The All Seeing Eye

by Mark Morris

  “Don’t tempt me, Hipkiss,” Liz said. “The stakes are way too high to take any bullshit from you.”

  She looked around quickly to locate the telephone. She had no doubt that this was what Hipkiss had been trying to reach. She spotted it on a desk equally as large as the one Hipkiss had collided with, tucked into the alcove of the curtained bay window. She moved across to it, her gun still trained unerringly on the center of Hipkiss’s forehead. Another quick glance around confirmed that it was the only phone in the room. With one savage tug, Liz ripped the connecting wires out of the wall. The socket sparked and fizzed briefly, then fell silent.

  “You won’t stop us,” Hipkiss said with a smirk that Liz knew would have made Hellboy want to rip the guy’s head off.

  “Shut up, you pathetic little creep,” snapped Liz.

  From outside she heard the rumble of an engine and then the unmistakable sound of a vehicle moving away.

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  Hipkiss sniggered. “Told you, didn’t I? You’re too late.”

  Liz tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. “I personally might not be at Eye Central to kick some ass, but my friends Hellboy and Abe will be,” she said. “And believe me, Hell-boy kicks ass a damn sight harder than I do.”

  The words were barely out of Liz’s mouth when something hit her from behind. It was so unexpected that it wasn’t until she was falling that she was even aware it had happened at all. She put up her hands instinctively and felt them slap the wooden floor a split second before her face would have. The gun was jarred out of her grasp and went skidding across the floor, but already she was feeling too dizzy and sick to retrieve it.

  She lay there a few moments, certain her skull had been cleaved in two. She was vaguely aware of Hipkiss scrambling to his feet, scuttling across the room to pick up her gun. She was aware too of her assailant moving into the room behind her and across to the desk. She heard Hipkiss say, “She’s disconnected the phone,” but his voice was muzzy, like bad radio reception.

  The new arrival, Hipkiss’s wife, Jess, swore and asked, “Who is she?”

  Hipkiss snorted. “Don’t you recognize her?”

  “No.”

  “She’s Hellboy’s friend. B.P.R.D.”

  Jess Hipkiss sounded panicky. “Then they’re onto us.”

  “Much good will it do them,” Hipkiss said. Then he gave an exasperated sigh. “Will you relax, Jess. Everything’s under control.”

  Liz had no idea whether Jess was reassured by her husband’s words, but she still sounded nervous when she asked, “What are you going to do with her?”

  “Shoot her,” Hipkiss replied.

  “Not here?” said Jess.

  “Why not?”

  “Can’t you take her out in the backyard and do it there? You can leave her to rot with the rubbish.”

  Hipkiss laughed. “Poor Jess. Squeamish as ever. How are you going to cope when the Eye opens?”

  “I’ll cope,”Jess said angrily, “and I’ll do whatever I have to. You know I will, Alex. Don’t make fun of me.”

  “My poor Jess,” he repeated, and laughed again. Then his voice hardened and Liz felt a foot in the ribs. “You. On your feet.”

  Throughout the exchange between the Hipkisses, Liz had been trying to pull her scrambled thoughts together. Her head still pounded like a bastard, and she didn’t have Hellboy’s capacity for healing, but she could take the physical knocks a damn sight better than most people. Even so, she didn’t think she was yet mentally capable of defending herself by channeling the fire inside her. In her present state, the result might well be akin to when she had first discovered and inadvertently unleashed her power at the age of eleven. That day thirty-two people had died, including her entire family. Liz knew she would rather have her own life ended by a bullet than run the risk of burning down the building and spending the rest of her days with yet more innocent lives on her already overburdened conscience.

  Pretending to be more woozy than she was, she pushed herself onto all fours and then rose, shaky legged, to her feet.

  “Look at her,” Hipkiss laughed. “She’s like Bambi.”

  “Just take her outside and do it, Alex,” Jess said tightly. “Then we can leave here and never come back.”

  Still swaying on her feet, and keeping her expression slack, Liz slowly raised a hand and touched the back of her head. There was a cut there, but it was not as bad as she’d feared. She gaped at her blood-speckled fingers, mouth open and eyelids drooping, then held them out to Jess. “Look,” she said.

