The Best Thing You Can Steal Read online

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You remember me. You didn’t kill me the last time I was here, so you’re not going to kill me now. Not while I can be of use to you. How long has all this been going on?’

  The Damned shrugged. ‘Weeks. Months. They come and they go, but there are always more.’

  ‘I suppose they’re company.’

  ‘They’re scum,’ said the Damned. ‘Attracted to my legend like moths to a flame. Or like a suicide to a razor blade.’

  ‘So why put up with them?’

  ‘They help distract me from my memories,’ said the Damned. He looked around him, entirely unmoved by the spectacle of desperate people doing desperate things in pursuit of something like pleasure. ‘I suppose Hell will look something like this when I finally get there.’

  His gaze fell upon two entwined bodies lying on the edge of the platform. They’d been dead for a while. The Damned put one bare foot against the dead man and woman, and shoved them off the platform and on to the tracks.

  ‘You see?’ he said. ‘I can be house-proud.’

  None of his guests stopped partying. Presumably, they’d seen him do worse things. The Damned fixed me with his cold, unwavering gaze.

  ‘I told you not to come back.’

  ‘I’m famous for not listening to good advice,’ I said. ‘I’m here to offer you something you need.’

  ‘I don’t need anything.’

  ‘Not even a chance for revenge on Fredric Hammer?’

  The Damned paused for a moment, as though that was the one response he hadn’t been expecting.

  ‘No one can get to Hammer,’ he said finally, but his eyes were curious.

  ‘I can,’ I said. ‘With your help. Want to talk about it?’

  The Damned turned away and walked straight into the heaving crowd. He struck out at them with no warning, heavy open-handed blows that sent men and women staggering. They cried out, scattering before him like panicked birds. None of them protested or even tried to defend themselves, as the Damned drove them the length of the platform, kicking them in the arse when they didn’t move fast enough. A few he picked up bodily and threw off the platform on to the tracks. His guests fled before him, screaming and crying. Some stopped to pick up their clothes, some didn’t. They jumped down from the platform and ran off along the tracks, disappearing quickly into the dark of the tunnel mouth. The Damned came back and kicked the various music machines to death, and a sudden silence fell across the platform.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ I said cheerfully. ‘We can hear ourselves think now.’

  ‘You say that like it’s a good thing,’ said the Damned. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘Complicated,’ I said. ‘And I’d rather not go through all the details until the entire crew’s been assembled. The point isn’t what we’ll be stealing or how we’re going to do it; the point is to hurt Hammer. And that’s what you want more than anything, isn’t it?’

  ‘Fredric Hammer is very hard to get to,’ said the Damned. ‘He’s turned his home into a fortress, with all the rarest materials stored in a private vault.’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone could stop you,’ I said.

  The Damned’s smile was a quick and humourless thing. ‘Hammer made deals with Powers and Forces to protect his precious collection. He has weapons that might even be able to kill me if I was foolish enough to give him a clear shot. And I’m not ready to die, just yet.’

  Of course not, I thought. You know what’s waiting for you.

  ‘Allow me to sweeten the deal,’ I said. ‘Hammer recently acquired a very interesting new drug: the Santa Clara Formulation. Immortality guaranteed, from a single dose. It’s supposed to be based on materials harvested from Methuselah’s corpse, but you can take that with as many pinches of salt as you like. What you need to consider is that a man who’s never going to die has nothing to fear from the Hereafter.’

  ‘How do you know what Hammer’s got in his vault?’ said the Damned. ‘He never talks about what he has, not even to boast to other collectors.’

  ‘How I know things like that is part of what I’m bringing to the table,’ I said.

  ‘Do you have someone inside his organization?’

  ‘In a way.’

  He didn’t say anything for a while, just stood there with his eyes half closed as he considered the matter, but I could tell he was tempted. I’d baited the hook and he’d bitten, just as I’d known he would. Sometimes I’m so good I scare myself.

