'We managed to get a message through to the police, Jacob,' Bishop said. 'They'll try to reach us.'

Kulek wearily turned to him. 'They have no . . . control over this . . . terrible thing, Chris. Only people as individuals . . . can fight against it. But it can be defeated.' Strength seemed to be returning to his words.

'How, Jacob?'

'Pryszlak . . . Pryszlak knew how to unleash the evil inside him. At the moment of death, he knew how to direct that evil. Don't you see, his death was like opening a box, releasing the contents. The content his own psyche, and his will was strong enough even in death to control that psyche.'

'It isn't possible.'

'Years, Chris, years of conditioning his mind for that final moment.' Kulek sucked in a huge breath and began to cough, his body doubling over and shoulders jerking spasmodically. They lifted him upright when the seizure had passed, resting his back against the rough brickwork; they were alarmed to see the speckles of blood on his lips and chin. He breathed slowly for a few moments, then his eyes opened. 'Don't you see? He built up the power of evil around him over the years through his own practices and those of his followers, their minds communicating, joining as one, directing their separate forces so they merged; all that remained was the barrier of life.'

'And he knew he could go on even after his own death?'

Kulek's eyes closed again. 'He knew. He was an extraordinary man, his mental development stretched far beyond that of normal men. He could use areas of the brain that we know nothing of. The mind is a mystery to us; he had unravelled some of its secrets.'

Edith Metlock spoke from the darkness on the other side of the torchbeam. 'Jacob is right. They fear him because he knows the truth.'

'But I do not have the answer!' Kulek said loudly, anger and frustration in his voice.

Edith was about to say more when she suddenly looked down at the hatch beneath her and listened. 'They're still there,' she said in a whisper. 'Something is being moved I can hear a scraping noise.'

Jessica and Bishop moved towards the hatchway and listened, fighting to keep their own breathing as soundless as possible. They did not see the thin line of blood appear at the corner of Kulek's lips, running down his chin, forming a pool around his jawline before falling in spots on to his chest. The flow thickened and then ran from his chin in a steady stream.

The scraping noise below had stopped and for a moment there was only silence. All three jumped when something crashed against the hatch. It rose several inches before slamming shut again.

'Christ, they've found something to batter against the hatch!' Bishop said, his nerves beginning their frenetic dance once more.

The crash came again and both Bishop and Jessica combined their weights with Edith's to keep the hatch closed. It slowly began to rise beneath them.

'They must have got a table or something from one of the flats to stand on. There's more than one person pushing now.' Bishop grabbed the torch from the medium and shone it quickly around the machine room, looking for a weapon of some kind, anything he could use to beat back someone climbing through. There were small windows set in the walls and a door leading out to the roof itself; the drive pulley and the lift motor were nearby, the opening to the shaft black and menacing. There were no tools lying around, nothing at all that could be used as a weapon. The hatch beneath them opened a few millimetres wider and a stout, metal bar was pushed through to keep it open. Bishop pulled at the bar, but it was jammed into the gap. Fingers curled around the edges of the hatch opening and the pressure below became even more intense. The gap widened and they heard another object being scraped through to be used as a lever by the person on the other side. They tried to prise away the fingers around the edges but they merely returned in another position. Their arms and shoulder muscles were taut with the effort of pressing down, yet they could feel the hatch rising higher each second. An arm came through the gap and Jessica screamed when the hand closed around her wrist.

It was at that point that the power came back on.

Light flooded in through the opening, blinding them with its suddenness. The lift machinery clanked into life and the pulley turned as the car resumed its interrupted journey. There were cries from below as the hatch dropped and came to rest on the objects that had been pushed through; the arm and the hands around the opening had already disappeared. They heard scuffling on the landing below, the sound of footsteps running down steps, screams as people fell in their haste to escape the dazzling lights.

