Al's response was a soft moan. There followed a prolonged silence, and I gradually became aware of another sensation. It began as a slight tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me slightly nauseous; then I realized it was caused by something I was hearing. Sinclair was singing-chanting-in a very soft voice. There were no words, only sounds, syllables, chanted in a minor key. The sound gradually grew in volume. Once again I grew dizzy and had to lean back against the wall for support. Harper was leaning heavily against me, clutching my left arm tightly with both hands.
The sound of Sinclair's voice somehow amplified the hallucinatory effects of whatever ingredients were burning in the candle, for with each syllable I felt a pulse beat in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts raced uncontrollably, and I had vivid compressed images of my life, all of it, flashing, as if on a movie screen, just behind my eyes. For me, the effect was wondrous-but I suspected Al was experiencing something altogether different, for he was moaning in pain.
Sinclair abruptly stopped chanting and asked Al the same question. When Al's only response was a tortured groan, Sinclair began to chant again-slightly louder and higher, in a different key.
I suddenly felt an unutterable sadness and loneliness, and I began to cry.
Al began to scream.
Sinclair stopped after a minute or two, and Al began to talk freely, his words tumbling over one another. No more questions were needed.
All of Black Flame's records-its history, its membership role, accounts of assassination through the centuries, individuals and corporations under its control, and complete financial records- were stored electronically in Cornucopia's computer network, and Al provided the information necessary to access any and all of it.
Emmet P. Neuberger was back on duty, presiding over Cornucopia and Black Flame's business affairs from a wheelchair, since he'd had both legs sawed off.
When Al finished, Sinclair, kneeling, leaned over into the black and golden glow cast by the candles. He put his face very dose-to Al's and made a loud, barking noise that was like a shout, but at the same time unlike any other sound I had ever heard uttered by a human. The noise made both Harper and me jump, and it echoed in the vast stone, wood, and glass library for what seemed a very long time. The candles went out.
We heard Sinclair's footsteps in the darkness, and then the heavy drapes were pulled back, allowing sunlight to once again stream into die library. The man with the steel-gray hair and eyes opened a window, and the black, greasy smoke from the extinguished candles began to waft out into the morning. My head immediately began to clear. Insolers stepped off to one side to stand in front of a bookcase, while Garth, Veil, Harper, and I walked over to the sitting area, looked down at the still figure on the floor. Al was dead, his face a frozen mask of unspeakable agony.
Sinclair took a crocheted shawl from the sofa and draped it over Al's face. Then he went to Jan, put his arms around her, gently kissed her on the forehead.
"You're going to New York?" the woman asked.
Sinclair nodded. "After we tidy up things here. I owe Neuberger a visit, and the complete records can only be accessed from there. I have to finish it, Jan."
"Yes, Chant. I know."
Suddenly, there was an ominous click-clack-clonk of metal hitting metal, a magazine being shoved home, an automatic rifle being cocked. We all wheeled around in the direction of the sound, and I was shocked to see Duane Insolers still standing back across the room by a bookcase. One of the dead Black Flame soldiers' weapons that had been picked up and leaned against the wall was now in his hands. The bore was pointed at Sinclair's chest.
"I want everyone to remain perfectly still and do exactly as I say," Insolers said calmly. "Sinclair and Kendry, I want both of you to slowly spread your legs apart, then cross your arms over your chests and squeeze your hands in your armpits. Do it right now. If you hesitate, I pull the trigger."
Veil and Sinclair did as they were told.
"Duane!" Jan cried, anger and sorrow in her voice. "Oh, Duane!"
"Be quiet, Jan," Insolers said without looking at her. He had moved the bore of the rifle slightly, now aiming it at a point midway between Veil and Sinclair. "I'm sorry to have to end up the skunk at the garden party, folks, but it had to happen like this someday, and Sinclair knew it. Our relationship has always been a bit tenuous. I'm only interested in Sinclair, and there's no reason for things to become any more unpleasant than they are so long as none of you tries to interfere with me. But know that I will kill any one, or all, of you if I have to."
"Do as he says," Sinclair said in an even tone.
"Thank you, Sinclair. Now, I want the rest of you to move away from him. Kendry, you make sure you keep your hands in your armpits and feet on the floor and apart. Shuffle. Don't turn your body."
Jan abruptly stepped next to Sinclair, thrust her chin out defiantly, and glared at Insolers. "If you're going to kill Chant, Duane, you may as well kill me too."
"Oh, I will if I have to, Jan. I like you very much, but I'm a professional, and I have a job to do. Tell her, Sinclair."
"Move away, Jan," Sinclair said in the same even tone as he stared back at Insolers.
"Chant?"
"It's all right. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it immediately, without all this chitchat. Duane has something else on his mind, so it's best to let him get on with it. But he will pull the trigger if you provoke him, or if he feels you're trying to use your body to screen me. So do as he says, please." He turned his head slightly, smiled reassuringly at Jan, who finally stepped back away from him. Then Sinclair looked back at Insolers. "I hate to leave things unfinished. You'll take care of eliminating Black Flame for me, won't you, Duane?"
"For sure. I heard everything the little son-of-a-bitch told you, and I'll pass it on to Interpol, the NYPD, the FBI, and everybody else who needs to know. I personally guarantee they'll be put out of business."
"Thanks. I appreciate that."
"So you really did know all along what you were talking about, Insolers," I said, trying to move just a bit closer to Veil. I wondered why the CIA operative was waiting to do whatever it was he planned to do, but I was in no great hurry to resolve the mystery. "There was indeed a CIA special assassin, an insider who was a real threat-you, you prick." I paused, swallowed, tasted bile. "You weren't trying to run me; you were running me right along, using me to get next to John Sinclair, and I delivered him right into your lap. You're a clever man, Insolers, but you're still a fuck. I'm thinking it may be very good insurance for your future personal security if you killed me, pal, because I'm working up a real good mad at you."
Garth said, "Shut up, Mongo."
Insolers nodded curtly. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Frederickson. But you're right. I did have to find a way to get close to Sinclair, without making him suspicious and putting him on his guard. Like I said, our relationship has always been tenuous, founded more on mutual interests than real trust. I had no way to contact him, knew he wouldn't contact me, and I could never have called or come here without a very good excuse. That was taboo. I'd like to think not, but he might even have killed me if I ever came here alone or tried to contact Jan. I didn't need him angry with me; I needed him off guard."
"So you made a snap decision and crammed all that information into my head at the very beginning, hoping that I'd do exactly what I did-eventually find my way here, bringing you along with me. But you had to be brought here against your will, kicking and screaming all the way, as a captive. It was the only way Sinclair here would buy your story that you'd come to help, the only way you could hope to get the drop on him like this."