'Don't shoot.'
'If you move a muscle -'
'Please ... don't shoot.'
'Now ... you're going to take me to Mr Gomm and the others. Quickly and quietly.'
'Why?'
'Just take me,' she said, gesturing with the rifle that he should lead the way out of the bathroom. 'And if you try to do anything clever, I'll shoot you in the back,' she said. 'I know it's not very manly, but then I'm not a man. I'm just an unpredictable woman. So treat me very carefully.'
'... yes.'
He did as he was told, meekly, leading her out of the building and through a series of passageways which took them - or so she guessed - towards the bell-tower and the complex that clustered about it. She had always assumed this, the heart of the fortress, to be a chapel. She could not have been more wrong. The outer shell might be tiled roof and white-washed walls, but that was merely a facade; they stepped over the threshold into a concrete maze more reminiscent of a bunker than a place of worship. It briefly occurred to her that the place had been built to withstand a nuclear attack, an impression reinforced by the fact that the corridors all led down. If this was an asylum, it was built to house some rare lunatics.
'What is this place?' she asked Guillemot.
'We call it the Boudoir,' he said. 'It's where everything happens.'
There was little happening at present; most of the offices off the corridors were in darkness. In one room a computer calculated its chances of independent thought, unattended; in another a telex machine wrote love-letters to itself. They descended into the bowels of the place unchallenged, until, rounding a corner, they came face to face with a woman on her hands and knees, scrubbing the linoleum. The encounter startled both parties, and Guillemot was swift to take the initiative. He knocked Vanessa sideways against the wall, and ran for it. Before she had time to get him in her sights, he was gone.
She cursed herself. It would be moments only before alarm bells started to ring, and guards came running. She was lost if she stayed where she was. The three exits from this hallway looked equally unpromising, so she simply made for the nearest, leaving the cleaner to stare after her. The route she took proved to be another adventure. It led her through a series of rooms, one of which was lined with dozens of clocks, all showing different times; the next of which contained upwards of fifty black telephones; the third and largest was lined on every side with television screens. They rose, one upon another, from floor to ceiling. All but one was blank. The exception to this rule was showing what she first took to be a mud-wrestling contest, but was in fact a poorly reproduced pornographic film. Sitting watching it, sprawled on a chair with a beer-can balanced on his stomach, was a moustachioed nun. He stood up as she entered: caught in the act. She pointed the rifle at him.
'I'm going to shoot you dead,' she told him.
'Shit.'
'Where's Gomm and the others?'
'What?'
'Where are they?' she demanded. 'Quickly?
'Down the hall. Turn left and left again,' he said. Then added, 'I don't want to die.'
'Then sit down and shut up,' she replied.
'Thank God,' he said.
'Why don't you?' she told him. As she backed out of the room he fell down on his knees, while the mud-wrestlers cavorted behind him.
Left and left again. The directions were fruitfuclass="underline" they led her to a series of rooms. She was just about to knock on one of the doors when the alarm sounded. Throwing caution to the wind she pushed all the doors open. Voices from within complained at being woken, and asked what the alarm was ringing for. In the third room she found Gomm. He grinned at her.
'Vanessa,' he said, bounding out into the corridor. He was wearing a long vest, and nothing else. 'You came, eh? You came!'
The others were appearing from their rooms, bleary with sleep. Ireniya, Floyd, Mottershead, Goldberg. She could believe - looking at their raddled faces - that they indeed had four hundred years between them.
'Wake up, you old buggers,' Gomm said. He had found a pair of trousers and was pulling them on.
'The alarm's ringing - ' one commented. His hair, which was bright white, was almost at his shoulders.
'They'll be here soon -' Ireniya said.
'No matter,' Gomm replied.
Floyd was already dressed. 'I'm ready,' he announced.
'But we're outnumbered,' Vanessa protested. 'We'll never get out alive.'
'She's right,' said one, squinting at her. 'It's no use.'
'Shut up, Goldberg,' Gomm snapped. 'She's got a gun, hasn't she?'
'One,' said the white-haired individual. This must be Mottershead. 'One gun against all of them.'
'I'm going back to bed,' Goldberg said.
'This is a chance to escape,' Gomm said. 'Probably the only chance we'll ever get.'
'He's right,' the woman said.
'And what about the games?' Goldberg reminded them.
'Forget the games,' Floyd told the other, 'let them stew a while.'
'It's too late,' said Vanessa. 'They're coming.' There were shouts from both ends of the corridor. 'We're trapped.'
'Good,' said Gomm.
'You are insane,' she told him plainly.
'You can still shoot us,' he replied, grinning.
Floyd grunted. 'I don't want to get out of here that much,' he said.
'Threaten it! Threaten it!' Gomm said. 'Tell them if they try anything you'll shoot us all!'
Ireniya smiled. She had left her teeth in her bedroom. 'You're not just a pretty face,' she said to Gomm.
'He's right,' said Floyd, beaming now. "They wouldn't dare risk us. They'll have to let us go.'
'You're out of your minds,' Goldberg muttered. 'There's nothing out there for us ...' He returned into his room and slammed the door. Even as he did so the corridor was blocked off at either end by a mass of guards. Gomm took hold of Vanessa's rifle and raised it to point at his heart.
'Be gentle,' he hissed, and threw her a kiss.
'Put down the weapon, Mrs Jape,' said a familiar voice. Mr Klein had appeared amongst the throng of guards. Take it from me, you are completely surrounded.'
'I'll kill them all,' Vanessa said, a little hesitantly. Then again, this time with more feeling: 'I'm warning you. I'm desperate. I'll kill them all before you shoot me.'
'I see ...' said Klein quietly. 'And why should you assume that I give a damn whether you kill them or not? They're insane. I told you that: all lunatics, killers ...'
'We both know that isn't true,' said Vanessa, gaining confidence from the anxiety on Klein's face. 'I want the front gates opened, and the key in the ignition of my car. If you try anything stupid, Mr Klein, I will systematically shoot these hostages. Now dismiss your bully-boys and do as I say.'
Mr Klein hesitated, then signalled a general withdrawal.
Gomm's eyes glittered. 'Nicely done,' he whispered.
'Why don't you lead the way?' Vanessa suggested. Gomm did as he was instructed, and her small party snaked their way out past the massed clocks and telephones and video screens. Every step they took Vanessa expected a bullet to find her, but Mr Klein was clearly too concerned for the health of the ancients to risk calling her bluff. They reached the open air without incident.
The guards were in evidence outside, though attempting to stay out of sight. Vanessa kept the rifle trained on the four captives as they headed through the yards to where her car was parked. The gates had been opened.
'Gomm,' she whispered. 'Open the car doors.'
Gomm did so. He had said that age had shrunk them all, and perhaps that was true, but there were five of them to fit into the small vehicle, and it was tightly packed. Vanessa was the last to get in. As she ducked to slide into the driving seat a shot rang out, and she felt a blow to her shoulder. She dropped the rifle.
'Bastards,' said Gomm.
'Leave her,' somebody piped up in the back, but Gomm was already out of the car and bundling her into the back beside Floyd. He then slid into the driving seat himself and started the engine.