Devil in the Wires by Tim Lees Page A

haven’t answered me. Leaving Field Ops, coming here.”
    â€œWell, that’s a hard one, Chris.”
    â€œYou mean it wasn’t just my shining example put you off your game, then?”
    â€œIt’s hard to explain.”
    â€œTry.”
    â€œIt’s like this. Here, there’s a risk. We all hope it won’t happen, we know it probably won’t happen. In Field Ops—­in Field Ops, I bloody knew that I was going to come a cropper. Just a matter of time, you know? Just a matter of time.”
    There was something just a little off about him, something raw and jittery. I cut a piece of sausage. I could smell the herbs in it, rich, exotic. Then I said, “Funny, though. I got the feeling you’d have liked this last one. Thought you’d want a crack at it yourself, yeah?”
    â€œI’m not Field Ops.”
    â€œStill. You could have come along, just for the ride?”
    â€œI told you. I’m not built for it.”
    He started on his own plate. He put his head down and I watched him eating.
    Then he said, “I’ve visited Assur.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œLong time back. I was still in Ops. We were taking readings, . . . Country was a bit rough, even then. No retrievals. Not allowed. But I got the chance to . . . sit there.”
    â€œCommune with it,” I quoted.
    â€œI could . . . feel it, Chris. I could feel its moods. Feel it talk to me. I’d never known that. I was—­this will make you laugh, but I was quite religious in my teens. Life was . . . very difficult for me. I’d go to church when no one else was there, and pray and pray and pray. I’d bunk off school and go to church. I practically wore the knees out in my trousers. And I never got a sense of God. I wanted so much just to feel that there was someone there, you know? That there was something more than just the—­the shit that I was going through. I wanted Him to say, ‘It’s all right, Andrew.’ Only He never did. But in Assur . . .”
    â€œIt spoke to you?”
    â€œNo. He didn’t speak . But he was there. I don’t think that I even prayed—­well, not exactly, but for the first time I was aware that, if I did . . . someone would hear. It was—­I still get flashbacks, sometimes. Very rarely, but I do. It was extraordinary.”
    â€œYou were Field Ops for a long time. You must have experienced—­”
    â€œNot like this.”
    His body language had changed. No longer suave, laid-­back, now he angled forwards, his gestures nervous and incisive.
    â€œYou know that being close to them, it does things to your head. Your thoughts—­”
    He slapped his fork down, a little too loudly.
    â€œI know all about that. All about it. Don’t try to make excuses or explain it away. This was different.”
    â€œIt’s the oldest known,” I said, hoping to deflect him.
    â€œMore than that. It’s the primary. This is where it all began. I swear.”
    â€œWell, it’s a theory . . .”
    â€œThe gods aren’t local. They’re not from our space-­time. That’s why everything gets . . . twisted up around them. It’s my belief that the Assur entity was first, and then it . . . let’s say it budded, like a plant. And all the others grew from that. But it was always first.”
    â€œThat’s interesting,” I said.
    â€œOh, it’s more than interesting. It could change our whole perspective on them. I don’t know . . .” He sighed. “I would have gone. I really would. Except they wanted you.”
    Something in his tone just pricked my interest then.
    â€œ ‘They,’ ” I said.
    He waved a hand dismissively, and reached out for the water jug.
    â€œThis came from Seddon, right?” I said. “In London? That’s where I get my orders. That’s where