The safe house didn’t look particularly safe.
They’d trudged across London for close to an hour, keeping to the back streets and alleyways to avoid running into any civilians or police patrols that were still out at this hour. Gabriel had lost all sense of time, but as they’d entered the Limehouse district he’d noticed the sun was beginning to show itself above the crenulated tops of the buildings. Soon, the city would stir, and the streets would be filled once again with the noisy bustle of people and machines.
He was cold, weary, wet and smarting—and Rutherford had been forced to stop twice to catch his breath, still suffering from the after-effects of whatever mysterious treatment he’d received at the hands of the Fixer. They both knew he should have been resting, but time was a luxury they didn’t have—they were both intent on reaching the safe house before Regina and Hargreaves, assuming either of them had survived the encounter on the road.
The safe house itself was in a narrow side street that stank of faeces and rotten food. It was quiet, save for the sounds of a crying baby, a shrill warble coming from deep inside one of the adjoining houses. Rainwater formed runnels down the soot-stained sides of the buildings, collecting in filthy channels that ran parallel to the cobbled lane, where it sloshed along like a foetid stream, eventually swirling down the open grates to the sewers below. The conditions here were as bad as Gabriel had ever seen, reminding him of many of the slum tenements of Hell’s Kitchen—where people were forced by circumstances to eke out a paltry existence, surviving hand-to-mouth, terrified of their own neighbours and the mob bosses who served as their landlords.
Rutherford approached the heavy wooden door. Green paint—which had once been applied liberally—was now flaking off, and the door carried no nameplates or number. The downstairs window had been boarded over with thick, stained planks, and the whole place had an air of desertion about it. Rutherford tried the handle, but the door was locked.
“Hold on,” he said. He crossed to the boarded window, pulled the knife from his belt, and set to work on the mortar around one of the half-bricks, worrying at it with the tip of the blade. It crumbled easily, and a moment later he’d worked the brick free, revealing a small hollow, from which he extracted a key. He slid the brick back into place and returned to the door. A moment later and he had it open. They both ducked inside, locking it behind them.
Gabriel was relieved to get out of the rain, despite the primitive surroundings. Rutherford crossed immediately to the far wall and lit the gas lamp with a box of matches he found on the sideboard beneath, igniting everything in a warm yellow glow.
The door opened directly into a living room, of sorts. It smelled damp and disused, and rodents had left their spoor scattered about the bare floorboards. A fireplace had already been built up with wood, and four mismatched armchairs had been placed in a circle before it. In the far corner, in an alcove beside the chimney breast, a holotube terminal and a telephone sat on a small table. A door, standing ajar, led through to what Gabriel presumed to be a kitchen. Behind him, a narrow set of stairs led to an upper floor.
“Just give me a minute, and I’ll light the fire,” said Rutherford.
“I can do that,” said Gabriel, taking the matches from him. “You find us that drink.”
Rutherford nodded and wandered through into the kitchen while Gabriel set about starting the fire. A few minutes later the wood was crackling as the flames took hold. Gabriel removed his sodden jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs, before collapsing into another. The warmth of the fire prickled his cold skin, and he sank back into the embrace of the soft armchair, suddenly lethargic. He started when, a moment later, Rutherford reappeared from the kitchen bearing two glass tumblers. Rutherford crossed the room, smiled appreciatively at the fire, and then handed one of the glasses to Gabriel, before slumping into another of the chairs.
“Well, bottoms up,” he said, before knocking back his head and draining the glass.
Gabriel followed suit, shuddering as the cognac hit the back of his throat. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“It hasn’t been used in years,” said Rutherford. “The Service maintains a number of them around the city, for occasions such as this. Disposable addresses, rendezvous points, boltholes. By tomorrow it’ll be cleaned out and a family from one of the nearby slums moved in.” He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” said Gabriel.
“Yes, I suppose I owe you that much. I’m sorry to involve you in all this, Gabriel. That was never my intention.”
“All of what?”
“The Russians.”
“I gathered that much while one of them was trying to choke me to death with eldritch magic,” said Gabriel. “But why? What are they doing here?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Rutherford. He looked weary, as if the burden of it all had finally become too much to bear. “They’ve been operating on British soil for some months, working out of a house in Belgravia. The word around town was that they were looking to hire someone for a job—to secure some prized information—so I was assigned to go undercover, to put myself up for the job and find out what it was they were after.”
“And?” prompted Gabriel.
