Necroscope: Invaders (Necroscope #11)

Necroscope: Invaders (Necroscope #11) Page 32

... Before The StormIt was almost as dark inside the casino when Santeson re-entered the place. Some electrical failure, which had taken out most of the lights, and no one left to fix it. But even if it was black as night in there he would know where to find Milan's minders.Surrounding the Pleasure Dome's central spindle, six elevators formed a hexagonal tube of glass and stainless steel. Four of these serviced the casino's upper levels, excluding Milan's bubble. The fifth was for the use of casino personnel only and gave access to the basement and the almost literally bomb-proof Fort Knox-like accountancy vaults. As for number six: that was exclusive to the persons of Milan himself, his minders, and anyone else who he might choose to entertain, either in the bubble or in certain unknown regions in the belly of the place.But associates? Visitors?

Huh! Damn few of those! Santeson thought as he approached the central area where, sure enough, Milan's bouncers were waiting to intercept him. Flanking an elevator door marked PRIVATE (the door to Milan's elevator, of course), they were seated in pink-marbled leather armchairs beside slender, urn-shaped ashtrays. But as Santeson came hurrying between the unlit rows of sullenly silent slots, so the minders came smoothly yet indolently to their feet, and stood side by side, their arms folded on their chests, like a matching pair of eunuchs.

Their expressions remained blank, but the positions they had adopted said it all: they were blocking the elevator doors.

Santeson shook his head, wondering, What is it with these two? Apart from Milan himself, they were the only ones who had keys to that subterranean level housing what Santeson supposed would be sumptuous apartments. His key would only take him up, not down. But in any case he wasted no time in argument; these zombies always reacted precisely the same way no matter who it was who approached these doors.

'I have to see Mr Milan,' he told them. 'And I have to see him now. So don't go fucking me about, because it's too important.' They looked at him, then at each other, and back to Santeson. And he looked at them.They could be twins, he thought, and changed his mind. No, it wasn't that they looked like brothers but that they had like looks. The way they stood there  -  smartly outfitted, well-built six-footers in their mid- to late-twenties, with sallow complexions that looked sort of grey in this indoor dusk  -  they could almost be tailor's dummies, motionless yet somehow threatening. Only their eyes moved, and their eyes ... were weird!Santeson was sure he'd never noticed it before, but now he saw a kind of yellowish, almost feral luminosity in those eyes. It must be the light, or lack of it, and he was further galvanized by that thought.'Look,' he said, 'all shit could break loose any time now, and Mr Milan has got to be told about it. Now, I don't want to see him on my own ... hey, boys, if you're that concerned over security, you can escort me! I mean, you'll have to go with me anyway, 'cos I don't know where he is or how to get there. But you do. And believe me, if you don't take me to him right now, tomorrow you could be out of work ...'And then, losing it a little when their expressions didn't change: 'Er, helloP' he said. 'I mean, am I getting through to you, or would you like me to draw some pictures? Maybe your on-switches are off or something, or I don't know the secret code that could lead us to a basis for some kind of mutual, kindergarten understanding!'But in fact he had never had anything of an 'understanding' with them, not with these two. The rest of the Pleasure Dome's workers were regular folks, but these two ... everyone avoided them like the plague. Hah, even an Asiatic plague! Santeson thought.It was a funny thing, because when they had come here looking for jobs a couple of months ago, they had seemed like regular people, too. But now: they never strayed far from the elevators, and Milan wouldn't go anywhere without them. But come to think of it, he never went anywhere much anyway! And there was the same kind of look about him, too. So maybe they were blood relatives, but Santeson didn't think so.Finally one of them spoke. 'Mr Santeson/ he said. 'We've already told you three or four times  -  Mr Milan won't see you. He isn't seeing anybody. He's expecting a busy night and wants to get some rest. If we take you to him, it won't be you he'll get mad with  -  we'll be in trouble. So why don't you take some good advice, and ...' Pausing in mid-sentence, he gave a small but violent start, and a facial tic began jerking the flesh at the corner of his mouth. Then his face took on an odd attitude of listening.From the first word out of the minder's mouth, the spidery Santeson had backed off a pace ... mainly from his breath! The man had the worst case of crotch- or armpit-mouth that the private detective had ever come across. His breath was so vile it literally stank like a cesspit, or maybe like a slaughterhouse? And now this. He stood there as if he'd been struck dumb, with his head turned a little on one side and his strange eyes rapidly blinking. But what was bothering him? What was he listening to?

