Forces from Beyond

by Simon R. Green

  She led them to the rear of the lobby, where they took the express elevator to the top floor. It played music at them all the way up—orchestral covers of Nirvana’s greatest hits. When the elevator doors finally opened, they couldn’t get out fast enough. JC looked about him and felt an urgent need to hide behind something. He could feel the difference between this floor and the lobby. This was a place where things happened. Bad things. Chang waited patiently while they all had a good look around. Smart business-suited men and women hurried up and down the corridor, with get-ahead looks and purposeful strides. There was something in their cold, professional smiles and sidelong glances, openly competitive and always ready for an unexpected attack, that made JC think of predators forced through circumstances to share the same watering hole. He spotted a small group standing around a water-cooler, talking animatedly. Their faces seemed pleasant enough, but there was nothing pleasant about their laughter. It sounded like they were enjoying, and even savouring, the downfall of a friend.

  JC wondered if he was only seeing what he expected to see, but he didn’t think so. People here weren’t hiding who and what they were; they had no need to, in Baphomet House. He thought about that as Chang led the way through a series of pleasantly appointed corridors, past open-plan offices and doors left open to show people hard at work. None of whom looked up to watch the group pass. They were all far too busy.

  “Everyone’s so . . . occupied,” Melody said finally.

  “I should hope so,” said Chang. “I keep telling you: this isn’t just an evil organisation, it’s a business. Businesses have to be efficient. Hard work and over-achievement are the bedrock of our success.”

  “If she launches into a motivational speech, or the company song, I will shoot her,” said Melody.

  “Go ahead,” said Latimer.

  “You actually see yourselves as evil?” JC said to Chang.

  “Oh yes!” said Chang. “It’s very liberating. You should try it.”

  “Words fail me,” said Melody.

  “If only,” said Chang.

  JC also couldn’t help noticing that everywhere they went, people saw Chang coming and hurried to get out of her way. Happy moved in beside JC, rubbing distractedly at his forehead.

  “They’ve got some major telepathic defences in place here. I can barely hear myself think.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” said JC.

  “Actually, it’s a relief,” said Happy.

  He was standing straighter and speaking more clearly. Melody stuck close beside him, just in case, and scowled at anyone who even looked like getting too close. The Project people seemed to accept that as normal. Some stared openly at the Ghost Finders, with a certain number of double-takes as they recognised Catherine Latimer. Who just strode along, looking neither to the left nor to the right, while giving every appearance of being entirely unimpressed by everything around her. JC kept looking for security guards, or weapon emplacements hidden in the walls, and was worried he couldn’t see any.

  “Will you please unclench?” said Chang. “Trust me; no-one here will bother you.”

  “Because we’re guests?” said JC.

  “Because it has already been decided we can use you,” said Chang. “If you hadn’t already been designated as potential allies, you would have been knocked over the head and skinned alive by now. And then made over into toilet-seat covers.”

  “Lovely image,” said JC.

  “I thought so,” said Chang.

  “Who decided this?” said Melody.

  “Our Boss,” said Chang. “The current Head of the Crowley Project, the one and only because the world isn’t ready for two of them: Vivienne MacAbre.”

  JC carried on looking around him. He couldn’t help feeling it was all very impersonal. There was no sense of character anywhere. It was all steel and glass and plastic, with purely functional furnishings, and not even an occasional piece of art on the walls. Chang noticed him noticing this and was quietly amused.

  “What were you expecting? Signs saying You don’t have to be evil, wicked, and morally corrupt to work here, but it helps?”

  “Something like that,” said JC.

  “This is a place where people come to work,” said Chang.

  They continued on their way. JC quietly observed security cameras everywhere, swivelling silently back and forth to cover everyone and everything. And somehow he just knew they weren’t only there to guard against enemies; the Project was an organisation that wanted to know what its own people were doing, all the time.

