From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel Read online

  “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 itse
lf 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 insti
ncts. 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.”