Elvis opened one eye. The sound of a lock being buzzed open gained his attention as quickly as a deep-fried mars-bar had back in the old days.
He sat up and looked over at the door to the cell, which had swung slightly open.
A trap? Surely not. They already had him, what would be the point of doing anything funky now?
Of course, those damn Cubists were capable of almost anything; belief was a bitch to circumvent sometimes.
He stood, grabbed his jacket and turned to leave. He turned back and picked-up the sunglasses sitting on the table by the bed.
He slowly pushed the cell door open. It creaked on elderly hinges and he took a quick glance outside.
He crept from the cell, observing the usual things you’d find where cells were involved: a pile of telephone books against one wall and several fire hoses in a disorganised mess in the corner.
Now at the control desk he noted the the lever to his cell had been pulled down, which had resulted in his fortunate escape. He pulled down on the other three levers and glanced over. As each door opened there was an accompanying buzzing sound.
Elvis walked back down to see if there was anyone in the other cells.
‘What took you so long?’ asked Marcus from cell number three. He stepped out.
‘I’ll explain on the way,’ replied Elvis and opened the door of the next cell.
Prime lay sleeping on the bed. Her legs were heavily bandaged and she was clad in an out-of-character white gown. A tube from a blood-filled bag terminated in a ball of bandage on her left hand.
‘Hi darlin’,’ said Elvis as she stirred on the bed.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she replied with a disappointed tone. ‘Where’s Johnny Depp when you need him?’
‘Who?’
* * *
‘You know, I don’t feel too well,’ said Daisy-Donnie.
The surroundings blurred and Daisy-Donnie found the perspectives shifting wildly. They realised what was happening far too late to react.
Daisy-Donnie slowly collapsed to the shiny obsidian floor.
* * *
‘I just want to know where the hell my guns are,’ muttered Elvis, rifling through the storage cabinets and drawers. ‘Nixon gave them to me, for crying out loud. They’re Presidential issue revolvers, man.’
‘I’m sure they’ll turn up,’ said Marcus. ‘Ah, there’s one.’
Elvis had opened a drawer and inside was a pair of handcuffs and one of his guns.
‘Damn,’ he said, irritated to have lost the other gun. He stood and looked at Marcus while checking the gun for bullets. ‘Turn your collar up.’
‘What? Fashion tips from you?’
‘Just do it,’ He twisted the gun in the air and the magazine slammed shut. Then he turned his collar up.
‘I’m back,’ said Elvis.
* * *
Daisy-Donnie opened their eyes. The walls were moving upwards. No, not the walls, the ceiling.
‘Hmmm?’ they said, still unused to the voice. ‘Wassgoin… on?’
They looked up and saw an unfamiliar face. He stared straight ahead.
The trolley bumped through a pair of swinging doors just as Daisy-Donnie fell into unconsciousness once more.
* * *
Elvis, Prime and Marcus carefully and quickly made their way through the facilities, trying to to find a way out.
‘Where’s Donnie?’ asked Prime, still groggy from the anesthetic, sitting in the wheelchair from her cell.
‘Don’t know,’ said Elvis honestly. ‘We’re getting you out of here then we’ll go lookin’.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Just give me something to defend myself and I’ll be… fine,’ she lulled forwards, then raised her head again. ‘ooo. That felt thing… um.. funny…’
Elvis nodded. ‘Graceland’ll be wondering where the hell we are by now.’
They turned a corner and stopped dead. A man was standing there, dressed in black.
‘You took your time,’ said The Assassin, looking pointedly at his watch.
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Marcus.
‘Who the hell is who?’ asked Prime. ‘Hey, if I go cross-eyed I have… one… two…three hands.’
She giggled happily.
Elvis stared, then his shoulders dropped.
‘Wait here,’ he said.
‘You know this guy?’ asked Marcus.
Elvis glanced at Marcus then strode over to The Assassin. They stood and conversed in whispers for a few moments. A nod from Elvis and he gestured for Marcus to wheel Prime forward.
‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ said Marcus brightly and somewhat sarcastically.
‘Be glad that you haven’t,’ The Assassin replied.
‘He’s a friend,’ interjected Elvis. ‘He released us. And now we’ve got to get the hell out of here.’
The Assassin turned and began to walk.
‘This way,’ he said.
* * *
Daisy-Donnie dreamed.
They dreamed of their childhood, spent in the forests of home, playing in amongst the trees and on the grass.
They remembered the first word they said; a child’s hand pointing forwards and two tiny little voices.
‘Look Mummy,’ said Donnie, beginning the sentence.
‘There’s a cloud up in the sky,’ said Daisy, finishing it.
Daisy and Donnie remembered growing up together. Sister and brother born moments apart.
Everything had been new then; the only running was from their friends, both imaginary and real.
The light bouncy memories faded into darkness, and Daisy-Donnie were drawn back to a dark, wet night; a memory like a nightmare, a nightmare that was a memory.
With tears rolling down their cheeks, Daisy and Donnie crouched in the bushes that formed the border between their village and the rest of the forest, they heard harsh whip-cracks of sound, the screams all deadened by the oppressive, wet darkness.
Daisy and Donnie hid. Their friend kept them safe.
* * *
Marcus and Elvis stood just inside the room. Prime sat, but that was okay.
The walls of the huge room were lined floor-to-ceiling with metal boxes, each with strong handles and warnings printed in various languages.
Each had a particular yellow and black symbol printed prominently on its side.
‘Oh my,’ said Marcus with shock.
‘Indeed,’ said The Assassin, turning to face them from the centre of the vault. ‘I thought you’d appreciate this for what it was.’
‘How many of them are there,’ asked Marcus.
‘Enough.’ The Assassin turned to address Marcus.
‘Enough for what?’ asked Marcus.
‘I heard the test-firing went like a dream,’ said The Assassin ignoring Marcus’s question.
Grim realisation hit Elvis and Marcus at once. If it hit Prime she didn’t acknowledge it, but that was okay seeing as she was unconscious and drugged to the eyeballs with pain medication.
‘Tasmania,’ said Elvis.
‘But it was a French nuke,’ said Marcus.
‘The Cubists are French,’ said The Assassin. ‘Not that it matters of course; they have no links to government; other than being the managers of their most deadly weapons.’
Marcus glanced up. ‘It was them?’
‘Oh, man,’ said Elvis, leaning against a wall with one hand flat against it.
‘The bomb that was used in Tasmania was delivered on a cargo plane that flew out of this airport twenty hours ago. It was crash-landed and exploded by remote-control.’
‘Why?’ asked Elvis, still leaning against the wall.
‘Cubists,’ said The Assassin, with an expression of patient frustration. ‘How better to see people at their best and worst, to see things from every angle.’
Elvis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Damn,’ he murmured.
‘Then why did the French say it was one of theirs,’ asked Marcus.
‘It was one of theirs,’ said The Assassin with a shrug. ‘They didn’t order the bombing of course, but they were truthful when they said one of their weapons had been used to blow up a small island in the middle of nowhere. They omitted, of course, that the nuke had been used improperly.’
Marcus gave him a confused look.
‘The worlds weapons are managed privately,’ explained The Assassin. ‘Like everything else.’
Marcus stared, open-mouthed.
‘The French would have suffered politically if they’d admitted the truth, that the Cubists had taken one of their bombs and used it for their own ends,’ The Assassin explained. ‘And besides, they all knew the government would just roll-over.’
‘Which is why we’ve been pulled into it,’ said Elvis, putting the pieces together.
‘Easier to blame a group that won’t bend to their will than to tell the truth.’
‘Politics,’ spat Marcus.
‘Plausible Deniability,’ agreed The Assassin. ‘It looks good in the press if they have someone to blame.’
