bl.necroscope2-第1部分

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　Afternoon　of　the　fourth　Monday　in　January　1977；　the　Chateau　Bronnitsy　off　the　Serpukhov　road　not　far　out　of　Moscow；　2。40　P。M。　middle…European　time；　and　a　telephone　in　the　temporary　Investigation　Control　Room　ringing。。。　ringing。。。　ringing。
　The　Chateau　Bronnitsy　stood　central　on　open；　peaty　ground　in　the　middle　of　a　densely　wooded　tract　now　white　under　drifted　snow。　A　house　or　mansion　of　debased　heritage　and　mixed　architectural　antecedents；　several　recent　wings　were　of　modern　brick　on　old　stone　foundations；　while　others　were　cheap　breeze　blocks　camouflaged　in　grey　and　green　paint。　A　once…courtyard　in　the　〃U〃　of　polyglot　wings　was　now　roofed　over；　its　roof　painted　to　match　the　surrounding　terrain。　Bedded　at　their　bases　in　massive；　steeply　gabled　end　walls；　twin　minarets　raised　broken　bulbous　domes　high　over　the　landscape；　their　boarded　windows　glooming　like　hooded　eyes。　In　keeping　with　the　generally　run…down　aspect　of　the　rest　of　the　place；　the　upper　sections　of　these　towers　were　derelict；　decayed　as　rotten　fangs。　From　the　air；　the　Chateau　would　seem　a　gaunt　old　ruin。　But　it　was　hardly　that；　even　though　the　towers　were　not　the　only　things　in　a　state　of　decay。
　Outside　the　roofed　courtyard　stood　a　canopied　ten…ton　Army　truck；　the　canvas　flaps　at　its　rear　thrown　back　and　its　exhaust　puffing　acrid　blue　smoke　into　the　frosty　air。　A　KGB　man；　conspicuous　in　his　〃uniform〃　of　felt　hat　and　dark　grey　overcoat；　stared　in　across　the　truck's　lowered　tailgate　at　its　contents　and　shuddered。　Hands　thrust　deep　in　his　pockets；　he　turned　to　a　second　man　dressed　in　the　white　smock　of　a　technician　and　grimaced。　〃rade　Krakovitch；〃　he　grunted；　〃what　the　hell　are　they？　And　what　are　they　doing　here？〃
　Felix　Krakovitch　glanced　at　him；　shook　his　head；　said；　〃You　wouldn't　understand　if　I　told　you。　And　if　you　understood；　you　wouldn't　believe。〃　Like　his　ex…boss；　Gregor　Borowitz；　Krakovitch　considered　all　KGB　low　life…forms。　He　would　keep　information　and　assistance　to　the　barest　minimum…within　certain　limits　of　prudence　and　personal　safety；　of　course。　The　KGB　weren't　much　for　forgiving　and　forgetting。
　The　blocky　Special　Policeman　shrugged；　lit　a　stubby　brown　cigarette　and　drew　deeply　on　its　carboard　tube。　〃Try　me　anyway；〃　he　said。　〃It's　cold　here　but　I　am　warm　enough。　See；　when　I　go　to　report　to　rade　Andropov…and　I　am　sure　I　need　not　remind　you　of　his　Politburo　status…he　will　want　some　answers；　which　is　why　I　want　answers　from　you。　So　we　will　stand　out　here　until…〃
　〃Zombies！〃　said　Krakovitch　abruptly。　〃Mummies！　Men　dead　for　four　hundred　years。　You　can　tell　that　from　their　weapons；　and…〃　For　the　first　time　he　heard　the　insistent　ringing　of　the　telephone；　turned　towards　the　door　in　the　corrugated　iron　facade　of　the　covered　courtyard。
　〃Where　are　you　going？〃　The　KGB　man　came　alive；　took　his　hands　out　of　his　pockets。　〃Do　you　expect　me　to　tell　Yuri　Andropov　that　the…the　mayhem…here　was　done　by　dead　men？〃　He　almost　choked　on　the　last　two　words；　coughed　long　and　loud；　finally　spat　on　the　snow。
　〃Stand　there　long　enough；〃　Krakovitch　said　over　his　shoulder；　〃in　those　exhaust　fumes；　smoking　that　shredded　rope；　and　you　might　as　well　climb　in　the　truck　with　them！〃　He　stepped　through　the　door；　let　it　slam　shut　behind　him。
　〃Zombies？〃　The　agent　wrinkled　his　nose；　looked　again　at　the　truckload　of　cadavers。　He　couldn't　know　it　but　they　were　Crimean　Tartars；　butchered　en　masse　in　1579　by　Russian　reinforcements　hastening　to　a　ravaged　Moscow。　They　had　died　and　gone　down　in　blood　and　mire　and　bog；　to　lie　part…preserved　in　the　peat　of　a　low…lying　field…and　to　e　up　again　two　nights　ago　to　wage　war　on　the　Chateau！　They　had　won　that　war；　the　Tartars　and　their　young　English　leader；　Harry　Keogh；　for　after　the　fighting　only　five　of　the　Chateau's　defenders　still　lived。　Krakovitch　was　one　of　them。　Five　out　of　thirty…three；　and　the　only　enemy　casualty　Harry　Keogh　himself。　Amazing　odds；　unless　one　counted　the　Tartars。　But　one　could　hardly　count　them；　for　they　had　been　dead　before　it　started。。。
