Avengers

by Brian Lumley

  “Like what?” said Angel, stealing another smoke from Venyamin’s pack on the table. “At this time of the morning? Do you really think anyone will be up and about?”

  And Fletcher answered, “The kind of people that we’re looking for…they do their best work at night.” Then he held out his hands to the twins. Understanding the principle, they grasped his hands and formed an unbroken chain around the table.

  At that, Fletcher’s minders stepped back a pace. While they weren’t entirely clear what was happening—some sort of séance was as close as they could guess—still they’d worked with E-Branch before and knew when to keep out of the way.

  And under his breath, Fletcher warned, “Vladimir, Venyamin: don’t do anything rash or stupid. And remember: we can’t linger over this. We’re only taking a look-see—just a glance—and the moment we find anything we break it off. We can’t afford to alert anyone to our presence here. Is that understood?”

  “Da.” The brothers nodded curtly, and all three espers fell silent.

  But in another moment:

  “Whoah!” Fletcher exclaimed, as he snatched back his hands and jerked upright, sending his chair skidding and almost overturning the table. And: “What the hell was that?!” he said, his voice and limbs trembling. But his question was meaningless for he knew well enough what it had been.

  The Russians, too: suddenly their thin faces were even more drawn than usual, their eyes wide and unnaturally bright.

  “A very powerful…somethings!” Vladimir whispered. “Mindsmog, but deep and dark.”

  “And…evil?” said his brother, his English finally coming together. “When we are finding nuclear devices, is not evil. Is made by men but is not evil in itself, just devices. This thing is different. It is the people—and it is the evil!”

  Vladimir looked at him, shrugged and said, “Venyamin speaks now…he is no more shy.”

  “Shy?” said Fletcher. “Is that all it was with him? Well, I am shy—very shy—of whatever it was we just bumped into! Now tell me, do you think it sensed us? Did it know we were here?”

  “It?” said Vladimir, with a puzzled frown. “You are meaning other espers, our enemies, of course?”

  Fletcher calmed down, got a grip on himself. He had noticed that just like the twins, his Special Branch minders were frowning and glancing at each other, too. And: “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course. I meant our enemies, who may well be espers in their own right. Do you think they sensed our presence?”

  “Not knowing,” Vladimir answered. “We were in and out, just like you saying.”

  And Fletcher sighed his relief. Then, still a little shaken, he sat down again and looked at the map. “It wasn’t the theatre or Schauplatz or whatever…er, the mindsmog, that is. Myself, I thought I detected three or four separate sources, all spread out around the town. But none near us, thank goodness!”

  “Likewise,” said Vladimir. “But we—Venyamin and me—we did feeling the faint mindsmogs in or near the Kino. And we are having the idea.”

  “Go on,” said Fletcher.

  “Is night,” said Vladimir. “The Kino is closed now. Perhaps this thing we feeling is—how you are saying—left over?”

  “Residual?” said Fletcher.

  “Residual, yes,” Vladimir nodded. “From the evening, maybe. Is possible our enemies using the place, going there during the day or in the evening times.”

  At which Fletcher came bolt upright in his chair. Suddenly he’d remembered something in Ben Trask’s initial report on that Evening Star affair: that Vavara and Malinari weren’t the only ones who had got off the vampirized ship. There were also those they’d taken with them. And:

  “Girls!” He gasped the word out. “Dancing girls! That shipboard revue: an entire bloody troupe of dancers!”

  “Eh? What’s that?” said Joe Sparrow. “Girls?”

  “Tell us more,” said Cliff Angel leeringly.

  Fletcher put his brain in gear and thought fast. Trask had told him that if he ever got a definite fix—if he was certain of his target—to keep well away or face the consequences. He, Bernie Fletcher, should keep well away, because he “glowed in the dark.” But his minders didn’t. Moreover, they looked the part. They hadn’t shaved since leaving England; and with a day to go before the next performance…by tomorrow night they’d be perfect! They could go see the show, and fit into the audience just like a couple of Turks.

