‘Apache?’ the guy slurred. ‘Scooby?’
‘No. No,’ his girlfriend whined. ‘Jet. Ask him if he’s got any jet.’
Helix held his hands up. ‘Sorry, folks. I’m out of everything. Try my friend over there,’ he said, nodding towards a dealer on the opposite side of the entrance.
‘Watcha standin’ there for if you’ve got no gear to sell?’
Helix leaned into his ear. ‘Minding my own fucking business,’ he whispered.
The guy swayed away, hands up in surrender. ‘OK, OK, no ‘ffence meant.’
Catching him by the shoulder, Helix pulled him back from the edge of the road, reattached him to his girlfriend and steered them on their way.
The dealer reeled them in with a pearly white smile. With their order fulfilled, he dispatched them with a wave and a cheery goodnight. The smile slipped from his face as he turned towards Helix. Looking nervous or frightened didn’t come easily, but Helix did his best. He bit his lip and tugged at his jacket collar before turning and striding away. The dealer took the bait. The side exit of a bar Helix had passed a few minutes earlier was around 25 yards back. Helix paused. His pursuer didn’t. Helix broke eye contact, turned and walked towards the alley. It was a dead end, but that was fine. It was away from the street and unlikely to be under surveillance.
He quickened his pace. The dealer matched it. Three yards out he bolted, making a drama of slipping as he rounded the corner. Hands raised, he backed deeper into the alley. ‘I don’t want any trouble, fella,’ he said. ‘I’m not competing.’
The dealer closed in. ‘That ain’t what it looked like to me,’ he said, a knife held low in his right hand.
Helix anticipated the thrust, his eyes fixed on the weapon as it arced upwards. Clamping his hand over his assailant’s, he pushed the knife up and away, grinding the dealer’s knuckles against the wall. His right fist connected with the man’s chin. A snap kick hit him in the groin. It was over. The knife skittered across the damp paving as the dealer collapsed. Helix snapped open a halo-cuff and pressed it to the groaning man’s temple.
Dragging his prisoner to his feet, Helix assessed his height. He would do. He wasn’t sure about the snake-skin boots but he hadn’t got time to be fussy. The cuff glowed in the shadows, the man’s eyes glassy and distant. ‘Put these on,’ Helix said, pulling Wheeler’s coat from the rucksack. He topped off the disguise with the fedora, covering the halo-cuff. ‘Do the coat up.’ He pulled the collar of his own coat up and moved to the end of the alleyway. ‘OK. You need to walk alongside me and keep up.’
Reserved for the scientific elite and other dignitaries, the footpaths inside the Meridian were deserted. Helix and his mute sidekick skirted the northern edge, pausing in front of the historic Queen’s House. Invisible to the naked eye, the ruins of the Observatory lay 400 yards to the south on the horizon. Switching to night vision, Helix surveyed the devastation. The only distinguishing feature was the distorted onion-shaped dome. Laying in a narrow gap between the pile of rubble, glass and steel, it rested against an oak tree. A quick switch to thermal revealed no heat signatures. The only thing moving was a marching flock of agribots that mowed the lawns and manicured the gardens. ‘I can’t see anything much moving,’ he said. ‘Are you picking anything up?’
‘Nothing,’Sofi replied.
Helix sighed. ‘OK. I’m going up.’ He nudged the drug dealer forward onto the grassy slope. ‘You all set?’
‘I’m ready. Do you know what you’re looking for?’
‘I’ve got a reasonable idea. It should be enough.’
Their route took them to the eastern edge of the ruins. They headed for the small circular patio known to the world as the venue for the wedding of the century. That of Doctor Gabrielle Stepper and the then-rising political star, Justin Wheeler. It was the same place Helix had drunk coffee in the morning before facilitating Wheeler’s denouncement and arrest. Apart from a covering of dust which the rain had turned to a grey sludge, the patio and pagoda remained intact, the debris field from the explosion falling short. He parked Wheeler’s body double at the edge of the patio and began pushing at the mud with his boot. He yanked a piece of wood from the rubble and scraped the stones clear, exposing the brass band that denoted the line of the prime meridian.
‘They’re here,’ Sofi said into his ear.
Helix ignored the information and crouched. Extending the blade from his prosthetic hand, he scraped at the gaps between the stones, trying to free one. A piece of reinforcing bar from amongst the debris substituted as a crowbar. He slipped one end into a gap and pushed down. The stone moved. He froze. Looking up, he noted a subtle movement in the shadows. They were there too. He went back to work. The stone shifted. He drove deeper, teasing it up. Crouching forward, he slipped his hand inside his jacket taking the grip of one of his guns. In a single fluid movement, he drew the gun, rolled over his shoulder, crouched again and fired three shots into the dark.
He pivoted, fired again, his target the source of a laser dot on his chest. He shoulder-charged the drug dealer, taking his knees out. Sheltering behind a low
