‘I know. I don’t really know why I’m surprised because I usually am. Right, I mean.’
‘Push him into the canal,’ said Bolshy Jane. ‘With luck he might get sucked into someone’s propeller. Messy but satisfying.’
‘Do narrow boats have propellers?’
‘What?’ said Luke.
‘Sorry – I was just wondering whether narrow boats have propellers.’
‘Good to see you focused on the job in hand. Over here, I think.’
They crossed a patch of waste ground and found themselves outside a medium-sized industrial unit painted in a rather pretty shade of pastel green.
‘No logos, no names, no signs,’ said Jane, looking around. ‘Nothing to identify it in any way.’
A small door was the only entrance they could see. A polite notice instructed them to ring and wait.
They rang and waited.
Luke stepped back, looked up, smiled and waved.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Smile for the camera, Jane.’
‘Shouldn’t you be taking this a little more seriously?’
‘Will that change the outcome?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Then smile, Jane, and have a little confidence.’
The door opened and there stood Mr Geoffrey.
‘Good God,’ said Luke. ‘Are you cloned?’
They were once again treated to Mr Geoffrey’s blindingly insincere smile.
If anyone goes down over this, thought Jane, stepping over the threshold, you will, Mr Geoffrey, if I have to fake the evidence myself.
They found themselves in a small waiting room. Comfortable chairs were arranged in several small groups and a low table held all the latest newspapers and periodicals. Nothing electronic. Several other people were already seated and perfunctory introductions were performed. First names only. No one shook hands and there was very little eye contact. They’d been thrown together for something illegal and would go their separate ways immediately afterwards, presumably hoping never to see each other again.
There was a single man in a shabby suit, keeping himself slightly apart, who introduced himself as Terence. He had an academic look about him and was quivering with what Jane could only hope was suppressed excitement as he pored over a dog-eared notebook. Jane could relate.
A young couple – well dressed, late twenties – whispered excitedly together. Ali and Giselle. Thrill-seekers, she guessed, just like herself and Luke.
They were followed by a small family group consisting of two adults – Heather and George – together with their slightly overweight teenager, seemingly immersed in her hand-held device.
The two other women were possibly together – possibly not. The darker one was Helga – she didn’t catch the other’s name. Ten of them altogether. Jane feverishly committed them all to memory and wished for her own trusty notebook – that never-failing barrier between herself and the outside world, left behind in her room at TPHQ and sadly missed. She tried to memorise names and facial details as best she could.
‘Now then,’ said Mr Geoffrey brightly, ‘just a little housekeeping before we begin. You will pass through this door here,’ he gestured to a door in the right-hand wall, ‘and through our security portal. You will appreciate we must ask you to surrender all electronic devices beforehand. Failure to do so will result in irrevocable damage to said devices and so . . .’ He gestured at the tray on the table. ‘Together with any bags the ladies may be carrying.’
There was a slight struggle in separating the young person from her device, but Mr Geoffrey’s smile was invincible and eventually this was achieved.
‘Everything will be locked safely away here,’ he said, performing this action. ‘You have my personal guarantee all your property will remain secure and undisturbed until you return.’
If they believe that . . . thought Jane, convinced someone would be hacking their devices as soon as their backs were turned.
Mr Geoffrey held open the door. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Through the Dread Portal of Doom,’ whispered Luke. ‘And beyond.’
Jane nudged him sharply.
One by one they stepped through the security arch. Both Jane and Luke bleeped. Two rather large men emerged from the gloom.
‘Ah,’ said Luke, before Jane could panic. He held up his wrist. ‘Jane and I are linked.’
The two men stiffened. ‘Trackers?’
‘Oh God, no,’ said Luke, easily. ‘We’re linked, that’s all. We can’t be more than a hundred yards apart or Jane will lose her job and I’ll lose my head.’
‘Do they come off?’
‘Of course.’ He slipped his over his wrist. ‘Jane?’
Remembering her role as sober counsellor, Jane was properly reluctant. ‘I don’t know . . .’
Luke picked up her wrist and removed her bracelet, handing them to Mr Geoffrey. ‘Just keep them together and it shouldn’t be a problem. Not for a couple of hours, anyway – will it, Jane?’
‘I don’t know . . .’ said Jane again and was ignored.
Once through the Dread Portal of Doom they found themselves in a large, echoing space.
‘Could we have the lights on?’ said someone behind her. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘Just follow the lighted path, please,’ said Mr Geoffrey from the rear.
Jane looked down. Red guidelights set into the concrete floor illuminated their path. Like a runway. Everything else was dark. A cool current of air wafted past her. She was conscious of larger, darker shapes around them and she could hear voices somewhere off to her left. Someone dropped something metallic and cursed. She followed Luke as they made their way, single file, deeper into this unknown space.
It’s a pod bay, she thought. The smell, the chilly air, the echo, the feeling of something hidden . . . a pod bay. She squinted, trying to pierce the gloom. What did this darkness conceal?
As if in answer, overhead lights flicked on, white and blinding. Several people cried out and shaded their eyes. Remembering her training, Jane closed her eyes, counted to five and then opened them again.
Ahead of her stood a big, dark, solid-looking shape silhouetted against a blaze of dazzling lights. She felt Luke take her hand and squeeze hard which was about the only way they could congratulate each other. They were in the right place.
‘Keep walking, please,’ said Mr Geoffrey from behind them.
They continued in single file. Jane remembered to look up but could see nothing. The bright lights blinded her to everything else around them. Sounds were magnified and distorted past identification. Even with her training she was disoriented and confused. And awed. How must her fellow passengers feel? She could feel her heart thumping, and her palms were sweaty, but half of her couldn’t help admiring this build-up. Dramatic, spectacular and impressive, but not so much as to scare the pants off the punters.