Necroscope 9: The Lost Years (34 page)

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discover his address. All very irritating! And because the girl hadn’t answered her yet: ‘How
could
you lose him?’ she snapped.

‘He went into a newsagent’s,’ the girl told her hurriedly. ‘I thought he’d be buying a newspaper and waited in my car.

But he didn’t come back out.’

‘Maybe he’d spotted you!’ BJ. snapped. ‘I told you to be careful. He’s no fool, that one.’

‘I thought I
was
careful,’ the girl looked bewildered.

B.J.’s attitude softened, and finally she said, ‘Maybe he went out the back way.’ And she left it at that. For after all, Harry was that kind of man. And in his line of work it must be second nature to take precautions against being tailed.

Indeed, he had said as much. He was just good at his job, that was all.

Again she remembered that damp, dangerous night in London: the action in the garage, and how …
something
had happened to her, before she came to her senses in the alley; then how Harry had seemed to disappear into the mist.

Oh, yes, he’d been good at his job, all right! But in any case, what difference did it make? For BJ. knew he would be in touch again, and even
when
he would be in touch: in just three weeks’ time.

Glad to be let off the hook, B.J. ‘s girl went down to tidy up in the bar room. For in fact she, too, was lost for an explanation as to how she had so stupidly, even ridiculously, lost her target. Because as far as she knew - having checked and double-checked - the newsagent’s shop in question didn’t
have
any back way out!

Harry’s coat was of the voluminous variety, a big heavy thing that John Wayne might have worn in some wintry Western. Shrugging out of it in the old house near Bonnyrig, he became aware of an oblong shape swelling out the left-hand side pocket, and of extra weight on that side. He would have noticed it sooner, except he wasn’t up to noticing much of anything this morning. It was a small, flat bottle of B.J.’s wine; no label, but the same unmistakable red, and loaded with sediment.

A gift, obviously. What, from B.J. ? But after last night anyone would think she’d know better. Red wine and Harry Keogh didn’t mix! Maybe she’d simply dumped it on him before someone else suffered the consequences. Well, cheers, B.J.! He gave it no further consideration … because he’d been told not to.

There was something else that B.J. hadn’t mentioned about her ‘Greek’ wine: the fact that it was savagely addictive, far more so than any cocaine derivative. But even if the Necroscope had,known, right then he wouldn’t have been able to so much as look at the stuff. Not yet, anyway …

It was mid-morning, and Harry was stil tired; he had a stiff neck from B.J.’s lounger, not to mention a hellish hangover. Taking aspirins, he

tried to think straight. There were things he had to do this morning - if only he could remember what they were! But—

—
Call your superiors. The people you worked for. Get me of the hook. We don’t want them carrying out any unnecessary investigations on
an innocent girl, now do we?

No, of course not. But… Bonnie Jean wasn’t
on
the hook, was she? They didn’t even-know about her! Even as these pseudomemories and thoughts crossed his mind, Harry had picked up the ‘phone and dialled Darcy’s number. It was a Saturday, but still Darcy might be in his office. And he was.

‘Harry? What can I do for you?’ And more quickly: ‘If it’s about Brenda, I’m sorry, but—’

‘No, it’s something else,’ the Necroscope cut in. And now he knew what it really
was
about. ‘Darcy, check and see if the police down there have an unsolved murder on their hands, won’t you? An Edinburgh girl or young woman, murdered in London about a year ago? If they have, you can tell them the case is closed. Tell them it was down to Skippy or our would-be werewolf - or both of them.’

‘You’re still working on that?’

‘No, it was just something that came up.’

‘Oh. Well, thanks anyway.’

‘Oh, and you remember the silvering on the heads on those crossbow bolts? Well, it was ornamental. They once decorated a wall over a fireplace in a hunting lodge or something. The silver was to stop them from rusting.’

‘You
have
been working on it!’

‘No,’ Harry sighed. ‘Just checking back on everything that was going on at that time, that’s all. The time when Brenda and my son

… you know.’

‘Sure,’ said Darcy. And: ‘Well, thanks again, Harry.’

