Disclaimer. Anything or anyone you recognise belong to other people. Otherwise, they're mine…
Chapter Twenty Four.
London.
Buffy took a step back from the door. She listened more carefully, and her head tilted to one side as she concentrated. Eve spotted her posture and excused herself from Olivia.
"Is there something the matter Miss?" She asked.
Buffy turned, folded her arms, and gave the woman a hard stare.
"You could say. What's behind door number one?"
"Er, that's just the workroom." Said Eve, caution in her voice.
"Uh, huh. So who's in there, or should I say 'what's' in there." Asked Buffy, emphasising the word 'what's' firmly.
"I beg your pardon?" Said Eve.
"Granted. Now what's in there? C'mon, I don't have all day." Buffy was becoming agitated by the presence she was feeling, she needed an answer quickly, protecting Olivia was her main concern.
"Buffy, what's wrong?" Asked Olivia, moving towards them.
"Eve here has some 'thing' hiding in there, an' I wanna know what it is." Answered Buffy. "Look, tell me. Or I'm gonna get cranky!" She said glaring at Eve.
Olivia placed a hand on Eve's arm. "You'd better tell her. You really wouldn't like it if she got cranky." She told Eve. The woman was paling even as she spoke.
"My, my…Staff. Workers." Stuttered Eve. She sat down with a bump on a nearby chair. "Please, please don't hurt them, they don't mean anyone any harm. They just wanted to be safe."
"What type of demons are they?" Asked Buffy.
"Demons? Oh dear. I didn't know they were…They call themselves the Furzen." She paused, got up and drew the blinds on the door and window, dimming the light in the room. "Please, don't hurt them. I'll show you, but they don't like too much light. It hurts their eyes." She looked at Buffy. "How could you tell they were there?"
"I can sense them, and I could hear them talking. Kinda like a purring sound." Said Buffy.
"Then I'd say you're not exactly 'normal' yourself?" Said Eve, questioningly.
Buffy evaded the question. "You said they're your workers? Are they slaves?"
"Oh, no, no. We not slavessss…We Furrrzen." Came a soft voice from behind.
Buffy spun around to see a furry cat like creature, appear through the door; it had a wizened face, large, round deep blue eyes, and the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen. It stood upright on it's hind legs and it's arms were long and delicate looking, with thin fingers and opposable thumbs.
"Whooo arrre youoo." It asked, or rather purred. The voice was soothing, soft, and sounded slightly oriental.
"I'm Buffy." She said. "Who are you?"
"Name isss Rrrother. You assk iff we arre demonsss. Ansswerrr isss yesss, but not baad demonsss. Furrrzen like humannsss. Not want to hurrrt. Need to be sssafe." It said.
"Well there's one thing, Buffy. At least they're not as scary as the Gentlemen!" Said Olivia.
Rother cringed at that. "You sssee Baaad demonsss and live? Arrre you witchesss?"
Olivia shook her head. "No, but we know a few." She stated. It didn't help to keep a healthy upper hand.
"Not witchesss, then what arrre you." Rother looked directly at Buffy. "Arrre you a Chosssen One?"
"Yes, I'm a Slayer." Replied Buffy.
Rother lowered is head in a short bow. "Isss honourrr to meeet you, Chosssen One."
She gave him a short nod in return. Eve found her voice. "Wait. A Slayer? That means killer in my book. I don't want them hurt. They're peaceful." She said, firmly.
Buffy turned to look at her. "It's Okay. I'm not…Trust me, I'm not a killer. There's a difference. And I won't hurt them unless they give me cause to. Not all demons are bad news."
Eve sighed in relief.
"Do they work for you?" Asked Olivia.
"Yes." Said Eve.
"And you pay them?" Said Buffy.
"I've tried to, but they won't take it, they have no need of money. It's not like they can go out and spend it. I give them a roof over their heads and as much food as they want. All they want to be is safe." Explained Eve.
"Why do they need to feel safe?" Asked Olivia.
"Furrrzen not ssstrong creatures. Otherrsss ussse usss forrr sporrrt and ensssslave usss. Sssoo weee essscape frrrom ourrr dimensssion to herrre long time ago." Replied Rother.
"How long ago?" Asked Buffy. "And which dimension?"
Eve answered the first part. "About five years ago. They just appeared in the cellars downstairs overnight. I was scared at first, but they were more frightened of me than I was of them. Then when they discovered I ran this place they showed me what they could do with material. They really are the best seamstresses and tailors you could meet."
