‘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!’
g) 63 Sampson Court, King’s Cross, London
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.’
CHAPTER TWO: NUMBERS
a) 63 Sampson Court, King’s Cross, London
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.’
b) Piccadilly Line, Northbound for Wood Green, London
‘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.