“What is the man doing?”
“He is sitting in his car, reading a newspaper.”
Fallada’s voice said quickly: “Can you see the number of the car?”
“Yes.”
“Read it out.”
“It is QBX 5279L.”
“Are there any other cars?”
“Yes. There is a red Temeraire parked near the fence. A young couple are eating sandwiches and looking at the view.”
“What is its number?”
“3XJ UT9.”
“What is she doing now?”
“She is waiting. She is crossing her legs, pulling up the skirt. She is pretending to read a book.”
Fallada and Geijerstam spoke together again. Then Fallada said: “Do you know what has happened to the other two vampires?”
“Yes. One has gone to New York.”
“And the other?”
“He is still in London.”
As if in a dream, the scene had changed to the Strand. He was standing at the top of the great marble steps that ran down to the river from the site of the old Savoy. The other alien was shaking hands with a short, fat man: the Chinese chargé d’affaires.
“Can you tell us his name?”
“I find it difficult to pronounce. We would say Ykx-By-Orun.”
“But what is his name now? The name of the body he uses?”
“Everard Jamieson.”
He was indifferent to their exclamations. He was more interested in watching the gleaming rocket carrier that slid smoothly downriver, hardly disturbing the smaller craft with its creamy wake.
Geijerstam was speaking to him again. “In thirty seconds I am going to waken you. You will wake up feeling refreshed and rested. Now your sleep is already growing lighter. You are beginning to wake up. I will count from one to ten, and when I reach ten, you will be fully awake. One, two. . .”
He opened his eyes and for a moment wondered where he was. He imagined he was in bed at home and found it hard to explain why he was reclining in a chair. Then daylight flooded into the room as Geijerstam drew the curtains. He felt as though he was waking from a long and pleasant night’s rest. He had some dim memory of a river and a huge silver craft, but as he tried to recall it, it faded like a dream.
Fallada was flushed with excitement. He said: “Do you realise what you just told us?”
“No. What?”
“You said that one of these aliens has taken over the Prime Minister of England.”
He said: “Christ!” The idea shocked him.
Fallada said wonderingly: “Don’t you remember?”
“I should have ordered him to remember everything. I forgot.” Geijerstam sat on the desk. “You told us that one of the aliens had invaded the body of a nurse. The other is the Prime Minister.” He pressed a switch on the desk. “Listen. I’ll play it back to you.”
For the next seven minutes, he listened with astonishment to the sound of his own voice. It sounded drowsy and expressionless. He had no recollection of anything he had said. For a moment, he recalled a girl dressed in red, her hair blowing in the wind; but the memory faded immediately. He was back in the room, seeing the world from a fixed point of view, like a man bending over a microscope.
As his voice said “Everard Jamieson,” Geijerstam switched off the recorder.
“You see. You both knew there was something wrong with this man Jamieson. Your subconscious mind is wiser than you are.”
Fallada said: “I still find it almost impossible to believe. I mean. . . he seemed so normal the other day. I’ve seen him many times on television.”
He was speaking to Carlsen. Carlsen said, shrugging: “I agree.”
Fallada asked Geijerstam: “Don’t you think it possible he might be mistaken? That his dislike of Jamieson might have affected his subconscious judgement?”
“That is easy enough to find out.” Geijerstam laid his finger on the paper on the desk. “You have two car registration numbers here. The car licencing department should have no difficulty in tracing them. If this proves to be accurate, then the rest is probably accurate.”
Carlsen said: “Let’s call Heseltine.”
“Good.” Fallada crossed to the desk. “Do you mind if we call London?”
Gerijerstam said: “Please.”
The duty sergeant answered: “New Scotland Yard.”
“Commissioner’s Office, please.”
Heseltine’s secretary appeared on the screen. She said: “Ah, Dr Fallada. We’ve been trying to find you.”
“Anything urgent?”
“The Prime Minister wanted to see you.”
Fallada and Carlsen exchanged glances. Fallada said: “Is Sir Percy there now?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s at Downing Street. Can I get him to call you?”
That won’t be necessary. But I’d like to leave a message. Could you make a note of these licence numbers?” He read them out. “I’d like to know where the owners can be located.”
“I could do that for you while you wait. Would you like to hang on?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be back in London later today. I’ll call you then. Would you tell Sir Percy the numbers are connected with the case — he’ll know what I mean. And ask him not to mention them to anyone until he sees me.”
“Very well, sir. Where are you now?”
Fallada said, smiling: “Istanbul.”
When he had disconnected, Geijerstam said: “So you leave today? I am sorry.”
“I think it’s important. We’ve got to locate this female.”
“And what then?”
Fallada shrugged. “I don’t know. Any suggestions?”
Geijerstam sat down on the settee, moving it back from the fire. For several moments he said nothing. He said finally: “I am afraid my advice may be useless. But I will give it to you for what it is worth. The major problem is to force a vampire into retreat. Do you remember the final scenes of Dracula? This may sound absurd, but they show true insight into the psychology of the vampire. Once the vampire can be induced to flee, he has lost the advantage. I once defined vampirism as a form of mental karate. It depends on attack, on aggression. You see, the vampire is basically a criminal. He is like a thief in the night.”
Fallada nodded. “Like a rapist. If the victim turned around and tried to rape him, he would lose all sexual desire.”
Geijerstam laughed. “Exactly. So if you locate your vampire, do not be afraid of her. Of course, I know nothing of the powers of these aliens, so perhaps I am giving you bad advice. But I would say: try to make her afraid of you.”
Carlsen shook his head. “The objection to that is that she might vanish again. The lengendary vampire has certain limitations — he has to sleep in a coffin full of earth and so on. These things don’t seem to have any.”
Geijerstam said: “They must have limitations. Your problem is to find them. For example, you say she might vanish again. But are you certain of that?”
Fallada asked quickly: “What do you mean?”
“Think of what happened last time. The first woman disappeared from your Space Research building. Then the other two were found to be dead. You know now that they simply abandoned their bodies and found others. But did they do it alone? Or with the help of the other vampire?”
Carlsen said: “That’s true. . . We’ve no evidence they can do it alone.”
Geijerstam said: “And so if the three are now separated, they may be easier to deal with. Besides, you now know that you can locate her under hypnosis.”
Fallada said: “Couldn’t we persuade you to come back with us?”
Geijerstam shook his head. “No. I am too old. Besides, you don’t need me. You know as much about vampires as I do — probably more.”
There was a knock at the door. The footman, Gustav, looked in. He said: “The young ladies want to know if you’re going to join them in a drink before lunch, sir.”
“Yes, I think so. Say we’ll be down in a few minutes.” He turned to Fallada. “Before we go down, one more piece of advice. Never forget that the vampire is a criminal. That is the essence of their psychology. And all criminals get unlucky sooner or later.”
Carlsen said: “Is that what she meant — the old woman? When she said vampires were unlucky, I thought she meant for their victims.”
Geijerstam chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No. Not for their victims. For themselves. Look at these creatures. They lay a perfect plan to invade the earth. And at every important stage, something goes wrong. There are powers of good as well as evil in the universe.”
Carlsen said: “I wish I could believe that.”
“You will before you are finished with these creatures.”
Carlsen wanted to question him further, but he was already on his way out of the room.
3
The sky was purple with dusk as the plane landed at London Airport. As he walked down the gangway, Carlsen was struck by the fragrant warmth of the air, mingled with the smell of jet fuel.