into account. He rose to leave. “I must away now,” he said. “The game is afoot.”
“It’s costing us an arm and a leg,” said Omally. “Well, good luck to you at the very least.”
“Your sentiment is appreciated, John, but luck plays no part whatsoever in my investigations.” Holmes tapped at his right temple. “It all comes from here. The science of deduction, made art.”
“Yes,” said Omally doubtfully. “Well, be that as it may. My best wishes to you for the success of your mission.”
“Ten-four,” said the detective. “Up and away.” With these few words he leapt out through the warehouse door and was presently lost from view.
“I still say he’s a nutter.” Omally brushed the dust and grime away from the numb and shattered Jim Pooley.
The two electronic cadavers lay spread across the warehouse floor, and it was no pleasant thing to behold your own corpse lying at your very feet. Pocket fluff and all. Omally turned Jim’s head away. “Come on, mate,” said he softly. “We’ve had a good innings here, let’s not spoil it.”
Jim pointed a dangly hand towards his
“Well, it’s not any more. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“I shouldn’t do it.” A voice from behind froze Omally in his tracks and caused his hand to seek out his barlow knife. “Don’t go outside, I’m telling you.” Omally turned slowly and wearily to face whatever the new threat might be. Across the deserted warehouse floor a head peeped out from a now open manhole. It was Soap Distant. “Lead roof,” said the pink-eyed man from below. “The computer scan cannot penetrate it. That’s why they couldn’t find you.”
Omally peered up into the darkness of the eaves above. “So that was it.”
“Hurry now,” said Soap. “Their back-up boys are on the way.”
John did not need telling twice. Thrusting Pooley before him, he made for the manhole and something which loosely-resembled safety. As Jim’s head vanished into the darkness below John skipped back to where his duplicate lay. Viewing his own remains, he smiled briefly, and stopped to remove the thing’s left boot. Upending this, a bundle of banknotes tumbled out into his hand. “Very thorough indeed,” said John, pocketing the spoils of war.
24
A half a mile beneath the surface of Planet Earth, Soap Distant offered Omally a cup of tea.
“This time I think I will,” said John. “Is there any chance of breakfast, Soap?”
“Certainly.” The pink-eyed man applied himself to the frying-pan.
“Are you all right, Jim?” Omally prodded his companion who was staring dumbly into space.
“It was me,” mouthed Jim.
“Well, it isn’t now. You’re safe.”
“It was me.”
“Sunnyside up,” piped Soap.
“Two on a raft,” Omally replied, “with all the trimmings.”
Shortly a fine breakfast was in the offing. With the aid of much pushing, prompting, and cuffing, Jim was slowly brought back to the land of the living to enjoy his. For every “It was me”, he received a blow to the head. Somewhat after the fashion of the now legendary Pavlov’s pooches he learned the error of his ways. “Could I have another fried slice?” he asked.
Soap obliged. As he turned the bread in the pan he said. “The lead you see, the scan cannot penetrate it. They’ve got an eye in the sky up there watching everybody that’s left, but they can’t see through the lead. I myself lined the Professor’s loft with lead foil. Keeps the buggers out it does.”
Omally wiped his chin. “Very good, Soap. It is pleasing to hear that some precautions can be taken.”
“Oh yes, no system is infallible. Old Ratinous and Loathesome think they’ve got it all figured out, but there is always a dodge to be found by the thinking man.”
“Such was once the credo of my karma but I am now experiencing some doubts.”
“Don’t,” said Soap. “We’ll beat the blighters yet.”
“You seem very confident.”
Soap dumped the fried slice on to Pooley’s plate, and popped a grilled tomato into his mouth. “Oh yes,” he said between munchings, “there is not a machine yet that will not fare the worse for a well-placed spanner jammed up its works.”
“Good man,” said Omally, leaning forward to pat his host upon the shoulder. “I hope you know where to place the spanner.”
“Never fear.” Soap pulled at his lower eye. “Never fear.”
“See,” said Omally, nudging Pooley in the rib area, “even with Armageddon staring you in the face there is always a flanker to be pulled.”
“It was me,” said Jim. “Could I have another grilled sausage do you think, Soap?”
The pink-eyed man laughed heartily. “Have two,” he cried, “have three if you wish.”
“Three would be fine,” said Jim. “I have no wish to appear greedy.”
The three sub-Earthers enjoyed a hearty breakfast washed down with several bottles of Chateau Distant carrot claret. “I think you might do well to lie low here for a while,” Soap advised his guests. “Your cards would seem to be well and truly marked at present.”
“What about the spanner?” Omally made turning motions with his hand.
“All in good time, Professor Slocombe has the matter well in hand. He will tell us when the time is right.”
Omally made a sour face. “Much as I love that old man, I am not altogether sure that his reasoning is quite as clear as it once was.”
Soap flapped his hands wildly. “Do not say such things. The Professor is an Illuminati. You must trust in all he says.”
“Perhaps,” Omally finished his glass. “But it is all theories, theories, and there is precious little of what he says that makes any sense to me.”
“I would have thought that as a Catholic yourself, the idea would have held great appeal.”
“What Armageddon? The Twilight of the Gods? Not a lot.”
“No, not that side of it, I mean about the garden.”
“What garden?”
“About the garden being in Brentford. That is the whole point of it all, surely?”
“Soap, in a single sentence you have lost me completely. What are you talking about?”
“Eden, the Garden of Eden. Do you mean he didn’t tell you?”
“Hold on, hold on.” Omally held up his hands. “Go through this again slowly. What are you talking about?”
“The Garden of Eden,” said Soap. “You know the one, gets a big mention in Genesis.”
“Of course I know. What are you saying?”
Soap shook his head; he was clearly speaking with a half-wit. “Why do you think the walls have come down about Brentford?”
“To stop me spending my millions,” said Pooley bitterly.
“Hardly that. To protect Eden against the fall of Babylon.”
