bl.necroscope2-第66部分

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　in　black　raised　its　arm　in　a　swift　movement　and　something　gleamed　a　wet；　silvery　gleam　in　the　night。
　A　cleaver！
　
　
　Chapter　Thirteen
　When　Kyle　and　his　panions　got　back　to　lonesti　and　the　inn；　they　found　Irma　Dobresti　pacing　the　floor　of　their　suite；　nervously　massaging　her　long　hands。　Her　relief　when　she　saw　them　was　obvious。　Likewise　her　delight　when　they　told　her　the　operation　had　been　a　plete　success。　They　weren't　eager；　however；　to　detail　much　of　what　had　happened　in　the　foothills；　looking　at　their　drawn　faces；　she　was　wise　enough　not　to　pry。　They　might　tell　her　later；　in　their　own　time。
　〃So；〃　she　said；　after　they'd　had　a　drink；　〃the　job　is　done　here。　We　are　not　needing　to　stay　any　longer　in　lonesti。　It　is　ten…thirty…late；　I　know；　but　I　am　suggesting　we　go　now。　These　red　tape　dolts　will　arrive　soon。　Is　better　if　we　are　not　here。〃
　〃Red　tape？〃　Quint　looked　surprised。　〃I　didn't　know　you　used　that　term；　er；　over　here！〃
　〃Oh；　yes；〃　she　answered；　unsmiling。　〃Also　〃mie〃；　and　〃Zurich　Gnome〃；　and　〃Capitalist　dog〃！〃
　〃I　agree　with　Irma；〃　said　Kyle。　〃If　we　wait　we'll　only　be　obliged　to　brazen　it　out…or　tell　the　truth。　And　the　truth；　while　it　is　verifiable　in　the　long　term；　isn't　immediately　believable。　No；　I　can　see　all　kinds　of　problems　ing　up　if　we　stay　here。〃
　〃All　true。〃　She　nodded；　sighing　her　relief　that　the　Englishman　was　of　a　like　mind。　〃Later；　if　they　are　determined　to　talk　about　this；　they　can　contact　me　in　Bucharest。　There　I　am　on　my　own　ground；　with　the　backing　of　my　superiors。　I　am　not　for　blaming。　This　was　a　matter　of　national　security；　a　liaison　of　a　scientific；　preventative　nature　between　three　great　countries；　Romania；　Russia；　and　Great　Britain。　I　am　secure。　But　right　now；　here　in　lonesti；　I　do　not　feel　secure。〃
　〃So　let's　get　to　it；〃　said　Quint；　with　his　usual　efficiency。
　Irma　showed　her　yellow　teeth　in　one　of　her　infrequent　smiles。　〃No　need　for　getting　to　it；〃　she　informed。　〃Nothing　to　get　to。　I　took　the　liberty　of　packing　your　bags！　Can　we　go　now；　please？〃
　Without　more　ado；　they　paid　the　bill　and　left。
　Krakovitch　opted　to　drive；　giving　Sergei　Gulharov　a　break。　As　they　sped　back　towards　Bucharest　on　the　night　roads；　Gulharov　sat　beside　Irma　in　the　back　of　the　car　and　quietly　filled　her　in　as　best　he　could　on　the　story　of　what　had　happened　in　the　hills；　the　monstrous　thing　they　had　burned　there。
　When　he　was　finished　she　said　simply；　〃Your　faces　told　me　it　must　have　been　like　that。　I　am　glad　I　not　seeing　it　。　。
　
　After　his　last　painful　visit；　at　about　10。00　P。M。；　Darcy　Clarke　had　slept　like　a　log　in　his　hotel　bedroom　for　nearly　three　hours　solid。　When　he　woke　up　he　felt　fighting　fit。　All　very　mysterious；　he'd　never　known　an　attack　of　gastro…enteritis　to　e　and　go　so　quickly　（not　that　he　was　sorry　it　had　gone）　and　he　had　no　idea　what　he　could　have　eaten　to　cause　it。　Whatever　it　had　been；　the　rest　of　the　team　had　felt　no　ill　effects。　It　was　because　he　didn't　want　to　let　that　team　down　that　Clarke　dressed　quickly　and　went　to　report　himself　fit　for　duty。
