by Adam Carter
She did not know why – possibly it was everything Laura had said – but in that moment Lucy panicked. She bolted, her fear forcing her to run, but suddenly she wasn’t moving anywhere. The detective had her arm behind her back, and suddenly Lucy was slammed bodily into the bonnet of a car. There wasn’t really any pain, but the shock was bad enough.
“Well done,” the man in the trench coat said, somehow having cleared the distance between them in seconds. “Get her in the car.”
There was a crowd forming now, but no one was moving to help them. The Chinese woman shoved Lucy into the back of their car – not a police car – and climbed in beside her. The man got in the front and started the engine. They pulled away swiftly, and were gone likely before anyone had thought to take their number.
They drove for some minutes, Lucy too afraid to say anything, and eventually they pulled into a multi-storey car park, light flashing in through the car windows as they drove beneath the grille-like network above. The man killed the engine and Lucy was suddenly aware of the intense silence about them. She glanced out the window; there were several cars in the lot, but none of them were occupied.
“Now,” the man said, turning around where he was seated, “tell us about Laura Reynolds.”
Lucy’s heart caught in her throat. “What’s she done?”
“What does she say she’s done?”
“Are you police?”
“Lin showed you her badge didn’t she?”
“I ...” Lucy’s nervous eyes darted from one to the other. Neither officer, if officers they were, seemed intent on showing her the slightest mercy here, so she said, “Laura says she saw someone get killed.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know, I swear. I was looking for her all lunchtime, but I had to get back to work.”
“Where would she go if she was in trouble?”
“Is she in trouble?”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
Lucy looked away. “I don’t know. She ... She doesn’t really have many friends. She doesn’t have the money to go out or anything. What do you want her for?”
“Let us worry about that,” the man said. He reached into his jacket and Lucy tensed. Slowly he drew something out. It was a small piece of paper. Lucy took it with shaking hands and turned it over. There was a number scrawled onto it, but that was about all. “Laura shows up again, call that number.”
“Why?” Lucy asked, her adrenalin affording her the courage to ask. “What are you going to ...?”
“Just call the number,” the man said. “Or we’ll find you. Out.”
“You’ll find me out?”
“No. Get out the car.”
Lucy opened the door and scrambled out, her heart racing. She had felt certain she was going to die, but these people needed her alive; they couldn’t afford to kill her. Yet.
She had barely touched the concrete when the car tore away, tyres screeching as it span and headed back the way it had come. Lucy watched it, her body shaking, her mind a complete mess. But she was alive, even if she was lost. She would be in trouble when she got back to work, that was for sure.
She realised she was holding something and she looked down to the slip of paper. She didn’t know what she would do if Laura should contact her again, but she hoped for Laura’s sake she keep well away. Lucy was too afraid to be brave.
CHAPTER SIX
“You really didn’t have to terrify the poor girl, you know.”
Baronaire would have liked to have ignored the stupid comment, but perhaps if he started answering a few of these things Lin might shut the hell up. “Fear is the greatest motivator,” he said.
“Wow, you really are an odd one.”
Baronaire was driving; Lin sat in the back, staring out the window as they moved slowly through town. There was a part of her, Baronaire knew, which hoped they did not find Laura. Lin was becoming a liability.
“We have a job to do, Lin. The organisation has a job to do, and it can’t do that if people find out who we are.”
“One whistle-blower could bring down everything.”
“Precisely.” He wasn’t quite sure he liked the way she had said that, but was certain it was just his frustration over everything that was going wrong lately. He didn’t know why he was off his game right now, but felt it might have had something to do with what happened to him a few months earlier. He had been helping Detective Thompson clean up one of her mistakes when he had been taken captive and tortured. Baronaire didn’t much care for torture: there were far worse things someone could do to him and he knew most of the tricks himself. But the sessions had brought something out in him he had not expected. There were things about Baronaire which weren’t normal, things even he did not understand. What he had become once his mind was unbalanced disturbed him. Perhaps even frightened him.
But then if fear was indeed the greatest motivator, it only spurred him onto wanting to find out just who and what he was.
He had begun to wonder whether he was even human any longer, or indeed whether he ever truly was.
There was, however, one person who could provide him with answers to all his questions.
“I need to make a stop,” Baronaire told her. “I’ll drop you off here and ...”
“Whoa, you’re not dropping me off anywhere, pal.”
“I have to see someone.”
“Who? A contact? It’s about time I got to meet your contacts, Baronaire.”
“Make your own.”
“And what if Lucy calls?”
“Reynolds isn’t coming back just yet. I’ll be back before she does.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Tail her. Prove to me what a good detective you are.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you, Baronaire.”
Baronaire desperately tried not to scowl, although he was aware he was placing a lot of pressure on the steering wheel and it was threatening to snap at any moment. “Like it or not, this is my assignment, so I’m calling the shots.”
“I think you’ll find it’s both our assignment.”
“Then I’m pulling seniority,” he snapped.
Lin was silent. He glanced in his mirror to see her sulking. Or thinking; he never could tell with women.
