Denzil Ingram never finished his whisky.
Roland Badel never became his executioner.
Vanessa never found peace in South America.
As Ingram took his second sip of the whisky, a pane of glass shattered in the cottage window and a small blue sphere fell upon the carpet.
Vanessa looked at it, Roland looked at it, Denzil Ingram looked at it. He alone knew what it was. But by then it was already too late. The sphere dissolved, and there was an explosive puff of vapour. And then for the three of them there was nothingness.
17
VANESSA OPENED HER eyes. At first, she couldn’t focus. But when she did manage to see clearly she found that there were three strangers in the room. No, not entirely strangers because, weak though she was, she managed to flash probe and found two of the thought patterns horribly familiar.
She saw a misshapen boy, a girl with hungry and malignant eyes, a white-haired old man. Superficially, the white-haired old man looked like everyone’s notion of an eccentric grandfather. But there was a coldness about him. A deadly coldness. The coldness of an animal that strikes to kill.
“Welcome, Vanessa,” said Quasimodo. “You are welcome to my thoughts. Soon you will have as many as you can handle.”
“Hello, girlie,” said Janine with malice. “It was not a bad screw, considering your equipment. Why the hell did you have to be sick?”
Professor Raeder said: “You are extraordinarily lucky, Vanessa. You may not believe it at the moment, but we are your friends.” He held out Denzil Ingram’s laser pistol in his hand. “We arrived, it seems, at the right moment. It would have been rather frustrating to find you dead.”
Vanessa said nothing. She set up as strong a mental block as she could, then she looked at Roland and Denzil Ingram. Both were unconscious, lying on the floor. Each of them had his wrists bound together with what seemed to be fine, strong wire.
Professor Raeder noted her glance. “They are alive, Vanessa. No doubt they will join us presently… But let me reassure you. Your troubles are now over, my dear. You are about to join my sociable little group of paranormals, and together we shall work constructively to overthrow the reactionary government now ruling this country. Together, we few, by our decisive actions, will reassert the ancient tradition of democracy in this land. History will be kind to us, Vanessa. We shall doubtless be compared with that glorious few who withstood the might of Nazi tyranny several decades before you were born. Theirs was a battle of the air. Ours will be a battle of the spirit. But I can assure you it will be no less wonderful.”
“Who are you?” Vanessa managed to say. She suddenly realised that she was sitting in her chair and that her hands were not tied. She felt an impulse to get up and run. But she knew that she would not get very far. She gritted her teeth and prayed that Roland would soon be conscious. Perhaps he would know what to do.
“I am sorry. Forgive me. Marius Raeder. Professor Emeritus of Paranormal Psychology at the University of Cambridge, lately retired. My untimely retirement was brought about by the attentions of Sir Joseph Humboldt’s minions—one of whom, if I am not mistaken, slumbers peacefully by your paramour.”
Vanessa was little the wiser. This strange man used strange words that she did not understand. But she knew beyond any doubt that he was evil.
Professor Raeder sighed. “I see my name means nothing to you. But why should it? They would not tell you at Random Hill that the work of Marius Raeder was basically responsible for their entire programme. I was to have received a Nobel Prize, my dear. But that is beside the point, and it is a sad story. Sufficient to say that you are now in good hands. Your talents will be appreciated and rewarded correspondingly. You will come with us to Scotland, and all will be well.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere at all with you… Please… please just leave me alone.”
Raeder smiled. “I’m sorry, dear child. I can’t do that. I know your psychoprofile, you see. Intimately, I may say. You are absolutely essential to my plans. You have a talent, a rare talent, of which you are not yet aware. You are my burning glass.”
Roland returned to consciousness abruptly and with a sudden jerk, as if someone had struck him or shouted at him. He tried to get up, discovered that his hands were bound and managed to struggle into a sitting position. He shook his head as if to dismiss residual effects of the anaesthetic gas, and looked round. He was visibly relieved to see that Vanessa was apparently unharmed.
