‘Admit it, Kite. It’s fine. You’re not alone. We’re not heroes. We’re completely normal people who perhaps dream about being heroes, but confronted with the choice between life and the principles we sound off about, we’re pretty normal.’
Kite flashed a brief smile. ‘You’re right. I’ve been an arrogant, big-mouthed, cowardly moralist.’
Lennox drew breath, no longer sure whether it was him or the morphine talking. ‘But if you had the chance do you think you could do things any differently?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Could you be a different person? Could you make yourself sacrifice something for a higher entity than your own esteem?’
‘Such as what?’
‘Such as doing something which is really heroic because it will reduce the respected journalist Kite’s reputation to rubble?’
Macbeth closed his eyes. He hoped that when he opened them again he would wake up from the bad dream and the much-too-long night. All while the voice coming from the radio on the shelf behind his desk droned away. Every rolled ‘r’ sounded like a machine-gun volley.
‘So, Inspector Lennox, to sum up. You maintain that Chief Commissioner Macbeth is behind the murders of Chief Commissioner Duncan and Inspector Banquo, the massacre at the Norse Riders’ club house, the murder of Inspector Duff’s family, plus the execution of Police Officer Angus carried out at Macbeth’s orders by you and Inspector Seyton. And that earlier this afternoon Chief Commissioner Macbeth with the head of SWAT, Inspector Seyton, and Police Officer Olafson were behind the failed attempt on Mayor Tourtell’s life.’
‘That is correct.’
‘With that we say thank y
ou to Inspector Lennox, who was speaking from his bed in St Jordi’s Hospital. This recording has been made with witnesses present so that it can be used in a court of law, even if Lennox is also murdered. And so, dear listeners, finally I will add that I, Walt Kite, was an accessory to the murder of Police Officer Angus in that I placed the integrity you have honoured me with at the disposal of the chief commissioner and murderer, Macbeth. In the law court where I will be judged and in the conversations I will be having with my nearest and dearest, one mitigating circumstance might be that I and my family were threatened. However, professionally, this will not count. I have shown that I can be threatened, used and manipulated to lie to you. I have let myself down and I have let you down, and that means this is the last time you will hear from me, Walt Kite, radio reporter. I will miss you more than you will miss me. Show that you are better citizens than me. Take to the streets and depose Macbeth. Goodnight and God bless our town.’
The signature tune.
Macbeth opened his eyes. But he was still in his office, Seyton was still on the sofa, Olafson still on the chair and the radio was on.
Macbeth got up and turned it off.
‘Well?’ said Seyton.
‘Shh,’ Macbeth said.
‘What?’
‘Shut up for a second!’ He held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and first finger. He was tired, so tired it was difficult to think as clearly as he needed to. Because he did need to. The next decisions he made were going to be momentous, the next few hours would decide the struggle for the town.
‘My name,’ Olafson said.
‘What?’
‘They said my name on the radio.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I don’t think anyone in my family has ever had their name mentioned on the radio.’
Macbeth listened to the silence. The traffic, where was the regular booming drone of the traffic? It was as though the town was holding its breath. He got up. ‘Come on.’
They took the lift down to the basement.
Passed the SWAT flag with the red dragon.
Seyton unlocked the ammo room and switched on the light.
The boy was sitting between the machine-gun stands, gagged and tied to the safe. The brown irises of his eyes were just a thin ring around the pupils, which were large and black with fear.
‘We’re taking him to the Inverness,’ Macbeth said.
‘The Inverness?’
‘We’re not safe here any longer, none of us. But from the Inverness we can bring Tourtell to his knees.’
‘Who’s we ?’
‘The last of the faithful. Those who will be rewarded when the victory is won.’
‘You, me and Olafson? Are we going to bring the town to its knees?’
‘Trust me.’ Macbeth stroked Kasi’s head as if he were a loyal dog. ‘Hecate needs us and is protecting us.’
‘Against the whole of the town?’ Olafson said.
‘Hecate’s helpers constitute an army, Olafson. They’re as invisible as he is, but they’re there — they’ve already saved me twice. And we have the Gatling sisters and the Kenneth Laws on our side. When Tourtell gives in and declares a state of emergency the town is mine. Well? Loyalty, fraternity?’
Olafson closed his eyes. ‘Baptised in fire,’ he whispered. The ‘s’ lisped around the concrete walls.
Seyton scowled at them. But then, slowly, a smile spread across his narrow lips. ‘United in blood.’
40
Duff was sitting on the sofa in Tourtell’s living room. The four of them looked nervously at the mayor as he stood with the telephone to his ear. It was two minutes to midnight. Pressure had built up and up and thunder had started to rumble. The town would soon be punished for the hot day. The mayor alternated between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on the phone. Then he cradled the receiver. Smacked his lips as though what he had heard had to be chewed and swallowed.
‘Well?’ said Malcolm impatiently.
‘Good and bad news. The good news is that Supreme Court Judge Archibald says that, based on what we have, he’s fairly sure they should be able to issue a federal warrant for Macbeth’s arrest, and that accordingly they can send federal police here.’
‘And the bad news?’ Malcolm asked.
‘It’s a politically delicate matter and will take time,’ Tourtell said. ‘No one wants to arrest a chief commissioner if it turns out the case won’t hold water. In concrete terms all we have is a radio interview with Lennox, who himself has confessed to being an accessory to murder. Archibald says quite a bit more persuasion is needed for him to succeed, but the best-case scenario is that they’ll get a ruling tomorrow afternoon.’
‘But it’ll be decided then,’ Caithness said. ‘So we just have to hold out tonight and a few hours tomorrow.’
‘Looks like it,’ Malcolm said. ‘Shame the circumstances don’t allow for a celebration.’
‘On the contrary,’ Tourtell said, turning to the maid, who had just come into the room. ‘During the war, the more the victories cost us, the harder we celebrated. Champagne, Agnes!’
‘Yes, sir, but there’s someone on the other line.’
Tourtell brightened up. ‘Kasi?’
‘I’m afraid it’s Mr Macbeth.’
They looked at each other.
‘Put the call through here,’ Tourtell said.
Macbeth leaned back in the chair with the phone to his ear. Staring up at the ceiling, at the inverted gold spire on the chandelier hanging over him and the empty gaming room. He was alone. He could hear Seyton and Olafson still in the process of assembling the Gatlings on the mezzanine, but he was alone just the same. Lady wasn’t here. They had got to work as soon as they arrived back from HQ. It had taken them half an hour to get all the gamblers and diners out. They had tried to do it in a relaxed way. But games had to be finished, chips had to be cashed and some customers insisted on drinking up even though they weren’t asked to pay. The last customers had protested that it was a Saturday night and literally had to be pushed out. Lady would of course have managed it in a more elegant way. But Jack, whom Macbeth had sent up to the suite to get her, had returned unaccompanied. That was fine, she needed her sleep, and this was going to be a long fight. They had removed the bars from the windows and sited the machine guns at each end of the mezzanine.