It lasted for maybe twelve to fifteen seconds, until suddenly he gave his head a shake and straightened up. And smiling in a twitchy, nervous sort of way, he said, 'Mr Milan will see you now. We're to take you to him.' His eyes had stopped blinking.

Earphone! Santeson thought. Direct communication with the boss. This guy is wired, definitely, and in more ways than one! But at least it gets the job done.

The other minder thumbed the button and the elevator doors opened. Santeson got in and the goons followed on. Then the one with the earphone used his key, and the glass cage descended  -  down past the basement level, then to a sub-basement level (the last stop marked on the internal indicator) ... where to Santeson's surprise the elevator didn't stop! Not until the next sub-level, which wasn't even registered on the indicator. And Santeson had to admire the brilliance of it, for anyone who wasn't wise to the system wouldn't even know that this nethermost level existed.The elevator had lights, but as the doors hissed open Santeson saw that the corridor outside didn't. Well, it did, but so low-key, so subdued, he might easily be in some ultra-low-class Hong Kong brothel."This way,' said one of the minders ... and something else that had been niggling at Santeson at once crystallized. It was their voices. Voices that rumbled out of them; they coughed, or growled, their words. They fired them at you; speech came bursting from them, literally impacting on you, or at least that was how it felt. Up in the casino, in some kind of decent light, the effect was lessened  -  lessend by the light, maybe, the accustomed surroundings  -  but down here in the near-darkness ...... It was like these people belonged down here in the dark. Almost as if they were made for it.The minders led the way. Santeson couldn't complain about that; it was oddly reassuring to have these two in front of him and not behind. But he'd only taken a few paces when he stumbled. And now that his eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom he saw why, and also why the place had reminded him of a brothel. It was the lighting.The corridor was lit by a string of small red light bulbs, well spaced-out on a cable that was hooked up to a low ceiling. But the ceiling was of stone, likewise the walls and the floor. Natural stone, hewn stone. And this wasn't a corridor at all  -  except in the most primitive sense of the word  -  but a tunnel. A tunnel carved from the bedrock, and the floor was ridged and uneven.OSo? Santeson asked himself. What did you expect down here? You go far enough down and there's rock, for Christ's sake! And as he stumbled a second time:'Mind the floor/ one of the minders grunted, half-turning to glance back at him.Only half-turning, but Santeson got a glimpse of his eyes. And he saw that they burned like sulphur in the dark! He began to panic, and immediately got a grip on himself. It had to be a chemical reaction, some kind of gas down here. For all he knew, his eyes might be burning yellow, tool Or perhaps  -  again perhaps  -  it was the lights. Like those fluorescent lights in the disco, that made his false front teeth glow.'How f-far is it?' he heard himself say. A stupid question, stupidly put. How long is a piece of string? But for no reason at all that he could give name too, Santeson's nerve was going, and all of the smart talk lay dead in him. And in front, one of Milan's minders chuckled like a file on broken glass, and answered:'Not very f-far at all!'The walls had widened out, disappeared into gloom; the ceiling was higher, and the light correspondingly dimmer. Ahead of Santeson, the broad backs of the minders were twin black silhouettes, moving unerringly, relentlessly through the darkness and leading him on like ...... Like what?

For suddenly, out of nowhere, there was this picture in his mind of a lamb with a noose round its neck, and in his nostrils a waft of slaughterhouse breath that stung like a slap. And as he tried to shut these scenes and sensations out, still he wondered: How do these people see in the dark?

