The Satanist mf-2

by Dennis Wheatley

  'We are always told here that the American people are scared stiff at the idea of an atomic war. And so are we for that matter. Anyhow, it would end in the whole world going up in flames; so however bad unemployment in the States becomes, I can't see them urging their Government to let them commit suicide.'

  They wouldn't do that. Not consciously. The danger is things could get so bad there'd be a threat of revolution. Rather than face that the Government might plunk for taking the big gamble. All I'm telling you is that economics might push the U.S. into pulling the trigger, whereas the Soviets are getting more prosperous all the time. They're as scared of starting anything as we are, and they've more to lose. They've only to go on playing it the way they are to get Europe's cities, ports and industries as going concerns. They'd be plumb crazy to reduce them to heaps of ruins.'

  'Then why is it that all these conferences about doing away with nuclear weapons have never got further than nibbling at the problem of preventing an atomic war? If what you say is right surely the Russians should be only too anxious for both sides to scrap everything, then they would have a free field to go on with their peaceful penetration without any risk of the United States suddenly banging off at them?'

  'Sure, sure, honey; and they are. They've offered again and again to go the whole way; but they're not such Dummkopfs as to agree to half measures. And the West digs its toes in at the idea of packing up the great deterrent altogether, because the Soviets hold the bigger stick where conventional forces axe concerned. That's the deadlock, and the Russians would put out the biggest ever red carpet for anyone who would break it for them.'

  'It seems an impasse out of which there is no way.'

  'Oh, there is a way. I could do it myself if I wanted.'

  'You can't mean that,' Mary said with a smile, feeling certain that he was either pulling her leg or making an absurd boast to impress her. 'How could you possibly change the views of all the leading statesmen of the Western Powers?�

  'By dropping just one egg in Europe. Vague ideas are one thing; seeing is another. Headlines, radio, eye-witness reports, T.V., documentaries on the flicks. All the horror of an H-bomb bang brought fresh from the scene right into every home in the N.A.T.O. countries. Just think of the pressure there'd be on their Governments. Millions of women blowing their tops, voters of all shades shouting "It mustn't happen here", demonstrations, strikes, threats to Cabinet Ministers. And as I was telling you a while back, democratic Governments aren't free agents. They'd have no option. None at all. They'd be pushed into making a pact with the Soviets to scrap all nuclear weapons and make no more.'

  'Really, Wash!' Mary protested. 'It's you who are off the mark this time. Apart from doing such a terrible thing as dropping a bomb out of the blue that would kill or maim countless innocent people, can't you see that in whichever N.A.T.O. country it fell everyone would immediately assume that the Russians had opened hostilities. Within minutes your squadron and everything else we've got would be on the way to Russia; and in no time the Russians would be fighting back. Such an act could only precipitate a general blow-up.'

  He gave her an amused look. 'I didn't say drop it in a N.A.T.O. country, honey. I said Europe, and there's still neutrals. Say we put one down in Switzerland, both sides would hold their hands. They'd sit tight, batting their heads who done it, and why.

  Meantime, the camera boys would be having a red-letter day; pictures and films would be getting around and the demonstrations starting.'

  'I see. Yes; I suppose you're right. But think of the poor Swiss. As far as they are concerned it would be cold-blooded mass murder.'

  'Seeing they stayed at home in both world wars they're about due for a token blood letting,' he replied callously. 'Besides, if the egg were dropped among those mountains its effects would be localized. A small town or two, some villages, a few thousand yodellers and tourists would take the rap; but that'd be no price at all to pay if it deprived the East and the West of the power to blow one another to pieces.'

  'Looked at that way,' Mary admitted after a moment, 'perhaps there would be a case for martyring several thousand people. After all, hundreds of thousands were massacred by the Nazis with no benefit to anyone. Perhaps if one could definitely save all the great cities of Europe and America, and the millions and millions of people who live in them from a terrible death, it would be justifiable. All the same, to kill men, women and children en-masse like that would be an awful thing to do.

