Sepulchre (12 page)

'You're part of it. Your safety is just as important.'

'Not as far as Magma is concerned.' She managed to smile.

'You're part of it,' he repeated, and Cora was unsure of his meaning. 'You still haven't answered any of my questions,' he persisted.

'I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure that I know.'

He watched her confusion and realised he had delved too soon. Cora could never accept him so quickly: an instinct told him she held secrets that bound her to Kline in some way.

'All right,' he said. 'For now.'

He stood, then reached down to pull her to her feet.

At first Cora thought he was angry, so forceful was his grip; but he held her to his chest for a moment longer than necessary, looking down into her face, a quiet intensity to his gaze.

'Liam . . .' she said, but he had already released her and turned away. She watched him for a few moments before following, an unsteadiness to her movement that threatened to make her slip. She caught up with him and Halloran noticed her awkwardness; this time he reached for her arm and held it gently, lending just enough support to help her walk more steadily. Cora's breathing was shallow, nervous, and she felt something had drained from her; not her strength, and not her resolution - Felix Kline had subjugated those a long time ago-but perhaps her fear of Halloran himself.

'Who are you?' she could only whisper. 'Nothing more than you can see,' he replied. But she felt that was not quite true.

14 ROOMS AND CORRIDORS

There were dark places in Neath, corners, niches, which sunlight could never touch, rooms Bloomed in permanent dusk., corridors where dust motes seemed to clog the air, halls where footsteps echoed in emptiness. Yet there were also areas of dazzling light, the sun bursting through leaded windows with a force intensified by thick glass; these were cleansing places, where Neath's dank chill could be scoured from the body, although only briefly as other rooms, other corridors, were entered, brightness left behind like some sealed core.

Halloran explored and found many locked doors.

Tapestries adorned hallways. Fine portraits hung in main rooms and on stairways, meaningless to anyone other than direct descendants of the subjects themselves. Curved giltwood furniture displayed itself in arrangements that precluded comfortable use. Ornaments and sculptures were set around the house like museum pieces, there for admiration but perhaps not out of love - or so it seemed to Halloran. The house was a showcase only, full of history, but oddly devoid of spirit, Kline's attempt (presumably) at presenting an aesthetic side to his nature revealing nothing more than an indifference to such things (or at the most, pretensions towards them). The giveaway was the separateness of each item, the lack of relationship to those nearby, every piece of furniture, every sculpture or painting, an isolated entity in itself, set-pieces among other set-pieces. Fine for a museum, but not for a home.

Yet spread among them, as if at random. were curios from a vastly different and more ancient culture: an encased necklace with thinly beaten gold pendants shaped like beech or willow leaves; stone statuettes of a bearded man and a woman, their hands clasped over their chests as though in prayer, their eyes peculiarly enlarged so that they appeared to be staring in adoration; aboard game of some kind, its squares decorated with shell and what appeared to be bone, two sets of stone counters of different colour laid alongside; a silver cup with a robed figure in relief. Perhaps these, thought Halloran, along with other similar items, were a clue to where Kline's real interests in art lay, for they provided a consistent thread, a continuity that was missing in the other, later, antique pieces. It would seem that his client had a penchant for the older civilisations.

The room allocated to Halloran was at the front of the house, overlooking the lawns and lake. Furnishings were functional rather than pleasing to the eye: wardrobe, chest of drawers, bedside cabinet - utility fare with no heritage to boast of. The wide bed, with its multi-coloured, lumpy quilt, looked comfortable enough; bedposts at each corner rose inches above the head- and foot-boards, the wood itself of dark oak.

He had unpacked his suitcase before exploring the rest of the building, and placed the black case he'd also brought with him on a shelf inside the wardrobe.

