by Nick Green
The sleepers were quiet tonight, the moans of their night-terrors just a background gurgle. He Eth-walked down the line of them, still in his pyjamas, the platform chilling his bare toes. In the escalator hall he eyed the door to Fisher’s private lair beneath the stairs, before placing his feet on the steps one at a time, five seconds apart, all the way to the top. Up in the ticket hall he dared to reread the scrap of paper in his fist.
Last night, as they parted, Geoff must have slipped this note into his back pocket. Tomorrow. Surface. That was all. No time, no explanation of ‘surface’ – Ben guessed he meant the industrial estate built on top of the Hermitage. Ben found the ladder and climbed to the trapdoor. Undoing the slide-bolts he eased it open. The night air ruffled his hair.
After the blacked-out passages below, the streetlights made it seem bright as day. Even so, it was hard to see far. Mist wrapped the ground in a smooth white sheet. The boxy edges of buildings blurred into more mysterious shapes, like canyons or ravines. A glow tinted the fog and he heard a car swish along Hermitage Road. He was straining for other sounds when he caught a scent: something between dried herbs and after-dinner mints.
He roved about and the smell grew stronger. Catnip. He’d guessed right. It led him through the misty maze until, on a wall of ribbed steel, he saw a mark. A white paw print. He sniffed the scented paint and his catras dreamily sparkled.
A shape dropped to the ground. He glimpsed half a face, blanched like a naked skull, and believed for an instant that it was a demon come to slay him. But it was only Geoff, wearing his usual white cat face-print.
‘Better late than never.’
‘G- Geoff.’ A cold sweat seeped into Ben’s pyjama top, already clammy from the mist.
‘Crikey, this is a dull place to wait. Next time I’m bringing my Sudoku.’ Geoff touched his shoulder. ‘Hey. You’re shivering. I’ve got some tea.’ He produced a Thermos and poured out a few dribbles. It was lukewarm but Ben gulped it gratefully.
‘Thanks, Ben,’ said Geoff. ‘For last night. Never imagined in a million years that you’d do that. I appreciate it.’
He finished the tea. ‘That’s okay.’
‘You were telling me something, weren’t you? Before Fisher came along. You mentioned Embankment station.’
‘It was the only thing I found out,’ said Ben. ‘These two kids, Thomas and Hannah. They had to do some work for Fisher. It was near Embankment and they used a drill. That’s all I know.’
Geoff unfolded a map of the London Underground.
‘See here. See where Embankment is.’
Ben knew the map like the lines of his palm. He saw nothing odd.
‘On the bank of the Thames.’ Geoff spoke in urgent whispers. ‘The tunnel from there to Waterloo runs right under the river.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘Yes you do. You just don’t want to know it. Because it’s too horrible.’ Geoff stopped whispering. In a casual voice he said,‘Those kids were drilling holes in the tunnel roof. Fisher will steal the explosives from the tower block and pack them into those holes.’
‘But–’
‘If he succeeds, the blast will rip the tunnel open, right up to the riverbed.’
‘Why?’
‘Because.’ Geoff shrugged. ‘It’s how he is. Fisher can’t bear to be with human beings. Perhaps they remind him that he is one himself. It’s a pattern. He endures other people for a time, then he snaps. Now he lives in a seething nest of them. For him it’s like sitting on an ant hill. And what do you do with an ant hill? You pour a kettle of water on it until all the little ants are washed away.’
Ben couldn’t speak. He was trying to imagine what kind of mind could see people as no more than ants.
‘That’s the thing about Martin. He’s not evil. He’s criminally insane.’ Geoff sighed. ‘Give me evil any day.’
‘What would happen ? The tunnel would flood?’
‘Every tunnel would. For miles and miles.’
Ben shook his head. ‘No. You’re wrong. Fisher lives underground. He’d flood the Hermitage too.’
‘Good point. So I did some homework.’
‘Homework?’
‘Research. See, I thought to myself: aren’t there safeguards against this kind of thing? Turns out there are. In World War Two, they feared a bomb might do this very thing: breach the Thames and flood the Tube system. So they built sets of floodgates, centrally controlled.’
Ben noticed that Geoff hadn’t relaxed.