'Now be very careful how you go,' one of them said, and his voice echoed in what was obviously a large space, but one that was filled with a powerful musk and a strange rustling. And his colleague advised:'Step where we step.''I can't see a f-fucking thing!' Santeson husked, his voice a whisper in the darkness.Abruptly, the minders paused, so that he almost bumped into them; they looked at each other questioningly, then turned as a man to Santeson. And: 'Would you like to?' One of them coughed a query.'Eh?' Santeson stood there trembling. 'L-like t-to?''Would you like to see a f-fucking Thing?' said the minder, tilting his head in inquiry, his face gaping into such a grin as Santeson just couldn't believe.'Lights,' said his partner, moving swiftly  -  with a flowing motion  -  away into the darkness.'Camera,' said the one with the yawning cavern mouth, giving Santeson a small push in a certain direction. And:'Action!' came the other's gurgling answer from some short distance away.Santeson's balance was shot anyway. Weak as a baby, stumbling away from the one who had pushed him, he flailed his arms, fought to stay on his feet. But then he stepped on something  -  something that writhed or slithered underfoot  -  and at the same time was momentarily blinded as several neon tubes in the ceiling buzzed into life.After that... madness!Santeson no longer believed any of this. It had to be dazzle from the sudden glare, or his imagination, or anything. But it couldn't be real. What lapped at his feet ... that couldn't be real. And what humped in one corner of the cave, tossing and heaving ... that wouldn't interface with reality at all -  - Until it looked at him and said, 'H-h-help meeeee!' And then he knew it was real!As his eyes rolled up and he flopped, so the minders were there beside him, taking him under the arms, bearing his weight as easily as if he were a child. Tall, thin and spidery as Santeson was, his knees scraped along the stony floor as they bore him up and away, out of the cave of the seething Thing, to Malinari...Three hours earlier:Crouching low under the circular shimmer of the jet-copter's fan, and calling Jake's name, Liz Merrick was buffeted by a blistering whirlwind of heat where she ran across the helipad to where Chopper Two was making ready to take off. Jake shouldn't have been able to hear her over the high-pitched whining of the engine and vanes, but he 'heard' her anyway.Sliding a gunner's door halfway open, he clung to a strap, leaned out and down, and took the fluttering envelope that she passed up to him. And with a last long look into her eyes, seeing the pain in them, he felt the slight tremor that warned of imminent take-off and closed the door to the merest crack. The chopper lifted off, rose up and turned once, slowly, through a hundred and eighty degrees.Liz came back into view. She'd moved into a safe position at the edge of the helipad and was waving up at him. He opened the door a fraction more, waved back. But then, as the chopper gained altitude, keeled on its side a little and headed north, she was lost to sight.Jake closed the door and took his seat beside Lardis Lidesci. And thinking hard  -  thinking about Liz, and thinking at her  -  he said:Take care of yourself, Liz. You be sure to take very good care of yourself.You too, she told him, quite clearly. And also: / ... I'm sorry, Jake.

It was in Jake's mind to ask her what about, but since he believed he already knew, there wasn't much point in it. Moreover, he knew that it wasn't her fault, that she really didn't have anything to be sorry about. It was the job that kept coming between them  -  Ben Trask and E-Branch  -  and E-Branch would always come first.

But a picture of Liz stayed in his mind  -  her night-black hair, cut in that boyish bob; her intelligent, sea-green eyes; her curves, of course, and her smile like a ray of bright light  -  standing there at the edge of the helipad, waving, and gradually dwindling into the distance. And despite that it was all in his mind's eye, Jake knew that in fact she was still there, watching the jet-copter right out of sight.

He had put the envelope in his pocket. Now, as the rumble of the chopper's jets took over and he felt forward acceleration, he took it out to read what Liz had written on the single leaf of paper that was folded inside. But as he unfolded it:'From Liz?' Lardis grunted.'Mind your own business,' Jake answered.'She thinks a lot of you.''That cuts both ways,' said Jake. 'Can you read our language?''Some,' said Lardis. 'When it's printed. But handwriting? Not a chance. It looks like spider shit to me!''Good!' said Jake. And despite the Old Lidesci's sideways squint, he read what was written:Jake-It's a bit late, but you asked me to remind you of a name  -  the name was KORATH. You may not remember it, but if you do you'll probably think I'm a treacherous bitch. If so, well, there's not much that I can do about it. But it seemed to me you thought this was pretty important. And since we don't know what's coming, it could be a question of now or never, my one chance to put things straight -  - Or to mess them up completely. I care for you more than you know, and a lot more than circumstances have let me show.Please take care. Liz.

