I grinned at Molly. “Okay, that buys us some time.”
“To do what?” said Molly. “All right, stop grinning; you’ve had an idea. Show me.”
I hurried over to the shutter covering the window we’d come in through, and slapped the lock-breaker against the window frame. The lock-breaker overrode the locking system, and the shutter rolled up. Fresh sunlight spilled into the room. I opened the window, and looked out. And there was the Scarlet Lady, parked in place next to the window.
“Just enough power left to cling to the wall!” she said cheerfully. “Sort of anti anti-gravity. Don’t ask me to explain, I’m just a car. Get in while it’s still working, whatever it is.”
Molly and I scrambled out through the window. The car opened her doors, I threw myself into the front, and Molly scrambled into the back seat. The doors slammed shut, and I hauled myself sideways into the driving seat.
“Go! Go! Go!” I said.
The Scarlet Lady shot off down the side of the building, as easily as if she was driving down a somewhat bumpy road, accelerating all the way. Floor after floor shot past us, and the ground came flying up towards us.
“Keep going!” Molly yelled from the back. “I’m out of the null, and pumping out Don’t Look At Us! at full volume!”
We roared down the side of the building, the passing windows just a gleaming blur.
“Tell me you’ve got a plan!” I said loudly to the car. “Tell me you’ve got a very specific plan about what to do when we hit the ground! Preferably something that doesn’t involve actually hitting the ground!”
“Of course!” said the Scarlet Lady. “I am known for my plans! Hang on, you’re going to love this!”
And at the very last moment, with the ground leaping up to smash the car right in the radiator grille, the Scarlet Lady’s bonnet rose up and leapt away from the building. She revved her engine for all it was worth, and we flew away from the wall and out onto the road. All four wheels hit hard, and we rocked back and forth before straightening out and heading off down the road.
“Let us all praise self-regenerating power coils!” said the Scarlet Lady, cackling loudly. “And just enough power for a last-minute save!”
I sat slumped in my seat, trying to get my breath back. “I am going to rip off your bumpers and piss in your petrol tank,” I said, eventually.
“Get in line,” Molly said feebly, from the back seat.
“Humans don’t know how to have fun,” said the car.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mind Games, and Others
The Scarlet Lady drove us back to the hotel. Molly and I sat slumped in our seats, getting our second wind back. A successful mission fills you with pride and adrenalin, and it’s champagne all round and party till dawn. A complete balls-up, on the other hand, takes all the energy out of you, until all you really want to do is go to sleep and forget all about it. Molly and I didn’t have that luxury. The overall mission wasn’t even half over, and we still had the Medium Games ahead of us. Still, even though breaking into Parris’ safe hadn’t provided us with anything useful, I was glad I’d done it. Because it proved I didn’t need Drood armour to act like a field agent. And, that I could still take calculated risks without my armour to protect me. I mentioned this to Molly but she wasn’t in the mood to see the funny side, just yet. She was still glaring at me. I was still pretending not to notice. Of such helpful compromises are successful marriages made. The Scarlet Lady dropped us off outside the main hotel entrance, and we left her to find her own way back to the underground car park.
“There’s enough of my denial field still clinging to you, that no one will notice your return,” said Molly. “In fact, they shouldn’t even have noticed you’ve been gone.”
“Like I care,” said the car. “Anyone down there even looks at me wrong, I’ll run them over and park on them.”
“I wish you were even a little bit joking,” I said. “The whole point of a secret agent, and their car, is not to be noticed.”
“I do not do the modesty thing,” said the car. “I prefer to intimidate people with my magnificence.”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” said Molly.
“I heard that!” said the car. “See you later. If you should happen to get into trouble again . . . feel free not to call me. I shall be terribly busy, indulging in some serious me time.”
And she sped off, revving her engine unnecessarily. Molly and I looked at each other, considered saying many things, and then just gave up and headed for the main entrance. Before we could even venture inside the lobby, Frankie came running out the doors to intercept us. He looked flustered and alarmed and not at all happy. He slammed to a halt before us, paused a moment to get his breath back, and then glared accusingly from me to Molly and then back again.
“Where have you been?” he said, just a bit hysterically. “What have you been doing?”
“You don’t even want to know what we’ve just been through,” I said. “I was there, and I don’t want to know.”
“What are you so upset about, Frankie?” said Molly. “Did one of your bribes run out at an awkward moment?”
“All hell’s breaking loose in the Casino,” said Frankie. “Alarms going off everywhere, more sirens and flashing lights than the civilised mind can cope with, and a general security clampdown. You need to get back in the lobby before they seal off the hotel completely!”
“Then what are you doing keeping us hanging around here?” I said. “Holding us up with unnecessary explanations? Really, Frankie, you are letting the side down. . . .”
“Very unprofessional,” said Molly.
We strode past him, through the doors and into the lobby. Frankie followed close behind, growling under his breath. Inside, the lobby was packed full of all kinds of people, from legitimate players to obvious hangers-on, all of them milling around and chattering loudly, forming into small groups and then breaking up again, as they tried to find someone who knew what the hell was going on. Though with everyone clamouring at the top of their voices, it was a wonder any of them could hear what anyone was saying. There was a definite feeling of unease on the air, and more than a hint of hysteria.
Someone had misbehaved, that was clear, and punishments were in the offing. There was so much commotion no one even noticed Molly and me returning, along with a seething Frankie. But we’d barely got inside the door when the hotel manager, Jonathon Scott, came striding into the lobby, accompanied by half a dozen large and muscular gentlemen, carrying machine pistols at the ready. Scott looked coldly furious, and his muscle men looked coldly professional. And just like that, everyone in the lobby shut the hell up to watch Scott’s every move with wide, watchful eyes, like frightened children.
The men with Scott all looked exactly the same. Big black men in quasi-military uniforms. With exactly the same face. I didn’t have to be told who they were; that I was finally getting a clear look at living examples of the legendary Jackson Fifty-five. Their dark scowling faces all showed exactly the same expression of practised intimidation, and they all moved in the same way, with an eerie synchronicity. They spread out across the lobby, covering the crowd with their guns. Some people took one look at the infamous mercenary soldiers and ran, heading for the nearest exits, but still more Jacksons appeared, spilling out of every door and exit with guns at the ready, to herd everyone back again. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t have to. A sense of imminent danger hung heavily on the air—a feeling of blood and death ready to happen at any moment.