‘By stealing from the most dangerous and vindictive man in the world?’ said Annie.
‘Exactly!’ I said. ‘How can you not want to be a part of that?’
‘All right,’ said Annie. ‘I know you’re just dying to tell me. How did you end up as Gideon Sable?’
‘You know how it is,’ I said. ‘One thing leads to another, and occasionally to something entirely unexpected. Like the location of Gideon Sable’s safe deposit box. It took me a while to work up the courage to go after it. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t a trap. But in the end, it couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Like it was meant to be. Like fate had chosen me to be Gideon’s successor.’
Annie rolled her eyes. ‘Come on … When have you ever believed in fate?’
‘I believe in making my own luck,’ I said. ‘When I opened that safe deposit box, I found the secret to Gideon’s success. A skeleton key that can open any lock. And this.’ I took out my pen and held it up before her. She looked at it politely.
‘It’s a ballpoint pen, Gideon. They’ve been around for ages. You must have noticed.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It only looks like a pen.’
‘All right,’ said Annie. ‘What does it do?’
I grinned. ‘You’ve already seen what it can do. Danny Page never saw me coming.’
She studied the pen with new interest. ‘It can make you invisible?’
‘Better than that,’ I said. ‘It can stop Time. For a few seconds. Long enough for me to do all kinds of useful and interesting things.’
‘Why just a few seconds?’
‘Because there’s no air to breathe,’ I said. ‘So I can only stop Time for as long as I can hold my breath. And … there was a note that came with the pen that said, “Don’t use it too often. They’ll notice.”’
‘Who are “they”?’ said Annie.
‘No idea,’ I said. ‘That’s what makes it so worrying.’
Annie started to reach for the pen, but I put it away. I wasn’t ready to trust her that much.
‘How does it work?’ said Annie.
‘No idea.’
‘Haven’t you tried taking it apart to find out?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Some of us remember the goose that laid golden eggs.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Annie. ‘But why would Gideon Sable leave his most powerful tools in a safe deposit box?’
‘Either they were duplicates or he had good reason to believe he might not be coming back from his last job. And, of course, he didn’t.’
Annie nodded. ‘Was there anything else in the box?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said. Smiling again, because I just couldn’t help it. ‘Something that makes this whole heist possible.’
Annie leaned forward for the first time, interested in spite of herself. ‘What? What did you find?’
I sat back in my chair. I had her.
‘A book. Containing all the information we need to get past all of Hammer’s defences and protections, and inside his private vault. Which, by all accounts, contains the largest collection of weird and unique items ever gathered together in one place. Things so rare you can’t buy them for any amount of money; you have to pry them from the cold, dead hands of their previous owners.’
‘That’s not possible!’ said Annie. ‘Hammer had that vault specially designed to keep out people like us! How can any book—’
I raised a hand to stop her. ‘No more details, Annie. Not till we’re alone.’
She frowned. ‘No one’s listening. Harry guarantees our privacy.’
‘But what about Harry?’
‘You don’t trust him?’
‘He’s a demon from Hell!’
‘Possibly,’ said Annie. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.’
‘This is too big a deal to risk,’ I said. ‘You can hear the details after I’ve assembled the rest of the crew.’
‘You’re asking me to trust you?’ said Annie.
‘You don’t have to trust me. Trust the job.’
She looked at me for a long moment. ‘You really think we can rob Fredric Hammer and get away with it?’
‘If we do this right,’ I said. ‘With the right crew.’
‘We never needed a crew before.’
‘We never went after anything this big before.’
‘I liked it when it was just us against the world,’ Annie said quietly. ‘We were going to be modern-day Robin Hoods, sticking it to the bad guys. Those were good days …’
‘This heist isn’t just about the money,’ I said. ‘It’s our chance to be the kind of people we always wanted to be.’
‘I would like to be able to trust you again,’ said Annie. ‘Who else do you want for this crew?’
‘The Damned,’ I said.
Annie almost jumped out of her chair. ‘Are you crazy? He’s a complete bloody psychopath! He kills people! People like us!’
‘He’d much rather kill Hammer,’ I said, keeping my voice calm and collected because one of us had to. ‘The Damned will work with us, just for a chance at Hammer.’
‘What do you need the Damned for?’ said Annie, scowling hard to make it clear that while she might be curious, she wasn’t even a little bit convinced.
‘Muscle,’ I said. ‘Hammer has his own private army of extremely well-armed guards.’
Annie nodded slowly, conceding the point, but she was still frowning. ‘Who else?’
‘The Ghost,’ I said.
‘Yes, that makes sense.’
‘And one other person,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘We’re going to need the Wild Card.’
Annie honestly couldn’t speak for a moment, and then she let me have it, full blast.
‘Johnny Wilde? Are you kidding me? He’s crazy! I mean, really crazy! And scary with it. You never know what he’ll do.’
‘That’s the point,’ I said. ‘With him on our side, no one will be able to predict what we’re going to do.’
‘You can’t trust him,’ Annie said flatly. ‘That man is a danger to himself and everyone around him.’
