‘Well, that’s a bit sexist. Spies can be women, Boyd.’
‘Not this time.’
A tall man with black and grey hair in his forties walked around the corner on the other side of the road. He had pulled the collar of a leather jacket up to guard from the rain. Boyd pushed Fitz further back under the trees as the man glanced across the street in their direction. Boyd peered around a tree trunk.
‘I should have known,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Fitz insisted. ‘Who is he?’
‘That, is Aunt Aurora’s friend: meet Harry the gardener.’
Two-Minute Warning
Skye had taken her seat in the theatre. The ticket was in Bishop’s name and he had paid for it in person. Skye had turned on the tears, telling the box office manager that her uncle had bought it for her as a birthday present before he died. They let her in and gave her a free programme. Now she just had to wait.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will begin in ten minutes. Thank you,’ the voice over the public address system said cheerfully.
The orchestra began warming up and Skye was thinking that maybe she should stand at the back and get a good view of everyone as they took their seats, but before she could move, a well-groomed man in his forties, dressed in a smart shirt and an expensive jacket, dropped into the seat next to her. Skye composed herself, stared straight ahead, and kept silent for a moment. When she felt she had a little more control over her thumping heart, she turned towards him. He was looking at his programme.
‘You were expecting someone else, I think,’ Skye said, trying to sound confident.
The man started to rise from his seat. ‘Be at the bar in two minutes, or I’m leaving.’ And he was gone.
‘Are you absolutely sure it was him?’
Boyd tilted his head at Fitz.
‘I’ve known the guy for a year, Fitz. We also enjoyed a rather eventful evening together last Friday. So yes, I’m sure it was him. We need to get in there now.’
Fitz stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.
‘Wait one second. This wasn’t in the plan.’
‘You’re talking like there even is a plan! We’re making all of this up as we go along. Now move out of my way.’
‘No, Boyd. Hear me out.’ He raised his hands but stood his ground. ‘Like Skye said, we wait here and watch. The scalpel approach, remember? Let her do what she needs to do. Plus, they’re in a building full of people and we are watching the exit. Where can they go?’
Boyd’s teeth were gritted, he was breathing like a rhino ready to charge. But he couldn’t argue with the logic in what Fitz was saying.
‘Okay,’ he said begrudgingly. ‘We wait.’
The theatre hallways were emptying as customers made their way to their seats, ready for the performance. Skye was moving against the crowd as she nudged her way through the tight corridors, then around a corner and into the small bar. There were a few stragglers still drinking at a table and Bishop’s contact was seated at the bar, two glasses in front of him. She walked over and perched on the stool next to him. He stared straight ahead, still not looking at her.
‘I took the liberty of ordering you a gin and tonic, just like Uncle Bishop used to like.’
‘Thank you.’ Skye took a sip, not because she wanted to have a drink but because she needed a moment to compose herself and think this through.
Since Boyd had turned up at FrakeNews, everything had moved at a million miles an hour and Skye hadn’t had a chance to sit back and hit pause. What had started off as a missing woman had soon been linked to these unexplained events; then the Bishop angle had come into it. Now Boyd had shed more light on things, but he had brought with him a whole new set of problems and potentially a group of people that were a real threat to her and everyone she cared about. All of this seemed to flash through her mind in a second as she sipped the orange juice and felt its sharp taste bite into her tongue. So she had to play this like one of them, like she knew what she was doing. So many people relied on her, she couldn’t give this man any idea who she really was.
‘So, I am guessing you know what happened to Bishop,’ she said, with an air of authority that surprised even her.
‘Do tell,’ he replied, dryly.
‘Things got a little hot; he’s gone to ground.’
‘Right.’
‘He sent me.’
‘Did he really.’ The man didn’t phrase this like it was a question.
Skye gave him a tiresome look. She was getting into character now, thinking like a spy.
‘Listen, if you don’t want what I’ve got, that’s fine,’ she said and turned to face him. ‘But Bishop told me that when the chips are down, you’re a person I can trust.’
