A short time later, she stood from her seat on the Northern Line train; not a single passenger looked up at her, no one paid her any attention. She blended in perfectly with the students and interns who weaved in and out of shops and stations all over London. Her jet-black bob was scooped up into a small ponytail and her clothes were industrial and functional: a pair of black combat boots, black jeans and a grey T-shirt. She completed the look with a tatty old rucksack; she could be on her way home from an art lecture or just as easily be a cleaner on her way to work, but Blair was neither. She was nothing of the kind.
Even though she was only 18 years old, she had travelled all over the world and lived a life most people four times her age would never be able to imagine. Most teenagers fortunate enough to travel are in search of something, they fill an Instagram account with waterfalls and sunsets, but Blair’s search was entirely different. Since she was born, her life had been centred on the work of her father, Karl. The quest had taken them to countries most people her age wouldn’t be able to find on a map. Blair hadn’t just lived in these countries; she had fought to survive in them. She had spied, deceived and stolen her way through each and every place they had settled in. Then, when they had what they wanted, she and her father had moved on, leaving as little trace of their existence as possible; onto the next place to find the next person or the next item that could take them another step closer to completing their puzzle.
Blair’s father believed they were finally getting closer, but they both knew they weren’t alone in their hunt and every move now was crucial. She got off the train at Hendon Central and walked the short distance to the old, disused building they were currently calling home. The derelict headquarters for the German Trade Union Federation seemed like a good fit, seeing as her father was half-German. The building would probably be knocked down soon and replaced with expensive apartments, but no matter; Blair and her father never stayed anywhere too long. The windows were all either smashed in or boarded up, the outside was covered in graffiti and the land around the building was littered with broken office furniture, boxes of papers, discarded mattresses and anything else people didn’t want or need anymore. It was perfect for them.
A disused building like this didn’t attract visitors and they would always find one that was too hard for homeless people to get into. Blair looked just like any casual teenager on her phone, except she wasn’t checking a social-media feed, she was scanning every angle and direction for any kind of threat. She had taken a different route back to their base every time, just one of the many measures to ensure she wasn’t being watched or followed. When they had arrived here a month ago, Blair has spent the night creating a hidden entrance that she could access speedily. The huge pile of rubbish sitting across the entrance looked completely impenetrable; it was around 20 feet high and sat between dense overgrown weeds and brambles.
Blair quickly ducked under a sheet of blue plastic and crawled through the back of an old desk. She turned and pulled the plastic back down, putting a brick on it to secure it to the floor. Then she carefully moved aside a sharp mesh of chicken wire and crawled under a row of wooden school chairs, which led her safely to the other side of the mountain of weeds. If someone was determined to get through her makeshift tunnel, they probably could do so, but the idea was to slow an intruder down.
Blair stayed in a crouch for a moment, closed her eyes and listened intently. When she was sure there were no sounds to concern herself with, she stood and walked to the nearest window. She climbed up onto the fat, concrete window ledge, reached over to her right and grabbed hold of a thick, iron downpipe. She pulled herself upwards; her feet left the window ledge and clamped around the pipe as she snaked up the side of the building, then in through the broken first floor window. Blair carefully lowered herself into a small room. Between now and the moment she had left the street, less than a minute had passed.
The floor was covered in broken glass from smashed light bulbs and shattered mirrors. Jagged pieces of splintered wood were piled up high and stuck out at all angles, making the room into a deadly obstacle course. When she had negotiated her way around each barrier without any harm, Blair stepped into a long corridor. She turned right and walked around the edge of the building, her hands out by her side, her face tilted up. Her father would be watching her on the camera she had set up, so she was showing him her face, letting him see that the visitor he was about to receive was a friendly one. The last door was locked on the inside, so she waited. Her father would be working, and he could not be rushed. After almost five minutes, the silence was broken by the sound of locks being released and, at last, Blair pushed the door and stepped into the dank room in the cold, abandoned building that she now called home.
Whenever they had to choose somewhere new to operate, Blair’s first job was to secure the building and make entry for any intruder as difficult as possible. But the room she stood in now, this was her father’s domain, and he’d set it up exactly as he needed it. Blair attached a padlock to the inside of the door and slid various bolts into place. Karl was back in the far section of the large room, looking at a laptop and scribbling notes, completely lost in his work. He was surrounded by a set of desks set up in a ‘U’ shape. Spread out around him were various pieces of machinery, tools and technical drawings. In the far corner a generator gently hummed and coughed. Next to this, a large, wide object sat silent and ominous under a dirty, brown sheet.
Blair walked to the right, where their camp beds and a small stove were set up and placed her bag down.
‘I need you,’ Karl said, without looking up from the screen.
‘Coming.’
Karl was around 55 years old, with thinning grey hair and a gaunt, haunted face. His nose and chin were both pointed and hooked; so much so, they seemed to be stretching out from his face and trying to meet up in front of his mouth. He had cold, grey eyes that matched the pale colour of his skin. He very rarely went outside, and Blair had to force him to eat and drink. The only thing he did consume with any regularity were foul-smelling brown cigarettes that made the damp, musty building smell ten-times worse.
