‘Probably searching for someone they’re sure they can depend on,’ I said. ‘That’s the trouble with accusations, they make it hard to trust anyone. So that’s it? No one else?’
‘There are normally twenty-seven MoD personnel on site, but they have all been sent away for the duration,’ said MacKay. ‘Including the support staff. So we will have to mind for ourselves, the next few days.’
‘They all just left?’ said Penny, suddenly taking an interest again.
‘No one argues with the Organization,’ I said.
‘Why?’ said Penny.
MacKay allowed himself another of his thin smiles. ‘A great many people would like to know the answer to that one, miss. If only for their own peace of mind. But when orders come down from on high, we do as we’re told and trust there’s a good reason for it. In the case of Mr Parker, it does make sense. If he is who he claims to be, we cannot allow anyone access to him who does not have the proper clearances. And if he is not, he could prove to be a very poisoned chalice. The less people are exposed to his deliberate disinformation, the better.’
‘What is your own view of him?’ I asked.
‘He is … very polite, very eager to please,’ said MacKay. ‘No trouble at all.’
‘You don’t like him,’ said Penny. ‘I can hear it in your voice.’
‘I believe we should all be very careful around Mr Parker,’ said MacKay. And that was all he had to say.
We drove on, through increasingly bleak countryside. Just empty moors now, with no signs of life save for some stunted shrubs and patchy grassland. The skies were darkening into night, and a wind was rising. It felt like we were leaving the civilized world behind, to go to a place where only bad things happened.
‘Why is it called Ringstone Lodge?’ Penny said finally.
‘After a circle of ancient standing stones,’ said MacKay. ‘Just over that hill to your right, miss. Ringstone Knoll.’
Penny craned her neck, but couldn’t see anything. ‘Are there stories about the stones?’ she said hopefully. ‘Druids and sacrifices and ghostly sightings?’
‘Not as far as I know, miss.’
‘But there is a history of hauntings at the Lodge?’ said Penny. ‘Things that go bump in the night?’
‘The only spooks at the Lodge will be the agents who pass through on a regular basis,’ I said. ‘Right, Mr MacKay?’
I expected him to go along with my amused tone, but MacKay surprised me by looking distinctly unhappy. He considered the question for a while. And when he finally answered, his voice, though steady, was troubled.
‘Once, I would have agreed with you, Mr Jones. In my long career, in strange and often exotic places, I have encountered many odd things and seen more than my fair share of dead men … but never once did I see a ghostie. I would have said there was no such thing. Until quite recently, at Ringstone Lodge.’
‘You’ve seen ghosts?’ I said.
‘There have been … occurrences.’
‘How recently?’
‘Very. But there are tales of unusual manifestations that go back generations. The Lodge has always had a bad reputation. As a place where the dead do not rest easy and the past is not always over, where spirits range the long marches of the night. I never took such tales seriously before … but I have experienced things at the Lodge in the last few days that I would not have believed if another man had told them to me.’
There was a long pause.
‘Such as?’ asked Penny.
‘Sounds,’ MacKay said reluctantly. ‘Sightings. Things moving that should not. The Lodge has an unquiet feel these days.’
‘But what kinds of sounds and sightings?’ said Penny, squirming impatiently on her seat and leaning forward again. ‘Are we talking headless figures, or dark shapes walking through walls?’
‘Does your ghost carry its head under its arm, Mr MacKay?’ I said. ‘How does it see where it’s going?’
‘You are pleased to be facetious, Mr Jones,’ said MacKay. He didn’t sound pleased to have his judgement challenged. ‘Whatever it is that walks in Ringstone Lodge, it is nothing so traditional. Nothing any of us can be sure of. Just … things heard in the early hours, or glimpsed out of the corner of the eye. Strange feelings and uncanny thoughts. You can believe it or not, as you please. But I believe we are not alone, at present, at Ringstone Lodge.’
‘Are you the only one who’s had direct experience of these phenomena?’ I said.
