“Please don’t,” said Happy. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
“You will observe,” said JC, “that our dear and much respected and even-more-feared divine Bossness is conspicuous by her absence. Which suggests that whatever we’ve been sent to tend to, it can’t be that important. Or she’d be here, bending our ears on the matter. However, given how unusual it is for us to be directed straight to a danger site, without even a quick stop-off for a briefing, it does suggest that whatever happened here… was not only really bad, but decidedly recent.”
“I love to hear him talk,” said Melody. “Don’t you love to hear him talk? He has such a way with words… Look, can’t we at least go inside? It’s bloody cold out here. I am freezing my tits off.”
JC looked at her. “You really want simply to walk in there? Into an unknown situation, with unknown dangers?”
“Yes! I’m cold!”
“What exactly did the Boss say to you?” said Happy, tactfully changing the subject.
“Directions on how to get here and orders to stay put for further instructions,” said JC. “And then she rang off before I could tell her to go to Hell.”
Melody sniffed loudly. “You don’t actually expect her to turn up in person, do you? At this ungodly hour of the morning? Far more likely she’ll roust some poor unfortunate flak-catcher out of bed and send him down here for us to shout at. Hello… spot the expensive car.”
They all turned to look at the huge silver stretch-limousine as it glided down the empty street, then eased to a halt right in front of them, with a purr of its powerful motor. A uniformed chauffeur, complete with peaked cap and supercilious expression, jumped out from behind the wheel and hurried back to open the rear door. Out stepped Robert Patterson. Tall, black, expensively dressed in the best three-piece Saville Row had to offer. A shaved head, a noble brow, and a handsome face, elegant and dignified. Robert Patterson was the public face of the Carnacki Institute, on those rare occasions when it needed to talk with other parts of the Establishment. A product of Eton and Cambridge, ex-Guards and ex-Civil Service, Patterson didn’t normally lower himself to brief field agents. Certainly not out in the field. He had important paper-shuffling to be getting on with.
JC considered Patterson thoughtfully as the man stood silently, ignoring them as he gave complete concentration to checking that his cuffs were immaculate. For Patterson to appear there, in person, meant they had to be facing a very delicate situation. The kind of case in which very rich, very important, and very well-connected people were involved. So highly placed that even the Carnacki Institute had to tread carefully.
Patterson finally deigned to acknowledge the field agents, looking them over sourly. He didn’t seem to be any happier about being there than they did, which cheered them up somewhat.
“Mr. Patterson,” JC said smoothly. “How nice to see you. Especially when you swore you never wanted to see us again after that unfortunate incident at Her Majesty’s garden party last spring. Did you ever get the stains out? No matter, no matter… Looking very elegant, as always, straight from your posh ride. Look at the length of it. That’s not a stretch limo, that’s a car with serious glandular problems. You must forgive our rather more rumpled appearance. We’ve just endured five hours in standard class on British Rail, direct from our last very successful assignment.”
“We had to hire a mini-van!” Happy said loudly. “A bloody mini-van!”
“Hush now, Happy,” murmured JC. “Grown-ups talking.”
“Hell with that,” said Happy. “Open up that limo and let me at the booze. I am in dire need of some medicinal brandy. Or medicinal vodka, I’m not fussy…”
“Damn right,” said Melody. “You got any snacks in there, Patterson? I’m so hungry I could eat your upholstery. Let me at it, or I’ll shoot out your tyres and key your bodywork.”
“Can’t take you two anywhere,” said JC. “Sorry about that, Mr. Patterson. But they aren’t being entirely reasonable, after all we’ve been through. You can of course put it all right by saying the magic words: Extravagant Bonus.”
“It’s either that or we mug you for what you’ve got on you,” said Happy. “Your choice.”
Patterson made a big deal of rising above them. “Pay attention,” he said, in his rich, deep, and very cultured voice. The field agents all made a point of sneering back at him, to show how unimpressed they were. Patterson pressed on. “This is a significant case, with important connections. It has to be handled carefully, with due regard for possible repercussions if it isn’t handled… just so.”
“Can’t be that important,” Happy said craftily. “Or the Boss herself would be here.”
“Catherine Latimer is here,” said Patterson. “But she’s far too busy to spend valuable time talking with you. She is currently interfacing with the police and the Secret Service, making sure the whole area is evacuated, then sealed off until this is all over. Or hadn’t you noticed how deserted the streets are?”
“We didn’t see any Secret Service people on our way in,” said Happy.
Patterson allowed himself a small smile. “Which goes to show how good they are at their job.”
“I’ve never known London this quiet,” said Melody. “Even at this god-forsaken early hour of the morning. Look, I can see empty parking spaces! That’s eerie…”
“What are we dealing with here?” JC said bluntly. “Ghosts, demons, those evil scumbags from the Crowley Project? What?”
“Unknown,” Patterson said carefully. “But almost certainly nothing you’ve encountered before. This whole affair is very much out of the ordinary. Even for the Institute. This entire building, Chimera House, had been officially declared genius loci. A bad place, psychically stained and corrupted. It has to be dealt with, quickly and efficiently. Before the vultures start gathering.”
“The whole building?” said JC. “Who does it belong to? What the hell do they do there?”
“Chimera House is owned by Mutable Solutions Inc.,” said Patterson. “One of the biggest drug companies, worldwide. They have branches everywhere, and annual gross sales bigger than many countries’ entire budgets. In fact, they’re rumoured to run certain small countries, on the quiet. This particular building is one of their private research centres. So private we didn’t even know they owned it until now, and we’re supposed to know things like that, given MSI’s track record for working on the more extreme and dangerous edges of medical science. Chimera House pays volunteers to allow their medical staff to test new drugs on them. All very open and respectable. Good pay, civilised living conditions for the test subjects, never any problems or complaints. Until now.
“It would appear that something has gone very badly wrong inside Chimera House. Some hours ago, emergency services received an increasingly frantic phone call from the science laboratories on the third floor, calling for help. Screaming for help, to be exact. The call was abruptly terminated, right after the caller had used the word monsters. We’re running tests on a recording of the call. There are. .. strange noises in the background. Non-human noises. Further communication with anyone inside Chimera House has proved impossible.
“Two nearby police officers responded to the emergency call. They went inside and haven’t been seen since. They’re not answering their radios. National Security got involved after that. They sent in a fully armed attack squad, looking for signs of industrial espionage. All communications cut off the moment they entered the building, and there’s been no sign of them since, either.
“The whole building has been sealed off, but nothing else has been done… due to a certain amount of disagreement as to who has jurisdiction. The police are hopping mad at the loss of their officers, and the Security people want to storm the building with as many men as it takes. Neither are ready to back down to the other. MI5 and MI6 tried to stick their toes in the door, shouting terrorists very loudly, but since this is an MSI building, with all kinds of government connections and contracts, it got very complicated, very quickly. They’d probably still be shouting at each other if a spokesman for MSI hadn’t phoned the Prime Minister, on his private line, to demand that the Carnacki Institute take control. Which is interesting for any number of reasons, not the least that they’re not supposed to know we even exist. And no, the spokesman wouldn’t say why MSI wanted us. So, until we figure out exactly what’s going on, we have agreed to send a team in. You. Because you’re the nearest A team, with the best reputation. But you are still new enough to be entirely expendable.