reminder of the damage he sustained two years ago in the Salisbury explosion. He still has two metal rods holding the bottom of his face together. I kiss him right back.
Lee has just turned eighteen. I am ten years his senior. We've been lovers for six months and he makes me feel like a schoolgirl.
Jack rolls his eyes. 'Get a room,' he says.
When we break apart I catch John's eye, but his face is a mask, giving nothing away. I am still unsure how he feels about my cradle-snatching antics. Part of me couldn't give a damn whether he approves or not, but he's a colleague and an ally, not to mention my boyfriend's dad, so another part of me craves his approval. He's a hard man to get to know, John Keegan. A hardened veteran of numerous wars, he's seen and done some terrible things. He's undemonstrative but never rude; friendly but never familiar. He's fiercely devoted to his son, and Lee to him, but while they get along well and spend lots of time together fishing, playing football and running, there's a slight reserve to their relationship.
I know that Lee killed his mother — put her out of her misery when the virus was putting her through hell. He still hasn't told John this. I think John suspects and wants to talk to his son about it but has never been able to broach the subject. The secret hovers between them, poisoning the air.
'Where's Tariq?' asks Lee.
'Late as usual,' I reply.
The door opens and Tariq strides in, chest out, confident, with a hint of swagger. The Iraqi is twenty years old, with hawkish features, thick black hair, eyes that seem to be permanently amused and a vicious hook where his left hand should be. The first person he makes eye contact with is John, and they share a nod of greeting. Before The Cull Tariq was a young lad in Basra, blogging about corruption and running from the militias. Afterwards, he and John led the resistance to the US occupation. John treats Tariq like another son, and Tariq does anything John asks of him, without question.
Lee and Tariq exchange greetings, but with more reserve. They are friends, and they've saved each other's lives countless times under fire, but Tariq doesn't entirely trust Lee. He thinks he has a death wish that could get everyone killed. I'm worried that he may be right.
Tariq pulls up a chair and sits beside John. The gang's all here.
I take another sip of tea. 'Nope,' I curse. 'No matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, this is rank.' I spit the tea back into the mug and put it down on the floor.
'Okay,' I say. 'John?'
John gets up, steps to the front of the room and sits on the desk facing us.
'Couple of things,' he says briskly in his thick Black Country accent. 'We've had a response from the Hooded Man. He's invited an envoy to visit and discuss possible co-operation in the future.'
'Do we have any idea who he is yet?' asks Tariq.
John shakes his head. 'Haven't even got a name. My guess is that he's ex-military, but I don't know for sure. I did find out one thing though, and you'll like this — the man he deposed, who by all accounts was a vicious son of a bitch, was a Frenchman called De Falaise.'
Tariq and Lee are agog. 'No fucking way,' says Lee, eventually. John just nods.
'Anyone care to fill me in?' asks Jack.
'We had a run in with him on the way back from Iraq. He's the reason I don't hear in stereo any more,' says Lee. 'Is he dead?' John nods again. 'Then this Prince of Thieves guy's fine with me. Even if he does wear tights. Is there word on that, by the way?' John smiles and shakes his head.
'He's building an army of sorts,' John continues. 'Calls them Rangers. They're a kind of paramilitary police force and so far they seem to be doing a good job of keeping the peace. But it's still a power base, so there's every chance Hood could turn out to be just as bad as the man he kicked out, just more subtle.'
'You still think we should send someone?' I ask.
'Oh yeah, but whoever you send should keep their eyes and ears open. If he's going to be a threat, we need to know. So far he doesn't know our exact location, and I'd like to keep it that way, at least for now.'
I turn to the King. 'Jack, you fancy a trip?'
He frowns. 'Wasn't Robin Hood always fighting the king?'
'First off, he won't know you're the king,' says Lee. 'And second, no, he was fighting the king's brother. He was loyal to Richard. Did they teach you nothing at King school?'
'I missed the first year of Putting Down Rebellious Peasants.'
'Has he been having problems with the snatchers?' I ask, bringing the conversation back on topic.
John shakes his head. 'They know about them, but so far they're staying out of Hood's territory. I'd bet money that he's got some of his Rangers trying to track them down, but he's hardly going to tell us details of his operations.' He pauses and takes a deep breath. I can tell he's about to deliver bad news.
'The second thing is that there's been another raid. A big one.'
'Who?'
'The Steamies.'
We're all shocked. The Kingdom of Steamies are a community that's grown up along the length of the old Spa Valley Railway. Their philosophy, handed down by their benevolent but bonkers leader, rejects all electrical power, relying instead on steam engines. It's like stepping back to the nineteenth century when we visit their domain, but most everywhere else is like stepping back to the fourteenth so they're ahead on points.
'How many?' I ask.
'They hit the Steamie settlement at High Rocks. There were eleven children there. All gone. They killed most of their parents in the snatch, too.'
'That's a hell of an escalation,' says Tariq.
John nods. 'They're getting bolder.'
'Did you track them?' asks Lee.
'Straight to the M25, same as always.'
'Double the patrols,' I say. 'And enough with the rifles. Issue the machine guns. I'm not taking any chances.'
'Done,' replies Tariq, who is responsible for perimeter security.
'That all, John?' I ask.
'Yeah, although I still think…'
'We should go after them.'
'Sooner or later they're going to find us. I'd rather find them first.'
'Duly noted.'
There's a moment when I think he's going to challenge me, but he shrugs and resumes his seat. He's older than me, and far more experienced. But this is my school, and he accepts that — some days with better grace than others.
'Tariq?'
Tariq remains in his seat, I wonder whether out of laziness or some complex dynamic of male hierarchy that makes him uncomfortable taking the table his one time leader just vacated.
'I've been to three markets this week,' he says. 'Sevenoaks, Cranbrook and Crowborough. People are paranoid and there are a lot more guns being carried openly. There was a fight at Crowborough which ended with a man being shot. It was a misunderstanding, it seems. Someone trying to return a lost child got accused of abducting them. Tensions are high. When word of the attack on the Steamies gets out, they'll get higher. I didn't hear of any fresh raids, though.'
'Lee?'
I know what he's about to tell everyone, so he turns away from me as he speaks. I stare at the thick line of baldness that runs down the back of his head, betraying the presence of a surgical scar. I bear a similar mark.
'I've been up to Oxford for a few days. A while back we heard of a group that had secured the Bodleian and was trying to start up a university. There are about fifty of them, all ages, scholars and students. The boss is a guy called Pearce — big, musclebound, ex-Para. He's an unlikely Dean of Studies, but from what I could tell he's passionately devoted to what they're doing and more than willing to kill anyone who threatens the project.'
'Forces?' asks Jack.
'A team of six; four guys, two women. Hardnosed, well armed. Polite but not welcoming. They let me stay
