Archangel (A Ghosts of London Novel) Read online

  “They don't feed us,” added the other creature. “You are the only proper meal they've sent down to us for months. There was another man, a day or two ago, but he was already badly hurt when he came to us. You, on the other hand, are fresh, live meat. The hunger burns, it eats away at us.” It reached out toward her again.

  “No!” she shouted, kicking its arm away as she felt herself starting to panic. “I can help you! I can get you out of here!”

  “To what?” the first creature asked. “Where would we go?”

  “Oh God,” she whispered, kicking out again as the second creature edged closer. Looking up at the ceiling, she realized she was running out of options. “Robinson,” she continued, “please, you have to help me...”

  “Robinson,” the creature whispered, its eyes widening a little. “Did you say... Robinson?”

  ***

  “Robinson?” Milhouse asked, hurrying along the corridor behind his grinning boss. “Hang on, did I hear you right? Did you say Robinson?”

  “I arrested the bastard,” Wagoner replied, stopping at the door to his office. “You should've seen his face, it was the last thing he was expecting. Some people start thinking they're above the law, you know, that they don't have to worry about the likes of you and me coming along and nicking them for what they've done. I think I showed Mr. Robinson today that there are consequences to his actions. He'll be needing a clean pair of britches by the time I'm done with him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In a cell, waiting for his lawyer.”

  “But you can't...” Milhouse paused for a moment, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities. “Sir, I really think you should reconsider. I know Robinson annoys you but there -”

  “He does more than annoy me,” Wagoner replied. “Lots of things annoy me but I just swallow it and tolerate them. Robinson, on the other hand, infuriates me, he drives me up the bloody wall, and worst of all he gets in the way of my men. I can't have him running around out there, poking his nose into investigations and, might I remind you, hacking into secure systems. The man's a menace and I intend to keep him under lock and key for a very long time. His little reign of terror is well and truly over.”

  “But if -”

  “For a very long time,” Wagoner said again. “I'll be going after anyone's who's been helping him, too, so if I were you, mate, I'd start thinking about which side you're on. I don't know what kind of benefits you got from being pally with this Robinson chap in the past, but they're over. You're a cop, Milhouse, so start acting like one.”

  As Wagoner entered the office, Milhouse paused for a moment. He knew deep down that his boss was technically right, but he also had a very strong feeling that locking Robinson away was the very worst thing that could happen. He knew enough about Robinson to know that the man always had a plan, and that interrupting one of those plans seemed like a very bad idea.

  ***

  “Why the hell isn't she dead yet?” Hanson whispered, standing at the window and watching as, down below, Katie continued to swat away the three angels' advances. “I'd have thought they'd be fighting over the scraps by now.”

  “They're more intelligent hunters,” Doctor Leach replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the platform. “They seem to have a primitive sense of hierarchy, for one thing. Have you noticed how the two smaller specimens are holding back, letting the larger creature lead the way? They'll attack when he gives them the signal, but not sooner. It's quite remarkable that in the short time they've been alive, they've already reached this point. When all of this is over, I might write a paper on their adaptive behavior.”

  “So what's the delay?” Hanson asked. “Why are they waiting?”

  “Keen to see some blood, are you?”

  “I'd like to see signs that they aren't so...” He paused, trying to find the right word. “Anemic. Passive.”

  “Have a little patience,” she continued, with a faint smile. “This is the first time they've been offered live food that hasn't been in some way hobbled beforehand, it's good that they're showing restraint. For one thing, they don't know that she's safe to approach. As far as they're concerned, she might be a threat.”

  “But how could -”

  “They're being intelligent,” she added. “From an evolutionary standpoint, this is actually a very good sign. Rather than blindly lunging at every food source they encounter, they're organizing their approach.” She turned to him. “I'm actually feeling a little proud right now. I imagine this is what it must feel like to be a parent.”

  ***

  “Who is Robinson?”

  With her eyes closed, Katie tried to focus her thoughts as she searched her mind for some hint of hope, for the first scraps of a plan. She still hadn't given up hope that Robinson might suddenly come charging through the door to save her, but at the same time she knew she needed an idea of her own. Unfortunately, she was all out.

  “Who is he?” asked another of the creatures. “Why do you pray to him?”

  “I'm not praying,” she whispered, trying to stay calm.

  “You said his name several times,” the first creature continued, “and yet he is not here. How do you expect him to hear you?”

  “I just -” Opening her eyes, she found to her horror that the three creatures were surrounding her now, just a few inches from her face. “I just hoped,” she added, trying to stay strong even though she expected them to attack at any moment.

  “Is he... the voice?”

  “What voice?” she asked.

  “The voice we all hear.”

  “I don't know what...” She paused, seeing that something seemed to have changed in their eyes, as if they were actually interested in her response. For the first time, she could see a hint of humanity in their expressions. “Tell me about the voice,” she said cautiously.

  “We all hear it,” the second angel explained. “It reaches out to us and tells us that all will be well.”

  “Even in the depths of despair,” the first angel added, “the voice knows that we will one day get to paradise.”

