James Herbert

by Sepulchre

  'Could be they use a psychic of their own.' Sir Victor received the suggestion gravely. 'There is no other person on this earth who can match the sensory ability of Felix Kline.' It was a statement not meant to be argued with, and Halloran saw no point in doing so.

  'How many Magma personnel knew of this recent find?' he asked.

  'Not many,' replied Quinn-Reece, leaning forward and shuffling the papers before him. 'Myself, the chairman, and of course, Felix and Miss Redmile. At the other end, only the agent whom I contacted.

  The news hasn't even been announced to our board of directors, and only one or two of our executives have become involved since, although we now know that wasn't until after Consolidated made their move.'

  'Don't forget me,' said Halloran. 'It was mentioned to me on the first day I visited Magma.' Sir Victor turned inquiringly to Kline, who nodded. 'As you've only been associated with the Corporation for less than a week, I think we can sensibly discount you as a mole,' the chairman reasoned.

  'Well, your range of suspects is mercifully limited,' said Halloran. 'But before you point a finger at anyone, I suggest you investigate these offices for electronic listening devices and make sure your phones aren't being tapped. You ought to check that your computer codes haven't been cracked also. Shield can make a thorough sweep, if you like.'

  'Anti-bugging searches are carried out every week by our own security,' Quinn-Reece assured him.

  'In an irregular pattern? I'd hate to hear, for instance, that you search the offices every Monday morning at nine o'clock.'

  'Our security people aren't that naive, Mr Halloran.'

  'Let's hope they aren't disloyal, either. And your computer codes?'

  'We've no reason to suspect they've been broken.'

  'Might be an idea to find out if there have been any recorded but unauthorised admissions over the past few months.'

  'That wouldn't have any bearing on our immediate problem,' Sir Victor remarked.

  'No, but locating a hacker might help direct those accusing fingers.' Halloran stared across the room at Kline, who seemed almost dwarfish behind the broad desk, the high, rainspattered window at his back increasing the effect. 'Aside from that,' he said, 'you're the psychic: don't you have an idea who's giving away company secrets?' Kline returned the Shield man's stare. 'Oh yeah, Halloran,' he said, 'I'm sure I know who's the traitor in our midst.' He looked at each person in the room and his face was expressionless when he spoke.

  'It's Cora,' he told them.

  28 HALLORAN

  'If I may say so, m'dear, you don't look at all well.' Cora had taken Shield's Planner to one of Magma's smaller conference rooms on the eighteenth floor, a place used for private meetings with business associates rather than full-scale executive gatherings or board meetings. Cora had disappeared for a few minutes, returning with tea for them both. Rather than sit at the room's long table, they had relaxed in easy chairs that were spaced around the walls. As Cora sipped her tea, Mather noticed a slight tremble in her grip.

  'I sincerely hope this kidnapping business isn't upsetting you too much,' he said soothingly. 'We have you well guarded, you know. And I promise you, Liam is the best operative we have in this kind of situation.

  He has an uncanny instinct for striking before being struck.' He caught her sudden glance at him with the mention of Halloran's name. Ah, he thought, our man is having an effect on her.

  'I suppose it's made us all nervous,' Cora said.

  But you look as though you haven't slept properly for several weeks, Mather thought to himself. 'Yes, I can appreciate that. Perhaps the blackguards will be flushed out soon and then we can all get some rest.

  Our job isn't only physically to protect the target; we spend a great deal of time searching out those who are the threat.' He deliberately refrained from saying 'or assassins', unwilling to worry the girl any more than was necessary. 'We've been working on that since we agreed to the assignment.'

  'But without any success.'

  'True, but it's early days. We'll find out who's causing these problems soon enough, never fear.' He placed the empty teacup in the saucer by his feet.

  'Would you like some more?' she asked.

  'No thank you, one's enough. Of course, these villains might well have cried off after their unsuccessful attempt the other day. Nothing like a show of strength to make such thugs turn tail and run.' He smiled, doing his best to reassure her.

