by Chanel Smith
“I’d like to see the train line on a commuter’s map if possible,” Ellen said to the man across the desk.
“Oh, certainly,” he responded, pushing his chair back a little from the desk and pulling out a blueprint drawer from just below the desk’s top. He removed a full color rendition of the various stations across London and the connecting rails. Mr. Black placed the map on the desk and turned it to face his two guests. “The line runs between Vauxhall Station… right here; and right along here the very next stop is Stockwell.”
Ellen shivered involuntarily as she looked at the tiny piece of rail that was being discussed.
“Is something wrong?” I asked instinctively.
“It’s nothing, dear.” That was her code for ‘I’ll tell you later.’ “Can you tell me about anything that might be happening near the area that could have caused a disturbance?” Ellen asked.
“Disturbance to what? What sort of thing are you talking about?”
“Excavations, major renovations, which may have entailed demolitions and such?” she replied.
“We are adding a new line that crosses under the existing one between Vauxhall and Stockwell. Is that the sort of thing that you mean?”
“Have they dug up anything odd? I mean, like, archeological artifacts or anything like that?” Ellen asked.
“The contractors haven’t reported anything to me. There is a great deal of interest and some controversy surrounding the excavation that is going on, mostly from archeological societies and whatnot. There would certainly be a big to do if anything was discovered. They would probably shut down the entire operation if a pinky finger was found.”
“They have a way of swaying public opinion and hanging up progress, don’t they?” There I was again, going crosswise to the green, environmental thing. I simply couldn’t avoid the comment. It did seem like someone was always standing by to throw the kibbutz into new construction projects or any type of progress to protect either something that was long since dead and gone or some fuzzy little tree owl that was on the endangered list. I received a look for my comment and wondered why I hadn’t already learned to keep my mouth shut.
“Mr. Black,” she quickly jumped back into the conversation. “Have you seen or heard anything or did the investigators see or hear anything? Has there been any paranormal activity in the new tunnel?”
“I haven’t personally seen anything and neither have the investigators. Why?”
“I was just hoping you might be able to give me a firsthand account,” she replied.
“Would it be helpful if you had all of the firsthand accounts? I can have my administrative assistant make copies of the claims and complaints and provide those to you.”
“That would be helpful, thank you.” She tapped her lips with a long, sexy finger several times as the wheels were spinning in her head. It wasn’t exactly a convenient time to have amorous thoughts about my wife, but whenever she did that, I could barely contain myself.
Harold Black pressed the intercom button on his phone. For some reason, I hoped that he would ask for Miss Moneypenny. Apparently, not all of my silliness had left me. “Penelope? Could you make copies of the, um, uh, ghost files and bring them to me?” He was embarrassed that they actually had ghost files.
“Mr. Black, would it be possible for us to ride the train between the two stations in question; just to see what turns up?” Ellen asked. The question drew me back to business.
“Of course,” he said. “Actually, I have asked the TFL to provide badges for the two of you. It will allow you access to the facilities necessary; actually any place that you want to go on the Tube. We’ll need to snap a photo of each of you. Penelope will handle that before you leave.”
“What about access into the new tunnel?” Ellen asked.
“I can arrange that. Do you think it is connected to our problem?”
I was on to where she was headed. “How long after the contractors started excavating the new tunnel, did the problems begin to take place?” I asked.
“Two or three weeks maybe.” The expression on his face showed sudden recognition. “About the time they crossed under or came very near to the Vauxhall-Stockwell line. I will arrange access to the new tunnel for you immediately. In fact, I’ll arrange a meeting with the project manager… say tomorrow morning, ten-ish?”
“That would be lovely,” Ellen replied.
I threw her one of her own ‘behave’ glances and received a ‘what?’ look in return. Then she winked at me and smiled. So, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling a bit randy. Ditching the meeting and the whole ghost thing in order to go back to the hotel would have been just dandy with me.
“Penelope, please phone Mr. Hayford and patch it through to my office, if you don’t mind,” he said into the intercom, then leaned back in his chair, had a sudden thought and pushed the button again. “Also, we need to upgrade those security badges to green, giving our new consultants the same authority as my own. Temporarily, of course,” he said as he leaned back into his chair and awaited the call. It was only a moment.
“I have Mr. Hayford on the line.” Penelope’s voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Hayford. How are things going on the project this afternoon?” There was a pause while he listened to whatever the project manager was telling him. “Mr. Hayford, I hate to interrupt; we can talk about this in a little while. What I need to know is if you can meet with our…”
“Investigators,” Ellen quickly provided the word. Saying ghost hunters often made people uncomfortable.
“… investigators concerning the issues along the Vauxhall to Stockwell line. Listen, I was hoping to arrange a time when you could meet with them. Say tomorrow around ten?” He listened again and his expression changed. “Well, yes, those might be connected.” Another pause. “I’m afraid those are questions that you’ll have to ask them. Okay, so tomorrow at ten. Very well, and I will call you back about those other matters in about ten to fifteen minutes.”
