Keeping an Ear on the World
A blast of brilliant sunlight hit the windscreen as the Bentley roared through the Door, out of the subtle realms, and back into the world. A long country lane stretched away before me, bounded on both sides by low stone walls. I slammed on the brakes, but I had the whole road to myself. Even the fields beyond the walls were open and empty, just grazing land for a few incurious cows. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and everything looked reassuringly real and solid again.
I took a moment then to access the Bentley’s computers and have them flash up a detailed local map on the inside of the windscreen. The Bentley only looks old-fashioned; the Armourer would never send an agent out into the field without everything he needed to get the job done. It quickly became clear that the Door had delivered me just a few miles short of the Lark Hill Centre, home to the Big Ear. Which raised a couple of rather interesting thoughts.
The first being, how did Melanie Blaze know where I was going? I never told her . . . though I suppose she could have hacked my car’s computers. Elf magic prides itself on being sneaky. And second, if she could open a Door directly back to this reality, she wasn’t trapped in the subtle realms. She could have come home anytime. Perhaps she was telling the truth after all. That this world just wasn’t worth it without my uncle James in it. I shut down the information on the windscreen and headed for Lark Hill. I still had a mission to complete.
Kate’s voice rang suddenly in my ear. “Eddie! Eddie, can you hear me?”
“Yes! Yes, I can hear you! Now will you please turn down the volume before you have me off the road and into a hedge!”
“Well, where the hell have you been?” said Kate at a more reasonable level. “We’ve all been on tenterhooks since you went quiet. What’s been happening?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “Let’s just say I got lost for a while. I’m back now. I’d settle for that if I was you.”
“Eddie . . .”
“I’m almost at the Big Ear.”
“Already? What kind of short cut did you take?”
“Really don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Keep in contact,” said Kate, after an only slightly ominous pause. “I can only advise you properly if I’m kept in the loop.”
Her voice went blessedly quiet, and I was left to concentrate on my thoughts and my driving. If I had to have a family overseer, I was going to have to work out some kind of off switch so I could call the inside of my head my own. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told her about Melanie Blaze. I think it was because the family just didn’t need to know. She was none of their business any more.
I followed the long, curving country lane as it passed between fields full of waving corn and hulking farm machinery, until finally it took a sharp turn to the left and cut across a wide-open moor. After a couple of miles of almost nothing, the road came to a sudden halt before a pair of massive steel-mesh gates standing upright and alone in the middle of nowhere, completely blocking off the road. Barbed-wire fences extended away in both directions. No name, no warning signs—just two uniformed soldiers carrying automatic weapons. They took up positions in front of the gates as I approached, covering me with their guns.
I eased the Bentley to a halt and gave the two soldiers my best I have every right to be here smile. I took my time pulling out my prepared documents, since both soldiers had the look of men who wouldn’t react well to sudden movements. One soldier shouldered his weapon, came forward, and took his time sorting through my papers, one page at a time. I wasn’t worried. The Armourer always did good work.
I’d already decided this wasn’t a case for Shaman Bond, when I’d filled in the details earlier. His reputation wouldn’t be of any use in a situation like this; in fact, it would probably be enough to get me shot on the spot, just on general principles. The Big Ear might specialize in security work, but it was still a military establishment. So for this mission I was using an old family name, Sebastian Graves. He had a tradition of turning up at places where absolutely no one would be pleased to see him.
The soldier finally nodded reluctantly and handed the papers back to me. I accepted them with a told you so smile, and he stepped back and gestured to his companion. The other soldier opened the gates, stepped quickly back, and actually saluted me as I drove through. I approved of that. I don’t get saluted nearly often enough.
The road carried on for another half-mile, and then dropped sharply away before me, plunging down into the earth through a steel-walled tunnel illuminated by harsh fluorescent lighting. The roar of the Bentley’s engine was painfully loud in the enclosed space. Somebody should have told me Lark Hill Centre was an underground bunker. I contacted Kate.
“The information was there, in the briefing notes,” she said patiently. “But you didn’t bother to read all the way through, did you?”
“I may have skimmed,” I said. “I really don’t like underground bases . . . They’re always so much harder to fight your way out of. I was expecting some kind of high-tech establishment, with big windows and lots of antennae and dishes and things . . .”
“You quaint old-fashioned thing, you,” said Kate.
The tunnel finally levelled off and opened out into a vast underground garage half full of assorted military vehicles. A small group of uniformed soldiers was waiting for me, before the only obvious exit. I goosed the Bentley’s engine just enough to make it roar, and then screeched to a halt right in front of the soldiers. A few of them actually flinched. I shut down the engine and took my time getting out of the car. I didn’t want these military types to think they could hurry me.
Half a dozen soldiers immediately surrounded the Bentley, covering me with really big guns. They’d noticed the dark blood from the soft world splashed across the car’s sides and bonnet. Their commanding officer stood his ground and looked me over with open disapproval. A large man, with a barrel chest and broad shoulders that strained his spotless uniform to the breaking point. Well into middle age, with close-cropped iron-grey hair and a face deeply etched with the harsh lines of experience, he looked like he ate spies for breakfast and crapped bullets. I just knew we weren’t going to get on. I gave him my most charming smile, but he only thrust out a hand for my identifying documents.
I handed them over, and he took his time working his way through them, checking every detail against information already listed on his clipboard. Clearly looking for something out of place, so he could deny me entrance to his precious base. I’d met his type before. Hard-core military, determined not to be pushed around by some mere civilian. I leaned casually against the Bentley and smiled meaninglessly at the soldiers. They just stared steadily back, watching me carefully, still covering me with their guns. The commanding officer finally reached the last page in my documents, checked the very last signature, and scowled fiercely at me before reluctantly handing the papers back.
“Commander Donald Fletcher, Mister Graves. I am in charge of this installation.”
“Good to meet you, Commander,” I said, still smiling remorselessly. “What nice tunnels you have. And a really big garage. Can’t help noticing those are all military vehicles—not a civilian car anywhere.”
“This is a military base,” said the Commander. “We don’t get many visitors. Security is paramount at Lark Hill. Your papers appear to be in order; I’ll check them again against the security computers once we get inside. I can’t allow you access to the more secure areas of this installation until you provide fingerprints, a retina scan, and a DNA sample.”
“That . . . is not going to happen,” I said. “You don’t have the security clearance for that kind of information.”
He smiled, for the first time. “Then you’re not setting foot inside my base.”
