bl.necroscope2-第40部分

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　that！
　Viad's　face　was　a　savage　black　mask　of　hatred；　a　contorted；　snarling；　saliva…flecked　visage　of　madness！　Yellow　eyes　spotted　with　crimson　pupils　glared　through　the　glass　at　Clarke　with　such　a　burning　intensity　that　he　almost　fancied　he　could　feel　their　heat。　Then　he　was　into　first　gear　and　skidding　out　on　to　the　road。
　As　the　car　jerked　and　slewed　forward；　so　the　dog's　feet　were　jolted　from　under　him。　He　crashed　over　on　to　his　side　on　the　bonnet　and　was　sent　sprawling　into　the　darkness　of　the　hedgerow　as　Clarke　straightened　the　car　up　and　sent　it　careening　along　the　road。　In　his　rearview　mirror；　he　saw　the　dog　emerge　from　the　hedge　and　shake　itself；　glaring　after　the　speeding　car。　Then　Clarke　was　round　a　bend　and　Vlad　lost　to　sight。
　
　That　wasn't　something　he　felt　sorry　about。　Indeed；　he　was　still　shaking　when　he　switched　off　the　car's　engine　in　the　hotel　car　park　in　Paignton。　Following　which。。。　he　flopped　back　in　his　seat　and　wearily　lit　a　cigarette；　which　he　smoked　right　down　to　the　cork　tip　before　securing　the　car　and　going　in　to　make　his　report　Frankie's　Franchise　was　wall　to　wall　sleazy。　It　was　a　place　for　habitual　wharf…rats；　prostitutes　and　their　pimps；　pushers　and　Genoese　low…life　in　general。　And　it　was　noisy。　An　old　American　juke…box；　back　in　fashion；　was　blasting　Little　Richard's　raw　〃Tutti　Frutti〃　across　the　main　room　like　a　gale　force　wind。　There　was　no　smallest　corner　of　the　place　that　escaped　the　music's　blast；　but　in　any　one　of　the　half…dozen　arched　alcoves　you　could　at　least　hear　yourself　think。　That　was　why　Frankie's　was　so　ideally　suitable：　you　couldn't　concentrate　enough　to　hear　anyone　else　think。
　Alec　Kyle　and　Carl　Quint；　Felix　Krakovitch　and　Sergei　Gulharov；　sat　at　a　small　square　table　with　their　backs　to　the　protective　alcove　walls。　East　and　West　faced　each　other　across　their　drinks。　Curiously；　on　the　one　side　Kyle　and　Quint　drank　vodka；　and　on　the　other　Krakovitch　and　Gulharov　sipped　American　beers。
　Identifying　each　other　had　been　the　easiest　thing　in　the　world：　in　Frankie's　Franchise；　no　one　else　fitted　the　prescribed　picture　at　all。　But　personal　appearance　wasn't　the　only　yardstick；　for　of　course；　even　in　the　hubbub；　the　three　sensitives　were　able　to　detect　each　other's　psychic　auras。　They　had　made　their　acknowledgement　with　nods　of　their　heads；　picked　their　way　with　their　drinks　from　the　bar　to　an　empty　alcove。　Certain　of　the　club's　regulars　had　given　them　curious　glances：　the　hard　men　a　little　wary；　narrow…eyed；　the　prostitutes　speculative。　They　had　not　returned　them。
　Seated　for　a　few　moments；　finally　Krakovitch　had　opened　the　discussion。　〃I　don't　suppose　you　speaking　my　language；〃　he　said；　his　voice　heavily　but　not　unpleasantly　accented；　〃but　I　speaking　yours。　But　badly。　This　my　friend　Sergei。〃　He　tipped　his　head　sideways　a　little　to　indicate　his　panion。　〃He　know　a　little；　very　little；　English。　He　not　have　ESP。〃
　Kyle　and　Quint　glanced　obediently　at　Gulharov。　What　they　saw　was　a　moderately　handsome　young　man　with　close…cropped　blond　hair；　grey　eyes；　hard…looking　hands　where　they　lay　loosely　crossed　on　the　table；　enclosing　his　drink。　He　seemed　uneasy　in　his　modern　Western　clothes；　which　weren't　quite　the　right　fit。
　〃That's　true　enough。〃　Quint　narrowed　his　eyes；　turning　back　to　Krakovitch。　〃He's　not　skilled　that　way；　but　I'm　sure　he　has　many　other　worthwhile　talents。〃　Krakovitch　smiled　thinly　and　nodded。　He　seemed　a　little　sour。
　Kyle　had　been　studying　Krakovitch；　mitting　him　to　memory。　The　Russian　head　of　ESPionage　was　in　his　late　thirties。　He　had　thinning　black　hair；　piercing　green　eyes　and　an　almost　gaunt；　hollow　face。　He　was　of　medium　height；　slimly　built。　A　skinned　rabbit；　thought　Kyle。　But　his　thin；　pale　lips　were　firm；　and　the　high　dome　of　his　head　spoke　of　a　rare　intelligence。
　Krakovitch's　impression　of　Kyle　was　much　the　same：　a　man　just　a　few　years　younger　than　himself；　intelligent；　talented。　It　was　only　the　physical　side　of　Kyle　that　was　different；　which　hardly　mattered。　Kyle's　hair　was　brown　and　plentiful；　naturally　wavy。　He　was　well　fleshed；　even　a　little　overweight；　but　with　his　height　that　scarcely　showed。　His　eyes　were　brown　as　his　hair；　his　teeth　even　and　white　in　a　too…wide　mouth　that　sloped　a　little　from　left　to　right。　In　another　face　that　look　might　well　be　mistaken　for　cynicism；　but　not　in　Kyle；　Krakovitch　thought。