‘My plan depends on having him with us,’ I said. ‘Doing what he does best.’
‘Like what? Confuse people to death?’
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, Annie. If he should start getting out of hand, the Damned will be there to shut him down.’
Annie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘All right. Just … keep Wilde away from me.’
‘No problem,’ I said. ‘Where are you living these days, Annie? I tried all your old haunts, and no one had heard of you in ages.’
‘I’m someone else now,’ she said. ‘Someone Fredric Hammer doesn’t know exists. Don’t screw up my life again, Gideon. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Your life is safe with me,’ I said.
‘I wish I could believe that.’
She gave me her new address. It was in a particularly shabby part of town, but I didn’t comment.
‘We’ll all get together at your place, seven o’clock tonight,’ I said. ‘I will then explain the details of my amazing plan to everyone, and bask in your admiration.’
‘Why does it have to be my place?’ said Annie.
‘Because you’re so far off the radar. No one will think to look for us there. Anyway, my place is a mess.’
She smiled briefly. ‘It always was.’
‘What can I do?’ I said. ‘I live there.’
‘What if one of them turns you down?’ said Annie.
I gave her my best confident smile. ‘They won’t. They all have good reason to want revenge on Fredric Hammer.’
‘Aren’t you worried I might sell you out to him? He’d be bound to pay good money for information like this.’
‘You have more reason to hate him than any of us,’ I said. ‘He screwed up my life, but he ruined yours. When he told everyone your real name.’
She suddenly looked older and very tired. ‘So … you did know.’
‘I d
id everything I could to protect you,’ I said.
‘We should never have gone after that damned Masque,’ she said bitterly. ‘I told you it was out of our league!’
‘You didn’t tell me you surrendered your real name to get close to the Masque’s owner,’ I said.
‘It was the only way. When Hammer got to the Masque of Ra first, he acquired my real name as well. And then he told everyone – just because he could.’
‘This is your chance,’ I said steadily, ‘to make Hammer pay for everything he took from you.’
‘So this isn’t just a job,’ said Annie. ‘It’s revenge.’
I grinned. ‘Is there anything better than mixing business with pleasure?’
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ said Annie.
TWO
Going Underground
All the Way Down
London is a city of levels. Commerce above and transport below, and darker things further down.
Victoria is one of the oldest Tube stations in London and holds many secrets close to its chest. The escalators took me as far down as they could, with early-morning commuters packed in around me, bleary-eyed and scowling at the prospect of the day ahead. I left them behind as I descended past the regions they knew to arrive at a side door most people can’t see. Unless they pay the annual subscription. I carefully pronounced a few words in a language no one speaks any more, and the door swung back, revealing nothing but darkness. I already had my torch ready, and its beam pushed back the gloom as I made my way down the dusty stone steps.
Not many people come this way. Because they’ve got more sense.
The steps ended at a jagged hole in the wall, halfway along an abandoned railway tunnel. I didn’t like to think too much about what might have made the hole. I stepped carefully through, and my torch’s narrow beam revealed just enough of the curving walls and roof to add to the claustrophobia of being alone, in a tunnel, deep underground. The air was stale, and the quiet had a weight and a presence all its own. I took out my new compass, and the pointing needle reassured me I was headed in the right direction. I put it away and set off down the tunnel.
Almost immediately, I heard soft furtive sounds, from somewhere off in the dark. I told myself it was just rats and wished I could believe that. I had enough to be scared about, heading into the depths of the underworld to meet with the Damned, because the Damned is seriously scary. When he isn’t out killing people he thinks need killing, or doing terrible things for the greater good, the Damned makes his home in a disused Underground station. Because he knows he doesn’t belong in the light any more.
There are forty-three Underground stations no longer in use. Replaced by more modern lines or sold off to some of the more secret organizations. People travelling London’s thoroughfares would be surprised by some of the things that need to be transported deep underneath the city, for reasons of safety and security. But a few Tube stations were shut down simply because they became too dangerous. Like Hob’s Court, in 1940.
During the Second World War, many Underground stations were used as bomb shelters, but no one ever looked for shelter in Hob’s Court. People heard things. Some saw things. Passengers had been known to disappear right off the platforms. And once, it was said (or more often whispered), a train arrived at the station after Hob’s Court with no one left aboard. Blood gushed out of the carriage doors when they were opened, and the interior walls were slick with gore and bits of splintered bone.
After that, Hob’s Court was written off. No one had time to investigate; there was a war on. The entrance tunnels were bricked up, to keep whatever was in there from getting out, and everyone did their best to forget there had ever been a station called Hob’s Court. But there are still ways to get there, for those determined enough to brave the things that lurk in the surrounding tunnels.
I’d been this way once before, to talk with the Damned.
It wasn’t that difficult to track him down; even people who choose to live completely off the grid still leave a trail through their interactions with other people. The Damned’s interactions consisted mostly of sudden death and bloody violence, and he never bothered to hide any of it. I knew I had to talk to him face to face if I was to convince him to do what my client wanted, so down into the underground I went. Whistling cheerfully in the dark tunnels, because I thought I was the only one down there.
