Chapter 17 - The Final Countdown
You bluff, of course. When have you ever done anything else?
Leaning forward as if turning the problem over in your head, you meet Eames' gaze and insist, with complete earnestness,
"As long as du Marchais gets what's coming to him. That's all that matters to me. The Sheriff, the Prince - they can all go. But I want Whitehall back."
She beams.
"Oh, darling," she says, "that's what I love about you. You're not afraid to think big."
And as she flicks out her cards, one by one, face up onto the table, a shrill ululation of Gaelic delight rings out from behind the closed door -
"We'reinthefeckingmoneynowmotherfuckers!"
*
On the tiny screen, figures are moving towards the tiny door in the bottom of the station.
Two of them take their places at the door; the third moves through.
"Sabbat?" Eames asks.
Oscar shrugs.
"Could be ravers," he says, twiddling a pen between his fingers. "Wouldn't it be sorta funny if it were ravers? If anyone deserves to get eaten and torn up into an abomination of living flesh, it's a cunt wearing wristbands and a fluorescent builder's jacket."
"It's them," you murmur. "Pack members, by the looks of things. Is the bug picking up, Oscar?"
Oscar flicks at the keyboard for a moment.
And then, distorted and muffled, hidden behind wails of static, you can make out the hisses and whimpers of the Caecilian.
"Relay's working," Oscar announces.
Eames frowns.
"The beast sounds hungry," she says. "Or...distressed."
The four of you stand over the cameras, in silence, waiting.
*
Forty-five minutes before you finally hear it. The pacing of feet, extremely faint. The body-worms begin to shriek.
"He took his time," Fellowes mutters.
"Maybe he got lost down there," says Oscar.
"Or he was checking for traps," you reply. "Let's not underestimate them."
The steps become louder, and louder. And, at last, stop.
"Right," Oscar says, "he's standing on the ledge now."
"He's stopped moving," Eames says.
A low scratching sound.
"What's he doing?" Oscar asks.
You gaze down at the two Sabbat figures, entirely still on either side of the station doors.
"Looking to see if the stone's been disturbed," you say.
"He won't find anything," Eames says. She sounds considerably more confident than you feel.
*
You wait, and wait. Fellowes begins to pace. Oscar sits back in his chair, grinning widely, and hums beneath his breath. Eames remains very still, her arms crossed, gazing down at the monitors.
"No noise from him for a while," Oscar says. "I reckon he's headed back up."
And, sure enough, ten minutes later, the figure emerges out into the darkness. It appears to share a few words with the Kindred standing watch.
Then it steps forward, and raising something towards its own head.
"Phone," Eames murmurs, breathlessly.
The Sabbat figure remains still for a moment. Finally, it lowers the phone and takes up a position leaning against the wall next to its fellows.
Fellowes, despite himself, whoops aloud and does a little jig.
Oscar swivels in his chair and extends his grisly hand towards you. You take it, without hesitation.
"They're stayin', Pat," he says. "You've done it - you've got 'em on the hook. Now we just got to reel 'em into the open air."
"And gut them," Eames adds, giggling.
She grins. You smile back.
*
An hour and a half until dawn.
"They won't come tonight," Fellowes says, decisively. "They'll wait till tomorrow morning. They can't risk being caught so close to the Thames near sun-up."
But he's wrong; and ten minutes later, like creeping shadows in the daylight, the Sabbat come.
*
"Shitty titties," Oscar breathes, gazing at the dark shapes scurrying across his screen. "How many of them are there?"
"Two packs," Eames says. "Maybe more."
And at the centre, walking calmly and at their own pace as the pack members spread out across the tarmac-
"There's Jamieson," you note. "And the tall Tzimisce next to him...that's our man."
You gaze down at the faint, mishapen figure as it approaches the doors of Battersea.
"Is it me," Fellowes says, "or is Jamieson holding his arm in a funny way?"
Eames' fingers tug, gently, at your sleeve. She nods back towards the saferoom.
*
Eames tosses the mobile gently into your hands.
"I think it's best you make the call, dear," she says. "Keep your fingerprints all over this. Simone will detonate the bomb and Schiller and the rest of my people will swoop in to finish off the guards."
She gives you a sympathetic look.
"That Malk may be able to get out," she tells you, "and he may not. But either way, making sure we don't miss our chance with Angelos is what's important. We're on the same page here, aren't we, Anthony, darling?"
How will you act, when it comes to it?
A) Once Angelos is on the ledge, the bomb goes off. If Jamieson hasn't thought through how to escape, that's his problem. We're too close to dawn to delay this.
B) We call in the cavalry early; give Jamieson a reason to head up to the surface. He can always bluff that the Sheriff's people must have found the Caecilian. But will Angelos stay where he is if he hears the Camarilla are coming, or will he try to make his escape?
C) We wait. We can't afford to lose Jamieson. Hopefully he can find an excuse to get away from the caves of his own accord.