by Brian Lumley
CHAPTER SEVEN
More Gadgets And GhostsAs Liz and Jake got out of their vehicle, Trask came over and checked it for damage: a few scratches to the paintwork, some small dents in the hood, and the missing windscreen, of course. 'Did you have this attended to?'Liz knew what he was concerned аbout: not the damage itself but rather its origin, and any possible contamination that might have been left behind. She nodded. 'Back at the Old Mine gas station. A squad sprayed her down, cleaned up the mess. ''I worry, that's all,' Trask explained. 'But having seen some of the measures the Travellers take on Sunside, I suppose that's only natural. ' He shrugged. 'I don't know. . . maybe I'm too cautious. ' His reference to Sunside flew over Jake's head, but he was getting used to that kind of thing. 'I didn't see you taking too much care of yourself,' Jake told him. 'Back there, I mean. You and the old man, Lardis? It was as if you didn't give a damn between you. ' No nose-plugs or combat gear. No gas masks. No precautions. 'Trask looked at him. 'A paradox? Is that what you're saying? Do as I say, not as I do? Not really. Maybe one day I'll tell you my story. But couldn't it simply be that some of us have less to lose?' And before he could be asked to elaborate:
'As for Lardis Lidesci, he's been doing his own thing all his life. Perhaps there's a partial immunity among the Szgany, I can't say. But even so I watch him, just as he keeps his eye on everyone else. And the day he gets rid of his silver bells, or starts shrinking from the sun . . . ' Trask let it go at that. 'Maybe I haven't been listening very much,' Jake said. 'In fact I'm sure I haven't. There's been too much happening - not only to me but all around me - for my tiny brain to accept it all at once. But what if I start listening as of now? Am I asking too much that we sit down some time so you can fill me in, put me fully in the picture about E-Branch? I mean, if I'm to work for you, isn't it only right I should know something of what's going on?''So you've finally decided you'll work for us?'Jake pulled a wry face. 'Actually, I thought you had!' And the three of them walked together towards one of the campfires. The rest of the vehicles were arriving and lining up on the road before being allocated parking areas. Making himself heard over the revving motors, Trask shouted a few instructions, then answered Jake. 'Oh, I think there's work for you. But there are still a few things I need to clear up. If I'm to control you, I need to know what I'm controlling. ' He looked at the other, his gaze seeming to pierce the younger man through and through, and with a wry smile continued, Tve got to be sure you won't just cut and run - like maybe in a crisis, when you're most needed. After all, you do still have your own agenda. ''Don't you ever trust anybody?' Jake growled, knowing that indeed Trask had seen right through him. But, enigmatic as ever, Trask wasn't buying it. 'In my time with the Branch,' he said, 'I've seen what trust can do . . . and what it's done to some of my favourite people. 'They sat by the fire with one or two other agents, most of them keeping to themselves, lost in their own thoughts now that the night's work was done. It was a night they'd been building up to for some time. The Old Lidesci dished out food - steaks, and steaming stew from a container on a military shallow-trench back-burner, and man-sized chunks of bread fresh from the burner's oven - but with the exception of Lardis himself no one was much interested in eating. Maybe it was the back-burner's roar, the way it sounded so much like a flame-thrower . . . By the time the three had done eating, and washed the food down with mugs of coffee, the big articulated truck was in situ and lan Goodly had gone to check on incoming messages. By then, too, the rest of the agents had sat down to eat, and the atmosphere wasn't quite so heavy. Liz had been yawning for some time, and though she swore she would never sleep, still she'd gone off to seek out a bivouac for herself. Watching her go, Jake put down his empty mug and said to Trask, 'Me, I'm not tired either. In fact my mind is going every which way. So, all misgivings aside, I'm asking you to tell me what I've got myself involved with, how it all began, and how you think I can fit in. 'Trask stood up and for a moment looked as if he might say something. But just then lan Goodly came striding from the direction of the Ops vehicle. On top of the first trailer, in fact the mobile Ops Room, a cluster of antennae and radio dishes had poked up, locked into position, and aimed themselves at the sky. . . also at several communication satellites. 'Ben/ Goodly called in his piping voice. 'David Chung is on the wire from London. You can get him on-screen if you want. He got your message, and he appears to be rather excited. ' But as Trask headed for the Ops truck, Goodly had second thoughts; at least he made it seem that way. 'Oh, and Ben! Er, maybe you should take Jake with you? Introduce him to David . . . ?'The two of them looked at each other in passing, and Jake could swear some sort of silent exchange took place. Then Trask called back to him, 'Jake, if you'd still like to know how you might fit in, perhaps you should come along with me. '
