James Herbert

by Sepulchre

  He came to rest at the bottom of the hill, spreadeagled on his back, half-buried in snow and his chest heaving with exertion.

  He stayed that way for some time, his breathing gradually slowing as he listened for his pursuers. Their voices came from high above him and soon drifted away again, the darkness now concealing the trail of disturbed snow he had left behind. He had lost them. He had got away. He giggled once more and licked his lips, the taste still strong on his tongue.

  Janusz waited a little while longer before rising to his knees.

  He was instantly blinded by dazzling white light.

  Russian tanks were strategically positioned in many sectors of Poland, never obtrusively, but usually in areas where their threat could be felt rather than continually observed. The soldiers who manned them were highly disciplined and never mingled with the community; but they were always on standby, ready to move against insurgence at a moment's notice. Perpetually bored by their low-profile assignment, the tank crews were eager for any distraction that might come their way. They had observed the dark figure tumbling down the hillside and patiently waited for it to move again once it reached the bottom. When it did, they switched on their tank lights as one.

  Janusz screamed in terror. He stumbled away, not caring in which direction he ran, his only thought to be out of that intense glare as quickly as possible. The two policjants, alerted by the abrupt flaring of light, turned back.

  Never had Janusz felt so naked, so visible. There was nothing he could see, nothing but blinding light, and he felt like a specimen exposed on a scientist's slab. He crashed into a tree, tasted his own blood rushing into his mouth. He staggered away, hands to his face. Then onwards, refusing to allow pain to stop him, too afraid to let it.

  He was hurtling downwards again, over and over, this slope much steeper than the previous one. He shrieked when his damaged shoulder struck something solid. He was no longer falling, the surface flat and hard beneath him.

  Janusz sobbed with self-pity. He was lost now. He no longer had the strength to run. They had him and they would punish him for the wicked things he had done.

  He raised his head. The lights had found him. They were coming close, exposing him in the roadway as if he were some helpless animal, broken-limbed and prey to anything that should come along. Janusz tried to shield his eyes against the blaze, but there was no strength left in his arms.

  The light was almost upon him. He waited in despair.

  But now the bright beams were passing him, shining beyond. He blinked and it took an eternity for his eyes to discern the big black car that had drawn up alongside his prone body. The engine was still quietly running and nothing happened for a while. Then a rear door opened.

  “Moge cie zrobic niewidzialnym, Janusz,' a soft voice said from within. 'I can make you invisible.' (And in a way, Kline did make him invisible.)

  24 CORA'S ANGUISH

  'Why jackals, for God's sake? There are plenty of other breeds that make better guard dogs.' Halloran had craned his neck round to look through the black limousine's rear window, halfexpecting to see shadowy shapes back on the roadway.

  Palusinski shrugged, then gave a short laugh, his eyes becoming small behind the wire-rimmed glasses he wore. 'Perhaps Felix cares for the underdog.' He laughed again, enjoying his joke.

  Halloran faced the front. 'I've never heard of trained jackals before.'

  'All animals can be trained, moj kolega. As can all men.'

  'I thought they were nocturnal, yet I saw one roaming in daylight yesterday.'

  'They prefer night hunting, but even inherent habits can be changed. The dogs obey their master.'

  'Kline?'

  'Ah no.' Palusinski's foot gently touched the brake pedal as they gathered speed on the hill. The lights of Neath were like a beacon against the leaden slopes behind. 'Even an old dog such as I has learned some new tricks over the past two days. Your driving instructor teaches well.'

  'Let's hope you never have to use those techniques.' The older man nodded. 'I am informed that you, yourself, had to do so yesterday.' Halloran made no comment. 'How long have you been employed by Felix Kline, Mr Palusinski?' he asked instead.

  'Please, you may call me Janusz. Rest assured, I bear you no ill-will for your rough treatment of me two nights ago. I appreciate that you were merely pointing out the weakness of our defence. And there was no pain at the time, only an aching of the neck muscles afterwards. A skilful blow, sir, if I may say so.'

