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advance warning of my ing then the glad tidings can only have e from one source … Bishop Boyce！'
There's more going on here than just cremation and madness；' Kent lowered his voice。
Sabat raised an eyebrow； waited for the other to continue。
'I listened in to all this gossip in the White Horse；' the journalist continued。 'Now these folks have really got their wind up because apparently the land adjoining the cemetery was willed to St Monica's Church in Trust； but by some means the Church and the trustees have managed to extricate themselves from the conditions and purpose of the Trust。 Not only that； they've sold this piece of land for a housing site！'
'Jesus wept； what a dirty stinking trick。 I've e across a few crooked churchmen in my time but this one takes the prize。'
'Precisely。 Now the land in question was Green Belt anyway； so somewhere along the line somebody's been pulling a few fast ones。 According to what I heard in the pub these villagers are appealing against the planning permission but they don't hold out much hope。 I'd like to unearth the facts； I can tell you。'
'A village of iniquity；' Sabat sighed； and proceeded to tell Kent what had happened to him recently； a totally uninhibited version of the facts leading up to Kent's arrival； that wild sexual psychic attack。
'So what's the next move？' Kent drained the last of his whisky and set the glass down on the sideboard。
'First I have to find out exactly what kind of evil spirit is operating within the church and its grounds；' Sabat's features were grim。 'And there's only one way I'm going to do that： by spending a night in there。'
'I'll e with you；' Kent spoke unhesitatingly。
'No；' Sabat snapped。 This is one place I must go alone； for in this realm of evil； Kent； only I can stand a chance of survival。 I do not know their strength and my own powers may not be enough。 But it is a chance I must take。 Nevertheless I am sure there are other ways in which you can help。 In the meantime； however； we must pass this night unharmed and now that you are here I suggest you stay rather than return to your room at the pub。 I shall rig up the necessary defences to give us both protection in the event of another psychic attack such as I underwent earlier。'
'I know your reputation too well to argue；' Kent stood up。 'Just tell me what I have to do and 。 。 。 '
The piercing noise came at them out of the night。 A wail that escalated； reached its peak and hung reverberating in the still atmosphere。 Even before the echoes had a chance to die away； it began again。
A scream of sheer mortal terror that came from the direction of St Monica's churchyard！
CHAPTER FIVE
SABAT AND Kent moved simultaneously towards the door and hit the darkness outside fast and low； trained mandos precipitated into battle at a moment's notice； knowing that every shadow might conceal an enemy； a foe more deadly than any they had faced during their SAS days。
The night air still vibrated from the scream。 Slowly it died away。 They paused alongside the privet hedge； waited； but it did not e again。
'We'd better check the churchyard；' Sabat whispered。 His mouth was dry and he was not sufficiently prepared to go forth into battle at this stage against an unknown enemy。 But somewhere somebody was in deadly peril。 It might already be too late。 Sabat and Kent had no choice。
Sabat sensed the coldness again； the cloying presence of evil as though frozen fingers were trying to grab him and pull him back。 He tried to ignore it； determined not to be overwhelmed by another psychic attack。 It was Kent he worried about most； though。 A cold ruthless fighter but the journalist was not familiar with the forces of darkness。 It was him they would try to pull down first。
'Kent；' Sabat whispered hoarsely。 'Keep close to me； don't let me out of your sight。 And 。 。 。 and take this。'
Kent stared at the small silver object which was thrust into his hand。 That tiny crucifix again； the one Sabat had tried to test him with earlier。 Oh Christ； was Mark Sabat being some sort of religious nut？
'Don't be stupid；' the Fleet Street man's tones were harsh with contempt and annoyance。 'There's maybe somebody out there just got murdered。 We're not going to start preaching to the killer or anything like that are we； Sabat？'
'Be warned；' Sabat thrust his face close to his panion's。 'We are not up against mortal enemies tonight。 Whoever our adversaries are they will first try to destroy our minds； render us babbling imbeciles just as they did Vicar Cleehopes who was a very powerful exorcist himself。 We must fight them with such weapons as this； have faith in ourselves。'
'Now you are fucking preaching；' Kent sneered； tossing the crucifix up and down in his hand。 'Still； I suppose it's only to be expected from one who's worn a bleeding dog…collar himself。 Okay； if you want it that way； Sabat； then that's okay by me but don't get any ideas about converting me。 You know damned well I'm an atheist。'
Sabat stiffened。 Had the dark powers already begun to work on Kent； alienating him against Sabat？
'I know；' Sabat smiled。 'You're an atheist； Kent。 You don't believe in God so therefore how can you believe in them。'
The journalist checked an angry retort and an expression of bewilderment flooded his rugged features in the faint moonlight。 'You're right； Sabat；' he said； as though he had to force the words out。 'I don't believe in them。 They're a load of crap； superstition put about by these ignorant villagers to scare the life out of everybody。'
Sabat stretched out his hand； took the crucifix back and dropped it into his pocket。 The wind appeared to strengthen suddenly from a gentle breeze to a tearing gale； buffeted them； then died down as quickly as it had begun。 A show of anger by the evil around them； a temporary setback for the lurking powers because Sabat had produced an unexpected ace out of his occult pack。 It had worked this time but it might not again。
'Let's move；' Sabat took the lead； knew that the other followed him。 He tried not to think what they might e up against beyond the lychgate which stood silhouetted against the night sky some twenty yards ahead of them。 The awful possibilities were innumerable。
'I can smell smoke；' Kent breathed。 'Christ； what a bloody awful stink！'
Sabat wrinkled his nostrils。 There was certainly a pungent aroma being wafted on the night breeze； like a smouldering garden bonfire； only more cloying。 He sniffed the air in the manner of a hunting beast but failed to recognise the smell other than that of burning。 His thoughts flipped briefly to the incinerated body of the Reverend Philip Owen and further back in time to one Dr William Price。 They were not pleasant thoughts。
The churchyard was in total silence as they eased through the lychgate。 Even that gentle breeze seemed to have dropped and a patch of cloud scudded across the face of the moon as though the heavens feared to look down upon th