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； for his dreams over the past few nights had revealed that at least to him； although no images； no visions of what it was； were presented。 For in his sleep he had tasted the joys of carnality； had been seduced by the delights of depravity； had been pleasured by the thrill of vileness。 The dreams had promised that those glories would be his if 。 。 。 if 。 。 。 if 。 。 。 he would but claim them。 And to claim them； he would have to descend the pit。
THUD…UP！
The pulse was thunderous； reverberating around the shaft； causing a tremor； dislodging dust。 His grip on the rope slipped and he plunged。
But not far。
For the pit was not deep at all。 Its very blackness had created that illusion。
His legs buckled and he crashed onto his back； the lamp toppling over； fortunately still burning。 Without pause to regather his breath； he reached out and righted the lamp lest he be cast into plete darkness。 Only then did he suck in the foul air and feel the pain of his jarred body。
He pushed himself into a sitting position； his back against the crumbling wall； his chest heaving； his eyes wide and frightened。
Opposite was a niche。 A square hole that was no more than two foot high； cleverly concealed in shadow so that no one above would ever realise it was there。
It was some time before he was able to crawl towards the niche。
The lamp revealed a closed receptacle of some kind inside； its surface dulled by centuries of dust。 He brushed shivery fingers across the front and felt metal； bumps and ridges that might have been symbols were embossed on what must have been a door； for set in one side was a small projection that served as a handle。
He stared。 He did not want to open it。 He knew he was going to。
His hand shook so violently he could barely grasp the handle。 Squeezing his fingers tight around it； he tugged。
The door opened easily。
And his scream threatened to bring the walls of the pit down on him。 。 。
。 。 。 Kline's scream caused Khayed and Daoud to leap away from the bed in surprise。 They quickly ran forward again and babbled soothing words to their master； assuring him it was only a nightmare； that he was safe under their watchful protection； nothing would harm him while they lived and breathed。
He looked from one to the other； his face a cracked mask of seams and ruptures。 Suddenly he understand。 'He's dying；' Kline rasped。
35 THE WAITING GAME
He watched the Granada cruise by； its headlights brightening both sides of the narrow road。 Keeping low and pulling aside minimum foliage so that he could observe but not be seen； he checked that there were still only two occupants in the patrol car。 When it was gone； he stood and held up his wristwatch； waiting a moment or two for the moon to re…appear from behind rolling clouds。 Just under twenty minutes this time。 The driver varied his speed during the circuit around the estate so that there was never a regular time interval between certain points。 The driver of the second patrol car did the same。
The man sank into the undergrowth； making his way back through the thick woods； only bringing out a flashlight when he was well clear of the road。 Soon he arrived at a lane； one that eventually joined the route he had been watching； he continued his journey away from the estate。
Two vehicles were waiting in a picnickers' clearing a few hundred yards on； their occupants sitting in darkness。 He flashed his torch twice； then switched off before climbing into the back seat of the first car。
'Well？' the passenger in the front said。
'Two patrols。 Professionals； as you'd expect。 We could easy take them out； though。'
'Shouldn't be any need。'
'No。 It'll be no problem to get into the place。 We only have to wait for them to pass； then make our move when they're out of sight。 The fence'll be easy。'
'We'll wait awhiles； give them time to settle in for the night。'
'It's been a time ing； Danny。' His expression couldn't be seen； but the man in the front was smiling。 'It has that；' he said； the softness of his accent hardened by the intent of his words。 'But all the sweeter for it。'
36 A ROOM OF MEMORIES
Halloran 's senses reeled。
It wasn't a room he was standing in but a kaleidoscope of memories。 They spun before him； some merging so that yesterday mixed with yesteryear； experiences of childhood confused with those of later times； scenes superimposed upon others。 It was as if screens or veils fluttered in front of him…he thought of the veils he and Kline had passed through together in the dream of last night…thin； transparent layers； older images on those new。
He turned； ready to run from there； but the doorway was no longer behind him。 Instead there were more visions； closing around him； the colours vivid and fresh； the details perfectly defined； as though they were being lived at that moment。
Slowly some began to dominate the others； dispersing weaker memories…less significant memories…to the peripheries of his mind。
He saw himself slicing the tendons behind the black tracker's knee； the man a volunteer of South Africa's Special Service Brigade who would have followed Halloran and his small raiding band of ANCs back across the border to their camp； later to lead his own forces there； had he not been put out of action。 Fading in over this was the church； moonlight through the high stained…glass windows revealing the three boys creeping along the centre aisle； Liam hugging the dead cat wrapped in old rags to his chest； its body mangled； opened by the wheels of a speeding car； the other two boys giggling nervously as he approached the altar and reached up to the tabernacle； opening its gilt door； pushing the bloodied corpse inside； running for their lives； laughing and piss…scared of the consequences。 He whirled。 Now he was with the girl； Cora； taking her forcibly； ignoring her struggles； her protests； thrusting into her until she submitted； wanted him； her lust as intense as his； the rape no longer so； being a mutual desire which had to be satiated。 And here he was with his father； and Dadda was being torn apart by bullets； his eyes bulging with disbelief while his son； Liam； urinated unknowingly into the stream； the father falling then looking up at the boy； pleading or was it warning？…telling him to run； to get away from there before the gunmen turned their weapons on him； too； only unable to speak； his own blood choking his words。 His father crawling to the bank； collapsing there； the masked Irishmen stepping on him； drowning him； shooting Dadda again。 Halloran blinked； long and hard； but the visions would not disappear。 Scenes from his military service； the killings； the terrible battle at Mirbat； the disillusionment with it all； the women who had drifted in and out of his life； the mother he had e to revile because of the craziness inside her head； the beatings he had dealt to others of his age who dared mock her affliction； and who dared spit the word 'Britisher' as a curse at mention of his father； even though Dadda's birthplace was County Cork…and the beatings Liam received when his anger and frustration were no use against the gangs who tau