every finger and toe—twice.
‘SO-3?’ I queried, somewhat inquisitively. Being in SpecOps was no guarantee you would know which departments did what—Joe Public were probably better informed. The only SpecOps divisions I knew about for sure below SO-12 were SO-9, who were antiterrorist, and SO-1, who were Internal Affairs—the SpecOps police; the people who made sure we didn’t step out of line.
‘SO-3?’ I repeated. ‘What do
‘Weird Stuff.’
‘I thought SO-2 did Weird Stuff?’
‘SO-2 do
Turner had led me into the manuscript room. The glass case that had held the leather-bound manuscript was empty.
‘Anything?’ Paige asked one of the scene-of-crime officers.
‘Nothing.’
‘Gloves?’ I asked.
The SOCO stood up and stretched her back; she hadn’t discovered a single print of any sort.
‘No; and that’s what’s so bizarre. It doesn’t look like they touched the box at all; not with gloves, not a cloth—nothing. According to me this box hasn’t been opened and the manuscript is still inside!’ I looked at the glass case. It was still locked tight and none of the other exhibits had been touched. The keys were kept separately and were at this moment on their way from London.
‘Hello, that’s odd—‘ I muttered, leaning closer.
‘What do you see?’ asked Paige anxiously.
I pointed to an area of glass on one of the side panels that undulated slightly. The area was roughly the size of the manuscript.
‘I noticed that,’ said Paige. ‘I thought it was a flaw in the glass.’
‘Toughened bullet-proof glass?’ I asked her. ‘No chance. And it
‘What, then?’
I stroked the hard glass and felt the shiny surface ripple beneath my fingertips. A shiver ran up my back and I felt a curious sense of uncomfortable familiarity, the feeling you might get when a long-forgotten school bully hails you as an old friend.
‘The work feels familiar, Paige. When I find the perpetrator, it’ll be someone I know.’
‘You’ve been a LiteraTec for seven years, Thursday.’ I saw what she meant.
‘Eight years, and you’re right—you’ll probably know them too. Could Lamber Thwalts have done this?’
‘He
‘What about Keens? He could handle something as big as this.’
‘Milton’s no longer with us. Caught analepsy in the library at Parkhurst. Stone-cold dead in a fortnight.’
‘Hmm.’ I pointed at the two video cameras. ‘Who did they see?’
‘No one,’ replied Turner. ‘Not a dicky bird. I can play you the tapes but you’ll be none the wiser.’
She showed me what they had. The guard on duty was being interviewed back at the station. They were hoping it was an inside job but it didn’t look like it; the guard had been as devastated as any of them.
Turner shuttled the video back and pressed the Play button.
‘Watch carefully. The recorder rotates the five cameras and films five seconds of each.’
‘So the longest gap between cameras is twenty seconds?’
‘Got it. You watching? Okay, there’s the manuscript—‘ She pointed at the book, clearly visible in the frame as the VCR flicked to the camera at the front door. There was no movement. Then the inside door through which any burglar would have to come; all the other entrances were barred. Then came the corridor; then the lobby; then the machine flicked back to the manuscript room. Turner punched the Pause button and I leaned closer. The manuscript was gone.
‘Twenty seconds to get in, open the box, take
‘Believe you me, Thursday—it happened.’
The last remark came from Boswell, who had been looking over my shoulder.
‘I don’t know how they did it, but they did. I’ve had a call from Supreme Commander Gale on this one and he’s being leaned on by the Prime Minister. Questions have already been asked in the House and someone’s head is going to roll. Not mine, I assure you.’
He looked at us both rather pointedly, which made me feel especially ill at ease—I was the one who had advised the museum on its security arrangements.
‘We’ll be on to it straight away, sir,’ I replied, punching the Pause button and letting the video run on. The views of the building changed rhythmically, revealing nothing. I pulled up a chair, rewound the tape and looked again.
‘What are you hoping to find?’ asked Paige.
‘Anything.’
I didn’t find it.
3. Back at my desk
‘Funding for the Special Operations Network comes directly from the government. Most work is centralised, but all of the SpecOps divisions have local representatives to keep a watchful eye on any provincial problems. They are administered by local Commanders, who liaise with the national offices for information exchange, guidance and policy decisions. Like any other big government department, it looks good on paper but is an utter shambles. Petty in-fighting and political agendas, arrogance and sheer bloody-mindedness almost guarantees that the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing.’
Two days of fruitless hunting for
I opened the drawer of my desk and pulled out a small mirror. A woman with somewhat ordinary features stared back at me. Her hair was a plain mousey colour and of medium length, tied up rather hastily in a ponytail at