'Monk and Palusinski had instructions to alert me to any activity, no matter what time it was.'
'A late-night excursion on the lake was hardly worth rousing you for.'
'I gave them orders.'
'And I countermanded those orders.'
'My company can't function under those conditions. Tomorrow I'll recommend the contract is cancelled, or at least that I'm taken off the assignment. There's too much going an here that I don't like.'
'No.' At least the mood had been broken; Kline's tone was sharp, urgent. 'You mustn't do that. I need you with me.'
'You might need Shield, but you don't need me. There are other operatives equally as goad.' He tucked the automatic back into its holster and turned to walk away.
'Wait.' Kline had taken a step after him and Halloran paused.
'I suppose I'm being a little unfair,' the smaller man said, and immediately something of his 'other' self was in evidence, almost as though it were another guise. 'You're right, we should have let you know we were coming out here, should've brought you along for safety. But it was a spur of the moment thing, y'know, something I felt like doing. I didn't see any need to worry you.'
'That doesn't explain why you went on the lake. Nor does it explain the light. Or what I saw.'
'Look at those clouds. Just study them for awhile.'
'That isn't nec = A flash of light stopped him. He gazed skywards. Another, fainter, discharge of energy, but enough to throw the tumbled cloud into relief. 'That isn't what happened before. The light came from the lake.'
'Reflections, that's all. It bounced off the water's surface. The lake's calm tonight, just like a big mirror.'
A stuttered glare from above lit the group of men standing before him, hardening them into statues, bleaching their faces white. In the distance, as if to confirm Kline's explanation, came a deep rumbling of thunder.
'Let's get inside before the rain comes,' Kline suggested.
'I saw -'
'You were mistaken.' There was a firmness to the statement. 'We'll go back to the house, Halloran, and I'll tell you a few things about myself, about this place. You'll find it interesting, I promise you that.'
Halloran was tempted to advise his client to go to hell, but part of him was intrigued. The man was an enigma, and unlike any person he'd had to protect before. 'One condition,' he said.
Kline lifted his hands, palms towards Halloran. 'Whatever.'
'You answer all my questions.'
'Can't promise you that.' Light blazed the land again.
'I'll answer as many as I can, though,' Kline added, and the thunder was nearer this time.
'Tell your Arab friends to go on ahead.' Halloran indicated Monk and Palusinski. 'You two follow behind. And don't watch us—keep your eyes on those slopes and the road.'
'Ain't nothin' here to worry us,' Monk protested.
'Just do as I say,' Halloran snapped.
Palusinski slapped a hand on the American's shoulder as if to warn him not to argue. 'You go,' the Pole said to Halloran. 'We'll follow. Everything is fine.' As the group started walking towards the house, fanning out so that Kline and Halloran were at the centre of a square formation, the first raindrops spattered the grass. Kline grinned at his protector. 'I told you it was about to rain,' he said.
The deluge broke as though by command and within seconds the men were soaked through. That didn't appear to worry Kline at all. He laughed and suddenly ran free of the formation, twisting his body around in the air, raising his arms high, fingers stretched outwards. He came to a stop facing the hurrying group, his face turned up towards the sky, mouth open wide to receive the pelting raindrops. He slowly lowered his head and arms and something in his gleeful expression brought the others to a halt.
Kline pointed behind them. 'Look at the lake!' he shouted over the downpour.
They turned to look back.
The broad expanse of water, suddenly lit by another flickering of lightning, was a churning mass, the rainfall exploding into the surface and creating millions of tiny geysers.
After the light was spent, Halloran was left with the unnerving impression of a million fingers pushing through the surface from the other side.
26 AN ANCIENT CULTURE
They sat opposite each other in the drawing room, Kline furiously rubbing at his dark curly hair, grinning across at Halloran as he did so.
'Refreshing, huh?' he said. 'I love the rain. It purges the flesh. Pure and fresh, uncontaminated by human effluence. You ought to get dry. Don't want my bodyguard coming down with pneumonia.'
'I'll take a bath before I turn in.' He realised ruefully there would be scant time for sleeping if he were to keep to his own schedule.
The room was like most others at Neath—sparsely furnished and cold in atmosphere, even the roaring fire Kline had ordered to be lit infusing little spiritual warmth to the surrounds. Save for the fire glow there was no other light source in the room, for Kline had switched it off moments before. On a pedestal in one corner, its face animated by dancing shadows, stood the stone figure of a robed woman; the eyes were wide and staring, her hair swept back in almost mediaeval style. Above the mantel over the fireplace was a frieze depicting chariots and soldiers on the march; its colours, almost lost in the shadows, were of blue and white with the palest of reds for contrast.
'Made of shell and limestone,' Kline said when he noticed Halloran studying the frieze while Khayed tended the fire and Daoud went off to fetch a towel. 'Part of the Royal Standard of Ur. See one of the enemy being crushed by a chariot? There was plenty of gore in art and literature even in those distant days. People's taste doesn't change much, does it? You know anything at all about the Sumerians, Halloran?' With the feeling he was about to find out, Halloran shook his head. 'History was never one of my strong points.'
'Not even ancient history? I think you'd have found it fascinating., 'I'm more concerned with what's going on right now. You agreed to answer some questions.'
'Sure. Just relax. Let me tell you something about these Sumerians first, okay? Never too late to learn, right?' Daoud returned with a towel at that moment, which he handed to his employer.
'You can go ahead and feed Palusinski,' Kline told him. 'Our Polish friend has been drooling all evening.'
The Arab grinned. 'I have kept for him some tasty morsels,' he replied and beside him, having completed his task at the fireplace, Khayed chuckled. Halloran noted that, unlike yesterday, Daoud had not bothered to disguise his understanding of the English language. Both Arabs gave a slight bow and left the room.
Kline dried his hair with the towel, his rain-soaked jeans and sweater apparently not bothering him.
Halloran watched his client, tiny orange glows fluttering in Kline's dark eyes, his features sharp as if he were eager for conversation, with no thought for the lateness of the hour. One side of the psychic's body was in shadow, the side close to the fire warmly lit, shades of yellow dancing on his skin. His chair and body cast one corner of the room into deep, wavering gloom, but from its midst Halloran could see and feel those enlarged eyes of the stone woman staring at him.
Kline draped the towel over his head like a shawl so that only the tip of his nose and chin caught the glow from the fire. 'Did you know they invented the written word' At Halloran's quizzical expression he added, 'The Sumerians.'
'No, I didn't know that,' Halloran answered tonelessly.
'Yep. And they were the first to count in units of ten and sixties. That's how we got sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds in a minute. They applied it to time, y'see. It's why we divide a circle into 360
degrees, too. Not only that, but those old boys invented the wheel. How about that?'
'Kline, I'm not really -'
'You might be.' The retort was sharp, but a hand was immediately raised, palm outwards, to indicate no offence was meant. 'They knew about algebra and geometry, even had some idea of anatomy and surgery. I'm talking about 3000 BC, Halloran, 3000 BC and earlier. Can you beat that? Shit, the rest of the world was barely past Neolithic!'
