‘Sorry about the mess,’ Hal began, motioning to the desk where piles of files had been stacked two feet high. He had never been so behind with his work before.
‘Have you heard the news?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Ninety per cent of our force was wiped out in Scotland.’
‘Hunter?’
Samantha chewed her lip. ‘He’s listed amongst the missing.’
Hal felt sick, but he put on a brave face. ‘You know what Hunter’s like. Hit him in the face with a hammer and he’ll keep coming back for more. Anyone who can survive the free-drink weekend at Mrs Damask’s isn’t going to fold up at the first opportunity.’
When Hal saw that nothing he could say would ease Samantha’s worries, he said, ‘Do you want a coffee? I’ve got some stashed away for special occasions.’
‘That’s like gold dust,’ Samantha said. ‘And isn’t it on the protected substances list? You’re supposed to hand in any supplies.’
‘So some minister can have it for their personal stash?’ Hal caught himself. ‘Listen to me, I sound like Hunter.’
From the back of his top drawer, Hal pulled out a tiny jar wrapped in masking tape so that the contents couldn’t be seen. He shook out a few precious brown grains into a couple of mugs, topped them up with water from the kettle suspended over the fire and handed one steaming mug to Samantha.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Hal. You’ve been a real friend to me. It’s hard to find anyone in this place I can really talk to.’
Friend. The compliment stung as much as if she’d slapped him.
‘You know, I never thought you really cared for him,’ Hal said.
‘Neither did I. Until I realised I did, about five minutes before he flew off. He’s a loudmouth, a bighead, a slut who’s probably crawling with God knows how many sexual diseases and a drunk. There’s absolutely no reason why I should like him.’
Hal laughed quietly. ‘I know exactly what you mean. We have nothing in common at all. Whenever I go out drinking with him, I’m unconscious halfway through the night, without fail. He always gets me home, though.’
‘But there’s something about him. I just can’t put my finger on it.’
‘He’s a good man, once you get past the front. He’s got morals, ethics… hard to believe when you consider what he does. I think he hates himself a bit, which is sad. He’s complicated. There are two Hunters — one you see and one you only catch glimpses of.’
‘Do you know what made me think he might be all right?’ Samantha warmed her hands on the coffee mug. ‘That you’re his friend, and I think you’d only be friends with someone who was… worthy.’
‘That’s a funny word.’ Hal stared deep into her eyes, which were green like a cat’s, immeasurably deep.
‘He’s lucky he’s got you in his corner.’
‘You’ll make a good couple,’ Hal said and meant it.
Samantha luxuriated in the taste of her coffee. Then she said, ‘Do you know what one of the PAs said to me the other day? With all the strange stuff in the world today, all the magic and the gods and the wonders, we’re now living in a world where wishes could come true. So tell me, Hal, if you could wish for anything, what would it be?’
He thought for a moment and then replied, ‘Nothing. I’ve got everything I need.’
‘You know, I think I believe you. You’re so calm, so centred.’
‘And you’d wish for Hunter to be back here, right now.’
‘I think I probably would. I want a chance to see if it could work, you know?’ She took a deep breath, and to Hal it sounded immeasurably sad. ‘Though I might also wish for some music. I miss the radio… new songs… old songs.’
‘All right,’ Hal said, ‘the best old song: “Wichita Lineman”. Glen Campbell. No argument. Do you know it?’
Samantha wrinkled her nose. ‘Sounds like something my mum would like.’
‘There’s a line in it that goes: “And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time.” I don’t think there’s a better way of describing love, anywhere.’
She giggled. ‘You’re such an old romantic.’
‘Yes,’ he said with a smile. ‘I am.’
In his cell, Mallory brooded and planned and waited for his moment. He still couldn’t bring himself to think of Sophie’s name or what had happened to her. Every thought he had was channelled towards his escape. He’d tested his manacles and they were as effective as they should be in a high-security wing. The guards always came around in twos with his food, one training an SA80 on him. But Mallory knew he had two things to his advantage: since Sophie’s death he really didn’t care if he lived or died; and he knew his abilities — and in particular the abilities of the Pendragon Spirit — better than his captors did.
The training he had undergone at Salisbury Cathedral to become a Knight Templar had also pushed him to the upper limits of physical and mental fitness. Focusing the mind, preparing for extreme hardship, were now embedded in his system. He had hated his time in the brutal regime, but it had taught him to be a survivor. All told, he was ready.
And so, when the guards came with his lunch, Mallory gathered himself. ‘Bring it over here,’ he said, nodding to the tray with the plate of what appeared to be vegetable stew on it.
‘Get lost.’ The guard with the gun waved the barrel at him.
Mallory knew the guards hated him. They didn’t know why they did, but the fact that he was imprisoned along with all the other dangerous freaks in the high-security wing damned him by association. ‘I’ve had enough of all this — the way you treat me. I deserve better.’
‘Boo hoo,’ the one with the tray mocked.
Mallory took a step forward.
‘Oi!’ The one with the gun grew tense, thrusting the weapon more menacingly. ‘Back.’
‘No,’ Mallory said. ‘I’ve reached my limit. I’m not going to rot in this hole. I’d rather die.’ Mallory continued to walk towards them.
The guards backed away, a sliver of panic driving the contempt out of their eyes. The one with the tray put it down and thumbed his radio. ‘Section fourteen to base. Incident at B-twenty-nine. Prisoner unruly. Send back- up.’
‘It won’t do any good,’ Mallory said. ‘I can kill with my bare hands. I’ve been trained.’
‘Back off!’ the one with the gun shouted. ‘I will fire.’
‘Better do it,’ Mallory said, ‘because you’re going to be dead in five seconds.’ Mallory rushed the guard without another warning.
Acting on instinct, the guard fired a short burst. The rounds tore through Mallory, flinging him back against the wall hard. Slipping down to the floor in shock, he watched his blood puddling around him. There was pain, and then numbness as the dark crept up on him.
The last thing he heard was one of the guards saying, ‘You fucking idiot! You’ve killed him!’
*
After Samantha had cheered up a little she returned to her office, leaving Hal steeling himself to venture out into the cold. He fought his way through drifts that built up as quickly as the street workers cleared the snow away, and eventually reached the Bodleian Library. Its vast resource of books amassed over four centuries was one of the main reasons that Oxford had been chosen for the new seat of Government. After the destruction of central London and the waste laid to much of the country’s infrastructure, the fragility of humanity, its knowledge and traditions was belatedly acknowledged. The Bodleian contained everything of value that the human race had ever achieved, condensed into racks and shelves, the Holy Grail of civilisation. It was going to be protected at all costs.
Hal went to the Old Library and entered the Lower Reading Room. He expected several hours of shivering at a table while the librarian brought the necessary tomes to him, but it was as warm as a hothouse inside.
‘Best place to be,’ the chief librarian said from his seat behind the main enquiry desk. ‘We’ve got protected status, so we can have as much fuel as we want for the heating system.’ He appeared oblivious to everything else that was going on beyond his cloistered world. He had a mound of snowy white hair and thick glasses that made his eyes appear unfeasibly large. Despite the heat, he wore a heavy jumper with brash, multicoloured hoops.