I found the Damned sprawled in a deckchair in the middle of the platform, staring at nothing, his grim countenance fitfully illuminated by the crimson light from a single iron brazier. Just a big man in a shabby suit, with a face that looked as if it had been chipped out of stone. I introduced myself with one of the names I was using at the time, and he didn’t even look round.
‘I chose this place so people wouldn’t bother me.’
His voice was low and harsh, little more than a growl. I started to tell him about my client, and suddenly he was standing before me, one hand crushing my throat. He lifted me into the air, my feet kicking helplessly.
‘How did you find me?’
‘I know things,’ I gasped. ‘I find people. It’s what I do.’
I was finally able to convince the Damned that I was harmless, because I was, and that the person my client wanted him to kill was quite definitely someone the Damned would want to kill. More importantly, only my client could make the kill possible. The Damned’s hand closed around my throat, cutting off my voice while he thought about it. Blood hammered in my head as I fought for air. And then the Damned let me go, and I dropped on to the platform, shuddering and gasping for breath. He could have killed me, and both of us knew it.
I sorted out the details of the deal and then ran all the way home. I told the client the job was on and to forget he ever knew me. I comforted myself with the thought that at least I’d never have to face the Damned again.
But here I was, walking along the same tunnel to try to talk the Damned into something else. Only this time I knew what was down in the dark with me. Rather than think about that, I concentrated on what I’d heard about the Damned.
When you know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that you are damned to Hell for all eternity, you can do anything. Because there’s no reason not to. The Damned decided to become the scariest agent for the Good that the Good ever had – and no, the Good didn’t get a say in the matter. When he’s not busy killing people who deserve to die, the Damned deals in supernatural crime. If your computer is possessed, if the old photos in your family album have started whispering threats, if your guardian angel is spying on you for someone else … then the Damned will put a stop to it.
He doesn’t do it for payment, or to buy his way out of Hell by performing good deeds. He knows it’s too late for that. He just does it to piss Hell off, in one last act of defiance.
From up ahead came the sounds of a party. Laughter and singing, raised voices and raucous behaviour, along with half a dozen different kinds of music. I rounded a long, curving corner and there was Hob’s Court, bathed in a familiar flickering light. Home to the Damned and his guests.
I turned off my torch and put it away, gathered up my courage and strode determinedly toward the platform like a neighbour who’d come to complain about the noise.
When I hauled myself up on to the platform, the first thing that hit me was the smell. The stink of too many bodies packed together in one place, and all the aromas of sin: sex and drugs, pleasure and pain, blood and death. Men and women crowded the platform from one end to the other, dancing as if there was no tomorrow, partying till they dropped. Dead bodies had been piled up at the far end of the platform, where they wouldn’t get in the way.
There was a frantic desperation to it all, of people determined to have a good time in spite of everything. Some were fashionably dressed, while others wore nothing but sweat and blood. Laughing, singing and crying hysterically, they leapt and swayed to the pounding music, or humped each other on the ground or up against the wall. I saw bare feet slam down on broken glass and discarded
needles, but none of them gave a damn.
The only illumination came from the single iron brazier in the middle of the tracks. A dull reddish-orange glow, like light that had spoiled and gone off. An unhealthy light. The flames flared up occasionally, and then the people’s shadows danced even more madly than they did.
The party came as something of a surprise. Everything I’d heard about the Damned suggested he’d moved beyond normal human needs and appetites. I searched the heaving crush of bodies, but couldn’t spot him anywhere. And then he came striding through the crowd, barging people out of his way as he headed straight for me. A huge brutal figure, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, the Damned wore nothing but a pair of faded jeans and two silver bands around his wrists. His hairy torso shone with sweat from the heated atmosphere. His eyes were cold, and his mouth was a thin flat line. He had the look of a man who feared nothing, because everything in the world would only break against what he was now.
A man with all the last traces of humanity scoured out of him. Or possibly discarded as not needed any more.
I opened my mouth to remind the Damned who I was. He grabbed a handful of my shirtfront, lifted me off my feet and slammed me back against the wall. He thrust his face forward, his cold gaze boring into mine.
‘I heard you coming.’
‘Over all this racket?’ I said, doing my best to appear entirely unimpressed.
‘This is my domain. Nothing happens around me that I don’t know about.’
‘Then why don’t you clean the place up?’ I said. ‘Teenage boys wouldn’t lower themselves to live in a shithole like this.’
He didn’t smile, but he did let go of me and step back. ‘What do you want? I don’t like unexpected visitors.’
‘You don’t like anyone,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you worried this much noise will draw your enemies to you?’
‘Let them come,’ said the Damned. ‘We’re running low on snacks.’
He might have been joking, but I wouldn’t have put money on it. I took a moment to tug my rumpled shirtfront back to where it should be and then gave the Damned my most confident look. The one that suggests you really need to hear what I have to say.
The Best Thing You Can Steal Page 3