‘The point is,’ he went on, ‘that even if we find a way to trap the Necroscope, which won’t be easy, still he’ll have a bolthole into a place he could conceivably come back from – bringing God-only-knows what back with him! Yes, I’m talking about the Gate at the Perchorsk Projekt under the Urals. We’ve kept tabs on that nightmare ever since we found out about it, and we know that the Russians are managing to contain it while they decide on a more satisfactory solution. If we make life intolerable, hopefully impossible, for Harry here, he might just try heading for Starside. So that’s why we’ve confided in the Russians, because we daren’t let him go back there. Fine if he wanted to stay there, but monstrous if he ever decided to bring anything back here with him.
‘What makes us think he might hide out in another world? A notebook we found an hour ago at Clarke’s flat, that’s what. Darcy had been jotting down a few thoughts, but that must have been before Harry got to him. It may even be why he got to him. The notes are only a mess of scribble but they make it plain that Darcy thought Harry would skip to Starside. Well, now the Soviets know about Harry, as much as we could tell them, anyway, and they’ll be looking out for him. So it looks like the Perchorsk Gate is closed to him.
‘OK, so now let’s consider our . . . equipment. And how to use it. Then we’ll get round to breaking you all down into balanced teams and doing a preliminary itemization of your tasks.’
Trask removed a blanket from various pieces of equipment laid out on a stout folding table. ‘It’s important you learn how to use this stuff,’ he said. ‘The machetes speak for themselves. But be careful with them – they’re razor-sharp! As for this: I suppose you all recognize a crossbow when you see one? This third item, however, might not be quite so familiar. It’s a lightweight flamethrower, a new model. So I think maybe we’ll take a look at that first.
This is the fuel tank, which sits on your back like so . . .’
And so it went on. The briefing lasted another hour.
Right after sunset Harry made his way to Darlington via the Möbius Continuum. He left Trevor Jordan sleeping (not surprisingly exhausted; his return from Beyond was still like the very strangest dream to him, from which he still feared he might suddenly awaken) in a secret room under the eaves of the house on the river. From the attic room there was a way into the deserted, crumbling old place next door, so that if anything should happen Jordan might use this route to effect something of an escape. But both espers had checked out the psychic ‘atmosphere’ of the locality and there didn’t seem to be anything happening; and in any case Jordan had been busy rationalizing his fears in that respect and really couldn’t see E-Branch doing a Yulian Bodescu on him. And in any event, he was satisfied that they wouldn’t do anything rash.
Johnny Pound’s address in Darlington was the ground-floor flat in an old, four-storeyed, Victorian terrace house on the outer edge of the town centre. The old red bricks had turned black from being too close to the mainline railway; the windows were bleary; three steps led up from a path in the tiny, overgrown front garden to a communal porch. And behind the fagade of that porch – behind the flyspecked, dingy windows, there in those very rooms -that was where Found lived.
In the twilight Harry’s skin tingled at the thought and he felt his eager vampire senses intensifying as he walked the street first one way, then the other, past this gloomy street-corner residence of a twentieth-century necromancer. The murderer of sweet young Penny Sanderson.
Simple confrontation would be the easy way, of course, but that wasn’t part of the Necroscope’s plan. No, for then the result could only be precipitate: the accused would either ‘come quietly’, in the parlance of the Law, or he would react violently. And Harry would kill him. Which would be far too easy.