69.

  My mind was still whirring from my encounter with DI Woodley. I had always felt like the Detective Inspector knew too much. Did he have any idea who I really was? Is that why he didn’t shoot? And what about his recriminations? Was I just making the Syndicate problem worse? Was I going to get a civilian caught up in my crusade and get them hurt… or worse?

  I growled and pushed these thoughts from my mind. I would deal with Woodley later. For now, I had one task and that was to stop the Syndicate from flooding the streets with more drugs. There was no way that could be morally wrong… right?

  I had confirmed Purple Mary’s information with the pigeons who had zipped ahead of me and scoped the place out. They had sighted numerous Syndicate heavies and a lot of action around the area. I needed to get eyes on the location and see for myself.

  Rain had begun to drizzle down as I arrived. Lewisham was a massive Borough in South London. It was an odd place that was stuck halfway between gentrification/modernisation by Sable Systems, and the encroaching rot of the Boroughs. It seemed like no matter how hard they tried to drag the area into the modern era, the people just kept dragging it back.

  As a result, Lewisham was an odd mix of outright villainy, gang activity, delicatessens, stately homes, and council estates. The wealthy who worked in the Core brushed shoulders with junkies and their dealers on a daily basis.

  It was late and the main thoroughfare was still busy with cars and people. The address Sherbert had given me led deeper into the Borough. I crept around the rooftops and back alleys, careful to look out for cameras and police drones. The last thing I needed was to be spotted by the coppers now.

  The address led me to a broken down industrial estate by the train tracks. It was more like a series of rusted warehouses and a couple of garages than a proper industrial estate. I didn’t like the look of it. The place was isolated with no direct eyelines in from any tall buildings, which made sense if you were trying to hide a massive drug shipment. There seemed to only be one way in and out, although I was sure I could scale the rusted chain link fences if I needed to. The only place that looked in use was a medium sized mechanics yard. I secreted myself in a large tree that could somewhat overlook the industrial estate and saw lights on and people moving around.

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I debated what to do. There could be multiple stash houses. The pigeons were already scoping out a likely location on the waterfront, the first industrial estate I had tracked them to, and another in a nightclub. The Syndicate seemed to be active all over the city. If I picked the wrong place and wasted an entire night staking it out, they could move the drugs in without me ever getting close to the real stash house.

  The rain was starting to get heavier. I had to make a choice. I needed to either confirm or scratch this location off my list. I didn't have the manpower, or the pigeon power, to sit on all of these locations at the same time and wait for the drugs to come in. Just as I was beginning to make up my mind, I saw a heavy armoured black truck approach the gates of the industrial estate. The industrial estate gates opened, and the truck drove in with another, more mundane truck following it. The truck behind had no markings; its license plate was barely visible, and it had no other distinguishing characteristics. But as my eyes adjusted in the gloom, I noticed that it had a foreign number plate. Where had that truck come from, and what was inside of it? What kind of car mechanics would be receiving foreign imports at this time of night?

  That made my mind up. I slithered down from the tree, ran towards the chain-link fence, and threw myself at it, hoping the charms on my leather jacket would be strong enough to protect me from the barbed wire at the top. I tumbled over the fence, landed on one knee, grunted in pain, and then stalked around the edges of the small industrial estate. I kept the garage in view, trying to keep sight of the truck, but then they both disappeared inside the garage, and the rolling shutter door went down.

  “Damn it!” I cursed. I needed to see what was in there.

  I found a halfway decent hiding place on top of a broken-down little shed where I was hidden in the shadows, but could still see the entrance to the garage. There were men milling about the entrance. They looked armed from the way they held themselves and they were alert.

  I counted about 7 or 8 of them, which was about 5 or 6 more than I wanted to face, especially if they had guns. I kept watch, trying to formulate a plan, when suddenly one of the men, who looked like he was in charge, received a phone call. Again, it was another one of those old-school brick phones. He held it up to his ear, listened, responded, hung up the phone, and then began to wave his hands towards the other men. They all sprinted towards an awaiting vehicle and piled in. The gates at the front opened, and they sped off, leaving only two men behind to guard the garage.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  This was my chance. Doubts crossed my mind about what I might be walking into, but I pushed them away. I had to move quickly; they could be gone for only a few minutes or a few hours. Either way, if that was the drug shipment, I needed to destroy it before they got back. I didn't have time to dither about and weigh up options. I dropped down from the shed, crouched in the darkness, and assessed my route. Fortunately, the industrial estate was in such a state of disrepair that it was littered with debris: half-broken-down cars, old scrap machinery, and even a few piles of concrete and masonry, which I assumed were left over from destroyed buildings.

