A stuttered glare from above lit the group of men standing before him, hardening them into statues, bleaching their faces white. In the distance, as if to confirm Kline's explanation, came a deep rumbling of thunder.
"Let's get inside before the rain comes," Kline suggested.
"I saw—"
"You were mistaken." There was a firmness to the statement. "We'll go back to the house, Halloran, and I'll tell you a few things about myself, about this place. You'll find it Interesting, I promise you that."
Halloran was tempted to advise his client to go to hell, but part of him was intrigued. The man was an enigma and unlike any person he'd had to protect before. "One condition," he said.
Kline lifted his hands, palms toward Halloran. "Whatever."
"You answer all my questions."
"Can't promise you that."
Light blazed the land again.
"I'll answer as many as I can, though," Kline added, and the thunder was nearer this time.
"Tell your Arab friends to go on ahead." Halloran indicated Monk and Palusinski. "You two follow behind. And don't watch us—keep your eyes on those slopes and the road."
"Ain't nothin' here to worry us," Monk protested.
"Just do as I say," Halloran snapped.
Palusinski slapped a hand on the American's shoulder as if to warn him not to argue. "You go," the Pole said to Halloran. "We'll follow. Everything is fine."
As the group started walking toward the house, fanning out so that Kline and Halloran were at the center of a square formation, the first raindrops spattered the grass. Kline grinned at his protector. "I told you it was about to rain," he said.
The deluge broke as though by command, and within seconds the men were soaked through. That didn't appear to worry Kline at all. He laughed and suddenly ran free of the formation, twisting his body around in the air, raising his arms high, fingers stretched outward. He came to a stop facing the hurrying group, his face turned up toward the sky, mouth open wide to receive the pelting raindrops. He slowly lowered his head and arms and something in his gleeful expression brought the others to a halt.
Kline pointed behind them. "Look at the lake!" he shouted over the downpour.
They turned to look back.
The broad expanse of water, suddenly lit by another flickering of lightning, was a churning mass, the rainfall exploding into the surface and creating millions of tiny geysers.
After the light was spent, Halloran was left with the unnerving impression of a million fingers pushing through the surface from the other side.
26
AN ANCIENT CULTURE
They sat opposite each other in the drawing room, Kline furiously rubbing at his dark curly hair, grinning across at Halloran as he did so.
"Refreshing, huh?" he said. "I love the rain. It purges the flesh. Pure and fresh, uncontaminated by human effluence. You ought to get dry. Don't want my bodyguard coming down with pneumonia."
"I'll take a bath before I turn in." He realized ruefully there would be scant time for sleeping if he were to keep to his own schedule.
The room was like most others at Neath—sparsely furnished and cold in atmosphere, even the roaring fire Kline had ordered to be lit infusing little spiritual warmth to the surroundings. Save for the fire glow there was no other light source in the room, for Kline had switched it off moments before. On a pedestal in one comer, its face animated by dancing shadows, stood the stone figure of a robed woman; the eyes were wide and staring, her hair swept back in almost medieval style. Above the mantel over the fireplace was a frieze depicting chariots and soldiers on the march; its colors, almost lost in the shadows, were of blue and white with the palest of reds for contrast.
"Made of shell and limestone," Kline said when he noticed Halloran studying the frieze while Khayed tended the fire and Daoud went off to fetch a towel. "Part of the Royal Standard of Ur. See one of the enemy being crushed by a chariot? There was plenty of gore in art and literature even in those distant days. People's taste doesn't change much, does it? You know anything at all about the Sumerians, Halloran?"
With the feeling he was about to find out, Halloran shook his head. "History was never one of my strong points."
"Not even ancient history? I think you'd have found it fascinating."
"I'm more concerned with what's going on right now. You agreed to answer some questions."
"Sure. Just relax. Let me tell you something about these Sumerians first, okay? Never too late to learn, right?"
Daoud returned with a towel at that moment, which he handed to his employer.
"You can go ahead and feed Palusinski," Kline told him. "Our Polish friend has been drooling all evening."
The Arab grinned. "I have kept for him some tasty morsels," he replied, and beside him, having completed his task at the fireplace, Khayed chuckled. Halloran noted that, unlike yesterday, Daoud had not bothered to disguise his understanding of the English language. Both Arabs gave a slight bow and left the room.
Kline dried his hair with the towel, his rain-soaked jeans and sweater apparently not bothering him. Halloran watched his client, tiny orange glows fluttering in Kline's dark eyes, his features sharp, as if he were eager for conversation, with no thought for the lateness of the hour. One side of the psychic's body was in shadow, the side close to the fire warmly lit, shades of yellow dancing on his skin. His chair and body cast one corner of the room into deep, wavering gloom, but from its midst Halloran could see and feel those enlarged eyes of the stone woman staring at him.
Kline draped the towel over his head like a shawl so that only the tip of his nose and chin caught the glow from the fire. "Did you know they invented the written word?" At Halloran's quizzical expression he added, "The Sumerians."
"No, I didn't know that," Halloran answered tonelessly.
