Necroscope

Even as Borowitz and Dragosani watched, the two ESPers settled down again to their 'work', sitting at the desk with their chins in their hands, simply staring at the discs on the chart.

'Do you understand the colour code?' Borowitz hoarsely whispered.

Dragosani shook his head.

'Green is French, blue is American. Do you know what they're doing?'

'Charting the location and the movement of submarines,' said Dragosani, low-voiced.

'Atomic submarines,' Borowitz corrected him. 'Part of the West's so-called 'nuclear deterrent'. Do you know how they do it?'

Dragosani again shook his head, hazarded a guess: Telepathy, I suppose.'

Borowitz raised a bushy eyebrow. 'Oh? Just like that? Mere telepathy? You understand telepathy, then, do you, Dragosani? It's a new talent of yours, is it?'

Yes, you old bastard! Dragosani wanted to say. Yes, and if I wanted to, right now I could contact a telepath you just wouldn't believe! And I don't need to 'chart his course' because I know he isn't going anywhere! But out loud he said: 'I understand it about as much as they'd understand necromancy. No, I couldn't sit there like them and stare at a chart and tell you where killer subs are hiding or where they're going; but can they slice open a dead enemy agent and suck his secrets right out of his raw guts? Each to his own skills, Comrade General.'

As he spoke one of the agents at the desk gave a start, came to his feet and went to a wall screen depicting an aerial view of the Mediterranean as seen from a Soviet satellite. Italy was covered in cloud and the Aegean was uncharacteristically misty, but the rest of the picture was brilliantly clear, if flickering a little. The agent tapped keys on a keyboard at the base of the screen and a green spot of light simulating the location of the submarine to the east of Malta began to blink on and off. He tapped more keys and as he worked Borowitz said:

as Borowitz's way of ensuring that he personally got to know everything of any importance.

Gone now the padlocks and security guards and KGB men. There were none of Andropov's lot here now, where Borowitz's own agents themselves took care of internal security on a rota system, and the doors to the ESP-cells were controlled electrically by coded keys contained in plastic cards. And only one master card, which of course was held by Borowitz himself.

In a corridor lit by blue fluorescent light, he now inserted that key in its slot and Dragosani followed him into a room of computer screens and wall charts, and shelf upon shelf of maps and atlases, oceanographical charts, fine-detail street plans of the world's major cities and ports, and a display screen upon which there came and went a stream of continually updated meteorological information from sources world-wide. This might be the anteroom of some observatory, or the air-controller's office in a small airport, but it was neither of these things. Dragosani had been here before and knew exactly what the room held, but it fascinated him anyway.

The two agents in the room had stirred themselves and stood up as Borowitz entered; now he waved them back to work and stood watching as they took their places at a central desk. Spread out before them was a complex chart of the Mediterranean, upon which were positioned four small coloured discs, two green and two blue. The green ones were fairly close together in the Tyrhennian Sea, mid-way between Naples and Palermo. One of the blue ones was in deep water three hundred miles east of Malta, the other was in the Ionian Sea off the Gulf of Taranto. Even as Borowitz and Dragosani watched, the two ESPers settled down again to their 'work', sitting at the desk with their chins in their hands, simply staring at the discs on the chart.

'Do you understand the colour code?' Borowitz hoarsely whispered.

Dragosani shook his head.

'Green is French, blue is American. Do you know what they're doing?'

'Charting the location and the movement of submarines,' said Dragosani, low-voiced.

'Atomic submarines,' Borowitz corrected him. 'Part of the West's so-called 'nuclear deterrent'. Do you know how they do it?' Dragosani again shook his head, hazarded a guess:

'Telepathy, I suppose.'

Borowitz raised a bushy eyebrow. 'Oh? Just like that? Mere telepathy? You understand telepathy, then, do you, Dragosani? It's a new talent of yours, is it?'

Yes, you old bastard! Dragosani wanted to say. Yes, and if I wanted to, right now I could contact a telepath you just wouldn't believe! And I don't need to 'chart his course' because I know he isn't going anywhere! But out loud he said: 'I understand it about as much as they'd understand necromancy. No, I couldn't sit there like them and stare at a chart and tell you where killer subs are hiding or where they're going; but can they slice open a

dead enemy agent and suck his secrets right out of his raw guts? Each to his own skills, Comrade General.'

As he spoke one of the agents at the desk gave a start, came to his feet and went to a wall screen depicting an aerial view of the Mediterranean as seen from a Soviet satellite. Italy was covered in cloud and the Aegean was uncharacteristically misty, but the rest of the picture was brilliantly clear, if flickering a little. The agent tappedkeys on a keyboard at the base of the screen and a green spot of light simulating the location of the submarine to the east of Malta began to blink on and off. He tapped more keys and as he worked Borowitz said:

'That Froggie sub has just changed course. He's putting the new course co-ordinates into the computer. He isn't much on accuracy, however, but in any case we'll be getting confirmation from our satellites in an hour or so. The point is, we had the information first. These men are two of our best.'

'But only one of them picked up the course alteration,' Dragosani commented. 'Why didn't the other?'

'See?' said Borowitz. 'You don't know it all, do you, Dragosani? The one who 'picked it up' isn't a telepath at all. He's simply a sensitive — but what he's sensitive to is nuclear activity. He knows the location of every atomic power station, every nuclear waste dumping ground, every atomic bomb, missile and ammo dump, and every atomic submarine in the world — with one big exception. I'll get on to that in a minute. But locked in that man's mind is a nuclear 'map' of the world, which he reads as clearly as a Moscow street map. And if something moves on that map of his it's a sub — or it's the Americans shuffling their rockets around. And if something begins to move very quickly on that map, towards us, for instance…' Borowitz paused for effect, and after a moment continued:

'It's the other one who's the telepath. Now he'll concentrate on that single sub, see if he can sneak into its navigator's mind, try to correct any error in the course his partner has just set up on the screen. They get better every day. Practice makes perfect.'

If Dragosani was impressed, his expression didn't register it. Borowitz snorted, moved towards the door, said: 'Come on, let's see some more.'

Dragosani followed him out into the corridor. 'What is it that's happened, Comrade General?' he asked. 'Why are you filling me in on all these fine details now?'

Borowitz turned to him. 'If you more fully understand

what we have here, Dragosani, then you'll be better equipped to appreciate the sort of outfit they might have in England. Emphasis on might. At least, the emphasis used to be on might…'

He suddenly grabbed Dragosani's arms and pinioned

them to his sides, saying: 'Dragosani, in the last eighteen months we haven't had a single British Polaris sub on those screens in there. We just don't know where they go or what they do. Oh, the shielding's good on their engines, no doubt about it, and that would explain why our satellites can't track them — but what about our sensitive in there? What about our telepaths?' Dragosani shrugged, but not in a way that might cause

offence. He was genuinely mystified, no less than his

boss. 'You tell me,' he said.

Borowitz released him. 'What if the British have got ESPers in their E-Branch who can blank out our boys as easy as a scrambler on a telephone? For if that's the case, Dragosani, then they really are ahead!' 'Do you think it's likely?'

'Now I do, yes. It would explain a lot of things. As to what it is that's brought all this to a head — I've had a letter from an old friend of mine in England. I use the term loosely. When we go back upstairs I'll tell you all about it. But first let me introduce you to a new member of our little team. I think you'll find him very interesting.' Dragosani sighed inwardly. His boss would eventually arrive at the matter in hand, the necromancer knew that. It was just that he was so devious in everything he did, including coming to a point. So… better to relax and suffer in