  ‘Let’s be clear,’ I said finally. ‘All I’m offering is a chance to hurt Hammer by stealing his most prized possession. You won’t get to kill him, because the success of my plan hinges on no one knowing we were ever there.’

  ‘You’re worried I might put the job at risk by trying to kill Hammer,’ said the Damned.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I would risk what’s left of my soul for just a chance,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure even you could kill Fredric Hammer,’ I said carefully. ‘Like you said, the man has serious protections.’

  ‘Not from me,’ said the Damned. He showed me his brief smile again. ‘Why do you think no one’s seen Hammer in public for so long? He’s holed up in his fortress so I can’t get to him. He thinks he can wait me out.’

  ‘Would you risk certain revenge on Hammer just for a chance at killing him?’

  He thought about it. ‘I want revenge. Death can come later. What matters is that he suffers.’

  ‘Are you in or not?’ I said. ‘Trust me; you won’t regret—’

  He stopped me with a look. ‘I regret so many things. One more won’t make any difference.’

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I can’t keep thinking of you as the Damned, and I’m certainly not calling you that when I introduce you to the rest of the crew. Makes you sound like a masked wrestler. What’s your name?’

  ‘To know a man’s true name is to have power over him,’ said the Damned. ‘You should know that, Gideon Sable.’

  I looked at him sharply. ‘How did you know I’d taken on a new identity?’

  ‘I hear things. Even down here. You can call me Lex Talon. It’s short for lex talionis – the law of retribution, where the punishment fits the crime.’

  ‘Disturbing, but fitting,’ I said. ‘Are you in, Lex?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He studied me for a long moment, and for the first time I had no idea what he was thinking. When he finally spoke, there was something almost human in his voice. ‘I feel I owe you something. Would you like to know the truth about how I damned myself?’

  I nodded quickly. I’d heard all kinds of stories, but I didn’t think anyone knew the whole truth, except the man standing before me.

  ‘A sign of trust between us, then,’ said the Damned. ‘With the understanding that if you ever try to tell anyone else, I’ll kill you. Do you still want to know?’

  ‘I always want to know,’ I said. ‘Tell me everything.’

  And he did.

  THREE

  The Damned

  In His Own Words

  As with so many awful things, said the Damned, it all started with Fredric Hammer.

  He hired me to murder two angels and steal their halos, so he could add them to his collection. He chose a complete amateur because any professional thief would have told him to his face that what he wanted wasn’t possible. Hammer’s solution to the problem was typical of the man: find someone sufficiently motivated they wouldn’t care that the job was impossible.

  How do you kill an angel and take their halo? By going to the one place in the world where a truce exists between Heaven and Hell, and angels and demons manifest on a regular basis. Given material bodies for the occasion, with physical limits and weaknesses, so they could properly appreciate the mortals they would be discussing. Unlike any normal, sane human being, Hammer wasn’t impressed or intimidated by this; he merely saw an opportunity.

  Before I was damned, I was a different person. A minor historian in a minor university, s
pecializing in arcane religious texts. The phone rang one day, in my pokey little office, and when I picked it up, the voice on the other end said Fredric Hammer wanted to meet me. The voice made it sound less like a request and more like an imperial command, but I was assured that Mr Hammer would make it worth my while.

  Anyone else I would have turned down. I had a lot of work to do. But the name intrigued me. I’d heard of Fredric Hammer’s legendary collection of rare and unusual historical items. So I agreed to the meeting, hoping that, once inside his home, I would be able to talk him into letting me see his collection. But the address I was given was for a hotel in London, at eight in the evening the very next day. The voice didn’t say, Don’t be late. That was understood.

  Of such small temptations are lives destroyed.

  I travelled to London by train, wondering all the way what a man like Hammer could want with someone like me. What could I know that Hammer would be interested in? The address turned out to be a cheap hotel in a worn-down area. The man at reception didn’t even look up from his magazine as I entered the lobby, so I made my way up the stairs to Room 26 and knocked hesitantly on the door. A voice instructed me to enter.

