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Something bumped into him and he turned with a start。 McGuire…he thought it was McGuire in the dismal light…was also watching the lake； his mouth working loosely as though he had lost the power of speech。
A scream and they saw their two panions were in the water up to their shoulders。
'Help them！' Danny yelled； scrabbling forward。 He noticed that the Armalite was gone and swore at the frightened subordinate who had dropped it。 Another of his men was closer and was leaning over； stretching an arm out to the two in the water。
But everyone stopped when whiteness flooded the sky and another discharge channelled itself to the lake； the shifted air booming。 It was what they suddenly saw beneath the surface that had frozen them。
Vague； nebulous forms filled the water below； massing together； squirming spasmodically； tendril…like appendages waving in the currents； occupying the lake as though the content was not water but moving； liquid beings。
A waterspout erupted then swooped down； like a tentacle； curling round the two men who clawed at the bank。 It drew them into the lake and their screams became a bubbling froth。 It seemed； although it was too dark to be certain； that other smaller tendrils of fluid pulled at them too。
The leader shuddered incredulously； then gasped when something tightened around his own ankle。 With a frightened cry； he jerked his leg clear； and perhaps it was merely overwrought imagination that caused him to think a watery claw had risen with his leg to plop shapeless back into the choppy lake。
The two men were gone； he knew that。 There was no helping them at all。 He scrambled up the embankment； digging toes and hands into the slimy soil； afraid he would slide back into the water to lie among those things stirring there。 His two remaining men were following suit； scrambling away from the foamy lake where waterspouts resembling misshapen creatures burst upwards into the stormy night。
Waves hurled themselves at the climbing men as if to drag them back； but they plunged their fingers into the mud； using tree roots whenever their fumbling hands chanced upon them； grateful for every inch they could gain。
They collapsed on the grass at the top of the embankment； rolling over and over into the bushes； putting as much distance between themselves and the water's edge as possible。 At last they settled among the trees； trembling and panting； the rain's force tempered by the leafy canopy above them。
'For God's sake； let's away from here！' Danny recognised McGuire's voice； distorted by terror though it was。
'No；' he said； loud enough to be heard over the storm。 'Whatever it was back there can't harm us now。' He was shocked； stunned by what had happened and the loss of two good men。 But Danny Shay was a determined man。 An executioner who had already tortured and killed one person to locate his intended victim。
He rose and grabbed the shoulders of his exhausted panions； hauling them to their feet。
'Get yourselves moving；' he told them。 'The house isn't far and there's a bastard there deservin' to die。'
42 SEPULCHRE
As in the dream； there were large； staring eyes watching him。 Unnatural eyes。 Stone eyes。
Halloran held his breath as pain ached through his head。 He raised a leaden hand to his forehead and held his temples； exerting soft pressure with fingers and thumb。 The ache eased only slightly。 He blinked； taking in the statues； a gathering of them； thirty at least； standing a few yards away。 Observing。 A few were in groups； man； woman and child。 Some were at least five foot high。 Their fixed gaze was inescapable。
Among them in a high…backed ornate chair was a figure； this of flesh and blood； for it shifted slightly when Halloran pushed himself up onto an elbow。 The figure settled back； a formless shadow amidst the sculptures。
The floor was wet where Halloran lay； grimy water seeping through the cracks in the flagstones。 The dampness brought with it a putrid smell； a different odour underlying that。 Melting wax。 The chamber was lit by hosts of black candles； their glow soft and unsteady。
'Help him to his knees；' a voice said。 It might have been Kline's except its rasping quality reminded Halloran of the lodgekeeper。
Hands pulled at him roughly and his mind was too dulled for him to resist。 As he knelt； something passed around his throat； and a sudden sharpness there jerked him erect。 He tried to twist away and the pressure increased。 His hands went to the cause； but there was nothing they could grip。
'Struggle and the wire will bite deeper；' the same voice warned。
Halloran couldn't see the person behind him； but he could feel whoever it was leaning into his back。 A spiciness wafted down among the other smells。
'Youssef is master of the garotte；' came the voice again； and this time he was sure it was Kline sitting there in the shadows； even though the tones were roughened。 'Try to resist and you'll find out for yourself。' There was a weariness to his words that made Kline seem very old。
When Halloran took his hands away they were smeared with his own blood。
'Let him see； Youssef。 Let him see where he is。' The pressure slackened and Halloran was able to look around； although his view was restricted。 The room was long and high…ceilinged； and the walls glinted in the candlelight as if water was trickling through the brickwork。 A solid stairway led upwards and Halloran saw there was a passage but no door in the darkness at the top。 There were archways around the sides of the chamber as though the place might once have been used as a wine…cellar； there was no way of knowing what was inside those cavities now； for they were cast into the deepest shadows。 As well as the candles； there were oil lamps here and there helping to light the place； these close to pedestals on which stood delicately worked statues and effigies in shiny metals。 On one near to where Halloran knelt there was what appeared to be a goat rearing up on hind legs against a tree of gold； the animal's fleece of deep blue stone and white shell。 The small statue was exquisite； but Halloran's eyes did not linger on it for long。
