I ain’t lookin’ at no paintings, suckah.
We walked guardedly towards Freeman, whose face betrayed nothing. Eddie and I were at the front, with Connor and Sharon flanking us. No sign of any goons. Freeman stood up and smiled. Inappropriate. ‘Edward,’ he said. ‘Sharon. Connor. Good to see you. And you too of course, Stanly.’
‘You haven’t aged a day,’ said Sharon.
‘Too kind,’ said Freeman.
‘But you looked pretty old then, too,’ said Connor.
Oh, SNAP. Freeman chuckled. ‘Make this short, Freeman,’ said Eddie. ‘We want to find Tara and the dog.’
‘Dog?’ said Freeman. ‘I’m afraid I know nothing about Stanly’s . . . rather unique pet. All I know is that several rather powerful people are holding the little girl – don’t ask me why for I have no idea – and that you four don’t have a businessman in Deliverance’s chance of taking her away from them without my help. So I would appreciate it if you’d either stay civil or be quiet.’
Eddie made to move forward but I grabbed his arm. ‘Eddie,’ I said, warningly. ‘We need him.’ Mr Freeman smiled slightly. He was obviously enjoying this. Something told me that the two of them hadn’t got on very well when they’d first met, either. Eddie nodded reluctantly. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Who exactly are these people?’
‘Two of my employers and some of their . . . minions.’ Mr Freeman crushed his cigarette butt under his shiny black shoe. ‘As I said, I don’t know why they need the girl, but if they’ve gone to these lengths they’re unlikely to give her up unless I can appeal to their better natures.’
‘And what do we do?’ asked Connor.
‘You stay quiet while I work,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘Taking the child by force should be a last resort, if it’s a resort at all.’
I glanced at Sharon. She didn’t look like she was reading him but I knew she had, and she caught my look and nodded. He’s telling the truth.
As far as we know.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Take us to your leader.’
‘Step this way,’ said Mr Freeman. He turned and started to walk away, but then I remembered something.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Um, what about the guy in the boot?’
‘Just leave him there,’ said Freeman, dismissively. ‘If they want him back, they can get him afterwards.’
‘And if they don’t want him back?’ asked Eddie.
‘Then you can release him into the wild,’ said Freeman. ‘Come along.’ We exchanged shrugs and followed him towards the front door of the gallery. The building didn’t exactly tower above us but it was fairly imposing all the same, and there was definitely something wrong. Something beyond the KEEP OUT and TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED and ESSENTIAL MAINTENANCE signs. I could smell it somehow, an unquantifiable threat, an oddness. It didn’t help that the gallery really stuck out amongst the anonymous industrial buildings that surrounded it. It was like someone had just plonked it down with no thought for architectural consistency.
Like the rest of London, then.
Mr Freeman opened the door, revealing a vast white lobby with crème furniture and a mahogany reception desk. There was a lift at the very back into which we all squeezed, and Freeman pressed the button for the second floor. The doors closed, hydraulics thumped and whirred and we began to move upwards. The mirrored lift looked high-tech, but it sounded old and cranky. A bland, synthesised version of ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ began to play wonkily over the lift’s rusty groans.
This lift moves very slowly.
‘So, why are we here again?’ I said.
‘To rescue your little friend,’ said Mr Freeman, checking his watch. ‘And, as a bonus, to meet two of the many faces of the Angel Group.’
‘The Angel Group?’ said Sharon. ‘And they are . . .’
‘You’ll find out,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘Good things to those who wait, and all that.’
The lift thunked to a halt and the doors opened onto a long corridor with many doorless openings on either side. Mr Freeman started to walk, and as we followed him I looked nervously to the left and right. Each room was basically the same: white walls, a polished wooden floor, over-stylised, uncomfortable-looking chairs, and lots of paintings. Those were the only real variables. Some were random splashes of colour, some were Picasso-style messed-up faces, some were charcoal, some were watercolours. Neither me nor my friends said anything, but our ageless guide couldn’t seem to contain himself. ‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘I’m thrilled,’ said Connor. ‘This definitely beats a lie-in, a fry-up and not having had my house broken into and my girlfriend assaulted.’