Jake read it through again. Korath? The name rang a bell, but it was a far and almost forgotten clamour. Something he'd dreamed? Well, that was what she was talking about, obviously: the fact that she'd been snooping on him again, when he slept. But so what? It was her job and he would simply have to learn to accept it  -  and Liz would have to learn to accept whatever she found in there, in his subconscious mind, like it or not.His recurrent nightmare? Well that would explain yesterday's coolness, certainly. But Korath ... ?Again Jake heard the ringing of that distant bell  -  perhaps a warning bell? And this time more insistently  -  and he frowned as he tried to recall whatever it meant back into the focus of his memory. Was it something that he'd dreamed?Jake had read a few things about dreams, and he knew that to many others they were of special significance. To him, however, dreams had usually been trivial, easily forgotten things, the scurf or sloughed-off skin of more fully fleshed-out ideas and concepts from his waking hours. And he wondered: How often does a man retain detailed memories of what he dreams, and for how long?Nightmares were one thing (for they left lasting impressions, if only through the emotion of fear), but common or garden dreams? And again he thought: Korath? But this time it was a very deliberate thought, and unguarded.And it was deadspeak.Immediately there was someone  -  or some Thing  -  there in his mind. Shadows sprang into being, and It came with them.You called! said a glutinous voice that was both surprised and pleased, causing Jake to start. And you remembered. But how much have you remembered? It's all there, Jake, just waiting to come back to you. But I feel your sense of shock  -  the way you recoil from me  -  and I wonder, do you really remember? What is it, Jake? Why did you call out to me?

'What in the name of...!?' said Jake, and at once, instinctively, brought mental barriers crashing down to shut whatever it was  -  this thing, this Other, this Korath  -  out of his mind.

The other fled or was banished at once, and Jake heard himgo: his frustrated cry of rage, denial, as he disappeared into the deadspeak aether:

No, Jake, no! Don't send me away! You'll know soon enough how much you need me. And you must always remember: I have the numbers! I have the numbers, Jake, and I know the waaayyy!

Then he was gone ...'Eh?' said Lardis, staring hard at Jake, at a face turned pale and gaunt. 'Eh, what? Is there something? You gave a start just then. You said something. And the way you look ...' But:'Shhh!' Jake shook his head, concentrated, and remembered! Remembered it all, but most of all that he'd almost made a deal with a vampire. And he remembered something else: Harry Keogh's warning, that even a dead vampire is a dangerous thing that you should never, ever, let into your mind!'You look peculiar,' said the Old Lidesci.Jake looked at him, swallowed hard, and slowly got a grip of himself. 'It was ... it was nothing,' he said. 'Nothing that I want to talk about now, anyway. Later, maybe  -  to Liz and Ben Trask  -  when tonight's business is over.'And between times ... he dug out a ballpoint and began to make shaky notes on Liz's scrap of paper.For while he still hadn't quite come to terms with everything that was happening to him, and whether or not this latest manifestation was some kind of daydream, mental quirk, evidence of a dual personality, or whatever, still Jake knew that it was something he must remember in detail, something that he really couldn't afford to forget...Chopper Two disembarked its task force in Gladstone and refuelled. Earlier that day, three SAS men had made the long drive up to Gladstone to check that all was in order with the coastguard vessel. Now the two units met up for a final briefing.The attack on the island would be two-pronged. Along with WO II Joe Davis and four NCOs, Jake and Lardis Lidesci would be airborne; four more NCOs would be in the boat.

