Kyle's eyes narrowed, grew very bright and fierce. ‘Have Peter's body burned,' he said, ‘just in case.
And then burn Bodescu. Burn all the blood-sucking bastards!'
Quint gently took the phone from him and said, ‘Guy, Carl here. Listen, this is top priority. Get a couple of our best men up to Hartlepool A.S.A.P. Darcy Clarke especially. Do it now, even before you move on Harkley.'
‘Right,' Roberts answered. ‘I'll do it.' Then he got the point. His gasp was perfectly audible, even over the none too clear connection. ‘Hell, of course I'll do it right now!'
Wide-eyed and pale, Kyle and Quint stared at each other. There was no need to give voice to what was on their minds. Yulian Bodescu had learned almost everything there was to know about them. Keen had access, as had they all, to the Keogh file. A vampire's greatest fear is to be discovered for what he is. He will try to destroy anyone who even suspects him.
INTESP knew what he was, and the focus the jinni loci of INTESP was someone called Harry Keogh.
Darcy Clarke had swallowed two double brandies in quick succession before insisting on going back on duty. That had been shortly before Roberts's call to the Hotel Dunarea in Bucharest. Roberts, at first dubious, had finally let Clarke go back to Harkley, but with this warning: ‘Darcy, stay in your car. Don't leave it, no matter what. I know you have your juju working, but in this case it mightn't be enough. But we do need someone watching that hell- house, at least until we can get fully mobilised, and so if you're volunteering.
Clarke had driven carefully, coldly back to Harkley House and parked on the stiff black grass close to where Keen's car had stood. He tried not to think about the ground where his car stood, or what had happened there.
He was aware of it would never forget it but he kept it on the periphery of his consciousness, didn't let it interfere. And so with his gun and loaded crossbow beside him he'd sat there watching the house, never taking his eyes off it for a moment.
Fear had turned to hatred in Clarke's heart; he was here as a duty, yes, but it was more than that. Bodescu might just come out, might just show his face, and if he did… Clarke needed desperately to kill him.
In the house Yulian sat in darkness by his garret window. He, too, had known a little fear, something of panic. But now, like Clarke, he was cold, calm, calculating. For now, with one very important exception, he knew all there was to know about the watchers. The one thing he didn't know was when. But certainly it would be soon. He gazed out into the darkness and could sense the approaching dawn. Down there, beyond the gate, in a car in the field across the road, someone else watched. Ah, but this one would be better prepared. Yulian sent his vampire senses reaching into the cold and misty pre-dawn gloom, touched lightly upon a mind. Hatred lashed out at him before the mind closed itself — but not before he recognised it. Yulian merely grinned. He sent his telepathic thoughts down to the vaulted cellars: Vlad, an old friend of yours is keeping a vigil on the house. 1 want you to watch him. But don't let him see you, and don't try to hurt him. They are wary now, these watchers, and coiled like springs. If you are seen it may not go well for you. So just watch him, and let me know if he moves or does anything other than watch us! Now go. A huge black shadow, slope-eared, feral-eyed, padded silently up the narrow steps in the small building standing towards the rear of the house. It came out into the grounds, turned towards the gates, kept to the darker areas of trees and shrubbery. Tongue lolling, Vlad hastened to obey.
Yulian called the women down into the main living room on the ground floor. It was totally dark in that room, but each present could see the others perfectly well. Like it or not, night was now their element. When they were assembled, Yulian seated himself beside Helen on a couch, waited a moment to be sure he had the full attention of the women, then spoke.
‘Ladies,' he commenced, mockingly, his voice low and sinister, ‘it will soon be dawn. I can't be certain but I rather fancy that it will be one of the last dawns you ever see. Men will come and they will try to kill you. That may not be easy, but they're determined and they'll try very hard.'
‘Yulian!' His mother at once stood up, her voice shocked; fearful. ‘What have you done?'
‘Sit down!' he commanded, glaring at her. She obeyed, but reluctantly. And when she was perched again on the edge of her chair, he said, ‘I have done what I must do to protect myself. And you all of you — shall be obliged to do likewise, or die. Soon.'
Helen, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by Yulian, her skin crawling with her fear of him, timorously touched his arm. ‘I shall do whatever you ask of me, Yulian.'
