Mather peered out into the courtyard.
Thank God the storm's easing, he thought. Lightning flashes were mere reflections, with thunder following long moments after as distant rumblings. The rain had lost its force, had become a pattering. He could just make out what must have been an impressive fountain in an age gone by, its structure now misshapen, worn by time. It glistened from the rain, but had no vitality of its own.
He was naturally concerned over the dead man lying behind him in the corridor. Mather realised that the man he had just killed was Janusz Palusinski, one of Kline's own bodyguards. The Planner had met Palusinski earlier that day, but the mad-eyed creature who had rushed at him in the corridor bore scant resemblance to that person: without his distinctive wireframed spectacles and because of his drenched condition and the sheer lunacy of his expression, the Pole was another character entirely.
Why the devil had the man tried to attack him? He surely must have known who the Planner was.
Unless, of course, the reason was that Palusinski was in league with the intruders, yet another traitor within the Magma organisation. There had certainly been no doubt about his murderous intent- Mather was too experienced in the ways of combat not to have recognised it. Well, the matter would be cleared up soon enough.
There was activity across the courtyard. An open door then°, vague light glowing from it. Shadows, figures. Someone -was coming through the doorway.
Mather's grip tightened on the sword-stick. He ducked back inside when he heard footsteps behind him.
One of his operatives was hurrying along the corridor. The Planner raised a finger to his lips and the operative slowed his pace, approaching quietly. He examined the bald-headed man whose chest was weeping blood.
Mather returned his attention to the two people who had stepped out into the courtyard, one of them apparently supporting the other.
'Wait there,' he instructed the operative when he recognised the couple as they made their way through the drizzle. Mather limped out to meet them, movement awkward without his cane; he quietly called Liam's name.
'Oh good Lord,' he said when he realised the state they were in.
Halloran expressed no surprise at finding Mather at Neath. In the light from the courtyard window, his face betrayed no emotion at all.
'Get her away from here,' Halloran said curtly, pressing Cora into the Planner's arms.
'What's happened, Liam?' Mather demanded to know. 'I've just been forced to kill one of Kline's bodyguards, the Polish fellow.' There was the slightest hint of a smile in Halloran's eyes. 'Trust me like you've never trusted me before,' was all he said. 'It's over now, but I want you to take Cora out of the house. Wait for me by the main gates.'
'Liam, that's -'
'Please do it.' Mather paused. 'And you?'
'There's something I have to take care of.' With that, he turned away from Mather and the girl to walk back through the soft rain to the doorway from where he and Cora had emerged.
52 THE BATTLE OVER
Halloran closed the double-doors of Neatly then strode along the gloomed porchway out into the cleansed night air. The clouds had broken up, the moon dominated. Dampness still lingered, but there was no violence left in this night. Across the lawn he could see the lake, a low-lying mist hovering over its calm surface.
He climbed wearily into the Mercedes, switching on engine and beams. He looked back at Neath once more, studying it for several moments before swinging the car around and heading up the road into the trees.
As he drove, he wondered about Felix Kline and his terrible and unique powers. He wondered about the story the psychic had told him, of the Sumerians, of Bel-Marduk, their devil-God, the Antichrist who had preceded the Christ. He wondered about the truth of it. And Halloran wondered about himself.
He thought that perhaps he understood.
They waited for him by the big iron gates, the four operatives puzzled and somewhat agitated by the abrupt ceasing of action, while Charles Mather stood with the girl, who wore one of the operatives'
jackets draped over her shoulders. Although barefooted and cold, Cora had refused to wait inside one of the cars; her eyes never left the drive leading to the house. She hadn't spoken a word since Mather had brought her away from Neatly despite his questions. Had Liam instructed her to remain silent? Mather wondered.
Cora caught her breath and Mather, too, saw the approaching lights, the car emerging from the tunnel of trees in the distance so that moonlight struck its silver bodywork. It came towards them at a leisurely pace, an indication that the danger really was past.
They watched as the Mercedes drew near, its headlights brightening the road.
But it stopped. By the lodge-house.
They saw Halloran lean out of the car window and drop something onto the ground in front of the two strange-looking guard dogs that had been prowling around their dead companions as though disorientated.
One of the animals warily came forward and began to devour whatever it was that Halloran had offered.
He watched the jackal chew on the crushed, blackened meat and waited there until the ancient heart had been swallowed completely.
Only then did Halloran start up the car again and drive onwards to the gates themselves.
He climbed out of the Mercedes and Cora took one hesitant step towards him. He raised his arms and she came all the way. Halloran pulled her tight against him.
Mather was bemused. Such a demonstrable show of emotion from his operative was unusual to say the least.
'Liam . . .' he began.
Halloran nodded at him. 'I know,' he said. The Planner wanted answers, and what could he tell him?
Halloran's tone was flat when he spoke. 'His bodyguards had turned against him. Monk, Palusinski, the two Jordanians—he'd treated them too badly. He's quite insane, you know. They finally had enough of him. None of it's clear, but I think they worked out a deal with the Provisional IRA to kidnap him. I guess they didn't want to live out their lives in servitude, and the proceeds from the ransom—or maybe just a Judas fee from the kidnappers would have ensured that they no longer had to. And they got away with it.
All except Palusinski and those two outsiders I saw you'd put down. You can alert the police, get them over here, have them watch air- and seaports.'
'Wait a minute. The IRA . . . ?'
'They were responsible for Dieter Stuhr's death. I suppose the idea was to make sure no one suspected it was an inside job, that information on the Shield cover was tortured out of our own man. Incidentally, Kline's gate- keeper was attacked by those animals back there. What's left of him is inside that lodge-house.' There was disbelief in Mather's eves, but Halloran steadily returned his gaze.
'They took Kline,' Halloran continued evenly. 'But he was badly injured. I think he'll die from his wounds.'
'We'll see if we get a ransom demand. We'll insist on having evidence that he's still alive.'
'Somehow I don't believe that'll happen.'
'Shall I get on to the police now, sir?' one of the other men asked briskly.
'Uh, yes,' replied Mather. 'Yes, I think that would be appropriate, don't you, Liam? God knows how they'll take all this shooting, but we've been in similar predicaments before. Such a dreadful thing that all our efforts failed.' Not once had he taken his eyes off Halloran.
'Let's sit in the car until the police arrive, shall we?' Mather suggested. 'Miss Redmile is shivering. And then you can tell me more, Liam. Yes, you can explain a lot more to me.' There was something chilling in Halloran's smile. He looked back at the brooding lodge-house. Then along the road that disappeared into the darkness of the smothering woods, winding its way to the house itself. To Neath.
'I'm not sure you'll understand,' Halloran said finally.
He took Cora's arm and helped her into the car.
Serpent Lights all around. Soft-hued glows.
Shadows, pretty, never still, constantly weaving their secrets.
Ah, the bliss of lying here. A fitting place, this altar. Peaceful. And no pain. Not yet.
Is this how it was for you, O Lord? Did your priests minister drugs to suppress the hurting? Or was your cask,
