The Dark Detective: Venator (19 page)

“I know that,” said Max, shortly, “but if I don’t tell her that there’s been a problem and she finds out later – which she will – I’ll be finished as a cop – and probably prosecuted for withholding vital information.”

“Oh dear, Max, darling, you
are
in a pickle,” said Sophie, sounding amused. “Whatever will you do?”

Max had to admit there was something invigorating about Sophie’s lack of sympathy; it had the same effect as a swift kick up the backside.

“I’m going to tell her something of what’s happened and that the press conference needs to be moved. Hopefully that’ll put the Bruce woman on the back foot because she’ll have to change her own plans. And, I hope, that will mean the back-up squad will be safer.”

“You are so much cleverer than you look, Max, darling,” said Sophie, her voice rich with irony.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back, and had the enjoyment of seeing Sophie frown with annoyance.

Max made his call.

The Superintendent was not amused. Max was glad he’d omitted to mention the fact that he’d been found drinking coffee in the palace kitchens when he should have been reporting in.

“I’m not happy, Detective,” she said. “Not happy at all. When this is all over I’ll want to see you in my office.” She paused. “We’ll have to move the whole press conference to another location – the Yard is probably the safest place. I’ll inform the Prime Minister of the change.”

She rang off and Max heard the police radios of his colleagues fizz into life.

He listened intently. Half of the police left immediately and the rest stationed themselves around the palace’s entrances, fingering their weapons nervously.

Max was thankful that Eric and his other colleagues at the palace would probably be safe now. He didn’t know how many demons Lily Temple Bruce would have with her, but he knew that they would be vicious; he didn’t want to see any of his friends hurt or killed – or worse.

His police radio crackled again. Max listened to the instructions.

It seemed that the Prime Minister had taken matters into his own hands and ignored the Superintendent’s advice to hold the press conference at Scotland Yard. Max guessed the PM thought the extra publicity would help his ratings, and that helping a damsel in distress – even if she was the most powerful woman on the planet – would make him look heroic.

Max shook his head at the eternal folly of a vain man.

“Well, the Super isn’t happy,” he muttered to Sophie. “The new location for the press conference is 10 Downing Street. At least there’ll be plenty of security there.”

“Yes, but not the right kind,” said Sophie softly, getting ready to leave.

She was right. Guns and strong-arm tactics were no use against demonic forces.

“We’d better get over there,” said Max, at length.

“Oh? Have you caught up now, Max, darling?” said Sophie.

Max ignored the jibe and fished around in his pocket for his car keys.

“Looking for these?” said Sophie, smugly, dangling them from her purse.

“We’re really going to have to talk about your kleptomania,” said Max.

“Oh, Max. Where’s your sense of humour?” retorted Sophie, with the same annoying air of superiority.

Max snatched the keys and stalked off to his car, leaving Sophie trotting along in her high heels and stumbling over the cobbles.

“Max! You are an absolute beast!” she called after him.

Several police officers turned to frown at Max but the black looks simply bounced off his coat. It could have been the protection of the Eye of Horus, or the fact that he just didn’t give a damn.

Sophie sank into the passenger seat, refusing to look at him and refusing to speak.

Max revved the engine and they careered out of Buckingham Palace in a shower of gravel, zoomed down Birdcage Walk, took Parliament Square on two wheels, and screeched to a halt on Whitehall.

A police officer marched towards them.

“You can’t park there, sir,” he said firmly.

Max flashed his warrant card.

“You still can’t park there,” said the constable. “I’ve had special orders. Not even the Queen herself, God Bless Her, can park here today. I’ll have to ask you to move it, Detective Darke.”

“Have you met my
charming
colleague, Detective Smith?” said Max, looking pointedly at Sophie.

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” said the constable. “Now I’m not going to have to introduce you to
my
colleague, the Custody Sergeant, am I, Detective?” said the constable, warningly.

