The Clown Service (6 page)

Toby nodded and took Goss’ hand. Oddly, it did not feel real. It had none of the solidity and warmth of the invisible hand he was already gripping. He stared at it and squeezed the fingers. ‘It’s as if there’s nothing there,’ he said.

‘There’s not much,’ Shining admitted. ‘We have the very least of him here until we can drag him back. But it’s enough. Ready?’

‘Ready.’

‘Then run!’

They sprinted back the way they had come and Toby was aware that the black mass was seething after them as they crossed the courtyard. There was a feline screech and the cat that had been dining on its owner jumped onto the lid of one of the bins and hissed at them as they raced by.

‘Keep going!’ Shining shouted. ‘Don’t let anything slow you down!’

Don’t worry
, Toby thought,
I don’t intend to.

But the sight of the drug dealers, hurling themselves at the chain-link mesh of the play area nearly made him falter. They were like wild animals in a cage, desperate to break free so they could rip and tear at the enemy that was passing by them.

Toby looked away. If he couldn’t see them, then they weren’t there, he decided. Hitting the stairway they began to climb upwards.
None of this is real
, Toby insisted to himself, even as the pale light began to darken around them. The black mass that wanted to swallow them whole, to turn them to ice in its cold, dark belly, reared up behind them, drawing closer and closer.

They reached the balcony and Toby nearly fell as his leather soles skidded on the smooth surface of the floor.

‘Careful!’ Shining shouted, ‘we’re almost there!’

They crashed into the flat and Shining slammed the front door behind them. The glass immediately became dark as the blackness struck. It was like sudden nightfall.

‘Just a few more steps,’ said Shining, pulling them through the hall as the Shadow Alasdair appeared in the kitchen doorway, a mess of hair and a pitiful howling circle of a mouth that rippled and billowed across the whole of its face.

They entered the lounge and, suddenly, Goss appeared on the floor, opening his eyes and reaching up to them.

‘Now!’ shouted Shining. ‘You can let go!’

They were back in the real world. A dazed but altogether more conscious Jamie Goss sat up between his rescuers.

Alasdair appeared in the doorway, a tea tray in his hand. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘five minutes my arse – an hour more like. I’ve reboiled the kettle twice. I hope you appreciate what I’ve been through waiting for you. The way I suffer …’

Toby couldn’t help but smile. Holding his hands out in front of himself and wiggling his fingers he luxuriated in the solidity of them. He looked over at Shining to find him smiling back.

‘Lesson one,’ his mentor said. ‘You did extremely well.’

Suddenly there was the crackle of radio static and Jamie Goss contorted.

‘What’s wrong now?’ asked Toby, backing away as the eyes of the man they had just retrieved glazed over once more, and he appeared to vomit a mess of shortwave into the air.

‘
One thousand
,’ came the voice of the radio, impossibly bubbling up from Goss’ throat, ‘
five, five, seven, five, five, seven
.’ The voice was distant, almost lost beneath a soup of crackle and the crunch of atmospherics.

‘What is it?’ Toby asked. ‘It’s like he’s channelling a radio signal.’

Shining sighed. ‘Time for lesson two.’

Tea was poured as if to prove the world was normal. Jamie Goss seemed once more himself as he soothed his face in the steam of a mug of Lady Grey. Alasdair had returned to the kitchen in order to tut and pull angry faces at the dishwasher. He was still too angry to even feign comfort with the rest of them.

‘I’m fine now,’ said Goss, loud enough for Alasdair to hear. ‘Please stop fussing.’

Alasdair muttered something percussive under his breath and continued being angry in another room.

‘I’m fine,’ Goss repeated, this time to Shining and Toby.

‘I’m glad
you
are,’ said Toby, staring at his mug of tea, ‘but I’m not sure I am.’

Shining looked over to Goss and smiled. ‘He’s new! Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘I give him a week before he defects,’ said Goss.

‘Oh no,’ insisted Shining, ‘not this one – he’s got potential.’

‘And keeps finding himself being discussed as if he’s not in
the room,’ offered Toby.

‘I like him,’ said Goss, still insisting on the third person but at least looking Toby in the eye.

‘Well, that’s all right then,’ Toby replied. ‘My future career is assured.’

‘He’s as sarcastic as Alasdair,’ said Goss, ‘but a trifle less flamboyant.’

