2000 Light Years from Home (James London)

by Iain Benson

  Vera was the last down, closing the grating behind him. At the bottom of the metal stairs their path was blocked by a locked, rusting metal door, once painted white. Stacked outside were empty crates, paint tins and stacks of damp smelling carpet tiles. Mary keyed the passcode onto the door’s keypad, pushing her way through.

  She turned the light on in what turned out to be a storage area for the restaurant above. Fridges on one wall gave off a low hum. Fruit and veg stacked high on metal shelving formed an alley they walked down. London could see stairs in one corner leading up to the ground floor. Halfway down the grocery alley, there was a square manhole grating. Mary lifted it up. Rungs set in the side of the wall led downwards.

  “They never give any thought to rebels with disability,” London said. “That should be a ramp.”

  Rivers and Keyes had a brief military discussion; Rivers going down first, Keyes bringing up the rear. Mary followed Rivers down the ladder. Vera and Xia went next, Vera only just fitting through the narrow opening. London paused at the lip, looking down. He wrinkled his nose at the cabbage odour and climbed down.

  It was further than he expected: a good five metres. At the bottom, a two metre high semi-circular tunnel extended off in both directions, the direction they needed lit by pools of light from overhead lamps. Major Rivers set off. Vera was almost on his knees. Bonbon the hat was in his hands after nearly being concussed on the ceiling. A rivulet of water ran in the same direction they were heading down the centre of the sewer, London was glad they were in a dry spell.

  “What is that smell?” Xia asked.

  “Sewerage,” London told her.

  She took out a rebreather, and fastened it over her mouth, indicating what she thought about breathing it in. London remembered he’d brought his. The air was immediately fresher when he put it on. After what felt like half a kilometre, the sewer reached a T-junction with a slightly larger, but otherwise identical tunnel. Again, there were lights indicating the way to a set of ladders in the wall.

  At the top there was a cramped room, with a camp bed, a small camp stove and supplies on top of an upturned box. The room was lit by a single storm lantern. In one wall was a door, a number pad beside it.

  “This is home,” said Mary.

  London lifted the rebreather. The air was still a little fetid, but less so than in the tunnel. “Cosy,” he said.

  Mary opened the door that led onto a short corridor, a second door and finally, the subway where the air smelled stale. London noted the CCTV camera directly opposite the door. The light atop it blinked steadily, and ominously. Lights lit both directions of the tunnel, making the direction to take less obvious. Rivers’ internal compass seemed accurate, as Mary didn’t correct him.

  “The platform is three minutes up the track,” Mary whispered, the sound still echoing slightly. “Normally, I can sneak past the guards, but it’s only ever been me. I’ve never tried to sneak a small army through before.”

  Rivers made hand gestures to Keyes. To London, Xia and Vera he whispered: “We’ll go on ahead. Count to sixty, and follow. Once we engage, reinforcements will come, as the soldiers appear to know what is happening to other soldiers. We won’t have long. We will need to move fast. Mary, when we get to the White House, how will we find Wishbone?”

  “There’s a control centre in the sub-basement,” she whispered back. “They can see everything.”

  “Take us there,” Rivers said. “The quickest route you know.”

  Rivers and Keyes set off up the tunnel, blending into the shadows. In his head, London started counting, wishing he had a watch. After a minute, they headed off up the tunnel. They had not got very far when the sounds of a battle echoed down towards them. London took his gun out, but by the time they reached the platform, there were sixteen dead soldiers and Rivers and Keyes by the escalator at the far end of the platform, looking up it, guns at the ready.

  The platform was about half the length of the tube platforms London was used to. The wall arced up, tiled black on the track side, white on the platform side, with a diffuse pattern overhead. The platform side also had a tiled image of the White House. To both sides of the tiled White House were two plain grey doors.

  Instead of up the escalator, Mary led them through one of the doors locked by another keypad into a plain corridor. Key coded doors led off at regular intervals. At the end, by a door leading to stairs was an open area with a meeting table but no chairs. Past it, through a glass door was the command centre. The door was being opened from the inside by an older man, balding with a grey goatee wearing a pale blue shirt and tan coloured trousers.

  “Mary,” the man greeted her. “Who’re they? Why are you back so soon?”

  “I’ll explain it all later,” Mary said. “Is Wishbone here?”

  “He’s in the Oval Office,” the man saw London. “Is that the guy that’s got Wishbone spooked?”

  “Yes,” Mary said, turning and heading for the stairs.

  “Who is he?” he called as Mary vanished through the door followed by the small team.”

  They pounded up the stairs. Three flights up Mary halted them, crowded around a door.

  “Once we’re through here, we’re in the main part of the White House,” she told them. “There are soldiers everywhere. The Oval Office is to the right, straight down. At the end of the hall, turn left, there’s a set of white double doors. That’s the Oval Office.”

  Vera pushed the door open. Strictly speaking it was a pull door, and currently locked, but Vera pushed it anyway. The door briefly thought about putting up a bit of resistance, but after a moment, gave in. Vera walked through, and turned right.

  “What’s he doing?” Rivers asked; his voice sounded strained. “We need to lay down covering fire!”