  'I've no inhibitions about killing,' he asserted cheerfully. 'And remember, if the two big boys do get to pulling their guns there'll be mighty little left in the world that'll be worth having. Those of us who aren't disintegrated instantly or scheduled to stagger around for a few days, without teeth and our hair dropped out, will be left pretty near where you Anglo-Saxons started. For a generation or two maybe worse; anyway, for a time it's certain to be as simple as dog eat dog.'

  Mary sighed. 'What a gloomy picture! And it doesn't seem that your imaginative idea for preventing an atomic war would lead in the long run to a situation that was much better. It would simply open the gate for the Russians to walk in.'

  'Sure, but wouldn't that be better than death or going back to nature?'

  'I'm not certain that it would.'

  'It certainly would for ninety per cent of the folk who make up the population of the Western Powers. The other ten would be for the high jump or Siberia, but that's their funeral.'

  'As an Air Force Colonel you'd be among them.'

  'Not me, honey. As a servant of the Lord of this World I've an international ticket to the easy life in any country. That would go for you too. The Brothers of the Ram would see to it that little Sister Circe didn't lack for potatoes.'

  She gave him a smile. 'Well, if it ever looks like happening, that will be nice to know. You seem to have forgotten one thing, though. This career you're so keen on would be finished; that is, unless you could get yourself taken on in the Soviet Air Force.'

  'My career's finished anyhow, I'm on my way out now.' He spoke with such sudden bitterness that she momentarily felt a touch of sympathy for him, and said:

  'I'm sorry, Wash. But why? I understood from what you told me that only the very best men were given command of these squadrons of big bombers that are right in the front line and all ready to go.'

  'That's so, honey.'

  "Then why shouldn't you become a General? Have you blotted your copybook in some way?'

  'No, there's not a thing against me on the record. It's just that war-plane flying is finished. The rocket guys are taking over, and fast. They're making no more big bombers, or fighters; the types in service now are the last. In a year or two my beauties will go in the ash can, and I'll be out on my ear.'

  'You will still have lots of money.'

  'Yeah. But dollars aren't everything. I've ambition; and though I'll have to start again, some way yet I mean to make myself a big shot.'

  The following afternoon when he got back from the base there was a letter waiting for him. For some time after he had read it he remained plunged deep in thought, then he said to her:

  'You'll recall how I was nattering last night about the U.S. A. A.F. putting me on the pension list come a year or two's time, I've been throwing out lines for a future, and one of them's matured sooner than I thought. From Saturday I'll have to take some leave, on that account.'

  Mary hid her sudden elation. It looked from what he said as if in another forty-eight hours she might be freed by him and, even greater blessing, escape the initiation which she so much dreaded. Endeavouring to appear disappointed, she said:

  'In that case you won't be able to make me a full witch on Saturday night.'

  He gave her a reassuring smile. 'Don't fret yourself, honey. I don't mean to miss out on the Esbbat. I got to hold that so as to pull down more power to myself for the new deal I'm set on making. Besides, there's the forfeit I've got to ante up for cutting loose on Walpurgis Eve.'

  Concealing the blow her ho
pes had sustained, she asked: 'What form does it take?'

  'Human blood,' he replied, and went on with a callousness that appalled her, 'Back in the States there are plenty of coloured folks who'll trade a piccaninny for fifty bucks, and the Lodges in the South sends them up on mail order. But here snatching kids is apt to mean trouble. It'll have to be one of the floosies who hang around the camp. There are scores of them, and I'll rope one in tomorrow night.'

  Mary had gone dead white. After a moment she said in a low voice:

  'Would you . . . would you please mix me a drink; a ... a stiff one.'

  'Sure, honey.' Levering himself up to his enormous height from the armchair in which he had been lounging, he stepped over to the cocktail cabinet. 'Idea of human sacrifice still gives you the willies, eh?'

  'I... I'm not used to it yet. Not. . . not being an initiate I've never seen one. But aren't you afraid that the police might trace the girl?'

