Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 23

 
"Neither mercy nor regret exist in the lexicon of Evil."
—Conrad Bland

 

"Satan has kept the Republic's churches in business for eons," said Bland. "It is time to redress the balance."

Sable had been summoned from his room just before midnight. Bland had slept until noon, as he frequently did, and was just now getting around to having dinner. He had wanted companionship, and insisted that Sable join him.

The detective was escorted down to the main floor of the church, and into a large room that had once served as an initiation room where novices learned the sacred Rites of Baal, but which Bland had turned into a dining room.

A broad, polished table some thirty feet long dominated the room. The walls were covered with photographs and holographs of Bland, and with small plaques displaying what he believed to be his more incisive observations. Bland, surrounded by four armed guards, sat at the head of the table, and Sable was directed to a chair at the other end. He had been offered food, but the stench was stronger down here and his appetite, never strong since his arrival in Tifereth, vanished completely. Bland seemed to enjoy the odor, or at least not to mind it; at any rate, noted Sable, it certainly hadn't affected the obvious relish with which he wolfed down his dinner.

"What's the matter, Mr. Sable?" asked Bland between mouthfuls. "Have you no opinion on the matter?"

"You know my opinion," said Sable coldly.

"Well said, Mr. Sable!" laughed Bland. "Such diplomacy! You delight me, you truly do! Like all men of good intentions, you even now believe in manners, and gentleness, and turning the other cheek." He paused and laughed again. "Of course, you realize that these are also the very qualities that farmers breed for in their sheep."

"You can't murder a sheep."

"Don't judge me so harshly, Mr. Sable," said Bland. "If there is a God, then He has passed a death sentence on every human being from the moment of conception. I am but a talented amateur."

A soldier walked into the room, approached Bland, and whispered something in his ear. Bland frowned, then issued some orders in a voice too low for Sable to hear. The soldier saluted and left.

"I must compliment the Republic," said Bland. "Their killer has made it to within a mile of us."

"Did you capture him?" asked Sable.

"We will momentarily. We have him surrounded. But he got a lot closer than I expected him to. I think I shall have to inspect my defenses tomorrow morning." He shot Sable a cherubic smile. "But enough of such sordid matters. The reason I have invited you to join me, Mr. Sable, is that we are to be entertained by the Magdalene Jezebel after dinner is over."

They heard the sound of gunshots in the distance.

"Well, that's that," said Bland. "It saves me the trouble of deciding whether to kill him or hire him. You look disappointed, Mr. Sable; don't be. Nothing can kill me, and this saves you from the possibility of being hit by a stray bullet or laser beam. Would you care for some pie?"

"No, thank you."

"Be a little generous, Mr. Sable," said Bland. "I don't offer to share my possessions—even my meals—with many people."

Sable shook his head, and Bland shrugged.

"Well, if that's your final decision, I suppose I shouldn't be too upset. It means there will be more for me."

He began gobbling his pie, then suddenly stopped.

"Damn!" he said irritably, picking up a napkin and dabbing at a small stain on his white jacket. "I do many things efficiently, but I simply cannot get through a meal without spilling something." He dipped the napkin in a glass of water, then began rubbing the stain more vigorously.

Sable heard two more bursts of gunfire, this time noticeably closer. A moment later another soldier rushed into the room.

"Well?" demanded Bland, looking up from his jacket.

"He got away, sir," said the soldier, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

"How?"

"We haven't been able to get a report, sir. I think he destroyed their radio."

"Get out!" screamed Bland. "Get out and don't come back until he's dead!"

The soldier needed no second invitation to remove himself from the presence of his enraged leader. Bland glared at the door for a long moment after he had left, then returned to his pie. He toyed with it for a few seconds, then flung it off the table with a sweep of his hand. The plate shattered into a hundred tiny pieces.

"Damn damn damn!" he shouted. "Who does this fool think he is, marching into Tifereth as if I were just some ordinary man he could kill at will? This is Conrad Bland he's after!" His voice became a high whining shriek. "What's the matter with your government, Mr. Sable? First they offer me sanctuary and now they won't lift a finger to stop this murderer!"

Sable sighed. "If you haven't figured it out by this late date, I don't see how I'm going to be able to explain it to you."

Bland's face contorted in fury for a moment—and then, suddenly, as if nothing had happened, he stood up with a pleasant smile on his lips.

"Please excuse my little show of temper, Mr. Sable, It's really not like me at all. Anyway, as long as dinner seems to be over, I think it's time for a little entertainment."

He motioned to Sable and two of his guards to join him, and walked to a door at the back of the room. It led to a dimly lit corridor, which they followed for perhaps two hundred feet, emerging at last into a small room that had once been a private chapel. A number of cushioned seats were still bolted to the tile floor, but the altar had been removed, replaced by a large rectangular structure which had a curtain draped over it.

Bland seated himself in the first pew and gestured to Sable to do likewise. Sable saw a number of electric cables leading from the covered structure to a small panel which one of the guards now brought to Bland.

