Forces from Beyond (19 page)

The ride went on for some time, with no-one saying anything to anyone. Eventually, JC realised the car was driving through a far more up-market area. Expensive cars moved elegantly around the limousine, like so many technicolor fish in a murky ocean. Men and women on the street wore the latest fashions, with style and elegance and cold superiority. The limousine finally slowed to a halt outside a blandly anonymous office building, with a small brass name-plate:
Baphomet House
.

“Welcome to the Headquarters of the Crowley Project!” Chang said grandly. “World domination a speciality!”

“Is it too late to inquire about safe words?” said JC.

Catherine Latimer surprised him then with a sharp bark of laughter.

“This can only go well,” said Happy.

They all got out of the limousine and gathered together to carefully consider Baphomet House. It seemed pleasant enough, just another place where business was done. Nothing about its benign facade and warmly lit windows to draw the attention. Chang smiled at how unimpressed they all were.

“We can’t all live at the back of a Palace.”

Happy scowled at the building and shook his head slowly. “I don’t like the feel of this place. It’s beyond Sick Building Syndrome, more like Really Sick, Border-line Psychotic and Heading for Feral Syndrome. Sorry, JC; I’m going to have to shut down. In my current state, that place would eat me alive.”

Melody glared at Chang. “No-one better try anything in there. I have guns. And other things.”

“So do I!” Chang said cheerfully. “Girls together!”

“You know,” said Melody. “You’re even creepier when you’re trying to be chummy.”

“It’s a gift,” said Chang. “Now, follow me everybody. Stick close, smile at everyone, while feeling perfectly free to kick the crap out of anybody who gives you a hard time. We all do, here. Helps enforce discipline and contributes to better working conditions.”

“Who knew the Project would have so much in common with the Institute?” JC murmured to Latimer.

“Shut up,” said Latimer.

Natasha Chang led the way into the building’s lobby. Which turned out to be a wide-open space, expensive and luxurious in an only slightly intimidating way. People came and went, looking perfectly ordinary and not at all evil. Most were smiling. Nothing to suggest this was the entrance to the headquarters of one of the most openly evil organisations in the world. Chang seemed even more amused by the Ghost Finders’ reactions.

“What did you expect? Armoured storm-troopers, and a big sign saying
This way to the Torture Chambers
?”

“Well, yes,” said JC. “I think I’m actually just a bit disappointed. It seems like no-one on the dark side can be bothered to put on a show any more. Whatever happened to scientific bases hidden inside hollowed-out volcanoes?”

“Not cost-effective,” said Chang. “The most efficient plan is a business plan. It’s all computers and spreadsheets, these days. Which is why I prefer to spend most of my time out in the field. Far more opportunities to do evil, out in the field.”

She led them across the lobby to the high-tech reception desk, where the smartly dressed and sweetly smiling receptionist insisted Chang sign in; and write down all the names of the guests she was vouching for. Chang explained that they were expected, and the receptionist explained that rules were rules. Chang gave the receptionist her best put-upon sigh, and started writing. Melody sniffed loudly.

“I don’t think I like people here knowing my real name. I don’t want anyone knowing I entered a place like this of my own free will.”

“Oh please,” said Chang, not looking up from what she was doing. “It would only enhance your reputation.”

When Chang finally finished, the receptionist smiled brightly at them all, worked briefly at her computer, then waved them through the electronic gates beside her desk. Chang strode through with her nose in the air, and the others hurried after her.

“That’s it?” said JC. “No name tags, no security pat downs? Not even a metal detector?”

“Please,” said Chang. “Remember where you are. We were all very thoroughly scanned by a dozen surveillance systems the moment we walked through the door.”

“Then what was all that signing-in nonsense?” said Melody.

“Rules are rules,” said Latimer. “Evil organisations just love rules and regulations.”

JC thought of a great many things he could say concerning the Carnacki Institute, but wisely chose not to.

“And no-one’s going to give a damn about all the guns and big-bang things I’m carrying?” said Melody.

“Guns are the least dangerous things you’ll encounter in this building,” said Chang. “Everyone here goes armed. It’s expected.”

