Guy Adams - The Clown Service

She stopped running but, as one, they froze, then shifted towards her.

Tamar had developed an instinctive sense of when she was in danger. Whatever these creatures were, they meant her harm.

The warehouse could wait; she would be no use to August if she were dead.

She turned on her heels and ran, the creatures surging after her.

I would never call myself a planner. Till now in my career I have never needed to be. I am the person you give the plan to, the one who marches from Point A to Point B and sees that the hard thinking done by others is played out more or less as they saw fit.

Even outside work, in the hollow playground I call my social life, planning has not come naturally. I stare at things a lot, wondering what I should do about them. I run in an instinctive direction and hope for the best.

Sometimes this could be described as a virtue, a proof of spontaneity and a willingness to experiment. Sometimes it’s a massive failing.

‘So what do we do now?’ Jamie asked as we came to a halt a few feet from the warehouse entrance.

‘We get in there.’

‘Yeah, and then what?’

This was a perfectly good question. I had no idea how to answer it. ‘I can’t know what we’re going to find beyond that door; we’re just going to have to wing it.’

‘I’m not sure I’m happy with that.’

‘You should have asked earlier.’

‘I was too drunk to tie my own shoes, let alone discuss tactics. I assumed you had something in the way of a plan.’

‘In order to plan something you have to have enough intelligence on the situation to predict possible outcomes.’

‘Intelligence… yes, that does seem lacking.’

‘I mean in the sense of “information”.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Look, we’re not here physically, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we have one advantage over Krishnin. Those things may be able to harm us, but he can’t. What’s he going to do?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Can he shoot us?’

‘No.’

‘Then fuck it.’

I pushed the doors open, sick of second-guessing everything around me. My hands felt numb against the wood, but the doors swung apart and I stepped inside the building.

For all that this place had presented a distorted view of London, the warehouse was familiar. It was more dilapidated, a little larger and perhaps the shadows felt denser, more laden with possible threat; but, by then, that was probably just my paranoia.

There was no sign of Krishnin, but Shining was towards the far end of the lower floor, tied to a chair.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t Ludwig the friendly ghost.’ His left eye was puffed-up and trails of blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Krishnin had clearly beaten him.

‘Where is he?’ I asked, keeping my voice low. ‘Where’s Krishnin?’

‘Upstairs I think. To be honest, I may have nodded off for a moment.’

Jamie had crept up behind me, the look on his face once he registered the state of Shining mirroring my thoughts exactly. I didn’t know how I was going to achieve it but there was a Russian nearby who was desperately owed a sound kicking.

I moved behind the chair, examining Shining’s wrists. They were bound with plastic ties.

‘We need to find something to cut these with,’ I said to Jamie. ‘You do it while I go upstairs.’

Jamie nodded, looking towards a nearby table. Its surface was covered with tools that I had no doubt Krishnin had been using on his captive: a pair of pliers, a small hammer, several long nails…

‘The signal,’ Shining whispered, ‘you have to shut it down.’

‘I’m on it,’ I told him, moving towards the stairs.

I was moving cautiously but then I realised that my insubstantial state had another advantage: my feet made no sound at all as I walked. I ran up the stairs.

As I reached the top, I saw Krishnin, his back to me as he stood flicking switches and turning dials on a large radio set placed in the centre of the room. He was dressed in military clothes: loose trousers tucked into heavy boots, a padded waistcoat and a heavy sweater. Operational clothing, a man at war.

Somehow he sensed me, turning as I ran towards him. His face gave me a moment’s pause. For the first time, seeing him in a clear light, that wasn’t the case – his skin was grey, his mouth half-open, his eyes terribly empty. He was a dead man standing.

I jumped at him, expecting him to fall backwards under the momentum of my attack. But I was more insubstantial than I had hoped. As we collided it felt as if I had brushed into something – a large bush perhaps, or a heavy curtain; the resistance was nothing like as much as if we had both been solid.

He grabbed for me, gloved hands taking hold of my wrists, squeezing so hard his thumbs appeared to sink beneath the surface of what I perceived as my skin.

He threw me backwards and I couldn’t stop myself falling to the floor. As I landed it was as if the floorboards had been covered with something soft. I bounced slightly.

‘Troublesome ghost,’ he said, his mouth creaking into what might have passed for a smile. ‘You haven’t got what it takes to fight me. But I’m impressed. I didn’t think anyone but Shining could come after me here. My intelligence was clearly incomplete. Section 37 must be bigger than I had been led to believe.’

‘Not by much,’ I conceded, ‘but more than enough.’

I glanced at the radio. To take it out was vital. I had to focus on that.

It appeared to be wired into a separate generator (which certainly made sense – this place could hardly be over-burdened with electrical suppliers). If I could pull the cables…

Krishnin kicked at my legs. I felt them move to the side, but there was no pain. Though he was able to touch me, it seemed I couldn’t be hurt by him. I rolled over and grabbed at the floorboards, trying to pull myself forward.

His boot slammed down on my back and, for a moment, it was as if I was falling apart. Whatever body I possessed, held together by thought as it was, yielded slightly at the blow. But his boot passed through me and collided with the floor beneath. I turned over, trying to ignore the sight of his shin vanishing into my stomach. I reached up for him, grabbing at his belt and trying to pull him over.

He tilted as I yanked at him, but he didn’t fall.

‘There’s nothing to you,’ Krishnin sneered. ‘You’re smoke – let me blow you away.’

‘Not while I’m still here,’ interrupted a voice from behind him. Shining had appeared, and the small hammer from the torture instruments was in his hand. He brought it down on the back of Krishnin’s head. There was a sharp crack and the Russian staggered, his hands going to the back of his skull.

‘The wires!’ I shouted. Jamie had run up behind Shining, seen the radio set and understood what needed to be done. He moved towards the generator and snatched at the power cable. A flash of electricity sparked out making his hands ripple as, briefly, they lost their cohesion. With gritted teeth, Jamie pressed on and yanked the cable from its socket. The lights on the front of the radio transmitter flashed out.

‘Destroy it!’ I yelled to him as, on my feet again, I headed towards Krishnin. The Russian, slightly recovered, had grabbed Shining’s hands and shaken the little hammer from the old man’s grip.

Jamie moved behind the table the radio transmitter was sat on and, with obvious effort, willed himself solid enough to push it up and over, spilling the machine to the floor where it crashed with a pleasingly destructive sound.

Krishnin kicked at Shining’s knee and I heard a cracking sound.

I hurled myself onto the Russian’s back. Wrapping my hands around his neck I pulled with all the strength I could muster, feeling the man’s skull dislodge. There was a popping sound and his neck twisted. Krishnin fell to the ground.