by Chris Ward
He browsed through the security camera footage, searching for images of anyone who was where they shouldn’t be. He quickly found Dreggo and a posse of DCA agents in the corridors down on Level Eight, commonly known as the workroom level. Scrolling through the camera footage that followed the group’s progress revealed Mika’s arrest.
Spacewell punched the desk. What had she been playing at down there with the two Huntsmen? It was out of her jurisdiction.
He logged out and then accessed his feed to Dreggo’s audio transcriptions. Using a keyword search to avoid pages and pages of Dreggo’s inane hateful mutterings about everything under the smog-shrouded sun, he found details of her decision to have Mika arrested.
In his stupidity he had underestimated the Governor’s favorite bitch. His program was set up to automatically flag mentions of certain names, but Dreggo’s hate-filled rants referred only to job titles and condescending abbreviations. Searching for “Mika” had come up with nothing, but had he refined his search to “that whore scientist” he would have known about Dreggo’s plans in plenty of time.
He resolved never to underestimate her again.
Revealing himself was not an option. Rescuing Mika at a later date was a possibility, but not one he could entertain right now, much as his heartstrings begged him to reconsider.
She was on her own.
Lindon would be waiting, but there was nothing Spacewell could do. He logged back on to the security cameras on the workroom level. Only one camera had a feed from inside the room with the damaged Huntsmen, and Mika had clearly known where it was, sitting with her back to it so that whatever she was doing was out of view.
Then, just a few seconds before her arrest, she spun on her chair to face the door, then turned back towards Kyaru and stuck a hand into the damaged flesh of her abdomen. Spacewell leaned forward, trying to see what Mika had done. On the screen, the door burst open and Dreggo’s mob entered. Mika stood up and stepped away from the two damaged Level Threes.
‘You sneak,’ Spacewell said, grinning through his regret. ‘What’s that you’ve gone and hidden in there?’
It was time for another shameless coffee break. Spacewell switched off the computer and headed for a room on the upper floor where he had personally checked that no cameras or hidden microphones worked, then he pulled a tiny radio from his pocket and adjusted the frequency to a secure line.
‘Tim, it’s me, Rick. You there? Got something that might interest you….’
28
Benny
Airie had finally stopped complaining about the river sludge that had got into her clothes bag now that it had begun to dry out and flake off. David had suggested they coat themselves in the stuff, but Airie had put her hands on the handles of her knives and given a slow shake of the head.
After what had happened with Taku and Raine he didn’t want to put anyone else at risk, but he had to do something other than run. Airie’s steel was starting to rub off on him, and there was still a chance he might be able to make a difference.
It took some time to locate Benny Maxwell, but once that had been a part of his regular job. David had done some delivery work for a guy Taku knew, and once a month he had been responsible for delivering a heavy package to Maxwell. Due to Benny’s living circumstances however, other than somewhere along the Thames, he had no fixed address.
Walking from Pimlico Underground station down to Vauxhall Bridge, they found Benny’s shabby canal barge moored up in the bridge’s shadow. Benny didn’t care much for London’s rare sunlight, so the only certainty about his location was that it would be beneath a bridge somewhere along the river.
David had been prepared to set aside a couple of days to find his sometime friend, so to come across his floating abode so soon was a bonus. Airie, though, wrinkled her nose at the sight of it and refused to get on board.
‘Wait here then,’ David said, ‘but keep out of sight.’ He gestured to one of the hollows underneath the bridge spans, and with a scowl Airie retreated to the shadows.
The barge was intentionally designed to look uninhabited. Beneath a well cultivated layer of vegetation sprouting from barely noticeable plant pots, the hull of the boat itself was in pristine condition, and the engines were well serviced. In the time David had been delivering to him, Benny’s barge had moved from Kew Bridge in the west down as far as Tower Bridge and back again, so the current of the Thames tidal reach was obviously of no concern.
‘Benny? Are you there? It’s me, David … the delivery boy.’
