by James Lawson
The Sailor and the hybrid laughed to each other. Max tried to not let it look like he was bothered.
“If you don’t believe me, we can wait until the Lisbon Hive figure out they’ve been led in the wrong direction. How long do you think it will take for them to sweep Alfama?”
She looked back to him. “I see why you’re here. You can’t expose this Hive rat by yourself, but you can expose him as a traitor to us and hope we take care of things. Yes?”
“That’s about the long and short of it.”
“But, of course, things could be more complex than they appear. This could be some kind of ruse, designed to withdraw us from the building to ensure our prompt arrest.”
“Here’s the way I see it,” Max said. “By pulling this pistol on you, I’ve sealed all of our fates, to some degree. You can leave this apartment and accept that your attempt on the election has failed. Obviously, I’d insist you leave the dossier. That leaves you to cut your ties with the Hive in whatever way you see fit. It also allows you to send some word to your people in Madrid to get the hell out of there.”
The Sailor cocked her head, listening.
“On the other hand,” Max said, “I could kill you both right now. The election sabotage would still fail, but whatever mad cause you believe in would suffer a devastating setback.”
“You’d kill an old woman?” she asked.
“It’d also leave Duncan Morrison in a position of power in the Hive.” Max pushed on, ignoring her question. “Which is a problem for me.”
“Of course, the other option is we overpower you, kill you, and proceed as planned,” the Sailor said.
Max nodded. “That’s one option. But it’s all a question of whether you think your hybrid can get at me before I pull this trigger.”
The hybrid’s eyes flared, and he grunted. Max knew there was nothing the hybrid wanted to do more than rip the head from his shoulders.
“Fine,” the Sailor said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t value my own life. We will leave, but as long as you understand one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I never forget a face.”
She stood and, with a deft flick of her wrist, tossed the dossier into the crackling orange flames. Max held the pistol tightly, feeling the sweat on his palms.
The Sailor said something in her language to the hybrid, and he took his eyes from Max and walked from the room, not looking back. The Sailor followed him slowly, smiling sweetly at Max.
“You know, I’ve been doing my best to foil the Crown’s grip on Europe for as long as I can remember,” the Sailor said. “Elections? Bah. Mark my words, whatever government is installed in Spain will answer to London. Europe will only see freedom when the Crown leaves.” She paused for a moment and smiled at Max. “Regardless… well played, young man. Well played.”
16
A piercing siren wailed in the distance, and Elizabeth ordered another drink from the grubby bar. She took it to the rickety table in the corner and drank slowly, eyes fixed on a random point on the wall in front of her. To her left was the bar’s door, a sliver of light peaking in through the bottom.
At any point, Captain Keilor and the entirety of the Lisbon Ministry of Detection could kick the door open, bag her up and ship her off to some god-forsaken prison. She’d be subjected to questioning in some dank, underground cell. Her family would be questioned too, most likely.
The Hive would come after her for what she had done.
The thought rolled around her head as she sat in silence, and she didn’t even notice when the door to the bar opened and in came Max Green. He was breathing heavy, and looked around, finally spotting Elizabeth in the corner.
“It’s done,” he said. “It’s finished. Let’s get out of here.”
The barman coughed loudly, already agitated that Max wasn’t buying a drink. But Max ignored him and went to Elizabeth.
“Come on. Let’s go. I’ve found us a way to get out of Portugal, but we need to go now.”
She turned to him, and in spite of the fearful thoughts echoing through her mind, she smiled. Maybe everything would be okay. With Duncan out of the picture, they might be able to explain the reasons for doing what they had done.
Max and Elizabeth left the bar, running quietly along the small alleyways. The sirens in the distance were much louder, and the low drone of wasps made windows rattle.
“Looks like Keilor is just about ready to search the entire city,” Max said over his shoulder. “The Hive will be out for blood.”
“And I suppose when they find me, I’ll never see the light of day again,” Elizabeth said, and Max immediately stopped. He turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“It’s not just you, Elizabeth. It’s both of us. We’re in this together. You’re not alone. We’ll get out of this.”
She tried to nod, but was blinking back tears.
“Remember this,” Max said. “Because of us, Spain is about to have its first democratic elections since the War of the Menace. If we had kept our heads down and just accepted the status quo, that would be over. We’ve done a good thing here, even if we’re at risk.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, wiping away a tear. “Tell me, Agent Green. How the hell are we going to get out of Portugal while the Hive is scrubbing it raw?”
“Look, it’s not exactly the Ritz,” Max began. “I managed to barter our way onto a boat heading for the Port of Casablanca in ten minutes. They’ll smuggle us there overnight in the cargo hold. When we’re on the other end we can find the Hive office down there and explain ourselves. Hopefully they won’t be as trigger-happy as the Portuguese Hive officers are right now.”
“And if they are?”
“Then we’ll have to be extra charming.”
