by Nick Moseley
‘Maybe tonight’s the night,’ said Oscar.
Trev swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’
Despite his outward pessimism, he was still aware of that little spark of anticipation burning somewhere deep within him. He’d asked to be on the team, hadn’t he? Sarah had called him for help and he was going to provide it. OK, he’d probably spend most of the evening on the periphery of the Custodians’ operation, but he’d be there. Seeing Ezekiel Barker brought down would be a nice bonus too. Trev had never been comfortable with the thought of him roaming the streets. The bloke was the very loosest of cannons.
They reached the Custodians’ building with minimal traffic issues along the way. Trev caught up with McKenzie and her team in the Ops Room, where they were receiving a briefing. The team was smaller than Trev had expected, with only five members, but McKenzie explained that a second team had already been despatched to reconnoitre the site.
‘They’re our backup,’ she explained. She was a tall, wiry woman in her early forties with reddish-brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail. ‘They’ll hold the perimeter and intercept the target if he tries to run.’
Trev nodded and attempted to project an aura of relaxed confidence. McKenzie’s team had a couple of familiar faces on it. One was a compact blonde woman called Suzanne Strachan, a laconic Scot whom Trev had last seen working as a prison guard at Spectre’s Rest. She’d been one of the few survivors of the disaster there, and the Custodians had offered her a job in the aftermath.
Standing alongside her was a burly Asian man called Sajid Rahman. Trev had worked with him once before, on an operation to capture a rogue vampire called Corbyn. Rahman was a man of few words whose alert eyes regarded the world from their vantage point between a mop of shaggy black hair and an enormous moustache. He’d given Trev a nod and a crushing handshake when he’d joined the group.
The other two members of the group were strangers to Trev. One was a somewhat paunchy black man who looked like a heavyweight boxer who’d slipped past his prime. The light from the fluorescent tubes above gleamed off his shaved head. He was following the briefing with a thoughtful expression. The final member of the group was a tall, thirtyish bloke with sandy hair styled in a top-knot and a bristling lumberjack beard. Trev thought he’d look more at home behind the counter of a vegan café serving gluten-free avocado, lychee and quinoa latte smoothies than on a supernatural SWAT team, but you couldn’t judge a book by its cover.
‘We’ll keep this as simple as possible,’ McKenzie was saying. ‘Team One will take up position on site and remain concealed. They’ll watch for Douglas arriving to set up shop and also for the target. Once both are on site, Team Two – us – will move in to surround them. If necessary Team One can push in to back us up, but with any luck that won’t be necessary.’
Trev considered butting in to point out that, based on his personal experience with Ezekiel Barker, it probably would be necessary. He decided against it. McKenzie had agreed to have him on her team when she wasn’t obliged to; undermining her before the mission even started seemed like a pretty poor way to repay her.
As the briefing wound down, Trev was approached by Archie Logan, the Custodians’ Armourer. He was a short, elderly man with a white Wing Commander moustache and keen eyes. As always, he was dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit complete with watch chain. A casual observer would have pegged him for a retired bank manager rather than someone in charge of enough weaponry to start a modest war. He shook Trev’s hand and led him to a nearby desk where some kit had been laid out for him.
‘How are you, Trevor?’ he asked in his usual cheery tone.
‘Fine thanks,’ Trev replied. ‘You?’
‘Plodding on, lad, plodding on,’ said Logan. He began handing the equipment to Trev. ‘Right then, body armour, radio, torch… and these, of course.’
He held out a belt with two holsters, into which were slotted a pair of sword hilts. One was longer than the other and shaped like a Celtic cross. Its companion was a short, plain hilt with Norse runes etched into the pommel. Both looked ancient. These were The Twins, a pair of powerful vapour weapons that Trev had used many times before. The Celtic hilt was called Caladbolg; the Norse one was called Tyrfing. So much psychic energy had passed through the swords over the years that they had attained a level of sentience and could actually communicate with their wielder. Being weapons, their conversational repertoire was mostly limited to topics that involved who to hit and how hard to hit them, but even so they’d often given Trev live-saving advice in the heat of battle.
