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  Christine’s shrewd eyes watched Michael closely. ‘But these old Byzantine Emperors didn’t hold on to power for ever?’

  ‘No, they didn’t. Where I used to live the young men had a rather cruel trick. If they saw a beggar in the street they’d heat a coin over a flame and drop it into the beggar’s hand. The coin would burn the beggar’s hand. But the beggar wouldn’t drop the hot coin because another beggar would steal it. So they’d stand there clutching the hot coin until their hand blistered.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, that to hold on to the Beast, and so hold on to power, is like holding on to the red-hot coins? It hurts to hold on, but if you drop it you lose it?’

  ‘Broadly, yes. It’s not like that at first, but age takes its toll. As the Emperors who had this symbiotic relationship found. They had no problem with it in their thirties and forties but by the time they were into their fifties it became exhausting and painful to maintain the relationship.’

  ‘And one day they’d simply wake up and find it had gone?’

  ‘I imagine so. The effort of holding on was just too great for them. Of course, once the power had gone there’d be any number of rivals to seize the power for themselves. Then it was customary to burn out the old Emperor’s eyes and retire him to a monastery.’

  ‘And that won’t happen to you?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not.’ Michael smiled. ‘After all, this is the twentieth century.’

  Chapter 50

  Tuesday Night

  At the same time that Michael was talking to the three in the cottage the old VW van died noisily and steamily.

  ‘Shit,’ Rosemary hissed. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  She coasted the van on to the hard shoulder, the cloud of steam rolling out from under the van showing a brilliant white in the headlights of passing cars.

  She must be so close now, she could almost reach out and touch them. Damn.

  The night air felt cool when she stepped out of the van. Apart from the motorway she could make out nothing but fields and woodland. The engine made sizzling sounds, steam still gushed from beneath the van.

  Christ! She kicked the van in frustration. What the hell could she do now?

  Richard lay in bed beside Christine. 2 a.m. The dark was total. A tingling sensation ran from his head to his feet covering every inch of skin. As he lay there, skin crawling, he heard the sound. A huge muffled crash.

  He held his breath, hoping it was a door somewhere banging in the breeze.

  Crash.

  It came again. Crash.

  The sound grew louder. As if a giant approached.

  Sweat prickled across his skin. He dragged in a lungful of air so he could shout a warning.

  No sound came out. The prickling rashed across his skin like a thousand tiny electric shocks. He tried to cry out again. He couldn’t. He tried to move his arms. He couldn’t.

  And the pounding beat of something immense grew nearer. And nearer.

  2 a.m. Rosemary nursed the van into a Bristol suburb, the engine making a sound like two iron pans being clapped together.

  Her hand burned from when she’d try to unscrew the radiator cap. But at least after pouring in a couple of litres of Perrier and three cans of Lilt she had managed to start the van and get this far.

  Already the temperature gauge was back in the red and steam that now smelt of pineapple had begun to roar out from under the van once more.

  She turned off into a industrial estate road lined with warehouses. There she turned off the engine. She sat listening to the hiss of escaping steam and wondered how she could reach Devon by morning.

  Richard struggled to break free of the grip of this paralysis. His skin tingled, the pounding came with a slow regular beat as loud as thunder.

  Christ …

  He found himself sitting bolt upright in bed, panting. In near-panic he looked round, seeing nothing but darkness. Christine lay asleep by his side.

  He wiped the sweat from his eyes and breathed deeply. Through the open window came the faint hissing sound of leaves moving in a gentle night breeze.

  There was no pounding sound.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a dream, a lousy cruel dream.

  He walked across to the window to breathe in some of that cool night air.

  Outside, a light shone from a downstairs window, illuminating a chunk of lawn. Pacing backwards and forwards, was Michael. Dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, he looked as if he was rehearsing something he planned to say. His hands moved with those strangely graceful gestures.

  ‘Doesn’t that man ever sleep?’

  ‘Sorry, Christine. Did I wake you?’

