Sepulchre

by James Herbert

  He raised his head and there was something sly about his smile when he looked at Halloran.

  "Now they're getting scared. The harder new sources of raw materials are to find, the more concerned they get; the more expensive it is to scour those materials from the earth, the more jittery they become. That's what makes me Magma's biggest asset, why I'm so precious to the corporation. Even fifty million pounds would hardly compensate for my death."

  Halloran rose and walked away, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, head bowed as though he were deep in thought. He turned, looked back at the small watching figure.

  "That's some story you're asking me to swallow," Halloran said.

  Kline's cackled laughter shot across the room. "You don't believe me! You don't believe I can do it! All I've shown you and you think this is some kind of game. Wonderful!" He pummeled his feet on the white floor with the joke of it.

  Halloran spoke calmly. "I said it's hard to believe."

  Kline became still. "You think I give a shit what you believe? All you have to do is protect me, nothing more than that. So maybe it's time I found out how good you are."

  His thumb worked the remote-control unit once more, and a buzzer or a light must have alerted the man outside the double-door because one side opened and the bodyguard stepped through.

  "Halloran here doesn't think you're up to much, Monk," said Kline. "You want to give him a little workout, introduce yourself?"

  Monk wasn't smiling when he approached.

  Halloran still faced Kline. "I don't do auditions," he said.

  "In that case Monk's liable to break your arms."

  Halloran sighed and turned to meet the other man who was ambling forward as if he intended to do nothing more than shake the operative's hand. But there was a certain, recognizable, gleam in Monk's eyes.

  He took the last two yards in a crouching rush.

  To find Halloran was suddenly behind him.

  Monk felt Halloran's foot planted squarely against his rear end, a hard shove propelling him further forward, the action one fluid movement. All balance gone, the bodyguard skidded to his knees, reduced to a clumsy scrabbling figure. He came up in a crouching position.

  "Bastard." The curse was high-pitched, almost a squeal, as though his voice box was squeezed somewhere too low in his throat.

  "Jesus, it speaks," said Halloran.

  The bodyguard ran at him.

  "Felix, call him off!"

  It was Cora's voice, but Halloran didn't bother to look toward the doorway. He had no wish to hurt this lumbering ape-man but at the same time it was too early in the day to be playing silly games. He stepped aside from the charge again and brought his knee up into the bent man's lower ribs, using only enough force to bruise and upset his victim's breathing for a while.

  Monk went down with a whoosh of escaping air and spittle from his open mouth. To give him credit, he immediately began to rise again, his face red and glowering. Resignedly, Halloran prepared to jab a pressure point in the man's neck to bring the contest to a swift and relatively harmless end.

  But Cora strode between them to confront Kline. "Put a stop to this, Felix," she demanded. "Right now."

  Halloran caught the brief flash of rage in the small man's eyes before it was suppressed, and Kline beamed a smile of the innocent.

  "Only a test, Cora," he all but simpered. "No harm done. I needed to know how good this guy was, that's all."

  "He wouldn't have been recommended to us if he wasn't any good," she replied, her tone modified by now. She turned to Halloran. "I'm so sorry, this should never have happened."

  Monk was clutching his sore ribs with one hand, looking from Halloran to Kline, awaiting further instructions.

  "Wait outside," Kline snapped, obviously displeased with his man's performance. Then, to Halloran as Monk left the room with less ease than he had entered: "You move pretty fast."

  "If he's your best, you've got problems," said Halloran.

  "Oh, he's not my best; he's my ox." Kline rose from the dais, a quick feline movement. His eyes seemed even darker than before and glistened with some inner thought. "No doubt there are matters you will have to discuss with Cora concerning my future safety. She's my personal assistant—no, much more than that—so feel free to confide in her absolutely. Now I need a shower; I'm beginning to stink."

  "You and I have a lot to go through," Halloran said to him.

  "Tell it to her. I need to rest." It was a command, and Halloran frowned.