“Try to stop me,” I said. I wasn’t smiling any more. “You’ve seen my authority, Commander. I could shoot you, right now, and no one would even slap my wrist afterwards. Or, more pertinently; I could make one phone call and have you removed as Commander of Lark Hill. Your own soldiers would frog-march you out of here. You’ve seen my papers; for as long as I’m here, I outrank you. Commander.”
He glared at me, at a loss for anything to say. He knew I wasn’t exaggerating. The documents the Armourer provided were unimpeachable. The soldiers were watching the Commander out of the corners of their eyes. He must have noticed, because he nodded stiffly to me, stepped back, and indicated the exit behind him. The door swung open, and the soldiers fell back on two sides to form an honour guard for me to walk through.
I made a point of not noticing or caring, turned back to the Bentley, and activated the car’s security system. The Bentley made a series of loud and ostentatiously dangerous noises, then settled down again. Like a predator pretending it was asleep.
“I’ll have someone park your car out of the way,” said the Commander.
“No you won’t,” I said. “No one touches this car but me. She can look after herself. And don’t let anyone get too close. I haven’t fed her recently.”
The soldiers looked at the Bentley, and then looked quickly away again. Because they could all feel the car looking back at them, in a thoughtful sort of way. The Commander shook his head disgustedly. He was clearly old-school military, with no time for anyone outside the recognised chain of command. Which left him vulnerable to people like me, who operate outside the system and don’t give a damn. Fortunately, he thought I was just another security expert, and I was determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. People in authority tend to clam up once they know they’re in the presence of a Drood.
The Commander led the way through the open door. I looked hopefully at the honour guard of soldiers, in case they felt moved to salute me, but none of them did. Beyond the door lay just the kind of high-tech establishment I’d been expecting. Brightly lit corridors, gleaming white walls, all very calm and peaceful, with surveillance cameras everywhere. I had no doubt there would be more-sophisticated systems operating as well, hidden away from the naked eye.
People hurried back and forth, nodding to the Commander and shooting suspicious glances at me, all of them doing their best to look as though they were on their way somewhere important, to do something vital, and possibly even urgent. I wasn’t fooled. I knew that look. It was the same expression I used to put on when I went striding purposefully through Drood Hall as a teenager, pretending to be frightfully busy so the family wouldn’t find me some real work to do. Interestingly, none of the people I passed were soldiers. No military uniforms, just cheap suits and the occasional white lab coat. Scientists and technicians, the lot of them. The Big Ear might be a military installation, but its work was still strictly scientific in nature. Despite all the airs and graces the Commander gave himself.
Give the man his due; he went out of his way to give me the grand tour. I was taken in and out of endless offices and workrooms, where people sat in long rows, staring fixedly at computer screens or listening to headphones, occasionally bursting into flurries of sudden movement as they entered new information into the system. Dozens of men and women, watching the world and making long notes as to what it was up to. Studying video feeds, listening in on conversations, reading endless streams of e-mails. Doing their best to put it all together and make useful connections. Sorting out the dangerous wheat from the babble of chaff.
No one spoke to anyone else. They were doing important work, and they took it all very seriously. I indicated to the Commander how impressed I was, and he nodded curtly.
“We run a tight ship here, Mister Graves. Everyone knows their job and gets on with it.”
“And this centre’s job is to listen to everyone?” I said. “Every communication, public and private? No exceptions?”
If a note of disapproval had entered into my voice, the Commander chose not to hear it. “Of course,” he said flatly. “Security threats can come from anywhere. We need to know everything.”
“What about people’s right to privacy?”
“Their right to be protected must come first.”
“Your new device must make that a lot easier,” I said.
“It does. We’ve been covering the same ground for years, but the Big Ear gives us fuller access, in a far more efficient way.”
I would have liked to say something about the moral implications of spying on people you’re supposed to be protecting. But I really couldn’t. Not when my family listens to the whole world, every day. We do it for a much greater cause than national security—but we still do it.
The grand tour came to an end at the security control centre, where monitor screens covered the whole exterior and interior of Lark Hill. Short- and long-range sensors observed the surrounding countryside twenty-four hours a day. I leaned in for a close look at one screen, showing the soldiers guarding the gates I’d passed through earlier. The screen next to it seemed to be showing a bare expanse of open countryside. I looked at the Commander.
“That is what lies on top of this centre,” he said. “Off-limits to the general public, of course. Protected by land mines, and other nasty hidden surprises, to discourage visitors.”
“Do the locals know that?” I said.
“Of course not,” said the Commander. “No one outside this base knows. If anyone knew, they wouldn’t be surprises, would they? We’re miles away from the nearest town, and the perimeter is fenced and guarded. No one has any good reason to be out there.”
“Has anyone ever actually got inside the centre?” I said.
“No,” said the Commander, with a certain pride. “And we are determined to keep it that way. Security here is top-notch. First-rate.”
“Then how is important information getting out?” I said.
“We don’t know! We’re on top of every form of communication that goes in or out of Lark Hill! It’s impossible for anyone to make contact with the outside world without going through several layers of oversight. But someone is alerting and warning off the very people we’ve identified as security risks. It has to stop!”
* * *
The Commander escorted me to his very private and secure office, set behind a steel door that opened only to the right numbers punched into a computer keypad. Which he was careful to block from me with his body. He needn’t have bothered. Never met a keypad my armour couldn’t crack. The office turned out to be unsurprisingly spartan, with not even a single family photo on his neat and tidy military desk. The Commander sat on a hard-backed chair on his side of the desk, while I settled myself on the equally uncomfortable visitor’s chair facing him. For a while we just sat and stared at each other. In the end, the Commander leaned forward across the desk to fix me with his steely gaze.
“We’re going to have to work together, Graves. The situation here has become unacceptable. Our country’s safety is at risk. It appears . . . somebody working inside this centre has betrayed us. As soon as we identify someone as worthy of our attention, someone here tells them they’ve been found out. Warning them! So they can run bleating to their lawyers, or the media—or just disappear.”
“You’re sure this is an inside job?” I said, just to show I was paying attention. “There’s no chance someone could be intercepting your communications? Maybe even tapping into the Big Ear itself?”
“No. Completely impossible. We checked, of course, but no, it has to be one of our people. All the military personnel were personally selected by me—men and women I’d worked with before. I trust them implicitly. So that leaves just the civilians. Scientists, technicians, computer people, and security. But they were all exhaustively vetted before they were allowed anywhere near Lark Hill! So it can’t be them either.”
“Perhaps someone here isn’t who they’re supposed to be,” I said.
The Commander shook his head. “We’ve checked everyone’s fingerprints, retina scans, and DNA. Twice.”
“I’ll run my own checks,” I said. “Just in case.”
