by Karl Fish
Thompson observed more detail the closer he got. Tiny diodes surrounded the city in a huge circumference and throbbed patiently in a deep red. It was if the network they represented was the beating heart of the war efforts and the femoral arteries desperately trying to keep things moving. As he canvassed the ordnance’s more detailed centre, it was easy to distinguish the key landmarks and defensive outposts his men had recently rounded up Malling’s men from. St Paul’s, Tower Bridge, etcetera and all with their own individual diode flashing and waiting for advice.
‘The first protocol confirmed,’ came a voice from a desk.
A runner sprinted to that desk, returned with a small bulb, and pushed it into the map. It was St Paul’s, quite often the first, considering its elevated height over Ludgate Hill and impressive observation point across the city. The lamp now replaced the red diode and flashed a brilliant white. Almost immediately, a second voice and then a third came to confirm news from the protocol stations. Runners sprinted everywhere and as if like dominoes falling within an instant, the small red lights were surpassed with white and the map was soon covered in favourable white and not ominous red. Thompson could not believe the speed and fluidity as in a few minutes all Protocols had responded and the halo of white light closed to confirm the security of the city.
‘Impressive.’ Thompson applauded Colonel Malling. ‘Very impressive.’
Malling, who enjoyed praise immensely, shrugged it off as if it was nothing.
‘Thompson, that concludes, to us, that all stations across the boroughs of London are exercising their air-raid sirens and posted with anti-aircraft guns and spotters to shoot down enemy craft,’ Wink advised him. ‘We’ll know soon enough how much damage has been inflicted.’
All they could do now was wait.
*****
Terrified, frozen, wet through and at the mercy of the Luftwaffe as well as forces closer to home, Belle made her way through the underpass. Air sirens were now in full symphony warning citizens to stay underground, hidden and safe.
All roads were deserted. All the lights switched off. Only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the night sky. The rumblings of aircraft thundered through but thankfully not the doodlebugs. Very occasionally, a volley of gunfire blasted from ground to air, deterring the raiding party from exercising their ammunitions and unleashing their non-discriminatory explosives.
Belle had heard and seen enough air-raids to know the Germans were not unleashing hell as expected. With the exception of a scanning light that came from aircraft beyond the clouds, the last remnants of the aircraft were leaving British shores. The storm had proven too difficult to navigate and the Luftwaffe were disappearing into the night.
Struggling to control the pace of her heart and gasping for breath she struggled, broken, and bruised, back towards the red phone-box. Her assailant long gone into the dark belly of the night. The glass now shattered, the ricocheting bullets having torn through her coat and beyond. She slumped inside with the coat covering her like a blanket before exhaustion and the cold became too much, directing her towards unconsciousness.
*****
Professor Malcolm continued with the preparation of Purrsia the cat and its journey into the afterlife. Jennifer James no longer looked like Sabine Erket. The blonde wig had been removed, and her long dark hair replaced the deceit. She had replaced the zebra skin in favour of a long black cloak favoured by the inmates of Institute Silvera. Brain Louds’ classical music could be heard repeating over and over in the background as it was piped throughout the hospital.
Leaving Gemima prepared in her long white ceremonial gown for Brian Louds, she left the Professor to complete his task. As she left the Silvera Institute, accompanied by the orderlies, the first of many ambulance trucks were beginning to leave in convoy towards the capital. Their distinct white circles and crosses emblazoned on the sides and on the canvas roofs above. In the distance, the aircraft were disappearing as the thunderstorm appeared to follow them away. The rains were dissipating as they headed towards Ambledown for their final assault.
*****
Colonel Malling turned to the room and congratulated the efforts of yet another successful execution of the Protocols.
‘On current information, we are aware of one single bomb deployed near Shaftesbury,’ Malling advised them. ‘That’s the least amount of damage caused by any campaign. You should be proud.’
A round of applause erupted before everybody began resetting their position for future bombing campaigns.
