Book 1 - The Man With the Golden Torc (33 page)

"Why not Manifest Destiny?" I said, just to be contrary.

"You heard Truman. They put their faith in science, not magic.
My kind are only allowed in as fellow travellers. What interests me is how your
family could know that you’re travelling with me now."

I shrugged. "We probably have agents buried deep within Manifest
Destiny. We have people everywhere, in every kind of organisation, so we won’t
be surprised when they try to start something nasty. How else do you think we
know everything that’s going on?"

Molly looked at me. "And you didn’t think to tell me this
before?"

"Sorry; I thought you knew how my family operates. Besides, I’ve
been distracted. I’ve had a lot on my mind, just recently."

"Is there anything else I ought to know?"

"There’s something squelching in my shoe."

"I should have stabbed you while you were still asleep," said
Molly.

We made our way up and out and onto the Paddington station main
concourse. The wide-open space was full of people bustling back and forth as
though their lives depended on it or just standing together like sheep, staring
vacantly at the changing displays on the information screens. Train engines
roared loudly, people spoke loudly into mobile phones, doing their best to look
as though their calls were vitally important, and every now and again the
station loudspeakers would blast out some deafening but totally incomprehensible
statement.

I relaxed a little. I like crowds. Always somewhere to hide, in
a crowd. Molly and I pretended to examine the menu on a nearby fast-food stall
while taking a surreptitious look around. It all seemed normal enough. Two armed
policemen wandered by, burdened down with flack jackets and equipment, alert for
everyday problems. They weren’t interested in Molly and me. They didn’t know
people like Molly and me even existed, the lucky devils.

"I liked this place a lot better before they gave it a
makeover," I said to Molly. "There used to be a restaurant here where you could
order chili con carne and chips, and beans and bacon and sausages, and pile it
as high as you liked. Now, that was a meal and a half. I used to call it the
cholesterol special. You could feel your arteries hardening just looking at it."

Molly regarded me with distaste bordering on disgust. "I’m
amazed your heart didn’t just explode."

"I always did like to live dangerously. Speaking of which, don’t
turn around too quickly, but spot the two guys approaching from four o’clock. I
think we’ve been made."

"Already? Damn." Molly sneaked a look in the direction I’d
indicated. Two men in anonymous dark suits were striding towards us, holding
their hands up to their faces and talking to their wrists. Either they had
radios up their sleeves or they were Care in the Community. Molly scowled. "They
could just be plainclothes policemen…"

The two men produced automatic weapons from slings under their
jackets and opened up, actually shooting through the packed crowd to get at us.
Men and women crashed to the ground, bleeding and screaming and dying. People
were thrown this way and that by the bullets’ impact, and one man’s head
exploded. The woman with him sank to her knees beside his kicking body, howling
her grief and horror. People ran screaming in every direction and dived for what
little cover there was. And the two men with automatic weapons ran straight at
Molly and me, firing without pause. The armed police came running, and the two
men shot them down, hosing them with bullets till they stopped moving.

I ducked behind the fast-food stall, and Molly was right there
with me. Above us, bowls of soup shattered and blew apart, spraying hot liquid
everywhere. The staff inside the stall shrieked and ducked down, their screams
almost drowned out by the chaos and the roar of gunfire. The whole stall rocked
and shuddered as bullets pounded into it again and again. How many guns did
these bastards have? Shouldn’t they be running out of ammo by now? I risked a
quick peek around the corner of the stall. The two men were coming right at us,
firing steadily, followed by a dozen more men in dark suits from all across the
concourse, running to join them. There were dead bodies everywhere in spreading
pools of blood.

"We can’t stay here," I said to Molly. "I can armour up, but
that won’t protect you."

"I don’t need protecting," said Molly. "I’ll arrange a
diversion, and then we both run like hell for the nearest street exit. Sound
good to you?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. What kind of diversion?"

"Close your eyes and put your hands over them."