  “Really don’t like this place,” said Melody. “Or the people. Everything’s . . . off, here. It feels like I’ve wandered into the Mirror Universe from Star Trek. Where everyone was an evil version of themselves.”

  “You don’t need to be a telepath to feel the tension on the air,” said Happy. “Or to know that competition in this building operates on a Darwinian level. Survival of the fittest and trample on the weak.”

  “And that’s the way we like it,” said Chang. “Deliver the goods, or get out of the way of someone who can.”

  “Survival only for the strong?” said JC.

  “And the sneaky,” said Chang.

  | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

  They ended up in the Head of the Crowley Project’s waiting room; but they didn’t have to wait. Even though there was a charming, brightly smiling secretary sitting on guard at her desk, who reminded JC very much of Heather. (Blonde, personable, neatly dressed, with a definite air of menace about her.) Chang just breezed right past the secretary, heading straight for the Head’s office. The secretary started to rise out of her chair, only to subside again as Chang gave her a hard look.

  Chang raised a hand to knock on the door but it swung open on its own before she could even make contact. JC smiled briefly. He appreciated the touch of drama. Of course the Head knew they were coming; that was what the security cameras were for. But it also meant she’d had all this time to work out how best to deal with her guests. JC didn’t have a plan; he just hoped Latimer did. He’d never been big on plans, always preferring to wing it when out in the field and trust to his fight-or-flight instincts to get him out of trouble, as necessary.

  Chang led the way in. JC stuck close behind her, ready to use her body as a human shield if necessary. The office looked like all the other work-places; except a little more bleak and spartan. No windows, subdued lighting, no obvious luxuries or comforts. No souvenirs, no shelves full of books or files . . . but alone in one corner stood an elegant scarecrow, dressed in an immaculate morning suit, complete with a top hat set at a rakish angle. A monocle had been carefully glued into place over a stitched eye on the cloth face. It should have looked charming; but it didn’t. There was a cold, sinister feel to the scarecrow, and the monocle made it feel like it was always watching. JC recognised the scarecrow as a traditional voodoo fetish, Baron Samedi, Lord of Cemeteries. Not a sane or healthy thing to have standing around in a business office. Chang leaned in close beside JC, to murmur in his ear.

  “That is our Head’s personal bodyguard. Don’t upset it, or you’re on your own.”

  Sitting behind a perfectly bare desk was the current Head of the Crowley Project, Vivienne MacAbre. JC had heard of her but never expected to encounter her in person. Except perhaps over the barrel of a gun. Of course, the Carnacki Institute didn’t normally assassinate Crowley Project Heads. They didn’t need to. Project people usually took care of that for themselves. Beyond a certain point, the only way to rise further in the organisation was to forcibly retire the person in front of you. Each Head was assassinated by their replacement. It was how they proved they were worthy of the position.

  Chang struck a careless pose in front of the desk and threw a mocking salute to the woman sitting behind it. “Greetings, Glorious Leader! May I present refugees from the new order at the Carnacki Institu
te. Refugees, this is Vivienne MacAbre. Abandon all hope.”

  MacAbre was tall and more than healthily slender, a woman of a certain age with a pleasant enough face, cool eyes, and a calm, business-like smile. Her long hair was jet-black, and might or might not have been dyed. She wore a dark blue business suit over a starched white blouse. Her only concession to glamour was a pair of jade ear-rings, and heavy silver rings on her fingers.

  MacAbre made no move to get up to greet her guests, just waved for them to sit down on the visitors’ chairs set out before her. Exactly the right number, of course. Latimer sat down as though she were doing MacAbre a favour; and the others followed her example. The chairs were far more comfortable than the visitors’ chairs in Latimer’s office. JC and Melody looked to their Boss to begin the conversation. Happy was already off in his own world again. Chang sat back and looked on expectantly, happily anticipating fireworks. MacAbre and Latimer looked steadily at each other for a long moment, then nodded coolly to each other.

