Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“There isn’t one of you here who didn’t deserve your death,” I said. “I did my duty. To the family, and to Humanity. You all needed killing.”

And one by one they faded away, unable to face the certainty in my gaze.

“Harsh words, Eddie,” said one final familiar voice. “Hard and harsh, even cold-blooded. I always knew you were an agent, but I never knew you were such a successful assassin.”

Philip MacAlpine of MI-13 stood before me, middle-aged and rumpled, but still every inch the professional spy.

I glared right back at him. “What the hell are you doing here? Did someone in your own department finally shoot you in the back?”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You must allow me my little secrets, even if you can’t be allowed to hang onto yours. It’s your own fault, Eddie; you shouldn’t have led such an interesting life. Or acquired so many fascinating secrets. You must have known you couldn’t hang onto them forever. You mustn’t be greedy, Eddie. You must be a good boy and learn to share. Tell Walker what you know. Or you can tell me, if that’s easier.”

I laughed in his face. “Yeah, right. That’ll be the day. At least Walker has some integrity in him. You sold your soul long ago, to any number of masters. I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“How very hurtful,” murmured Philip. “We’re not really so different, Eddie. Both of us secret agents, operating in the shadows because we don’t belong in the light. You served an ancient family with its own hidden agenda, while I was a blunt instrument for government policy. Doing all the hard and dirty things that needed to be done to hold the world together. And perhaps manage a few good deeds along the way, when we could.”

“The difference between us is that I took the bigger view,” I said. “I never let politics get in the way of what needed to be done. I protected Humanity from those who would prey on it. Which, as often as not, turned out to be politicians.”

“We don’t all have that luxury,” said Philip. “Must be nice to look down on us like gods and decide what’s best for us, while the rest of us scrabble around in the gutter, getting our hands dirty from all the rotten little jobs you can’t be bothered with. You can make as big a mess as you like, with your marvellous golden armour, stepping in to save the day and then disappearing, leaving the rest of us to clean up after you. Well, now all your sins have come home to roost, Eddie. You’ve upset a lot of very important persons, and now that you’re . . . vulnerable, they’re determined to wring you dry. They want everything you know, and they will get it, sooner or later. You’re a prisoner here, with no armour and no family to protect you. You’re on your own, Eddie, facing a legion of tormentors.”

“And if I don’t feel like talking?” I said.

“It’s the only way you’ll ever get out of here,” said Philip. “Wouldn’t you like to be free of all this? Free to lie down and rest, and be at peace at last?”

“Peace is overrated,” I said. “And why should I want to leave? This is my home, isn’t it? My family home, Drood Hall. Needs a bit of cleaning up, got to fix the boiler, and there’re a whole bunch of gate-crashers I have to give the bum’s rush to. . . .”

Philip scowled at me. “You are in the hands of your enemies, Eddie. You can’t stop them. They are endless, they are multitudes, they are legion. They will be at your back and at your throat and they will never stop coming for you, forever and ever and ever. By hook or by crook, they’ll tear every secret you know out of you, even the ones you didn’t know you knew, and they will laugh at your screams as they do it.”

“Over my dead body,” I said.

I punched him in the face. I meant it as a gesture of defiance, expecting my clenched fist to pass straight through him, but it collided with solid flesh and bone. I heard his nose break, and saw blood fly from his pulped mouth, and it felt good, so good. Philip fell backwards, crying out in shock and pain. I laughed out loud as I strode past him and out of the Sanctity. For the first time, I felt like I was getting a handle on the situation.

The moment I left the Sanctity I was back in the entrance hall again, approaching the firmly closed doors. Walker was still there, smiling easily at me, leaning on his rolled umbrella. He stood between me and the doors, blocking my way. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

“I’ll never talk,” I said. “You of all people should understand. My secrets don’t belong only to me; they belong to the family. Our secrets keep people safe, keep people alive, help protect them from people like you and your secret lords and masters. I wouldn’t let my family down while I was alive, and I’m damned if I’ll do it now. Droods stand between Humanity and their enemies, alive or dead.”

“I have my Voice,” said Walker. “The Voice that commands and cannot be disobeyed. I could make you tell me.”

“No, you couldn’t,” I said. “Because if you could, you would have done it by now. You can’t con a con man, Walker.”

“Perhaps,” said Walker. “But I was always so much more than just a man with a commanding Voice. I have always known a great many unpleasant ways to make people tell me what I need to know.”

I believed that. I backed slowly away as Walker advanced on me. I was thinking hard, looking all around me, trying hard to call up any information I had about the Hall that Walker couldn’t possibly know. Something I could use against him. The painted portraits on the walls caught my attention. The images were moving, changing, faces with crazy eyes and distorted expressions. Becoming nightmare images, glimpses into Hell, as though all my ancestors were trapped and damned and suffering. I turned my head away, refusing to believe that.

Matthew and Alexandra appeared again, walking down the long hall towards me.

“Go on,” said Alexandra. “Kill us again. You know you want to. But you can’t. Tell Walker what he wants to know.”

“I didn’t kill either of you,” I said, and then stopped and stared at them both as that thought struck home. I hadn’t killed them; Jacob had. But these two hadn’t known that, so they couldn’t be who they appeared to be. Jacob and Uncle James had both said not everyone in this Hall was who or what they appeared to be. . . .

“You’re not real,” I said firmly. “I don’t believe in you.”

I glared at Matthew and Alexandra, and they faded away in the face of my certainty. I turned and looked at Walker.

“Just you and me now, Walker. Or perhaps it always was. If you are Walker.”

He considered me thoughtfully, as we stood facing each other. Two men in an empty hall, the prisoner and his inquisitor. Walker sighed briefly, and adjusted one spotless cuff.

“There’s nowhere you can go, Eddie. And I have all the time in the world to break your will and learn what I need to know. Everyone talks, eventually.”

“Use your Voice,” I said. “Go on. But you can’t, can you? Because you’re not really Walker. And this isn’t Drood Hall. Is anything here real? Is anyone? Or is this all just a clash of wills between me and whoever you really are? You can’t get anything out of me unless I offer it freely, and I’ll never do that.”

“Never is a long time,” said Walker. “I can walk out of here, go about my business, and come back whenever I please. Might be a few days, or a few years, maybe even a few centuries. Or perhaps I’ll stay away until you’re so desperate for another human voice, for human contact, that you’ll beg me to come back. Beg to tell me everything you know, to relieve the awful solitude. Hell isn’t other people, Eddie. Hell is an empty house, forever and ever and ever.”