  The girl touched his arm though, and he looked down at her. Kline was already walking away, heading toward a far corner of the room. He clicked a button on the unit he was still carrying, and a door that had been virtually invisible before slid back.

  "Felix really does need to rest for a while," Cora said as they watched him disappear through the opening. "His special gift often leaves him quite exhausted."

  Halloran had noticed the perspiration stain low at the back of Kline's sweatshirt as well as those beneath his arms, and his frown deepened. It was cool in the room, almost uncomfortably so. And when he had touched the small man in the darkness, Kline's skin had been cold.

  He remembered that moment, remembered the shudder that had run through him.

  For when his fingers had reached out and felt Kline's face in that total darkness, they had touched ridges and creases, dry, wrinkled skin that had no place on the features of a comparatively young man.

  Reason told him he must have been mistaken, the shock of the moment creating an illusion, the sudden blinding light instantly wiping the image from his mind.

  But now that thought—that feeling—had returned. And Kline, himself, had warned against reason.

  7

  KLINE'S PREMONITION

  Cora picked at the salad, her interest centered on Halloran rather than on the food before her. The riverside terrace was beginning to fill with office workers on early lunch break, the line weather after such a dreary winter proving an attraction. A pleasure boat filled with pink-faced tourists cruised by, the Thames a slaty blue again after months of sluggish grayness. New buildings lined the bank across the river alongside old decaying warehouses. There was still an edgy chill in the air, but it only served to make the new season more fresh, a cleanness in the breeze sweeping away the dregs of winter.

  Halloran was winding his way through the circular tables, holding the two drinks chest high to avoid nudging heads and shoulders of other diners.

  She watched and she was just a little afraid of him. The casual way in which he had dealt with Monk's aggression made her wonder how lethal he could be if the situation were desperate. Yet at first glance he seemed anything but a violent man. He was tall, but not massive, his body lean, certainly not muscle-bound. Even his clothes were casual, nothing sharp or self-conscious about them.

  That was at first glance. Take another look and notice the pale blue eyes, the warmth in them that could turn to a bleak coldness in an instant. She'd seen that happen when he'd been introduced to Felix. And Felix had been aware of it, too.

  That worried her, for Felix might need this enigmatic man, no matter what mutual dislike had already sprung up between them. There was something about Halloran's quiet strength that was totally reassuring: he was a man to feel safe with— unless you were his enemy.

  Cora thanked him with a smile as Halloran placed the gin and tonic in front of her; she deliberately left it there, aware that she'd taken the first one too fast (to Halloran's surprised amusement). His own was a whiskey with ice, and he put it to one side as he tucked into his ham salad. She tried a dismal attack on her own food once again but gave up after a few mouthfuls.

  "I don't seem to be very hungry today," she said, and wondered why it sounded like an apology. She lifted her glass and drank, finding the gin more sustaining than lettuce and cucumber.

  Halloran nodded and took a healthy sip of his whiskey to keep her company. His smile was gentle.

  "What part of Ireland were you bo
rn in, Mr. Halloran?" Cora asked, the sinking warmth from her second drink already beginning to relax her.

  "Call me Liam," he replied. "I wasn't born in Ireland. My parents were Irish, but I was born here in London, although I grew up in Kilkenny. My father was a captain in the British Army, and spent much of his time abroad while Mother and I stayed on my grandfather's farm."

  "And did you eventually join the army?"

  "It was a natural enough thing to do." He put down his knife and cut pieces of cheese with the edge of his fork. "I need to know a good deal about your employer, Miss Red-mile. His private life as well as business."

  "Cora."

  "Okay—Cora. Tell me about him. Tell me how long he's been your boss."

  "I joined Magma about five or six years ago, but I haven't worked for Felix all that time."

  He encouraged her with a nod.

