“How can we help someone like you?” said Nigel. “We don’t even breathe the same air.”
“Right,” said Oscar.
“I have hit the glass ceiling, and discovered it’s made of bulletproof glass,” said Gill. “No more promotions and no way forward—unless I can pull off something really impressive, on my own initiative. I need someone useful to take care of the heavy lifting, so I chose you four because you’re all new to plainclothes.”
“But still—why us?” said Daniel.
“What he said, only louder,” said Paul.
“None of you have any experience in undercover work, so I can be sure no one knows about you,” Gill said steadily. “On the street, or in the force.”
All four of them sat up and took notice. Gill leaned forward across the table.
“This operation is strictly volunteers only, but it’s guaranteed promotions all round, if you can bring this off.”
“I’m sensing a difficulty in our near future,” said Nigel. “Some built-in drawbacks, to place obstacles in our path.”
“What’s the catch?” said Paul.
“You’ll be taking on an established firm, with a reputation for extreme violence when it comes to protecting its assets,” said Gill. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Oscar grinned. “Sounds like fun. I like solving problems.”
He cracked his knuckles loudly, and his three friends looked somewhere else for a moment. The Bear had his own reputation for violence.
“Is this mission something worth doing?” said Daniel. It bothered him, that he was the only one at the table to ask that.
“Of course,” said Gill.
“I’m in,” said Paul. The others nodded their agreement, and Daniel went along, because he knew this was going to happen with or without him. And he really was tired of shuffling papers.
“Who’s the target?” he said.
“An underground surgical organization,” said Gill. “There’s a branch just a few streets from here, hidden away behind a secondhand bookshop.”
“And that’s why we’re meeting here,” said Paul.
Gill allowed herself a small smile. “I certainly didn’t choose this place for its ambience.”
“I doubt anyone here could even spell that,” said Nigel.
“Snob,” said Oscar.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Nigel.
“The firm in question calls itself The Cutting Edge,” said Gill. “They specialize in unauthorized transplants, unsafe cosmetic procedures, and the kind of really unpleasant fetish work that never gets talked up in the glossy magazines.”
Daniel frowned. “Black-market organs means big money . . . and high-up protection.”
“They’re all going down,” Gill said flatly. “But you can go up, if you’ve got the balls to grab for the golden ring.”
“I’m in,” said Oscar.
“Of course you are, o Bear of little brain,” said Nigel.
“Don’t you want this?” said Oscar.
“Of course I want it,” said Nigel. “I’m just debating whether the reward is worth the risk.”
“You can always stay where you are,” said Gill. “Who knows? You might get another promotion. In ten years or so.”
“Hell with that,” said Oscar. “I’m in.”
Nigel sighed. “And so am I.”
“What kind of security will we be facing?” said Paul.
“Just basic muscle,” said Gill.
“I’m still having trouble seeing the moral high ground in this,” said Daniel. “Who exactly will we be protecting, if we take down these Cutting Edge people?”
Gill looked at him impatiently. “Many of the patients involved are simply ordinary people driven to desperate measures by long waiting lists, or because traditional hospitals won’t help them. But if anything goes wrong, they just get dumped by the roadside. And if anyone tries to complain, well . . . dead patients tell no tales. Is that good enough for you?”
Daniel subsided. He could tell the others were getting impatient with him.
“I want this Cutting Edge stamped on hard,” said Gill, looking steadily round the table. “I need you to get in, hold everyone, and gather evidence. Then call me for backup.”
“So this will be official, eventually?” said Daniel.
“Of course,” said Gill. “Understand me, all of you: screw this up and I never heard of you, and certainly never authorized anything. But get it right, and I’ll take you all the way up the promotions ladder with me.”
“Fair enough,” said Paul. And everyone else nodded.
Gill slapped a card on the table. “Here’s the address for the bookshop. And . . . ” She gestured at the briefcase by her feet. “I brought you a few toys to play with. Four sets of Tasers, and some extendable batons. Don’t say I never give you anything.”
“No guns?” said Oscar.
“You’re only going after a few backstreet surgeons and their hired muscle,” said Gill. “Give me half an hour to put some space between us, and then you’re on.”
She got up and left the café. The four men looked at one another.
“Does she really believe she can just walk away from this, if it should turn pear-shaped?” said Daniel.
“It would be our word against hers,” said Paul. “And she’s somebody, while we’re not. You can bet there won’t be any paper trail connecting her to us—and that’s all a Board of Inquiry would care about.”
“Any of you heard of these Cutting Edge people?” said Daniel. There was a general shaking of heads. “Don’t you think we should have, if the firm is as big as she says?”
“Why would we?” said Paul. “This isn’t our territory.”
“You can bet good money the lady will get a lot more out of this than we will,” said Nigel.
“But we’ll get enough to make it worthwhile,” said Paul.
“Right,” said Oscar.
“I’m still concerned that we’re missing something,” said Nigel. “You know what they say: If you can’t see the patsy in the deal, it’s you.”
“Are we going to do this or not?” said Paul. “It’s make-up-your-mind time, people . . . This is our chance to bring down some big league bad guys, and acquire major brownie points in the process.”
“It’s a way out of jobs we hate,” said Oscar.
“And . . . we get to do some good,” said Daniel.
“All for one, and all against one!” said Nigel. “Let us venture forth into the night and stick it to the bad guys!”
“Right,” said Oscar. He cracked his knuckles again, and everyone winced.
The four of them ended up loitering casually on a street corner, in an area that had never even heard of gentrification. The bookshop was a shabby affair, the only window painted over in thick swirls so no one could see in. The sign above the window said simply Secondhand Bookshop.
“Not even a name?” said Paul. “They could have made an effort.”
Daniel looked up and down the street, checking out the long gloomy stretches punctuated by pools of lamplight. Like spotlights on an empty stage, and a play no one wanted to be in.
“Where is everybody?”
“It’s late,” said Paul.
“Not for Soho,” said Daniel. “There’s usually someone around, selling things they shouldn’t. And the odd punter looking to do something unwise.”
“Unless the local population knows something we don’t,” said Nigel.
“There’s no muscle guarding the door,” said Oscar.
“Try not to sound so disappointed,” said Paul. “Remember, Bear: unconscious people can’t answer questions.”
“They can’t give you any trouble either,” Oscar said reasonably.
They all took a moment, to check that the Tasers and batons they’d stowed about their persons were ready to hand.
“Ah, memories . . . ” said Oscar.
Daniel looked at him, but said nothing. Every plan of action needs someone like Oscar.
“Can’t help feeling we’d be better off with proper guns,” said Nigel.
“It’s just a backstreet chop shop,” said Paul. “A Taser will take down anyone, no matter how big they are. It’s very democratic.”