‘Anything to report?’ Karl asked, still focused on his work.
‘The woman who works for Ravensbrook is scratching around in the dark. They don’t know anything about Miranda, they’re getting desperate.’ She paused. ‘Like us.’
‘Anything on the boy?’
‘No, they lost him,’ Blair said wearily.
Karl stopped. One of the cigarettes stuck out from between his yellowed teeth. He clamped down on it and drew in a breath; the end of the cigarette glowed like lava in the half-light of the room and a boulder of ash dropped onto the desk. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and slung it into an empty baked bean tin next to his computer.
‘Have you lost faith in me, my dear?’ Karl asked, clearly irritated.
‘No, father,’ Blair replied, unconvincingly.
Karl tilted his head as he regarded her. ‘This journey has been our life for many years, but recently I’ve watched you change from an adventurous, wide-eyed child into a sceptical young woman - weary and full of doubt for what we’re trying to achieve. Unless I’m mistaken?’
‘You are mistaken.’
‘That’s good, my angel, because we are so close.’
‘Are we? Are we really?’
‘Have I ever lied to you?’
‘No. But I think you’ve wanted this so badly, for so long, that you’ve let it consume you. You would believe it even if it weren’t true.’
He paused, took out another cigarette and struck a match. His grey eyes seemed to shine in the flash of the flame before he discarded it into the bean can. He took a deep drag on the cigarette. ‘You’re worried about me, I can see that, but don’t be. I have made the adjustments and the Chamber is finally ready.’
‘It is?’
Her father’s smile confirmed it. She had once again become the excited child he had missed so dearly. ‘Absolutely.’
Karl moved away from the desks and over to the object while Blair followed. She watched as her father pulled away the sheet, revealing a tube that looked like a one-man submarine; it was copper in colour and was plugged into the generator. There was a clear glass window on the top of it and two white tubes that were attached to the old pipework in the corner of the room.
‘When do I leave?’
‘You have to go now. But listen to me, please. It will hurt, Blair. I can’t begin to tell you how much it will hurt.’
‘I’m ready for it. I understand.’
Karl placed the cigarette on the edge of the desk and held his hands up like he was praying. ‘No, you don’t. It will be more painful that anything you’ve ever known.’
She walked to her father and placed her hands around his. ‘But it will be worth it. We’ve talked about this and it’s the only way.’
‘I’m rather afraid it is. On top of that, you’ll also be walking directly into harm’s way. We know for certain others will be there too.’
‘You taught me to stay out of sight, remember?’
‘I did, and you’re so very good at it, but we need to know who else was there – we need to know why. That’s the whole operation. Now, let’s not waste time.’ Karl broke free from his daughter, picked up the cigarette and put it between his teeth.
‘I’ll do whatever you need,’ Blair said keenly.
‘You need to make sure you hear whatever it was he told them, but do not, under any circumstances, disrupt their exchange. Bishop went missing that night and you jumping back cannot alter that.’
Karl walked over to the covered object and ran his hands over the sheet. ‘Now, let’s get to work.’
Blair eased herself down inside the Chamber and slid into what her dad called ‘the sleeve’; it was more like a see-through plastic sleeping bag. Once she was in, she rested a small canister of air on her chest and put a breathing mask over her face. The smell of the old rubber in the mask always made her feel sick to her stomach, so she closed her eyes and fought against the reaction. Karl zipped up the sleeve and Blair was now in an air-tight bag, with only the sound of her breathing and her thumping heart for company.
Karl brought down the heavy lid with a thud that made Blair jolt with shock, then he fastened it in place with the bulky clamps. He picked up his laptop, took a deep breath and hit the ‘enter’ key. The generator began to rumble, knocking on the concrete floor as the white tubes attached to the buildings pipework suddenly stiffened and tensed. Karl looked in through the window at the distorted view of Blair’s face through the thick plastic sleeve and the breathing mask; her eyes were wide and unblinking.
Suddenly, the water from the tubes began to fill the Chamber and Blair began to spin around inside it, rotating like a chicken on a spit. Karl put on a metal welder’s mask as the lights around the window came on one by one and the speed of the spinning inside the Chamber increased until his daughter was no more than a blur of light and water; but he could still see her eyes, like a frightened animal with nowhere to run. Then, there was a sound like a muffled explosion, like a blue whale hitting the ocean after leaping into the air: ‘WHUMP!’
The spinning slowed, the generator reduced back to a low hum, and now all the lights were glowing around the window on the Chamber, Karl could see that the sleeve was empty, his daughter was gone. Blair had jumped back in time.
Now their future was in her hands.
You’ll Never Catch Her
The Dorchester Hotel, London – Two Weeks Ago
Arnold Bishop was desperately trying to keep a low profile. It had been a stressful few days to say the least and he had decided to leave his very nice flat and move into a hotel for a while. The Dorchester was expensive and full of rich people, which meant no one would pay much attention to a chubby, 50 year-old bald chap eating dinner alone. It still felt like an extravagance staying somewhere like this, and it bothered him that he had to. But since some uninvited guests had turned up at his flat last week and extracted information from him in several unpleasant ways, Bishop thought a short break somewhere he could remain anonymous was very much in order.