He put on the belt and immediately felt more confident about his part in the mission. When he was using The Twins he could almost live up to the mythical image he’d acquired among the Custodians. He could even give Ezekiel Barker himself a run for his money.
Unlike the rest of the team Logan hadn’t issued Trev with a firearm. There were two reasons for this. The first was that Trev wasn’t yet a full member of the Custodians and as such was unqualified. The second reason was that the one time Trev had used a gun, he’d proven himself incapable of hitting the proverbial barn door at ten paces. Aware of his limitations in the field of combat marksmanship, Trev was quite happy to leave the shooting to people who could reliably hold the correct end of a gun and aim it at the bad guys. He thanked Logan and rejoined the group.
‘All set?’ McKenzie asked him.
‘Good to go,’ said Trev.
They headed down to the underground garage and climbed aboard one of the Custodians’ fleet of unmarked vans. Trev exchanged pleasantries with Strachan and Rahman and introduced himself to his other team-mates. The shaven-headed boxer type was Derek Young and the beardy hipster guy was Tim Coady. Young had a Brummie twang to his voice while Coady spoke with a broad Yorkshire accent. Both gave Trev appraising looks when they spoke to him. Clearly they knew who he was from the Custodians’ grapevine. Young asked him a few questions about Ezekiel Barker which Trev did his best to answer. Barker was probably the only person in the supernatural world who had more inaccurate gossip following him around than Trev did.
The conversation petered out over the course of the journey as the van’s occupants began to focus on the job in hand. Trev tapped his fingers on Caladbolg’s hilt. Although he was apprehensive, he didn’t feel the naked fear he’d experienced on previous Custodian operations. He was becoming used to working with them. Whereas in his day job, he was becoming more and more disconnected. Selling houses, the one thing he’d ever been any good at, seemed a bit… well, dull now he knew about all the secret things that were going on behind the scenes.
Trev’s introspection was cut short by the van rolling to a stop. The team disembarked. The van was tucked away on a snow-covered access road that led to some kind of derelict industrial site. The gates were chained shut and there was no sign of life. Pristine snow blanketed the car park inside. Looking in the other direction Trev could see a T-junction; the road there still had dirty snow on it and obviously hadn’t seen much traffic. Beyond the road was woodland.
‘Where are we?’ Young asked McKenzie.
‘The housing estate is just around the corner,’ McKenzie replied, checking her equipment. ‘This whole area is due to be levelled and redeveloped, and it’s all fenced off. Team One has created an access point at the back of the estate which will get us in without having to use the main road.’
After the equipment and radio checks were complete, the group set off. Trev lagged a little, trying to settle his earpiece into a comfortable position. That achieved, he reached for his energy drink. He immediately discovered that the weight in his coat pocket wasn’t a drinks can. It was altogether more furry.
‘Where’s my drink?’ he hissed.
‘Had to evict it, sorry,’ said Oscar.
‘I don’t believe this.’ Trev glared into the depths of his pocket. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to see Ezekiel Barker get his comeuppance,’ said the kitten. ‘He’s a grade-A
wanker and he’s killed a few good friends of mine over the years. Plus I’d like to get a look at this Key thingy if I can. It worries me.’
‘Why didn’t you just ask McKenzie if you could come?’
‘She’d have said no, wouldn’t she?’
Trev shrugged. ‘SWAT teams don’t usually have mascots, I suppose.’
‘Yeah, you already filled that slot anyway,’ said Oscar. ‘Look, I’ll keep quiet. You’ll never even know I’m here.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second, but I haven’t got much choice, have I?’
Trev quickened his pace and caught up with the rest of the team. They moved along the wall of the industrial site, screened from the road by trees, undergrowth and snowdrifts. Trev turned up the collar of his coat. Although the air was still, the cold bit into him. His feet were already numb.
They reached the corner of the wall and passed through a thicket. On the other side was a chain-link fence bedecked with warning signs and company logos. A section of it had been unbolted, leaving a narrow gap.
McKenzie keyed her radio. ‘Team Two entering the site. Status?’
‘Douglas just arrived,’ replied a male voice. ‘He’s got a bodyguard with him, possibly armed.’
‘Any sign of the target?’
‘Not yet. Still early though.’
‘What’s Douglas’ location?’
‘He’s gone into the house. We have eyes on both exits.’
‘Received. Hold position. We’re moving in now.’
‘Received.’
She led them through the fence and onto the estate. Trev had seen many like it; rows of boxy 1950s terraced houses, their facades covered with unsightly pebbledash. The estate had been small, squeezed in between the factories next door and the dense woodland across the road. Most of it was now rubble. Only two rows of houses remained, facing each other across a section of road covered with muddy snow and tyre tracks. A single flickering streetlamp, leaning at an angle, stood sentinel at the end of the road like a drunk at a funeral.
Away to Trev’s right, he could make out the hulking shapes of the demolition crew’s earth-moving equipment among the heaps of broken brick and timber. It was a bleak scene, and Trev could understand why Douglas had chosen it as a meeting place. There wouldn’t be much in the way of casual passers-by.
McKenzie directed her team to their positions and indicated that Trev should stick with her. The house Douglas had entered – number seventy-nine – was at the end of one of the rows. It was in better condition than its neighbour, which was soot-smeared and partially burnt out; metal shutters had been bolted across the door and windows. Both houses were covered with graffiti tags, as were all the others.
Trev and McKenzie took up a position next to the end house in the opposite row. They crouched there in the dark, waiting. Trev gritted his teeth to prevent them from chattering. McKenzie didn’t seem bothered by the cold, which Trev found annoying. He made a mental note to invest in some high-tech thermal undergarments, assuming he didn’t die of hypothermia first.
He realised there was something useful he could do while they waited for Barker to turn up. He closed his eyes and relaxed, reaching out with his “spooky senses”. There were wisps of psychic energy hanging in the frigid air, left behind by the demolition crew, perhaps, or maybe the kids responsible for the graffiti. Ordinarily a person with the Sight picked up these energy traces without thinking about it, slowly replenishing their reserves over time. Trev, however, had the advantage of an unusual ability. He could speed up that process, drawing the energy to him.
He did so now, giving himself a top-up in preparation for confronting Barker. It wasn’t an ability he used much. It was risky. Repeatedly forcing energy into the body in this way could cause a variety of adverse physical effects, including nosebleeds, nausea and massive brain damage. Trev usually suffered from the first two symptoms. The jury was out regarding the third.
He’d kept the ability quiet from the Custodians. It was a rare gift, and he worried that revealing it would make him even more of a Messiah-figure to them than he already was.
He was wiping a drop of blood from his nose when the radio whispered in his ear. ‘Target sighted.’
‘Received,’ replied McKenzie. ‘Alone?’
‘Affirmative.’
He didn’t bring Sarah with him? Trev wondered. From what B.B. had told him it sounded like Barker and Sarah had visited the previous traders as a pair. Why wasn’t she here?
‘Hold position,’ said McKenzie. ‘We’ll let him get between the houses.’
‘Received.’
There was a short wait that lasted forever. Trev strained his ears. Finally he heard faint footsteps crunching on the snow.
‘Stand by,’ said McKenzie. ‘On my signal.’
‘Standing by.’
Another few seconds ticked by.
‘Go, go, go!’ said McKenzie.
Trev jumped up beside her and they started running.
Twenty-Nine
Trev’s feet skidded in the snow but he managed to keep up with McKenzie’s loping stride. The night had come alive with the sound of running feet and the shouts of the Custodians as they surrounded their target. Trev snatched Caladbolg from its holster as he ran. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Barker without a weapon ready. McKenzie evidently agreed. Her pistol had been in her hand before she’d even started running.
Trev followed her around the corner and almost slammed into her back as she came to a halt, snapping her weapon up.
‘Hands where we can see them!’ she shouted.
Trev stepped out from behind her. Barker stood in the middle of the road, arms spread. He was dressed as Trev had seen him at the pax party, in woolly hat, scarf and black greatcoat. The umbrella he’d used against the Line’s thugs was clutched in one gloved hand. Trev expected Barker to look surprised at being ambushed, but his expression was calm. Knowing the bloke as he did, Trev took that as a bad sign.