  She put her hands round his arm and squeezed. ‘Even when I’m asleep I know when you’ve got out of bed. Are you all right? You’re shivering.’

  ‘I’m fine. I just needed some air.’

  ‘Are you afraid that thing might creep up on us while we’re asleep?’

  ‘I think Michael’s doing a good job as a guard. Anyway, we put some distance between ourselves and it today.’

  Christine pressed closer to him, her bare breast cool against his arm. ‘Michael said earlier it might be another twenty-four hours before it gets here. We should try and get as much rest as possible.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done.’

  ‘I know, love, but you need to relax.’ Her voice grew husky. ‘Come back to bed.’

  He hugged her. Wanting only to feel close to a human being. There was a sense of security in that alone.

  Christine kissed him on the lips. He sensed a hunger behind the kiss.

  Still kissing, they reached the bed. She ran her hands across his back. Then he felt her hands behind his buttocks, hungrily pulling him into her as her legs came up at either side of his waist.

  She whispered. ‘Do it now. I want to feel you inside me. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt me. You – ah!’

  He felt a surge run through her body like a wave as he pressed down. Beneath him he saw her teeth and the whites of her eyes glint in the gloom. Her hands were behind his back pulling him firmly into her.

  Lust or passion or love, he couldn’t give it a name, but something powerful broke through an emotional log-jam. He kissed her face, forehead, nose, lips, chin, throat, breasts; her nipples, button-hard. He nipped them.

  ‘Harder,’ she panted. ‘Bite harder … oh, yes, that’s it.’

  He buried himself deep inside her.

  ‘Don’t you stop,’ she panted. ‘Don’t you dare stop. Harder … harder … oh …’

  This was sex in the raw. It was animal sex. He rammed every atom of self into the act, forgetting his family, Michael, the dead policemen, the York holocaust; he forgot everything; he forgot himself.

  There was only this single reality. And that was to drive himself into this woman. To pound on and on, tasting sweat, feeling the heat, and not thinking about the universe, or what manner of dark things slid behind this surface gloss of reality.

  * * *

  In the back of the VW van Rosemary opened her eyes. Something had woken her, but she wasn’t sure what.

  She opened her eyes, seeing a square of starry night sky through the windscreen. She lifted herself on to one elbow and the road atlas she had been studying before she’d fallen asleep slipped off on to the floor of the van.

  She turned her head to one side as she heard a faint clicking sound. Someone was gently trying the driver’s door. It was locked but she’d left a six-inch opening in the passenger door window for ventilation.

  Heart hammering, she looked round, trying to think what to do for the best. She could beat on the walls of the van and shout.

  That might frighten the thief away. But there was no one else within earshot. What if the thief realized it was a girl alone in the back of the van?

  Instead of running away, he might make up his mind to climb in the back with her.

  A man-shaped silhouette appeared in front of the windscreen.
He’d seen the partly-open window.

  Rosemary held her breath. What now, Red Zed, what now?

  She looked round at the clutter of balsa wood and model aeroplane parts. There was a box full of screwdrivers and batteries. Silently, she felt through the mess of tools.

  As she did so, she glanced back over her shoulder to see a hand wearing a black leather glove moving slowly inside the van, reaching for the inner door handle.

  He’d be inside the van in five seconds flat.

  Her fingers found spanners, batteries, bundles of wire and a knife!

  Instinct kicked in.

  Without even thinking it through, she grabbed the knife and lunged forward, using her body weight rather than muscular strength to ram the knife into the back of the thief’s hand.

  The back of the seat hit her in the stomach. The blow winded her. Even so, she clearly heard the loud crunching sound as the blade went clean through glove, skin and meat.

  There was a howl of pain.

  Then she saw the man’s face at the passenger window. He was screaming. A mixture of rage and pain. She saw his wide, blazing eyes looking at her.

  Damn. His hand was still on the door handle; he was trying to get in, no doubt to beat her senseless for the pain she’d caused.