‘No, sir. Everyone present at the Lodge has seen or sensed something unnatural.’
‘Including Parker?’
‘He says not.’
‘When exactly did these disturbances begin?’ I asked.
‘A night and a day before Mr Parker arrived, sir. Everyone else had left, and Mr Martin and I were preparing the Lodge for its new arrivals.’
‘And you don’t find that significant?’
‘Of course, that was my first thought. But things have been happening for which I can find no rational explanation. For the first time in all my service at the Lodge, I do not feel safe.’
Given the kind of man MacKay was, I found that distinctly unsettling.
‘And all of this started happening when Parker arrived?’ I said.
‘Mr Parker could not be responsible for any of this, sir,’ MacKay said firmly. ‘The first incidents preceded his arrival by many hours. And they did not cease after he was safely locked away.’
‘It sounds like a distraction,’ I said. ‘Something to keep us occupied while an escape or an attack was being planned. I don’t believe in coincidences.’
‘No more do I, sir. But it has crossed my mind that the arrival of this bad man has awoken a more ancient evil. Stirred something from its long rest. I do not necessarily believe in ghosts, Mr Jones. But I am taking all of this very seriously. I do not like anything happening in my Lodge without my consent.’ He smiled one of his thin smiles. ‘Dead men walking are not conducive to good discipline.’
‘I see your problem,’ I said. ‘More complications are the last thing we need. It’s not like we can just call in a priest and have him exorcize the Lodge.’
‘I personally have no truck with Roman ritual, being a firm Protestant,’ said MacKay. ‘But still, is there not some kind of professional help that the Organization could provide, Mr Jones? I have sent in several reports, but as yet all they’ve sent us is you. Do you perhaps have experience in this area?’
‘Similar areas,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Penny. ‘I’m sure they believe in you.’
‘Really not helpful, Penny …’
‘Anyway,’ MacKay said heavily, ‘it may well be that once Mr Parker has moved on to another establishment, it will all quieten down again.’
‘If anyone could disturb the living and the dead, it’s Frank Parker,’ I said.
When we finally arrived at the gates of Ringstone Lodge, they were the kind that told you straight away what kind of visit you were in for. Tall and broad and heavy, with spiked steel bars so solid that you’d need a tank to get through them. And even then, it would have to be traveling at one hell of a speed. Brick walls stretched away either side, topped with long rolls of vicious barbed wire. I’ve seen prisons that looked more inviting. MacKay waited till the very last moment to slam on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a halt just short of the gates. Penny leaned forward again and stuck her head between mine and MacKay’s, to study the Lodge.
‘How utterly ghastly. What do the locals think of this place, Mr MacKay?’
‘Local people won’t come anywhere near the Lodge, miss. They know it of old, and its unwholesome reputation. It does help that the nearest village is some ten miles distant. We get occasional teenagers coming around, seeking to make a name for themselves by proving their courage, but our security measures are more than a match for them.’
He forced his door open, got out of the car, and moved forward to shout into the int
ercom at the gates. Penny looked at me. I looked at the Lodge. There was a pause, and then the gates swung slowly open and MacKay returned to the car. We drove through, and the gates slammed shut behind us. It took a while to get to the Lodge. The long gravel path passed through extensive grounds suitable for an old country estate. Wide lawns, neatly trimmed, with no flowerbeds, ornaments or garden furniture. In the distance dark woods cut off the view, holding shadows within. I turned round in my seat to look back at Penny.
‘The open space is deliberate, to provide the Lodge’s security people with an uninterrupted view. Nowhere for intruders to hide.’
‘Apart from the trees,’ said Penny.
‘There are mantraps in the trees, miss,’ MacKay said casually. ‘And other things. Not a place for a wise man to go strolling.’
