bl.necroscope2-第29章

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　That　in　itself　was　nothing。　There　were　five　people　in　that　house　and　God…knows…what　else；　and　no　reason　at　all　why　it　shouldn't　show　signs　of　life。　With　a　grimace；　Clarke　quickly　corrected　himself：　signs　of　undeath？　Fully　briefed；　he　knew　that　Harkley's　inhabitants　were　something　other　than　they　seemed。　But　as　he　adjusted　his　nite…lite　binoculars　on　the　window；　suddenly　there　was　something　else；　a　realisation　that　struck　at　Clarke　like　a　bolt　of　lightning。
　He　had　known；　of　course；　that　someone　in　there；　probably　the　youth；　was　psychically　endowed。　That　had　been　obvious　for　the　last　four　days；　ever　since　Clarke　and　the　others　first　clapped　eyes　on　the　place。　To　any　half…talented　sensitive　the　old　house　would　reek　of　strangeness。　And　not　just　strangeness；　evil！　Tonight；　as　darkness　fell；　Clarke　had　sensed　it　growing　stronger；　the　wash　of　dark　emanations　flowing　from　the　house　like　mental　sewage。　Until　now　he'd　simply　let　it　flow　right　past　him；　without　touching；　but　as　that　dark　figure　had　e　into　view　behind　the　crack　in　the　curtains；　and　as　he'd　focussed　his　binoculars　upon　it　…
　…Something　had　been　there　in　his　head；　touching　on　his　mind。　A　talent　at　least　as　strong　as　his　own；　probing　his　thoughts！　But　it　wasn't　the　talent　that　surprised　him　…that　was　a　game　he'd　played　before　with　his　colleagues　at　INTESP；　where　they　practised　constantly　to　break　in　on　each　other's　thoughts…it　was　the　sheer　unbridled　animal　animosity　that　caused　him　to　gasp；　draw　back　a　little；　slam　shut　the　doors　on　his　ESP…endowed　consciousness。　The　gurgling　black　whirlpool　bog　of　the　invading　mind。
　And　because　he　had　set　up　defences；　so　he　failed　to　detect　any　hint　of　the　physical　threat；　the　orders　Yulian　had　issued　to　his　black　Alsatian。　He　had　failed；　but　his　primary　talent…the　one　no　one　as　yet　understood…was　not　failing　him。　It　was　11。00　P。M。　and　his　instructions　were　quite　clear：　he'd　go　back　now　to　his　temporary　surveillance　HO　at　a　hotel　in　Paignton　and　make　his　report。　The　watch　on　the　house　would　begin　again　at　6。00　A。M。　tomorrow；　when　a　colleague　of　Clarke's　would　take　it　up。　He　tossed　his　cigarette　down；　ground　it　out　under　his　heel；　pocketed　his　nite…lites。
　Clarke's　car　was　parked　in　a　layby　where　the　hedge　and　fence　were　cut　back　twenty…five　yards　down　the　road。　He　was　on　the　field　side　of　the　hedge。　He　put　his　hand　on　the　top　bar　preparatory　to　climbing　over　to　the　road；　then　thought　better　of　it。　Though　he　didn't　know　it；　that　was　his　hidden　talent　ing　into　play。　Instead　of　climbing　the　fence；　he　hurried　through　the　long　grass　at　the　edge　of　the　field　towards　his　car。　The　grass　was　wet　where　it　whipped　his　trousers；　but　he　ignored　it。　It　saved　time　this　way　and　he　was　in　a　hurry　now；　eager　to　be　away　from　the　place。　Only　natural；　he　supposed；　considering　what　he'd　just　learned。　And　he　hardly　gave　it　a　thought　that　by　the　time　he　got　to　his　car　he　was　almost　running。
　But　it　was　then；　as　he　fumbled　the　key　into　the　lock　and　turned　it；　that　he　heard　something　else　running：　the　faint　scuff　of　padded　feet　slapping　the　road；　the　scrabble　of　claws　as　something　heavy　jumped　the　fence　back　there　where　he'd　been　standing。　Then　he　was　into　the　car；　slamming　the　door　behind　him；　eyes　wide　and　heart　thumping　as　he　gazed　back　into　the　night。
　And　two　seconds　later　Viad　hit　the　car！
　He　hit　so　hard；　with　forepaws；　shoulder　and　head；　that　the　glass　of　the　window　in　Clarke's　door　was　starred　into　a　cobweb　pattern。　The　impact　had　sounded　like　a　hammer　blow；　and　Clarke　knew　that　one　more　charge　like　that　would　shatter　the　glass　to　fragments　and　leave　him　totally　unprotected。　But　he'd　seen　who；　or　what；　his　assailant　was；　and　he　had　no　intention　of　sitting　here　immobile　and　just　waiting　for　it　to　happen。
