TWENTY
‘We’ll meet you there,’ said Owen.
Jack hung up. ‘Owen says they’ll meet us there.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said James. He was driving. ‘Lunchtime rush. Cathays is going to be fifteen minutes minimum from here.’
‘Punch it,’ said Jack.
‘You two OK?’ James called back.
‘We’re fine,’ said Jack.
‘He got you both. Both of you,’ James said.
‘So you say. I don’t remember,’ said Jack.
‘Oh, come on!’
‘OK, OK, I’ll take your word for it,’ Jack looked at James in the driving mirror. ‘How come he didn’t get you?’
‘I didn’t give him the chance. You’ve got it bagged?’
‘Bagged and stowed in a box,’ said Gwen. ‘Horrible thing, it was. Like an organ. Like a swollen appendix.’
‘Looked like a sentient gland to me,’ said Jack.
‘And you’d have seen plenty of those,’ said Gwen.
‘One or two. Owen can give us a full slice and dice later.’
‘If there is a later,’ said James. He braked hard. ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’ he yelled impatiently at a drifting taxi.
‘Calm down,’ said Gwen.
‘I hate that we had to leave him there,’ James complained, hauling on the wheel as they went over a roundabout.
‘He’s nothing without his mojo,’ said Jack. ‘We shut him down. Who’s he gonna complain to? Who’d believe him?’
‘I suppose,’ said James.
‘Besides, this is more important,’ said Jack.
Gwen nudged Jack. ‘James?’ said Jack.
‘Yeah?’
‘Back there, did you throw a shopping cart full of crated beer the length of the store?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘OK.’
‘Because I have superpowers, obviously. What the hell are you asking me?’
‘You didn’t then?’ asked Jack.
‘Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t.’
‘OK, then.’
‘Why are you asking me?’
‘Well, a cart got tossed—’
‘Arsehole!’ James shouted, and leant on the horn.
‘Excuse me,’ said Jack.
‘Not you, that van. Look, the cart rolled and fell over. That’s all it was.’
‘The cart rolled and fell over,’ Jack said to Gwen. ‘So, you see, that’s what it was.’
James glanced up and looked at himself in the mirror. He was sweating. It wasn’t just the stress of hard-nosed driving.
He was a little bit scared.
And he couldn’t tell anyone why.
‘Where are we going again?’ he asked.
Jack consulted the GPS. ‘Wrigley Street. The open ground behind it.’
‘Guess we’re going to find out what happened to all those missing pets,’ said James. He parped the horn. ‘Get in lane! Get in lane, you idiot!’
Wrigley Street, Cathays. Noon. Grey clouds shooting spots of rain. Back-to-back tenements, front-and-backs, a relic of labourer’s housing.
A blue Honda sports drew up with an ostentatious squeal of disc brakes.
Owen and Toshiko got out. She flipped out her phone and called Ianto.
‘We’re on the plot. Do you have a house number?’
‘Number sixteen.’
‘Ident?’
‘David Gryffud Morgan. Lives alone. Pensioner.’
‘Thanks, Ianto. Where are the others?’
‘Eight minutes away, by GPS.’
‘Thanks. I’m going to mute you but keep you live in my pocket, OK?’
‘Yes, Tosh. I’m monitoring and recording.’
Toshiko and Owen walked up to the peeling door.
Owen rang the bell.
‘David Gryffud, right?’ he asked.
‘David Morgan. Gryffud is the middle name.’
‘Oh, OK.’
The door began to open. It rattled as someone inside shook it. It was sticking.
It opened. A tiny old man in a suit peered out at them. He had a black eye. He was one of the oldest people Owen had ever seen.
‘Hello, yes?’
‘Mr Morgan?’ Toshiko asked.
‘Yes?’
‘Mr David Morgan?’
‘Davey. Or Taff. They always used to call me Taff, even the wife.’
‘Excellent,’ said Owen, rubbing his hands together. ‘Can we come in?’
‘Are you from the MOD?’ Davey asked cautiously.