In the Ops Room, the Duty Officer and one other were on listening duty within the oval desk. The D. O. got out of the way when Trask lifted a flap in the desk, walked through and parked himself in the command chair. Jake followed and stood close behind him. Trask looked at the D. O. and said, 'Chung?''London HQ, waiting,' the other nodded. 'Do you want him on-screen?''Put him up there/ Trask said, indicating a screen on the wall. And the D. O. hit a switch. As the other lights dimmed a little, the wall screen flickered into life and its picture quickly firmed up. This was the first time Jake had seen E-Branch's chief locator, David Chung. He was small, middle-aged, Oriental as they come, and very serious-looking. And he was quite obviously highly intelligent. It was in his eyes just as it was in Trask's; a light behind them, shining out. But it was also in the high dome of his head. Jake didn't need advising of the extraordinary brain that was housed within. Chung's raven-black hair was thinning; there might even be a few strands of grey here and there. But his skin was clear and unwrinkled and his posture was ramrod-straight. He was sprightly, alert . . . and excited, yes. That, too, showed in his eyes. 'Hi, David/ Trask greeted him with a smile - but in a moment got down to business. 'How did it go?' he said. 'Ben/ the other nodded, then immediately fixed his attention on Jake. And Jake could see that his curiosity was intense. But Trask had seen it, too. And:'Save it/ he told the locator, his tone of voice carrying something of a warning. 'I suggest we deal with the other matter first. ' And turning to the D. O. : 'Are we scrambled?''Yes/ the D. O. nodded. And Chung said, 'All bad news, I'm afraid. It's as Greenpeace and the others suspected. In fact, it's worse then anyone suspected. The Russians are still doing it, but now it's where they're doing it. You know, if we'd had Anna-Marie English in on this we could have cracked it without even leaving the HQ?''I know/ Trask answered, his shoulders slumping a little. 'But we don't have her, and anyway she's happier where she is - God99help us all! But is it really as bad as you make out? What, yet another treaty gone up in smoke - or nuclear pollution? I suppose you'd better put me in the picture, but not on-screen. Let me have a printout. 'Chung spoke to someone off-screen, turned again to Trask. 'It'll take a few minutes. And later, when I've done a little checking, I'll also be sending you, er, a weather report? Some unexpected smog? But I'd like to check it out first and see if it's still hanging around, you know? Meanwhile, what about the other business?' His gaze switched however momentarily to Jake, then back to Trask. Understanding Chung's 'coded' message, Trask gave a cursory nod and said, 'Do you remember what happened at E-Branch HQ when Nathan arrived in Perchorsk? I mean you personally? Do you remember how you proved his identity, or his connection?'Chung grinned, his excitement plainly in evidence. 'Do I remember? How could I ever forget? I'm way ahead of you, Ben. ' And he held up a hairbrush, showing it to Trask and Jake. 'I wasn't sure you still had it. ' Trask sighed his relief. 'It wasn't in Harry's Room; I had it searched immediately after Jake. . . came visiting. But I knew that if you had it, it would be secure with your special items at the HQ. That's why I asked you to go and dig it out as soon as you got finishe
d with what you were doing. 'Now the locator looked at Jake again and said, 'I suppose this is Jake Cutter?' He nodded a greeting. 'So why is he looking so - what, lost?'
Before Trask could answer, Jake leaned over him and said, 'I look so "what, lost," as you put it - though personally I'd prefer "stunned" - because no one has bothered to tell me what the fuck is going on! It's okay for E-Branch to put my life in jeopardy, set me in conflict with. . . I don't know - vampires? Mutated things? Alien invaders that live on the blood of human beings? - but totally out of the question to tell me what it's all in aid of. The human race, perhaps? Well, great! But since I'm a member, don't / have any rucking say in the matter?'