  Passing through the town on the way in, Fletcher had looked the people over. The locals were shop owners in the main, small-businessmen, and farmers. The women he’d seen had been few and far between. Odds were there wouldn’t be any women in the audience at the Kino. Also, and as far as he was aware, where Turks were concerned, belly dancers—or any kind of female dancers, for that matter—would be irresistible. The place would probably be packed to the rafters, and his minders just another two faces in the crowd. But if there was anything “different” about these dancers, the Special Branch men might be able to spot it.

  Or one of them would. For Fletcher had remembered something else that Trask had told him: never to be on his own without at least one of his bodyguards looking out for him. As for the security of whichever minder he sent: he’d be just one more man in a motley crowd, with little or nothing to distinguish him from the rest. And of course there was always safety in numbers.

  Making up his mind, he told Sparrow and Angel, “The boss is supposed to get in tomorrow. But if by tomorrow night he hasn’t arrived with backup, one of you is going to get lucky. Because I need someone to go and see that show.”

  Angel looked at Sparrow and said, “I’ll fight you for it.”

  But Sparrow shook his head and grinned. “Naw! Hell, you’re ugly enough already! We’ll cut the cards.” And then, turning to the Russians, “You boys play poker? Three-card brag? Blackjack? Get out your liras, ladies, the night is young!”

  “Count me in,” said Fletcher, “but first I need to speak to HQ, let them know what’s happening.”

  “Not a good idea,” said Vladimir. “Like I say, Turkish telephones not secure. You will speaking in code, of course?”

  Fletcher smiled and answered, “Of course—well, in a kind of code.” Because he knew that in London, John Grieve wouldn’t be too far from the Duty Officer’s telephone. And working with Grieve would be a lot better, faster, and far more secure than using codes devised by even the finest cryptographers…

  The next morning, back at E-Branch HQ, Ben Trask was taking an early Orders Group.

  As he was about to begin Jake showed up, and Trask stopped him in the doorway to Ops and asked what he was doing there—was he in or out?—he should make up his mind. Trask was his usual brusque self.

  Jake said, “I’m in, but I’ll play it my way.”

  It wasn’t what Trask wanted to hear, and any other time he would be angry about it. He was angry, but right now he had to concentrate on his briefing, and since he really couldn’t afford to lose Jake he nodded and said, “Okay.” And then, as they were out of earshot of the rest of the agents who were already seated, he asked how Jake would play it.

  “By ear,” Jake answered.

  “The rest of the gang do what the conductor wants,” Trask told him. “And that’s me.” He inclined his head into the room, indicating the people seated in front of the podium. “You see, Jake, this is something that doesn’t work too well. We haven’t got started and already you’re holding things up.”

  “So go and speak,” said Jake, “and I’ll sit in.”

  “But it can’t be this way always,” Trask growled, gritting his teeth as he began to lose it.

  “It was always this way with Harry,” Jake answered cooly. “He did his own thing.”

  “You’re not Harry,” said Trask, turning away and making to head for the podium.

  Jake put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “You’re right,” he said, “I’m not. But every day I know a little bit more about him, and I haven’t been learning it from you o
r from E-Branch.”

  Trask looked at him, shook his head in a mixture of disappointment and frustration, freed himself and made for the stage again with Jake close behind. Trask was fuming, but he couldn’t deny that he knew what Jake meant. The fact was that each time he looked at him, the man seemed that much more like the original Necroscope. He didn’t look like Harry so much as feel like him. But—

  —But he did feel an awful lot like him…

  Jake had taken a seat next to Liz at the back of the gathering Trask ignored his presence, and the briefing went well. When it was over, however, and the room began to clear, Jake approached Trask again, this time with Liz in tow.

  “What is it now?” Trask asked them. “And keep it brief, for as you can see we’re pretty busy right now.”

  “Liz asked what we were talking about,” Jake answered. “She wondered if I was coming out to Turkey with you. Well, I’m not, but she can get me any time. It seems that we’ve got it down to a fine art: if she calls I’ll hear her. I think I’ll be able to home in on her just about anywhere. But it would be even better if you left her out of it altogether.”