“You were invited in to come up with new ideas,” said the Commander, “not cover old ground.”
“This new device of yours,” I said. “The Big Ear. I’m going to need to see it at some point.”
“No,” the Commander said immediately. “I don’t care what your papers say; you don’t have the necessary clearance. No one gets to see the Big Ear except me.”
I didn’t argue. I could see he wasn’t going to budge. I fed him a few cheerful platitudes, told him not to worry because I was on the case now, and said I’d take a walk around the centre to get the feel of things. The Commander wanted to send a couple of soldiers with me. I politely but firmly declined. I rose to my feet, and he did too. We didn’t shake hands. I left his office, and the heavy steel door closed firmly behind me.
* * *
I strolled through the brightly lit corridors, nodding amiably to everyone I passed, and they all avoided my gaze and hurried away. No one wanted to draw attention to themselves. I did think about grabbing a few at random, slamming them up against the nearest wall and asking a few pointed questions, but I didn’t see the point. The Commander was right; security in Lark Hill was airtight. Cameras everywhere, no blind spots, all kinds of hidden surveillance systems . . . So the problem had to be with the only new element: the Big Ear. Someone must have got to it.
I made a point of popping into various offices and just hanging around, chatting aimlessly, letting people get used to me. Making it as clear as I could that I wasn’t on any kind of witch hunt. Gradually, people started to open up and talk to me. They all seemed honestly puzzled as to how the information was getting out. They all had their own theories too, but none of them amounted to much. There were the usual suggestions as to who might be behind it—agents of a foreign power, someone doing it for the money, or even some over-principled whistle-blower doing it for WikiLeaks. All perfectly plausible, but no one was able to suggest how it could be done.
The one thing that did emerge, very clearly, was that none of them had ever seen the Big Ear. They’d all been locked in their offices and workrooms the day the device was installed by outside contractors. And the device and its room were strictly off-limits to everyone but the Commander. So who operates it? I asked. And the answer came back: We think it operates itself. One technician lowered his voice to a whisper as he told me that even the approaches to the device’s room were protected by seriously extreme security measures. One man had been killed, early on, just for taking a wrong turn and ending up where he shouldn’t have been. The Commander hadn’t even tried to cover it up. Just let it stand as a warning, and an object lesson.
I went back to wandering through the corridors, heading nowhere in particular, thinking furiously. It was clear the centre’s security was as much about keeping an eye on people inside Lark Hill as on people outside. Nothing happened here without someone knowing all about it. Whoever was beating the system had to know every detail of how Lark Hill operated, from the inside out. Including the Big Ear. Which meant I had to see the device for myself. I always love it when my first instincts turn out to be right. I contacted Kate.
“Way ahead of you,” she said briskly. “I’m sending you Lark Hill’s floor plans. Don’t tell the Commander; he doesn’t know we’ve got them. We’ve already worked out where the Big Ear is, but . . .”
“Oh, it’s never good when you hesitate like that,” I said. “But what?”
“Well, it is rather odd. The first thing we looked for was the kind of power levels necessary to run something as powerful as the Big Ear would have to be, and there don’t appear to be any. Whatever kind of device this is, it doesn’t follow any of the expected design parameters. No energy drain, no connections to the rest of the centre’s technology; and no one to operate it. Which suggests . . .”
“It’s not technology as we know it,” I said. “Not from around here . . .”
“Exactly. So find out what it is, Eddie. And if need be, take it away from them.”
“I’ve been told there are lethal levels of protection in place, defending the device,” I said.
“Oh yes. All sorts.”
The floor plans arrived through my torc. I looked quickly around to make sure no one was watching, then sent a trickle of strange matter up the side of my face to form a pair of golden sunglasses over my eyes. The floor plans appeared floating on the air before me. I studied the plans just long enough to memorise the quickest route to the device, then let the sunglasses run back into my torc.
“I’m going to need a distraction,” I murmured to Kate. “Something to keep everyone occupied while I pay the Big Ear a quick visit.”
“No problem,” said Kate. “The comm people tell me they’re ready to hit Lark Hill with a blast of electronic chaff—enough useless information to temporarily override all their systems without seeming like any kind of attack. We don’t want them to shut down the centre, after all. So make this quick, Eddie.”
“Right, then,” I said. “I’ll just pop in for a peek and then piss off again.”
* * *
Just around the corner from the Big Ear’s corridor, and all its hidden deadly protections, I leaned against the wall and put my phone to my ear. Marvellous invention, the mobile phone. Never been a better excuse for standing around, apparently doing nothing. Everyone just assumes you’re listening to someone. A quick glance around the corner was all it took to confirm that there were heavily armed soldiers patrolling both ends of the corridor. I let Kate know I was in position, and immediately every alarm bell and siren and flashing light in the centre went off at once. People came running from all directions, glaring wildly about them, then heading for their prescribed panic stations, at speed. At speed, while still being very careful to avoid all approaches to the Big Ear, of course. I put my phone away, and took another quick peek round the corner. The armed guards were still standing their ground. Which was a pity—for them.
I subvocalised my activating Words, and my golden armour flowed out and over me in a moment. I felt stronger and sharper, as though I’d been kicked fully awake. I shot round the corner and took out both guards at my end of the corridor with two solid taps behind the ear. The guards at the other end realised something had happened, but I was off and running before they even had time to raise their weapons. I raced down the corridor at inhuman speed, driven on by the unnatural strength in my armoured legs. I was just a golden blur to the startled soldiers, right before they were suddenly unconscious too. When the guards finally woke up, none of them would be able to explain to the Commander what had happened.
I stood well back from the door that led to the Big Ear and looked it over carefully. I didn’t worry about the security cameras; Drood armour is invisible to all surveillance. How else could our field agents operate today? We move unseen through the world to do what we have to do.
The lethal security measures were very well hidden; I couldn’t see a sign of them anywhere. I kicked in all my mask’s filters, and then discovered the pressure pads cunningly concealed in the floor, the hidden panels in the walls over robot gun emplacements, and the hidden panels in the ceilings for poison gas nozzles. The Commander really wasn’t taking any chances. I considered the situation carefully. I couldn’t hang around too long. The Commander would be bound to check in with his soldiers during an emergency alert, and he’d send serious reinforcements when the guards didn’t answer.
The most obvious solution was to just stomp on the pressure pads and trust my armour to protect me, but that would confirm that someone had been here. Someone the lethal levels didn’t bother at all. So, step around the pads. But when I stepped carefully past the first pad, the others immediately rearranged themselves into a whole new pattern. Which was just downright sneaky. So I hopscotched my way past and around the pads, my mask’s filters allowing me to dodge them all no matter how fast they moved.