At one end of the room was a large rectangular slab of stone which rose up from the floor； its surface a matt…black。 A parody of an altar。 Spread across it； and lying perfectly still； was 。an obese； naked figure； thick curling hair covering its body。 Halloran wondered if Monk were dead。
The rasping voice broke through his thoughts。 'Impressive； Halloran。 You paralysed him； he can't move； can't raise a finger。 Useless to me as a bodyguard； but valuable in another way ； 。 。' From outside came a belly…rumble of thunder； the sound muted； a long way away。
The shadow stirred again； shifting in the seat。 'A bad night up there；' Kline said； something of his old； excitable self in the remark despite the distortion in his voice。 'Hope your knees aren't getting too wet； Halloran。 So many underground streams running through the estate； you see； with all these hills around。 Where the lake swells； so do they …'
'What is this place； Kline？' The question was quietly put； but Halloran's tone stopped the other man。
Kline studied the operative for a while before giving an answer。 When he drew in a breath the sound was wheezy； as though his throat was constricted。 'A hiding place；' he said finally。 'A sepulchre； Halloran； my very own sepulchre。 A room no one would ever find unless they knew of it； and even then they'd have problems。 Oh； it's always been here at Neath； I didn't have to create it。 I had to disguise its existence； though。 This place is a sub…cellar； you see。 A passageway extends to the real one； but I had it bricked off so no one'd ever know。' His giggle was dry； a scratchy sound。 'Ingenious； huh？ Just like the old Sumerian tombs。 Impossible to get in； and impossible to get out unless you know how。 You could rot in here； Halloran； and no one would ever find you。' Halloran tried to rise； but the wire around his neck tightened instantly。
'Two； maybe three； seconds； is all it'd take for Youssef to kill you； so don't be bloody stupid。'
'For God's sake； why； Kline？ I'm here to protect you。' Still Halloran did not raise his voice。 A coldness was in him； one he knew so well。 A deadness of emotion。
'God？ God has nothing to do with this。 Not your God。 Only mine。' The wheezing breath； a movement in the shadows。 Then he said： 'You killed the Keeper。'
'The gate…keeper？ He was dying； he'd lost control of the dogs … the jackals。 They tore him to pieces。 But how did you know he ；￠ was dead 。 。 。 ？'。
'You still doubt my abilities？' Kline was shaking his head。 'More than just our minds were linked； Halloran。 He was surrogate for my ills； my weaknesses。 He took my years。 Through him I was allowed to live without blemish； without ageing； free to use my faculties without hindrance。' …'The old man said you'd used him。'
'I was allowed that gift。'
'Allowed？'
'The power to discharge those physical things we all dread； the disadvantages that e with the years and with debility； was bestowed upon me。 Now that power is waning。 Something has happened and nothing is right any more。 You killed my Keeper； you broke the link。'
'I told you he was dying before the jackals got to him。 The strange thing is he seemed glad to be dying。'
'He was a fool。'
'Listen； Kline； I want you to tell this idiot to take the wire away from my neck。'
'After what you did to Monk？'
'I'm going to hurt him if he doesn't。'
'I don't think so； Halloran。 I don't think you're that good。 Besides； you want your curiosity satisfied； don't you'？ You want to learn some more history。 Last night I only meant to whet your appetite。'
'Kline 。 。 。' Halloran warned。
'Be quiet！' Kline's hands clenched over the chair arms。 He shuddered； as if it had hurt to raise his voice。 'You're going to pay for what you've done。 You're going to help stop what 。 。 。 what's 。 。 。 happening to me。' He slumped back； and Halloran could see the rise and fall of his narrow shoulders； could hear the squeezing of his breath。
When he spoke； Kline's voice was low again； the sudden verve gone。 He sounded ancient； like the old man in the lodgehouse。 'Be patient and listen； Halloran； because I want you to understand。 You deserve that at least。 Let me tell you about the god who walked this earth three thousand years before the Christ God。 I'm sure you're no devotee of the Scriptures； but no doubt you had them drummed into you by your Catholic priests when you were a boy in Ireland。 Let me make some sense。 of their fairy…tales； allow me that。'
'Do I have a choice？'
'Yes。 Youssef could kill you now。' Halloran said nothing。
A dry snigger from Kline。 'How precious time bees when there's little of it left； even for those who have lived so tong 。 。 ' The candle flames swayed as though a draught had swept in。
'The man…god was called Marduk by his chosen people； the Sumerians；' Kline began； while Halloran wondered how long the Arab could keep the garotte tensed。 'He civilised the Sumerians； advanced them； taught them the written word； revealed to them the secret of the stars； instilled order into their society。 It was from him that they learned to cure by cutting into the human body； how to forge metals dug from rock； to make tools and instruments； to use vehicles for carrying。 Was that evil？ How could it be？ It was knowledge。 But for those mortals who ruled； such learning was regarded as a threat； because it usurped their power。 That was the fear of the Sumerian kings and certain high priests。 And hasn't that always been the fear of your Christian God？' The question was put slyly； Kline's tenor changing constantly； a shifting of character that Halloran had bee used to； but the change never before as abrupt as this。 It was as if Kline had little control over himself。
'But perhaps it was the other knowledge that these rulers feared most； because that gave power。 I mean the knowledge of magic； the ways of alchemy； the understanding of the Cabala； the art of witchcraft。
'For more than a thousand years he influenced them； and how the Sumerian people enjoyed his control。 All he asked in return was their worship；