Rother took up the latter of Buffy's questions. "Dimensssion called Songarrr. Wasss home forrr usss, until N'Gatan demonsss took overrr, enssslaved many, in name of the Wolf, the Rrram and the Harrrt."
"Why am I not surprised to hear those names together in the same sentence." Said Buffy, sarcastically.
There was further discussion between the parties in the shop. Buffy, although wary, decided that the Furzen were not a threat to humanity, and Olivia still needed to purchase 'that' outfit. Eve assured her that it could be done in the time allowed and Rother said he would be 'honourrred' to accommodate her needs. Several others had appeared from the workroom by this time, curious of the visitors, and the fact that one of them was a slayer….
Buffy looked on as Olivia interacted with the Furzen, discussing the styles and having her measurements taken. Eve noticed her watchful eye and came over.
"You're still sceptical, aren't you. What do you intend to do?" Asked Eve.
Buffy sighed. "For now, leave you and the Furzen alone. We'll keep an eye out for trouble. While I don't believe they're a threat, they can't all stay here, it's like trading one prison for another, and sooner or later other demons are going to realise they're here and come looking. How many are there?"
"There are over thirty of them. One or two of the females were pregnant when they came here, so they've got what they call 'youngers' to feed and nurture.
"You've got no other staff?" Asked Buffy.
"Not now. I divorced my husband six years ago. He traded me in for a younger model would you believe. Cleared the bank accounts and loaded up the credit cards before he left; so I had to let the staff go." Said Eve, bitterly.
Buffy knew how she felt. Her discovery of her own father's infidelity had been a shock to her. It must have been hell for her mom….
Eve pointed to a photograph of the two founders. "Evangeline Elliot was my grandmother. The premises you see in the photographs with her and her sister Beatrice, got bombed in the war. Beatrice, Jack, their daughter Lucy, and a few of the staff were killed in the blast. Granny Evie and her husband Daniel started again, but her heart wasn't in it, my dad took over after the war and made some headway. Then the fashion chain stores started up and that was more or less the end. The last few years I've had barely enough work to keep this place going and pay the bills. The haute couture market isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid."
Buffy thought for a moment. "This isn't your fight you know. I know you couldn't exactly tell anyone about them, they, and you would have just disappeared. It's our job, our mission to help the helpless. It's what we're trained to do. I can't promise anything yet, but let me talk to my people, we'll find a solution." She said.
Olivia and the Furzen completed the first stage of the fitting and several swatches of material had been brought out and she'd chosen from them.
They left the House of Elliot, and crossed the road to the teashop where Dan and Natalie were waiting.
Olivia took her daughter on ahead, telling her of the outfit she'd ordered, leaving Buffy and Dan to converse telepathically whilst they returned to meet with Giles.
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Inside the House of Elliot, a similar, but verbal conversation was taking place between Eve and Rother.
"What do you think of the Slayer then." Asked Eve.
"Chosssen One isss powerful, isss good. She will keep Furrrzen safe, find them frrreedom."
"Have I treated you badly? If I have, I do apologise." Said Eve.
"No, no, Mrrsss Eve not trreat Furrrzen badly, trreat Furrrzen good, Rrrother and Murrrthi not leave Mrrsss Eve. Mrrsss Eve…Frrriend."
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The returning group collected Giles from his tailors and Buffy then spent the next two hours looking around stores for an outfit to wear for meeting Dan's parents the next day. By the time the shops began to close she had several bags of clothing. Giles had managed to get a glare from her only once during the period, and that was for making his impatient clucking noise, which Natalie immediately copied, much to his disdain, and everyone else's amusement.
The journey back to Perivale was uneventful, Buffy connected with Giles to inform him about the Furzen, and the fact that their dimension had been overrun by Wolfram And Hart.
Natalie had fallen asleep on the way back and Dan offered Olivia a duvet and the use of their bed; the little girl snuggling into it as she lapsed back into dreamland.
Whilst Olivia and Dan got busy preparing a meal in the kitchen. Giles and Buffy continued their discussion in the lounge.
"The Furzen might have information that will have some bearing as to the nature of this product of Maguire's and it's use…and the spell, of course." Said Giles when he discovered that they shared a common dimension with N'Gatan demons.
"The question still remains as to what we are able to do for them. I think Eve Thompson's quite attached to them, and vice versa. We have to do something for them though, they can't stay there indefinitely." Said Buffy.
"Oh most definitely. As a race they'll stagnate and wither away, although too much freedom may be a detriment too. I vaguely recall a conversation between Andrew and Xander about…I believe they were called…. Tribbles?"
