chairman was accustomed to the psychic's deviousness and Quinn-Reece's subsequent death was too much of a coincidence to be taken lightly. Yet there was no proof, none at all. Only misgivings.
That was enough for Mather. He already had doubts about the assignment, a gut-feeling that things weren't quite right. The torture of Dieter Stuhr had added to his concern, for torture, unless perversion was involved, usually meant information was being sought of the victim. That information might well have been to do with Shield's security arrangements for Felix Kline. Somewhat drastic perhaps, but where huge sums of ransom money were involved kidnappers had few scruples. And then there was always the possibility that more than just abduction was in mind. Kline might well be a target for assassination—God only knew what enemies the man had.
Mather had left the Magma building and had gone straight to the home of Gerald Snaith with the recommendation that the contract be declared null and void. That had been over two hours ago, but he felt he had been driving for much longer.
Mather used the booster fan to clear vapour from the windscreen, his own breath, because he was so close to the glass, contributing to the mist. For a few moments he was driving blind and he slowed the car almost to a halt. He pushed another button and the driver's window slid down. Raindrops pounded at his face when he looked at the road ahead. There was a wall to his left, set back, undergrowth thick before it; on the opposite side of the road was forest. He ducked his head back inside and wiped a handkerchief across his face.
A light behind, dazzling in the rearview mirror, coming up slowly. A car's headlights.
They blinked once, twice. He grunted with satisfaction when they blinked a third time.
Mather touched his brakes twice in acknowledgement, then pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the car to a halt. He waited for one of the two men in the vehicle behind to come to him.
'Didn't expect you, sir,' the operative said loudly enough to be heard over the storm. He crouched at the open window, collar up against the rain. 'Gave us a surprise, seeing your number.'
'I've been trying to reach you on the radio,' Mather complained.
'The storm's fouled up communications. Never known one like this before. We've kept in touch with the other patrol by stopping each time we meet en route. What's up, Mr Mather, what brings you here?'
'We're pulling out.'
'Shit, you're joking.'
'I'm afraid not. Anything occurred tonight that you're not happy about?'
'Only this bloody weather. Visibility's down to twenty yards.'
'Where's the entrance to the estate?'
'Gates are up ahead, on the left. You're nearly there.'
'Follow me down, I'll brief you off the road.' The operative shrugged, then ran back to the Granada.
Mather set his car in motion, going slowly, looking for the gates. An open area swept back from the roadway and he turned into it, driving right up to the tall gates. There should be . . . yes, there it was. A dark, bulky shape that had to be the lodge-house. No lights on. Well you'll have to get out of bed, chum, if that's where you are.
Mather flashed his headlights, beeping the horn at the same time.
Lightning blazed the sky, thunder rent the air, and the lodge-house appeared as a bright, flickering image.
Mather's eyes narrowed. Had there been something moving in front of it?
The patrol car came to a halt beside his and Mather reached for his cane before stepping out. Both men joined him at the gates.
'Is there anyone inside?' he asked, pointing at the building with his cane.
'There's supposed to be someone there all the time to operate the gates,' one of the men replied. 'Never seen the bugger, though.' Mather reached and pushed at an iron strut. That half of the gates swung open a few inches.
The three men exchanged glances.
'Something's wrong,' Mather said.
'Could be an oversight.' The Planner shook his head. 'I'm going in. I want you to find the other patrol and follow.'
'We're not allowed in -'
'Forget about that. You just come after me as fast as you can. Phil, you'll come with me.'
'Right, sir.'
'Why not wait for the other patrol?' the second man asked” suddenly anxious.
Mather had no adequate answer, only a sense of urgency pressing him. 'Just get on with it!' he barked.
'Open them up, Phil.' He limped back to his car as the operative swung the gates wide. The other man climbed into the Granada and reversed into the road.
Mather settled uncomfortably into the driver's seat, his clothes soaked. He dreaded to think of the agony his leg would give him tomorrow. He took the car through the entrance, pausing just long enough for his operative to jump in beside him.
'Christ, what's that over by the house?' Mather looked towards where the other man was pointing.
Blurred shapes were moving slowly in the rain.
'Dogs,' the operative said. 'Must be the guard dogs. Funny, it's the first time I've laid eyes on them.'
'Can you see how many?'
'Difficult in this rain. I can only make out a couple. Oh shit, there's others lying on the ground.' Mather wasted no more time. He pushed down hard on the accelerator and the car sped down the drive. Soon it entered a tunnel of trees.
44 A SACRIFICE
Halloran was stunned by the change in Felix Kline.
This was an old and bent man emerging from the shadows, one whose skin was cracked and scaly, ruffles of tissue hanging loose, pieces flaking away as he shuffled forward. Oil glistened over fissures in his flesh, dulling the rawness beneath. His hair trailed flatly over skull and forehead, whitish seams cross-hatching under the blackness, and his hands were mostly. vivid pink, their outer layer all but entirely shed. Kline's, breathing was husky with the effort of moving.
He came to an unsteady halt before Halloran and even his grin seemed corroded.
'Scary, huh?' Kline said, none of his mocking arrogance lost. 'It isn't irreversible, though. It isn't too late, Halloran. Maybe it's worse than ever before, but at least now I understand why.' The hideous face was close, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. With Daoud behind him, Halloran could not pull away. Kline had the same smell of decay as the old man in the hedgehouse.
'You took my surrogate,' Kline hissed. 'You killed him and upset the balance. I should only slough my skin once a year, that's part of the deal, my price for immortality. Life a serpent, you see, Halloran.
Bel-Marduk made me like a serpent.' He gasped, a pain reaching him somewhere inside. Blood squeezed from a crack in his disfigured face to mix with the oily gel.
'There's a way to stop this deterioration. You'll see, Halloran, you'll see. You'll be part of it.' He turned away and with Khayed's, help hobbled through the puddles on the floor, passing by Palusinski and Cora, the Pole stepping back as if the shambling figure were a leper. The girl seemed mesmerised. Candle-light reflected from the glistening on Kline's head.
It took a long time for him to get to the slab of stone near the end of the room and he reached out for it, staggering the last few feet despite Khayed's help. Kline eased himself around the stone so that he faced the others. An impatient hand beckoned them to him.
Palusinski led the girl and it took only slight pressure from the wire to make Halloran follow. His eyes darted left and right as he and the Arab passed the archways, searching for possibilities, a weapon perhaps should he manage to break free of the stranglehold. All he could make out in the shadows were stone tables, scored with symbols similar to those he had seen around the house itself.
Then he found himself looking down at the bloated body lying on the slab. And Monk's small, inset eyes stared back at him, his fat fingers twitching as if he were trying to move his body. Those eyes showed no pain, only