  Rivers rolled out facing one way, Keyes the other. From the fact they were firing, London realised that soldiers were converging. London pressed against the wall, looking down the corridor, his gun out. He saw a soldier tumble.

  “Can you shoot?” Xia asked Mary.

  “Yes,” Mary said. “But they’re bulletproof.”

  Xia handed Mary her energy weapon. “This doesn’t fire bullets.”

  “Go,” Rivers called.

  “They bring armed ones if they start taking casualties,” Mary told them, looking at the strange weapon in her hand.

  “Shoot back,” Xia said.

  “Good plan,” Mary stepped out into the hallway, London followed. Vera was already at the junction, he paused to push a soldier through a wall. A bullet thudded into Vera’s shoulder. He stepped back around the corner and waited for everybody else to arrive.

  “Perhaps I need assistance for this part,” he said, touching his shoulder. “That hurt.”

  London peeked around. There was an army between them and the double doors. The other way, there was another army coming. He pulled his head back as a bullet whizzed past hitting the opposite wall. From the sounds of it, there was a third army arriving behind them.

  “Give me your gun,” London said to Mary.

  “I was quite hoping to fire it,” she said, passing him the gun.

  “You will,” London said. “You may have to wait until it’s recharged though.”

  London twisted the dials all the way up on both guns. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the junction, his arms out and fired.

  There was a sound like somebody barbecuing a barbecue. London opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed. There was daylight in both directions, very little in the way of doors, even less in the way of soldiers, the ceiling had strips hanging down, the carpet had scorch marks and all the light fittings had exploded. As he looked down towards the Oval Office one of the ceiling lights gave a half-hearted pop and fell out. The bust of Wishbone had lost half its face.

  Vera walked past London. “That was impressive, James.”

  Keyes and Rivers gave him appreciative nods.

  “That took balls,” Rivers said, slapping his back.

 
Mary and Xia came up.

  “I’d best catch Vera,” Xia said, speeding up.

  “I hope our insurance covers this,” Mary said. She cocked her head to one side, listening. “There’re more soldiers coming.”

  London nodded and the pair jogged to catch up to Vera.

  The Oval Office was now double air-conditioned. As well as the London Hole, there were the French Doors.

  “He’s gone,” said ex-President Cruise.

  “Far and away?” London asked.

  “Don’t you start,” Cruise said.

  “You don’t like movie titles from the outsiders?” London asked. “Are you losing it?”

  “No,” said Cruise.

  “You’re a legend, sir,” Keyes said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “It’s not funny,” Cruise said.

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Keyes said.

  “You made a Legend film reference,” Cruise said, pointedly.

  “We’re you in that?” Keyes asked, innocently. “I was unaware, it’s before my time.”

  “Where is the being you call Wishbone?” Vera asked.

  “He left moments before you aerated my office,” Cruise said. “I suggest you get out before his soldiers arrive. There is a helicopter on the pad outside.”

  “Where did Wishbone go?” Xia asked.

  “I don’t know where he goes,” Cruise replied. “He arrives in his own helicopter, and leaves in it.”

  “We have to work out where he goes in a bit,” said London, looking by the door at the two dozen soldiers running in formation up the corridor, sunlight shafting through the dust behind them. London thought it looked quite cinematic. He tried firing the two guns, but neither had any charge.

  At the French doors, they could see the other helicopter. It was red, white and blue. The words “Air Force Two” were stencilled on the side. London wondered if they were like Thunderbird craft, and Air Force Four would be a submarine. It was either that or they were supposed to have their own email account and airforce@gmail was taken.

  London had a sudden thought. “Can anybody fly a helicopter?”

  Keyes gave him a withering look. “Do you know what the ‘A’ in ‘SAS’ stands for?”

  “Well, it isn’t ‘helicopter’,” said London. “That begins with an H.”

  “’Air’,” said Keyes. “We can all fly. It’s part of the job description.”

  Rivers was already at the helicopter, opening the door.

  Keyes remained at the door, picking off soldiers as they came through the large hole where the door would be. More soldiers were arriving across the lawns.

  “Leave me the gun,” said Mary. “I can’t leave the president.”

  Keyes tossed her the gun and sprinted for the helicopter, the rotors swooshing as they reached take off speed. London held the door for Keyes as he stooped low, diving in as Rivers lifted the wheels from the tarmac. Through the window as they lifted off, London watched as Mary Curr kept the soldiers at bay long enough them to get airborne and head off, Rivers choosing the direction they were facing rather than anything fancy. London hoped Mary would be okay. The last he saw of her, the soldiers were concentrating on the helicopter; her position overrun.

  London had quite liked her; he hoped she would make it.

  The double doors into the long office room burst open and Wishbone burst in, his face thunder.

  “Who is this man?” Wishbone demanded of Janet and John, who were sitting, eating a Subway at the far end of a long table.

  Windows ran the full length of one side of the room, two huge cooling towers providing an unattractive view. Opposite were the display monitors that gave them information on the several hundred thousand soldiers in operation around the world. Onto the screens, Wishbone threw a picture of London, taken at the White House.

