The Loneliness of the Once-Distant Agent
Part 3
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In the car, Lucas dialled the Grid with icy fingers, and to his surprise it was Harry who answered.
"Miller's put a tracker on our suspect," Lucas reported. "And I've found the girl; we're on our way to the safe house now."
"I'll send Mercy over to baby-sit," Harry said. "As soon as she gets out of the toilet. Again."
The safe house was one of the "low-tech" models, and Lucas easily picked the lock, opened the door, and ushered Lydia inside.
"I'll make you some coffee," he told her. "You go upstairs and pick out a bedroom, it doesn't matter which one."
"Will you be staying here with me?" Lydia asked, sounding almost hopeful, and Lucas shook his head. "Another agent's on her way."
Shoulders slumped, Lydia went slowly up the stairs. The house was cold, and Lucas switched on the electric fire in the living room. In the kitchen, he poured water into the kettle and made a search of the cupboards until he'd found instant coffee and powdered creamer.
The kettle boiled, Lucas switched it off, then poured water into two mugs. Hearing a car pull up outside, he moved automatically to the front room window to see what it was. Mercy stumbled out of a taxi and raced up the path; Lucas opened the door and she shot straight past him.
"Upstairs," Lucas told her, having worked out the location of the loo by the fact that it wasn't on the ground floor. Mercy flew up the steps, only belatedly calling back, "Thanks!"
When she came down again and Mercy joined him in the kitchen, it was in a much slower and more relaxed manner. "Oh, I don't drink coffee, only tea, but thanks anyway."
"It's for Lydia, if she ever comes down," Lucas said. He hadn't drunk any of his own, either, and was merely using the mug to warm his hands.
"She's stretched out on one of the beds, fully clothed, and fast asleep." Mercy looked at him for an explanation, and Lucas said, "Her boyfriend broke up with her, and she came home very drunk this morning."
Mercy grimaced sympathetically, but before she could say anything, Lucas' phone rang again. He checked the number before answering; it was Rory.
"Simon, Patrick's disappeared again," Rory announced in a low voice. "Can you track where he's gone?"
"Hang on," said Lucas. He'd stuffed the transponder into his coat pocket; now he pulled it out and checked. And checked again. "He's not on the screen – are you sure you got it in place?"
"I got it under the collar of his lab coat, just like you said," Rory said. "Is it faulty, maybe?"
"Maybe," Lucas said, then turned to Mercy. "Can you fetch me another tracker from the box in the car?"
She dashed out, and Lucas watched on the screen as the second tracker approached his location. Mercy came back into the kitchen and held it out on the palm of her hand. Lucas took it, tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat, then checked the first tracker again. This time, he had something to report back to Rory. "I'm getting a signal now – Robinson's still in the building."
"Hang on," Rory said, and Lucas tried to work out what he was doing from the background noise. He heard some rustling sounds, then the opening of a door, and when Rory finally spoke again, it was in a very low voice. "He's back – he's just come out of the supply closet. I have to go."
He hung up. Lucas looked at the screen for a long moment, thinking, then called the Grid again. Instead of Harry, he got one of the helpers from GCHQ, and after giving her the address of Spencer-Clark Labs, he said, "See what you can find out about the building, especially any lower levels, and check out the buildings on every side, too. I'm coming in."
Back on the Grid, Lucas studied the floor plans of the Spencer-Clark building that the helper had found for him, comparing it to those of the buildings on either side. After a while, he became aware of the sound of two crutches and one foot making their way across the Grid, and glanced up in time to see Ros Myers, Section Leader, coming at him from one side.
"Happy birthday, Lucas," she said.
Forewarned was forearmed, and Lucas was able to accept her congratulations with a smile.
"Thank you," he said, then indicated the cast on her injured leg. "Tell me the other guy looks worse."
"Unfortunately, the Tube looks the same as ever." Ros frowned in mock dismay. "I always thought that if I had to break a bone in my foot, it would be by kicking a suspect in the goolies and finding out the hard way he had a cell phone stuffed down his pants."
"Cheer up, it might still happen," Lucas replied in the same vein.
"Yeah." Ros looked at his computer screen. "So, what have you got?"
"I think I know how our suspect is smuggling toxic gas out of the lab – through the cellar," Lucas said. "Look. Rory Miller said that Robinson was in the habit of disappearing from the lab and reappearing close to a supply closet." He clicked on the appropriate window and pointed. "If you look at the plans, there's a narrow space in exactly the same place on every floor, going from the attics straight down to the cellar, here. I think there's an old bomb shelter under the cellar that can be reached by a ladder or stairs in this space."
"Under the cellar?" Ros asked.