  'Pity your partner can't forgive as easily.'

  'Monk? An animal. A beast. It would be prudent to watch yourself with that one. Now, as to your question, I'm sure your company has access to the files on all of us. You must know how long I have been in Felix's employ.'

  'Those files are pretty vague. They give no account of length of service.'

  'I see. And you are curious, naturally.' The car pulled up behind the silver Mercedes at the front of the house. 'Felix brought me from Poland some years ago,' Palusinski said as he switched off the engine.

  'Fourteen or fifteen years ago, I think.' Halloran was startled and about to question the Pole further, but Palusinski was already getting out of the car. 'Wait,' he said, and the older man bent down to look back inside. 'How old is Kline?' Halloran asked.

  Palusinski smiled, his eyes narrowing behind the spectacles. 'Felix is older than you would imagine, sir.'

  Then he was gone, walking around the front of the car towards the house.

  Halloran quietly tapped on the door and waited. He was tired and that was due to more than just the lateness of the hour. There was a tension about this house that had little to do with any kidnap threat. Yet the day before there had been a stillness in Neatly a brooding heaviness which dragged at the spirit. That had now given way to a peculiar atmosphere of instability and he could almost feel a charge in the air, as if the building itself had been roused by the visitors like some slumbering monolith disturbed into a tensed wariness. He pushed the fanciful idea aside. A house was a house, bricks and mortar, timber and glass.

  The events of the day and the unpredictability of his client were having an adverse effect on him. That Dieter Stuhr was still missing -Mather had phoned Halloran an hour before to inform him of this-added to his general unease for, as the Shield Organiser, the German was at the hub of an ongoing operation.

  Nothing seemed right about this particular assignment.

  He raised a hand to tap on the door again, but stopped when he heard the lock click from the inside.

  Cora looked out at him.

  'I wondered if you were okay,' he said, then added: 'You weren't at dinner.' Her hair was damp around her face as if she'd just stepped from the bath or shower. 'I wasn't hungry,' she told him.

  'Nor was anyone else. I ate alone.' He was silent for a moment, waiting for some response from her.

  When none came, he said, 'Can we talk?' Hesitation, then: 'I'm sorry, I'm acting like a stranger to you.'

  She opened the door wide and stood aside so that he could enter, their roles reversed from the previous night.

  He rested a hand against the doorframe. 'I didn't know .

  'Come in, Liam. Please.' He entered the room and saw that it was bigger and more comfortable than his own. One half contained a small sofa and armchair, a coffee table in between, an antique writing bureau by the wall; the other side was occupied by a four-poster bed, bedside cabinet and dressing table, and a wardrobe of cavernous proportions. An open door led off and he assumed this was to an en suite bathroom. The curtains at the windows were drawn closed, which seemed unnecessary considering Neath's remote location.

  Cora shut the door behind him and went to a table. 'Can I offer you a drink?' she asked, adjusting the belt of the white towelling robe she wore. 'Oh no, I forgot. You're always on duty, aren't you? I suppose you won't be surprised if I have one.' She poured herself some wine from a bottle on the table and settled back in the sofa, drawing her legs up under her.

  'Why the antago
nism, Cora? After last night = He stopped when she bowed her head as if the words had stung her.

  'Have I disillusioned you?' There was scorn in her voice. 'I drink too much, I make love in an odd fashion, I'm subservient to a man who's half-mad, half-genius. I can imagine what you think of me.'

  Halloran sat next to her, their bodies touching. 'The only thing I can't figure out is what you really drink.'

  Cora had to smile. 'Whatever happens to be on offer,' she replied with only a hint of sullenness. She sipped the wine and he noticed the bottle level was down to the last quarter. 'Did I shock you last night?'

  Cora asked, looking into her glass.

  'Sure,' he answered.

  She looked up sharply.

  'I'd be a liar if I said I didn't enjoy it, though,' Halloran added.

  'He made me do it.'

  'What?'

  'He made me go to your room.' She reached for the bottle and topped up her wine glass, even though it was still half-full. 'Felix told me to go to you last night.' Halloran was stunned. 'I don't understand.'