  'That's about as likely as me peddling peanuts on the moon. There's thousands of young dolls go missing in Britain every year. Most of them just quit home because they're fed with handing in their pay packets to their mommas, or because they've got hot pants for some married man. Mighty few of them are ever traced, and if some get in bad with a guy who gives them a passport for the golden shore there's no one to start a hue and cry after him. These teenage harpies who claw the dough outta my boys' wallets aren't local girls either. Leastways, precious few of them. They're East-end bitches down from London; so if there's one less come Sunday morning who's to worry?'

  Taking the Bourbon on the Rocks that he handed her, Mary gulped some of it, drew a deep breath, and asked, 'Do the Brotherhood often offer up human sacrifice?�

  'There's no fixed rule. One time it's same as now, an adept having to put himself in the clear after a lapse; another it's to celebrate the induction of a new High Priest. Times are when it's done with some special intention - maybe a Brother or Sister wanting a relative to make a quick exit, so they can get their hands on some lolly, or skip a divorce. Then once in a while some Lodge finds its secrets are being betrayed. Soon as the traitor is caught out there's an atonement ceremony in which he or she is the victim. That was the case with the last human whose blood I saw offered up.'

  Mary's heart stopped for a second. A sudden paralysis seemed to run through all her limbs. With a great effort she raised the glass and took another quick drink. The strong spirit, hardly yet diluted at all by the ice cubes, seemed to burn in her chest, but it again sent her circulation racing, and enabled her to get out the question, 'How long ago was that?'

  'Bit over two months. This guy was a police-spy. Someone tumbled to it that he was taking photographs of the Temple with a mini-camera. Under some pretext old Abaddon gave him deep hypnosis and dredged him clean, then sent him off to collect all the notes he had taken. There was enough dynamite in them to have blown the whole Lodge sky high. Seems he was only waiting for info' about when the Great Ram meant to officiate there again to fix for the place to be raided. Leastways, that's the story as Abaddon gave it to me. I was only in on the ritual killing.'

  Wash was mixing himself a Vodka Martini and had his back to Mary, so while he was talking he did not see the horror in her eyes. She knew that he must be speaking of Teddy. The date tallied so it could be no one else. When she had least expected it she had reached the end of her self-imposed quest. It was possible that Ratnadatta might only have played the jackal, and made off with the victim's shoes, but she was now hearing about his murder from a man who had actually witnessed it. She heard her voice, as if coming from a great distance, say, 'What did they do to him?'

  'Oh, there's a special drill for dealing with initiates who become apostates. Assumption is they've gone back to the Christian heresy; so we give 'em the treatment same as J.C. got for getting up against Our Lord Satan in Palestine. Only difference is we have to cut their throats so the blood'll run, and for convenience sake we crucify them upside down.'

  Mary set down her glass, lurched to her feet and, with a strangled sob, ran from the room.

  Half an hour later she returned to find him working at his desk. Looking up, he said casually, 'Bit strong meat for you, eh, honey? But you asked for it, and that was just as well. If you're going to be a good witch you've got to get acquainted with what goes on, and be prepared to stand in at any sort of ceremony. Play the radio now if you want, but set it on a musical programme. I can't abide canned voices while I'm working.'

  In due course he bulldozed his way through the usual abundant evening meal, washing it down with copious draughts of cider laced with calvados, which seemed to have no effect upon him. Ghastly pictures flickering about in Mary's mind robbed her of all appetite, but she made a game pretence of eating; and his mind was obviously on other things, as he made no comment.

  Afterwards, he returned to work and she put on some gramophone records. About ten o'clock he broke off to mix himself a long drink, and said: 'You get up to bed any time you feel that way, honey. If I'm to take leave from Saturday I've a whole heap of things need clearing up, so I'll be at it here for hours yet.'

  Gladly she accepted the suggestion and cried herself to sleep. She woke when he came up but to her immense relief he did not disturb her, and soon after he had settled down she drifted off again.