Even though he was doing his best to stay under the radar, he would be complaining to the manager the next time he went downstairs. The lift was out of order and seeing as his room was up on the eighth floor, Bishop had a lot of stairs to climb in the summer heat. He was fit enough, despite his expanded girth, but if he hated one thing, it was being hot, and right now he was dripping with sweat. He reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards his room.
His door was at the very end of the corridor and he was already dreaming about standing directly under the air conditioning unit as he opened it. As he entered his room, he was surprised to hear a ‘PING!’ from the other end of the corridor. Sure enough, the lift arrived at his floor. Well, that was strange. Bishop was a suspicious man, and it had been a trait that had kept him alive in a profession that came with a short life expectancy. So he stood behind his door and watched through a crack as the lift opened to reveal two men, both in black suits.
He instinctively closed the door to his room and felt a surge of unwanted adrenaline. He was overreacting, getting himself worked up over nothing at all. The lifts had simply been fixed in the time it took him to lumber up the stairs; that was totally plausible. Of course, the alternative was that these two men had been sent by the same people who took him last week. They had tracked him down and were about to extract him from the hotel.
He froze in place, his mind working in overdrive. He put his eye up to the peephole and saw both men walking quietly down the hallway, looking at the door numbers. He didn’t recognise them, but he had been a spy for long enough to know when people didn’t belong, and these guys were not here to change the towels. He had chosen this room because it had the service stairs right next to his door.
The men in black were still some way down the corridor, so Bishop had to move now to make the most of his head start. He gently pushed down on the door handle, stepped out, took two steps and then it happened – the one with the big nose snapped his head to the right and saw him. Bishop looked back at the man long enough to see that he didn’t just have a big nose, he had a massive face on a huge head that sat atop a body the width of a small house. Bishop didn’t wait for him or his shorter, rat-faced friend to exchange any words, he just bolted.
He burst into the stairwell and there, on the last step heading up towards his floor was an elderly lady. She glanced over her shoulder at a bellboy carrying two heavy suitcases and gave the man a piece of her mind.
‘I don’t expect to have to climb stairs at my age, you need to sort your lifts out.’
They both looked up at the sweaty man blocking their path. Bishop quickly reached out to the bellboy and grabbed one of the cases.
‘Let me help you with that.’ Bishop stepped towards the door, pulled it open and stood behind it, ushering the woman through.
Suddenly the smaller of the two men, the one with the rat face, scampered around the corner into the stairwell. Somehow, he stopped himself in the doorway, directly in front of the old lady. He had to grab her by the shoulders to avoid barrelling through her and knocking her to the floor.
‘Good Lord! You want to slow down. You’ll hurt someone.’
Rat Face screwed his face up in bewilderment.
‘And you get your hands off me, young man!’ The lady carried on as Rat Face regained his composure, released his grip and stood back out of the doorway.
‘Yes, you’re right. My apologies.’ He forced a smile and nodded as she spoke. She wobbled through the doorway and out into the corridor.
Rat Face wasn’t going to wait any longer. As soon as she was out of his path, he stepped through onto the landing of the stairwell. He looked at the bellboy in front of him and was about to shove him out of the way when he heard a little whistle from behind him. He turned and Bishop hammered him in the chest with the heavy suitcase. The force of it
knocked Rat Face backwards into the bellboy. Bishop stood on his toes, watching as one of the men he was sure had come here to kill him fell backwards down 12 stairs, taking two suitcases and a 16 stone bellboy with him. He heard all kinds of snaps, unnatural crunches and yelps before he set off after the men. By the time they had settled in an untidy pile across the bottom of the steps, Bishop had launched himself over the handrail and down to the next flight of stairs. If Rat Face had come this way, then the smart money said that his house-sized friend with the big face was already on his way down to the lobby in the newly restored lift, which meant Bishop was now in a race to reach the front door first.
He got to the bottom of the service stairs, took a breath and walked out into the lobby. He was near the reception desk, which was on the right-hand side of the vast hotel foyer. The lifts were on the other side, over to the left of the entrance. In the middle was an enormous round sofa, with a large plant in the middle of it. Bishop could see the outside world, he could almost touch freedom, but between him and his escape was a bustling crowd of hotel guests.
The area around the reception desk was thick with suitcases, pushchairs, whining toddlers, flustered parents and bored teenagers. Bishop started to weave a pathway through, feeling out the shortest route to the exit. He risked a glance over towards the lifts but couldn’t see any sign of the man-mountain. With a guy that size, Bishop could keep his head low and he’d still be able to see him coming.
He was about halfway through the queue of people at the desk when he saw the Mountain appear in the corner of his eye. The big man took a long stride into the foyer and immediately began to scan the crowd. Bishop swallowed down his fear, tried to keep his nerve and not let his fizzing adrenaline take over. He was an experienced spy who had spent a lot of his life very close to danger and still managed to dodge it; but he knew what these people were like and he couldn’t help but be scared out of his wits. So what he should do and what he actually did were two very different things.
Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1 Page 15
