Kenny considered this. The muscles in his jaw seemed to twitch with indecision, perhaps frustration, too. “I’ll see you there.” He began to pack away the array of gadgets on his bed, with some difficulty as a spool of Twister Rope had now caught him around the waist, pinning his right arm firmly behind his back.
“Tug the ends in opposite directions,” Marion said as she turned to leave. “It’ll demagnetize them. I’ll see you tonight.” She left without pausing to check he’d heard, or whether the Twister Rope had overpowered him yet.
* * *
“Bill, this is Kenny. Kenny, Bill.” Marion made quick work of the introductions as the two men arrived at her room later that evening. A part of her had hoped Kenny wouldn’t show, that he was still entangled in a spool of Twister Rope. She hadn’t truly accepted the fact that Frank’s fate now lay partially in Kenny’s hands. And while she knew she had no choice but to trust him, the notion disturbed her.
Bill looked similarly unnerved by the new addition to their investigation.
Kenny seemed nothing less than outraged. “You can’t be serious?” he snapped, eyeing Bill. “You just told me I shouldn’t tell anyone about this meeting.”
Marion closed and locked the bedroom door. “Bill knows everything I know. I’m not shutting him out now.”
The two men sized each other up. Bill, just as tall as Kenny but half his width, shook his head. Kenny rolled his eyes. Marion ignored them both.
“Right.” She held out her hand to Bill. “The vial?”
He scowled at Kenny with obvious distrust.
“We don’t have a choice, Bill. Just hand it over.”
He passed her the vial and slunk off to sit on the edge of the bed.
“This is what I discovered beneath the break room,” Marion began, uncorking the vial and handing it first to Bill, then to Kenny. She poured a droplet onto the desk in front of her. The droplet shimmered and vibrated as soon as it came into contact with the table. The silvery particles, now awoken from their liquid state, were quickly shifting into a wall of gas. As the substance rose into the air, Marion’s eyes began to sting and water.
“What the blazes?” Kenny lowered his face into the mist.
Marion pushed him away. “Careful how much you inhale. I’m not sure how it works yet. More than a drop and you’ll be disorientated, almost blind.” She waited for the effects of the substance to fade before continuing. “There seems to be some sort of laboratory down there, in the tunnels beyond the Border, and the cellar beneath the break room leads right to it.” She passed Kenny a tentative glance, hoping he wouldn’t ask how she’d discovered this tunnel. He said nothing, so she continued. “I didn’t have time to go through everything, but I found enough evidence to suggest—” She paused, doubting herself. It was as if the past few hours had been a dream, some strange half reality. But no, there could be no mistaking what she saw in that grim, dank pit. She looked at Bill, then Kenny. “It looked as if it were the re-creation of some failed chemical weaponry experiment from the war. Some sort of bomb they were trying to make with an explosive that, well, that I’ve never seen or heard of before.”
“Jesus.” Bill rubbed his forehead. “And this is part of it?” He pointed at the vial.
“Yes, definitely.” She ripped a piece of paper from the notepad in her bag and began to sketch a simplified version of the diagram she’d seen in the laboratory. “I recognized the mechanism’s design only because it’s almost identical to that of a Time Lighter, which is really just a safer version of a simple clockwork bomb.” She went on, despite the confusion on Kenny’s and Bill’s faces. “Clockwork bombs have been used for ages, all throughout history. They’ve been used for political sabotage, terrorism. Most recently on United Airlines Flight 629.” She looked at Kenny to elaborate.
He hesitated before answering. “It was placed in the luggage compartment, killed forty-four people midflight.”
“Right,” Marion said. “And that’s just one of many examples. Delayed action clockwork bombs were also used in the war, both by the British and Germans. They’re simple and devastating. Explosives detonated by a timer, even a simple wristwatch.” She pointed at her diagram. “But this...this is different.”
“Different how?” Bill asked.