  “Vivienne MacAbre . . .” said Latimer. “What kind of a name is that?”

  MacAbre took her time replying, and when she did, it was in a low, thrilling voice that made all the hackles stand up on the back of JC’s neck. It was like being suddenly addressed by a black widow spider.

  “To know the true name of a person,” said MacAbre, “is to have power over them. Or at the very least, to have preconceptions about them. I chose this name to make an impression.”

  “And not because you’re ashamed of your real name?” said Latimer.

  “I didn’t ask to be burdened with it,” said MacAbre. “With the weight it carries, in certain circles.”

  “You always did disappoint me, Grand-daughter,” said Latimer.

  “Stick to what you’re good at, that’s what I always say,” said MacAbre.

  JC and Melody both sat bolt upright on their chairs, looking from Latimer to MacAbre and back again. Chang grinned broadly.

  “Grand-daughter?” said JC. “Damn, Boss, are you related to everybody?”

  “Be still, Mr. Chance,” said MacAbre. “Pay attention to your betters.”

  “You find some, I’ll listen to them,” said JC.

  “Hush,” said Latimer. “Grown-ups talking.” She hadn’t looked away from MacAbre for a moment. “You do know what’s happened at the Institute? Not just that I’m no longer in charge, but . . .”

  “Of course I know,” said MacAbre. “We’ve been observing the cabal’s progress inside the Institute for some time. I did think it might be possible for us to do business with them, on certain matters of mutual interest; but when I reached out to them, they just looked down their noses at me as unworthy of their attention. No-one does that to the Crowley Project and gets away with it.”

  “So we both disapprove of the cabal,” said Latimer. “And their plan to try to take control of the Flesh Undying.”

  “Damned fools,” MacAbre said dispassionately. “They must have known we could never accept that. It would upset the balance of power.”

  “Do you believe they can control the Flesh Undying?” said Latimer.

  “Of course not,” said MacAbre. “It’s beyond them. My scientists are still studying the data we acquired at Brighton. And the only ones who aren’t wetting themselves are the ones with limited imaginations. The Flesh Undying is, by its very nature, a threat to us all, to the continued existence of this world. It must be stopped. Destroyed.”

  “If possible,” said Latimer.

  MacAbre smiled briefly. “We’ll find a way. We know all there is to know about destruction.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing,” said Latimer.

  “The point is,” said MacAbre, not rising to the bait, “that no-one here wants an open war between the Project and the Institute. If only because it’s better to work with the she-devil you know . . .”

  JC raised his hand, like a child at school. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Depends,” said Latimer. “Is it a good question?”

  “I don’t know about good,” said JC. “But it’s certainly relevant.”

  “Then go ahead,” said Latimer. “But don’t you dare show me up in front of the enemy.”

  JC looked steadily at MacAbre. “I was just wondering. Since you know so much about the cabal . . . Could they be just another face for the hidden agents of the Flesh Undying?”

  “All right,” said Latimer. “That is a good question.” She looked steadily at MacAbre. “I’d be interested to hear your answer. If you have one.”

  “Yes; and no,” said MacAbre. “The cabal started out on its own, with its own agenda, but there are definite indications it has since been infiltrated and steered in directions that would best serve the Flesh Undying. It’s our understanding that some of the cabal know this; some suspect; and most just follow orders like the good little drones they are. Some serve the Flesh Undying, some still believe they can control it. Which must make for very complicated conversations, inside the cabal. However . . . once we destroy the Flesh Undying, that will undermine the cabal’s power base, and it should turn upon itself and fall apart. Leaving the Institute in chaos. Allowing you to return to save the day, Grandmother; and put the Carnacki Institute back together again.”

  “Good answer . . .” said JC. “Though I’m not sure whether I feel better for knowing all that or not.”

  “If you’re feeling better, you didn’t understand the answer,” said Latimer.