I can be sneaky too.
I stood in front of the door and looked it over carefully. Fairly ordinary-looking, with another computer keypad lock. I grinned under my mask. Good enough to keep most people out, but I’m not most people. I pressed a golden fingertip against the keypad and sent a filament of strange matter leaping into the electronic system. It took my armour only a moment to find and input the right entrance code, and then the door swung quietly open before me. And no, I don’t know how the armour does that. My armour does a lot of things I don’t understand, and I discovered long ago that there was absolutely no point in asking Ethel questions concerning the marvellous armour she provides for my family. The answers only make my head hurt. I stepped quickly inside the room, and the door closed and locked itself quietly but firmly behind me.
* * *
I appeared to be standing inside someone’s parlour. Quiet, comfortably old-fashioned, with padded chairs and chunky furniture, and more doors leading off to other rooms. Fresh flowers in vases, nice prints on the walls, and a pleasantly patterned carpet underfoot. A little old lady was sitting in a chair, knitting something shapeless, her gaze far away. She wore a baggy sweater over a simple dress, and big fluffy slippers. Her hair was grey, and tightly curled. Her face looked well-worn, but not unhappy, with bifocal glasses pushed right down her nose. In front of her chair stood a simple coffee table, bearing a computer laptop chattering importantly to itself. The old lady didn’t appear to be paying it any attention.
I armoured down, so as not to alarm her. My torc would still conceal me from the room’s surveillance systems. The old lady looked at me, smiled vaguely, and put her knitting down in her lap, to give me her full attention. The computer kept working on its own.
“How nice,” she said, in a pleasant, slightly reedy voice. “A visitor! I don’t get many visitors, these days. Just Commander Fletcher, and he only ever wants to talk business. Let me see now . . . Yes! You’re Eddie Drood . . . Nice to meet you, Eddie. I’m Gemma Markham. They call me the Big Ear. I was hoping for something a little more dramatic, but . . .”
I got it immediately. There was only one way she could have known who I was so quickly.
“Hello, Gemma,” I said. “You’re a telepath, aren’t you? There is no device, no great computer, just you. Listening in on everyone with your mind.”
“That’s right, dear,” she said. “Would you like a nice cup of tea?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” I said.
I pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her, as she poured me tea from the china service set out on a side table. She offered me a plate of bourbon biscuits too, but I declined. Molly’s got me watching my weight. No wonder the Commander didn’t allow anyone else in here . . . Gemma and I sipped our tea and chatted politely. The Drood secret agent and the telepath who could overhear everyone in the country. In the most secret room of an underground bunker. Some days I love my job.
“Are you here to rescue me, dear?” said Gemma, blowing on her tea to cool it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you need rescuing?”
“Do you know, I rather think I do. Not that I’m in any danger, you understand. Everyone has been very kind. But I’m not allowed to leave these rooms. Not ever. It’s a nice little flat, very comfortable, I’m sure, but it’s not what I agreed to.”
She told me her story. Gemma was the Big Ear, and always had been—a telepath powerful enough to listen in on every person in the country. She didn’t need to read or hear their communications; she plucked the thoughts right out of their heads. The Government told her they needed her to find terrorists, to stop them before anyone could get hurt. So of course she volunteered straightaway. Because she was of that generation who understood duty and responsibility. But life at Lark Hill turned out to be very different from what she was told.
She agreed to spy on dangerous people who presented a real threat to national security. People with murder on their minds. But once the Government had her firmly in place, locked away in her hidden rooms, deep underground . . . they changed the deal. They told her they wanted her to listen in on everybody. On all the ordinary, everyday people. So they could find out who the troublemakers were. People who opposed the Government, or didn’t believe the things the Government wanted them to believe.
“And they weren’t just talking about illegal things,” said Gemma. “It was all politics, and not rocking the boat, or making waves. Or drawing attention to things the Government didn’t want people to know about. Well, I wasn’t having that. I couldn’t defy the Commander and his own private army, but I could reach out to people who were in danger and warn them.”
“So . . . you’ve been the leak, all along?” I said.
“Yes, dear. It seemed the right thing to do.”
“You really can hear everyone?”
“Oh yes . . . My mind has become ever so much stronger since they introduced me to that machine. The one on the table there. I listen to people, and the device listens to me, sorting out what it has been programmed to consider important. Special key words and phrases. I don’t pay much attention. Most of the time, most people aren’t thinking anything interesting. Sometimes the Commander wants me to concentrate on some particular person, or organisation, and that can be quite exciting. I have detected a great many terrorists planning awful things. I was glad to be able to put a stop to that. To have saved lives . . . But mostly it seems the people in charge are just going after ordinary, everyday people. Because they can. And that isn’t at all what I agreed to.”
“How long have they kept you locked up here?” I said.
“Almost a year now. Ever since I realised they’d lied to me. I told them I wasn’t interested in politics. I told them I wanted to leave, wanted to go home. And they just smiled and told me that I could never be allowed to leave, because I would be far too valuable to any foreign power.” She sniffed loudly. “Too valuable to the Government, they meant. I should never have voted for that man. But he seemed such a nice, clean-cut sort . . . I could have refused to work for them, but I could see in the Commander’s head that he was already thinking of threats to my family. And worse things . . . so I just carry on. Pointing out the bad people and helping the ordinary people when I can.
“They’ve made me very comfortable here, but it does get a bit lonely. I was promised that my family would be able to visit, but that was just another lie. Only Commander Fletcher comes here, and I won’t talk to him. Just on principle. He did try bribing me—offered me all kinds of things. But I know my Bible stories. I know what it means when they offer you the whole world if you’ll just bow down and worship them.”
“You’re never allowed out of here?” I said. “Not even for exercise?”
“Don’t need much exercise at my age, dear. They say all this security is to keep me safe, from terrorists who’d try to kill me if they ever found out what I can do. But they’re just afraid that if I ever did get out, they’d never get me back in. And they’re right!” She stopped, and looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m surprised they haven’t come dashing in here to arrest you just for talking to me.”
“They can’t see me,” I said. “Or hear me. They probably think you’re just talking to yourself.”
“I hoped someone would come looking for me,” she said wistfully. “My family must be very worried . . .”
“Can’t you listen in on them?” I said.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that! I’d never intrude on my family’s privacy.”
“Why did you decide to start contacting people and warning them?”
She shrugged briefly. “Because it’s the right thing to do. And because it’s the only form of rebellion left to me. I only warn those people who seem to be in danger and haven’t done anything wrong that I can see. Not terrorists, just people with minds and opinions of their own. Which never used to be a crime. So I warn them. Because as far as I’m concerned, they’re the kind of people I was brought here to protect.”