“Well, in two ways. First, the type of explosive used. Most clockwork bombs use dynamite, or some variation. This bomb was designed to be loaded with something I’ve never heard of before.” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall the exact phrasing. “An alchemical explosive, fifteen times more powerful than dynamite and laced with something acidic, erosive.”
“Alchemical,” Bill murmured. He stared into the distance for a while. “Christ...you were right. The group of alchemists who were exiled by the church?”
“Well, not exactly. I mean, it might have started with them but... I did a bit of research this afternoon in between my shifts. Apparently there were a group of chemists who worked at Porton Down in Salisbury—”
Bill frowned. “The government facility?”
Marion nodded. “Right, where scientists have been testing chemical and biological weapons for decades. But in the late thirties, there was a group of chemists who became interested in more fringe experiments, substances and concoctions produced by the ancient and mostly forgotten methods of alchemy. Obviously, there wasn’t much I could find in the archives about this group. All I know is that they left Porton Down soon after the war began. Apparently they were fired for nonadherence to general protocol. Whatever that means.”
“Left and went where?” Kenny asked.
“No one seems to know. The group vanished from society, every last member. No record of where they went or even if they’re still alive. Almost as if the earth swallowed them up.”
“They came here,” Bill said.
Kenny was glancing from Marion to Bill with a look that suggested he understood what Marion had explained, he just wasn’t certain he believed it. “And the other difference? You said there were two differences between the diagram’s design and a normal clockwork bomb.”
Marion turned again to the tiny crystal vial. “Well, this. It seems to be part of the mechanism, part of the bomb’s design.” She held up the simplified sketch. “You see here.” She pointed at a small depression in the rear of the bomb’s outer casing. “There was an arrow that pointed to this, indicating the insertion point of something they referred to as the Gray Eagle. According to the diagram’s instructions, the Gray Eagle is also attached to the timer, but set to be released just moments before the explosive is ignited by the fuse.”
“What the hell is a Gray Eagle?” Kenny asked.
“This, Kenny.” She held up the vial.
“Bloody hell.” Bill looked up. He hesitated for a moment, perhaps as he pieced together what Marion had said. “The perfect weapon, isn’t it? The stuff in the vial is released moments before the explosive detonates. It’ll disorientate, maybe even blind everyone in range. Then boom. Before you know what’s going on, you’re turned to ash.”
The room fell silent. Even though Marion already understood, the realization of what she’d uncovered was only now truly sinking in.
Kenny was the first to speak again. “Shit.” He stubbed out his cigarette, removed a hip flask from his bag and threw back a large sip of its contents. “You think this has anything to do with White’s murder?”
“I know it does.”
“Yeah?” Kenny prompted.
Marion turned to Bill instead. “Remember I told you the camera above the lock room gate was an infrared sensor?”
Bill nodded. “Turns on when it detects body heat.” He was beginning to understand. “In order to bypass the camera, you’d have to lower your body temperature just a few degrees and—” He picked up the crystal vial once more.
“Exactly,” Marion said. “It was something I’d been trying
to understand for a while. How could anyone other than Frank have murdered Michelle White? How did anyone get past the camera without it picking them up? Now I realize they didn’t. It wasn’t that the camera didn’t see them, it’s just that it didn’t switch on.”
Bill held the vial tight in his palm. “It’s cold.” He looked at Marion, then spoke more hastily. “You think someone could have used it on themselves?”
“I don’t see why not. You could apply just a few drops to your clothes, then make sure your nose and mouth are covered to prevent inhalation. You’d block enough infrared emissions to trick the camera, and even if you bumped into anyone along the way, they’d be so disorientated they wouldn’t realize what they’d seen.” She paused to take a breath. “Frank said that when he was in the lock room the night of the murder, he sensed something odd in the air. His eyesight was blurred, he felt disorientated. Whoever the real killer was, there’s no doubt they were using the Gray Eagle as a disguise.”