"Miller phoned me earlier and said that Robinson had disappeared again. He'd managed to get a tracker onto him, but at first, I couldn't see his position on the scanner. Then he reappeared, right in the middle of the house. I think Robinson must have gone farther underground than just the cellar, far enough that we couldn't track him, and then came back up again," Lucas said. "And I think that these three houses shared that bomb shelter, and that it can be reached from any of them."
Ros lifted her eyebrows and nodded approvingly. "And you want to go spelunking to find out if you're right."
Lucas grinned.
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Lucas descended the stairs into the cellars of Spencer-Clark, Mercy and a security man behind him. It had been more time-consuming than anything else to assemble the proper gear and everything else that was necessary for their little deception, but now they had convinced the powers-that-be to let them look for the same signs of sewage seepage that had ostensibly crept up next door. Ros had taken over Mercy's baby-sitting duties, so that somebody who had two working legs could accompany Lucas, and now he hoped that the younger agent didn't have to race to the toilet before she'd done her part.
"I don't smell anything," the security man said.
"Maybe you're lucky," Lucas told him. The cellar was filled with old filing cabinets, boxes, and shelves of books, which were going to make his search more difficult. According to the plan, the secret staircase should be just about … there.
"What's behind that wall?" Lucas asked. He inspected it more closely, but couldn't see any sign of a door behind all the boxes.
"Dunno," the man replied, uninterested. "House next door?"
"Can't be," Mercy put in. "You can see how this part sticks out. The outer wall is back there."
"Well, whatever it is," the man said, "it's probably been blocked up for years. Thought we were looking over here, anyway."
He turned away and indicated the opposite side of the cellar.
"The sewage could seep up anywhere," Lucas said, but he went over and made a show of checking the floor anyway. After a moment, he looked over at Mercy. "Do you smell that?"
That was her cue, and he saw her hand move towards her pocket.
"I don't smell anything," the security man said.
"I do, over here." Mercy leaned down, her hand ready. "Take a whiff of that!"
"Still don't smell anything," the man objected.
"Look down here!" Mercy cried, demonstrating.
Obligingly, the man bent over, looking and sniffing, and Mercy discreetly sprayed a knock-out gas into his face. She caught him as he slumped, and Lucas helped her drag the security man back to the stairs and drape him across the lowest one. After they'd shifted the boxes away from the wall where the secret staircase was hidden, Lucas inspected the surface more closely with a pocket torch. There was a door here, but there had been a poor attempt to paint it shut, and it had not been opened for who knew how many years. The doorknob was missing, and even the keyhole had been blocked.
Lucas pulled out a knife and flicked the blade open, then ran it along the edges of the door, slicing through the layers of paint. Once he'd freed the keyhole, he found it was an easy lock to pick, though it obviously hadn't been turned for years. The hinges creaked loud enough to be heard in the attics, however, and both Lucas and Mercy cringed at the sound. Beyond, there was a wooden ladder attached to the wall, going both up and down. Lucas stuck the torch into his mouth, swung himself onto the rungs, and went down. As he'd suspected, the door at the bottom opened into a bomb shelter.
He shone the torch around. The shelter was a surprisingly large room that was at least as broad as all three houses together, if perhaps not quite as long. There were bunks and chairs, first aid kits, blankets, books, even an ancient wireless.
"Is this all left over from the war?" Mercy asked quietly, putting her finger onto the wireless, then rubbing the dust off on her jeans. "Do you think this still works?"
"Probably not, but you never know." In the dust on the floor, Lucas could see footprints leading away from the door where he was standing. Cautiously, he followed them, looking for anything that didn't belong. He didn't have to look far. On one of the bunks on the back wall, there was a very modern-looking cannister.
"Just like that?" Mercy scoffed. "In plain sight? They obviously don't expect anybody else to come down here."
"Obviously, only a few people even know this space is here anymore," Lucas said.
"Well, they've got everything else, do you think they've got a toilet or something down here?" Mercy asked.
"Or something," Lucas said, reaching under a nearby bunk and bringing forth an ancient porcelain chamber pot.
Mercy wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather find something more modern, if you don't mind."
"No, go ahead." Grinning, Lucas placed the chamber pot on the bunk and rubbed his hand on his jeans. "Oh, and while you're upstairs, call Rory Miller, tell him about the ladder and ask him to come down it, all the way to the bottom."
"Right." Mercy neatly avoided the unconscious security guard and shot up the steps.