  I did a quick look around to check there were no other silent sentries or cameras anywhere. There were a couple crusty old CCTV cameras facing towards the entrance of the industrial estate and only one looking at the mechanic's yard, but that was it. I could take down the one looking at the mechanic's yard with no problem. I untucked my Wrist Rocket, picked out a Bang Rock, and then began to silently work my way around in the darkness. I thought about using my Cloaking Charm, but considering how fast that burned through my energy reserves, I thought I would save it until I needed it. For now, I would just rely on the natural cover of darkness.

  I slunk around the piles of debris, zipping between the carcasses of broken-down vehicles, keeping the two men in sight all the time. They weren't particularly enthusiastic guards. I could see them looking up at the sky and muttering about the rain, sharing a smoke, and altogether looking like they had got the short end of the stick when it came to duties that night.

  I worked my way around in a zigzagging circle until I got to the last bit of good cover that got me just close enough to the camera. It would have to be a good shot, especially since it was raining, but I'd been practising with my Wrist Rocket and was fairly certain I could hit it from here. The challenge was going to be taking down those two guards. There was nothing but open space between me and them, and if they got wind of my presence, I would lose the element of surprise and risk getting shot. If I did get spotted, I would have to take them head-on, and even though I'd gotten good with the Wrist Rocket, I still didn't rate my chances against automatic weapon fire.

  I took a deep breath, settled the pellet into the leather thong, pulled back, used the wrist support that came with the Wrist Rocket, steadied my aim, held my breath, and then fired. The pellet sped through the night, hit the camera, and exploded upon impact. It wasn't a loud sound, and in the drizzling rain with all the metal laying about, the small explosion joined the cacophony of sounds around us. The two guards didn’t even look around.

  I sighed, licked my lips, and then began to work my way back to the side of the warehouse. I could try and jump them, but at best, I was sure I could take down maybe one. If the other one got a shot off, it could be the end of me. I learned my lesson about being cavalier with guns. Besides, those two hardly looked like they were employees of the month. I reckoned I didn't need to bother with them. I could be in and out without ever alerting them. I hoped.

  Down the side of the warehouse I found a fire escape door that was chained shut with a heavy iron chain and a thick padlock. Previously, this would have ended my entry, but I had the Pigeon King's gift with me. I withdrew the sleek black feather from a leather pouch on my belt, held it up gently to the lock, and then slipped it in and waited. Nothing happened. I looked at the feather curiously and then I imbued the feather with a small amount of will, and suddenly it came to life. The feather twitched and began flicking around the lock, picking the insides of it somehow. It moved rapidly with skilled, precise movements and, after only a few seconds, the padlock thunked open and fell into the dirt.

  "That was awesome," I whispered, picking the feather up and placing it carefully back into my pouch.

  Then I gingerly pulled the heavy iron chain off the door, trying to make as little sound as possible, before dropping that in the mud too and pulling open the fire escape.

  The mechanics was dark, almost pitch black. I pulled down my see-in-the-dark goggles and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the weird greeny tint of everything. The place was a cluttered mess, like any good mechanic's was. The floor was laden with metal and sharp, pointy things that looked desperate to fall over and make as much noise as possible. I picked my way through the debris-laden shop until I got to the main floor, where the two trucks I had seen come in were parked.

  I crouched down for a second and peered around. I saw no signs of anyone, but then again, why would there be anyone? It was pitch black; why would you leave a sentry in a room where they can't see? Still, some animal instinct pricked the back of my neck. It felt too easy, too simple. Why would they leave such an important drug consignment unguarded except for two goofballs outside?

  I licked the sweat beading on my lips and then made my way around the truck. It was a completely nondescript white box, and I noted the number plate looked like it originated somewhere in Eastern Europe. I swallowed, and then again, some instinct told me to check the thing for booby traps. I looked underneath the wheel arches, beneath the tyres, under the chassis, and I saw nothing untoward.

  "You're wasting time," I hissed at myself. How long could I stay in here before I got caught? "Just check the damn truck and let's go."

  I took a breath, reached for the handle at the bottom of the truck's rear door, gripped it, and flung it open.

  Bang!