Necroscope 4: Deadspeak (50 page)

“What is it?” Manolis hissed. “I’ve seen that look on your face before.”

“Call Harry out of there,” Darcy whispered. “Quickly!”

The Sister was beginning to look alarmed but Darcy cautioned her with a ringer to his lips.

“Harry,” Manolis’s voice was casual as he leaned back into the room. “Would you come out here a moment?”

“Do you mind?” Harry lifted an eyebrow, glanced at Jordan.

“Not at all,” the other shook his head and smiled strangely, knowingly. Harry went out to the others.

“What is it?”

Darcy closed the door and turned the key. He looked at Harry and his Adam’s apple was working. “It’s all wrong!” he said. “There’s something … not right with him. In fact nothing’s
right
with him!”

Harry’s soulful eyes studied his drawn, trembling face. “Your talent?”

“Yes. That doesn’t feel like Trevor. It looks like him, but it doesn’t feel like him. Not to my guardian angel. My talent wouldn’t let me stay in there.”

“Harry?” came Jordan’s voice from beyond the door. “What’s the delay? Look, I have something to tell you—but only you. Can’t we talk, you and I, face to face?”

Manolis was quick off the mark. He showed the Sister his police identification, again warned her to silence as Darcy had done, with a finger to his lips, took out his Beretta and gave that to Harry. And: “Leave the door ajar behind you, and we’ll stay right here,” he said.

“But,” said Darcy, his voice wobbly, “will that stop him?” He indicated the gun in Harry’s hand.

Harry nodded. “He’s not a vampire,” he said. He put the gun into an inside pocket of his jacket, unlocked the door and went through it. Inside the room Jordan had sat down in an armchair. There was another chair facing him and he beckoned Harry to take it. Harry sat down … but carefully, warily, never taking his eyes off the man opposite. “Well,” he finally said, “and here I am. So what’s the big mystery, Trevor?”

“All of a sudden,” said the other, still smiling his weird, knowing smile, “you’re not so concerned about me.” And Harry noticed how he formed his words slowly, carefully, making sure he got them right.

Right there and then the Necroscope guessed what Jordan’s trouble was and decided to put it to the test. “Oh, I’m concerned about you, all right,” he forced a smile onto his face. “In fact you wouldn’t believe just how concerned I am! Trevor, do you remember what you people at E-Branch used to call Harry Jr. when you looked after him that time?”

The strange, almost insinuating expression slid from Jordan’s face. His features went slack and gaunt, his eyes blank, but just for a moment or two. Then … animation returned and he said: “Oh, of course. The Boss, that’s what we called him!”

“That’s right—” Harry nodded, and reached for the gun in his pocket, “—but you were much too slow in remembering. And you were the one who was always especially fond of him. It’s not something you’d need time to think about—or enquire about?—if you were you!”

As his gun started to come into view, so Jordan moved. Previously the man’s movements had seemed slow to match his speech … but so are the movements of a chameleon before its tongue flickers into deadly life. And Janos’s grip was strong on Jordan’s mind. He moved like lightning, his left hand grabbing Harry’s throat and his right bearing down on his gun hand, ramming it back inside his jacket. The Necroscope’s reflexes took over. As Jordan straightened up from his chair, Harry kicked him hard between the legs … useless, for the mind which controlled Jordan’s body simply turned the pain aside. In return, Jordan released Harry’s throat and back-handed him with a clenched fist hard as iron! Before his eyes could focus from that, Jordan had lifted him half out of his chair and tried to butt him in the face. In the last moment Harry saw it coming and managed to turn his face aside, but even so the crushing hammer force of the man’s head against his temple dazed and shook him. Before he could recover, Jordan let him fall back into his chair and dragged his gun hand into view. Then—

The door burst open and Manolis hurled himself into the room. Darcy was right behind him, defying his leery talent’s every effort to turn him back. Grunting his frustration, Jordan tried one last time, without effect, to wrench Harry’s gun out of his hand before Manolis hit him. And the compact Greek policeman knew exactly how to hit. He shouldered Jordan back from Harry, drop-kicked him and knocked him down, then scrabbled his hands out from under him where he tried to push himself to his feet.

Then Harry was between them, pointing his gun directly at Jordan’s forehead. “Don’t make me!” he shouted at the possessed man, his words sharp as gravel chips. Jordan sat up and snarled at him, at all three of them.