Bill looked only half convinced. “But what was the killer, and White for that matter, doing in the lock room in the first place? You said nothing was removed from the drawers. The letter she received that night? We still don’t know what that said, or who sent it?”
“No. But it has to be connected to all this.” It was the final piece of the puzzle and one that Marion hadn’t had time to consider just yet. “We can still assume the killer didn’t know about the camera above the lock room gate, but considering they were using the disguise, anyway, it means they must have been doing something in there they didn’t want anyone to see.”
Again, the trio went silent and Marion was sure that Bill and Kenny were considering, as she had done all day, the implications of what this meant.
It was Kenny who broke the silence. “So, we’re certain that whoever’s been producing these bombs is also the one who killed White?”
Marion nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“And any ideas on who it could be?”
“Not yet.” Marion turned to Bill, who passed her a cautionary glance. “I’m uncertain of who to trust, of who we can tell without risking the investigation.”
“We have to tell Nancy,” Bill interjected. “I mean, she can’t be involved, surely not?”
Marion looked at Kenny. “Is there any way we can contact Frank? Ask him what to do?”
“Of course not. He’s locked up and under twenty-four-hour surveillance. You pass information like this to him, you’re passing it to Nicholas and the council. No, Hobb is right.” He gestured flippantly at Bill. “We tell Nancy. There’s no other option.”
Marion considered arguing, but really, she didn’t know what else to do.
“Listen, Lane,” Kenny went on. “You’ve done well. Nancy will be grateful and I’m sure she’ll know where to take this next. She’s supposed to be back tomorrow morning, anyway.”
“And we’re just supposed to wait around until then? Do nothing?”
“For now, yes.” Kenny offered Marion a cigarette. She refused. “How about this. I’ll speak to Nancy as soon as she’s back. I’ll even leave you and Hobb out of it. It’ll make me look better, anyway.” He smirked. Marion bit her tongue. “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow at lunch with an update. Okay?”
She grunted a noncommittal reply. It wasn’t really okay. No matter what Bill or Kenny believed, she still wasn’t convinced Nancy or the High Council could be trusted. If her assumptions about what she’d uncovered were accurate, it meant that the agency had been used as a chemical weaponry laboratory before Nancy had converted it into a private detective agency after the war. It was obvious Nancy knew about the weaponry project, so why had she not figured out that the substance in the crystal vial was how someone had got past the camera?
A scraping sound pulled Marion from her thoughts. She turned to the wall beside her bedroom door. A post tray she hadn’t even known existed emerged from the stone facade, bearing a piece of paper—a crisp white letter, written in silvery-green ink.
Marion read the letter out loud.
“Dear All,
“You are cordially invited to the first annual Miss Brickett’s Circus Ball!
“Join us for a night of extravagance and excitement with a special performance from Thomson and Thorpe (ex-Inquirers and trained acrobats) as well as acts from a range of Professor Bal’s clockwork masterpieces!
“Drinks and food will be provided.
“Date: Friday, April 25
“Time: 7 o’clock
“Location: the ballroom
“Dress: formal/black tie
“We hope to see you there!”
“What the hell is a circus ball?” Kenny asked.
Marion didn’t answer, though the cogs of her frazzled mind began to turn. This must have been Professor Bal’s classified assignment, the thing he’d been so busy with the past few days. But was it a coincidence it was happening now, just as Nancy had mysteriously disappeared? She read the invitation again. Maybe it was exhaustion, or the remnants of angst from her trip into the cellar beneath the break room, but something about the event troubled her.
17
THE LIE AND THE TIGHTWIRE
Friday morning, still weary from the events of the night before, Marion made her way down to the cafeteria for breakfast. It was immediately obvious that news of the upcoming Circus Ball had caused a mix of excitement and confusion throughout the agency. It was also obvious, from the notice hanging at the end of the Grand Corridor, that preparation for the event would take precedence over everything else that day—all training, work sessions and general goings-on had been canceled for the morning and afternoon, and anyone who planned to attend the ball was encouraged to remain in their offices, the cafeteria or the common room until seven o’clock.