‘Sorry, old boy,’ Malling directed to Thompson, considering himself victorious in the current debate. ‘I will be standing my men down. The Protocols remain intact.’
It was undeniably impressive, Thompson could not deny that, but something did not fit.
‘Thompson, shall we?’ Wink directed him out of the room and back along to the burgundy room where he expected his immediate court-marshal. Instead, Wink handed him a black-and-white magazine. ‘Page ten, society pictures,’ she ordered him.
Thumbing quickly as they walked, he came to page ten. A quick scan of the photographs revealed Sir Wallace and Lady James.
‘Definitely the lady we have under guard, ma’am,’ Thompson confirmed.
‘Good, then that means we don’t have to include Malling. Let’s hope The Department remains intact.’
Chapter 52
Jigsaw pieces
Jennifer James alighted via the rear canvas of the ambulance truck and looked upon the shimmering cobbles leading to the market town below. The torrential rain had finally dispersed into a gentle shower as the clouds began to part, revealing the dominant crescent moon.
Raising the hood of the cloak over her head, she slipped into the shadows to exercise her rushed plan. Too much lay at stake for her to fail. The streets were empty but for the tiny band of WI ladies still decorating the far end of the Steep. They were the ones who had inexplicably ignored Wilson Bott’s orders and defied the storm.
Much further down the hill, in a tiny bolthole known to less than a handful of historical residents and master smugglers, a tiny silver chain hung in the darkness from a hidden letterbox hole, it’s multifaceted magnifying glass swayed in the breeze waiting silently for ignition from its celestial source.
The truck and its two muscle-bound minders continued the slow drive down to the rendezvous with the gipsy brawler and his promise of the birds of prey. Sheathing curved blades, studded with jewels embedded in gold and hidden within their waistbands, they were nervously aware of the size and reputation of their avian procurer and should they fail they were mortally in fear of their employer’s dire warning.
Gideon and Noone waited patiently in the café of cats. A canvas bag full of weapons and explosives beneath their table. The scarred man wore a dark cloak with the hood up in anticipation.
Beneath the large cobbler’s sign that squeaked as it swung in the wind, stood Pop Braggan, the bare-knuckle brawler, covered in his trademark gold, a single tattooed tear marking his face. The wolfhound Luna yelped at the prevailing moon as its light was a welcome respite from rain and thunder. Inside the shop, Tink was preparing The Lady.
Wilson Bott took a tentative step from his sheriff’s office as the rains relented. He was lost for words at the sodden appearance of Ambledown’s Women’s Institute who had forsaken warmth and safety to hang bunting in preparation for the secretive party they were all so excited about.
The girl with the mark of the moon, prayed for the light from above, and, more importantly, for someone to see the light once it came. Her street-urchin friend was already planning for the endgame, anticipating the worst.
Cloaked opposite from the schoolhouse, just yards away, in her hooded gown, the hidden lady observed from the shadows in her desperate attempt to find the girl.
Inside the schoolhouse, locked within her office, the governess waited patiently with her pistol drawn. She was assured the Germans were coming for her; to help and not hinder. The revelation of the
bombers above, thundering and shaking her very foundations, caused her to question her communiqué. She had tried twice to contact Tuchhandler during the storm, via her hidden radio, but with little success. Though a bombing party across counties would send most people underground and clear her path, it still planted the seed of doubt that something was wrong. Nevertheless, her nervousness increased as the clock above her doorway clicked slowly and she waited for that knock from the entrance to come.
*****
‘The line is secure,’ Wink confirmed to Thompson handing him the handset.
She encouraged him to sit in her chair behind the desk so he could comfortably talk to his subordinate across town.
‘Thompson, this is Thompson. Who am I speaking to?’ he spoke into the receiver.
‘So, pleased to hear from you, sir. We have had a very near-miss here,’ Smith replied.
‘Good to hear your voice too. How so? What of this near-miss?’
‘A bomb landed next to the building, sir. It destroyed an ambulance parked nearby, burst into flames, but failed to explode. No one knows why,’ Smith explained. ‘By all accounts, there were several similar instances. All bombs failed to detonate.’
