Necroscope
Brian Lumley
Necroscope
Brian Lumley
Prologue
The hotel was big and rather famous, ostentatious if not downright flamboyant, within easy walking distance of Whitehall, and . . . not entirely what it seemed to be. Its top floor was totally given over to a company of international entrepreneurs, which was the sum total of the hotel manager’s knowledge about it. The occupants of that unknown upper region had their own elevator at the rear of the building, private stairs also at the rear and entirely closed off from the hotel itself, even their own fire escape. Indeed they – ‘they’ being the only identification one might reasonably apply in such circumstances -owned the top floor, and so fell entirely outside the hotel’s sphere of control and operation. Except that from the outside looking in, few would suspect that the building in total was anything other than what it purported to be; which was exactly the guise or aspect – or lack of such -which ‘they’ wished to convey.
As for the ‘international entrepreneurs’ – whatever such creatures might be – ‘they’ were not. In fact they were a branch of Government, or more properly a subsidiary body. Government supported them in the way a tree supports a small creeper, but their roots were wholly separate. And similarly, because they were a very tiny parasite, the vast bulk of the tree was totally unaware of their presence. As is the case with so many experimental, unproven projects, their funding was of a low priority, came out of ‘petty cash’. The upkeep of their offices was therefore far and away top of the list where costing was concerned, but that was unavoidable.
For unlike other projects, the nature of this one demanded a very low profile indeed. Its presence in the event of discovery would be an acute embarrassment; it would doubtless be viewed with suspicion and scorn, if not disbelief and downright hostility; it would be seen as a totally unnecessary expenditure, a needless burden on the taxpayer, a complete waste of public money. Nor would there be any justifying it; the benefits or fruits of its being remained as yet entirely conjectural and the mildest ‘frost’ would certainly put paid to them. The same principles apply to any such organisation or service: it must (a) be seen to be effective while paradoxically (b) maintaining its cloak of invisibility, its anonymity. Ergo: to expose such a body is to kill it…
Another way to dispose of this sort of hybrid would be, quite simply, to tear up its roots and deny it had ever existed. Or wait for them to be torn up by some outside agency and then fail to replant them.
Three days ago there had occurred just such an uprooting. A major tendril had been broken, whose principal function it had been to bind the vine to its host body, providing stability. In short, the head of the branch had suffered a heart attack and died on his way home. He had had a bad heart for years, so that wasn’t strange in itself – but then something else had happened to throw a different light on the matter, something Alec Kyle didn’t want to dwell on right now.
For now, on this Monday morning of an especially chilly January, Kyle, the next in line, must assess the damage and feasibility of repairs; and if such repairs were at all possible, then he must make his first groping attempt to pull the thing back together. The project’s foundations had always been a little shaky but now, lacking positive direction and leadership, the whole show might well fall apart in very short order. Like a sand-castle when the tide comes in.
These were the thoughts in Kyle’s head as he stepped from the slushy pavement through swinging glass doors into a tiny foyer, shook damp snow from his overcoat and turned the collar down. It was not that he personally had any doubt as to the validity of the project – in fact the opposite applied: Kyle believed the branch to be all-important – but how to defend his position in the face of all that scepticism from above? Scepticism, yes. Old Gormley had been able to pull it off, with all his friends in high places, his ‘old school tie’ image, his authority and enthusiasm and sheer get-up-and-go, but men such as Keenan Gormley were few and far between. Even fewer now.