“Do you want me to break you out?” I said. “I could, if you wanted. I’m a Drood; you must have seen in my mind what my armour is capable of. My family would protect you. No one messes with the Droods.”
“No thank you, dear,” said Gemma very firmly. “If I really wanted to leave I don’t think anyone here could stop me. I could make someone open the door, and even escort me out. And anyone who tried to stop me would end up wishing they hadn’t. But I’m doing important work here. If it wasn’t for me looking after the nation, people really would die . . . And I won’t have that. I am keeping my country safe, and that means more to me than this . . . inconvenience.” She looked at me steadily. “Would you try to take me out of here by force, against my will?”
“No,” I said. “That’s not how I work. I think I’ll go and have a word with the Commander. Express my displeasure. I’ll see you later, Gemma.”
“Thank you, Eddie. That would be nice. Good-bye, dear.”
She took up her knitting again and went back to staring into space while the computer before her worked furiously, making a list of everyone’s secrets. I armoured up and returned to the corridor, carefully locking the door behind me again. Because she did need protecting, after all.
I armoured down once I’d left the danger zone outside the room, and strode quickly through the corridors. People took one look at my face and hurried to get out of my way. Which was just as well. Gemma was right. I couldn’t just take her away, not when she was doing such necessary work. People might suffer or die if Gemma wasn’t there to protect them. Remove her from Lark Hill and I could be crippling this country’s ability to defend itself from terror.
But on the other hand, I was damned if I’d let the Government bully an old woman and keep her as a slave.
I stood outside the Commander’s door and knocked politely. His voice came through a grille above the keypad.
“Not now. I’m busy.”
I armoured up, smashed the keypad with my golden fist, kicked the door open, and strode into his office. He jumped to his feet behind his desk, outraged, and then his jaw dropped as he took in my armour. I stood before him, golden arms folded over my gleaming chest. The Commander started to reach for the gun holstered on his hip, and then had the good sense to stop himself.
“I should have known,” he said bitterly. “Of course they’d send a Drood. Who else could they trust with a situation like this . . . No wonder you had such authority!”
“What were all those alarms about?” I said innocently.
“An attack on our communications,” he said. “Not the first time it’s happened. The enemy is always testing us.”
“Which enemy?” I said.
“Does it matter? We’re spoilt for choice, these days. That’s why the Big Ear is so vital to this country’s defences.”
“You mean Gemma Markham.”
“Of course you’d find out. Drood. Yes, I mean her—and the device. She’s nothing without that machine. It made her the telepath she is today.”
“About that,” I said. “Gemma isn’t too happy with the way she’s being treated.”
His jaw dropped again. “How the hell did you get in to see her?”
“I’m a Drood, remember?”
“You can’t have her,” he said bluntly. “She’s ours. We found her; we made her! She’s a vital part of this country’s national security!”
“You don’t need her,” I said. “You’ve got my family. We’ve been protecting this country for centuries.”
“But we can’t always rely on you,” said the Commander, regaining some of his composure. He sat down behind his desk again. “You aren’t always here. You get distracted. Running off to fight your secret wars against God knows what and forgetting all about us. Our everyday concerns and dangers. But you don’t need to worry about Gemma Markham. We are aware there is a problem with her, and there have already been serious discussions, at very high levels, on how best to control her. The current thinking seems to indicate some kind of lobotomy. Surgical, chemical, psionic. For the moment, my superiors are understandably reluctant to do anything that might interfere with the goose’s ability to deliver golden eggs . . . But we’ll work something out.”
He was actually smiling, and I was just a moment away from kicking him through the nearest wall. But he was only the man in the chair, carrying out orders. No wonder the Prime Minister went bleating to the Matriarch when he saw his precious secret being endangered. Who else could he trust with a secret like this? Taking down the Commander wouldn’t help Gemma. So I just turned my back on him and stalked out of his office.
* * *
I armoured down and went wandering through the corridors again. I always think better when I’m walking. Several corridors later, I was no nearer an answer, so I contacted Kate and filled her in on everything I’d discovered.
“Where the hell did they find such a powerful telepath?” she said immediately. “One we knew nothing about?”
“I think that’s down to the device,” I said. “Whatever it turns out to be. It made her what she is.”
“Well, where did they get such a powerful device? That we knew nothing about?”
“It’s not like there’s any shortage of black markets for strange and unnatural tech,” I said. “The point is, what do you want me to do?”
“The Matriarch will have to consult with her advisory Council,” said Kate. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t do anything. We’ll get back to you.”
And that was when all the alarm bells and sirens and flashing lights went off again. People went running in all directions again, this time looking even more upset. Soldiers came hurrying down the corridor, guns at the ready, looking for someone to use them on.
“I heard that!” said Kate. “What have you done, Eddie?”
“Wasn’t me, for once,” I said. “And since it’s not you, this time, I’d better go and investigate.”
I armoured up and started down the corridor. No point in trying to hide that I was a Drood any more. But I did have my armour soak up the noise that my metal feet made on the floor, so no one would know I was coming. Nobody can sneak around like a Drood field agent. I peered into the security control centre. Everyone looked up, and a whole bunch of them had something very like a coronary as they took in my armour. I raised a placating hand.
“It’s Sebastian Graves,” I said. “Security, remember? Now someone talk to me. What’s happened?”
One of the braver souls gestured for me to come over and look at his monitor screen. I leaned in beside him, and he shied away from my armour despite himself. I pretended not to notice. The screen showed a view of the steel-mesh gates I’d passed through on my way in. They’d been flung wide open, and the armed soldiers were lying on the ground, quite dead.
“I’m not getting any life signs on the short- or long-range sensors,” the tech guy said grimly. “Nothing to show who could have done that. The guards never even got a shot off, and whoever did it passed through all our lethal defence measures without triggering any of them. Which is supposed to be impossible. They could already be inside Lark Hill! Whoever they are, they’re a real pro.”
“Like a Drood,” said another tech from a safe distance away.
“No one is that good,” I said.
“Someone is definitely inside the centre,” said the first tech. “Several guards are not reporting in, from the perimeter inwards . . . Someone is heading towards the looked-down room and the Big Ear device! How is that possible? How could they even know where it is?”
“Like you said,” I murmured, “a real pro . . . Come to steal the device—or destroy it.”
“Can’t you do anything?” said the tech.
