then the man picked up the gun again. Holding it two-handed with the barrel dipping, his intense, panicky gaze switched back and forth between Theo and Ian.
‘Put down the gun,’ said Ian. ‘Put it down and move away.’
‘Easy, it’s easy, shoot him, pull it, easy … not easy, not good, not right, don’t pull the trigger, don’t shoot … ’ The gun was being lowered shakily to the grassy ground. ‘ … it is easy, it is good, the right thing, pull the trigger, good and easy, shoot him, kill him … ’ Fingers tightened and the gun came back up again.
‘If you don’t put it down,’ said Ian levelly, ‘I will shoot and kill you.’
The man looked up at him, suddenly cold and focused.
‘You may not. Only I am permitted.’
Before anyone could react, the man jammed the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger. The report was loud and a sickening gout of gore sprayed the undergrowth behind him. The bullet’s impact knocked him onto his back. Ian lowered his weapon, walked over and crouched between the two bodies. To Theo’s surprise, Solvjeg went to join him and displayed no signs of squeamishness.
Well, now, sister, what’s happened to you in the last few weeks?
Moving to peer over their shoulders, Theo saw that Ian was ignoring Strogalev and instead examining the suicider’s corpse, prodding the skin around the neck and shoulders, then chest and back. After a few minutes of this Ian straightened, frowning.
‘No sign of any implant,’ he said.
‘But the behaviour is the same,’ said Solvjeg. ‘There was control, and he was fighting it throughout.’
Ian shrugged. ‘No implants or grafts as far as I can see without an autopsy. If he was under control then it was something different.’
‘Would anyone care to explain this to me?’ Theo said.
Solvjeg stood and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course, Theo, I’m sorry.’
He smiled at her. ‘You look too grim, sister, which means that the meaning of this is grim enough to suit the times, eh?’
‘That is putting it mildly,’ she said.
‘Back in the Eastern Towns,’ Ian said, ‘we had discovered a few spies working for the Brolts, unscrupulous backwoodsmen usually. Then we cornered one who died in a shootout and when he was autopsied the surgeon found webs of fine wiring running from subdermal implants to the brain stem and the optic centres. We had never seen anything like this before, and we guessed that the Brolts had wired them up as intelligence gatherers.’
‘A couple of days ago,’ Solvjeg said, ‘we heard that a bomb went off at a boatyard in Byelygavan,