Max was flabbergasted. He’d never yet met anyone, other than himself, who was immune to Sophie’s charms. Then he realised why: she’d refused to charm the constable; she was sitting in the car with her arms folded and her lips pursed. She had that come-near-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-eyeballs-out look that he’d come to recognise.

“Sophie, please?” he whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just be your usual
charming
self, will you?”

“Oh, very well!” she said huffily. “I do have feelings, you know, Max. I’m your assistant, not your verbal punch-bag.”

Max was taken aback. It was a new idea that Sophie might actually have feelings. Perhaps she’d been spending too much time with humans of late.

Sophie smiled at the constable and his annoyed frown melted, replaced by a surprisingly sweet smile.

“There, that’s better!” said Sophie.

They abandoned the car and made their way around to the back of Number 10. Security was at the top level, but none of the officers could withstand the force of Sophie’s charming personality.

They were ushered into the hastily prepared conference room with a few harried-looking reporters. The Downing Street cat tried to wrap itself around Max’s legs. He bent down to stroke it but one look at Sophie and the creature backed away, hissing loudly.

Sophie smiled benevolently as several curious reporters looked round.

Most of them were sleek young things in good suits and groomed hair but taking a seat next to Max was a grizzled, old-school reporter. He recognised Max as being one of the Old Bill as soon as he came in.

“’Ere,” he said. “What’s all the rush? Why has the press conference been moved from Buck House?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Max, glibly. “I’ve only just come on duty.”

“Yeah, you look like it,” said the reporter disbelievingly, as he stared at Max’s rumpled clothing, five o’clock stubble and tired eyes. “Come on, you can do better than that, officer. Want to give me a quote, off the record?”

“Sorry,” smiled Max. “Right now you know as much as I do.”

Which was half true.

The reporter snorted and made a few shorthand notes in his notebook.

A few minutes later the Prime Minister’s press officer marched in.

“Good morning, ladies and gentleman,” she said smoothly. “Apologies for the sudden change of venue and the earliness of the hour. We had intelligence of a potential security breach at Buckingham Palace, so for the safety of Miss Bruce, and of course our Royal Family, the Prime Minister decided to hold the press conference here instead. I must say it was a brave and selfless act on his part...”

She watched with hawk-like eyes as the waiting reporters dutifully wrote down every word.

“The safety of Miss Bruce is paramount – and the Prime Minister assures you all that he will do everything in his power to protect the democracy of the free world. The canapés are on the way, so I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

There was a polite ripple of laughter at her little joke.

The reporter next to Max raised his hand.

“What was the nature of the security breach?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that,” the press officer replied, smoothly.

“Well, what was the nature of the threat? Was it against Miss Bruce or against the Royal Family?”

“Once again, I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she said politely but firmly.

“Is there anything you
can
tell us?” he said testily.

“Press packs are being prepared for you now,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll answer all your questions.”

“I doubt it,” muttered the reporter under his breath. “What a waste of bloomin’ time. I should have stayed out front and tried to get a word with Lily Bruce on her way in, but I didn’t like the company she keeps.”

“What do you mean?” said Max suddenly alert.

“Well, I thought I’d get a few off-the-cuff remarks from her when I was ordered away by her security staff. Some heavy-duty villains she’s got on her team. And I’ll tell you another thing,” said the old reporter, “some of them were definitely not Secret Service. I don’t know who they were, but they gave me the creeps big time. The last time someone made my hair stand on end like that was when I was covering the Kray brothers’ trial. That Ronnie Kray just looked at me and I nearly spewed my guts. You know some people just feel, well, evil.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Max grimly.

The Prime Minister marched into the room and waved at the assembled reporters as if he’d just scored the winning goal at White Hart Lane.

“Good morning! Good morning! Welcome all,” he said in ringing tones. “I’m delighted to be here today to welcome a very special person.”

His voice dropped to a warm, practised, personal tone that was designed to make everyone there feel like he was a man who could be trusted with your aged mother, little sister and the vicar’s wallet – probably all at the same time.

