by Matt Whyman
In response, all they hear is the same dead crackle as before. Finally, the voice comes through, but it’s broken up this time.
“Bravo Team Lead . . . anyone read me? . . . hello? . . . really must . . . upgrade . . . knackered equipment!”
“Team Leader, you’re not making much sense. There’s too much interference. Do you copy? What is your position?”
“Hello?”
The twins glance at one another, sharing the same observation.
“He can’t hear you,” says Scarlett.
“The monitors might be working fine,” adds Blaize, “but this lad’s radio set is definitely on the blink.”
Through the intercom, they hear a curse and then several thumps.
“Is that better? Billy? Are you there? I don’t know if you’re picking this up, but I’m coming home to roost. Someone handed me the wrong schedule this morning, it seems. I hauled the special box out to Leicester Square, the big one with the hidden chamber so we could do the teleportation trick, but none of my team showed up. I radioed in earlier, only to learn that after last night’s success they’ve been given the day off! Now I’ve got a loose connection, which is the final straw. Billy, if you’re on watch right now, I blame you for the mix-up. Just as soon as I get back to the bunker, I’m coming down to the Bridge to kick me some rollerblading butt!”
“Team Leader, that is a negative no-can-do.” Billy glances up at the brute on the big screen. “Stay clear of the bunker, understand? It isn’t safe to come home just yet.”
“Hello? Do you read me? I can’t hear a thing!”
A final static pop signals the end of the transmission. Billy throws off the headset, and begins to bite fretfully at a thumbnail.
“Well handled,” says Blaize sarcastically. “It’s heartening to know you can communicate so clearly.”
Billy quits chewing his nail, and instead sends his fingers flying over the keyboard.
“We have to locate this M.I.A., and somehow get to him before Aleister.”
“M.I.A.?” Scarlett looks at Billy, mystified.
“Missing In Action,” he mutters, like she should know this. “If that bald-headed fiend sees our boy heading for the buckled vent, my guess is we might have a hostage situation on our hands. If Aleister wants to lure you out that badly, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“So what can we do?” she enquires.
“We can start by locating our M.I.A.” Billy pauses there, and trades a tense look with the girls. “I don’t know what we’ll do after that.”
“Let’s find him first,” says Blaize. “We’ll think of something.”
On the big screen, thanks to Billy’s nimble keyboard work, the feed skips from one traffic camera to the next. It takes them back along the thoroughfare, through the golden gates and over the square that hosted the New Year celebration. Several jumps later, Billy stops on a view of a covered passage with stalls on either side.
“It’s busy,” observes Scarlett. “This is like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“Not when that needle is weighed down by stage props.” Billy instructs the camera to zoom into the passage. And there, as if on cue, a young street punk appears through the crowd with his head bowed and a big flight case strung across his back. “That’s our boy. What do you suggest we do now, girls?”
Billy sits back, as if somehow his job is done. Scarlett finds Blaize looking across at her. “I’m going out there,” she announces firmly. “And you can’t stop me.”
“Are you crazy?” says Billy. “There’s only one way out of that alley, and Aleister is standing squarely at the exit!”
As if to illustrate his point, Billy brings up an inset feed from the camera clamped to the Chinese laundry. Sure enough, the two figures remain posted on the corner. Looking down upon them, it’s clear that even running for it would end in failure.
“Blaize, you can’t,” her sister counters. “Julius made it clear that we had to stay in the bunker. Stepping out now would be playing straight into Aleister’s hands. We know that we have until sunset. There’s still time to save Otto somehow. Why put us all in danger now?”
“Because one of our crew has gone M.I.A. from the camera’s field of vision,” she points out, on her feet now. “Which means he’s getting closer to the alley by the second. With the flight case strapped to his back, Aleister will know he’s a street magician heading for the bunker, which means he could lead the brute directly to us.”
“But how will you reach him?” asks Billy, clearly concerned. “Aleister will pounce just as soon as you emerge into the daylight.”
