France is that way?
Part II
SPIKE
Listen to me, you stupid bint. This gem is everything. I came back to Sunnydale for it. A place which has witnessed some truly spectacular kickings of my arse. The very sound of the name burns along my nerve endings. Do you get it? I hate Sunnydale more than life itself. Now, when I have the Gem, they all die, don't worry, but until then, stay inside. And, by the way, I would be insanely happy if, from this point on, I heard bugger all about sodding France!
(In the Harsh Light of Day)
19:15 hrs: DS Cunningham was working his way through the witness statements of a particularly vicious armed robbery when the call came through from the station's front desk. Some old bloke here with info on the Covent Garden riot the duty officer had said.
As he made his way into the reception area, Cunningham was shocked to see who the 'old bloke' was.
'Mr. Travers?'
'Hello sergeant. Have a moment to spare?'
A few minutes later the pair was seated in a quiet booth of smoky pub.
'It's Chapman,' said Travers pausing only to drain half a pint of bitter. 'The man's a bloody liability.'
Cunningham nursed his orange juice and said nothing. He didn't like Travers and he didn't like being disloyal to Chapman, the DI was a good friend. Unfortunately, though he hated to admit it, in the last six months since he'd gone to clear out a nest in Essex Chapman had indeed been letting the side down. Both as a policeman and a Watcher, turning up late for work, delegating more and more, cutting corners, even openly coercing witnesses into providing the evidence required to put someone way.
Worst of all, his tardiness had resulted in three council employees being seriously injured on three separate occasions because Chapman had either failed to provide the proper intelligence or had simply failed to watch their backs. And then of course there was Covent Garden.
It was easier to cover up his sloppiness in the police, you looked out for one another, did favours for people, favours that could be called in (which Chapman had, and then some). That wasn't possible in the Watchers Council. They were literally fighting for the survival of billions and if someone wasn't up to the job there was no room for sentiment.
'He's under a lot of pressure at work,' the sergeant mumbled.
Travers finished the other half of his pint and waved the empty glass at the barman to start pouring another. 'We're all under pressure in this business, Cunningham. There are thousands of council employees who have to run dual lives. Chapman doesn't have any family to worry about and we regularly test for substance abuse and watch out for problems like alcoholism. There is nothing to suggest any distraction from his duties but there is now one dead civilian and another seriously injured because of him. To my mind he's just not up to it anymore, burned himself out. Do you want his job?'
Cunningham had been about to argue Chapman's corner when he heard Travers' offer. 'Take over from Mr. Chapman, me?'
'Why not?'
'Er, what about the DI?'
'What about him?'
Cunningham didn't answer; the conversation certainly wasn't going the way he expected.
'Isn't this a bit drastic, have you spoken to Mr. Chapman?'
Travers shook his head. 'No, because we can't find the bugger.'
'What!'
'I take it he hasn't been seen at the station.'
'No, the DCI is going mental. He was supposed to be in court this afternoon.'
Suddenly, Cunningham's radio squawked into life. At the same time a zippy variation on the theme for Hawaii-5-O began to emanate from Travers.
'What is it?' Cunningham said into the radio as the Watcher answered his mobile phone. The voice on the other end crackled excitedly for a few seconds. 'Received, on way,' the sergeant confirmed. He looked at Travers, who had just put away his phone, 'I have to go sir, there's some kind of fracas in Covent Garden again, urgent assistance required.'
'Yes,' said the Watcher. 'A rather fangy species of fracas.'
19:23 hrs: Covent Garden was full of quaint little curio shops that sold enticing but useless new age and mystical souvenirs. In particular there a was nice little basement mews in the main market building full of such emporiums, not to mention bars and tea rooms, all of them doing a brisk trade on a nice summers evening. As the sun started to go down the patrons in the lowest level of the Punch & Judy fun pub began to scream.
19:28 hrs: Spike wandered behind the bar of the now empty Punch & Judy and helped himself to a large vodka on the rocks. 'Want one?' he asked Harmony.