　Quint；　on　the　other　hand；　was　more　aggressive；　but　he　probably　had　superb　self…control。　He　would　reach　conclusions　quickly；　right　or　wrong。　And　he　would　probably　act　on　them。　He　would　act；　and　hope　he'd　done　the　right　thing。　But　he　wouldn't　feel　guilty　if　it　turned　out　wrong。　Also；　there　wasn't　much　emotion　in　Quint。　All　of　this　showed　in　his　face；　his　figure；　and　Krakovitch　prided　himself　on　reading　character。　Quint　was　lithe；　built　like　a　cat。　In　no　way　massive；　but　he　had　that　coiled　spring　look　about　him。　Not　nervous　tension；　just　a　natural　ability　to　think　and　act　fast。　He　had　eyes　of　disarming　blue　that　took　in　everything；　a　thin；　even　nose；　and　a　forehead　creased　from　frowning。　He　too　was　in　his　mid…thirties；　thin　on　top；　dark　featured。　And　he　had　a　talent。　Krakovitch　could　tell　that　Quint　was　extremely　ESP…sensitive。　He　was　a　spotter。
　〃Oh；　Sergei　Gulharov　has　been　trained　…；　Krakovitch　finally　answered；　〃…as　my　bodyguard。　But　not　in　your　arts；　or　mine。　He　has　not　got　that　kind　of　mind。　Indeed；　of　the　four　of　us；　I　could　argue　that　he　is　the　only　〃normal〃　man　present。　Which　is　unfortunate；〃…now　he　stared　accusingly　at　Kyle…〃for　you　and　I　were　supposed　to　meet　as　equals；　without；　er；　backup？〃
　At　that　moment　the　music　went　quiet；　the　rock'n'roll　replaced　by　an　Italian　ballad。
　〃Krakovitch；〃　said　Kyle；　hard…eyed　now　and　keeping　his　voice　low；　〃we'd　better　be　straight　on　this。　You're　right；　our　deal　was　that　the　two　of　us　should　meet。　We　could　each　bring　along　a　second。　But　no　telepaths。　What　we　have　to　say　to　each　other　we'll　just　say；　without　someone　picking　our　thoughts。　Quint　isn't　a　telepath；　he's　a　spotter；　that's　all。　So　we　weren't　cheating。　And　as　far　as　your　man　here…er；　Gulharov？…is　concerned：　Quint　says　he's　clean；　so　you　aren't　cheating　either。　Or　you　wouldn't　appear　to　be…but　your　third　man　is　something　else！〃
　〃My　third　man？〃　Krakovitch　sat　up　straight；　seemed　genuinely　surprised。　〃I　have　no…〃
　
　〃But　you　do；〃　Quint　cut　in。　〃KGB。　We've　seen　him。　In　fact；　he's　here　in　Frankie's　Franchise　right　now。
　That　was　news　to　Kyle。　He　looked　at　Quint。　〃You're　certain？〃
　Quint　nodded。　〃Don't　look　now；　but　he's　sitting　in　the　corner　over　there　with　a　Genoese　whore。　He's　changed　his　clothes；　too；　and　looks　like　he's　just　off　a　ship。　Not　a　bad　cover…but　I　recognised　him　the　moment　we　walked　in　here。〃
　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　Krakovitch　looked；　then　slowly　shook　his　head。　〃I　do　not　know　him；〃　he　said。　〃Not　to　be　surprised。　I　do　not　know　any　of　them。　I　dislike　…strongly！　But。。。　you　are　sure？　How　can　you　be　so　sure？〃
　Kyle　would　have　been　caught　on　the　hop；　but　not　Quint。　〃We　run　the　same　sort　of　branch　as　the　one　you　run；　rade；〃　he　stated　flatly。　〃Except　we　have　the　edge　on　you。　We're　better　at　it。　He's　KGB；　all　right。〃
　Krakovitch's　fury　was　obvious。　Not　against　Quint　but　the　position　in　which　he　now　found　himself。　〃Intolerable！〃　he　snapped。　〃Why；　the　Party　Leader　himself　has　given　me　his…〃　He　half　stood　up；　half　turned　towards　the　man　indicated；　a　thick…set　barrel　of　a　man　in　rough　and　ready　suit　and　open…necked　shirt。　His　neck　must　be　at　least　as　thick　as　Krakovitch's　thigh！　Fortunately　he　was　looking　the　other　way；　talking　to　the　prostitute。
　Before　Krakovitch　could　carry　it　any　further；　Kyle　said；　〃I　believe　you…that　you　don't　know　him。　It　was　done　behind　your　back。　So　sit　down；　act　naturally。　Anyway；　it's　obvious　we　can't　talk　here。　Apart　from　the　fact　that　we're　being　watched；　it's　too　damned　noisy。　And　Christ；　for　all　we　know　there　might　even　be　someone　listening　in　on　us！〃
　Krakovitch　abruptly　sat　down。　He　looked　startled；　glanced　nervously　about。　〃Bugged？〃　He　remembered　how　his　old　boss；　Borowitz；　had　had　a　thing　about　electronic　surveillance。
　〃We　could　be。〃　Quint　gave　a　sharp　nod。　〃This　one　either　followed　you　here　or　he　knew　in　advance　where　we　were　going　to　meet。〃
　Krakovitch　gave　a　snort。　〃