"Giles, you're not turning into a Trekkie are you? Please say you're not." Pleaded Buffy.
"I'm not. I was merely using the popular culture reference to illustrate what could happen if one introduced a new species to a previously unpopulated environment. With no natural predators, chaos could ensue if their breeding got out of control. We'd need some assurances from them in that area." Explained Giles.
The evening ended with a resolve to determine what other skills the Furzen might have, and how they might be of benefit to the supernatural community.
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Hereford.
Rat sensors and fly cameras distributed around the abandoned camp, the squad made their exit, covering their tracks as they went. Captain Willis dropped Riley and Sam off at a hotel in Hereford.
After setting up the surveillance receiver and laptop, they settled down to a meal and a drink in the bar before retiring for the evening. They might have a couple of days to wait before any contact was made. They were on vacation. There were plenty of things they could do in the locality; the only thing on their minds at that moment though, was sleep. They'd had precious little in the previous forty eight hours.
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Sunday.
Belgravia Police Station.
Davies' senses started to come back to him slowly. His mouth felt dry, his head ached. He listened for sounds to tell him where he might be. Vague sounds, not jogging any memories. Distant clanging, like a metal door being closed, a hum of sorts. Was it machinery? Air conditioning?
His senses got sharper, there was someone in the room with him. He heard them get up. A chair creaked, he tried to open an eye and move his arm to get up, still hard to move, he felt the chains attached to his wrists and legs.
The door to the room where he was, opened. No words were spoken. The person left the room and the door closed. Was he still in France? How long had he been out?
He relaxed and let himself come round a little more. His wrists and ankles were chained and cuffed, so he wasn't going anywhere. He might as well recover properly before attempting to do anything other than lie there.
His tongue felt around his teeth for the cap. It was still there. If all else failed, he had an out. There were people they'd taken out over the past ten years whose surviving friends wouldn't be sympathetic if he fell into their clutches.
He opened his eyes. He was in a prison cell. A well lit and modern prison cell. That meant he was probably still in France, or at least somewhere that followed the rules on prisoner treatment. A thought crossed his mind. America. If he'd been transported across the Atlantic, he hoped he was in a State that didn't have the death penalty.
He shut his eyes again at the sound of footsteps outside the cell. The door was unlocked and someone entered. The door was then shut and locked again. He heard the person walk over to where he lay. He felt the breath of someone as they leaned over him.
"You can open your eyes, I know you're awake." Said a British accent.
Davies opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. What he saw nearly caused him to have a heart attack.
He didn't know what it was. All he knew was the face was blue, and spiny.
Then the Braachen demon smiled….
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Perivale.
Dan came back up to the apartment after washing the car. The pile of clothes covering the bed told him that Buffy still hadn't made up her mind on what to wear. She stood in her underwear in front of the mirror, holding up a blouse and a skirt in front of her, seeing how they looked together.
"Help me out here….What do I wear?" She pleaded.
"You're asking me? Buffy, you know that I know nothing about fashion. Just wear something comfortable. It's only Sunday lunch." He said.
"That's not helping. Danny, this is big for me. Huge even. Can you at least give me a clue. What will your mom be wearing? I don't want to clash….Or wear the same!" Her look turned to shock at the thought.
"I doubt that. One thing I do know though. She'll be wearing more clothes than you are right now…A lot more." He grinned.
"Still not helping." The statement was accompanied by a glare.
Dan left his leaning post in the doorway and came over to her. Pulling her into a hug he kissed the top of her head.
"Want to hear a funny story?" He asked.
"Does it involve helping me choose what to wear?"
"Might do." He paused. "It involves a pair of high heels, a sundress and a car door."
"No midgets?"
"No?" He paused and frowned. "I'm not going to that place. That's just, weird." He added.
"Okay, so tell away." She said.
"When I first took Mandy to meet my parents, she decided on this very nice sundress, and a pair of high heels. Now, Mandy wasn't well practised with heels. She was more the tracksuit and trainers sort. We were at Uni, so the order of the day was casual and comfortable, rather than haute couture. Anyway we pulled up at the house. She jumped out, slammed the car door, and in her rush, caught her dress in the door. Lost her balance on the heels and ripped the bottom half of her dress off, just as mum opened the front door to say hello."
"Oooh. Nasty."