I did so, and a moment later came an incandescent flare that
hurt my eyes even through tightly squeezed eyelids. Raised voices cried out in
shock and pain, and Molly grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me out from
behind the bullet-riddled fast-food stall. I forced my eyes open as I stumbled
after her. Black spots blurred and jumped in my vision, but at least I could
see. The armed men were staggering around, tears streaming from half-open eyes,
firing their guns at any sudden sound or movement. And since most of the
civilians were gone, that mostly meant they were shooting at each other. I could
live with that. I passed right by one gunman as I followed Molly to the nearest
street exit, and I paused just long enough to break his neck with one blow.
Never involve civilians in our wars, you bastard.

I would have liked to kill more of them, but there wasn’t time.
I’m not an assassin, but sometimes the only right thing remaining is to just
kill the bastards until there aren’t any left. I hate it when innocents get
caught up in my world. That’s why I became an agent in the first place: to
protect innocents from what lives in my world.

The gunmen had to be Manifest Destiny. My family would have been
more subtle. And, I still believed, more sparing of the innocent. But how had
Manifest Destiny found us so quickly? Maybe they had all the railway stations
staked out, just in case. Made sense. My bad arm yelled at me as I ran after
Molly, and I told it to shut the hell up. I was busy. A few bullets flew past
me, not even close. Some of the gunmen were getting their sight back. I could
have armoured up, but I couldn’t trust the stealth factor to work under these
conditions, with so many watching eyes, and I was still reluctant to expose my
family’s greatest secret to public gaze. Unless I had to.

I caught up with Molly as she stumbled to a halt halfway up the
steep slope that led out into the main traffic. We were both breathing hard.
Cars and vans roared past unknowing, as though it was just another day. I looked
at Molly.

"What do we do now? Hail a taxi?"

"I wouldn’t. You can never be sure whom the drivers are really
working for. I’ve got a better idea."

She bent over and hiked up her dress, revealing a dainty silver
charm bracelet around her left ankle. She snapped one of the charms free and
held it up: a delicate little silver motorcycle. Molly muttered a few Words in a
harsh language that must have hurt her throat and breathed on the charm. It
wriggled eerily on her palm, and then leapt off, growing rapidly in midair until
standing on the slope before us was a Vincent Black Shadow motorbike. A big
black beast of a bike, and a classic of its kind. I was impressed.

"I’m impressed," I said to Molly. "Really. You have excellent
taste in motorcycles. If a tad nostalgic."

"Don’t talk to me about modern bikes," said Molly. "No
character."

More bullets flew past us. They were getting closer. I looked
back down the slope. Men with guns were staggering in our direction, tears still
rolling down their cheeks. Their aim wasn’t that accurate yet, but with
automatic weapons it didn’t need to be.

"Get on the damn bike!" said Molly.

I looked around. The Vincent roared to life as she kick-started
it, and then swung onto the leather seat.

"Hold everything," I said. "I do not ride pillion."

"My bike, my ride. Get on."

"I am not riding pillion! I have my dignity to consider."

More bullets whined past us. They really were getting closer.
Molly smiled sweetly at me.

"You and your dignity can always run alongside, if you like, but
I am leaving…"

I growled something under my breath, and swung aboard the seat
behind her. Molly slammed the Vincent into gear and we shot off up the slope,
pursued by bullets, and straight out into the main flow of traffic. Outraged
horns and voices greeted us from every side as we appeared out of nowhere and
just bullied our way in. Fortunately, the average speed of London traffic is
rarely more than about ten miles per hour between traffic lights, so we were
able to dodge and weave in and around the slower-moving vehicles and build up a
healthy acceleration. I held Molly tightly around the waist with my right arm. I
tried to use the left as well, but it was just too painful, so I let my forearm
rest on Molly’s left thigh. She didn’t seem to mind. Even tucked in close behind
her, the air still hit my face like a slap and tugged at my hair. I put my mouth
next to Molly’s ear.

"Would it have killed you to conjure up a couple of crash
helmets too?"

"Helmets are for sissies!" said Molly, shouting back over the
roar of the Vincent’s engine. She laughed joyously. "Hold on, Eddie!"

"I’ll just bet you’re not insured," I said.

We weaved in and out of moving cars as though they were standing
still, steadily building up speed. Taxi drivers shouted insults, and shop fronts
blurred past on either side. We’d already taken so many turns I hadn’t a clue
where we were any longer. A big red London bus pulled out in front of us,
because London buses don’t give way to anything, and my heart practically leapt
out of my chest as Molly gunned the throttle and shot us through the narrowing
gap like a lemming on amphetamines. I may have screamed, just a little.

