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inch in width. The shots were almost as rapid as those blows on the punchbag, deafening reports in the soundproofed enclosure, the atmosphere thick with acrid gunsmoke. And when Sabat lowered the gun there were only splinters of smashed wood scattered on the red sand, not a single stick remaining intact. As he returned the .38 to its pocket holster in'his jacket there was a much slower, calmer movement from his limbs; not tiredness, a mixture of relaxation and satisfaction. A man who has walked through hellfire and emerged unscathed. He stepped into the curtained shower, sighed beneath the cold invigorating spray. His expression, too, had changed, a sadness that was hidden by the gushing water and if there were tears, then they were washed away immediately. For, even with Sabat, there was a time for crying. Sabat towelled himself dry, took his time dressing. Slowly, deliberately, he ejected the spent shells from the revolver and reloaded it. His nostrils flared above his black moustache as he controlled his breathing, regulated his anger and hatred towards the Liberation Front so that once again he was the perfect fighting machine, as deadly, perhaps deadlier, than he had been in his SAS days. For he knew that soon the Fuhrer would send his killers. And Sabat was ready for them! The three youths huddled in the dusk of a deserted building site, uncertain of themselves, afraid. None of them spoke for conversation was forbidden to them and it never entered their minds to speak. They had their instructions indelibly imprinted on their brains, seared by the burning eyes of the Fuhrer. No thought of failure, success was taken for granted. They had killed before and tonight they would kill again. Already the memory of those atrocities two nights ago when their leader had accompanied them had been erased. He had made them forget in the same way that he made them remember. They were soldiers in his army of living zombies. A definite assignment; a name and address. Already they had located the house, surveyed it from a distance in gathering dusk, made sure that they were not seen. Now all they had to do was wait. No nervousness now, just another job for one they were proud to serve. That name, they each repeated it mutely over and over again - Sabat. . . Sabat. . Sabat... the man they had to kill! Darkness came and cast its mantle over acres of half finished houses, obliterating details, even the stars seemed reluctant to show themselves on this night of evil. The group waited patiently, not fidgeting, just staring sightlessly into the blackness. They knew when it was time to move, heard the faint hooting of an owl. When their task was completed they would return to this very place and give an answering call. In due course they would be collected, lie for hours in the back of a juddering van hidden by a pile of blankets until they reached their destination, that place where there were no buildings, just trees and rolling meadowland, where tiny creatures scurried to and fro in the dead of night. And only then would they be afraid. They moved silently in single file, the heavy rubber soles of their boots masking every footfall. Stopping to listen, moving on again. When they reached the lighted streets they made full use of the shadows, but there was nobody about because it was well past midnight. They saw the shape of the house, its small shrubbery offering ample concealment, and here they waited again. For there was no hurry. Sabat knew that they would come tonight. In some ways he welcomed the presence of Quentin's soul for evil detected evil, gave him more warning than if he had to rely solely upon his own acute senses of perception and intuition. Now Quentin was silent as though he, too, had received his orders from some unknown source. The time was nigh. Shortly before dark, Sabat locked the doors and made sure that the windows were secure. The intruders would find a way in because of that extraordinary training which the Disciples of Lilith appeared to have received but he did not wish to arouse their suspicions. Only one thing worried him - did they have any supernatural powers or did they rely simply on commando-like tactics? If the former, then his preparations were incomplete and he should have taken refuge within a pentagram to repel the powers of darkness. If the latter, then the element of surprise was in his favour, and with no small degree of satisfaction he checked the .38, slipped it back into his pocket holster. His features hardened as he remembered Ilona, Jackie, and Emma again. His creed, a life for a life, meant that he must kill three of them. And afterwards he would set about Finding the blood gorged spider which spun this crimson web of evil. He switched off the lights one by one, his bedroom last after an interval of a quarter of an hour or so. Then he went back downstairs. And now for Sabat it was a time of waiting. Briefly, the three youths were illuminated by the glare of an orange street lamp as they crossed the short gravelled drive. Identical clothing and hairstyles; shabby denims with the swastika displayed prominently on the left arm, trousers turned up to a ridiculous level revealing heavy, oversize boots. Even their features bore a marked similarity. Eyes that had a glazed appearance, lips tight and bloodless, the unmistakable stamp of cruelty overall, and a total stranger may have been forgiven for believing them to be brothers. A rear window offered little obstruction to their purpose, the pointed tip of a syringe gun cutting through the glass as efficiently as a diamond cutter, a hole just large enough for the sash to be reached. All three of them were inside, the window closed again. Waiting. Listening. Total silence. Then they moved like wraiths gliding through the house, searching each room with scarcely a sound; the study, kitchen, cloakroom, going on upstairs. Here they were more wary, fingers resting on the butts of their deadly weapons for surely they must find the man they sought on this floor. But no, even the bedrooms were empty, no evidence of any of the beds having been used that night. Five minutes later they gathered at the head of the stairs again, a huddled, puzzled trio, not knowing what to do. Eventually they went back downstairs, beginning the search all over again for the training inbred by their fanatical leader told them they had been careless and overlooked something. After another five minutes they found the door which they had missed, set alongside the stair cupboard as though it formed part of a double entrance to that place where brooms and other cleaning equipment were kept. They pulled it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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