  'He ordered me to seduce you. I don't know why. Perhaps he was testing you in some way. Or testing me. Perhaps he got some kind of kick out of it, finding another way to degrade me, turn me into a whore.'

  'Why should he want to do that?'

  'Felix enjoys corrupting people. But it's too soon for you to have realised that.'

  'Cora, this doesn't make sense.'

  'You already know there's no sense to any of this, Liam. Why persist in looking for it? I'm sorry if I've bruised your ego, but the truth is I was merely obeying instructions last night.' Her hand was shaking and she quickly drank to prevent the wine spilling over. She glanced at him and was surprised to find him smiling still, but this time that coldness was there, the glint of cruelness that somehow was constantly lurking beneath his surface manner.

  'Maybe Kline wanted me kept busy,' he said.

  She caught her breath. He was right. For reasons of her own—reasons that were unclear even to herself—Cora had wanted to hurt Liam, to break through that aura of sureness. But there was more to it than that. She had wanted him, had wanted him to make love to her, had gone to him willingly as if . . .

  Cora struggled to crystallise the thought . . . as if he might be her . . . saviour? Redeemer? Oh God, what a fool she was. Even then, when he had been inside her, it wasn't enough. She'd needed something more, much more. And they'd had to make love a different way so that she could achieve her own satisfaction.

  Felix had reduced her to that, made her a creature of sensations rather than emotions. And she'd despised Liam for this also, for she had allowed him to see her for what she was. Tonight she had tried to hurt him, but he had turned it around. It was she who had been humiliated further.

  'Please go, Liam,' she said, her voice brittle.

  'Oh no, not yet. Not yet, Cora.' That faint Irishness to his voice again. How strange that it should make him sound so dangerous.

  'I want you to leave.' Instead he took the glass from her hand.

  'I don't know what game it is you all think you're playing,' he said quietly, 'and honestly, I don't much care. But at least there's something more to you, Cora, something that megalomaniac hasn't touched yet.

  I don't know how he's managed to bring you to this point, but I do know you've kept a part of yourself away from him. You were different the first time I saw you, and I think it was because I was seeing you the way you used to be, the way you can still be.'

  'There's nothing left for -' He touched his fingers to her lips. 'You're wrong.' His own lips replaced his hand and she tried to turn away. He held her firm and kissed her, hurting her.

  Cora sank into the sofa and pushed at his chest. She didn't want this. He wasn't the man to take her from Felix. They were alike, Felix and Liam. Cruel men. Vicious men. That was why Felix was fascinated by him. They were akin.

  He was hurting her, and there was pleasure in that. But she mustn't let him, she couldn't let him . . .

  Halloran grabbed her wrist and pulled it aside. She was lying on the sofa now, the robe open beneath the belt, exposing her thighs. He continued to kiss her, his mouth hard against hers, and when she finally wrenched her head away, his lips sank to her neck and he bit, but used no strength. Cora moaned, partly out of self-pity and partly out of self-disgust, for feelings were being aroused in her.

  'Please don't,' she tried to say, but Halloran had pulled the robe away from her breasts. He lowered his head to them. 'I don't want this!' she hissed, but his hand was on her thigh, pressing firmly, then gliding down to her knee, reaching behind, touching delicate nerve-points. His weight was on her, pinning her, and he used his body to part her legs. Still she protested, squirming against him, her fingers clenched on his shoulders. She could have clawed him, or pulled his hair, or bit him. But she didn't.

  He sank to the floor, kneeling before her, keeping his body between her legs. Her robe had fallen open completely, the belt loose around her waist, and Halloran deftly undid his own clothing. He entered her, the movement hard and quick, causing her to cry out even though she was moist, ready for him despite her resistance. His lips found hers once more and this time she did not refuse him; the force of her kiss matched his.