“I was not the one to threaten!” he growled, his voice no longer that of the Jordan they had known. “You threatened me!”

“That’s right,” Harry answered, “you haven’t threatened me personally, not yet, but you would sooner or later … Janos Ferenczy!” He made motions with his gun, indicating that the other should stand up.

Janos, in Jordan’s body, did so, and stood glowering at the three who ringed him in. And: “Well then, Harry Keogh,” he finally grunted, “and so you know me now. Very well, all subterfuge aside, we meet at last. But I wanted to know you, and I wanted you to know something of my power. You see how easily I have occupied this mind? Telepathy?
Hah!
Trevor Jordan was the veriest amateur!”

“Your powers don’t impress me,” Harry lied. “The stench from a dead pig is likewise strong!”

“You … you
dare!”
the other took a pace forward.

Harry gritted his teeth and carefully aimed the gun right between Jordan’s eyes—

—And smiling crookedly, the possessed man came to a grudging halt. Then … he staggered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What…?”

“I … I have pushed this weakling’s flabby body too far,” Janos Ferenczy grunted from Jordan’s throat. “Allow me to sit down.”

“Sit,” Harry told him. And as the other flopped into his chair, and sat there reeling, the Necroscope once more seated himself opposite. “Now out with it, Janos,” he said. “Why did you want to see me? To kill me?”

“Kill you?” Janos laughed a baying laugh. “If I were so desperate to have you dead, believe me you would be dead! But no, I want you alive!”

“Wait!” Manolis came closer. “Harry, are you saying that this is Janos Ferenczy? Is this really the Vrykoulakas?”

Janos/Jordan scowled at him. “Greek, you are a fool!”

Manolis moved closer still, but Darcy took his arm. “It’s his mind,” he said, “his telepathy, controlling Trevor’s body.”

“Kill him now!” Manolis said at once.

“That’s just it,” Harry answered. “I wouldn’t be killing him but poor Jordan.”

Janos laughed again. “You are helpless,” he said. “Why, I could walk out of here! You are like small children!” Then he stopped laughing and scowled at Harry. “And so you are the all-powerful Necroscope, eh? The man who talks to the dead, the famous vampire-killer. Well, I think you are nothing!”

“Do you?” said Harry. “And is that why you’re here, to tell me that? Fine, so you’ve told me. Now scurry off back to your Carpathian castle and get your filthy leech’s mind out of my friend’s head!”

The eyes in Jordan’s head glared until they seemed about to leap from their orbits, and his hands trembled where they gripped the arms of the chair. But finally: “It … will … be … my … my
great
pleasure to meet you again, Harry Keogh,” he said, grinding his teeth. “But man to man, face to face.”

Harry was practised in the ways of the Wamphyri. He knew how to hurl weighty insults. “Man to man?” he gave a snort of derision. “You elevate yourself to ridiculous heights, Janos. And face to face? Why, there are cockroaches in this world who stand taller than you!”

Manolis got down on one knee beside Harry’s chair, reached for his gun. “Give it to me,” he said, “and tell me what you want to know. And believe me, I will make him tell you!”

“I go now—” Janos said, “—but I go knowing that you will come to me.” He opened his mouth and laughed, and wriggled his tongue as frantically and obscenely as a madman. “I know it as surely as I know that tonight—ah
tonight.—
sweet Sandra will writhe in my bed, lathered with the froth of our fornication!”

He laughed, a great shout of a laugh, and fell limp in his chair. His eyes closed, his head leaned to one side and his jaw fell open. Foam dribbled from one corner of his mouth, and his left arm and hand vibrated a little where they hung down the side of the chair.

Harry, Darcy and Manolis glanced at each other, and at last Harry half-released the Beretta into Manolis’s hands—at which Jordan’s eyes sprang open! He laughed again and leaped alert, and snatched the gun from between them. And: “Ah, hah-hah!” he screamed. “Children, mere
children.”

And putting the gun to his right ear, he pulled the trigger.

Harry had drawn back, forcing his chair backwards away from the action, but Darcy and Manolis were sprayed with blood and brains as the left side of Jordan’s head flew apart. Yelping their horror, they started upright and back.

Framed in the open doorway, a trio of Sisters of Mercy held their hands to their mouths and gasped. They had seen it all. Or the end of it, anyway. “Oh, my
G-G-God!”
Darcy staggered from the room, leaving Harry and Manolis, mouths agape, staring at Jordan’s bloody corpse …

Harry and Darcy left Manolis to hand over to the local police (the case was a “suicide” pure and simple, with plenty of witnesses to prove it) and walked back to their hotel.