  Cora merely stared blankly into her teacup. Her question was tentative. 'Liam would kill anyone he considered to be a danger, wouldn't he?' Mother was slightly taken aback. 'Why, yes, if that was the only way. However, he isn't a murderer, Miss Redmile. He'll only take what measures are necessary to retrieve a situation. I can assure you that Achilles' Shield is a law-abiding organisation which doesn't employ reckless hit-men. All right, it must be confessed, we sometimes bend the rules here and there, but our operatives are trained to control a situation rather than be pressured by it.'

  'He . . .' Cora looked up and Mother saw the anxiety there . . . he frightens me.' Mother's short laugh was meant to be encouraging. 'There's nothing you need fear from Liam,' he told her.

  'What makes such a person deal in violence? He can be so gentle, and yet . . .' Oh dear, mused Mather, it's gone deeper than I'd imagined. 'Liam is essentially employed to deter violence,' he said.

  'You know it's there inside him, a terrible coldness. Sometimes, when he smiles, you can see it in his eyes. I could easily believe he has no conscience.'

  'Perhaps you've mistaken that coldness for an immunity against . . . well, it's difficult to put a word on it, but you might consider it as an immunity against . . . forgiveness. Liam is unremitting, relentless even, when he, or others in his charge, are threatened. I don't believe he's a man who would ever seek vengeance, but nor is he one to turn the other cheek.' Mother tapped his cane against the shoe on his outstretched foot. 'Let me tell you something of his background, then perhaps you'll understand him a little more.' She appeared apprehensive, as though uncertain that she really wanted to know too much about the man.

  'Liam's father, Pat Halloran, was a captain in the British Army, who met Siobhan, his future wife, while on leave in Southern Ireland—apparently he was a keen walker and angler, so what better place to spend his free time? He was also of Irish descent himself, so felt a natural affinity to the country. He returned some months later, proposed to the girl, was promptly accepted, and both came back to London where they were married. Within a year, Liam was born.' Mother reached down and retrieved his cup from the floor. .Perhaps I will have more tea, m'dear.' He watched her as she walked to the table and refilled his cup. She's confused about Halloran, he thought, and could hardly be blamed for that.

  Even to Mother, who knew him better than most, Halloran was still something of an enigma. But it was Felix Kline and his strange cohorts that the Planner had misgivings about, doubts which he could not explain rationally; the girl could be an ally to his operative, an insider who could give warning of any odd business going on that might affect Halloran's course of action. The Planner had voiced his growing unease concerning the Magma assignment to Gerald Snaith that very morning, after the discovery of Dieter Stuhr's mutilated corpse. Naturally, the Controller of Achilles' Shield, a pragmatic individual to say the least, had demanded evidence of any link between tire two matters. Which Mother could not provide.

  He thanked Cora when she handed him the fresh tea, and waited for her to sit before proceeding.

  'His father's army career involved a fair bit of travelling that did not, unfortunately, require any long-term overseas duty whereby the family could stay with him. He took them when he could, but more often than not, Siobhan and the boy were left at home. Eventually it was decided that they might be better off living with Liam'; grandfather back in Ireland.' The girl had remembered that Mother favoured Earl Grey, and he sipped gratefully before continuing. 'I mention these early details, Miss Redmile, because I believe they, for good or bad
, helped shape the man.' He received no response.

  'The captain spent as much time as possible with his wife and son, but their marriage had created a rift between Siobhan and other members of her family. You see, she had cousins who had links—strong links, as it turned out—with the IRA, and they suspected that her husband was no more than a British plant” put there to seek out information on rebel activities in the area. It was sheer nonsense, of course, but fanatics can rarely be bound by common sense. And who knows? Perhaps over the years, Captain Halloran did innocently hear of certain nefarious goings on that he felt duty-bound to report to his superiors. Whatever, suspicion alone was enough for the terrorists.