The gravel drive curved sharply around to conclude abruptly before a surprisingly pleasant-looking old-fashioned house. My first thought was that it might have been a family manor house, or even a country hotel, before the MoD took it over. Nothing about it to suggest the kind of things that went on inside these days. Which was, of course, the point. The house was large, and heavy with accumulated history. Generations had come and gone in Ringstone Lodge, and all of them had left their mark. The exterior seemed well-maintained, and I quickly spotted a whole bunch of concealed security cameras, as well as metal shutters stored in place above every window, ready to be brought down at a moment’s notice. To seal the place up against outsiders and intruders. Or make it the perfect trap, ready to close on me the moment I walked inside and hold me there for as long as it took them to work out what to do with me.
MacKay brought the car to an abrupt halt directly in front of the main door, and was out of his seat and heading for the boot while Penny and I were still getting used to the idea that we’d arrived. I looked the Lodge over, bracing myself to walk into the jaws of the beast. I’d had nightmares about ending up in some place like this, strapped helplessly to a table while the doctors got out their surgical kits and trained interrogators asked me increasingly angry questions that I didn’t have answers for.
Penny started to say something as I got out of the car. I’d spent most of my career confronting seriously scary things, and this was just another. I wouldn’t allow anything to get in the way of doing my job. Not even myself. Perhaps especially not myself. I shrugged my backpack over one shoulder, in order to leave my arms free, and glared at Ringstone Lodge.
I could make out just two storeys, with windows that stared back at me like so many unsympathetic eyes in a cold blank face. An old house haunted by too many years of bad memories. I’d blown up and burned down places like this, in other countries. Sometimes just on general principles. Penny came and stood beside me, and held my hand.
‘We don’t have to do this,’ she said quietly. ‘If you’re not happy about things, if this doesn’t feel right, let’s go back to the station. Tell them you’re not feeling well. Tell them to get someone else.’
‘If they really do have suspicions about me, that might be all the evidence they need,’ I said, just as quietly. ‘So, we go in. But Penny … If at any time I turn to you and say “Run!”, don’t stop to ask why. Just try to keep up with me.’
‘Got it, Ishmael. But what on earth is that?’
I looked where she was looking. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘It appears to be a cemetery.’
‘They kill people here?’ said Penny, her voice rising.
‘Not recently,’ I said. ‘Not from the state of those headstones. They’ve been here for some time.’
I wandered over to take a better look, glad of the distraction. Penny stuck close beside me. It was getting seriously dark now, but the Lodge had its own exterior lighting. More than enough to hold back the night. The small graveyard had been tucked away unobtrusively around the side of the Lodge. Just a few dozen headstones, weather-beaten and speckled with mould. I walked along the rows, peering at the stones, trying to make out the faded names. Some of the dates went back to the seventeenth century. One stone, standing a little apart from the others, caught my eye. No name, no date. Just a single inscription: God Grant She Rest Easily.
‘Some pour soul convicted of being a witch,’ said Penny. ‘That’s an old prayer to keep a witch in her grave and prevent her rising up again to trouble the living.’
‘The Ringstone Witch,’ said MacKay. Penny jumped a little, I didn’t. I’d heard him coming up behind us. MacKay came forward to study the headstones with us. ‘Quite famous in her day, I understand. There were songs written about her. Long forgotten now, along with her crimes.’
‘What is a cemetery doing here?’ asked Penny.
‘Once upon a time the Lodge was a family home, miss. And this was the family burying place. No one has been interred here for years. There was some talk of moving the bodies, it’s not like there is any family left who might want to visit.’
‘That’s sad,’ said Penny.
‘Yes,’ said MacKay, unexpectedly. ‘It is. We should go in, Mr Jones. The others are waiting.’
‘And Frank Parker,’ I said.
‘If that’s who he really is,’ said Penny.
‘Indeed,’ said MacKay.
He dropped Penny’s suitcase at her feet, to make it clear he wasn’t anyone’s servant, and looked at me inquiringly. I nodded jerkily, and he led the way back to the front door. I followed him as casually as I could. It helped that Penny stuck close beside me. Hauling her suitcase along with her.
