“I didn’t – I mean – she’s not…”
“Bloody Mary leaving her here totally implies that she is.”
“And you trust her?”
“Danny, if a man can’t trust an East End crime boss, who can he trust?” Faulkner smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Answer my question, Danny, there’s a good lad.”
“She’s not involved, Sarge,” Danny insisted.
Faulkner lowered his weapon. “I’d hate to think you were lying to me, Danny. So I’m going to assume you’re not taking the piss. But we need to debrief her regardless. A bit less permanently than we did George, here.” He holstered his sidearm. “I’ll let someone else do it, don’t worry.”
“Th– thanks, Sarge.”
“Of course, afterwards she is getting banged up.” Faulkner clapped Danny on the shoulder and stepped past him. “Sorry lad, but we can’t show favouritism in these sorts of things. You understand.”
Danny said nothing. He looked Ro. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Day One
Thursday
Bagley-bytes 13684-3: …Redqueen is dead. God save the queen…
+++
Leake Street safe house has been burned. Begin materiel evacuation and data transfer procedures.
+++
Getting reports from Camden Market and Walker’s Court of increased Met presence, and amplified surveillance. Albion advisors on-site.
+++
Crouch End safe house has been burned. Begin materiel evacuation and data transfer procedures.
+++
Increased Albion presence reported in Tower Hamlets. Might be related to the TOAN Conference, might not. Everyone keep your masks on and your heads down.
+++
The Harp & Heron safe house has been burned. Multiple Met and Albion agents on-site. Catherine is in the wind. Local proceeds confiscated. Begin cTOS clean-up of all related ops.
+++
Blackwall Station and Dock Green have been burned. Begin materiel evacuation and data transfer procedures.
+++
Hobbs End and Totters Lane under surveillance. Heavy Albion presence. Begin preliminary materiel evacuation and data transfer procedures.
+++
Museum Station safe house has been burned. Begin materiel evacuation and data transfer procedures.
+++
Well, this is bollocks.
24: Politics
Art Coyle rubbed at his fatigued eyes and leaned back in his chair, yawning. The morning was overcast, and a light rain pattered against the windows. It had been a long, fruitless night. He’d managed to kill one of the two individuals who’d absconded with Tell’s Optik, but the other was still on the loose.
Unfortunately, the hunt would have to wait. The drone had returned a few minutes ago, to recharge and reload. He rose and went to it, checking the scuff marks where the woman’s shots had skimmed off its armour. There was some damage to one of the motors – a glancing hit – but nothing he couldn’t fix.
He set about the task while the drone recharged. After he’d finished, he’d refill its ammunition hopper. As soon as it was ready, he’d send it out again. Tell’s Optik was gone – deactivated – but the drone had caught the scent of another signal. A wireless stream, as if from a camera.
Coyle was certain now that the flat had been Tell’s and had quickly deduced that the stream was likely from a web camera. Tell had scarpered, but not without leaving a pair of eyes to watch and see who might come looking for him. He was already in the process of tracing the signal back to whoever was on the other end. Once he’d gotten a location, he would dispatch the drone and wait.
He knew, with a hunter’s instinct, that the surviving operative was heading for Tell. It was what he would do, if their situations were reversed. He wondered who they were – not Albion, not the police. Someone else. The government, perhaps. Or maybe DedSec.
He’d run across the Resistance movement once before, when he’d followed a target to the States. They’d seemed largely ineffective at the time. Maybe the London branch was simply more competent. Perhaps he should ask Zero Day about them.
At the thought of his employer, he brought his display, and the tracker-app that was still running. Nothing concrete yet, but he knew he was close. He could feel it. Whatever Zero Day was planning would happen in the next forty-eight hours.
As if his thoughts had summoned them, a call-alert chimed in his ear. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“Have you found Tell yet?”
“If I had, I would have informed you immediately.”
“You sound upset.”
“Merely tired.” Coyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have anything useful to tell me, or are you merely being annoying?”
“Careful, Coyle. Remember who is in charge here.”
“I have not forgotten,” Coyle murmured. Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the window. “I believe the operation has been compromised. By DedSec.”
“What makes you think that?”
Coyle looked out over the city. “Suffice it to say, I have some experience in these matters. If it is DedSec–”
“It is.”
Coyle paused, digesting this. “You knew this already. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You did not need to know.”
Coyle laughed. “It looks like you got that wrong then, doesn’t it?”
An offended silence followed. Then, “Or perhaps we overestimated your abilities.”
Still chuckling, Coyle made himself coffee. “If I had known, I would have devised a contingency plan. Since I did not, I am forced to improvise. Now that we are on the same page, however, we should discuss how best to–”
“It will be handled today.”
The words came sharp and brittle, the way one might mention an unpleasant task that nonetheless needed doing, and would be done. Coyle paused, and then took a sip of coffee. “How?”
“It is of no relevance.”
“I disagree.”
“That too is of no relevance. What are you planning to do about Tell?”
Coyle considered throwing Zero Day’s own words back at them, but decided it would be unprofessional. “I believe I’ve managed to locate where Tell is hiding. Once the drone is recharged and rearmed, I’ll send it back out on the hunt. Tell will not see the sunset.” He paused. “Unless another unmentioned complication should rear its head, that is.”
“It will not.”
Coyle grunted. “That still leaves Holden to deal with.”
“George Holden is no longer an issue.”
Coyle hesitated. “He’s dead? How?”
“It is of no–”
“Relevance, yes, fine.” Coyle rubbed his face. “Then Tell is the
