Simon Green - The Spy Who Haunted Me

We passed a huge plastic bubble of clear water inside which two overenthusiastic lab techs were trying out their new gills and clawed hands and going at each other like Japanese fighting fish. Up above, a rather fetching young lass with new bat wing grafts was flapping along with a blissful smile on her face. Another technician appeared and disappeared and appeared, shouting, “How do you turn this bloody thing off?”

In the Shooting Alley, half a dozen interns were trying out their new gun prototypes and making a real mess of the Alley in the process. Someone else had just finished showing off their new invention: a knife that fired its blade at your opponent while the hilt stayed in your hand. Afterwards, the blade would return to the hilt to be used again. Didn’t seem to have gone too well. As the Armourer and I left the Shooting Alley behind us, the technician was being led away sobbing while his friends tried to gather up his fingers.

A man-sized cocoon stood leaning against one wall under a sign saying DO NOT DISTURB. I didn’t ask.

The Armoury has provided the family with many useful weapons, devices, and gadgets of quite appalling nastiness down the years. The armour can’t do everything. But when you have an unlimited budget, an unlimited imagination, and a complete lack of scruples, you’re bound to wander into some fairly unusual areas . . . We use just the good stuff in the field and accept the occasional explosion or unfortunate transformation as teething troubles. It is, after all, a dangerous and downright treacherous world, and the Droods need every advantage we can come up with if we’re to hold our own. Besides, I like new toys to play with as much as the next man. And there’s always something new in the Armoury. Uncle Jack and his nasty-minded coworkers see to that.

Use the same tactics too often in the field, and your enemies will have an answer waiting.

The Armourer sat down at his workstation, brushing aside piles of paper, half a dozen unfinished devices he was still tinkering with, and a small bottle marked Nitroglycerin; handle with care, dammit! He gestured for me to sit down opposite him, and I did. Somewhat cautiously, because you can’t even trust the chairs in the Armoury.

“We’ll start with this,” the Armourer said confidently, handing over a simple golden signet ring with runes engraved all along the inside. “Slip it on your finger. No, the other finger. Now, to activate, just press the fingers on either side against the ring, twice. Don’t do it now! That is a Gemini Duplicator; gives you the option of bilocation. Don’t, Eddie. I have already heard every possible variation of any joke you might have been about to make involving the word bi . In this case, it means being in more than one place at the same time. Great for establishing alibis. I’m told it’s rather confusing, doing two different things at the same time in two different places, but it’s really just multitasking raised to the next level. I’m sure you’ll soon get the hang of it. But be warned; if one of your duplicates should happen to be killed, the psychic shock could finish off both of you.”

I considered the ring, being very careful not to squeeze it. “What happens if I use the ring to make more than two of me?”

The Armourer frowned. “The more of you there are, the harder it will be for you to keep track of yourselves and think clearly. Over-extend yourself, spread yourself too thinly . . . and at best, all your selves will slam back into one. Which will hurt, big-time.”

“And at worst?”

“You’d end up lost in the crowd. Unable to reintegrate yourself.”

“Got it,” I said. “Stick to two. Could add a whole new dimension to a threesome, mind.”

The Armourer sighed heavily. “Now, the new Colt Repeater. I’ve made a few improvements. Not only does the gun still aim itself and have an infinite number of bullets to call on; now it can draw on wooden, silver, and holy-water-tipped ammunition, as well! If one of those doesn’t kill your opponent, you’re probably better off running anyway.”

He handed over the heavy silver gun and its standard-issue shoulder holster, and then looked away so he wouldn’t have to watch me struggle to get the damn thing on.

“No reverse watch for you, this time. No one’s been able to make the damn thing work since you burnt out the last one.” He sniffed loudly but couldn’t stay mad at me for long, not while he still had so many new toys to impress me with. He handed me a small black box with a flourish. I accepted it, just a bit gingerly, and opened the lid with great care. The box held two very nice silver cuff links.

“Very nice,” I said innocently. “Solid silver, are they?”

“They are the Chameleon Codex,” the Armourer said sternly. “Programmed to pick up trace DNA from anyone you just happen to brush up against, and then store the information so that at a later date you can transform yourself into an exact duplicate of the original. Doesn’t last long, admittedly, but the opportunities for spycraft, deceit, and general mischief should be obvious.”

“Male and female?” I said hopefully.

He glared at me. “Can’t keep your mind out of the gutter for one minute, can you? Yes, male and female. Thanks to some rather exhaustive testing by one of my lab techs . . . Don’t put the cuff links on till you leave the Hall. Things are confused enough around here as it is. Finally, this is a skeleton key, made from human bone, and if you’re wise you won’t ask whose. Opens any physical lock. Almost as good as a Hand of Glory and a damn sight less obvious. Never liked the Hands anyway; nasty, smelly things. Try to get by with the skeleton key; we’re running low on Hands at the moment. We need to hang some more enemies . . .”

I made the box and the bone disappear into my pockets, and then looked thoughtfully at the Armourer. “What do you know about the Independent Agent, Uncle Jack?”

He smiled coldly then, as though he’d just been waiting for me to ask. “Your uncle James knew him better than I did, though we both worked with Alexander on occasion. We were a bit overawed at first, two young Droods out in the field for the first time, working with such a living legend. He was all that was grand and glamorous about spying, and we both learnt a hell of a lot from him. James and I took all kinds of damn fool risks, trying to impress him, but in the end it was James who Alexander took under his wing. I was killingly jealous, for a time . . .

“Alexander trained James: encouraged him, taught him discipline and determination. Helped make James into a spying legend in his own right: the Gray Fox. Whether that was a good thing in the end . . . I couldn’t say. But if anyone made James the man he was, determined to win at any price and to hell with what or who it cost . . . it was Alexander King.”

The Armourer looked at me steadily. “If you get the chance, Eddie, kill him. The whole world will rest easier for knowing that bloody-handed old sinner is dead and finally paying for his many crimes.”

I went outside to retrieve the Merlin Glass from my Rover 25 . . . and found my car just where it had been but now crushed and compacted into a metal ball some six feet in diameter. I stood there, looking at it, and only slowly realised that the new Serjeant-at-Arms was standing beside me, waiting for me to notice him.

“You were right, Eddie,” he said easily. “I couldn’t move your car. So I thought of something else to do to it. Here’s your Merlin Glass. I made a point of removing it first. The Matriarch said you’d need it, on your mission.”

I took the Glass from him, and for once, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. The new Serjeant-at-Arms leaned in close.