Bloodwars

by Brian Lumley

  As he finished speaking, they arrived at the administrative office in time to catch the first chirrup of the telephone. It was E-Branch from London, lan Goodly asking for Trask. Anna Marie handed the telephone over.

  ‘Ben here,’ Trask said. And, ‘Are we scrambled?’

  They were, and Goodly told him about the rest of the visit by CMI. They were after Nathan,’ he finished off, ‘with orders to take him if they could, or to kill him!’

  Trask nodded absent-mindedly, and said, ‘Someone’s afraid of him, even as we were afraid of his father.’ And glancing at Nathan: ‘And just as mistakenly. But how did they know we were getting ready to ship him home to Sunside/Starside?’

  ‘Would you believe . .. our Minister,’ (and Goodly gave an imitation cough) ‘Responsible? I have to admit, though, that

  56

  57

  he seemed genuinely upset. And you have to remember, it was the Minister who warned me that CMI would be calling on E-Branch in the first place. Thinking back on it, I recall that he mumbled something about setting watchers to watch the watchers?’

  Again Trask nodded at the telephone. ‘Right. At E-Branch we’re all big fish. But when it’s something as important - or as potentially dangerous - as this, then there are even bigger fish, even sharks! They’re called Advisers to the Inner Cabinet: top-level, stone-cold “thinkers” specializing in finance, world affairs and security, internal and external. Lots of brain but not an ounce of heart in the whole bunch. You can bet your life that somebody up there, someone a lot bigger than our Minister, set this ball rolling. Well, that’s as may be, but whoever he is, he’s obviously as prone to making mistakes as anyone else. Killing Nathan would have been one hell of a big mistake, and for a hell of a lot of reasons!’ Turkur Tzonov was just such a reason, of course, but Trask wasn’t going to talk about him right now, not even on a scrambled telephone.

  ‘So what’s next?’ Goodly asked. ‘And is there anything we can do at this end?’

  ‘Nathan’s arms and ammo,’ Trask answered. ‘Still safe and sound?’

  ‘Hidden away,’ Goodly said. ‘CMI didn’t find them. And if they had, so what? We’re E-Branch; we’re entitled.’

  ‘And where are CMI now? Are they watching, listening, interfering?’

  ‘Not that we can discover.’

  ‘Right,’ Trask grunted. This is what I want you to do. Temporarily immobilize the elevator, and make E-Branch secure. Put a man on the roof to watch for choppers. And others on the street, just watching. Also, I want you personally on the telephone to me from start to finish, continually, so we can talk each other through all Nathan’s comings and goings, until he’s got all of his stuff out of there. I know it’s highly unlikely that CMI could get a team back in there

  before Nathan could get out, but I’m not going to take any chances. The merest hint of danger at your end, and we wait it out until he can start again.’

  Nathan touched his elbow. ‘You’ll be wasting your time on the telephone,’ he said quietly.

  Trask looked at him. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Zek is still there, in London,’ Nathan reminded him. ‘Have her called in. She can be my early warning system. No need for the telephone. Phones can be put out of action.’

  Trask thought, Yes, and so can Zek!

  Nathan read it not only in his mind but his eyes, too. And he was quick to agree. ‘You’re right, of course. Use the telephone.’

  On the other end of the line, Goodly had managed to catch a little of what was being discussed. Now he said, ‘Zek walked in just a moment ago. She’s been in town, making arrangements to fly home. She’s with me right now and says she wants in on this.’

  Trask uttered a disgusted, barely audible, ‘Oh, fuck!’

  And Goodly said, ‘Zek asks me to say “and the same to you”!’

  ‘Very well,’ Trask knew he wouldn’t get the best of it with Zek Foener. Having fallen in love with her, he didn’t even want to. ‘So break down the weapons into easily handled batches. The Ops room will be perfect; plenty of room for Nathan to work in. Zek can give him the okay as each batch is made ready. He’ll home in on her and, well, do his thing.’ Glancing at Nathan, he offered an apologetic shrug.

  ‘Okay,’ Goodly answered. ‘Give me time to secure this place, and then Zek will get back to you — or rather to Nathan. Say, fifteen to twenty minutes?’

