Necroscope: Defilers

by Brian Lumley

  Then: “What?” he said disgustedly. “He’s out on the town again? I don’t believe it! And this is the man you were pleading for? But if this isn’t deliberate aggravation I don’t know what is!”

  Liz could only shake her head despondently. “He was in his room first thing this morning; I could hear him moving about in there. That’s all I know about it. But it’s like I told you: he was feeling totally out of place here. We hadn’t given him anything to do, and you hadn’t told him everything he should know. I mean, it isn’t as if he’s the kind who can just wander about the place looking dumb!”

  “No,” Trask answered, “but he can certainly act it! As for not putting him in the picture: I was about to do so, this morning, right now. But now he’s gone missing again, and anyway I no longer have the time.”

  David Chung, Ian Goodly, and Millie Cleary had hung back; the rest of the staff were hurriedly vacating the Ops Room, on their way to prepare for the specific roles they’d been handed: packing their bags for what would amount to an operational mass exodus, or rearranging their schedules as members of the skeletal rear party, whichever.

  Now Chung stepped forward and said, “Look, I wouldn’t normally go rummaging around in someone’s private belongings without his permission, but since this is something of an emergency … well there’s bound to be some personal stuff in Jake’s room that I can use to locate him. We only need to change his door’s access code to get me in there, and—”

  “No need for that,” said Liz. “I can get in. As far as the security codes go, his room and my place—the old annex at the rear—are still one room, and the optical scanner will accept me.”

  “Say no more,” the locator said. “The eyes have it!” And however nervously, he grinned at his own wit for a moment, then sobered and said: “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” said Trask. And to Chung: “I also want you to sort out the travel arrangements. So when you’ve sent someone out to find Jake and bring him in, then get on to our friends at Heathrow and Gatwick. I know it’s short notice, but I want us to be out of here ASAP—today or tonight, if at all possible. At the very least I want the advance parties underway. Okay, so do whatever’s necessary. As for myself: I’ll be in my office speaking to the Man Upstairs, finding out what kind of help, if any, we can expect from the Greek authorities. Report to me there.”

  Then, as Liz and the locator hurried away, Trask turned to the precog, Ian Goodly. “Now what? Do you have problems, too?”

  “I don’t think so,” Goodly answered. “But you have me down with Lardis, going to see Vladi Ferengi. Can I ask why?”

  Trask nodded. “We’ll be dealing with powerful mentalists, or with one such for sure—Nephran Malinari. Remember, just as soon as we found Bruce Trennier, Malinari knew we were warm and getting warmer. He knew that we were coming for him, and he was ready for us. So this time we’re not going to be sending up any signal flares; I won’t upset things by having too many wild talents appear in any one place at any one time, cluttering up the psychic aether, so to speak. If psychic talents have signatures, then by now he knows ours only too well. So we’ll have to build up our presence gradually—and yet as quickly as possible, you understand—without having us all arrive on the scene en masse. That’s why we need to get the advance teams away posthaste, and you and Lardis form one such team. Oh, and you can speak to Liz, too. Take her with you. She’ll know it if Vladi strays from the truth. I had intended to team her up with Jake, but now … I’m not taking him. Not even if we find him. Jake’s what used to be called a loose cannon, and I can’t risk him going off like that and blowing us all to hell.”

  “I see,” Goodly nodded. “So the main reason you’re splitting us up is simply as a wise precaution.”

  Again Trask’s nod. “But in any case I’ll have you close to hand, just across the border in Hungary: maybe an hour’s flight time? And as soon as you and Lardis are through talking to this old Gypsy, this Vladi Ferengi, then you can join up with me and David somewhere in Greece. I’ll keep HQ up to date on our location at all times.”

  “That’s good enough,” said Goodly.

  “Good,” said Trask. “And meanwhile, how’s the future looking?”

  “Secretive,” said the other. “All I see is movement—lots of it.”