"Let's have a little music," said Bland, and a moment later a bizarre symphony was piped into the chapel through the intercom system.

Bland nodded to the guards, who pulled the curtains away, revealing a large tank of water. Inside the tank, dressed in the jewels and leather of her order, was the Magdalene Jezebel, her hands and feet loosely tied to support poles along the sides of the tank. It took Sable almost a fun minute to realize that she was entirely submerged and no longer breathing. Her hair floated behind and above her, moving gently as it was carried to and fro by tiny currents in the water.

"Why did you kill her?"

"She came to me this afternoon and told me to destroy you," said Bland. "Ultimately I will do so; I may even do so tonight But no one gives orders to Conrad Bland. No one!"

He pressed a button on his panel and Sable heard the hum of electricity. An instant later the Magdalene Jezebel's body jerked ferociously as the charge reached the water.

"You see, Mr. Sable," said Bland with a chuckle, "one need not be alive to be an entertainer."

For the next twenty minutes, as the music built to a discordant crescendo and Bland matched it note for note on his control panel, Sable watched the Magdalene Jezebel's dance of death with horrified fascination.

Finally it was over, and Bland, suddenly uninterested, ordered his guards to replace the curtains.

"I think I'll try it with a living woman next time," he said confidentially. "Of course, only the first few steps will be different, but even that could prove interesting, don't you think?"

Sable, still stunned by what he had seen, made no answer.

"Come, come, Mr. Sable," said Bland. "Surely you have seen less pleasant sights in your official capacity. And waste no sympathy on our Daughter of Delight. She had a purpose, and she served it admirably."

"Her purpose was to entertain you like this?" demanded Sable.

"No," said Bland. "Her purpose was to die."

"For no reason at all."

"Precisely," said Bland with a smile. "Consider my position, Mr. Sable. If I treat the innocent like this, think how the guilty will fear me."

"You're mad!"

"It pleases my enemies to think so." Bland laughed. "It also weakens them." More gunshots rang out, still closer to the church. "All but one, anyway," he added, concern momentarily clouding his face.

"They haven't caught him yet," said Sable, amazed. "He's still out there!"

"We shall catch him, never fear," said Bland harshly. "That I promise you, Mr. Sable."

"You promised me that three days ago," said Sable.

"You seem to be confused in your loyalties," said Bland, smiling. "In case you've forgotten, you came to Tifereth to protect me."

Sable snorted contemptuously.

"Are you telling me, Mr. Sable, that if your assassin walks through the door this minute that you won't sacrifice your life to save me?"

"If he enters the room right now, I'll strew his path with flowers!" snapped Sable.

"Poor deluded man," said Bland with a sigh. "You still haven't learned that I'm invincible. What he does with those fools in the street is one thing; what he does here is another. I assure you that this building is impregnable."

"We'll see," said Sable with more conviction than he felt.

"This whole conversation is probably academic," said Bland. "I haven't heard any more gunfire." He turned to one of the guards. "Find out if we killed him yet."

The guard left the chapel, and Bland played idly with his control panel, though he could no longer see the Magdalene Jezebel's spasmodic contortions.

"You are ceasing to amuse me, Mr. Sable," he said at last. "I hope you haven't outlived your entertainment value."

Sable made no reply.

"Come, come, Mr. Sable," continued Bland. "I am surrounded by fools and cowards and sycophants. I should hate to see our relationship come to an end."

"What do you want me to do to amuse you—an underwater juggling act?" said Sable, glaring at him.

"That's more like it, Mr. Sable!" said Bland with a chuckle. "That's the kind of spirit I like to see, that wonderful sense of humor while staring into the very maw of death!"

A moment later the guard returned to the room and Bland got to his feet and walked over to speak to him. They conversed in low whispers for a few seconds, then Bland pulled a small pistol out of his belt and shot him between the eyes.

"There's a lesson in this," he said, turning to the other guard, who hadn't moved. "Never bring me bad news twice in one day."

"What happened?" asked Sable.

"All of our communications lines are down," said Bland, frowning.

Sable laughed.

"What's so funny?" snapped Bland.

"You still don't understand what's happening, do you?"

"I told you: our communication lines are dead. It's a technical failure, nothing more."

"Your communication lines aren't dead," said Sable. "But your communicators are."

"Nonsense! I've got five thousand men out there!"

"And one lone man has got you surrounded!" Sable laughed.

"Don't laugh at me!" screamed Bland. He lowered his head in thought for a moment, then looked up. "Come along, Mr. Sable. I see that it's time to take an active hand in this."

"You'll never stop him," said Sable, more confidently this time.

"Yes I will!" snapped Bland, walking to the door. "But don't think I will forget that you laughed at me. For the next few hours I shall direct my every effort toward destroying this upstart who thinks he can attack Conrad Bland with impunity. But the instant I have finished with him, Mr. Sable, I shall turn my attentions to you—and I promise you that it won't be a pleasant experience."

 

Back | Next
Framed