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r struggle。 It was as though a whirlwind seized him。 A voice was screaming at him； a woman's； Madeleine's possibly； but it was drowned by Quentin's roars of rage。 'Stop it。 This is madness！'
Sabat fought physically and mentally。 His hand went inside his jacket； closed over the butt of the ？38 revolver in its holster。 Cold steel to his fevered touch； it seemed to give him the impetus he needed。 He felt the weapon e loose； nestle into the palm of his hand as he drew it free of his clothing。
Point…blank range； he did not even use his left hand to steady his aim。 Pieter Daunay's face； still laughing； but those eyes mirrored a brief sanity。 Pleading for death like a stricken beast。
Sabat closed his eyes as he took a trigger pressure。 Death had never bothered him before and it only did so now because it was Daunay； who might have been a friend and a colleague under different circumstances。 Then blinding pain！
He felt the blow on the back of his skull a split second before the gun bucked and spat flame in his hand； a searing flash like lightning in the darkness of a thunderstorm。 He heard the bullet whine； an angry lead hornet that met with some solid object and splintered it。
Then Sabat was slipping into that now familiar bottomless chasm。 Floating； not trying to fight； the pain in his head receding until he felt nothing。 Sublime oblivion。 * * * 101
Sabat was vaguely aware of dragging himself out of that terrible void； clawing at the brink； threatening to slip back。 For some inexplicable reason he fought； heard Quentin's leering tones； but the words were indecipherable amidst a medley of strange noises。 God； he'd been ill again。 Pneumonia。 He'd wake up in that hospital ward； a helpless victim of white…coated men who did inexplicable things to you without your consent。 Torture。
Then a sharp pain in his ribs； a blow which squeezed the breath from his body and had him gasping back to consciousness。
'You stupid bastard； Sabat！' Madeleine was standing over him； her foot drawn back in another threatening kick。 'You can't be trusted and I'll see you don't get the chance to try and cheat us again！'
He winced； saw that she held his own revolver in her right hand； its snub barrel trained on his head； her forefinger lightly curled around the trigger。 He stared； knew that his lips moved in a mute apology； excuses that he could not voice。 Cringing。 Quentin in mand again！
'But you failed；' her full red lips curled in a sneer。 'Another split second and you would have blown Daunay's head off except that I hit you with the chair first。 Now you'll do as you're told otherwise the next bullet will be in your skull。 Now hurry； the oven is hot。 Get him into it！'
Pieter Daunay still lived； still a mindless chuckling imbecile who no longer tried to cover his lower regions with his hands。 Oh Merciful God； Sabat's attempted euthanasia had failed！
Sabat was helpless to do anything other than obey。 He crawled； lifted himself up on to his feet； his whole body crying out for rest and sleep。 Grasping that naked malformed body； cursing because it started to struggle again； but somehow pulling it across to the oven。
You could feel the heat even with the big iron door closed； a blast furnace that dried your flesh； made you hurry to get your task over and done with so that you could retreat to a cooler place。 Sabat grabbed Daunay's hair； heard the screech of pain as he dragged him up to a sitting position。
The door was open； a black cubicle that was surely the entrance to hell itself； scorching his eyes closed。 He lifted the naked dead weight with some reserve of superhuman strength spring boarded by desperation。 One last effort； throwing the Frenchman into that gaping cubicle； kicking at protruding limbs； using the door to push the screaming form back。 Sabat almost passed out； heard the final clang； screams that came from the victim's very soul。 Staggering back； collapsing； crying out as another kick drove into his unprotected ribs。
He groped for unconsciousness； but it eluded him。 He wanted to shut his eyes； but they refused to close。 Muffled cries of agony as the heat inside that monstrous replica of hell began to cook the living flesh。 He could smell it； nauseating； making him retch。
Madeleine was standing in front of him。 She still had the gun but she knew she wouldn't have to use it； or even threaten with it。 Sabat had rebelled but he was well and truly beaten now。 Grovelling。 A smile that held contempt for the man she had plucked off the Jungfrau mountain to be her slave； to help her resurrect her age…old lover。
'You are sweating with the heat； Sabat；' her tones were soft and lilting。 Take off your clothes。 You will be cooler then。'
Sabat stiffened； his shaking fingers already starting to obey； his shirt following his jacket on to the floor in an untidy heap； unfastening his belt； aware of a growing pleasant sensation in the lower regions of his body。 Madeleine noticed it also； and her smile broadened。
'Two whole days together；' she laughed； 'just you and me； Sabat。 We have everything we need； each other。 And the dinner will be some time yet。 Let us make love and then when we are well satisfied we will eat our fill！ Let us forget Andre and the rabble from the mune。 I think they have already served their purpose； for they will be as nothing when my beloved awakens from his long sleep！'
Sabat managed to close his eyes； felt her soft warm breath on his face and her fingers beginning to caress him。 Suddenly he didn't give a damn for Pieter Daunay； whose screams of agony were growing fainter inside the oven。
Madeleine had manded and he would obey her to the bitter end。
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SABAT WAS lying on the floor； spent and sweating。 It was abominably hot inside the small chapel and he wondered if he had fallen asleep。 But no…Madeleine had swept him along on a dizzy wave of passion and he had obeyed like a robot again； scrambling on all…fours in his attempts to appease； her husky silky tones issuing orders that could not be disobeyed。
'Kiss me here； Sabat！'
He had kissed her there。
'Rub me here； ever so gently！'
His fingers had smoothed over the soft warm flesh where she had indicated； so delicately。 Murmurs of approval and pleasure came from her lips。
And so it had gone on； his own arousement a throbbing ache。 She had kept him waiting until the very end and only then had she gone to him。 Her lips were supple； her teeth sharp as they scraped his rigid flesh。 His circumcision scar seemed to burn him； a mocking reminder of another sacrifice he had once made and which had since proved to be useless。 Sabat； caster…out of devils； was himself possessed and more than willing to participate in the ing abomination。
He exploded； writhed； beat the stone floor with his fists。 It was as though this witch was sucking his very soul from him； swallowing it and claiming it for her own。
Limp and spent he looked up at her； watched her licking