The two women fell away from the hatch, both crying with relief, praying that it was finally over for them for that night at least. Bishop cautiously swung the hatch open wider, the metal bars sliding away and bouncing off the table below before clanging down on to the concrete landing. The upper stairs were empty apart from the sprawled bodies of those who had been injured before. He could hear the others scurrying down, many moving fast, knocking aside those who had been victims for a longer period and who were totally blinded by the lights.

'They've gone,' he quietly told the two women. He shivered as the wind rushed into the machine room and turned to see the door was open wide. Jacob Kulek was no longer sitting against the wall.

The two women looked up when he dropped the hatch and rushed to the door. They, too, realized the blind man was missing.

The wind hit Bishop like a physical blow as he ran out on to the roof, tearing at his clothes and whipping at his face so that he had to half-close his eyes against its force.

The lights of the city spread out before him like a vast silver and orange constellation and, for a moment, he could only gaze at its manufactured beauty, for the first time truly understanding its potency. He panicked when he could not see Kulek; the roof was completely flat apart from the machine room and another similarly shaped building that he guessed housed the tower block's massive water tank. Jessica and Edith joined him and all three apprehensively scanned the rooftop.

'Jacob!' Edith Metlock called out.

Jessica and Bishop followed her gaze and saw the blind man standing just ten yards away from the edge of the building; they could only make out his shape because of the lights blocked out behind him. He turned to look at them as they began to walk as one towards him.

'No,' he warned them, 'it's dangerous here. You must stay back.'

'Father, what are you doing?' Jessica cried against the noise of the wind, her arms reaching imploringly.

Kulek clutched at his stomach, but refused to bend to the pain. His face was just a vague whitish blur against the night sky, but they could see the blackness spreading down from his mouth on to his lower jaw. There was a thickness to his words as though the blood was filling his throat.

'They wanted me dead! They wanted to kill me before I found the answer . . . before I learned how I could use my own . . .' His words were lost as he stumbled towards the lip of the roof.

'No!' Jessica screamed, breaking away from Bishop and Edith Metlock and running towards the blind man. 'No!'

Kulek turned to look at Jessica and his words were whipped away by the wind. Then he plunged into the night.

31.

Jessica brought the car to a halt and once more Bishop leaned out the window and showed the special pass card to the soldier. The sergeant examined it then ducked his head to scrutinize Edith Metlock sitting in the back. Satisfied, he signalled to another soldier standing by the red and white striped barrier, which was then dragged to one side. It had been the third time their car had been stopped since entering the area around Willow Road. The group of soldiers idly standing around an army truck watched them as they drove through, their curiosity apparent, their weapons even more apparent. The military were taking no chances with this operation, not after the total disaster of three weeks before. Many men had been lost that night, police and civilians, as well as soldiers, their brains infected or affected by whatever chemicals the scientists said the Dark contained, turning on each other, damaging the lights that had been their ultimate protection. Their defence against the hordes who poured into the area had been hampered by the confusion within their own ranks. The battle that had taken place had been horrendous and only the swift arrival of reinforcements had prevented those unaffected from being completely overcome. A nightmare action, but one brought about by their own underestimation of the unseen enemy. Tonight they would be better prepared.

Jessica swung the car out to the middle of the road, avoiding the lorry bearing the huge searchlight parked at the kerbside. They had passed many such machines on their journey, many of which had been in service for the past two weeks, others brought in for that night's particular operation. Most had been adapted so they did not throw directional and defined beams, but shed a broad and powerful area of light. Smaller lights had been fixed to roofs of houses or hung from their eaves; that area, which seemed to be the worst affected in London, had been literally flooded with lights. The curfew was still imposed throughout the city and lighting-up time had taken on a whole new meaning. Veterans of the wartime blitz thought it ironic that now it was unlawful not to show a light at night-time, whereas in the war years it had been a punishable offence to do so.

Bishop's uneasiness grew as they approached Willow Road and he looked across at Jessica to see her features were also strained, her hands clamped tightly around the steering-wheel. She felt his gaze on her and turned to give him a quick, nervous smile. Since the death of her father, they had grown close, the earlier attraction they had felt for each other developing into a strengthening bond of friendship and something more. They were not yet lovers, but both knew that when their separate wounds had healed, their mutual stress subsided, then their intimacy of feeling would be matched by a physical intimacy. It was a desire in both of them, but one that could not and would not be hurriedly fulfilled.

She braked as a military vehicle carelessly turned the corner from Willow Road and swerved across their path, the driver obviously taking advantage of the empty streets. He waved an apology and sped on. Jessica took her foot off the brake and guided the car into Willow Road.

Bishop's eyes widened at the sight ahead, even though the details were not clear because of his slight short-sightedness. The road was filled with vehicles of all kinds, most of them military, others belonging to the Metropolitan Police, and also many civilian cars. Open-topped lorries bore more searchlights and armoured scout cars kept a watchful eye at each end of the road. There seemed to be uniformed figures everywhere, blue mingling with khaki, soldiers lining the pavements as though they were a guard of honour. Houses were being entered and searched for any hiding victims undiscovered in the earlier searches. He could just make out the bright red of fire tenders at the far end of the road, and the ominous white shapes of ambulances told him the authorities were prepared for the worst. But the sight that astonished Bishop most of all as Jessica eased the car past the parked vehicles and scurrying men was that of the strangely naked area halfway down. The houses on either side of the Beechwood debris had been completely demolished, leaving a wide, empty space. He had no clear view into the extended site because of the confusion of machinery and vehicles around its fringes, but he guessed what lay inside the boundary, for the intentions of that night's operation had been fully explained to him. The authorities had been forced to involve Edith Metlock and himself, albeit reluctantly, for they had unsuccessfully repeated their experiment for the past three nights and, as yet, the Dark had not returned to the site. Sicklemore, the Principal Private Secretary to the Home Office who had been fortunate to survive the disaster of three weeks before, had suggested that Bishop and Edith Metlock be called in to assist once more. There were protests, for the scientists and technicians involved claimed that the Dark had nothing to do with the paranormal, that it was merely the carrier of some unknown and, as yet, untraced chemical that in some way triggered a reaction in the hypothalamus region of the brain, creating electrical charges that manifested themselves in acts of extreme aggression. The Dark was a physical entity, a chemical catalyst, not some mystical and incorporeal leech, and therefore could be overcome by scientific means, not by spiritualistic mumbo-jumbo. Since Jacob Kulek's death, the uneasy alliance between scientist and parapsychologist had become a disdainful non-alliance. But Sicklemore had insisted. Three nights of failure and three days of the Home Secretary bellowing for results had made him desperate: Bishop and Metlock were thin straws to clutch at, but at least something had happened when they had last been present.

Edith Metlock stared out at the military and scientific paraphernalia from the darkness of the back seat and her heart sank into further depths of despair. Had it all been for nothing? Had Jacob died in vain? The Dark had only grown stronger after that night, nothing happening to dissipate its power. She had tried to make contact with him, but now it seemed her powers as a sensitive had left her, for nothing came to her any more, no visions, no voices. It was as though the thin veil between herself and the spirit world had become an impregnable barrier. Perhaps it was because she had lost her own beliefs.

Peck saw their car approaching and walked out into the middle of the road, waving his arm at them. He leaned in the window when Jessica brought the car to a stop.

'You'll find a space to park further down, Miss Kulek,' he said, then directed his attention towards Bishop. 'If you and Mrs Metlock could come with me?'

They stepped from the car and Jessica went on searching for a gap by the kerb in the congested street.

'How is she?' Peck asked, nodding towards the departing vehicle.

'She's come to believe her father's death was pointless. It's made it worse for her,' Bishop replied.