  ‘Right,’ Trask told him, and put the phone down. And turning to the others: ‘We have maybe twenty minutes.’ He looked at Anna Marie. ‘Is that time enough for us to see your end of the operation?’

  She nodded. ‘Come on.’

  The Refuge was a school, a hospice, a sprawling home in

  58

  59

  the woods for fifty Romanian kids aged sixteen to twenty. Following the collapse of the disastrous Ceausescu reign back in the late eighties, as Romania gradually opened herself up to Western influences, so E-Branch had worried certain Powers-That-Be into building a place here on the wooded banks of the Danube, not far from Radujevac. The siting of the Refuge had not been arbitrary: it stood guard over the mouth of a resurgence, where a subterranean river, a tributary of the Danube, surfaced after its dark journey from a source somewhere in the foothills of the Carpa(ii Meridiona/i, the Transylvanian Alps. And the resurgence itself was the source of all Earth’s vampire myths and legends, indeed, of all vampiric infestation of this planet.

  For it was here, some miles up the lightless borehole of the sump, that a second Gate opened into this world. And this Gate, too, connected with Nathan’s parallel world of Sunside/Starside. Thus the Romanian Refuge served two purposes: it was a refuge for a handful of victims of Ceau-sescu’s nightmarishly draconian policies, whose traumas had been such that, after all these years, they still required help; but more than that, it was a barrier against further incursions of the yet more nightmarish Wamphyri, and all the horrors of Starside.

  In the bowels of the place, beneath its foundations, the river’s rush had been diverted, channelled, controlled. There were monitors down there, to register the presence of anything which might prove inimical to mankind. And there was . .. machinery which permitted the entry but not the exit of anything bigger than a minnow or small eel. Any man or creature not of this world, coming from the underground Gate and flushed down the river, would find other than safe refuge here. And alive, dead, or undead, the thing would undergo something other than a metamorphic change. Electrocuted, gutted, boiled and ground down, eventually he, she or it would emerge as so much mush or paste to be dried out and incinerated. In this matter, as never before, E-Branch had been very specific .. .

  Above ground, the Refuge sprawled in three tiers, like a modern, half-buried ziggurat against the face of a cliff once carved by the Danube but now standing well back from the river’s swirl. The lower level was built on pylons sunk into the scree; between the pylons, reinforced concrete walls had been frescoed into autumnal patterns and shapes. An outsider would probably think it unlikely that there was a cellar back there, though certainly anyone approaching the wall too closely would hear a low whine of turbines when it rained or the cloud ceiling lay low on the foothills; especially in the winter months, when the resurgence powered the Refuge’s heating and lighting systems. Outsiders, however, were kept well back behind gardens and a high perimeter fence right on the rim of the river. The entire location was a ‘Sovereign Base Area’, a small British enclave on foreign soil.

  Having first run the gantlet of the Refuge’s security or ‘purification’ systems, water from the subterranean sump now resurfaced below the east-facing wall into a large lily pond. From there it made its way to the Danube via a deep concrete sluice, forming a slow, shallow stream in the dry season, but running to something of a torrent when the rains came.

  So the Romanian Refuge fulfilled its prime objective, and its staff only half-jokingly referred to themselves as ‘Guardians of the Gate’. But the kids in their care weren’t simply a cover. They had always been wel
l-cared for and, as long as Anna Marie English was in charge, the same level of care was guaranteed. Orphans, cripples, socially deprived kids (one might call them all of these things, and even ‘inmates’ in certain cases): they occupied the Refuge’s two upper tiers. Their classrooms, workshops and recreational facilities were in the lower tier, along with the staff accommodation, directly above the site of the original resurgence. But the infrequent whine of turbines was lost in a massively reinforced and soundproofed concrete floor.

  The room where Trask and Nathan had emerged from the

  60

  61

  Mobius Continuum was little more than a storage room off the inner corridor of the central tier. Anna Marie had ordered it cleared out so that Nathan would have ample room in which to work. Her admin office was on the same level, with a huge window facing south. Looking out of that window, Chung, Trask and Nathan had gazed across the sunlit river into Bulgaria on the one hand, and Yugoslavia to the east. But borders no longer mattered a great deal, and so the scenery was simply ‘country’.

