Redlaw - 01

by James Lovegrove

  The young man stuck out a hand and gave Redlaw one of the tightest, firmest handshakes he’d ever known. His grip was almost painful.

  “Giles Slocock,” he said. “MP for Chesham and Amersham and, as I’m sure you know, Shadow Spokesman for Sunless Affairs. Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Captain. Big fan of your work. Big, big fan.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Slocock led them across New Palace Yard and in through a surprisingly modest arched door, talking all the while.

  “Something, isn’t it? I’ve seen fights before but never anything on so epic a scale. Everybody else in the House has been watching from the upstairs windows but I wanted to get out and have a really good look. Kind of a ringside seat. Close enough to smell the adrenaline. Those security cops kept telling me to get back indoors but I wasn’t having any of that. A classic piece of civil disorder going on right outside my workplace and I’m not going to check out the action for myself, first hand? I think not.”

  He swept them along corridors with chessboard-pattern flooring and portraits of eminent statesmen of yesteryear frowning down from the walls. The walls and ceilings bristled with ornate carvings, like a stonemason’s fantasia, yet somehow the atmosphere remained coldly, echoingly austere.

  “Talk about adversarial politics. Things might get rowdy in the debating chamber, but it’s nothing compared with out there. That, out there, that’s democracy in the raw. That’s left and right coming together and thrashing out their differences.”

  He ushered them up a stone staircase, nodding deferentially to a pair of Lords who were peering out through a landing window, dressed in ordinary suits but carrying an unmistakable whiff of scarlet and ermine. They deigned to notice him and his companions.

  “When sketch writers in the papers complain about us parliamentarians getting all ‘yah boo sucks’ across the despatch box, they forget that it could be so much worse. We’re relatively civilised. Out there’s what you’d get all the time if politicians weren’t around to represent people’s views. We keep the violence strictly verbal.”

  He steered them into an office, his, a tiny untidy room whose windows looked out onto a narrow, ill-lit courtyard. He shut the door.

  “Make yourselves at home.” He turned to Illyria. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced...?”

  “Illyria Strakosha.”

  “Illyria. Lovely. The ancient name for Albania.”

  “Very good. There aren’t many outside my country who know that.”

  “Benefits of a reasonably expensive education. Twelfth Night, that’s set in Illyria, isn’t it? That’s where I remember it from. Our English teacher showed us Albania on a map, so we’d have some idea where the play’s supposed to take place. Not that it helped much. It’s all just fantasy land, is Shakespeare. Oh, and we did something in Classical Civilisation about the Illyrian Wars, which the Romans won, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Your parents’ money wasn’t wasted.”

  Redlaw’s nostrils no longer felt as if they were lined with paint stripper, and his vision was clearing. He took a long, hard look at Slocock as the politician vaunted his knowledge of Illyria’s homeland, such as it was. Redlaw knew little about Giles Slocock beyond that he was famously dissolute and that he was proficient at some form of martial art. Macarthur hadn’t a kind word to say about him, but that was only to be expected—she hadn’t a kind word to say about most people, and politicians in particular grated with her. In his role as Shadow Spokesman for Sunless Affairs, Slocock had visited SHADE HQ a grand total of two times. On neither occasion had Redlaw been present, and he hadn’t felt that he’d missed much.

  In the flesh, Slocock cut a more impressive figure than he did on television. His floppy-fringed haircut was a little too youthful for a man on the cusp of thirty, but the body beneath the not-cheap suit and shirt was compact and well-muscled. His hands had incredibly callused knuckles and there was a thick ridge of horny tissue along the outer edge of each palm. Even as he lounged with one buttock on his desk, he held himself with a louche grace, the posture of a man with absolute physical self-confidence. Only the broken capillaries in the whites of his eyes—there were a few too many of them—hinted at bad habits.

  “So how come the two of you wound up embroiled in that mess?” Slocock enquired. “Take a wrong turn somewhere?”

