Read Online Sepulchre by James Herbert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Herbert
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Horror Tales, Horror & Ghost Stories, Fiction & related items
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night, front and back, when Kline's in residence.'
'The building worries me, too,' said Halloran, and all eyes turned towards him. 'It's a glass and metal fortress, but it's vulnerable.'
'Then let's hope nobody tries to get at the target before we're operational,' commented Mather. 'Now that would be amusing.'
Snaith didn't find that prospect amusing at all. Not one bit.
9 Enticement
Ah good, at last he is approaching the boy.
The boy is nervous but he speaks with bravado. He is pale; the boy, and looks unwashed; no doubt the rumpled plastic bag he carries contains all his worldly goods. He is perhaps sixteen, perhaps seventeen. The English believe that is too young to be without family, without a home; would that they knew of the orphans who freely roam the streets and marketplaces of Damascus, boys who wander alone, others who prowl in packs, stealing, begging, and joining lost causes because they will supply them with guns. Pah! The self-important British knew nothing of such things.
The boy is smiling. An unsure, nervous smile. He is lost in this huge railway station with its throngs of blank-eyed strangers. He would be even more lost in the city itself should he step outside. Now he assumes he has found a friend. If only he realised. Hah, yes, if only the boy understood.
Ajel, be quick, Youssef, do not linger on this plain of shuffling travellers and vagrants. Policemen patrol, they search for runaways such as this one.
Now he is hesitant. The boy is uncertain. Perhaps it is the dark skin he does not trust. The English nurture such intolerances, instil them in their young.
Talk smoothly, Youssef, my friend. He looks around, the movement casual, nothing mare than a glance at arrival and departure times, a constantly changing pattern high on the station wall: but Youssef really looks to see if he and the boy are being observed. You are not, my friend; I, Asil, have already looked for you. I am the only one who is interested. Besides, a man talking to a shab is familiar cares Life is too personal
to these surroundings. Nobody really
He places a reassuring hand on the runaway's shoulder and the boy does not flinch away. Perhaps money is mentioned. Ah, I see the boy nods. He has all the boldness and the stupidity of the unworldly.
My friend turns away and the boy follows. They walk side by side. Not close, not like lovers, but like associates in sin. I see it in your eyes, Youssef, the gleam that shines from your dark soul, even though outwardly you are calm. And the boy swaggers; but this is a self-conscious posturing, an arrogant affectation.
I must quickly go to the car. I must be ready in the darkness of the backseat. The boy will hardly feel the needle's sting; he will only sense my presence when it is too late.
Then, for him, sleep. A long, deep sleep.
And when he wakes - our pleasure and the master's sustenance.
10 Intruder
Hurry, Youssef, ajel. I suspect that same gleam is now m my own eyes. My body is already aching.
Monk was surprised. Nobody was due this time of night. Leastwise, nobody'd told him.
The elevator was humming though. Faint, but it was on its way up. Sounded like the one from the chairman's suite. No way could it be Felix's elevator, the one that slid all the way down to the basement. Nobody else had the code for that. Even the chick, Cora, had to wait 'til it was sent down for her.
Monk was momentarily distracted by Cora's image. The image was naked from the waist down.
Sound's stopped. It'd travelled no more'n four storeys. Yeah, from Sir Vic's den. Who the hell -?
Monk heard the doors open.
But no one stepped out.
The bodyguard laid down his magazine and rose from the chair at the end of the corridor. He released the restraining hoop on his shoulder-holster, but stayed where he was, awaiting developments.
No mood for fuckouts tonight, he told himself. It'd been a bad day already. He'd been shown for a jackass that morning, a clumsy meatloaf, and he was in no mind for
'The building worries me, too,' said Halloran, and all eyes turned towards him. 'It's a glass and metal fortress, but it's vulnerable.'
'Then let's hope nobody tries to get at the target before we're operational,' commented Mather. 'Now that would be amusing.'
Snaith didn't find that prospect amusing at all. Not one bit.
9 Enticement
Ah good, at last he is approaching the boy.
The boy is nervous but he speaks with bravado. He is pale; the boy, and looks unwashed; no doubt the rumpled plastic bag he carries contains all his worldly goods. He is perhaps sixteen, perhaps seventeen. The English believe that is too young to be without family, without a home; would that they knew of the orphans who freely roam the streets and marketplaces of Damascus, boys who wander alone, others who prowl in packs, stealing, begging, and joining lost causes because they will supply them with guns. Pah! The self-important British knew nothing of such things.
The boy is smiling. An unsure, nervous smile. He is lost in this huge railway station with its throngs of blank-eyed strangers. He would be even more lost in the city itself should he step outside. Now he assumes he has found a friend. If only he realised. Hah, yes, if only the boy understood.
Ajel, be quick, Youssef, do not linger on this plain of shuffling travellers and vagrants. Policemen patrol, they search for runaways such as this one.
Now he is hesitant. The boy is uncertain. Perhaps it is the dark skin he does not trust. The English nurture such intolerances, instil them in their young.
Talk smoothly, Youssef, my friend. He looks around, the movement casual, nothing mare than a glance at arrival and departure times, a constantly changing pattern high on the station wall: but Youssef really looks to see if he and the boy are being observed. You are not, my friend; I, Asil, have already looked for you. I am the only one who is interested. Besides, a man talking to a shab is familiar cares Life is too personal
to these surroundings. Nobody really
He places a reassuring hand on the runaway's shoulder and the boy does not flinch away. Perhaps money is mentioned. Ah, I see the boy nods. He has all the boldness and the stupidity of the unworldly.
My friend turns away and the boy follows. They walk side by side. Not close, not like lovers, but like associates in sin. I see it in your eyes, Youssef, the gleam that shines from your dark soul, even though outwardly you are calm. And the boy swaggers; but this is a self-conscious posturing, an arrogant affectation.
I must quickly go to the car. I must be ready in the darkness of the backseat. The boy will hardly feel the needle's sting; he will only sense my presence when it is too late.
Then, for him, sleep. A long, deep sleep.
And when he wakes - our pleasure and the master's sustenance.
10 Intruder
Hurry, Youssef, ajel. I suspect that same gleam is now m my own eyes. My body is already aching.
Monk was surprised. Nobody was due this time of night. Leastwise, nobody'd told him.
The elevator was humming though. Faint, but it was on its way up. Sounded like the one from the chairman's suite. No way could it be Felix's elevator, the one that slid all the way down to the basement. Nobody else had the code for that. Even the chick, Cora, had to wait 'til it was sent down for her.
Monk was momentarily distracted by Cora's image. The image was naked from the waist down.
Sound's stopped. It'd travelled no more'n four storeys. Yeah, from Sir Vic's den. Who the hell -?
Monk heard the doors open.
But no one stepped out.
The bodyguard laid down his magazine and rose from the chair at the end of the corridor. He released the restraining hoop on his shoulder-holster, but stayed where he was, awaiting developments.
No mood for fuckouts tonight, he told himself. It'd been a bad day already. He'd been shown for a jackass that morning, a clumsy meatloaf, and he was in no mind for
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