Simon Green - The Spy Who Haunted Me

“Children, children,” murmured Walker. “We shouldn’t take the possible threat posed to us by the creature too lightly. There have been accounts of violent behaviour . . . It might not want to stand still and pose for the camera. A certain amount of caution is advisable.”

I thought about the Colt Repeater holstered under my jacket. The gun that never missed and never ran out of bullets. Whatever the Sasquatch might turn out to be, I was pretty sure I could put it down with the Colt, if I had to. To protect myself or the others. But I really didn’t want to kill it. We were supposed to be here for information, not trophies. So I didn’t tell the others about my gun.

We all heard the Blue Fairy returning from the river, scrambling through the woods with more determination than skill. He burst into the circle of firelight, took a moment to get his breath back, and then sank heavily down beside me and stretched out his slightly shaking hands to the flames.

“I hope you remembered to wash them afterwards,” I said.

He smiled briefly. “You would not believe how many animals there are out there who have absolutely no idea of the concept of privacy. I could see their eyes gleaming all around me. And I’ve never been able to go if there’s anybody watching.”

“Shouldn’t have drunk so much tea,” said Honey.

“Still, while I had . . . time on my hands, I was able to do some thinking,” said the Blue Fairy, ostentatiously ignoring Honey. “And I think . . . I may be able to track and locate the Sasquatch.”

We all sat up straight and looked at him, and he smiled triumphantly, happy to be the centre of attention.

“It’s part of elf nature,” he said. “To be aware of out-of-the-ordinary things. To sense all the magical, unnatural creatures in this boringly material world. Their nature calls out to ours, like one nearly extinct species to another. My range is . . . somewhat limited, since I’m only half-elf, but still, if the Sasquatch should come anywhere near us, I should know almost immediately.”

“That’s a lot of shoulds,” said Peter. “I still don’t like the idea of just sitting around, waiting for something to happen. We’ve already lost twenty-six hours. Grandfather could be dead by now, for all we know.”

“Do you have a better idea?” said Walker. His voice was calm and steady, but it had all the impact of a slap in the face. “No? Neither do I. So we sit, and we wait.”

Time passed, very slowly. No one felt much like talking, and I couldn’t have drunk another cup of tea if you’d put a gun to my head. So we sat, and waited, and listened to the night. In the wild, in the dark, time seems to crawl, and it was very dark now. I know about patience. I’ve sat my share of stakeouts. But in the city there’s always something to look at, to hold your attention. Here there was just the fire, and the dark, and five people not talking to each other. I fed branches to the fire every now and again, just for something to do, but the light never seemed to press any farther out against the dark. There was a definite chill to the air that the fire did little to keep out.

It didn’t take long to run out of firewood, and the dawn was still some way off. I didn’t think the fire would last that long, and I really didn’t like the idea of sitting in the dark, watching the last embers die out. Some of the Blue Fairy’s uneasy feelings had rubbed off on me. I had no fear of the night, but . . . I was used to well-lit city streets, with the cheerful amber glare of overhead lamps pushing back the night. This heavy oppressive dark, full of strange sounds and unknown dangers, was getting on my nerves. It felt like there could be anything out there in the dark; anything at all.

We all kept looking hopefully at the Blue Fairy, who grew increasingly twitchy and finally scrambled to his feet and yelled at us.

“Stop looking at me! I’ll tell you the moment I feel anything, all right?”

After a moment he sat down again, staring sulkily into the flames.

“I’ve just had a thought,” said Peter, sitting up straight.

“Good for you,” said the Blue Fairy. “Had to happen eventually.”

“No, listen! When I filmed Nessie on my state-of-the-art camera, the submersible was still broadcasting its siren mating call! It should still be audible on the recording. If I was to play it back now, perhaps the song would bring the Sasquatch to us!”

We all considered the idea, but in the end Walker shook his head. “The mating call was filtered through the communications console so it would only attract really large creatures, remember? So unless you want to be humped to death by an oversized alligator . . .”

“Ah,” said Peter. “Yes.”

“Nice try, though,” I said. I reached for another branch to throw on the fire and found there weren’t any. “Damn.”

“We’ll have to go out into the woods and get some more firewood,” said Honey.

“What’s this we bullshit, kemo sabe?” said the Blue Fairy.

“I’ll go.” Honey stood up, and then looked at me. “How about it, sailor? Care to keep a girl company?”

“Your father wasted his money on that finishing school, didn’t he?” I got to my feet. “Let’s do it.”

“Sure,” said Honey. “And afterwards, we can gather some wood.”

“Hormones are a terrible thing,” said the Blue Fairy.

I followed Honey out of the firelight as she headed for the river. She strode off into the darkness as though it was no big thing at all. And maybe for her it wasn’t. Away from the fire, my eyes adjusted to the gloom, but not by much. I could sense as much as see the trees and managed to avoid most of them. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others, Honey stopped and turned to face me. I wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t have made it more obvious she wanted to speak privately with me if she’d announced it through a loudspeaker. Honey clicked her CIA lighter, and a heavy wavering flame shot up some six inches, providing just enough glow to illuminate our features.

“Thanks for taking the hint,” she said, her voice professionally low and discreet. “I just wanted to thank you properly for saving my life back at Loch Ness. I really thought the game was over when all my systems crashed and the water started flooding in. And I really would have hated to die in that bright yellow coffin. So tacky.”

“No problem,” I said. “It’s what Droods do.”

Even in the wavering light, I saw her raise an eyebrow. “It’s not all that Droods do. You’ve never approved of people like me.”

I shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.”

She smiled briefly. “No, I probably wouldn’t. This is supposed to be a contest, remember? I’m here to win this game, whatever it takes.”

“Of course,” I said. “You’re CIA.”

We shared a smile. Since you spend most of your time in the spy game getting lied to by all and sundry, these occasional moments of real honesty between allies or enemies are always something to be treasured. And it’s not often you can talk freely with someone who understands. Molly tries, bless her, but she’s never been an agent. A free spirit, a rogue operative, and a spiritual anarchist, yes, but never an agent. She didn’t have the experience to really comprehend the compromised ethics and dubious deals even a Drood field agent has to make sometimes to get the job done. We protect humanity, but it’s best they never learn how. They wouldn’t approve of some of our methods.

God knows I don’t, sometimes. I do try to be a good person, but now and again the job just won’t let you.

“That armour of yours was even more impressive than I’d imagined,” said Honey. “Is there anything it can’t do?”