Nearly every staff member and head of department could be seen charging through the corridors toward the ballroom or the kitchens in a panicked hurry to get everything done before the end of the day. By the time Marion had reached the common room, she’d passed at least ten staff members all with the same frazzled look on their faces, boxes of lights, silk banners, crockery, cutlery, tablecloths and all manner of curious decorations clutched to their chests. Harry and the kitchen staff were similarly occupied, and all through the day a cacophony of aromas—charred meat, mixed spice, fresh bread—filled the upper-level corridors and chambers.
Yet the charged, almost dizzying atmosphere only added to Marion’s swiftly growing unease. She paced her room as she counted the hours to lunchtime when, if Kenny kept his word, they were due to meet.
But lunch came and went without any sign of him and Marion was left anxious, alone, frustrated. She crossed the corridor to the common room. The fire had been lit and the central oak table—designed for general meetings and discussions, but which was mostly used for playing cards and board games—was littered with half-drunk bottles of liquor and dying cigarette butts, evidence of a lazy afternoon off. But where had everyone gone?
She lingered by the fire, her thoughts stagnant, unable to move past the vile discovery she’d made in the tunnels beyond the Border, and what it all meant. Why was a World War II chemical weaponry experiment being brought back to life here at Miss Brickett’s?
A sound filled the silence. A low and rattling hiss.
A fractured shadow, long and twisted, was cast across the room. And then she knew.
Clink—schlik, schlik—clink.
The room’s chandelier, a teardrop crystal that hung from the ceiling, flickered as a line of silver scales moved across the threshold. The snake she’d seen in the corridors beyond the Border, now more difficult to see than ever, glimmered only when it fell directly under the ceiling light—right at the foot of the couch.
Clink—schlik, schlik—clink.
“His name is Toby,” Mr. Nicholas said menacingly as he appeared in the doorway. He t
ook a few steps forward; the snake slithered to his feet.
A cold sweat beaded on Marion’s upper lip.
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Professor Bal, such a genius, but sometimes he needs a little push.” He settled down at the table. “His designs have been somewhat bland of late. But I had a word with him, you see.” He grinned, looking down at the sleeping serpent, then up at Marion.
Marion sat quite still, trying to calm the thundering in her chest, slow her rapid breath.
“Nancy has put me in charge while she’s away, to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior.”
Marion finally managed to thaw herself from the clutches of whatever icy terror had come over her. “Then I suggest you look elsewhere.”
The grin on Mr. Nicholas’s face grew more twisted. He flicked open his pocket watch.
Toby stirred.
“Toby has been patrolling the tunnels beyond the Border for some time, just as an extra precaution. His tongue is designed to detect and record human movement. As soon as it does, cameras in his eyes switch on and I am alerted.” He paused. “But perhaps you already knew that?”
“How could I?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Now now, Miss Lane. Please don’t lie.” He straightened up. “There was someone down in those tunnels on Tuesday last week, just before Mr. Eston’s apparent tumble down the stairs. Toby sensed it, only it was too dark for the cameras to make out who it was.”
Marion felt a wave of nausea come over her. The common room was hardly ever empty during the day for longer than five minutes. Where, now, was everyone?
“I know it was one or all three of you, Miss Lane. You, Mr. Eston and Mr. Hobb,” he said, flicking a notch on his pocket watch.
Toby, now completely solid and clearly visible, shivered—a lightning-fast ripple traveled up from his tail to his head. He shifted, then reared up. But Marion stood her ground. She knew from Nancy and Gillroth’s conversation after Frank’s trial that Nicholas was bluffing. His snake had detected movement, but it hadn’t picked up anything that looked like a human being. Nicholas might have his assumptions, but he had no proof.
Marion Lane and the Midnight Murder Page 20