　These　were　Krakovitch's　thoughts　as　he　entered　what　long　ago　had　been　a　cobbled　courtyard…now　a　large　area　of　plastic…tiled　floor；　partitioned　into　airy　conservatories；　small　apartments　and　laboratories…where　E…Branch　operatives　had　studied　and　practised　their　esoteric　talents　in　parative　fort；　or　whatever　condition　or　envi…ronment　best　suited　their　work。　Forty…eight　hours　ago　the　place　had　been　immaculate；　now　it　was　a　shambles；　where　bullet…holes　patterned　the　partition　walls　and　the　effects　of　blast　and　fire　could　be　seen　on　every　hand。　It　was　a　wonder　the　place　hadn't　been　burned　to　the　ground；　pletely　gutted。
　In　a　mainly　cleared　area…the　so…called　Investigation　Control　Room…a　table　had　been　erected　and　supported　the　ringing　telephone。　Krakovitch　made　his　way　towards　it；　pausing　to　drag　aside　a　large　piece　of　utility　wall　which　partly　blocked　his　path。　Underneath；　lying　half…buried　in　crumbled　plaster；　broken　glass　and　the　crushed　remains　of　a　wooden　chair；　a　human　arm　and　hand　lay　like　a　huge　grey　salted　slug。　Its　flesh　was　shrivelled；　the　colour　of　leather；　and　the　bone　where　it　projected　in　a　knob　at　the　shoulder　was　shiny　white。　It　was　almost　a　fossil。　There'd　be　many　more　fragments　such　as　this　yet　to　be　discovered；　scattered　throughout　the　Chateau；　but　apart　from　their　repulsive　looks　they'd　be　harmless…now。　Not　so　on　the　night　of　the　horror。　Krakovitch　had　seen　portions　like　this　one；　without　heads　or　brains　to　guide　them；　crawling；　fighting；　killing！
　He　shuddered；　moved　the　arm　aside　with　his　foot；　went　to　the　telephone。　〃Hello；　Krakovitch？〃
　〃Who？〃　the　unknown　caller　snapped　back。　〃Krakovitch？　Are　you　in　charge　there？〃　It　was　a　female　voice；　very　efficient。
　〃I　suppose　I　am；　yes；〃　Krakovitch　answered。　〃What　can　I　do　for　you？〃
　〃For　me；　nothing。　For　the　Party　Leader；　only　he　can　say。　He's　been　trying　to　contact　you　for　the　last　five　minutes！〃
　Krakovitch　was　tired。　He　hadn't　slept　since　the　night…mare；　doubted　if　he'd　ever　sleep　again。　He　and　the　other　four　survivors；　one　of　them　a　raving　madman；　had　only　e　out　of　the　security　vault　on　Sunday　morning；　when　the　air　was　finished。　Since　then　the　others　had　made　their　statements；　been　sent　home。　The　Chateau　Bronnitsy　was　a　High　Security　Establishment；　so　their　stories　wouldn't　be　for　general　consumption。　In　fact　Krakovitch…being　the　only　genuinely　coherent　member　of　the　survivors…had　demanded　that　the　case　in　toto　be　sent　direct　to　Leonid　Brezhnev。　That　was　Standing　Orders　anyway：　Brezhnev　was　the　top　man；　personally　and　directly　responsible　for　E…Branch；　despite　the　fact　that　he'd　left　all　of　it　to　Gregor　Borowitz。　But　the　branch　had　been　important　to　the　Party　Leader；　and　he'd　seen　everything　that　came　out　of　it　（or　at　least　anything　of　any　importance）。　Also；　Borowitz　must　have　told　him　quite　a　bit　about　the　branch's　paranormal　work…literally　ESPionage…so　that　Brezhnev　should　be　at　least　part…qualified　to　pass　judgement　on　what　had　happened　here。　Or　so　Krakovitch　hoped。　In　any　case；　it　had　to　be　better　than　trying　toexplain　it　to　Yuri　Andropov！
　〃Krakovitch？〃　the　phone　barked　at　him。　（Was　this　reallythe　Party　Leader？）
　〃Er；　yes；　sir；　Felix　Krakovitch。I　was　on　radeBorowitz's　staff。〃
　〃Felix？　Why　tell　me　your　first　name？　You　expect　me　to　call　you　by　your　first　name？〃　The　voice　had　a　hard　edge；　but　it　also　sounded　like　its　owner　was　eating　something　mushy。　Krakovitch　had　heard　several　of　Brezhnev's　infre…quent　speeches；　this　could　only　be　him。
　〃I。。。　no；　of　course　not；　rade　Party　Leader。〃　（How　the　hell　did　one　address　him？）　〃But　I…〃
　〃Listen；　are　you　in　charge　there？〃
　〃Yes；　er；　rade　Party…〃
　〃Forget　all　that　stuff；〃　Brezhnev　rasped。　〃I　don't　need　reminding　who　I　am；　just　answers。　Is　there　no　one　left　who　is　senior　to　you？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Anyone　who's　your　equal？〃
　〃Four　of　them；　but　one's　a　madman。〃
　〃Eh？〃
　〃He　went　mad　when。。。　when　it　happened。〃　There　was　a　pause；　then；　the　voice　went　on；　a　little　less　harshly：　〃Do　you　know　Borowitz　is　dead？〃
　〃Yes。　A　neighbour　found　him　in　his　dacha　at　Zhukovka。The　neighbour　was　ex…KGB　and　got　in　touch　with　rade　Andropov；　who　sent　a　man　here。　He's　here　now。〃'I　know　another　name；〃　Brezhnev's　thick；　gurgling　voice　continued。　〃Boris　Dragosani。　What　of　him？〃
　〃