But Harry had already moved, to switch off the set; and as the screen bl inked out he saw how dark it had grown. Almost midnight, and the house tempe rature already falling as the timer cut power to the central heating system.

It was time he was in bed ...

. . . Or, maybe he'd watch just one more interview with one of these In terrrrresting People! He didn't remember switching the set on again, but as its picture formed he was drawn in through the screen where he found Jack Garrulous or whatever his name was adrift in the Mobius Continuum.

'Welcome to the show, Harry!' said Jack. 'And we just know we're going t o find you verrry interesting! Now, I've been sort of admiring this, er, pla ce you've got here. What did you say it was called?' He held out his microph one for Harry to speak into.

'This is the Mobius Continuum, Jack,' said Harry, a little nervously, 'and I'm not really supposed to be here.'

'The h.e.l.l you say! But on this show anything goes, Harry. You're on prime -time, son, so don't be shy!'

'Time?' Harry said. 'But all time is prime, Jack. Is time what you're int erested in? Well, in that case, take a look in here.' And grabbing Garrulous by the elbow he guided him through a future-time door.

'Interrrresting!' the other approved, as side by side they shot into the future, towards that far faint haze of blue which was the expansion of huma nity through the three mundane dimensions of the s.p.a.ce-time universe. 'And w hat are these myriad blue threads, Harry?'

'The life-threads of the human race,' Harry explained. 'See over there? T hat one just this moment bursting into being, such a pure, shining blue that it's almost blinding? That's a newborn baby with a long, long way to go. And this one here, gradually fading and getting ready to blink out?' He lowered h is voice in respect. 'Well, that's an old man about to die.'

'The h.e.l.l - you - say!' said Jack Garrulous, awed. 'But of course, you'd know all about that, now wouldn't you, Harry? I mean, about death and such? For after all, aren't you the one they call a Necrowhatsit?'

'A Necroscope, yes,' Harry nodded. 'Or at least I was.'

'And how's that for a talent, folks?' Garrulous beamed with teeth like p iano keys. 'For Harry Keogh's the man who talks to the dead! And he's the on ly one they'll talk back to - but in the nicest possible way! See, they kind of love him. So,' (he turned back to Harry), 'what do you call that sort of conversation, Harry? I mean, when you're talking to dead folks? See, a litt le while ago we were speaking to this Mrs Zdzienicki who told us all about d umbspeak and deafspeak and -'

'Deadspeak,' Harry cut him short.

'Deadspeak? Really? The h.e.l.l ... you ... say! Well, if you haven't been one of the most Interrrr . . .' And he paused, squinting over Harry's shoulder.

'Um?' said Harry.

'One last question, son,' said Garrulous, urgently, his narrowing eyes fix ed on something just outside Harry's sphere of vision. 'I mean, you told us ab out the blue life-threads sure enough, but what in all get-out's the meaning o f a red one, eh?'

Harry's head snapped round; wide-eyed, he stared; and saw a scarlet thr ead, even now angling in towards him! And: 'Vampire? he yelled, rolling out of his armchair into the darkness of t he room. And framed in the doorway leading back into the rest of the house, he saw the silhouette of what could only be one thing: that which he'd kno wn was coming for him!

There was a small table beside his chair, which Harry had knocked flyin g. Groping in the darkness, his fingers found two things: a table-lamp thro wn to the floor, and the weapon he'd worked on earlier in the day. The latt er was loaded. Switching on the lamp, Harry went into a crouch behind his c hair and brought up his gleaming metal crossbow into view - and saw that hi s worst nightmare had advanced into the room.

There was no denying the thing: the slate-grey colour of its flesh, its g aping jaws and what they contained, its pointed ears and the high-collared ca pe which gave its skull and menacing features definition. It was a vampire -o f the comic-book variety! But even realizing that this wasn't the real thing (and he of all people should know), still Harry's finger had tightened on the trigger.

It was all reaction. This body he'd trained to a peak of perfection was w orking just as he'd programmed it to work in a hundred simulations of this ve ry situation. And despite the fact that he'd come immediately awake - and tha t he knew this thing in his room with him was a fraud - still his adrenalin w as flowing and his heart pounding, and his weapon's fifteen-inch hardwood bol t already in flight. It was only in the last split second that he'd tried to avert disaster by elevating the crossbow's tiller up towards the ceiling. But that had been enough, barely.

