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He said if I
interfered he'd have me certified insane. Well, I'm not insane, and he knew
that.
Myasthenia gravis
. That's what the doctors call it. It's not insanity. Do you know what it is
Keller?'
The co-pilot guessed he had less than a yard to go before he was in the
doorway.
He wasn't quite sure what he would do then - make a bolt for the stairs, lock
himself in one of the other rooms? They were slim chances, but better than
being blasted where he stood. He had no doubt in his mind that Pendleton would
attempt to kill him. He shook his head in answer to the madman's question.
'A neurochemical condition, Keller. It causes progressive paralysis -
sometimes fatal. It usually starts with the eye muscles - that's why I have to
tape them open.
Looks hideous, doesn't it? But that's not madness, Keller. Not madness! If I'd
have been well, he would never have tried to do this to me.'
 How did you plant the bomb?' Keller's rage was still there, but survival
played a greater part in his thinking. Only two feet to go. Keep him talking.
'Huh! So easy. I made the bomb myself - it was nothing to a man of my
technical knowledge - and bought a briefcase identical to the one Barrett
usually carried,
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Herbert, James - The Survivor UC FR
one of those wretched slimline jobs. I went to the airport with him, pleading
with him up until the last moment. He could have saved himself even then, you
see. But he scoffed at me and said it was all for the best, that I would be
able to rest, enjoy the money I'd make from the deal, have a chance to regain
my health. That hypocritical bastard! I switched cases, gave him mine. He
actually smiled and stretched out his hand to shake mine! Can you imagine
that, Keller?'
One foot to go.
I hurried back home and told my driver to leave me. I wanted to enjoy it by
myself. I came into this room, drew the curtains, sat in a chair by the open
window. Waited.'
Keller was almost in the doorway now.
'I'd timed the bomb, you see? I knew the air routes: Amber One, through
Woodley up to Daventry, or Green One, through Reading. Either way, it didn't
matter. The aircraft had to pass over Eton, then Dorney. I'd timed the bomb to
go off as it passed over here, you see. But something went wrong. The plane
crashed before it got here. I saw it in the distance, though - the explosion,
the lovely glow in the sky.'
Keller remembered the slight delay they'd had in departure; if it hadn't been
for that, Pendleton's timing would have been perfect. He paused in the
doorway.
'But all those innocent people you killed with Barrett. Why murder them?'
Keller's voice was incredulous, not wanting to believe anyone could be that
mad.
'Nobody is innocent, Keller, you should know that
'But there were children on board. Women.'
'Children grow up into beings like Barrett. And as for women - even my wife
and daughter deserted me. They left years ago; probably don't even know of my
ill-
health. They left the country. So you see, everyone is guilty, Keller. You.
Me.
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Everyone destroys something in their lives. Haven't you?'
In his own perverse way, Pendleton was right: we all hated at some time, we
all crushed something. But his argument was too broad; it dealt only in
extremes.
Keller had wondered how assassins of this magnitude justified their actions -
the terrorists who killed and maimed so many innocent bystanders with their
bombs -
and now he knew. Their own madness justified it for them. To them, the whole
world was guilty.
He prepared himself to leap into the covering darkness of the hallway.
Pendleton was still rambling on, shuffling towards the copilot. '& My factory.
So many men depended on me for their incomes, you see. I couldn't let them
down. I
couldn't just let my name disappear from aviation history, could I? Don't move
any further, Keller, or I'll kill you now. And then, the voices& 
Keller froze. Pendleton's tone had hardly changed when he'd warned him not to
move, but the menace was all the greater for it.  & Every night they came to
me.
Taunting. Whispering.
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Mocking me. They couldn't touch me, though. They tried to. They tried to
frighten me into accidents, but I was too clever for them. They couldn't trick
me.'
My God, thought Keller. His own insanity had saved him from them. A normal man
would have been frightened out of his wits. But Pendleton wasn't normal.
& I dismissed my driver, sent my housekeeper away. They assumed it was because
of my grief for a lost colleague a friend. My executives knew better, though.
I sent them a letter telling them I was going away for a while. Of course,
they panicked. The remaining head of the company couldn't just disappear in a
crisis like this, with the company about to fold and all. They sent people
round, but in the end they gave up. They'd always imagined I was eccentric. I
couldn't leave the house, you see. It would have been too easy for& them& to
have got at me. So I hid. But they told me they would send someone. It's you,
isn't it? The other man was a mistake.'
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Yes, it's me,' Keller answered simply.
"Well then, what are you going to do? Inform the police?' His voice was
chiding.
It became a snarl once again. 'You can hardly do that if you're dead can you?'
The co-pilot watched the madman's finger slowly tighten on a trigger, the
knuckle whitening with the tension. He raised the knife in futile defence. Was
this the end, then? How ironic to have survived the air crash so miraculously
only to be blasted into oblivion by a maniac.
Both men felt the icy wind rushing around the room at the same time.
Pendleton's head swivelled from left to right as the voices came from all
corners of the room, whispering, calling to Keller. Rogan's voice was amongst
them, but strangely, the demon's - Goswell's - voice was missing. They were
pleading, crying for help.
Keller understood what they wanted: Pendleton's death. But what could he do?
He was helpless.
The madman's hand was shaking violently now, and his head jerked from side to
side as he screamed for the voices to go away.
Keller took the chance. He pitched himself forward, bending low beneath the
raised shotgun, knocking Pendleton back, expecting a roaring blast to take his
head off. But the madman's finger had slipped from the trigger, and the shot
never came. They went down in a struggling heap, the older man screaming and
kicking out at Keller furiously, his stiffened hand now coming to life and
clawing the co-
pilot's face. Keller thrust his elbow beneath the madman's throat and pushed
hard, but the thick woollen scarf prevented any real damage. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]