‘Then I dug up the history of the Hermitage station. There’s a reason it never got finished. They built that line during the Cold War, when the big threat was a nuclear attack. In those circumstances, the floodgate controls at Leicester Square might be destroyed. So they needed a backup. More than a backup – an override.’
Ben saw it now: the row of mysterious doors in the escalator hall. Danger. High Voltage. Private.
‘They installed it at Hermitage,’ said Geoff.
‘Far enough from the centre to be safe. From there, you can order any of the floodgates on the Underground to close. Or, if you so wish, to open.’
Ben sucked the empty plastic cup.
‘If the tunnel between Waterloo and Embankment is broken,’ said Geoff, ‘the water’s got nowhere to go but up. The surge would reach Tottenham Court Road in four minutes. Because of all the interchanges, the river in those first minutes is already pouring down six other lines, filling every station along the way. In twenty minutes Zone One is under water. Thirty thousand people there at rush hour. How would you get them out? You couldn’t.’
Ben’s head was full of freezing grey floods. Why did he have to be the one to know all this? What had it to do with him? Mum and Dad paid their taxes so that other people could do the worrying.
‘But,’ Ben clutched at a hope, ‘we’ve found out in time. Haven’t we?’
‘Yeah. Thanks to you.’
‘You’ve told the police?’
‘It’s not a job for them.’
‘MI5?’
Geoff shook his head.
‘You haven’t told anyone?’
‘Who could I convince quickly enough?’ asked Geoff. ‘And if I did, do you think even the SAS could be sure to capture Fisher? They’d storm into the Hermitage and find an empty cave. The only people who can stop this happening–’
‘Is not us!’ Ben couldn’t help shouting. ‘It’s too much. I’m not taking the blame when we mess this up!’
‘Ben, calm down. You’re right about one thing. We have the advantage now. So we can’t waste it. We know what Fisher’s planning. We have a chance.’
‘Yeah. We get the police to close the Tube.’
‘What then? Fisher disappears. Ben, it took me eight years to hunt him down. Who’s to say what he’ll do next time, when we’re not there to stop him?’
Ben bit his lip. Not being there sounded fine to him.
‘But now,’ said Geoff, ‘we can stop him once and for all. Before he gets anywhere near that tunnel.’
‘How?’
‘Simple. Fisher has to work to a timetable. His first task is getting hold of that dynamite. The demolition is scheduled for Sunday morning, so the crew won’t finish installing it until Saturday. That gives Fisher one opportunity.’
‘Saturday night?’
‘Right. He’ll be at the tower. And so will I.’ Geoff flexed his fingers. ‘It’s what I’ve been waiting for. I need to catch him out of his comfort zone. Underground, he’d slaughter me. He’d be on home turf and I’d be off my game – you know how drained you feel down there? That’s your Mau body, it hates being cooped up. But if I can confront him in that tower, a high place…’
‘You could beat him?’
‘We’ll see.’ Geoff set his jaw.
Ben’s insides felt funny, worse than they did before exams. Geoff would be facing Fisher one-on-one. That was bad enough, and it wasn’t even true.
‘But Fisher won’t be alone, will he?’
&nb
sp; ‘You see my problem,’ said Geoff. ‘Counting you – that’s if you remember to switch sides, Ben – there’s still only four of us Cat Kin. Everyone else is off on holiday.’
‘I think Olly’s back from Paris tomorrow.’
‘Hurrah, we’re saved.’ Geoff rolled his eyes. ‘The polecats, Ben, count ’em. We’re outnumbered four to one, now that Tiffany and co. have done a runner.’
‘Try calling her in the morning,’ said Ben. ‘Wherever she is, she could get home by Saturday.’
‘You do it. She’ll listen to you.’
‘Okay. I’ll try.’
‘Don’t try. Do it. Now go, quickly. And Ben–’
Ben turned back, already struggling to distinguish Geoff from the foggy shadows.
‘We never know our luck. So if by some miracle Tiffany has managed to track down Felicity Powell, then…’
‘Yes?’
‘Then tell her, for Isis’s sake, to bring her back here. We need all the help we can get.’
