Lifeforce (20 page)

He said: “Christ!” The idea shocked him.

Fallada said wonderingly: “Don’t you remember?”

“I should have ordered him to remember everything. I forgot.” Geijerstam sat on the desk. “You told us that one of the aliens had invaded the body of a nurse. The other is the Prime Minister.” He pressed a switch on the desk. “Listen. I’ll play it back to you.”

For the next seven minutes, he listened with astonishment to the sound of his own voice. It sounded drowsy and expressionless. He had no recollection of anything he had said. For a moment, he recalled a girl dressed in red, her hair blowing in the wind; but the memory faded immediately. He was back in the room, seeing the world from a fixed point of view, like a man bending over a microscope.

As his voice said “Everard Jamieson,” Geijerstam switched off the recorder.

“You see. You both knew there was something wrong with this man Jamieson. Your subconscious mind is wiser than you are.”

Fallada said: “I still find it almost impossible to believe. I mean… he seemed so normal the other day. I’ve seen him many times on television.”

He was speaking to Carlsen. Carlsen said, shrugging: “I agree.”

Fallada asked Geijerstam: “Don’t you think it possible he might be mistaken? That his dislike of Jamieson might have affected his subconscious judgement?”

“That is easy enough to find out.” Geijerstam laid his finger on the paper on the desk. “You have two car registration numbers here. The car licencing department should have no difficulty in tracing them. If this proves to be accurate, then the rest is probably accurate.”

Carlsen said: “Let’s call Heseltine.”

“Good.” Fallada crossed to the desk. “Do you mind if we call London?”

Gerijerstam said: “Please.”

The duty sergeant answered: “New Scotland Yard.”

“Commissioner’s Office, please.”

Heseltine’s secretary appeared on the screen. She said: “Ah, Dr Fallada. We’ve been trying to find you.”

“Anything urgent?”

“The Prime Minister wanted to see you.”

Fallada and Carlsen exchanged glances. Fallada said: “Is Sir Percy there now?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s at Downing Street. Can I get him to call you?”

That won’t be necessary. But I’d like to leave a message. Could you make a note of these licence numbers?” He read them out. “I’d like to know where the owners can be located.”

“I could do that for you while you wait. Would you like to hang on?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be back in London later today. I’ll call you then. Would you tell Sir Percy the numbers are connected with the case — he’ll know what I mean. And ask him not to mention them to anyone until he sees me.”

“Very well, sir. Where are you now?”

Fallada said, smiling: “Istanbul.”

When he had disconnected, Geijerstam said: “So you leave today? I am sorry.”

“I think it’s important. We’ve got to locate this female.”

“And what then?”

Fallada shrugged. “I don’t know. Any suggestions?”

Geijerstam sat down on the settee, moving it back from the fire. For several moments he said nothing. He said finally: “I am afraid my advice may be useless. But I will give it to you for what it is worth. The major problem is to force a vampire into retreat. Do you remember the final scenes of Dracula ? This may sound absurd, but they show true insight into the psychology of the vampire. Once the vampire can be induced to flee, he has lost the advantage. I once defined vampirism as a form of mental karate. It depends on attack, on aggression. You see, the vampire is basically a criminal. He is like a thief in the night.”

Fallada nodded. “Like a rapist. If the victim turned around and tried to rape him , he would lose all sexual desire.”

Geijerstam laughed. “Exactly. So if you locate your vampire, do not be afraid of her. Of course, I know nothing of the powers of these aliens, so perhaps I am giving you bad advice. But I would say: try to make her afraid of you.”

Carlsen shook his head. “The objection to that is that she might vanish again. The lengendary vampire has certain limitations — he has to sleep in a coffin full of earth and so on. These things don’t seem to have any.”

Geijerstam said: “They must have limitations. Your problem is to find them. For example, you say she might vanish again. But are you certain of that?”

Fallada asked quickly: “What do you mean?”

“Think of what happened last time. The first woman disappeared from your Space Research building. Then the other two were found to be dead. You know now that they simply abandoned their bodies and found others. But did they do it alone? Or with the help of the other vampire?”