  “Single-handed he took out two squads,” Wishbone ranted. “He has found the only person in the Universe who could beat me. He is infuriating! Who is he?”

  “No idea,” said Janet.

  “He doesn’t work for any intelligence or law enforcement agency,” said John. “We checked them all.”

  “We even checked the ones from the past,” said Janet. “In case he’s retired.”

  “Or a time traveller,” said John.

  “Though if he’s from the future,” added Janet, “I don’t know how we can find out.”

  “Have you checked the DVLA?”

  “DVLA?” Janet was surprised. “The driving licence people?”

  “I am not referring to Dead Vampires Life Assurance,” Wishbone snapped. “Yes, the driving licence people.”

  “No,” said Janet. “They might be very difficult to break into. The security agencies were hard, they took weeks. I’m sure having details of millions of ordinary Britons would mean that their security is also tight.”

  “I’m in,” said John. “They left the firewall password as the default.”

  “Run facial recognition,” Wishbone said.

  Janet set the programme running. “It might take a few minutes.”

  Wishbone looked at a big screen. “Shouldn’t it be showing lots of pictures of people’s faces?”

  “No, that would be terribly inefficient,” Janet replied, “and pointless. I don’t want to waste time looking at who it isn’t.”

  James London’s face appeared on a display, along with his driving licence information.

  “James London,” said Wishbone, reading the screen. “It says he is a lecturer.”

  “That could be a cover,” John said.

  Janet did a quick search, and brought London’s face up on another monitor. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He works at London Metropolitan University.”

  “Why is a university lecturer causing me so much grief?” Wishbone demanded.

  “That’s hard to answer using Google,” said John. On a display was a page about a student complaining about coursework.

  “It was a rhetorical question,” Wishbone said.

  “It’s a rhetorical answer,” John told him.

  “Double the number of units around the base,” Wishbone said. “No, treble it!”

  “I doubt he’d be able to find our secret base,” Janet said. “I gave directions to the electrician, and even he struggled.”

  “It’s all the identical business units,” said John. “Without a satnav, you’re always going to struggle.”

  “This, this lecturer,” said Wishbone, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth, “this lecturer, has found the only person in two galaxies that could possibly even come close to harming me. He’s found weapons to which I cannot genetically engineer immunity. And he’s done it all by accident? Quadruple the units! Pull them in from Europe if we have to.”

  “Why can’t you engineer immunity?” asked John, surprised at his boss’s sudden admission of a limitation.

  “It’s impossible to be immune to having your cells ripped apart at an atomic level,” Wishbone said.

  London stared down at them from two of the screens. Wishbone gave a low guttural growl and stormed out.

  “Do you think it’s London that’s freaking him out?” Janet asked.

  John brought up the security footage from the White House. Bonbon’s disguise only worked to those in the vicinity, Janet and John saw the real Vera.

  “I think it’s this big blue guy with the weird blue perm,” John replied. “This James London’s just an outlet. I’m amazed he’s lasted this long, with every unit on the planet programmed to kill him on sight.”

  “Send out an update to the units to include that girl and the big blue guy in the kill order,” Janet instructed. “Hopefully we can stop them before they get here.”

  Chapter 12

  With the big budget finale

  Rivers flew Airforce Two back to the yard where they had left Vera’s spacecraft. He landed two blocks over, in case they were being tracked. That turned out to be a good move, when they heard a massive explosion as the
y were about to board Vera’s ship.

  “I think Cruise might need Air Force Three now,” said Keyes.

  “Shame that,” said Rivers. “It was a nice helicopter. It had a surround sound music system and Wi-Fi.”

  Vera’s ship became airborne moments before the compound filled with soldiers who could only look up at the disappearing dot. Two minutes after leaving the ground, they were in low Earth orbit, ruminating on their next move.

  “One of the intelligence agencies has to know where his secret base is,” said Rivers. The fact that they were now in space did not appear to bother either SAS man.

  London sat down on what he had learned was officially called the Navigator’s Chair, transfixed by the green and blue hemisphere in the main display screen. He was thinking while the rest brainstormed ideas for locating Wishbone. Vera’s idea seemed to involve a lot of finding unsavoury characters and questioning them whilst travelling the world.

  “When we saw those soldiers in the Lake District,” said London, interrupting a discussion on the merits of flying around waiting for somebody to shoot at them. “They had those transmitter electronics under their fake pockets, didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” Vera said.

  “It stands to reason that Wishbone would want to keep his secret base safe by having lots of soldiers,” London continued his musing. “So if we trace the largest concentration of the signal to his soldiers, we can find the area of his base, if not the base itself.”

  “We’ve tried to find the frequency of the communications,” Keyes said. “But we’ve had no luck.”

  “I know somebody who could help,” said London. “We’re going to need a soldier’s uniform and a large parking space near Stapleton House in London.”

  “Where will we find a soldier?” Vera asked.

  “We head to Stapleton House,” said London. “I’ve got a feeling we will be able to pick up a uniform along the way.”

  “Where is that?” Keyes asked.

  “North of Big Ben,” London said.

  “Who is this Ben?” Vera asked.

  “Not a ‘who’, a ‘what’,” Rivers said. “It is a clock tower beside the river.”