The Mercedes rounded a curve and from there the roadway became a straight line running up to the gates. Halloran eased up on the accelerator, approaching the beginning of the drive at a cautious speed.
The headlights picked out the iron gates, and he dipped the beams to reduce the glare. His foot touched the brake pedal, slowing the car even more so that he came to the lodge-house at a smooth glide.
Halloran pulled over onto the rough verge in front of the old building, switched off the lights and cut the engine.
The lodge was in darkness, not even a glimmer showing from the grimed windows. Halloran sat there for several minutes, watching for any sign of life. There was none. But that didn't mean the house was empty.
Without using the interior light, Halloran unzipped the black bag by his side. He lifted out the stubby weapon an inch or so, loosening it, making sure it wasn't snagged on the inner lining. lie carefully lowered the sub-machine gun again, then reached fur the doorhandle.
A breeze ruffled his hair as he stood outside the vehicle studying the upper windows of the lodge. The moon was rising behind the building so that its frontage was an unlit void, the windows merely black shapes, barely distinct against the brickwork.
Again the unshakeable feeling of being observed. Carrying the gun bag in his left hand. Halloran walked into the shadow of the house.
The ringing of the telephone came almost as a relief. Mother laid the newspaper on the pile of Sundays, foreign as well as English, by his feet, exhausted with reading of yet more terrorist outrages and despairing of various governments' weakness in dealing wrath them, despite the vowed joint intention to do so over the past decade. Unfortunately it was the price paid for a world without major conflicts, the major evil giving ground to the lesser evil, a fact recognised by those same governments. Nevertheless, the atrocities committed in the name of so-called freedom or religious beliefs were hard to stomach and the time was coming when 'official' war would have to be declared on those countries and states who overtly supported and encouraged the multifarious terrorist groups. And even then the problem would never be eradicated.
He stood up from the dining table on which more journals were spread and limped out into the hall.
'I'm here,' he called out to Agnes, who was in the sitting room no doubt indulging herself in the current television trivia with her evening sherry.
'Mother,' he announced into the phone, first removing the pipe from his mouth.
'I'm sorry to disturb you. It's Sir Victor Perilock here.'
'Sir Victor?' Mother's brain stepped up a gear, alerted by the gravity in the Magma chairman's voice.
'I'd like you to meet me at my office once again. My apologies for calling on you twice in one day, particularly as it's a Sunday, but I'm afraid I had no other choice.'
'That's perfectly all right. Do I take it Mr Kline and my operative will also be there?' A pause first. 'No.
No, this will be strictly between you and me. It's rather serious, so do you think you could come immediately?'
'Shouldn't take much more than twenty minutes this time of evening.'
'It's very much appreciated. I'll let Security know you're on your way. One other thing: no one else must know about this. Can I have your word on that?'
'Naturally, although I don't understand why.'
'I'll explain when you get here.' When Mother replaced the receiver he went into his study and, as a precaution, wrote a note of his destination and whom he was to see, then sealed it an envelope on which he scribbled his wife's name. He left the envelope propped up on his desk.
The stench at the back of the lodge-house caused Halloran to catch his breath. No doubt this was where the jackals were kept when they were not prowling the grounds. He shone the thin beam of the penlight around the yard, expecting to find kennels or a stockade of some kind. There was none, and no animals either. But the light reflected on something shiny.
With a twist of the torch's head, the beam was broadened to take in more. Halloran recognised the three metal containers Khayed and Daoud had carried from the house the day before. All were lying on their sides, the lids close by, as though the contents had been spilled out. He moved closer, using the light to guide himself through the mounds of excrement scattered around the yard. Drawing near to one of the bins he bent low to shine the light inside. His foot crunched something beneath him. He shifted to see shattered bone where he had been standing, and realised that there were many more pieces around him, clean and meatless. At the bottom of the container there were clogs of maggot-infested meat, the jackals obviously having been unable to reach them. Much of the yard's putrid stink came from these containers.
Halloran straightened, relieved at least that the beasts themselves were nowhere in evidence. He flashed the beam up at the windows, heedless of giving anyone inside warning of his presence; he had, in fact, already pounded on the front door, knowing that his approach in the Mercedes would not have gone unnoticed by anyone supposedly guarding the estate's entrance. The lodgekeeper might have been roaming the grounds with his pack, of course, but Halloran could not rid himself of the notion that there was someone inside. Even now he sensed he was being watched.
He lowered the torch, finding the backdoor, then man oeuvred his way through the faeces and bones towards it. As expected, this door, like the front, was firmly locked. He moved along the wall to a window and, although also locked, this was less of a problem. Placing the bag on the windowsill, Halloran ,lid a knife blade up alongside the catch, then forced it aside, its movement stiff but yielding. He closed the blade into its handle, dropped it into his jacket pocket, then heaved at the lower frame. The window resisted at first before, with a groan followed by a squeal, it opened upwards.
Halloran lifted the bag, switched off the torch. swung a leg over the sill. Once inside he quickly stepped away from the window, where moonlight had silhouetted his shape. He leaned back against the wall and waited, holding his breath, listening for sounds.
The room smelled musty, damp, unlined in. Light from outside revealed sparse furniture: an armchair, its cushions lumpy, arms threadbare, a nondescript cabinet, neither antique nor modern, against one wall, a curled rug, and nothing else. Apart from the small rug, the floorboards were bare. Halloran flicked on the penlight once more, the beam still broad, and waved it around the room. Wallpaper hung away in strips and black fungus grew in the corners and near the ceiling. There were ashes in the ancient iron fireplace, but they looked solid, as though they had set many years ago. There was an open door to the right.
Halloran listened for a while longer before allowing himself to breathe normally. He swept the light across the floor to make sure there were no obstacles in his path, them crossed the room to the door, unconcerned with the creaking of floorboards. Narrowing the torch beam, he peered out into the hallway, shining the light along its length. Moonlight glowed through the grime of the tiny windows above the backdoor. The hallway had a turn in it and he surmised that it straightened again and led towards the lodge's main door. The stairway would be in that direction too.
lie eased himself from the room, holding the torch away from his bode. Keeping close to the wall opposite the door he had just left. Halloran slowly walked towards the front of the building. fie passed another door on his right. but did not try the handle, guessing it would Dead to a cellar.
He reached the point where the hallway turned, and hesitated, listening intently far a few seconds. Only silence. But the smell of oldness was even stranger here.
Halloran noticed a lightswitch close to where he stood and he reaches Diut, pushing it down with one extended finger, the thin torch gripped with the others. Nothing happened, and he was not surprised.
Whoever lived in the lodge-house enjoyed the darkness.
He went on, rounding the bend. and pointed the torch at the front door. There were large baits, top and bottom, rusted fixtures that looked as if they hadn't been shifted for decades. Another door nn his left, the staircase rising above him on his right. Halloran made his way towards the door.
Slipping the straps of the bag over his left shoulder and changing the penlight to that hand, he used an elbow to push open the door. Its creaking was explosive in the silence of the house.
Before entering, he shone the torch through the crack by the hinges, satisfying himself that nobody lurked behind the door, and only then did he step into the room. It was empty, devoid of any furniture, its curtains colourless with age and filth. The mustiness prevailed and here the mould festered in thick clusters. Ceiling struts could be clearly seen where plaster had fallen away. Halloran left the room, leaving the door open wide.
