Poor bastards never stood a chance.
Armoured cars came rolling down the street, firing really big guns from embrasures. Molly turned their gunfire into pretty butterflies, and then melted all the cars’ wheels with a wave of one hand. They ground to a halt, steel rims digging into the road. Molly scowled with concentration, so intent on the mischief she was working she didn’t even see the armoured man closing in on her. Somehow he’d fought his way forward through the blustering winds, and approached her in her blind spot. He raised a gun to shoot her in the head at close range, and she didn’t even know he was there.
I grabbed the nearest man and threw him at the gunman sneaking up on Molly. The man flew screaming through the air with unnatural speed, driven by the awful strength of my armoured arm. He actually caught on fire from the friction of the air, and was a mass of flames when he slammed into the man threatening Molly. The gunman just had time to look around, and then the burning man hit him so hard I heard bones break under the impact. Molly looked at the two bodies lying on the ground some distance behind her, and then looked at me.
“I knew he was there.”
“Of course you did,” I said. “Do you think you could lay off the winds a bit? Even I’m having trouble keeping my feet.”
Molly frowned. “They’re not my winds…”
We both looked up. The two black attack helicopters were descending upon us. They came roaring in from both ends of the street at once, raking us with machine-gun fire, explosive flechettes, and long sticks of incendiaries. I just stood there and took it, untouched by the bullets or the explosions or flames that rose up around me. The armoured men around me didn’t fare as well, and broke away screaming and slapping at their burning armour. Molly turned briefly sideways from the world, and it all went right through her, like a ghost. But while she held herself midway between dimensions like that, she was helpless to fight back. So it was down to me to do something about the helicopters.
Bullets chewed up the street all around me, and fires sprang up fiercely on all sides. A thousand rounds a minute slammed into my silver chest and just disappeared. I didn’t even rock on my feet. The explosions didn’t move me, and the fires couldn’t reach me. A Drood in his armour is an unstoppable force, and a terror to his enemies. I grabbed the nearest injured man up off the street and threw him at the nearest helicopter. He hurtled screaming through the air and slammed into the helicopter’s rear rotor. His scream cut off abruptly as blood and offal flew across the sky. The helicopter swung back and forth drunkenly, its rotor smashed, and then it fell to earth like a crippled bird.
The pilot made a last desperate attempt to aim the crashing helicopter right at me. I stood my ground, braced for the impact. The helicopter loomed up before me, trailing smoke and flames. I could see right into the cockpit, see the pilots screaming hate and defiance at me. And then the machine smashed right into me, and exploded. For long moments there were only fire and sound and thick black smoke, but none of it touched me. I stood unscathed in the middle of the inferno, and then strode calmly out of it, kicking bits of wreckage aside.
I looked up, and the other helicopter was coming in for another strafing run. They were firing wildly now, half out of their minds with shock and desperation. The bullets chewed up the street and the houses, and even some of their own men. And then the bastards fired a Hellfire missile at me. Right in the middle of civilian territory. I stood my ground, braced for the impact, and caught the missile in my arms. The armour absorbed all the impact, and I bent over, hugging the missile to my chest. It exploded, and my armour absorbed most of the energy. A whole lot of windows shattered all around me, but no one was hurt. I glared up at the helicopter. I’d had enough of those idiots. They were losing it, big time. I jumped up into the air as the helicopter swept towards me and, driven by the strength in my armoured legs, I soared up and grabbed onto the front of their cockpit. The helicopter swayed and lurched wildly under the extra weight. I drew back a silver fist and punched right through the reinforced cockpit glass.
“Get out,” I said coldly to the two pilots.
They pushed open the cockpit doors and bailed out. I didn’t blame them. All the training in the world can’t prepare you to face a Drood field agent in his armour.
The helicopter slammed down onto the street and skidded along, throwing up sparks and smoke. I rode it the length of the street, waited till it finally screeched to a halt, and then stepped calmly down from the shattered cockpit. Some days, it’s good to be an agent. Molly strolled over to join me.