He set the phone back into its cradle and glanced from me to Ellen. “It seems that I misspoke before when I said that nothing had happened in the excavation tunnel. There seem to have been some things occurring down there as well, but they had gone unreported until the recent hubbub stirred things up. I’m afraid that I don’t know which stories to believe any more.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Ellen reassured him.
“That’s right, we’ll find an explanation for you,” I added.
“Mr. Jackson Hayford will be meeting with you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I will send Rochester to get you at a quarter of 10. I do appreciate your time and your expertise. You’ve come highly recommended and I can already tell that you take a professional approach to the matter.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ellen smiled.
“Penelope should have those copies for you and she’ll snap the photos and get the badges prepared as well. I hope that you have an opportunity to take in some of the sites while you’re here. Also, anything you need, just let Rochester know and he will secure it for you or find someone who will.”
“There is one thing,” I spoke up, suddenly remembering that our equipment was with our luggage. “Our luggage was hung up at the airport and all of our equipment is in it.” It was worth a shot; if he was in charge of transportation, perhaps he would be able to pull some strings and get our luggage to us.
“Yes, of course. I’ll look into that for you posthaste.”
He said the word with such aplomb that I was hoping I would have an opportunity to make use of it myself: posthaste. “That would be very helpful; thank you, sir.”
“It was indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mister Black,” Ellen said, extending her hand gracefully.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, moving from her hand to my own. “Penelope,” he called out. The sharp-looking redhead appeared in his doorway within seconds. “Please take very good care of our guests if you don’t mind.”
“It will be a pleasure. Co
me along.”
I felt like a schoolboy being escorted to his next class. In only a few moments, posthaste, we were outfitted with our badges and a file folder with what looked like several dozen sheets of ghost stories for our light, bedtime reading. When we left the building which housed the TFL offices, Rochester was standing by, ready to return us to the hotel…posthaste.
Chapter Three
“Whatever you want to do, love,” I said. I had been hoping to return to the hotel for some of the activities that had been on my mind while sitting in Mr. Black’s office, but Ellen was ready to get to work; or at least do some exploring.
“I just think we should take a quick trip on the train to see what happens, if anything at all; don’t you?” The way she looked at me made it impossible to say no. She did that often and I had never complained about it much. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Getting laid was on my mind,” I whispered in her ear.
“Stop it,” she slapped my shoulder playfully. “Hold your horses, would you? Let’s just take a ride from Vauxhall to Stockwell and back, okay?”
“Probably a waste of time, but if you insist, dear.”
“Rochester? Would it be too much trouble to have you take us to the Vauxhall Station?”
“No trouble at all, ma’am. It is right on our way to the hotel.”
“Thank you, we appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He responded to her and then looked in the mirror at me, as though I had gotten the answer wrong and at any moment he would chastise me.
You, sir, are a disgrace to this institution and to the rule of law as a whole. It would be better if you were taken out into the desert, buried in an anthill and fed live scorpions until you die. I was getting pretty good at the John Houseman voice, at least in my own mind.
We pulled up in front of Vauxhall station and opened the car door, not yet used to the driver doing that for us. We were already out of the car when Rochester arrived on our side of the car. He seemed confused for a moment. Evidently, those he regularly drove for always waited for him to open the door. We ‘Yanks’ weren’t used to that sort of treatment.
“Would you like for me to pick you up at Stockwell or wait for you here?” he asked.
“How far is it to our hotel?” Ellen asked.
“It’s not far; just follow the Riverside Walkway.” He indicated the direction with a wave of his hand. “I would be more than happy to wait for you.”
“That’s quite alright,” she replied. “I don’t believe that we will have further need of a car this evening.”
“Very well,” he said. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a calling card and handed it to her. Rochester Nathaniel Ellington and his number was all that it said on a plain, white card.
“Thank you very much,” Ellen replied. “In the morning, then?”
“Yes, in the morning.” Rochester walked around the car, got in and drove away, leaving us to our own devices.
“Very well, love, shall we proceed? Posthaste?” I said, extending my elbow and pushing my nose into the air.
“Posthaste?”
“But of course.”
She gave me another one of those looks. I’m not entirely certain what my problem was. Something about being in London not far from the palace, and, I’d noticed earlier, the MI6 building. I could actually see it across the interchange of streets from Vauxhall station. I was trying to be professional, but there were just too many things stirring up my imagination. Not to mention the fact that I was looking forward to flashing my new badge.
Flashing the badge and going through the turnstile was actually very disappointing. The attendant simply waved us on with a bored expression on his face, like it was an everyday occurrence to have dignitaries such as ourselves riding the Tube.
