bl.necroscope2-第38节

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lue　coveralls　and　a　heavy　bag　of　tools；　and　the　blue…black　stubble　of　twenty…four　hours'　growth　on　his　round；　intense　face。
　〃He　must　have　a　hell　of　a　wardrobe；　this　lad；〃　said　Kyle　as　he　and　Quint　approached　the　narrow；　still　slumbering　streets　of　Genoa's　dockland。　〃I'd　hate　to　have　to　carry　his　luggage！〃
　Quint　shook　his　head。　〃No；〃　he　answered；　〃I　shouldn't　think　so。　They'll　probably　have　a　safe　house　here　and　there's　bound　to　be　one　of　their　ships　in　the　harbour。　Whichever；　when　he　requires　a　change　of　clothing；　they'll　be　the　ones　who'll　fix　it　for　him。〃
　Kyle　squinted　at　him　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye。　〃You　know；〃　he　said。　〃I'm　sure　you'd　have　been　better　off　in　M15。　You　have　a　bent　for　it。〃
　〃It　might　make　an　interesting　hobby。〃　Quint　grinned。　〃Mundane　spying；　that　is…but　I'm　happy　where　I　am。　The　real　talent's　with　INTESP。　Now　if　our　man　Dolgikh　were　an　esper；　then　we　could　be　in　real　trouble。〃
　Kyle　gave　his　panion　a　sharp　glance；　then　relaxed。　〃But　he　isn't　or　we'd　have　spotted　him　without　Brown's　assistance。　No；　he's　simply　one　of　their　surveillance　types；　and　pretty　good　at　his　job。　I've　been　thinking　of　him　as　something　big；　but　this　is　probably　the　biggest　assignment　he's　ever　had。〃
　〃Which；〃　Quint　grimly　added；　〃with　any　luck；　is　just　about　to　terminate　a　mite　ingloriously。　But　I　wouldn't　be　too　sure　he's　small　fry；　if　I　were　you。　After　all；　he　was　big　enough　to　show　up　on　Brown's　firm's　puter。〃
　
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　Carl　Quint　was　right：　Theo　Dolgikh　was　not　small　fry；　not　in　any　sense　of　the　word。　Indeed；　it　was　a　measure　of　Yuri　Andropov's　〃respect〃　for　the　Soviet　E…Branch　that　he'd　put　Dolgikh　on　the　job。　For　Leonid　Brezhnev　would　likely　give　Andropov　a　hard　time　if　Krakovitch　were　to　report　to　him　that　the　KGB　were　interfering　again。
　Dolgikh　was　in　his　early　thirties；　a　native　Siberian　bred　of　a　long　line　of　Komsomol　lumberjacks。　He　was　the　plete　munist　for　whom　little　else　existed　but　Party　and　State。　He　had　trained；　and　later　done　some　teaching；　in　Berlin；　Bulgaria；　Palestine　and　Libya。　He　was　an　expert　in　weapons　（especially　Western　Bloc　weapons）；　also　in　terrorism；　sabotage；　interrogation　and　surveillance；　as　well　as　Russian；　he　could　speak　a　broken　Italian；　decent　German　and　English。　But　his　real　forte…indeed　his　penchant…lay　in　the　field　of　murder。　For　Theo　Dolgikh　was　a　cold…blooded　killer。
　Because　of　his　pressed　build；　Dolgikh　might　seem　at　a　distance　short　and　stubby。　In　fact　he　was　five…ten　and　weighed　in　at　almost　sixteen　stone。　Heavy…boned；　heavjowled　under　a　moon　face　that　supported　a　mop　of　uneven　jet…black　hair；　Dolgikh　was　〃heavy〃　in　all　departments。　His　Japanese　instructor　at　the　KGB　School　of　Martial　Arts　in　Moscow　used　to　say：
　〃rade；　you　are　too　heavy　for　this　game。　Because　of　your　bulk；　you　lack　speed　and　agility。　Sumo　wrestling　would　be　more　your　style。　On　the　other　hand；　very　little　of　your　weight　is　fat；　and　muscle　is　most　useful。　Since　teaching　you　the　disciplines　of　self…defence　is　probably　a　great　waste　of　time；　I　shall　therefore　concentrate　my　instruction　on　ways　of　killing；　for　which　I　am　assured　you　are　not　only　physically　but　mentally　best　suited。〃
