“He’s got a computer to analyze his victims for him,” MacDonald pointed out. “Funny. He quoted Orwell, too. I thought that was about as appropriate as could be, under the circumstances.”
“I’m quite a bit more interested in how our friend here explains what happened to Maria,” the Bishop commented a bit smugly. “No odd laboratories, no big computer or giant radiation dishes, nothing. Here, in the middle of nowhere, the Dark Man is not only able to appear at will but also exercise those considerable powers of transmutation.”
“I don’t know the explanation, damn it,” Lord Frawley growled. “I don’t know how the process works, but it’s self-evident that it does. With that sort of disguise, anyone could play Dark Man, even with the Dark Man broadcasting his voice via satellite. There’s a logical explanation for what happened, if we only knew and understood the physics—I feel sure of that. Who knows what kind of transmitting and generating systems the corporation might now have all over the place, ready to be deployed as needed?
Still, it doesn’t change the basic situation. He can do what he claims to, no matter if he hides behind satanist claptrap or really believes it. They can re-make and transform whole populations into slaves of any design, reward with youth and beauty or punish with age and infirmity at their whim. It’s a terrible weapon.”
“I still can’t understand why he left me whole and unchanged,” MacDonald put in. “I mean, he had me cold, and I represent a demonstrated and very real threat to him, if not the power to thwart his plans, at least the threat of doing damage that might be very inconvenient. If I’d had him at a similar disadvantage I know I wouldn’t have let him go.”
“Oh, I suspect that was for Angelique’s benefit,” the Bishop replied, sipping his tea. “She had to be reassured that you were whole and safe or the bargain would have been invalidated. If he’d done anything, he wouldn’t have your paralysis as a threat to hold over her any more. I suspect he thinks he’s put a sufficient scare into you at this point that he doesn’t really worry about you that much. If anything, you’re the price he paid for getting her complete cooperation.”
“You know how that makes me feel. The question is— now what?”
“We must take direct action against the buggers, obviously,” Lord Frawley stated flatly. “We must put them out of business.”
“Yeah,” MacDonald responded, “but that’s easier said than done. It was tough enough getting off that island. Now you’re telling me we have to get on it and do a lot of operations when their power’s strongest there and they can even sic invisible monsters on you at will.”
“Exactly so,” Frawley agreed. “An air strike is out. We might get some buildings and lots of innocents but we wouldn’t touch that computer—and it could bring massive defensive armaments to bear on any such attackers. A full sea landing, assuming we could convince some nation of the extreme danger and get their troops, would be just as bad and couldn’t be hidden. A nuclear missile or bomb would do it, but even if we could get one it’s unlikely we could deliver it without going through the sort of channels SAINT can control and counter. Actually, I might be able to use some of my old terrorist contacts to actually get a small and dirty bomb in a few weeks, but those little monsters still weigh a few hundred pounds and would have to be assembled on the spot by experts. How would we get it there and in? They have radiological monitors that are the best in the world to keep ships and boats with such things away, and a whole naval force to intercept. They’d take no chances—we’d be blown out of the water.”
MacDonald thought it over. “Not necessarily. Remember, my primary job at Magellan before all this blew up was to test and if possible penetrate security at company installations. I only failed once, and that was in the middle east against an adversary who was clever and of whom I knew nothing. With Jureau gone, Ross is the top security man there and just the type to play ball with any of them. I know him well, and I know what types of things he’d employ. I beat their system once, and recommended how to plug the holes. What do you bet that they implemented that report?”
Frawley almost choked. “Good Lord! You mean they are defending themselves on the standard level according to a plan you devised?”
“I’d almost bet on it. Oh, they’d modify it a good deal, and they have these powers that will have to be taken into account, but Ross is not very creative and he’s also quite literal-minded. His ego, arrogance, and self confidence also fits in with that crowd now running things. And, if that’s true, we have a built-in edge.”
“Indeed? What is that? I’d be delighted to find any edge for our side at this point.”
“I made my living by making fools of the professional security men. If I failed again and again, I’d have been fired. I had to succeed to prove my worth to the company.”
“Obviously.”
“Well, I plugged the major leaks and openings, of course, but I always left something else open or slightly flawed so that if I ever was ordered to try the same place again I could still beat the system. I figured three separate ways to get into the Institute and picked the easiest last time. I succeeded, then plugged those holes, but I made only token changes against the other two ways, sufficient to foul up somebody who didn’t know they were there but easily bypassed by me. Now, I can’t take the installation, but I can get a small group of experienced infiltrators in with equipment—even, possibly, your bomb.”
“Pip,” Frawley was rubbing his hands in glee. “Why, this is marvelous! Marvelous!” He looked over at Whitely, and stopped and frowned. “So what is wrong with you?”
“I fear you miss some of the implications of all this,” replied the Bishop. “Blowing the island is not sufficient. We must be absolutely cenain that Sir Reginald, the bulk of his followers, the Dark Man, and, I’m sorry to say, Angelique, are there as well. It will kill everyone, the innocent along with the guilty, the women and children of Port Kathleen as well as the bastards up top.”
“I agree that innocents must suffer, but that’s the only way,” Frawley replied. “Why, however, do we need all those others there? I mean, certainly hitting that computer should be sufficient.”
“No, hardly. You, of all people, should see why. First of all, the Revelations of St. John of Patmos suggest that the beast shall receive a mortal wound and then be miraculously healed by the Antichrist. What if we nuke, as I believe it’s said, the whole thing, and then Angelique shows up in Montreal, say, or London, and announces that while it’s a terrible tragedy it’s no time to panic, they have a backup computer or two on line right now and nothing’s interrupted? We’d have delivered a mortal wound to the beast and to Magellan, and then she would heal it and use the incident to further her own power. No, we must have them all—all in the basket at one time. It’s our only chance.”
“And when would that be that you could guarantee such a thing?” Frawley asked him. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“October thirty-first of this year, when they intend to consecrate Angelique and turn over the power to her, and, not coincidentally, I would think, a day after the final transfer of her inheritance and a day before the next scheduled meeting of Magellan’s Board of Directors. They’ll all be there on that night, and probably only on that night. Not before or after will they be in one basket.”