by Brian Lumley
Sámos, between the Aegean and the Dodecanese, proved to be an exercise in frustration; finally Nathan tracked down a disciple of Pythagoras, who had come to his own conclusions about The Master’s mysticism and dropped out of the Brotherhood. And so the location of Pythagoras’s grave was discovered.
When they got close Nathan went on alone, and as he reached the spot—a small olive grove on a terraced hillside, above a headland with a tiny white church—he felt a far, dim deadspeak presence; far in the sense of mentally remote, and dim in that of a deep, deep sleep. In a living man, this would be catatonia. In Pythagoras …
Shortly, returning to Zek, Nathan told her, “It isn’t any good. He’s way beyond my reach. J. G. Hannant was right: Pythagoras couldn’t face the greater knowledge of the modern world, the fact that science had outdistanced him. He discovered that while his calculations were right, his theology was all wrong. Unable to come to terms with it, he retreated into his own doctrines. Yet in fact he has achieved a metempsychosis of sorts. But instead of migrating soul to soul, Pythagoras has fled into the core of his own mind. To him, numbers were The All. And so at last he’s satisfied with his lot. Finally, he is the first and last number: a big cipher, the Great Zero …”
They took a hydrofoil to Zákinthos, Zek’s island home in the Ionian, and a taxi from Zante town through Porto Zoro and along a winding, rising road that followed the mountain’s contours to the southeast. There, where tree-clad spurs descended into the incredibly blue ocean, Zek kept her villa: Harry Keogh’s final refuge at the end of his time here.
Then, briefly, they were free of Nathan’s minders; the Special Branch men had been left behind in the port of Zante, where it had taken them longer than they’d anticipated to collect their hired car. But in the afternoon, when the cool shadows of the mountains sprawled down across the pine-clad slopes to paint the sea dark green, and Nathan and Zek sat out on her balcony with coffee and liqueurs, they were aware of the glint of chrome on the road up above, where a last beam of sunlight struck between the peaks. And they knew that their guardian angels were back …
Nathan had the guest bedroom. The following morning before he was awake, Zek got out her car and drove into town to replenish her refrigerator. Hearing her return, Nathan rose, showered, and got dressed. By then the villa was full of great smells, and he found Zek in the breakfast room, where she greeted him with: “A few of your favourite things.” Namely coffee, eggs, and bacon.
And when they had eaten: “Jazz?” he said, carefully.
“Could we? Now?” She seemed uncertain.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ve … been thinking what to say to him.”
“I know,” he told her gently. “I lay awake for the best part of an hour last night, listening to you tossing and turning in your room. It won’t be the same for me, either. Not this time. Because it’s personal. Because I know how much you miss him. But do you know what you want to say to him? Did you work it out?”
“I think so, yes. There’s not a lot, really. All I have to do is … not hint at what’s come between us. I mean, nothing came between us in tife—not ever, not even the Wamphyn—until the end of life itself. I have to remember that and try not to cry. Crying’s not like me. Not that he’ll hear me anyway. I have to just talk to him, through you, as if … as if he were Jazz. I mean, he is Jazz. And yet it can’t be like a simple telephone call …”
It was the first time he’d seen her distraught. And very unlikely that he’d ever see it again. Zek was a strong woman.
She saw the look on his face—the sadness, for her, in his eyes—and turned away. And Nathan told her:
“It won’t be as hard as you think. Deadspeak can be made to convey more than is actually said. It’s a matter of feelings as well as words. We’ll use telepathy, you and I, so that we’re closer. Jazz won’t hear telepathy, but that way I’ll be able to straighten out your thoughts if they get tangled, and relay his to you without any … pain. If there is pain. But from what I know of him, from what I’ve heard, Jazz was built of much the same stuff as you. It will be all right.”
She turned back to him. “Will it?” There was hope in her eyes.