‘A trifle,’ Toby agreed. ‘Is anyone going to start discussing what just happened or shall we carry on listing my qualities?’

‘I was finished,’ said Goss, ‘so I’m happy to move on.’

He gave a big grin and sipped at his tea, immensely pleased with himself.

Alasdair finally felt calm enough to join them, stomping in and sinking down onto a sofa opposite Goss, from where he could occasionally pull disapproving faces whenever he felt the need.

‘Some people feel sick after their first out of body experience,’ said Shining. ‘Put some sugar in your tea; it seems to help.’

‘I don’t feel sick,’ said Toby.

‘See?’ Shining looked to Goss, terribly pleased. ‘
Real
potential.’

‘Or a man with high blood sugar,’ Goss replied, glancing at Toby’s stomach. ‘He doesn’t look like he’s a stranger to Snickers.’

‘Perhaps I’ll sit back and enjoy one the next time you need saving,’ suggested Toby.

‘Now, now boys,’ said Shining, ‘let’s try to keep things friendly.’

‘It sounded like a numbers station,’ said Toby, happy to change the subject. ‘The radio broadcast.’

‘Numbers station?’ queried Alasdair.

Toby kept talking. This was one of the few things he was confident about. ‘Shortwave transmissions that feature a string of seemingly random numbers and sounds, universally thought to be a method of transmitting information to foreign agents.’

‘Universally thought?’ Alasdair was aware of the implication of the phrase. ‘As in “not really”?’

‘They had their uses,’ Toby admitted, ‘but the Americans used them a lot more than we did. While some of our broadcasts were genuine, others were an excellent bit of misdirection.’

‘Espionage is all about confusion,’ Shining added. ‘Fill the airwaves with meaningless noise and settle back while the world wastes its time sifting through pointless data.’

‘True. The British intelligence community hasn’t used numbers stations seriously for decades,’ put in Toby. ‘They’re just not practical when compared to the alternatives. Of course, in some ways that means they might be due a comeback.’

‘Just when people decide they’re no longer important, make them important again,’ agreed Shining.

‘You silly boys,’ sighed Alasdair, ‘with your games and your constantly shifting plans.’

‘That’s what makes espionage an art,’ Shining insisted. ‘If we always stuck to well-trodden, mass-agreed policies we’d be much more transparent. But as long as the intelligence services remain a melting-pot of methods and preferences we stay infuriatingly obscure!’

‘None more so than Section 37,’ added Goss, ‘the section people are too embarrassed to even discuss.’

‘With one of the most successful track records, however,’ Shining chuckled. ‘I am the Barry Manilow of spies.’

‘Dear God,’ said Toby, ‘where does that leave me?’

‘Cliff Richard?’ Alasdair suggested.

‘So why did Goss channel that station?’ asked Toby, determined to bring things back on track.

‘It must have been local,’ said Alasdair, ‘he never picks up radio from far afield.’

‘Unless I’m particularly drunk,’ volunteered Goss.

‘Never let him near the vodka on a Saturday night,’ agreed Alasdair. ‘He spews out the on-air chatter from the taxi company on the corner.’

Toby was becoming uncomfortable again, surrounded by this madness.

‘What triggers it then?’ he asked. ‘Drink?’

‘Oh, I have to be pissed to do any of this,’ Goss admitted, ‘or as high as a kite. Anything to shut the conscious mind up for a bit. I barely remember the summer of 2005 … The radio stuff seems random. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s strong.’

‘So it could just be random noise?’ asked Toby. ‘Nothing of interest?’

‘Probably not,’ Goss answered.

Shining was clearly unconvinced. ‘I think I’ll be the judge of that.’

‘So,’ said Shining, straightening the crease in his trousers and stacking spare copies of
Metro
newspapers on the seat next to him, ‘how’s your first day so far?’

Toby wasn’t sure. ‘I haven’t died yet,’ he said after a moment,
‘nor have I completely lost my mind … at least I don’t think I have. Frankly it’s hard to tell.’

The train they were returning on was all but empty now, the commuters safely boxed away in their cubicles and offices. At the far end of the carriage a man stared at adverts for summer holidays and dreamed.

‘You’re very open with your agents,’ Toby said, ‘I take it they’ve had security clearance?’

‘They’re cleared by me,’ Shining replied with a smile. ‘Besides, so much of our line is theoretical, we’re hardly sharing state secrets are we?’