Zero Hour  -  the time scheduled for the launch of simultaneous attacks on both the Capricorn Group island and the mountain resort of Xanadu  -  had been set for 6:30 p.m. The weather was good and the sea flat calm, and with just ninety minutes to go to Zero Hour, the boat cast off.And an hour later, with the light failing as the sun sank down behind the Great Dividing Range, Chopper Two got airborne again ...At the same time, at the Brisbane flying club, Chopper One was warming up ready to go. Ben Trask and the SAS Major, joint operational commanders, were in a hangar using a radio in one of the vehicles. The precog lan Goodly, Liz Merrick, and the rest of the SAS men were trooping out to the jet-copter, their combat suits fluttering in the bluster of disturbed night air that stank of hot exhaust fumes.At 6:15 Trask transmitted: 'Callsigns One, Two, and Three, signals  -  over?'And the answers came back: 'One, okay  -  over,' (the locator David Chung's voice, from the Xanadu approach road).'Two, okay  -  over,' (Joe Davis's voice from Chopper Two).'Three, okay  -  over,' (the senior NCO on the boat).'Sitreps/ said Trask.And three identical answers came back one after the other: 'On schedule, and all systems are go.''Synchronizing watches,' said Trask, then waited a second. 'Set your watches to 6:17. I say again figures sixer, one, seven. Counting down, I now have  -  three, two, one, zero  -  6:17 precisely. Good hunting, and good luck. Over?''Roger that, and out,' (from the same three sources). And:'Let's go,' said Trask. He and the Major ran out under the gleaming vanes of the jet-copter and boarded her. Moments later she took off and headed south for Xanadu ...

In Chopper One Trask had just minutes left to talk to Liz, lan Goodly, and the Major. 'I'm concerned/ he said. 'There's something wrong and I don't know what it is. It's a feeling that  -  I don't know  -  that everything we've done or we're trying to do is somehow misguided, as if we're on the wrong track, or we've been misled, or there's something we've overlooked.''That sounds like your talent at work, Ben,' said the precog. And then he sighed. 'Well, I'm glad that someone's talent is working!''And you?' Trask looked at him. 'Nothing?''Just trouble,' Goodly sighed again. 'Just problems, frustration, confusion. But as you know, I can't force it; it comes when it comes. But in your case ... is it anything specific?''No,' Trask shook his head. 'So it seems we're in the same boat  -  or airplane! It's a.feeling, that's all. I had it today up at the observation post on the mountain road. When I looked up the road, toward Xanadu ... it was all so quiet, so normal. Perhaps too quiet, too normal.''A lie?''More like I was deceiving myself,' said Trask. 'This is a covert operation, but it didn't feel like one. Especially after that incident with Liz's watcher.' He glanced at her  -  a guilty look, she thought  -  and said, 'I should have paid more attention to you.''But I wasn't that sure myself,' Liz said. 'And anyway, I'm the new kid on the block; I could have been wrong.''That's what I mean/ said Trask. 'We all have our talents, and I should have listened to yours. If we had turned back and I had seen that fellow, I would have known at once. But we didn't, and I didn't. I blame myself.'At which the Major, looking more than a little concerned, came in with: 'Miss, gentlemen, I have some difficulty following you  -  these skills of yours, you understand  -  but are you saying the operation is in jeopardy?'

Trask shook his head, then changed his mind and said: 'Any operation concerning these creatures is hazardous. But we have to go in, no matter what. It's all set up, and we mightn't get a better chance. But with our weapons, and providing everyone remembers the drills, I can't see what can go wrong.'Liz glanced at her watch. 'Five minutes/ she said. And as at a signal the intercom began buzzing.The pilot was on the earphones saying: 'Message from Callsign One. The mindsmog has been "awake" but more or less static for some time. Now it's on the move, but only locally. Callsign One is also mobile. His ETA the target area is five minutes.'Trask answered, 'Tell him roger that. We'll see him there, and not to forget his nose-plugs.' Then, turning to the bulk of the helicopter party, 'And you mustn't forget yours.'They hadn't forgotten. Aerosol sprays were hissing; a fine garlic mist filled the air, settling on everyone's clothing; it was almost a pleasure to insert filter plugs like fat cigarette tips deep into their nostrils ...In Xanadu, from a position some two hundred feet up the almost sheer rock wall of the mountainside, Lord Malinari of the Wamphyri looked down on the sprawling dark cobweb of the deserted resort, and at the single road that wound its serpentine route up the steep mountain contours to Xanadu's gates.Malinari's vantage point was a roughly-hewn 'room' carved from the solid rock at the head of a natural chimney. When Xanadu was being built, it had been Jethro Manchester's intention to create a special entertainment here. There was to have been a ski-lift or cable-car from the gardens up to this point, and a series of aquachutes back down to the pools. The chimney had been fitted with a spiralling service- and/or emergency-staircase behind a facade constructed to match the flanking cliffs, so disguising the chimney's vertical fault, and work had commenced on this room or landing stage. At which point technical difficulties had caused the project to be abandoned.