  Jess grimaced distastefully. Liz noticed she was still holding the Saucepan she must have used to whack her with.

  “Move,” Alex said, jabbing Liz in the back with her own gun.

  “Where-we-going?” Liz slurred.

  “Magical mystery tour,” Alex said. “Just walk.”

  Liz stumbled ahead of him, thinking furiously. If Hipkiss was going to take her into the back yard, then they’d have to go through the kitchen, which meant he would have to unlock the door. If she could convince him that she was no sort of threat, she might be able to jump him while he was fumbling with the lock. With this in mind, she staggered against the door frame as she was exiting the office and half slid down it, then made a big show of trying to haul herself back to her feet.

  “Get up,” he snapped at her.

  “My legs ...” she sniggered drunkenly. “Feel a bit ... funny ...”

  “Get up or I’ll shoot you now,” he said.

  “Okay, okay,” she mumbled, “don’t get y’knickers in a ... thing ...”

  She hauled herself back to her feet, hand over hand on the door frame, like a novice skater trying to remain upright on the ice. Then she swayed out of the door and stumbled off down the corridor, Hipkiss prodding the gun into her back to keep her moving.

  They were passing the door of the dining room when it was suddenly plucked open and what appeared to be a flapping shape with legs emerged. It took Liz a second to realize the shape was Duggie with a brown blanket in his outstretched arms. The homeless man hurled himself recklessly at Hipkiss, throwing the blanket over his head. Before Hipkiss could react, Liz spun round and wrenched his gun arm upwards. Whether by accident or design, Hipkiss’s finger jerked on the trigger and a gunshot that sounded like a small explosion echoed through the building. The bullet hit the ceiling, and plaster and debris rained down on them. Still holding Hipkiss’s wrist in one hand, Liz grabbed his throat through the blanket with the other and slammed him backwards, his head hitting the wall with a resounding clonk. She smashed his hand against the wall several times, until he dropped the gun. Then she shoved him so hard that he went down in a heap, the blanket still tangled around his upper body. She picked up the gun and pointed it at him just as he succeeded in tearing the blanket from his head.

  His face was red and his spectacles were hanging askew. He straightened them with trembling hands, glaring at Duggie as if outraged at the homeless man’s intervention. “Thanks, Duggie,” Liz said. “I owe you one.” “No problem,” Duggie replied, looking almost embarrassed. Liz turned to Hipkiss. “Not very good at this, are you?” “Get stuffed,” Hipkiss said, sounding like a petulant schoolboy. Liz laughed. “Oh, now I’m hurt. Back on your feet, dumbass.” She marched him at gunpoint back to the office, Duggie bringing up the rear. Inside, they found Jess Hipkiss sitting behind her desk, hands gripping the arms of her chair as if her life depended on it. She was trembling and her face was deathly pale. When she saw her husband, her face crumpled.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he snapped, as if she were letting him down.

  “I thought...” Her voice was barely audible. She looked at Liz and tried to appear defiant. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  Liz stared at her without expression. “That depends on you.” Jess swallowed, licked her lips. “What do you mean?” “I need you to give me some information,” Liz said, “and if you cooperate, I’ll simply hand you ov
er to the police and you’ll,be tried as an accomplice to murder ...”

  She let it hang there. She could see that Jess wanted to know — but was too terrified to ask — what would happen if they didn’t cooperate.

  Before Jess could say anything, however, Hipkiss snarled,” We’re not going to tell you anything!”

  “Aren’t you?” said Liz lightly.

  “There’s nothing you can do to hurt us,” Hipkiss said. “We’ve already won.”

  “I’m not sure Jess agrees with that. Do you, Jess?” said Liz.

  Jess was shaking and swallowing and sweating. She looked to be coming apart in front of Liz’s eyes. Liz wondered how the young woman had ever become involved with Hipkiss and his poisonous, warped view of the world.

  Jess’s mouth opened, but before she could speak, Hipkiss said, “Don’t say anything, Jess. You don’t have to tell them anything.”