"Yep. And they were the first to count in units of ten and sixties. That's how we got sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds in a minute. They applied it to time, y'see. It's why we divide a circle into three hundred and sixty degrees, too. Not only that, but those old boys invented the wheel. How about that?"
"Kline, I'm not really—"
"You might be." The retort was sharp, but a hand was immediately raised, palm outward, to indicate no offense was meant. "They knew about algebra and geometry, even had some idea of anatomy and surgery. I'm talking about 3000 B.C., Halloran, 3000 B.C. and earlier. Can you beat that? Shit, the rest of the world was barely past Neolithic!"
"You haven't told me why you went out on the lake tonight."
"Huh? I thought I had."
"No."
"Okay, okay. Look, would you believe me if I told you that the lake acts as some kind of conductor to my psychic power? That my psyche draws strength from certain physical sources. You know how a divining rod in the hands of special people is attracted towards an underground spring or subterranean lake, how it vibrates with energy and bends towards the source? My mind does the same thing, only it also absorbs psychic energy from these places."
"That's impossible. You're mixing the physical with the psychical."
"And you naturally assume there's no connection between the two. Never heard of kinetic energy, Halloran? How d'you imagine certain gifted people can move inanimate objects through the power of their own minds? It's that very connection I'm talking about, the link between the physical and the psychical. There's energy in everything around us, but energy itself has no form, no substance—it's an incorporeal thing, just like our own mind-wave patterns. Is it getting through to you, or are you the type that never wants to understand?"
Kline was leaning forward so that his whole face was in the shadow of the cowl. Halloran did not respond to the last question.
"It's the reason I bought Neath," Kline went on. "In these grounds I have my own psychic generator—the lake itself, one huge receptacle for spiritual force. You saw for yourself tonight how the lightning was drawn to it, and how those mysterious properties of the waters reac
ted. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of such fields on our earth, places that different races have worshiped from, built their shrines on, paid homage to, since man first became aware of the other side of his nature. They still do to this day. And very few really understand why."
He sat back and the towel swung away from his jaw. He was smiling.
"In some locations, metaphysical and physical deposits become almost one, and that's because both kinds of energy are related. The moon affects the minds of men—ask any psychiatrist or psychologist—as well as influencing the earth's tides. Vast mineral deposits—ores, oil, gas, or whatever—have that potential because they're all sources of energy. How d'you think I locate them for Magma? My mind's attracted to them because it's from these sources that it draws sustenance, the same way an animal can sniff food from great distances, a shark can sense blood in the water from miles away. Instinct or mind power? Or is it all the same thing?"
Halloran understood what he was being told, could even appreciate that there was some kind of weird logic to it, but Kline's dissertation was difficult to accept. "Are you saying the lake has particular properties, minerals that—"
"I don't know what the fuck it has, Halloran. Nor do I care. Maybe there's something underneath the lake itself, or in the sludge swilling on the bottom. None of that matters to me, I'm just happy to have my own private supply." Kline rubbed at his hair again with the towel. "I still have to search out sources in other parts, though. Like the Bedouins have their secret water holes all over the desert, always handy when one dries up, I have my own wells. It involves some traveling, but like they say, travel broadens the mind. Right?"
"Is that how you picked up your bodyguards, passing through various countries?" Halloran asked, keen to lead the conversation away from such "mystical" overtones.
Kline was reflective. "Yeah. Yeah, I did a lot of traveling. Found suitable people along the way."
"People and animals. How did you get the jackals back into the country?"
Kline shook his head. "They were bred for me here. Unusual pets, huh?"
"You could say. I can't help wondering why you chose such a breed."
"Because they're despicable, Halloran. I like that." Kline chuckled as he gazed into the fire. "And they're scavengers. But an underestimated species, all the same. Scavengers, yes, but not cowardly as popular belief would have it. Oh no, they'd fight off eagles and hyenas for food. And they'd snatch a morsel from under a lion's nose."
He shook his head as if in wonder. "Cunning, too. You know, one will distract a mother antelope while another grab the baby. They'll tear off pieces of a kill and bury them in different places for another day to foil rival scavengers. They'll even swallow food and regurgitate it later to avoid the risk of it being stolen by swooping eagles on the journey back to their young. Wonderful survivors, these creatures, Halloran."
"As you say, they're scavengers."
"True, their main diet is carrion, but they appreciate other delights. The jackal is very partial to the afterbirth of the wildebeest, for instance. They'll follow a herd for miles sniffing after the pregnant cows."
"There was someone with them tonight. He was standing by the lakeside."
Kline turned back to Halloran. "So?"
"I assume it was the person who controls the gates."
The other man nodded.
"Someone else you picked up abroad?"
Kline ignored the question. "I haven't finished telling you about the Sumerians. Did I say they were the first astrologers? No, I don't think I did. They built ziggurats, massive square lowers, as temple observatories. That was the start of astronomy, just in case you're unimpressed by zodiac predictions."
He draped the towel over his head again and rested back in his chair, watching Halloran from the shadows.