Now the chimney was Lord Malinari's bolthole from Xanadu. From this window he would fly out on the night

wind, and glide down to a place in which he had long since secreted a cache of clothing, money and other necessaries to speed him on his way to his next venture. But not before he ensured that the chase ended here, and that this E-Branch had suffered such losses as to finish it forever, or at least slow it down until his, Vavara's, and Szwart's greater scheme was brought into play ...Malinari looked down on Xanadu and smiled a hideous smile. If only he could be down there to see the mayhem. But that way he might find himself caught up in all of the destruction, and that was out of the question. As for Xanadu itself:Oh, he might bemoan a very little the waste of this place ... but not for very long. For the world was a wider place far, and his plans of conquest of far greater scope.A shame that his 'garden' with its special 'crop' must be discovered  -  especially now that it had been nourished so recently. Or then again, perhaps it would not be found; for it was after all hidden away, in the subterranean darkness that suited it so very well. In which case it would lie there, all unattended and dormant for now, only to flourish later in its own good time. For what Malinari had seeded would not die unless it were put down, deliberately and utterly destroyed. Ah, the tenacity of the Great Vampire, and of his works!As for the last of Malinari's human watchdogs: the spiderlike, gangling Garth Santeson was by now no more. He had served his purpose the moment he warned of E-Branch's arrival here, an intrusion that Malinari had been expecting ever since his lieutenant Bruce Trennier died the true death some few days ago far in the western desert, and of which he'd had warning apart from and since Trennier's demise, not alone from Garth Santeson.

A warning, aye, and delivered by a seeming idiot! But even an idiot may have his uses. Malinari had certainly found a good use for that one ...

But poor Trennier, the manner of his passing. Malinari remembered it well, those last few moments of the man's miserable life: the faithful servant crying his agonies, and Malinari the Mind, the master, feeling something of those agonies even here, in Xanadu:

The/ire! That awesome, all-consuming, withering fire that melted even metamorphic flesh, exploded bone, liquefied sinew, and reduced all to ashes! It had lasted a while  -  the pain, too, Trennier's pain  -  until Malinari had been obliged to shut it out of his mind. But through the jet of blistering heat that stripped Trennier's flesh from his body and finally blinded and destroyed him, Malinari had recognized some of the faces of his lieutenant's tormentors. The face of Ben Trask, remembered from the mind ofZek Foener, and that of lan Goodly, yet another man of weird talents ...

But if only Malinari had had longer with the Foener woman. There had been so much more that he might have learned (such as the nature of their skills, these men of esoteric talents), and so very much more that he would have enjoyed ... of that beautiful woman herself, perhaps, and not only her mind.Well, too late for that now  -  too late from the moment he hurled her down that shaft into oblivion  -  but at least he had fathomed something of the dangers of this world. Especially the greatest danger of all, which was E-Branch.And now they had found him ... as he had known they would, against which inevitability he'd long since taken ingenious and even marvellous precautions.On a board bolted to the wall close to Malinari's 'window' (which was simply a large hole in the moulded concrete facade), a master switch stood in the 'off position beside a series of smaller electrical switches set in a roughly oblong array. The array was a precise match for Xanadu itself, its concentric pattern of switches duplicating the cobweb design of the resort in the gloom of the mountain saddle.Now, waiting there in his secret bolthole, Malinari threw the master switch. There was a low, answering hum of power, but nothing more. And his slender fingers were impatient where they fluttered over the smaller switches  -  those electrical messengersof instantaneous death  -  as he gloatingly rehearsed a certain sequence:'First the outer chalets, to close them in. Then the inner structures, to catch them where they run. And when finally they think they have me "trapped" in my night-dark dome ...' His hand trembled with pent anticipation over the central switch.'A pleasure dome, aye. But for my pleasure, not theirs!'He laughed a coughing laugh, long and low ... then paused abruptly. Down there, coming into view along the approach road toward Xanadu's gates: a vehicle. The night was dark now  -  but night and darkness were Malinari's greatest allies  -  and that vehicle with its lowered, carefully probing lights; the coiled-spring tension in its vengeful passengers!Malinari sensed it, their human bloodlust  -  or what passed for bloodlust in men  -  and laughed again. Bloodlust? Why, Nephran Malinari had pissed thicker blood than coursed through the veins of whelps such as these!And with his telepathic probes concentrating on the vehicle, he felt what its occupants felt:Fear, of the Great Unknown that was Malinari. Oh, he recognized and relished it! Primal fear of the night and what the night might bring, its roots burrowing like worms in every human fibre, revenant of cavern-dwelling ancestors. Fear in the face of an alien threat, the menace of the blood-beast!But tempering the fear, holding it at bay, there was also a wall of grim determination. And bolstering that blind determination, the sure knowledge of vastly superiorfirepower.Oh, really ... ?