  Liz sighed and handed the gun to Duggie. “I’m going to tie him up,” she said. “If he tries anything, shoot him.”

  “Okay,” Duggie said.

  Liz tied Hipkiss up using more of the strips of material from the torn blanket. When she was done she stood up, took her gun back from Duggie, and pointed it at Jess.

  “Come with me,” she said coldly.

  Jess looked stricken, terrified. “Where?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.

  “Don’t question me!” Liz shouted suddenly. “Just come! Now!”

  Her anger had the desired effect. Jess Hipkiss leaped to her feet and circled the desk.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she said.

  “That’s a good one, coming from somebody who supplied victims to a group of torturers and murderers,” Liz replied.

  “I didn’t ... that is ... I wasn’t the one who ...”

  “Just move,” Liz said.

  She directed Jess Hipkiss up the stairs and into the games room, where she ordered her to sit in one of the ratty old chairs. Jess was shaking in fear, her face white.

  “You’re really not cut out for this, Jess, are you?” Liz said.

  Almost weeping, Jess said, “What do you want?”

  “I want an address. I want to know where the final ceremony will take place.”

  Jess shook her head. Tears were squeezing themselves from her eyes, running down her cheeks.

  “I can’t ...” she said, “I can’t ...”

  “Yes you can,” replied Liz.

  Jess gave an almighty sniff and tilted her trembling chin up in a final show of defiance.

  “I won’t,” she said, the tears wet on her face.

  Liz slipped her gun into her holster. She let the fire come, let it fill her eyes and her open mouth with cool yellow flames.

  Jess’s eyes widened and she began to make inarticulate whimpering sounds, too terrified to scream.

  Liz held up her right hand. It was gloved in flame. She moved it to and fro in front of Jess’s face.

  “You will,” she said almost gently.

  Chapter 13

  The question that had occurred to Liz, of how to tail a vehicle through a deserted city, was one that Hellboy, Abe, and their driver, Tony Mancini, had discussed at length. Hellboy was in favor of simply ambushing the Eye members when they emerged from the refuge and beating the truth out of them, but Abe undipped a pouch on his belt and produced what looked like a bundle of small bleached bones bound together with colored twine and a glass vial of reddish-brown powder.

  “What the hell’s that?” Hellboy asked.

  “It’s a Venezuelan gulu charm,” said Abe. “It won’t make us invisible to them, but they’ll have to work really hard to notice us.”

  He got out of the car and slipped across to the vehicle that the two Eye members had arrived in. Hellboy watched silently as he poured powder onto his hand and blew it across both wing mirrors, and then walked all the way round the vehicle, tapping the metal bodywork with the bones in a ritualistic pattern, muttering as he did so.

  “That should do it,” he said, getting back into the car a couple of minutes later.

  “Okay,” conceded Hellboy, “but I still say if these guys do spot us, we run them off the road and beat the crap out of them.”

  An ambulance. That was how the Eye guys had made it through the streets without being stopped and questioned — somehow they had managed to procure an ambulance. They had even had the temerity to drive it through the city at speed, lights flashing and siren wailing.

  “Whoever these guys are, they’re not dumb,” Hellboy had noted with reluctant admiration.”I mean, who the hell is going to stop an ambulance on a mission of mercy?”

  Indeed, Hellboy and Abe had themselves almost been taken in by the ambulance stunt. When the vehicle initially turned up, announcing its arrival from several streets away, Abe very nearly blew their cover by getting out of the car to greet it, assuming that something had gone wrong inside the refuge, that maybe Liz had been rumbled and was now hurt. It had been the more experienced Hellboy who had struck a note of caution, placing a hand on Abe’s arm even as he had been reaching for the door handle.

  “Hang on,” he had said quietly.

  Abe had turned to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Things may not be as straightforward as they seem,” Hellboy said.

  Seconds later the driver’s door and the passenger door had opened and the two men had emerged.

  Hellboy looked at Abe, his golden eyes shining in the gloom. “How many paramedics do you know who wear suits and ties?” he had said.

