‘Don’t do it, Fleance.’
But it was too late. Fleance had already grabbed his machine gun, and the sound of a brief volley hammered against the eardrums of all five men in the cramped boiler room.
‘Agh!’ Fleance yelled.
Then he fell from the ladder.
He didn’t feel himself hit the floor, felt nothing until he opened his eyes again. And then he saw nothing, although there was a hand against his cheek and a voice close to his ear.
‘I told you not to.’
‘Wh... where are they?’
‘They left as instructed. Sleep now, Fleance.’
‘But...’ He knew he had been shot. A leak. He coughed, and his mouth filled.
‘Sleep. Say hello to your dad when you arrive and tell him I’m right behind you.’
Fleance opened his mouth, but all that came out was blood. He felt Macbeth’s fingers on his eyelids, gentle, careful. Closing them. Fleance sucked in air as if for a dive. As he had done when he fell from the bridge into the river, into the black water, to his grave.
‘No,’ Duff said when he saw the fire engine driving towards them. ‘No!’
He and Malcolm ran to meet the vehicle, and when it stopped they tore open the doors on each side. The driver, two police officers and the harbour pilot tumbled out.
‘Macbeth was waiting for us,’ groaned the pilot, still breathless. ‘He shot Fleance.’
‘No, no, no!’ Duff leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut.
Someone laid a hand on his neck. A familiar hand. Caithness’s.
Two men in black SWAT uniforms ran over and halted in front of Malcolm. ‘Hansen and Edmunton, sir. We heard about this and came as soon as we could. And there are more coming.’
‘Thank you, guys, but we’re finished.’ Malcolm pointed. They couldn’t see the sun yet, but the silhouette of the upside-down cross at the top of the mountain had already caught its first rays. ‘Now it’s up to Tourtell.’
‘Let’s exchange hostages,’ Duff said. ‘Let Macbeth have who he wants, Malcolm. Us two. In exchange for Kasi.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve considered that?’ Malcolm said. ‘Macbeth will never exchange a mayor’s son for small change like you and me. If Tourtell declares a state of emergency Kasi will be spared. You and I will be executed whatever. And who will lead the fight against Macbeth then?’
‘Caithness,’ Duff said, ‘and all those people in this town you say you have such belief in. Are you afraid or...?’
‘Malcolm’s right,’ Caithness said. ‘You’re worth more to this town alive.’
‘Damn!’ Duff tore himself away and went towards the fire engine.
‘Where are you going?’ Caithness shouted.
‘The plinth.’
‘What?’
‘We have to smash the plinth. Hey, Chief!’
The man who had driven the fire engine stood up. ‘Erm, I’m not—’
‘Have you got any fire axes or sledgehammers in the vehicle?’
‘Of course.’
‘Look!’ Seyton shouted. ‘The sun’s shining on the top of the Obelisk. The boy has to die!’
‘We all have to die,’ Macbeth said softly and put one chip under the heart symbol on the red part of the felt, the other on black. Leaned to the left and took the ball from the roulette wheel.
‘What actually happened up on the roof?’ Seyton shouted.
‘Banquo’s boy,’ Macbeth shouted back and spun the wheel. Hard. ‘I took care of it.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I took care of it, I said.’ The roulette wheel spun in front of Macbeth, the individual numbers blurring as they formed a clear, unbroken circle. Unclear and yet clear. He had counted down to the zone and he was still there. The wheel whirled. This time it would never stop, this time he would never leave the zone — he had closed the door behind him and locked it. The wheel. Round and round towards an unknown fate, yet so familiar. The casino always wins in the end. ‘What’s that banging out there, Seyton?’
‘Why don’t you come up for a look yourself, sir?’
‘I prefer roulette. Well?’
‘They’ve started banging away at Bertha, the poor thing. And now the sun’s out, sir. I can see it. Nice and big. The time’s up. Shall we—’
‘Are they smashing up Bertha?’
‘The base she’s standing on, anyway. Keep an eye on the square and shoot at everything approaching, Olafson.’
‘Right!’
Macbeth heard the pad of feet on the stairs and looked up. The reddish tint to Seyton’s face was more noticeable than usual, as though he was sunburned. He walked past the roulette table and over to the pole, where Kasi was sitting hunched with his head lowered and his hair hanging in front of his face.
‘Who said you could leave your post?’ Macbeth said.
‘Won’t take long,’ Seyton said, pulling a black revolver from his belt. Put it to Kasi’s head.
‘Stop!’ Macbeth said.
‘We said to the second, sir. We can’t—’
‘Stop, I said!’ Macbeth turned up the volume of the radio behind him.
‘... Mayor Tourtell speaking to you. Last night I was given an ultimatum by Chief Commissioner Macbeth, who has recently been responsible for a number of murders, including that of Chief Commissioner Duncan. Last night he kidnapped my son, Kasi, after a failed attempt to kill me. The ultimatum is that unless I declare a state of emergency, thereby giving Macbeth unlimited power and preventing federal intervention, my son will be killed when the sun rises above our town. But we don’t want, I don’t want, you don’t want, Kasi doesn’t want, this town doesn’t want another despot in power. For this, good men have sacrificed their lives over the last few days. And their sons. Sacrificed their sons the way we in this and other towns did during world wars when our democracy was threatened. And now the sun is rising and Macbeth is sitting by his radio waiting for me to confirm that this day and this town are his. Here’s my message to you, Macbeth. Take him. Kasi is yours. I’m sacrificing him as I know and hope he would have sacrificed me or the son he will never have. And if you can hear me, Kasi, goodbye, apple of my eye.’ Tourtell’s voice thickened. ‘You are loved not only by me but by a whole town, and we’ll burn candles at your grave for as long as democracy exists.’ He coughed. ‘Thank you, Kasi. Thank you, citizens of this town. And now the day is ours.’
After a short silence there was a crackly recording of a man’s sonorous voice singing ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God’.
Macbeth switched off the radio.
Seyton laughed and applied pressure to the trigger. The hammer rose. ‘Surprised, Kasi? A whore’s son isn’t worth much to a whoremonger, you know. But if you surrender your soul to me now I promise you a painless shot in the head instead of the stomach. Plus revenge over the whoremonger and his gang. What do you say, boy?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Seyton fixed his disbelieving eyes on the source of the answer.
‘No,’ Macbeth repeated. ‘He mustn’t be killed. Put down your revolver, Seyton.’
‘And let them out there get what they want?’
‘You heard me. We don’t shoot defenceless children.’
‘Defenceless?’ Seyton snarled. ‘What about us ? Aren’t we defenceless? Are we going to let Duff and Malcolm piss all over us again, as they always have? Are you planning to abandon your cause now that—’