‘Hello!’ he said cheerfully, tipping his helmet.
The woman fluttered her eyelashes demurely.
‘All well?’ she asked.
‘Top hole!’ returned Victor elegantly, then added quickly: ‘Actually, not. This is my first time.’
The lady smiled at him and waved her catcher’s glove.
‘Nothing to it. Catch away from the body and keep your eyes sharp. We may get a lot or none at all, and if you do catch one, be sure to put it down on the grass straight away. After deaccelerating through the earth’s atmosphere, they tend to be a trifle hot.’
Victor stared at her.
‘You mean, we aim to catch meteors?’
The lady laughed a delicious laugh.
‘No, no, silly—! They’re called meteorites. Meteors are things that burn up in the Earth’s atmosphere. I’ve been to seventeen of these suspected Earthstrikes since ‘64. I once nearly caught one in Tierra del Fuego in ‘71. Of course,’ she added more slowly, ‘that was when dear George was still alive
She caught his eye and smiled. Victor smiled back. She carried on: ‘If we witness an Earthstrike today, it will be the first predicted strike in Europe to be successful. Imagine catching a meteorite! The rubble made during the creation of the universe over four and a half billion years ago! It’s like an orphan finally coming home!’
‘Very… poetic,’ responded Victor slowly as I started talking in his ear by way of the wire.
‘There’s no one listed anywhere by the name of Dr Cassiopeia,’ I told him. ‘For goodness’ sake don’t let him out of your sight!’
‘I won’t,’ replied Victor, looking around for Mьller.
‘Pardon?’ asked the lady at 62, who had being eyeing him up and not staring at the sky at all.
‘I won’t, er, drop one if I catch one,’ he replied hurriedly.
The Tannoy announced the Earthstrike in two minutes. There was a murmur from the expectant crowd.
‘Good luck!’ said the lady, giving him a broad wink and staring up into the cloudless sky.
There was a voice from close behind Victor.
‘I do remember you.’
He turned to see the very unwelcome face of Dr Mьller staring at him. A little farther on stood a burly security guard, hand at the ready in his breast pocket.
‘You’re SpecOps. LiteraTec. Victor Analogy, isn’t it?’
‘No, the name’s Dr Augustus Ceres, Berwick-upon-Tweed.’ Victor laughed nervously and added: ‘What sort of a name is Victor Analogy?’
Mьller beckoned to the henchman, who advanced on Victor drawing his automatic. He looked like the sort of person who was itching to use it.
‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ said Mьller kindly, ‘but that’s not really good enough. If you are Analogy, you’re clearly meddling. If, however, you turn out to be Dr Ceres from Berwick-upon-Tweed, then you have my sincerest apologies.’
‘Now wait a moment—‘ began Victor, but Mьller interrupted.
‘I’ll let your family know where to find the body,’ he said magnanimously.
Victor glanced around for possible help but all the other Earthcrossers were staring at the sky.
‘Shoot him.’
The henchman smiled, his finger tightening on the trigger. Victor winced as a high-pitched scream filled the air and a fortuitous incoming meteorite shattered on the henchman’s helmet.
He collapsed like a sack of potatoes. The gun went off and put a neat hole in Victor’s baseball glove. Suddenly, the air was full of red-hot meteorites screaming to earth in a localised shower. The assembled Earthcrossers were thrown into confusion by the sudden violence and couldn’t quite make up their minds whether to avoid the meteorites or try to catch them. Mьller fumbled in his jacket pocket for his own pistol as someone yelled ‘Yours!’ close at hand. They both turned, but it was Victor who caught the small meteorite. It was about the size of a cricket ball and was still glowing red hot; he tossed it to Mьller, who instinctively caught it. Sadly, he did not have a catcher’s glove. There was a hiss and a yelp as he dropped it, then a cry of pain as Victor took the opportunity to thump him on the jaw with a speed that belied his seventy-five years. Mьller went down like a ninepin and Victor leaped on the dropped gun. He thrust it against Mullet’s neck, dragged him to his feet and started to march him out of the hill-fort. The meteorite shower was easing up as he backed out, my voice in his earpiece telling him to go easy.
‘It is Analogy, isn’t it?’ said Mьller.
‘It is. SpecOps 27 and you’re under arrest.’
Victor, Bowden and I had got Mьller as far as Interview Room 3 before Braxton and Schitt realised who we had captured. Victor had barely asked Mьller to confirm his name before the interview room door burst open. It was Schitt flanked by two SO-9 operatives. None of them looked like they had a sense of humour.
‘My prisoner, Analogy.’
‘My prisoner, Mr Schitt, I think,’ replied Victor firmly. ‘My collar, my jurisdiction; I am interviewing Dr Mьller about the Chuzzlewit theft.’
Jack Schitt looked at Commander Hicks, who was standing behind him. The commander sighed and cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry to say this, Victor, but the Goliath Corporation and their representative have been granted jurisdiction over SO-27 and SO-9 in Swindon. Withholding material from Acting SpecOps Commander Schitt may result in criminal proceedings for concealment of vital information pertinent to an on-going inquiry. Do you understand what this means?’
‘It means Schitt does what he pleases,’ returned Victor.
‘Relinquish your prisoner, Victor. The Goliath Corporation takes precedence.’
Victor stared at him hotly, then pushed his way out of the interview room.
‘I’d like to stay,’ I requested.
‘No chance,’ said Schitt. ‘An SO-27 security clearance is not permissible.’
‘It’s as well, then,’ I replied, ‘that I still hold an SO-5 badge.’
Jack Schitt cursed but said nothing more. Bowden was ordered out and the two SO-9 operatives stood either side of the door; Schitt and Hicks sat down at the table behind which Mьller nonchalantly smoked a cigarette. I leaned against the wall and impassively watched the proceedings.
‘He’ll get me out, you know,’ Mьller said slowly as he smiled a rare smile.
‘I don’t think so,’ remarked Schitt. ‘Swindon SpecOps is currently surrounded by more SO-9 operatives and SWAT men than you can count in a month. Not even that madman Hades would try and get in here.’
The smile dropped from Mьller’s lips.
‘SO-9 is the finest antiterrorist squad on the planet,’ continued Schitt. ‘We’ll get him, you know. It’s only a question of when. And if you help us, things might not look so bad in court for you.’
Mьller wasn’t impressed.
‘If your SO-9 operatives are the best on the planet, how come it takes a seventy-five-year-old LiteraTec to arrest me?’
Jack Schitt couldn’t think of an answer to this. Mьller turned to me.
‘And if SO-9 are so shit hot, why does this young lady have the best luck cornering Hades?’
‘I got lucky,’ I replied, adding: ‘Why hasn’t Martin Chuzzlewit been killed? It’s not like Acheron to make idle threats.’
‘No indeed,’ replied Mьller. ‘No indeed.’
‘Answer the question, Mьller,’ said Schitt pointedly. ‘I can make things very uncomfortable for you.’
Mьller smiled at him.
‘Not half as uncomfortable as Acheron could. He lists slow murder, torture and flower arranging as his hobbies in Which Criminal.’
‘So you want to do some serious time?’ asked Hicks, who wasn’t going to be left out of the interview. ‘The way I see it you’re looking at quintuple life. Or you could walk free in a couple of minutes. What’s it to be?’
‘Do as you will, Officers. You’ll get nothing out of me. No matter what, Hades will get me out.’