He laughed in mid-drink, snorting into his glass.
‘Well, that is very odd,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘Because Arnold Bishop wouldn’t trust me as far as I could throw him.’
She quickly looked away from his cold eyes. Dammit, she had overplayed her hand. Well, one way or another, Skye was about to find out what kind of man Bishop had been meeting with.
‘Well then,’ she said as coolly as she could. ‘It seems like you have a bit of a problem.’
‘I do?’
‘Yep. Because he did trust me, which means if you want to know what he knew, then you need me.’ She turned to face him now, playing it cool, her body language exuding confidence. ‘And let’s be honest, there’s not a lot you can do to me in a packed theatre, is there?’ She took another sip of her drink, not sure if she was being courageous or utterly reckless.
‘Look around you, lass,’ the man said, holding his hands up. ‘There’s no one left but you and me.’
Skye did, and saw he was right; the whole bar had emptied. Other than the two of them, the only person in sight was the man collecting the glasses.
‘Oh, Mick and I go way back. He won’t help you,’ the man said. ‘This wasn’t Bishop’s place to meet, it was mine.’
Skye put her glass down and smiled. ‘This changes nothing, mate. You need me and we both know it. So, what now?’ she asked him.
He spun around on his stool and narrowed his eyes. ‘Now you and I are going to go and have a little chat with someone.’
‘I’m not here alone,’ Skye said, coldly.
‘Good, I’m counting on it,’ the man replied with a knowing glint in his eye. ‘Because we want a word with your friend, too.’
The Sledgehammer
‘I don’t like this at all.’ Boyd leant against a tree as he chewed on the skin around his thumb. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the front of the theatre in the last five minutes.
‘We wait, you heard her,’ Fitz insisted. ‘If we charge in there and she’s fine, we blow the op.’
Boyd finally turned to Fitz.
‘The “op”? What do you think this is? Mission: Impossible? We’re kids, for crying out loud, and we’re standing out here while someone in there is in trouble.’
‘That’s never bothered you before.’
Boyd took that on the chin. ‘Yeah well, maybe what you said about that actually got through to me.’
They stood in silence for a moment. Fitz could see he was going to have his work cut out to stop Boyd bolting over the road.
‘Screw this.’
Boyd ran to make the other side of the road before a bus and a courier bike collided with him. Fitz waited for a break in traffic and followed as quickly has he could. As he went into the foyer, he heard the man behind the counter at the box office calling to Boyd, who was already halfway up the stairs to Fitz’s left. Fitz realised that they weren’t going to get anywhere if this guy called the police. He approached the box office and used the fact that he was flustered to his advantage.
‘I’m so sorry, we just got a text from our mum – our nan has been taken ill. Have you got a first aider?’
The man turned away, probably looking for his radio, and Fitz followed Boyd up the steps two at a time with a
ll the speed he could muster. But with the head start Boyd had, there was no way Fitz was going to catch up. He stopped on the first floor, put his hands on his knees and took some deep breaths. Then he heard a glass smash and what sounded like raised voices.
Fitz cautiously trotted along the corridor. He heard music begin to drift out from the auditorium; the performance had started. Then something caught his eye to his right. The barman was face down across the bar, pinned in place with by a corkscrew through his tie. Boyd was hunched over him, twisting one of his arms around his back. Next to him on the bar were two half-empty glasses and an Allen key.
‘Boyd!’ Fitz yelled in shock, probably louder than he should have.
Boyd had his mouth to the ear of the large barman, who clearly didn’t have a clue how he had ended up being quite so seriously threatened by a 15 year-old boy.
‘Listen, son, you just need to calm down,’ the man said, his voice shaking.
‘I’m not your son, mate,’ Boyd almost spat the reply. Then he reached for a jar that was sitting on the other side of the bar and slammed it down next to the barman’s head.