Owen glanced at Toshiko.
‘Were you expecting the MOD, Davey?’ she asked.
‘Of course. I rung them up.’
‘All right then,’ smiled Owen. ‘We’re from the MOD. Can we come in?’
Davey opened the door and limped around to let them through into the hall. They saw he was slightly scoliotic, and his frame so shrunken. So thin, like a bird. Owen thought if he stood in front of a light, they’d see his skeleton like an X-ray.
‘About time,’ Davey Morgan said. ‘I was at a loss. He’s very volatile, obviously. Very, very volatile. I was afraid to provoke him.’
‘Uh, who?’ asked Owen.
‘Go through, the sitting room to your right.’
Toshiko and Owen went into the tiny sitting room. Two armchairs and a sofa. A wood-effect radiogram cabinet. An upright piano. A framed picture of the Scottish Highlands on the chimney breast. A stale aroma.
‘Nice,’ said Owen, looking around.
‘It’s all right. They’re from the MOD,’ they heard the old man say in the hall.
‘Who are you talking to, sir?’ Toshiko asked.
Davey followed them into the sitting room. ‘Davey, just Davey, please.’
‘Who were you talking to?’
‘No one,’ Davey said. ‘Please sit.’ He hobbled into one of the worn armchairs.
‘So... Davey...’ said Toshiko, ‘how can the Ministry of Defence help you today?’
‘Well,’ he said, leaning forwards, ‘I suppose you’ve come to bring it in. On the nod. I understand. A thing like that has to be on the secret list.’
‘A thing like what, Davey?’ asked Toshiko.
‘Smart weapons. That’s what they’re called, aren’t they? Smart weapons? I read about them in the papers. Not the kind of war I knew, of course.’
‘What war did you know, Davey?’
Davey Morgan smiled. ‘The last one. I went into Normandy with the landings. 1944. Royal Fusiliers.’
‘Well, that must have been quite a thing, Davey.’
‘Davey,’ said Owen, cutting in quickly. ‘Davey, old mate... what did you find? You said a smart weapon?’
Davey nodded. ‘I would have thought you’d have known you’d lost it. Clever bit of kit, I’ll grant you. Talking to me. I suppose that’s computers and the Interweb and all that. I’ve been told about the Interweb.’
‘It talks to you?’
‘Of course. We’ve bonded, the two of us. Two old soldiers together. It sees my past in me, and respects it, which is nice. I have to say it’s very clever, the way you built it to do that.’
‘We are very clever, Davey,’ said Toshiko.
‘It knows me and I know it. We’re mates. I fancy I’ll miss it when you take it away.’
‘Of course you will.’
‘Thing is,’ said Davey, scratching his head, ‘as I said on the phone, it did a bad thing. Very bad. Oh, no one round here will miss them, but even so, it wasn’t right.’
‘Miss who?’ asked Toshiko.
‘The yobbos. The bloody bastards. They killed my cat, I’m bloody sure. And they gave me this eye.’
‘Davey,’ asked Toshiko. ‘What did this thing do to these... yobbos?’ She nodded to Owen, who got up and moved quietly towards the sitting-room door.
‘Stitched them up, of couse,’ said Davey. ‘Stitched them up a treat.’
‘Right. And where is it now?’ asked Toshiko.
‘In my bathroom. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Owen had slipped outside, into the cold, narrow space of the hall. The bathroom door was ajar, letting out a bar of light.
He pushed the door open.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ he started to say.
Mr Dine felt the pull. No prior warning. Alert protocols lit up his nerves in a warm surge.
He’d been enjoying the paintings. The gallery was pleasant and quiet, and no one bothered him. He rose from the settee in front of the Expressionists and walked towards the exit, his pace swiftly increasing.
Investment was beginning. The upload had connected by the time he reached the street outside. Significant threat to the Principal. Jeopardy.
But the pull was good, this time. A clean, steady fix. Definitive location.
He began to run. As he ran, he began to invest, to recompose and to vanish from human sight.