  MacAbre brought her hands together and leaned forward across the desk. “We have to move fast, while the new regime is still finding its feet. We have the advantage, in that we know exactly where the Flesh Undying is, and they don’t. So we have to strike first, before they can put something in place to stop us.”

  “Are you saying you’re ready to try to destroy it?” said Latimer.

  “Definitely ready to try,” said MacAbre. “Rather than wait and risk its falling into enemy hands.”

  Latimer shook her head. “We need more information. About what the Flesh Undying actually is. Its physical nature, its weaknesses and vulnerabilities.”

  “Can I just point out,” said Melody, “that our last attempt to poke it with sticks almost got us killed? And did get a whole bunch of innocent bystanders killed?”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” said Latimer.

  “My scientists have come up with a new plan,” said MacAbre. “Which they assure me presents far fewer dangers.”

  “Liking the sound of it already,” said Melody.

  “It involves you and your team taking a close-up look at the Flesh Undying, in person.”

  “Gosh, is that the time?” said Melody. “I really must be going.”

  “Sit down!” said Latimer.

  “You’re ready to go along with this?” said Melody, reluctantly subsiding again.

  “I’m . . . considering it,” said Latimer.

  JC fixed MacAbre with a thoughtful stare. “And we’re supposed to just . . . place ourselves in your hands? Trust you?”

  “You came here looking for the Project’s assistance, didn’t you?” said MacAbre.

  “Yes. We did,” said Latimer. “An indication of how desperate we are. What, exactly, do you have in mind?”

  “We’re ready to provide you with transport to a ship of ours out in the Atlantic,” said MacAbre. “Its cover is a scientific research vessel, but actually it’s maintaining a position directly over the Flesh Undying. The scientists on board work exclusively for us. They ran the drone submersible that took a look at the Flesh Undying.”

  “The one that was destroyed because it got too close?” said Latimer.

  “Hold it,” said Melody. “Are we really assuming the Flesh Undying hasn’t made the connection, between the drone and the ship above it?”

  “I think we can,” said MacAbre, “On the grounds that if
it did know, it would have destroyed the ship by now.”

  “What exactly are we supposed to do once we’re on board this ship?” said Latimer.

  “The scientists assure me they’ve come up with a whole new way to approach the Flesh Undying,” MacAbre said carefully. “One it shouldn’t be able to detect. Because you have the greatest experience with, and knowledge of, the Flesh Undying . . . the plan is that you will go down in a new submersible and make the approach yourselves. Study it up close and deliver us the information we need to destroy this monster.”

  “So we take all the risks,” said JC. “And if we succeed, you take all the credit.”

  “Exactly,” said MacAbre. “A plan with no drawbacks.”

  JC looked at Latimer. “She’s your grand-daughter, all right.”

  “Do you find this proposal acceptable?” MacAbre said to Latimer, ignoring JC.

  “In principle,” said Latimer. “But none of us are going anywhere until I’ve had a chance to pick up a few useful items for the journey.” She smiled briefly at JC. “You started me thinking. I want to be in a position to defend myself if it all starts going horribly wrong.”

  “You have something in mind that could do that?” said Melody.

  “Possibly,” said Latimer. “I need to do some research first.”

  “I feel I should make it clear that Natasha Chang will continue to accompany you as my liaison,” said MacAbre.

  “To keep an eye on us,” said JC.

  “Exactly,” said MacAbre.

  “I thought we might stop off at the Project Armoury,” Chang said brightly. “Pick up a few useful weapons of mass destruction . . .”

  “No,” said MacAbre.

  “Why not?” said Chang.

  “Because there are limits to the secrets I’m prepared to share with the Carnacki Institute,” said MacAbre.

  “I’m not with them any more,” said Latimer.

  “But you might be again, one day,” said MacAbre. “Or at the very least, working with them in some capacity. A lifetime’s dedication and service doesn’t end with one setback. Our alliance is a strictly temporary thing—until the threat of the Flesh Undying is over.”