  “Oh?” said Trask. “But that’s not the future, that’s right now!” And: “Will you be okay with Lardis?” He looked around but couldn’t see the Old Lidesci. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “He went off to get his things together,” the precog answered. “Also to tell Lissa what’s going on, I imagine. He looked a bit apprehensive—not about the job but about Lissa! I can see her giving him all sorts of hell—going off to fight vampires again, hah!” And Goodly smiled a rare, wry smile. “As for working with him: I know we’ll get on fine. I haven’t forgotten what we owe him. That time in Sunside, we were the strangers in a strange land then …”

  “Look after him then,” Trask said.

  “You’re joking,” said the other. “With that machete of his, he’ll be the one looking after me!” And as Goodly went off, finally it was Millie’s turn.

  “I’m staying back again,” she said flatly. She didn’t say it accusingly, but Trask knew she was accusing him anyway.

  “Walk with me,” he said. And on the way along the corridor to his office: “Millie, you’re not a field operative—it isn’t your scene. And anyway you’re more importantly placed back here than in the thick of it somewhere … somewhere out there.” And he waved a hand, indicating nowhere special but everywhere dangerous.

  “Important to you in my work, you mean,” she said. A statement, not a question.

  And again Trask was quick to catch on. “Important in every way,” he answered. “And quite indispensable. Look, it’s as I’ve just explained to Ian: where Malinari is concerned, we’re dealing with a mentalist who can get into our minds—and more especially your mind—as easily as that.” He snapped his fingers. “And if you don’t believe me, you should speak to Liz. You’re a telepath, Millie, and vulnerable. It’s simple as that.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m a very experienced telepath, however untried in the field, and my shields are a lot better than Liz Merrick’s. But Liz is going and I’m staying, and that’s not fair. Don’t you think it’s time we put this kid sister thing to rest? I deserve the chance to get out there and prove myself.”

  “Oh? And will you also chance getting yourself killed—or worse than killed—into the bargain?”

  “A fate worse than death?” They were at his office door.

  “Once upon a time there was no such thing,” Trask answered. “Not really, except to the Victorians and such, hypocrites that they were. But now there is.” He almost added, You really don’t know what it would do to me if any harm should come to you, but somehow managed to hold it in.

  Maybe she “heard” it anyway, for now she said, “What about me, if something should happen to you?”

  And after a while he said, “Some people certainly know how to pick their times, don’t they? First Jake Cutter, and through Jake, Liz—and now you. But we don’t have time for this, Millie. So please try to understand and don’t give me any more problems than I’ve got right now.”

  As he entered his office she paused, held back, and turned away. And over her shoulder: “Ben, don’t forget to kiss me goodbye before you leave. It might be your last chance …”

  Trask clenched both fists, put them on top of his desk, and leaned on them. He opened his mouth to call Millie back … and didn’t. Damn it all to hell, he couldn’t! Because she had to be safer here. But what if she wasn’t here when he got back?

  This time she really had heard him, and she’d probably felt his pain, too. And, from the corridor, “Oh, don’t worry, Ben. I shall be here,” she called out, softly. “I suppose so, anyway.” Followed by the rapid tap-tap-tap of her footsteps quickly receding …

  Trask had been right, and th
ere wasn’t going to be any help from the Greek authorities. Greece was still having territorial disputes with an increasingly warlike neighbour, Turkey, and a lot of trouble was brewing with illegal immigrants flooding in from famine-stricken Albania. The mainland was full of unrest, which put the ball well and truly in Trask’s court. This time, unlike the Australian job, E-Branch would be on its own.

  Trask was jotting down a few notes when David Chung reported as ordered to his office. And once again the locator was excited.

  “It’s Jake,” he said. “I found him easily enough, but you won’t like where I found him. And we won’t be bringing him in.”

  “Tell me the worst,” said Trask.

  “He’s in Marseilles, France,” said the other.

  And now, for just a moment, Trask was excited, too. “Marseilles? He must have used the Möbius Continuum!”

  “It’s the only answer,” Chung agreed.

  But Trask’s excitement quickly ebbed and he was scowling. “He lied to us about losing it. And he’s using it to serve his own ends when he should be helping us.”