Blaize grabs an earpiece and radio pack from her console. “I’m gonna take up Yoshi’s invitation,” she tells them both, clipping the piece in place. “It’s high time I took to the rooftops.”
Scarlett’s mouth drops open by a notch. “You’re going free running?”
“It’s the only way to reach our M.I.A. without being spotted.”
“But, Blaize, you don’t just have to be stupid to get around town via the rooftops. Jumping between buildings takes practice, and Yoshi isn’t here to be your guide. Don’t be such a hothead!”
In response to her sister, Blaize holds out the palm of one hand. A single flame rises up from it, with the sound like a sheet snapping open, but only Billy is left wide-eyed. “Nobody taught me how to do that,” she reminds her sister, and extinguishes the flame with a clap of her hands. “Sometimes, these things come down to instinct. Now sit tight here and find a nice camera that picks up the rooftops for me. Once I’m up there, I’m relying on you guys to keep me safe from harm.”
21
SOMETHING LIKE A HELLHOUND
The first thing to break the darkness is a beam of light. It sweeps around the tunnel brickwork, flashing briefly across the water. A sloshing sound can be heard next, coming from the same source as the beam. Step by step, the circular glow intensifies, while yet more beams of light join the first one, and sway this way and that. Finally, out of the murk, a procession of shadowy figures takes shape with what appear to be glowing insect eyes. Among them is the wraith-like figure of a girl, enshrouded by a spectral aura. If this is a ghost, she isn’t a happy one.
“How much further, Julius? My feet are freezing!”
Mikhail splashes through the shallows just behind her. He says: “If you tell me how to glow in the dark like that, I’ll give you a piggyback.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times you ask that,” says Yoshi, bringing up the rear. “You’re going to get the same response.”
Mikhail glances over his shoulder. The dual beams on his head torch are so dazzling that it’s all Yoshi can see of him. “Aren’t these things neat?” the young Russian says, admiring Yoshi’s own set. “I never knew Julius had a whole store of them. I wonder what else he keeps secret from us.”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Yoshi says under his breath, as Mikhail turns to see where he’s going.
Up ahead, leading the way with his canvas bag slung over one shoulder and walking staff in hand, Julius Grimaldi says: “Things warm up just beyond this stretch, Livia. Just you wait and see.”
The party have been on the move now for what seems like an age. It could be minutes. It might be an hour or more. Deep below the city streets, it’s easy to become disorientated by both time and place, which is why Julius continues to be questioned about their location under London.
“So where are we now?” asks Livia, as they follow a long and gentle bend in the tunnel. “This river has taken so many turns it feels more like we’re inside a serpent.”
Julius turns, and touches a finger to his lips. “Keep your voices low from now on.”
“Why?” The glow surrounding Livia brightens by a degree. “Who on earth is going to hear us?”
“Let’s just say that dogs are often in the vicinity. If they pick up on our presence they’ll kick up an almighty fuss. And frankly any kind of attention could be a problem from here on out. No
w, keep close,” he says, and moves off once again, “but above all, keep quiet!”
Yoshi, Livia and Mikhail remain where they are for a moment, watching the old man follow the bend in the tunnel. As he disappears from sight the young Russian turns to Yoshi and says: “Maybe now would be a good time for you to tell us what we can expect to find around the corner.”
“You want me to carry out a remote view?” asks Yoshi just to check. “I didn’t think you believed in that sort of thing.”
Mikhail shrugs, his twin beams twinkling brightly. “Nor did I believe I’d be wading under London through a lost river, either. Until someone tells me where we’re heading, I’m prepared to believe in anything if it’ll keep me safe and sound.”
In such dark surroundings, Livia’s aura looks more like a luminous veil. It lights up the boy’s face when she suggests that he give it a go. “If you see something like a hellhound,” she tells him, “I am out of here.”