“I’ll go defend the device,” I said. “In the meantime, lock down all the entrances and exits. Since you can’t rely on the cameras to track our intruder, try boosting the microphones . . . Maybe you can hear him moving even if you can’t see him. And keep everyone else well away from the Big Ear! Soldiers would just get in the way while I’m working.”
“The Commander already sent troops to defend the corridor,” said the tech. “We haven’t heard anything from them.”
“And you won’t,” I said. “Real pros eat soldiers for breakfast.”
* * *
I went running back through the corridors, heading for the locked-down room and Gemma Markham. It could be anyone at all, coming after her. You don’t shut down terrorists without making a lot of enemies. Or it could be someone who wanted the Big Ear working for them. I began to pass dead bodies. Technicians at first, and then soldiers, lying scattered the length of the corridors. Guns lay discarded on the floor. Whoever took these people down did it so efficiently that they never knew what was happening. None of the dead men or women got a chance to defend themselves. So—not just a spy. A professional assassin as well.
I stopped to check a few of the bodies. They’d all been killed in the same way. A single stab wound from behind.
I came to the Big Ear’s corridor, and stopped abruptly. I couldn’t see anything, but I was sure I’d caught a glimpse of surreptitious movement out of the corner of my eye. I put my back against the nearest wall. My armour should protect me from a knife in the back, but I didn’t feel like taking any chances. I looked quickly back and forth, but no matter how fast I turned my head, I couldn’t see anyone. I stood very still and listened. I was sure there was someone else in the corridor.
When you’ve been in the field as long as I have, you learn to trust your instincts. I activated all of my mask’s filters and enhancements—and suddenly there he was. Right in front of me. Standing very still, studying me thoughtfully, holding a long slender knife in one hand. Got you . . . I turned my golden mask to look at him directly, and his head came up as he realised I could see him. He nodded respectfully, then walked confidently forward to join me. He didn’t lower his knife.
He was an old man, probably tall once but stooped now and more than fashionably thin. Most of his gaunt face was hidden behind a black domino mask. His formal tuxedo hung loosely about him, and he also wore a heavy black opera cape and a gleaming top hat. He should have looked ridiculous, wearing such an old-fashioned outfit in a modern setting, but somehow he didn’t. Something in the way he wore the outfit made it clear that these were his working clothes. And while age might have slowed him down, it hadn’t affected his professional style. This old man had already killed a great many people, just to get this far, most of them trained soldiers.
I looked at the outfit and knew who he was. Who he had to be. My uncle James had talked about him. I inclined my golden head respectfully.
“Do I have the honour of addressing that venerable French spy and assassin, the premier villain of Paris, the legendary Fantom?”
He smiled quickly and bowed briefly in return. “Indeed you do, monsieur Drood. Might I inquire . . . ?”
“I’m Eddie Drood. I believe you knew my uncle James.”
“But of course! The legendary and renowned Grey Fox! Yes, indeed; many the years we spent, chasing and being chased across the rooftops of Paris. And sometimes through the underground, or the sewers . . . The fox and the hare. It was like a game we played, except the stakes were real. Money and secrets and honour . . . I would take something, and he would do his best to take it from me. Sometimes he won, sometimes I won. But it was really all about the chase. I think he would have killed me if he could have. I would certainly have killed him. But somehow that never happened. Now the old Grey Fox is gone . . . Without him, I tired of the game. The streets and rooftops of Paris are no doubt so much safer as a result, but I can’t help feeling they have lost something of their glamour.”
“I know why you’re here,” I said. “But why are you wearing your old outfit?”
“A matter of style,” said the old villain with dignity. “It reminds me of the good old days, when everyone dressed up to do battle. Put on a persona, choose a mask and an outfit, and go out into the world to play the greatest game of all. People just can’t be bothered these days, my young friend. You are the Grey Fox’s nephew, yes? I have heard of you, Eddie. A fine adversary.”
“That’s close enough,” I said. And the Fantom stopped his stealthy advance.
“Your uncle trained you well,” he said, smiling. “I feel . . . you will not be persuaded to let me pass.”
“I’m a Drood,” I said. “I’m here to stop you. It’s what we do.”
“But I came prepared, monsieur Drood! You see this cloak; it belonged to the original Fantom of the Paris Opera. It enables its wearer to walk unseen, in plain sight. How else was he was able to run around that crowded old opera house without being observed? And see this knife! A very special blade, I assure you. Fashioned from the very first Madame Guillotine, from the time of the Terror. Bathed in the blood of a thousand executed aristocrats, it has become so sharp it can cut through anything! Perhaps even the legendary Drood armour.”
“So,” I said, “you sneaked up on people while you were invisible, and stabbed them in the back. Not exactly worthy of the legend of the old Fantom.”
“But no, monsieur Drood! That is exactly what a thief and spy does! He comes and he goes, and no one knows, until it is far too late. I was often pursued by your uncle, and occasionally thwarted in my plans, but never once was I captured!”
“Then what are you doing here now?” I said. “No one’s heard anything of the Fantom in years. We just assumed you’d retired.”
“And I had!” said the Fantom, with a sudden flash of anger. “Being a spy and a villain is a young man’s game. I carried on longer than I should have, for pride’s sake, but eventually . . . even legends grow old, and slow. I gave up the name and the legend while they were still something I could be proud of. For many years now, I have served my country quietly as an accredited member of the French Embassy staff, here in London. Nothing like being an old thief to help guard against young thieves. And there is nothing like knowing where all the bodies are buried to make you a player in the diplomatic game.
“And I was happy, monsieur Drood. Happy! Content to be a respected elder statesman, whose opinion was still sought and valued. And then this Big Ear of yours ruined everything! This new device that sees everything, hears everything. I could not allow myself to be found out, to have my past revealed. There is no forgiving some of my old sins. My friends and colleagues would disown me, my old enemies would come after me for retribution! I had no choice but to come here and destroy your precious Big Ear before it could destroy me. I had retired, damn you! I was no threat to anyone! Why couldn’t you just leave me in peace?”
“The Big Ear knows everything,” I said carefully. “But why should you feel singled out? Why would they care about you?”
“Because I am the Fantom! I was the nightmare they could not wake up from! Never captured, never interrogated! Of course they would come after me, after all the things I did!”
“No one’s so vain as an old spy and villain,” I said.
“Perhaps, monsieur Drood. But I could not take the chance. The Big Ear must be destroyed.”
“You’re a myth,” I said. “A piece of espionage history. A story in old books. You should have stayed that way.”
He looked at his domino-masked reflection in my golden mask, and some of the strength seemed to leave him. Suddenly he looked . . . like an old man playing dress-up.