The barge gave a sudden lurch as if something heavy was moving about inside. David went around to the front just as a piece of dirty plywood fell forward to reveal a perfectly neat and tidy door. A shadow fell across a pane of frosted glass, then the door opened outwards to reveal a bulbous mound of a man whose shape resembled a spinning top, wide in the centre with thin shoulders and short, bow legs. Unfriendly eyes peered out of a heavily bearded face.
‘David? You useless prick. I’ve been waiting almost a week.’
As Benny Maxwell waddled out on to the rear deck, the cardboard box he carried was almost invisible against clothes that were all shades of brown. Something rattled inside as he upended it over the side and a clatter of CDs came tumbling out, hitting the dirty, slow-flowing water and beginning their colourful way down towards the Thames Barrier.
‘I’m sorry. I kind of changed jobs.’
‘So no more stuff for me? Screw you. I’ll change suppliers.’
‘I brought someone for you to meet.’ He turned back towards Airie, who was standing a little ways off, the clawboard strung over one shoulder. ‘This is—’
‘Marta Banks,’ she said, coming over. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Benny’s face changed. Eyes that had been barely visible now went wide, and the bushy beard parted to reveal twin rows of yellowed teeth.
‘Well, hello, Marta Banks. I see you came back.’
David looked from one to the other. He had been planning to tell Benny the truth, but Airie seemed willing to play the game.
‘I came back,’ she said. ‘Now it’s time to kick some ass.’
David wanted to smile. She was almost a caricature, and it would have been glorious if the last few days hadn’t been so blood-soaked. Instead, all he could feel was a regret that in a way he was sacrificing her, too.
Benny’s fat hand waved them forward. ‘Get inside, both of you,’ he said. ‘Who knows what bloodsuckers might be watching. Were you followed?’
David shrugged. ‘Probably.’
‘Well, that’s the benefit of living on a houseboat. Come on now.’
David had never been inside, but he had made enough deliveries to know what to expect. The cramped room was a shrine to radio equipment, with mixing desks, microphones and audio players squeezed into the one corner that wasn’t piled high with old CDs, records, cassettes, mini-discs, and blu-rays. By the look of things, Benny had long ago reached saturation point, but as David had been charged with delivering a box of assorted scavenged music once a week, the unwanted no doubt got tossed into the Thames.
‘Sit on the floor,’ Benny said, taking the one chair, a large office chair that had bent out of shape beneath his massive body. ‘We’re still on the air, although I’m on automatic playback. Hang on a minute.’
He pulled a pair of headphones down over his greasy ears and leaned in to a microphone. Then, in a voice that was so smooth it could have come from a different person, he said, ‘Here for all your rock and pop needs, it’s Max Radio, giving you all the power you need to lift the biggest finger in London towards our glorious government. Altogether now … fuck you.’ A fat finger stabbed a button, and for a moment the houseboat was filled with rock music from a hundred years ago. Then Benny pressed another button and it fell to a whisper.
Airie was staring. ‘What was that?’
Benny pressed a button on the microphone, pulled off the headphones and turned around. ‘You like that? That was the Stones. I can lend y
ou, but I doubt you have anything to play it on. September 17th, 2058. That date mean anything to you?’
The girl shook her head.
‘I suppose not. You’re younger than that, aren’t you? God, what a way to grow up, in a soundless world.’ Benny lifted up a CD with a faded picture of a group of moody young guys with funny hair. ‘That’s the date the government banned the performance and recording of music. The official claim was that it was a distraction to productivity, but we all know that’s bullshit.’ He grabbed a handful of CDs from the nearest pile and let them fall through his fingers like confetti. ‘There’s rebellion in these bad boys, baby.’
‘Benny runs the most popular pirate radio station in London,’ David said.
‘I live off the land and the river. Keep music playing for those brave enough to listen.’ He slapped a knee the size of a side of ham. ‘Laced with a heavy dose of anti-government propaganda.’
