as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
There were other things racing with him that were alien to these passages, black misshapen forms that were there only to disease and destroy; but these parasites themselves were steadily destroyed, attacked by globules which engulfed, swallowed, digested. And these defenders decided that he, too, was foreign, had no place alongside healthy corpuscles, that he was an interloper, a danger, up to no good. Even though it was his own body he journeyed through.
He screamed at the giant lumps to get away, to leave him alone, he meant no harm. But they were programmed to fight to the death all that was not right in the system and had no minds of their own. Two attached themselves to him as he was flushed through into a wider tunnel, and he felt the burning of his own back, his arm, acid seeping into him.
Yet he was so near, the rushing even faster, moving in contractions, the steady beat louder, louder still, becoming a thunder, the rapids leading to a fall, the fall to be mighty and devouring. And that was his desire, no other yearning possible to him now: he wanted to be consumed by the mountainous heart.
Instead these blind, ignorant creatures, organisms that knew nothing of other things, were eating him. His body was decomposing under their chemical excretions.
Nearly there, nearly there.
He could hear the hysteria of his own laughter.
Nearly there.
The noise ahead—THUD-UP THUD-UP—deafened him, filled him with dread. Elated him.
Nearly there.
Nearly swallowed.
It wasn't too late.
He would make it.
Be absorbed by the heart.
THUD-UP THUD-UP There . . . !
But not there.
Drifting back, drawn away, consciousness ing upwards, a soft retreat . . .
An abrupt awakening.
There was someone with him in the bedroom. Kline opened his mouth to call out, but something clamped hard over it. A hand. A strong, threatening hand. He felt the extra weight on the bed.
Somebody, a shadow among shadows, kneeling over him.
Another hand encircled his throat.
'Someone else and you could be dead,' Halloran whispered close to his ear.
11 A DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER
Halloran glanced into the rearview mirror.
The blue Peugeot was still there, keeping well back, at least four or five other cars between it and the custom-built Mercedes Halloran was driving. His own back-up, in aGranada . was directly behind him.
He reached for the RT mounted beneath the dashboard and set the transmit button.
'Hector-One,' he said quietly into the mouthpiece.
'Hector-Two, we hear you,' came the reply through the receiver. 'And we see the tag.' Kline leaned forward from the backseat, his face close to Halloran's shoulder. There was a bright expectancy in his eyes.
'Turning off soon,' said Halloran. 'Stay close 'til then. Out.' He replaced the instrument.
'We're being followed?' Kline asked, nervousness now mingled with expectancy.
Cora, next to him in the backseat, stiffened, and Monk, who occupied the front passenger seat—riding shotgun, as he liked to think of it—shifted his bulk to look first at his employer, then out the tinted rear window. His fingers automatically went to the revolver at his waist.
'No need for that,' Halloran warned. 'And use the side mirror if you want to spot them.'
'Nobody can see in,' Monk protested petulantly, already aggrieved with Halloran for having made him look so useless twice the day before.
“They can see shadows through the glass. Face the road and take your hand off that weapon.'
'Do it,' snapped Kline. Then to Halloran: 'Which one is it?'
'The light blue. A Peugeot, a few cars back. It's been on our tail since we leftLondon . My guess is it took over from another car that picked us up in the City, probably close to the Magma building.' In fact, Halloran had felt uneasy long before he'd arrived at Magma early that morning to take Kline down to hisSurrey home for the weekend. Yet he'd been unable to spot the 'tag' until they were into the outskirts.
'Are you sure?' asked Cora, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at the traffic. 'This road is a main highway south most of these cars have probably been with us for miles.'
'Cora,' said Kline, 'if he says we're being followed, that's it -I believe him.' Halloran's easy penetration of Magma's security system the night before had impressed him. By wearing clothes that had merely resembled the security guards' uniforms, Halloran had strolled into the basement carpark, hidden until most of the day staff were leaving that evening, then found his way to the upper floors using the outgoing rush as cover. Nothing more than a stroll against the tide. Then a vacated room, a broom closet, or a toilet—Halloran hadn't given him details—until night time, then through to the chairman's suite, locked.
doors only slowing him down, not barring him. Observation cameras? No problem. Only certain corridors and halls were monitored that late at night and, at an agreed time, Shield had created a minor diversion. No more than a motor-bike messenger thumping on the glass main door to attract the attention of the two security guards on the monitoring desk. The messenger had waved a package in his hand and one of the guards had gone to the door while his colleague watched from the desk, poised to press an alarm button which would alert the other two security guards patrolling the building as well as the local police station should anything untoward occur. So his eyes had been on his partner and the messenger outside (the latter insisting that delivery forms had to be filled in and signed before he released the package) and not on the screens behind him. The ruse had allowed Halloran to negotiate the more exposed locations without being seen. Naturally a risk was involved, but human reaction being what it is, the risk was slight. The rest of the journey had been simple (simple that is, for someone like Halloran): the private elevator, the 'pacification' of Monk and Palusinski, the entry into his, Kline's bedroom. No big deal (and heads were already rolling in the Corporation's office that morning as specialists from Achilles'
Shield revised Magma's security arrangements).
Someone else and you could be dead. Kline remembered Halloran's words. Not quite that simple, Halloran, he thought. No, not quite that easy.
He smiled and Cora was puzzled by the sudden burning intensity in his eyes.
The Mercedes was slowing, the left indicator blinking. Halloran turned the car off the main road, then picked up speed again, their surroundings soon vignetting into green fields and hedgerows, with few houses between.
Cora noticed Halloran occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror, but his reflected eyes betrayed nothing. He had warned Monk not to look back and she, herself, followed the instruction. Their car maintained a steady speed and still Cora could not detect from Halloran's manner whether or not they were being followed.
Several minutes passed before he reached again for the radio transmitter.
'Hector-One.'
'Hector-Two. Over.'
'Tag's still with us, keeping well back.'
'Yeah. We made out three occupants. Want us to block them?'
'No. No offensive until we're sure. There's a village ahead. Pull in somewhere and let 'em by. Follow at a distance and come up fast if they make a move. Out.'
'Will do. Out.' Houses quickly loomed up, then they were into the village, a hamlet really, only a few houses on either side of the road. Halloran saw the small filling station and knew where his back-up would pull into. He checked the mirror as theGranada slowed into the forecourt. The blue Peugeot soon came into view and he put his foot down a little to give them cause to hurry.