  “And you hear the same voice?” she asked. “All three of you?”

  “We don't know his name,” the first creature continued, “but he speaks to us all, at the same time. He is silent sometimes, as he is now, but he will speak to us again before long. He knows everything, and he guides the way.”

  “Is it him?” the third creature asked. “Does he speak to you too? Is Robinson his name?”

  She stared at the creature for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally, figuring that she might as well give it a go.

  “And what does he say to you?” the first creature asked. “Has he shown you the path to the next world?”

  “He's shown me a lot of things,” she replied cautiously, realizing that while she had their attention, she seemed to be safe. “I was hoping he'd show up right now, but I guess he's busy. He does that sometimes, he disappears on some kind of crazy errand, but he always comes back. That's the thing about Robinson. No matter what happens, you can always trust him.”

  “You have seen him?”

  “Oh God yes,” she replied.

  “What does he look like?” the first creature asked. “Does he look like us?”

  “Well... not quite, no,” he continued. “He wears a suit and he's... Well, he's got a kind of imposing presence.”

  “He talks to you in person?”

  She nodded.

  “He must consider you to be very important.”

  “Absolutely,” she replied. “Sometimes he even listens to my opinion, although... only sometimes.”

  “Gods have no need to listen to the thoughts of man,” the third angel replied.

  “I'm pretty sure that's how he sees things too,” she continued.

  “But how do we know that you're not lying?” the first angel asked. “How do we know that you're not a false prophet who has come to deceive us?”

  “Because if I was lying,” she continued, “he'd st
rike me down with a thunderbolt, wouldn't he? Or he'd speak to you and warn you.”

  “Robinson,” the first angel replied, as if the name was something of wonder. “We must praise him.”

  “Robinson,” the other two repeated, seemingly lost in astonishment.

  “That's his name, alright,” Kate said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Oh God, he would love this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “My client is completely innocent,” Bilkdaw said as he sat next to Robinson in the interview room. “These accusations are baseless and you have not one shred of proof. You don't even have circumstantial evidence. This entire case is built on personal bias.”

  “I have a warrant to search his office,” Wagoner replied with a smile. “I'm confident I'll find all the proof I need.”

  “I wouldn't search my office, if I were you,” Robinson said firmly.

  “And why's that?”

  “You're not properly equipped.”

  “Is that right?” Wagoner replied, leaning back in his chair. “Those sound like the desperate words of a man who knows the game is up.”

  “They're the words of someone who's trying to save you some pain,” Robinson told him. “My office is... unconventionally defended.”

  “Are you saying it's booby-trapped?”

  “Nothing so vulgar.”

  “So what am I supposed to be looking out for?” Wagoner asked with a smile. “Things that go bump in the night?”

  “Things that go bump in the night can be very scary,” Robinson told him. “You don't want to mess with things that go bump in the night.”

  “But there are no active traps in your office, I take it? No bombs or trip-wired crossbows?”

  Robinson shook his head.

  “Then I think we'll manage,” Wagoner continued, “and while my men and I are taking a look around, Mr. Robinson, you'll be spending the next forty-eight hours in police custody. I've already applied for, and received, permission to extend the initial twenty-four hour stay.”

  “Impossible. I'm busy.”

  “Then you're gonna have to get un-busy.”

  Robinson shook his head.

  “Excuse me?” Wagoner replied.

  “You've already wasted enough of my time,” Robinson explained, “but forty-eight hours is a step too far. Forty-eight seconds, perhaps, I might be able to spare that, but you're far too unimportant for me to give you forty-eight whole hours, I simply can't allow it. I have a friend who most likely needs my help right about now, and it'd be awfully remiss of me to just leave her stranded like a seal.” He paused. “Bad analogy, but you get the idea.”

  “Mr. Bilkdaw,” Wagoner continued, turning to the lawyer, “perhaps you'd be so kind as to explain to your client how the law works around here.”

  Sighing, Bilkdaw turned to Robinson. “The way the law works, I'm afraid, is that Mr. Wagoner has a legal right to keep you detained for up to forty-eight hours without charge.”

  “Well I don't like that law,” Robinson replied. “Change it.”

  “It's not so easy,” Bilkdaw continued. “Mr. Wagoner has the considerable weight of Her Majesty's government behind him. Someone...” He sighed, as if the thought disturbed him. “Someone has seen fit to give this man a degree of power.”

  “That's how the Nazi party started,” Robinson said with a frown.

  “I beg your pardon?” Wagoner asked.

  “Fine,” Robinson said with a sigh of his own, “but perhaps we should talk about the elephant in the room.” He glanced at Wagoner. “No offense intended, I wasn't referring to you, although you are looking rather gray. Perhaps you should go on a nice sunny holiday.” He paused. “Now.”

  “You're not getting out of here any time soon,” Wagoner said firmly. “Period.”

  “There's always Quix,” Robinson continued, turning back to Bilkdaw. “I'm afraid I neglected to leave her any instructions for an eventuality such as this. It's always best to leave clear and detailed instructions for Quix, otherwise she's liable to...” He paused for a moment. “Well, she can be rather unpredictable, especially when she feels that she's been backed into a corner.”