He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I’m sure it will be.” And he was sure, for he would make it so …
Some hours later, on the way to her car:
Zek paused by a leaning Mediterranean pine to gaze out over the sea. “We loved this view,” she said.
Nathan could well understand that. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to have Misha here right now, looking out over that marvelous ocean with him. No sight she’d ever seen in all Sunside could ever compare with it.
Zek had fallen silent. Glancing at her, Nathan saw that she was frowning. He followed her gaze to a boat at the edge of the water directly below. “A caïque,” she said. “The first of the holidaymakers. They hire boats and find secluded bays, like the one down there. Occasionally they climb up through the trees, picnic, leave stuff behind and generally spoil things. There are more of them every year. I don’t think I’ll be able to live here much longer, not on my own. I thought I could, but …” She stumbled to a halt.
Nathan believed he understood. This had been their place and magical. But the boat was reality; stealing away the last of the magic, it spoiled Zek’s solitude.
“Let’s go and see Jazz,” he said …
Between Porto Zoro and Argasi, they turned off the road onto a pebble track through the trees. There on a rocky promontory, a small white church shone like alabaster in the midday sunlight and was reflected in the sparkling waters of the bight. Between the trees and the pebble beach, a graveyard was laid out in neat, regularly tended plots. All of this well off the tourist beat, in as tranquil a spot as might be imagined.
“Jazz liked to fish for grouper just off the point there,” Zek explained. “And when he knew it was all over … he chose this place himself.”
And so they went to Jazz’s grave.
And Nathan made it easy for them. For both of them …
At the end, when she’d said it all and couldn’t hide the tears any longer, Zek walked out of the cemetery and onto the beach, and stood at the edge of the sea. And Nathan told Jazz, We’re going now.
It was nice of you to come, Jazz answered. And it’s great what you’ve done for Zek. I know that Harry would be proud of you. But listen, I don’t like her hurting and lonely. So do me a big favour: if the time comes when someone really cares, see to it that she doesn’t feel guilty. I mean, tell her not to feel guilty. Let her know that I only want her to be happy.
Nathan nodded. If I’m still here when, if, that happens, then … you have my promise.
But not until then.
Of course.
And: That’s good enough for me, said Jazz …
Nathan left Zek on the beach to get done with it in her own way, and walked back to the car. Before leaving, he noticed that the caique from Zek’s place was drawn up on the pebbles, but there was no one in it; and before reaching Zek’s car he saw a glint of chrome in a grove of olive trees and knew that his minders were there.
Then, looking closer, he saw one of them—or the arms of one of them—sticking out from both sides of the bole of a gnarled old tree. The hands were on the ground, resting on their knuckles. The man must be sunbathing, but … his hands were so still. And in the car, the second Special Branch man seemed asleep behind the steering wheel.
Suddenly, Nathan’s blood was running cold. Sensing that something was wrong, he reached out a telepathic probe. There were other minds in the vicinity, but strange minds and furtive! Recently, Nathan had used telepathy in partial conjunction with deadspeak. Instinctively, he switched to the latter mode—
And the confused, astonished, utterly terrified minds of his minders were there! They were dead!
He stepped to the tree and round it. There, sitting in the sun with his shirt open, the man on the ground was drenched in blood; he sat in a pool of his own blood!
His eyes and mouth were open in a frozen gasp, but a second mouth gaped scarlet under his chin and Adam’s apple. Nathan didn’t need to look at the one in the car.
Zek! He aimed a probe towards the beach.
Nathan! She was there at once, saw what was in his mind—the monstrous picture he painted—and added her own knowledge to it. A man—no, two men—in the water. They must have got here in the caique. They have speargun, and their thoughts are murderous! They’re under orders … from Turkur Tzonov!
There are others here, he told her. In the trees. I’m coming. And he raced for the beach …
In the Greek islands it was 1:45 P.M., but at E-Branch HQ, London, it was two hours earlier and the cadaverous Ian Goodly had just stepped out of the elevator. As he did so, he reeled, gasped, and clutched at his temples.