“Still not going,” she said when she realised he was looking at her.
“Oh for the ...” He hit the brake suddenly and Lin slammed into the back of his seat, not having belted herself in. Baronaire stepped out the car, opened the rear door and hauled Lin out by her arms. She was struggling, calling him every name under the sun, some of which were in Mandarin, but he got the gist. Even in daylight, he was far stronger than her and there was absolutely nothing she could do as he physically picked her up and deposited her on the pavement. “I won’t be long,” he growled.
“Sanders isn’t going to like this!” Lin shouted after him as he got back in the car. She ran up to the window, but didn’t try to get back in.
“Sanders doesn’t have to know. Cover for me. It’s what colleagues do, no?”
“No,” Lin said, but whatever else she replied Baronaire did not hear, for he tore away from the kerb in much the same fashion as they had both abandoned Lucy Drucker not so long ago. Baronaire did not like to abandon a partner, even if Lin was the most annoying woman he had ever known, but what he was about to do he needed to do alone.
Lin had been wrong about one thing. It was not a contact he was intending to meet right now. It was someone altogether closer to home.
Baronaire reached for the radio and called the bunker.
*
The water looked green, even in the daylight. There were people who seemed to love making fun of the Thames, would constantly go on about how polluted it was, could give pinpoint statistics as to how much sewage was pumped into it on any given day. Baronaire didn’t much care what people said: the Thames was one of the most iconic things of London. Every major London landmark was sitting on its banks, every decen
t photo of the city seemed to have it as a backdrop; it was even on the opening credits to EastEnders. The Thames was a part of London, and London was Baronaire’s city.
He stood on the rotten wood looking into the green depths. Much of the river was fenced off, or walled, although if you walked far enough there were places where you could head down to the water itself. But Baronaire wasn’t there for a swim.
“Not contemplating drowning yourself are you?”
Baronaire did not turn at the voice. He had called the bunker and asked Jeremiah to meet him out here. Jeremiah hadn’t asked what it was about, but had come anyway. That made Jeremiah a good friend. Baronaire was not stupid enough to believe for one moment that Jeremiah was anyone’s friend. He was, however, the only person Baronaire knew who could do the same things he did.
“Years ago,” Baronaire said, still looking out across the river, “people would take their summer holidays along the shore of this river. It froze over once. There was a fair and everything was held on the ice. Hundreds of people, all having a good time. London pulling together.”
“Londoners have always been good at pulling together, Charles. Why do you think I live here?”
That got Baronaire’s attention and he turned inquisitive eyes upon his colleague. “You stay in London because they have a sense of community?”
He got the impression Jeremiah had not meant to say such aloud, but Jeremiah covered it with one of his trademark smiles. “London’s a big place. Densely populated, always has been. The best place to hide is in a crowd, Charles. And the more people there are, the less likely one’s going to be missed.”
It was probably even an honest answer.
“Were you in London back then?”
“Back when the river froze and they had a fair?” Jeremiah seemed amused by the question. “I don’t remember.”
“Did you fight in the war?”
“I’ve fought in many wars, Charles. Well, survived them. I was never much of a fighter, but I did my bit against Hitler.”
“Why?”
For a moment it seemed as though Jeremiah wasn’t going to answer him. The two men stood side by side, gazing out at the river as though they were thoughtful tourists. “Richard fought in wars, couldn’t get enough of them. But then Richard lived for thrills. I was never like that; I was just content to live.”
Jeremiah had spoken of Richard before. Baronaire had not known him, but he was someone from Jeremiah’s past. From what Baronaire had been able to piece together, Richard was a monster, someone who delighted in torment and terror for the sake of terror. Where Richard was now Baronaire could not say; perhaps he was long dead.
“So why choose that war to fight in?” Baronaire asked.
Jeremiah seemed momentarily uncomfortable. “I always avoid conflict, you know that. But news was coming in from the front lines. I remember the day war was declared, when Poland was invaded. I remember the images coming in. I was sitting in the cinema watching the Buster Crabbe Flash Gordons or Mandrake the Magician or something.” He smiled at the memory. “But the news reels weren’t the escapism of the movie serials, Charles. I’m not a nice guy, and I’ve done some not nice things in my time. Travelling with Richard and Nathaniel for the amount of time I did ... well, I was no stranger to horror. But what Hitler was doing, the footage of his soldiers ... the reports of what he was doing to Jews and homosexuals and anyone else who didn’t conform to his one true vision. It was evil, Charles. Even despite everything I’d seen, everything I’d done, I couldn’t let it continue.”
“So you fought for King and country?” Baronaire asked wryly.
“Shipped out to France,” Jeremiah said, the first time Baronaire had seen the truth in the man’s face. Jeremiah was always ready with a smile to block his feelings, and no one had ever seen the true man beneath the mask. But Baronaire was seeing it now as Jeremiah remembered his past, and there was something unsettling about it. “I fought in the trenches, Charles. The worst experience of my life, but I had to defend my country.”
“Well that certainly wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
Jeremiah’s trademark smile was back. “What, you think everything I do has to be for selfish reasons?”