  Still breathless from the thump of the seat hitting her in the stomach, she scrambled into the front. Then, with her back braced against the driver’s door, she used both feet to stamp at his arm.

  He screamed again.

  But why won’t he take his arm out the window? she thought frantically – take out your fucking arm!

  She switched from stamping at his arm to his face. Only the window was in the way. At the second stamp, it shattered. Then she repeatedly stamped at the man’s face.

  He screamed and shouted. His brutal eyes blazed into hers. Still he wouldn’t move.

  Then she knew why.

  Jesus, oh sweet Jesus.

  She had driven the knife in so hard that it had gone all the way through and pinned his hand to the door like pinning a butterfly to a board.

  Taking a deep breath, she planted both feet against his chest, pushed. Pushed harder. Yelled through gritted teeth.

  Then something gave.

  With a scream that sounded like a pig being castrated the man flew back to sit on the pavement.

  Rosemary kneeled up on the seat, ready to punch if he should come back.

  She needn’t have worried. The man, holding his injured hand to his chest, was making a snotty blubbering sound. As soon as he was on his feet he ran from the van down the road and into the night.

  Then Rosemary noticed that the knife still jutted from the inner door panel. A mess of blood pooled on the passenger seat.

  So the knife hadn’t dislodged, she thought with something nearer to exhilaration than disgust. The blade had simply sliced through the palm, following the lines of the bones in the hand, then exited the hand between the knuckles.

  To Rosemary, it felt as if she had passed the final test.

  Tomorrow morning, when she stood face to face with Michael, she could do what she had to do with the knife. And she’d feel no remorse … whatsoever.

  Chapter 51

  Stranger

  ‘Come on, Boys! Follow Rosemary Snow!’ Amy was her old self. She stood on the steps of the climbing frame, shouting orders to the invisible Boys.

  It was 9 a.m. The morning sun came in shafts through cloud that looked hung like lumps of cotton wool against the sky.

  Christine and Michael stood on the lawn watching Amy play. They sipped from mugs of coffee and talked. Richard and Joey were inside the house eating breakfast.

  Christine asked, ‘What happens now?’

  ‘My team are working on the Codex Alexander at Norfolk Hall. As soon as they tell us the translation is complete I can re-establish the symbiotic partnership. You’ll be free of the infection and can return home.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’ Michael smiled. ‘Of course, I feel as though I should compensate you for what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Believe me, it’ll be more than adequate compensation just to get this nightmare behind us.’

  Michael sipped his coffee. ‘I have a farm in the Cotswolds. Why don’t you have a week or two there? Amy would love it. There are chickens, cows, sheep, even a couple of ponies.’

  ‘Richard has to be back at work next Monday so —’

  ‘Don’t say no, Christine.’ Michael’s smile broadened. ‘I’m making an offer you can’t refuse. And you will need time to get over this. You’re developing some rings under those eyes.’

  Lightly he ran a finger down the side of her cheek.

  Christine smiled, then shook her head, suddenly confused. ‘I don’t know … I’ll have to talk to Richard about it.’

  ‘Christine. Keep looking at me and nodding.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because someone is in the trees on the other side of the fence.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Can’t tell. They’re hiding behind a tree trunk.’ He looked across at Amy and called casually. ‘Amy. Where’s your doll?’

  ‘My Rosemary Snow doll?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I left her on the swing. Can you bring her to me, please?’

  ‘Right-oh,’ Michael called. Then, in a low voice, he said to Christine, ‘Take the doll to Amy and talk to her as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.’

  ‘How do you know it’s not just someone out for a walk?’

  ‘Believe me, it isn’t. They’re watching us.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Just keep talking to Amy. I’m going to stroll back to the house.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where I keep my gun.’

  Chapter 52

  New Arrival

  ‘Too late,’ Michael said. ‘We’ve got a visitor.’

  Christine turned round. She saw a man of around six and a half feet tall, heavily built, with hunched shoulders and long white hair tied back into a pony tail.