"Try to lean with me on the curves, Eddie!" Molly shouted back
cheerfully. "It makes manoeuvring so much easier."

We howled across intersections at scary speeds and treated
stoplights with contempt. The bike swayed this way and that, dodging and weaving
as it plunged in and out of traffic, slowing for no one. It would have been
quite exhilarating, if I’d been driving. As it was, I just clung on with my good
arm and threw a series of hopeful prayers up to Saint Christopher, the patron
saint of travellers. He’s been officially decommissioned these days, but no one
asked my permission, so…

The first I knew that we were being pursued came when a bullet
whined right past my ear. I grabbed Molly tightly and risked a look back. Two
big black cars were coming up fast behind us. They must have been really heavily
armoured, because they built up speed by just shunting and slamming aside
everything in front of them. When there wasn’t any room, the big black cars
would drive right over whatever was in front of them, crushing the lesser
vehicle like a tank. Other cars were driven right off the road or intimidated
into taking sudden side turnings they hadn’t intended to. The traffic between
the black cars and us thinned rapidly, and men leaned out of the cars’ shaded
windows to fire automatic weapons at us. Luckily, that’s a lot harder than it
seems in the movies.

I turned back and yelled into Molly’s ear. "Manifest Destiny,
right behind! And they’re shooting at us!"

"I had noticed, actually. You sure it’s not your family?"

"Positive. They wouldn’t use guns. They’d use something much
more extreme."

Molly sent the bike flying around a tight corner, leaning right
over. I did my best to help, leaning with her, but it was all I could do to hang
on with just the one arm. The ground did look awfully close there for a moment.
Molly wrestled the Vincent upright again and opened the throttle all the way. We
roared down the street, flashing in and out of startled cars, sometimes close
enough to scrape their paintwork with our wing mirrors, all the time dodging
gunfire from behind. They were starting to get our range. I risked another look
back, turning right around on the leather seat. The black cars were smashing
through everything in their path, ramming cars out of their way. Skidding
civilian cars slammed into each other, some overturned, and there were pileups
the length of the street behind us. The black cars just kept coming, and the
bullets got closer and closer, no matter how much we dodged and weaved.

I armoured up. The living metal flowed smoothly over and around
me in a moment, sealing me off from a hostile world. Bullets hit my back and
just ricocheted away. They couldn’t touch me or Molly now. The rate of gunfire
increased as the black cars drew nearer, bullets spraying across my back, my
shoulders, and the back of my head. I didn’t feel the impact, but I could hear
it. Armouring my left arm had made it strong again, if no less painful. I
slipped it carefully around Molly’s waist, and felt a little more secure.

The Vincent was really hammering along now, the passing world
just a blur. Molly was laughing out loud, whooping with the joy of speed. I was
more concerned about what would happen if just one of the bullets happened to
hit the Vincent’s fuel tank. I mentioned this to Molly.

"Don’t worry!" she yelled back. "This isn’t really a motorbike.
It just looks like one."

"Not a real bike? Not a real Vincent Black Shadow?"

"Come on," said Molly. "What did you expect from a charm
bracelet?"

"Just as long as it doesn’t turn back to a pumpkin at midnight…"

Molly laughed again and pushed the bike’s speed even harder. I
took my right arm away from Molly’s waist and drew the Colt Repeater from its
shoulder holster. It took me a while, and hurt my shoulder like hell, but I
finally wrestled the gun out. I breathed hard for a moment, controlling the pain
and bracing myself for what I had to do next. I tightened my hold around Molly’s
waist with my strengthened left arm, turned around on the seat, and looked back
at the cars behind me. There were four of them now, with a fifth catching up,
ploughing their way through any traffic that didn’t get out of their way fast
enough. Men were leaning out of the car windows and firing at me with a whole
assortment of weapons. One even had a rocket launcher. He fired the thing, and
the rocket shot out, slammed into my armoured side, and ricocheted away to blow
up a Gap store. I hoped there was nobody inside, but I had no way of knowing.
Manifest Destiny didn’t care who got hurt or killed. And that was when I decided
that just escaping these bastards wasn’t good enough.