Pieter came back up out of the double doors that led down to the medical lab but, instead of returning to the secure communication lab as ordered, he turned left and headed for the armoury.

'Hallo Pieter,' said the armourer Svetlz, 'have you come to deposit your sidearm?'

'Nein, I wish to make a withdrawal. Give me a rifle and the Uzi 9mm.'

'There you are,' Sveltz said, handing over the guns.

'I'll need live ammunition,' Pieter added.

'No problem,' Sveltz said with a grin. 'Going to target practice?' he asked.

Pieter looked over his shoulder at the door and the corridor that led towards the security communication room. 'Something like that.'

In the communications room the Swiss Premier finished dictating a message. 'In conclusion — the coup has failed. Knett and those who sought to overthrow me will be found and —'

There was a burst of gunfire from out in the corridor.

'What was that?' said one of the generals.

This was accompanied by the sound of a number of firearms being drawn.

'Sir.' A functionary at the console was addressing the PM. 'There's a priority message coming in from London.' The tele-printer to the Premier's left immediately began a droning dot-matrix left-to-right sweep; slowly the paper scrolled upward.

There was another burst of gunfire... and Commander Shultz staggered backwards into the room and collapsed. 'It's..' he said, and died.

Pieter suddenly swung into sight and opened fire with both guns. People died, papers flew, screens shattered and smoke rose. The Premier hit the floor — and saw that the the young operative who had warned him of the message from London was laying across the console, dead.

The shooting stopped.

A few pregnant moments passed and someone emerged from the rubbish and aimed at the renegade soldier.

There was another burst of gunfire and then, finally, silence.

The teleprinter stopped printing.

The Premier realised that whoever was shooting was stood in the doorway waiting. He reached out and kicked the chair of the dead serviceman, which rolled around and trundled across the floor, spilling the body of the young man onto the ground. The gunfire erupted again, sending sparks and erupting shards of glass and metal from the consoles in great disfiguring dents. The Premier grabbed the printout from the teleprinter and dived over the railing as the firing continued. He picked up a revolver from the holster of another dead serviceman and fired blindly over the railing.

There was a muffled sound and the firing stopped.

Taking his chances, the Premier crawled on all fours and kicked at the grating over an air vent located between shelving on which files and boxes of papers were stacked. Crawling into the conveniently proportioned air-conditioning duct, the Premier made his way into the network of pipes that ran through the military base.

In the corridor Pieter slumped against the wall, his hand pressed to his chest, trying to staunch the bleeding.

get up my son

Pieter looked up as a shadow leaned over him, that of tall, lean figure in a tattered monk's cassock — the one from the mirror. He felt compelled to obey the Voice...

'It....hurts.,' Pieter said through gritted teeth.

you shall know not pain, nor fear nor death so long as you walk with me — see, your wounds are already healed

The shadow spoke, though it had neither dimension nor extension.

Pieter looked down to his chest and saw that, indeed, blood no longer oozed between his fingers from a wound that had miraculously healed.

'I... obey... my lord.' He hoisted himself upright on the butt of his rifle.

arise then, my arbiter of death, become my judgement and kill them all

'They will not escape me.'

The shadow became indistinct and flowed under a lamp, where it once again became a table leg next to a potted plant.

Sfret was very bored and sat in an interrogation suite with his chin in his hands and his elbows resting on the table, making the shape of an x of his wrists. He could here lots of commotion in the corridor outside — people running and shouting. His interrogator had left some five minutes ago to see what the problem was and hadn't returned.

Suddenly, from behind him, there was a metallic thump. He turned in his chair and looked up at a grating, set high up in the wall.

Another thump and a hand appeared at the grate and pushed it open. The Swiss premier crawled out, a sheaf of crumbled paper in a balled fist, a revolver in the other.

'Father Sfretelanimousopocatepetl.' The Premier struggled out of the grating. 'I have come to rescue you. There is some evil afoot — you and your friends cannot stay in Switzerland.' He lowered himself to the floor. 'Come — let's get you out of here,' leading an unprepared Sfret suddenly by the hand the door.

'But Herr Premier, it is a deadbolt,' Sfret observed. 'We are locked in.'

'I've never known a lock that could defeat Sfretelanimousopocatepetl the Ninth.'

'My legend precedes me,' Sfret demurred. 'It is true. I was merely waiting for the opportune moment. The corridor outside seemed busy — I was waiting for it to empty.' He put his ear to the frame and listened, hearing only silence. 'We are safe to proceed. Mr Premier, would you please strike here with the butt of your gun?' Sfret said, indicating a spot on the door with his index finger.

'Certainly, your Grace.' The Premier did as the small monk asked. There was a thud from the corridor outside as the lock slid out of its housing and hit the carpet tiles in the corridor.

Sfret pressed against the door, which opened easily.

'Come, follow me,' the Premier said. 'The others are in the next room.'

Pieter stalked the rooms adjacent to the security station. As he moved from room to room, his rifle scanned for movement. A few small fires burned, but there was only the torn-up debris of the firefight settling on the overturned furniture and bodies of the slain.

Something caught his eye — a monitor flickering. He appeared over it and watched as a group of four men on the live security feed from the stockade.

He turned around and left the room, inserting another clip into the rifle with a snap.

Arthur, X and Sfret listened to the Premier as he explained what had happened.

'Sounds like a massacre,' Arthur said grimly. 'What do you suppose made him snap like that?'

'I don't know. He... wasn't himself. The man has been loyal for years. By the way, this is for you.' The Swiss Premier handed the printed sheet of paper to Arthur. 'I — get down!' the Premier screamed as Pieter rounded the corner and stood at the top of the stairs.

He appeared not to have seen them — he scanned the area, then turned again and went into an adjacent corridor.

'Come on, quick through here. We can get through here to the airfield.'

Crouching low, Sfret, Arthur and X were led out of the stockade.

For a while, nothing happened.

Then Pieter reappeared at the top of the stairs, grinning. He had given his quarry enough of a head start. Now the hunt could begin.

The h2g2 Storytime III Archive

19.04.07 Front Page

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