“Encounter him and do what?” Grant demanded. “Chill him?” He seemed very uncomfortable with the concept.
“Or to learn the final bit of truth .” Kane said the last word venomously. “It’s personal now, between him and me. You two stay here. Grant, when you hear me talking, depending on what I say, I want you to either get the hell out or come to me. Agreed?”
Neither Brigid nor Grant made a sound or a move. Kane rolled his eyes and circled the filtration tank. He found the maintenance ladder and scaled it quickly. Standing on the rounded top, he stretched up both arms, hooking his hands around a bound collection of pipes, and he chinned himself up onto them. By sheer force of will he managed to squirm his armored body into the small space between the pipes and the ceiling. He belly-crawled forward, feeling the pipe beneath him quiver with the strain of supporting his weight.
He didn’t think about what might happen if the ceiling struts tore loose from their moorings and dumped down on the floor. Habit and training took over now. His Magistrate consciousness was at work, and it drove away his fears, his anxieties and his horrors. He pulled himself forward by his arms, worming his body along as fast as he could, as fast as he dared.
He heard Baron Cobalt’s voice below him and he stopped his forward progress, peering down between a pair of pipes.
The female attendant’s voice announced, “Your bath is drawn, Lord Baron.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kane had seen pictures of ancient Egyptian sarcophagi. The object propped up against a crossbarred brace contrivance looked very similar, like a coffin following the body contours, only this one was molded from some transparent polymer. A pair of flexible hoses was connected to it at opposing midway points. The hoses, in turn, were connected to a metal tank with two valve wheels projecting from the top.
Though Kane was above the baron and his party, their backs were turned to him. Kane could see only the face of the female creature.
Abrams removed the baron’s tall headpiece, and Guende and Ojaka helped him step out of his robe. Naked, Baron Cobalt backed into the transparent sarcophagus, and the little attendant swung the lid over and latched it, sealing it tight. She stepped over to the tank, turned a valve wheel and with a gurgling hiss, a thin, whitish fluidlike milk diluted with waterspurted from the nozzle of one hose. She twisted the second wheel. From the opposite hose spurted a thick red fluid. It dripped down the inner surface of the container, blending with the white liquid and becoming a brown-hued mixture.
The sarcophagus filled quickly. The liquid level rose above the baron’s knees, lapped at his thighs and crept up above his waist. His head was tilted slightly back and up, his large eyes closed, and he breathed deeply and regularly through his open mouth.
When the fluid touched the base of his neck, the attendant turned the wheel valves simultaneously, cutting off the twin liquid flows.
She said to the men, “I will return in ten minutes to add the next compound. Remain here with the baron.”
She moved away with a peculiarly graceful mincing gait. Guende, Abrams and Ojaka huddled together, speaking in low, grim tones. Kane couldn’t hear much of what they said, but he was positive his and Salvo’s names figured prominently.
Fingers curled tightly around a pipe, Kane twisted himself until he hung from his hands almost above their heads. They were so intent on their whispered conference, they didn’t notice the pair of black legs dangling only a few feet behind and twelve or so feet above them.
Kane released his grip and dropped, bending his knees slightly to cushion his fall. At the sound of his boots hitting the floor, all of them turned in unison, their expressions of astonishment so similar that they could have been triplets.
Abrams was the biggest of the three, the most physically capable despite his advanced years. Kane took him out first. Abrams made gestures of negation, as if waving his arms would drive his attacker back.
Kane quickly stepped inside the man’s out-flung arms and kicked his right kneecap. The pop of the patella being forcefully removed from the femur was clearly audible, even through the lining of his helmet.