  "Felix took me on as his PA three years ago. I don't know why. He saw me when I was delivering some documents to Sir Victor's office one day from my department on the sixteenth. The documents were urgent, and I interrupted their meeting. Apparently he asked about me, and the next thing I knew he'd put in a request to have me as an assistant. I wasn't even sure who he was at that time, although I'd heard rumors."

  "Rumors?"

  "Yes. No more than office gossip. Felix Kline's presence at Magma has never been official; you won't find his name mentioned in company papers, not even on a pay slip or tax statement."

  "Isn't that illegal?"

  "Not if he's never been employed by the Magma Corporation. As far as the outside world is concerned, he could just be paying rent for the penthouse suite."

  "Except I bet even that isn't on record," suggested Halloran.

  "The official resident is Sir Victor himself."

  "So Kline's role for the corporation really is that secret? Your board of directors is afraid that he'll be nabbed by the competition?"

  "More than that. There are over a hundred thousand shareholders of Magma, most of them UK-registered: imagine their reaction if they found out their corporation was guided by a mystic."

  "It's a relief to hear you say that. I was beginning to wonder if I was the one who was out of touch with modern business practices."

  Cora laughed and he was glad. She had been tense ever since she'd taken him away from the white room, as if the minor tussle she'd witnessed between himself and the heavy had upset her. Later, in the daylight, he'd noticed a faint darkness beneath her eyes, like smudges under the surface skin, the look of someone who'd recently found sleep difficult. Maybe she was concerned for her employer, worried because the danger to him was considered serious enough to warrant hiring a K & R agency, despite the fact that Kline already had his own bodyguards.

  "I gather—and this might sound naive given all I've learned so far today—that Kline has achieved fantastic results for Magma."

  "That's an understatement." Cora smiled at him before sipping from her glass.

  "When did the corporation discover his talents?" Halloran left his fork on the plate and leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the edge of the table. "I mean, just who approached who?"

  Now she avoided his eyes. "I'm not at liberty to say. I'm sorry, Liam, but my instructions are to supply you with information relevant only to your protection plans."

  "Is there a reason for that?"

  "The same reason that just one person—you—will be allowed to stay close to Felix: secrecy, discretion, call it what you like. The less people who know about Felix Kline, the easier Sir Victor and others will feel." She was suddenly anxious. "I'm not assuming too much, am I? You have accepted the assignment."

  "Oh yes," he replied softly, and again there was something disconcerting in his eyes when he smiled. "But there are certain ground rules he'll have to agree to." Halloran reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. "A simple list of dos and don'ts," he said, handing it to Cora. "Make sure he reads through it today. If Kline's willing to go by them, call Shield later this afternoon, talk to Mather."

  "And if Felix isn't willing?"

  "Then we've got problems. Possibly Shield will turn down the assignment."

  "May I see the list?"

  "Of course. You'll be part of the setup."

  Cora unfolded the sheet of paper and ran her eyes over the lines of type. She nodded her head. "It all seems straightforward enough."

  Halloran reached over and tapped the corner of the paper. "Point three there. Does Kline have a chauffeur?"

  "Yes. One of his bodyguards. Janusz Palusinski."

  "Is Palusinski familiar with antikidnap driving techniques?"

  "I . . . I don't know."

  "It's important."

  "I'm sorry, I really have no idea. Palusinski has been with Felix a lot longer than I have."

  "Okay. If he isn't he'll have to spend a day or so with one of Shield's drivers. He'll need to learn the handbrake turn, the reverse turn, how to break through a roadblock—that kind of thing. None of it's too difficult to master for an experienced driver. Until then, I'll do any driving for Kline."

  Cora looked down the list again. "Covert signals?" she asked.

  "We'll work out a system of identifying each other with code words. Handy for telephone conversations, knocking on doors, and the like. We'll arrange nonverbal signals too for emergencies where words either won't help or might put us at risk. Nothing fancy, just simple signs. There'll be other key words for use in a kidnap situation, words that will let us know if Kline is hurt, the number of abductors, maybe even clues to his location if he's aware of it himself. If he sticks to the rules there shouldn't be any need for those."

