'Was all that really necessary?' a voice asked from the porch.
He turned to find Felix Kline watching from just inside, his arms folded as he leaned one shoulder against the stonework. He was dressed casually once more—jeans and loose-fitting jacket, a sweater underneath. And he had a grin on his face that dismissed all the fatigue Halloran had noticed the night before.
'I'd have done the same even if the Mere had been locked away in a garage overnight,' Halloran replied.
'I'll check out the Rover if it's unlocked.'
'So you really didn't believe me when I told you I was safe here.' Halloran shrugged. 'It isn't Shield's policy to take chances.'
'Nope, I suppose not.' Kline emerged from the shade, stretching his limbs and looking up at the sky. 'It's going to be a good day. You want to take a trip, Halloran? A little pre-breakfast exercise, huh?
Something to keep you in trim.'
'What've you got in mind?'
'Follow the leader and you'll find out.' He strode off in the direction of the lake and Halloran was surprised at the briskness of his step. Only last night Kline had appeared overcome by exhaustion, his features haggard, all movement wearied; this morning the man exuded energy.
'C'mon, forget about the other car,' Kline called back cheerfully.
Halloran walked after him at a more leisurely pace, although he was far from relaxed: all the while he kept an alert eye on their surroundings, looking for any sudden change in the landscape, any glints of light that might be sun reflecting off binoculars or a rifle barrel; he paid particular attention to the road leading from the estate's entrance.
Kline was well ahead, almost at the lake's edge. Occasionally he would wind his arms in the air or skip full circle, and Halloran halt-expected him to do a cartwheel at any moment. It was as if the small man had too much energy to spare.
The ground dipped slightly towards the water and Kline was stooping, only his head and shoulders in view. Halloran hurried his pace and found his client on a low jetty; moored to it was a rowing boat.
'This'll set you up for the day,' Kline said as he untied the mooring rope.
'No outboard?'
'I like the quietness of the lake, its stillness. I don't like engines upsetting that. Monk or Palusinski usually do the rowing for me, but you can have that privilege today.' Kline hopped into the boat and settled at its stern. 'Let's get going.'
'There won't be much to see with this mist,' Halloran remarked, stepping onto the jetty.
'Maybe,' Kline replied, turning away to look across the cloud-canopied surface.
Halloran climbed aboard, using a foot to push the boat away from the landing-stage. Sitting on the middle bench, he used one oar to set the boat further adrift, before sliding both into their rowlocks.
Turning about, he set course for the middle of the lake, soon finding an easy rhythm, their passage through the curling mists smooth and unhurried. His position gave Halloran an opportunity to study his companion at close range and he realised Kline's change had little to do with any physical aspect, but was linked with the man's volatile nature, his puzzling splitpersonality, for nothing in his features had altered. There was just a brightness to him, a shining in those dark eyes, a sharpness in his tone. Not for the first time, Halloran wondered if his client was on drugs of some kind.
Kline, whose face had been in profile, suddenly swung round to confront him. 'Still trying to figure me out, Halloran?' He gave a short laugh. 'Not easy, is it? Nigh on impossible, I'd say, Even for me.' His laughter was longer this time. 'Thing of it is, I'm unlike anyone you've ever met before. Am I right?'
Halloran continued rowing. 'I'm only interested in your safety.'
'Is that what your bosses at Shield instruct you to tell your clients? Is that in the handbook? You can't deny you're curious though. Wouldn't you really like to know more about me, how I got so rich, about this power of mine? You would, wouldn't you? Yeah, I know you would.'
'I admit I'm interested.' Kline slapped his own knee. 'That's reasonable.' He leaned forward conspiratorially. 'I can tell you I wasn't born this way. Oh no, not quite like this. Let's call it a late gift.' His smile was suddenly gone and, although his eyes bore into Halloran's, Kline seemed to be looking beyond.
'You make it sound as if your psychic ability was handed to you.' An oar had dredged up some rotted weeds and Halloran paused to free the paddle end. The tendrils were slick under his touch and he had to tug several times to clear the wood. When he dipped the oar back into the water he found Kline was smiling at him, no longer preoccupied with distant thoughts.
'Did you sleep soundly last night?' the dark-haired man enquired.
Was his smile really a leer? And why the abrupt change in topic? 'Well enough for the time I had,'
Halloran replied.
'You weren't disturbed at all?'
'Only by Neath's lack of security. You're taking unnecessary risks here.'
'Yeah, yeah, we'll discuss that later. Cora's an interesting lady, don't you think? I mean, she's not quite what she seems. Have you realised that?'
'I don't know much about her.'
'No, of course not. Has she told you how she came to be working directly for me? I decided I wanted Cora the first time I laid eyes on her in old Sir Vic's office about three years ago. Recognised her potential, y'see, knew she had . . . hidden depths. Know what I mean, Halloran?' Halloran ignored the insinuations, but had to hold his rising anger in check. 'She obviously makes a good PA.'
'You're right, she does. Aren't you curious though?' Halloran stopped rowing, resting the oars in the water, letting the boat drift. 'About what?' he said evenly.
'Huh! You are. Me and Cora, what goes on between us. Does she do more for me than just arrange schedules, type letters? Maybe you want to know if she and I are lovers.'
'That's none of my business.' Kline's smile was sly. 'Oh no? I'm an extremely aware person, Halloran, and it isn't hard for me to sniff out something going on under my nose. I don't mind you having your fun as long as you remember who Cora belongs to.'
'Belongs to? You're talking as if you own her, body and soul.' Kline turned away, still smiling. He squinted into the low white mist, as if to pierce it. The trees and slopes were faded along the lake's edge, the haziness of the sky belying the sharpness of the early morning air.
'Can you feel the weight of the water beneath us?' Kline suddenly asked, still looking away from the other man. 'Can't you feel the pressure underneath these thin wooden boards, as if all that liquid down there, all the slime and murkiness that lies on the bottom of the lake, wants to break through and suck us down? Can you sense that, Halloran?' He almost said no, a total rejection of the notion. But then Halloran began to feel the potency beneath his feet, as if the water there really could exert itself upwards, could creep through those tight cracks between the boards like some glutinous absorbing substance.
Kline's suggestion had somehow turned the lake into something less passive. Halloran shifted uncomfortably on the rowing bench.
A ripple in the lake caused the boat to sway.
Kline's attention was on him once more and his voice was low in pitch, less excitable, when he spoke.
'Look over the side, look into the lake. Notice how silky is its skin beneath this mist, and how clear. But how far can you see into the denseness below? Come on, Halloran, take a peek.' Although reluctant, Halloran did so. No big deal, he told himself, no reason to be churlish. He saw his own shadow on the lake.
'Keep watching the water,' came Kline's quiet voice. 'Watch how it swells and falls, as soft as anything you could ever wish to touch. Look into your own shadow; how dark it makes the water. Yet somehow the darkness allows you to see more. Arid what if the whole lake was shadowed? What depths could you perceive then?' Halloran was only aware of the blackness of his own reflection. But the blackness was spreading, widening in tranquil undulations, forcing away the mist as it grew. Kline's voice coaxed him to keep his eyes fixed on the lapping water, not even to blink lest that merest of movements disturb the placid surface, to stare into the darkness until his thoughts could be absorbed . . . absorbed . . .