Faulkner hesitated, weighing the implications. “We’re here to collect evidence in an ongoing investigation,” he said, finally. Before she could interject, he added, “An internal investigation, I should say. One we are conducting in the interests of continuing our working relationship with the UK government.”
“And what does that have to do with a shooting in Whitechapel?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” He turned to Jenks. “The evidence?”
“Still in the property room,” Jenks said, not quite politely.
Faulkner tilted his head. “I was assured by your Chief Inspector that you’d be providing us with all due assistance, PC Jenks.”
“He hasn’t been in today,” Jenks said.
Faulkner snorted. “Of course not.” He looked at Sarah. “Politicians all. That’s why you need us, you know – the Met is full of politicians, more worried about budgets than policing. That’s why this borough, why this city, is in the shape it’s in now… wouldn’t you agree?” He’d pitched his voice so that it could be heard by everyone.
Sarah frowned – a calculated look of disapproval. “I wouldn’t, actually. In fact, I think the last thing Tower Hamlets needs is a paramilitary force with zero accountability roaming the streets. And I intend to say as much.”
Faulkner nodded. “Say what you like. I just follow orders. Speaking of which… Tyerman, McCoy, go to the property room.” He glanced at Jenks. “No need to show them where it’s at.”
“They’ll need a code,” Jenks began.
“Got it already,” Faulkner said, an unpleasant smile on his face. Sarah wasn’t surprised, but she was somewhat offended on the Met’s behalf.
Faulkner looked around. “We might keep this place on, afterwards. Have to give it a good cleaning first.”
“Counting your chickens a little early, aren’t you?” Sarah said.
Faulkner laughed. “I like to plan ahead.” He fixed her with a steady look. “You can leave now, if you like. I’m sure you have other places to be.”
“I intend to stand here until you leave, Sergeant. Just to make sure you don’t accidentally overstep the limits of your authority, as you did yesterday.”
Faulkner grimaced, but didn’t reply. Instead he turned away, obviously intent on ignoring her. Sarah gave him a few moments and then sidled over. She leaned close, so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “A man named Holden came to my offices today. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Faulkner hesitated. Just for an instant. If she hadn’t been looking at him, she might not have even noticed. “No. Did he say what he wanted?”
“To talk to me. Claimed he was investigating the shooting.” She watched Faulkner’s face, but could read nothing in his expression. “Which is odd, because the only Holden I know who works for Albion is in your R&D division. Specifically, he works in the drone factory in Limehouse. The one I’ve made numerous requests to visit.” Faulkner blinked. Sarah nodded. “You’re not the only one who knows things, Sergeant.”
“Duly noted,” Faulkner murmured. “I don’t know anything about that. But I’ll find out for you, if you like.”
“And what would you expect in return?”
“We can discuss that later. Perhaps over lunch? Albion’s treat, of course.”
“Why don’t we discuss it during a tour of the factory?”
Faulkner glanced at her. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not until I get what I want, Sergeant.” Sarah smiled. “And I want answers.”
12: The Property Room
Olly watched as Lincoln and Faulkner faced off. The tension in the air was palpable, and both the plods and the Albion goons looked nervous. The reporters just looked excited. Liz tugged on his sleeve. “Come on,” she murmured. “Now’s our chance.”
As she spoke, Olly’s display flickered. He realized that she’d activated her camouflage program, and he hastily followed her example. When he was done, he looked down at himself, but things didn’t seem different. Not that they would’ve.
How did the Invisible Man see himself? A question for the ages.
“Ta, Bagley,” Olly muttered. “Anything useful to contribute?”
Yes. You are only invisible to someone looking at you through a display. If they use their eyes, infrared or anything else, they will spot you right off. I would move quickly, if I were you. Bagley sounded almost amused.
Olly shook his head and glanced back towards the confrontation. Lincoln and Faulkner were trading words – not especially heated ones, but certainly not friendly. “I almost want to stay and see which of them wins,” he said as he hurried after Liz.
“Any other time I’d say feel free, but we’ve got more important things to do.”
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“Bagley scrounged up the floor plans for this place. Unless they changed something in the last six months, we’re fine.” She led him quickly through the police station, away from the office spaces and into the back.
Olly felt his nerves twist and tighten the further they went. He’d enjoyed the Met’s hospitality more than once, usually after a night on the tiles. Being here brought back memories and anxieties he’d done his best to move past in the months since he’d joined DedSec. “What if we can’t find it?”
Liz didn’t reply. Olly fell silent. The station house looked larger from the outside than it was. They moved past the interview rooms, the custody suite and finally down the stairs and along a corridor. They stopped in front of a heavy door, with a mesh viewing slot and a touchpad digital lock.
“Can you get it open?” Olly asked. Liz looked at him.
“Sure. The question is – can you?”
“What?”
Liz stepped back. “Consider this a surprise test, Olly. Get the door open, and without setting off the alarm. I’ll keep watch. You’ve got two minutes.”
Olly stared at her. “You can’t be serious…”
“One minute, fifty-seven seconds,” Liz said, not looking at him. Olly swallowed and turned back to the door. He took out his Optik, and activated a subroutine on his display. A moment later, a disguised toolkit unrolled across his display – apps for every occasion. The lock was an older model, requiring a