When she'd gone, Lucas shone his torch around again. There were footprints in the dust leading to all three doors, but it seemed that the trail leading around to the right-hand house was more-traveled, and he chose to follow it. The door there opened easily, showing the same kind of ladder he'd already seen, and he ascended it to the cellar floor. The keyhole here was open, but the space beyond it was dark. Gingerly, he turned the handle. To his surprise, it wasn't even locked, and he eased the door open just enough to look through. It made no sound, and a quick look at the frame with his torch showed him that although the door in this building had also been painted over at one time, somebody had done the same thing he had, and cut it free. They had also, he realized, replaced the old door handles with new ones both inside and out. Certain that he had found the route by which the components of Fazackerley gas were being smuggled out, Lucas carefully shut the door again and went back the way he'd come.
The first thing he noticed was a dull circle of light, the second was a hand reaching out for the cannister. Grabbing it, the shadowy figure then turned and headed towards the stairs on the left-hand side of the bunker. Sprinting, Lucas caught up with the man before he reached that door, grabbed him by the coat, and whirled him around for a good punch. The man blocked it with one hand, and lashed out with the other one, slamming the torch against Lucas' head. Staggering, Lucas caught himself, lifted his own torch, then struck out at the shadowy figure in front of him. He knew that his blow had knocked the man into one of the bunks, and followed it up with another one. When the man went down to the floor, losing his grip on the torch but not the cannister, Lucas threw himself on top and hit him again. The man went limp, and Lucas stopped for a moment, breathing deeply, then leaned over to take the cannister from the man's hand. The man's eyes flashed open, his other arm moved …
… and the next thing Lucas knew, he was lying on his back on the floor with a massive headache. Aside from a bright light shining directly in his eyes, it was dark, and he couldn't see the person who was touching his face. Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Pain. Torture. Interrogation.
"Nyet!" he shouted, heaving himself upright and lashing out at the person looming over him behind the light. His head had been hurting before, but now even more intense pain shot through it, crippling his blow and leaving him dizzy.
"Lucas!" It was a girl's voice, a London accent, indignant and confused. "Lucas, it's me, Mercy!"
The light moved, and he saw her face, lit from below, so that she looked distorted and menacing, like something out of a horror movie. Still, it was enough that he could identify her, and remember where – and when – he was. Panting, he sank back. "Mercy."
"Is that his real name? Lucas?" somebody asked in a quiet voice, and Lucas looked up again, only now aware of the second person nearby.
"Who's that?" he asked, and the same quiet voice said, "Rory Miller. Remember? We met this morning …?"
"Rory," he said, memories flooding back. "Yeah. Spencer-Clark. Fazackerley gas – the cannister! It's gone! Damn! I was going to ask you to prepare an identical cannister with a tracking device in it, so that we could substitute it, but now …"
Lucas put a hand to the side of his head, where it hurt the most. It came away moist and sticky, and something fell from his hair to the floor. He glanced down, and saw pale shards on the floor. Porcelain, he thought. The remains of the chamber pot.
Anxiously, Mercy pulled out her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."
Reaching out, Lucas caught her hand. "I'm fine. I was only out for a few seconds, and it's just a scalp wound, they bleed a lot. Let's go back upstairs."
"The best lies have as much truth as possible in them," Mercy said with a sigh, and insisted on helping him to his feet. She also made him go up the ladder first, no doubt so that they could catch him if he suddenly collapsed. He did feel a bit wobbly as he climbed, but forced himself to remain standing without support as Mercy followed.
Rory came up last, and kept one hand on the ladder as he leaned out slightly to ask, "Do you need me anymore?"
"Not now that the cannister's gone," Lucas said. "Not unless you know what Robinson put in it, and if he's already smuggled enough stuff out that somebody could make their own Fazackerley gas."
"I'll go check, see what I can find out," Rory said, and began climbing the ladder again. Lucas waited until he'd reached the top before shutting the door and glancing around. Indicating a file cabinet, he said to Mercy, "Help me shift that."
They pulled it in front of the door and piled some boxes on top to hide the newly-made opening, then turned their attention to the security guard. After Mercy had sprayed the antidote to the knock-out gas in front of the man's nose, Lucas heaved him up into a sitting position. "Hey, mate, you all right?"
"Wha'?" The man blinked and tried again to speak. "Wha'appened?"
"Nothing happened. We're ready to go, that's all," Mercy said.
"You just barely got here," the guard protested.
"Nah, we've been here for ages," Lucas said, keeping the injured side of his head turned away from the man. "You were right there with us, watching us the whole time, don't you remember? Then you came over all funny and sat down – you sure you're all right?"
"I feel all right," the man said, standing up and then sneezing. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, you might want to go to the doctor, get yourself checked out," Lucas recommended, shrugging. "But it's up to you."