‘Wrigley Street,’ said Jack. James slewed them around the junction.
Gwen was listening to her headset.
‘Ianto says he’s had Tosh on the line, but he just lost her. He says the transmission’s being jammed.’
‘Still hot?’ asked Jack.
‘Smoking,’ Gwen replied.
‘No, no, no, no!’ cried Davey, raising a warning hand. He pushed Owen behind him. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right! He’s a friend. Don’t look at him like that.’
A low hum. A slight change of pitch.
‘I think you spooked it,’ Davey whispered to Owen.
‘I spooked it?’ Owen replied.
They were in the hall, with the front door behind them. At the other end of the narrow corridor ahead of them, the thing stood there, framed in the kitchen doorway. Toshiko was out of its line of sight, just inside the door of the sitting room. She caught Owen’s eye, and made a pantomime shrug. He shook his head quickly. She couldn’t see what he could see.
It was a human figure made of metal, thin and sharp. Its limbs were long and slender, like piston rods. Its hands were huge clusters of oily, steel hooks. Its torso, neck and head were narrow and sculptural, sleek like a missile, paint-chipped like a forgotten, unexploded bomb. The top of its ovoid head brushed the ceiling. It had no real features, just a burnished relief of lines and crests that vaguely suggested a human skull. There was a cold, tarry smell. The thing hummed.
‘So that’s... that’s it, then?’ Owen whispered.
‘Of course,’ said Davey.
The thing stirred slightly at the sound of their voices. Electric light from the bathroom slanted across it. It took a step. The hum changed pitch.
‘All right, all right!’ Davey called, soothingly. ‘There’s nothing to worry about! Don’t be getting any ideas, now.’
The hum changed pitched again.
‘Well, I realise that obviously,’ said Davey, ‘but you have to trust me.’
Another pitch change.
‘That’s what I said. You can trust me. We’re going to sort it all out. That’s why I called this bloke round. So we can sort things out. You do trust me, don’t you?’
The hum warbled.
‘That’s right. That’s right. You know me.’
Hum.
‘Taff the soldier, that’s it. Now let’s be nice and calm. Nice and calm, now. Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea, maybe.’
The thing stood still for a moment, then cocked its head slightly. Another hum.
‘Davey,’ Owen whispered. ‘I need you to step into the sitting room with my colleague now.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Davey. ‘That’s not a good idea. I’d best stay in sight. It’ll be reassured if it can see me.’
‘Davey, you’ve done a great job sorting this out,’ said Owen very softly, ‘but this is our responsibility now. We’ll take it from here.’
‘You sure?’
‘MOD work, Davey. Trust me.’
In the sitting room doorway, Toshiko quietly beckoned to the old man. Reluctantly, he limped into the sitting room with her.
Owen faced the thing.
‘Wotcha,’ he said.
It straightened slightly.
‘Let’s not do anything rash,’ said Owen. ‘We’ve got to find a way through this situation. What I need you to do is maybe shut down, or back out into the yard. Can you do either of those things for me?’
The thing hummed.
‘Yeah, whatever. Do you understand? Understand? Can you please shut down or just back away outside?’
The thing took a sudden, purposeful step towards Owen.
‘Crap!’ Owen cried. His handgun came out from under his jacket. He emptied the clip on automatic. Sparks flashed and blinked across the thing’s chest as multiple high-velocity rounds struck it. And disintegrated.
Owen eyes widened. ‘Oh, shit,’ he said.
The thing looked at him. There was a pulse of dull yellow where its eyes should have been.
They got out of the SUV, looking around.
‘Which house is it?’ James asked.
Twenty yards away, the front door of a house vaporised in a sheet of light and wooden fragments. The blast took out the doorframe too, blew the garden gate off its hinges and stove in the side of a parked car, which promptly exploded in a belching, expanding cloud of flame.
Pieces of glass and debris rained down. Car and house alarms all down the street began ringing and whooping.
‘I’m going to say that one,’ said Jack.