“Very well,” says Yoshi, and closes his eyes. At the same time, he focuses on clearing his head of all thoughts. It’s a technique that Aleister had introduced to him at the Foundation, in a bid to master his emerging psychic gift. Then he had grown wise to the brute’s designs for special kids like him, and taken refuge in the bunker. Right now, however, it is Aleister’s teachings that help him to blank out his surroundings, and prepare for that telltale flash as his mind’s eye opens.
Silently, he counts to ten . . . And nothing happens. He tries again, but to no avail.
“It’s no good.” Yoshi blinks back to find his two friends watching him closely. “I can’t get the tale of those slaughtermen out of my thoughts.”
Mikhail looks mystified. “What slaughtermen?”
“It’s a long story,” says Livia, unwilling to alarm him. “Most probably an urban legend, in fact.”
Yoshi focuses on the way ahead. “We should get moving,” he says. “Whatever’s around the corner, we mustn’t lose sight of Julius. I really don’t want to be down here without a guide. We could get lost for ever.” He pauses there, thinking of the butchers and their wives who had taken refuge from a great fire, and never seen the light of day again. “Come on, let’s go.”
Mikhail gestures for the pair to go first. “After you, really.”
“Are you being a gent,” asks Livia, as she leads the way. “Or a coward?”
They leave the young Russian grinning, but not for long because Livia takes much of the light with her. Mikhail glances over his shoulder, and decides to catch up with the pair
“I’m no coward,” he tells them, jogging through the water. “In fact, to prove it let me go first.” He pushes between them, in high spirits now, and follows the briskly turn in the tunnel like he’s strolling through a park in blossom. Moments after he disappears from sight, they hear his footfalls in the water come to a halt, and what sounds like a gasp of surprise. Yoshi turns to Livia. He can see in her eyes that she’s equally rattled, but there’s no turning back now. Taking her hand, they head swiftly in Mikhail’s direction, and almost collide with the Russian boy. He’s standing stock-still where the tunnel straightens out, frozen at the old man’s bidding it seems. Julius is up ahead by several metres. On seeing Yoshi and Livia arrive, he touches a finger to his lips, and motions for them all to power down their head torches. Then, very slowly, he gestures towards the reason why.
For a series of openings in the brickwork stud one side of the tunnel. They run at eye level to Julius, allowing bars of light to slant down onto the water as far as they can see. The old man is standing very still, watching something through the opening closest to him. Standing on tiptoe, Yoshi squints through one such gap. He finds himself looking out across the polished floor of a long passage with glossy white walls and strip lights. A tin sign on the wall reads:
Service Corridor G.
Servants must carry identification at all times.
By order of “the management”.
Then he sees the dogs, a whole pack in fact, and catches his breath.
There are about a dozen in total. Each one is padding this way and that, muzzles to the floor of the passage up there, ignoring the figure watching over them. It’s a woman in the autumn of her years, judging by the footwear. From their sunken position, all they can see of her is a pair of jewel-encrusted pink slippers and some very thick stockings indeed. Whatever she might look like above the knee remains a mystery, but one thing is for certain. The tanned and robust smell gives it away, as does the section of ash that drops to the floor in front of her feet.
This mystery individual has come down here with her dogs to enjoy a quiet cigar.
“Well they certainly aren’t hellhounds,” whispers Livia, “which is a relief.”
“I’m not even sure you can call them dogs,” observes Mikhail quietly, as his two friends draw close behind him. “Overgrown hamsters would be more fitting.”
“They’re corgis,” breathes Yoshi, as a heart-stopping realisation dawns on him. “And we’re right under Buckingham Palace!”
22
RACE ACROSS THE ROOFTOPS
At the dead end of a Chinatown alley, beyond the bins outside the restaurant kitchen, something is stirring. At first, the weeds sway and bow, and then a blue-braided head of long hair rises very slowly. This is followed by two eyes fixed upon the alley mouth.
“Billy,” she breathes into her mouthpiece. “I can see them now.”
“Roger that, Bravo. We have a visual, too.”