‘Oh come, come,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘I agree there has been some unpleasantness, but this is a very important step for young Stanly.’
‘Less of the “young”, if you don’t mind,’ I said. What he’d said hadn’t actually bothered me, but I hoped that being belligerent would obscure how apprehensive I felt.
‘Sorry,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘What I mean is, you are about to reach a significant rung on the ladder you started climbing last September. I would have thought you’d be excited.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, you fucking weirdo?’ said Eddie. Sharon actually sniggered, and a smile twitched at the edges of Connor’s lips.
Freeman was entirely unphased. ‘Stanly understands,’ he said.
Do I?
Sod it, just maintain an unimpressed expression and walk like you’re ready to cook some fools.
‘Nearly there,’ said Freeman. He opened another white door and we stepped through into . . . yet another corridor. Too many corridors. I decided to voice my opinion. ‘Too many corridors.’
‘I know,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘It’s like being trapped in an old episode of Doctor Who. C’est la vie, eh?’
This one was identical to the last one, visually at least, but in terms of how I was feeling, there was something different about it. Something really, unsettlingly wrong, even more so than before. It positively stank of foreboding. I never liked that smell.
‘Here we are,’ said Mr Freeman. We were standing in front of yet another door, but this one was stainless steel and had two potted plants on either side. Even those were weirdly imposing. Mr Freeman knocked and it echoed dully, and we heard an answering female voice from the other side. ‘Come in.’ Freeman winked at me, and opened the door.
And here – we – go.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THIS ROOM WAS different from the others. It was a lot bigger for a start, and the walls were off-white and covered in blown-up black and white photographs of various places in London. The Houses of Parliament. Big Ben. One of the parks. Some Tube station I didn’t recognise. They were all slightly disquieting. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but they creeped me out.
There’s a lot of that going around.
The ceiling was transparent and I could clearly see that my bright sunshiney day had been incapacitated, dragged away and replaced with pouring rain. The elevator and the corridor were like worlds to themselves, and no sound from outside penetrated those ominous walls, but now I could see the pencil-lead sky, and hear the chaotic tapping of raindrops hammering against glass. In the very centre of the room was a shiny square table, behind which sat a man and a woman in transparent seats, flanked by three other men who looked less important but more physically threatening. The seated man was in his forties, I estimated, and slightly built, and wore a dark suit. His black hair was severely neat and his dark blue eyes were riveting and cold. The woman might have been younger than him, possibly closer to Sharon’s age, although possibly much older too, with pale skin and long, shiny mahogany hair. Green eyes, mauve lipstick, scarlet trouser suit. The three statues behind them all had their arms crossed and regarded the five of us impassively. Two of them were regular bodyguard types: big guys with crewcuts, muscles bulging under
their suits. One was blonde and one was slightly greying, but that was the only real difference between them.
The third guy was the one I didn’t like. He was as tall as the others, but skinny and lithe, with chalk-white skin, spiky black hair and hard dark eyes, and wore a black suit with a white tie. He was like an animé character come to life, and I could sense power in him. The other two were Rent-A-Fists, your common or garden security lumps, but Number Three was very, very different. Keep an eye.
Mr Freeman stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. ‘Pandora. Lucius.’
Dark-haired, cold-eyed Lucius nodded. ‘Freeman.’ His gesture and speech were as curt as his expression. Pandora smiled impenetrably.
‘Well, here they are,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘As promised.’
I knew it. I knew it!
No you didn’t.
‘You son of a bitch!’ yelled Eddie. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you!’
‘Edward,’ said Pandora. Her voice was reasonable but hinted at fire. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you not to harm Mr Freeman.’ She then fixed our very own Judas with a smouldering stare. ‘He hasn’t sold you down the river.’