‘Now, I know you know exactly who I’m talking about, so either you tell me where they went, or I’m going to take these…’ Boyd looked at the jar ‘… these pickled eggs and one by one, I’m going to shove them…’
‘They left by the side door about three minutes ago,’ the barman spluttered.
Boyd didn’t say a word. He released the barman, who stayed where he was for a moment, almost unable to believe what had just happened. By the time he managed to release himself and straighten up, the man from the box office appeared in a panic.
‘Mick, have you seen two teenage boys running around up here anywhere?’
The barman pulled his tie back into place and rubbed his neck, his face still flushed.
‘No, mate. No one’s been here since the show started.’
Nowhere to Run
‘There they are, just up ahead.’
The rain had passed over and the hot sun had dried out any sign of it ever having arrived. Fitz’s blood was clearly still pumping from seeing Boyd’s activities with the barman.
Boyd grabbed his arm. ‘Just slow down, hang back a bit,’ he said.
‘Are you joking?’ Fitz turned his face to Boyd, who looked like he was ready to explode. ‘Hang back? We can see them, they’re right there. Let’s get her.’
‘Look at the way she’s walking with him. Skye does not need rescuing, Fitz. She’s taking care of this.’
‘You’ve changed your tune – a minute ago you were throttling a barman!’
‘Yeah and now I can see she’s okay. We’re going to follow and let her handle it.’
Fitz nodded. They walked up past Waterloo station and Boyd instinctively pulled his hood up as they did so. A moment later and they were heading back towards the Thames but this time, Boyd knew exactly where they were going.
The queue wasn’t that long; Boyd suspected that was because of the rain shower earlier. They managed to tuck into the queue a couple of groups behind Harry and Skye. Boyd kept a close eye on Harry, trying to work out if he knew he was being followed, but it didn’t seem like it.
What in god’s name was Harry even doing here? What did he have to do with Bishop? Boyd would see what he had to say for himself as soon as he had a chance to ask him a few questions. Any minute now, Harry’s options were about to drastically diminish.
Boyd glanced up at the massive, white Ferris wheel stretched out above him as he and Fitz followed Harry and Skye into a passenger capsule of the London Eye. The door shut behind them and they began to rise into the skies above London. Harry had nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.
Section X
The capsule was far from full; Boyd and Fitz had been the last of a small group of people to enter their car and by the time they were on board, Skye and Harry were already looking out over the river side. Boyd positioned himself at the opposite end and kept them in his eyeline.
There was a hum of conversation as families chatted and tourists held up their phones, capturing selfies with the London skyline across the Thames in the background. There were a few elderly tourists sat on the large wooden bench in the middle of the capsule amongst a collection of bags, rain macs and umbrellas that people had left there as they all lined up by the windows for the best view.
‘I think my dad works down there,’ Fitz said, staring down at Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. ‘Not sure where exactly.’ Then a thought hit him. ‘Oh crap, I really need to think about getting home soon!’
‘Seriously?’ Boyd asked, still not taking his eyes off the same spot, closely monitoring Harry’s every move.
‘You have no idea how scary my mum is – I need to think about damage control here.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Boyd wasn’t listening. He had noticed Skye say something to Harry and when he responded, her face dropped. Skye’s eyes suddenly flicked around the capsule until they found Boyd; his left eye was probably just visible from under his hood. Skye held his gaze before mouthing a word.
‘Sorry,’ she said, her face creased with emotion.
Boyd moved, heading around the right-hand side of the bench so he could approach Harry from behind. He stepped over bags and outstretched feet as quickly as he could and was almost close enough to grab Harry when an umbrella handle caught him around the left elbow in a python-like grip. It spun Boyd around just as a woman stood from the bench and moved in front of him, blocking his path. She was small, barely even five feet tall, with short, choppy, silver hair. A pair of large, thick-rimmed spectacles seemed too big for a face that was somewhere in the region of 70 years old. She wore a faded old wax jacket over a crisp, white blouse and plain, black trousers.