“Show-off.”
I looked around the street. Most of the armoured men were down; hurt or terrorised or not moving. The few still on their feet had thrown away their guns and were standing with their hands clasped behind their helmets. I almost had it in me to feel sorry for them. They’d thought they were coming to arrest one unarmed field agent and his girlfriend. Probably thought the size of the operation was just typical military overkill. The winds Molly had summoned up were slowly dying away, still sending furious little gusts this way and that, as though resentful at being disturbed against their will. Fires burned here and there, up and down the street, and thick black smoke curled up from the wreckage of the two helicopters.
Alpha walked slowly forward, gun and bullhorn abandoned. He stopped right before me, and to his credit he looked defeated, but not beaten. He took off his helmet, and a great many things suddenly became clear as I recognised the middle-aged face. I sent my armour back into my torc, so he could see mine.
“Philip MacAlpine,” I said. “Thought I recognised the voice. You used to have more sense than to get involved in a clusterfuck like this.”
“You know this creep?” said Molly.
“He’s with MI5,” I said. “Or at least, he used to be. Worked with Uncle James on a lot of cases, back in the day. I saw him around the Hall a lot, when I was a kid.”
“Please,” said MacAlpine. “You’re making me feel old.”
“What are you doing out in the field, Phil?” I said. “And when did you join up with Manifest Destiny?”
MacAlpine shook his head quickly. “I’m nothing to do with Truman’s private army. This is an MI5 operation; though strictly speaking of course, it isn’t, officially. This comes under DDT.”
Molly looked at me. “Pest control?”
“Department of Dirty Tricks,” I said. “Departments within departments, that don’t officially exist, for maximum deniability. Who set this up, Phil?”
He smiled briefly, and shrugged. “You know I can’t answer that, Eddie.”
“Molly,” I said calmly, “you want to turn him into something more cooperative?”
“It was all the prime minister’s idea,” MacAlpine said quickly. “He wanted us to establish whether the Droods really were as vulnerable as our intelligence suggested. So we could take the advantage while you were still weak.” He looked at the wreckage and bodies all around him. “So many good men, dead and injured. You didn’t use to be this vicious, Eddie.”
“I only kill when I have to,” I said. “You know that.”
MacAlpine looked at me, his face unreadable. “I don’t know anything about you anymore, Eddie.”
“The politicians are getting restless,” I said to Molly. “I suppose something like this was inevitable, once word started to get around. The politicians would love a chance to get their hands on a Drood and sweat some real secrets out of him. We’d better get back to the Hall; see what else is happening.” I looked back at MacAlpine. “I’m surprised to see you here, Phil. Last I heard, you’d been thrown out of Special Operations for excessive violence.”
“Don’t be silly, Eddie,” he said. “That’s how most of us get in. You must know…this won’t stop here. The prime minister’s taken too much shit from the Droods down the years not to strike back, now he sees an opportunity. All our agents are being called in, for a preemptive strike against your family. Even the old bastards like me. All sins forgiven, if not forgotten
. And it won’t just be us. The whole world will be at your throat, from now on.”
I considered him thoughtfully. “Just how did you find out that the Droods don’t have their golden armour anymore?”
“Don’t be naïve, Eddie. We have a whole department dedicated to studying every move your family makes. Reports have been coming in from all over the world of Drood field agents suddenly abandoning their posts and running for home by the fastest routes possible. We know something drastic has happened inside the family, Eddie. You can’t hope to keep it secret for long. We’ll find out.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said.
MacAlpine shrugged, started to turn away, and then looked back. “Is it true? About James?”
“Yes,” I said. “He’s dead.”
MacAlpine nodded slowly. “The old Gray Fox is gone. I thought he’d outlive us all. How did it happen?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Family business. Now tell the prime minister to back off. Tell him what happened here. Tell him about the silver armour. And tell him the family isn’t weak. Just…reorganising.”
“No doubt he can expect a call from the Matriarch?” said MacAlpine.