“My name is Blaize,” she hisses, in no uncertain terms. “You can cut the military stuff, mister. Save it for the boys.”
“OK. Right. Sorry about that.”
She breaks off there, glad to be in the fresh air and on her own for once. As a twin, this kind of freedom was something she valued more than most. Scarlett may have been physically identical to her in every way, but sometimes their outlooks differed. Had her sister got her own way, she wouldn’t be here now – hoping to intercept a lone crew member before he walked right into trouble. Keeping low, she scans her surroundings. The alley walls are too high to scale from ground level. The adjacent buildings sport tiled slopes and chimney stacks that even an amateur like her could scramble over. The problem lies in getting up there. Then Blaize spies the bins opposite the restaurant kitchen. They might be full to overflowing, but the lids on top could be just the platform she needs.
What stops her from leaving her hiding place among the weeds are the two men at the alley mouth. There they are, loitering with intent. One of them had been responsible for a great deal of misery in her life. A figure she had grown to loathe so passionately that seeing him now makes her blood boil.
The other one ran a programme for kids with psychic gifts.
Aleister’s Foundation may not have been quite what Blaize expected when her stepfather packed them onto the cheapest transatlantic flight he could find. Even so, it was better being here on the run than living at home. Back in New York, it was no wonder the pair got into trouble all the time. Their mother was a good woman, as was Otto deep down. It was their sense of priorities that caused all the problems. Otto lived for his work and the money it made, in the same way that Marlene only came alive in the gym. They had eyes for each other, all right. Just not for the twins. Even after Blaize and Scarlett had agreed to wear different colour braids in their hair, old Otto here never failed to get them mixed up.
To discover that their stepfather had travelled halfway across the globe to help in tracking them down should have touched both twins. Instead, seeing him here in Chinatown had left Blaize feeling both embarrassed and annoyed. It was quite clear he was here to taste everything that London had to offer, from the food to the famous landmarks, and she felt sure that Scarlett shared her disgust. Chances are he was regularly updating Marlene about progress in the search for his stepdaughters. If so, Blaize had no doubt that he’d be exaggerating freely about the effort he was making. Just seeing him take care of the last rib in the bag was enough to leave her stea
ming. Blaize didn’t envy Aleister, having to take care of a man who wore golf shirts even though he couldn’t swing a nine iron without hitting himself in the face. In some ways, she felt quite sorry for the brute. He’d lost a lot recently, ever since Yoshi had encouraged them to run away. Right now, watching him turn and pace back to their stepfather, Blaize seizes the moment to make her move.
Aleister approaches the man still inspecting the mess he’s made of his shirt, idly wondering what kind of father he was to the twins. So far, on his first day in the city, he’s spent more time worrying about his belly than he has about his missing girls. Drawing alongside him now, the brute claps him squarely on the back.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I sense they are in this quarter somewhere. My feeling is by sundown they should be safe in your care once again.”
“Maybe we should check out some other streets,” suggests Otto, and eyes him hopefully. “Somewhere that sells dim sum? I never tried dim sum. I heard it tastes great.”
Aleister nods, looking strained all of a sudden. He draws breath to insist they stay put, but a sudden crashing sound behind them makes that quite unnecessary.
“What was that?” he hisses, spinning on his heels.
On the ground midway down the alley, a bin lid gyrates to a standstill.
“Maybe rats?” suggests Otto, but Aleister is not so easily convinced.
Marching to the cause of the commotion, he looks down at the lid as if it hides some great secret underneath. But instead of lifting it to look, he turns his attention upwards, taking in the summit of the wall and the rooftop behind it.
“Otto, are you still hungry for dim sum?” he asks without turning.
“Hey, you just read my belly and my mind. The sticky ribs made great starters, but I’m on a roll now. Bring on the main course, my friend!”
“Then why don’t you wait for me here,” suggests Aleister, who suddenly seems in a hurry to take off, “and I’ll collect some takeaway?”