“What the devil is all this about?” he demanded of Raeder.
“Ah, Dr. Badel, you have joined us. I am so pleased to see you. May I introduce myself. I am—“
“Don’t bother. I know you, Professor Raeder. I attended enough of your lectures. What is going on?”
“He wants to take me to Scotland,” said Vanessa. She shivered. “He talks about things I don’t understand.”
Denzil Ingram also showed signs of returning consciousness. He groaned, struggled to move his hands, then sat up suddenly. He saw Marius Raeder. “I know you.”
“And I know you, Mr. Ingram. I need hardly add that our brief meeting will not be to your advantage. I have already tolerated more than enough inconvenience from Humboldt’s dogs.”
Surprisingly, Ingram laughed. “I have a taste for irony. If you had tossed your gas bomb five minutes later, Professor Raeder, I would have already been dead.”
“Rest easy,” retorted the Professor. “Your destiny will not be long frustrated. That I promise.”
Denzil Ingram looked calmly around him. “There are several witnesses, Raeder. It is unfortunate—not for me, for you. Sooner or later you will have to destroy them all, or one of them—quite possibly that thing—” he glanced at Quasimodo, “will destroy you.”
“Let me have him,” said Quasimodo. “I’d like to play with him Professor. I’d like that very much.”
Professor Raeder sighed. “Child, try to develop a sense of proportion. We have more important things to do than torment stray dogs.”
“What is so important to you, Professor Raeder?” said Ingram. “You have come for Vanessa, that is plain. But why is she so important to you?”
Professor Raeder pointed the pistol at Denzil Ingram. “Your time is rapidly running out,” he said calmly. “But there’s no reason why a dead man should not briefly be entrusted with the confidence of the living. I intend to assassinate Sir Joseph Humboldt, who has brought this country to the edge of totalitarianism and myself to great discredit. I intend to destroy his government and all he stands for. Vanessa is my burning glass. I do not think you will understand the implications. And so, I bid you good night.”
Professor Raeder held the pistol steady, pressed the trigger. It was all over in a second. A tiny, steaming hole appeared in Denzil Ingram’s forehead. His eyes widened as if in wonder. Then he uttered a great sigh and fell back dead. And then there was the acrid smell of burnt tissue. Vanessa could not cope with the experience on top of all that had happened. She gave a thin cry, vainly tried to cover her face with her hands, and slumped back in a faint.
“That wasn’t much fun,” complained Quasimodo.
“It was not my intention to entertain,” snapped Professor Raeder. He glanced at Vanessa. “Bring some water. It seems our new recruit is a sensitive plant.”
Roland Badel, pale, trembling, tried to control his emotions. “That was a pretty callous act, Professor Raeder. I would have preferred to remember you not as a psychopath but as the brilliant man who once inspired hundreds of students.”
“He’s lovely when he’s angry,” observed Janine. “I could eat him. I really could.”
Raeder ignored her. “My dear Badel, thank you for the back-handed compliment. But I fear your values are distorted by stress. I have simply put down a dog—one of Humboldt’s dogs. If you have any knowledge of what is happening in Britain today, you will realise upon reflection that I have just carried out an act of social justice. Incidentally, I imagine that our late friend’s mission was to take out you
and Vanessa. Am I correct?”
“You are correct.”
“Then I have done you a service, Dr. Badel. You are indebted to me.”
“No, Professor Raeder, you have done me a great disservice. Before you came, tossing a gas bomb through the window, Denzil Ingram had reneged upon his mission. At the cost of his own life, he would have allowed us to leave this country and begin a new life elsewhere.”
“So? The dog turned upon its master. An amusing thought.”
“I was not talking of a dog, Professor Raeder. I was talking of a man.”
“Badel,” said the Professor, “if you wish to live, do not annoy me. Your continued existence depends upon myself and Vanessa. Keep her happy, persuade her to co-operate, and you may remain alive. Please remember that. I shall, I hope, not need to remind you.”
