Two Graves

71

FISCHER PUT DOWN THE RADIO AND ROSE AS ALBAN entered his office. He felt, as usual, a flush of pride as he faced the young man squarely, extending his hand. It was hard to believe that Alban was only fifteen years old. He looked twenty at least, six foot three inches tall, with finely chiseled features, sharp cheekbones, brilliant eyes shining beneath a noble brow, cropped blond hair, Michelangelo lips, white teeth—the face of a god. But most impressive of all was the air he projected: confidence without arrogance, charisma without show, manliness without bluster. One could only imagine what he would be like by the time he reached twenty-one.

Except that now, Fischer felt a small, nagging difficulty.

“You wanted to see me, Herr Fischer?” Alban asked.

“Yes. I’ve learned that your father escaped from custody, killing Berger and a slew of guards in the process. And now it appears he’s detonated some sort of improvised bomb, blown a hole in our defenses.”

As he spoke, he watched Alban’s face carefully for any display of incorrect emotion, but could find none.

“How did it happen?” Alban asked.

“How is not important, except that this is what results when a fool like Berger encounters a man like your father. Your father, Alban, is a truly formidable man. A pity he isn’t on our side.” When the boy remained silent, Fischer added, “And now a flotilla of armed Brazilian soldiers are about to land on the island.”

“I will fight,” said Alban immediately. “I’ll defend the—”

Fischer made a small gesture of silence with his hand, instantly obeyed. “It’s nothing our special brigade can’t handle. In fact, it’s already being handled. No, I’ve asked you here for another reason. I have a task for you. A special task.”

Alban’s face displayed attention, alertness. The one thing about Alban: it was hard to read his real feelings. Of course, that opacity was an essential part of his training, but still it made Fischer uneasy.

“The beta test is over. It was successful. But I must admit I was surprised that you did not wish to stay and witness your father’s death. That shows… perhaps not weakness, but a lack of interest in the—shall we say—finer things? Precisely the values we have tried to inculcate in you, that we have raised you to appreciate. I say lack of interest because I would hate to think that—after all our careful work—any, shall we say, unmanly feelings played a role in your decision to leave the room. Had you been there, that fool Berger wouldn’t have botched his right of vengeance so thoroughly.”

“I apologize. I would have thought that, with all those soldiers in addition to Berger, nothing could have gone wrong.”

“Something did go wrong—and all the soldiers are dead.” Fischer paused to withdraw a cigarette from the silver box on his desk and light it. Alban remained respectfully at attention, his hands behind his back, waiting. Glancing at him again, Fischer couldn’t help himself: he felt a surge of almost fatherly feeling for this fine young man. Which made the possibility of weakness all the more intolerable.

“And so now, Alban, your final task is this: I want you to track down your father and kill him. Just so there is no doubt—none—of what you can accomplish.”

“Yes, sir,” said Alban, without hesitation.

“It seems your father’s explosive device has opened a hole in the defensive wall in old sector five, outside the pathology labs. So we know where he was just a few minutes ago. His ultimate aim is no doubt to find and rescue your twin. Finding and killing Herr Pendergast shouldn’t be a difficult assignment, given your special abilities.”

“I’m ready. I won’t fail you.”

“Good.” He inhaled deeply, exhaled. “Report back to me when you are successful.”

A sudden dull, muffled sound of gunfire penetrated the room, punctuated by the larger explosions of grenades and mortars. Fischer could see puzzlement enter Alban’s eyes. “Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said. “They’re only foolish locals. They will all soon be dead.”