And again Malinari laughed, but a second later hissed and grimaced, and clasped his handsomely alien head in wildly trembling hands. It was the pain  -  those lightning-flashes of terrible pain which ever accompanied any excessive use of his mentalism  -  the pain that came from searching out or listening to the thoughts of so many others, and of suffering the tumult of their massed emotions, their thronging dreams and fancies. For weirdly mutated minds were gathering here now, and the greater their talents the more piercing the pain in his head.Cursing vividly, in the tongue of Starside, Malinari swiftly withdrew his probes. And as the pain receded, so he relaxed a little and gave vent once more to strained, broken laughter.But strained? And broken?He had thought often enough about that before  -  even Malinari  -  finding cause to wonder: The laughter of a madman? Well, perhaps it was at that, though he preferred to think of himself as merely ... eccentric? And anyway, what of it? When a man is unique, surely he has a right to such small idiosyncrasies ...Drawing him back from his musing, the fading pounding in Malinari's temples was suddenly matched by a stuttering in the sky: the mechanical throbbing of jets, as their power diverted to whirling, fanlike vanes. And though momentarily startled  -  sufficiently so that he lifted his crimson gaze to the dragonfly shape that blurred the stars  -  still he felt no real concern or threat. His plans were laid, and every eventuality had been anticipated. Even this one.Down in the gardens, in front of the casino, that was the most obvious of the few places where the jet-copter could land. But it was also one of the many places that Malinari had mined. And:Hah! So be it! he thought. Now let this game commence.

The car at the gate issued a single man; equipped with a heavy, deadly automatic weapon, he crouched low and ran to the small, open-fronted chalet that housed reception. A rearguard, of course; also a guard against anyone trying to escape. These guileless fools! No one would be trying to 'escape' from Xanadu  -  well, except for these ridiculous invaders themselves! As for Malinari quitting the place ... but that was the plan! And in any case, what would it serve to stay? When this was all over, there would be nothing left to stay for.

And now the flying machine was settling towards the garden, its searchlight beams flickering over the dark casino, the chalets, the pools. And suddenly the car's lights were blazing bright, lighting the way as it sped to its rendezvous.Its rendezvous with certain death ... but not just yet.First let Trask and these E-Branch people taste something of what they had brought down on themselves when, of their own free will, they had chosen to pursue Nephran Malinari.Lord Malinari, aye, of the Wamphyyrrriiii!The coastguard vessel made smoke where she lolled port-side on to the narrow strip of sandy beach that fronted Jethro Manchester's island. Apparently crippled, she rocked this way and that in the gentle wavelets of the night surf. On her starboard side, hidden by the cabin, an SAS man aimed his flame-thrower at the sky and fired short-lived bursts of flame above the cabin's roof. As viewed from the island, it would seem for certain that the ruddily lit boat was on fire; even as her keel bit into the sand, so a signal flare made a starburst high in the sky.Also in the sky, but not so very high now  -  indeed, wheeling in low over the ocean's horizon  -  Chopper Two's pilot saw the starburst and told his crew:'We're over the island. I can see the boat "burning" down there, and the lights of the villa in the trees. So this is it. Jump to it as soon as we touch down. I'll be airborne and waiting for you when you get done. You can whistle me down. I mean, you know how to whistle, don't you? Good luck, guys!'Dark figures were running up the beach as the chopper came down, and a faint waft of garlic tainted the night air ...