He grinned at the jaded audience then put on his serious, ready-for-business face.

“Today was supposed to be a happy occasion but the forces of evil are massed against us...”

Max sat up, suddenly interested.

“Terrorists have forced us to relocate this press conference at the last minute,” said the Prime Minister. “I was, of course, delighted to offer sanctuary to Miss Bruce at this most trying time.”

His chest swelled proudly.

“This sceptre’d isle, this England, we know what it’s like to stand firm in the face of those who would bring darkness to our land...”

Dear God, thought Max, he’ll be talking about fighting them on the beaches in a moment.

The Prime Minister took a noble breath then broke into his trademark smile once more.

“Of course, I had hoped to accompany Miss Bruce on a sightseeing tour of London but we’ll have to save that for a safer, more opportune time. What a pity. I’m sure she’d have enjoyed our historic city – rather more ancient than Washington DC, I believe! But enough of all that. I know you’ll all want to join me in welcoming our honoured guest – with whom we will stand shoulder-to-shoulder, come what may. Ladies and gentleman, the President Elect of the United States of America, Miss Lily Bruce.”

The temperature in the room dropped suddenly.

The Prime Minister led a round of polite applause that was muted because of the number of people who’d decided to put on gloves.

One of the press officer’s minions was sent to discover what was wrong with the heating, whilst the President Elect mounted the stage and leaned on the lectern.

She was surprisingly short for a being that was about to cause the end of the world. Her dyed-blonde hair was sculpted into a helmet that neither rain nor gale could dislodge. Her make-up had been laid on with a trowel, or possibly a broomstick, because even at the back of the room, Max could tell it was something over half an inch thick.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said in a gentle but authoritative voice, as her audience shivered below her. “There’s nothing like an English summer, or so I’m told.”

Her audience laughed appreciatively as they buttoned up their coats, and the ones without gloves blew on their hands.

Max was astonished. He nudged Sophie in the ribs.

“I know, I know!” whispered Sophie. “She’s human!”

Max had become so convinced that Lily Bruce was a demon that he was completely dumbfounded. How could they – he – have got it so wrong? It occurred to him that perhaps Sophie had deliberately misled him. What if the PTBs hadn’t sent her after all? When Max looked back at the facts, he’d taken an awful lot on faith.

“Oh crap!” he said out loud.

Sophie smiled.

Max could have sworn that Lily Bruce had heard him, too, even though he knew it was impossible. But then he felt the amulet move in his pocket – a little shiver, as if it had woken up. It was also growing very cold – like having a piece of ice in his coat.

The President Elect smiled, her eyes burning into Max, and then she launched into her speech.

“When the people of the United States elected me to be their leader, I realised that they’d given me a huge responsibility. The world is in
chaos
: and yet we have never before more needed to be united. I hope that I can bring a new age to the world, a new
trinity
of light from
darkness
, hope from
despair
, joy from
sadness
. I would like to be as a
Mother
-figure to the whole world, or my name isn’t
Lilith
Temple Bruce!”

There was polite astonishment in the room. It was the most unpolitical speech any of the reporters had ever heard, and far more saccharin and naive compared to the searing speeches for which Miss Bruce was more usually known.

Max was bored and itching to get out – he couldn’t work out whether Lily Bruce had anything to do with the Mother or not, and he reckoned he wasn’t going to find out here. He must have imagined that the amulet had moved. And Max had to admit that he was so tired, that hallucinations were probably the least of his problems. He wanted to get out of this press conference so he could start tracking down the Mother – or whoever it was who was going to try to raise her.

Sophie on the other hand seemed riveted.

“Of course, I’d like to do a little sight-seeing whilst I’m here,” the President Elect continued. “You have such a rich and ancient history in this country: the Temple of Mithras is somewhere that’s always interested me...”

The Prime Minister looked furious and embarrassed; his press officer coughed nervously. Lily Bruce’s decision to go sight-seeing after all had just done a great job of making Britain’s leader look like a lily-livered coward.