  My first view of Fredric Hammer was of a large man in his late sixties, casually but expensively dressed, standing in the centre of the room like the lord of all he surveyed. He had a commanding presence, a predator’s smile and cold, cold eyes. All designed to make me feel very much the nobody I was.

  He didn’t offer to shake hands. I started to introduce myself and he cut me off.

  ‘I know who you are. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  The assurance in his voice made me feel as if I was late, even though I knew I wasn’t. I started to apologize and then stopped myself. I couldn’t let him walk all over me. I gestured at our humble surroundings.

  ‘Why are we meeting here?’ I said. ‘What is a man like you doing in a dump like this?’

  From the look on his face, I gathered Fredric Hammer wasn’t used to being questioned, but he made an effort to appear courteous. Confirming what I already suspected, he wanted something from me.

  ‘I have enemies,’ he said shortly. ‘I chose this hotel because no one would expect to find me here. You needn’t worry; I have security guards in place.’

  I frowned. ‘I didn’t see any guards.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Hammer.

  ‘Why am I here?’ I said. ‘Why did you choose me?’

  ‘I didn’t. I have people to do that sort of thing for me. Anathea!’

  I jumped just a little as he raised his voice, and then looked round quickly. The door was already opening, as though someone had been waiting to be summoned. A tall, elegant blonde entered the room. Extremely good-looking in a smart business suit, entirely professional in her manner and carrying a briefcase.

  ‘This is my personal assistant,’ said Hammer. She took up a position beside him. Hammer didn’t even glance at her. ‘You can speak freely in front of Anathea. She knows all there is to know about the matter at hand.’

  ‘What matter?’ I said. ‘You still haven’t told me what you need me for.’

  ‘I want the halos of two particular angels for my collection,’ he said, as casually as though we were discussing nothing more important than a few rare stamps. ‘I have been told you can make that possible.’

  ‘But … it’s not possible!’ I said and then stopped abruptly as I realized I’d raised my voice. Hammer was frowning.

  ‘You recently came into possession of a very interesting document,’ he said. ‘Giving details of a meeting at an inn in Londinium, in 29 AD. Tell me about it.’

  And I was so shocked and startled he knew about it that it never occurred to me not to.

  It all began with a crate of old papers I bought at an auction. I was hoping it might contain documents about a schism in the early English Church that I’d been researching. But among many yellowed and crumbling pages of no real worth, I was surprised to find a document from the Dead Sea Scrolls, translated into Latin. It had been dismissed as simple apocrypha and forgotten. Later, I wondered if it had been deliberately suppressed.

  The more I studied the document, the more convinced I was of its authenticity, and the more fascinated I became with the story it told. Particularly when the details it gave concerning the inn’s location were sufficient for me to track down its modern setting. The inn was still there, almost two thousand years later.

  In 29 AD, Joseph of Arimathea visited Britain as part of his interest in the tin trade. He brought with him his nephew, Jesus. They travelled the country together and finally ended up in the small Roman city of Londinium. They visited an inn, dined and drank wine, and then Jesus announced that he would not be returning home once the business trip was completed. His time travelling with Joseph had given him a taste for exploring the world. He wanted to go to other lands and meet all the different people. Joseph argued that Jesus had to return, because, as the Chosen One, the fate of all Humanity rested on what he was going to do. Jesus disagreed. And while they were discussing this, a woman sat down at the table with them.

  She said her name was Rachel and that she represented the Other Side. But to Jesus’ surprise, she also insisted that he needed to return home. His life and death were going to be the opening shot in a Great War between Heaven and Hell, for the souls of all Humanity. And Hell couldn’t wait to get started because they were convinced they were going to win.

  In the end, Jesus would only agree to return if both sides made a pact: that once a year, at midnight, Heaven and Hell would each send an emissary to the inn. To try to find common ground and put an end to the war. Joseph and Rachel looked at each other, shrugged and went along with the pact because neither of them thought such a truce would ever make a blind bit of difference.