‘Also,’ the Necroscope blurted, before Darcy could put the ‘phone down, ‘you might be able to tell me something more about Alec Kyle.’

‘If I know, I’ll tell you,’ Darcy answered.

‘I asked you if he liked a drink. You told me he wasn’t a heavy drinker, but that when he did take a nip, then he really went to town on it.’

That’s right.’

‘Could he have had a problem that you didn’t know about? I mean, is it possible he was an alcoholic and knew it, but he had it more or less under control? Except on occasion, when it would break out and he’d have to feed it? Wait! Don’t give me your answer right off but give it a moment’s thought. It could be very important, and I know how loyal you are, Darcy … ”

Several seconds ticked by, then the other said: ‘Well, it
is
possible, of course. In this game I’ve come to realize that almost anything is possible! But I wouldn’t have thought so. I never knew a steadier man,

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Harry. On the other hand … he was a precog, as you know. They all have this thing about the future; they’re all a little scared of it - and sometimes a lot. If, and I mean
if,
Alec had a problem, he kept it pretty wel hid. And
if he
had one, you can bet your last penny it would have to do with his talent. “Talent”: that’s a laugh! I sometimes wonder if we’re not all cursed!’

Harry thought about that, then said, Thanks, Darcy.’

‘No, it’s me, we, us, who should be thanking you,’ Darcy told him.

‘You’re welcome,’ Harry answered, automatically, and he started to put the ‘phone down - then paused and said:

‘Darcy, I’ll be up here for maybe three more weeks, then I’ll probably be out of the country. I think they must have gone abroad. But when I go … I may be gone a while. I mean, I won’t be coming back here each night. And I’ll need funds.’

‘I can swing that,’ Darcy told him, without hesitation.

‘No,’ Harry answered, ‘I’m not going to hit on you or E-Branch for money. But there is something you can do for me.’

‘Just mention it.’

‘Find out where the Russians keep their gold.’

‘What?’ (Astonishment). ‘Where the Russians—?’

‘I mean, their repository? Like Fort Knox or something?’

As the last word fell from his lips, so Harry reeled. It was as if for a single second he was no longer in his room. It was just like that time in Darcy’s office, in the moment folowing the warning of an imminent IRA attack. Except this time nothing had prompted it, there was nothing to explain why—

—
Why Harry stood in the open, somewhere else, in bright daylight, and craned his neck to look up, and up, at stark yellow and white clifs .

. . and at the squat, white-walled castle, mansion, or chateau that was perched there on the edge of oblivion. A fortress on a
mountainside (from Harry’s viewpoint), at the very rim of a sheer drop that must be all of twelve hundred metres to the sloping
scree of a rubble-strewn gorge. The scene was … Mediterranean? All sun-bleached rocks, brittle scrub, a few stunted pines, and a salty tang
from the unseen ocean.

Their repository?’ Darcy answered, abruptly yanking the Necroscope back to the here and now. ‘Why, I’m sure they must have! And I can probably find out about it, yes. But—’

Harry quickly pulled himself together. It could only have been a manifestation of Alec Kyle’s precognition. As to what it meant… who could say? He tried to carry on the conversation as if nothing had happened. ‘Or if not the Russians, someone or some outfit - maybe the Mafia, or some other organization like that, with bullion - who you’d like to see lose some big money? Maybe to our advantage? Like, gunrunners, or drug traffickers? I’m sure you know what I’m saying.’

Darcy laughed out loud … but the Necroscope didn’t even chuckle;

he was still recovering from the effects of his inexplicable - what, visitation? Finally the head of E-Branch said,
‘Ahem!

You know, if I didn’t know better, Harry, I might accuse you of planning something decidedly ilegal?’

‘I suppose it depends whose side you’re on. You’ll do it?’

‘If that’s what you want, yes,’ Darcy said.

Harry nodded, despite that the other couldn’t see him, and said, Then do it soon. And Darcy - see if you can find someone who’l give us a decent exchange rate, no questions asked.’

This time, putting the ‘phone down, Harry
was
smiling despite his headache. Because he knew that on the other end of the line, Darcy Clarke wasn’t.