Carlsen said: “That’s true… We’ve no evidence they can do it alone.”

Geijerstam said: “And so if the three are now separated, they may be easier to deal with. Besides, you now know that you can locate her under hypnosis.”

Fallada said: “Couldn’t we persuade you to come back with us?”

Geijerstam shook his head. “No. I am too old. Besides, you don’t need me. You know as much about vampires as I do — probably more.”

There was a knock at the door. The footman, Gustav, looked in. He said: “The young ladies want to know if you’re going to join them in a drink before lunch, sir.”

“Yes, I think so. Say we’ll be down in a few minutes.” He turned to Fallada. “Before we go down, one more piece of advice. Never forget that the vampire is a criminal. That is the essence of their psychology. And all criminals get unlucky sooner or later.”

Carlsen said: “Is that what she meant — the old woman? When she said vampires were unlucky, I thought she meant for their victims.”

Geijerstam chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No. Not for their victims. For themselves. Look at these creatures. They lay a perfect plan to invade the earth. And at every important stage, something goes wrong. There are powers of good as well as evil in the universe.”

Carlsen said: “I wish I could believe that.”

“You will before you are finished with these creatures.”

Carlsen wanted to question him further, but he was already on his way out of the room.

The sky was purple with dusk as the plane landed at London Airport. As he walked down the gangway, Carlsen was struck by the fragrant warmth of the air, mingled with the smell of jet fuel.

It was a strange feeling, to be back. It seemed incredible that it was only a day ago since he had left London. He felt as if he had returned from six months in space.

Fallada asked: “How are you feeling?”

“Glad to be back. But a little depressed.”

“About Selma?”

“Yes.”

“No point in feeling guilty. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, we couldn’t stay longer.”

He said: “It’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“I wanted to stay.”

Fallada looked at him quickly.

“Oh, not because I’m in love with her.” It seemed absurd, saying these ultimate things as they crossed to the waiting bus, surrounded by noise, but he persisted. “It was her vitality…” He stopped, unable to go on.

Fallada said quickly: “Don’t let it worry you.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

“I know. But you’ve got to remember that it’s just another instinctive response, like the sex drive. It can be controlled just as easily.”

But as the shuttle moved almost silently across the smooth concrete, Fallada tried to suppress his own disquiet. He understood why Carlsen should fear for his wife and children. He had seen the automatic telerecording of the death of Seth Adams; he retained an impression of instant deadly response, like a Venus flytrap closing on an insect.

In the terminal, they both made for telescreen booths. Carlsen rang Jelka; she appeared in a bathrobe. “I’m just washing my hair. Mandy and Tom said they’d be over about nine. Will you be back by then?”

“I don’t know yet. Fallada’s ringing Heseltine now. I’ll call you back.”

Fallada had spoken to the Duty Sergeant at the Yard; there was a message for him to ring Heseltine at home. Heseltine was chewing as he answered. Fallada said: “I’m sorry. Have I interrupted your dinner?”

“That’s all right — I was nearly finished. Where have you been?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you. Did you trace the two car licence numbers?”

“Yes.” Heseltine took a slip of paper from his pocket. “One was a foreign car — Danish couple over here on honeymoon. The other’s registered to a man called Pryce at Holmfirth.”

“Where’s that?”

“In Yorkshire.”

“Excellent! I think we’d better come over to see you immediately. Are you free?”

“Of course. I’m just going to have a brandy and a cigar. Come over and join me. Is Carlsen with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. My wife’s longing to meet him. Come as soon as you can.”

On the way out of the airport, they stopped at the bookstall, and Fallada bought an atlas of the British Isles. In the helicab, he opened it, searched for a moment, then gave an exclamation of satisfaction. He handed it to Carlsen, his finger pressed on the page. “Look.”

Holmfirth, Carlsen saw, was a small town some five miles south of Huddersfield. The contour map showed high ground shaded in yellow and brown. Holmfirth was on the edge of a brown area.

“I’d guess it’s less than two hundred and fifty miles from London. That means we could make it in less than an hour in a Grasshopper.”

Carlsen said: “God forbid. . Not tonight, anyway.”

“Tired?”

