firearms-officer’s body. He died happy as if in the middle of a pleasant dream.
Nightmare just had to open the cheek of one of the officers and the screaming began. There was panic as the terror-stricken officer tried to flee and shoot his way out of his worst nightmare. The black blade drew blood again and again.
Du Bois shook his head, the sound of screaming and gunfire playing in stereo for him. He could hear it clearly echoing down the street and through the radio tap. Appleby had gone white as he listened to his men being murdered.
‘It’s me. I’m at King’s Cross. I’m being obstructed.’ Du Bois offered Appleby the phone. ‘It’s the Home Secretary. He thinks you’re a cunt as well.’ Appleby stared at the phone like he was being handed dog shit.
Du Bois was sprinting towards the house. Knowing that it was too late. He drew the accurised .45, ejected the magazine and replaced it with a new magazine of ammunition that probably cost more than any one of the properties lining the street.
He ran up the steps and into the house. He saw the first body lying in a contorted heap halfway down the stairs. The police officer’s face was a rictus of agony and terror.
Du Bois took a moment to compose himself. His skill set and experience aside, he was facing someone who could appear from anywhere armed with ancient and potent weapons. Still, he was pretty sure that the person he was hunting was long gone. He could already feel the blood-screen collapsing in the local area, no longer multiplying like bacteria, no longer putting up a fight as his own screen consumed it. Du Bois tried desperately to spoof the blood-screen with disguised tracking elements of his own.
Du Bois left the house. He had been right: whoever had done this was long gone. A number of the armed response team had been killed. They had either died blissfully or in pain and fear. The latter outweighed the former. Du Bois knew he should not be surprised. After all, whoever had done this could steal souls and murder hope itself.
Du Bois looked around for someone to blame. He found Appleby quickly and strode towards him. Appleby was sitting on some steps leading to one of the other terraced houses. He was gazing down at the Euston Road unseeing. He looked broken.
‘Was “Don’t enter the building under any circumstances” somehow not emphatic enough for you?’
Appleby looked up, appalled that someone would say something like that at a time like this, further angering du Bois, who saw it as self-pity.
One of Appleby’s subordinates moved towards du Bois, arm outstretched to intercept him. Du Bois grabbed the man’s hand, locked it and then elbowed him in the face, easily knocking him to the ground.
‘Stay down there,’ du Bois spat as he reached Appleby and leaned down. There were more officers running towards him. ‘Tell me—’
‘Sir!’ an armed police officer shouted at him. ‘Get away from the chief inspector.’
Du Bois turned on her. ‘Don’t make me kill you just for some peace and quiet.’ He turned back to Appleby. It was the waste that bothered him the most. ‘Tell me. How does a mental subnormal, incapable of understanding the most elementary of missives, rise to such a high position in the Met?’ Appleby flinched. ‘Are you a Mason or something?’ Appleby turned to look at him, appalled. Shock was rapidly being replaced by anger.
‘I lost men to—’
Du Bois grabbed him, pulling his face closer.
‘Listen to me, you seeping cock-sore. You didn’t fucking lose them; you killed them. You killed them because you are a moron, because you are too fucking stupid and greedy to sit back and think, Hmm, perhaps this position of power and responsibility is too much for my tiny mind to handle. Perhaps I won’t risk murdering people because I’m a simpering lightweight vastly out of my depth and lacking the common sense that God gave shrubbery! ’
Du Bois felt a degree of pride as he saw tears form in Appleby’s
Nightmare just had to open the cheek of one of the officers and the screaming began. There was panic as the terror-stricken officer tried to flee and shoot his way out of his worst nightmare. The black blade drew blood again and again.
Du Bois shook his head, the sound of screaming and gunfire playing in stereo for him. He could hear it clearly echoing down the street and through the radio tap. Appleby had gone white as he listened to his men being murdered.
‘It’s me. I’m at King’s Cross. I’m being obstructed.’ Du Bois offered Appleby the phone. ‘It’s the Home Secretary. He thinks you’re a cunt as well.’ Appleby stared at the phone like he was being handed dog shit.
Du Bois was sprinting towards the house. Knowing that it was too late. He drew the accurised .45, ejected the magazine and replaced it with a new magazine of ammunition that probably cost more than any one of the properties lining the street.
He ran up the steps and into the house. He saw the first body lying in a contorted heap halfway down the stairs. The police officer’s face was a rictus of agony and terror.
Du Bois took a moment to compose himself. His skill set and experience aside, he was facing someone who could appear from anywhere armed with ancient and potent weapons. Still, he was pretty sure that the person he was hunting was long gone. He could already feel the blood-screen collapsing in the local area, no longer multiplying like bacteria, no longer putting up a fight as his own screen consumed it. Du Bois tried desperately to spoof the blood-screen with disguised tracking elements of his own.
Du Bois left the house. He had been right: whoever had done this was long gone. A number of the armed response team had been killed. They had either died blissfully or in pain and fear. The latter outweighed the former. Du Bois knew he should not be surprised. After all, whoever had done this could steal souls and murder hope itself.
Du Bois looked around for someone to blame. He found Appleby quickly and strode towards him. Appleby was sitting on some steps leading to one of the other terraced houses. He was gazing down at the Euston Road unseeing. He looked broken.
‘Was “Don’t enter the building under any circumstances” somehow not emphatic enough for you?’
Appleby looked up, appalled that someone would say something like that at a time like this, further angering du Bois, who saw it as self-pity.
One of Appleby’s subordinates moved towards du Bois, arm outstretched to intercept him. Du Bois grabbed the man’s hand, locked it and then elbowed him in the face, easily knocking him to the ground.
‘Stay down there,’ du Bois spat as he reached Appleby and leaned down. There were more officers running towards him. ‘Tell me—’
‘Sir!’ an armed police officer shouted at him. ‘Get away from the chief inspector.’
Du Bois turned on her. ‘Don’t make me kill you just for some peace and quiet.’ He turned back to Appleby. It was the waste that bothered him the most. ‘Tell me. How does a mental subnormal, incapable of understanding the most elementary of missives, rise to such a high position in the Met?’ Appleby flinched. ‘Are you a Mason or something?’ Appleby turned to look at him, appalled. Shock was rapidly being replaced by anger.
‘I lost men to—’
Du Bois grabbed him, pulling his face closer.
‘Listen to me, you seeping cock-sore. You didn’t fucking lose them; you killed them. You killed them because you are a moron, because you are too fucking stupid and greedy to sit back and think, Hmm, perhaps this position of power and responsibility is too much for my tiny mind to handle. Perhaps I won’t risk murdering people because I’m a simpering lightweight vastly out of my depth and lacking the common sense that God gave shrubbery! ’
Du Bois felt a degree of pride as he saw tears form in Appleby’s
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