  Redlaw threw an acerbic glance at Illyria, which she blanked.

  “We trusted to providence,” Illyria said. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have.”

  “Providence,” said Slocock. “Funny you should say that. Because actually it’s more than a little fortuitous that we’ve met, Captain Redlaw. May I call you John?”

  “Don’t even try,” Illyria advised. “I don’t know what you have to do to be allowed to call him by his first name. Whatever it is, it’s a test I haven’t passed yet. Just stick with Redlaw.”

  “Redlaw it is, then. You see, Redlaw, you and me, we have something in common.”

  “We do?” said Redlaw.

  “Not just a shared connection with the Night Brigade. Let me tell you what I know about your current situation. I know that you’re not technically Captain Redlaw any more. I know that you’re a fugitive. I know that you’ve lost your job.”

  “You’re well informed.”

  “Shouldn’t I be? Sunless Affairs is my brief. What goes on in SHADE, I have to keep on top of.”

  “Hmm. I suppose.”

  “I also know that the reason you’re out on your ear is you’ve been trying to pin the blame for the bloodlust riots on Nathaniel Lambourne. Without success.”

  “So?”

  “Well, he and I have a history.” Slocock’s face took on a sombre cast. He was no longer the genial, ebullient fellow of moments earlier. He was deadly earnest now. “A history that’s come to a sticky end. You want to nail the bastard to the wall? Let me help.”

  Slocock outlined how he and Lambourne, having once been travellers on the same road, had come to a parting of the ways.

  “Nathaniel helped me early in my career, there’s no denying,” he said. “Gave me a leg-up. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a mentor, but he was always there, introducing me to influential people, watching out for me, keeping potential enemies off my back. Everyone could do with a Nathaniel Lambourne in their corner if they want to get on in the world. I never thought there’d be any consequences. I thought I was using him. Turned out he was using me.”

  Slocock looked at his hands. He appeared to be struggling with deep, contradictory emotions.

  “I know a thing or two about addiction,” he said finally. “It’s well documented that I’m a substance abuser. The trouble with drugs is you think you’re in control. What you don’t realise, until it’s far too late and you’re too far in, is the drugs are in control. You’re their servant and there’s nothing you can do about it. Same with Lambourne. He had his hooks into me, and I was helpless. You’ve heard about Maurice Wax, I imagine.”

  Redlaw shook his head.

  “I’d have thought it was all over the mediasphere by now.”

  “I’ve been busy. What of him?”

  “He’s dead. Took his own life.”

  “Good God.”

  “Yes. And you know what drove him to it?”

  “No.”

  “Go on, hazard a guess.”

  “Stress of work? Something to do with Solarville? Personal problems?”

  “All of the above and none of the above,” said Slocock. “Me. I’m the cause. Lambourne forced me to apply pressure on him. No, not forced. I was perfectly willing. He supplied me with information to use on Wax so that the whole Solarville enterprise could be kick-started into action. He handed me a loaded gun and I pulled the trigger. I barely thought twice about it. He gave me all that was needed to ruin a man’s life, and it never even occurred to me to say ‘no.’ And then, after I’d done his dirty work for him, he treated me like I was something that had crawled out from under a rock. He felt contempt for
me because I’d been so eager, so fucking puppy-dog thrilled, to do as he told me.”

  “And you’re surprised by this why?” said Redlaw. “Men like Lambourne don’t care about those beneath them. To them, everyone is the same—malleable, expendable.”

  “I know. I know. I was just too stupid—too naïve maybe—to realise it. I was his fire-and-forget missile and I’m worth nothing to him any more. I had a confrontation with him this evening about it. We argued on the phone. What he said, his whole attitude towards me, simply confirmed how little he thinks of me. Shit on the sole of his shoe would get more respect. His mistake, however, is he’s underestimated me.”

  Slocock flexed his fists.

