Chapter Thirty

“My wife seems to think this is a good idea,” said Rom Gideon with the wry humor Brendan had begun to learn marked him. “No sooner did I land at the foot of Ferry Street than she was there telling me I needed to launch a covert mission—into an asylum, of all places.”

His blue eyes glinted ruefully. He’d turned up at Ginny’s door dressed all in black, with three similarly-clad members of the Irish Squad at his back, and thrust a bundle of clothes at Brendan.

“Now, my wife is a remarkable woman. A singular woman.” Gideon’s light voice and clipped English accent lent the words a certain understated emphasis. “But an asylum, of all places…”

Brendan looked him askance. He must have met Rom Gideon at some point in the past but couldn’t remember sharing conversation with him.

Gideon told him, “I have an unfortunate history with those sorts of places.”

“I’m not crazy about the idea either,” Brendan confessed. “But for Pat’s sake, I’m willing.”

“Yes, Pat. And Rose.” Gideon’s face immediately sobered. “Two of my favorite people. Would you say our target—Mason—is dangerous?”

“He was. Nearly killed me and Liam McMahon. That’s the night I first met Pat Kelly, truth be told. What’s this?” He juggled the clothing clutched against his chest.

“We’re going in under cover. You sure you’re up to this?” Gideon eyed Brendan. “You look a bit battered.”

“Arm’s broken. I won’t be swarming up any ropes.”

“Hmm. May be a problem.” Gideon switched his gaze to Ginny, who stood beside Brendan, silent for once, and back again. “You do realize this will likely cost you your job if it gets out.”

“Aye.” Brendan swallowed. “Do you think it will get out?”

Gideon shrugged. “It is best, as I’ve learned, to prepare for the worst. It’s a mad scheme, though I did manage to score this.”

He drew a paper from his vest pocket and spread it out on a side table.

“What’s that, then?”

“A plan of the wondrous asylum.”

Brendan’s eyes widened. “How did you get your hands on that?”

“I have connections. A friend supplied it. You can see here these are open areas, minimum security. Our target won’t be there.”

“No.”

Gideon stabbed the paper with one finger. “This section here is for patients who…well, rarely see the light of day. There appear to be six rooms. That ups our odds.”

Brendan glanced at the silent members of the Irish Squad. “Don’t you think we need more men?”

“I don’t. This is a covert undertaking; numbers are counterproductive.”

Brendan’s eyebrows soared.

“Now, we’ve no time to waste. We need to have this done before the sun comes up.”

Have it done. The Englishman possessed confidence.

Brendan drew a breath. “I’ll go change. Ginny, I may need your assistance if we’re to be ready quickly.”

Gideon made no objection as Ginny followed Brendan from the parlor and up to her room. There she began unfastening his clothing with unsteady fingers.

“I wish you didn’t have a broken arm and three fractured ribs.”

Four, but he didn’t correct her. “So do I. Something tells me Gideon will be hard to keep up with. On the other hand, I do believe with him on our side we have a chance of getting Mason out of there.”

She paused in the act of hauling off his shirt. “Do you realize you shudder every time you say his name?”

“Never mind that. Help me into these trousers. They’re a tight fit.”

“I imagine he doesn’t want your clothing snagging on anything.” Several moments strenuous struggle ended with Ginny in his arms.

“Promise me you’ll be all right.”

“I don’t like making promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

“Like you did to Rose?”

“I’m keeping that one.”

“Then kiss me for luck.”

He provided the kiss with alacrity.

“Not just one kiss,” she informed him then. “Real luck requires three.”

****

If the asylum on Forest Avenue looked imposing in daylight, the sight of it in darkness proved enough to lift the hairs at the back of Brendan’s neck. They’d made their way here on foot, slipping through the shadows and doing their best to keep their footsteps from echoing. Brendan and Rom Gideon went together, with the three automatons some distance behind so as not to draw attention.

They paused under a tree and looked up at the stone-and-brick structure. Brendan heard Gideon draw a breath and glanced at him sideways.

“Just what’s your history with asylums?” he asked belatedly.

“Nothing much, save that I was held prisoner in one—not here. Tortured.”

“Jaysus.”

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience.” Gideon had got hold of his emotions; the dry humor once more colored his voice.

“I remember hearing about that. It was when the Hathor mansion burned down.”

“Yes. We hushed up as many details as we could.”

“Things like that tend to get out.” Brendan looked at Gideon with new respect. “You were responsible for the demise of Danson Clifford. Your wife is right; you are accustomed to taking on monsters.”

“Clifford died there in the mansion the night of the fire. It wasn’t all down to me. Now I think, given the state of your arm, you should wait outside and let the rest of us go in.” Gideon nodded at the three automations who had just joined them with no more than a stray puff of steam.

“But I—”

Gideon shook his head. “We’re going to have to climb up. I’m sure my companions will recognize the man who created them, right, gentlemen?”

One of the automatons nodded.

“I expect the real difficulty will ensue when we get him out, Sergeant. With every ability at your disposal, you’ll need to persuade him to cooperate with us. A raving madman will do us no good at all.”

Jaysus, Brendan thought, though he didn’t say it aloud this time. “All right.”

“Wait back here.” They moved in a silent body to the rear of the main building. “If you see anything to let you know they’ve twigged us—lights going on all over the place or guards suddenly dashing about—blow this.” Gideon thrust a small, cool object into Brendan’s left hand—a policeman’s whistle. He nodded.

“Very well, gentlemen. Let’s move, and quickly.”

They slipped away from Brendan with such stealth he could barely track them. At first he thought they’d entered the building somehow at one of the rear doors, in the shadows. Then his eye caught the faintest movement at the far corner of the structure; someone scaled the bricks, followed by three other someones like big spiders, one after the other. Their goal appeared to be a third-floor window. Brendan tried to recall the details of the plans spread on Ginny’s table.

Ginny.

If he turned things around in his mind, then yes, this must be the part of the facility where Gideon guessed Mason would be. He didn’t want to think about Mason, seeing him again, or dealing with him, so he switched his thoughts back to Ginny instead. The way she felt in his arms. The light in her eyes when she looked at him. How her lips tasted when they met his.

Did he want Ginny Landry forever? But she’d made it clear she didn’t want forever. And once he lost his job over this stunt, he wouldn’t have much to offer her.

Except his heart, and she’d said nothing to show she wanted that.

He shifted on his feet in an agony of suspense. No light came on anywhere in the building; the whistle remained in his hand.

Only after what seemed like hours did his eye catch a flicker of movement at an upstairs window. The same where the squad had entered? Yes. His heart began to thump as a figure emerged, clinging to the stonework. Then a bundle came through the window, suspended by rope. No, not a bundle but a man, well-trussed.

Mason.

By God, the Englishman had done it. But they weren’t away yet.

In impossible silence he watched the automatons—each with the strength of four men—wrestle the bundle down the side of the building. Gideon emerged last. Brendan knew him by the quick, light way he moved.

What had they done to Mason, to keep him quiet? No way to tell. Brendan watched as they rappelled down the building. One of the automatons heaved the silent bundle over his shoulder; they all approached at a jog, and Brendan stiffened.

By the time they reached him, his heart banged so violently he could barely hear Gideon’s soft words when he spoke. “Here, now, is this your man?”

He pulled a hood up from over the face of the man still slung over the hybrid’s shoulder. Brendan saw a countenance little changed by time—dead white skin, elongated features, and a round, dark mechanical gadget where one eye should be. All the breath left his body in a rush.

“Fecking hell!”

“I’ll take that as an affirmative.”

“He’s quiet. Too quiet.”

“Nicely quiet,” Gideon corrected. “Lucky we caught him by surprise, eh, boys? He wanted to start yelling, but Sean here gave him a right tip on the jaw.”

The nearest automaton flexed steel fingers. “Felt good, it did,” he clicked.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gideon breathed.

“Where should we take him? To Pat’s?”

“Not yet. We have to get him somewhere we can see if he’ll cooperate. Miss Landry’s, perhaps.”

“Sure,” Brendan agreed. In for a penny, in for a pound. Like a chain of ghouls with a body slung between them, they moved off into the darkness.