‘What has he done, then?’ said Eddie.
‘Up until very recently we didn’t even know you existed,’ said Pandora. ‘Freeman kept you all from us. A . . . pet project of sorts. But we uncovered his deception and said that if he brought you before us – just to talk, you understand, nothing more – we would . . . feel more kindly disposed towards him than we might otherwise have.’
‘That sounds an awful lot like selling us down the river,’ I said.
‘You say tomato, I say tell your cousin to calm down if he wants to get through this alive,’ said Pandora.
‘No-one’s telling me to —’ began Eddie, but Sharon put a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent.
‘I delivered them,’ said Mr Freeman. ‘You have what you wanted.’
‘Yes, we do,’ said Pandora, moistening her lips. Does she have a forked tongue? No. Damn.
‘Well?’ said Freeman.
‘Well, what?’
‘You promised me clemency,’ said Mr Freeman. There was a note of panic in his voice and I could see sweat on the back of his neck. Outside, the rain fell like peas on corrugated iron. Pandora glanced at Lucius, who simply stared at Freeman, the edge of his mouth twitching with . . . was it disgust? He’s scary.
Not as scary as she is.
Freeman was shaking, and now Pandora turned back to him and smiled dangerously. Freeman obviously knew what the look meant. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You promised me! You swore to me!’
Pandora shrugged. ‘I lied. I thought you’d be more familiar with the signs. You’re so good at it, after all.’ Lucius inclined his head and the two bodyguards drew their weapons and fired. One bullet from each gun, that was all it took. Mr Freeman jerked, groaned and dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. His pale hands came away stained red, and with a final gurgle he fell forwards and hit the floor. Pandora’s face wrinkled with distaste.
I stared at Freeman. My hands were numb. A dark pool began to spread from underneath his body, glassy crimson on the light wood floor.
They shot him.
Why?
I felt sick. I’d seen death already tonight . . . but it’s different when it’s someone you know. Even someone you don’t necessarily like all that much.
It also felt like we’d just lost any bargaining power we might have had.
‘Lucius,’ said Pandora, as though he’d bought the wrong type of wine to a dinner party. ‘Was it really necessary to do it in here? What a mess. And we can’t exactly leave it for the cleaners.’
‘We needed to show them,’ said Lucius.
‘I thought he worked for you,’ said Connor. I couldn’t see his or Sharon’s reactions because I was now staring fixedly at Pandora and Lucius. Keep eye contact. Keep ’em in your sights.
And don’t look at the horrible murdered corpse.
‘He did,’ said Lucius. ‘But his extracurricular activities have been something of an embarrassment. Manipulating empowered teenagers into doing his dirty work for him . . . secret projects . . .’ Empowered. Hmm. Good word.
‘Too dirty for you?’ I said.
‘Not at all,’ said Pandora. ‘The key word is “extracurricular”. We can’t abide such behaviour. Insubordination of any kind will not be tolerated.’ Her eyes fell upon Eddie. ‘The Shadow Man.’ They moved to Connor. ‘The Gargoyle.’ They moved to Sharon. ‘The Worm.’ Finally they came back to me. ‘Smiley Joe. “Monsters”.’
‘What are they?’ asked Connor. ‘Where did they come from?’
‘Somewhere unpleasant,’ said Lucius, in a voice uncannily reminiscent of my talking-to-morons one.
‘A place that would likely drive you mad if you attempted a visit,’ said Pandora, ‘and about which we know frustratingly little. Which was all the more reason for the creatures to be delivered to us alive so we could study them and, if possible, use them to our advantage.’
‘Mr Freeman obviously thinks . . . thought differently,’ I said.
‘Mr Freeman was a complex man,’ said Pandora. ‘Brilliant at his job. Uncompromising. Fiercely intelligent. Extremely charismatic, as you all know. But haunted by past mistakes, and rather too concerned with a battle between good and evil that he’d never admit to believing in. We have slightly higher ambitions than the simple extermination of beasts.’