Harmony looked nervous. 'Do you think I should, I'm not old enough.'
'You are in this country luv, and let's not forget the whole murderous vampire gig you're exploring. Bit to late to worry about underage boozing.'
'Oh. 'Kay, make it a double southern comfort on the rocks with a slice of lime and a beer chaser.'
Spike gave her bemused look and set about fixing her order. 'And for you sir?' he said to the sulking Dorian.
'Fosters,' said the black vamp. Outside came the screams of tourists as his gang finished off those trampled in the rush to get out of the bar and moved on to more sprightly prey.
He nervously shuffled his feet; he wasn't used to being so exposed. 'Look,' he said as he accepted his beer, 'are you sure about this? We've never done anything so overt, the kids are likely to lose their heads with so much excitement - take too many risks.'
Spike snorted and gave Harmony her drinks. 'So? You're too protective Dor. They need to get out and see something of the world. There's all sorts of nationalities out there they can meet and kill, gives em a taste of the exotic.'
Dorian didn't look convinced. 'The Watchers'll take them.'
'If they do they do, 'sides it'll hone the instincts of the ones who get clear and give you a leaner crew to work with.'
Dorian couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. 'You're not stopping?'
'Nope, just needed your help to create a bit of noise and draw a few Watchers out and more importantly some filth as well.'
'Filth?'
'One in particular, goes by the name of Chapman.'
Dorian was baffled. 'Then why not just grab some woodentop on the beat and choke Chapman's location out of him?'
Spike shrugged. 'I was bored and this is more fun.'
The three vampires reacted to the sounds of approaching police sirens. 'Ah,' said Spike, 'time to go.'
He knelt down and picked up a broken chair leg that had snapped off when Dorian's gang had crashed in.
'Ready Harm?'
Harmony downed her beer. 'Yes Spikey.'
'There's my girl.' And with that he hurled the chair leg across the bar where the broken end embedded itself in Dorian's heart.
'Dogs' he sneered at the newly formed pile of ash. 'A man amongst boys and boy amongst men that one, those kids of his need more than living in a garage. Now, lets go snare a pig.'
Rose finished feeding off the five-year old boy and turned her attention to the child's mother. The woman had fought like a tiger for her son and had her back broken for her valour. She managed to scream before Rose torn her throat out.
The new vampire stared around the carnage strewn tourist spot; this was more like it! Dorian had been content for them to laze around in some rundown lock-up snacking off the homeless. She was better than that, they all were. She was now loose in London and she was going to be a queen!
She was so lost in her fantasy she didn't notice the three policemen till she was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.
19:30 hrs: Travers and Cunningham arrived on the scene as Dorian's gang started to move out from the Punch & Judy area to engage a couple of dozen police officers and two armed response teams who had been summoned.
'Stay back you fool,' hissed Travers as Cunningham moved in. 'Do you want to die?'
Cunningham stared at his superior. 'Sir those officers are totally unprepared, they've no idea what those things are.'
'And no idea who we are and who you really serve,' snapped the older man. 'There are teams of trained operatives surrounding the area right now, the vampires are outnumbered and when they run they'll run right into them.'
'And what about those men in there?' yelled Cunningham.
On cue armed response units opened fire on the charging vamps. The unexpected slaughter and better class of victim had gone straight to the gang's collective heads and temporarily driven them beyond reason. They didn't even notice the pain of being shot and leapt on the armed officers, over half the police who had immediately responded to the call were already dead.
Two of the vampires broke through the police line and made straight for Travers and Cunningham. One of them, a girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen, went for Cunningham. The other one, a male, leapt on Travers and knocked him to the ground.
As opposed to a firearm many UK police officers carried CS spray, Cunningham also carried a canister of holy water and he sprayed the she-vampire full in the face. The demon shrieked and stumbled around howling as its face melted off. Totally blinded it never saw the DS produce a stake from inside his coat.