  Cora shivered, caught by a breeze skimming off the river. "This is scary," she said.

  "Sure it is. But that's how it should be—scary enough to keep you both on your toes."

  "That isn't very reassuring."

  "You're hiring my company for Kline's protection, not for giving false comfort. I've got to be frank with you, Cora: if an organization, be it terrorist or hoodlum, is out to get someone, it's virtually impossible to prevent them from at least making the attempt—and that's usually when people get hurt. We can only do our best to minimize the risk. But if it's any consolation, it's far easier to assassinate someone than it is to kidnap them."

  She visibly paled.

  Halloran leaned forward again and gripped her lower arm. "I didn't mean to alarm you. We are only talking about a kidnap-and-ransom situation here, aren't we? Nobody's threatened his life?"

  Cora slowly shook her head and Halloran withdrew his hand.

  "What is it, Cora? What's upsetting you? As I understand it, all we're going on is a 'feeling' Kline has that he's in some kind of danger, with no hard evidence of that really being the case."

  "You don't know Felix, you've no idea of his psychic ability. He has powers . . ." Her voice trailed off.

  "Yeah, I know—powers that are secret." Halloran looked away from her, toward the river. "Well that's between Magma and Kline. My only interest is protecting a man made of flesh and blood, someone as vulnerable as the rest of us. But if he knows something about this particular predicament he's in—or imagines he's in—he'd better tell me. What is it that's frightened him so much, Cora?"

  She bowed her head for a moment. Her fingers curled around the base of her gin glass, which was now empty; she twisted the glass, sunlight glistening off its rim. A group at a nearby table laughed at a shared joke. The microphone voice from a pleasure-boat guide drifted over the terrace parapet. Cora's fingers became still.

  "For the past week," she began, her voice low and hesitant, aware of the people around them, "Felix has been troubled by some kind of premonition. Nothing substantial, nothing he can recognize. A dream, a nightmare, one that he can never remember when he wakes. But he knows it's a warning to him, a precognition of sorts that won't fully reveal itself to him. It's made him distraught. No, more than that— Felix is terrified."

&
nbsp; "He didn't look that way to me," commented Halloran.

  "He'd never show those feelings to an outsider. Felix is a very private man."

  "You're telling me he's had a premonition of his own death?"

  She gave a shake of her head. "No. No, something worse than that."

  A shadow fell across the table, startling them both. A barman collected their empty glasses, transferring them to a tray of others.

  "Lovely day," the barman said, turning away without waiting for a reply.

  The girl looked across at Halloran. She said nothing more.

  8

  BODYGUARDS

  Snaith wasn't happy.

  "You mean Magma is going to all this bother because their man—this chap Kline—has had a premonition of some sort?" He glared at Halloran as though it were his fault.

  Halloran himself seemed preoccupied. He scratched the back of his fingers against his jaw. "That's how it is," he said.

  Snaith rested back in his chair, one hand still on the desk, fingers drumming a beat. "Ludicrous," he pronounced.

  "Not to the corporation," said Mather, sitting in an easy-chair opposite Halloran, his bad leg stretched out before him. Now and again during the briefing and planning meeting he would absentmindedly rub his kneecap as if to ease the pain of the old wound. "They have great faith in this man's ability; I don't think it's for us to dismiss his foreboding so lightly."

  Dieter Stuhr, sitting at one end of the Controller's desk, tapped the blunt end of his pencil against the large notepad in front of him. "Personally, I don't see how that affects us anyway. What goes on between Kline and the Magma Corporation is their affair. We should treat this like any other job."

  "Of course you're right," agreed Snaith, "but this business bothers me. It's"—he shook his head, frustrated—"it's not logical. What kind of man is he, Liam?"

  "Changeable," came the reply. "I'd say he's highly unstable—neurotic, in fact. He's going to be a problem."