He went up the stairs with Mercy following and the security guard bringing up the rear. It was only when they were on the ground floor again that the man remembered to ask, "Did you find anything? Any sign of sewage seepage?"
"Not a drop," Mercy assured him. "The building's safe."
Once they were back in the van, which they'd parked around the corner, Lucas called Harry to apprise him of the situation. "I know it's a long shot, but can we check any CCTV cameras, see who's been in and out of these buildings in the last half hour?"
"I'll have one of the analysts check and get back to you," Harry said.
Lucas had just barely hung up when his phone rang.
"Lucas—?" It was Rory, obviously no longer certain which name he should use to address his MI-5 contact.
"Simon," he corrected the man automatically, though it no longer mattered now.
"Sorry. Simon. As far as I can tell, there's enough stuff missing that somebody out there could make a small amount of Fazackerley gas."
"What do you call a small amount?" Lucas asked.
"If my calculations are correct, about half of what would fit inside your basic asthma inhaler," Rory said.
"How many people could that kill?"
Rory sighed. "Well, if you handed it around and everybody breathed in once – up to a hundred. But if you dispersed it as an aerosol, probably significantly fewer than that. It would depend on a lot of different factors."
"Right," said Lucas. Even one death would be one too many; they had to stop it now. "Look, it's almost lunchtime. Why don't you invite Robinson to some place nearby for lunch?"
Rory hesitated. "Sorry … what?"
"I mean, get him out of the building," Lucas clarified, and after a moment, Rory said, "Oh! Right. Yeah, I'll … do that."
He hung up, and Lucas turned to Mercy. "You drive, I'll get Robinson into the van."
But she'd barely pulled out into the street when Lucas' phone rang again and Rory said, "He's gone."
"What?" Lucas asked, but he was already reaching for the scanner. "According to the tracker, he's still there."
"His lab coat's here, but he's gone," Rory clarified. "And … I put the tracker on his lab coat. Sorry."
"Do you know if he has a favourite place for lunch?" Lucas asked, feeling as though he were grasping at straws. Mercy turned the corner and they approached the Spencer-Clark building.
"Yeah, there's a sandwich shop around the corner." Rory gave them the name, and Lucas groaned inwardly; they'd just been parked there.
"All right, we'll have a look," Lucas said, hung up, and told Mercy to turn around. Of course Robinson wasn't there, but as they cruised slowly by, Lucas spotted the man exiting a fish and chips shop farther up the road.
"Stop!" Lucas cried, and jumped out almost before Mercy had brought the vehicle to a standstill. He crossed the road, dodging a car, and approached the man from the rear. Instead of confronting him, however, he picked the man's pocket. His hand felt frighteningly unsteady, but Robinson didn't notice, and kept on walking until Lucas called out his name.
"Robinson? Patrick Robinson?" When the man turned around, Lucas held out the wallet. "Hey, you dropped this!"
Robinson clapped his free hand to his hip pocket in alarm, then reached out. "Thanks!"
Instead of letting go of the wallet immediately, Lucas kept his grip and said quietly, "I'm MI-5, I want to talk to you, don't make a fuss, or I'll be forced to use this."
Robinson glanced down to where Lucas' hand formed a pistol-shape in his coat pocket, swallowed once, then nodded. Letting go of the wallet, Lucas took the man's arm instead to guide him across the street. Robinson made him wait while he replaced his property and put a protective hand over his fish and chips, but then they walked back to where Mercy was waiting in the van.
"Do you mind if I eat while we talk?" Robinson asked, apparently unconcerned as he bit the corner off a packet of vinegar.
Lucas opened the side door of the van and looked back at Robinson, intending to give him a glare of invitation to forget about his food and just get in. At that moment, Robinson took aim and squeezed the packet, and a stream of vinegar hit Lucas in the eye. Reflexively clapping both eyes shut, Lucas cried out in pain and surprise. Precious seconds went by, seeming like an eternity to Lucas as he fought to regain his vision. Finally, however, with a mixture of tears and the sleeve of his coat, he managed to clean the afflicted area just in time to see Robinson disappear around the far corner of the street.
He raced after the man. Robinson glanced quickly over his shoulder, then looked back to where he was heading just in time to dodge a woman with a push chair. Avoiding the woman, Robinson ran straight into a clapboard advertising the pub lunch specials of the day. Both he and the clapboard crashed to the pavement, and Lucas could have cheered for joy at the sight, as it gave him enough time to catch up and grab Robinson just as he was scrambling to his feet again. Twisting Robinson's arm behind his back, Lucas then marched him over to where Mercy was just pulling up with the van. The door was still open; he pushed Robinson inside, climbed in practically on top of him, and pulled the door shut with his free hand.