As he dusted the girl, Cunningham heard a scream from the other vampire. He saw the male stagger back from Travers, who was sitting up and dabbing at his neck with a handkerchief, and then fall to its knees and start retching.
Cunningham was too stunned to move as the vampire spewed up dark green bile. Travers had gotten to his feet and, still holding the handkerchief to his neck, calmly went over to the DS and took the stake from his unresisting hand. The Watcher pointed at the canister of holy water in Cunningham's other hand. 'I find it easier just to bathe in that stuff rather than carry it around,' he said by way of an explanation.
As Travers finished off his assailant, Cunningham turned to survey the destruction. Bodies everywhere, police and civilians. The remaining vampires had already fled, hopefully straight into the arms of the nearby Watchers. He saw three officers struggling with a young woman. Bloody hell, they've caught one.
The woman was trashing like a shark being dragged out of the water. One of the arresting officers, a WPC Cunningham had never seen before, produced a cross and held it against the captives' face. That's why they're alive, they work for the council as well.
The WPC was yelling at the men to hold the vamp still while she found a stake.
'STOP!' bellowed Cunningham and without bothering to check on Travers, he ran over to the surviving officers and showed them his warrant card and Watcher's security pass.
'DS Cunningham, Watcher's clearance level three. Leave this one alive.'
The female officer frowned. 'WPC Harris, sarge this is Holt and Naylor,' she said indicating the two burly men who were struggling to contain the vampire. 'Why do you want it alive, look at what it's done!'
Cunningham heard the wail of approaching sirens. 'There are several council teams nearby clearing up the rest, we hope. We need to turn this thing over to them before anyone who doesn't know the score arrives.'
Harris' eyes narrowed. 'The council is nearby and they didn't help! This bitch and her mates have killed almost 20 coppers.'
'Don't argue with me Harris, we need to get this creature out of here now, it may have some information I need!'
Travers came over to join them. 'I've already summoned assistance, sergeant. I suggest we find a suitable hiding place for this lady.'
'Right you are sir,' and with that Cunningham sprayed the remaining holy water in Rose's face and kicked her in the back of the head as she fell to the ground.
'Uncuff her and stick her amongst the other corpses,' he ordered the rather shaken looking Holt and Naylor. 'Make sure you stay near her and someone'll be along to help you get her out. If she comes to, don't dust her unless it's absolutely necessary, we need to find out who organised this. I'll be buggered if it was any of this scum. Harris, this is Mr. Travers I want you to escort him away from here. Understood?'
'Yes sarge.'
As he was led away, Travers gave the DS a small smile that Cunningham didn't return. The smile all too clearly said we know who set this up, don't we. He's taunting us.
Cunningham watched Holt and Naylor drag the unconscious vamp over to a pile of bodies and then turned to greet the approaching police reinforcements.
I dunno what you're up to you little blonde bastard but I'm going to tear your spine out.
19:47 hrs: Not far away from Covent Garden, Harmony was sitting peacefully in the back of a blue transit van. 'That was fun!' she squealed at Spike, who was busy trying to maneuver the van through the mid-evening London traffic.
'Hmm,' he replied.
'Didn't you like it?' Harmony asked. 'There was all that good stuff and we got our souvenir,' she said, pointing at the unconscious policemen who was trussed up on the floor of the van.'
'Maybe, but I dunno whether he'll be any use now,' said Spike.'
'Why?'
'Cause the Watchers have infiltrated the police that's why. While you were tying up plod back there I was watching the fireworks and I saw three little pigs capture one of Dorian's mob and another two were dusted by a plain clothes one and some old fart who was obviously a member of the Council. That's
how Chapman knew about the Gem of Amara, he's a sodding Watcher in his spare time. Our job has just become a damn sight harder.'
Spike drove the van up to the derelict building on Crucifix Street, 'right we're home.'
'Eww,' said Harmony. 'It's gross, why couldn't we have used my apartment?'
'Cause you have lots of neighbours who might call the police in order to find out where all the screams are coming from, now help me get the thin blue line inside.'