“I don’t know about that, but I was talking about the water.”
“What water?”
“You shipped out. That meant crossing the English Channel. Yet I stand here looking at the Thames and shudder at the thought of even using the foot-tunnel to get across.”
“That’s engrained nonsense. Water won’t harm you, unless you drown in the stuff, and I’m not even sure we can.”
“Why do I feel hesitant to cross the water?”
“Because we’re different to the others, Charles. We’re better.”
“Are we human?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “I don’t know. We were. Once. Are we now?” He shrugged again.
“Hitler was famous for his interest in the occult,” Baronaire pressed. “Are we what he was trying to create?”
“Possibly. If you’re asking me whether you being what you are has anything to do with him, then the answer’s no. What we are is far older than Hitler, far older than Germany even.”
“How far?”
“I did some research one time. Back when I was actually interested in the truth. I traced our kind back farther than I expected. I got to Egypt. Ancient Egypt, the time of the Pharaohs. We might be older, I don’t know, but the trail sort of dies out when you don’t have a written record to follow.”
“There was writing before Egypt, Jeremiah.”
“No. There were ideograms and pictographs before Egypt. Cave paintings are not exactly a written language, and without a written language it was difficult to move any farther back.”
“So whatever we are, it could conceivably date back to the dawn of humanity?”
“Possibly. As I said, I only traced it as far back as the Pharaohs.”
“And what are we? Exactly?”
“Exactly? I have no idea. An occult experiment, as you suggested? A plague created by the Devil? God’s version of evolution?”
“What do you believe?”
Jeremiah chose his words carefully. “I believe I was chosen by God to complete a mission. I succeeded. Then I was given a new assignment and I did well for a while. Then I failed, and I became ... what I am today. What do I believe we are? We are all God’s children, Charles. I believe we are here for a reason. We are stronger, more resilient, more long-lived than humans. We used to be human, but we aren’t now, not really. We’re beyond them, above them. We’re one of the steps between humans and godhead.”
“Are you trying to tell me we’re archangels?”
“Maybe that’s what archangels were.” Jeremiah sighed. “Look, this is a pretty deep discussion, Charles; what’s eating you?”
“I’m ... slowing up. I’m losing my edge, and I don’t know why.”
“When did you last sleep?”
“I’m too hyper to sleep.”
“Then you can’t absorb the nutrients you need to survive. You need to look after yourself, Charles. No one’s going to do it for you.”
“What are we here for?”
“Now there’s a deeper discussion if ever I heard one.”
“If God put us here, what are we here for? And what happens to us once it’s all over?”
Jeremiah placed a hand upon his shoulder. “To even ask those questions, my friend, makes you more human than anyone I’ve ever known. Go home. Get some sleep. When are you scheduled for your next feed?”
“Next week.”
“Then you need all the sleep you can get in the meantime. Say, where’s your partner?”
“Lin? I ditched her.”
“Probably not a good idea.”
“Why? She’s nothing but trouble.”
“Well, after we got back from the safe house I did a little digging on her. Seems she’s been snooping into our affairs lately.”
“Snooping?
Into us?”
“I didn’t mean us, Charles. WetFish. Little Miss Detective’s been uncovering all sorts of cases she finds suspicious. Looks like she didn’t come to Sanders’s attention; he came to hers.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
“Not that I know of. It means she’s clever, and observant. Be careful around her. If she realises you’re not quite the same as the rest of the officers, she may start to delve deeper. And if she does that, who knows what she’ll uncover?”
Jeremiah left him at the edge of the river and Baronaire looked once more across the water. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with in his assignment, now he had to worry about his partner finding out the truth. A truth not even Baronaire knew fully.
A sudden thought came to him then that he might use Lin to uncover everything. Perhaps if she worked hard enough she could tell him precisely what he was. He would likely have to kill her for it, but if she was as good as Jeremiah figured, there may well have been something in it after all.
He turned his back on the river and headed for the car. It was time he returned to his partner. He had left her alone now quite long enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The low rumble of Whiskey in the Jar kept Detective Lin awake while she sat behind the wheel of her car. There had been no sign of the Reynolds woman at the hairdresser’s, and Lin couldn’t see anyone would be stupid enough to go somewhere the cops would be looking for them. It grated on Lin’s nerves that her first assignment was to stalk a completely innocent woman, and she still wasn’t certain what she would do once Reynolds was caught; but she had long since reasoned that Sanders was testing her. He was a clever man – to have kept his organisation secret this long he had to have been – and Lin was determined not to underestimate him.
Baronaire was the puzzle. She had no idea what his problem with her was, but she had taken a strong dislike towards him. The man clearly had issues, thought he was some detective out of a pulp novel, and that worried Lin. The instant Baronaire started talking to himself in the first person Lin knew she was in trouble. Until then she had decided to simply weather the storm and see if she could gather the information she required before Baronaire started giving her grey hairs. Where he had gone currently she could not say. Nor did she have any chance of following him. Sanders had warned her there was a possibility he might pull something like this, but she had foolishly believed she would be able to handle him.