  Jesus smiled at them. ‘You have to have faith.’

  When I finished, Hammer nodded. ‘I’ve heard the story before, from various sources, but never in such detail. And you know where the inn is.’

  ‘The inn may be real,’ I said. ‘But it’s still just a story.’

  Hammer smiled for the first time. ‘No. I have proof.’

  He gestured to Anathea, who opened her briefcase and handed me an ancient document sealed in plastic, written in a form of Latin I wasn’t familiar with. It took me a while to puzzle out the meaning, and then a chill ran through me as I realized I was reading the contract Jesus had insisted on, to bind Heaven and Hell to the deal. I reached the bottom of the page, and my breath caught in my throat as I took in the three signatures. Joseph of Arimathea, Rachel of Ramah, and … I stared at Hammer.

  ‘Is this really …?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hammer, as Anathea plucked the document from my hands. ‘The actual signature of Joshua ben David, better known as Jesus, the Christ.’

  ‘So the rumours about your collection are true,’ I said numbly.

  ‘Of course,’ said Hammer. ‘So now I know where angels can be found. All I need is a weapon that will kill them, so their halos can be harvested.’

  ‘You’d kill angels, just to add to your collection?’

  He showed me his cold smile again. ‘I’ve done worse. I want you to find a suitable weapon for me. I am prepared to be extremely generous. Name your price.’

  ‘What makes you think I could find such a weapon?’

  ‘You found the inn, didn’t you?’

  For a while, I couldn’t say anything. My thoughts were running wild. I still wasn’t sure I believed any of this, but the documents seemed real enough …

  I met Hammer’s gaze squarely. ‘I’m not interested in money.’

  Hammer raised an eyebrow. ‘That would make you unique, in my experience. Perhaps I should put you in my collection. What do you want? If I have it or can get it for you, it’s yours.’

  ‘My wife, Barbara, died three years ago,’ I said steadily. ‘A hit and run. They never did find the driver, so I couldn’t tell him he destroyed my life as well. If your coll
ection is everything it’s supposed to be, you must have something that can bring the dead back to life. That’s my price for a weapon that can kill angels. I want my wife back.’

  And Hammer didn’t laugh at me or tell me what I wanted was impossible. He just nodded slowly.

  ‘I do have something,’ he said. ‘But you’d be better off taking the money. I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.’

  ‘My only dreams are of Barbara,’ I said.

  ‘Very well,’ said Hammer. ‘But for such a price, I would want you to find the weapon and use it. Kill the angels and bring me their halos, and I will give you back your wife.’

  ‘Why me?’ I said. ‘Why not use one of your own people?’

  ‘Deniability,’ said Hammer. ‘I like the idea that it will be your actions and your crime, not mine.’

  ‘You really think you can hide your involvement from Heaven and Hell?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what I have in my collection,’ said Hammer.

  I went back to my university, thinking hard all the way. I’d never been particularly religious, but now I was being forced to believe in all kinds of things. Back in my office, I used all my resources and contacts to search for more rare apocrypha, until I came across a curious account concerning the De’Ath family, in Cumberland. And finally, in a dusty mansion house library, I found a book written by Alec De’Ath about his travels in nineteenth-century Turkistan. It told of a terrible and forbidden armoury, hidden away in the City of Brass Pillars, and the weapon he found there: the Iscariot Device. A gun that fired silver bullets fashioned from the thirty pieces paid to Judas to betray the Christ.

  The only weapon in the world that could kill angels, from Heaven or Hell.

  I returned to the university, caught up in a dream that seemed increasingly feverish. I no longer recognized the world I moved in. I corresponded with increasingly arcane scholars, until at last I discovered the Iscariot Device was being held in the Vatican’s secret Mageddon Armoury. Along with other weapons deemed too dangerous for Humanity to know about.

  I phoned Hammer and told him what I’d found. He told me to meet him in the same hotel room, at the same time the next day. He hung up before I could ask him how he was going to pay my price.