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kill him there, so he must lure him away. It would not be easy because Daunay
was no ordinary man. Nerves of steel, ruthless. The Sabat calibre; it was like
hunting himself.
OK, that was settled then. He'd tell him he'd discovered the Swiss hideout of
the cannibal cult. Which was true. Sabat smiled to himself, felt his eyelids
droop another millimetre. Lead him up into the mountains. One shot, or even a
karate blow; so easy if his victim was unaware.
He'd be asleep in a moment. A hazy view of tourists wandering to and fro like
contented cattle over rich meadow-land. Browsing, tired like himself.
'Sabat.'
His own name hit him like a deluge of cold water, instantly fully awake,
reflexes that remembered SAS days almost throwing him flat in anticipation of
raking terrorist machine-gun fire. Tautening, seeing the man who stood before
him with a faint smile on his handsome tanned face. Springy hair that blew in
the warm breeze, odd flecks of grey in it that hadn't been there the last time
Sabat had seen him. And that hump seemed to have grown bigger, spoiling the
overall picture of a masculinity that most men envied.
'Daunay.' Mark Sabat expelled his breath slowly. 'Pieter Daunay! And who the
hell would have expected to find you idling the day away in the tranquillity
of the Glacier Garden?'
'And the same could be said of you, my friend.' Daunay eased his body across
and lowered himself down on the seat alongside Sabat, that unfortunate
deformity making the movement seem ungainly. 'I knew we'd be meeting up before
very long.'
'I had the same uncanny feeling myself.' Sabat stared into pale blue eyes that
missed nothing; not even the faintest reaction escaped the Frenchman who was
dubbed 'The Witchfinder'. 'Doubtless you are hot on the trail of this
organisation the newspapers refer to as the Cannibal Cult'
'Like yourself, Sabat,' a short laugh. 'And unless I am badly mistaken you
have already encountered them.'
'I have.' Sabat's expression was impassive, again waiting for the other to
make the first move.
'In Interlaken where a man named Etoine was killed by a karate kick which had
all the hallmarks of a British SAS attack?' Daunay laughed faintly. 'Tell me,
Sabat, is this your investigation or theirs? Are the SAS in on this?'
'D'you think I'd tell you if it was theirs?' Sabat countered. 'Nevertheless,
Pieter, our trails have merged. Teamwork would be easier than two separate
attacking prongs. We might get in each other's way.'
'True. Tell me about Etoine. Was it really necessary to kill him?' Eyebrows
raised in a mock reprimand. 'Not that your name has been linked with it. That
was purely my own conclusion. The fool took the bit between his teeth, as you
English say, and blundered in where such as you or I, Sabat, 'would have moved
more cautiously. All the same, I did not think it was necessary for him to
have died for his foolishness.'
'I did not know who he was.' Sabat held the gaze of those cold blue eyes
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unwaveringly. 'This may sound a weak excuse, Pieter, but I have been ill and
..'
'Pneumonia,' the other interrupted. 'I have checked you out. But forgive me, I
interrupt.'
'Pneumonia it was,' Sabat replied. 'My real reason for coming to the continent
is to recuperate. But then I met this girl who spun me this story about... '
'The convent at Aix-en-Provence,' Daunay laughed harshly. 'Madeleine Gaufridi,
or Madeleine de Demandolx de la Palud. Or, to give her her real name Marie
Boulle. Certainly part of what she told you was true. She introduced
lesbianism to the convent to undermine the authority of the Mother Superior
and to destroy the faith of the young nuns. She was rapidly spreading her own
beliefs and had she not been forced to fiee from there I am certain that the
ultimate depravity would have ensued. She is no ordinary girl, Sabat, take it
from me. If Satan ever had a daughter that girl is his own offspring.'
'It figures.' Sabat began refilling his meerschaum, felt the sudden craving
for tobacco after weeks of abstinence growing stronger. 'I killed the one
known as Etoine because I assumed him to be some devilish enemy of the girl.
Take it from me, Pieter, in a mountain forest at night one does not trifle
with an attacker.'
'True. But how did the girl manage to dupe you?'
'My awareness and intuitions were dulled by my illness,' Sabat went on, 'and
by the time I realised what was going on I decided I'd stick along and take
the opportunity to sort this cult out. Which is exactly what I am doing now
and two of us working together will make that task very much easier.'
'You know where they are hiding out?' A wolfish eagerness showed on Daunay's
features.
'Yes. And they have the body of Louis Nevillon there.'
'Mon Dieu!' Pieter Daunay smacked his hands together. 'I guessed it, I guessed
it. And most surely they will be feasting on that corpse three nights from
now!'
'That is exactly what they plan to do.' Sabat's admiration for the other's
astuteness snowed in his smile. 'But tell me, Pieter, are things as serious as
I think they are?'
'Worse.' The Frenchman's voice dropped to a whisper, glancing furtively about
him to ensure that no tourist was within earshot. A line of cannibalism that
goes back to the days ofSilvain Nevillon, reincarnation brought about by the
eating of the dead so that they lived again.'
'One up on the Cochon Gris!' Sabat's lips were a thin bloodless line. 'I am
learning all the time.'
'You know where they are hiding. Tell me!'
'No,' Sabat shook his head slowly. 'I have a score to settle, Pieter, believe
me. You are the one man in the world whom I would trust to accompany me back
there tonight.'
'I see.' There was a flicker of suspicion for a second in Daunay's piercing
eyes. 'I remember your brother Quentin, Sabat!'
Sabat felt his stomach constricting, the blood draining from his face, rasping
laughter somewhere inside him. 'I killed him. He was as evil as Nevillon.'
'Quite so. I, too, was on his trail. I found the body in that grave in the
mountains. There was evidence of necromantic rites in the clearing, some
peasant corpses that had been interred in unconsecrated ground and then
exhumed by your brother. Quentin's body was unrecognisable, his head blown
apart by revolver bullets. I wasn't sure which of the Sabats it was. It might
have been you, my friend, murdered by your brother Quentin still free. You
killed him, however, and did the world a favour. But, Sabat, do you realise
exactly what your devilish brother was doing with those bodies?'
'Attempting to raise the dead in much the same way that in Haiti the bocors
and houngans have zombies to trade as cheap labour.'
'No, my friend, nothing quite so simple. Quentin Sabat was an associate of
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Louis Nevillon. Together they were addicted to human meat and had already
conspired to spread cannibalism throughout the world. Your brother had buried
those peasants whom he had murdered in the same way that a hunter buries his
venison, in order to bring out the flavour in the flesh. Those graves were his
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