Peck mentally sighed. He remembered how he had found them on the tower block rooftop weeks before, almost frozen, physically exhausted. It had been dawn before he and a couple of squad cars had made their way to the high-rise building, only the persistence of one of the block's tenants alerting them to Kulek's whereabouts. The tenant had tried all night to get through to the Information Room, phoning in every hour but, because the lines had been flooded with emergency calls, his message had only been taken when daylight was approaching. Peck and his officers had been halfway to the top, checking each body on the stairs as they passed, not allowing themselves to spare time on the injured, when they had met Bishop coming down. He had looked dazed, his shoulders slumped in a weariness that was both physical and mental. He told them the two women were still on the roof, that Jacob Kulek was dead. It was only when they had all been brought down to the safety of the ground that he learned that Kulek had deliberately jumped; Edith Metlock had said that Kulek's death would provide the answer to the Dark. The medium hadn't appeared to be hysterical she spoke softly, calmly and Kulek's daughter seemed to see some sense in what she told them, although the girl's grief was apparent. When Peck had walked around to the side of the building and had found Jacob Kulek's smashed body, his rage burned inside. The blind man had been badly injured when the police car had crashed from what Peck had gathered, Kulek had been busted up inside as well as concussed. He had obviously been delirious when he had jumped, they should have seen that. Now, the medium was making him out to be the new Messiah, someone whose death was for the benefit of mankind. Peck had turned away from the misshapen body, barely disguising his anger when he returned to the waiting group. The blind man had been thrown through the windscreen of a car, dragged up ten flights of stairs, chased by a mob of zombies and madmen, and then had fallen from the roof; what glory could there be in such a death? Even Bishop had seemed to listen to the medium's crackpot assertions. But now three weeks had passed and nothing had happened to diminish the power of the Dark. They had been wrong and Peck could only feel sorry for them.

'I'll take you over to the site,' he said to Bishop and Edith. 'The Private Secretary wanted to see you as soon as you arrived.'

They followed the detective, carefully stepping over the thick electric cables and avoiding the white-coated technicians who were making last-minute adjustments to various pieces of equipment. Dusk was not far away and already many of the smaller lights had been switched on. Bishop looked incredulously at Peck when he saw the newly expanded site. A huge pit had been dug out in the area that had once been Beechwood and its grounds, and seated within it were four massive light machines, each rectangular in shape, their Perspex surfaces pointed towards the sky. Similar machines, but smaller, more compact, were placed in positions around the pit. Further back, on the flattened land that Beechwood's neighbouring house had been built on, stood a prefabricated steel hut, a dark-tinted window stretching along its entire length and overlooking the site. On the opposite side stood the generator which would supply the power for all the apparatus.

'They're taking no chances this time,' Peck explained as he guided them towards the hut. 'They've got backup generators and lights, and enough guards to fight off an army. The power stations are heavily guarded too, by the way, so there's no chance of someone doing the same as that madman three weeks ago. He held out for hours before they finally got to him.'

They had just reached the squat, metal-walled building when Sicklemore emerged followed by a bespectacled man in shirtsleeves, whom Bishop recognized as the chief scientific adviser to the government, and who, at the Birmingham Conference Centre, had openly rejected any paranormal connotations regarding the recent disasters.

'Mr Bishop, Mrs, uh, Metlock,' Sicklemore briskly acknowledged. 'Perhaps your presence tonight will bring us more luck.'

'I don't see why it should,' Bishop replied bluntly.

The Private Secretary regarded him speculatively, then said, 'Nor do I, Mr Bishop, but you seemed to last time. You remember Professor Marinker?'

The scientist gave them a grudging nod of his head.

'Perhaps you'll explain tonight's operation, Marinker?' Sicklemore said, having privately made it clear that he was no longed prepared to put up with petulance over the use of what the scientist termed as 'bloody cranks'.