‘You seem convinced,’ said Toby, ‘that the radio signal is important.’

‘It’s more that I’m unconvinced it’s not. You know what it’s like in our trade; you spend half your time dealing with theoretical problems.’

‘What was Goss looking for in the first place?’

‘Oh, he “goes fishing” every couple of weeks, dangles himself out into the void on the off chance. He used to spend far too long out of his head – that’s the problem with people that can travel astrally, the more they do it the harder it can be to stop. The flesh becomes an anchor, an unwelcome weight. I’ve known a couple of “travellers” just unhook themselves from their bodies and never return. God knows where they ended up, floating in the wind …’

Toby felt he had been doing just that for a couple of years.

‘So how do we trace the radio transmission?’ he asked.

‘Ah,’ Shining replied, ‘like all good spies, I have a man for that.’

They entered the mobile phone shop beneath the Section 37 office. Its owner was being shouted at by an elderly woman who seemed a hair’s breadth away from mounting an assault on him.

‘It keeps calling Bolivia!’ she was shouting. ‘As if I’d ever want to talk to someone in Bolivia!’

‘Lovely country,’ said Shining, courteously taking her by the arm and leading her away towards the door. ‘Perhaps you should make friends with whoever it is you’re dialling and you could meet up for a holiday romance?’

‘Romance!’ she shouted, spraying the lapels of his jacket with spittle. ‘What nonsense! And who might you be?’

‘Flying Squad, madam. Kindly step outside while we arrest this filthy foreigner for you.’

‘Bang him up!’ she screamed as he closed the door on her. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’

‘Of course you do, you hateful old bigot,’ Shining replied through the glass with a charming smile.

‘Foreigner?’ the owner complained. ‘I was born in Finsbury Park, as well you know.’

‘Just having a little fun, Oman,’ said Shining. ‘Speaking to it in a language it understands.’ The old woman was still loitering on the pavement. He waved her away.

‘Lock the door,’ said Oman, ‘or she’ll be back in. I think she’s escaped from somewhere, she comes in every day.’

‘Have you considered replacing her phone?’ asked Toby.

‘Nothing wrong with it,’ Oman replied. ‘She just doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

‘That’s probably a naughty lie, Oman, my old crook,’ said Shining. ‘I doubt you’ve sold a fully-functioning piece of kit in your life. But as she’s so hateful I applaud your criminality.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with anything I sell,’ Oman insisted. ‘Yours works fine, doesn’t it?’

Shining removed a mobile from his pocket and looked at it as if surprised to have found it there. ‘That’s a very good point – was it stolen?’

‘Very funny. Now, what do you want before I make you eat the bloody thing?’

‘Temper, temper … I need you to locate the broadcast point of a radio signal.’

‘Great. So nothing annoying and time-consuming then.’

‘It gets better. I don’t have the frequency.’

Oman threw his hands in the air. ‘How can I even get started then?’

‘You tell me. I’m pretty sure it’s broadcasting locally, shortwave transmission …’

‘Shortwave? You might as well be asking me to hunt down a pair of kids talking to each other with cans and string.’

‘I know it’s difficult. I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.’

‘Difficult? It’s impossible.’

‘The impossible is in my job description, Oman, and by extension, yours. It’s a numbers station, likely to be broadcasting within five miles of King’s Cross.’

‘Five miles?’ asked Toby.

‘I doubt Jamie would be picking it up otherwise. It has to be close.’

‘That’s still one hell of an area to trawl for a shortwave broadcast,’ said Oman.

‘It is. But you can do it because you’re brilliant and because I’ll pay you well.’

Oman smiled at that. ‘Liar, you never pay me well.’

‘My budget is limited, true. Still, there’s a first time for everything. The first step has got to be picking the actual station up. Is there a way for you to run a scan? It should be easy enough to recognise it – it repeats the numbers one thousand, five, five, seven.’

‘Sounds fascinating.’

‘It may be nothing,’ Shining admitted, ‘but I don’t think so. And after the amount of years I’ve been doing this job, I’ve learned to listen to my instincts.’

Upstairs, Shining took up residence behind his desk. It was then he realised something. ‘We’ll need to get you a desk. I hadn’t thought about that. Dear Lord … they dump you here but they don’t think the whole thing through, do they? It hardly seems right that an intelligence officer should spend his time shopping at Ikea …’