21:00 hrs: 'Now,' said Travers, 'lets have that again with a bit more feeling Rose.'
Rose screamed as Cunningham pressed a small silver cross against what was left of her forehead. The holy water hadn't killed her but she was disfigured, even with a vampires super regenerative powers it would be months, maybe years before her face mended itself. As it was she didn't even have days.
Travers looked at the shackled vampire. 'We're not enjoying this, Rose. Unlike yourself we take no pleasure in torture.'
Cunningham gave the vampire an evil smile, as far as he was concerned she had the blood of almost twenty fellow officers on her hands.
'I don't know where he is,' said Rose through huge, choking sobs. 'I'd never even heard of Spike till this afternoon.'
'How long have you been a vampire Rose?' asked Travers.
'One day.'
Cunningham laughed and pressed the cross back against her forehead. 'Starting as you meant to go eh?'
'Sergeant,' said Travers reprovingly as Rose let out another scream. 'We are not at home to Mr. Emotion and Mrs. Revenge.'
'Sir.'
'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know,' Rose shrieked. 'I don't know where he is!!!'
Travers dropped the civil tone. 'Then what did he want?'
'I d-don't…some copper called Chapman, I don't know why.'
Travers and Cunningham couldn't have been more surprised if Rose had got up and walked through the walls of the interrogation suite.
Travers spoke first. 'Chapman? Harry Chapman?'
'I don't know his first name, I overheard Spike talking to his girlfriend, some divvy American, he just asked her if she'd recognise some pig called Chapman if she saw him again.'
Cunningham was baffled. 'That's, that's ludicrous. Why go to all that trouble? He could have just beaten some plod into radioing in for Chapman's whereabouts.'
'I imagine he was bored,' said Travers solemnly. 'Sergeant, find out if any officers who were patrolling in the Covent Garden area at the time of the riot are still unaccounted for and if so sound the alert. Thank you Rose, you may go.'
Rose barely had time to register the meaning of the words before she disintegrated. Cunningham put this stake away and gave Travers an astonished look. 'DI Chapman, he's after DI Chapman.'
'Hm, our girl heard him talking about Chapman this afternoon so we can assume he hasn't found him yet.'
'But doesn't explain what's happened to Chapman though,' said Cunningham. 'If I heard Spike was after me I'd run straight to the council.'
'You and me both, but what if he can't. What if the reason Spike is looking for him is also the reason he can't come to us. Of course his disappearance and Spike's arrival might be a coincidence. He may not know that our William is looking for him.'
20:36 hrs: Spike loomed over the injured constable. 'Now,' he said pleasantly and looked at the man's warrant card, 'Officer Wriggle, do you know who I am?'
PC Wriggle shook is head.
'Do you what I am?'
PC Wriggle nodded.
'Are you anything to do with the Watchers Council, don't lie.'
Another nod.
'Been on the force long?'
A shake of the head.
'How about the council?'
Another nod.
'They decided to stick you in the police.'
Another nod.
'Hm, well my name is Spike, heard of me now?'
A very slow nod.
'Lovely,' Spike clapped his hands together. 'So we can dispense with the torture and get down to brass tacks and you can have a quick death. I would torture you under normal circumstances but sadly I just don't have the time. Now, I'm going to remove the gag. Yell out and I remove your eyes okay?'
Another nod.
Spike removed the gag. 'Do you know a copper by the name of Chapman and if so is he a Watcher?'
Wriggle nodded. 'He's a detective inspector, works at my station. I-I only transferred there yesterday.'
'Really? Like I give a toss about your working arrangements. Where is he?'
'No one knows.'
Spike gave Wriggle an exasperated look. 'What did I say about lying?'
'I'm not lying, I'm not. He's gone AWOL, the Council is looking for him and so are the police, he just didn't turn up for work today.'
Spike swore. 'Bollocks! You're not lying are you.'
'No!'