“Well, that’s the thing. The meeting was earlier on this evening, before I was set to meet you for dinner. A last-minute thing. I’d put out word in the right circles, and received an invitation to the house… the sort of invitation I couldn’t refuse.”
“You went in alone?”
“I didn’t have much choice,” said Rutherford. “Not without blowing my cover. But there was someone else there, a woman named Sabine Glogauer, a freelancer. It was a trap. She confirmed my real identity the moment she saw me.”
“A trap?” echoed Gabriel. He reached over for his jacket, pulled out his cigarette case and flipped it open. Thankfully, the cigarettes inside were still dry. He lit one, and then tossed the case over to Rutherford.
“I shouldn’t, you know. Not after…” he shrugged. “Sod it.” He took one, and dropped the case on the arm of his chair. Gabriel watched him light it, then draw gratefully on the aromatic smoke.
“You were saying…?” said Gabriel.
“I think they were expecting me,” said Rutherford. “And by that I mean—I think they’d known who I was all along. They’d lured me there to kill me, to send a message to my superiors. Someone had tipped them off.”
“This Sabine woman?”
“I don’t think so,” said Rutherford. “She was there to confirm my identity, and no doubt she’s the one they’ve hired to complete this mysterious job.”
“Then who?” Gabriel leaned forward in his chair, warming his hands before the fire.
“That’s just it,” said Rutherford. “There were only a handful of people who knew. And now, after that attack on the van back there, I’m almost certain.”
“You think it’s an inside job,” said Gabriel.
Rutherford nodded. “Someone in the Service is working with the Russians. They tipped them off about my real identity, and they set us up for the ambush this evening, when they realized their damn hounds hadn’t finished the job.”
“And that’s why you came to me,” said Gabriel. It was all becoming clear—the reason Rutherford had gone to such extremes to reach the Savoy. If he’d called it in to one of his team, they might have sent the Russians instead. On top of that, he wouldn’t want to alert whoever was responsible that he was on to them.
“As I said, I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I… well, look, I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. If I’m going to figure out what’s going on here, I’m going to need to work in the shadows, and there’s no one better equipped for that sort of business than you.” He took another drag on his cigarette, and looked Gabriel straight in the eye. “Will you help me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Rutherford laughed. “Yes, I suppose you are. It’s not much of a holiday, though.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never been one for kicking back and enjoying the weather,” said Gabriel, with a grin. “So what’s next?”
“I need to work out how deep this goes,” said Rutherford, “and get to the bottom of what the Russians are doing here in London. Stop them, if necessary.”
“Not to mention what powers they’re drawing on,” said Gabriel. “If we’re going up against them, we need to know how to fight them.”
Rutherford was staring into the fire. He looked haunted. “What they did back at that house, the way they just folded the light to create those creatures…” he trailed off.
“The hounds you mentioned?”
Rutherford nodded. “Yes. For a while there, I really thought the game was up.”
“We can’t do this alone. Not with forces like that involved.”
“There’s a man I know. An old friend. He’s something of an expert in these matters.”
Gabriel nodded. “I can make some calls, too. And Ginny might be able to help, even if it’s just holding them off for a while.”
“Ginny?”
“Long story,” said Gabriel. “Let’s just say she’s changed somewhat since you last met.”
“Alright,” said Rutherford. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire. “Although she always was pretty handy with those pistols.”
“What about the others? Regina and Hargreaves. If they made it out alive, there’s every chance they’re going to show up here looking for you. Can they be trusted?”
Rutherford sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can be trusted. Not until we know more about what the Russians are planning. One thing’s clear, though. They’re here in force. It’s worse than we imagined.”
“It always is,” said Gabriel. “But it sounds to me like we start with this Sabine woman. If we can get to her, we can find out what the Russians were after.”
“Agreed,” said Rutherford. “Although she’s not going to be easy to find.” He rubbed the back of his neck, winced, and then stood, putting his hand out for Gabriel’s empty glass. “Another?”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. But then I’m going to have to get back to the hotel and check in with the others.” He frowned. “What about you? You can’t stay here. If there really is someone on the inside working with the Russians, none of the safe houses are secure. And you can’t even think about going home.”
“It’s alright,” said Rutherford. “I’ve another place nearby. A place no one knows about. I’ve always been big on insurance policies.”
Gabriel nodded. “Another drink, and then we move.”
Rutherford started toward the kitchen. There was a rap at the front door. He froze.