"What was worse, dad chose that moment to arrive back from the golf club with a mate of his. Alistair had a funny look on his face for a couple of hours at least, and it took Mandy quite a few weeks to forgive me. I was the one who burst out laughing. Not the brightest of things to do when your girlfriend's standing there flashing tomorrows washing in front of your parents face."
"No, definitely not of the good…Well, I do okay in heels, so not a problem. But maybe a dress isn't the thing. That narrows it down by fifty per cent." She paused. "What are you wearing?"
Several outfits later Buffy had decided on what she was wearing. Dan insisted he was wearing jeans and a shirt, so that meant the Gucci, the Armani and the Louis Vuitton were out. He got 'the look' when he said she looked like she was going for a job interview. Not what she wanted to portray.
A simple lilac vee neck cashmere sweater and straight leg jeans, with a pair of Jimmy Choos sandals on her feet. Dan thought and said she looked perfect….And she knew he meant it!
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Westbury.
Giles was in his office, a steaming cup of Earl Grey graced the coaster next to the volume of Rare Demons and their Habits. His research was specific to the Furzen demons that Buffy had encountered the previous day. The door handle turned slowly, he looked up over the top of his glasses as the door crept open. A shock of dark hair appeared around the door, then one eye followed by a nose, then another eye and a mouth as the rest of his daughters body sidled into the room.
"Good morning sweetheart. Did you sleep well?" He asked.
Natalie nodded. He noticed that her hands were clasped behind her back.
"No good morning for me then, I take it. Did I do something wrong?" He asked.
She shook her head. Walking over towards him she withdrew her hands from behind her back to reveal a story book. Giles watched slightly amused as she pulled a chair to the other side of the desk and sat on it. Placing her book on the table she proceeded to pretend to read silently. He bent his head back to his own book and continued his own reading, awaiting her first comment. It came.
"Mummy said I had to be quiet." She whispered. "Coz you're resurgin' 'portant things."
"Resurgin'?" He whispered back, puzzled. "Oh, researching. Yes, mummy's quite correct Natalie. However it doesn't extend to not speaking at all." He said, smiling. "Have you had breakfast yet?" He asked, closing the book.
Natalie shook her head. He stood up, and came around the desk.
"Well neither have I. Shall we go and see mummy and all have it together?" He suggested.
Natalie beamed at him and jumped up off the chair. Grabbing her fathers hand she pulled him out of the room.
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Belgravia Police Station.
Davies caught his breath and shut his eyes tight. He wasn't seeing this. Was he? He opened them again. DI Gorman gave him a confused look.
"Simon, are you Okay?"
Davies shook his head. "Thought I saw…something else." He muttered.
He lifted his head, there was a sharp pain and he shut his eyes again. Gorman grinned as the man did so and shifted to his demonic form. When Davies opened his eyes again a few seconds later, he again saw the Braachen demon's face.
"What the…?" He gasped.
Gorman grinned at him, and stuck out his red pointed tongue at him.
"Simon. What's the matter?" He asked.
"Y- Your face it's,…it's…What are you?"
Gorman frowned. "Simon are you alright. What've you been drinking. Have you had any water, you might be dehydrated."
Davies put his hands to his head and rubbed his eyes. As he did so Gorman walked over to the table in the corner, poured some water into a plastic beaker and shifted his face back to normal.
When he turned again Davies was looking at him in shock.
"I think I'm seeing things…You were all blue a-and spiny."
"Yeah, I get that from all my patients." Said Gorman.
"Patients? Where am I?"
"You don't remember?"
"No. The last thing I remember was being in Paris. I'd taken out two mark's…Two people came at me with guns, shot me, and now I'm here."
"You shot two people, then two others shot you? Why? And if they shot you, you should be dead, or at least wounded." Countered Gorman.
"I don't know. Maybe they used a tranquillizer gun. They were CIA agents, or something. The two I shot were able to identify us. They had to be taken out."
Gorman almost laughed. "Simon. This was beginning to be the most lucid conversation we've ever had, and now you tell me you think you're what?….A hit man?"
"But I am!" Insisted Davies.
"Just like a minute ago when you thought I had a blue spiny face." Replied Gorman. "Simon. Do you know who I am?"
"Davies shook his head slowly. Gorman offered him the water, and he drank from it.
"I'm Doctor Gorman, your appointed psychiatrist."
Davies shook his head again. "This isn't right. Where am I? Why am I here?"
For the next half an hour the conversation bounced back and forth between the pair. Gorman taking the odd opportunity to shift to his demonic form and enforce the thought in Davies's mind that he'd been in some sort of delusional state for the last ten years. Davies got more and more agitated, not wanting to believe Gorman's statements. Gorman left the cell for a while and when he returned Davies had still not convinced himself. At that point Gorman did think that it might take longer to get Davies to talk than he had originally planned.