'Hm, better make sure,' and with that he hauled Wriggle to his feet and hit him with a back handed swipe that lifted the policeman off his feet. Wriggle hit the ground hard and rolled over coughing up blood and teeth.
Spike walked over to the injured cop and grabbed his radio. 'Now, call in and ask for DI Chapman's location and if he answers or they tell you where he is you and I aren't going to be friends anymore.'
23:25 hrs: 'The only officer missing is PC Andrew Wriggle,' said Cunningham. 'He was transferred to my station yesterday and he's a council man.'
Travers thumped the top of his desk. 'Damn.'
Cunningham shrugged. 'Fortunately he won't be able to give Spike any information on Chapman's whereabouts.'
'What about you?' said Travers.
'We hadn't met, he didn't even know my name all he knew was that Chapman was senior Watcher in the nick and that there was only one other. Harris, Holt and Naylor are assigned to another station so he doesn't know them either.'
'Hm, small mercy I suppose.'
There was a knock at the door and Harris entered. 'Sorry to disturb you sir,' she said to Travers. 'But we've just searched Chapman's flat and he's cleared out in a hurry, took most of his clothes and whatever personal effects he has are gone as well.'
Travers frowned. 'I have to admit I was rather hoping some accident had befallen him.'
'Any idea where he's gone?' asked Cunningham.
'No sir, but I reckon he's planning to flee the country.'
'How can you be so sure?'
Harris threw a little red booklet onto Travers desk. 'Cause we found that on his hall table, I doubt he'll be going anywhere without it.'
00:00 hrs: Chapman sat in the tube train, taking the Piccadilly Line away from Heathrow Airport, and buried his head in his hands. He-had-forgotten-his-passport.
His passport. He had turned up at the check-in desk and discovered that he had forgotten his passport! His passport. His bloody, sodding, pissing PASSPORT!!!!
His passport. Daft bugger. He could hardly go back to his flat for it in case someone was there. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
How was he going to get out of England now? The council had operatives stationed at every airport throughout the country and when he arrived at Heathrow he found out about what had happened at Covent Garden just after sunset. Spike, it had to be. A bit of retaliation for the attempt on his life, the attempt that Chapman had authorised. It wasn't just a couple of dead tourists now, the Council wouldn't just fire him they'd probably kill him, this balls-up made Wesley Wyndham-Price and his losing two slayers look like a trivial error.
If he'd had his passport on him (stupid, stupid, stupid) he'd have checked in and hoped that he'd be on the plane and in the air before anyone noticed. But he hadn't had he and even if he could risk going home by the time he got back to Heathrow every council employee would be on the look out for him. He couldn't even go to Cunningham, with so many coppers being killed as an indirect result of his bad call the DS would be likely to turn him over to Travers.
Of course getting a false passport wouldn't be too difficult, you didn't become a DI in the Met without making a few dodgy acquaintances but that still didn't neutralise the council's agents or the police. That was the other thing of course, he had screwed up big time with the council and done a runner. He knew how they'd respond; he'd seen it done before. Right now someone, perhaps Cunningham was discovering 'evidence' that he'd been involved in some form of bribery and corruption. Standard procedure when dealing with any renegade employees who were in positions of power in their civilian lives - wreck their careers. His former colleagues in both the force and the council would be looking for him now. No, a funny passport and a false moustache weren't going to be enough to get him on a plane.
He stayed on the underground train until it had taken him through Central London. Getting off at Turnpike Lane station he made his way to the nearest pay-phone and dialed the number he'd been saving for an 'absolutely nowhere to turn last resort emergency.'
On the third ring the call was answered. 'Yes?'
'It's Chapman, I need that favour.'
04:00 hrs: A bleary eyed Cunningham slouched into Travers office looking absolutely miserable. Travers didn't look any happier. Neither men had gotten more than three hours sleep for two nights straight.
'Is it done?' he asked.
Cunningham nodded. 'Naylor went back to Chapman's flat and left a shit-load of cocaine in five separate bags under a floorboard in his bedroom. Pretty crude if you ask me, all he has to do is claim it was planted and any competent barrister will raise the question of why didn't he take it with him if was going on the run.'
