Roofworld

by Christopher Fowler

  ‘Hauler?’

  Simon leaned across and explained to a puzzled Robert. ‘It’s a small motor which attaches to your line-belt. It allows you to travel along a line with an upward gradient. It’s only good for short distances, though.’

  ‘There are plenty over at the Capital building,’ Lee replied. ‘Only the motors ain’t so strong. Jay was still figuring out how to improve them. In these conditions they’d take maybe a fifteen-degree angle, certainly no more.’

  ‘Suppose I can get you that on a long run.’

  ‘Which run?’ Lee’s black eyes glittered with interest.

  ‘A new one. I’d have to lay it first.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, there isn’t time to build a run!’ shouted Spice.

  ‘Yes there is.’ Zalian turned to her. ‘One stop. From the Centre Point skyscraper direct to the Telecom Tower.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’ Spice shook her head in disgust. ‘Besides, the Capital building is nearer.’

  ‘Yes, it’s too near, too convenient,’ said Zalian. ‘Chymes will already have thought of that. We’d be walking straight into a trap, I assure you.’

  ‘Centre Point to the tower…that’s a hell of a distance, Zalian,’ said Robert. ‘What are you going to do, fly?’

  ‘See?’ Zalian pointed Robert out to the others. ‘Someone around here acts like he has some sense.’

  ‘The microlite? You must be joking,’ said Simon vehemently. ‘It’s still in pieces, hasn’t been serviced for months.’

  ‘I’ll have to take that chance.’ Zalian was already heading to the back of the station roof with Lee at his side. ‘What’s the longest line we have?’

  ‘Three hundred metres at the most. We’ll have to cut several together to cover the distance.’ Lee had to break into a trot to keep pace with Zalian. Behind him, the others followed on.

  ‘Is there a way of splicing the lines smoothly?’

  ‘That’s not the problem. The main risk is that without an anchor somewhere along the line, the wind will play hell with it, and anyone travelling along it. Plus, after the weight of the first couple of riders, it’ll start to stretch. Over that kind of length the tensile strength will change.’

  ‘That’s OK. We can keep altering the tension from the Centre Point end.’

  ‘Wait, Nathaniel.’ Lee caught Zalian’s arm as he prepared to launch off from the side of the station roof. ‘I don’t know if the microlite will take the weight of so much line. It would have trouble in these conditions without the problem of an extra load.’

  Zalian smiled bitterly. ‘It’s all we have, Lee. You got any better ideas?’

  ‘Hey, slow down!’ called Robert. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Half of you come with me. We’ll need help carrying the components of the microlite. It’ll make more sense reassembling it at line base. The rest go with Spice to collect the lines, then meet me on top of Centre Point.’

  —

  Butterworth briskly paced the perimeter of the Centre Point building in a desperate effort to stay warm. By the time his entire right leg had fallen asleep he realized that he was fighting a losing battle. There had been no sign of Hargreave’s suspects beyond a cluster of damp footprints in the snow and, by the fresh fall that had now all but covered them, these must have been made some time ago. He checked all around the building to see if he could find any cables similar to the ones he had found on the Piccadilly art gallery, but without any luck. Contained by a moat of tarmac, Centre Point was far too high and isolated a building to string a line from or to.

  After another fifteen minutes spent circling the parapet, Butterworth had run out of people and things to hate and was forced to consider hating people who until this moment he had only mildly disliked. Just as he was planning a suitable fate for his father’s new wife, the doorway to the roof opened and half a dozen people poured through it, stopping in complete surprise when they saw him.

  Before he had even a chance to think of evasive action someone grabbed him from behind, placed a knee in his back and forced him to the ground. His attacker revealed herself to be a young woman of no more than five feet five inches, a fact which Butterworth fervently prayed would never reach Hargreave’s ears.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle and you won’t get hurt,’ said Spice, shifting her knees onto Butterworth’s arms. ‘Tell us where Chymes is.’

  ‘Don’t—know—who—what— Ow!’ was all the young detective constable managed to say before being dragged to his feet by his captors and shaken like a duster.