She led them to the rear of the lobby, where they took the express elevator to the top floor. It played music at them all the way up—orchestral covers of Nirvana’s greatest hits. When the elevator doors finally opened, they couldn’t get out fast enough. JC looked about him and felt an urgent need to hide behind something. He could feel the difference between this floor and the lobby. This was a place where things happened. Bad things. Chang waited patiently while they all had a good look around. Smart business-suited men and women hurried up and down the corridor, with get-ahead looks and purposeful strides. There was something in their cold, professional smiles and sidelong glances, openly competitive and always ready for an unexpected attack, that made JC think of predators forced through circumstances to share the same watering hole. He spotted a small group standing around a water-cooler, talking animatedly. Their faces seemed pleasant enough, but there was nothing pleasant about their laughter. It sounded like they were enjoying, and even savouring, the downfall of a friend.

JC wondered if he was only seeing what he expected to see, but he didn’t think so. People here weren’t hiding who and what they were; they had no need to, in Baphomet House. He thought about that as Chang led the way through a series of pleasantly appointed corridors, past open-plan offices and doors left open to show people hard at work. None of whom looked up to watch the group pass. They were all far too busy.

“Everyone’s so . . . occupied,” Melody said finally.

“I should hope so,” said Chang. “I keep telling you: this isn’t just an evil organisation, it’s a business. Businesses have to be efficient. Hard work and over-achievement are the bedrock of our success.”

“If she launches into a motivational speech, or the company song, I will shoot her,” said Melody.

“Go ahead,” said Latimer.

“You actually see yourselves as evil?” JC said to Chang.

“Oh yes!” said Chang. “It’s very liberating. You should try it.”

“Words fail me,” said Melody.

“If only,” said Chang.

JC also couldn’t help noticing that everywhere they went, people saw Chang coming and hurried to get out of her way. Happy moved in beside JC, rubbing distractedly at his forehead.

“They’ve got some major telepathic defences in place here. I can barely hear myself think.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” said JC.

“Actually, it’s a relief,” said Happy.

He was standing straighter and speaking more clearly. Melody stuck close beside him, just in case, and scowled at anyone who even looked like getting too close. The Project people seemed to accept that as normal. Some stared openly at the Ghost Finders, with a certain number of double-takes as they recognised Catherine Latimer. Who just strode along, looking neither to the left nor to the right, while giving every appearance of being entirely unimpressed by everything around her. JC kept looking for security guards, or weapon emplacements hidden in the walls, and was worried he couldn’t see any.

“Will you please unclench?” said Chang. “Trust me; no-one here will bother you.”

“Because we’re guests?” said JC.

“Because it has already been decided we can use you,” said Chang. “If you hadn’t already been designated as potential allies, you would have been knocked over the head and skinned alive by now. And then made over into toilet-seat covers.”

“Lovely image,” said JC.

“I thought so,” said Chang.

“Who decided this?” said Melody.

“Our Boss,” said Chang. “The current Head of the Crowley Project, the one and only because the world isn’t ready for two of them: Vivienne MacAbre.”

JC carried on looking around him. He couldn’t help feeling it was all very impersonal. There was no sense of character anywhere. It was all steel and glass and plastic, with purely functional furnishings, and not even an occasional piece of art on the walls. Chang noticed him noticing this and was quietly amused.

“What were you expecting? Signs saying
You don’t have to be evil, wicked, and morally corrupt to work here, but it helps
?”

“Something like that,” said JC.

“This is a place where people come to work,” said Chang.

They continued on their way. JC quietly observed security cameras everywhere, swivelling silently back and forth to cover everyone and everything. And somehow he just knew they weren’t only there to guard against enemies; the Project was an organisation that wanted to know what its own people were doing, all the time.

“Really don’t like this place,” said Melody. “Or the people. Everything’s . . . off, here. It feels like I’ve wandered into the Mirror Universe from
Star Trek
. Where everyone was an evil version of themselves.”

“You don’t need to be a telepath to feel the tension on the air,” said Happy. “Or to know that competition in this building operates on a Darwinian level. Survival of the fittest and trample on the weak.”

“And that’s the way we like it,” said Chang. “Deliver the goods, or get out of the way of someone who can.”

“Survival only for the strong?” said JC.

“And the sneaky,” said Chang.

| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

They ended up in the Head of the Crowley Project’s waiting room; but they didn’t have to wait. Even though there was a charming, brightly smiling secretary sitting on guard at her desk, who reminded JC very much of Heather. (Blonde, personable, neatly dressed, with a definite air of menace about her.) Chang just breezed right past the secretary, heading straight for the Head’s office. The secretary started to rise out of her chair, only to subside again as Chang gave her a hard look.

Chang raised a hand to knock on the door but it swung open on its own before she could even make contact. JC smiled briefly. He appreciated the touch of drama. Of course the Head knew they were coming; that was what the security cameras were for. But it also meant she’d had all this time to work out how best to deal with her guests. JC didn’t have a plan; he just hoped Latimer did. He’d never been big on plans, always preferring to wing it when out in the field and trust to his fight-or-flight instincts to get him out of trouble, as necessary.

Chang led the way in. JC stuck close behind her, ready to use her body as a human shield if necessary. The office looked like all the other work-places; except a little more bleak and spartan. No windows, subdued lighting, no obvious luxuries or comforts. No souvenirs, no shelves full of books or files . . . but alone in one corner stood an elegant scarecrow, dressed in an immaculate morning suit, complete with a top hat set at a rakish angle. A monocle had been carefully glued into place over a stitched eye on the cloth face. It should have looked charming; but it didn’t. There was a cold, sinister feel to the scarecrow, and the monocle made it feel like it was always watching. JC recognised the scarecrow as a traditional voodoo fetish, Baron Samedi, Lord of Cemeteries. Not a sane or healthy thing to have standing around in a business office. Chang leaned in close beside JC, to murmur in his ear.

“That is our Head’s personal bodyguard. Don’t upset it, or you’re on your own.”

Sitting behind a perfectly bare desk was the current Head of the Crowley Project, Vivienne MacAbre. JC had heard of her but never expected to encounter her in person. Except perhaps over the barrel of a gun. Of course, the Carnacki Institute didn’t normally assassinate Crowley Project Heads. They didn’t need to. Project people usually took care of that for themselves. Beyond a certain point, the only way to rise further in the organisation was to forcibly retire the person in front of you. Each Head was assassinated by their replacement. It was how they proved they were worthy of the position.

Chang struck a careless pose in front of the desk and threw a mocking salute to the woman sitting behind it. “Greetings, Glorious Leader! May I present refugees from the new order at the Carnacki Institute. Refugees, this is Vivienne MacAbre. Abandon all hope.”

MacAbre was tall and more than healthily slender, a woman of a certain age with a pleasant enough face, cool eyes, and a calm, business-like smile. Her long hair was jet-black, and might or might not have been dyed. She wore a dark blue business suit over a starched white blouse. Her only concession to glamour was a pair of jade ear-rings, and heavy silver rings on her fingers.

MacAbre made no move to get up to greet her guests, just waved for them to sit down on the visitors’ chairs set out before her. Exactly the right number, of course. Latimer sat down as though she were doing MacAbre a favour; and the others followed her example. The chairs were far more comfortable than the visitors’ chairs in Latimer’s office. JC and Melody looked to their Boss to begin the conversation. Happy was already off in his own world again. Chang sat back and looked on expectantly, happily anticipating fireworks. MacAbre and Latimer looked steadily at each other for a long moment, then nodded coolly to each other.

“Vivienne MacAbre . . .” said Latimer. “What kind of a name is that?”

MacAbre took her time replying, and when she did, it was in a low, thrilling voice that made all the hackles stand up on the back of JC’s neck. It was like being suddenly addressed by a black widow spider.

“To know the true name of a person,” said MacAbre, “is to have power over them. Or at the very least, to have preconceptions about them. I chose this name to make an impression.”

“And not because you’re ashamed of your real name?” said Latimer.