It wasn’t yet 10:00
A.M.
but already it was baking hot; the heat seemed to bounce off the cobbles in the narrow streets of the Old Town; Darcy dumped his bloodied jacket in the back of a refuse truck, and cleaned up as best he could in a drinking fountain along the way.

At the hotel they showered and Harry saw to his bruises, and then for the best part of an hour they sat and did nothing at all …

A little before noon Manolis joined them. “What now?” he wanted to know. “Do we go ahead as planned?”

Harry had been thinking it over. “Yes and no,” he answered. “You two go ahead as planned: go to Halki, tomorrow, then Karpathos, and see what you can do. And you’ll have the men from E-Branch to back you up from then on in. But I can’t wait. I have to square it with that bastard. It was what he said at the end. I can’t live with that. It has to be put right.”

“You’ll go to Hungary?” Manolis looked washed out, exhausted.

“Yes,” Harry told him. “See, I thought that after Sandra was taken it wouldn’t matter: she’d simply be a vampire, beyond anyone’s help. But I hadn’t reckoned with how he might use her. Well, it could be that she herself is now past caring, but I’m not. So … I have to go. Not even for her sake anymore but for mine. I may not any longer have what it takes to get him, but I can’t let her go on like that.”

Darcy shook his head. “Not a good idea, Harry,” he said. “Look, Janos was goading you, challenging you to take part in a duel he doesn’t think you can win. And you’ve fallen for it. You were right the first time: where Sandra is concerned what’s done is done. Now’s the time to steady up and start thinking ahead, the time for preparation and planning. But it
isn’t
the time to go off half-cocked and get yourself killed! You know how difficult it’s going to be just getting to Janos in the Carpathians; but you also know that if you simply leave him alone, then sooner or later he’ll come looking for you where you can meet him on your terms. He’ll
have
to, if he ever again wants to feel safe in the world.”

“Harry,” said Manolis, “I think maybe Darcy is right. I still don’t know why that maniac killed himself and not you, but what you’re planning now … it’s like putting your head right back in the noose!”

“Darcy probably is right,” Harry agreed, “but I have to play it how I see it. As for Jordan killing himself: that was Janos, showing me how “powerful” he is! Yes, and hurting me at the same time. But kill me? No, for it’s like he said: he wants me alive. I’m the Necroscope; I have strange talents; there are secrets locked up in my head that Janos wants to get at. Oh, he can talk to some of the dead—poor bastards—in that monstrous, necromantic way of his, but he can’t command their respect as I do. He’d like to, though, for he’s as vain as the rest of them, but he still doesn’t feel that he’s true Wamphyri. So … he probably won’t be satisfied until he’s made himself the most powerful vampire the world’s ever seen. And to that end, if he can find some way to steal my skills from me —” He let it tail off …

And immediately, in a lighter tone, continued:

“—Anyway, you two are going to have plenty on your own plates. So stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourselves. Manolis, how about those spearguns? And I’d also like you to book me a seat on the next plane for Athens—say sometime tomorrow morning?—with a Budapest connection. And Darcy—”

“—Whoa!” said Darcy. “You changed the subject a bit fast there, Harry. And let’s face it, there’s really no comparison between what we’ll be doing here in the islands and what you’ll be going up against in the Carpathians. Also, Manolis and I, we have each other, and by tomorrow night there’ll be a gang of us. But you’ll be on your own all the way down the line.”

Harry looked at him with those totally honest, incredibly innocent eyes of his and said, “On my own? Not really, Darcy. I have a great many friends in a great many places, and they’ve never once let me down.”

Darcy looked at him and thought:
God, yes! It’s just that I keep forgetting who—what—you are.

Manolis didn’t know Harry so well, however. “Friends?” the Greek said, having missed the point of the exchange. “In Hungary, Romania?”

Harry looked at him. “There, too,” he said, and shrugged. “Wherever.” He stood up. “I’m going to my room now. I have to try and contact some people …”

“Wherever?” Manolis repeated him, after he had gone.

Darcy nodded, and for all the drowsy Mediterranean heat he shivered. “Harry’s friends are legion,” he explained. “Right across the world, the graveyards are full of them.”