  “You don’t dump me like that and think you can get away with it,” he said. “You’re making a serious error of judgement if you do. I don’t care how rich and powerful you are, fuck with Giles Slocock, prepare to suffer. I’ve never backed down from a challenge. The bigger you are, the harder you fall. Nathaniel Lambourne’s gone from being my patron to being top of my shit list. I used to be proud to know him. Now I want to hang the arsehole out to dry.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Redlaw, “and all very commendable. I think we can all agree that taking down Lambourne would be a wonderful thing. But, practically speaking, what can we do? This is the problem. Lambourne’s already got his way. He’s won. I’ve done the best I could, and it was no good.”

  “Ah, but you see, I’ve got the dirt on him,” said Slocock. “I know stuff that he doesn’t believe I would dare use against him.”

  “You mean you’d be willing to testify against him at trial?”

  “Better still. I can give you good, rock-solid evidence that’s sure to put Lambourne in jail for a very long time.”

  “What sort of evidence?” Redlaw asked warily. “Because if it’s a pouch of BovPlas blood, been there, done that. My boss—ex-boss—made it clear she doesn’t feel it’s a tack worth pursuing, and she’s probably right.”

  “What if,” said Slocock, “I could prove that Lambourne ran tests on a Sunless to see whether the additive he put in the blood would have the desired effect?”

  “I’d say, if you knew at the time that he was doing anything like that, you should have told the relevant authorities. You’re a Member of Parliament. You don’t just make laws, you have to uphold them.”

  “Okay, so I’m compromised, I’m corrupt, I’m venal. Show me a man or woman in this building who isn’t. Besides, is it actually illegal to experiment on vampires? There’s nothing on the statute books that specifies either way. My point is, I believe this creature still exists. I know where it is. I can take you to it.”

  “And once I’ve seen it, what then?”

  “That’s for you to decide. Call in the shadies, maybe, or the police. If nothing else, Lambourne’s keeping a Sunless outside of an SRA. That’s surely an offence under the Settlement Act, isn’t it?”

  “Very true.”

  “So, interested?”

  “I might be.”

  “Need some time to think about it? I can step outside so you and your friend can confer.”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea. Five minutes.”

  Slocock slapped the desktop with both hands and stood up. “Five minutes it is. I’ll go powder my nose. But not,” he added, “that kind of powder.”

  “Well?” said Redlaw.

  “Well?” said Illyria.

  “You first.”

  “No, you.”

  “Fine. Know what I think? I think this is all very convenient. Rather too convenient.”

  “You don’t trust the charismatic and accommodating Mr Slocock?”

  “No further than I can throw him. With my bad arm.”

  “Agreed,” said Illyria. “He’s a politician. Enough said. On the other hand, though, he seems genuine in his hatred of Lambourne. He really does sound like he’s had a change of heart there. Revenge is a great motivator. Never mind a woman scorned, hell hath no fury like a loyal henchman who’s been abandoned by his master.”

  “He wants some payback, I can accept that. But why bring anyone else in on it? Why us?”

  “He doesn’t feel he can manage alone. He needs moral support. Accomplices. People with the same agenda as him. It’s perfectly understandable. What you should ask yourself, Redlaw, is if you’re going to get another opportunity like this. Slocock’s offering you Lambourne on a plate. What is it they say about gift horses?”

  “Don’t go round the back end or you could get kicked in the teeth?”

  Nevertheless, an hour later, Redlaw found himself in the back seat of a ministerial limousine as it ventured out of the gate, nosing tentatively into Parliament Square, Slocock at the wheel.

  The unrest had been successfully quelled. The Stokers and PETS protestors had been corralled into Great George Street and crammed there in a tight, claustrophobic huddle with no room to fight, or barely even to breathe, until tempers died down. They had then been filtered onward into St James’s Park where a fleet of paddywagons awaited to cart them off to various police stations. Debris littered the now empty square—placards, broken weapons, shreds of torn clothing. The lawn was churned up like a rugby pitch after a match. Puddles of blood glistened on the roads.