  'Liam, just eight years old, had gone fishing with his father, who had been home on leave for only a few days while serving in that bloody, if discreet, war in South Arabia. God knows, the man needed the rest.'

  Cora regarded Mather curiously.

  'They were both standing in the middle of a shallow stream, father and son, no doubt enjoying each other's company after so many months apart, when the gunmen struck. Liam saw his father shot dead before him. He told the Garda later that his father had struggled to the bank and had tried to crawl from the water. The boy was frozen with fear and could only watch when one of the masked gunmen kicked his father down into the stream again, then stood with one foot on the dying man's back holding him beneath the water. The boy said the stream had already turned crimson with blood when the man pointed his revolver into the water and shot Captain Halloran in the back of the head.' Cora closed her eyes, but the ghastly image became sharper in her mind. She quickly opened them again.

  'Siobhan knew her cousins had been involved, otherwise Liam would have been murdered, too, as a witness. That's why the assassins had taken the trouble to wear masks, so the boy wouldn't recognise any of them. But there was nothing she could do. If she were to voice her suspicions, not only would she be at risk, but so too would her son, and possibly the grandfather. It's my opinion that her silence partly contributed to her eventual breakdown. Grief did the rest.' The girl was staring at him. 'How . . . how do you know all this? Did Liam tell you?'

  'Pieces,' he replied. 'Even as a youth, Liam was never one to reveal his inner feelings. I made enquiries, I talked to his grandfather. You see, I was Captain Halloran's commanding officer in Aden. He was an excellent soldier, one I had a high regard for, and his death was a great loss for my unit so early in the campaign. I took a personal interest in the family he'd left behind, and that's how I learned of the boy.'

  Mather finished the tea and again placed the cup on the floor. When he straightened, his hand began to soothe the ache in his knee. Talk of the war in Aden somehow always revived that pain.

  'As Liam grew older, it seemed he was always in some kind of trouble, as though a wildness in him had been unleashed. Perhaps that was his way of smothering the sorrow, disguising it with anger. I've no idea, to be honest. The wildness grew out of hand when his mother, unhappy and unstable for all those years, finally committed suicide. I'd kept track of them both since the death of Captain Halloran, made sure the widow received full financial compensation from the British Army, but lost touch for some time when I had difficulties of my own.' He tapped his aching knee to indicate the precise nature of those 'difficulties'.

  “Thought I was going to lose it, but managed to convince the medics the leg would come good again after a little tinkering with their scalpels. Nowadays, I wonder if I did the right thing,' he added as if to himself.

  'Anyway, I received a letter from the grandfather informing me of Siobhan's death, and when I was yell enough, I travelled to Ireland myself to see what could be done for the boy.' He smiled wryly. 'I believe I arrived just in time.' It was difficult for Cora to picture Liam as a boy, angry, probably frightened, grief-stricken again with the loss of his mother, her death a direct consequence of his father's murder.

  How could she equate that image with the man who had come to her room the night before, had taken her against her will, that very act of ravishment stirring the familiar pleasure such defilement had for her, so that she could not help but respond? But then the quieter passion afterwards, the lovemaking that was gentle, so tender, arousing purer emotions that eclipsed mere desire. It had left her stunned, unsure, as though he had deliberately enacted both sides of passion with her, the cold harshness lacking any caring, and then the simple joy which came without abuse or pain, a fulfilment she'd almost forgotten. But then Cora had to wonder if Halloran was someone on whose actions others put their own interpretations.

  Was she presuming too much of him? Was he really only a man of violence?

  Mather's voice broke into her thoughts. 'Liam had been getting into scrapes. No, more than that—his mischievousness went beyond the bounds of natural boyhood hooliganism. From what I heard on my arrival, he was in serious danger of being taken into youth custody. Several incidents around the small town where he lived with his grandfather had been attributed to him, although on the worst occasions no damning evidence of his involvement could be laid absolutely on his doorstep. There were particular problems with the local priest. Whether or not it was because the Church represented the nearest authority against which he could rebel, I've no way of knowing. One particular incident . . . but no, as I say, there was no definite proof, it would he wrong for me to speculate.' The Shield Planner interlocked his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of the char. He pressed his forefingers against his lip, momentarily lost in thought. 'I felt it was time to take Liam away from that environment; Ireland held too many tragic memories for him. So I arranged for him to board at a school in England, the least I could do in honour of his late father. The school had close connections with the army, turned out many fine cadets.