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Part 4
In the car, Lucas dialled the Grid with icy fingers, and to his surprise it was Harry who answered.
"Miller's put a tracker on our suspect," Lucas reported. "And I've found the girl; we're on our way to the safe house now."
"I'll send Mercy over to baby-sit," Harry said. "As soon as she gets out of the toilet. Again."
The safe house was one of the "low-tech" models, and Lucas easily picked the lock, opened the door, and ushered Lydia inside.
"I'll make you some coffee," he told her. "You go upstairs and pick out a bedroom, it doesn't matter which one."
"Will you be staying here with me?" Lydia asked, sounding almost hopeful, and Lucas shook his head. "Another agent's on her way."
Shoulders slumped, Lydia went slowly up the stairs. The house was cold, and Lucas switched on the electric fire in the living room. In the kitchen, he poured water into the kettle and made a search of the cupboards until he'd found instant coffee and powdered creamer.
The kettle boiled, Lucas switched it off, then poured water into two mugs. Hearing a car pull up outside, he moved automatically to the front room window to see what it was. Mercy stumbled out of a taxi and raced up the path; Lucas opened the door and she shot straight past him.
"Upstairs," Lucas told her, having worked out the location of the loo by the fact that it wasn't on the ground floor. Mercy flew up the steps, only belatedly calling back, "Thanks!"
When she came down again and Mercy joined him in the kitchen, it was in a much slower and more relaxed manner. "Oh, I don't drink coffee, only tea, but thanks anyway."
"It's for Lydia, if she ever comes down," Lucas said. He hadn't drunk any of his own, either, and was merely using the mug to warm his hands.
"She's stretched out on one of the beds, fully clothed, and fast asleep." Mercy looked at him for an explanation, and Lucas said, "Her boyfriend broke up with her, and she came home very drunk this morning."
Mercy grimaced sympathetically, but before she could say anything, Lucas' phone rang again. He checked the number before answering; it was Rory.
"Simon, Patrick's disappeared again," Rory announced in a low voice. "Can you track where he's gone?"
"Hang on," said Lucas. He'd stuffed the transponder into his coat pocket; now he pulled it out and checked. And checked again. "He's not on the screen – are you sure you got it in place?"
"I got it under the collar of his lab coat, just like you said," Rory said. "Is it faulty, maybe?"
"Maybe," Lucas said, then turned to Mercy. "Can you fetch me another tracker from the box in the car?"
She dashed out, and Lucas watched on the screen as the second tracker approached his location. Mercy came back into the kitchen and held it out on the palm of her hand. Lucas took it, tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat, then checked the first tracker again. This time, he had something to report back to Rory. "I'm getting a signal now – Robinson's still in the building."
"Hang on," Rory said, and Lucas tried to work out what he was doing from the background noise. He heard some rustling sounds, then the opening of a door, and when Rory finally spoke again, it was in a very low voice. "He's back – he's just come out of the supply closet. I have to go."
He hung up. Lucas looked at the screen for a long moment, thinking, then called the Grid again. Instead of Harry, he got one of the helpers from GCHQ, and after giving her the address of Spencer-Clark Labs, he said, "See what you can find out about the building, especially any lower levels, and check out the buildings on every side, too. I'm coming in."
Back on the Grid, Lucas studied the floor plans of the Spencer-Clark building that the helper had found for him, comparing it to those of the buildings on either side. After a while, he became aware of the sound of two crutches and one foot making their way across the Grid, and glanced up in time to see Ros Myers, Section Leader, coming at him from one side.
"Happy birthday, Lucas," she said.
Forewarned was forearmed, and Lucas was able to accept her congratulations with a smile.
"Thank you," he said, then indicated the cast on her injured leg. "Tell me the other guy looks worse."
"Unfortunately, the Tube looks the same as ever." Ros frowned in mock dismay. "I always thought that if I had to break a bone in my foot, it would be by kicking a suspect in the goolies and finding out the hard way he had a cell phone stuffed down his pants."
"Cheer up, it might still happen," Lucas replied in the same vein.
"Yeah." Ros looked at his computer screen. "So, what have you got?"
"I think I know how our suspect is smuggling toxic gas out of the lab – through the cellar," Lucas said. "Look. Rory Miller said that Robinson was in the habit of disappearing from the lab and reappearing close to a supply closet." He clicked on the appropriate window and pointed. "If you look at the plans, there's a narrow space in exactly the same place on every floor, going from the attics straight down to the cellar, here. I think there's an old bomb shelter under the cellar that can be reached by a ladder or stairs in this space."
"Under the cellar?" Ros asked.