　Now；　closing　in　on　his　quarry　as　they　entered　the　winding；　labyrinthine　streets　and　alleys　close　to　the　docks；　Dolgikh　felt　his　blood　rising　and　wished　this　were　that　sort　of　job。　After　last　night's　run…around　he　could　happily　murder　this　pair！　And　it　would　be　so　easy。　They　seemed　utterly　obsessed　with　this　most　seamy　side　of　the　city。
　Thirty　yards　ahead　of　him；　Kyle　and　Quint　made　a　sudden　sharp　turn　into　a　cobbled　alley　where　the　buildings　loomed　high；　shutting　out　the　light。　Dolgikh　put　on　a　little　speed；　arrived　at　the　alley's　entrance；　passed　from　grey　drizzle　into　a　steamy　gloom　where　the　refuse　of　four　or　five　days　stood　uncollected。　In　many　places　overhead　the　opposing　buildings　were　arched　over。　Following　a　frantic　Friday　night；　this　district　wasn't　even　awake　yet。　If　Dolgikh　had　been　after　the　lives　of　these　two；　this　would　have　been　the　place　to　do　it。
　Footsteps　echoed　back　to　him。　The　Russian　agent　narrowed　small　round　eyes　to　gaze　through　the　gloom　of　the　alley　at　a　pair　of　shadowy　figures　as　they　rounded　a　bend。　He　paused　for　a　second；　then　started　after　them。　But；　sensing　movement　close　by；　a　silent　presence；　he　at　once　skidded　to　a　halt。
　From　the　shadows　of　a　recessed　doorway　a　gravelly　voice　said；　〃Hello；　Theo。　You　don't　know　me；　but　I　know　you！〃
　Dolgikh's　Japanese　instructor　had　been　right：　he　wasn't　fast　enough。　At　times　like　this　his　bulk　got　in　the　way。　Gritting　his　teeth　in　anticipation　of　the　dull　smack　of　the　suspected　cosh　and　its　pain；　or　maybe　the　blue　glint　of　a　silencer　on　the　end　of　a　gun　barrel；　he　whirled　towards　the　voice　in　the　darkness；　hurled　his　heavy　bag　of　tools。　A　tall；　shadowy　figure　caught　the　bag　full　in　the　chest；　grunted；　and　lobbed　it　aside　to　clatter　on　the　cobbles。　Dolgikh's　eyes　were　getting　used　to　the　gloom。　It　was　still　dark；　but　he'd　seen　no　sign　of　a　weapon。　This　was　just　the　way　he　liked　it。
　Head　down；　like　a　human　torpedo；　he　hurled　himself　into　the　doorway's　shadows。
　〃Mr　Brown〃　hit　him　twice；　two　expertly　delivered　blows；　not　calculated　to　kill　but　simply　stun。　And　to　be　doubly　sure；　before　Dolgikh　could　fall；　Brown　slammed　the　Russian's　head　into　the　stout　panels　of　the　door；　splintering　one　of　them。
　A　moment　later　he　stepped　out　of　the　shadows　into　the　alley；　glanced　this　way　and　that；　satisfied　himself　that　all　was　well。　Just　the　drip　of　rain　and　the　stinking　vapours　from　the　garbage。　And　now　there　was　this　extra　heap　of　garbage。　Brown　grinned　hugely；　toed　Dolgikh's　crumpled　figure。
　That　was　always　the　way　of　it　with　big　men：　they　tended　to　assume　that　they　were　the　biggest；　the　toughest。　But　that　wasn't　always　the　case。　Brown　was　about　the　same　weight　as　Dolgikh；　but　he　was　three　inches　taller　and　five　years　younger。　Ex…SAS；　his　training　had　been　none　too　gentle。　In　fact；　if　he　hadn't　developed　something　of　a　kink　in　his　mental　make…up；　he'd　probably　still　be　with　the　SAS。