  “So what will she do?” Bilkdaw asked.

  “That's what I'm worried about. She'll probably decide to come up with a plan of her own.”

  “Oh dear,” Bilkdaw replied, as all the color drained from his face.

  “Precisely,” Robinson muttered. “Oh bloody dear.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Wagoner asked. “One of your associates, Robinson? Maybe I should bring her in, too, and see what she's got to say for herself.”

  “Not much, I imagine.”

  “What's her name?”

  “She's terribly unstable,” Robinson replied, turning to him. “Tell me, have there been any unusual people spotted around the police station since I was brought here? Perhaps people with advanced weaponry and some kind of surveillance device?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I thought not. She's very good at disguising herself. Have any strange packages been delivered?”

  “Not that I'm aware of. Are you making veiled terrorist threats?”

  “What about drones flying over the station? Oh, or perhaps eagles or hawks? She's a magnificent falconer and she sometimes deploys birds as spies.”

  “Are you insane?” Wagoner asked.

  “I'm just trying to think like Quix,” Robinson replied, glancing around the bare interview room for a moment. “She's one of the very few people I can never predict, but I know one thing... The moment you hauled me in here, she'll have started planning something, and I would have expected to hear from her by now. The longer she's so quiet, the more worried I'm going to become.” Hearing a faint creaking sound from the ceiling, he looked up.

  “What was that?” Wagoner asked.

  “What was what?”

  “That noise.”

  “Why? Does it bother you?”

  “No. It's probably just the building settling.”

  “Do you really think so, or is that just something you tell yourself to make yourself feel better?”

  “Look,” Wagoner continued, “you can try to unnerve me all you like, but there's no way one of your pals can get to you. This is a Central London police station, for Christ's sake, and we -” He stopped as another creaking sound was heard, this time from below. “Don't get too excited,” he added, turning to Robinson. “Those are just the normal sounds of a building. It's settling.”

  “Oh, is it?” Robinson replied with a growing smile. “Are you sure about that?” He looked over at the door. “Maybe you should go and check.”

  “I don't need to go and check anything!”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Wagoner stared at him.

  Robinson stared back.

  “Mr. Bilkdaw,” Wagoner continued, “kindly remind your client that I can charge him with obstruction of police operations if he persists in spinning these ridiculous claims. There's simply no -”

  Looking up suddenly, he realized that there was a faint clicking sound coming from the air-conditioning vent at the top of the far wall.

  “Probably mice,” Robinson said, staring at him.

  “I don't have time for this,” Wagoner replied, checking his watch. “I've already been in here for an hour, and that's an hour that would've been better spent rummaging through your office.”

  “Which office?” Robinson asked.

  “What do you mean, which office? The one in Dean Street.”

  “Oh, the distraction office,” Robinson replied, letting out a sigh of relief. “I was worried you'd found my real office, but that's fine, by all means go ahead and search Dean Street to your heart's content.” Above, the ceiling creaked again.

  “Oh no,” Bilkdaw whispered, starting to slip his paperwork back into his satchel.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Wagoner asked.

  “Let the record show,” Bilkdaw continued, turning to Robinson, “that I speci
fically advised against this course of action. You should have had some means of ensuring that Quix stood down in such a situation.”

  “Like a dead man's handle on the poor woman?” Robinson asked.

  “Something like that, yes!”

  “What are you two on about?” Wagoner asked, with sweat running down from his forehead.

  “This is bad,” Bilkdaw continued, shaking his head. “Very, very bad.”

  “What is?” Wagoner asked, clearly alarmed.

  “I can't control her,” Robinson hissed.

  “You could try!” Bilkdaw continued.

  “Oh, I've tried,” Robinson replied, “but you know how it is. Since her singing career ended and she lost her tongue, she's been rather temperamental.”

  “Singing career?” Wagoner continued. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

  “Didn't you know?” Robinson asked, turning to him. “Quix used to be in a girl band in the late nineties and early noughties. They were quiet popular for a while, actually, you might even have heard of them. They were called -”

  Before he could finish, the whole room seemed to shudder for a moment, accompanied by a creaking sound and the sudden emergence of a crack across the ceiling, which sprinkled cement dust down onto the table.

  “What is she doing?” Robinson continued, looking up with a faint smile.

  “Oh God,” Bilkdaw muttered, “this is going to be like Marylebone all over again, isn't it?”

  “What happened in Marylebone?” Wagoner asked.

  “Nothing,” Robinson and Bilkdaw said at the same time.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Wagoner continued, getting to his feet but almost falling as the room lurched again. “I demand to know what you're up to, Robinson!”

  “I should bring a hard-hat to meetings with you,” Bilkdaw continued, turning to Robinson. “I'm too old for these hijinks!”

  “Oh, I think you'll be fine,” Robinson replied, as the room shuddered again, followed by a loud grinding sound, almost as if the entire room was being cut free from the rest of the station. “Quix does have a remarkable ability to avoid causing serious injury to people she likes.”