Ten seconds later it was done.
“It will take a while to develop it,” Mothershed said. “If you come back in—”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mothershed took the camera into the darkroom, put it into the black bag, turned off the overhead light, switched on the red light, and removed the film. He would do this in a hurry. Passport pictures always looked terrible anyway. Fifteen minutes later, as Mothershed was timing the film in the developer tanks, he began to smell smoke. He paused. Was it his imagination? No. The smell was getting stronger. He turned to open the door. It seemed to be stuck. Mothershed pushed against it. It held fast.
“Hello,” he called out. “What’s happening out there?”
There was no response.
“Hello?” He pressed his shoulder against the door, but there seemed to be something heavy on the other side of it keeping it closed. “Mister?”
There was no answer. The only sound he could hear was a loud crackling noise. The smell of smoke was becoming overpowering. The flat was on fire. That’s probably why he left. He must have gone to get help. Leslie Mothershed slammed his shoulder against the door, but it would not budge. “Help!” he screamed. “Get me out of here!”
Smoke was starting to pour under the door, and Mothershed could feel the heat of the flames beginning to lick at it. It was getting difficult to breathe. He was starting to choke. He tore at his collar, gasping for air. His lungs were burning. He was beginning to lose consciousness. He sank down on his knees. “Oh, God, please don’t let me die now. Not now that I’m going to be rich and famous…”
“Reggie here.”
“Was the order filled?”
“Yes, sir. A bit overcooked but delivered on time.”
“Excellent.”
When Robert arrived at Grove Road at two o’clock in the morning to begin his surveillance, he was confronted with an enormous traffic jam. The street was filled with official vehicles, a fire engine, ambulances, and three police cars. Robert pushed his way through the crowd of bystanders and hurried over to the center of activity. The whole building had been engulfed by the fire. From the outside he could see that the first-floor flat occupied by the photographer had been completely gutted.
“How did it happen?” Robert asked a fireman.
“We don’t know yet. Stand back, please.”
“My cousin lives in that flat. Is he all right?”
“I’m afraid not.” His tone became sympathetic. “They’re just taking him out of the building now.”
Robert watched as two ambulance attendants pushed a gurney carrying a body into the ambulance.
“I was staying with him,” Robert said. “All my clothes are in there. I’d like to go in and—”
The fireman shook his head. “It wouldn’t do you any good, sir. There’s nothing left of the flat but ashes.”
Nothing left but ashes. Including the photographs and the precious list of passengers with their names and addresses.
So much for fucking serendipity, Robert thought bitterly.
In Washington Dustin Thornton was having lunch with his father-in-law in the lavish private dining room in Willard Stone’s offices. Dustin Thornton was nervous. He was always nervous in the presence of his powerful father-in-law.
Willard Stone was in a good mood. “I had dinner with the President last evening. He told me that he’s very pleased with your work, Dustin.”
“I’m very gratified.”
“You’re doing a fine job. You’re helping to protect us against the hordes.”
“The hordes?”
“Those who would try to bring this great country to its knees. But it is not just the enemy outside the walls we have to beware of. It is those who pretend to be serving our country, who fail to do their duty. Those who do not carry out their orders.”
“The mavericks.”
“That’s right, Dustin. The mavericks. They must be punished. If—”
A man walked into the room. “Excuse me, Mr. Stone. The gentlemen have arrived. They’re waiting for you.”
“Yes.” Stone turned to his son-in-law. “Finish your lunch, Dustin. I have something important to take care of. One day I may be able to tell you about it.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The streets of Zurich were filled with weird-looking creatures with odd shapes, misshapen giants with large, grotesque bodies and tiny eyes, and with skin the color of boiled fish. They were meat eaters, and she hated the fetid smells they exuded from their bodies. Some of the females wore animal skins, the remains of the creatures they had murdered. She was still stunned by the terrible accident that had taken away the life essence of her companions.