  “Better for who?” said Trask. “Look, she’s learning all the time. She handled herself just fine out in Krassos and on board the Evening Star. She’ll be okay. She’s in. Think about it: without Liz how could we get hold of you—if we needed you, that is?”

  “And Millie?” Jake’s deep brown eyes were staring, unblinking, hard as pebbles in a pool. “Is Millie in, too?” His question was below the belt and he knew it, but Trask had a surprise for him.

  “She’s in, too,” he said, “because I’ll need all the help I can get. The team’s short a very important member: our locator, David Chung. That can’t be helped because Chung’s the expert on this other thing that’s come up. He’s been on it for years, and even if I tried to pull him off I know the Minister Responsible wouldn’t wear it. Yes, I have Bernie Fletcher—who appears to be doing a great job out there so far; as you heard me say just a few minutes ago, he thinks he’s found the girls who went missing with Vavara and Malinari—but there are occasions when he can be a liability, too, a danger to himself and the team both. That’s one more reason why we have to get moving, get out there as soon as we’re able: to give Bernie support…and yet again you’re slowing things up. Can’t you see? It’s a case of ‘if you aren’t actually with us, then you’re in our way.’”

  At which Liz came in with, “Ben, Jake is with us. It’s just that he has other things to do that we think may be at least as important—and maybe more important—than anything else you could have him do.”

  And Jake said, “I’m not fighting you, Ben. It’s you who has something going with me, not the other way around. I don’t know…maybe you think I’m undermining your position or something? But if that’s so then it isn’t intentional. It’s just that I’ve got some things to do, and—”

  “Oh, sure, of course you have!” Trask cut in bitingly. “And a man has to do what a man has to do, and all that crap, right? So tell me, what are these very important things—things which are obviously far more important than the security of our world—that you have to do? Wash your hair and get it braided again? Contemplate your fucking navel? Or maybe you came too close the last time and you’ve realized that life’s too precious, right?”

  Trask rarely swore, and more rarely yet placed emphasis on his swearing. But now he was angry beyond caring, and his rage was infectious.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed; his jaw jutted and his fists knotted. He stepped forward, and just for a moment looked like he intended to knock Trask down…but he didn’t. A split second more, and the anger that filled the space between the two men burned itself out. But as Jake turned to walk away, probably for good, suddenly Liz burst out, “God, how I wish you’d stop it, both of you!”

  Taken aback—caught off balance by Liz’s righteous rage—their jaws fell and they looked at her in surprise. Flushed and furious, her eyes almost seeming to flash sparks, she turned to Trask and snapped, “To start with, I am not your little sister! In my private life I can do without your protection.” Following which she almost immediately softened. “But you and the Branch, you are like family to me.” And then, turning to Jake: “They’re like family, Jake, and while I can be part of that I’ll always want to be. In fact, I believe that’s why we’re here. It’s our purpose in life. Yours and mine both.”

  “Hey, I’m not arguing with you!” Jake said, shrugging but by no means casually. “I think it’s why I’m here, too—at least until this thing with the Wamphyri is cleared up. But if we’re to have any kind of future together, I need to be truthful with you. I still can’t say if it’s me who wants to see it through or if it’s…well, something—someone—else who’s in control. Once this Wamphyri nightmare is over and done with, I don’t know if the drive will still be there. If it isn’t…that’s when we’ll have to make some pretty big decisions, when our paths might head in different directions.”

  Trask looked at them, sensed the uncertainty in them—all the confusion of a devious future—and felt something wrenching at his heart. “Do you two love each other?”

  “Yes,” they answered as one. And of course he knew that it was true.

  He nodded, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and said, “Then you won’t let anything stand in your way. You’ll work it out. And don’t think I’m just an old man who doesn’t know what he’s talking about, because I do. I knew the risk I was taking—with Millie, I mean—after she’d been down in Lord Szwart’s bloody dreadful garden. And Millie herself, she even warned me off. But you know something? I didn’t give a damn. How could I give a damn? What kind of love would it be if…if I couldn’t comfort the one I loved? And anyway, without Millie I wouldn’t want to go on either. So that’s how it was, and how it will be for you two if you really love each other. Believe me, there’s nothing in your way that you can’t move aside.”