David Chung was in the corridor. He grabbed Goodly’s arm, supported him, said, “Ian, what is it?”
“H-Harry’s room!” the other rasped.
“Yeah,” Chung nodded, licking suddenly dry lips. “Me, too!”
They went there, and met the empath Geoff Smart coming the other way. Smart’s face was drawn, eyes startled, hands shaking as he hurried up to them. “I …” he began. But:
“We know,” they told him, almost in one voice.
In Harry’s room, Goodly told Chung, “I saw you plugging in the computer. You, me, Geoff, we were all here. And it’s now. I mean, you have to do it now!”
Chung said, “It’s Nathan’s earring.” He showed it to them. “You can’t see it, but it’s vibrating in the palm of my hand. I … I’ve never had signs so clear before. But I’m damned if I know what it means!”
“Plug in the machine,” Smart said, “and maybe we’ll find out.”
And as Chung made to do so, Goodly said, “I don’t think Nathan ever used the computer after that last time—the time it used itself! I don’t think he dared. He said something to me once about ‘saving what was left of it.’ But I’m still not sure what he meant.”
The screen blazed into life and Chung fell away from the socket, sprawling on the floor. And on the screen, the numbers vortex blazed into life! Golden equations rotated, calculi careened, common numbers collided in a frenzy of motion! And all in brilliant yellow or glowing gold, against a jet-black background. But in the next moment the picture slowed, and froze! One massive, incredible calculation remained, but such a calculation that no one in the room could even conceive of the question, let alone the answer.
Then …
That answer revealed itself as the symbols flowed together and fused, forming a three-dimensional shape—a golden dart—which sped from the screen like a fish jumping from water. It was some kind of hologram, or a computer graphic brought to life: a mass of electrical motes hanging in midair, forming that translucent and patently insubstantial spike shape. But however faint and transient-seeming the thing might seem, still it was real!
For a brief moment the dart paused, hovered, then sped in a blur of motion out through the wall and was gone. And before a man of the three could move, the computer exploded! Blowing apart in a flash of fire and a shower of hot plastic and electrical sparks, it left the three espers staggered, mouths gaping, cringing back from the reeking, black-smoking mess of the console …
Something plucked at Nathan’s shirtsleeve as he raced across the pebble beach, and a moment later he heard the phut! phut! exclamations of a silenced automatic. Zek was running towards him along the beach; behind her, one man was in the water and the other climbing up onto dry land. They were in silver wetsuits and carried spearguns.
There was only one avenue of escape: towards the northern end of the beach. Nathan angled his low-crouching lope to meet up with Zek where she headed that way. But as more bullets zipped overhead, he knew they weren’t going to make it. Both ends of the beach were closed off by rocky spurs that sloped gradually into the sea. The rocks were sharp and dangerous; climbing, the pair would be slowed down; they would make excellent targets against the black volcanic rock.
“Into the water!” Nathan shouted. He knew Zek could swim like a fish, and it seemed their only possible route. Hearing him and tearing off her dress, she launched herself across the tide line and hit the water in a long low dive. And in another moment Nathan joined her. Back along the beach, the wetsuited man on the rocks slid back into the water.
“Hard as you can go,” Nathan gasped.
Get rid of your trousers, she told him, cool as a breeze in his mind. Zek was no stranger to dangerous situations. Now that the emotional times were behind her, she could think like the old Zek again. You can’t swim well in trousers.
But Nathan was no stranger to danger either. “I already got rid of them.”
Then use telepathy,. You can’t swim and talk, but you can swim and think!
Bullets plucked small spouts of water up from the millpond surface close by. And: Dive! he told her.
It was no good and they both knew it. The men in wetsuits were already narrowing down the distance; they wore fins, which powered them through the water. And on the beach, two more men in grey suits were sighting along the barrels of squat, ugly, silenced automatics. They could hear the thoughts of all four, which were cold, emotionless, deadly. These were professionals of a high order, and so far the fugitives had been lucky.
