Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

He assembled his strike force on the grounds outside the Hall and put them through their paces to see who was actually up to the job. He strode up and down, barking orders, watching closely as Droods duelled in their armour. I stood well back and let him get on with it. The Sarjeant had always been better at the military side of things than I ever had.

We had nine active field agents: all that had been present in the Hall, reporting in from completed missions. They should have been resting, recovering, but once they heard what the job was, we couldn’t keep them out. A dozen more were on their way in, but the odds were it would all be over before they could get here. We also had five ex – field agents retired from active duty for various physical and psychological reasons. They were just as determined not to be left out. They had things to prove, to the family and themselves. One of them was Callan.

“My deputy can run the War Room till I get back,” he said defiantly, standing beside me as we watched the Sarjeant run the strike force.

“You don’t have to do this, Callan,” I said.

“Yes, I do.” Callan stared out at the organised mayhem before him, so he wouldn’t have to look at me. “Last time I was out in the field, I had my torc ripped right off me by that bastard traitor the Blue Fairy. You have no idea what that felt like. I haven’t left the Hall since, even after Ethel gave me a new torc. I need to get out there, beat some Satanist brains in, prove to myself that I can still do this. That I’m still a Drood. Or I’ll end up back in my room again, refusing to come out, afraid of everything. I can’t go back to that, Eddie. I won’t go back to that. I’m going with you. You need the numbers. And besides . . . I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“You’ve always got a bad feeling about everything,” I said. “That’s why we put you in charge of the War Room.”

“I went out to fight the Accelerated Men,” said Callan. “Along with everyone else. I’m not like you, Eddie. I never enjoyed the violence of being a field agent. But I enjoyed it well enough that day. Sometimes . . . it does you good to strike back at the world that’s hurt you.”

And he went off to get involved in the mayhem.

We’d also found twelve retired field agents, the youngest being fifty-two, the oldest sixty-four. They all looked older than their years; life in the field does that to you. Most field agents don’t live long enough to retire; the great game chews most of us up long before that. So for these old men to still be around meant they had proved themselves very hard to kill. I had a hunch that could come in handy.

Everyone in the strike force was a volunteer; not one pressed or pressured man. News of the nature of the Great Sacrifice had spread quickly through the Hall, and the general feeling of outrage was so thick in the air you could practically taste it. So there was no shortage of people willing and eager to go and fight the Satanists, to prevent such an obscenity from taking place. And yet . . . even though I would be going out with over a hundred armoured Droods to back me up, I still had a terrible cold, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. As though I’d missed something—something important, even obvious . . .

On top of that, the last time I’d led an army of Droods out against an enemy, against the Loathly Ones on the Nazca Plains . . . it had all gone horribly wrong. We’d been ambushed, taken by surprise, outnumbered by hidden forces, and a lot of good men and women died badly that day. I went out at the head of an army, but all I brought home were body bags. . . .

Still, this time I had an ace in the hole. The Merlin Glass. It could drop us right on the Satanists, appearing out of nowhere, without warning. As long as I left it open, I’d always have a way out. If it was needed. If everything went wrong again.

At the last moment, Molly and Harry came out of the Hall to join us. I had wondered where she’d been. The two of them had clearly been talking together, because they were almost comfortable in each other’s company. Molly moved in close beside me, linked her arm through mine and leaned her head against my shoulder. She’d been talking with Harry about the time she and Roger were lovers, long ago. I knew that, and she knew that I knew. And we both knew this wasn’t the time to be concentrating on the past.

“I’m going with you,” said Harry, in a way that made it very clear there was no point in arguing with him. “Roger’s going to be there.”

“Probably,” I said. “You really think you can talk him out of this? Bring him back to the side of the angels?”

“Before you left Under Parliament,” said Harry, looking out across the grounds so he wouldn’t have to look at me, “before Roger let you go . . . you said you asked him if there was anything he wanted to say to me. Any message. He could have said any number of things: told me it was all over, told me he never really loved me, told me to go to Hell. . . . But he didn’t. I can still reach him; I know I can. . . . So I have to go, Eddie. I have to try.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But don’t get in the way once the killing starts. This is war. And given what’s at stake . . .”

“I know,” said Harry.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms finally called a halt to his martial exercises, assembled his army before him and took the opportunity to bore the arses off them with what he probably thought was an inspirational speech. I looked the Droods over, and was quietly pleased with what I saw. They looked like soldiers ready to go into battle. They looked like an army. I put up with as much of the Sarjeant’s speech as I could stand, and then took out the Merlin Glass and activated it. The Sarjeant stopped talking as he realised no one was listening to him any longer. I shook the Glass out to full size, and then opened it up even further, pushing it to a greater size than I’d ever attempted before, finally ending up with a gateway some twenty feet square. I hadn’t been sure that would work, but it seemed stable enough.

I looked through the opening, and there was the Cathedral Hotel, right where the coordinates said it should be. A large building, clearly much rebuilt, with a slick modern facade. The sign said simply, CATHEDRAL HOTEL. Four stars. The only remaining vestige of the building’s original nature was an old bell tower stuck right on the end, presumably retained as a historical touch. Something for the tourists to take photographs of.

A massive car park sprawled out before the hotel, with neatly marked bays but only a handful of parked cars. No one about, no signs of Satanists anywhere. The whole place was quiet and peaceful on a warm sunny day. So far, so good. I decided it was time for a quick inspirational speech of my own. I turned to address the Drood army, and they looked at me expectantly.

“You look like you’re ready for a fight,” I said. “Good. I’ll lead you through the Merlin Glass. No armour—not yet. We don’t want to freak any innocent passersby. Straight across the car park and into the hotel. Armour up then. The Satanists have block-booked the hotel, to ensure their privacy. So once you’re in there, if they’re not clearly hotel staff, stamp them into the ground. No warnings, no mercy. They won’t be taking prisoners and neither will we. Except for their leaders: Alexandre Dusk, Roger Morningstar and anyone with them. Take them alive, if you can. We have questions.”

“Kill them if they stand; kill them if they run,” the Sarjeant said bluntly. “Don’t hold back. For everything these bastards have done, and everything they plan to do . . . death is the only answer, the only justice.”

“The mind-influencing machine should be on the premises somewhere,” I said. “Take it intact, if you can. Just to make the Armourer’s day. But if it looks like someone’s trying to run it, kill them and smash the machine. Your armour should protect you from all outside influences, but we’re not taking any chances on this mission. All right, that’s it. Good hunting.”