“Don’t do that,” Cap whined. “Hurts-”

“Tell them no calls for the next ten minutes,” Andy said. Somewhere the black horse was kicking at its stable door, wanting to get out, wanting to run free. He could feel oily sweat running down his cheeks.

The intercom buzzed again. Cap leaned forward and pushed the toggle switch down. His face had aged fifteen years.

“Cap, Senator Thompson’s aide is here with those figures you asked for on Project Leap.”

“No calls for the next ten minutes,” Cap said, and clicked off:

Andy sat drenched in sweat. Would that hold them? Or would they smell a rat? It didn’t matter. As Willy Loman had been so wont to cry, the woods were burning. Christ, what was he thinking of Willy Loman for? He was going crazy. The black horse would be out soon and he could ride there. He almost giggled.

“Charlie’s been lighting fires?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get her to do that?”

“Carrot and stick. Rainbird’s idea. She got to take walks outside for the first two. Now she gets to ride the horse. Rainbird thinks that will hold her for the next couple of weeks.” And he repeated, “Hockstetter’s ecstatic.”

“Who is this Rainbird?” Andy asked, totally unaware that he had just asked the jackpot question.

Cap talked in short bursts for the next five minutes. He told Andy that Rainbird was a Shop hitter who had been horribly wounded in Vietnam, had lost an eye there (the one-eyed pirate in my dream, Andy thought numbly). He told Andy that it was Rainbird who had been in charge of the Shop operation that had finally netted Andy and Charlie at Tashmore Pond. He told him about the blackout and Rainbird’s inspired first step on the road to getting Charlie to start lighting fires under test conditions. Finally, he told Andy that Rainbird’s personal interest in all of this was Charlie’s life when the string of deception had finally run itself out. He spoke of these matters in a voice that was emotionless yet somehow urgent. Then he fell silent.

Andy listened in growing fury and horror. He was trembling all over when Cap’s recitation had concluded. Charlie, he thought. Oh, Charlie, Charlie.

His ten minutes were almost up, and there was still so much he needed to know. The two of them sat silent for perhaps forty seconds; an observer might have decided they were companionable older friends who no longer needed to speak to communicate. Andy’s mind raced.

“Captain Hollister,” he said.

“Yes?”

“When is Pynchot’s funeral?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Cap said calmly.

“We’re going. You and I. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand. We’re going to Pynchot’s funeral.”

“I asked to go. I broke down and cried when I heard he was dead.”

“Yes, you broke down and cried.”

“I was very upset.”

“Yes, you were.”

“We’re going to go in your private car, just the two of us. There can be Shop people in cars ahead and behind us, motorcycles on either side if that’s standard operating procedure, but we’re going alone. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes. That’s perfectly clear. Just the two of us.”

“And we’re going to have a good talk. Do you also understand that?”

“Yes, a good talk.”

“Is your car bugged?”

“Not at all.”

Andy began to push again, a series of light taps. Each time he pushed, Cap flinched a little, and Andy knew there was an excellent chance that he might be starting an echo in there, but it had to be done.

“We’re going to talk about where Charlie is being kept. We’re going to talk about ways of throwing this whole place into confusion without locking all the doors the way the power blackout did. And we’re going to talk about ways that Charlie and I can get out of here. Do you understand?”

“You’re not supposed to escape,” Cap said in a hateful, childish voice. “That’s not in the scenario.” “It is now, “Andy said, and pushed again. “Owwwww!” Cap whined… “Do you understand that?” “Yes, I understand, don’t, don’t do that anymore, it hurts!” “This Hockstetter-will he question my going to the funeral?” “No, Hockstetter is all wrapped up in the little girl. He thinks of little else these days.”

“Good.” It wasn’t good at all. It was desperation. “Last thing, Captain Hollister. You’re going to forget that we had this little talk.” “Yes, I’m going to forget all about it.”

The black horse was loose. It was starting its run. Take me out of here, Andy thought dimly. Take me out of here; the horse is loose and the woods are burning. The headache came in a sickish cycle of thudding pain.

“Everything I’ve told you will occur naturally to you as your own idea.”

“Yes.”

Andy looked at Cap’s desk and saw a box of Kleenex there. He took one of them and began dabbing at his eyes with it. He was not crying, but the headache had caused his eyes to water and that was just as good.

“I’m ready to go now,” he said to Cap.

He let go. Cap looked out at the alders again, thoughtfully blank. Little by little, animation came back into his face, and he turned toward Andy, who was wiping at his eyes a bit and sniffing. There was no need to overact.

“How are you feeling now, Andy?”

“A little better,” Andy said. “But… you know… to hear it like that…”

“Yes, you were very upset,” Cap said. “Would you like to have a coffee or something?”

“No, thanks. I’d like to go back to my apartment please.”

“Of course. I’ll see you out.”

“Thank you.”

22

The two men who had seen him up to the office looked at Andy with doubtful suspicion-the Kleenex, the red and watering eyes, the paternal arm that Cap had put around his shoulders. Much the same expression came into the eyes of Cap’s secretary.

“He broke down and cried when he heard Pynchot was dead,” Cap said quietly. “He was very upset. I believe I’ll see if I can arrange for him to attend Herman’s funeral with me. Would you like to do that, Andy?”

“Yes,” Andy said. “Yes, please. If it can be arranged. Poor Dr. Pynchot.” And suddenly he burst into real tears. The two men led him past Senator Thompson’s bewildered, embarrassed aide, who had several blue-bound folders in his hands. They took Andy out, still weeping, each with a hand clasped lightly at his elbow. Each of them wore an expression of disgust that was very similar to Cap’s-disgust for this fat drug addict who had totally lost control of his emotions and any sense of perspective and gushed tears for the man who had been his captor.

Andy’s tears were real… but it was Charlie he wept for.

23

John always rode with her, but in her dreams Charlie rode alone. The head groom, Peter Drabble, had fitted her out with a small, neat English saddle, but in her dreams she rode bareback. She and John rode on the bridle paths that wove their way across the Shop grounds, moving in and out of the toy forest of sugarpines and skirting the duckpond, never doing more than an easy canter, but in her dreams she and Necromancer galloped together, faster and faster, through a real forest; they plunged at speed down a wild trail and the light was green through the interlaced branches overhead, and her hair streamed out behind her.

She could feel the ripple of Necromancer’s muscles under his silky hide, and she rode with her hands twisted in his mane and whispered in his ear that she wanted to go faster… faster… faster.

Necromancer responded. His hooves were thunder. The path through these tangled, green woods was a tunnel, and from somewhere behind her there came a faint crackling “and

(the woods are burning)

a whiff” of smoke. It was a fire, a fire she had started, but there was no guilt-only exhilaration. They could outrace it. Necromancer could go anywhere, do anything. They would escape the foresttunnel. She could sense brightness ahead.