Tiffany picked at a half-hearted cheese sandwich. No proper lunch had materialised today. She guessed Mrs Powell was avoiding her. Maybe one of these kitchen cupboards would surrender some biscuits… Her phone buzzed: unknown caller.
‘Hello?’
‘Tiffany? It’s Ben. Where are you?’
‘Ben!’ She unleashed a flood of questions.
‘No, Tiffany, I can’t talk long, they’ll hear. Tell me quick. Did you find her?’
‘Find who? Oh, Mrs Powell. I suppose I have.’
‘Right, bring her back with you.’
Right? That was all he had to say? He might at least pretend to sound impressed. But already he was rabbiting on. She listened, annoyed. Then astonished. Finally, appalled.
‘Ben. That can’t be true. It can’t be.’
It was true. She could hear it in his voice. With the phone crammed against her ear, she cursed herself for being so far away.
‘Okay.’ She tried to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll help.’
Minutes later she was running through the trees, stumbling on roots in her haste. A red scent on the breeze suggested that some of the residents, at least, had been served lunch. She came to the fence of the jaguar pound.
‘Do you think she’d let me have a go?’ Yusuf was saying.
‘No,’ said Susie. ‘And nor will I.’
Frieda and her cubs were red to their whiskers, rending great clubs of flesh and bone that might have been a freshly butchered deer. A crimson haunch in a velvety pelt had become the bloody rope in a cub tug of war. Beyond them strolled Mrs Powell, strewing more meat in the undergrowth. Tiffany called her name.
‘Later. It’s feeding time.’
‘Mrs Powell, this is important!’
‘You’re in a queue behind four jaguars,’ Yusuf pointed out.
‘Mrs Powell!’ Tiffany shouted. ‘You must come. You have to. Because he does want to see you now! He really does!’
‘Who does?’ asked Susie.
It was no good. The distance and the trees made it too easy for Mrs Powell to feign deafness. Tiffany lost patience. She pushed through the gate and strode across the clearing, stepping so suddenly in front of Mrs Powell that she almost got an intestine in the face.
‘Please talk to me.’
‘Tiffany, in the name of Anubis–’ Mrs Powell turned pale. Tiffany realised she was inside the enclosure with the jaguars less than two bounds away. Yusuf and Susie stared aghast through the wire. Oh well, too late to run. Tiffany relayed what Ben had told her, doing it in one breath.
‘So you see.’ She gasped for air. ‘Things have changed. A lot.’
Mrs Powell nodded.
‘Shall we?’ She indicated the other side of the fence and Tiffany was way ahead of her. Once healthy amounts of chain link stood between them and the jaguars, she filled in the others on what was happening in London, making sure Mrs Powell heard every word.
‘Well,’ said Yusuf, ‘that sucks.’
‘It sounds like a job for the counter-terrorist police,’ said Susie.
‘Oh, like they never mess up,’ said Yusuf.
‘Susie’s right,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘This is hardly my line of work. Plus, I’m retired.’
‘You’ve got to come,’ said Tiffany. ‘Geoff wants you to. And Ben needs you to.’
‘Tiffany.’ Mrs Powell drew her to one side. ‘It’s admirable that you came all this way just to get help for Ben.’
‘It wasn’t just–’ She stopped, sensing a trap.
‘Why did you come?’
‘To help Ben! But I also came because…’ Tiffany looked Mrs Powell in the face. ‘I missed you. Because we never really said goodbye.’
‘No, we didn’t.’ Mrs Powell’s hand rested on her arm. ‘I was sorry for that. And I have been glad to see you. Still, I wonder.’
‘What?’
‘Was it not also a good excuse?’
Tiffany didn’t understand.
‘An excuse,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘To seek me out. It must be good to have someone else to guide you. To tell you what to do, what to think. So much easier than making your own choices, blaming yourself when they are wrong–’
‘That’s not how it is!’
‘Who leads the Cat Kin now?’ Mrs Powell demanded. ‘Not Geoffrey. He’ll move on once you’ve sorted out his mess for him, mark my words. Not Ben, for all his exceptional talent. And not me. You lead the Cat Kin now, Tiffany. Or else no-one does.’
‘Me?’ said Tiffany. ‘Look! Mum sews my name in the collars of my T-shirts!’