‘Beasts that terrorise the city?’ I said. ‘That kill children?’
‘Shame, that,’ said Pandora, although she didn’t sound at all sorry. ‘And a shame about Freeman, too. But he crossed some lines, so . . .’
‘So you killed him,’ said Eddie.
‘You’re obviously blessed with enhanced powers of observation,’ said Lucius.
‘Don’t start with me, arsehole.’
‘Are you going to kill us, then?’ I said.
‘Why would we want to do that?’ asked Pandora. ‘Why would we want to hurt any of you?’
‘You broke into my house,’ said Sharon. ‘You attacked me and you stole from us.’ She pointed at the scary bodyguard with the spiky hair. ‘He attacked me.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Pandora. ‘That. Sorry. My plan. Lucius wanted to negotiate for the little girl. I had a feeling that you wouldn’t give her up.’
‘You’re damn right,’ I said. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s safe,’ said Pandora. ‘Don’t worry, we didn’t bring her here to hurt her. We brought her because she is important. We need her.’
‘I thought you wanted to see us,’ said Sharon.
‘We can multi-task,’ said Pandora.
‘She’s just a little girl!’ I said. ‘She couldn’t hurt anyone! What possible use could an evil organisation have with her?’
‘Evil?’ asked Pandora. ‘You think we’re evil?’
I frowned. ‘You’re not?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t the name give you a clue?’
‘I thought it was ironic.’
Pandora laughed. ‘Charming. No, it’s true. We’re . . . how can I put this? I wouldn’t say we’re “good” because . . .’
‘Not this again,’ I groaned, pointing at Mr Freeman. ‘I heard this “relative concepts” guff from him.’
‘So what is your purpose?’ asked Sharon. ‘What is the Angel Group?’
‘The Angel Group,’ said Pandora, ‘in the simplest possible terms, is a special corporate interest working to ensure that things run as smoothly as possible on this troubled little planet.’
I heard Connor stifle a laugh. ‘Would you care to share the joke?’ asked Lucius.
‘Have you watched the news at all, lately?’ said Connor. ‘’Cos if that’s your idea of things running smoothly . . .’
‘We tackle those
problems that we think can, and more importantly, should be solved,’ said Lucius. ‘Society’s ills, political whims, ideological conflicts and the like are not necessarily our foremost concern.’
‘So what exactly do you do?’ I said. ‘I’m still not clear. How do you make things run more smoothly? Or do you just take lots of really long lunches?’
‘You think you four are the only people on this planet with supernatural abilities?’ said Pandora, pityingly. ‘Are you really that naïve?’
‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘But we never found out how many there are, or where they are.’
Number Three still hasn’t moved.
I have a feeling we’ll know about it when he does.
‘Well, they are everywhere,’ said Pandora, ‘and not all of them are as decent as you. Just the other week a young activist with abilities quite similar to young Stanly’s attempted to kill the Prime Minister.’
‘Don’t think I would have lost much sleep over that,’ said Eddie.
‘I’m no great fan of the Etonian buffoon either,’ said Pandora, ‘but his death would have caused a fair amount of chaos, don’t you agree? And that’s the operative word here – chaos. We don’t want chaos taking over. We’re trying to prevent humanity from unravelling like a ball of thread.’ She glanced up at the ceiling, at the pissing wet day. ‘I know the world is far from perfect. People are dying every day. Things . . . aren’t great. Makes for some serious neuroses. I’m probably one of the colder hearted people you’re likely to meet, but sometimes even I need to relax with a glass of wine and several diazepam.’
‘Your point being?’ said Sharon.
‘My point being,’ said Pandora, ‘that life goes on. People go to work. They talk. They laugh. They shop. They make love. They go to the cinema. They see their friends. Chaos has not yet taken a foothold.’
‘Not round here, anyway,’ said Eddie.
‘You think you know what chaos entails?’ said Pandora. ‘Trust me. You have no idea.’
Bitter Sixteen Page 31