Gorman sighed, resignedly.
"Oh dear. You really can't remember, can you. We've been through all this before, Simon. Your name is Simon Davies. You were in the army, in Bosnia. You and your team were captured and tortured by the rebels. You managed to escape but the rest of your team didn't make it. Consequently you had a breakdown. You're suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, amongst other things, and you blame yourself for the deaths of your team mates. Thomas Parker, Matthew Quinney and Mike Royce. You're in a top security army mental facility. Does any of this ring any bells?"
The information he was being given didn't tally with his recollections. Davies shook his head again and put it in his hands. "Not right, not right." He moaned. Then he looked up at Gorman again. This time Gorman had remained in human form.
"I can prove this!" He shouted. "They're my mates! I can list every hit we've ever made. How much we got paid for doing them, and the account numbers the money was paid into!"
"Bingo!" Thought Gorman.
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Reading. Berkshire.
The Aston Martin Vantage swept up the long driveway towards the large white faced country house. It pulled around the side and up to a row of garages. One of the garage doors was open, revealing two men inside, tinkering under the bonnet of an immaculately restored flatbed Bedford TJ.
Derek Carter alighted from the Aston and walked to the opening boot of the car. He picked out a golf bag and placed it in the corner of the garage.
As he walked over to the two men, they pulled their heads from under the bonnet.
"Hiya, boss. How's the ninth hole this morning?" Said one.
"Morning, lads. It's still a bit sticky, but not too bad considering all the rain they had here last month." He said. How's Teresa Jane?"
Bob Bennett pulled a large cylindrical lump of metal from under the bonnet and held it up for Derek to see.
"Starter motor's knackered. I know we've not got another one in the workshop, and I don't know if there's another in the country. ." He said.
"I'll have a look on EBay later. But don't hold your breath boss. These parts are getting scarce." Said Harry Merton.
"Bugger. That's all we need. I promised the organisers that she'd be at all the events this year. Any way around it?" Said Derek.
Bob thought for a moment. "Might be. Might be able to rework this one. It won't be perfect. At worst we'll have to leave her running, or bump star her when we need to. Other than that it's a case of transporting her around on a low loader.
"As long as she gets there and leads the parades, it'll have to do. She's not ready for the scrapheap yet." Instructed Derek.
The two men nodded. Derek's phone rang. He answered.
"Hallo babe….Yeah, I'm here….in the garages with Bob and Harry….Alright, give me two minutes….Bye."
"You in trouble again boss." Grinned Harry.
"Nah. Katie was worried I'd forgotten that Danny's bringing his new lady to dinner today. She thought I was still at the golf club. You two be alright?"
"Yes boss. Don't worry we'll get the old girl sorted one way or the other." Said Harry, patting Teresa's wing with an oily hand. "She'll be at Peterborough by Friday."
"Thanks lads. See you later then. I'd better go, the missus won't be happy if I'm late."
He left the two mechanics and entered the house via a rear door, sniffing deeply at the aroma of roast beef coming from the kitchen.
Two women looked up from different parts of the large kitchen as he entered.
"Morning Mrs. D." Said Derek to their housekeeper. "How's our chief cook and bottle washer this morning?"
"Good morning. Very well thank you Mr Carter." Replied Mrs. Danby.
The other woman was his wife. Kate was holding a bottle of wine she'd just fetched from the cellar.
"Ah, good. You're here." She handed him the wine. "Open this please, so that it can breathe for a while. I forgot to ask Daniel whether Buffy likes wine, and I doubt he'll drink anything alcoholic if he's driving. I've put a bottle of the '96 Bollinger in the chiller for later. It is a special occasion, after all."
Derek checked at the label. " '86 Chateau Latour. Nice! Not too dry is it?"
"Hmm, yes, well. I wasn't quite sure whether to go for this or one of the Californian wines. Then again, I didn't want to make her feel homesick." Said Kate, thoughfully.
"I'm quite sure it'll be fine, now stop fussing and let me open it." He replied.
Kate handed him the bottle and a corkscrew. Whilst he was attending to the opening of the bottle, she gave his attire the once over and sniffed at his sweater.
"When you've done that you can go and change. You've been playing golf with Alistair again. I can smell those awful cigars of his on you, and you've got a ring of mud on the bottom of those trousers." She said.