Wellesley, seeing the crossbow in Harry's hand, had blown froth through hi s plastic teeth in a gasp of terror and tried to back off. The bolt missed his right ear by a hair's breadth, struck through the collar of his costume cape and s.n.a.t.c.hed him back against the wall. It buried itself deep in plaster and o ld brick and pinned him there.

He spat out his teeth and yelled: 'Jesus Christ, you idiot, it's me!' Bu t this was as much for the benefit of Darcy Clarke, back there somewhere in the dark house, as for Harry Keogh. For even as he was shouting, Wellesley's right hand reached inside the coat under his cape and grasped the grip of h is issue 9 mm Browning. This was his main chance. Keogh had attacked him, ju st as he'd hoped he would. It was self-defence, that's all.

Harry, taking no chances, had nocked his bow, s.n.a.t.c.hed the auxiliary bo lt from its clips under the tiller of his weapon and placed it in the breec h. In a sort of slow-motion born of the speed of his own actions, he saw We llesley's arm straightening and coming up into the firing position; but he couldn't believe the man would shoot him. Why? For what reason? Or perhaps Wellesley feared he was going to use the crossbow again. That must be it, y es. He dropped his weapon into the armchair's well and threw up his arms.

But now Wellesley's aim was unwavering, his eyes glinting, his knuckle turning white in the trigger-guard of the automatic. And he actually grinne d as he shouted: 'Keogh, you madman - no! - nor Then . . . three things, happening almost simultaneously: One: Darcy Clarke's voice, which Harry recognized immediately, shouting, 'Wellesley, get out of there. Get the f.u.c.k out of there!' And his footsteps coming clattering down the corridor, and his cursing as he collided with a plant-pot and stand and knocked them over.

Two: Harry throwing himself over backwards behind the armchair as final ly Wellesley's intention became clear, and hearing the angry whirrr of the bullet as the first shot went wide by an inch. And levering himself up to m ake a grab for the crossbow again, just in time to see the look on Wellesle y's face turn from a mixture of incomprehensible rage and murderous intent to one of sheerest horror as his eyes were drawn to something behind Harry, which caused them to flash wide and disbelieving in a moment.

Three: the crash of shattering gla.s.s and snapping of thin wooden mulli ons inwards as something wet and heavy and clumsy came plunging through th e locked patio doors into the room, something which drew Wellesley's fire from Harry to itself!

'Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!' the head of E-Branch screamed, emptying his gun over Harry's head, which he'd now turned towards the shattered gla.s.s door.

And there, staggering from the impact of the shots but somehow managing to keep its feet, Harry saw something - indeed, someone, though who exactly it would be hard to tell -which he'd thought never to see again. And even tho ugh he didn't know this one, still he knew him or it for a friend. For in t he old days, all of the dead had been Harry's friends!

This one was bloated, wet, intact, not long dead - but long enough to s mell very badly. And behind it came a second corpse, dusty, withered, almos t mummified, stepping through the frame of the shattered door. They were in their crumbling burial sheets and each of them carried a stone, advancing on Wellesley where he stood pinned to the wall, still yanking on the trigge r of his empty gun.

And Harry could only crouch there watching, mouthing silent denials, as they drew close to the frenzied, maddened boss of E-Branch and began to ra ise their stones.

That was when the corridor light came on and Darcy Clarke stumbled into the room. His talent for survival -unfelt except by Darcy himself - was shri eking at him to get the h.e.l.l out of here, almost physically driving him back . But somehow he fought it; and after all, the hostility of the dead wasn't directed at him but at his boss. 'Harry!' he yelled, when he saw what was ha ppening in the room. 'For G.o.d's sake call them off!'

'I can't,' Harry yelled back. 'You know I can't!' But at least he could put himself between them. He did that now, jumped forward and somehow got between the dead things and Wellesley where he gibbered and frothed. And th ere they stood with their stones upraised, and the soggy one seeking to put Harry gently to one side.

He might have, too, but suddenly suicidal, Harry cried out: 'No! Go back where you belong! It's a mistake!' Or at least he tried to. But he only got a s far as 'go back where - ' For he was forbidden to speak to the dead. But fo rtunately for Wellesley, the dead weren't forbidden to heed him.

As Harry clapped his hands to his head and cried out, jerking like a spas tic puppet as he crumpled up, so the dead men let fall their stones and turne d away, and went out again into the night.

