“That’s a long story. Michael’s mother is at our place—our Retreat. And Natalia is John Rourke’s friend.” “But Michael’s father and the woman Natalia— they look at each other like Michael looks at me, like I look at Michael.”
Rubenstein shrugged. “I told you—it’s a long story. But you’re right—I know the look. There’s a girl— Michael’s sister. Her name is Annie. You’ll like her, Madison—and she looks at me that way.” and he smiled inside himself, feeling the smile as it crossed his lips. “That probably sounds real peculiar. Well, but—“ “I think that you are a good man. That is what she smiles at.”
Paul Rubenstein studied her face a moment. Then he replied, “Thank you—very much,” and he looked away rather than feel more embarrassed than he already felt. That no one came through the doors as yet somehow frightened him more than if dozens of the cannibals were attacking. And what had become^of the people who lived here?
He shivered, shaking his shoulders, flexing the muscles there to shake off the feeling.
The Schmeisser in his hands, he crouched beside the door. “Madison—remember, keep a lookout behind us.”
“I remember,” the girl answered.
Flexing his shoulder muscles had not gotten rid of the feeling.
Chapter Fifty-Four
John Rourke spoke as he ran, Natalia and Michael flanking him as they turned from one corridor into the next. “Think about it. Once they realized the ones they called Them were outside, when the Ministers and the rest of the uppercrust died, they wouldn’t consign their bodies to be eaten. Assuming that the air was at least mar-ginally breathable at least a century ago, that accounts for moving the arms from the vault. They’re using the original vault which would have been sealable as a burial chamber for the Families. If your husband or wife or child died, could you send their body through the air lock to be ripped to pieces?” “But where is it?”
Natalia asked, panting. Rourke’s own body, he realized, was tiring more rapidly because of the prolonged exposure to the thinner air—Natalia’s as well. But Michael, who had lived in the thinner atmosphere for fifteen years, in this heavier atmosphere inside the Place, more like the atmosphere that had once been upon the surface of the earth, seemed to thrive. They stopped at the mouth of a corridor they had not yet explored.
Rourke stared along its length—a massive gray steel door at the far end.
“The vault,” Natalia whispered.
Michael started—very slowly—walking around it, saying, “If they knew we had found our way inside and that the air lock’s integrity was broken and that the cannibals would—“ He let the sentence hang.
“A fear built for a century,” Natalia whispered.
“They’d look at it as a final decent act—the old one and the other Ministers,”
Rourke added. Rourke held the liberated M-16’s pistol grip in his right fist. He
looked at his son. “When the cannibals had Madison before you tried to get her
out, were they about to—“
** “No,” Michael answered quickly.
“Did Madison say why she wasn’t a breeder?”
“No, she—what the hell are you—“
“I don’t know yet—I’m thinking out loud. Forget about it,” and John Rourke walked ahead. If it were nothing with Madison—he suddenly remembered during the fighting. He had given one of the cannibals a knee smash and ie had had virtually no effect.
He stopped at the vaultdoor. His gloves were on but he wouldn’t risk it—he took the black chrome A.G. Russell Sting IA from inside his trouser band, gently tossing the knife toward the door. There was no sparking of electricity. He picked up the knife, re-sheathing it.
He touched the flash deflectored muzzle of the M-16 to the combination dial, then to the opening handle of the vault door, holding the M-16 by the synthetic buttstock only. There was no sparking of electricity either time. He looked to his right—double doors, the kind that swung inward and outward, but a chain looped through the door handles and drawn tight, a padlock on the chain. “Natalia—work on cracking the vault. Mi-chael—keep her covered. Call me when it’s open.”
“Where are you going?” his son called from behind him. “What are—“ “Do as I said,” Rourke answered softly.
Rourke stopped a good fifty feet from the in chained double doors. He shouldered the M*16, the selector set to semi. He sighted on the chain link rather than the lock, firing.
“What are you—“
“Never mind!” It had been a miss. He fired again, connecting, but the chain didn’t break.
“You want the chain broken—just tell me about it,” Michael called from behind him.
Rourke lowered his rifle, then nodded. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. So use your cannon and break the chain.”
Michael stood beside him now, the Magnum Sales Stalker extended in both fists before him.
“Hold your ears, Natalia,” Rourke called, covering his own ears. The gleaming stainless steel revolver bucked once in Michael’s hands and he lowered it a moment, then raised it again to sight through the scope. The revolver fired again. Michael turned to his father. Rourke took his hands from his ears. “You watch yourself with that thing shooting indoors—gonna mess up your hearing.” “What?” and Michael laughed. “I couldn’t hear you.”
Rourke feigned a punch toward his son’s midsection, Michael dodging, laughing. Rourke felt two things inside himself as he walked toward the double doors, the lock shattered and obviously so—gladness for having Michael, and a sickness for what he thought he would find beyond the doors.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Rourke stood in the center of the room. Michael had gone back to Natalia.
There was a single stainless steel surgical table. Beside it was a covered tray.
He lifted the covering from the tray, folding back the white cloth.
He closed his eyes.
The Ministers had many sins. v
He opened his eyes.
He turned away and left the room, but some-thing caught his eye as he did and he stopped. Rourke walked toward a nearly emptied surgical cabinet. The top shelf held a large mortar and pestle.
The middle shelf was empty as was the lower shelf. There was fine dust in the bowl of the pestle— Madison had spoken of never experiencing medi-cal treatment. Michael had said the old one seemed to consider it a sin to attempt to prolong life. It was possible that the Ministers cheated on this, but Rourke doubted it.
Then there was only one other answer.
He shook his head and walked from the room.
He could see Natalia—she was on her knees by the combination dial for the vault.
Rourke kept walking, feeling very tired. He stopped, beside Natalia, handing
Michael his M-16. “Stand up—and hold me—please,” and he watched her eyes as she
looked up at him, as she got from her knees, as she looked at him again, then
her arms folding around him and Rourke leaned his face against her head. His
voice sounded off to him. “I thought we were through with it, ya know? With all
this insanity. Karamatsov is gone. Rozhdestvenskiy is gone. I thought it was all
gone with them. I really did. And then these cannibals—“ Rourke felt Natalia’s
hands touch at his neck—their coolness, their softness. “I really thought that
after all of this—“ and he laughed, holding her body tight against him. He felt
Michael’s hand on his shoulder. “I really—“
“Dad, what—“
Rourke licked his lips. He looked up, at his son, and at the woman he had not been supposed to love but did. “Inside that room—it’s a very basic surgery. I found tools—the kind you’d only use for one thing. And then evidence they were making pills—and two empty shelves. We’re going to open that vault—and every single person from here—“ “I found the combination. All I have to do is—“ “I’ll do it. Don’t come in unless I tell you to.”
“I can—“
“Please,” Rourke whispered, and he stepped away from Natalia a single step. He leaned his lips to her