　In　the　control　room　（the　living　area　of　their　main　suite　of　rooms）；　he　found　Guy　Roberts　slumped　in　his　swivel　chair；　head　on　his　folded　arms　where　he　sprawled　across　his　〃desk'：　a　dining　table；　cluttered　with　notes；　a　log　book　and　a　telephone。　He　was　fast　asleep　with　an　ashtray　piled　full　of　dog…ends　right　under　his　nose。　A　tobacco　addict；　he　probably　wouldn't　be　able　to　sleep　fortably　without　it！
　Trevor　Jordan　snoozed　in　a　deep　armchair　while　Ken　Layard　and　Simon　Gower　quietly　played　their　own　version　of　Chinese　Patience　at　a　small　green…baize　card　table。　Gower；　a　prognosticator　or　augur　of　some　talent；　played　badly；　making　too　many　mistakes。　〃Can't　concentrate！〃　he　growlingly　plained。　〃I　have　this　feeling　of　bad　stuff　ing　lots　of　it！〃
　〃Stop　making　excuses！〃　said　Layard。　〃Hell；　we　know　bad　stuff　is　ing！　And　we　know　where　from。　We　don't　know　when；　that's　all。〃
　〃No；〃　Gower　frowned；　tossed　in　his　hand；　〃I　mean　not　of　our　making。　When　we　go　against　Harkley　and　Bodescu；　that　will　be　different。　This　thing　I'm　feeling　is…〃　he　shrugged　uneasily；　〃something　else。〃
　〃So　maybe　we　should　wake　up　the　Fat　Man　there　and　tell　him？〃　Layard　suggested。
　Gower　shook　his　head。　〃I've　been　telling　him　for　the　last　three　days。　It　isn't　specific　it　never　is…but　it's　there。　You　could　be　right：　I'm　probably　feeling　the　ding…dong　ing　up　at　Harkley　House。　If　so；　then　believe　me　it's　going　to　be　a　good　one！　Anyway；　let　old　Roberts　kip。　He's　tired　and　when　he's　awake　the　place　stinks　of　bloody　weed！　I've　seen　him　with　three　going　at　once！　God；　you　need　a　respirator！〃
　Clarke　stepped　round　Roberts's　snoring　form　to…check　the　roster。　Roberts　had　only　mapped　it　out　until　the　end　of　the　afternoon　shift。　Keen　was　on　now；　to　be　relieved　by　Layard；　a　locator　or　finder；　who　in　turn　would　watch　Harkley　till　8。00　A。M。　Then　it　would　be　Gower's　turn　until　2。00　P。M。；　followed　by　Trevor　Jordan。　The　roster　went　no　farther　than　that。　Clarke　wondered　if　that　was　significant。。。
　
　Maybe　that　was　what　Gower　was　feeling：　a　ding…dong；　as　he　had　it；　but　a　little　closer　than　he　thought。
　Layard　cocked　his　head　on　one　side；　looked　at　Clarke　where　he　studied　the　roster。　〃What's　up；　old　son？　Still　got　the　runs？　You　can　stop　worrying　about　shift　work　at　Harkley。　Guy　has　pulled　you　off　it。〃
　Gower　looked　up　and　managed　a　grin。　〃He　doesn't　want　you　polluting　the　bushes　out　there！〃
　〃Ha…ha！〃　said　Clarke；　his　face　blank。　〃Actually；　I'm　fine　now。　And　I'm　starving！　Ken；　you　can　go　and　jump　in　your　bed　if　you　like。　I'll　take　the　next　shift。　That'll　adjust　the　roster　back　to　normal。〃
　〃What　a　hero！〃　Layard　gave　a　soft　whistle。　〃Great！　Six　hours　in　bed　will　suit　me　just　fine。〃　He　stood　up；　stretched。　〃Did　you　say　you　were　hungry？　There　are　sandwiches　under　the　plate　on　the　table　there。　A　bit　curly　by　now；　but　still　edible。〃
　Clarke　started　to　munch　on　a　sandwich；　glancing　at　his　watch。　It　was　1。15　P。M。　〃I'll　have　a　quick　shower　and　get　on　my　way。　When　Roberts　wakes　up；　tell　him　I'm　on；　right？〃
　Gower　stood　up；　went　to　Clarke　and　stared　hard　at　him。　〃Darcy；　is　there　something　on　your　mind？〃