There was a crash to his left. The door of number seventy-nine had swung open and two men stumbled out of it with their hands up, herded by a pair of Custodians. The first man was Kevin Douglas; Trev recognised him from a photo he’d been shown during the briefing. He was short, pale, and balding, with a weathered face and thick spectacles. Alongside him was his bodyguard, a man who was every inch the stereotypical nightclub bouncer. Tall, burly and shaven-headed, with a goatee beard, all he was missing was the ill-fitting tuxedo. The Custodians bundled the two men to their knees and made them put their hands behind their heads.
‘Good evening,’ said Barker. ‘May I assist you with something?’
‘Ezekiel Barker,’ replied McKenzie, ‘you’re under arrest.’
‘What are the charges against me, might I ask?’
‘I could list it all for you, but I don’t want to stand here all night.’ McKenzie’s pistol was aimed at Barker’s chest. Her voice was as steady as her hands.
Trev stared at Barker. He’d expected the man to go for his weapons and try to fight his way out. He probably could’ve, too. He had a skill-set way above anyone else there, including Trev. If he’d wanted to just make a run for it, he had the ability to make himself almost invisible. But there he was, standing apparently unconcerned. It made Trev nervous. As if picking up on his fears, Barker turned his head to look at him.
‘Is that you hiding back there, Mr. Irwin?’
‘Evening, Ezekiel.’ Great, now everyone’s looking at me.
‘Come to see my downfall?’
‘No, just out for an evening stroll.’ Trev spread his hands. ‘Where is she? And don’t say “Where is who?” all right? You know who I’m talking about.’
Barker met Trev’s gaze and didn’t reply.
‘Put down your weapons, Barker,’ said McKenzie. ‘Slowly.’
The radio crackled in Trev’s ear. ‘Found someone hiding just inside the fence,’ it said. ‘Bring her in?’
‘Affirmative,’ said McKenzie. ‘Your weapons, B
arker. Now.’
‘I was expecting to be ambushed here, but not necessarily by the Custodians,’ said Barker, ignoring her commands. ‘How did you find me?’
‘You haven’t exactly been keeping a low profile, chief,’ said Trev. ‘You did everything except take out an advert in the papers.’
‘Your weapons,’ snapped McKenzie, glaring at Trev.
The stand-off was interrupted by the arrival of another Custodian. Trev recognised him. It was Ralph Barton, another of the small group of Spectre’s Rest survivors. A big, muscular man with a crew cut and bristling moustache, Barton had led the group of Custodians sent to secure the prison. They’d failed, and a lot of people died as a result. The fact that he was subordinate to McKenzie for this mission suggested he’d been demoted after the Spectre’s Rest massacre. Trev felt limited sympathy. What happened at Spectre’s Rest hadn’t been Barton’s fault, but in Trev’s opinion his poor leadership made a bad situation worse.
Walking in front of Barton was Sarah. Trev felt his spirits lift at the sight of her. Like Barker she was wearing her outfit from the pax party, her blonde hair cascading down below a red bobble hat to rest on the shoulders of her dark blue overcoat. Her face was set in a scowl, which puzzled Trev. Surely she ought to be pleased that the Custodians were there to free her from Barker’s grasp? He tried to catch her eye but she was staring down at the ground.
Barton handed her off to Strachan and approached McKenzie, who was still covering Barker. He was holding something in his hand, which he passed to her.
‘She was carrying that,’ Barton said quietly. ‘It’s what we’re looking for, right?’
Trev edged forwards to get a look at the object. It was the item B.B. and Agatha had described, a small bronze wheel. McKenzie gave it a cursory inspection and put it in her pocket. She raised her weapon again.
‘Take his weapons,’ she said to Barton. ‘We’ll cover you.’
Barton nodded and walked towards Barker, who hadn’t moved and still looked relaxed despite being surrounded by armed Custodians. Barton hadn’t got far when the radio hissed again.