  The limo purred south along the river bank, through Chelsea and down into Putney. No one spoke. Earlier, Slocock had phoned Lambourne, requesting an audience with the industrialist. He had given a very convincing impersonation of a man full of contrition, regretting the rashness of his decision to break off ties with Lambourne, desperate for one more chance.

  “Please, Nathaniel,” he had implored. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was an idiot. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me drop by your place and we’ll meet face to face and you’ll see I mean it. Come on, what do you say? Kiss and make up? Seal it with a drink? Maybe a glass or two of that rather fine ’ninety-three Puligny-Montrachet you have in your cellar?”

  Apparently, despite the lateness of the hour, Lambourne had said “yes.” Then it was just a question of signing out a car and waiting for the trouble outside Parliament to end.

  Redlaw understood that he was placing an inordinate amount of faith in the man in the driving seat, a man he scarcely knew. Slocock was as slick and glib as they came. He was not the sort of person you instinctively warmed to and yielded control to.

  But.

  If he was on the level...

  If Lambourne did have a Sunless in his possession...

  If the industrialist really was flouting the law so flagrantly...

  Then Redlaw had a shot at clawing back some, if not all, of the ground he had lost. He was on course to redeem himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  They crossed the M25 and headed down into north Surrey, land of stockbrokers, A-list celebrities and a myriad of golf courses. Soon Slocock was turning off a trunk road onto a minor road and from there onto a narrow leafy lane. This, he informed his passengers, marked the start of Lambourne’s property. It was a full five minutes before they reached the gate.

  It was a high gate, spike-topped, solid. As the car pulled up in front of it, security lights flared into life, revealing surveillance cameras affixed to both pillars.

  “Keep down,” Slocock warned. Redlaw and Illyria were hunkering low in the back seat, out of sight of the cameras, while Slocock remained in plain view.

  They waited. The cameras peered, beady-eyed. Finally the gate gave an enormous clank and rolled laboriously to one side. Slocock nudged the car through.

  The drive snaked between folds of forested hill. The car’s headlights formed a glowing tunnel in the dark.

  “I’m going to get you as close as I can,” Slocock said. “We’ll stop just before we’re in sight of the house. You remember the directions I gave you?”

  “Go left,” said Redlaw. “Through the woods. Up to the brow of the hill. Then bear right, following the ridge. When we reach the edge of the woods, we should be able to
see the old observatory.”

  “If not, you’ll have gone way off-course. There isn’t much of a moon tonight. It’ll be pitch black among all those trees. You all right with that?”

  “Not a problem.” Redlaw held up his SHADE goggles.

  “What about you, Illyria?”

  “I have excellent night vision.”

  A minute later the car coasted to a halt. “This is it,” Slocock said. “Out you go. We rendezvous in an hour. Back at the gate, yes?”

  “Don’t be late,” Redlaw said as he and Illyria slipped out.

  “I won’t. Best of luck.”

  “You too,” said Illyria.

  “Oh, all I’m doing is prostrating myself before the great man and begging his forgiveness. Don’t need luck for that, just good acting skills. The ability to fake sincerity—any MP worth his salt has that.”

  The car glided off. Redlaw waited until its taillights were out of sight before putting on the goggles. He entered the familiar world of image intensification, phosphorescent green and slightly slippery. Illyria was already moving. He set off after her.

  As they headed upslope through the woods, Illyria said, “Are you thinking we can retrieve this poor blighter and take him back with us?”

  “I’m hoping so,” Redlaw said. The trees were a kind of protection, deadening sound, but even so both of them kept their voices low.

  “And if for some reason he won’t come quietly...?”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’ve brought a shtriga with me, isn’t it?”

  “And once we have him, we persuade him to turn evidence against Lambourne.”

  “I can’t see why he wouldn’t want to, if Lambourne’s been inflicting some kind of heinous torture on him.”

  “This could be the salvation of you, you know, Redlaw.”