introduce you to support team, and make sure you bond with your, your, associate. Without to be eated.'
'Eaten?' I ask. I must look a trifle tense because even Boris manages to pull an apologetic expression from somewhere.
'What is this job, exactly? I didn't volunteer for a field mission — '
'Know you do not. We are truly sorry to put this on you,'
says Boris, running a hand over his bald head in a gesture that gives the lie to the sentiment, 'but not having time for histrionics.' He glances at Brains and gives a tiny nod. 'First am giving briefing to you, then must complete destinyentanglement protocol with entity next door. After that — '
he checks his watch ' — are being up to you, but estimating are only seven days to save Western civilization.'
'What?' I know what my ears just heard but I'm not sure I believe them.
He stares at me grimly, then nods. 'If is up to me, are not be relying on you. But time running out and is short on alternatives.'
'Oh Jesus.' I sit down on the sole available chair. 'I'm not going to like this, am I'
'Nyet. Pinky, the DVD please. It is being time to expand Robert's horizons ...'
2: GOING DOWN TO DUNWICH
The river of time may wait for no man, but sometimes extreme stress causes it to run shallow. Cast the fly back four weeks and see what you catch, reeling in the month-old memories ...
IT'S LATE ON A RAINY SATURDAY MORNING IN February, and Mo and I are drinking the remains of the breakfast coffee while talking about holidays. Or rather, she's talking about holidays while I'm nose-deep in a big, fat book, reacquainting myself with the classics. To tell the truth, each interruption breaks my concentration, so I'm barely paying attention. Besides, I'm not really keen on-the idea of forking out money for two weeks in self-catering accommodations somewhere hot. We're supposed to be saving up the deposit for a mortgage, after all.
'How about Crete?' she asks from the kitchen table, drawing a careful red circle around three column-inches of newsprint.
'Won't you burn?' (Mo's got classic redhead skin and freckles.) 'We in the developed world have this advanced technology called sunblock. You may have heard of it.' Mo glares at me.
'You're not paying attention, are you'
I sigh and put the book down. Damn it, why now? Just as I'm getting to Tanenbaum's masterful and witty takedown of the OSI protocol stack ... 'Guilty as charged.'
'Why not?' She leans forwards, arms crossed, staring at me intently.
'Good book,' I admit.
'Oh. Well that makes it all right,' she snorts. 'You can always take it to the beach, but you'll be kicking yourself if we wait too long and the cheap packages are all over-booked and we're left with choosing between the dregs of the Club 18-30 stuff, or paying through the nose, or one of us gets sent on detached duty again because we didn't notify HR of our vacation plans in time. Right'
'I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not that enthusiastic right now.'
'Yes, well, I just paid my Christmas credit card bill, too, love. Face it, by May we're both going to be needing a vacation, and they'll be twice as expensive if you leave booking it too late.'
I look Mo in the eyes and realize she's got me metaphorically surrounded. She's older than I am — at least, a couple of years older — and more responsible, and as for what she sees in me ... well. If there's one disadvantage to living with her it's that she's got a tendency to organize me. 'But.
Crete'
'Crete, Island of. Home of the high Minoan civilization, probably collapsed due to rapid climactic change or the explosion of the volcano on Thera — Santorini — depending who you read. Loads of glorious frescos and palace ruins, wonderful beaches, and moussaka to die for. Grilled octopus, too: I know all about your thing for eating food with tentacles.
If we aim for late May we'll beat the sunbathing masses.
I was thinking we should book some side tours — I'm reading up on the archaeology — and a self-catering apartment, where we can chill for two weeks, soak up some sun before the temperature goes into the high thirties and everything bakes ...
How does that sound to you? I can practice the fiddle while you burn.'
'It sounds — ' I stop. 'Hang on. What's the archaeology thing about'
'Judith's had me reading up on the history of the littoral civilizations lately,' she says. 'I thought it'd be nice to take a look.' Judith is deputy head of aquatic affairs at work. She spends about half her time out at the Laundry training facility in Dunwich and the other half up at Loch Ness.
'Ah.' I hunt around for a scrap of kitchen roll to use as a bookmark. 'So this is work, really.'
'No, it's not!' Mo closes the newspaper section then picks it up and begins to shake the pages into order. She won't stop until she's got them perfectly aligned and smooth enough to sell all over again: it's one of her nervous tics. 'I'm just curious.
I've been reading so much about the Minoans and the precedent case law behind the human/Deep One treaties that it just caught my interest. Besides which, I last went on holiday to Greece about twenty years ago, on a school trip. It's about time to go back there, and I thought it'd be a nice place to relax. Sun, sex, and squid, with a side order of archaeology.'
I know when I'm defeated, but I'm not completely stupid: it's time to change the subject. 'What's Judith got you working on, anyway?' I ask. 'I didn't think she had any call for your approach to, well ... whatever.' (It's best not to mention specifics: the house we share is subsidized accommodation, provided by the Laundry for employees like us — otherwise there's no way we could honestly afford to live in Central London on two civil service salaries — and the flip-side of this arrangement is that if we start discussing state secrets the walls grow ears.) 'Judith's got problems you aren't briefed on.' She picks up her coffee mug, peers into it, and pulls a face. 'I'm beginning to find out about them and I don't like them.'
'You are'
'I'm going down to Dunwich next week,' she says suddenly. 'I'll be there quite some time.'
'You're what'
I must sound shocked because she puts the mug down, stands up, and holds out her arms: 'Oh, Bob!'
I stand up, too. We hug. 'What's going on?'
'Training course,' she says tightly 'Another bloody training course? What are they doing, putting you through a postgraduate degree in Cloak and Dagger Studies?' I ask. The only training course I did at Dunwich was in field operations technique. Dunwich is where the Laundry keeps a lot of its secrets, hidden behind diverted roads and forbidding hedges, in a village evacuated by the War Department back during the 1940s and never returned to its civilian owners. Unlike Rome, no roads lead to Dunwich: to get there you need a GPS receiver, four-wheel drive, and a security talisman.
'Something like that. Angleton's asked me to take on some additional duties, but I don't think I can talk about them just yet. Let's say, it's at least as interesting as the more obscure branches of music theory I've been working on.' She tenses against me, then hugs me tighter. 'Listen, nobody can complain about me telling you I'm going, so ... ask Judith, okay? If you really think you need to know. It's just a compartmentalization thing. I'll have my mobile and my violin, we can talk evenings. I'll try to make it back home for weekends.'
'Weekends plural? Just how long is this course supposed to take?' I'm curious, as well as a bit annoyed. 'When did they tell you about it'
'They told me about this particular one yesterday. And I don't know how long it runs for — Judith says it comes up irregularly, they're at the mercy of certain specialist staff. At least four weeks, possibly more.'
'Specialist staff. Would this specialist staff happen to have, say, pallid skin? And gill slits'
'Yes, that's it. That's it exactly.' She relaxes and takes a step back. 'You've met them.'