Strangled until now, Wellesley found his voice again; but it was a deran ged voice if ever Darcy Clarke heard one. 'Did you see? Did you see?' Welles ley gibbered. 'I didn't believe it, but now I've seen for myself. He called them up against me! He's a monster, by G.o.d, a monster! But it's the end of y ou, Harry Keogh'

He'd freed the spent magazine from his gun and dropped it to the carpet ed floor, and was in the process of bringing a fully loaded one out of his pocket when Clarke hit him with all the force he could muster. Gun and maga zine went flying, and Wellesley hung there in his makeup, suspended from th e crossbow bolt.

Then there were more running footsteps, and in the next moment the two -man back-up team was there wondering what the h.e.l.l was going on; and Darcy was down on the floor with Harry, holding him in his arms as the agonize d man clutched at his head and gasped out his unbearable pain, and slid do wn into the deep, dark well of merciful oblivion . . .

A great deal occurred in the nine hours it took Harry to sleep it off.

A security-screened doctor was called in to look at him, also to give Welle sley a shot that would keep him down a while; Clarke got in touch with Sand ra because he reckoned she should be in on this, and should have been from the start; and as dawn came and went and both Harry and Wellesley were begi nning to show signs of regaining consciousness, so a call came through from the Duty Officer at E-Branch HQ.

Darcy had of course already put HQ in the picture. He'd contacted the D O right after the excitement had died down to report everything that had ha ppened and what he'd done, and at the same time to tender his resignation t o the Minister Responsible. Also he'd suggested that someone might like to start thinking about a replacement for Wellesley, who was obviously several kinds of flake. And looking back on Wellesley's plan to scare Harry Keogh into using the Mobius Continuum -which he, Darcy Clarke, had gone along wit h - Darcy reckoned he might be just a little on the flaky side himself!

Sandra, when she'd arrived looking worried as h.e.l.l and after he'd expla ined things to her, had said as much in no uncertain terms and probably wou ld have said a lot more, except she could see that Darcy was taking it badl y enough already. She didn't feel the need to blame him because he was so o bviously blaming himself; so instead of ranting and raving and generally go ing to pieces, she'd simply sat with Harry through what was left of the nig ht and into the morning. And just a few minutes ago, when everyone was into his third cup of coffee, that was when the telephone rang and it was HQ as king to speak to Darcy Clarke. He took the call, which was a long one, and when he was through had to sit down a minute and think about it.

They'd stretched Wellesley out on Harry's bed upstairs, with one of th e men from E-Branch watching him; Harry himself had a leather couch downst airs in the study where everything had happened, and where they'd draped a blanket over the broken patio doors to keep out the night chill; Sandra, Darcy and the other E-Branch operative were all there with him, with nothi ng to do now except wait for him to wake up.

Except that now, following this telephone call, Darcy had quite a bit mo re to do, and the speed with which circ.u.mstances had changed had left him br eathless. But Sandra had seen the full range of rapidly changing expressions on his face as he'd talked into the telephone; and now, catching a glimpse of the confusion in his mind - and the relief, and something of the shock, t oo? - she felt prompted to inquire: 'What was that all about?'

Darcy looked at her and his bleary eyes slowly focussed. Then he turned to the other agent and said, 'Eddy, go up and keep Joe company, eh? And wh en Wellesley wakes up, tell him he's under arrest!'

'What?' the other looked at him incredulously.

Darcy nodded. That was the DO on the blower, and he had our Minister r ight there with him. It seems our pal Norman Harold Wellesley has been foo ling around a little with a suspicious character from the Russian Emba.s.sy!

He's suspended forthwith, and we're to deliver him to MIS a.s.a.p. - whic h puts me right back in the chair. For now, anyway.'

As Eddy left to go upstairs, Darcy told Sandra: 'Yes, but that's just part o f it. It never rains but it pours. We have a big problem.'

'We?' she said, shaking her head. 'No, for I'm out of it, whatever it is . And I thought you were, too. Well, your resignation may have been turned d own, but not mine. I'm through with the Branch, as of now.'

'I understand that,' he said, 'and I meant / have a problem rather than we. I t's not only business but personal, too. And I'm afraid I can't quit until it's s orted out. But you don't want to hear about it, right?'

'Hearing won't hurt,' she said.

'It's Ken Layard and Trevor Jordan,' he began to explain. 'They were ou t in the Aegean, Rhodes, keeping tabs on a load of drugs being run through the Med. And now it seems they've come unstuck. Badly.'

'How badly?' Sandra had met the two men - in fact Jordan, the telepath, had been her sponsor - and she knew something of their talents and outstandi ng reputations.