'Right first time,' said Trask. 'And on both counts. It's in aid of the human race, and no, you don't have any say in the matter. '
Chung saw now why the head of E-Branch was so cautious: as yet Jake Cutter knew very little. But Chung was already certain that Jake would have to know it all eventually. And so he said, 'That's fine for now, Ben. But if you're asking for my opinion, he'll have plenty of say in the not too distant future. 'Trask quickly held up his hand. 'We understand each other, and that's for the future - maybe. But don't say any more right now. Instead you can tell me about the brush. ''Oh, it's active,' Chung said. 'Very definitely. Why, it's like a live thing in my hand even now!' He looked at the man's hairbrush - just a well-used wooden oval tufted with pig bristles, some of them coming loose - and smiled. But alive? From what Jake could make out the brush was about as dead as . . . as a piece of wood sprouting pig bristles!'So,' said Trask, speaking to Chung. 'Can I take it you're thinking that just like once before maybe something of - well, let's for now call him a on"-friend of ours - has come back to us? But if so, come back from where? And in what form?''Absolutely,' Chung answered - then stopped smiling as the meaning of Trask's words sank in and he began to understand the other's caution. And: 'I think I see,' he said. 'So now we must ask ourselves whether or not it's beneficial. Is it here under the aegis of a friend, to help us, or is it here - ?'' - For something else,' Trask cut the locator short. And after staring at him for a long moment, he said, 'That's it for now, David. Stay there at the HQ. The chair's yours until we're all sorted out at this end. Okay?''Whatever you say,' Chung answered, his face once more inscrutable. And the D. O. blanked the screen . . . 'What was all that about?' Jake queried the Head of E-Branch on the way to his tent. Trask had a 'room' in the Ops vehicle but preferred a little more space. In keeping with his status, his tent was somewhat bigger than a bivouac. 'When we have a little light, I'll show you/ Trask said. 'Some of it, anyway. From which time on you'll need to be aware that you've signed the Official Secrets Act. ''But I haven't. " Jake said. 'But if you ever give me reason, I'll say you have,' Trask grinned his cold grin. 'And you'll have to anyway, eventually. 'Jake snorted, said, 'Could this mean you're actually going to let me in on some secret or other?''Sarcasm will get you nowhere,' Trask said. 'Except maybe in a whole lot of trouble. 'The camp wasn't far from the edge of a watering hole. Several large Australian night insects were fluttering, occasionally buzzing, through the smoky, flickering firelight. There were clusters of knobbly, fat-boled trees of a type Jake didn't recognize; Trask's tent stood shaded by one of these, in comparative darkness. Trask squeezed a rubber button on a cable hanging outside the tent, and as a light glowed within he drew aside the canvas flap and a fine-mesh gauze fly screen to invite Jake in. Inside, a folding table supported Trask's briefcase, a bottle of liquor, and two glasses. There were folding chairs and a camp bed, and in a screened-off corner a portable toilet. Comfortwise it was better than a bivouac, certainly, but scarcely luxurious. Trask sat Jake down, opened up his crammed briefcase, fumbled out a flat machine the size of a box of typing paper, and flipped a switch. The device whirred softly, and a slot opened in one end. Feeding Chung's printout into the slot, Trask said, 'It's enciphered, and this is a decoder. ' 'Gadgets and ghosts,' said Jake. 'Yes,' Trask answered, 'I have to agree. This is certainly a gadget, and Chung's message is about ghosts - of a sort. '
'Are you kidding me?' Jake couldn't any longer be sure of anything.
'I suppose I am,' Trask suddenly looked tired, 'though notnecessarily. Don't you believe in ghosts, Jake?' And before the other could answer: 'Well, these ghosts are submarines. They're dead Russian subs, yes - except they're still very much alive. Another paradox? Not really. Just wait a minute and you'll see what you'll see. Meanwhile, why don't you pour us a drink? And consider yourself lucky. It's Wild Turkey. 'Jake poured; the machine whirred; eventually two sheets of paper slid from the slot, pushed out and followed by the original. One of the decoded sheets was a-large-scale map of Europe and the seas around, with numbered, circled pinpoints of reference. The other was a list of grid references, numbered to correspond with those on the map. All of the grid references were oceanic: two pinpoints in the Black Sea off Varna in Bulgaria, another off Podisma in Turkey; two more in the Tyrrhenian midway between Naples and Sardinia; one in the Atlantic off Portugal's Algarve; and three more between Iceland and Norway, south of the Arctic Circle. And there were others marked out by tiny question marks instead of dots. Looking at these little black marks on the map, and matching them with the grid references, Trask's expression was very bleak. 