Quasimodo returned from the kitchen with a jug of water.
“Give me that,” said Janine. With a malicious smile, Janine poured half the water over Vanessa’s face. She sat up, spluttering and coughing.
“Hello again, girlie,” said Janine. “My! You’ve had a hard day’s night, haven’t you?”
“That gesture was quite unnecessary,” said Raeder. “In future, Janine, you will do absolutely nothing without my approval. Vanessa is to be our friend and associate, a willing member of our dedicated group. So far, you have only managed to alienate her. You are nearer the electrodes than you think.”
Janine sat down, white-faced, mumbling to herself.
Vanessa looked at Denzil Ingram, shuddered, then met Roland’s gaze. She saw anguish in his eyes. No doubt, she thought, there was anguish in hers also.
“Are you all right, Roland?”
“Of course he’s all right, child,” snapped the Professor. “All I have done is to remove one of your enemies. You should be grateful for that.”
Wet, cold, miserable, exhausted, Vanessa somehow managed to confront Professor Raeder with courage.
“I am grateful to you for nothing. I hate what you have done, and now I know you to be utterly evil. If I could have known that I would have been the cause of so much tragedy, I would have stayed at Random Hill and done whatever they asked of me.”
Professor Raeder smiled. “Well spoken. I disagree with your juvenile analysis, of course; but I like your spirit.” He glanced at Janine and Quasimodo. “One has to work with the material available. Sometimes, it is very trying… However, I trust you will be tolerant, Vanessa. Together, we can accomplish great things.”
“If you think I would willingly help someone who can—“
“I think you will help.” Raeder lifted the pistol once more and pointed it at Roland’s forehead. “I think you will help whether he lives or dies.”
Roland and Vanessa looked at each other. His eyes seemed curiously remote, almost as if he had suddenly become a stranger. “I think,” he said softly, “it will be better for you if I remain alive.”
Vanessa gave a great sigh—of misery and defeat.
“I’m glad we have settled the problem amicably,” said Professor Raeder with conscious irony. “Now we must leave here with all haste, before the other dogs return. We have a long way to travel; but I assure you that my hovercar is well equipped. May I suggest, Vanessa, that you change into some dry clothes. A bad cold at this time would interfere somewhat with my plans. You may also pack a few small necessities for yourself and dear Dr. Badel. Janine will help you. We are going to a place where shopping facilities are, I fear, restricted.”
“The Scottish Highlands,” said Vanessa dully. “That is where you wanted me to go, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes. I’m so glad you got the message. We tried, of course, to set up a compulsion pattern. But there was not a great deal of time available.”
Quasimodo looked at Roland. “Professor, let’s take him out. He is trouble. I just flashed him. He is real trouble. Besides, I’d like to see him die. Let me do it.”
“Bloodthirsty child,” observed the Professor. “Perhaps I will eventually indulge you, but not just now. You miss the point, Quasimodo. While Vanessa lives and is not in danger, Dr. Badel will be most obliging. While Dr. Badel lives and is not in danger, Vanessa will be most obliging. We could not have a more satisfactory arrangement… Do you agree with my analysis, Dr. Badel?”
“Yes, Professor Raeder. I would have phrased it differently, perhaps, but that is the case.”
“I am glad we are in accord. Incidentally, Dr. Badel, I hope you are comprehensively insured. I have it in mind to burn your house when we leave. It will not confuse the dogs greatly, I fear, but it will certainly delay them. There will have to be forensic analysis and all that sort of thing—particularly when the charred body is discovered. The law is an ass; but sometimes an ass can be useful. We will monitor the newscasts, and I will keep you informed.”
“Professor Raeder,” said Roland, “I could not wish to be in the hands of a more considerate man.”
Raeder smiled. “I am so glad you see it my way, Dr. Badel.”
18
JENNY AND SIMON PARGETTER were back in their own home, trying to adjust to what had happened to them, trying to adjust to the threats that had been made, the bargain that had been struck.
