It was well after midnight by the time they reached the fence surrounding the mansion. Chapel told the women to stand well back while he investigated it. He didn’t see any cameras mounted on the fence posts, and no suspicious cables or junction boxes that might suggest the fence was electrified. Still, he wanted to be careful. He studied the fence for long minutes, taking in the fact that the chain link was rigorously secured and that the coils of razor wire on top weren’t rusted at all. That suggested somebody was taking care of this fence on a regular basis. A good sign in itself, though it meant it would be harder to get inside.
His final test was the one that scared him the most, but it had to be done. He reached out and grabbed the chain link with his artificial hand. The silicone flesh of his prosthesis would insulate him if it was electrified, but if the current running through it was strong enough—
He breathed a sigh of relief. The fence wasn’t electrified. Nor did he hear any alarms go off the second he touched it. Of course he knew there could be a silent alarm — maybe a light had just gone on in a security office inside the mansion, or maybe an automated system had already called the police to tell them someone was breaking into the old Chobham place. But if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get through this fence somehow, no matter the consequences.
“You aren’t climbing that,” Julia pointed out. “Not without reopening your wound.”
“That’s why I brought these,” Chapel said. He pulled a pair of long-handled wire cutters out of his satchel. “You two spread out, and keep your ears open. If you hear anyone coming, let me know and we’ll book it. This’ll take some time.”
The women nodded and disappeared into the trees. Chapel got to work.
In the movies, when someone cut their way through a fence, it seemed to take only a few seconds, or at best the director would cut away while the would-be intruder handled the laborious task. In real life, chain-link fences were designed to keep people out, and they were designed very well.
It took all of Chapel’s strength to cut through the first link. The fence was made of thick galvanized steel and woven in such a way that breaking any one thread didn’t help you much. He worked as fast as he could, but before he’d even made a dent in the fence he was sweating profusely and his living hand had started to cramp up. Then there was the fact that the fence rattled every time he touched it, and each link he cut made a sound like a little gunshot. If anyone was paying attention inside the fence, he was certain they would hear him before he got through.
In time, though, he made an L-shaped cut long enough that he thought they could wriggle through it. He put down the wire cutters and leaned against a nearby tree, getting his breath back and letting his hand relax. Before he was done recovering, Julia and Angel had returned. “The only thing I heard was you cursing at the damned fence,” Angel said.
“Yeah,” Julia said. “There’s nobody out here. It’s kind of spooky. I kept expecting a security guard to shine a light in my face. But I didn’t see so much as a squirrel.”
“It’s possible there’s nobody inside,” Chapel pointed out. “This could just be an automated server farm. But we’re not going to take any chances. Once we’re inside this fence, no talking, okay? And don’t do anything I don’t do first. I’ll walk a little ahead, keeping my eyes open for… I don’t know what. Anything from trip wires to land mines. When I stop, you stop. When I walk, you walk. Got it?”
“Got it,” Angel said. Julia nodded.
“Okay,” he said. He bent low, even though the sutures in his side made him feel like he was being poked in the ribs with a pitchfork. He pulled the cut fence back like a flap, pushing it as hard as he could so it wouldn’t just spring back on him. Careful not to snag his clothes — or his skin — on the sharp edges of the cut links, he stepped inside.
No spotlights came on from the house. No one called out for him to freeze.
He helped Julia and Angel clamber through. He took a little time to bend the fence back into place, so that given a cursory inspection in the dark it would be hard to tell it had ever been cut.
Then he headed for the mansion.
Overhead the branches of the trees spread like dark fingers clutching at anyone foolish enough to walk beneath them. It must have rained recently, because the undergrowth was damp and squelched under Chapel’s shoes. He used his flashlight sparingly, snapping it on for only a few seconds at a time, and keeping its lens covered with his hand. Hopefully that prevented anyone in the mansion from seeing his light, but it also played tricks with his night vision, so he was constantly blinking away afterimages. If there was something hidden in the leaf litter, he would be very lucky to see it.
Ahead of him the woods gave way to a long, overgrown patch of grass, and beyond that lay the neglected garden below the east wing. In the cloud-streaked moonlight it didn’t look like a house at all but instead like a haunted fortress, its crumbling walls like the battlements of a Gothic castle.
In the garden a statue of an angel with open, beckoning hands stared down at him with stony eyes. Lichen had encrusted its cheek, and one of its wings ended in a jagged stump.
He crept forward, crouching so low he could keep his artificial hand down on the ground, feeling for trip wires he couldn’t see. This was crazy — thinking he could get across that open ground, thinking he could break into this place. It had to be guarded, by cameras if by nothing else. They would see him the second he stepped out of the trees. See him, and send an alert to Wilkes, and he would come flying in to finish the job he’d started at the electronics store …
Chapel licked his lips and studied the windows of the mansion. He saw no light up there, no movement. Nothing to give away a human presence. It looked exactly like what it purported to be, an old abandoned house slowly falling in on itself. He struggled to control his fear, took another step—
— and felt something give under his foot.
There was a crack like something breaking, loud enough to make him want to jump. He held very still. If it was a trip wire connected to a land mine, say, it might go off only when he lifted his foot again. He switched on his light and pointed it at his shoe.
A twig. He had stepped on a twig, and it had cracked under his weight. That was all.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw Julia and Angel staring at him, their eyes wide. He held up one hand to give them the okay signal. Julia nodded, but she still looked terrified.
He didn’t blame her.
At the very edge of the trees, still in their shadow, he slipped the flashlight into his bag of tools. He gestured for Julia to come forward, then whispered in her ear, so softly the swaying trees made more noise. “I’m going to run up there, into the garden. Don’t follow until I give you the signal. When you do, come fast, and get into cover as soon as you can. Tell Angel to do the same, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered back.
He nodded. Took a breath. And ran dashing out across the grass, not even bothering to keep his head down. What would be the point? Anyone watching from the house would see a dark shape hurtling from the woods, perfectly silhouetted against the damp, silvery grass.
He stamped up the slope, eating up the ground. Ten yards, eight, five — and then he was right up against an overgrown hedge, under its shadow. He dropped to the ground and let himself breathe for a second. Then he crept along the hedge, eventually coming to a break where it let into the garden proper. Inside he saw paths laid out in flagstones that had, over the years, tilted up at crazy angles. The paths ran in a wide circle around a dry and cracked fountain. The statue he’d seen stood in the middle of the fountain, facing a little away from him now. Irrational as it might be, he was glad to be out of its line of sight.