‘We need you to help us,’ David said.
Benny ducked his head towards Airie and put a hand on his stomach in as best a bow as he could manage. ‘For you, Marta Banks, anything.’
‘We need a voice,’ David said. ‘We need to talk to the people.’
Benny raised an eyebrow. ‘Where do you fit into this? How on Earth do you know the infamous Marta Banks?’
‘He’s my boyfriend,’ Airie said, making David blush.
Benny shrugged. ‘If you say so. What do you want?’
‘I want you to broadcast that the Tube Riders are back in London, and that the time has come for the people to rise up against the government.’
Benny chortled. ‘And you think they’ll listen? I’ve been telling them that for years.’
‘They’ll listen if I tell them,’ she said.
David glanced at Airie. The girl had a confidence he only wished he shared.
Benny shrugged again. ‘I guess it’s worth a try.’
Benny felt it was best to wait until after dark for a live broadcast. In the meantime, he set David and Airie to work cleaning the inside of the boat. As dusk fell, he released it from its moorings and let it drift out into the middle of the river, caught in the gentle current as the upstream tidal surge met with the lethargic downstream flow.
‘I never use the motors by day,’ he told them. ‘Too easy to hear in a city with no traffic, and if I’m just drifting it looks like someone cut me afloat. Once dark has fallen I do my moving about. You’ve got to stay on the move in this job. I have a number of location blockers protecting my frequency, but you never know who’s trying to find you.’
David hadn’t wanted to stay so long. He had the semblance of a plan, but he was tired of putting lives in danger. With Airie in a position where she could act as Marta in relative safety, it was time for him to put some distance between them.
A generator in the back of the cabin hummed as Benny set up his equipment for the evening broadcast. He had been dropping hints on-air all day that he had a special guest, and Airie had been going over things to say. David sat by the door, trying not to let his body language give away his own plans, but his fingers drummed nervously on his clawboard as Benny slipped a pair of headphones over Airie’s ears.
‘I hoped you enjoyed the last four minutes of rebellion pie,’ he intoned into the microphone. ‘And now, as promised, Max Radio has a special guest sitting right here. None other than Marta Banks, leader of the Tube Riders, a gang of brave young people who stood up against our oppressive government. You’ve all heard the rumours, I’m sure. Chased by everyone from the clown squad we know as the Department of Civil Affairs, to the slightly more dangerous Huntsmen. And guess what? They won. Didn’t you, Marta?’
Airie stared at him. Benny pointed at the microphone and gestured for her to speak.
‘Yeah,’ she said, turning to look at David for instruction. ‘We won.’
Benny frowned. ‘How did you win, Marta? Give us some details.’ He made a circling motion with his hands.
‘We … we kicked their ass. We….’
Benny lifted a hand. A strange gloss came into his eyes as if he had slipped into a beautiful dream. He was staring at Airie, but at the same time looking right through her.
‘If only you could see what I see, dear listeners. This poor girl, so young, so beautiful, so brave … if only you could see her right now. She looks a picture, I can tell you that. Like a warrior queen ready to lead her troops into battle. All she needs is an army. How about it, people? How about you lift your hands into the air in the name of revolution, in the name of Marta Banks, in the name of the Tube Riders, and say our mantra one more time. Are you ready? Fuck the government. Fuck the Governor and everything he stands for. Bring down the walls, let the people out, let the freedom in. And now, here’s a song you won’t remember, but I do, it’s called Children of the Revolution, by a band everyone used to love called T. Rex.’
As the song began to play through a distant speaker, Benny turned off the radio and turned to Airie and David. ‘Sorry I had to take over there,’ he said. ‘You got a bit of stage fright, didn’t you?’
Airie gave a glum nod. David patted her on the arm, hoping to offer her reassurance.
‘Sometimes it’s the image that stirs people,’ Benny said. He held up a handful of CDs. ‘Look at these. These aren’t people. They’re gods. That’s what people want. An image. Something that’s more in their heads than in real life.’
‘How many people listen?’ Airie asked.
Benny shrugged. ‘No idea. Could be hundreds, could be less than a dozen. I’m just trying to do my bit, you know. The biggest problem with London is there’s no unity. The people need a figurehead.’
Benny offered them some food, and David realised it had been more than a day since they had last eaten. Barney subsisted off fish from the Thames and an assortment of vegetables he grew in his houseboat garden—all of which made his obscene size even more remarkable—but it was enough to keep them alive for another day.
Afterwards, Airie curled up in a corner and fell asleep. Benny put the radio broadcast on to a mix-tape loop and led David up on to the deck.
They were floating somewhere out in the middle of the Thames, not far from Westminster Bridge. David could see the shadowy remains of the former Houses of Parliament in the distance on their left.
‘So where do you want me to let you off?’ Barney said. ‘I read people well, and I can see you’re itching to get away. Without her, too. Isn’t that about right?’
David gave a slow nod. ‘You’re good.’
‘I’m no fool,’ Barney said. ‘I wouldn’t be alive doing what I do otherwise. I’ll look after her as best I can. The only way I can stop her from following is if you give me a return date.’
‘Three days from now. I’ve messed up too many times. I can’t put her life at risk yet again.’
Benny gave a low chuckle. ‘I know that’s not Marta Banks. I told you I’m no fool. She’s just some poor girl playing dress-up.’
‘She’s got guts.’
‘She got a name?’
David hesitated a moment, but Benny was one of the few people in London he trusted. ‘Airie Walker.’
Benny nodded. ‘Pretty. Sounds spirited. Fits her.’
‘It does.’
Benny fired up the engine, steering them in towards the bank. The water was dark and no lights were visible on the outside of the boat, but Benny steered the boat with the ease of an old pro.
‘In three days where will I find you?’
‘Right here. But if not, look for me by Vauxhall Bridge. Both sides of the Thames.’
David stuck out a hand. ‘I owe you one.’
When Benny’s fingers closed over his, David felt something metal pressed into his palm.
‘Take it,’ Benny said. ‘It’s a two-way radio. I have the other. If you need me, call. I won’t tell the girl I have it unless you do.’
‘Thanks.’
Benny chuckled. ‘You know, she’s not going to be happy stuck alone with an o
gre like me, but I’ll do my best to keep her here. If you’re not back in three days, though, I’ll give her that other radio and set her on your trail.’
‘Understood. Thanks, Benny.’
‘Anything to help the revolution. Good luck, David.’
David gave Benny’s hand one more tug, then stepped off the boat onto a small concrete weir at the bottom of a line of steps leading up. He didn’t look back as he tucked his clawboard under his arm and pulled his rucksack over his shoulder. He swallowed down his regret at leaving Airie behind, and tried not to think about how angry she would be.
It had to be done. He had put too many lives at risk.
Unfinished business was calling him, and if it brought the Huntsmen back on to his trail, so be it.
Feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, he headed for the nearest Underground station, from where he would head for Melling Road.
He had to find Raine.
29
Basements
Blood trickled down the side of Mika’s cheek. They had only hit her once, but as she leaned forward over the metal table, her hands secured with handcuffs bolted to the tabletop, she wondered when Dreggo would give the order for the two DCA agents standing on either side of her to start getting to work.
How many times had she had stood by and watched torture take place in this very room, holding an expressionless face even when inside her heart had been breaking? She felt certain there was a special level of hell reserved for government traitors.
‘Tell me again why you called off the pursuit.’
Mika took a deep breath. ‘The two Level Threes were damaged to the point of liability. And Sorel has gone offline.’
‘Tell me more about that.’
‘I don’t know what happened. I tried to contact him but got no response.’
Dreggo stalked around the table, circling behind her. Mika closed her eyes, listening to the gentle swish of Dreggo’s cloak on the stone floor.