"Miller phoned me earlier and said that Robinson had disappeared again. He'd managed to get a tracker onto him, but at first, I couldn't see his position on the scanner. Then he reappeared, right in the middle of the house. I think Robinson must have gone farther underground than just the cellar, far enough that we couldn't track him, and then came back up again," Lucas said. "And I think that these three houses shared that bomb shelter, and that it can be reached from any of them."
Ros lifted her eyebrows and nodded approvingly. "And you want to go spelunking to find out if you're right."
Lucas grinned.
+++++
Lucas descended the stairs into the cellars of Spencer-Clark, Mercy and a security man behind him. It had been more time-consuming than anything else to assemble the proper gear and everything else that was necessary for their little deception, but now they had convinced the powers-that-be to let them look for the same signs of sewage seepage that had ostensibly crept up next door. Ros had taken over Mercy's baby-sitting duties, so that somebody who had two working legs could accompany Lucas, and now he hoped that the younger agent didn't have to race to the toilet before she'd done her part.
"I don't smell anything," the security man said.
"Maybe you're lucky," Lucas told him. The cellar was filled with old filing cabinets, boxes, and shelves of books, which were going to make his search more difficult. According to the plan, the secret staircase should be just about … there.
"What's behind that wall?" Lucas asked. He inspected it more closely, but couldn't see any sign of a door behind all the boxes.
"Dunno," the man replied, uninterested. "House next door?"
"Can't be," Mercy put in. "You can see how this part sticks out. The outer wall is back there."
"Well, whatever it is," the man said, "it's probably been blocked up for years. Thought we were looking over here, anyway."
He turned away and indicated the opposite side of the cellar.
"The sewage could seep up anywhere," Lucas said, but he went over and made a show of checking the floor anyway. After a moment, he looked over at Mercy. "Do you smell that?"
That was her cue, and he saw her hand move towards her pocket.
"I don't smell anything," the security man said.
"I do, over here." Mercy leaned down, her hand ready. "Take a whiff of that!"
"Still don't smell anything," the man objected.
"Look down here!" Mercy cried, demonstrating.
Obligingly, the man bent over, looking and sniffing, and Mercy discreetly sprayed a knock-out gas into his face. She caught him as he slumped, and Lucas helped her drag the security man back to the stairs and drape him across the lowest one. After they'd shifted the boxes away from the wall where the secret staircase was hidden, Lucas inspected the surface more closely with a pocket torch. There was a door here, but there had been a poor attempt to paint it shut, and it had not been opened for who knew how many years. The doorknob was missing, and even the keyhole had been blocked.
Lucas pulled out a knife and flicked the blade open, then ran it along the edges of the door, slicing through the layers of paint. Once he'd freed the keyhole, he found it was an easy lock to pick, though it obviously hadn't been turned for years. The hinges creaked loud enough to be heard in the attics, however, and both Lucas and Mercy cringed at the sound. Beyond, there was a wooden ladder attached to the wall, going both up and down. Lucas stuck the torch into his mouth, swung himself onto the rungs, and went down. As he'd suspected, the door at the bottom opened into a bomb shelter.
He shone the torch around. The shelter was a surprisingly large room that was at least as broad as all three houses together, if perhaps not quite as long. There were bunks and chairs, first aid kits, blankets, books, even an ancient wireless.
"Is this all left over from the war?" Mercy asked quietly, putting her finger onto the wireless, then rubbing the dust off on her jeans. "Do you think this still works?"
"Probably not, but you never know." In the dust on the floor, Lucas could see footprints leading away from the door where he was standing. Cautiously, he followed them, looking for anything that didn't belong. He didn't have to look far. On one of the bunks on the back wall, there was a very modern-looking cannister.
"Just like that?" Mercy scoffed. "In plain sight? They obviously don't expect anybody else to come down here."
"Obviously, only a few people even know this space is here anymore," Lucas said.
"Well, they've got everything else, do you think they've got a toilet or something down here?" Mercy asked.
"Or something," Lucas said, reaching under a nearby bunk and bringing forth an ancient porcelain chamber pot.
Mercy wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather find something more modern, if you don't mind."
"No, go ahead." Grinning, Lucas placed the chamber pot on the bunk and rubbed his hand on his jeans. "Oh, and while you're upstairs, call Rory Miller, tell him about the ladder and ask him to come down it, all the way to the bottom."
"Right." Mercy neatly avoided the unconscious security guard and shot up the steps.