  Michael’s reaction to the visitor was surprising.

  ‘Isaac,’ he shouted, delighted. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  The big white-haired man smiled broadly and gave Michael a bear hug. ‘I’ve just been checking the other properties and thought I’d drop by to see if you need any help.’

  ‘Why are you sneaking about in the woods?’ Michael asked, laughing. ‘You scared me half to death.’

  ‘I didn’t recognize the car and thought I’d check out who was here before showing myself.’ The big man’s smile dropped. ‘Are you expecting any more visitors?’

  ‘None, apart from the big boy himself.’

  ‘Oh.’ Isaac nodded. ‘I saw what happened in York, and put two and two together.’

  Michael looked grim. ‘A tragic waste. What you could do for me, Isaac, is get a list of the casualties. We might be able to offer some financial help to the next of kin and the injured.’

  ‘I’ll get on to it right away.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Christine,’ Michael said. ‘I’ve not introduced you. Isaac Herne. He’s been with me for … what, nine years?’

  ‘Eleven.’ Isaac’s blue eyes twinkled brightly as a child’s. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Young.’

  Michael’s smile returned. ‘The young lady on the climbing frame is Amy Young.’ Michael winked at Amy. ‘And the doll with the beautiful black hair is Rosemary Snow. Isn’t that right, Amy?’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘Rosemary Snow,’ Isaac repeated. ‘Pretty name.’

  Christine noticed that Isaac and Michael exchanged glances as if one of them had said something significant.

  ‘And don’t forget the Boys,’ called Amy, swinging on the climbing frame like a monkey.

  ‘Who could forget the Boys?’ Michael smiled at Isaac. ‘The Boys are here and there about the garden. Amy sees them but we don’t.’

  Isaac smile
d and nodded. ‘Sounds as if your daughter has a vivid imagination.’

  ‘Oh, she has,’ said Christine, wondering if Isaac’s arrival signified that something positive was happening at last.

  Isaac said, ‘I don’t want to sound alarmist but you’ve been here fifteen hours, Michael. Shouldn’t you be moving on?’

  Michael paused for a moment, head slightly to one side. ‘I don’t feel anything yet. I think our Beastie Boy is still a long way off.’

  ‘I had some more vehicles parked up in the barn in case you needed them.’

  ‘Good thinking. We could do with ditching the Range Rover. The police may be wanting to eliminate it from their enquiries, as they say, after what happened in York.’

  ‘Right.’ Michael clapped his hands together and checked his watch. ‘Providing Beastie Boy doesn’t get too close, we’ll stick around here for another couple of hours, then we’ll head off. Come on, Isaac, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family.’

  Chapter 53

  Isaac

  Things had changed since the big man, Isaac, had walked through the cottage door just sixty minutes ago. Richard Young sat at the kitchen table at the calm heart of a whirlwind of activity.

  The optimism in the air was so thick you could near as dammit slice it with a knife. Michael hurried backwards and forwards, fax paper trailing from his hands, taking telephone calls, making telephone calls. Elation electrified him; those downturned eyes sparked with excitement. Richard saw that the man was in gear now; he was like a warrior with the taste of victory running thick across his tongue.

  As Richard sat there he watched Isaac take out a harmonica and begin to play a rousing sea shanty. Amy laughed and began to dance to the squeezy-sounding music, her trainers thumping the kitchen floor.

  ‘Richard. Pass the box, love. No, the big cardboard box under the table.’ Christine had caught the bug, too. Her brown eyes flashed with excitement. ‘Michael, which books need packing?’

  Michael talked as he held the cordless phone to his ear. ‘All those on the bottom shelf in the study … yeah, still there, Harry? Is that the relevant section of the Codex? Yeah, the section entitled “Holding The Beast’s Heart”. Does that relate to Alexander’s meeting with the oracle in Egypt? It does? Excellent. All the pieces are falling into place …’