After a moment, they heard someone scraping at the brickwork by the window, and then the newcomer returned to the door. “Rutherford. It’s me, Regina. Let me in.”
Rutherford glanced at Gabriel. He narrowed his eyes.
Gabriel could tell what he was thinking. Slowly, he got to his feet and crossed to his jacket. He pulled Boyd’s gun from the inner pocket, checked the safety, and positioned himself behind one of the chairs.
He glanced at Rutherford, signaling he was ready.
Rutherford put the glasses down on the fireplace and walked to the door. “Are you alone?” he said.
“Yes, I’m bloody alone,” came the irritated response. “And I’m cold, wet and bleeding. Open the damn door.”
Reluctantly, Rutherford turned the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it before him like a shield.
“Thank you,” said Regina, as she staggered in, dripping water onto the floorboards. She looked half-drowned. Her hair had shaken loose from its ponytail, falling in uneven strands down the side of her face, and she was sporting a fresh black eye and bloodied lip. She glanced at Rutherford, then Gabriel, and then shrugged. “Well, this is a warm welcome,” she said.
“Were you followed?” said Rutherford, as he shut the door behind her.
“What do you think?” she snapped. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but I could do with a shot of whatever I can smell on your breath, and a seat before the fire.”
“Alright,” said Rutherford. “I’ll see to it.” He reclaimed the two glasses from the fireplace and disappeared into the kitchen while she removed her coat and stood before the fire, a small puddle forming around her feet.
“Are you really here on holiday?” she said, casting Gabriel a sideways glance. He’d already slipped the gun back into his belt, and he dropped back into his seat, keeping a watchful eye on her.
“I was,” he said. “Although I admit, it’s not been the most relaxing break. And dinner tonight was a terrible bore.”
Regina laughed, and hooked her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to kill you back there at the Fixer’s house. And thanks for your help.” She paused. “We’re still going to have to take you in, though.”
“That can wait,” said Rutherford. He crossed to the fire and handed them both their drinks. “Gabriel’s not going anywhere in a hurry, and we need to deal with these Russians.” He leaned against the back of the nearest chair. “What happened to Hargreaves?”
“We split up,” said Regina. “He’s gone straight to Absalom. With Boyd dead and that palaver in the street, we needed a cleanup crew, and someone suppressing the news outlets to stop word getting out.”
Rutherford nodded. “Well there’s no point staying here. Gabriel’s going back to his hotel. This doesn’t have anything to do with him. We can pick him up when all this is over for a debriefing session with Absalom. There are more important matters to attend to.”
Regina looked as if she were about to protest, then relented.
“We can trust him, Regina. It’s okay.”
She nodded her assent.
“Good,” he said. “I’m heading home for a bath. Then we’ll rendezvous with Absalom this afternoon.”
“You can’t go home,” said Regina. “You’re a target.”
Rutherford glanced at Gabriel. “Alright. I’ll get a room in a hotel. I need to rest up, let the Fixer’s compounds do their work. You should go home, too, get some sleep.”
“He’s right,” said Gabriel. “For what it’s worth. You were great out there, but you’ve taken a beating. We all have. If you’re planning to take on those Russians again, you’re going to need all the strength you can muster.”
“I thought this didn’t have anything to do with you?” she said, her tone barbed. Gabriel held up his hands in mock surrender, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night.”
“Right,” said Gabriel. “That I can agree with.”
Rutherford downed the remains of his brandy and reached for his jacket. “Come on. Don’t get comfortable. Let’s go.”
“Alright,” said Regina. “You’re right. A couple of hours sleep, and then we meet back at the office to work out what the hell we’re going to do.”
“Exactly,” said Rutherford.
Gabriel stood, and crossed to the other armchair, reclaiming his cigarette case. He slid his arms into his still-wet jacket. “Good luck. Both of you.” Regina was shaking out her coat. He put a hand on Rutherford’s shoulder. “You know where to find me when you need me to help out with this Absalom business.”
Rutherford nodded. Together, they walked to the door. Outside, the rain had finally abated. Gabriel leaned in and pulled Rutherford into a brief embrace. “I’ll trail her for a mile or so, see where she goes. Call me at the hotel this afternoon,” he whispered, before releasing him and stepping back. Regina was behind them now, still looking somewhat bedraggled.
“You too,” said Rutherford. He turned to Regina. “See you later.”
She nodded as she stepped out into the street, pulling the door shut behind her.
Gabriel watched as she turned and headed off down the street. Then, with a quick glance at Rutherford, he set off behind her.