His inspection had taken him to every section of the house save where the locked doors had hindered him - even out onto the various turrets from where he had surveyed the surrounding slopes with considerable unease. The frontage, with its lawns and placid lake, provided the only point of clear view; the rear and side aspects were defence uncertainties. And worse: there was no alarm system installed at Neath. It was difficult to understand why a man who was evidently in fear for his own safety hadn't had his home wired against intrusion, particularly when his penthouse in the Magma building was a place of high, albeit flawed, security. Well at least conditions here could soon be rectified. Halloran had wandered on through the house, examining window and door locks, eventually becoming satisfied that entry would prove difficult for the uninvited.

Another surprise was that Neath had been built around a central courtyard with a disused fountain, its stone lichen-coated and decaying, the focal point.

Halloran walked along the first-floor corridor overlooking the courtyard and made his way downstairs, quickly finding a door that led outside. The house was quiet and he realised he hadn't seen Cora nor any of the others for over an hour. He stepped out into the courtyard; the flagstones, protected on all sides from any cooling breeze, shimmered with stored warmth. Brown water stains streaked the lifeless fountain, fungus crusting much of the deteriorated stonework; the structure appeared fossilised, as if it were the aged and decomposed remains of something that had once breathed, something that had once moved in slow and tortuous fashion, had perhaps grown from the soil beneath the flagstones. He walked out into the middle of the courtyard, circling the centre-piece, but his interest no longer on it. Instead he peered around at the upper windows.

He had felt eyes watching him an instinctive sensing he had come to rely on as much as seeing or hearing. From which window? No way of telling, for now they were all empty, as if the watcher had stepped back from view.

Halloran lowered his gaze. There were one or two doors at ground level other than the one he had just used. No risk these, though, for there was no direct entry into the courtyard from outside the house.

He crossed to the other side of the enclosure and tried a door there. It opened into a kitchen area, a large, tiled room he had come upon earlier. Closing the door again, he moved on to the next, looking into windows as he passed. The house might well have been empty for all the activity he saw in there. The second door opened into another corridor-Neatly he'd discovered, was a labyrinth of such - which was closed at one end by yet another door.

This was a passageway he hadn't discovered on his exploration of the interior and, curious, he stepped inside. To his left was a staircase leading upwards, yet he could not recall finding it when he had circuited the first floor. Probably a staircase to one of the rooms he'd been unable to enter. He decided to investigate that possibility after he'd tried the door at the other end.

He walked down the passage, noting that the door looked somewhat more formidable than any others inside the house. The lock was of sturdy black iron and there was no key inserted. He reached for the handle.

And turned quickly, when he heard a creak on the stairway behind.

One of Kline's Arabs was smiling at him. But just before the smile, Halloran had glimpsed something else in the robed man's expression.

There had been anger there. And apprehension.

15 A STROLLING MAN

He walked along the pavement blank-faced, his eyes meeting no others, a plainly dressed man, suit as inconspicuous as his features. His hair was thin on top, several long loose strands tapering behind indicating the slipstream of his passage. One hand was tucked into his trouser pocket, while the other held a rolled newspaper.

Occasionally he would glance into a doorway as he went by, no more than a fleeting look as though having care not to bump into anyone on their way out. Not once did he have to slow his already leisurely pace though, his journey along the street unimpeded. On he strolled, perhaps a clerk returning home after the day's work and, judging by his appearance, someone who lived in one of the older houses that hadn't yet succumbed to developers' mania for wharfside properties.

After he had passed one particular doorway he casually tucked the newspaper under his left arm, his pace even, still unhurried.

He walked on and some way behind him two men in a parked car looked briefly at each other, one of them giving a sharp nod. The driver started the engine and gently steered the vehicle away from the kerbside. It came to rest again after only a hundred yards or so further down the street.

The two men settled back to watch and wait.

16 A DIFFERENT KLINE

Dinner was obviously of little interest to Kline later that evening. To Halloran he seemed drained, listless, his sallow skin tight over his cheekbones, hollowed beneath them. His dark eyes had lost much of their lustre, and his usual banter was less sharp, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. His youthfulness had unaccountably vanished, or so it appeared to Halloran, the man before him looking at least ten years older than the one he had first been introduced to at Magma.