　He　grinned　again；　then　hunched　his　shoulders　and　shrank　down　into　his　raincoat。　Hands　thrust　deep　into　his　pockets；　he　hurried　to　fetch　his　car。
　
　
　Chapter　Eight
　That　same　Saturday　at　noon；　Yulian　Bodescu　decided　he'd　had　enough　of　his　〃uncle〃　George　Lake。　Rather；　he　decided　that　the　time　had　e　to　use　Lake　in　his　search　for　knowledge。　His　specific　aim　was　simple：　he　desired　to　know　how　a　vampire　could　be　killed；　how　one　of　the　undead　might　be　made　more　surely　dead…forever；　never　to　return…and　in　this　way　learn　how　best　to　protect　himself　from　any　such　demise。
　They　could　die　by　fire；　certainly；　he　knew　that　much　already。　But　what　about　the　other　methods？　Those　methods　specified　in　the　so…called　〃fictions〃。　George　would　provide　the　ideal　test　material。　Better　far　than　the　Other；　which　was　more　a　dull　tumour　than　a　healthy　intelligence。
　When　a　vampire　es　back　from　the　dead；　the　thought　suddenly　struck　Yulian；　he　es　back　stronger！
　He　had　put　something　into　Georgina；　Anne　and　Helen；　something　of　himself。　But　he　had　not　killed　them。　Now　they　were　his。　George　he　had　killed；　or　at　least　caused　to　die；　and　George　was　not　his。　He　obeyed　him；　yes；　or　had　until　now。　But　for　how　much　longer？　Now　that　George　was　over　the　initial　shock；　he　was　growing　strong。　And　hungry！
　Twice　during　the　night；　striving　restlessly　for　sleep；　Yulian　had　sprung　awake　feeling　oppressed；　menaced。　And　twice　he　had　sensed　Lake's　skulking；　furtive　movements　down　in　the　cellars。　The　man　prowled　down　there　in　the　darkness；　his　body　aching；　thoughts　seething。　And　a　monstrous　thirst　was　on　him。
　He　had　taken　from　the　woman；　from　the　veins　of　his　own　wife；　but　her　blood　had　not　been　much　to　his　taste。　Oh；　blood　is　blood…it　would　sustain　him…but　it　was　not　the　blood　he　craved。　That　blood　flowed　only　in　Yulian。　And　Yulian　knew　it。　Which　was　the　other　reason　he　had　determined　to　kill　George。　He　would　kill　him　before　he　himself　was　killed　（for　sooner　or　later　George　would　certainly　try　it）；　and　before　George　could　drain　Anne；　oh　yes；　for　if　not　there'd　soon　be　two　of　them　to　deal　with！　It　was　like　a　plague；　and　Yulian　thrilled　to　the　thought　that　he　was　the　source；　the　carrier。
　And　then　there　was　a　third　reason　why　Lake　must　die。　Somewhere　out　there…in　the　sunlight；　in　the　woods　and　fields；　lanes　and　villages…somewhere　there　were　people　who　watched　the　house　even　now。　Yulian's　senses；　his　vampire　powers；　were　weaker　by　day；　but　still　he　could　feel　the　presence　of　the　silent　watchers。　They　were　there；　and　he　feared　them。　A　little。
　That　man　last　night；　for　instance。　Yulian　had　sent　VIad　to　fetch　him；　but　Viad　had　failed。　Who　had　he　been；　that　man？　And　why　did　he　watch？　Perhaps　George's　return　had　not　gone　entirely　unnoticed。　Was　it　possible　that　someone　had　seen　him　emerge　from　his　grave？　No；　Yulian　doubted　that；　the　police；　in　their　innocence；　would　have　mentioned　it。　Or　then　again；　perhaps　the　police　had　not　been　satisfied　with　his　reaction　that　day　they　came　here　with　their　report　of　vile　grave…robbing。
　And　George　with　his　bloodlust：　what　if　he　should　break　out　one　night？　He　was　a　vampire　now；　George；　and　growing　stronger。　How　long　could　VIad　contain　him？　No；　better　far　if　George