The main entrance hall turned out to be very comfortable, even cosy. A wide open space with thick carpeting, heavy antique furniture and nice cheery prints on the walls. All very bright and charming and agreeable, the smile on the face of the Medusa. A group of people stood waiting to meet us. They all had that look about them: fascinated to meet an actual field agent in the flesh, staring at me like I was some rare species in a zoo, and just a bit disappointed I wasn’t Daniel Craig. None of them paid much attention to Penny. She frowned, she wasn’t used to not being noticed. She shot me a look, and I managed a quick reassuring smile, just for her. I looked the group over, keeping my face carefully calm and unimpressed, and left it to them to make the first move. The first to step forward was a big brawny alpha-male type in his late twenties, squeezed into very tight clothes to show off his muscles. Dark hair, hard face, deep scowl. He thrust out a hand for me to shake.
‘Alan Baxter. I’m here to make sure everyone behaves.’
‘Good for you,’ I said. ‘I’m Ishmael Jones, and this is Penny Belcourt. The Organization sent us to make sure you behave.’
Baxter went for the crushing handshake, putting all his strength into it. I shook his hand easily, not feeling any distress. His scowl deepened as he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, and he snatched his hand back. He looked to Penny, but she had already dumped her suitcase and placed both her hands firmly behind her back. She smiled at him brightly, but Baxter hardly gave her a glance before turning back to me. He looked me up and down, doing his best to make it clear he wasn’t in any way impressed.
‘Ishmael Jones … Never heard of you.’
‘I should hope not,’ I said. ‘I am supposed to be a secret agent, after all.’
‘I’ve got a job to do here,’ Baxter said heavily. ‘Don’t get in my way.’
He sounded like he had a lot more to say on the subject, but the man behind him tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Surprisingly, Baxter immediately stepped back to let the other man take his place. A few years older than Baxter, he had colourless blond hair, pale-blue eyes and a cool, thoughtful air. He dressed well, if inexpensively. He smiled briefly at Penny and me, and his voice was quiet and easy-going.
‘Karl Redd. Security. Good to have you here at last. We’ve been feeling a bit abandoned, all on our own. Good to see the Organization hasn’t forgotten us. Hopefully we can get things under way now.’
His word were carefully considered and scrupulously polite, but I could sense a real strength in him held in r
eserve for when he needed it. Such men are dangerous, because they think before they act.
‘We’ll keep you safe while you’re here,’ he said. ‘No one gets past us.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘That’s good to know.’
Penny smiled radiantly at Baxter and Redd. ‘Do either of you have a gun?’
‘Of course,’ said Baxter.
‘It’s part of the job,’ said Redd.
And they both pulled back their jackets to reveal handguns in shoulder holsters. Baxter started to reach for his gun, only to stop after a cold glare from MacKay.
‘Don’t you have a gun, Mr MacKay?’ said Penny. ‘You’re an old soldier, after all.’
‘I do not carry a weapon, Miss Belcourt,’ said MacKay. ‘I leave that to those who might need to use them. The Lodge does of course have its own armoury. For emergencies. I have the only key.’
‘I’d like a gun!’ the young man at the back said loudly. ‘I’d feel a lot safer with a gun, especially now Parker’s here, but they won’t let me have one.’
‘You stick to your computers, Mr Martin,’ said MacKay. ‘You are dangerous enough as it is.’
‘You have no idea,’ said Martin.
Dr Alice Hayley shouldered her way past Redd, to announce herself in a loud and carrying voice. A middle-aged black woman with close-cropped hair, sharp eyes and a severe mouth. She wore a smart suit, no jewellery, and didn’t offer to shake hands. Or even try for a smile. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something wrong, so she could pounce on me. So, of course, I just smiled easily back at her.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing here,’ she said flatly. ‘Neither Doctor Doyle nor I made any request for a field agent, and we certainly don’t need another layer of authority. We know our job. We don’t need anyone interfering. I don’t see what you could possibly hope to contribute …’