We hopped on the train and rode it to Stockwell. We got off, used the stairway to cross over to the other side and waited for the train bound for Vauxhall Station, all without incident. I was beginning to wonder if we were going to spend most of our time in London riding the Tube back and forth between the two damn stations.
“So, that was certainly intriguing,” I said as we stood waiting on the platform.
“It’s not like we can make a call and set an appointment to see them,” she replied dryly.
I had started to feel guilty about my silliness and decided that I probably ought to explain myself and apologize. I knew that I needed to be more professional and that she was counting on me.
“Babe, I’m sorry for acting so silly,” I began. “I mean, I’m in London and there are so many things that I love that I can connect to here. I’m just really excited.”
“I understand,” she replied. “It isn’t all bad, I guess. We went through a lot in Belgium. You deserve to cut loose a little bit.”
“I knew you’d understand.” I pulled her to me for a hug. “I promise that I will be totally professional while we’re working.”
“We’re working now.” She grinned.
“Very well, then.” I faked a serious expression and pushed my nose into the air.
“You’re an idiot,” she laughed.
We stood arm in arm, waiting for the train and I was working on becoming serious. I decided to talk about business to show her that I really wasn’t a total dork. “How are we going to make any progress without our equipment?”
“I hope that problem is already being taken care of. After all, I would like to have some clean undies for tomorrow.”
I hadn’t thought about clean undies and socks. I hated to wear stale socks. I always put one change of clothing into my carry-on bag for such emergencies, but the clothing was typically something pretty casual, just to get me through. “You have your emergency clothes from your carry-on, right?”
I didn’t receive an answer, because the train was arriving and people were streaming off. We stepped on and took hold of the handles overhead. There wasn’t much sense looking for a seat since we’d be getting off at the next stop.
The doors closed and we were on our way. I started to repeat my question as the train rolled forward. “You have your emergency clothes in your…”
The door beside us suddenly flew open and the train lurched to a stop. It felt cold… like winter cold. It was as cold as any crypt could have been. Far below the temperature it ought to feel like underground.
“Do you feel that?” Ellen whispered.
“Yes. What is it?”
“It’s a spirit. He’s powerful, but it is a sense of physical strength and confidence. He seems to be searching for something or someone.”
Suddenly one of the other passengers became rigid and screamed. “Nos omnes convincat!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he returned to normal, looking around at the others to see if they had heard him.
All eyes turned toward him for a moment and then looked away as the doors closed and the train started rolling again. Everyone’s eyes turned away, ignoring the brief disturbance.
“Did you catch that?” Ellen asked.
“I did. It was Latin, I think.” We’d dealt with Latin speaking ghosts before. Though I had no idea what it meant, I knew it was Latin. “Nos omnes convincat. I have no idea what that means.”
“I don’t either,” she replied. “There was certainly a strong presence. Did you feel it?”
“I felt the cold, but there are way too many people crowded around me to feel anything particularly ghostly.”
Other people near us were looking at us with odd expressions. I motioned buttoning my lips and glanced from side to side. A crowded train wasn’t any place to be discussing ghosts, spirits and paranormal activities. The stories probably weren’t a secret, but to be discussing it openly was the best way that I knew of for us to be labeled as insane Yanks.
Nothing more took place as the train pulled into Vauxhall Station, the doors opened and we stepped out. We followed the mass of people toward
the exit and soon found ourselves back where we had been not more than ten minutes before; minus Rochester and the Rolls-Royce, of course.
Following the walkway toward the river, we stopped at the bank of the Thames and looked in both directions to decide which way we should go. With Westminster Palace and Big Ben to our right, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. The view of them that we’d had earlier from the floating pub had been much closer, so we headed toward them.
We had walked silently while Ellen was scanning over some of the pages inside the “ghost file.” With the view and the river, I was content to take things in and not worry over a Latin ghost. I’d taken several steps alone before I realized that Ellen was no longer keeping pace with me. Turning back, I saw her standing still, staring intently at one of the pages she had pulled out of the file folder. Other people were stepping around her, looking at her with an irritated expression as they passed.
“Ellen, honey, you can’t just stop in the middle of the sidewalk like that.”
She ignored me, continuing to read. I stepped toward her, took hold of her elbow and gently guided her off of the path so that others could walk around her. I saw it as a common courtesy. It annoyed me to no end to be walking in a crowd and have some idiot stop in front of me and start fiddling with their iPhone.
“Check this out. This has happened before. Almost exactly the same way that we just witnessed it. Only he possessed a little girl. The person who made the claim said that it sounded like gibberish. ‘Nose nommy conny cat,’ or at least that is how the person taking the report wrote it. That’s pretty close to what you heard, right?”
“Yeah, pretty close.”
“Come on,” she said, putting the paper back in the file folder and snapping it shut. She became a woman with a mission and I had to kick into my full stride to catch up with her.
“What’s your hurry?” I asked as I caught up to her.
“I want to get back to the hotel so I can look this up on the Internet.”