Travers didn't look concerned. 'He's not going to get a trial, you know that. Informants sorted out?'
'Oh yes, two snouts who've never met are now ready to swear that the DI put pressure on them to find a buyer for some snow he'd picked up in a raid. I stole some from the evidence locker, it was seized months ago - the dealers still on remand awaiting trial. And I've got more than enough dirt to make sure a couple of dealers he arrested and put away have grounds to appeal, by the end it'll look like Chapman fitted them up because they wouldn't take his merchandise.'
'Capital.'
Cunningham bristled at that. 'Capital? Sir, we're engineering the release of a bunch of drug dealers - violent scum. All right Chapman might have planted a bit of evidence on them to get a conviction but there must be another way to stitch him up.'
Travers shrugged. 'Sergeant, these dealers won't get the chance to resume plying their disgusting trade I assure you of that. And before you start feeling guilt about betraying a colleague may I remind you he did get his retaliation in first.'
'But we don't really know that he's guilty of anything.'
'No? Where is he? Why is Spike looking for him? Why has he been so slipshod these last few months? At first I thought it was incompetence but it seems to be rather more sinister now doesn't it. He was working towards an entirely different goal if you ask me, for all we know he was working with Spike and double-crossed him. And if nothing else do you think what happened last night should go unpunished?'
Cunningham gave up. There was no denying that someone had to pay for what had gone on and Chapman was the only viable candidate, aside from Spike of course. The appalling numbers were in; 19 dead police officers, 25 dead civilians (not counting the woman from the bungled attempt to dust Spike and PC Wriggle who was almost certainly dead) and one international incident. Several of the dead were tourists, Japanese, French, a couple of Australians and one American, an American who was the daughter of a very senior US senator.
The political repercussions were felt within half and hour of the attack, the Prime Minister angrily denouncing this repulsive act and promising tougher laws to deal with drug-users (violent crack-heads was the official story) and longer sentences for murder when Parliament reconvened in the autumn. The Leader of the Opposition joined in with even wilder promises of draconian crackdowns. He was also hinting that he was willing to entertain the demands of the loonier members of his party and call a referendum on reintroducing the death penalty if his party won the next election (six of the dead civilians had been children under the age of ten). The tabloids would have a field day stoking up the masses to vote for that one.
Then came chucking out time at the pubs and thousands of drunken gorillas with 'little kiddies of their own' spilling out onto the streets. Within two hours of closing time reports of vigilante attacks on drug users and dealers were coming in. Or to be more specific, reports of attacks on those who were mistaken for drug users and dealers were coming in. Three art students from South Bank University had already been kicked to death. And this was before the news about the senator's daughter came out and the US State Department got on the phone.
The problem was that there was no one who could be publicly arrested for the massacre. They could hardly present Spike or any of those juvenile vamps (who had all been dusted) to the press or Chapman come to think of it. Oh they'd find someone, sweep up a gang of homeless druggie teenagers who bore a passing resemblance to the killers (plenty of them about in London) but it was hardly a satisfactory outcome.
04:30 hrs: PC Bateman was sitting on the station front desk and trying his hardest not to fall asleep. Only another 90 minutes and home time he told himself.
'Bateman?'
Bateman looked up and saw a bloodied and beaten PC Wriggle fall into the reception area.
'Bloody hell!'
05:24 hrs: PC Harris charged into Travers office to find the Watcher slumped over his desk snoring his head off. Cunningham was sitting in a leather armchair by the window making similar noises.
'Sir,' she said shaking Travers. 'SIR!'
'Uh, wha,' slurred Travers as he looked up from the puddle of drool that had been slowly spreading across the desktop. 'Harris?'
The WPC had already moved on to Cunningham. 'Sarge, wake up.'
Travers looked at his watch. 'Bloody hell woman it's nearly five-thirty in the morning. Don't you sleep.'