  From the admin office they had gone down into the Refuge’s lower level, and in a gymnasium where an instructor worked out with some of the kids they’d looked east through patio windows across a wide balcony set with tables and chairs, to where the gravel drive wound across gardens and into the trees, right up to iron security gates set in the high fence. The place would be generally secure, at least. But not from determined men.

  And that was when Trask had decided: ‘It all looks far too peaceful out there - but it isn’t!’ It was his talent working, telling him that this was all a lie. ‘We’re observed. The Refuge as a whole is under scrutiny. Probably Tzonov’s people. Or CMI —’ and quoting Anna Marie: ‘— or both. You’re right: we have to get Nathan out of here asap.’

  They didn’t bother to visit the basement (Anna Marie told Trask that in any case it was all very quiet and ominous down there, like the stomach of some hungry, patiently hibernating beast), but left David Chung back at the admin office to take calls and went up to the Refuge’s top level. There, Trask met some of the staff, people who actually were what they appeared to be: teachers, nurses, physio-and psychotherapists, people who cared what they were doing, and for the kids they were doing it for. But among these specialists were others, ostensibly ‘under instruction’. And these were Trask’s men, seconded to E-Branch from Special Forces, security-vetted and sworn to secrecy.

  They were ex-Navy men, cavers, spelaeologists, experts in subterranean exploration and underwater equipment, and

  Trask had been rotating their duties here for as long as the Refuge had existed. These were the men who would handle the machinery down in the guts of the place, if ever that should become necessary, and they were also the men who would escort Nathan to the Gate in the lightless bowels of the foothills. (Lightless with the exception of the Gate’s own enigmatic glare, of course.)

  There were five of them, three of whom had already visited the Gate. That had been two weeks ago, when the water-level had gone down after a long dry spell. But the good weather had continued and they now considered it safe to take both Nathan and his weapons up the resurgence and into … into another world. Into his own world, of course. Or at least take him as far as the threshold of that world, from where he would go on alone.

  As Nathan was introduced to them, so a Romanian youth came running with a message from Chung: E-Branch was secure. Nathan could commence ferrying his weapons into the Refuge …

  The Mobius jumps were no problem at all, and each time Nathan used the Continuum, so it got easier. There was no longer any sensation of ‘speeding’ to a place, he simply ‘went’ there.

  And E-Branch HQ was where he went, where lan Goodly had seen to the readiness of what was to become his Sunside arsenal. Nathan had picked up a case of fragmentation grenades, compact flame-throwers normally used in rat-infested sewers, nite-sited, infra-red, laser-guided machine-pistols, three llmm SLRs, inches-accurate to three-quarters of a mile, a pair of light-weight, 30mm rocket-launchers, ammunition galore. He had also developed a certain fondness for a new model all-metal crossbow used in quarrying, forestry and the Canadian logging camps. The half-inch bolts were full of plastic high-explosive and could bring down a pine tree faster than any chainsaw. Fired into a trunk from a safe distance, the core of the bolt would

  62

  63

  detonate 1.5 seconds after impact. On Sunside, crossbows were weapons Nathan had always known and respected, but this model was something else. He’d picked up six of them.

  All in all the weight of these armaments came to around five hundred and eleven pounds, but Goodly had bagged them in lots of one hundred pounds. Five trips to and fro, with espers loading Nathan’s arms into his arms at the London end, and Trask and Chung offloading them in the Refuge. If CMI or anyone else knew about it they weren’t making any noise, and the job was done in less than five minutes …

  IV The Way Home

  ‘That’s it,’ said Nathan breathlessly, after the last trip but one. That’s the weapons part of it, anyway.’

  ‘What’s that you say?’ Trask cocked his head on one side quizzically. ‘What else is there?’

  ‘Just someone who wants to say goodbye to you before she goes home for a while. And she’s asked me to take her there - my way. But she wants to stop off here first.’