  “His own agenda,” Chung nodded.

  Trask stood up, came from behind his desk and began pacing the floor. “Do you realize what we lose if we lose Jake?”

  “On the one hand a load of trouble,” the locator answered. “And on the other, we could lose the war. The fact is that we—and not just us but the world—we all need a Necroscope. And if Jake hadn’t been there to pull us out of the fire in Australia …” He let it trail off and shrugged. “Er, do you think maybe we could have handled it better?”

  “Meaning I could have handled it better,” said Trask. “You all seem to think so. You, Liz Merrick, and Ian Goodly—oh, and plenty of others, I’m sure. Maybe I’m too autocratic.”

  “The Branch has to have a boss,” Chung answered. “You have this talent of yours, and what could be more important than the truth? So obviously you’re the right man for the job. And it’s also obvious that you see something in Jake Cutter—some kind of problem—that the rest of us haven’t picked up on.”

  “Then why don’t I know what it is?” Trask quit his pacing, threw up his hands. And before Chung could answer: “Never mind. Let it go for now. What’s done is done. We’ll just have to wait and see how it works out. So now tell me about those travel arrangements.”

  “The choice is yours,” said Chung. “We can fly into Athens tonight if you like, a commercial flight out of Heathrow. Or we can charter a small plane, fly direct to Kavála. The only problem there is that Kavála’s mainly a military airport—we could have a problem getting permission to land. Or, we can pick up a couple of cheap tickets on a late-season package-holiday flight leaving at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. That one goes to Kavála, gets in midday. The airport takes just a handful of tourist flights for the sake of the country’s economy.”

  “So what’s wrong with Athens, tonight?” Trask queried.

  “Ah! I forgot to mention,” the locator answered. “There’s no connecting flight till midday tomorrow. And Athens and Kavála are quite some distance apart.”

  “Maybe it’s as well,” said Trask. “In fact it might serve our purpose very well to take one of these—these what—package holidays?” He frowned and shook his head. “Hard to remember when I last had a real holiday. It was with Zek, I think, when we went out to sell her place on Zante …” He stirred himself, gave himself a shake. “Anyway, how come there are spare seats? Haven’t I been given to understand that these flights are like sardine cans?”

  “In any normal year they would be,” the other told him.

  “Oh yes,” Trask nodded. “I was forgetting. El Niño.”

  “That’s right,” Chung said. “People are running away from the sun! Also, there are a couple of plague spots in the Greek islands, mainly Cyprus, Crete, and Rhodes. These things and various political problems—all the unrest and what have you—it puts people off.”

  “I suppose it would! But plague? That new strain of bubonic out of China? I thought we had that licked?”

  “We have,” the locator agreed. “The richer countries, anyway. But the not-so-rich are having trouble paying for the medicine. We’re helping out, but it takes time—the usual bureaucracy. Anyway, that really shouldn’t concern us; those shots we got in Australia have given us all the immunity we can use. I’m still sore from mine!”

  “Okay,” Trask told him. “Get us tickets for tomorrow. Eight-thirty out of—?”

  “Gatwick,” Chung answered. “But tell me, what do you mean, it will serve our purpose well?”

  And Trask said, “As tourists—common or garden holiday makers—we’ll be about as unobtrusive as we can get. You see, I’m trying to play this by their rules, Wamphyri rules, I mean. Or the rules they used to play by, anyway. Anonymity is synonymous with longevity. Isn’t that how it goes?”

  “That’s how it goes,” said Chung.

  “So we’ll keep it anonymous,” said Trask. “At least until it gets close up and personal. Okay, so what about the rest of the travel arrangements?”

  “Ian, Liz, and Lardis are all fixed up for tomorrow. They fly direct to Szeged. By noon tomorrow or maybe a little later, they’ll be talking to Valdi Ferengi and we’ll be with Manolis.”

  “No trouble with Liz?”