'Look there,' he indicated the question marks. 'As close to home as that: the Barents Sea, off Norway. Crazy!''Close to home?' Jake echoed him. 'Close to the former Soviet Union,' Trask answered. 'Odd, because the Russians are usually more careful than that. Chernobyl taught them that much of a lesson at least - taught them to look after their own, anyway. So maybe those two were accidental? Maybe they didn't intend for them to go down just there. Jesus, but whatever they intended, still it's a mess!'I'm not with you,' said Jake, shaking his head. 'Then let me explain. Each of those pinpoints represents a hulk resting on the bottom. But what kind of hulk? The answer's almost unbelievable, but since I've already told you . . . ''Submarines?'Trask nodded. 'Those innocuous little black dots? Each one of them is a disaster just waiting to happen or already happening. They're allegedly "decommissioned" nuclear subs we thought had been cleaned up, made safe, taken apart and stored with ten thousand tons of other radioactive rubbish years ago. Relics of Russia's penniless, outmoded, unwanted Cold War navy, yes. But the Russian military was lying to us - which is nothing new - and this is the truth. ''And it's a bad thing?' Jake still didn't see it. 'I mean that these things have been sent to the bottom, miles deep, out of harm's way?''Out of harm's way? God, what an infant!' Trask shook his head. And before Jake could get upset again:'Look, most of these subs have twin atomic engines. There are two possible meltdowns in each hulk. Barely possible, mind you, but possible. We don't know if they've been shut down properly, or even if they could be. But the very means of disposal tells us they're less than safe! Why else would the Russian military dump them on someone else's doorstep? What's more - since they're capable of this - how do we know they didn't load them to the gills with other high-level waste before scuttling them? What? They might have even left their leaking missile payloads aboard. These were ships of war, Jake! And sooner or later the bastard things will start spilling their guts!''What, in ten, twenty, fifty years? And a mile or so deep?' Jake still wasn't too impressed. 'And anyway, what has this to do with you and E-Branch?'Trask scowled at him, actually clenched a fist and thumped the table. 'If Anna-Marie English were here right now . . . she'd knock you arse over breakfast!'Astonished, Jake drew back. 'Anna-Marie English? Isn't she someone who Chung mentioned?'
'She worked for us,' Trask snapped. 'An ecopath, she gave warning of Earth's decline - I mean personally. She was "ecologically aware," or as she herself would put it, she was "as one with the Earth". It was her talent - or her curse. F
unny, isn't it,
Jake? But there are very few in E-Branch who are happy with their talents. They would much prefer to be ordinary. But since they can't be, they're E-Branch. 'Jake wasn't. sure of Trask's meaning. 'So how did this help you? Her talent, I mean? How did it work?'Trask shook his head. 'None of us can tell you how our talents work, only that they do. In Anna-Marie's case:'As water tables declined and deserts expanded, so her skin dried out, became desiccated. When acid rains burned the Scandinavian forests, her dandruff fell like snow. In her dreams she heard whale species singing of their decline and inevitable extinction, and she knew from her aching bones when the Japanese were slaughtering the dolphins. She was like a human lodestone; she tracked illicit nuclear waste, monitored pollution, shrank from holes in the ozone layer. Anna-Marie was an ecopath, Jake: she felt for the Earth and suffered all its sicknesses, because she knew that she was dying from them, too . . . 'Trask was eloquent, Jake would grant him that much. 'You're saying she's dead, then?''No,' Trask answered. 'I'm saying she's somewhere else. But by now. . . she might well have started to suffer again, yes . . . ' He sighed and sat up straighter, seemed on the brink of coming to a decision, finally continued:'Me, I believe in ghosts, Jake. I really do, for I've seen a few in my time. And they weren't always of the moaning, chain-rattling and mainly harmless variety. But I also believe in listening to my colleagues. Now it seems a ghost has come among us, possibly a beneficial one. Well, according to Chung and Goodly, anyway. Unfortunately it's come at a very bad time. The coincidence is just too great - that this should happen now, just as we find ourselves in conflict with the Wamphyri and the plague they've brought with them out of Starside - for me to take any chances. That's what holds me back from telling you everything: the thought that perhaps you are an agent, albeit an unwitting agent, of the Wamphyri!'
