Sepulchre by James Herbert Page A

noted, as would be the walls on either side. No barbed wire and, as far as he could tell, no electronic warning system. And all the cover between wall and road that any would-be intruder could desire. Security was going to be difficult.
    Then he noticed, beyond the gates, the lodge-house.
    A two-storey building, its stone as seasoned as the walls. Its windows were as black as the Devil's soul.
    Halloran frowned when the thought sprang into his mind .
    . . . as black as the Devil's soul.
    A phrase remembered from early years in Ireland, only then it had been: The Divil's owhn soul. Father O'Connell, thrashing the living daylights out of him, had said it. Thrashing Liam because of the heinous wickedness he had led the two Scalley boys into (the younger one had confessed, fearful of the mortal jeopardy in which his soul had been placed because of Halloran's leadership). Thrashing him because of the sacrilege against St Joseph's, breaking into the church in the hush of night, leaving the dead cat the boys had found it crushed at the roadside - inside the holy tabernacle, the animal's innards dripping out onto the soft white silk lining the vessel's walls, its eyes still gleaming dully when Father O'Connell had reached in for the chalice the next morning. Beyond redemption was Liam's soul, the priest had told the boy with every sweep of his huge unpriestlike hand, beyond saving, his spirit as graceless and as black as the Divil's owhn soul. A creature spawned for Hell itself, and a rogue who would surely find his way there with no problem at all. His troublesome ways would . . .
    Halloran blinked and the memory was gone; '.but the disquiet lingered. Why think of boyhood iniquity at that moment? There were worse sins to remember.
    'The gates are locked?' The trace of Irish in his voice once more, the unexpected reverie tinting his speech.
    'In a way,' replied Kline.
    Halloran glanced over his shoulder and the psychic smiled.
    'Wait,' Kline repeated.
    Halloran turned back and looked through the bars of the gate. There was no movement from the lodge, no one leaving there to come to the entrance. But then his eyes narrowed when he saw - when he thought he saw - a shadow shift within a shadow inside one of the lodge's upper windows. His sharpened focus detected no further movement.
    'Open up, Monk,' Kline ordered his bodyguard.
    With a low grunt, the heavy-set American pushed open the passenger door and hefted himself out. He ambled towards the gate and indolently raised a hand to push one side open, taking it all the way back, its base grating over the road's uneven surface, until foliage poked through the struts. He did the same with the other half, then stood to one side like an unkempt guardsman while Halloran drove on through. He closed the gates once more when the Mercedes drew to a halt inside the grounds.
    Halloran had been irritated by a simple procedure which had been dramatised into a ritual. He could only assume that an electronic device in the gate's lock had been triggered by whoever was inside the lodge; yet when driving through, he hadn't noticed any such mechanism.
    'I take it there's someone inside . . .' he nodded towards the lodge-house '. . . capable of stopping any uninvited visitors from coming through?'
    Kline merely grinned.
    Halloran was about to put the question again, more pointedly this time, when he heard the sound of a vehicle braking sharply on the road outside the grounds. He turned swiftly to see the other Shield car reverse back to the opening then turn in.
    'Tell Monk to open the gate again,' he said.
    'I'm afraid not.' Kline was shaking his head. 'You know the rules, Halloran.' There was a hint of glee in his voice, as though the psychic were enjoying the game now that he was safely home.
    'Have it your way.' Halloran left the Mercedes and walked back to the gate, Monk grudgingly opening it a fraction to allow him out. The two Shield operatives waited for him beside the Granada.
    'Nearly missed this