“Yes.” But as he spoke, he knew it was not the truth. He was afraid: afraid to go home, afraid to seek out the aliens, afraid to do nothing. But the logical part of him told him he had nothing to lose by going on.

The helicab touched down at the ramp in Sloane Square; from there, they walked the two hundred yards to Eaton Place. Fallada said: “Incidentally, Heseltine’s wife is anxious to meet you. She used to be the most beautiful deb in London — Peggy Beauchamp.” He patted Carlsen’s shoulder. “So I hope you’ll control your fatal charm.”

He spoke jokingly, but Carlsen knew him well enough to sense the underlying seriousness. He smiled, clearing his throat.

They stopped at the front door of a red-brick three-storey house, whose ugly iron railings dated from the Victorian period. The door was opened by a slim, pretty woman in a green kimono. Fallada kissed her on the cheek. “Peggy, this is Olof Carlsen.”

“I’m so glad to meet you at last, Commander.”

Carlsen had expected her to be older. He said: “I’m delighted to meet you.” Their hands touched while he was still speaking; suddenly, without any process of thought, he was involved in her mind and feelings. He was glad the light in the hall was poor; he felt the colour rising to his face.

“Percy’s gone up to his study. Have you come here to talk shop?”

Fallada said diplomatically: “Not entirely. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“I hope not. I’ve just made coffee.”

She led them into the drawing-room; it was a pleasant, comfortable room, with old-fashioned furniture of the early twenty-first century.

“I’ll give Percy a buzz and tell him you’re here. He didn’t expect you to get here so soon.”

Fallada said: “Why don’t I go up myself? Olof, stay and talk to Lady Heseltine while I go and get Percy.”

As Fallada went out she asked: “Black or white?”

“White, please.”

“Brandy?”

“Just a little.”

Watching her as she stood at the sideboard, he experienced a confusion of feeling. The moment of insight had taught him more than he could have learned in weeks of intimacy. This power to enter the inmost thoughts of an attractive woman brought a sense of deep satisfaction. It also disturbed him; it seemed a proof that he was changing into another person.

She placed the coffee and brandy on the table. “It’s strange, but I feel as if I know you rather well. Perhaps because I’ve seen you on television.”

Their hands brushed as she handed him the sugar. He put it on the table and took her hand. Looking up into her face, he said: “Tell me something. Can you read my thoughts?”

She stared back with surprise but made no effort to withdraw her hand. His insight into her thoughts told him that she was about to say: “Of course not”; then she checked the response and allowed her mind to become receptive. At once he became aware of a flicker of communication. She said hesitantly: “I… I think I can.”

He released her hand; her thoughts became remote, like a poor telephone connection. She asked: “What on earth does it mean?”

“Did your husband tell you about the vampires?”

She nodded.

“Then you shouldn’t have to ask.”

Obedient to a thought suggestion, she sat beside him on the settee. He took her hand again, placing his thumb in the centre of her wrist, and the fingers spread across the back of the hand; he knew instinctively that this would ensure the best contact. She lowered her eyes to concentrate. It was a strange sensation: to have known her for less than five minutes and yet to have achieved a more intimate contact than her husband had. She was still too confused to read his thoughts accurately, but he was clearly aware of a two-way communication. She also registered his feeling-responses. The kimono had fallen open at the neck, showing the edge of a lace-trimmed bra; without observing the direction of his gaze, she reached up and adjusted it. Then she noticed him smiling, and coloured, realising that modesty was wasted. For all practical purposes, she might as well have been naked.

For the next ten minutes they sat perfectly still. They were not communicating so much as observing. He was inside her consciousness, seeing himself through her eyes, aware of the warmth of her body. An hour ago she had taken a bath and washed her hair; he was aware of the pleasure it gave her to feel relaxed and cool, faintly scented with the bath salts. It had never struck him that feminine consciousness was so basically different from a man’s When a Persian cat jumped into her lap and rubbed its head against her, purring, he had a momentary glimpse into the cat’s being, and was again astonished to realise that it was so unlike his own. For a moment, he was dazzled by the thought of millions of individuals, each a separate universe, each as strange and unique as an unexplored planet.