'Me?' Jake's surprise couldn't have been more genuine. And Trask, a human lie detector, knew it more certainly than any other man ever could. Ah, but Trask remembered other times, when Harry Keogh had fooled him, too! And Jake went on, 'How in hell could I be anyone's agent? And I'm certainly no ghost!' 'No,' Trask agreed, 'but what's in you might be. ' 'What's in me?''Don't play the fool, Jake!' Trask snapped. 'We're talking about what's in your head. This talent you've suddenly come by, which brought you to E-Branch and then returned you there when you tried to run off. But is it the ghost of Harry Keogh - or is it something that merely tastes like him? Should I take you into my confidence, or shoot you dead right here and now?'Jake started to his feet and upset the table. His face was a snarl, his hands reaching for Trask. 'I've had it up to here with your threats and your bullying. You're an old man, Trask, and as far as I'm concerned you're an old fraud . . . too!?'But by then he'd seen the gun that Trask had been holding under the table; it was aimed right at him. And he understood the other's apparent fumbling when he'd taken the decoder from his briefcase. But what he didn't understand was the way Trask stared at him, the urgent, burning question in his penetrating gaze. 'What would you have done?' Trask snapped. 'What would you have done to me?''Done?' Jake looked at the gun, then at Trask. 'Nothing. I. . . I might have shaken you, or tried to shake some sense into you. Or maybe I'd have tried shaking a little out of you! God, can't you see you've got me going in circles?'And Trask actually smiled as he slowly lowered his gun and put it away. 'Yes, I can see that,' he nodded. With which Jake got the idea. 'What? Another bloody test?'
'To push you hard,' Trask told him, 'and see what answered. You . . . or something else. '
'Well, if I were you,' Jake said, 'I would have supposed it was something else!'
'But you're not me,' Trask told him. 'And you passed. That leaves just one more test to go. '
'Then let's get it over with. ''Not now, no. ''When, then?''Tomorrow morning. I'm having a man flown in from Carnarvon on the coast. An expatriate Brit, and the best in his field. ''What, yet another great "talent?"' Jake was still angry. 'Not the way you mean,' Trask shook his head. 'But he has talent enough, yes. Oh, and by the way: that's some temper you have, Jake. You said you might have shaken me? Well, you shook me all right. I thought you might actually attack me!'Jake relaxed a little, grinned. 'I scared you?''I was scared I might have to shoot you, yes. 'But before that could start Jake off again, a voice called from outside the tent. 'Mr Trask? Phillips here. We have a bit of a problem. ' A male figure stood silhouetted behind the gauze fly screen. Trask let him in, said:'Shouldn't you be on your way to Carnarvon?''Would be/ said the other, 'if not for this problem. Its name is Peter Miller, and it won't get its ugly arse out of my chopper!' The speaker was small and young, and looked very hot, sticky, and agitated in his flyer's gear. 'Miller's in your machine?' Trask raised an eyebrow, then nodded decisively. 'So he wants out of here. And once away, he intends to take his story to the authorities or, worse, to some newspaper or other. Well, it can't be allowed. Yes, I want rid of him. No, I don't want the trouble he'll bring. Only a handful of people in the very highest places know what we're doing, and if we're compromised it will make them look bad. As for the man in the street. . . well, it's simply out of the question. The world's insecure enough as it is. '
He turned to Jake. 'Go and find Lardis Lidesci, will you? Bring him to the chopper park in the clearing on the far side of the road. ' And speaking again to Phillips, 'You and me . . . let's go and have a word with Mr Miller. ''Just what is that fat jerk doing here, anyway?' Jake wanted to know. 'He was supposed to give us some legitimacy,' Trask answered. 'He's liaison, a go-between, that's all. But he took his job too seriously, discovered the location of our original base camp near Lake Disappointment, which is after all his province, and since then he's insisted on staying aboard. Well, with us is one thing, but against us is another. Now, after seeing far too much of what we're about, he's all too eager to leave. I can't very well stop him, but I really should warn him against doing anything stupid. Now go and get Lardis, will you?'And Trask and Phillips went off through the night. ,. The Old Lidesci was in a foldaway chair, dozing by the guttering campfire. But as Jake approached he gave a start and looked up. 'Eh, what is it?''Trask wants you,' Jake told him. 'At the helicopter park. Some trouble with Mrs Miller. ''Mrs? Eh?' Lardis frowned at first, then burst out laughing. 'Oh! Ha~ha~ha!Rut you know, the truth is I've been thinking much the same thing: how that poor excuse for a man reminds me of a chattering old woman? A week on Sunside would sort that one out, I fancy. But no, no . . . the poor bastard wouldn't last but a day. 'Jake assisted him to his feet and the Old Lidesci stamped his left foot a little. 'Cramp,' he said. 'I'm getting past it. We call it The Crippler, where I'm from. But it's rheum - er, rheuma - er . . . ''Rheumatism?' Jake said. 'Damn, right!' said Lardis. 'It's rheumatism here. Ah, but it's a sod in any world. '
And with the old man leaning a little on Jake's arm, they made for the road and the helicopter park . . .