"Yes dear. Should I go for the full valet and a quick oil change while I'm at it?" He replied, cheekily.
He grinned at his wife's glare and gave her a kiss on the lips. "You're luvverly when you're assertive." He said before departing with the now open bottle.
She stood with her hands upon her hips as he left. "And you're incorrigible." She said. As he turned she gave his bottom a friendly pat.
"Yeah well posh birds always love a rough diamond." He called out, laughingly, as he made his way out of the room, heading for the stairs.
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Belgravia Police Station.
Gorman had been careful to keep his demonic face away from the camera mounted in the upper corner of the cell whilst he'd been questioning the prisoner. Now Davies was listing from memory many of the 'jobs' the Musketeers had done in the last ten years, and the Cayman Islands account number he had access to.
"Don't you want me to write them down?" Asked Davies, as he paused to take a drink.
"Do you feel you need to?" Replied Gorman.
"I just thought it might convince you more easily. Are you taping this then?"
"All rooms are monitored, for the patients safety…And mine of course."
"Oh, I see. What if I were to attack you."
"In your current state I doubt that would be possible, but if you did, then you'd be subdued and tranquillised, again."
"That explains the headache then. What did I do?"
"You attacked a porter and a student Psychologist."
"Did I hurt them….Who were they?"
The porter's name was Carter, and the student was a Miss Summers, she's on an American exchange programme."
"Those were the two I shot, in Paris."
"Simon. You didn't shoot anyone, in Paris, or anywhere else. It's your memory playing tricks again."
"Oh. I see."
Gorman turned away for a moment under the pretext of blowing his nose. He was beginning to enjoy this particular interrogation. Pity they couldn't use it on the run of the mill scumbags they had to deal with. They'd get far more leads and solve more crimes with it.
"Better not get too carried away." He thought, pulling himself into line.
He turned back to Davies. "So did you finish telling me or are you recalling our previous sessions?"
Davies shook his head and drained the beaker. He held it out to Gorman.
"More, please." He asked.
Gorman obliged and refilled the beaker from the jug. As he returned, he offered it to Davies, who reached out….and missed, lunging instead for Gorman's wrist
Gorman was ready though. He let the beaker fall to the floor as Davies grabbed his wrist. Gorman controlled the situation extremely well under the circumstances, only allowing his defensive spines to protrude slightly under the area grasped by Davies.
Davies reeled back in shock. He gasped and rubbed his palm where he'd been pricked. Looking up at Gorman he wondered what had happened. He glanced at the wrist and saw…a wrist. Nothing sticking out to stab him. Nothing sharp there to cause the pain he'd just encountered.
"Wh-what happened?"
"Part of the therapy, I'm afraid, Simon. We've had several sessions of hypno-therapy since you attacked the porter and the student. It's an auto suggestive motion that stops you hurting anyone. You suggested it yourself, except that now you can't remember saying that, can you. Well at least we now know that it still works."
Davies slumped physically. "So I'm stuck in here because I can't deal with the loss of my mates."
"Yes."
"So, what's going on in the world. Who's the Prime Minister?"
Gorman's answer came out before he realised it. "Tony Blair."
"That bloody prat." He said absently, seemingly accepting it for a moment. Then his look darkened.
"If I'd been in here for ten years how would I know that? You're not a fucking doctor, and this isn't a military hospital. Where. The. Fuck. Am. I??!" His voice got louder.
Gorman grinned. "Gotcha!" He said.
"You're a bloody copper and this is a cell. Isn't it?!!" Shouted Davies. "Well I've got rights. Everything I've just said was a pack of lies, I haven't been read my rights and I want a lawyer. NOW!!"
Gorman remained calm. He turned to the camera in the corner and made a motion to request the stopping of the recording. Change the game. He turned back to Davies.
"Simon Davies. You were picked up by two Federal Agents in Paris after the attempted assassination of a Police officer and his girlfriend. Under the reciprocal agreement initiated between the United States and their allies, in this case the EU. You are being detained under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. That means we can hold you indefinitely, without trial, or the right of representation. You entered France on a false passport and were caught in possession of a highly specialised rifle, which had recently been fired. Your file at the MOD say's that you and your colleagues were killed in action ten years ago. That makes you technically dead in our eyes….You don't have any rights!"
"Dead am I?" Said Davies. "Careful what you wish for, copper." He snarled.
He flipped the cap from the tooth in his mouth. He felt the pill. He bit down hard and swallowed.
"All for one….And one for all…..!"
End of Chapter Twenty Four