  Her arms reached around him, drawing him tight, and now Halloran groaned, a soft murmur that excited her. Cora's legs were rigid against his hips and she thrust herself forward, letting him fill her, wanting more, crying for more, her breathing tight and her arms trembling. Cora's cries turned into gasps and Halloran's hands went under and around her shoulders so that he could pull her down onto him, his own thrusts controlled and rhythmic. But that restraint was soon overwhelmed and he twisted his face into Cora's wet hair and she arched her neck, pushing her head back into the cushions, her hips almost rising off the sofa, clutching at him as their juices surged to mix inside her body. Her cry was sharp, trailing to a whimper, their bodies shuddering together, slowly calming to a trembling, eventually relaxing to a stillness.

  They lay there, neither one willing to separate.

  Halloran felt the wetness on his cheek and lifted his head to look at Cora. She was weeping and when he tried to speak she pulled him down against her. His arm slid beneath her neck and he held her tightly.

  They stayed that way until her weeping stopped, neither one saying anything, feeling no need to, content to rest with each other. Cora loved the feel of him inside her, even though he was soft now, and she ran her fingers beneath his shirt, caressing his spine. Halloran raised himself without withdrawing and lifted her legs onto the sofa. He lay on top, brushing his mouth across her face, kissing her eyes, her temples, her cheeks, passion subdued, replaced by tenderness.

  'You don't know what he's done to me,' she said.

  'None of that matters,' he soothed.

  She sighed, a sweet sound, when she felt him becoming hard again. They made love slowly this time, their movement sensuous, almost languid, sensing each other in a different, more perfect, way. Their passion grew but was unleashed easily, a flowing then gently ebbing release.

  As before, they remained locked together for some time and, when at last Halloran withdrew, it was with reluctance. He adjusted his clothing, then sat on the floor, an elbow resting on the sofa where Cora was still stretched. He leaned forward to kiss her lips, his hand smoothing away the damp hair from her face.

  'Liam . . .' she began to say, but he shook his head and smiled.

  'No need, Cora. We'll talk tomorrow. Tonight just think about what's happened between us.' He stroked her body, fingertips tracing a line over her breasts down to her stomach, running into the cleft between her thighs.

  Her arms went around his shoulders and she studied his eyes, her expression grave. 'I need to know more about you, can't you see that?'

  'In time,' he said.

  'Is it possible for me to trust you? There's something . ' she frowned, struggling to find the word '. . .

  dark about you, Liam. and I can't u
nderstand what it is. There's a remoteness in you that's frightening. I felt it the first time we met.' He began to rise, but Cora held on to him.

  'I told you yesterday,' he said. 'I'm what you see, no, more than that.'

  'It's what I feel in you that scares me.'

  'I often deal with violent people, Cora. It can't help but have an effect on me.'

  'You've become the same as them? Is that what you're saying?' He shook his head. 'It isn't that simple.'

  'Then try to explain.' There was exasperation in her demand.

  He began to rise again and this time her arms dropped away. 'In my trade violence usually has to be met with violence,' he said, looking down at her. 'It's sometimes the only way.'

  'Doesn't that corrupt you? Doesn't that make you the same as them?'

  'Maybe,' he replied.

  She pulled at her robe, covering her nakedness.

  Halloran walked to the door and paused there. 'It's when you start to enjoy the corruption that you know you're in trouble.' He went out, quietly closing the door after him.

  Leaving Cora to weep alone.

  Halloran washed himself in a bathroom along the hall before returning to his room. Once there, he hung his jacket over a bedpost and took the gun from its holster, placing it on the bedside cabinet. He removed his shoes this time, set the small alarm clock, and lay on the bed. The curtains were apart, but moonlight was feeble again that night and barely lit the room. Despite the fact that there was an extra bodyguard on duty inside the house, Halloran would only allow himself four hours' rest, intending to check on Monk and Palusinski during their individual watches, scouting Neath and the immediate outside area in between. Cora had taken up nearly an hour of his rest period. And a lot of energy.

  He shut his eyes and remembered the hurt on her face as he'd left the room.

  A brightness flashed beyond his eyelids.

  Halloran opened his eyes again. The room was in darkness. Had he imagined the sudden flare?