She raised an eyebrow. “This cargo hold you mentioned…”
“Chickens,” he said. “Quite a lot of them, too.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “That should be pleasant. I suppose we better get a move on then, shouldn’t we?”
“One last thing,” he said. “Your name isn’t Elizabeth Fisher. No way in hell you’d use your real name on that train.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll make you a deal. You get us out of Portugal alive, and I’ll tell you my real name.”
Max smiled back. “Sounds fair.”
He took her hand, and a wasp droned a few hundred metres from them, probably swooping down on some unaware pedestrian. The sound of sirens and yelling voices rolled down the alleyway, and a frightened looking old woman appeared in a window above them, pointing and yelling “Polícia!”
A concerned-looking, strong young man came to her side to investigate, but the alleyway below was empty.
There had been strangers lurking in the streets below, she told her son – hybrids, most likely! But the son saw nothing, and turned away. The old woman scanned the alleyway frantically. For a brief moment, she saw two silhouettes as they dashed towards the port and the golden light of the setting sun.
Epilogue
Duncan struggled to keep his breathing normal as his car rolled through the dark, wet night. The day had been a frantic exercise in damage control. The Sailor hadn’t been picked up; instead, the triggers had kicked the doors down to a topless bar on the wrong side of town. All they had discovered were a load of screaming, half-naked women, and a couple of men who were desperate to make a quick exit.
Duncan had done what he could. He fed a report through the canary network about any hybrids he knew who didn’t know him. There were only half a dozen or so, but reports had come through that arrests had been made.
The only problem he could deal with today was Alejandro. He knew Duncan by face and name; if Alejandro were arrested it would be a disaster for Duncan. There was only one thing Duncan could do.
He glanced down at the tarnished revolver in the passenger seat. It would have to be quick, and if Duncan was lucky, he’d sever this connection once and for a
ll. Whether that meant he was away scot-free, he didn’t know. But it could at least give him some sort of a head start. That the triggers intercepted the Sailor’s man but didn’t find the Sailor herself… Duncan shook his head. There was no point thinking about that now. He’d do what he could.
He pulled over next to the docks by the Manzanares River. Alejandro had called in a mad panic an hour or so ago as his deputies had been picked up by the Hive. He didn’t sound as though he suspected Duncan, but Duncan was still on edge.
He pocketed the gun and stepped out of the car, breathing in the cold air. He looked around, up and down the river, but saw no sign of Alejandro or anything else. Had Alejandro made a run for it?
A shrill cry echoed through the night, and Duncan jumped. A public phone, about fifty metres from him, was ringing. Duncan watched it unsurely for a moment, checking over his shoulder to see if he was alone. Finding no one, he began to walk towards the phone.
He assumed the phone would cut out before he reached it, but it kept ringing. As he came closer, he noticed a small cardboard box at the foot of the phone. With one eye on the box, he answered the phone.
“Evening, Duncan,” came Alejandro’s voice, as dry as usual. “Sorry I couldn’t make the meeting.”
Duncan felt an anxious shudder go through his body. “Where the hell are you? We’ve got to get this problem sorted out as soon as possible.”
“And what problem is that?”
“The goddamn problem that someone has been squealing on your hybrids and getting them locked up!”
Alejandro sighed. “See the box at your feet? Check it.”
“What are you talking about?” Duncan asked, trying to keep fear from edging into his voice.
“Check the box, Duncan.”
Duncan kneeled down and opened the box. It was full of papers and photographs. He was bewildered for a moment, but then it dawned on him. It was a box of evidence of Duncan’s collusion with Alejandro.
“You piece of shit,” Duncan growled into the phone. “You think you can bring me down? I’ll burn down this city to find you!”
A laugh came down the phone. “Well, the Hive are on their way to you now. So if you survive long enough, you can tell them yourself. Me? I’ve had enough of Spain. I’m looking to go somewhere a little colder.”
The gunshot sounded like a pop in the distance, and for a moment Duncan Morrison felt removed from time. He was somewhere else, far away, somewhere warm, where he had never met Alejandro.
The bullet slammed into Duncan’s chest, spraying the phone with his blood. He slumped to the ground, dazed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the box of evidence flecked with his blood.
If only he could reach it… if only he could throw it in the river…
As the blood pooled around him, he felt himself slipping, and after some time – seconds or hours, he didn’t know –footsteps ran towards him, and a torch shined down on him from above.
“Captain Morrison? Captain Morrison is that you?”
The voice wafted down from above like slowly settling silt. Remaining conscious didn’t seem so important anymore.
Duncan closed his eyes and slid into blackness.
Afterword
What you just read was an introduction into the world of the Ministry of Detection. A world of mystery, action, and aliens hiding in plain sight.
* * *
Fox In The Hen House is meant as just a little taster. To check out Project Cocoon, the first novel in the The Ministry of Detection series, head to www.jameslawsonauthor.com today.
Also by James Lawson
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About the Author
James Lawson is an Australian author and freelance copywriter. He lives in Fremantle, and has also lived in Melbourne and London.
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