‘Then don’t,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Use pashki as a way to keep fit. Or give it up. Or else follow it to whatever dangerous place it leads you. But do not sit forever at my feet.’
Tiffany searched her face, feeling the green eyes becoming cold and distant. And the rage rose in her.
‘Don’t give me that–’ she cried, ‘–that high and mighty wisdom! Pretending you’re teaching me some big final lesson!’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘The truth? Or a good excuse?’
Her teacher’s face tightened.
‘You’re a coward,’ said Tiffany. ‘That’s the real reason. You’re afraid to see Geoff again. Because then you might have to say sorry.’
The green eyes flashed. ‘I have done nothing to apologise for.’
‘No? Then why haven’t you spoken to him since before I was born?’
Mrs Powell turned from her. ‘Think what you will. I am not returning to London. When you’re older, you’ll understand.’
She walked back towards the jaguar enclosure.
‘You do not say things like that!’ Tiffany screamed.
‘Go and help your friends,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘You will manage without me.’
‘Come on, Tiffs.’ Yusuf touched her shoulder. ‘Better pack our bags. I’ll check the train times.’
‘Mrs Powell!’ Tiffany shouted. ‘If anything happens to Ben, or to Geoff, or to anyone else, I’m holding you responsible! I’ll never forgive you, Felicity!’
Tiffany was used to thinking of cats as graceful, powerful and mysterious. It came as a shock to be reminded that they could also be breathtakingly selfish.
FORGIVE AND FORGET
‘…and they let us drink wine at dinnertimes, which was hilarious, but the Mona Lisa was a massive let-down, you can’t even get close because of the bullet-proof glass.’ In the shade of the chapel’s threshold Olly scrolled through the photos on his phone while the others craned their necks to see. ‘…and the Eiffel Tower, or la Tour Eiffel as we say in France, it’s twice as big as you think it’ll be, though I was quite glad Tiffany wasn’t there – I bet you’d have gone Eth-walking along the girders.’
‘Good trip, then?’ Tiffany glanced at Yusuf and Susie. Oh no, was she wearing that same fixed smile?
Olly, who like them had arrived back in London this very afternoon, looked happily exhausted. Tiffany just felt exhausted. Mum and Dad, of course, had wanted to
know all about Paris, and if not for Stuart (who knew the truth, and fed her morsels of information in the questions he had prepared) she would have given herself away. They were miffed when Tiffany insisted on going to her pashki class as normal, rather than staying in to talk to them.
‘Some of that French arrogance has rubbed off on you,’ was Mum’s opinion.
Geoff arrived late to the chapel, scruffier than ever and squinting from lack of sleep. He greeted Tiffany with a nod as if she’d never been away.
‘Er. We’re back,’ she stammered.
‘Mm. Wondered where you’d got to.’
‘Sorry.’
‘So,’ said Geoff. ‘Did you succeed?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know.’
‘Do I?’ Tiffany sighed. ‘I found her. She’s alive. Alive and well and living on Dartmoor.’
‘And?’
‘And she’s not coming.’
Geoff’s eyes widened. ‘You saw her?’
‘Yes. Stayed at her house.’
‘And you explained what’s going on? Ben told you that?’
‘Everything. She knows. About Fisher. The tunnel bomb. Everything.’
‘But she’s not coming.’ Geoff fell silent. He walked to the end of the nave and stood with his back turned. For a moment he could have been a priest. Then he raised his head to the rose window and a yell bounced off the stone.
‘Damn it!’
She couldn’t have put it better herself.
Yusuf let out his breath. ‘What now?’
Tiffany rubbed at her mouth. Now, no doubt, she would trudge off home and bury herself under a duvet. Then she noticed Cecile looking at her. Daniel was looking at her. Olly was still perusing photos on his phone, but Susie was looking at her, and all of them had drifted closer. Yusuf stood expectantly. He was genuinely asking what they should do. Asking her.
‘What now?’ she replied. She paused. The duvet plan disintegrated. ‘It’s simple, isn’t it? We do what needs to be done.’
‘What needs to be done,’ Cecile echoed, flatly.
‘Sorry, I’m lagging a bit here.’ Olly put his phone away. ‘I’m still not clear about… about what that is.’