Necroscope II: Wamphyri!

'Krakovitch?' the phone barked at him. (Was this really the Party Leader?)

'Er, yes, sir, Felix Krakovitch. I was on Comrade Borowitz's staff.'

'Felix? Why tell me your first name? You expect me to call you by your first name?' The voice had a hard edge, but it also sounded like its owner was eating something mushy. Krakovitch had heard several of Brezhnev's infre-quent speeches; this could only be him.

'I… no, of course not, Comrade Party Leader.' (How the hell did one address him?) 'But I — ' 'Listen, are you in charge there?' 'Yes, er, Comrade Party — '

'Forget all that stuff,' Brezhnev rasped. 'I don't need reminding who I am, just answers. Is there no one left who is senior to you?' 'No.'

'Anyone who's your equal?' 'Four of them, but one's a madman.' 'Eh?'

'He went mad when… when it happened.' There was a pause; then, the voice went on, a little less harshly: 'Do you know Borowitz is dead?'

'Yes. A neighbour found him in his dacha at Zhukovka. The neighbour was ex-KGB and got in touch with Comrade Andropov, who sent a man here. He's here now.' 'I know another name,' Brezhnev's thick, gurgling voice continued. 'Boris Dragosani. What of him?'

'Dead,' and before Krakovitch could check his tongue, 'thank God!'

'Eh? You're glad one of your comrades is dead?' 'I… yes, I'm glad.' Krakovitch was too tired to answer in any way but truthfully, straight from the heart.

'I think he was probably part of it; at least, I believe he brought it down on us. His body is still here. Also the bodies of our other dead — and that of Harry Keogh, a British agent, we think. And also — '

'The Tartars?' Brezhnev was quiet now.

Krakovitch sighed. The man wasn't a slave to convention after all. 'Yes, but no longer… animate,' he answered.

Another pause. 'Krakovitch — er, Felix, did you say? — I've read the statements of the other three. Are they true? No chance of an error, mass hypnotism or delusion or something? Was it really as bad as that?'

They are true — no chance of an error — it was as bad as that.'

'Felix, listen. Take over there. I mean you, take over. I don't want E-Branch shut down. It has been more than beneficial to our security. And Borowitz was more valuable to me personally than many of my generals would ever believe. So I want the branch rebuilt. And it looks like you've got the job.'

Krakovitch felt like a swatted fly: knocked off his feet, lost for words. 'I… Comrade… I mean — '

'Can you do it?'

Krakovitch wasn't crazy. It was the chance of a lifetime. 'It will take years — but yes, I'll try to do it.'

'Good! But if you take it on, you'll have to do more than just try, Felix. Let me know what you need and I'll see you get it. The first thing I want is answers. But I'm the only one who gets those answers, you understand? This one has to be screwed down. It mustn't leak. And that reminds me — did you say there was someone from the KGB with you right now?'

'He's outside, in the grounds.'

'Get him,' Brezhnev's voice was harsh again. 'Bring him to the phone. Let me speak to him at once!'

Krakovitch started back across the floor, but at that moment the door opened to admit the man in question. He squared his shoulders, looked at Krakovitch in a surly, narrow-eyed manner, said, 'We haven't finished, Comrade.'

'I'm afraid we have,' Krakovitch felt shored up, buoyant as a cork. It must be his fatigue beginning to work on him. There's someone on the phone for you.'

'Eh? For me?' The other pushed by him. 'Who is it, someone from the office?'

'Not sure,' Krakovitch lied. 'Head office, I think.'

The KGB man frowned at him, scowled, snatched up the phone from the table. 'Yanov here. What is it? I'm busy down here, and — '

His face immediately underwent rapid changes of expression and colour. He jerked visibly and almost staggered. Only the phone seemed to be holding him up. 'Yessir! Oh, yes, sir. Yes, sir! Yes, yessir! No, sir. I will, sir. Yes, sir. But I — no, sir. Yessir!' He looked sick, held out the phone for Krakovitch, glad to be rid of it.

As Krakovitch took the instrument from him, the agent hissed viciously: 'Fool! That's the Party Leader!'

Krakovitch let his eyes go big and round, made an 'O' with his mouth. Then he said casually into the mouth-piece, 'Krakovitch here,' and at once held the phone towards the KGB man, let him hear Brezhnev's voice:

'Felix? Has that prick gone yet?'

It was the Special Policeman's turn to make an 'O'.

'He's going now,' Krakovitch answered. He nodded sharply towards the door. 'Out! And do try to remember what the Party Leader told you. For your own good.'

The KGB operative shook his head dazedly, licked his lips, headed for the door. He was still white-faced. At the door he turned, thrust his chin out. 'I — ' he began.

'Goodbye, comrade,' Krakovitch dismissed him. 'Now he's gone,' he finally confirmed, after the door had slammed shut.

'Good! I don't want them interfering. They didn't fool about with Gregor, and I don't want them fooling with you. Any problems from them and you get straight back to me!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Now, here's what I want… But first, tell me — have the branch records survived?'

'Almost everything's intact, except for our agents. There's damage, a lot. But records, installations, the Chateau itself — in decent order, I think. Manpower's a different story. I'll tell you what we have left. There's myself and three other survivors, six more on holiday in various parts, three fairly good telepaths on permanent duty in connection with the British, American and French embassies, and another four or five field agents out in the world. With twenty-eight dead, we've lost almost two-thirds of our staff. Most of the best men are gone.'

'Yes, yes,' Brezhnev was impatient. 'Manpower is important, that's why I asked about records. Recruitment! That's your first task. It will take a long time, I know, but get on it. Old Gregor once told me that you have special sorts who can spot others with the talent, right?'

'I've still got one good spotter, yes,' Krakovitch answered, giving an unconscious nod. 'I'll start using him at once. And I'll commence studying Comrade Borowitz's records, of course.'

'Good! Now then, see how quickly you can get that place cleaned up. Those Tartar corpses: burn 'em! And don't let anyone see them. I don't care how that's done, but do it. Then put in a comprehensive works chit for repairs on the Chateau. I'll have it actioned at once. In fact, I'll have a man here, on this number or another number he'll give you, who you can contact at any time for anything. That's from right now. You'll keep him informed and he'll keep me informed. He'll be your only boss, except he'll deny you nothing. See how highly I prize you, Felix? Right, that should get things started. As for the rest: Felix Krakovitch, I want to know how this happened! Are they that far ahead, the British, the Americans, the Chinese? I mean, how could one man, this Harry Keogh, do so much damage?'

'Comrade,' Krakovitch answered, 'you mentioned Boris Dragosani. I once watched him work. He was a necromancer. He sniffed out the secrets of dead men. I've seem him do things to corpses that gave me nightmares for months! You ask how Harry Keogh could do so much damage? From what little I've so far been able to discover, it seems he was capable of almost anything. Telepathy, teleportation, even Dragosani's own necromancy. He was their best. But I think Keogh was many steps ahead of Dragosani. It's one thing to torture dead men and drain their secrets from their blood and brains and guts, but it's quite another to call them up out of their graves and make them fight for you!'

Teleportation?' For a moment the Party Leader was thoughtful, then came on impatient: 'You know, the more I hear the less I'm inclined to believe. I wouldn't believe, except I saw Borowitz's results. And how else am I to explain a couple of hundred Tartar corpses, eh? But right now… I've spent enough time with you on this. I have other things to do. In five more minutes I'll have your go-between on this line. Think about it and tell him what you want done, anything you need. If he can come up with something he will. He's had this kind of assignment before. Well, not exactly this kind! One last thing