I flung up my sword against the blast –
‘And however great the profit. That is our settled policy, and I agree with it wholeheartedly. We manage well by our own methods. We don’t need to change. We don’t want to.’
Scorching smell in my nostrils –
I looked down hastily at my terminal in case it was overheating.
Spots dancing before my eyes – burning colours – the fireball broken. Dust cascading.
‘Nice one!’ said myself to me.
I found I was panting, perspiring, my throat dry; I had the damndest urge for a drink. But Peters, appearing not to notice, spread his arms wide, waving the pen expressively. ‘That is regrettable. Deeply regrettable. Consider the interests of your firm, then, if you will. We have most substantial backing – and we will not hesitate to make use of the resources at our disposal. If need be, globally.’
The cane turned – pointed, twirled like a wand in a sweeping, luminous arc –
‘I must be frank. If, after all, we cannot make use of you, we must – how shall I put this? – replace you. You suit us admirably, but there are, after all, other agencies, other young men of your qualifications and bright prospects. If we with our influence chose to favour one such instead of you, it would inevitably blight your career, your success – would it not?’
Not at me, but at the left-hand fire.
‘Would it? Forgive me, Mr Peters, I don’t see how.’
Or to put it another way – are you threatening me personally, you little jerk?
‘My dear sir, English expresses it admirably: there is only room for one at the top. In our hands such a person, and the agency he must one day come to head, would be placed in a position of high advantage – favoured, for example, by official sources, by departments of government, by government itself. Not only in the Caribbean area, but at this end also, in this country. The rise of such an agency would be – how shall I put it? Meteoric.’
The tip moved – the fire lifted, logs, twigs, coals and all – a roaring pillar of flame – crazies bolting in all directions –
God. Was this what a breakdown was like? Or a touch of that stress paranoia I’d heard about in high-pressure jobs. Just get me through this one meeting, that’s all; this next half-hour. Then I can rush down and sneak Gemma’s valium. All of it.
‘Quite meteoric. Its competitors would find themselves at its mercy, to be … taken over if they had the sense to allow it, or otherwise – simply overwhelmed.’
I blinked, and flexed the ruler thoughtfully in my hands. Somehow or other, quite suddenly, the panic had subsided. Was I seeing things – or just dramatizing what he was threatening me with? A touch of stress, maybe – but the threats were real enough, to me, to the company. A good company, a lot of good people with careers sunk in it. Surely I was getting way out of my depth here, I ought to be passing this little tick on to higher authority. This kind of tough talking was Barry’s territory, if anybody’s. And yet, somehow, I felt that I did have authority behind me, all the damned authority I could ever need. The hell with breakdowns; if I was hearing voices, they were talking sense. A colossal confidence was welling up in me – and I was just itching to deal with this little son-of-a-bitch on my own.
The fiery pillar opening out – its summit spreading, broadening – looming, cresting, streaming flames and smoke – curling over like a tidal wave – coming thundering down over the heads of the remaining worshippers – straight at me.
Some dramatizing! I must really hate this guy; well – why not?
I chuckled, and touched the ruler to my lips. ‘You’ve chosen a rather extreme way of putting your point, surely? This is an established agency, with a long list of satisfied and continuing customers – governments included. So we’re not entirely without backing and influence ourselves, you know. The agency can cope with commercial and political pressures; it’s had to before, and survived. In fact it’s flourished. Otherwise why are you coming to me now?’
I spat on my swordblade, and flicked it skyward –
‘That’s right!’ I was talking to myself again. ‘That’s what it’s all about. You’re ahead of any game he knows. Tell him that.’
‘And,’ I said aloud, ‘to be equally frank – if I personally am half the man you think I am, then I ought to be well able to deal with any such assaults on my own account. Shouldn’t I?’
I shouted with laughter – filled my cheeks – blew a loud rude rasp at the descending stream. The cascading fire touched the steel – and split. Spattered like a stream of tapwater – lost its unity – collapsed, raining a choking cloud of bright embers and hot ashes on the heads of the terrified crowd. Wild shrieking spread the panic – here and there hair and clothes burst into flames. I bellowed with thunderous triumph –
I swallowed. Jesus, that was vivid! Where the hell was I getting all this! Maybe it had been creeping up on me since that mysterious call of his; maybe I’d sussed out something wrong about him them. Subconsciously, maybe – or I was developing a sixth sense. Telepathy I could just about believe in, but – No. Too many late nights with low life down at the docks, that was it. No wonder I’d dreamed up that sort of a fantasy round him, kept seeing it every time I nodded off. Though I’d have expected my kind of mind to come up with arms dealers or drug barons, something – well, more practical. Mundane, if you like. Just went to show what a funny beast the subconscious must be. I glanced up at the office around me. The familiar, the everyday, the solid – bookcases, plants, pictures, Dave’s desk (and where was he right now?). Usual, everyday things. Things a man would cling to – no, better than that. Things I could set my feet in firmly, and brace myself against whatever the world threw at me. Real things; or were they?
These weird visions, these sudden plunges into blackness, assaulting all the senses at once, consistently – could they be real? God knows, they felt it while they lasted. The old quibble – is the philosopher dreaming he’s a butterfly, or the butterfly dreaming he’s a philosopher?
The new twist being that here the answer mattered.
Whatever my counterstroke really was, Peters hadn’t liked it one bit – that was obvious. He shifted awkwardly in his chair and smoothed back his grey-streaked black hair. Where was I going to get stood on? Where was the real battle being fought? I tensed. He leaned forward and tapped the pen sharply on the arm of his chair.
‘Your confidence is admirable, but, I fear, based on insufficient experience. One might almost say ignorance. A crude frontal assault, possibly – but suppose it were simply too broadly based to resist? The devastation of your clientele – a flood of traffic at compelling rates that would simply swamp all available shipping …’
Already the cane was moving again – with it the right-hand fire. Not lifting but slithering, snaking forward – wider than a man’s reach, spreading – the coarse bushes bursting into flame as it passed – worshippers who can’t move fast enough caught in its path stumbling, falling, vanishing with a hiss and a shriek into its blazing maw –
‘Watch him!’ said my inner voice. ‘Don’t just defend yourself! Bat it right back at him!’