“You’re right,” he said. “I should never have come here. Just let me go, monsieur Drood. I will leave here, leave England, disappear. No one will ever see me again.”
“I would like to,” I said. “But I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“Why not?”
“How many people did you kill to get this far?”
He shrugged angrily. “I don’t know. As many as I needed to. They were just soldiers! Just . . . functionaries. They don’t matter!”
“People always matter,” I said.
“You have killed people, have you not, Eddie Drood?” the Fantom said coldly. “People who had to die? People who needed killing!”
“Sometimes,” I said. “When I had no other choice. But always for a greater cause. Never to protect my own interests.”
“You’re so like your uncle,” said the Fantom. “Just another self-righteous Drood.”
He swirled his long opera cloak about him, and just like that he was gone. I couldn’t see him anywhere, even through my mask’s filters. I stood very still, listening, in case he did the sensible thing and made a run for it. But there was no sound of rapidly departing feet, so I boosted my hearing through the mask, holding my breath so I could concentrate on the smallest sounds in the corridor. I heard him breathing, heard the rasp and rustle of his clothes as he moved, heard every faint footstep as he advanced on me. I let him come, knowing he had that very sharp blade in his hand, trusting to my armour to protect me against even that awful weapon.
The knife came slamming into my side out of nowhere and skidded harmlessly across my armoured ribs in a shower of sparks. I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding and clamped down on where I knew his arm had to be. The Fantom cried out despite himself as my armoured hand crushed his arm. I took the knife away from him and snapped the blade in two. The broken pieces appeared in mid-air, falling to the floor. I grabbed the Fantom’s cloak and hauled it off him, and he appeared before me, glaring sullenly through his black domino mask, cradling his hurt arm. I let the cloak fall to the floor.
“Go on, then, Drood!” the Fantom said defiantly. “Kill me! Do what your legendary uncle could not, and prove yourself a man!”
“No,” I said. “I don’t do that any more.”
There was the sound of a gunshot. The bullet hit the Fantom in the back, driving him forward into my arms. He didn’t cry out. He looked more puzzled than hurt, like an old man who’d fallen and didn’t know why. I held on to him as his legs gave out, and he tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was blood. I armoured down, still holding on to him. He seemed such a small and fragile thing. He looked up into my face, still struggling to say something, some last words worthy of a legend, but he died before he could. I lowered his body to the floor, straightened up again, and glared down the corridor at the Commander.
“You didn’t have to do that! He was just an old man, no threat to anyone!”
“He was the Fantom,” said the Commander. “A notorious uncaught criminal. A threat to the security of this establishment!”
“He was just an old man, afraid of his past catching up with him,” I said tiredly.
“He knew about the Big Ear,” said the Commander, finally holstering his gun. “He knew too much to ever be allowed to leave. If I hadn’t shot him, he would have spent the remainder of his life in solitary confinement. You might say I did him a favour.”
“No,” I said, “I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you have done, Drood?”
I didn’t have an answer for him.
* * *
The Commander went back to his office, after giving orders for his men to come and take away the body. I waited with the Fantom until the soldiers turned up. It didn’t feel right to leave him alone, in a strange place. The soldiers gathered him up with brisk efficiency and carried him off. There wasn’t much left of the old man to weigh much. They left his top hat behind, lying on the floor. It looked lost and sad, on its own. I left it there, and walked away. Legends shouldn’t grow old. And they shouldn’t die from being shot in the back. Even though so many do.
To my surprise, I soon caught up with the Commander. As though he’d been walking deliberately slowly, waiting for me.
“What should I do with the body?” he said, not looking at me. “Send it back to the French Embassy?”
“No,” I said. “It would only embarrass them. Just dispose of it. Legends should disappear without trace.”
“No,” said the Commander. “I think a lot of people are going to want evidence that the legendary Fantom is finally dead.”
He increased his pace and strode off down the corridor. I watched him go. The idea of the Fantom’s body being shown around the espionage community, as some kind of exhibit or trophy, suddenly made me so angry I determined there and then to bring the whole damned centre down around the Commander’s ears.
“Kate!” I said. “Are you still there?”
“Of course, Eddie. I’m always here. Has something happened? You sound upset.”
I filled her in on the Fantom, and the manner of his death. “Has the Matriarch decided on her official policy yet?”
“Yes, Eddie. The Matriarch authorizes you to take all necessary actions to remove the telepath and the device from Lark Hill and bring them back to Drood Hall. They’re both far too valuable, and too dangerous, to be left outside the family’s control.”
“So Gemma Markham gets to swap one prison for another,” I said. “That’s not what I had in mind when I offered her sanctuary with my family.”
“We must all do what we have to,” Kate said carefully.
“And if taking her away from Lark Hill puts this country’s security at risk?”
“They managed without her before. And they always have us.”
“Not always,” I said. “What if she doesn’t want to go with me?”
“Explain the situation to her; tell her that it’s for the best.”
“And if she still says no?”
“You are authorized to use all necessary measures, Eddie.”
There was a great deal I felt like saying, but I didn’t. I thought hard.
“I’ve had an idea,” I said. “Put me in touch with Ammonia Vom Acht.”
“What?” said Kate. “Her? Are you sure?”
“Do it,” I said. “I need her.”
There was a long pause. Ammonia Vom Acht was perhaps the most powerful telepath in the world, currently married to the Drood Librarian, William. She didn’t stay at the Hall; she couldn’t. Too many voices, pressing in on her. But they would know how to contact her. Ammonia’s voice rang suddenly inside my head, so loud it rattled my fillings.
“What do you want, Eddie? I’m busy. I’m always busy.”
“You’ll want to hear this,” I said. And I told her about Gemma Markham, and the device, and what they were doing at Lark Hill.
“Where the hell did she come from?” said Ammonia. She sounded honestly startled, even shocked. “I never even heard of the woman! And I know, or know of, everyone on the psionic scene. If only in self-defence . . . Telepaths that powerful don’t just appear out of nowhere, Eddie. Could she have been artificially produced? Her mind and powers strengthened by this device, whatever it is?”
“Looks that way,” I said. “I remember a scientist who was supposed to have made some real breakthroughs in the mind/machine interface. A Herr Doktor Herman Koenig. Molly and I fought over him, back in the day, when we were on different sides. But he’s been dead for years.”
“Can’t be him, then,” said Ammonia. “But others could have carried on his work. Found a way to produce their own telepath and make a slave out of them. That was always my greatest fear . . .”
I remembered when the Great Satanic Conspiracy kidnapped Ammonia and held her prisoner in Castle Shreck. They did bad things to her before my family rescued her.
