intense mouth which you just might remember if you remembered nothing else, but other than that there was a general facelessness about him which made Darcy instantly forgettable.
Even the way he dressed, was ... conservative.
And indeed looking at him, Harry thought: He's a very ordinary, extraordinary man! And however much the Necroscope might dislike the situation, it was a very difficult thing to dislike someone like Darcy Clarke. So: 'What's on the menu for today?' he asked him, glancing at his watch. It was 9.45 and Darcy was right: it was late. By now, the rest of E-Branch would be buzzing. But before Darcy could reply to Harry's first question, he followed it up with: 'And what about Brenda? Did you see her yet this morning?'
'We had breakfast together, downstairs,' Darcy answered. 'She's . . . well, fine.' But he didn't seem too sure about it. And more hurriedly, eager to change the subject: 'The baby is just beautiful! I mean, he's really coming along ...'
Harry stared hard at him. Right now he wasn't interested in the baby. 'She still doesn't want to see me, right?'
Darcy flapped his hands. 'Harry, it's only been - '
' - A year and a half,' the Necroscope cut him off. And he was right. Time had flown.
'Okay,' Darcy nodded. 'But give Brenda - give yourself- a little more time! I mean if you, we, aren't used to this yet, how can you expect her to be? She's just a girl, and she went through a hell of a lot.'
The Necroscope continued to stare hard at him for a long time, then nodded, shrugged, gave a deep sigh. Darcy was right, he knew. Life had to go on, and Harry's life for the moment was here at E-branch. He had to involve himself, become part of it. He'd be okay as long as there was something to do. Well, apart from these endless fucking debrief-ings!
It was as if Darcy had read his thoughts. 'We think there may be work for you, Harry,' he said, beginning to breathe easier as he sensed the Necroscope's spring winding down a little. 'Work that should suit you right down to the ground.'
But Harry only wondered: And below it?
Much in accord with Harry's own deliberations, it was the general consensus of opinion in the Branch that if they could keep the Necroscope busy, it would be best for him and everyone else concerned. They had a telepath, Trevor Jordan, who despite the mainly unspoken Branch code occasionally came into contact with Harry's jumbled, anxious thoughts; a locator, Ken Layard, whose talent drew him to the Necroscope like a moth to a lantern, so that his mind kept bumping into him; and an empath, Ray Betts, who couldn't help but sense the Necroscope's overwrought emotions. But these were only the special cases; every E-Branch member was affected by Harry's presence one way or another. For to a man or woman, and in their own ways, all Branch operatives were talented, and all must feel for a fellow psychic.
They knew what the Necroscope was; they were aware of his awesome, even frightening powers. But they also knew what Harry had done for them, for the world, and how he was paying for it. If they could keep him with them, keep him working, it could be he'd eventually get over the multiple traumas of past and present. Certainly he was the type who worked best under pressure. Making use of a case that only the Necroscope could possibly handle, Darcy Clarke was about to apply just such pressure. In his office at the end of the corridor, the recently-appointed Head of Branch waved Harry into a chair and told him, This ... could be a nasty one.'
Harry nodded and said drily, 'My kind of work, right?' He waited for Darcy to get on with it. But before he could begin: The intercom came cracklingly alive and blurted an urgent, 'Sir?' Simultaneously, an alert button on Darcy's console began flashing red. Keying all-points connections with the Duty Officer, he said:
'What is it?'
'One for us, I think.' The DO's voice was tense.
'Put it on screen,' Darcy answered. And a moment later his desk screen displayed a communication from the Minister Responsible. Harry, seated opposite, saw Darcy's jaw drop as his face almost visibly paled. 'Christ!' Darcy hissed.
The Necroscope stood up, paced to Darcy's side of the desk, glanced at the screen:
Origination: MinRes. Destination: Director INTESP.
Duty Officer INTESP.
All Agents INTESP.
IRA Alert! A few minutes ago