‘Steady on there, young man. Let’s not make a scene,’ the woman said, looking at Boyd with a wide, serious smile.
Boyd noticed that her accent had a slight tinge of the Midlands about it, like a kid named Josh he knew at school but nowhere near as broad. Boyd took hold of the umbrella and went to move it, but it didn’t shift with the ease he imagined it would.
‘What the hell is that thing?’ he asked the woman.
‘Just one of our little toys,’ she said, her frosted blue eyes twinkling. ‘Now, I think we could all benefit from a little chat and we don’t have much time, do we, Harry?’
Fitz had come around the other side of the bench to stand next to Skye.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.
‘I’m fine. You both need to hear this,’ she said.
As the rest of the tourists in the capsule moved around, elbows out and nudging for space, eager to get the best pictures for their Instagram, none noticed the meeting that was taking place in their midst. Without any discussion, Boyd, Fitz and Skye, along with Harry and his friend, all moved as a group over to the other side of the car. It wasn’t the best position for sightseeing, so they didn’t have to fight for room with all the tourists.
‘Hello, Boyd,’ Harry said. ‘You seem to have an uncanny knack for survival.’
‘Yeah, something I’ve had to learn pretty quickly over the last few days. Who the hell are you, Harry? Is that even your name?’
‘It is,’ the mystery woman said. Harry turned to her and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, give over,’ she said. ‘It’s time we give the boy someone to trust, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Ha!’ Fitz let out a laugh, followed by a snort. ‘Him, trust? Good luck with that!’
‘And who are you?’ Boyd eyed her warily.
The woman cast her eyes around the capsule, then started to speak softly: ‘What I am about to tell you does not go any further than this group. I hope that everything you have all witnessed in the last few days will help you to realise that you are mixed up in rather a deadly game; lives are very much on the line. So, I’m going to be blunt and I’m just going to have to hope you are ready to hear it. To be frank, we need you, Boyd, and you need us, so we have a limited a
mount of time to judge whether we take a leap of faith and work together.’
Boyd looked the tenacious woman directly in the eyes. ‘You can trust us.’
‘Thank you. My name is Ophelia Bletchley.’ She removed her glasses and polished them on a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. ‘I’m head of a branch of the secret service called Section X; we handle scientific operations.’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Skye said confidently.
‘Well, when you’re in the spy business, Miss Rake, that’s rather the point.’ Skye responded with an icy look. ‘We aren’t very well-funded, and there aren’t many of us – in fact, within the intelligence community we’re a bit of a joke nowadays. We chase down conspiracies and keep a watch on the crackpots. We are often affectionately referred to as “the Toy Department” because it’s our job to monitor the nasty little buggers who try to bring the rather incredible and impossible stuff into reality.’
‘Something like, I don’t know, time travel?’ Boyd said, fixing his eyes on Ophelia for any sign that she knew exactly what he was talking about.
‘Ah, you’ve been doing your homework,’ Ophelia said with a smile; then she nodded towards Skye. ‘Although I presume that little nugget of information is down to you, Miss Rake.’
‘Call me Skye. So, Azima was right? Someone is actually travelling through time; that’s what’s causing the power surges?’ Skye said, eagerly.
‘Section X can neither confirm nor deny such a statement at this time.’
‘That’s a “yes”,’ Skye said, flaring her eyes at Boyd. ‘I really hate to say I told you so.’
‘Back up a sec – time travel?’ Fitz said with a disbelieving tone. ‘Are you having me on?’
‘As I said…’ Ophelia started before Boyd interrupted her.
‘Yes, we know, you can neither confirm nor deny it. So, you wanted me to follow Harry and Skye, but why? What the hell have I got to do with all this?’
They stood in silence for a second or two. Ophelia was no longer looking at Boyd, but over his shoulder. ‘Yes, I needed you to follow Harry. It’s just unfortunate for us that it seems someone was also following you.’
Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1 Page 19
