Hellboy nodded. "That's where the disbelief kicks in." He took a swig of beer and sighed. There were three more bottles lined up on the table, but he knew he'd never get to touch them. Those bottles would be opened when all this was over. Who would drink the beer inside? That depended so much on the next few hours.
"Jim," Hellboy said, "can you give us a rundown of the situation here? Conference arrangements, defenses?"
"The British are being very tight-lipped about it all. Understandable. But then we do have Fray." He smiled, poured himself a drink, and sat down. "The conference is being held at a new hotel in the London Docklands, the Anderson. Huge place. There's a heliport there, a train link from central London, and there's easy access by water. I've been there once, a year ago when they were building it. Visited in a professional capacity." He swirled his whiskey, staring into the amber fluid.
"Find anything?" Hellboy asked.
"The docks are old. Ships from all over the world have docked there. Of course I did." Jim glanced up from his drink, looked at Hellboy and Liz, smiled thinly. "But that's for another time."
"We've all got stories to share," Hellboy said. "So defense and security. What have they got?"
"Officially the largest police posting in London's history, armed units on all the surrounding rooftops, security checks throughout the land and sea approaches, heavy security at all air and sea ports."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially the British are taking the conference even more seriously than they're letting on. There are two dozen SAS and SBS units in and around London. The army was quietly put in place weeks ago. There are fast-response units housed in old abandoned warehouses scattered across Docklands — tanks, helicopters, hundreds of troops. Their presence isn't exactly secret, but it's been heavily played down. The Royal Navy has upped its patrols in the English Channel and the North Sea, and the Royal Air Force has a squadron of Tornados on standby."
"Yeah, we've met those guys already," Hellboy said. "About as effective as a fart in a hurricane."
"They're ready," Jim said. "Remember, the Brits had the Irish Troubles for the past thirty years, and they're very good at this sort of thing. They're ready ... but they don't know what for. Dragons? Kraken? A bunch of terrorists sail up the Thames, and they'll be blown from the water before they smell London. But things like you're describing ... well, they don't exist."
"Didn't," Liz corrected.
Hellboy stood and drained his beer. "Look, Jim, we know who's been the cause of this crap over the last few days, and so do the Brits. All we have to do is convince them of the seriousness of the threat. And if they're not talking sensibly to Tom, even after Heathrow, then we've got some work to do."
Jim looked pained. He finished his drink and went to pour some more, then stopped. "It's not even that easy," he said. "British Intelligence thinks the message from Blake was a hoax."
"What?"
"They don't believe it. Fray met with one of them yesterday, had a drink, read him ... all he found there was confusion and indecision. No plan, no acknowledgment, no understanding of what's going on."
"So the diversions have worked," Liz said.
Hellboy grunted. "Guess so. And here I was thinking some of them were for us."
"That had crossed my mind too," Liz said. "Spread BPRD thin across the ground. But then why the statement? There were enough hints in there that he's targeting the conference, why flag that up?"
"Maybe because he knew how the governments of the world would react." Hellboy sighed. "They don't believe. Most people don't believe. Down in Rio, as soon as that damn dragon flew away, everything went back to normal. Maybe it was shellshock, but it was also a deep-rooted disbelief in things beyond the norm. That's where Blake has his advantage, and will for some time. Whatever happens in the next day, it'll take the world some time to come to terms with recent events."
"But what if we — "
"Ah, crap, Liz." Hellboy strode to a wall and slammed his left hand against it, palm flat. "I just want to hit something! Jim, can you take us to the minister of defense?"