  Next morning her mind was more than ever harassed by fears, half-formed plans and nervous speculations. Somehow, while she had the chance, she must get from him a full account of Teddy's murder, so that details about those who had taken part in it could be made to stick.

  Then, what of her future? How could she find some means of escaping this loathsome initiation ceremony? And what did he intend to do with her after Saturday? Presumably he would take her to London with him; but did he mean to let her go when they got there? She had not dared to ask him. At least if it was his intention to retain her as his mistress during his leave, she would stand a better chance of escaping from him after they had left the house.

  Last, but by no means least, there was this new development of the human sacrifice he intended to make. The victim was to be chosen by chance from the scores of vicious little sluts who battened like lice on the well-paid American servicemen. But however unprincipled and depraved she might be she had a right to her life. How could this unknown be saved from the awful end that menaced her?

  CHAPTER XXI DEATH OF A WOMAN UNKNOWN

  While Wash had his shower and dressed, Mary continued to lie between the black satin sheets, but unconscious of their subtle caress as she cudgelled her wits to think of an answer to the nerve-shattering problems which faced her. In due course he went off to his duties and she lay there for another hour, but now that she was tied to the house by invisible bonds she could think of no way in which she could either help herself or prevent Wash from carrying out his ghastly plan to ensnare some wretched girl and offer her up as a sacrifice.

  At length she got up, and it was while she was dressing that her glance happened to fall on the square box containing the machine with which Wash had taken a record of her screams when torturing her on the Monday afternoon. He had made no use of this ingenious toy since, and it was still where he had set it down on a chair that was half concealed by the side of the big olivewood wardrobe.

  Lifting its lid she experimented cautiously with its switches, again playing back the first part of that horrifying scene, then recording and playing back a few bars of a tune that she hummed softly while standing beside it; and she found that it was quite easy to work.

  The idea had come to her that if she could get Wash talking again about Teddy's murder within sound range of the machine while it was working, it would record his own guilt and perhaps that of others. If she could succeed in that, with luck she would find a chance to remove the spool of tape and take it with her when they left for London. Even if she had to leave it in the house, once she had got free of him she might still be able to return and retrieve it later. Having adjusted the tape to 'ready' she put the machine
under her side of the big bed, so that she had only to reach a hand down to the switch to set it in motion.

  All the same, so racked was she by thoughts of the horrors that Wash was planning to carry out that, after lunch that day she made another attempt to escape. It had occurred to her that if she bandaged her eyes that might enable her to pass the invisible barrier. Going to the door at the back of the house that led to the garden, she opened it, lowered the edge of a thick silk scarf that she had draped over her head, and willed herself to walk forward.

  It was no good. She could lift each of her feet from the ground, but she positively could not thrust either of them out over the doorstep. Perhaps foolishly, but in desperation, she conceived the idea that since she could not walk out she might be able to crawl out. Removing the scarf she went down on her hands and knees. But her strivings in that position proved equally futile. To add to her distress and also fill her with confusion, while she was still crouching on the mat a voice behind her said:

  'You bin lost something, missy?'

  Jerking round her head she saw that Jim had come up unheard behind her and was regarding her with a puzzled grin.

  'Yes,' she replied, seizing on the excuse to explain being there on her knees; 'a little pearl button off my blouse.'

  For some minutes they both hunted for the button, but of course without result. Then she told Jim that it didn't matter, and retired defeated to the sitting-room.

  Wash returned at his usual hour, but at once sat down to his desk and almost ignored her until after dinner. Then he told her that he was going out and might not be back until very late, so she should not wait up for him.

  Although, with a slightly sinking feeling, she already guessed, she asked him where he was going, and he said: 'I'll be stooging around in my car till I come on a judy that's padding the hoof on her lonesome with no one in sight. Then, after we've had a short session in the bushes, I'll offer her a lift home. Time I got her in the car she'll have as good as had it. I'll put her in a deep sleep, bring her back here, lock her in the cellar and keep her there on ice till tomorrow night.'