'Your part is simple enough,' Marinker said gruffly. 'You just do the same as three weeks ago. I, personally, don't see why the Dark should return just because you're here it makes no sense at all to me but that's the decision of others.' He looked meaningfully at Sicklemore. 'Although the Dark seems to be an insubstantial thing, we have managed to detect a denser area at its centre a nucleus, if you like. We believe the chemical which reacts on certain other chemicals present in the hypothalamus region of the brain is strongest within that centre. Our intensive tests on living victims have now made it clear that the disturbance is certainly in that region of the brain, and further tests have shown that minor radiation disperses those chemicals. Unfortunately, the radiation, slight though it is, damages brain cells to a degree where the victim can no longer function as a living person.'

Bishop shook his head, no humour in his smile. 'You mean your experiments kill them.'

Sicklemore hastily interjected. 'We have no choice but to be brutal in our tests. Those victims would not have lived long, anyway.'

Marinker continued as though there had been no interruption. 'It explains why the Dark can only exist at night, why the radiation in the sun's rays causes its disappearance. It goes to ground, if you like.'

'You said you believed it was a chemical. How could it react in such a way unless it were a living organism? Or something else?'

'I used the term loosely, Mr Bishop, to keep the conversation in layman's terms. Certain chemicals do have negative reactions to opposing properties, you know. We are sure it's the ultraviolet rays from the sun that are harmful to the chemical and further tests on victims bear this out. The tiniest exposure to ultraviolet makes them try to hide, to cover their eyes. You've seen our light machines set beneath ground level, the others angled around the excavation. Unfortunately, the ultraviolet wavelength does not travel far, but our specially constructed machines are extremely powerful and, so that the area will be fully saturated we will have several helicopters mounted with similar but obviously smaller lights overhead, their beams directed at the ground. Gravitation itself will give them a longer wavelength so the helicopters will be fairly high and in no danger. Of course, gamma rays or X-rays would have been even more effective, we believe, but then, that would have been highly dangerous for everyone in the immediate area, too.'

'Lasers?'

'Too defined an area. They would penetrate, but not saturate.'

'But surely too much exposure to ultra-violet rays is harmful to us.'

'You will be protected and we will be inside the hut. Those outside will wear gloves and hoods and stand behind shields. Their normal clothing will give them added protection.'

'How will we be protected?'

'Special suits with oxidized visors.'

'And if nothing happens? If we don't attract the Dark?'

'Let me speak plainly, Bishop: I don't expect you to. I think that what took place three weeks ago happened by mere chance. The fact that the victims seem to be drawn to this place each night indicates that there is a fundamental source of energy in this area; we have no idea what that source is nor have we been able to locate it specifically. But we know it's here, we're sure this thing that everyone calls the Dark will return to it. It's just a matter of time.'

'Which we don't have,' Sicklemore snapped. 'The point is this, Mr Bishop: your presence will not hinder the operation, and it might just do some good. I mean no offence, but I personally find the argument for psychic phenomena far from convincing, but at this particular moment, I'm ready to try anything if it will mean our success. In fact,' he said, turning his eye on the scientific adviser, 'I shall even indulge in a few prayers when I'm inside that hut.'

Marinker opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.

'Now,' Sicklemore continued. 'The light is fading fast. Can we please make our final arrangements?'

Marinker called through the hut's doorway and an agitated youngish man appeared, a sheaf of papers in his hands, a well-chewed pencil clenched between his teeth.

'Get these two kitted out, Brinkley,' Marinker said. 'Full gear, they'll be fully exposed to the light.'

Brinkley waved the papers in the air with one hand and grabbed at the pencil in his mouth, pointing it behind him into the hut. 'But I . . .' he began to protest.

'Just get on with it!' Marinker pushed past him and disappeared through the doorway. Brinkley stared after him, then turned to inspect his two charges.

'Right, I'll leave you to it,' Sicklemore said. 'Will you stay with them, Peck, see that they have all they need?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I'll see you both presently, then.' Sicklemore strode hurriedly away from them, his small, waspish figure soon swallowed up by the crowds of technicians and soldiers on the site.