‘That news had not reached us. That is both lucky and peculiar. Tell me, are evacuations underway? Is everyone accounted for?’
‘They are, sir, on both accounts, but we have discovered an anomaly.’
‘Explain,’ Thompson encouraged him.
‘There was an emergency call on line eleven. Just before the bombers came.’
Thompson knew it would have been Belle as he had strictly forbidden any of his operatives to use line eleven.
‘What was her message, Smith?’ Thompson replied anxiously.
‘That’s the anomaly, sir. Her call was disconnected or …’ Smith paused
‘Or what?’
‘I could be paranoid, sir, but it may have been intercepted. I think it may have been intercepted.’
‘How on earth could that happen?’ Thompson shouted angrily.
‘The original call came through to the office but when I answered it, it was somehow muted. I just got her name before it changed. I have reached out to telephony but they advised me no one was redirecting calls and the place was empty due to the air-raid.’
‘Where was she when she made the call?’
‘South of the river, sir. Not one hundred per cent where, but we have a localised search area defined.’
‘Send Jones to me. I need a car, and make sure Lady James is escorted, under guard, across town to Whitehall. Deliver her in person to Wink Waverley. We require her full cooperation,’ Thompson ordered before slamming down the phone.
‘Problems?’ Wink asked.
‘The Department was targeted, near-miss. The bomb destroyed an ambulance nearby but failed to detonate. Apparently, there were several similar instances in and around the area.’
‘A saving grace. About time our luck changed. And what of Miss Soames, is she safe?’
‘I don’t know. I really do not know,’ Thompson replied nervously.
‘Well, find her and take this to her. We need her permission to use it.’ Wink handed over a small black box that contained two phials of green liquid. One a light bilious green, and the other a rich emerald of denser viscosity.
‘The light, bilious one, is the remedy. The dark emerald one the poison. They are synthesised from the Death-stalker as Belchambers suggested. One pinprick of either has the desired effect to either resuscitate or render. Our man, the concierge, has been brought around already and he has confirmed Jennifer James stung him with her belt buckle. Seems she is the foe after all. Perhaps she seduced Donald Draper? You cannot blame him, and it’s what you originally suspected. I only found out just before the bombers came. The good news is that with his daughter’s permission, Professor Soames can be cured and maybe he can complete the picture. Now, go find her. We’ll continue the search for Ms James and Draper.’
Thompson appreciated Wink’s candour and finally found the correct exit from the room padded with Burgundy leather. He still could not piece the full jigsaw together but would make damn sure he found Belle Soames and save her father. He could be the key to this all.
*****
‘Are you finished, Professor?’ Brain Louds shouted from the hidden chamber beneath the laboratory. ‘As soon as you are finished, join me via the passageway opposite.’
Professor Malcolm tentatively peered into the dark abyss below. Its only source of light was a single wax torch that Louds had removed from its metal girdle on the descending steps leading to the chamber. The prism that sat directly above their heads, reflected tiny shimmers of the moon behind the clouds as the storm patiently left the skies. As Louds paced the room below, muttering to himself, the flare of the flames caught the dark edge of the ceremonial sarcophagus, followed by the stone statues of Horus and Anubis before settling on the Scarlet Scarab suspended in its ceremonial staff and surrounded by bejewelled metallic wings. The classical music could still be heard in the distance, echoing around the hospital wards.
The Professor readied himself, took the mummified cat under his arm and the half-feathered ceremonial mask of Horus, and descended via the opposing passageway to where Louds was residing. Gemima lay unconscious, peacefully positioned in the long white gown soon to be turned red.
‘Welcome, Professor,’ Louds encouraged as Meredith Malcolm presented him with both the feline and the mask. ‘You have endeavoured well. I believe it is time to receive your reward.’
Professor Malcolm stepped back with a sheer look of panic contorting his face.