Maybe the incident earlier in the day had taken more out of Kline than Halloran had realised. He'd witnessed delayed reaction many times in the past, had even suffered it himself - the abrupt recognition of what might have been, the leadening of spirit, the swift evaporation of energy followed inevitably by a further apathy. True, his client was unpredictable, but Halloran was surprised at the abrupt change.

Only three had sat for dinner, Cora, Kline and himself, the two Jordanians serving, Monk off somewhere keeping watch or, more probably, reading his comic-books. Kline load barely touched his food, which was solid English fare and not the exotic dishes Halloran had half-expected the Arabs to prepare (Khayed and Daoud ran the kitchen as well as the rest of the estate for their employer, with Monk and the Polish bodyguard, Palusinski, sharing the task of maintenance, both inside and outside Neath itself, with apparently no outsiders at all allowed within the boundaries).

Opposite him at the long and rough oak table that could easily have seated two dozen, Cora tried dutifully to engage both Halloran and Kline in conversation. But more than once she averted her eyes when Halloran spoke directly to her. He found her demeanour perplexing, yet so were many other aspects of this operation.

'You still haven't explained why there's no alarm system inside the house,' he said to Kline, putting thoughts of Cora aside for the moment. 'It's hard enough to understand why there's no system around the grounds, let alone inside.'

Kline sipped wine and his tone was dulled when he replied. 'I have locks, I have bodyguards. Why should I need anything more?'

Again that different manner of speech, an older man's intonation, the words themselves more considered.

'I think adequate alarm protection will have to be a condition of contract.'

Lethargy gave way to irritability. 'The contract has already been agreed and signed. You have to take my word for it that I'm quite safe here. Nothing can reach me within these walls, nothing at all.'

'That isn't very sensible.'

'Then consider me stupid. But remember who calls the tune.'

Halloran shook his head. 'Shield does that when we offer our services. I want you to understand that this place is too vulnerable.'

The other man's laugh was dry. 'I'll make a deal with you, Halloran. If you still feel this way about Neath when the weekend is through, we'll discuss your proposals some more. Perhaps you'll be able to persuade me then.'

Halloran rested back in his chair, suspecting that Kline was too arrogant to be swayed by reason alone. He looked over at Cora for support, but again she gazed down at her plate to toy with her food.

'I think we'll need more men patrolling the perimeter,' he said finally.

'That's entirely up to you,' Kline replied. 'As long as none of them stray into the grounds. That might prove unpleasant for them.'

'You didn't tell me there were dogs roaming the estate.'

Both Cora and Kline seemed surprised.

'I saw one of them earlier today,' Halloran continued. 'Just how many are there running around loose out there?'

'Enough to see off any intruders,' answered Kline, his smile distracted.

'I hope you're right. Let's talk about these people who tried to stop us today: you must have some idea who they were.'

'That's already been discussed. Jealous rivals of Magma, or hoodlums who want me for my ransom value.'

'You knew you were in danger, that's why Magma is paying for my company's services. It follows that you're aware of where that danger's coming from.'

Kline wearily shook his head. 'If only that were true. I sense the threat, that's all. I sense many things, Halloran, but sensing is not the same as knowing.'

'You can be pretty specific when you're locating minerals.'

'A different matter entirely. Inert substances are nothing compared to the complexities of the mind.'

'Aren't thought patterns easy to pick up by someone like you'?'

'But difficult to decipher. Take your own thought-waves what am I to deduce from them?' Kline leaned forward, for the !first time that evening his interest aroused. A slight gleaming even came back to his eyes.

Halloran drained his wine. One of the Arabs immediately stepped forward and refilled his glass.

'I look at Cora,' Kline said without taking his eyes off Halloran, 'and I feel her emotions, I can sense her fear.'

A small sound from the girl, perhaps a protest.

'Her fear?' questioned Halloran.

'Of me. And of you.'

'She has nothing to fear from me.'