  Chung shook his head. “I told her where Jake is. She seems resigned to it—the fact that he’s always going to have these problems. At least until—”

  “Until he deals with them, I know,” said Trask. “So on the off chance that he can deal with them—without getting himself killed, that is—maybe it’s all for the best …” And he began pacing the floor again.

  “What is it, boss?” said Chung concernedly. “I mean, apart from all this?”

  “Apart from all this? Nothing. Not that I can’t put right, anyway. Which I will as soon as you’re out of here.”

  And as Chung headed for the door: “David, will you take it from here, make sure things run smoothly for a couple of hours? I need a little time to sort something out.”

  “No problem,” said Chung, closing the door behind him …

  When Trask was alone he got straight on the telephone to Millie Cleary. “Millie, about that goodbye kiss you mentioned?” And he took a deep breath and held it a couple of seconds before blurting out the rest of it. “What would you say to taking it a step or two farther than that?”

  “Come again?” (She sounded more than a little surprised.)

  “I have the evening off,” said Trask. “How about you?”

  “My time’s my own, remember?” she answered. “I don’t have any bags to pack.” Her words were loaded, as usual.

  “And mine are always packed,” he told her. “So I was sort of thinking, maybe we can find a quiet bar with a big overhead fan somewhere. Share a couple of long, cool drinks … ?”

  “And dinner later, on you?”

  “Following which, it’ll be just about time for bed,” Trask said, and again held his breath. For after all, it was possible he’d read this all wrong.

  But he hadn’t read it wrong. And while be wasn’t the telepath, still he knew she was smiling one of those smiles of hers when she asked him, “Your place or mine?”

  The previous night, after Liz had left Jake in his room:

  He had tried reading a handful of E-Branch files that Trask had given him but wasn’t able to concentrate; his mind kept returning to the nightmare that Liz had interrupted … God bless her! Or it would return if only he could remember what the damn thing had been about.

  A fight? He’d definitely been fighting something, and something monstrous at that. But what? He remembered talking to Korath, remembered the vampire’s word games, something of his arguments, and that they hadn’t reached any firm decision on how to handle their mutual agendas—mutual in that they both planned murders, if murder was the right word for it and not simply the extermination of vermin—but apart from that, nothing.

  Jake suspected that he ha
d fallen even more deeply asleep, perhaps in the middle of their deadspeak conversation, and that the dead vampire had then left him to his dreams. Or rather, to his nightmare. Well, and weren’t nightmares commonplace to Jake Cutter? They certainly were, and especially since his introduction to E-Branch. But usually he recognized their sources, knew where they’d sprung from and what they were about, and was able to turn his back on them until the next time. This one, however, was different and continued to bother him—probably because he couldn’t remember its details.

  No, not a one of them—except perhaps the fear. For after all, it wasn’t too often he’d wake up in a cold sweat, fighting for his life (or for more than “just” his life—for control of his life, maybe? But it wasn’t too hard to guess where that notion had sprung from!) against something he couldn’t recall.

  Also, there had been his seeming rejection of Liz. But the last thing he’d wanted to do was reject Liz! There, he’d admitted it, he was attracted to her. Hell, no, he was a whole hell-of-a-lot attracted to her, but wasn’t about to make love to her while there was even the slightest chance that Korath was still lurking around in there—or should that be in here?—or that he might return.

  Shit—Jake’s mind had become a place now! It wasn’t just his any longer, but some kind of communal meeting place for the dead! Some of them anyway. Harry Keogh, Zek Foener, Korath, and all those other whisperers in darkness who as yet wouldn’t commit themselves to conversing with him because for some unspecified reason they feared him, but whose voices nevertheless went echoing through the caverns of his mind …

  … Say what!? They, the teeming dead, were afraid of him? So what kind of infernal monster had Jake become that he instilled fear in the incorporeal minds of the Great Majority? And who in hell would want to be a Necroscope anyway?

  Thus his mind was a jumble of questions and kaleidoscopic images, all of them wheeling against a vast backdrop of mysterious numbers and the esoteric symbols of the Möbius Continuum.