They felt like lost souls, like prisoners on parole. And, somehow, perhaps because of the forced probes, the ensuing humiliation, the bitter knowledge that they had had to buy their own lives and Vanessa’s life—or so they tried to believe—with a promise of silence, they felt strangely unclean.
Simon, still youthful and attractive, though past the critical age of forty, had led a more sheltered life than Jenny. He came from a prosperous family and had almost automatically found a highly-paid job that enabled him to live in some luxury. Freedom was something he had always taken for granted. Whatever happened to poor people, or presumptuous people or over-ambitious people, he and his kind had always led a satisfying and unrestricted life. They, the upper middle class, the managerial stratum, had been accustomed to accept security and freedom as a kind of built-in birthright.
For the first time in his life, he had come up against the power of depersonalised Authority. He had been confronted with, and processed by, a power that he could not resist, buy, or compromise with. The effect was traumatic. He had learned, for the first time, that he was neither secure nor free.
He enjoyed drinking, social drinking. He liked a good wine with his dinner, a brandy with his coffee. But he was not a drunkard, or had not been until now. As he poured himself a fourth large whisky, drinking it neat, Jenny registered the level in the bottle and took note of the clinical symptoms.
“I think I had better join you, Simon. If you are going to get pissed out of your mind, I ought to be in a similar condition. Then neither of us will notice how stupid or repulsive the other one is.”
“Darling, forgive me. I ought to be cheering you up. But, you see, I have to cheer myself up first—or get stoned enough not to care too much.” He poured her drink. “Ice? Water? American Dry?”
“As it is, darling. I want to catch up.”
Simon handed her the tumbler. “The thing is, with someone like Ingram, how can we be sure he means what he says? To be successful in the kind of work he does, you have to be prepared to obtain results at any price.”
Jenny took a large swallow of whisky and then gave a bitter laugh. “I always suspected that beneath your gay exterior there lay a thinking man. No, erase that, darling. I don’t want to be bitchy… Of course, we can’t be sure of anything Ingram promised. But the only way to get out of that infernal place seemed to be to pretend to accept his bargain on its face value.”
“So there still remains the possibility that they might take Vanessa out, and us also, as a possible source of embarrassment.”
“It’s an evens chance, I think.” Jenny finished her drink. “More, please.”
Simon filled both glasses. “Then we must do some contingency planning.”
“Contingency planning! That is a nice executive phra
se. How can we plan for the contingency of our dying, Mr. Executive? Take out more insurance?”
“Be constructive, sweetheart. If we are both going to fall flat after a booze session or wake up on the morning after to find some anonymous character ready to fill us full of laser holes, we need to be constructive.”
Jenny smiled. “It’s a good word. I like it. It’s a reassuring word. But how are we to be constructive, Simon? The clock ticks loud.”
Simon scratched his head. “An immediate precaution would be to write down all we know and deposit the statement at the bank, to be made public in the event of our deaths.”
“I think, somehow, Joe Humboldt’s boys would find a way of corrupting the incorruptible bank.”
“Then the same statement goes to our lawyers also.”
“Likewise.” Jenny drank deeply.
“We also tape the statement and send a copy to each of our friends, with instructions what to do.”
“You dislike our friends so much that you will put them at risk?”
“Dammit, we have to do something!” he expostulated.
“Yes, we have to do something.” Jenny held out her empty glass. “Give me another, then take me to bed and screw me stupid, while you can still perform. Make it so that I can’t think, feel, or remain conscious. Give me oblivion… Dear Simon, I do love you, and I am sorry I brought all this on your head.”
He kissed her. “I love you, too, Jenny. After all these years, you are still an exciting woman. There is no need to apologise for Vanessa.”
“I’m not apologising for Vanessa… I’m apologising for me. According to some long-dead poet—Andrew Marvell, I imagine—the grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace. Let’s go to bed.”
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