“Eventually,” I said. “Molly and I are leaving now. You and your people can stay, and clean all this mess up before you go. We’re supposed to fight secret wars, not endanger innocent civilians! What were you thinking of?”
“I told you,” said MacAlpine. “It’s a different world now. All the old rules have changed. Thanks to you.”
Molly and I headed back to the Hall in the Bentley. Molly sang happily along to her Ramones compilation, while I did some thinking. No one in the wrecked street would talk about what they’d seen happen, right in front of them. The usual mixture of bribes, threats, and the magic words terrorists and national security would see to that. All camcorders and camera phones would be confiscated, and if anybody did get stubborn and try to talk to the media, the government would slap on as many D notices as necessary to muzzle them. Any real troublemakers…would be made to forget. It’s a secret war, in an invisible world, and people have to stay ignorant if we’re to protect them.
I still had a lot of unanswered questions. How had MacAlpine known exactly when to stake out my flat? That much armour and manpower takes a lot of advance organising. Somebody must have talked, and the only people who knew…were family. I’d known there were still members of the Zero Tolerance faction who hoped to sabotage and undermine me, so they could seize back control of the family…but to talk to outsiders? To politicians? That was crossing the line.
Enemies without, enemies within. As if I didn’t have enough problems.
CHAPTER TWO
Families: Can’t Live with Them, Can’t Take Them Down to the River and Drown Them All in Sacks
The Hall has been home to the Drood family for generations. Even though, officially, it doesn’t exist. You won’t find it on any map, and you can’t get to it by any ordinary route. The Hall stands alone, apart from the world, and it likes it that way. Don’t come looking for us or something really nasty will happen to you; we’re protected by sciences and magic and nightmares worse than both. The family has always taken its privacy and its security very seriously.
Especially after the Chinese tried to nuke us, back in the sixties. Just because we protect the world, it doesn’t mean the world is always grateful.
The Hall has raised, nurtured, and indoctrinated Droods for centuries. Trained us relentlessly to fight the good fight, and taught us everything we needed to know about the world except how to live in it. Most Droods never leave the Hall all their lives. Only approved field agents get to go out into the world and walk up and down in it, fighting our endless, secret, invisible wars, and smiting the ungodly till they cry like babies. The Hall is mother and father to us all; the Hall is family. I ran away first chance I got, and never looked back. Now, for my many sins, I was home again. Ostensibly to run the family in its hour of need, and redeem its soul from the evil ways it had fallen into, down the long centuries. When we moved from protecting humanity to running it.
The Hall stands alone in the middle of its extensive grounds, brooding jealously over its idyllic domain. I drove the Bentley down the long winding gravel path, and machine guns rose silently up out of hidden emplacements on either side of the road and followed us as we passed before sinking grudgingly back down beneath the grass again. Sprinklers spread their gentle haze across the sweeping lawns, and wandering peacocks called out their welcomes and warnings. Gryphons patrolled the grounds, their gazes fixed firmly on the near future, the perfect guardians and watchdogs. When they weren’t looking for something really foul and smelly to roll around in. I could sense force shields and magical screens snapping on and off ahead and behind us, as the Hall security systems recognised Molly and me, and let us pass. No one gets in uninvited.
I slowed the Bentley down so Molly could enjoy the hedge mazes and the flower gardens, and the swans floating serenely on the lake. I liked showing off my home to her, even though she always went out of her way to seem unimpressed. And besides, I was in no hurry to get back to the Hall, and all the work and responsibilities that awaited me there. Why do you think I ran away in the first place?
The Hall loomed up before us, dominating the horizon, the guardian at the gates of reality. The long-standing abode of the Drood family, and humanity’s last defence against the forces of darkness. It’s a miserable old dump, truth be told, draughty as hell and entirely innocent of modern innovations like central heating. I grew up thinking wearing long underwear from September to April was normal. The Hall is a huge sprawling old pile of a manor house, knocked up in Tudor times and much added to down the centuries. Currently home to some three thousand souls, all of them Droods. You can marry into the family, but not out of it. We’re like the Mafia; once in, never out. Unless you want to wake up with a unicorn’s head in bed next to you.