When she'd gone, Lucas shone his torch around again. There were footprints in the dust leading to all three doors, but it seemed that the trail leading around to the right-hand house was more-traveled, and he chose to follow it. The door there opened easily, showing the same kind of ladder he'd already seen, and he ascended it to the cellar floor. The keyhole here was open, but the space beyond it was dark. Gingerly, he turned the handle. To his surprise, it wasn't even locked, and he eased the door open just enough to look through. It made no sound, and a quick look at the frame with his torch showed him that although the door in this building had also been painted over at one time, somebody had done the same thing he had, and cut it free. They had also, he realized, replaced the old door handles with new ones both inside and out. Certain that he had found the route by which the components of Fazackerley gas were being smuggled out, Lucas carefully shut the door again and went back the way he'd come.
The first thing he noticed was a dull circle of light, the second was a hand reaching out for the cannister. Grabbing it, the shadowy figure then turned and headed towards the stairs on the left-hand side of the bunker. Sprinting, Lucas caught up with the man before he reached that door, grabbed him by the coat, and whirled him around for a good punch. The man blocked it with one hand, and lashed out with the other one, slamming the torch against Lucas' head. Staggering, Lucas caught himself, lifted his own torch, then struck out at the shadowy figure in front of him. He knew that his blow had knocked the man into one of the bunks, and followed it up with another one. When the man went down to the floor, losing his grip on the torch but not the cannister, Lucas threw himself on top and hit him again. The man went limp, and Lucas stopped for a moment, breathing deeply, then leaned over to take the cannister from the man's hand. The man's eyes flashed open, his other arm moved …
… and the next thing Lucas knew, he was lying on his back on the floor with a massive headache. Aside from a bright light shining directly in his eyes, it was dark, and he couldn't see the person who was touching his face. Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Pain. Torture. Interrogation.
"Nyet!" he shouted, heaving himself upright and lashing out at the person looming over him behind the light. His head had been hurting before, but now even more intense pain shot through it, crippling his blow and leaving him dizzy.
"Lucas!" It was a girl's voice, a London accent, indignant and confused. "Lucas, it's me, Mercy!"
The light moved, and he saw her face, lit from below, so that she looked distorted and menacing, like something out of a horror movie. Still, it was enough that he could identify her, and remember where – and when – he was. Panting, he sank back. "Mercy."
"Is that his real name? Lucas?" somebody asked in a quiet voice, and Lucas looked up again, only now aware of the second person nearby.
"Who's that?" he asked, and the same quiet voice said, "Rory Miller. Remember? We met this morning …?"
"Rory," he said, memories flooding back. "Yeah. Spencer-Clark. Fazackerley gas – the cannister! It's gone! Damn! I was going to ask you to prepare an identical cannister with a tracking device in it, so that we could substitute it, but now …"
Lucas put a hand to the side of his head, where it hurt the most. It came away moist and sticky, and something fell from his hair to the floor. He glanced down, and saw pale shards on the floor. Porcelain, he thought. The remains of the chamber pot.
Anxiously, Mercy pulled out her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."
Reaching out, Lucas caught her hand. "I'm fine. I was only out for a few seconds, and it's just a scalp wound, they bleed a lot. Let's go back upstairs."
"The best lies have as much truth as possible in them," Mercy said with a sigh, and insisted on helping him to his feet. She also made him go up the ladder first, no doubt so that they could catch him if he suddenly collapsed. He did feel a bit wobbly as he climbed, but forced himself to remain standing without support as Mercy followed.
Rory came up last, and kept one hand on the ladder as he leaned out slightly to ask, "Do you need me anymore?"
"Not now that the cannister's gone," Lucas said. "Not unless you know what Robinson put in it, and if he's already smuggled enough stuff out that somebody could make their own Fazackerley gas."
"I'll go check, see what I can find out," Rory said, and began climbing the ladder again. Lucas waited until he'd reached the top before shutting the door and glancing around. Indicating a file cabinet, he said to Mercy, "Help me shift that."
They pulled it in front of the door and piled some boxes on top to hide the newly-made opening, then turned their attention to the security guard. After Mercy had sprayed the antidote to the knock-out gas in front of the man's nose, Lucas heaved him up into a sitting position. "Hey, mate, you all right?"
"Wha'?" The man blinked and tried again to speak. "Wha'appened?"
"Nothing happened. We're ready to go, that's all," Mercy said.
"You just barely got here," the guard protested.
"Nah, we've been here for ages," Lucas said, keeping the injured side of his head turned away from the man. "You were right there with us, watching us the whole time, don't you remember? Then you came over all funny and sat down – you sure you're all right?"
"I feel all right," the man said, standing up and then sneezing. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, you might want to go to the doctor, get yourself checked out," Lucas recommended, shrugging. "But it's up to you."