Coming up for air, Nathan saw large silver shapes cutting white wakes on the glittering surface. And the men on the beach were shouting directions to their colleagues in the water. This wasn’t going to last much longer. There were more muffled gunshots, and something sliced a groove in the rounded muscle of Nathan’s shoulder. Blood splashed among the blue.
He felt no pain but gritted his teeth anyway, and asked, Are you OK?
Yes. But he knew she wasn’t, knew that she was very nearly exhausted.
Then dive again.
Surprise and shock had conspired to rob them of their natural energies. This would be the last time they went down, and they probably wouldn’t be coming up again. As Zek upended and headed for the bottom, she saw black flippers sliding under the surface only a short distance away …
On the beach, the two ex-KGB men saw their prey dive for the second time, glanced at each other, and nodded a mutual affirmation. It was very nearly over. Then, as one of them put away his gun, the other sniffed sharply, wrinkled up his nose and said, “Shit! I smell shit … or something. We must be close to a sewage outfall.”
The other shrugged. “So it won’t matter a hell of a lot if we add to it, right? Those two are done for.” He inclined his head towards the sea. “Weighted down, it won’t take very long for them to turn to slop out there.”
A hand fell on the speaker’s shoulder and he jumped six inches, then fell into a half-crouch as he turned and brought up his gun. But even as he had moved, he’d seen that hand—those shriveled, dirt-ingrained, black-nailed ringers—and he’d smelled them!
Behind the killers, a handful of figures came stumbling down the beach from the graveyard. Their leader was Jazz Simmons, but a Jazz long gone into corruption, and one who had known what it meant when Nathan’s minders had come suddenly among the Great Majority.
And now through the trees, those minders, too, were on their feet and running for the beach. Running, yes, and full of purpose. For their muscles weren’t wasted like the others and they still had a job to do; and what they’d done in life they would continue to do in death. One of them with a pair of bloody holes through his jacket and heart, the other grinning ear to ear—but grinning hideously—with the mouth in his face and one other, larger mouth in his throat!
But on the beach:
Phut!—phut!—phut! Three bullets went through the rotten substance of Jazz at close range. And the man who fired them going, “Urk! Yaaaghh! Akkk!” as the grimy bones of one of Jazz’s skeletal hands tightened on his windpipe, forcing him to his knees. Then … Jazz took the gun from him and thrust its silenced barrel into his gaping mouth as far as it would go—and pulled the trigger.
And the other thug, splashed with his comrade’s blood and brains, gibbering and flailing where he retreated into the sea, finally tripping and going under as a host of shroud-clad avengers fell on him, sat on him, held him down where his air came belching to the surface in a gush of frothing bubbles. They’d sit there, mute but determined, until the bubbles stopped and the figure on the bottom lay motionless.
And they did …
While out in the bay where the water was deep:
Nathan and Zek had got separated. He found himself diving into a weed-festooned crevice, while she hid between boulders on a pebbly bottom and looked back the way they’d come. Their pursuers were there, searching, unrelenting, cold. Nathan had disturbed a small school of golden bream, which scattered magically to avoid him. And he’d also disturbed a large grouper, whose sudden, startled motion filled the crevice with a mushrooming cloud of silt.
One of the men in wetsuits saw the eruption of muck from the crevice and came nosing, speargun held to the fore. Nathan needed air; he couldn’t stay in here any longer; he had to make a run for it. But run? He couldn’t even swim. He was done for. He drifted up out of the crevice and into full view of whomever might be waiting for him. He felt naked.
There had been times in the past when Nathan had used the numbers vortex to hide himself. Now, instinctively—despite that it wouldn’t work, because it wasn’t a physical device but of the mind—he brought it into being in his head, and as he did so he saw a strange thing.