  The three agents sat tight as the two men went into the refuge. Then they watched as the men loaded their victims into the ambulance one by one. Once the fourth victim was aboard, the men slammed the back doors shut and climbed into the driver’s cab.

  “Here we go,” Hellboy said as the ambulance’s engine turned over and its headlights came on. Tony Mancini twisted the ignition key of the black Rover 3500 that the Brits had provided them with, and they eased out, headlights off, in pursuit of their quarry.

  At first everything ran smoothly. The Eye guys in the ambulance did not seem to realize that they were being tailed, and Mancini drove with skill and precision, tucking neatly in behind the leading vehicle, matching its speed, its occasional sudden turns, its progress through lights and intersections. They headed north, up through Camden, passing Holloway Prison on their left. It was when they came to Holloway Road that things began to unravel.

  The only army checkpoint they had encountered until now had waved them through without any problems. Hellboy and Abe had been a little tense, wondering whether only the ambulance would be allowed to proceed, but either the army guys must have assumed the two vehicles were on the same mission, or they had spotted Hellboy in the back seat of the Rover.

  Unfortunately the B.P.R.D. agents did not have the same luck with the next patrol. This one, comprised of police officers, was positioned at the junction between Parkhurst Road and Holloway Road. This time the ambulance was waved through, but a police officer pointed to a space between a police van and a patrol car, indicating that the Rover should pull over.

  “Idiot,” Hellboy muttered. “Just ignore him.”

  Mancini nodded and maintained his speed. Angrily the policeman stepped forward, raising a hand, forcing Mancini to swerve and miss him by millimeters.

  “What are you doing, you moron!” Hellboy yelled at the officer, though his window was up and there was no way the man could hear him. Turning to Abe, he muttered, “Jeez, don’t these guys have brains? Isn’t it obvious we’re trailing the damn ambulance for a reason?“

  Abe turned and looked through the back windscreen. “Oh, great, now they’re following us,” he said wearily.

  Sure enough, two officers, including the one they had almost mown down, had run across to the patrol car parked by the curb and leaped in. The car was peeling out into the road now. Almost immediately it began to flash its lights at their rear bumper, its siren blaring.

  “Hey, let’s stop!”
Hellboy said brightly. “Then we can tell those halfwit cops they’ve just wrecked our last slim chance of saving their city.”

  Abruptly the ambulance put on a spurt of speed, drawing away from the Rover.

  “Either we’ve been spotted or they think the cops are after them,” Mancini said calmly.

  “Just keep with them, Tony,” said Abe.

  Mancini nodded. “Do my best.”

  The next few minutes were like a scene from one of the seventies cop-show reruns — Starsky and Hutch or The Streets of San Francisco — Hellboy liked to watch late at night with popcorn on the rare occasions when he got to relax back home in his quarters at B.P.R.D. HQ in Connecticut. There were plenty of hairpin bends taken at high speed, plenty of near misses and squealing brakes and gouts of rubbery smoke kicking up from scorched tires.

  Despite the very real risk of losing their quarry, Hellboy found himself enjoying the ride. He leaned forward as they skidded round corners, felt a rush of excitement each time they swerved around an unexpected obstacle.

  Abe, by contrast, who was more vulnerable to physical injury than his friend, was pressed back into his seat, clinging on for dear life. His skin had turned a pale and slightly sickly blue, and the ruff of fins around his neck fluttered in alarm.

  On a straight stretch of road, Hellboy leaned forward to speak to Mancini.

  “Fun as this is,Tony, there’s no way these bastards will go back to their HQ if they know they’re being followed — which means that we’re gonna have to catch ‘em. Think you can force ‘em to stop without anyone getting killed?”

  “I’ll try,” Mancini muttered, eyes fixed on the road.

  He put his foot down, coaxing a little more speed from the car.

  Abe hunched up his shoulders and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the collision, as the Rover roared right up to the ambulance’s rear bumper, its white double doors filling the windscreen.

  Just as the two bumpers seemed destined to touch, the Rover peeled off to the right, looking for a space wide enough to overtake. A split second later Abe was gasping, thrown to his left, as Mancini swerved back in to avoid a traffic light mounted on a concrete island.