Darren Shan - Wolf Island

“One would expect her to be present if one had an appointment and had flown in by helicopter to keep it,” Antoine chuckles. “But I don’t believe you really arranged a meeting, did you, Miss…”

“Flame,” Meera says with a nervy laugh. “Meera Flame.”

“She already gave her name to the guard,” Shark growls, eyes narrowing.

“Indeed,” Antoine says with a little nod. “I was being disingenuous. I wanted to see if she would give the same name again.”

“Why shouldn’t she? It’s her real name.”

“And you are…” Antoine asks.

“Shark.”

“No surname?”

“No.”

Antoine’s smile flickers. Shark can be intense. He’s staring at the man in the suit as if pondering whether or not to cut his heart out and eat it.

“If Prae’s here, she’ll vouch for us,” Meera says. “You’re correct—we don’t have a scheduled meeting. But she’ll want to see us.”

“What about the rest of your group?” Antoine asks, smile back in place. He waves at the soldiers in the Farrier Harrier. “I’m no expert, but those guns don’t look like toys. Will Miss Athim welcome armed thugs as well?”

“They’re our travelling companions,” Meera says. “They mean no harm.”

“What if I asked them to dispose of their weapons and leave the helicopter?”

“No,” Shark barks before Meera can answer.

Antoine’s brow furrows, giving the impression that he’s thinking this over, but I believe he knew exactly what he was going to say before he set foot on the roof. He doesn’t look like a man who leaves much to chance.

“I can’t admit you unless I know why you’ve come,” Antoine says eventually.

“We can discuss that with Prae if you tell her we’re here,” Meera replies.

“You’re fishing,” Antoine chuckles. “You want me to reveal whether or not she’s in the building. But I’m not prepared to tell you unless you answer my questions first.”

“It’s not your place to make a call like that,” Meera says icily. “Prae Athim is the CEO. I don’t know what your position is, but if you—”

“Actually, there’s been a recent managerial shift,” Antoine interrupts. “I am the current chief executive. If you wish to proceed, you’ll have to deal with me. Otherwise…” He shrugs.

“You’ve replaced Prae Athim?” Meera asks, startled.

“Not in so many words,” Antoine answers evasively.

Meera shares a glance with Shark. He’s frowning uncertainly. She doesn’t look sure of herself either. I decide it’s time for me to step in. I’ve been standing idly on the sidelines long enough.

“We’re here to talk about werewolves,” I mutter, drawing my shoulders back to create as much of an impression as I can.

Antoine blinks, his smile crumbling. “And you are…”

“Grubbs,” I tell him, then correct myself. “Grubitsch Grady.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of you. Dervish Grady is your uncle.”

“Yes.”

Antoine doesn’t scratch his head—I doubt he’d ever resort to such a common gesture—but his fingers twitch and I think that’s what he’d like to do.

“Werewolves attacked Dervish,” I say softly. “At his home. In a team. Backed by people with guns.” I stare pointedly at the guards.

“This is an interesting development,” Antoine says after a short pause. He looks down at his highly polished shoes and this time I get the impression he really is thinking about what to say next.

When he looks up, his eyes are clear. “I think I’d better invite you down to my office. Will you accompany me, please?” He stands to one side and extends a hand towards the door.

“What about the others?” Shark asks, jerking his head at those in the helicopter.

“They’re not necessary.”

“I want them there,” Shark growls. “Weapons and all.”

Antoine prods at his lower lip with his tongue. Then, with a shrug, he says, “Why not? I’d hate to be mistaken for a discourteous host.”

Shark’s surprised. This means we either have nothing to fear, or else Antoine Horwitzer has another team within the building and is confident they can handle ten armed and experienced soldiers.

I think Shark would like to pull out, but we’ve nowhere else to turn. If we flee now, our investigation will be blown before it’s properly begun. Grumbling to himself, he summons the others, leaving only James inside the Harrier.

“He’s going to start the engine,” Shark tells Antoine.

“To be ready for a quick getaway,” Antoine murmurs wryly. “I’d do the same thing in your position.” He winks at me and I find myself smiling. I distrust this man—he’s too smooth but at the same time I like him.

“Shall we?” Antoine asks as the members of Shark’s team eye up the guards, who look a lot more nervous now that they have a good view of Shark’s Dirty Dozen.

“I’d like you to answer one of our questions first,” Meera says. “Is Prae Athim here or not?”

“Not.” Antoine lets his smile fade. “Miss Athim has been missing for some time. And our core specimens—what Master Grady referred to as werewolves—have vanished too.”

On that baffling, disturbing note, he leads the way into the building. They might be called Lambs, but as we pass out of the sunlight and into the gloom of the staircase, I think of them more as Lions—and we’re entering their den.

We walk down a flight of steps, then squeeze into an elevator, just us and Antoine Horwitzer. If he’s nervous about sealing himself in with nine soldiers, he doesn’t show it. Presses the button for the eleventh floor and smiles pleasantly as we descend.

No one speaks until the doors open. As Pip and Terry nudge out, Antoine says, “A moment, please.” He’s tapping the control panel of the elevator. “Could you tell me some more about the attack you mentioned?”

“I thought we were going to do that in your office,” Shark growls suspiciously.

“That was my intention,” Antoine replies. “But upon reconsideration I think there might be a better place for our discussion. There’s no need to go into the full story here, but if you could provide me with just a few details…”

Shark looks at Meera. She shrugs, then quickly runs through the attack at Carcery Vale. Antoine listens silently. His smile never slips, but it starts to strain at the edges. When Meera finishes, he nods soberly and presses a button low on the panel. There’s a buzzing noise. Everyone tenses.

“Nothing to worry about,” Antoine says calmly, pushing a series of buttons. “I’m taking us to the lower levels. That requires a security code.”

“How low does this thing go?” Shark asks.

“There are ten floors beneath the ground,” Antoine says. “I thought we’d check out the lower fourth and fifth.” He pauses, his finger hovering over the number 2. “This is the final digit. Once I press this, the doors will shut and we’ll drop. If you have any objections, this is the time to raise them.”

Shark thinks about it, then sniffs as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Antoine presses the button. The buzzer stops. The doors slide shut. We slip further into the bowels of the building.

We step out of the elevator and find ourselves in a corridor much like any other. But when we follow Antoine through an ordinary-looking door, we discover something completely unexpected.

We’re in a huge, open room, dotted with cages, banks of machines and steel cabinets. The cages all seem to be several metres square and three or four metres high. Some show evidence of having been inhabited recently—faeces and scraps of food litter the floors—but most look like they’ve never been used.