  ‘Is—Chymes—at—the—tower?’ said someone very loudly, mouthing the words as if dealing with an imbecile. Butterworth could only stare, fascinated by this extraordinary behaviour.

  ‘It’s no use, he’s probably strung out on drugs,’ the man who had mouthed at him said to his friend. ‘Most of Chymes’ men are.’

  ‘Come on, this isn’t the sort of guy Chymes would enlist,’ said Simon, rattling his chains at the terrified policeman. ‘Look at him, he’s scared of his own shadow.’

  ‘Who—are—you?’ asked Spice. She too appeared to have picked up the strange habit of speaking loudly and slowly.

  ‘P-P-Police,’ Butterworth managed to stammer.

  ‘In an orange windcheater?’ scoffed Simon, plucking distastefully at his nylon jacket. ‘Sartorial standards seem to have taken a nose-dive in the force.’

  ‘What are you doing up here?’ asked Spice, narrowing her considerably attractive eyes at him. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘If I don’t report in in the next five minutes, the whole building will be surrounded,’ ventured Butterworth, looking around hopefully. When everybody started sniggering he began to suspect that his bluff had failed.

  ‘What are we going to do with you?’ Spice ran a playful hand across his jacket.

  ‘I was sent up here to find out what’s going on,’ Butterworth volunteered, even though no one had actually asked him to explain his presence. Once they had allowed him up from the floor he decided to reach for his radio, but was surprised to find that it was no longer in his jacket.

  ‘I have an idea.’ Spice dangled the radio tantalizingly before him and whispered into his ear. ‘Come with me.’ She pulled the policeman to one side, then beckoned one of the other girls from the group. Minutes later, Butterworth found himself sitting in a warm ventilation shaft at the back of the roof listening to an attractive, but extremely strong, young lady who had promised to explain what was going on slowly and in great detail, in terms she felt sure that even he would understand. It took him a few minutes to realize that he had been handcuffed to one of the inlet pipes.

  ‘That gets PC Plod out of the way for the time being,’ muttered Spice. ‘Let’s get these cables spliced together.’ She and the rest of the group ran back to the shelter of the stairwell, where they had collected the longest lines they could find. Spice took a small hard-fuel burner from her backpack and set to work as the others warmed their hands in preparation for the task ahead.

  ‘Calling Doctor Zalian.’ The crackle of the transmitter was muffled by the nylon zipbag from which it issued. ‘This is Chymes with a message for the good doctor and his few remaining disciples.’

  ‘Shit!’ Spice quickly tore open the bag and turned up the volume on the receiver. ‘Be quiet, everyone.’

  ‘Doctor, I hope you are receiving me loud and clear.’ The group gathered around, listening intently. ‘I wish to make it known that I bear you and your people no grudge for your recent actions and to prove the point I am now prepared to accept you within our ranks. It is not too late for you to join us for the rebirth. Besides, what other choice do you have? We can take you whenever we wish. We already have your new friend, the little black girl. Remember the phoenix rising from the ashes, Doctor Zalian. You must make your decision before first light. Either you become part of the New Age, or you will be destroyed by it.’

  ‘OK, anybody want to change sides?’ asked Spice. ‘I thought not.’ She reached down an
d turned the receiver off.

  —

  ‘That’ll never fly.’

  Robert looked at the snow-dusted tangle of nylon and steel on the rooftop ahead of him. Dragged from its hiding place it looked singularly unimpressive, like a giant broken umbrella.

  ‘Shut up, Robert,’ said Lee. ‘There’s a lot to carry, even with six of us. You’ll have to take some of the wing rods.’ He passed a number of slotted aluminium tubes across, then crouched down by the engine, which seemed to be no larger than that of a golf cart. ‘If we can get this back to Centre Point in the next half hour, it shouldn’t take us much more than that to assemble it.’

  ‘Have we got gas?’ Zalian knuckled the side of the tank.

  ‘There are still some spare tanks in the storage room back at Cubitt station. That was the last run we made.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ asked Robert.

  ‘King’s Cross, but it’ll take too long to fetch them. You’ll have to go with what there is, Nathaniel.’