He thrust her away, almost hurled her from the couch. ‘Fight for yourself, slut! That is all I ask. Not for me but for yourself — if you desire to live!'
Helen cringed away from him. ‘I only —,
‘Only be quiet!' he snarled. ‘You must fight for yourselves, for I shall not be here. I'm leaving with the dawn, when they'd least expect me to leave. But you three will remain. While you are here they may be fooled into thinking that I am still here.' He nodded and smiled.
‘Yulian, look at you!' his mother suddenly hissed, her voice venomous. ‘You were always a monster inside, and now you're a monster outside, too! I don't want to die for you, for even this half-life is better than none, but I don't intend to fight for it. Nothing you can say or do shall make me kill to preserve what you've made of me!'
He shrugged. ‘Then you'll die very quickly.' He turned his eyes on Anne Lake. ‘And you, Auntie dear? Will you go to your maker so passively?'
Anne was wild-eyed, dishevelled. She looked mad. ‘George is dead!' she babbled, her hands flying to her hair. ‘And Helen is… changed. My life is finished.' She stopped fussing, leaned forward in her chair and glowered at Yulian. ‘I hate you!'
‘Oh, I know you do,' he nodded. ‘But will you let them kill you?'
‘I'd be better off dead,' she answered.
‘Ah, but such a death!' he said. ‘You saw George go, Auntie dear, and so you know how hard it was. The stake, the cleaver, and the fire.'
She sprang to her feet, shook her head wildly. ‘They wouldn't! People… don't!'
‘But these people do,' he gazed at her wide-eyed, almost innocently, aping her expression. ‘They will, for they know what you are. They know that you're Wamphyri!'
‘We can leave this place!' Anne cried. ‘Come on, Georgina, Helen we'll leave right now!'
‘Yes, go!' Yulian snapped, as if done with them, utterly sick of them. ‘Do go, all of you. Leave me — go now.
They looked at him uncertainly, blinking their yellow eyes in unison. ‘I won't stop you,' he told them with a shrug. He got to his feet, made to leave the room. ‘No, not I. But they will! They'll stop you dead! They're out there now, watching — and waiting.'
‘Yulian, where are you going?' His mother stood up, looked as if she might even try to take hold of him, detain him. He forced her back with nothing but a growl of warning, swept by her.
‘I have preparations to make,' he said, ‘for my departure. I imagine that you, too, will have certain final things you want to do. Prayers to some non-existent god, perhaps? Cherished photographs to look at? Old friends and lovers to remember, while you may?' And sneering, he left them to their own devices.
Tuesday, 8.40 A.M. middle-European time, the airport in Bucharest.
Alec Kyle's flight was due to leave in twenty-five minutes and the passengers had just been called forward. Kyle would be in Rome in two-and-a-half hours; given that there would be no problems with his connection, he'd be into Heathrow around 2.00 P.M. local time. With a bit of luck he would reach his destination in Devon with half an hour to spare before Guy Roberts and his team went in and ‘cleaned up' at Harkley House. Even if his timings were wrong, Roberts should still be in situ at the house when-finally he did arrive. The last stages of his journey would be by MOD helicopter from Heathrow down to Torquay, and on to Paignton in an air-sea rescue chopper courtesy of the Torbay coastguard.
Kyle had made these final arrangements by telephone from the airport via John Grieve in London as soon as he'd discovered that he couldn't get a flight until now. And mercifully, for once, he'd got the call through without too much difficulty.
On hearing the call for embarkation, Felix Krakovitch stepped forward and took Kyle's hand. ‘A lot has happened in a short time,' the Russian psychic said. ‘But to know you has been… my pleasure.' They shook hands awkwardly, but both men meant it. Sergei Gulharov was much more open: he hugged Kyle close and kissed his cheeks. Kyle shrugged and grinned, he hoped not too sheepishly. He was only glad he'd said his farewells to Irma Dobresti the previous night. Carl Quint nodded and gave him a thumbs-up signal.
Krakovitch carried Kyle's hand luggage to the departure gate. From there Kyle went on alone, through the gates and out onto the asphalt, finding a space in the jostling line of passengers. He looked back once, waved,
