She was tall and blonde and utterly gorgeous. Like something out of a magazine – those pictures teachers always told you were airbrushed, so normal girls shouldn’t feel inadequate trying to match them. But this woman was perfect just as she was. Perfect like an angel in a church window, or a lingerie advert. A single immaculate snowflake fallen into Millmoor’s filthy streets.
‘Hi, Renie,’ said Angel, with a nod of acknowledgement. ‘And you must be Jessica. I know you’re awfully worried about Oswald, but he’s going to be safe now. And you’ll be Luke. I’ve heard all about you.’
‘You’re . . . Angel,’ Luke said, offering his hand for her to shake. And really, who knew it was possible for his palm to perspire that much in just ten seconds flat? Her touch tingled across it like electricity. ‘I asked . . .’ He laughed nervously. ‘I asked Renie why they call you that. But I guess now I know.’
She smiled. Luke didn’t think there could be anything in the world more magical than that smile, not even Skill itself. His face heated as if he stood in the components shed. She was older than him. But not by much. Surely not by much?
No point wondering, Luke Hadley. Angel was out of his league by every measure he could possibly imagine.
If this rescue mission succeeded, would she be impressed?
If it failed, would she come and break him out?
‘I was just telling the Doc that I’m ready,’ he told her. ‘And I’ve fixed the vehicle. For you. It’ll give you no problems.’
He really, really hoped that was true.
Jackson’s earpiece was hissing, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkling as he concentrated on what Asif was saying. Then he looked up.
‘There’s a low-footfall window in twenty-eight minutes. So here’s what we’re going to do.’
It was nearly nine o’clock when they reached the detention centre. Oz was being held separately from the others on the high-security corridor of the remand wing. That was good, because there’d be less general traffic to notice them; but also bad, because anyone they did encounter would be there for the same reason they were – to see Oz.
Renie slipped into the darkness as they reached the entrance.
‘Good luck,’ she muttered. ‘See ya soon.’
Then they were in – just him and Jackson.
Security, like the Administration workers, weren’t slaves. The architects of the system had been careful to ensure there’d be no common cause between the slaves and those keeping them in line. That meant there wasn’t a gate registering the chips of those passing through. Instead, an entry team used handheld devices to check either the wrist cuffs that stored Security IDs, or the flesh-embedded chips of slaves brought in as prisoners.
‘There are two different scanners,’ Jackson had explained. ‘They’ll see the Security uniform and use the one for the cuffs.’
Luke’s legs were as wobbly as that time he’d taken Daisy to an ice rink and made a tit of himself falling over. As though they might shoot in opposite directions and dump him on his backside with no warning at all. Keep it together, he thought, tensing his muscles to remind himself they were still there.
‘We’re here for Walcott G-2159,’ the Doc told the guard at the entrance, holding out his right arm for scanning. Worn by all Millmoor’s free workers, wrist cuffs were attached at the slavetown’s outermost entry stations as workers arrived, and removed as they left. Luke wondered how the club had acquired the two he and Jackson were wearing.
‘Didn’t think you looked familiar,’ said the guard. ‘You’re specials from the MADhouse. What’s it like servicing the glorious leader herself? Nah, don’t answer that. Don’t want to know.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘We had word someone was coming for Walcott. Didn’t know exactly when, though. Don’t reckon the Overbitch’ll get much joy from him tonight, the state he’s in.’
The man laughed again, as if this observation was equally amusing. Did they deliberately recruit people who’d had compassion bypasses, or did doing this sort of job make you that way?
Luke obediently held up his wrist to be scanned too. So they’d been expecting someone to come for Oz. Was the club so good that they’d already planted false authorizations in Security’s system?
But it didn’t seem so, because as they passed into the detention centre’s corridors, Jackson’s face was drawn tight with concern. Luke heard him cup his hand and mutter a few words that would reach his earpiece. The crackling response had him shaking his head in frustration.
The building was sterile and pitiless. The floor was polished concrete and echoed so loudly beneath their boots that Luke cringed. His brain started up a traitorous chant in time with their footsteps: Break. Out. Break. Out. He was half astonished that no one else could hear it. Surely they couldn’t hope to get away with this?