But even as the ‘phone settled in its cradle—

—
He was there again! But this time he was
up
there on the rim of the clif, and the walls of the keep rising before him. Its medieval turret
towers seemed semi-sentient - like stone sentinels - where he craned his neck to look up at them. And he felt his hair moving on his head,
perhaps blown by the winds of the gorge.

It came and it went, and Harry sat there beside the telephone again. With his hair still standing on end …

Bonnie Jean was worried. About E-Branch: how successful she’d been in throwing Harry, or ‘them’, off her trail.’ About Harry Keogh himself, because she believed there was
still
something about that one that wasn’t connecting. Where he was concerned, no sooner was one mystery cleared up than another surfaced!

Like how he moved so quickly and came and went the way he did, and the way he had eluded her tracker. As to the matter of his drugging her that night at the garage in London - the more she considered
that,
the more utterly ridiculous it seemed!

But any alternative was even more ridiculous, indeed impossible! So it could only be true. If only she had been a little more thorough when he was in her power. She could have discovered a lot more about this E-Branch he’d worked for, for one thing …

And as if all of this weren’t worrying enough, now there was the question of the watcher. A detective, or the father of one of Bonnie Jean’s girls? She thought not. But from the description Harry Keogh had given her, B.J. believed she knew who - or what - it
might
be. Well, it had happened before, on several occasions down the decades. And now it could be happening again. She supposed she should be grateful Harry had brought it to her attention, except grateful wasn’t part of the equation.

But forewarned is forearmed. If indeed this should prove to be the worst possible scenario come or coming to pass, then B.J. must look into it and, if necessary, draw
their
fire away from her Master. She had 176

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done it before - all of a hundred and seventy-five years ago - to lure
them
from the true spoor; and twice more in the years flown between. Inexperienced though she had been on that first occasion, still she’d won; and likewise ever since, else she wouldn’t be here now! It was
why
she was here, after all; to guard over the dog-Lord in His immemorial sleep, where He patiently awaited the advent of the One Foreseen, the Mysterious One.

The
right
one, aye. And yet again BJ. thought of Harry Keogh, if only for a moment …

… And the time of the calling so close now, when again she must go to Him. But this watcher:

If he (or they) were that close, and if they had been allowed to follow B.J., all unbeknown, perhaps to the very lair?

That was unthinkable -that she might so easily have betrayed a secret so well-kept for six long centuries! Well, at least it excluded Keogh’s involvement with them. ! For if he were one of them he never would have offered his help in the |

first place. And when he had her under the influence of
his
drug, he ! could have done whatever he wanted with her; could have …
removed \
her, and so dealt with her Master, too. For without BJ. what was her Master but a poor defenceless thing in a cavern tomb? But Harry had done nothing except bring her to safety.

But oh, what she wouldn’t give for Harry Keogh’s extraordinary skills now! The way he seemed simply to vanish like that. Why, with him on her side, B.J. would have nothing to fear during the coming visit to her Master! Harry would lose any would-be trackers as easily as he’d eluded her girl.

With him on her side … or, him
by
her side?

Keogh … Keogh …
Keogh!

Why was he on her mind so? For after al she, Bonnie Jean Mirlu, was the beguiler, with the power of fascination! And yet somehow this Keogh fascinated her …

Oh? And did that mean something?

His eyes, so warm and innocent: neither brooding, conniving, nor flirting (or flirting only a very little); not even especially beautiful, yet extraordinary in their depth, in the way they echoed the soul behind them. They were oh so soulful, those eyes of his. And at that B.J. gave an involuntary shiver, for the thought of his soul was …

delicious!
And if her Master were to give the word, why, she might yet taste it, steal it from him in one raw red moment!

Aye, and
that
would put an end to his mysterious ways, for sure.

His
mysterious
ways … ?

Bonnie Jean started into shocked awareness where she sat thinking things out and brooding in a chair in her living-room. Harry Keogh: a mystery man appearing on the scene from nowhere, as if on cue. And BJ. feeling this attraction, a weird affinity that was hard to place, as if