“The Commander has been talking about . . . controlling Gemma,” I said. “He used the word lobotomy, and not in a good way.”
“That’s it!” said Ammonia, her harsh voice painfully loud inside my head. “I am going to mind-wipe everyone at Lark Hill!”
“Please don’t,” I said quickly. “Most people here don’t even know Gemma exists! They’re doing important work—discovering terrorist plots, saving lives. I just want to help Gemma, not shut the place down. I could do that myself. I was hoping you might have some other idea . . .”
“Hold everything,” said Ammonia. “I’ve been looking the base over, and I’ve just locked on to what the Commander is thinking. Eddie, you have to get to Gemma, right now! The Commander has decided to kill her! He believes you’re going to take her away, and he’d rather have her dead than share his secrets with the Droods. He’s heading there now . . . No. I’ve lost him. I can’t read him any more; he’s shielded somehow. You have to save Gemma!”
I was already off and running, charging through brightly lit corridors at inhuman speed, drawing on all the speed my armour could generate. My pounding metal feet made dents and holes in the floor. I shot past people so quickly they seemed like statues to me, frozen in place. I called up the centre’s floor plans on the inside of my mask again, to calculate the quickest route to Gemma’s locked-down room. It took me only a moment to realise she was just too far away. I’d never get to her before the Commander did. So I changed direction, smashing through the intervening corridor walls, hammering through the fragile physical world in a straight line to Gemma’s room. When I take the power of my armour upon me, the world might as well be made of paper.
I blasted through the last wall, and there was Gemma’s room, right before me. The door had been left open. The Commander was already there. I ran straight for the door, not even trying to avoid triggering the pressure pads in the floor. Gun emplacements swung out from inside the walls and opened fire on me. Gas nozzles emerged from the ceiling and filled the corridor with a thick yellow smoke. And acid sprays I hadn’t even noticed doused me with steaming fluids. My armour took it all in its stride. I didn’t even slow down. My armour absorbed the bullets, while the acid rolled harmlessly off, dripping down to eat ragged holes in the floor. My mask protected me from the curling yellow gas. I hit the door with my shoulder, and slammed it right off its hinges. It hit the floor hard, and I walked right over it. I needed to make a big entrance to distract the Commander from whatever he was doing.
I finally came to a halt, not even breathing hard, just inside the room. The Commander was standing beside Gemma Markham, who was still sitting calmly in her chair, her knitting in her lap. She seemed entirely unconcerned by the Commander’s presence or my sudden entrance. The Commander’s head whipped round, and he glared at me silently. There was something not quite right about his cold, unblinking gaze and the taut, strained way he held himself. As though he was nerving himself to do something irrevocable and unforgivable. Gemma smiled reassuringly at me.
“Please don’t concern yourself, Mister Drood; I’m quite unharmed. Can you please talk to Commander Fletcher? I fear he’s not in his right mind . . . and might be about to do something unwise.”
“Shut up!” said the Commander. The gun in his hand was aimed at Gemma’s head. He was wearing a strange crown on his head, all stubby tech and glowing crystals. I’d seen similar devices before; they shielded the wearer from psionic attacks. He was breathing erratically. “She can’t be allowed to leave here, Drood. She knows far too much . . . You didn’t come here to save my command, did you? You came here to steal her, and the machine! Well, you can’t have them. They’re vital to national security.”
“She can protect this country wherever she is,” I said, doing my best to sound calm and rational. Because one of us had to, and it clearly wasn’t going to be him. “I think she’ll be a lot safer with my family.”
“You can’t guarantee your family wouldn’t trade her to someone else,” said the Commander. “If there was something the Droods wanted more, or if they just thought it was in their best interests. Who knows who she might end up with? And what if she chose to leave the protection of your family? Would you hold her against her will? Or would you make her work for you? . . . No, the government has invested millions in Gemma Markham, and that machine. They belong to us!”
“I won’t let you kill her,” I said.
“I will kill her, rather than let you take her,” he said flatly. The gun in his hand didn’t waver at all, pressed into the tight curls on her head. “And you can’t stop me, Drood! Even you’re not fast enough to intercept this bullet!”
I considered the point. My armour is fast, but . . . I couldn’t put Gemma at risk. So, when in doubt, be sneaky. I armoured down, and the Commander relaxed, just a little, as I stood openly before him. He thought I was helpless. He turned his gun on me. But I’d kept my right hand armoured, down at my side, out of sight. I concentrated, just as his finger tightened on the trigger, and a long golden blade shot out of my glove, extending so quickly he never saw it coming. The tip of the blade sliced through the gun, cleaving it neatly in half. The severed part fell away, dropping to the floor; and the Commander stared at it blankly. And while he was looking at that, I raised the tip of the long blade and inserted it neatly under the edge of his crown. I flipped it off his head, and it fell away.
“Thank you, Mister Drood,” said Gemma.
And just like that, all the expression went out of the Commander’s face. He just stood there silently, his eyes empty. I looked at Gemma.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mister Drood,” said Gemma. “He’s not dead. I just let him hear what I hear, all the time. But he doesn’t have the device to help him make sense of it. He’s lost among the voices. I’ll bring him back—in a while. And by then he should have a better understanding of what it’s like to be me. Hopefully, it will give him an insight, make him more reasonable.”
“And if it doesn’t?” I said.
“Then I’ll make him be reasonable,” said Gemma Markham.
Some people are more frightening than others. I carefully withdrew the long golden blade into my glove and looked at the laptop computer set out before her.
“You can’t have it,” said Gemma. She’d taken up her knitting again. “I don’t need rescuing, young man. I have decided to remain here, now that Commander Fletcher is no longer a threat. I’m actually very comfortable, and I am doing vital and important work. Which is nice at my age. I’m sure everyone here will be much more reasonable about letting my family visit and the like. After they’ve seen what I’ve done to Commander Fletcher.
“Now I can concentrate on what I came here to do—locating terrorists and putting a stop to their plans. I’m sure I can rely on you and your family to prevent the Government from sending in another bully like Commander Fletcher. Can’t I?”
“Of course,” I said. “Are you sure . . .”
“Yes,” she said. “Please don’t come here and bother me again, young man. I’m where I’m supposed to be. Doing good work.”
I had to smile. I do love it when a case works out for the best.
* * *
I went back down into the garage. The Bentley was waiting patiently, right where I’d left her. I contacted Kate to tell her I’d resolved the situation. Without major bloodshed, for once.
“You have to come home, Eddie,” said Kate. “Right now.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I agreed to help the family out on just the one case. What’s so damned urgent?”
“Come home, Eddie,” she said. “Please. There’s been a death.”