　〃No；〃　Clarke　shook　his　head；　then　changed　his　mind。　〃Yes。。。　I　don't　know！　I　just　want　to　get　out　to　Harkley；　that's　all。　Do　my　bit。〃
　Twenty…five　minutes　later　he　was　on　his　way。
　
　Shortly　before　2。00　A。M。　Clarke　parked　his　car　on　the　hard　shoulder　of　the　road　maybe　quarter…of　a　mile　from　Harkley　House　and　walked　the　rest　of　the　way。　The　mist　had　thinned　out　and　the　night　was　starting　to　look　fine。　Stars　lit　his　way；　and　the　hedgerows　had　a　nimbus　of　foxfire　to　sharpen　their　silhouettes。
　Oddly　enough；　and　for　all　his　terrifying　confrontation　with　Bodescu's　dog；　Clarke　felt　no　fear。　He　put　it　down　to　the　fact　that　he　carried　a　loaded　gun；　and　that　back　there　in　the　boot　of　his　car　was　a　small　but　quite　deadly　metal　crossbow。　After　he　had　seen　Peter　Keen　off　duty；　he'd　bring　up　his　car　and　park　it　in　Keen's　spot。
　On　his　way　he　met　no　one；　but　he　heard　a　dog　yapping　across　the　fields；　and　another　answering　bark　for　bark；　apparently　from　miles　away。　A　handful　of　hazy　lights　shone　softly　on　the　hills；　and　just　as　he　came　in　sight　of　Harkley's　gates　a　distant　church　clock　dutifully　gonged　out　the　hour。
　Two　o'clock　and　all's　well；　thought　Clarke　except　he　saw　that　it　wasn't。　There　was　no　sign　of　Keen's　unmistakeable　red　Capri；　for　one　thing。　And　for　another　there　was　no　sign　of　Keen。
　Clarke　scratched　his　head；　scuffed　the　grass　where　Keen's　car　should　be　parked。　The　wet　grass　gave　up　a　broken　branch；　and。。。　no；　it　wasn't　a　branch。　Clarke　stooped；　picked　up　the　snapped　crossbow　bolt　in　fingers　that　were　suddenly　tingling。　Something　was　very；　very　wrong　here！
　He　looked　up；　staring　at　Harkley　House　standing　there　like　a　squat　sentient　creature　in　the　night。　Its　eyes　were　closed　now；　but　what　was　hiding　behind　the　lowered　lids　of　its　dark　windows？
　All　of　Clarke's　senses　were　operating　at　maximum　efficiency：　his　ears　picked　up　the　rustle　of　a　mouse；　his　eyes　glared　to　penetrate　the　darkness；　he　could　taste；　almost　feel　the　evil　in　the　night　air；　and　something　stank。　Literally。　The　stink　of　a　slaughterhouse。
　Clarke　took　out　a　pencil…slim　torch　and　flashed　it　on　the　grass　which　was　red　and　wet　and　sticky！　The　cuffs　of　his　trousers　were　stained　a　dark　crimson　with　blood。　Someone　（God；　let　it　not　be　Peter　Keen！）　had　spilled　pints　of　the　stuff　right　here。　Clarke's　legs　trembled　and　he　felt　faint；　but　he　forced　himself　to　follow　a　track；　a　bloody　swath；　to　a　spot　behind　the　hedgerow；　hidden　from　the　road。　And　there　it　was　much　worse。　Did　one　man　have　that　much　blood！
　Clarke　wanted　to　be　sick；　but　that　would　incapacitate　him　and　right　now　he　dare　not　be　incapacitated。　But　the　grass。。。　it　was　strewn　with　clots　of　blood；　shreds　of　skin　and　gobbets　of。。。　of　meat！　Human　flesh！　And　under　the　narrow　beam　of　his　torch　there　was　something　else；　something　which　might　just　be　God；　a　kidney！
　Clarke　ran…or　rather　floated；　fought；　swam；　drifted；　as　in　a　dream　or　nightmare　back　to　his　car；　drove　like　a　madman　back　to　Paignton；　hurled　himself　into　INTESP's　suite　of　rooms。　He　was　in　shock；　remembered　nothing　of　the　drive；　nothing　at　all　except　what　he'd　seen；　which　had　seared　itself