‘And they knew they couldn’t touch the ones really behind it,’ said Elvis. ‘Even if they knew it was the Cubists.’
Elvis stood straight now and walked further into the room, turning on his heel to observe the horror that filled it. Box upon box filled the shelves. They seemed to go on forever. It was like walking between two mirrors,
‘And now they’ve got nukes as far as the eye can see,’ he said.
Prime opened her eyes. ‘Wheeee! What’re they darls?’
‘Pain medication’s obviously good,’ commented Marcus. ‘Nasty things, sweetie.
‘Very Nasty Things.’ said Elvis.
* * *
Daisy and Donnie hid in the undergrowth as the stranger approached, knowing he would not find them. It was the game they were best at – for so-long as they remained calm, no-one could find them if they didn’t want them to.
‘Come out,’ he said simply, quietly and without demand.
Daisy and Donnie stayed put, watching as the stranger walked slowly past.
‘He’s a bad man,’ whispered the voice of their friend. ‘You have to always remember that.’
Daisy and Donnie nodded and slowly, carefully rose. The stranger had gone deep enough into the brush for them to avoid detection.
They stood carefully and walked slowly back into the clearing using their secret track. A few minutes later they emerged in the clearing. A giant oak tree stood in the middle of the glade.
All was silent, and the darkness enveloped everything; the environment of every nightmare made real.
* * *
‘We need to get somewhere I can get a clear signal,’ said Elvis, addressing The Assassin.
The Assassin nodded and led them from the room to another corridor.
‘How do you know your way around,’ asked Marcus.
‘It’s a talent,’ said The Assassin bluntly.
He stopped by a ladder which led up to to the roof.
‘Right,’ said Elvis, beginning to climb.
‘Calling in the cavalry?’ asked Marcus.
‘Kind-of,’ replied Elvis, who turned and gave Marcus a worried look. He dropped back to the ground.
‘You’re not fucking serious,’ snapped Marcus, reacting as if stung.
‘We’re stuck, Marcus,’ said Elvis, turning to face him properly. ‘We don’t have the manpower to secure them all.’
‘But… what about–’
‘None of our people can move now. If they do they’ll be held and thrown into
detention,’ said Elvis. ‘You know this.’
Marcus stared furiously.
‘Calling in the BSD and The Sisterhood is the only way left to handle this.’
Marcus stood, mouth open. ‘This isn’t a serious option. You can’t… There has to be someone else.’
‘You’d rather see them in the hands of the Cubists? Or the Government?’ Elvis was annoyed now, but not at Marcus.
Marcus broke the gaze, shoulders dropping.
‘There’s got to be another way,’ he murmured.
‘We’ve already seen what they’ll do,’ said Elvis now referring to the Cubists. ‘They’ll nuke something just to see what’ll happen. That’s what they are.’
‘And no-one will stop them,’ said The Assassin. ‘No-one can.’
‘See the world from every way possible,’ murmured Marcus. ‘They’re forces of Chaos.’
‘No, chaos is nature,’ said The Assassin cooly. ‘The Cubists are forces of destruction. This is only the beginning.’
Marcus glanced up and took a deep breath. He knew he was beaten.
‘The BSD and The Sisterhood are nuts,’ Elvis continued. ‘But they’re our kind of nuts. Manageable nuts. The Cubists have to be disarmed somehow.’
‘We are running out of time,’ said The Assassin.
‘Shut up,’ Elvis rounded angrily on The Assassin.
The Assassin raised his right eyebrow and took a quiet yet deep breath. He stepped back a little and reached into a pocket, retrieving a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
‘Mutually Assured Destruction, Marcus.’ said Elvis, now addressing his Cardinal. ‘They’ll both have the nukes and they’ll both be balanced. It’ll be like it always was.’
Marcus didn’t have an answer.
‘You know it’s the only way,’ insisted Elvis.
The Assassin lit a cigarette and the lighter closed with a flick of his wrist.
The lighter had a design of an Eagle on it.