Despite her agitated state, Harris looked peeved. 'No sir, because you told me to spend the night listening out for reports on PC Wriggle.'
'Who?'
'The officer Spike kidnapped,' said Cunningham, who was rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'Found him have they?'
'Yes sarge, he's back at Tavistock Street nick.'
'What?'
'He blundered in there about an hour ago, had the hell beaten out of him but he's alive.'
Travers still wasn't quite up to speed. 'Alive?'
'Yes,' grinned Harris, 'he must have escaped.'
Cunningham frowned. 'And he went to the station instead of coming to us?'
05:25 hrs: Chief Commissioner Oswald didn't like early starts, after thirty years of shinning up the greasy pole of promotion he was of the opinion that no one below the rank of Chief Inspector should have to start work before nine-thirty. But last night had been catastrophic, 19 good officers slaughtered. He hadn't even had time to sleep, his night had been one long round of visits to distraught parents and spouses. Seventeen of the dead officers had young children, what a terrible waste.
Then there had been the press conferences and the meeting with the Home Secretary, someone was going to have to fall on his sword for this and it damn well wasn't going to be the politician. It had been made plain to Oswald that he was going to head up the response to this atrocity (i.e. take the blame) and to make an impact in the fight against drugs in order to give his successor some remove to breathe when Oswald retired in six months. He hadn't intended to retire for at least another two-years, but then he hadn't been given a choice.
He'd been making his way home when the call came; one officer who was unaccounted for had resurfaced. The man was in a terrible state but was refusing to go to a hospital until he'd spoken to his senior officers. He claimed to have a description of the leader of the attackers, that this was no random explosion of drug fuelled desperation. It had been planned? What sort of sick mind would come up with something like that?
The man was lucky to be alive and this was the first bit of good news Oswald had heard all evening. The troops needed to see their leaders cared, which was why he was heading to Tavistock Street Station to hear what the man had to say for himself.
The desk sergeant saluted as he came into the station's custody area. 'Sir.'
Oswald returned the salute. 'Where are they?
'In Superintendent Michaels office sir, he and Detective Chief Inspector Summers arrived a couple of minutes ago.'
'And Constable Wriggle?'
'In with them sir.'
'Good.'
05:26 hrs: 'Why didn't he come to us?' Demanded Cunningham.
'He couldn't have been thinking straight,' said Harris. 'By all accounts he was dead on his feet.'
They stared at each other for a second of horrified comprehension.
Michaels and Summers stood to attention as Oswald entered the room. The constable who had to be Wriggle remained seated. Despite what the poor man had gone through, Oswald was enough of a autocrat to be slightly nettled that he didn't stand.
'Please Colin, Robert,' he said to the senior pair, 'it's too early, or late, to bother about formality.'
In the station's CAD room, Sergeant Graham Close heard a familiar voice crackling in his headpiece.
'235 to Control, over, Control!!'
'Control,' said Close, 'that you Fred? Bit early for CID to be up isn't it?'
'Shut up,' snarled Cunningham. 'Wriggle, is PC Wriggle still in the building?'
'How'd you know -'
'IS HE THERE?'
'Yes, he's in Michaels office with the DCI and the Commissioner no less.'
'Arrest him, get as many men as you can and arrest him. Cuff him the first chance you get.'
'Fred?'
'Arrest him!'
05:27 hrs: 'It's going to be sunrise soon,' said Wriggle as he stood up to face the senior officers. 'But when they told me the commissioner was coming in I just had to wait.'
Spike sat on the bonnet of his latest stolen car and looked at the station across the road. Suddenly, alarm bells burst into action and from the one of the higher floors came the sound of a breaking window.
'Spike,' called Harmony from the passenger seat, 'the sun.'
'Don't worry petal,' he said as he climbed into the drivers seat and started the engine. 'Sun's not for another half hour, plenty of time to get where we need to go. '
'Then France?'
He sighed. 'Yes pookie, France.'
'Neat, do think we could try some real chocolate pain while we're there?'