　Clarke　turned　the　key　in　the　ignition；　revved；　reversed　a　skidding　three　feet　to　bring　the　bonnet　free　of　overhanging　branches。　Vlad's　second　spring；　aimed　again　at　Clarke's　window；　sent　the　dog　sprawling　on　the　bonnet　directly　in　front　of　the　windscreen。　And　now　the　young　esper　saw　just　how　fortunate　his　escape　had　been。　Out　in　the　open…there　was　little　he　could　have　done　against　that！
　Viad's　face　was　a　savage　black　mask　of　hatred；　a　contorted；　snarling；　saliva…flecked　visage　of　madness！　Yellow　eyes　spotted　with　crimson　pupils　glared　through　the　glass　at　Clarke　with　such　a　burning　intensity　that　he　almost　fancied　he　could　feel　their　heat。　Then　he　was　into　first　gear　and　skidding　out　on　to　the　road。
　As　the　car　jerked　and　slewed　forward；　so　the　dog's　feet　were　jolted　from　under　him。　He　crashed　over　on　to　his　side　on　the　bonnet　and　was　sent　sprawling　into　the　darkness　of　the　hedgerow　as　Clarke　straightened　the　car　up　and　sent　it　careening　along　the　road。　In　his　rearview　mirror；　he　saw　the　dog　emerge　from　the　hedge　and　shake　itself；　glaring　after　the　speeding　car。　Then　Clarke　was　round　a　bend　and　Vlad　lost　to　sight。
　
　That　wasn't　something　he　felt　sorry　about。　Indeed；　he　was　still　shaking　when　he　switched　off　the　car's　engine　in　the　hotel　car　park　in　Paignton。　Following　which。。。　he　flopped　back　in　his　seat　and　wearily　lit　a　cigarette；　which　he　smoked　right　down　to　the　cork　tip　before　securing　the　car　and　going　in　to　make　his　report　Frankie's　Franchise　was　wall　to　wall　sleazy。　It　was　a　place　for　habitual　wharf…rats；　prostitutes　and　their　pimps；　pushers　and　Genoese　low…life　in　general。　And　it　was　noisy。　An　old　American　juke…box；　back　in　fashion；　was　blasting　Little　Richard's　raw　〃Tutti　Frutti〃　across　the　main　room　like　a　gale　force　wind。　There　was　no　smallest　corner　of　the　place　that　escaped　the　music's　blast；　but　in　any　one　of　the　half…dozen　arched　alcoves　you　could　at　least　hear　yourself　think。　That　was　why　Frankie's　was　so　ideally　suitable：　you　couldn't　concentrate　enough　to　hear　anyone　else　think。
　Alec　Kyle　and　Carl　Quint；　Felix　Krakovitch　and　Sergei　Gulharov；　sat　at　a　small　square　table　with　their　backs　to　the　protective　alcove　walls。　East　and　West　faced　each　other　across　their　drinks。　Curiously；　on　the　one　side　Kyle　and　Quint　drank　vodka；　and　on　the　other　Krakovitch　and　Gulharov　sipped　American　beers。
　Identifying　each　other　had　been　the　easiest　thing　in　the　world：　in　Frankie's　Franchise；　no　one　else　fitted　the　prescribed　picture　at　all。　But　personal　appearance　wasn't　the　only　yardstick；　for　of　course；　even　in　the　hubbub；　the　three　sensitives　were　able　to　detect　each　other's　psychic　auras。　They　had　made　their　acknowledgement　with　nods　of　their　heads；　picked　their　way　with　their　drinks　from　the　bar　to　an　empty　alcove。　Certain　of　the　club's　regulars　had　given　them　curious　glances：　the　hard　men　a　little　wary；　narrow…eyed；　the　prostitutes　speculative。　They　had　not　returned　them。
　Seated　for　a　few　moments；　finally　Krakovitch　had　opened　the　discussion。　〃I　don't　suppose　you　speaking　my　language；〃　he　said；　his　voice　heavily　but　not　unpleasantly　accented；　〃but　I　speaking　yours。　But　badly。　This　my　friend　Sergei。〃　He　tipped　his　head　sideways　a　little　to　indicate　his　panion。　〃He　know　a　little；　very　little；　English。　He　not　have　ESP。〃
　Kyle　and　Quint　glanced　obediently　at　Gulharov。　What　they　saw　was　a　moderately　handsome　young　man　with　close…cropped　blond　hair；　grey　eyes；　hard…looking　hands　where　they　lay　loosely　crossed　on　the　table；　enclosing　his　drink。　He　seemed　uneasy　in　his　modern　Western　clothes；　which　weren't　quite　the　right　fit。
　〃That's　true　enough。〃　Quint　narrowed　his　eyes；　turning　back　to　Krakovitch。　〃He's　not　skilled　that　way；　but　I'm　sure　he　has　many　other　worthwhile　talents。〃　Krakovitch　smiled　thinly　and　nodded。　He　seemed　a　little　sour。
　Kyle　had　been　studying　Krakovitch；　mitting　him　to　memory。　The　Russian　head　of　ESPionage　was　in　his　late　thirties。　He　had　thinning　black　hair；　piercing　green　eyes　and　an　almost　gaunt；　hollow　face。　He　was　of　medium　height；　slimly　built。　A　skinned　rabbit；　thought　Kyle。　But　his　thin；　pale　lips　were　firm；　and　the　high　dome　of　his　head　spoke　of　a　rare　intelligence。
　Krakovitch's　impression　of　Kyle　was　much　the　same：　a　man　just　a　few　years　younger　than　himself；　intelligent；　talented。　It　was　only　the　physical　side　of　Kyle　that　was　different；　which　hardly　mattered。　Kyle's　hair　was　brown　and　plentiful；　naturally　wavy。　He　was　well　fleshed；　even　a　little　overweight；　but　with　his　height　that　scarcely　showed。　His　eyes　were　brown　as　his　hair；　his　teeth　even　and　white　in　a　too…wide　mouth　that　sloped　a　little　from　left　to　right。　In　another　face　that　look　might　well　be　mistaken　for　cynicism；　but　not　in　Kyle；　Krakovitch　thought。
　Quint；　on　the　other　hand；　was　more　aggressive；　but　he　probably　had　superb　self…control。　He　would　reach　conclusions　quickly；　right　or　wrong。　And　he　would　probably　act　on　them。　He　would　act；　and　hope　he'd　done　the　right　thing。　But　he　wouldn't　feel　guilty　if　it　turned　out　wrong。　Also；　there　wasn't　much　emotion　in　Quint。　All　of　this　showed　in　his　face；　his　figure；　and　Krakovitch　prided　himself　on　reading　character。　Quint　was　lithe；　built　like　a　cat。　In　no　way　massive；　but　he　had　that　coiled　spring　look　about　him。　Not　nervous　tension；　just　a　natural　ability　to　think　and　act　fast。　He　had　eyes　of　disarming　blue　that　took　in　everything；　a　thin；　even　nose；　and　a　forehead　creased　from　frowning。　He　too　was　in　his　mid…thirties；　thin　on　top；　dark　featured。　And　he　had　a　talent。　Krakovitch　could　tell　that　Quint　was　extremely　ESP…sensitive。　He　was　a　spotter。
　〃Oh；　Sergei　Gulharov　has　been　trained　…；　Krakovitch　finally　answered；　〃…as　my　bodyguard。　But　not　in　your　arts；　or　mine。　He　has　not　got　that　kind　of　mind。　Indeed；　of　the　four　of　us；　I　could　argue　that　he　is　the　only　〃normal〃　man　present。　Which　is　unfortunate；〃…now　he　stared　accusingly　at　Kyle…〃for　you　and　I　were　supposed　to　meet　as　equals；　without；　er；　backup？〃
　At　that　moment　the　music　went　quiet；　the　rock'n'roll　replaced　by　an　Italian　ballad。
　〃Krakovitch；〃　said　Kyle；　hard…eyed　now　and　keeping　his　voice　low；　〃we'd　better　be　straight　on　this。　You're　right；　our　deal　was　that　the　two　of　us　should　meet。　We　could　each　bring　along　a　second。　But　no　telepaths。　What　we　have　to　say　to　each　other　we'll　just　say；　without　someone　picking　our　thoughts。　Quint　isn't　a　telepath；　he's　a　spotter；　that's　all。　So　we　weren't　cheating。　And　as　far　as　your　man　here…er；　Gulharov？…is　concerned：　Quint　says　he's　clean；　so　you　aren't　cheating　either。　Or　you　wouldn't　appear　to　be…but　your　third　man　is　something　else！〃
　〃My　third　man？〃　Krakovitch　sat　up　straight；　seemed　genuinely　surprised。　〃I　have　no…〃
　
　〃But　you　do；〃　Quint　cut　in。　〃KGB。　We've　seen　him。　In　fact；　he's　here　in　Frankie's　Franchise　right　now。
　That　was　news　to　Kyle。　He　looked　at　Quint。　〃You're　certain？〃
　Quint　nodded。　〃Don't　look　now；　but　he's　sitting　in　the　corner　over　there　with　a　Genoese　whore。　He's　changed　his　clothes；　too；　and　looks　like　he's　just　off　a　ship。　Not　a　bad　cover…but　I　recognised　him　the　moment　we　walked　in　here。〃
　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　Krakovitch　looked；　then　slowly　shook　his　head。　〃I　do　not　know　him；〃　he　said。　〃Not　to　be　surprised。　I　do　not　know　any　of　them。　I　dislike　…strongly！　But。。。　you　are　sure？　How　can　you　be　so　sure？〃
　Kyle　would　have　been　caught　on　the　hop；　but　not　Quint。　〃We　run　the　same　sort　of　branch　as　the　one　you　run；　rade；〃　he　stated　flatly。　〃Except　we　have　the　edge　on　you。　We're　better　at　it。　He's　KGB；　all　right。〃
　Krakovitch's　fury　was　obvious。　Not　aga