Wamphyri

‘There are several things I not liking here,' Krakovitch told Quint in a little while. ‘At first I am thinking that fat man back there is simply stupid, but now not being so sure. And this business with the electricity — all very strange. Sergei finds and fixes that which they could not —and he does it quickly and without difficulty. Which would seem to make our fat friend at the checkpoint not only stupid but incompetent!'

‘You think we were deliberately delayed?' Quint felt an uneasy, dark oppressiveness settling all around him, like a positive weight on his head and shoulders.

‘That telephone call he got just now,' Krakovitch mused. ‘The Commissioner for Frontier Control, in Moscow? I never heard of him! But I suppose he must exist. Or must he? One commissioner, controlling all of the thousands of crossing points into the Soviet Union? So, I assume he exists. Which is meaning that Ivan Gerenko got in touch with him, in the dead of night, and that he then personally called up this little fat official in his stupid sentry-box of a control hut — all in ten minutes!'

‘Who knew we were coming through here tonight?' Quint, in his way of going to the root of things, asked the most obvious question.

‘Eh?' Krakovitch scratched behind his ear. ‘We knew it, of course, and —'

‘And?'

‘And my Second in Command at the Château Bro

‘Then, while I dislike saying it,' said Quint, ‘if there is something fu

Krakovitch gave a disbelieving snort, shook his head. ‘But why? What reason?'

Quint shrugged. ‘You have to know him better than I do. Is he ambitious? Could he have been got at — and by whom? But remember, we did have that trouble in Genoa, and didn't you remark how surprised you were that the KGB were trailing you? Your explanation was that they'd probably had you under constant surveillance

— until we put a stop to it, anyway. But just let's suppose there is an enemy in your camp. Did Gerenko know you were meeting us in Italy?'

‘Apart from Brezhnev himself — through an intermediary who ca

Quint said nothing, merely shrugged again and raised an eyebrow.

‘I am thinking,' said Krakovitch slowly, ‘that from now on I tell no one how I moving until after the move is completed!' He looked at Quint, saw his troubled frown. ‘Is there something else?'

Quint pursed his lips. ‘Let's just say this Gerenko fellow is a plant, a spy in your organisation. Am I right in thinking he can only be working for the KGB?'

‘For Andropov, yes. Almost certainly.'

‘Then Gerenko must think you're a complete fool!'

‘Oh? Why do you say so? In fact he thinks most men are fools. He fears no one, Gerenko, and so can afford to think so. But I? No, I believe I am one of the few men who he respects — or used to.'

‘Used to,' Quint nodded. ‘But no more. Surely he must know you'll work all of this out for yourself given a little time? Theo Dolgikh in Genoa, and now this shambles at the Romano-Soviet border? Unless he himself is an idiot,

Gerenko must know he's for the high-jump as soon as you get back to Moscow!'

Sergei Gulharov had managed to understand most of this. Now he spoke to Krakovitch in a soft, rapid burst of Russian.

‘Hah!' Krakovitch's shoulders jerked in a humourless chuckle. For a moment he was silent, then he said, ‘Perhaps Sergei is smarter than all of us. And if he is, then we're in for trouble.'

‘Oh?' said Quint. ‘What did Sergei say?'

‘He said, perhaps Comrade Gerenko feels that he can now afford to be a little slipshod. Perhaps he isn't expecting to see me again in Moscow! And as for you, Carl — we just crossed the border and you're in Russia.'

‘I know,' Quint quietly answered. ‘And I must say, I don't exactly feel at home.'

‘Strangely,' Krakovitch nodded, ‘neither do I!'

Nothing more was said until they reached Chernovtsy. .

Chapter Fifteen

Back in London at INTESP HO, Guy Roberts and Ken Layard had traced Alec Kyle, Carl Quint and Yulian Bodescu. The Devon-based team of espers had travelled back to the capital by train, leaving Ben Trask to mend in the Torquay hospital. Having used the journey to catch up on some sleep, they'd got into HO just before midnight. Layard had roughly ‘located' the three figures in question, and Roberts had attempted to scry their whereabouts a little more precisely. Desperation had seemingly honed their talents and the familiarity of their surroundings had helped them to get results — of a sort.

Now Roberts held a briefing: in attendance were Layard, John Grieve, Harvey Newton, Trevor Jordan, and three others who were permanent members of the HO's staff. Roberts was red-eyed, unshaven and itchy; his breath reeked of an endless chain of cigarettes. He glanced around the table and nodded to each man in turn, then got straight into it.

‘We've been trimmed back a bit,' he said, untypically phlegmatic. ‘Kyle and Quint are out of it, perhaps permanently; Trask is banged up a bit; Darcy Clarke's up north, and... and then there's poor Simon Gower. And the result of our outing? Our job isn't only that much harder, it's that much more important! Yes, and we've less men to do it. We could certainly use Harry Keogh now — but Alec Kyle was Keogh's main man, and Alec's not here. And as well as the danger we know exists — out there, loose — there's now a second problem which could be just as big. Namely, the espers of the Soviet E-Branch have got Kyle on ice at the Château Bro

This was news to everyone except Layard. Lips tightened and heartbeats stepped up. Ken Layard took up the briefing. ‘We're pretty sure he's there,' he said. ‘I located him — I think — but only with the greatest difficulty. They've got espers blocking everything in there, far more concentrated than we've ever known it before. The place is a mental miasma!'

‘That's a fact,' Roberts nodded. ‘I tried to pin-point him, get a picture of him — and failed miserably! Just a general mind-smog. Which doesn't bode at all well for Alec. If his being there was all above board, they'd have nothing to hide. Also, he's not supposed to be there at all but here. My guess is, they'll be milking him for all he's worth. And for all we're worth. If I'm cold-blooded about it, believe me it's only to save time.'

‘What about Carl Quint?' John Grieve put the question. ‘How's he faring?'

‘Carl's where he should be,' Layard said. ‘Near as I can make out, in a place called Chernovtsy under the Carpathians. Whether he's there willingly is another matter.'

‘But we think willingly,' Roberts added. ‘I've managed to reach and see him, however briefly, and I think he's with Krakovitch. Which only serves to confuse things further. If Krakovitch is straight up, then why is Kyle in trouble?'

‘And Bodescu?' Newton asked. He now felt he had a personal vendetta with the vampire.

‘That bastard is heading north,' Roberts grimly answered. ‘It could be coincidence, but we don't think so. Ultimately, we think he's after the Keogh child. He knows everything, knows the guiding force behind our organisation. Bodescu has been hit, and now he wants to hit back. The one mind in this entire world which is an authority on vampires — particularly Yulian Bodescu — is housed in that child. That has to be his target.'

‘We don't know how he's travelling,' Layard carried on. ‘Public transport? Could be. He could even be thumbing lifts! But he's certainly not in any sort of hurry. He's just taking it easy, taking his time. He got into Birmingham an hour ago, since when he's been static. We think he's put up for the night. But it's the same story as before: