AllFreeNovel
Share Us
'Even if you were it wouldn't help here,' I replied drily. 'SpecOps 5?'
'Yes, how did—'
He checked himself quickly and rummaged for a pair of dark glasses.
'I mean no. Never heard of SpecOps, much less SpecOps 5. Don't exist. Oh, blast. I'm not very good at this, I'm afraid.'
'We're looking for someone named Thursday Next,' said his partner in a very obvious whisper from the side of her mouth, adding, in case I didn't get the message: 'Official business.'
I sighed. Obviously, SO-5 were beginning to run out of volunteers. I wasn't surprised.
'What happened to Dedmen and Walken?' I asked them.
'They were—' began the first agent, but the second nudged him in the ribs and announced instead:
'Never heard of them.'
'I'm Thursday Next,'
I told them, 'and I think you're in more danger than you realise. Where did they get you from? SO-14?'
They took their sunglasses off and looked at me nervously.
'I'm from SO-22,' said the first. 'The name's Lamb. This is Slaughter; she's from—'
'SO-28,' said the woman. 'Thank you, Blake, I can talk, you know – and let me handle this. You can't open your mouth without putting your foot in it.'
Lamb sank into a sulky silence.
'SO-28? You're an income tax assessor?'
'So what if I am?' retorted Slaughter defiantly. 'We all have to risk things for advancement.'
'I know that only too well,' I replied, steering them towards a quiet spot next to a model of a matchstick made entirely out of bits of the Houses of Parliament. 'Just so long as you know what you're getting into. What happened to Walken and Dedmen?'
'They were reassigned,' explained Lamb.
'You mean dead?'
'No,' exclaimed Lamb with some surprise. 'I mean reas— Oh my goodness! Is that what it means?'
I sighed. These two weren't going to last a day.
'Your predecessors are both dead, guys – and the ones before that. Four agents gone in less than a week. What happened to Walken's case notes? Accidentally destroyed?'
'Don't be ridiculous!' Lamb laughed. 'When recovered they were totally intact – they were then put through the shredder by a new member of staff who mistook it for a photocopier.'
'Do you have anything at all to go on?'
'As soon as they realised it was a shredder, I … sorry, they stopped and we were left with these.'
He handed two half-documents over. One was a picture of a young woman striding out of a shop laden down with carrier bags and parcels. Her face, tantalisingly enough, had been destroyed by the shredder. I turned the picture over. On the back was a pencilled note: 'A.H. leaves Camp Hopson having shopped with a stolen credit card.'
'The "AH" means Acheron Hades,' explained Lamb in a confident tone. 'We were allowed to read part of his file. He can lie in thought, deed and action.'
'I know. I wrote it. But this isn't Hades. Acheron doesn't resolve on film.'
'Then who is it that we're after?' asked Slaughter.