'Very badly,' Darcy shook his head. 'And . . . it's weird! Something I'm going to have to look into myself. These were two of my closest friends.'

'Weird?' she repeated him. 'Were?'

He nodded. 'Over the last few days Trevor's had a couple of minor probl ems. They thought it was overeating or drinking or something. Now apparentl y he's a raving madman ... or would be if he wasn't under sedation in a Rho des asylum! And the night before last - no, the one before that; when I'm t ired like this my body-clock goes out of whack - Ken Layard was fished out of the harbour half-full of water and with a b.u.mp on his head where he'd co llided with something. Concussion, that's all. Except as yet there's no sig n of a normal recovery. All of which smells very fishy to me.'

'What?' said Harry Keogh, fumbling the word out of a mouth that tasted hig hly toxic as he tried to sit up.

They sprang to his side, Darcy supporting him and Sandra hugging his head . 'Are you all right, Harry?' she stroked his hair, kissed his forehead.

He freed himself, licked his lips and said, 'Be a love and make me a cup of coffee.' And as she left the room he focussed on Darcy.

'Names,' he said.

'Eh?' 'You mentioned the names of some people,' Harry said again, seeming to find some difficulty in getting his tongue round the words. 'People I've he ard of, and met, in E-Branch.' He pulled a face. 'G.o.d, my mouth tastes vile !' And then, suddenly remembering, his eyes went wide. 'That idiot was tryi ng to shoot me! And then -' Abruptly, he struggled upright, his eyes search ing every corner of the room.

'All that was last night, Harry,' Darcy told him, knowing what he was lo oking for. 'And . . . they've gone now. They went when you told them to.'

Some of the anxiety went out of Harry's face, replaced by the bitter look of a man betrayed. 'You were here,' he accused, 'with Wellesley.'

Darcy didn't deny it. 'Yes,' he said, 'I was, but for the last time. I was following orders, or trying to, but that's no excuse. I was here, and shouldn 't have been. But from here on in ... I have one more job to do, and then I'm out of E-Branch for good. I don't think spying's my style, Harry. And I sure a s h.e.l.l know that s.h.i.tting on my friends isn't! As for Wellesley: I don't think he'll be much trouble from now on.'

'What?' Harry went deathly pale in a moment. 'Don't tell me they - ?'

Darcy shook his head. 'No, they didn't hurt him. You told them to go and they went. And then you folded up.'

Sandra was back with Harry's coffee. 'What's this about names?' she said.

Harry took a mouthful of hot coffee, gave his head a tentative shake and said, 'Ow! G.o.d, my head!'

She took pills from her bag and gave them to him. He accepted them an d washed them down. And: 'Names, yes,' he said yet again. 'The names of p eople in E-Branch. You were talking about them as I came to?'

Darcy told him about Layard and Jordan, and as he talked so Harry's fa ce grew drawn, even haggard. Finally, when Darcy was done, Harry glanced a t Sandra. 'Well?'

She shrugged, looked mystified. 'What are you getting at, Harry?'

'Tell him about the stones,' Harry said, 'in the garden.'

And seeing his meaning at once, she gasped: 'Ken L! And T. Jor!'

Now it was Darcy's turn to look dumb. 'Do you want to let me in on it?' he said.

Harry stood up, swayed a little, then headed for the patio doors. He was st ill in his pyjamas. 'Be careful!' Darcy cautioned him. 'There's still a lot of gla.s.s there. We didn't do much of a job of tidying up, I'm afraid.'

Harry avoided the gla.s.s and took down the blanket, and they followed him into the garden. In his bare feet he crossed the lawn, pointed to a fresh s eries of stones where they'd been laid out on the gra.s.s. 'There,' he said. "

That's what they were doing when Wellesley jumped me - which, incidentally, you might like to try explaining sometime when you've a week or two to spare!' This was directed at both of them.

'Harry,' Sandra was quick to protest, 'I had nothing to do with it.'

'But you do work for the Branch.'

'Not any more,' she said. And then, because she was afraid of losing him, she let it all out in a breathless rush. 'Try to understand, Harry. At first y ou were just a job, but different from any other they ever gave me. Also, what I was doing was for your benefit; that's what they told me. But they didn't p lan - and I didn't plan - on my falling in love with you. That just happened, and now they can stuff their job.'

Harry smiled in his wan way, then staggered a little. She at once caught him, held him up. 'You shouldn't even be on your feet! You look terrible, Har ry!'