  Lee and Robert passed back the pieces of the microlite until they reached the enormous nylon sails. ‘What about these?’ Robert lifted one of the pale sheets. ‘Surely they’re too big to carry.’

  ‘They unzip. Watch.’ Lee tore the sections apart with ease and began to roll them as if packing a parachute. ‘All right, as soon as you’ve got as much as you can take, head out. We’ll see you back there.’ Lee stopped one of the men. ‘Centre Point is too high to scale in this kind of weather. When you reach it, run a line to one of the lower floors and then take the stairs from the inside.’ He turned to Robert. ‘The night guard is one of ours.’ He shrugged almost apologetically. ‘Actually, he’s Spice’s father.’

  The journey to Centre Point was a laborious one. Weighed down with equipment, the group travelled slowly. To make matters worse the wind was picking up, driving the snow in billowing seams over the tops of the buildings. Robert could feel his strength beginning to ebb in the battering zero-degree wind-chill. Although the black jumpsuit he wore seemed to be well insulated from the cold, snow steadily sifted into the collar and his ears felt as if they could be snapped off. When they finally reached the vast concrete office block, entering through an open window on the seventh floor, a wall of dry tingling warmth enveloped them.

  ‘Don’t get too used to this heat,’ said Zalian. ‘We’re going back out in a moment.’ There was a collective groan. Doggedly they made for the fire escape stairs and began climbing.

  ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you.’ Simon beckoned Robert as soon as he saw him approaching across the roof. ‘There’s bad news.’ Simon’s bony eggshell face looked apologetic. ‘They have Rose.’

  ‘What do you mean? How do you know?’

  ‘Chymes called through on our radio receiver a short while ago. One of his thugs picked her up at the house.’

  ‘Dammit, I should have gone with her. Is she all right? What else did he say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much. We’re all about to die horribly, the dawn of a new era, the usual ranting drivel.’

  ‘So why did he bother to call?’

  ‘He doesn’t know where we are. I think he was hoping that we’d give the game away, rise to his bait and transmit back to him so that he could trace the communication. Needless to say, we didn’t give him the satisfaction.’

  ‘Good. That means that while we’re still running around loose out here, he can’t be certain of victory. And he doesn’t realize that we know the location of the sacrificial site.’

  ‘We still have to get there,’ said Zalian, ‘so quit talking and lend a hand with these struts.’ He and the others had laid out the components of the microlite and were fastening the wing rods together with spanners. Robert looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get a move on. I reckon we’ve got less than two hours until sun-up.’

  —

  It took a while to complete the assembly, but once they had fixed the last bolt into place and stepped back, the damned thing looked as if it just might fly. The nylon wings arched in an arrow above the engine like a motorized hang-glider. At its base were three tiny wheels, supported on a triangle of aluminium tubes. Lee had removed the seat to make the contraption lighter, which meant that Zalian would have to support himself on a network of tensioned wires, something for which he had acquired quite a skill in the past few years.

  Reunited, the group followed en masse as Lee wheeled the microlite to the edge of the roof. One end of the line had been attached to a steel mast at the corner of the building. Lee’s main concern was that Zalian would be able to keep the cable playing out smoothly from the back of the craft once he was in flight. It would take just one snag to rip the microlite out of the snowswept sky and hurl it down into the streets below.

  ‘The only place you’ll be able to land is on the roof,’ Lee warned. ‘If they’ve got people posted up there, the deal’s off. You’ll have to release the line and turn back.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Zalian pointed to the tank. ‘Judging by the amount of gas left in this thing I’ll have to put down anyway.’

  Spice appeared at Zalian’s side with a giant-sized plastic Safeway shopping bag. She shrugged apologetically. ‘I couldn’t find anything else to put the line in,’ she said. ‘When you get to the tower, attach the line to the base of the radio mast on the roof. As soon as you’ve done that, we’ll begin tensioning it from this end.’

  ‘As you play the line out from the anchor-point, you’ll have to keep the microlite at a fairly constant speed,’ said Lee. ‘Does anyone have any other advice?’