"Their nation sprang up between the rivers Tigris and Euphrates in what these days is called Iraq. A green, lush area, desert all around. It's the traditional site of the Garden of Eden, where that bad old angel called Serpent got Adam and Eve into deep trouble and had his wings clipped—his legs too—for the rift he'd caused. Serpent was forced to spend the test of his existence crawling on his belly, and when you're immortal, as all angels are, that's a long time. Anyway, the Sumerians knew how to govern themselves, with laws and organization of labor forces and rates and taxes and coalitions between the different cities. The smaller towns and villages even had their own mayors and municipal councils. Thing is, they took their farming seriously, and because whole communities could be fed by a few, others were left to get on with developing new skills and professions. The beginning of real civilization, Halloran. For better or worse, the start of the whole cultural shebang."
"Look, right now there are more relevant matters to discuss. Like the lack of security on this estate, for instance."
It was as if Kline hadn't heard him. "They even had their own surefire method of dealing with crime. On an eye-for-an-eye basis, y'know? A son who raised his hand against his father would have that hand cut off, same with a doctor who fouled up an operation. An unfaithful wife would have a breast cut off. A man who set fire to a house, or maybe looted a burning home, would be roasted alive." Kline sniggered. "Rough justice, but effective. And oh boy, their death penalty. As well as roasting, there was beating, strangulation, and being thrown from their highest temples. Oh yeah—and mutilation. Anyone who really pissed them off was mutilated, had their arms and legs chopped off. The idea was to make sure that particular evil would never rise up against them again. Literally. So they turned these sinners into limbless creatures, snakes—like the Serpent of old, you see—only fit to crawl on their bellies in the dirt. Nasty way to die, left all alone, unable to move, the only hope being that death didn't take too long." Kline visibly shuddered.
"You said they were civilized."
"They found a way to make their system work. A cruel regime in many respects, but they taught the rest of the world something. Strange thing is that, as a race, they vanished from the face of the earth. Can you beat that? Just died out, absorbed into other cultures. You have to wonder why, don't you, considering all their achievements."
"Yeah," Halloran replied wearily, "you have to wonder."
"Even their language died with them."
A burning coal cracked, a gunshot sound that made both men glance toward the fireplace.
After a moment, Halloran said: "I want to ask you about Cora."
Kline settled back in his chair and slowly pulled the towel from his head. There was a curious mixture of innocence and wickedness in his expression, perhaps because while his smile was ingenuous, there was a glint of maliciousness in his eyes.
"This on a personal basis, Halloran, or to do with my protection?"
"Maybe both. Why is she so"—an apt word was difficult —"dependent on you?"
The other man giggled, a childish outburst. Halloran waited patiently.
"She isn't," came the reply. "Nobody's ever truly dependent on another person, didn't you know that? It's only their own weaknesses that they're servile to. An indulgence on their part. Self-inflicted. The tendency is to use someone else as a focus for their own deficiencies, maybe even as a patron to them. Surprised you haven't figured that out for yourself." Kline leaned forward as if to make the point. "We all have total governance over our own will, Halloran. Ultimately, no one can interfere with that."
"People can be corrupted."
The reply was swift. "Only if that's what they secretly want."
Halloran realized that he was now reluctant to pursue the matter. "We, uh, have to make arrangements for tighter security around the estate."
Amused, Kline studied his protector for several seconds. "Why so interested in Cora? You haven't become involved in anything that might be construed as unprofessional, I hope. After all, you've been contracted to take an interest in my well being, no one else's."
He knew his client was mocking him and wondered, not for the first time, why Kline had sent Cora to
him the night before. "There's a difference between loyalty and dependence."
Kline looked genuinely surprised. "You suggesting Cora would betray me?"
"Not at all. I just need to know the full picture."
"Well, let's talk about her some more." Kline interlaced his lingers over his stomach, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, eyes closed as if picturing Cora in his mind. "She's intelligent, works hard, is superefficient at her job. She's also some looker, wouldn't you agree? A little jaded nowadays, though, like she's got deep-rooted troubles. D'you feel that? Yeah, it's pretty obvious. What do you supppose those troubles are?"
He was being taunted, but Halloran refused to take the bait. "Let's get on to other things."
"I think she's agonizing over some terrible moral dilemma, don't you? You can see she's losing sleep over it. Can't be anything to do with the job, otherwise she'd leave, wouldn't she? No, it's got to be something in her personal life. She's a sensual woman, so maybe sex is involved, huh? What d'you think, Halloran? Stupid of me—how would you know?"
The urge to wipe the leering grin from Kline's face was almost overwhelming. "We need chain-link fences topped by barbed wire erected at all access points to the grounds," Halloran said calmly, "with vibration sensors attached. Intruders can always cut their way through hedges, but at least we'll slow them down and make it easier for patrols to spot them."
"Maybe Cora likes things she's been taught not to. She had a strong moral upbringing, you know. I understand her parents were pillars of society, so maybe they wouldn't have approved of her little ways. You think that's what's bothering her? Parental disapproval, even though they're dead and gone? Guilty conscience on her part? Destructive thing, guilt."
"I'm not in favor of moving searchlights—they're too easy to dodge—but a good lighting system close to the house and pointing outwards would be useful. That and low-frequency audio scanners or magnetic fields would provide a good cover. You need intrusion-detection sensors between the house and the lake, too, with sonar equipment directed onto the lake itself."