'I'm still a bit dizzy, that's all,' he answered. 'Anyway, what you were s aying: I heard all that, too, when I was waking up. And what the h.e.l.l, I think I've always known that you were one of theirs. You and Old Man Bettley. So wh at? So was I, once. And let's face it, I can use all the help I can get, right ?'.

Darcy was still looking at the stones, his forehead creased in a frown. '

Does this mean what I think it means-?' he asked. They all looked at the inco mplete word: RHODF.

'Rhodes,' said Harry, nodding. 'They didn't have time to finish the E and th e S, that's all. And now it all adds up.'

'But to what?' Sandra and Darcy said together.

Harry looked at them and made no attempt to hide his fear. 'To something I've been praying wouldn't happen, and yet half-expecting ever since I retu rned from Star-side,' he said. Then he shivered and added, 'Let's get inside .' And for the moment that was all he would say about it...

When Wellesley woke up and Darcy told him it looked like he was in big t rouble, at first he was full of bl.u.s.ter. But then he had to face down Harry, too, and that was when he caved in. He knew how lucky he was that he wasn't a murderer, knew too that Harry hadn't let his dead friends kill him, even though he'd had the right and couldn't have been blamed for it. What's more, he knew what it had cost Harry to call them off. And so he told everything, the whole story: how he'd been recruited by Gregor Borowitz because of his negative talent (the fact that his mind couldn't be read), and how he'd been a sleeper until they tried to activate him.

Harry had been their chief interest - though doubtless they would have got around to the rest of E-Branch, too, when they were satisfied that he w as no longer a player -and so Wellesley had been feeding them details of hi s progress. But when it had seemed that Harry might be on the verge of new things, then they'd wanted rid of him. Harry, with his old powers returned to him, or maybe new talents they hadn't even heard of, would be just too d angerous.

Then Darcy had given his men their orders, to take the ex-head of the B ranch back to London and hand him over, and finally he'd spent a long sessi on on the telephone talking to the Minister Responsible. One subject had be en Nikolai Zharov, Wellesley's Russian contact. He was still loose somewher e, and alas would stay loose for the time being. Diplomatically immune, the y couldn't even pick him up. Eventually a protest would be made to the Sovi et Emba.s.sy, requiring Zharov's expulsion for the usual 'activities inconsis tent with . . .' etc.

By the time Darcy was through, Harry had a lot more coffee inside him an d a bite of brunch, and was looking more his usual self. Not doleful, Darcy thought, just sort of placid and not entirely with it. He reminded him of no thing so much as a powerful hand torch minus its batteries. Fully charged he could really shine, but right now there wasn't even a spark.

Or maybe there was.

'When are you going to Rhodes?' Harry asked him.

'Now, as soon as I can get a flight out. I'd be out of here right now but I wanted to be sure you were OK first. I reckoned I owed you that at least, and probably a lot more. But I want to arrange to get Trevor and Ken out of t here, if they can be moved. Also, I have to see if I can discover what they c ame up against. Their Greek liaison man is still out there and might be able to help me on that.' He looked at Harry speculatively. 'And I had hopes that you might be able to help me, too, Harry, what with these . . . messages you'

ve been getting, and all.'

Harry nodded. 'I have my suspicions,' he said, 'but we'd all better pray I'm wrong! See, I know the dead wouldn't harm me; they wouldn't deliberatel y risk hurting me. And yet this thing is so important to them, or to me, tha t it's almost as if they've been tempting me into conversation! But my son d id a h.e.l.l of a good job on me. I don't remember my dreams in any detail - no t the ones which they send me, anyway - and I can't try to clarify them. And as for the Mobius Continuum . . . G.o.d, I can't add two and two without it c omes out five!'

Darcy Clarke had personal experience of the Mobius Continuum. Harry had taken him there once, taken him through it. From here, this very house, to E-Branch HQ in London over three hundred miles away. And that had been a t rip Darcy would never forget and, he hoped, never repeat, all the days of h is life. Even now, these years later, it was printed on his memory in vivid detail.

There had been Darkness on the Mobius Strip, the Primal Darkness itself , as it was before the universe began. A place of negativity, yes, where Da rkness lay upon the face of the deep. And Darcy had thought that this could well be that region from which G.o.d had commanded, Let There Be Light, and caused the physical universe to split off from the metaphysical void.

There had been no air, but neither had there been time, so that Darcy di dn't need to breathe. And without time there was likewise no s.p.a.ce; both of these essentials of a universe of matter had been absent. But Darcy hadn't r uptured and flown apart, because there'd been nowhere to fly to!