'Gone to report to his superiors,' Peck said, enjoying the fact that the man he had to be servile to had to be servile to others. 'He's had his own little department set up in one of the nearby houses, with a direct line to the Home Secretary. Poor bastard's been popping in and out every half-hour all day.'

'Er, if you'll come along with me we'll find you a couple of suits to put on,' Brinkley said, eager to get back to his work. He led them through the site to the road. 'You're Bishop and Edith Metlock, I take it,' he said, forced to slow his brisk pace so the others could keep up. 'I heard what happened three weeks ago; sounds to me as if the whole operation was too hastily put together.'

Peck looked at Bishop and rolled his eyes upwards.

'Still,' the scientist went on brightly, 'that won't happen tonight. I think I can promise you we've found the answer. All very simple really, but then aren't most things if you approach them correctly?'

As Brinkley babbled on, Bishop looked around for Jessica and saw her making her way towards them along the pavement. He waved an arm and her pace quickened.

'Here we are then.' Brinkley had stopped beside a large, grey-coloured van. The back section was open and they could see the shelves inside were filled with white garments. Brink-ley stepped in and checked the sizes marked on the shelves. He soon returned with the appropriate uniforms. 'They're pretty loose and very light you can slip them on over your normal clothing. Helmets are separate, but they're not at all cumbersome. There we are, the light will just bounce off you.' He gave them a cheerful grin, then frowned at the medium. 'That's a nuisance you're wearing a skirt. Never mind, you can change in one of the houses they're all empty.'

Jessica had joined them by now and Peck noticed how close to Bishop she stood, almost leaning against him. It gave the detective some satisfaction, for he knew the ordeal both had been through; perhaps they could at least give a little comfort to each other. He was worried about the medium, though: she seemed lost, confused.

'Are you all right, Mrs Metlock?' he asked. 'You look a little pale.'

'I . . . I don't know. I'm not sure that I can be of any help tonight.' She looked down at the pavement, avoiding their eyes. Jessica went to her.

'You must try, Edith,' she said gently. 'For my father's sake, you must try.'

There were tears in the medium's eyes when she looked up. 'But he's not there, Jessica. Don't you understand? He's gone, I can't reach him. There's nothing there any more.'

Brinkley appeared to be embarrassed. 'I'm afraid we don't have too much time. Could I, um, ask you to put the suits on now, please? I've rather a lot to cope with in the operations hut, so if you'll excuse me . . .?'

'Go ahead,' Peck told him. 'I'll bring them over when they're ready.' He turned to the medium and his voice was hard. 'I know you're frightened, Mrs Metlock, but they're only asking you to do what you've been doing professionally for years.'

'It isn't fear . . .'

'All right, maybe it's exhaustion. We're all bloody tired. I've lost some good men over the past few weeks two of them trying to protect you and I don't want to lose any more. Now, all this may be nonsense, I don't know I don't have to judge but they . . .' he waved his hand at the site in general '. . . see you as a last resort. I've seen things recently that I never thought possible, so there may be something in it. The point is, we've got to try anything, and both you and Bishop are our anything! So will you please help us and get into that ridiculous spaceman's outfit?'

Jessica took the medium by the arm. 'I'll help you, Edith.'

Edith Metlock looked at Bishop, her expression a mixture of helplessness and pleading, but he could only turn his head away. 'Go with Jessica, Edith,' he told her.

The two women left, Jessica leading the medium by the arm as if helping a very old, and very tired woman. Bishop struggled into the white suit, surprised at its toughness despite its flimsy appearance. The helmet itself, with its stiff, black visor, hung loosely over his back; it could be pulled forward like a hood, the visor snapped into position by two clips on either side. The arms ended in close-fitting gloves, elasticated at the wrists, the feet made to the same principle. He zipped the suit up to a point just below his chest and looked up to see Peck watching him, his face grim.

'Bishop,' the detective said, then hesitated.

Bishop raised his eyebrows questioningly.