Necroscope II: Wamphyri!

Kyle shook himself awake, glanced at Quint.

‘Something's up,' Quint said. ‘I've suspected it for a couple of hours. I tossed and turned, sleep all broken up but too tired to respond properly.'

All three in pyjamas, they went quickly to Krakovitch's room. On the way the Russian inquired, ‘How do they know where you are, your people? It is them, yes? I

mean, we had not planned to be here tonight.'

Quint raised an eyebrow in his fashion. ‘We're in the same business as you, Felix, remember?'

Krakovitch was impressed. ‘A finder? Very accurate!'

Quint didn't bother to put him right. Ken Layard was good, all right, but not that good. The better he knew a person or thing the easier he could find him or it. He'd have located Kyle in Bucharest; they'd have systematically checked out the major hotels. Since the Dunarea was one of the biggest, it must have come up high on the list.

In Krakovitch's room Kyle took the call. ‘Guy? Alec here.'

‘Alec? We have a big problem. It's bad, I'm afraid. Can we talk?'

‘Can't it go through London?' Kyle was fully awake now.

‘That'll take time,' Roberts answered, ‘and time's important.'

‘Wait,' said Kyle. He said to Krakovitch: ‘What are the odds this is being monitored?'

The Russian shrugged, shook his head. ‘None at all, that I can see.' He stepped to the window, opened the curtains. It would soon be dawn.

‘OK, Guy,' Kyle spoke into the phone. ‘Let's have it.'

‘Right,' said Roberts. ‘It's just about four A.M. here. Now go back two hours…‘ He told Kyle the entire story, then detailed the action he'd taken since Clarke's hag-ridden drive back to the hotel in Paignton.

‘I got Ken Layard in on it. He was great. He fixed Keen's location somewhere on the road between Brixham and Newton Abbot. Keen and his car, smashed up, burned out. I scried out Layard's fix and he was right, of course; we were able to say quite definitely that Peter was that he was dead.

‘I contacted the police in Paignton, told them I was waiting for a friend who was a little overdue, gave them his name, description, a description of his car. They said there'd been an accident; he was being cut out of the car; they could tell me no more, but an ambulance was on the scene and the driver of the car would be taken to the emergency hospital in Torquay. For me that was a ten minute drive. I was there when he was brought in. I identified him…‘ He paused.

‘Go on,' said Kyle, knowing there must be worse to come.

‘Alec, I feel responsible. We should have been tighter. The trouble with this game is that we rely on our talents too damned much! We've almost forgotten how to use simple technology. We should have had walkie-talkies, better contact. We should have given this damned monster more credit for mayhem! I mean, Christ, how could I let this happen? We're espers; we have special talents; Bodescu is only one man and we're —‘

‘He's not just a man!' Kyle snapped. ‘And we don't have a monopoly on talent. He has it, too. It's not your fault. Now please tell me the rest of it.'

‘He… Peter was… hell, he didn't get those injuries in any car smash! He'd been opened up… gutted! Everything was exposed. His head was… God, it was in two halves!'

Despite the horror conjured by Roberts's description, Kyle tried to think dispassionately. He'd known Peter Keen well and liked him. But now he must put that aside and think only of the job. ‘Why the car smash? What did that bastard hope to get out of it?'

‘The way I see it,' Roberts answered, ‘he was just covering up the murder, and what he'd done to Peter's poor body. The police said there was a strong petrol smell all around and inside the car. I reckon Bodescu drove Peter out there, put the car in top gear, pointed it downhiIl and let it roll. Being what he is, a few grazes and cuts wouldn't matter much when he jumped for it. And he probably splashed a lot of petrol around inside the car first, so as to bum the evidence. But the way he'd cut that poor lad up was… Jesus, it was horrible! I mean, why? Peter must have been dead long before that ghoul was finished. If he was torturing him at least there'd be some sense in it. I mean, however horrible, at least I could understand it. But you can't learn anything from a dead man, now can you?'

Kyle almost dropped the telephone. ‘Oh, my God!' he whispered.

‘Eh?'

Kyle said nothing, stood frozen in sudden shock.

‘Alec?'

‘Yes you can,' Kyle finally answered. ‘You can learn an awful lot from a dead man — everything, in fact if you're a necromancer!'

Roberts had had access to the Keogh file. Now it all came back to mind and he saw Kyle's meaning. ‘You mean like Dragosani?'

'I mean exactly like Dragosani!'

Quint had caught most of this. ‘Good Lord!' He grabbed Kyle's elbow. ‘He knows all about us. He knows —‘

‘Everything!' Kyle said, to Quint and to Roberts. ‘He knows the lot. He dragged it out of Keen's guts, out of his brains, his blood, his poor violated organs! Guy, now listen, this is important. Did Keen know when you plan to move in on Harkley House?'

‘No. I'm the only one who knows that. Those were your instructions.'

‘That's right. Good! Well, we can thank God we got that right, anyway. Now listen: I'm coming home. Tonight I mean today! On the first possible flight. Carl Quint will stay out here and see this end sewn up, but I'm coming back. Don't wait for me if I can't get down to Devon in time. Go in as planned. Have you got that?'

‘Yes.' The other's voice was grim. ‘Oh, yes, I've got that! Christ, and I'm looking forward to it!'

Kyle's eyes narrowed, grew very bright and fierce. ‘Have Peter's body burned,' he said, ‘just in case.

And then burn Bodescu. Burn all the blood-sucking bastards!'

Quint gently took the phone from him and said, ‘Guy, Carl here. Listen, this is top priority. Get a couple of our best men up to Hartlepool A.S.A.P. Darcy Clarke especially. Do it now, even before you move on Harkley.'

‘Right,' Roberts answered. ‘I'll do it.' Then he got the point. His gasp was perfectly audible, even over the none too clear connection. ‘Hell, of course I'll do it right now!'

Wide-eyed and pale, Kyle and Quint stared at each other. There was no need to give voice to what was on their minds. Yulian Bodescu had learned almost everything there was to know about them. Keen had access, as had they all, to the Keogh file. A vampire's greatest fear is to be discovered for what he is. He will try to destroy anyone who even suspects him.

INTESP knew what he was, and the focus the jinni loci of INTESP was someone called Harry Keogh.

Darcy Clarke had swallowed two double brandies in quick succession before insisting on going back on duty. That had been shortly before Roberts's call to the Hotel Dunarea in Bucharest. Roberts, at first dubious, had finally let Clarke go back to Harkley, but with this warning: ‘Darcy, stay in your car. Don't leave it, no matter what. I know you have your juju working, but in this case it mightn't be enough. But we do need someone watching that hell-house, at least until we can get fully mobilised, and so if you're volunteering.

Clarke had driven carefully, coldly back to Harkley House and parked on the stiff black grass close to where Keen's car had stood. He tried not to think about the ground where his car stood, or what had happened there.

He was aware of it would never forget it but he kept it on the periphery of his consciousness, didn't let it interfere. And so with his gun and loaded crossbow beside him he'd sat there watching the house, never taking his eyes off it for a moment.

Fear had turned to hatred in Clarke's heart; he was here as a duty, yes, but it was more than that. Bodescu might just come out, might just show his face, and if he did… Clarke needed desperately to kill him.