  ‘She’s asked you to -?’ Trask drew air in a gasp. ‘Nathan, wait .. .!’ But too late, for the Necroscope had disappeared into thin air. A moment later he was back, setting down Zek on the floor as dainty as a dancer. And she passed from his arms into Trask’s just as easily. Nathan was also carrying her suitcase.

  ‘Zek doesn’t seem to have your problem with it,’ he told Trask. ‘With the Mb’bius Continuum, I mean.’

  ‘Ben.’ She smiled, never giving Trask a moment to regain his equilibrium. ‘I’m going home for a while. Back to Zante. I want a little time to think over what we talked about.’

  David Chung coughed self-consciously and slipped silently from the room, but Nathan stayed. He knew what it was all about and felt no embarrassment.

  ‘What we —?’ Trask looked at her in his arms and drank her in. Zekintha Foener was beautiful; she always had been and Trask supposed she always would be. At five-nine, she was about an inch shorter than he himself, but where looks were concerned he had been at the back of the queue while she’d been right up front. Named by her Greek mother after Zakinthos, the island where she had been born, Zek was

  65

  slim, leggy, blonde and blue-eyed. It was obvious from her colouring that she’d taken a lot more after her German father. Or maybe she’d taken after her Greek island birthplace itself, for Zakinthos was the Isle of Flowers. She must be, oh, some forty-nine or fifty years old now. Not that anyone would ever guess; she could just as easily be thirty-six or -seven.

  Zek had her faults … but they had always been there, and for Trask’s money they only served to enhance her. It was these smallest of small flaws that made her perfect -perfect in his eyes, anyway. Her mouth, for example, with its soft, naturally moist lips just a fraction too full, which tended to tremble a little when she was angry. And the uneven jut of her jaw, also when she was upset, which seemed slightly more prominent on the right. ..

  Abruptly, she brought him right back down to earth.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’ Again her smile.

  And Trask at once reddened up. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten. But… will you be safe back home?’

  ‘Nathan is the one everyone is out to get,’ she answered, her smile fading. ‘Once he’s gone, they’ll forget about me soon enough. And probably about all of us.’

  Two of the cavers came into the room to collect a bundle of arms and ammo. One of them paused a moment, looked at Trask and Nathan - and at Zek, wonderingly - and said, ‘Anna Marie says it has to be soon. Well, we just want you to know: we’ll be ready any time you are.’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ Nathan
told him.

  ‘You’re that eager?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be? I’m going home!’

  The other smiled, however uncertainly. But Trask thought: Would you still smile if you knew what he’s going home to? And as the cavers left the room he released Zek and told her, ‘Be careful, and stay in touch. Let me know when you’re ready. Or not ready? I mean, I know I’m not that much of a catch, but -‘

  ‘You’re an awful lot of a catch.’ She kissed him. ‘You’re

  .. . true? That’s not just a talent you’ve got there, Ben Trask. It’s a life style. Sometimes when you look at me … I have to admit, I’ve looked into your head once or twice. And there was only one other person who ever thought of me like that. Well, I’ve spoken to Jazz, and he doesn’t want me to be alone.’

  Trask’s heart gave a leap. ‘You’ve made up your mind?’

  She nodded. ‘I think so. Now I need a break to just … well, to think about it. The logistics of the thing. You see, I love my island, too, and I have to say a long, slow goodbye to it.’

  Nathan was getting impatient and Trask knew it. He returned Zek’s kiss and said, ‘But right now a fast goodbye, right? Very fast!’ And to Nathan: ‘Okay, she’s all yours - so to speak. And look after her!’

  Nathan smiled his slow, introspective smile and said, ‘You needn’t worry, Ben. I love her too - but differently. Apart from her colours, Zek could be my mother.’ An outsider hearing that would probably find it strange: her colours were Nathan’s, and in that respect she could easily be his mother. Except he thought of himself as Szgany, and so her colours were alien to him. Moreover, Nana Kiklu (his real mother) was dark-eyed and raven-haired, a Traveller, a Gypsy. But speaking his mind was part of Nathan; so that the way he’d said it, Zek knew his comment had nothing to do with her age, everything to do with his feelings. And she felt complimented.