I slammed the Bentley to a halt in a spray of flying gravel and parked right outside the Hall’s front door, mostly because I knew I wasn’t supposed to. Start as you mean to go on, that’s what I always say. Molly jumped out over the closed side door while I was still turning off the engine, and I scrambled out after her before she could start any trouble. If anyone was going to start any trouble, I wanted it to be me. First impressions are so important. We’d hardly made it through the front door and into the vestibule before a mob of angry family members descended upon us. It appeared they’d been waiting for some time to have a determined word in my ear, and they weren’t prepared to take No, Not now, or even Go to hell as an answer. They all started shouting questions and demands the moment they clapped eyes on me, constantly raising their voices to be heard, and actually pushing and shoving at each other in their eagerness to get to me first.
Which was almost unheard of, in the disciplined, tightly structured, and almost feudal system that our family has followed for centuries. It seemed when I challenged authority and got away with it, I unleashed a flood tide of repressed resentments. The family wanted change, and it wanted it now, but unfortunately it couldn’t agree on just what should be changed, and how. Molly and I stood close together with our backs pressed up against the closed front door, as everyone in the crowd did their best to outshout each other. The din was appalling, and the faces before me were strained and ugly with anger, impatience and determination.
I did my best to concentrate, trying to sort out some of what they were going on about. Some had questions about the new family policy, others wanted to know when they were going to get the new silver torcs, and a lot of them wanted to denounce other people as being against progress, or in favour of the wrong kind of progress, or just guilty of the sin of not agreeing with the speaker’s ideas. Some of the questions and demands were just flat-out impossible, no doubt designed to embarrass me and make me look indecisive in front of the family. Did I mention I have enemies inside the family? Hard-core traditionalists and surviving members of the Zero Tolera
nce faction, still mad as hell that their little putsch hadn’t succeeded, and determined to sabotage and undermine me.
Hell hath no fury like a Drood with a grudge.
I did try to be polite, and answer the questions of those nearest me, but no one could hear me in the general bedlam of voices. And no one in the crowd was willing to quieten down in favour of someone else. It’s times like this I wish my armour was equipped with pepper sprays. Or water cannon. In the end I looked at Molly, and she grinned mischievously. She muttered a few Words and made a sharp gesture, and suddenly everyone in the angry mob was entirely naked and wondering where the cold breeze was coming from. The bedlam died quickly away to a shocked silence, followed by a few squeaks and squeals as a hundred or so naked Droods did their best to cover themselves with their hands or hide behind each other. Molly glared about her, her smile entirely unpleasant.
“Right; everyone pay attention and stay quiet, or I’ll send you where I sent your clothes. And your clothes aren’t coming back. Or at least, not in any condition where you could hope to wear them again. Ye gods and little fishes, look at the state of you. Living proof that most people look better with their clothes on. Now be good little naked people and run away terribly quickly, before I decide to do something really amusing to you. Probably involving Möbius strips and your lower intestines.”
I never saw so many people disappear so quickly, or so many entirely unattractive arses. I looked at Molly, and she smiled sweetly.
“You see—you just have to know how to talk to people.”
“You haven’t even heard of diplomacy, have you?”
“No. And aren’t you glad?”
“Well, yes.”
And that was when the Sarjeant-at-Arms finally deigned to make an appearance. He was supposed to be guarding the front door; that was his job, to be the first and last face any outsider ever sees if they come through the front door without an invitation. The Sarjeant is in charge of Hall security and family discipline, which means he gets to hit people a lot; and he’s never happier than when he’s found an excuse to really lay the law down. He made my life hell when I was a child, beating me till the blood flew for the smallest infringement of the rules; and when I finally came back to the Hall to put the family in order, one of the first things I did was to beat the crap out of him. And then he had the nerve to say he only did it to toughen me up and prepare me for the world outside. He actually said he was proud of me, before he lapsed into unconsciousness. I’ll never forgive him for that.
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