‘Come now, I am not a monster. How many times must I repeat myself,’ came his sinister voice and a laugh. Brian Louds took the bandage-wrapped cat and placed it on a plinth at the base of the sarcophagus. Removing the feathered half-mask, he placed it upon Professor Malcolm’s head.
‘Your fine facial hair almost compliments it,’ said Louds and continued to laugh. ‘Come, let us retrieve your prize.’
Professor Malcolm was frozen on the spot.
‘I will be no part of your game any longer,’ he refused.
‘So noble, Professor. But the damage is already done,’ Louds replied, rounding on him with the small pillbox. Louds removed his surgical mask. The horror below was instantly recognised by the shock on Meredith Malcolm’s face. Sinew and muscle exposed where flesh should have been. Visible bone from his jawline exposed alongside molars and canine teeth. A patchwork of scars and squares of grafted skin that were failing him; a product of the failed surgery painstakingly undertaken during the past decade. His mask had been covering his theatrical phantom’s appearance all of this time.
A pinch of violet-purple powder and the exhalation into Malcolm’s nostrils swiftly took place.
‘FOLLOW,’ Louds announced in a monotone. ‘Follow me.’
*****
The orderlies pulled up just south of Le Chat Noir and blinked their headlights to the waiting figure of Pop Braggan. A nod of recognition confirmed the deal was on. Gideon and Noone observed from a slatted blind waiting for the patients to leave the truck. The orderlies alighted and began moving together towards Pop.
‘Oh shit,’ Gideon swore. ‘There are no patients. They’re not coming here first. Pop wouldn’t have planned for both at once. Quickly, Nate. You got your gun? ‘
‘Yes,’ Noone replied.
‘Good. Get ready to fall out of the door.’
Gideon marched Nate to the café’s doorway by the scruff, opened it up aggressively, and unceremoniously threw him out.
‘And don’t come back, ya drunk!’ he screamed as Nathaniel skidded across the treacherous cobbles.
The commotion broke the tension surfacing between the marching orderlies who turned back to confront the noise while divulging their weapons in their waistbands.
‘They’re carrying,’ Pop warned Tink who duly noted the whereabouts of the blade hilts.
‘Is he one of yours? Eh? One
of yours?’ Gideon shouted, walking towards the orderlies, holding a candle to Nathaniel’s scarred face. ‘Must be so proud of your patient’s behaviour.’
The confused orderlies broke ranks. The driver ordered the other to approach Gideon and Nathaniel while he continued towards Pop.
‘You have them?’ he shouted to chief Braggan.
‘You got the money?’ Pop replied.
The orderly nodded and produced a roll of American dollars. On sighting the green notes, Pop whistled for Tinker to join him. Carefully carrying the wooden box with the holes in, he approached the two of them with a torch in his mouth and passed the box to his friend.
‘Open it, slowly,’ the orderly demanded, hand fixed in his waistband.
‘Sshhhhh!’ Pop advised, suggesting calmness so as not to spook the birds as an eerie tension lurked between all parties. The subtle fluttering of wings from inside the box was enough to assure the orderly Pop had delivered on his promise.
Pop slowly opened the box as Tinker held the torch for the orderly to observe the contents. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he flung the lid open, forcing the inhabitant to fly out. Tinker followed his cue, blinding the orderly momentarily with the torch beam that lit up the glint of the gold incisor. The Lady rushed out in a flash of black and white pecking at the orderlies face and tearing his mouth with her talons in the process. The orderly tried defending himself with one hand and reached for his blade with the other. The hulking frame of Pop Braggan grabbed his opponent’s wrist and thrust it in the opposing direction. A clear crack and the orderly’s wrist snapped. The cry of pain informed his colleague several yards up the hill. It was all so fast, the orderly now examining the candlelit disfiguration of Nathaniel Noone was taken by surprise. As he turned, Nathaniel drew and trained his pistol upon him. Sensing he may still reach for his blade, Gideon thrust his firearm into the man’s ribs and unsheathed the weapon’s blade as he did so.