  ‘We think it’s unlikely,’ added Simon, ‘but in case they hear the engine as you land we’re sending a team to the crane to create a bit of a diversion. They’ll try to make it look as if we’re attempting to take control of the structure.’

  ‘I doubt that they’ll hear the microlite coming,’ said Zalian, tightening his jacket. ‘The roof is way above the spot where the hostages are being held. My biggest problem will be finding a way down to them.’

  ‘There has to be a door on the roof to allow service access to the radio mast,’ said Lee, wrapping the microlite’s starter cord around his knuckles and pulling. ‘You’ll find it.’ After half a dozen yanks, the engine had still not turned over. On the seventh it sputtered fitfully into life. ‘It’s all right,’ Lee assured Zalian. ‘It won’t die on you once it’s up and running. Leastways, it never has before.’

  ‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Zalian, holding him with a jaundiced eye. ‘You’re a great comfort.’

  Everyone moved back from the edge of the roof as the microlite began to bounce and turn on the snowcrusted tarmac. Spice helped Zalian fold himself inside the tiny craft, then lifted the bag containing the spliced line onto his lap so that it was wedged beneath the steering controls.

  ‘If we ever needed a little luck,’ he said with a grim smile, ‘I guess the time is now.’

  As the frail vehicle wobbled toward the edge of the roof, Robert could barely bring himself to watch the take-off. Zalian gripped the pilot arm thrusting up between his knees and hunched over it. He seemed oddly out of proportion to the aircraft, like the driver of a miniature train. The microlite was five feet from the edge, then three feet, then it had dropped alarmingly over the side, to rise again a few seconds later into the sky.

  Zalian steered diagonally across the path of Tottenham Court Road rising towards the north, but was obviously finding it hard to keep the vehicle’s direction constant in the buffeting wind. As he grew smaller in the sky, the cable poured from the back of the apparatus to form a vast bow above the roadway.

  ‘He’ll have to pick up the slack quickly before it snags,’ shouted Spice. ‘The line is almost as low as the trees.’ As she watched, the vehicle tilted and rose on a sudden air current, pulling the cable out of danger. It took just a few more seconds for Zalian and his matchstick craft to vanish in the deepening silver snow-mists which swirled above the buildings.

  Chapter 48

  Aurora

/>   At the moment it was still dark, but in another few minutes there would be no mistaking the softly flushed gleam of pink which would start to take hold in a corner of the sky. Zalian sighted the Telecom Tower clearly below him. He was coming in above it and now began to descend in a steep banking manœuvre that caused the cable behind him to whip and pull against the craft. Beneath the sound of the rushing wind he could hear the engine of the microlite beginning to sputter and stall. The weight of the played-out nylon line threatened to drag the craft down just a few hundred yards short of his destination.

  In desperation he jammed the engine’s throttle wide for one final burst of power. As the craft jerked forward, there appeared dead ahead the boxlike struts of the tower’s radio mast, wreathed in pale spirals of snow. Zalian pulled hard on the steering arm to avoid hitting them, but as he did so a fierce sidewind hit the hammering nylon wings of the craft and completely overturned them.

  As the sails blew inside out, the rods holding them in place cracked together, causing the vehicle to whip over and drop from the sky like a crippled insect. Zalian and the microlite fell gently in the buffeting wind, hitting the side of the radio mast as the bag containing the end of the line tumbled down to the roof of the tower. Zalian was vaguely aware that his arm was bleeding badly as he pulled himself upright between the mast staves, then dropped carefully to the floor. He was just in time to grasp the tail of the cable as it snaked away over the low balcony at the edge of the roof. He pulled it as taut as his burning right arm would allow, then secured it at the base of the mast, sealing the end of the line in place with a small steel grip. Staggering to his feet, he looked around.

  Up here, on a circular steel-and-concrete platform roughly thirty feet in circumference, he could feel the wind like a malevolent creature trying to lift him under the arms and hurl him over the brink of the tower. No more than a quarter of a mile away stood the vast arm of the construction crane. He could just make out a number of shadowy figures clinging between its struts and wondered if they had seen his craft falling from the sky.