  I'm afraid I was rather preoccupied with my own career, which was starting afresh after my leg injury, but I tried to keep an eye on things as much as I could. The boy appeared to settle down perhaps a strict regime was what he needed all along—eventually I suppose because of what his father had been, the type of school that had educated him, and the fact that his grandfather had passed away and that there really was no other place to go, Liam decided that soldiering was the profession for him.' Mather's face wrinkled with pleasure. 'Damn good at it, too, by all accounts. Oh, he was still somewhat reckless, never quite losing that touch of Irish wildness; but the army has ways of channelling that kind of spirit. Liam took to that way of life as if ordained for it, and was good enough to make the SAS.

  'Unfortunately, he was involved in an incident in 1972 that I believe was the root cause of Liam's later cynicism. Still not into his twenties, he was stationed with a small British Army training team at Mirbat in Oman—about ten of 'em in all. A civil war was going on between the monarchy of Oman and its left-wing opponents, and the SAS unit had spent three months in that dreary little town of Mirbat attempting to drill some kind of order into the loyalists. They held two forts, thirty Askaris in one, around twenty-five Dhofar Gendarmerie in the other, with an unruly bunch of counter-guerrilla irregulars billeted in the town itself. The only artillery of any real weight they had was a Second World War 25-pounder, a

  .50-inch Browning and an 81mm mortar.

  'One morning, just after dawn, they were attacked by nearly three hundred rebels armed with machine guns, mortars, anti-tank rifles and a Russian rocket-launcher. It should have been an outright massacre, but the SAS commanding officer, an absolutely fearless individual, and only a few years older than Liam himself, organised his own men and their Arab allies into a fighting force to be reckoned with.

  'I won't bore you with all the battle details, m'dear, but the officer, a captain, was here, there and everywhere, screaming orders, directing what meagre artillery they had, shaping his defence so that the attackers couldn't take a hold. Under enemy fire, he crossed four hundred yards of open ground with a medical orderly to reach the fort where the Gendarmerie was holed up. He'd already radioed his HQ for a helicopter to evacuate casual
ties, but enemy fire-power was so fierce the damn thing couldn't even land. The captain took over the second fort's gun position, the guerrillas no more than thirty yards away, and nearly had his head chopped off by machine-gun fire. Men were being cut down around him, but not for one moment did the captain consider giving the order for surrender. No, no chance of that. From his position, he was able to site targets for two Strikemaster jets that had arrived to lend support, but still the battle raged.

  'At last, a relief squadron flew in from Salalah to assist, and the rebels, already stopped in their tracks and their numbers considerably depleted, gave up the ghost and fled. A quite remarkable resistance by the commanding officer and his men, and the rebel forces never really recovered from the defeat, although it took another four years for the war to end.

  'I believe that battle affected Liam in two ways, the first being that he was involved in a carnage of mindless ferocity, and he, himself, had dealt out much of it; and the second was that he was shown an example of outstanding courage by his commanding officer—a captain, don't forget—which I'm sure he imagined his own father had been capable of. Yet the battle was never “officially” recognised by his own government, even though he was awarded a Military Medal for his actions, and the captain a DSO. That and the fact that he was unclear in his own mind as to whether he was on the side of the “goodies” or the

  “baddies” made him rather cynical about war itself. Worse was to follow.

  'Seven years later, that same captain, a man he had come to admire and respect, by then promoted to major, died from exposure during an SAS exercise on the Brecon Beacons. A totally wasteful death which so filled Liam with disgust that he resigned from the army shortly after.