(9) The Day the Sun Came Out

Sanguineus parked at Holyrood Abbey, near the tourist shops by the palace. He stayed in the car.

He had bought a pastrami sandwich and a bottled cola. After tilting back the driver's seat he ate his lunch, scrolling through Estelle Ohell's posts on the Medium website. 

The most recent, posted shortly after his visit to the college admin office, already had several comments from readers who were not entirely supportive of Estelle's revisionist and highly creative view of Gaelic history and the myths that academia had established as more or less sacred. But of course she must twist and tune old tales to answer the inquisitive comment from one of her followers, Rick Cruder, who wrote:

'I have heard from an amatuer historian friend, Tanya, about a secret chamber beneath a castle built for the Scottish king, a secret known only to Joan D'Arc, or something like that, a castle designed by Maggie the Witch. What light can you shed on this dubious anecdote?'

Sanguineus was asking for information on the motive behind the client's contract, the client who had designed the new parliament building. The bait was Tanya's knowledge, accurate or otherwise, about hidden rooms in the complex.

Estelle's response surprised him.

'There was a magical white stone that Lord Walken Ridge had placed in a lusk (Gaelic for "cave") during the construction of a castle in which the king of Scotland was to reside. Aside from the laborers who modified the cave to the lord's specifications, no one knew that beneath the castle foundation was the lusk and its valuable but dangerous white stone.

'However, Lord Walken Ridge had a confidant, a reader of minds named Graf MacGill, who knew about the white stone and its hiding place. And so it was that the witch Maggie Mae sought to slay MacGill to better protect the secret, a decision pressed upon her by Cia, a close adviser and mistress of the errant lord. Cia haled from a land beyond the Western Sea, a cunning woman who even Maggie Mae feared.

'There is no mention of Joan of Arc in the sources. But in a fanciful tale it is said that her cousin, Antoine D'Arc, was an adept with the white stone. He had converse with Lord Walken Ridge. But nothing else is known about him.'

Sanguineus googled the significant elements in the post. 

What he came up with was Wallace Lusk Breckenridge. At the time of the architectural planning for the new parliament building, Breckenridge was Cabinet Secretary of Justice. He later became Scotland's Lord Advocate, his present position, one directly under the British monarch. He was responsible for the prosecution of all criminal cases, and overseeing civil trials.

Breckenridge was 71. His entire adulthood had been spent in Law. According to the post, he was involved in the vigilante/assassin organization called Whitestone, which Tanya Wilde had brought to light for Red Rum, its competitor. Breckenridge might very well have been the founder of Whitestone and was almost certainly its director.

Gerard MacGalt, an expert in the subject of the criminal mind, was aligned with Breckenridge. That Maggie Donegal of Pendleton and Associates had been selected by the Scottish Parliament to design the building, and who was the principal in a contract to kill MacGalt, meant that she had knowledge of Breckenridge's support and use of Whitestone. Furthermore, it meant she was acting at the 'behest' of the CIA, possibly against the wishes of Breckenridge, or, more likely, without his knowledge.

The building project had been a nightmare of delays and cost overruns. Sanguineus was of the opinion that all the chaos in its construction lent itself to the secrecy of adding a feature that was not to be found in the official blueprints. He suspected too that the secret Whitestone headquarters was to some extent a project of the CIA, which doubtless provided logistical, technological, and financial assistance. A set-up like Whitestone, as with Red Rum, is a very useful tool in the CIA arsenal when the Firm needs to distance itself from an operation whose possible ramifications are considered too great of a risk.

Sanguineus got out of the car and walked over to a trash bin at the corner of a line of quaint stucco shops, circa 1750, housing various merchandise and artifacts for tourists.

Disposing of the sandwich wrapper and bottle, he stood a moment soaking up the pleasant sunlight.

At the end of the narrow street that leads to the gates of St Andrew's, the grey-bearded man in the macintosh, with the bushy red eyebrows, turned his back to Sanguineus and went around behind the last shop.

Sanguineus followed him.

The man was standing under a sycamore tree staring through the fence at the abbey, his hands in his coat pockets. He looked curiously at Sanguineus as he was approached.

"I believe we saw each other at Goose and Hemlock," Sanguineus said amiably. "My name's Ricklen."

"Dunbar. I mistook your lady friend for an acquaintance of mine. I hope that didn't cause a misunderstanding."

"Would you be so kind as to answer some questions I have about your acquaintance? Valentina Vizconde."

The man smiled. "That might depend on the nature of the questioning," he said, his right coat pocket extending out toward Sanguineus in a tentative gesture.

Sanguineus seized the man's right wrist, shoved his other hand up under the man's bearded chin, and at the same time kicked the man's right leg out from under him, pushing backward against the chin and holding the right wrist away from himself as he directed the man down upon the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him, the back of the man's head striking the earth, stunning him.

Sanguineus had a knee pressing down on the man's right forearm. He took the suppressed Mauser pistol from the right hand and slipped it into the left pocket of his black leather jacket.

He knelt there waiting for the man to get his breath back, for the stunned look in the pale eyes to clear. Meanwhile he pulled off the man's fake red eyebrows and dug his fingers in the man's beard. The whiskers had blondish roots. The beard had been dyed.

Sanguineus searched the man's coat and trousers, his waistband, then roughly rolled him over on his stomach and discovered in the back trouser pocket a billfold.

Sanguineus searched this for a concealed card holder, disregarding the cards in the clear plastic holders. He found what he was looking for, disguised by the stitching on the bottom of the bill holder. He drew out a folded certified copy of an EU visa issued in New Orleans to an Anthony Earl D'Arc.