08:00 hrs: 'The savage murder of Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Dennis Oswald has been a brutal climax to a night of violence that has destroyed London's reputation as one of the world's safest cities. Superintendent Colin Michaels and Detective Chief Inspector Robert Summers died alongside Sir Dennis. Police have issued a warrant for the arrest of PC Andrew Wriggle, no comment has been made on PC Wriggle's involvement but police are warning that he is extremely dangerous and should not be approached. The three murders brings the number of police killed in the last three days to 24, alongside 28 members of the public who died last night including the daughter of US senator Victor Dayton.'
Chapman mentally tuned out the rest of the radio news as the report went on to detail quotes from various politicians, including the US President who expressed sympathy for Senator Dayton's loss and promised the UK authorities his full support in bringing the killers to justice.
The door to the greasy spoon café opened and his contact finally walked in. 'Where the hell have you been,' Chapman hissed as the man sat down opposite him. 'You're an hour late, I can only drink so much tea you know.'
'I've been watching you for the last hour,' replied the man. 'Just wanted to make sure this wasn't a sting of some kind.'
'A sting? No one knows you're even in the country.'
'And I'd like to keep it that way,' said the man, who beckoned to the frumpy middle-aged woman behind the counter. 'Full english, luv,' he said as she jotted down his order. 'With a couple of extra rashers and a bucket of stewed tea.'
The woman sniffed. 'Bout bleeding time someone ordered something, your mate has just had tea. Gawd knows why I bovver openin this early.'
The man looked round at the empty café. 'I'm sure this place will be bursting to the seams with punters anxious to see your smiling face.'
The woman grunted and sloped off back behind the counter.
Chapman went bright red. 'Busy! You said this place is always empty.'
'Course it is, the foods crap and she's got a face like a bulldog licking piss off nettles.'
The radio news finished and Chapman heard the voice of the breakfast DJ offering his condolences to the families of the deceased and pledging that his station was to set up an appeal fund for them.
Chapman span round in his seat and yelled at the woman. 'Will you change the fucking channel, put it on Sport FM!'
The woman gave another grunt and started to retune the radio.
The man smiled. 'That's how I knew it was safe to come in, I heard a couple of rumours last night. This is down to you in someway isn't it,' he whispered.
'I haven't killed anyone.'
'No, but you set it in motion. Spikey-boy isn't known for letting assassination attempts go unpunished, that was a bloody stupid thing to do.'
'How'd you know about that?'
The man smirked. 'Everyone, who is in the know, knows. It was common knowledge our William was back, you should have come to me first.'
'Well I'm here now, can you do it?'
'Sure, get me a passport and I can make it so anyone who looks at you will see the face of the photo in it. That's old magic, the best. Simple to do and impenetrable.'
'Couldn't you just make me invisible?'
'Don't be daft, not only would you be visible if you were hit by any liquids I have it on good authority that the Watchers who are stationed at the airports have been issued with infra-red devices. They'd pick up your body heat.'
'Oh,' said Chapman. 'I didn't know that.'
'They're not shouting about it. Now, this is going to be expensive, very expensive.'
'What! You said it was simple.'
'Oh it will be but because it's so easy to do the ingredients for the spell cost a bloody fortune, 99% tax on most items. You're looking at 10 grand easy. Annnnd that's including part exchange on the favour you did me, I won't be making any profit but it can't be done any cheaper. Do you have that kind of money?'
Chapman nodded sullenly. The waitress bought over the man's order and practically threw it on the table.
As she stomped off, Chapman leaned across the table. 'You try and con me and I'll kill you.'
Ethan Rayne gave the DI a lazy smile. 'Harry, Harry. If it hadn't been for you I'd have been picked up the second I got off the plane. You did me a big favour which I'm going to repay,' he skewered a sausage with his knife and took a big bite. 'Y'know,' he said with his mouth full, 'those Airport Watchers are very good at keeping undesirables in but not too hot on keeping them out are they…'
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended.