The Man From U.N.D.E.A.D. - the Curious Case of the Kidnapped Chemist

by Darren Humphries

  “What is that thing?” Miranda asked, fixing her makeshift bandage into place and sparing a few, fearful glances towards the water tank.

  “Big snake,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “I work in a library,” she reminded me, tightening the bandage a touch too much, causing me to flinch. “I know that snakes don’t grow that big naturally, not even anacondas or reticulated pythons, neither of which is venomous, by the way.”

  “All right,” I wasn’t about to argue with a woman who knew more about big snakes than I did. “The Curator, who was a member of what he called the Children of Osiris, called it Apep.”

  “Apep?”

  “A snake demon that thrived on chaos and darkness.”

  “An Egyptian God?” she gasped.

  “Well, lower pantheon maybe,” I corrected her and imagined I heard a hiss of dissent from the pool.

  “So they really can raise the Egyptian Gods?”

  “It would seem so.”

  With a tired hand, I checked my pocket and was surprised to find that my phone was still there. I was even more surprised when it switched on immediately despite being dunked into water once again for an extended period of time.

  I wasn’t surprised when the enquiries operator answered immediately, “Agent Ward. You would be wishing to declare Splashdown perhaps?”

  Agency Headquarters, Oxford

  Because there are always strings of important visitors from just about every sphere of life streaming into and out of the place, the Director’s Office is, bizarrely, one of the least secure sections of the Agency Headquarters building. You can’t get up there without the express permission of the man himself, true, and you have to pass through all of the scans at the main entrance, of course, but the more invasive techniques that are employed to keep the Hatcheries, for example, free from undesirable elements make airline security procedures look like preparations for afternoon nap time. Most of those can’t be applied to living people without signed waivers following extensive medical examinations. A good few of them actually include extensive medical examinations anyway. And since many of the visitors to the Director’s office are, by their very nature, undesirable a lower level of security has to be implemented.

  Since Miranda had left the building through the Agency’s private teleportation conduit and returned the same way, the security access that Escobar had created for her was still in force as she had not physically left the building (having technically left it ‘energetically’). This was a serious flaw in the security system since all guest security privileges are normally automatically rescinded once the guest has left the premises and a flaw that I would need to take up with Mettles and his team at some point, but I currently had other things on my mind that were slightly more important.

  Once Miranda coalesced inside the teleportation tube, I gave her a moment to regain her balance (for some reason the fluid in the inner ear always returns to its physical state slightly displaced and therefore puts the inexperienced or occasional traveller off-balance for a second whilst it flows to where it should be) and then virtually frog-marched her to the lifts. The Splashdown team that had attended the Abu Simbel site, nattily turned out in matching fezzes, had thoughtfully brought a change of clothing so I didn’t leave a trail of water across the shining tiled floor as we walked, but the outfit wasn’t quite the right size and chafed in couple of places where I preferred that no chafing take place.

  The team had asked a number of questions in a manner that was far too knowingly-smirky for my liking and had then brought in a generator to pass enough electricity through the water in Apep’s pool to take down a blue whale in a bad mood. All it did was turn a pissed off snake demon into a really pissed off snake demon.

  “You’re going to need a bigger bolt,” I said in smug (and rather childish) satisfaction.

  Leaving the clean up team to figure out how to mollify and then transport the deadly creature, Miranda and I returned to the Abu Simbel teleportation station and took a priority conduit back to Oxford.

  The lift accepted our request immediately and smoothly rose up through the building, locking out requests for people to access it from any other floor. The Director was considered a priority above all others, at least by the Director.

  The doors opened onto the Grayson’s office and Miranda gasped at the view through the windows as we stepped out of the lift into the office. I gave her a moment to drink it all in before setting off towards Grayson, who rose out of his seat and came around the desk to meet us as we approached.

  “Ward, I thought that must be you using the loading bay as your own personal helicopter drop off point earlier,” Grayson said, not even bothering with the pleasantries that Escobar had found so vital. Then again, I wasn’t as attractive as Miranda, even if I was as unattached.

  “Just following orders from a section head like a good little agent,” I shot back, but this wasn’t the time to get into our little feud. “In this case the Cryptography section head.”

  “Miss Harcourt,” Grayson greeted Miranda with a friendly handshake and a warm smile, which was certainly more than I ever got. “I have been hoping that we would have a chance to meet for some time now. I trust that Agent Ward has been treating you well?”

  I don’t believe that he ‘trusted’ anything about me at all.

  “I can honestly say that I have never had a time quite like it,” she told him, her smile as wide as his own and a whole lot more sincere.

  “I am not sure that answers my question,” the Director said directly, “but I will accept it for now. Should you have any complaint then I would like you to come straight to me with it.”

  Yes, I bet he would.

  “I have no complaints, but now that I have met you I certainly do know where to come should any arise,” Miranda removed her hand from his with a little effort and then distracted him by looking out of the window again, “The view that you have here is absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you. It is impressive, I agree, though I find myself with less and less time to actually enjoy it.” To me he added, “And I believe that you have something to add to that workload?”

  “I do,” I handed over the buff folder containing the translated message from Miranda’s brother that Escobar had prepared for us.

  He scanned it and then read it more carefully and then read it carefully for a second time before looking at me questioningly. I confirmed that it was genuine with a small nod.

  “Miranda has already read it,” I told him in answer to his glance in her direction. In order to forestall the inevitable chastisement, I added, “And yes I know that she doesn’t have the necessary clearance for it, but she is as tangled up in this as we are and has risked her life for it as well.”

  “All right,” Grayson acceded without argument, giving me even more reason to be irritated with him. If I was going to hate the man then he needed to stop being so reasonable. It just made my job harder. “Let’s sit a minute.”

  “Sit?” I wasn’t sure that he grasped the importance of the message.

  “A moment’s thought can avoid a lot of wasted time and effort when action is taken,” he pointed out and indicated that we should sit down in the chairs in front of his desk. He took his own seat as soon as Miranda sat down. “That’s something you learn when you come to this side of the desk. This,” he placed on hand on the buff folder, “would appear to be instructions for some sort of ceremony.”

  “Not just some sort of ceremony,” I pointed out with what I hoped was the appropriate amount of forcefulness without appearing panicky. “A ceremony to raise the dead gods of Ancient Egypt.”

  “So it would appear,” he allowed calmly. “Take me through the background.”

  “Do what?” I was astonished. “There’s some nutters out there who want to bring back the animal headed gods of old and you want to discuss the background?”

  “If we are going to come up with a credible threat assessment then we need to look at this thing
from all the angles,” he said patiently, which I took as carte blanche to go off the deep end.

  “Credible threat assessment? How about you go share some quality time in a tank with a reincarnated Egyptian snake demon and write your credible threat assessment there?”

  “Do you know who these people are?” Grayson snapped, though more to get my attention than in any display of real anger.

  “They call themselves the Children of Osiris,” I started to say, but he interrupted.

  “But do you know who they are? What are their names?”

  “No,” I admitted, “I don’t know that.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know when they are going to carry out this ceremony?”

  “No.”

  “Then since I don’t know exactly where to order the air strike targeted or at what time of day, or even on what day of the week, would you please tell me what you do know, concisely and in some sort of order, so that we can properly assess the threat and our response to it,” he said firmly.

  I reined in my temper, which had only been increased by the fact that he was right. I hated that. I liked to take action, which sometimes meant that I rushed in without a second thought where angels would fear to tread even with a written assurance from the Almighty himself that the footing was perfectly safe. “All right. What we do know is that this group call themselves the Children of Osiris. We know that they are very well connected, very powerful and have extensive resources. They were able to smuggle a Siren out of the reservations and into the country without detection at either end. They apparently have the ability to either resurrect an extinct species or to keep an entire colony of sphinxes hidden for millennia without being discovered. They are capable of carrying out professional hits in order to cover their tracks and whatever they are actually up to they feel it is important enough to them to carry out professional hits to cover their tracks. They are serious and they are deadly. Kidnapping and murder are just tools to them and human life is of a somewhat secondary importance.”

  “According to the late Professor Houseman, they are probably some sort of descendant organisation of the original spy network founded by the Egyptian Pharaohs, the original secret service and masters of their craft,” I continued. “These instructions were protected by three levels of codework that even our cryptography section couldn’t break on their own plus one dead secret language and these Children of Osiris seem willing to do whatever it takes to keep the secret, including killing Professor Houseman, Cynthia Traske and Doctor Helliman. Their aim, listed right there,” I pointed to the buff folder on the desk, “is to somehow reincarnate the Gods of Ancient Egypt and they appear to have the capacity to do so if you consider the very large and very irritated snake demon currently residing in Abu Simbel’s Centre For Antiquity.”

  Grayson mulled all this over with frustrating consideration before finally asking, “And what would you propose?”

  I wasn’t expecting that. I was a field agent and therefore my idea of thinking strategically was how do I get out of here if this thing goes horribly wrong?.

  “We have no idea who these people are nor how to find them before they carry out this threat, as you pointed out. We don’t know when they’re going to do it, but it has to be soon. Assuming Apep was a test, then it was a successful one and, knowing how much closer we are getting to them all the time, they are sure to step up their schedule. I don’t believe that we will be able to track them down in the time that is available to us any longer. I think this one has gone beyond us. I think we need the Circle’s help.”

  “The Magic Circle?” Miranda asked in surprise.

  “My aunt’s knitting circle wouldn’t be a lot of use to us right now,” I pointed out to her.

  “The Magic Circle does not get involved in the daily affairs of the rest of us,” Grayson pointed out. “You know this. They referred the matter to us in the first place.”

  “They did?” Miranda asked, surprise becoming something of a standard response for her.

  “That’s as maybe,” I agreed, “but since they are the ones that got us involved in the first place and since they are the ones with the power to sort all this out, you can’t tell me that they are so far up their own magical…”

  “You might want to be careful how you phrase that,” the Director warned.

  “This goes a bit beyond ‘normal daily affairs’. I mean if these gods do get themselves reincarnated then the Circle is going to be the best defence against them,” I was going to say ‘only defence’, but considered that nobody had actually ever tested the effectiveness of a nuclear warhead against a fully-fledged god before, “and I’m fairly sure that they would rather prevent this ceremony going ahead than take on a bunch of your actual god types in a one-on-one personal combat smackdown.”

  Grayson listened to this impassively whilst Miranda glowered at the crack I had made about my aunt’s knitting circle.

  “There has to be some way of contacting them for matters of real emergency,” I suggested urgently, “ and this is about as real as emergencies get.”

  Grayson looked at me long and hard in thought. At one point I thought that his eyes were going to bore a couple of holes right through my head to allow my liquefied brains to leak out. Finally, he sighed and admitted, “All right, there is a process for engaging with the Circle. It’s restricted to only a few people for obvious reasons.”

  He hit a key on his keypad and the screen of his computer lit up.

  “What are you doing?” Miranda asked in wonder.

  “Sending them an email,” Grayson replied as he typed.

  “The Magic Circle has an email address?” I shared Miranda’s wonder. It seemed altogether too mundane a way to contact the foremost occult powers in the world.

  “Everyone has an email address,” he informed us, “it’s just a matter of knowing what it is.”

  “bookings@Bobotheclown.mag?” I read off his screen. “Classy.”

  “It keeps away timewasters,” he explained. “This particular Bobo the Clown only takes bookings within a fifteen mile radius of a non-existent town. Normally, the Circle doesn’t meet without six months’ pre-planning and in only the most secure locations. Since there isn’t any time for planning then this building is most secure location I can think of. Don’t you agree?”

  I could certainly not think of any reason not to. He finished the short message and no sooner had he hit the send key than the computer pinged with a message notification.

  We are coming.

  “Now that’s what I call customer service,” I commented dryly.

  “I have some arrangements to make,” the Director said.

  “There’s something else that we need to discuss first,” I stopped him.

  “I don’t think it can be as important as this,” he suggested, starting to get out of his seat.

  “There’s a traitor inside the Agency working for the Children of Osiris,” I said flatly and he stopped absolutely still, mid rise.

  “That’s impossible,” he denied, sitting back down. “The security checks we run on all our people would make a proctologist wince. There’s no way a traitor could get past those without us sniffing them out.”

  “I might have agreed with you only a few days ago, but the evidence, whilst circumstantial, is now also unarguable. There is a traitor on the inside.” I could see that he wasn’t going to take me at my word, so I laid out for him all of the thoughts that had assailed me on the helicopter ride back from the sphinx attack in London. “I have been blocked at every turn in this investigation, blocked from within the Agency. Firstly, the file that I was given to work with was unforgivably thin.”

  “We never get all the facts,” he replied with a snort.

  “No,” I agreed, “but we usually get the basics and some of the basics were missing in this case. Police contact records for example, profiles and background checks. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but in
light of other things that have happened I believe that it was part of a concerted campaign to stop us finding out about the Children of Osiris.”

  “What other things?” was the inevitable, and perfectly reasonable, question.

  “This,” I said, taking over his computer keypad and bringing up a video file.

  “That’s Professor Houseman’s office!” Miranda recognised the location as soon as the video clip started to play despite the fact that the image was grainy and fuzzy.

  “This is footage taken from a CCTV camera at the British Museum. It overlooks the whole the emergency exit route from the research wing, which means that it also takes in the Professor’s office window. This view has been enhanced.”

  As we watched, the professor came into view pottering around her office. It was eerie seeing her this way, the footage having been captured only a short time before her death and being viewed only hours afterwards. She took something off the top of her desk and left the office. Even as she was doing so, another figure appeared in the footage. Swathed from head to foot in black and looking for all the world like one of the ninjas that you see all the time in the movies, it dropped into view from ground level down the full height of the retaining wall and landed easily on the window ledge of the Professor’s office. Seconds later the window was open, the figure inside and the window closed again.

  “The museum’s security system was upgraded only a year ago,” I informed the rest of the audience, “yet whoever that is got inside there in seconds.”

  Inside the office, the figure took off a container that had been strapped to its back and carefully selected one of the drawers. The contents of the container were quickly emptied into the drawer, which was then slammed shut before anything could escape.