Sanguineus put the document back in the billfold, and put the billfold in a front pocket of his jeans. He grabbed D'Arc's mac and pulled him to his feet, pushing him back against the wall of the shop. Then he stood back, his left hand in his jacket pocket, and taking D'Arc by the arm he ushered him back around to the front of the shops.

"You might tell me where you're taking me, and why," D'Arc said, his breathing shallow, his face wincing from the headache he had been given.

Sanguineus set him down on a bench against the wall of the first shop, across from the thoroughfare, cattycorner to the narrow strip of parking where the Dart stood shimmering in the sun. 

Sanguineus sat next to him, on the man's left, so the Mauser in Sanguineus' lefthand jacket pocket was out of D'Arc's reach.

"I have no qualms about killing you right out here in the open," Sanguineus said to him. "I have powerful people behind me, which I think you know is true. You were out to pop me in Switzerland. You impersonated Drake LeCourt. Well, you remember how you fucked that up. Don't fuck up this time or there won't be another chance to show your ineptitude. Who's the director of Whitestone and where is its headquarters?"

D'Arc knew he was doomed. He knew the assassin would not set him free, no matter how cooperative he was. He considered a moment, and with a perverse pleasure he decided that he should not be the only one whose life was to end. There was something ineffably pleasing about telling secrets, about expressing one's privileged knowledge. 

He looked at Sanguineus and saw that he, the assassin, knew exactly what was passing through his victim's mind at that moment. He understood the primal ego, that part that flew in the rarified air above the survival instinct.

"I thought you wanted to know about Valentina?"

"Answer my question."

"Wallace Breckenridge, the Lord Advocate, he's top banana. And since you know Tanya Wilde, you may or may not know that Whitestone's headquarters are in a basement of the new parliament building."

"Why are you here?"

"Because Valentina Vizconde wants you dead, and I was more than happy to oblige her."

Sanguineus smiled coldly. "That's three times you've mentioned her."

"Yes, I know, I know. You think Valentina and Tanya are the same person. I've never seen them together. True. Very true. You know, she could have enrolled in the college under two identities. Breckenridge could have arranged it, and I know he has an operative in the Gillie Team, a dude named Smitchee, who recruits for Whitestone, among other duties. But I'm a small fish in this pond, Ricklen. I do what I'm told and I don't ask questions."

Sanguineus took out his cell phone and activated the voice recorder. He gave the phone to D'Arc. 

"Hold that close to your mouth," he said. "If I say something that you believe incorrect, interrupt me and straighten out my ass. It was through Smitchee that Tanya Wilde hooked up with a Red Rum recruiter. That means Smitchee was doing double duty, being an informant for Breckenridge and his vigilantes, and doing the same for Red Rum. But neither organization knew the other existed. Smitchee kept his oath. He didn't snitch on either one. And neither did the CIA. It too didn't want either one to know about the other. But then Tanya Wilde blows that idea all to fuck. An honest mistake, we'll say. Am I right?"

"So far as I know, yes, probably she didn't realize what a mess she was causing," said D'Arc, gazing out at the tourists with their backpacks and water bottles and baby strollers, nobody of any help to him.

"So she goes to France," Sanguineus mused, "under the name of Valentina Vizconde?"

"No, I don't think so. Benz knew her as Tanya."

"Benz believed he killed Tanya, but she says it was a 'double' that she set up to be killed by him. The double could not have been Valentina... Or could it?"

D'Arc shrugged. "If Benz killed Valentina, thinking she was Tanya, then, you know, it is possible that Tanya could masquerade as Valentina, for whatever her reasons."

Sanguineus had an idea that appealed to him despite its innate threat to his life. He looked D'Arc in the eye and said, "Smitchee plays both sides and you could do the same. You understand what happened to Francois Benz. When Red Rum determined that he killed Tanya, she was avenged. I killed Benz myself. If you accept my offer, and then turn against me, you will be hunted down and killed. You play along with me and you'll be amply rewarded. It works for Smitchee, it can work for you. What do you say?"

D'Arc was both relieved and puzzled. He nodded, but immediately he remarked on the abduction of Tanya. "I followed her, who I thought was Valentina, when she left Paris. I knew her years ago when she was hanging with the Tollcross Rebels, and deceived her, so that she swore she'd kill me. But that's another story. I was told that this was the bitch who had uncovered Whitestone and that I was to grab her, this Tanya Wilde who I thought was Valentina. So I kidnapped her and in the dead of night I took her to the Lusk, to the cave, as we call it. I tried to orient her to Whitestone. I did not sexually abuse her. I was under Breckenridge's orders. A psychologist named MacGalt was there, disguised, and he knows all the tricks about brainwashing and aversion therapy, everything about enslaving a psychopath, as he explained it. He's a monster, but you wouldn't know it to look at him. He's a professor at a college, a close friend of Breckenridge, they even go hiking together in the hills. He worked his ugly magic on Tanya, or whoever she is, and I confess I assisted him at times. But she wouldn't break. Now listen to me and believe me. Look in my eyes. I swear to God. It's true. MacGalt was going to kill her, he was so angry at his failure. But I allowed her to escape. I had to use a patsy to save myself or I would have been nixed."

Sanguineus stood up and stared down at the man for a long moment. "I have been seeing a girl who I know to be Tanya, and you've been seeing the same girl who you know to be Valentina. There are two things I want you to do for me, and for which you will receive a generous compensation. Find out when Breckenridge and MacGalt will be going on their next hike. And secondly, meet with Valentina. Let me know when and where. If you and her are together at the same time that I and Tanya are together, then all is right with the world."

Sanguineus took the Nordic from the very grateful D'Arc and paused the recording.

"Get going," he said.