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The bell rang again; the caller was becoming impatient. Well, Sabat wouldn't
keep him waiting much longer!
He slid the " out of its holster, held it easily in his hand, well aware of
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his own speed and accuracy when it came to marksmanship. He would be in his
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element in a gunfight but it would not be anything as simple as that. He did
not know what he was up against, what enemy they had sent in Quentin's wake.
Moving as silently as a wraith, Sabat descended the stairs with scarcely a
creaking board. The hallway was in darkness but by the glow of that same
single streetlamp which had lit his bedroom he saw a figure silhouetted
against the opaque glass panel of the front door. A man, his features
indistinguishable, short and stocky, a hand going up to the bellpush yet
again.
Ringing frantically now, determined that his call should be answered. Sabat
flattened himself against the wall, began to move towards the door, the barrel
of his revolver trained unwaveringly on that silhouette outside. Now he was
only a yard from the other, a mere pane of glass separating them, the caller
outside totally unaware of his presence. Yet he knew that Sabat was in the
house otherwise he would have gone away before now.
Sabat made up his mind and moved with the speed of a swooping sparrowhawk, his
free hand darting out, turning the yale catch and pulling the door inwards in
one perfectly co-ordinated movement. Face to face, two men with their features
bathed in shadow, the stranger recoiling with surprise, then letting out a
faint grunt of alarm when the dim light glinted on the unmistakable barrel of
a revolver.
'Just don't make a move,' Sabat's voice was low and menacing, 'otherwise
you'll never live to make another!'
'Sabat!' a voice that was vaguely familiar to the ex-SAS man but which counted
for nothing because the dark powers could imitate any sound or form they chose
with ease. 'Take it easy, Sabat.'
'Don't risk it,' Sabat breathed, 'I'm not in the mood for mercy tonight.
Anyway, who the hell are you?'
'It's me ... Kent,' the other was taken aback yet he showed no fear. 'Jesus
Christ Almighty, do you always greet your visitors by shoving a " in their
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faces?'
'Usually,' Sabat drawled and laughed faintly, but still he was not going to be
lulled into apathy. His left hand found the lightswitch and flooded the hall
and steps with brilliant white light. And as he saw his caller for the first
time Sabat knew that it was indeed the man who called himself Kent, or at
least it was his form and features.
'Come inside,' Sabat stepped back, held the door wide and Kent entered. Then
Sabat moved, his hand dipping into his pocket and coming out again, holding
something out towards the other. 'Just hold this a minute, Kent.'
Kent took the object, held it in the palm of his hand and regarded it with
bewilderment. 'Hey, what's going on, Sabat? You gone religious or are you some
kind of a screwball?'
'Neither,' Sabat laughed, retrieved the object which he had passed over, a
small silver crucifix no more than an inch and a half long. 'Just checking
that you really are Kent and not something using his form to get me. Because
if you were you'd've been burned to hell by this.'
'I don't follow.'
'No, I don't expect you do but let me tell you this, Kent. There are some very
dastardly goings-on in this village at present, beyond mortal ken, and I've
just had my first encounter with one of the evil entities involved. Anyway,
I'm satisfied it is you and I'm more than grateful to see you. You'd better
come through to the lounge and we'll see if the Reverend Owen by any chance
kept a drop of something in his sideboard and then we'll both find out what
the other is up to.'
Sabat found a half-bottle of Claymore, poured a generous measure into two
tumblers, searched in vain for a bottle of peppermint cordial, and finding
none, decided to take his whisky neat. He passed the other glass to Kent, let
his gaze run over the man whom he had not seen for the past five years,
indeed, not since that time they had been colleagues in an SAS nocturnal
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exercise. He'd noted Kent's by-line on columns of one of the most sensational
daily papers though. The journalist was doing all right for himself and was at
the top of his profession. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]