“Talk to me about what?”
Hannah stiffened, and turned. Sarah Lincoln stood in the doorway, looking at her curiously. “Is something wrong, Hannah? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse.” Hannah faced her boss. “Albion paid us a visit.”
“Did they? When? Just now?”
“Yes. And they left us a present.” Hannah indicated the bug.
Puzzled, Sarah stooped. “What is that?”
“A listening device.”
Sarah looked up at her. “And you know this how?”
“You pay me to know about these things,” Hannah said, simply. To her relief, Sarah seemed to accept this without question. She grunted softly and rose to her full height.
“Nigel Cass was at lunch. Winston invited him.”
Hannah frowned. “Holden didn’t mention that.”
“Holden? George Holden?”
“Yes, why?”
Sarah picked up Hannah’s letter opener and pried the bug out of her desk. She dropped it and stepped on it. Hannah winced, slightly regretting mentioning its existence. The bug might have been of use. Now it was trashed.
“Holden’s not an investigator. He’s one of the men in charge of the drone base in Limehouse.” Sarah looked at her. “Cass mentioned him. Did he say why he was here?”
“He said he was investigating the shooting.” Hannah shook his head. “I knew his story didn’t sound right. But if he’s not an investigator, why would he come?” She glanced at the crushed remnants of the bug. “And why would he bother to bug the office?”
Sarah frowned. “That is a really good question. One I intend to put to him myself.”
“You’re having a laugh, ain’t ya?” Olly said. He trailed after Liz, heading for the armoury. It sat at the back of the cellar, away from anything valuable. “Us? Walking into a police station? Pull the other one.” He was honest enough with himself to know he was about three minutes from a full-blown panic attack. Every experience he’d ever had with the plods told him this was a bad idea. Especially when you factored in the presence of Albion.
The thought made him queasy. Bagley had broken the news earlier – Albion was planning to pull a raid of their own, though they had official backing for theirs. They were taking over the investigation into Dempsey’s death for reasons no one seemed really clear on. The Met was pissed, the local politicians were up in arms, and Albion was gloating.
“I’m dead serious,” Liz said, not looking at him. “We need to get our hands on that Optik before Albion or anyone else. Don’t worry. We won’t be going in unarmed.”
“A lack of shooters is not my main concern with this plan,” Olly said, his voice rising. “In fact, I would prefer there not be any guns involved at all, yeah? All I need is in here.” He shook his messenger bag as if it were a shield, rather than stitched canvas.
“Well, that’s not an option.”
“I think it should be,” Olly insisted. “Let’s put that back on the table.”
Liz ignored him. Olly didn’t let it go. Couldn’t. “How are we even getting in there?” he continued. “What if they recognize us?”
“And how would they do that?”
“E-fits and shit.”
Liz laughed. “Worried they’ve got you in a file somewhere? We’ve got ways around that, you know. Besides, we’re not just strolling in. We’ll have cover.”
“What sort of cover?”
“The best kind – loud and distracting.”
Olly threw up his hands. “Oh well, that’s all right then.”
“Glad you’ve come around. Maybe you’ll stop whinging now.” When they reached the entrance to the armoury, Liz placed her hand on a biometric scanner. It was an older model than the other one Olly had seen. Off the rack, probably hacked.
The door opened with a cheery ping and swung inwards at a touch from Liz’s hand. The armoury was cramped, but well-lit. 3D printers and assembly benches on one side and racks on the other. The printers were all makes and models, whatever could be bought or scavenged, and some took up a lot more space than others.
“I really don’t like guns,” Olly said, looking over the rows of weapons. No two were alike, though there were similarities between them. Guns weren’t the only things the printers were used for, of course. The pieces for custom-made drones and spiderbots sat awaiting assembly. There were even casings for explosive devices, like propaganda bombs. Olly picked one up. It was a simple thing, like a Christmas cracker, but louder and full of DedSec propaganda instead of sweets and a paper hat.
“Active resistance sometimes calls for more than chucking rocks or torching parked cars.” Liz lifted a weapon and checked the power pack. She set it back down on the rack. “Besides, most of these are non-lethal.”
“You carry a real one,” Olly said.
“Pensioner’s privilege. And if it shoots, it’s real.” Liz lightly slapped him on the cheek, and then pointed at him for emphasis. “Remember that too.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Because I don’t want you shooting me in the back by accident.”
“I’ll remember!”
“Good. You ever used a firearm?”
“Yeah, ’course.”
“A real one. I mean. Not in a game.”
Olly hesitated. Liz sighed. “Maybe we should hold off on this.”
Olly thought about arguing, but didn’t. He had an image in his head of stuffing a piece down his waistband and it getting tangled as he tried to pull it. “Yeah, maybe so.”
“How about a stun gun?” She picked up a black unit and gave it a flick. A spark of blue leapt between the prongs, and Olly grinned.
“That’s more my speed.”
“Good enough.” She tossed it and he caught it awkwardly. “Only use it when you have to. We’re not going in hot, if we can help it.” Olly tentatively activated the stun gun and then stuffed it into his messenger bag.
“So how are we breaking in anyway?”
“We’re not breaking in, we’re walking in.”
“Say again?” Olly looked at her. “They’re not going to let us do that.”
“They will if they think we’re press,” Liz said.
“Why would they think that?”
“Because someone’s going to meet us with press badges at Victoria Park. Hannah Shah. You’ve met before, I think.”
“She’s Krish’s government contact, isn’t