  He turned to Liz. “As for E-Branch: the Branch is just the Branch, Liz. It’s not the be-all and end-all that I used to think it was. And it’s cost me way too much. It was here before you, and it’ll be around long after you move on. I mean, hell—I’m not the first Head of Branch and I won’t be the last! It’ll be around long after I’ve moved on, too!”

  Then, turning to Jake (and discovering that he “felt” even more like Harry Keogh), Trask said, “Now you tell me, what use are your powers if you let them set you apart from the one you love?”

  “Not much damn use,” said Jake, completely taken aback.

  “Then don’t let it happen,” said Trask. And to Liz: “Let me talk to Jake alone for a moment, will you? And don’t worry, I’m all done with shouting and tearing my hair.”

  And after she’d gone he said, “I don’t care what Liz says, Jake, she’s still my kid sister. But okay, so the responsibility is yours now, and you’re the one who’ll carry that weight. Fine, but whatever you do don’t drop it.”

  “I’ll always be watching and listening,” Jake answered. “I can’t do any more than that. But in your world—the world of E-Branch—it won’t be an easy job.” Then he grinned and said, “You know something? I always reckoned you for a hard man. But what you just said, about you and Millie, and me and Liz…”

  “Don’t go reminding me,” Trask held up a hand in mock protest. “And please don’t mention it again. What, do you want to ruin my reputation?”

  They both laughed. Then, growing serious again, Trask said, “I really do have to be getting a move on. But before I go I’d like you to tell me: what is it you’ve got to do on your own?”

  “It mightn’t seem very much to you,” Jake answered, “but I want to catch up on all those Keogh files that I still haven’t had time to read. John Grieve tells me there’s maybe eight hundred crammed pages of files on the original Necroscope. I want to sit down with them in Harry’s Room, shut everything out and soak them up. The reason is simple: the more I learn about him, the more yet I seem to know. It’s l
ike—I don’t know—like I’m remembering him, like I’m gradually understanding him that much better.”

  Trask nodded. “And the better you understand him—?”

  “—The better I’ll be able to do his job,” said Jake. “And I’ve reached the stage where I want to do it as well as I possibly can.”

  “Then you’d better get to it,” said Trask, “because I’m all done trying to tell you what to do. From now on you’re your own man. Come to think of it, maybe your not coming to Turkey with us makes a lot of sense.”

  “Oh?”

  Trask nodded. “You’re a hell of a power in what we think of as the psychic aether, Jake. With your talents, you have to be. And Malinari’s one hell of a mentalist. The rest of us might be able to creep up on him—we got away with it on Krassos for a while—but I don’t think you could. He’d know you were there. So perhaps it’s for the best that you keep your head down, then come on like the cavalry when you’re most needed. That’s the way it’s worked best up to now.”

  “I think you’re probably right,” said Jake.

  “Well, then,” said Trask. “Those files are waiting for you, and I’ve got to go.”

  Without any hesitation, Jake held out his hand. “Good hunting, Ben,” he said as they shook on it.

  “Likewise,” said Trask. “Break a leg, Necroscope…”

  18

  Getting to Know Harry—and III Met in Turkey

  THE TEAM CONSISTED OF TRASK, GOODLY, PAUL Garvey, Millie, Liz, and Lardis Lidesci. There were no techs this time around, simply because they would have nothing to do. Unlike the Australian job, there’d be nowhere to hook up their equipment, and no cooperation—not with the Turkish authorities.

  Also, and especially since Gustav Turchin had come on the scene, Trask was becoming increasingly aware that the “gadget” side of E-Branch was letting him down—not the techs but the technology itself. Technology had been moving so fast in these last fifteen years that it had become too difficult, too expensive, even for governments to keep up. And so Trask’s “ghosts” had come into their own and were now the mainstay of any operation.