He went up the stairs with Mercy following and the security guard bringing up the rear. It was only when they were on the ground floor again that the man remembered to ask, "Did you find anything? Any sign of sewage seepage?"
"Not a drop," Mercy assured him. "The building's safe."
Once they were back in the van, which they'd parked around the corner, Lucas called Harry to apprise him of the situation. "I know it's a long shot, but can we check any CCTV cameras, see who's been in and out of these buildings in the last half hour?"
"I'll have one of the analysts check and get back to you," Harry said.
Lucas had just barely hung up when his phone rang.
"Lucas—?" It was Rory, obviously no longer certain which name he should use to address his MI-5 contact.
"Simon," he corrected the man automatically, though it no longer mattered now.
"Sorry. Simon. As far as I can tell, there's enough stuff missing that somebody out there could make a small amount of Fazackerley gas."
"What do you call a small amount?" Lucas asked.
"If my calculations are correct, about half of what would fit inside your basic asthma inhaler," Rory said.
"How many people could that kill?"
Rory sighed. "Well, if you handed it around and everybody breathed in once – up to a hundred. But if you dispersed it as an aerosol, probably significantly fewer than that. It would depend on a lot of different factors."
"Right," said Lucas. Even one death would be one too many; they had to stop it now. "Look, it's almost lunchtime. Why don't you invite Robinson to some place nearby for lunch?"
Rory hesitated. "Sorry … what?"
"I mean, get him out of the building," Lucas clarified, and after a moment, Rory said, "Oh! Right. Yeah, I'll … do that."
He hung up, and Lucas turned to Mercy. "You drive, I'll get Robinson into the van."
But she'd barely pulled out into the street when Lucas' phone rang again and Rory said, "He's gone."
"What?" Lucas asked, but he was already reaching for the scanner. "According to the tracker, he's still there."
"His lab coat's here, but he's gone," Rory clarified. "And … I put the tracker on his lab coat. Sorry."
"Do you know if he has a favourite place for lunch?" Lucas asked, feeling as though he were grasping at straws. Mercy turned the corner and they approached the Spencer-Clark building.
"Yeah, there's a sandwich shop around the corner." Rory gave them the name, and Lucas groaned inwardly; they'd just been parked there.
"All right, we'll have a look," Lucas said, hung up, and told Mercy to turn around. Of course Robinson wasn't there, but as they cruised slowly by, Lucas spotted the man exiting a fish and chips shop farther up the road.
"Stop!" Lucas cried, and jumped out almost before Mercy had brought the vehicle to a standstill. He crossed the road, dodging a car, and approached the man from the rear. Instead of confronting him, however, he picked the man's pocket. His hand felt frighteningly unsteady, but Robinson didn't notice, and kept on walking until Lucas called out his name.
"Robinson? Patrick Robinson?" When the man turned around, Lucas held out the wallet. "Hey, you dropped this!"
Robinson clapped his free hand to his hip pocket in alarm, then reached out. "Thanks!"
Instead of letting go of the wallet immediately, Lucas kept his grip and said quietly, "I'm MI-5, I want to talk to you, don't make a fuss, or I'll be forced to use this."
Robinson glanced down to where Lucas' hand formed a pistol-shape in his coat pocket, swallowed once, then nodded. Letting go of the wallet, Lucas took the man's arm instead to guide him across the street. Robinson made him wait while he replaced his property and put a protective hand over his fish and chips, but then they walked back to where Mercy was waiting in the van.
"Do you mind if I eat while we talk?" Robinson asked, apparently unconcerned as he bit the corner off a packet of vinegar.
Lucas opened the side door of the van and looked back at Robinson, intending to give him a glare of invitation to forget about his food and just get in. At that moment, Robinson took aim and squeezed the packet, and a stream of vinegar hit Lucas in the eye. Reflexively clapping both eyes shut, Lucas cried out in pain and surprise. Precious seconds went by, seeming like an eternity to Lucas as he fought to regain his vision. Finally, however, with a mixture of tears and the sleeve of his coat, he managed to clean the afflicted area just in time to see Robinson disappear around the far corner of the street.
He raced after the man. Robinson glanced quickly over his shoulder, then looked back to where he was heading just in time to dodge a woman with a push chair. Avoiding the woman, Robinson ran straight into a clapboard advertising the pub lunch specials of the day. Both he and the clapboard crashed to the pavement, and Lucas could have cheered for joy at the sight, as it gave him enough time to catch up and grab Robinson just as he was scrambling to his feet again. Twisting Robinson's arm behind his back, Lucas then marched him over to where Mercy was just pulling up with the van. The door was still open; he pushed Robinson inside, climbed in practically on top of him, and pulled the door shut with his free hand.
+++++
Part 4